Night fell.
"Giggle~ Ichiha-chan~"
"Alright, alright, don't get too excited. You have school tomorrow."
After calming down her overexcited sister and pulling her into an embrace, the two beautiful girls in their pajamas drifted off to sleep on the luxurious oversized bed.
Hmm.
Finally settled down.
On the nightstand, the catfish that resembled a doll closed its eyes.
Though planning to utilize Tengei Akira, Souta Kiryuu had no intention of scamming his friend: aside from granting her this world's most precious healing ninjutsu, he'd deliberately staged this entire performance to leave this government-designated "Earthquake Catfish" doppelganger by her side as a bodyguard.
He'd even taken a slight risk by using a "bet" to get Mrs. Nagisa to accept Tengei Akira. This should be sufficient.
After programming this doppelganger with the directive to "obey Tengei Akira," Souta Kiryuu withdrew his attention from it.
?
The moment his consciousness returned to his main body, he felt a sudden pressure around his neck.
Tilting his head, he saw the exquisite face of Kiryuu Sora. In sleep, the normally "spoiled and willful" girl appeared fragile and vulnerable.
Stop using my neck as your armrest, damn it!
Rolling his eyes, he moved the girl's arm away.
While many might find sleeping while embracing someone romantic—
Having limbs pressing on you all night would require a masseuse by morning.
Yet the moment he removed it, the girl entangled herself around him again, this time with both arms and legs.
This...
Whatever.
With chakra protecting his body, there was no risk of restricted blood flow anyway.
Closing his eyes, Souta Kiryuu resumed:
Training.
There was no helping it—his cheat ability was "gaining proficiency through combat usage of ninjutsu." The flip side was that outside of battle, proficiency gains were minimal.
This explained why his most frequently used "Genjutsu" remained unleveled, while his Earth Release had already broken through to C-rank after a single major battle.
To advance his other techniques, he needed to crank up the intensity.
Fine by him. Nothing matched the thrill of human conflict.
———
Chūō Ward.
True to its name, this ward sat at the very center of Tokyo's 23 wards.
Together with Minato and Chiyoda wards, it formed the heart of Japan.
This was the nation's economic, informational, and commercial core—home to the Bank of Japan, Tokyo Stock Exchange, and other financial giants. The legendary Ginza district served as its glittering landmark, where stocks, dividends, champagne, supercars, Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, and the mesmerizing cleavage of... no, the high-class socialites flowed endlessly.
Unlike Shinjuku's Kabukichō with its carnal decadence and overt debauchery,
Ginza's "socialites" prized elegance, erudition, and sophistication—like premium luxury goods reserved as playthings for the elite.
Beyond this neon-lit den of materialism lay massive docks built on reclaimed land: countless gantry cranes loading shipping containers, funneling global merchandise into party decorations, wrist adornments, and reverberating strings of digital wealth.
As residents of neighboring Minato Ward would say: "Beyond Minato, Chūō, and Chiyoda, all of Tokyo might as well be countryside!"
Bunkyō Ward?
Schools belong in the "boonies."
Shinjuku? Shibuya?
Just playgrounds for commoners pretending at luxury—hardly worth notice.
Yet all this splendor rested upon the ceaseless operation of Tokyo Bay's docks.
Countless Chūō Ward "salarymen" took nightly ferries back to homes in Kōtō Ward—these dockworkers could never afford central Tokyo's astronomical rents.
At the bustling Harumi Wharf, fishing boats came and went, their bountiful catches making a trenchcoated, bowler-hatted figure salivate uncontrollably.
"So many fish..."
"Yeah, yeah..."
"Could eat until I burst—"
Clad in a last-century-style trenchcoat and matching fedora like some Prohibition-era American hitman, the figure watched the endless stream of unloaded seafood with gluttonous yearning.
How long would this feast last?
Whoosh—
At that moment, an unnatural white mist began creeping across the docks.
The fog didn't just spread—it thickened explosively, blanketing hundreds of square meters within seconds. Workers unloading nearby fishing boats shouted in alarm.
"Fog this heavy today?"
"What kind of freak weather is this?"
As the laborers complained, the trenchcoated man whirled around.
"Wrong!"
"This scent..."
"Ambush! Enemies—argh!"
Ocean water erupted as twin liquid pillars scythed through the air, bisecting the unprepared man at waist and thigh before he could dodge, leaving three coat sections crumpled on the dock.
From within the mist emerged a figure holding an umbrella, rising from the water to examine the tattered remains.
"Drop the act."
"I know you're fine."
Swish! x2
On cue, two black shadows shot from the shredded coat.
Whoooosh—
A whistling wooden club descended with skull-crushing force, its wind pressure alone denting the sea surface as the umbrella wielder retreated.
Flash—
Silver glinted as a razor-edged blade entered umbrella-holder Kisumi Jun's pupils.
Clang!
The umbrella snapped forward to block,
Sparks flying as metal struck its surface.
Tap tap tap—
Using the recoil to skip backward across the waves, Kisumi steadied himself and assessed the two hovering, meter-tall figures.
They resembled weasels yet stood bipedal—one clutching a massive wooden club, the other a sickle.
This configuration was...
"Kamaitachi?"
The club-wielder bared teeth in a grin.
"Wrong. The Kamaitachi Brothers!"
"I'm Ichitarō,"
"Jirō here,"
The sickle-holder added with human-like smirk.
"Care to guess where our brother is?"
?!
BOOM—
Tremendous force erupted beneath Kisumi's feet. Though he leapt clear, his evasion looked decidedly graceless.
Worse—he'd landed back on the dock!
