Chapter 45: "The Villains Have Style, Unfortunately"
In which evil wears high heels, trench coats, and an alarming amount of lace.
While Ren was at home experimenting with transformation magic and learning to fire compressed air like a magical sniper, the forces of darkness were doing what forces of darkness apparently did best.
Brooding.
Dramatically.
In a mansion.
Of course.
Far across the city, tucked inside one of the wealthier districts where lawns were trimmed with military precision and nobody seemed to use their enormous garages, stood a mansion that technically still belonged to someone else. Its unfortunate owner was currently folding Nyxara Veyl's laundry downstairs while wondering why his mind was screaming run even as his mouth obediently said, "Yes, ma'am."
Mind-binding was one of Nyxara's favorite tricks.
Nyxara lounged in a crimson silk chair like she was posing for a villainous fashion catalogue. She possessed the kind of beauty that encouraged people to make terrible decisions and exactly the sort of personality that ensured they regretted those decisions afterward.
Her violet eyes flicked toward the crystal orb resting on the table. Inside it, Ren—still wearing Kaito's face—sat shirtless at home, eating noodles while reading a book on intermediate transformation formulas.
"Tch," she muttered. "He's not supposed to study. That's cheating."
Mirelle Sorn, her twin-tails bouncing as she shifted upside down on the sofa, huffed dramatically. "This is so unfair! He was supposed to be a gullible pervert we could manipulate without trouble. Now he's built like a fighter and apparently friends with a collection of Ki monsters?"
Kalira Voss said nothing. She simply turned another page of the book she had been reading for the past three hours without seeming to blink.
Something about silent resentment suited her.
Dorian Krell adjusted his gloves and spoke with all the emotional enthusiasm of someone reading tax regulations. "We should abandon the mission. The probability of success has decreased considerably, while the probability of serious bodily injury has increased."
Nyxara rolled her eyes.
"You all lack vision."
"Vision isn't going to stop one of those Ryūseikan monsters from kicking you through a wall," Mirelle replied.
Nyxara ignored her.
Technically, the four of them belonged to the Obsidian Wing, an organization of Fallen Celestials whose leadership was considerably less murderous than Nyxara herself. Their director, Vaelis, cared more about research, supernatural phenomena, and understanding Soul Armaments than randomly slaughtering humans.
Nyxara had apparently interpreted those priorities rather creatively.
In her ideal world, Soul Armament wielders weren't carefully studied or recruited.
They were captured.
Their abilities were extracted.
And anything sufficiently useful became hers.
Kaito Hoshino had originally seemed like an easy target—an inexperienced teenager carrying what appeared to be a relatively simple amplification-type Soul Armament.
Except the person currently inside Kaito's body was no longer behaving like the teenager they had researched.
He fought.
He studied.
He had developed spiritual energy.
He had connections to Ryūseikan.
And whatever Soul Armament he carried was beginning to look far more interesting than Nyxara had first believed.
Not ideal.
Dorian steepled his fingers. "We should choose a less protected subject."
Nyxara smiled.
"And waste this opportunity? Never. That boy's Soul Armament is more than we initially believed. I can feel it."
"You say that about everything you want to steal," Mirelle muttered.
"Shut up, Mirelle."
Kalira finally closed her book and approached the crystal orb, her brown eyes narrowing as she studied Ren's image.
"If we target him, we need an actual plan. Seduction won't work. He isn't stupid, and now he's dangerous."
Nyxara's smile sharpened.
"Then we adapt. If we can't fool him, we trap him. Once we have his Soul Armament, neither the Demons nor those martial artists will matter."
The others exchanged looks.
None of them appeared nearly as convinced as she was.
Back at what Mirelle had privately named the House of Passive-Aggressive Wings, the tension around the mansion had somehow grown even worse.
