Six months later
Steel clanged against steel in the dim light of the abandoned warehouse. The rhythmic sound echoed through the empty space, accompanied only by controlled, measured breathing. Hiro moved with precision, his katana—the Shadow Wolf—leaving silver trails in the air as he executed the same movement for what must have been the thousandth time.
His body had changed over the past six months. Gone was the slender boy who had first discovered his family's legacy. In his place stood a young man with hardened muscles and a disciplined stance. His once soft features had sharpened, his eyes had gained a steely focus, and his movements carried an economy of motion that spoke of relentless practice.
The warehouse itself had transformed as well. Heavy chains and padlocks secured the entrances, windows were covered with thick cloth to prevent prying eyes, and the interior had been converted into a spartan training ground. In one corner stood a crude but effective rack of weights fashioned from concrete and metal. A sturdy wooden beam had been installed near the ceiling, from which hung a bar for pull-ups and various training exercises. Along one wall, straw training dummies bore countless cuts and slashes, silent witnesses to Hiro's growing prowess.
"Your form has improved," Orochi's voice commented as Hiro completed another perfect execution of Ikkitōsen. The dragon's tone carried reluctant approval. "You've at least mastered the basic movement."
Hiro didn't respond immediately. Instead, he resheathed the Shadow Wolf and moved to a water bottle sitting atop a makeshift table. The past six months had been a blur of training, minimal school attendance, and more training. He had poured every allocation he received into securing this place and equipping it, living on the bare minimum to funnel resources into his preparation.
"It's still not enough," he finally said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Ikkitōsen is almost second nature now, but Kiba no Shippū still lacks the proper flow. And as for the other techniques..."
"Patience," Orochi surprisingly counseled. "Even I must admit that mastering all ten techniques of the Kuro Okami-Ryū in mere months would be impossible for a human. Your progress is... acceptable."
Coming from the ancient dragon, this was high praise indeed. Hiro moved to the center of the room again, drawing the Shadow Wolf in a smooth motion. He had spent countless hours perfecting the draw alone, understanding that in a real fight, those first milliseconds could mean the difference between victory and death.
"Let's continue with Kiba no Shippū," he said, falling into the starting stance.
The technique—Gust of Fangs—was a series of rapid strikes targeting vital points, requiring split-second transitions and precision that still sometimes eluded him. He began the sequence, his blade moving in controlled arcs, each cut flowing into the next like water.
"Your wrist is still too rigid on the third transition," Orochi observed. "You're thinking too much. The blade should be an extension of your arm, your arm an extension of your will."
Hiro adjusted, loosening his grip slightly. The next sequence flowed more naturally, the blade whistling as it cut through the air.
After another hour of practice with the Shadow Wolf, Hiro moved to the second phase of his training. He stood in the center of the room, closed his eyes, and focused on the tattoo that covered his back and arms. He concentrated on Raijin, the Stormfang, feeling the energy flow through his right arm.
With a flash of blue light and a crackle of electricity, the katana materialized in his hand—its electric blue blade humming with power. Six months ago, he could barely maintain the manifestation for five minutes. Now, with dedicated practice, he could hold it for nearly twenty minutes before exhaustion set in.
"Begin," Orochi commanded.
Hiro launched into a series of exercises designed to acclimate his body to channeling Raijin's power. Unlike the Shadow Wolf, Raijin was not just a physical weapon but a conduit for supernatural energy. Learning to manage that energy while maintaining combat effectiveness had been one of the most challenging aspects of his training.
By the time he finished, night had fallen over Kuoh. Hiro allowed Raijin to dissipate and collected his things. He had one more stop before returning to his apartment—a late-night run through the city's outskirts to build endurance and practice moving undetected through urban environments.
As he left the warehouse, carefully securing it behind him, he reflected on how much had changed in six months. And how much remained the same.
Kuoh Academy had changed significantly over the past months. New students, new tensions, new supernatural incidents that the common student body remained blissfully unaware of. Hiro observed it all from a distance, a shadow at the periphery of school life.
He attended just enough classes to maintain his enrollment, strategically selecting which to attend and which to skip. His teachers had long given up on trying to discipline him. His grades, surprisingly, remained decent—he completed assignments efficiently and performed well on tests despite his absences. It was as if the academic aspects of school were a minor inconvenience, something to be dispatched with minimal effort so he could focus on what truly mattered.
In the classroom, he sat at the back, silent and watchful. Few students attempted to interact with him anymore. Those who had tried in the earlier months had been met with polite but firm disinterest until they eventually stopped trying.
As he walked down the corridor toward his next class, he sensed a familiar presence approaching. Without breaking stride, he took a detour through a less-traveled hallway, avoiding the encounter. He had no interest in another awkward interaction with Issei Hyoudou, who had periodically attempted to engage him in conversation over the months, no doubt following Rias Gremory's orders.
