The Beast
Early spring, outside Yone Village.
Tall poplars lined the loess road, their shadows swaying in the breeze. A handful of children ran recklessly down the path, sunlight breaking in shards under their feet.
One boy, blindfolded, lunged forward with a grin, catching the child ahead of him.
"Haha, got you!"
He pulled the cloth off, eager to see which friend he'd caught—only to freeze.
Instead of a playmate, he was clutching the thigh of a burly man in a brightly dyed kimono.
In Rukongai, especially in the Rikka Districts, people rarely wore such clothes. Ordinary residents dressed in plain, rough-spun fabric. This man stood out immediately—and not in a good way.
"Kid," the man said, crouching down, his scarred face splitting into a grotesque grin. The scar stretched from his forehead down past his mouth, giving him a demonic look. "Back in the Edo period, if a commoner dared lay hands on a samurai, he'd be executed on the spot."
The boy's face went pale. His friends froze in place, like wooden dolls.
Then the man chuckled. "Relax. That was when we were alive. Here in Rukongai, things are different." He patted the boy's head heavily.
The boy forced a weak smile.
Behind the scarred man, one of his companions scoffed. "Kenji, you playing that tired game again? If you want to cut someone down, then cut. Don't make speeches."
The boy's stomach dropped.
Kenji glared back. "You're too blunt. We're not in the 80th District anymore. Show some restraint."
The five men had been brought here by Yagyū Ichirō back in January, tasked with "dealing with troublesome nobles and Shinigami." Kenji had taken to the new district quickly. Plenty of food, timid men, and terrified women—it was paradise compared to the blood-soaked outer Rukongai.
"Listen, boy," Kenji said, snatching the blindfold. "Here's the game: I'll cover my eyes. If you can survive one minute while I hunt you, I'll let you live."
He tied the cloth around his head, lips twisting into a cruel smile. "Run. And remember to smile. You'll look prettier when you die."
The boy trembled, then bolted on all fours like a desperate animal.
Kenji swung lazily. His first slash shaved the boy's hair. He was ready to cleave deeper when his instincts screamed. A crushing spiritual pressure rolled over him.
He tore off the blindfold.
A man stood on the road ahead. Silver hair tied in a ponytail, a blade at his hip, strange clothes marking him as neither commoner nor noble. His very presence pressed down like a storm.
Kenji swallowed. "Who… who are you?"
The man's voice was calm, almost cold.
"I came to greet my new neighbors. Instead, I find this. You enjoy games of survival? Coincidentally, so do I. You'll have one minute. Survive, and you live to see summer."
Kenji's face drained of color. Fury boiled up, but instinct screamed louder. He turned and fled. His four companions scattered too.
Shiraishi didn't chase. He crouched beside the terrified boy clinging to his leg. Gently, he brushed dust from the child's face.
"Don't be afraid. The bad men are gone."
At that, the boy broke down crying, his friends following suit, their wails shaking the forest.
"Cry it out," Shiraishi said bluntly. "Then go home. Find your mothers. I've got things to do."
He turned and slipped into the woods.
Meanwhile, Kenji and his men stumbled through the undergrowth. Sunlight flashed off silver hair behind them. Shiraishi's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"It seems Heaven has denied you escape."
Kenji spun, knives bared. "Why?! Why are you after us?"
Shiraishi sneered. "Do you need a reason to kill? Didn't you ask children the same question?"
Kenji roared. "Then let's see who dies!"
Five blades hissed free. But before Kenji could strike, pain bloomed in his chest. He staggered, staring at the four men beside him—his own companions, blades buried in his body.
Their eyes were cold, calculating. Not comrades, not friends. Just predators making a bargain.
One dropped to his knees. "Sir, it was Kenji's doing. Not ours. Please spare us."
Rukongai was a land of betrayal. Kill or be killed. To them, selling Kenji's life for their own was natural.
But Shiraishi's eyes narrowed in disgust.
In a blur, he moved. The first man's plea ended in silence as Shiraishi cut past him, golden arcs of spiritual energy slicing through the grove.
Four heads hit the dirt, blood splattering across fallen leaves.
Shiraishi didn't glance back. He had forgotten to ask directions, but he would find the stationed Shinigami soon enough.