Nyxara stood at the head of the long dining table, which seemed to be used almost exclusively for plotting. Kalira leaned against the wall with the expression of a woman already regretting every decision that had brought her here. Dorian adjusted his gloves for what had to be the forty-seventh time, while Mirelle occasionally stabbed a tiny handmade doll resembling Kaito with a pencil.
It didn't accomplish anything.
Apparently, it helped emotionally.
"We need a clean strike," Nyxara said as she paced. "No Demons. No martial artists. No friends. Just him."
Dorian raised an eyebrow.
"You make that sound simple."
"It is simple," Nyxara replied. "Because we have something he won't ignore."
The crystal orb flashed.
A young girl appeared within it, kneeling quietly in prayer. She wore the simple white clothing of a church acolyte, with soft blonde hair framing a gentle face and green eyes that seemed almost painfully kind.
Her name was Elena Maris.
And she possessed something extraordinarily rare.
A healing Soul Armament.
An ability capable of repairing injuries that ordinary medicine could not.
Unfortunately for Elena, she had been discovered by Nyxara's group rather than by the Obsidian Wing proper.
Nyxara had no intention of protecting her.
She wanted the power.
For now, however, Elena was useful alive.
She was bait.
"He seems like the type who would help a frightened church girl," Nyxara said.
Kalira folded her arms. "The current Kaito hasn't behaved anything like the boy from our original reports."
"Doesn't matter. We don't need his personality. We need the Soul Armament."
Mirelle rolled her eyes. "I still say we just knock him unconscious."
Nyxara stared at her.
"Do I look like some cheap cartoon villain?"
"Yes."
"Shut up, Mirelle."
Nyxara turned back toward Elena's image.
"We send Elena to the park after school hours. She approaches him, tells him she needs help at the church, and makes sure he comes alone. No Demons. No friends. Once he enters the building, we close the trap."
Dorian finally looked interested.
"Suppression formations."
"Exactly. Sealing circles. Paralysis magic if necessary. Once he can't fight back, we extract the Soul Armament. If it really is only an unusually powerful amplification type, fine. If it's something greater…"
Nyxara smiled.
"…then we keep it."
For the first time, the plan sounded almost reasonable.
Which somehow made it more worrying.
Morning came with birds chirping, sunlight creeping over the rooftops, and me performing completely unnecessary backflips because I could.
That's just how morning cardio works when gravity has become more of a suggestion.
After finishing my run, I landed outside Red Dawn headquarters and walked inside, sweaty but satisfied.
I barely made it through the entrance before Shōgo gave me a thumbs-up.
He was wearing one of our new black jackets, trimmed in deep red with the Red Dawn emblem—a rising red sun behind a dark city skyline—across the back.
"You look like some kind of wandering street warrior," he said.
I looked him over.
"You look like security at the world's most suspicious nightclub."
Shōgo grinned.
"I'm proud of us."
Inside, the headquarters looked as though Hermes had purchased half a professional equipment catalogue and decided moderation was for poor people.
Kazuki Saejima, better known to the delinquent world as Hermes, stood beside several large boxes with a clipboard in one hand and sunglasses on indoors because apparently wealth eventually destroyed shame.
"I present," he announced, spreading his arms, "the upgraded Red Dawn."
I stared.
Protective mesh shirts.
Ballistic vests.
Reinforced boots.
Expandable batons.
Training daggers.
Throwing blades.
Smoke capsules.
Filtering masks.
Compact communication equipment.
And, parked outside, several black motorcycles accented with dark red detailing.
"Oh."
I slowly smiled.
"It's beautiful."
Hermes looked insufferably pleased with himself.
"You wanted equipment. I supplied equipment. Protective, functional, and—most importantly—properly branded. The jackets contain location beacons and built-in communications. Waterproof, reinforced aramid weave."
I picked up one of the batons.
"You even remembered these."
"Of course."
I held it with the sort of respect most people reserved for priceless antiques.
Hermes sighed.
"You concern me sometimes."