Through careful observation, Hiro had pieced together much of what had transpired in Kuoh's supernatural community during his self-imposed isolation. The business with Raiser Phenex, the incident with Asia Argento, the conflict with Kokabiel—he had watched it all unfold from the shadows, gathering information while revealing nothing of himself.
He knew that both Rias and Sona still monitored him, but their attention had waned as more pressing threats demanded their focus. His strategy of extreme caution had paid off—they seemed to have categorized him as a low-priority anomaly. Still strange, still potentially possessing a Sacred Gear, but not an immediate concern.
Just as he preferred it.
As he entered the classroom, he noticed Issei and his friends huddled together, talking excitedly about something. From fragments of their conversation, he gathered it had something to do with the upcoming school festival. Such normal, trivial concerns seemed almost foreign to Hiro now.
He took his seat and opened his textbook, maintaining the appearance of a disinterested student while his mind continued to catalog details and plan the evening's training session.
That night, Hiro decided to take his training to the wooded area on the outskirts of town. Urban training was valuable, but the forest offered different challenges—uneven terrain, natural obstacles, and the opportunity to practice moving silently through foliage.
The moon hung high in the sky, providing just enough light to navigate. Hiro moved through the trees with practiced ease, the Shadow Wolf secured at his side. He had dressed in dark clothing, practical for training and for remaining unseen.
"You sense it, don't you?" Orochi's voice suddenly manifested in his mind.
Hiro stopped, his body instantly alert. Yes, he had sensed something—a subtle wrongness in the atmosphere, a disturbance in the natural flow of the forest.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
"A stray devil," Orochi replied. "Weak, but hungry. It's drawn to this area... possibly attracted by my power."
Hiro frowned. He had been careful to suppress his supernatural signature, but Orochi's presence was harder to mask completely. It was inevitable that eventually, something would notice.
"How far?"
"Not far. Moving this way. It's hunting."
Hiro assessed his options. He could retreat, avoiding the confrontation. That would be the cautious choice. But a part of him—the part forged through six months of relentless training—wanted to test his skills against a real opponent, not just training dummies and imagined foes.
"I'll engage," he decided. "But only with the Shadow Wolf. No Raijin unless absolutely necessary."
"Hmm. Confident, are we?" Orochi sounded amused. "Very well. It will be an interesting test."
Hiro moved to higher ground, finding a position that gave him a good view of the surrounding area. He controlled his breathing, slowing his heart rate, becoming one with the forest's silence. And he waited.
It didn't take long. The stray devil moved into view—a grotesque creature that had once been human but had been corrupted by its own power and madness. Its form was twisted, with elongated limbs ending in vicious claws. It moved with an unnatural gait, sniffing the air occasionally.
Hiro observed it carefully, noting its movements, identifying potential weaknesses. Although misshapen, it still moved with a predator's caution. This wouldn't be easy.
He drew the Shadow Wolf silently, the blade reflecting moonlight. Then, with a single, controlled breath, he launched into action.
Ikkitōsen—The Warrior Who Equals a Thousand—was a technique designed for a perfect first strike. Hiro executed it flawlessly, his body moving from concealment to attack in a single, fluid motion that seemed to compress time itself.
The stray devil sensed him at the last possible moment, whirling with surprising speed. But it was too late. The Shadow Wolf sliced through its shoulder, drawing first blood.
The creature howled in pain and rage, its claws swiping wildly where Hiro had been—but he had already moved, utilizing the footwork drilled into him through months of practice.
"Not bad," Orochi commented. "But you didn't finish it. Now things get interesting."
The stray devil located Hiro and charged, its movements faster than a normal human could track. But Hiro was no longer a normal human. His reflexes, honed through thousands of repetitions, allowed him to evade the assault, the creature's claws missing him by inches.
He transitioned into Kiba no Shippū, launching a series of rapid strikes. The first two connected perfectly, slicing across the devil's chest and arm. But on the third strike—the transition point Orochi had criticized earlier—his wrist tensed slightly, breaking the flow. The blade didn't cut as deeply as intended, and the devil seized the opportunity to counterattack.
Pain exploded across Hiro's side as a claw caught him, tearing through his clothing and grazing his ribs. He disengaged, putting distance between himself and the creature.
"Your technique faltered," Orochi observed dispassionately. "As I warned you it would."
Hiro ignored the dragon's commentary, focusing instead on the opponent before him. Blood trickled down his side, but the wound wasn't deep. The stray devil, however, was wounded more severely, dark ichor flowing from multiple cuts.
It charged again, but this time Hiro was prepared. As the creature lunged, he executed a perfect counter-movement, stepping into its blind spot. The Shadow Wolf flashed once, twice, three times—each cut precisely placed to sever tendons and hamstring the creature.
The devil collapsed, howling in rage and pain. Hiro stood over it, the Shadow Wolf poised for the killing blow.
