Ryo drags himself out of bed, the sunlight filtering through his curtains too bright for his tired eyes. He dresses mechanically—uniform slightly wrinkled from being stuffed in his closet for weeks. The reflection in the mirror looks... off. Like someone wearing Ryo's face but not quite him anymore.
Downstairs, Rumi chirps a cheerful "Good morning!" as she shoves toast into her mouth (crumbs everywhere, as usual). Kujuro grunts over his coffee—his version of acknowledgment. Everything is painfully normal. And that's the problem.
Ryo slides onto the bus, the same old faces all around. But he feels like a stranger. He offers a half-hearted wave in the direction of a few classmates, but the words won't come—the old small talk is suddenly too stiff and pointless.
He takes his seat, staring out the window as the bus lurches into the normal, mundane routine of the day… and feels a sudden, deep-seated boredom.
Classes pass in a blur. One after the other. Lessons, homework, lunch, and then more classes. It all feels meaningless. Ryo goes through the motions, listening to teachers drone on about things that don't matter.
At lunch, he sits at his usual table, watching as everyone around him laughs and talks. But it feels like he's viewing it from the outside.
Ryo picks at his lunch, half-listening to the chatter around him.
"Hey, you good?" One of his friends nudges him. "You've been spacing out all day."
Ryo forces a grin (too sharp at the edges to be real) and shrugs. "Just tired." The excuse is flimsy, but they let it slide—because what else can they do? They don't know about Kaimon or rogue hunters or any of it. To them, he's just Ryo: straight A student, (maybe a little distant lately). Nothing more.
The final bell rings. Normally, Ryo would be heading to basketball practice, or cram school, or just hanging out with friends. But not today.
Today, his feet carry him toward the outskirts of town—toward the abandoned warehouse where Tenjo said training would resume (without warning, without hesitation). The air feels heavier with every step.
And then—he sees them.
Yua and Kyou walking side by side, close enough that their shoulders almost brush (when did that happen?). Kyou has a new bandage wrapped around his forearm (training injury? Fight? Something else?) Yua's laugh carries too easily in the open air as she nudges him with her elbow (since when did they joke like that?).
Ryo's steps falter, just for a moment. He can't quite put his finger on it, but something about their easy camaraderie, the casual touches and teasing laughter... it pricked at him... (irritated? Or was it jealousy?)
It was so... normal. So mundane. It felt like they were walking in a world completely separate from the one he'd been dragged into so forcefully. It didn't sit right.
Kyou's gaze flicks over, almost like a sixth sense—catching sight of Ryo, standing stock-still by the warehouse.
Surprise flickers across his face, then quickly disappears behind a careless smirk. He murmurs something that makes Yua look too, her expression shifting from open friendliness to guarded caution.
They both stop walking, watching him from across the distance. Like they're sizing him up.
The roles had reversed.
It was almost exactly like the first time they'd met Kyou—except now, it was Ryo standing alone while Yua stood beside him. The weight of that shift settles uncomfortably in his chest.
Kyou raises an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk that feels more mocking than anything else. "What's the matter?" he calls out, voice dripping with lazy amusement. "Cat got your tongue?"
Yua doesn't say anything—but the way her fingers tighten around Kyou's sleeve doesn't go unnoticed (since when did she do that? Since when did she stand protectively at his side?).
Ryo doesn't answer. He simply turns and walks away, leaving them standing there. The sound of gravel crunching beneath his feet is the only sound in the suddenly too-still air.
Kyou watches him go, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Yua's gaze stays on his retreating back, an unreadable expression on her face.
And for a moment, everything is silent except the sound of a breeze rattling a loose piece of scrap metal somewhere on the far side of the empty lot.
Yua watches Ryo walk away, her earlier caution replaced by a strange mix of emotions. There's a pang of guilt—maybe even regret—as she sees the stiff line of his shoulders.
She has this odd urge to call out to him, to apologize, to explain. But the words stick in her throat, and the moment passes. The silence left in Ryo's wake feels almost tangible.
Ryo stands outside the warehouse, the familiar sight somehow providing no comfort this time. The last rays of the dying sun cast long shadows across the cracked concrete, making the warehouse look even more desolate than it usually is.
The training area is silent, but Ryo knows better than to think Tenjo won't be there.
Tenjo appears, seemingly out of thin air. The suddenness of his appearance makes Ryo startle, his heart leaping into his throat for a second.
Tenjo just laughs at his reaction, the sound oddly comforting in the quiet. "Got you good, didn't I?"
Ryo just scowls, trying to control the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. "You know, stealth does involve being silent, right?"
Tenjo hums, tapping his chin like he's considering some great philosophical truth. "Hm. 'Stealth involves being silent.' Fascinating theory." He grins—sharp and entirely too amused. "Unless, of course, you want your target to know you're there."
Ryo exhales through his nose (deeply unimpressed). "...You just wanted to scare me."
Tenjo laughs again, bright and unbothered (because of course he did).
Ryo stares at Tenjo, the question slipping out before he can stop it. "How can you be the smartest hunter in the realm?"
And it is a genuine question. Tenjo's demeanor is the antithesis of the sharp-minded seriousness he would expect from someone with that kind of notoriety. He's reckless, carefree. It's a complete contradiction.