The rest of Red Dawn gathered around the equipment. Reina tested the balance of one of the training daggers. Ryōhei examined the reinforced boots. Tōma and Kenta were already arguing over which jacket looked better on them, while Hana somehow managed to put her protective helmet on backward.
Classic.
I stood in front of everyone with my arms crossed.
"All right. This stuff looks great, but none of it matters if you don't know how to use it."
The joking settled.
"Ryūseikan has been teaching us how much difference proper training makes. Equipment is the same. It's a tool, not a replacement for skill."
Everyone nodded.
Some eagerly.
Some considerably less eagerly.
"This isn't dress-up," I continued. "Red Dawn isn't going to stay a street gang forever. Eventually, we turn this into something legitimate. Security work. Protection. Bodyguards. Maybe specialized jobs once we understand more about the supernatural world."
Hermes raised one hand.
"I'm already working on the business structure."
Haruki blinked. "You already started?"
Hermes looked offended.
"Obviously."
Shōgo patted Haruki on the shoulder.
"You're still learning how Hermes works."
"I'm afraid I am."
I pointed toward the training area.
"Starting today, you learn how to move with the equipment, how to use it properly, and how not to accidentally injure each other."
Hana raised her hand.
"What happens if somebody deserves it?"
I stared at her.
"Hana."
"Kidding."
Haruki looked at his sister.
She smiled innocently.
I decided not to investigate.
Outside the headquarters, a row of practice targets had been arranged across the training yard, each with a large red circle painted across the center.
I stood at the front with a throwing blade balanced between my fingers.
"All right! First lesson: throwing weapons. Most important rule—do not throw them at your teammates."
Kenta raised an eyebrow.
"That needed to be said?"
I looked at Shōgo.
Shōgo looked at Reina.
Reina looked at Hermes.
Hermes slowly lowered the training blade he had been inspecting.
"Yes."
Haruki and Hana stepped forward.
"These two have already trained with me before, and Hana has also been working with Tsukiko at Ryūseikan. They'll help with the basics."
Haruki looked nervous.
Hana immediately stood straighter.
"Assistant teacher."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late."
We split everyone into pairs.
Reina picked it up quickly, which wasn't surprising considering her coordination. Shōgo's throws hit with considerably more power than necessary. Hermes approached each attempt like he was solving an equation, adjusting angle and force after every throw.
He hit the center repeatedly.
Of course he did.
"Stop trying to murder the target," I told Shōgo.
"It's a target."
"Control first."
"I am controlling it."
"You almost knocked it over."
"That means it knows who's in charge."
I sighed.
Kenta attempted to spin his throwing blade before releasing it.
It flew sideways and struck a tree.
He stared at it.
"That tree was suspicious."
"Again."
Despite the mistakes, nobody became frustrated.
People laughed.
Compared techniques.
Cheered when somebody finally landed a clean throw.
Nobody mocked the people who struggled.
Their aggression wasn't being suppressed anymore.
It was being refined.
And that mattered.
Next came smoke capsules.
I held one up.
"This is useful for breaking sight, retreating, repositioning, or making an entrance significantly more dramatic than necessary."
Hermes nodded.
"The last part is clearly the most important."
"Obviously."
I triggered the capsule and vanished into the smoke. By the time it cleared, I was crouched on a nearby wall.
Several people stared.
"Rule one," I said, "always know where you're moving before you blind everyone."
Hermes opened another case.
"I also prepared training flash devices and noise makers."
Everyone looked at him.
Reina narrowed her eyes.
"What kind of childhood did you have?"
"Expensive."
That answered surprisingly little.
Soon the yard filled with smoke, shouting, and the occasional sound of someone colliding with something they hadn't realized was there.
Haruki coughed his way through helping with movement drills. Shōgo ambushed Kenta through a smoke cloud. Ryōhei attempted a rolling transition and collided with Tōma, sending both of them tumbling across the ground.
I moved through the chaos, correcting grips and positioning wherever I saw problems.
"Adapt!" I shouted. "Your opponent isn't going to wait until you're comfortable!"
