Location: Sakurai - Capital of the Sovereign Nation of Hakutō – Rooftop Safehouse
Mei's hands shake as she presses gauze to Satoshi's wound. Blood soaks through the fabric, but her voice stays steady—because if she breaks now, he dies.
Hiroshi paces nearby, fingers twitching toward his phone before stopping (who do you even call when the enemy isn't human?).
Kyou stands at the window, staring down at streets flooded with emergency vehicles. His knuckles are white around his dagger—"This is why I quit."
(Down below, news vans swarm like vultures. Headlines scream: "Mass 'Terror Attack' in Industrial District—Witnesses Report 'Impossible' Phenomena.")
(News Reporter 1): "—As the body count climbs, the number of questions continues to grow. Is this the work of a new gang? A terrorist group? Or... something far worse?"
(News Reporter 2): "Speculation is running rampant across the city—and while there have been rumors of strange phenomena in the past, never on this scale. Until the police share more, these attacks remain a terrifying unknown."
Ryo's thumb lingers over the contact—Tenjo. Calling him would mean dragging his mentor into a warzone. But after today… after watching Yua get torn away like she was nothing…
His finger trembles.
(Is this pride? Fear? Or the sickening realization that some battles can't be won alone?)
Nearby, Kyou slams his fist into the wall—plaster cracking under the impact.
"We should've killed that bastard when we had the chance." His voice is raw, jagged with regret. "Now she's gone."
(Three Weeks Earlier)
A warm sun streams through the training hall windows as Yua teaches Ryo a new technique, a smile lighting her face. In this moment, the horrors of their world are the furthest thing from view.
She guides his hands into position, correcting their stance.
"You have to imagine energy flowing through everything."
"Like a river?"
"Not a river," she corrects. "Like an ocean."
"A Chain of Blood"
Yua considers the question, hands still on his wrists as they run through the positioning.
"Technically possible," she says finally. "But dangerous."
"Why?"
"Have you ever shared your energy before?"
"Never."
"Then think of it this way: your energy, right now, is like a stream. But when you share it… it's like merging with someone's ocean."
Ryo exhales sharply, fingers twitching at his sides. He remembers the lesson all too well—how humans, untouched by generations of hunting lineage, aren't built to handle raw Seishu energy. Their bodies are fragile containers compared to a hunter's; their balance is uncalibrated for such power.
Yet Satoshi bleeds out beside him.
And Yua is gone.
(What choice does he really have?)
Hiroshi notices his hesitation—the way Ryo stares at Satoshi like he's calculating the odds of survival versus obliteration—and snaps:
"Whatever you're thinking—spit it out."
Ryo ignores the others, focusing with all his might on that delicate flow of energy within himself.
"Mei."
"Hiroshi."
"Step back."
Hiroshi and Mei watch, uncertain, as Ryo kneels before Satoshi, the rain outside picking up, as if the sky itself is echoing the tension of the moment.
Ryo takes a deep breath, then lays a hand along Satoshi's wound, his fingers trembling.
"Survive This."
Ryo's palm presses against Satoshi's wound—and for a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then—
A pulse. A flare of golden energy seeping through Ryo's fingertips, threading into Satoshi's veins like liquid fire. The human's body jerks violently—muscles locking as foreign power floods his system. Mei gasps but doesn't interfere (she trusts Ryo), while Kyou watches with narrowed eyes… because this shouldn't work.
Yet Satoshi's ragged breathing steadies. His wound glows faintly under the touch of borrowed Seishu energy before knitting shut at an unnatural rate—proof that Ryo did it. Proof that even now, Yua's lessons saved them.
But no one celebrates. Not when they all see how pale Ryo has become from the strain... and not when they realize: this is just the beginning.
(Hakuto - Presidential Meeting)
Hushed voices echo within a vast chamber lined with cherrywood panels. Inlaid in the paneling is a series of delicate ironwood trees—one for each generation of officeholders who ruled over Hakuto. The branches stretch like gnarled hands towards the high ceiling, where the Hakuto crest hangs—a stark reminder of blood that binds the country.
On a low podium stands the current president, a sternfaced man named Hayate Ryūji.
"You're Late."
President Ryūji looks up as the young officer enters, a stack of reports in his hands. The poor man is soaked from the rain outside—but Hayate doesn't seem to notice. His cold eyes are focused on the paperwork, fingers rapping against the podium.
