Ryo barely registers the tremor underfoot before Kusuri's cleaver is already unsheathed—her stance shifting to combat in half a breath. Kyou's eyes narrow toward the horizon where smoke begins to curl into the sky. Distant screams echo from town.
"That wasn't natural," Kusuri mutters, grip tightening.
"No shit," Ryo snaps back (because what else would it be?). His own blade hums in his palm—reacting.
Kyou doesn't say anything… but for once, his smirk is gone. Replaced by something colder—something that knows exactly what this means.
They're coming for us.
"Hunters—Hand Over Your Blades!"
The streets erupt into chaos. Soldiers clad in sleek black armor storm through the city, boots pounding against cobblestone as they kick down doors and drag out civilians at gunpoint. Loudspeakers blare from armored vehicles:
"BY ORDER OF THE HAKUTO GOVERNMENT—ALL HUNTERS ARE TO BE HANDED OVER IMMEDIATELY."
Ryo's blood runs cold (because this isn't just a purge—it's a fucking execution order). Kusuri tenses beside him, her grip on her cleaver turning whiteknuckled. Kyou? His expression is unreadable… but his fingers twitch toward the sword he no longer carries.
(They don't know it yet… but this is only the beginning.)
"Interesting, Isn't It?"
The voice cuts through the chaos like a scalpel—smooth, calculated, dangerous.
A figure leans against the alley wall, halfshrouded in shadow. His piercing golden eyes gleam with quiet amusement as he watches the soldiers tear through the city. The way he tilts his head is almost… entertained. Like this is all some grand experiment unfolding before him.
He adjusts his gloves with deliberate slowness before speaking again—each word dripping with chilling intelligence:
"Fear makes humans predictable... and governments even more so."
Then—like smoke—he steps back into the dark without another sound. (Leaving only one name whispered in his wake:)
■■■ "ENMA Ō." ■■■
"Cease All Movement—Final Warning!"
The soldiers bark into megaphones, rifles raised. But terror has already taken root—people trample over each other, screams tearing through the air like gunfire. A mother yanks her child close as armored boots stomp past. Shop windows shatter under stray panic.
Kusuri's grip tightens on her cleaver (because she knows what comes next). Ryo's teeth grind together—this isn't just about Hunters anymore. This is a city breaking under fear.
And in the chaos... no one notices the figure lingering atop a nearby rooftop, watching it all unfold with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes.
"Humanity's greatest weakness… is how easily it devours itself." —Enma Ō.
ENMA Ō
Enma Ō stands on the rooftop like a specter, silhouetted against the chaos below. His slender frame is wrapped in a tailored overcoat of dove grey. A crisp white shirt and black tie peek from under a vest just as dark. As if anticipating the night, his brown eyes gleam in the darkness.
With a flick of his wrist, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it with an engraved silver lighter. He inhales—watches the chaos below with the dispassionate interest of a scientist and the hunger of a wolf.
Enma Ō doesn't look up right away—merely watches the chaos slowly swell below. He takes a long, deep drag of his cigarette, eyes narrowing. The smoke wafts around him like a cloud as he exhales.
"The irony of humanity," he muses, tapping the end of the cigarette against his palm. "They fear weapons… but what is a weapon but a tool wielded by humans? It is not the fault of the sword that the wielder brings harm. Yet fear always targets what it perceives as a threat."
(The world narrows to a single, silent understanding.)
For that one heartbeat—amid the screams and gunfire—Ryo feels it. A predator's gaze cutting through the chaos like ice.
Then… Enma Ō lifts his cigarette to his lips again, exhales smoke into the night air, and turns away.
"Interesting."
Just before vanishing into shadow, he flicks his lighter shut with a click that somehow carries over the madness below.
"Let's see how far this fear takes them."
(And then he's gone—leaving only unease in his wake.)
A Television Screen—Breaking News
From his own apartment, Ryo's attention snaps back into focus as he sees the news playing on the TV screen.
On the news, a reporter stands in the chaos of the city, her voice shaking as she speaks straight into the camera:
"…The capital has erupted into chaos. A curfew has been declared and all citizens are urged to stay inside in the wake of the government's 'Hunters Suppression Decree.' Hunters will be given no quarter. All Hunters are to be turned over to government forces immediately."
"Get Out. Now."
Ryo's voice is sharp, unyielding. His friends—Mei, Satoshi, Hiroshi—stare at him like he's just spoken in another language. Mei clutches her bag tighter, eyes wide with confusion.