Tenjo shrugs, unperturbed by the question. "Intelligence doesn't have a set mold." His tone is casual, but there's an edge of certainty beneath the surface. "Besides, sometimes the best way to win is to make your opponent underestimate you."
He grins, the expression almost cheeky. "And people tend to underestimate anyone who doesn't look like a walking encyclopedia."
Just as the conversation was getting good, the sound of footsteps broke the flow. Kurobe and the two teenagers—Haru and Sora—have arrived in the same stealthy, silent way that Tenjo had.
They all look curiously at Ryo, taking in the scene. Kurobe's eyebrows are raised, and the teenagers are eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and wariness.
Sora's expression twitches at the mention of defeat, his competitive streak flaring up instantly. "That was just one time," he grumbles, crossing his arms defensively.
Haru snickers beside him (because what are siblings for if not teasing each other mercilessly?). "Yeah, one time out of five."
Kurobe sighs—long-suffering but fond (as usual with these two). Meanwhile, Tenjo watches it all unfold with obvious amusement (this is going to be good).
Kurobe addresses Tenjo, who's been watching the unfolding scene with casual interest. "Any sign of her yet?"
Tenjo tilts his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "She's never late, so she should be here any—"
Just then, a sudden rustling sounds from the far end of the warehouse. It's faint, but very noticeable in the otherwise quiet space.
A shadow detaches itself from the dim light near the rafters, and suddenly—she's there.
Dressed in a sleek black bodysuit with armored plating at key joints, she cuts an imposing yet fluid figure. The material clings to her frame without restricting movement—built for speed, not show. Over it, she wears a dark crimson sash that flares like spilled ink as she moves. Her arms are wrapped in fingerless combat gloves, and around her waist rests a thin belt lined with pouches (tools? Weapons? Hard to tell).
Her face is sharp but unreadable—amber eyes glinting under the warehouse lights like a predator's. There's no wasted movement as she steps forward, scanning them all with detached interest. The silence that follows is thick enough to slice through.
She doesn't speak at first—just observes. The way she moves is calculated, effortless. Every step purposeful. Her presence alone commands attention without needing to demand it.
Then, finally—a voice as smooth as it is sharp:
"Tenjo." Just his name, but it carries weight—familiarity laced with something else (respect? Disdain? Hard to tell). Then her gaze sweeps over the others briefly before landing on Ryo. "...So this is him?" No elaboration needed. She already knows why they're here (of course she does).
Tenjo nods, his usual playfulness dimmed just slightly—proof that even he takes her seriously. "Yep. Meet Ryo—our newest problem-child with potential."
She studies Ryo like he's a puzzle she hasn't decided if she wants to solve yet. Her expression doesn't change, but the air shifts subtly around them (something dangerous lingers beneath that calm). Then she exhales—short and controlled.
"Let's see if he's worth the trouble."
Ryo grits his teeth, annoyed that she hasn't even given her name yet. "Who even are you, anyway?"
She just tilts her head at him like it's the stupidest question she's ever heard. "Does it really matter?"
Kurobe sighs in that way that means this again, while Tenjo just looks vaguely amused at their exchange. Meanwhile, Sora and Haru are trying very hard not to laugh (their poker faces need work).
Ryo finally really looks at her—past the combat gear, past the cold demeanor. And that's when he notices:
Her hair is stark white, cropped short at the sides but left longer on top, styled messily—as if she couldn't care less about appearances (but it still somehow works for her). And those scarlet eyes of hers are unnervingly sharp, like she's dissecting him with just a glance.
There's something unsettling about how they seem to pierce right through him—calculating, detached. Like he's nothing more than an obstacle to be weighed and measured before being tossed aside if deemed useless.
As if sensing his question, she cuts him off before he can ask. "I'm Sachi." Her voice is soft but there's an edge to it—like she's used to being obeyed.
All of the others shift a little, even Tenjo looks somewhat... impressed. Sora and Haru look downright awed—like they weren't expecting her to give her name at all.
Kurobe is the only one who doesn't seem surprised. He sighs ("Of course it'd be her").
Ryo scans her again—no Kizugami blade in sight. No obvious weapon at all, really. Just those sleek combat gloves, the pouches on her belt (tools? traps?), and a presence that somehow feels dangerous even without steel drawn.
Sachi catches him looking (because of course she does) and quirks an eyebrow. "Problem?" Her tone suggests she already knows the answer.
Tenjo smirks—barely containing his amusement at Ryo's confusion (he absolutely knew this would happen). Meanwhile, Kurobe just sighs like he's mentally preparing for whatever comes next (his usual state of being around these two).
Sachi glances at Tenjo (a silent question) before turning her attention back to Ryo. "Well?" Her gaze pierces—expectant. "You ready to put your 'potential' to the test?"
Ryo bristles at that—at how it sounds like she's already expecting him to fail. But he doesn't say anything, just sets his jaw stubbornly. "Yeah," he grinds out. "I'm ready."
Sachi smirks, eyes lighting up with something eerily close to excitement. "Don't complain when your ass ends up in the dirt, then."
Tenjo chuckles, clearly pleased at her response. Even Kurobe can't hide a small, wry smile (he'd pay to see that). Sora and Haru exchange a wide-eyed look, as if just realizing who they're up against.
Ryo scowls, clearly not appreciating the sentiment. "We'll see about that."
🌀 End Of Chapter Thirty Four