"I was promised these reports an hour ago, Captain."
"I Will Not Repeat Myself."
President Ryūji's voice cuts through the tension like a blade. The captain stiffens further—there is no room for excuses here.
"Understood, sir!" He salutes sharply before placing the files on the podium. His hands don't shake, but his throat bobs as he swallows hard. "The industrial district incident… initial reports confirm it wasn't terrorism."
(A beat of silence.)
Hayate opens the first file—blurred security footage of Shikoku's fight with Oboro and Yukimaru stares back at him, pixels glitching under supernatural distortion.
"This… is something else."
President Ryūji's fingers skim the photos before he looks up at the officers. The room is perfectly silent now, everyone hanging on his words... because this is an event unlike anything they've ever seen before.
"What the hell?" one general mutters, staring at the footage like he doesn't believe it.
"That's not normal." Someone else murmurs.
"That's… impossible," a third officer whispers.
"The World Will Learn the Truth."
(Back in Ryo's Safehouse)
Mei watches Satoshi's breathing stabilize, relief washing over her—until she hears it. A muffled broadcast from a nearby TV screen:
"Breaking News – President Ryūji calls for an emergency global summit following today's 'unprecedented incident.' Nations worldwide are urged to prepare for a classified briefing."
Kyou snorts, arms crossed. "Too little, too late." But Ryo… doesn't react at all. His gaze is fixed on his hands—on the faint glow of Seishu energy still flickering along his fingertips.
He knows what this means: The world is about to change. And whether humanity is ready or not… the hunters can no longer hide.
Kyou leans forward, his eyes like flint.
"You realize what this means, don't you?" he says to Ryo. "There was a reason for the secrecy in the first place. If Ryūji goes through with this… all hell is going to break loose."
Mei watches in silence, knowing he's not wrong. Humanity as they know it will never be the same. Not after this.
"He's Stronger Than You Think."
Ryo's father steps out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel like he wasn't just listening to the end of the world being discussed in his living room. His voice is steady—unshaken.
Rumi tugs at Ryo's sleeve, her small fingers tightening in the fabric as she looks up at him with wide eyes.
"Big brother…?"
Kyou scoffs (but there's no real bite to it). Mei watches, waiting for Ryo to respond—to say something.
But right now… he just sits there, staring at his hands like they hold answers no one else can see.
Ryo's head snaps up, eyes narrowing at his father. That familiar, frustrating fog lingers in his mind—fragments of memories he should have but doesn't. The way Yua used to look at his dad sometimes… like she knew something he didn't.
His father exhales, setting the towel down with deliberate calm before meeting Ryo's gaze.
"More than you remember."
A beat of silence—then Kyou Ren barks out a laugh (because of course this old man was hiding secrets too). Mei glances between them, uneasy. Satoshi shifts weakly on the couch, still unconscious but stabilizing slowly from the Seishu energy now humming through him.
And Rumi? She just grips her brother's sleeve tighter—clueless to the storm brewing around them all... (but not for long.)
"You."
Ryo's grip tightens on the doorframe—because this is the last person he expected to see here. Kusuri stands in the downpour, drenched, her cleaver still clutched in one hand. Blood drips from a gash on her temple, but her gaze is sharp. Unwavering.
"I don't have time for pleasantries," she rasps before pushing past him into the safehouse, eyes scanning the room like a soldier assessing a battlefield.
Hiroshi tenses instantly (old instincts kicking in), while Mei instinctively steps closer to Satoshi—protecting him even now. Kyou just smirks (because of course things weren't complicated enough already.)
Kusuri doesn't care about their reactions. She locks eyes with Ryo and says:
"Shikoku has my friends."
"Move."
(No hesitation. No second guessing.)
Ryo catches Kusuri before she hits the floor, his arms wrapping around her like this was never a question—like helping an enemy was the only choice. His voice is steel when he barks at Mei:
"Get another bed ready. Now."
Hiroshi stares like Ryo just grew a second head (because this is insane), but Kyou Ren? He just leans against the wall, watching with something between disbelief and begrudging respect.
"...You're really gonna help her?" Hiroshi finally manages.
"She came here for a reason," Ryo says simply—hauling Kusuri toward their makeshift med area without breaking stride. (And if that reason gets them one step closer to Yua... then he doesn't care who she is.)
"No." (His face doesn't soften.)
