The inherenter of jin mori

Chapter 17: The Strength to Save No One

Yuta Takahashi

Varro is dragged toward the railing, his hands bound behind his back. The pirates move with purpose, their expressions indifferent, as if this is just another chore—just another man thrown to the sea.

I feel it again. That power.

It thrums beneath my skin, coiling around my muscles, begging to be used.

I can save him.

I know I can.

I step forward, my breathing sharp. "Let him go."

The pirates laugh. The captain tilts his head, amused. "You got a death wish too, kid?"

No. I have power.

I felt it before—when I moved faster than I should have, when my kick shattered that crate like it was nothing. I can do it again. I can fight.

I tighten my fists, willing that strength to rise, to give me what I need.

And it does.

A pulse of energy rushes through me, making my skin burn. My muscles coil, the air around me shifting as if responding to something ancient, something I don't fully understand.

I take a step—

And the world twists.

Suddenly, my balance is gone. My vision lags behind my movements, my body stumbling where I meant to surge forward. My foot skids against the deck, my weight shifting wrong, too fast, too strong, too wild.

No—

I lunge anyway, reaching for the pirate holding Varro—

But my arm overshoots. The force of my own movement sends me sprawling. My hand slams into the wood with a crack, the impact jarring up my arm.

The pirates move instantly. Hands seize my shoulders, yanking me up before I can correct myself. A fist slams into my gut. Another crashes into my ribs.

The power inside me flickers—useless.

I cough, gasping. My mind is reeling. I had it. I had the strength.

So why can't I control it?

Why can't I save him?

"Pathetic," the captain mutters. He gestures to his men. "Throw him overboard."

The pirates drag me toward the edge.

"No!" I twist, struggling against their grip. "You don't have to do this!"

They don't listen. The ocean roars below, dark and endless.

I whip my head toward Varro. "Varro!"

He's already at the railing. Already looking at me.

And he's smiling.

Not in amusement. Not in mockery.

In acceptance.

He knew.

He knew I wouldn't be able to save him.

The realization hits me like a blade to the gut. My breath catches. This was always the plan.

The moment he stepped forward, the moment he offered himself—he knew.

And he still did it.

The captain steps up beside him, drawing his pistol. He cocks it with a casual flick of his wrist, then presses the barrel against Varro's temple.

"No!" My voice is raw. My struggles turn desperate. I can still do something. I can still—

BANG.

The shot echoes across the ship.

Varro's body jerks.

For a moment, he remains standing, as if defying the inevitable.

Then, slowly, his body tilts backward.

And he falls.

Into the sea.

Gone.

Just like that.

I go still.

Something inside me breaks.

The world blurs. The hands gripping me, the pirates laughing, the ocean churning—it all fades into static.

I don't feel it when they throw me overboard.

I don't feel anything.

Just the weight of failure.