"Mitsuri! Mitsuri…!"
Yukishiro's voice trembled with urgency. He coughed twice, feeling the suffocating weight in his chest finally loosen as his breathing steadied a little. But even so, pain throbbed in every rib, and the metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue.
The bouncing Demon's kick was terrifying—so powerful that even with Mitsuri shielding him, the blow had sent them sliding more than ten meters before slamming into a tree. He had spat blood instantly. If this was what he had suffered despite her taking the brunt, then what about her?
His heart sank as he lowered his gaze. Mitsuri lay motionless in his arms.
"Mitsuri… answer me!"
He shook her gently, but her peaceful face showed no pain, no sign of suffering—just as if she were asleep. Panic prickled at the edges of his mind. He leaned closer, placing his ear by her mouth.
Nothing. No breath.
A chill ran down his spine.
"No… don't tell me…"
His eyes darted downward to her chest.
He remembered clearly—the bouncing Demon's kick had landed around there.
His jaw clenched. After a moment's hesitation, shame burning his face, he unbuttoned the fabric at her chest just enough to see.
Snow-white skin came into view, smooth and unmarred, except for a faint blush near her lower ribs—like the echo of a blow, but without the swelling or bruising one would expect from an impact that could crush men into pulp.
Yukishiro frowned. This… this doesn't make sense. That kick should've shattered bones. How is there almost nothing?
Before he could think further, a faint voice stirred against his chest.
"…Hey, Yukishiro, why are you unbuttoning my shirt? What are you looking at? Don't tell me… you were staring at my—"
Without letting her finish, he slapped a hand over her mouth, his entire face burning red like a boy caught red-handed.
His ears felt as though they would ignite.
"…Shut up."
His composure, usually colder than ice, was in ruins. He felt like a thief caught in broad daylight.
Mitsuri blinked at him, then suddenly sat upright in his arms. Her first instinct wasn't shame or anger—it was concern.
"Yukishiro, you're bleeding! Are you hurt badly?"
"I'm fine," he muttered, turning his head aside, but he raised a hand to stop her when she tried to touch the blood at his chin.
His voice sharpened, "What about you? Are you hurt anywhere?"
"Me?" She tilted her head, looked down at herself, then calmly buttoned up her shirt. "Nope. I feel fine."
Yukishiro's eyes widened. "What?"
Her voice was steady, almost casual. "I don't feel pain at all. Not even a little."
Yukishiro stared in disbelief. He had watched her spit blood when she shielded him. How could someone crushed by a bouncing Demon's kick stand there claiming nothing happened?
"Stop lying. Don't downplay it just to avoid dragging me down. Tell me honestly." His voice dropped into impatience, deliberately stern, because he knew she only ever took him seriously when he pushed her.
"I'm really fine," she said, smiling lightly. "If you don't believe me, look for yourself."
With that, she sprang up, twirled in a circle, and even jumped twice.
Apart from her chest bouncing so much it made Yukishiro's head spin, she looked perfectly unscathed.
When he still frowned suspiciously, she cheekily reached for her shirt buttons again. "Here, I'll prove it to you—"
"Enough!" Yukishiro barked, quickly averting his gaze and throwing up a hand. His ears were burning crimson. "I believe you. Just… stop."
Her lips curved into a small, mischievous smile, but Yukishiro wasn't smiling.
His mind was already racing. Six times the density of normal muscle… She mentioned it before. Could that really be the explanation?
The bouncing Demon's leg strength was devastating, but if Mitsuri's muscles truly compressed to such an extreme, it might have absorbed the impact where any normal human body would have collapsed instantly.
There was only one conclusion: her bizarre constitution had saved them both.
At that moment, Akino rushed over, face pale with worry. "Yukishiro! Mitsuri! You're both alive? Are you alright?"
Yukishiro answered coldly, "Fine."
Mitsuri chimed in, her tone almost cheerful, "We're okay!"
Akino froze, stunned. His expression mirrored Yukishiro's earlier disbelief. Dozens had been slaughtered by those monsters already. Contestants stronger than most had been reduced to mangled corpses by a single kick. And yet—these two still stood?
No… not just stood. They were steady, unbroken.
Truly, they weren't ordinary at all.
But the respite was short-lived. Across the battlefield, the three-headed Demon let out an enraged roar. Though it had torn off the frozen arms earlier, the wounds on its fused necks were still raw and incomplete. Now, six brand-new arms sprouted from its sides, each swinging with crushing force.
At the same time, the spider Demon lurked, waiting for openings, while the bouncing Demon circled restlessly, looking for its next strike. Contestants were falling again, their numbers dwindling by the breath.
Yukishiro clenched his blade, his gaze locking onto the massive shadow of the three-headed beast.
He turned to the others. "Kimura, Akino—you hold off the spider. Keep it away from the rest. Focus on defending, not killing. The others—cut down as many lesser Demons as you can."
Then his eyes slid briefly to Mitsuri. She had lowered her head, still stung by his cruel words earlier.
But as he dashed forward, he called out without looking back, his tone clipped yet clear.
"Go. Cut off the bouncing Demon's head."
Mitsuri froze, then lifted her eyes wide. For a heartbeat, her heart stopped. Then, joy surged like fire through her veins.
He still trusted her. He had given her a task.
Her lips curled into a small smile. "Yes."
If she failed, he would never look at her again. But if she succeeded—then maybe she could stand beside him without shame.
Meanwhile, Yukishiro surged toward the towering monster.
Gasps erupted among the survivors. Yukishiro, the boy who had been thrown back and bloodied only moments ago, had returned to the battlefield, blade gleaming in the moonlight.
Hope flickered again in broken hearts.
Across the field, the three-headed Demon bellowed and its six monstrous hands clawed for him all at once, intent on crushing him into the dirt.
Yukishiro's eyes narrowed.
"Ice Breath—Fusion Technique: Phantom Snowfall."
The night air dropped in temperature. Cold mist swept across the mountain slope, flurries of snow swirling under the moonlight.
From Yukishiro's form, six after-images seemed to drift free, each intercepting one massive hand.
In the frozen haze, his figure slipped back and forth like a phantom, blade flashing. Frost traced lines across the monster's flesh wherever his sword struck, searing icy scars into its palms and arms.
But this time, he wasn't content with stalling.
This time, he was aiming for the necks. Both of them.