As they reach the bed, Ryo lays Kusuri down with surprising gentleness. Her head lands on a pillow, blood matting her wet hair. She's out cold—and for once it's not in a fight.
But as Ryo straightens, he sees Rumi standing nearby, her small face determined.
"Big brother, can I?"
Ryo's voice is firm. Unshakable.
"It's too dangerous, Rumi. I don't want you to get hurt."
"Help Mei."
Mei leads Rumi away, her eyes meeting Ryo's for a moment before they disappear into the kitchen. Hiroshi sits back down with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He's exhausted.
Kyou stays leaning against the wall, arms crossed—watching the scene unfolding like it's a play.
Kusuri lets out a low groan as she stirs, slowly coming around.
"Took you long enough to wake up."
Kusuri blinks, groggy, her eyes struggling to focus on Ryo and Kyou standing over her. The last thing she remembers is the rain—the desperate run here, blood loss threatening to drag her under before she could even plead her case.
And yet... They helped her anyway?
Her fingers twitch toward the cleaver at her side (habit), but exhaustion keeps it there for now. Instead, she rasps:
"...Why?"
"You Owe Us Answers."
Ryo doesn't flinch under Kusuri's glare—he matches it, unyielding.
"You show up half dead on my doorstep, asking for help? Fine. But if you want to stay… you talk."
Kyou smirks (because he likes this side of Ryo), arms crossed as he looms beside him like a shadow reinforcing the threat.
Kusuri exhales sharply—not in defiance, but acceptance. She knows the rules of debt among hunters better than anyone... and right now? She has no leverage left.
"...Fine." Her fingers curl into the sheets beneath her. "But not here."
(Because some secrets are too dangerous to speak aloud.)
"Rest. We talk in the morning."
Kusuri's fingers twitch again, as if she's about to argue—until a wave of dizziness reminds her of how weak she really is. Her vision swims until the world blurs—and she slumps back against the pillows, her head spinning. The rain outside pounds on the roof like an endless drumbeat.
Ryo and Kyou stand together, watching as she sinks into unconsciousness with a soft sigh... just like the tension hanging over this makeshift safe room.
"This better be damn worth it."
Kusuri watches through halflidded eyes as the two figures move through the room like shadows cast by moonlight—Ryo, with his steady gaze and unshakeable resolve, and Kyou, with his sardonic smirk and dangerous edge. For a moment, their silhouettes bring to mind the heroes in a comic Kusuri read, long ago in her childhood.
Kusuri's small hands carefully turn the pages of a worn comic book. Her parents step into the room, smiling as they take in the sight of their young daughter enraptured by the story.
Her father kneels on one knee beside her, a warm smile on his face as he glances at the cover.
"What are you reading, Kusuri?"
The young Kusuri looks up at her father, her eyes glittering with excitement. She holds up the comic book for him to see, a smile stretching across her small face.
"It's the adventures of the SilverEyed Warrior and the Shadowed Hero! They team up to defeat monsters and save the world!"
Her mother chuckles from the doorway, leaning against the frame.
"Sounds like an exciting story."
"It is," Kusuri says, nodding eagerly. "They're so brave! They always protect everyone."
Kusuri's small face lights up as her father asks about the heroes' names, eager to tell him everything she knows. She holds up the comic book, her finger pointing at the illustrations of the two heroes in action.
"The SilverEyed Warrior is called Ryūshiro," she says, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "He has silver hair and these bright silver eyes. And the Shadowed Hero is called Kyoriku. He's always so strong and cool!"
Kusuri's parents listen intently as their young daughter regales them with the story of Ryūshiro and Kyoriku—heroes from the comic book in her hands. Her mother notices the panels depicting their fights and asks why they were once rivals. Kusuri explains that they had different ideologies and methods at first, often clashing in their attempts to protect the world. But she continues the story, her small voice filled with conviction, telling how they eventually put aside their differences and became best friends.
"They fight together to protect everyone now."
"Like Shadows of the Same Blade."
Kusuri watches as Ryo and Kyou disappear down the hallway—two figures walking in sync despite their clashing natures. The rain outside hammers against the window like a warning, but for once... she doesn't feel alone in this fight.
She closes her eyes with a faint exhale, bloodied fingers curling into the sheets as she murmurs:
"Ryūshiro… Kyoriku… Is history repeating itself?"
🌀End Of Chapter Forty Three