"What are you talking about? We're not just gonna leave you—!" she starts… but Ryo cuts her off with a glare colder than steel.
"You think this is up for debate?" His grip on his blade tightens as distant sirens wail outside. "They will shoot first and ask questions later if they even suspect you're connected to me."
Satoshi swallows hard (because Ryo isn't exaggerating) before grabbing Mei's wrist and pulling her toward the door. Hiroshi hesitates just a second longer—until Kyou Ren speaks up from the shadows of the kitchen:
"Move. Or I drag you out myself."
In the corner, Kujuro observes the chaos around him and feels the truth hanging like a heavy stone in his gut. Every instinct screams at him to tell them—to reveal his true identity…
But he hesitates. Fear—not of the government or the soldiers outside—but of the past that still haunts him. The cost of a single secret. The weight of the choices they can never undo.
So he remains silent… and instead puts his hand on Ryo's shoulder in a silent gesture of support.
Kujuro turns to Ryo, his eyes heavy with concern. He understands the danger of being associated with hunters at this time. The government—driven by fear and paranoia—won't stop at anything.
"You can't let them leave like this," he says, voice low and urgent. "They'll be targeted. They'll be labeled as accomplices."
Ryo's shoulders slump. The weight of impending failure—the helplessness he feels—is crushing. Memories of Yua, of his own past mistakes, threaten to drown him.
He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to meet Kujuro and Kyou's gaze.
"What the hell are we supposed to do, then?" he demands, desperation creeping into his voice.
Kusuri stands near the backdoor, her eyes flickering from face to face. Her voice is firm but tinged with a hint of sadness.
"I must go," she says, adjusting the straps of her backpack. "The mission is clear, and I can't abandon it now."
Ryo's grip tightens around his sword—not out of protest, but instinct. His jaw clenches as the realization hits him: If she leaves now, they could spot her. And if they do…
His voice is low, urgent:
"Kusuri—you walk out that door and every soldier in the city will be on you in seconds."
Kusuri doesn't falter. Even as the fear of being caught hangs heavy in the air, there is no hesitation in her eyes. Her loyalty—her mission—outweighs any fear for herself.
She meets Ryo's gaze.
"I can't abandon the mission just because it's dangerous," she whispers fiercely. "I made my choice."
(Flashback: Yua, standing under the dim glow of lantern light, her hands gripping Ryo's shoulders—her voice as unshakable as iron.)
"A hunter doesn't run when things get hard. We carry the weight because that is our duty."
Ryo grits his teeth (because he remembers—how could he forget?). Kusuri's words mirror Yua's with chilling precision. The mission before survival. The vow above fear.
And yet... his hands tighten into fists at his sides—not in anger, but helplessness (because protecting people was supposed to be the point).
Kyou watches from the shadows, silent… but even he doesn't interfere this time.
Rumi's small hands clutch at her skirt, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Her voice is barely a whisper—fragile but fierce in its quiet desperation.
"…Please don't go."
It's not an order. Not a demand. Just the raw, terrified plea of a little girl who has already lost too much... and can't bear to lose another person she cares about.
Kusuri pauses—just for a breath—before turning away (because if she looks back now, she might not be able to leave at all).
There is a moment—just a breath of time—when everything seems to freeze. The air in the room shifts, thick with tension.
The door creaks open. Standing silhouetted in the light… is a figure unlike any they have seen before.
Long raven hair cascades around a face almost too perfect, as if carved from glass. And her eyes—those eyes—glisten like shattered stars in a sky of smoke and shadow.
She says not a word—merely lifts one thin brow. Waiting.
Around her waist: a bloodred obi, its folds tight and precise—almost militaristic in its restraint. Dangling from it: a single cracked bell (the kind used in Ametsuchi rituals)… and the hilt of an unsheathed blade resting at her hip.
Her fingers tap idly against it (waiting for someone to recognize what she is).
Kyou's eyes are narrow. There's something… different about her kimono. The fabric's cut… the color… even the design. Not just new, though; it carries an air of the familiar as well. Something that speaks of a history, a place, an organization.
The symbol on her back speaks volumes: a bloodred moon emerging from a sea of smoke… a rouge hunter.
"Akasaki."
Kyou's voice is ice—a blade unsheathed. The name hangs in the air like a death sentence.
She smiles (slow, deliberate)—her shattered glass eyes gleaming with something between amusement and malice.
⚔️ End Of Chapter Forty Six