"Saburō here,"
A third weasel emerged from the water, empty-handed but with a ceramic jar hanging from a straw rope belt.
"Human, we've smelled your stench for ages!"
"Chitter chitter, trying to ambush us Kamaitachi Brothers?"
"Dream on!"
The three weasels—no, "kamaitachi"—floated forward to triangulate Kisumi.
Three opponents. Problematic.
Facing three supernatural beings, Kisumi frowned.
"Wait, perhaps we can—"
"Squeak! Buying time?"
Saburō sneered, fishing out from his chest fur:
A stone fragment dangling from a cord.
"You want our 'Sesshōseki' fragments, yes? Human!"
"Our goal's simpler—it's—"
Swish—
Sickle-wielding Jirō materialized behind Kisumi in a gust, blade descending.
"Your flesh!"
Squelch—
The sickle parted Kisumi's water barrier, drawing a crimson line.
Wind Release: Wind Cutter
Too fast—
No time to think. Mist poured from Kisumi's body until visibility dropped under a meter.
But—
"Break!"
Saburō exhaled a hurricane blast that shredded the fog, exposing Kisumi mid-retreat.
Wind Release: Typhoon Passage
This technique specifically countered Hiding in Mist.
?
"Die, human!"
Ichitarō leapt skyward, club wrapped in visible cyclones, before smashing down.
BOOM!
The impact cratered the dock, showering debris.
Wind Release: Cyclonic Dance
Kisumi dissolved into liquid mid-dodge, fingers rising:
Pew pew pew pew pew!!
Water bullets screamed toward the club-wielder while his umbrella unfurled into a liquid-coated shield against Jirō's assault.
———
Good.
Controlling the Kamaitachi Brothers, Souta Kiryuu nodded approvingly.
This Kisumi Jun had potential.
Unlike Tanimura Wataru who hid in sewers, Kisumi actively hunted Sesshōseki fragments. Whenever Souta planted bait, he came running for battle.
His drive and willpower far surpassed others'. Even outside combat, he relentlessly trained his hydrokinesis—a work ethic even Souta admired.
Against three "equal-level" doppelgangers, Kisumi held his own.
Too troublesome!
"Haah... haah..."
Minutes later,
A blood-drenched Kisumi leaned against a shipping container,
Gritting teeth at the three kamaitachi.
"Cheating... three on one!"
"We're not human—since when do we play fair?"
Ichitarō hefted his club.
"The Kamaitachi Brothers stand together,"
"Whether against one or ten thousand!"
Jirō licked blood from his sickle, eyes roaming Kisumi's wounds.
"Let's see how much blood you 'vessel' types have left."
Losing... no, dying.
Lacerations covered Kisumi. The situation looked dire.
Ichitarō's cyclone-enhanced club smashed craters with each swing. Jirō moved at blinding speeds, his sickle firing wind blades. But the real threat:
Saburō's ceramic jar contained "Shiun Medicine"!
During combat, Kisumi had wounded both Ichitarō and Jirō.
Yet each time Saburō applied that ointment, their injuries visibly healed.
The Kamaitachi Brothers—
As an honors student, Kisumi had researched folklore extensively. Legends described kamaitachi as triplets—one tripping victims, the second cutting them, the third treating wounds with medicine.
Thus in Japanese lore, they weren't "evil spirits" but mischievous tricksters.
But facing them in battle, expecting medical aid was laughable.
Continuing meant certain death.
Even escaping...
"Chitter chitter, thinking of fleeing to sea?"
The brothers blocked all aquatic exits.
"Dream on, human."
"Finish him!"
At Saburō's command, Ichitarō and Jirō pounced anew!
With Saburō's healing, they could trade injuries endlessly.
Whereas Kisumi, as stated:
How much blood remained?
THUD!
Crashing into a container,
Kisumi cratered the metal wall from Ichitarō's home-run swing, barely standing with umbrella support.
Finished?
Souta Kiryuu frowned.
True, Kisumi showed promise, but one versus three—
Not every shinobi was some Konoha genin with hax abilities.
"Finished?"
Saburō waved dismissively.
"End him, Jirō."
"With pleasure."
Jirō crouched, muscles coiling.
Then—
Became a blur.
Time for my—
Squelch-squelch-squelch!
"Wha—?!"
Beside Kisumi,
Jirō froze mid-lunge, sickle inches from its mark.
Not by choice—his body glittered with frost.
"Demons stay demons. Can't read container labels, can you?"
Kisumi raised his head—
No trace of desperation remained.
His umbrella tip gashed the container behind him, releasing a white geyser that drenched Jirō.
Pre-existing water from battle flash-froze the kamaitachi solid.
"Liquid nitrogen."
Fishing wharves preserved catches through quick-freezing or partial freezing in icy seawater.
These containers held liquid nitrogen for that purpose!
CRACK!
Tinkling shards—
The umbrella smashed the frozen Jirō,
Shattering him into meaty ice cubes.
?!
"JIRŌ! I'LL KILL YOU!"
Ichitarō charged recklessly.
"Ichitarō, NO!!"
Too late. Against the powerful but sluggish kamaitachi, Kisumi sidestepped and let the nitrogen spray do the rest.
"Just you now."
Bloody but unbowed, Kisumi pointed his umbrella at Saburō.
"Running away?"
"SQUEAK! AS IF—"
Saburō's chest ballooned as he inhaled impossibly deep,
Drawing in surrounding mist as his body inflated grotesquely.
At maximum expansion, he slapped his belly.
"Vacuum Blast!"
A house-sized air cannon,
Erupted from his maw.