The moment the gleam of knives caught the light, everything moved in slow motion.

Twenty men. Twenty blades.

Gurvi barely had a second to react before they lunged at him. He pushed Marinette back with one hand, stepping forward as his other hand shot up, grabbing the wrist of the first attacker mid-swing. Twisting sharply, he forced the man's own knife toward him, making him stumble back.

Another came from the side. Gurvi ducked, feeling the blade slice through the air just above his head. He pivoted, slamming his elbow into the man's ribs before kicking him into the others.

They were trying to overwhelm him with numbers. He could see it in the way they moved—fast, aggressive, surrounding him like a pack of wolves.

Marinette's heart pounded as she watched. She wanted to run, wanted to get help, but she couldn't leave him. Not now.

Gurvi caught another wrist, twisting the knife out of the attacker's grip before driving a brutal knee into his gut. He turned just in time to block a blade aimed at his side, but another slashed across his arm.

Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth. He had been through worse.

Another swing—he dodged. A blade nearly clipped his face—he countered with a sharp punch that sent one of them sprawling.

But there were too many.

One man managed to get behind him, locking an arm around his throat while another aimed a knife at his stomach.

Marinette screamed, moving before she even thought. She grabbed a piece of broken wood from the alley floor and smashed it across the attacker's back, making him stumble.

"Gurvi, run!" she yelled.

But Gurvi wasn't running.

With a surge of strength, he broke free from the chokehold, flipping the man over his shoulder before slamming his fist into another's jaw. He grabbed a knife from the ground and used it to deflect another incoming attack.

His breath was heavy, his suit stained with blood—some his, some theirs.

But he wasn't stopping.

Not until they did.

Gurvi's fists were sore, his knuckles split open from the relentless punches he had thrown. His muscles screamed in agony, his breath ragged as blood dripped from cuts all over his body. The fight had gone on too long—longer than it should have.

They weren't just trying to hurt him.

They were trying to kill him.

And now, they were going after Marinette.

His instincts screamed at him as one of the men lunged toward her with a knife. Without thinking, Gurvi threw himself in front of her, his arm catching the blade instead of her. He gritted his teeth against the searing pain, ignoring the way the warm blood trickled down his sleeve.

"Stay behind me," he rasped, his body acting as a shield.

His vision blurred slightly, exhaustion creeping into his limbs. His movements were slower now, his strength draining with every second. He barely managed to block another attack, his counterpunch weaker than before.

One of them took advantage of his slowed reflexes, landing a brutal punch to his ribs. Another came from behind, striking him across the back. He stumbled, his knees nearly buckling, but he didn't fall. He couldn't.

Marinette clutched the back of his suit, terrified. "Gurvi, stop! Please, let's run!"

He couldn't run. He could barely move.

But he wouldn't let them touch her.

Not while he was still standing.

The men circled them like predators sensing their prey's final moments. Marinette could see it—Gurvi was at his limit. His body trembled from the strain, blood pooling beneath him.

And yet, even now, he refused to step aside.

Even now, he stood between her and death.

Marinette's heart pounded as she clutched onto Gurvi's back, feeling his body weaken with every passing second. His suit was soaked in blood, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. She wanted to scream, to fight, to do something—but she couldn't transform, not now, not here.

But if she had to… if she had to risk it all, she would.

She would kill if it meant saving him.

Her fingers twitched toward her purse, her mind racing for a solution, when suddenly, a streak of red zipped past her.

Tikki.

Marinette's eyes widened as the tiny kwami darted away at full speed, vanishing into the city before she could even react.

"Tikki?!" Marinette choked out in disbelief.

Why—why was she leaving?

But Tikki knew.

She knew Marinette couldn't turn into Ladybug now. She knew Gurvi wouldn't survive if Marinette wasted even a second hesitating.

So she made the choice for her.

She flew toward the one person who could help.

Adrien Agreste.

Chat Noir.

Marinette's vision blurred with tears as she clung to Gurvi's battered form. He was still standing, still fighting, even as his body was failing him. Every slice, every stab, every punch—he took them all without a sound, without hesitation. He was a wall between her and death, even as he crumbled.