"What brought you to this area?" he demanded, his voice cold.
The creature snarled, its eyes filled with hatred. "Power... sensed power... rare power..."
"It sensed me," Orochi clarified. "Stray devils are drawn to powerful sources, hoping to devour them and gain strength."
Hiro nodded slightly. "Are there others like you nearby?"
The devil laughed, a horrible, gurgling sound. "Others come... always others... where there is power..."
Without hesitation, Hiro delivered the final blow, ending the creature's existence. As its body began to dissolve into ash—a common trait of devils upon death—he cleaned the Shadow Wolf's blade before resheathing it.
"You relied entirely on human techniques," Orochi noted. "Interesting choice."
"I needed to know if my training was sufficient," Hiro replied, examining the wound on his side. It was minor—it would need cleaning, but nothing more. "If I can't handle a weak stray devil with just the Kuro Okami-Ryū, then I'm nowhere near ready for what comes next."
"And your assessment?"
Hiro considered this as he began the journey back toward the city. "I need to perfect the transition in Kiba no Shippū. And I should start learning the third technique, Shizukesa no Mai."
"The Dance of Silence," Orochi mused. "Yes, that would serve you well in future encounters. Your movement is still too... perceptible."
As Hiro walked through the darkened forest, he reflected on the encounter. The stray devil had been a minor threat, but it had provided valuable experience. He now understood the difference between training and actual combat—the adrenaline, the split-second decisions, the consequences of even minor technical flaws.
Most importantly, he had confirmed that his human capabilities, enhanced by rigorous training and the techniques of the Kuro Okami-Ryū, were enough to handle certain supernatural threats. He wouldn't always need to rely on Raijin or Orochi's power.
It was a small victory, but a significant one.
Unknown to Hiro, a figure had observed the encounter from a distance. As the young man disappeared into the darkness, the observer remained still, contemplating what they had witnessed.
"Interesting," they murmured. "Very interesting indeed."
Back in his spartan apartment, Hiro cleaned and bandaged his wound before sitting cross-legged on the floor, the Shadow Wolf laid out before him, and the manual of the Kuro Okami-Ryū open to the section on Shizukesa no Mai.
"The Dance of Silence," he read aloud. "A technique of movement rather than attack. To move without being perceived, to strike from where the enemy believes you cannot be."
"It is one of the most difficult techniques to master," Orochi commented. "Not because of its physical demands, but because it requires a specific state of mind. You must become not just silent, but silence itself."
Hiro studied the diagrams and instructions carefully. Unlike the first two techniques, which were primarily about attack, this one focused on movement—specifically, moving in ways that confounded an opponent's ability to track or predict.
"I'll begin practicing tomorrow," he decided, closing the manual.
"The stray devil mentioned others," Orochi reminded him. "If one found you, more will come eventually."
"Let them come," Hiro replied, his voice steady. "I'll be ready."
He ran his fingers along the hilt of the Shadow Wolf, feeling the weight of his family's legacy. Six months of training had transformed him from a bitter, lost young man into something more focused, more dangerous. But it was just the beginning.
Somewhere out there were the Fallen Angels who had murdered his family. Eventually, he would find them. And when he did, he would be strong enough to exact his revenge.
As he prepared for sleep, Hiro reflected on how completely his life had changed since that day six months ago when he had rediscovered his heritage. He had embraced isolation, disappearing into the background of Kuoh Academy, becoming a ghost that few noticed and fewer still thought about.
It was a lonely existence, but a necessary one. At least for now.
"You still hesitate to fully embrace your destiny," Orochi observed as Hiro lay down. "Still clinging to humanity even as you prepare for war with beings beyond human understanding."
"I embrace what is useful," Hiro countered. "Human techniques, dragon power—they're both tools. Weapons to be mastered."
"And what of allies?" the dragon asked, unusually contemplative. "The Red Dragon Emperor and his faction have faced challenges these past months that would have overwhelmed them individually. Yet they prevailed through combined strength."
Hiro considered this. He had observed Issei and the others from afar, witnessed how they supported each other, fought for each other. But he had also seen how their connections made them vulnerable.
"I work alone," he said finally. "Allies bring complications, divided loyalties, weaknesses that enemies can exploit."
"Perhaps," Orochi conceded. "Or perhaps they bring strengths you cannot achieve alone. Even I, with all my power, was eventually sealed by those working in concert."
It was an unusual admission from the prideful dragon. Hiro didn't respond, letting the silence stretch between them as sleep slowly claimed him.
Tomorrow would bring more training, more preparation. And whether he walked this path alone or eventually found allies worthy of trust, one thing remained certain—he would not stop until justice had been served for his family.
The Shadow Wolf and the Blade of Divine Lightning. Human skill and dragon power. Two paths, converging toward a single purpose.
Vengeance.