The isolation was suffocating.
Noir had been confined to his quarters for three days—ostensibly to "recover from the manifestation," but it felt more like imprisonment. The crimson fabric remained wrapped around his wrist, its silver threads pulsing steadily, a constant reminder of power he couldn't control.
He'd spent most of the time sitting on his bed, staring at nothing, trying to piece together what had happened in that training chamber. The explosion of red light. Shin Jin's blood dripping from his nose. Mr. Ace's bandaged hands weaving threads of counter-force. The way the fabric had grounded him, pulled him back from the consuming darkness.
It should have felt like a rescue.
Instead, it felt like being caged.
Piers had tried to visit, but guards turned him away each time. Soo Ah had left messages, playful and then increasingly concerned. But Noir had told no one he was awake, conscious, desperate for something to do besides think.
By the third day, he was going mad.
When the knock came at his door—sharp, official—Noir almost didn't respond. But something in the rhythm of it suggested importance.
He opened the door to find Shin Jin, his amber eyes carrying a weight that suggested he'd been sleeping as poorly as Noir had.
"You're cleared for duty," Shin Jin said without preamble. "Get dressed. We have a briefing in twenty minutes."
Noir blinked. "What? I thought—"
"You're recovered enough. Come on."
The tone left no room for argument, but there was something else beneath it. Something that might have been relief. Or maybe guilt.
...
Shin Jin's private quarters were exactly as Noir remembered: sparse, elegant, the painting of the solitary figure on the precipice still hanging on the wall. Piers and Soo Ah were already waiting.
Soo Ah was on her feet instantly, her playful demeanor firmly in place but her eyes betraying real concern.
"Look who finally decided to rejoin the land of the living," she said. "Bad phrasing. You know what I mean."
Piers glanced up from documents spread across the table, noting Noir's condition with his usual careful precision, then returned to the papers. But there was acknowledgment in that glance—I see you're okay.
"Your first real field assignment," Shin Jin began, moving to stand before them. He gestured to a map of the industrial district. "Ripper activity detected here. Multiple sightings, escalating coordination. Document. Assess. Return before sunset."
Soo Ah's playfulness vanished. "How bad?"
"Low to moderate individually. But they're gathering. That's the concern."
Piers looked up. "Scheduled for demolition?"
"Next month. The area's already evacuated. You'll have operational freedom."
Noir found his voice. "How long?"
"Eight to ten hours."
Shin Jin moved to a series of locked cabinets and withdrew two sealed packages.
"You've earned your official combat suits," he said, and there was genuine pride in his voice.
Piers and Noir briefly exchanged knowing glances, and Soo Ah—already clad in her own lilac combat suit rolled her eyes playfully at them.
"This is so nostalgic. Reminds me of my first time here with Shin Jin, except I was alone."
Piers' package contained a dark green suit, forest-colored with silver threading along the seams. Minimal, elegant, designed for pure movement.
"No weapon," Shin Jin explained. "Your temperature manipulation is your tool."
Then, he turned to Noir and opened the second heavier package. Inside was a crimson leather combat suit—deep red, almost blood-colored. Beneath it lay brass knuckles, heavy and cruel, designed for close-quarters combat with reinforced striking surfaces that gleamed in the light.
But what caught Noir's breath was the crimson scarf folded at the bottom. It was the same deep red as his suit, with faint silver threading that matched the fabric around his wrist—his mother's blessing, woven into combat gear.
And Noir recognized it instantly.
This was the scarf. The one he'd picked out in Yuusha's office when selecting his blessed artifact. His weapon. This was what he'd chosen when he decided to walk the Crimson Seer's cursed path.
"Since you can't access your spiritual energy conventionally," Shin Jin said, and there was understanding in his tone, not pity, "we're outfitting you for what you can do. Your strength. Your instincts."
He gestured to the scarf. "Wear that around your neck during combat. It's blessed. It'll anchor your power."
"You'll be our heavy hitter when things get physical," Shin Jin continued. "No apologies."
...
The changing chambers were small and private. Noir stripped off his standard training clothes and pulled on the crimson leather suit.
The crimson leather suit clung to him like a second skin, emphasizing the lean muscle he'd developed through training. The brass knuckles caught the light, heavy and menacing on his hands. The crimson scarf draped loosely around his neck, the silver threads catching the reflection.
When he turned to the mirror, Noir stopped.
He didn't recognize the person staring back at him.
Brown hair fell past his ears, dark and shadowed. And his eyes—green eyes, sharp and almost colorless in the mirror's light—stared back at him with an intensity that made him feel like a stranger to himself.
...
When they emerged fully dressed, the transformation was striking.
Piers in his dark green looked like calculated precision. And Noir in his crimson leather, scarf draped around his neck, brass knuckles on his hands, looked like something that had crawled out of violence itself.
Soo Ah whistled low. "You look good."
Piers nodded. "Functional design."
Shin Jin watched all three of them, and Noir caught something crossing his mentor's face—satisfaction mixed with deeper concern. Pride and fear intertwined.
Then Shin Jin reached into a drawer and withdrew four tickets.
Four tickets to tomorrow's cinema showing.
He held them up, and Noir could see the dates clearly—tomorrow evening. The newest action film that had been getting buzz among the younger seers at the cathedral.
"If you're successful," Shin Jin said, his tone shifting lighter, almost informal, "the three of you and I are going to the movies tomorrow night. My treat. Dinner beforehand, anywhere you want to go."
Soo Ah's eyes widened. "Wait. Really?"
"Really," Shin Jin confirmed, and there was genuine warmth in his smile. "You three have trained hard. But it has to be successful. In and out."
The sincerity in his voice felt real. Earned.
"Sweet. I never thought you had a warm side to you, Shin Jin," Noir heard himself say, much to his own surprise.
Shin Jin stared sharply at him—and a small chuckle escaped Piers, owing to the fact that he was amused because it wasn't funny at all.
...
The factory district was exactly what Noir had expected: crumbling brick, skeletal machinery, the remnants of progress abandoned. The spiritual wards on the perimeter were degraded, weak.
"Cheerful place," Soo Ah muttered, her eyes scanning the shadows between buildings.
Piers was more methodical, his blue eyes tracking the spiritual residue in the air. "The wards stopped being maintained about a week ago."
"That matches the timeline," Noir noted, falling into rhythm with them. It felt good to be moving, to have purpose. His brass knuckles caught the light as he moved.
As they descended deeper, the wrongness became apparent. The air felt thick, heavy. Light bent strangely. And underneath the rust and decay was a scent like copper and burnt offerings.
Soo Ah crouched beside deep claw marks gouged into concrete. "Fresh. Less than a day old."
"And large," Piers added, examining them. "Larger than typical ripper marks."
They found the bodies next.
In what had once been a warehouse, several victims lay partially consumed. Days old. The sight would have horrified most people, but the three of them had trained long enough to develop grim tolerance.
What was more disturbing was the arrangement.
The bodies weren't scattered randomly. They were positioned deliberately, arranged as if part of a larger design. And the spiritual marks weren't random scrawls—they were organized. Intentional.
"This is deliberate," Piers said quietly. "Someone arranged this."
Soo Ah's hand went to her weapon. "We should signal for backup."
But Noir was already moving deeper into the warehouse, drawn by something he couldn't articulate. The spiritual pressure was increasing. Something was waiting.
"Just a little further," he heard himself say. "Let's get to the center."
It was the first in a series of decisions that would lead directly to disaster.