"Gurvi!" she sobbed, her hands trembling as she reached for him, but he didn't turn. He couldn't. His body moved on instinct now—shielding, dodging, striking back in desperation.

But there were too many.

His punches were slower. His footing was unstable. Blood poured from wounds too deep to ignore. He was dying.

And Marinette couldn't watch anymore.

With a raw scream, she grabbed the first thing her fingers found—a broken wooden crate near a shop's entrance—and swung it with all her strength. The splintered edge slammed into a goon's side, making him stagger. Then, she lunged, grabbing another by the collar and throwing all her weight into knocking him off balance.

She didn't care anymore.

She didn't care if she got hurt.

She didn't care if she died.

Because she wasn't letting them take him.

Not him.

Her Gurvi.

Marinette hit the ground hard, pain shooting through her back as the goons shoved her away like she was nothing. She gasped, trying to push herself up, but they didn't even see her as a threat.

She was Ladybug.

She had fought Akumas stronger than this. She had faced villains that could level cities. She had always been the one to save the day.

But now—without Tikki, without her powers—she felt it.

The weight of helplessness.

The powerlessness of being just Marinette.

And yet, Gurvi—broken, bleeding, exhausted—was still standing in front of her. Still fighting. Still protecting. Still taking every hit meant for her without hesitation.

A boy abandoned by the system.

A boy left to fend for himself.

A boy the world had beaten down again and again.

And he was still stronger than anyone she had ever known.

Tears burned her eyes as she clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The world was cruel. The system was cruel. And the only person who had ever truly been there for her was being cut down in front of her.

"Somebody help!" she screamed, her voice raw, desperate.

But no one came.

No heroes. No miraculous cure.

Just Gurvi, bleeding, bruised, and fighting.

A heavy thud echoed through the street.

The goons flinched, their heads snapping toward the sound.

From above, a dark silhouette had landed, crouched low like a predator ready to strike.

Chat Noir.

His emerald eyes burned with fury as he took in the scene—Marinette on the ground, Gurvi barely standing, bloodied, shielding her even in his last moments. His claws flexed, his tail flicked once.

And then he moved.

Fast.

Before the goons could even react, he lunged. A sickening crack rang out as his baton slammed into the first attacker's face, sending him flying into the others. Without hesitation, he spun, his staff extending, sweeping through the air with brutal force.

The men screamed as they were thrown back, knives clattering onto the pavement.

Marinette gasped, her heart racing. For the first time since the fight started, hope flickered in her chest.

Chat Noir wasn't holding back.

And now?

Now, the real battle had begun.

The street was littered with groaning bodies, the goons sprawled out, defeated. Chat Noir stood over them, breathing heavily, his baton still clenched in his fist. But Marinette didn't care about them.

Her eyes were locked onto Gurvi.

He was on the ground, his body barely moving, blood soaking through his suit, staining the pavement beneath him. His turban had loosened slightly, a few strands of his long hair slipping free, sticking to his sweat-drenched face. His breaths were shallow, labored.

With a choked sob, Marinette threw herself onto him, her arms wrapping around his battered body.

"Why?!" she screamed, her voice raw with pain. "Why are you always so reckless?! Why didn't you run?! Why do you always do this?!"

Her hands gripped his face, her fingers trembling as she brushed away the blood smeared across his cheek. "You could have escaped! You could have—" Her voice broke as fresh tears spilled down her face.

Gurvi, through his pain, forced a weak, lopsided smile. "And… leave you behind?" He coughed, his body twitching in pain. "Not… a chance."

Marinette's grip on him tightened. She buried her face into his chest, sobbing against his torn, bloodied shirt. "You idiot," she whispered. "You absolute idiot."

Chat Noir knelt beside them, his face grim. "We need to get him out of here. Fast."

Marinette lifted her tear-streaked face, nodding desperately. But she didn't let go of Gurvi. She refused to.

Because after everything, after all the battles he fought, after all the pain he endured—

This time, she wouldn't let him go.

Chat Noir's heart pounded as he looked down at Gurvi. His wounds were too deep, and the amount of blood pooling beneath him was terrifying.