Slowly, the equipment stopped being new toys.
They started understanding it.
Weight.
Timing.
Distance.
Movement.
The beginnings of instinct.
Red Dawn wasn't merely a group of delinquents anymore.
Little by little, they were learning to function together.
And I couldn't stop smiling.
By 11:07 that morning, the headquarters had settled into the peaceful silence that only happened after everybody had exhausted themselves enough to stop arguing.
Training had gone surprisingly well. Nobody had suffered a serious injury, although Kenta's pride had taken significant damage when Hana consistently out-threw him.
Everyone had collapsed around the main room with drinks and snacks.
I had somehow ended up balancing an entire bag of shrimp chips on my head while arguing with Shōgo.
"I'm just saying, a baton gives you reach and defensive options."
"A throwing blade is faster."
"You cannot compare them like that."
"Why not?"
"Because they do different things!"
Reina rolled her eyes.
"Why don't you two just test it?"
I stared at the snacks between us.
"Because we could damage the food."
Shōgo immediately nodded.
"Good point."
Reina looked deeply disappointed in both of us.
Then the perimeter alarms activated.
Everyone went silent.
Hermes slowly lowered his drink.
"Either we have an unusually determined cat…"
A sound came from outside.
"…or somebody is here."
We moved.
Dozens of figures surrounded the old construction site.
On one side stood members of Athena's Amazons, identifiable by their coordinated armor-style uniforms, shields, batons, and polearms.
On the other were the enormous fighters from Hephaestus's Combat Sumo.
But neither group wore their old symbols anymore.
Every one of them now carried the emblem of Olympus.
I stood.
Brushed crumbs from my trousers.
"Well."
Shōgo cracked his neck.
"Snack time?"
"Over."
The front ranks parted.
And there he was.
White suit.
Light-gold cravat.
Silver glasses.
Perfectly calm expression.
Reiji Takamura.
Zeus.
Haruki immediately stiffened.
Reiji stepped forward, smiling pleasantly.
"Kaito Hoshino," he said. "Leader of the last independent group standing in my way."
I gave him a lazy salute.
"I prefer Founder and Executive Snack Manager, but sure."
Reiji ignored that.
"You've done surprisingly well. Discipline. Equipment. Coordination. I even hear your people are receiving training at Ryūseikan."
Several of the people behind him reacted to that.
I folded my arms.
"You've been doing your homework."
"I always do."
His smile widened slightly.
"That is why I won't waste your time. Join Olympus."
Nobody spoke.
"You, Reina Tachibana, Kazuki Saejima, and Shōgo Kitsukawa will hold senior positions. The rest can remain beneath you. I offered similar terms to Athena and Hephaestus."
He glanced toward the people standing behind him.
"They refused."
His smile didn't change.
"I corrected that."
Shōgo cracked his knuckles.
"You trying to scare us?"
"Only if it works."
Reina stepped forward.
"We're not joining you."
Hermes sighed.
"We also have superior branding."
I looked between them.
Then placed one hand over my chest.
"Wow."
Everyone looked at me.
"I'm feeling strangely emotional. My team believes in me."
Shōgo frowned.
"Ren—"
I coughed loudly.
He caught himself before saying anything else.
Reiji didn't seem to notice.
I smiled.
"Even if this guy could currently fold me like laundry."
Shōgo stared.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing."
I pointed toward Reiji.
"Let's punch him."
Reiji chuckled softly.
"I expected that answer. I even made a bet with one of my people."
Then his attention shifted away from me.
His eyes found Haruki.
The humor disappeared.
"You."
Haruki stiffened.
"Haruki Fujimoto."
Everyone turned toward him.
Reiji's gaze sharpened behind his glasses.
"I hope you haven't forgotten our promise."
Haruki swallowed.
He looked nervous.
But unlike the night before, he didn't look away.
He had spent all night wondering whether he would run again.
Now the answer was standing directly in front of him.