"Stay with me, man," Chat muttered, pressing a hand against one of the larger wounds, trying to slow the bleeding. But Gurvi barely reacted. His breathing was shallow, his skin growing cold.

Marinette clutched his hand tightly, her entire body trembling. "No, no, no, you're not leaving me," she sobbed. "Gurvi, look at me!"

But his eyes were barely open now.

Chat's gaze shot up to the sky, his heart screaming for a miracle. Where was Ladybug?

"Come on," he whispered, his grip tightening on his baton. He was hoping—praying—that any second now, that familiar red glow would appear. That Ladybug would come. That the Miraculous Cure would wipe all of this away.

But the sky was empty.

No yo-yo. No red streak. No Ladybug.

And the longer the seconds stretched, the colder Gurvi's body became.

Chat Noir barely whispered, "Where are you, Ladybug?"

The words struck Marinette like a bolt of lightning.

It hit her.

She was Ladybug.

She had always been Ladybug. The one who saved everyone. The one who protected Paris. The one who was supposed to be there when people needed her.

But right now, she wasn't.

Right now, Gurvi was dying in her arms.

And for what? Because she was afraid of revealing herself? Because she was scared of what came after? Because she always asked herself: Gurvi or her dreams? Gurvi or her future?

She looked down at him—his body, broken, bleeding, yet still shielding her even in his last moments.

It wasn't a question anymore.

It had never been.

She chose Gurvi.

"Tikki—" her voice cracked, her hands tightening around his. She could feel him slipping away, and she couldn't let that happen.

She wouldn't.

Her heart pounded as she screamed, louder than she ever had before—

"SPOTS ON!"

As soon as the light of the transformation faded, Marinette—Ladybug—wasted no time.

"Miraculous Ladybug!" she cried, releasing the cure.

The energy spread through the air, bringing back what was lost. The destruction, the blood, the chaos—it all reversed. The goons who weren't already unconscious were wiped away by the magic, leaving nothing but the cold street and the aftermath of the fight.

And then—

Gurvi gasped.

His body jolted as the pain lessened, his deeper wounds sealing. But not everything disappeared. His shirt remained torn, soaked in dried and fresh blood, and new scars now decorated his body, proof of what had just happened.

He was alive.

Breathing.

Still in her arms.

Marinette looked down at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her hands trembling as she clutched his torn clothing.

And then—she punched him. Not hard, but enough for him to feel it.

"Idiot." Her voice wavered, but her anger was clear. "Absolute idiot!"

Gurvi blinked up at her, dazed. "...Huh?"

"You should've run!" she snapped, shaking him slightly. "You should've run! You should've let me take the hits! You—you—IDIOT!"

Her voice cracked, and she choked back a sob.

Chat Noir stood nearby, still frozen in complete shock. His wide green eyes darted between her and Gurvi, his brain struggling to process what had just happened.

Ladybug.

Marinette.

She just transformed—right in front of them.

As the glow of her transformation faded, Marinette collapsed to her knees, her breaths heavy and uneven. She had just thrown away her secret identity—without a second thought.

But she didn't care.

All that mattered was that Gurvi was alive.

Gurvi, still sore and weak despite the miraculous cure, slowly pushed himself up. His muscles ached, his head spun, but he was breathing. He wiped at his face, exhaling shakily before looking at Marinette.

"...You're Ladybug," he finally said, his voice low.

Marinette swallowed, then nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I am," she admitted.

He didn't say anything for a moment. His fingers curled, as if trying to grip onto reality. Then, despite everything—the pain, the near-death experience—he smiled.

"That explains why you're always bossing me around," he teased, his voice hoarse but filled with warmth.

Marinette let out a watery chuckle, hitting his chest lightly. "Shut up."

Chat Noir watched them, still in disbelief, before finally sighing. "I have so many questions," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

But there was no time for that.

Gurvi staggered as he tried to take a step forward, his legs still weak from blood loss. Marinette immediately grabbed his arm, steadying him. "Careful," she murmured.

He nodded.

And then—without looking back—they moved forward.

Toward the court.

Toward the battle that had yet to come.