KHALID KUROSAWA'S POV
I finally reached the academy and went straight to Kenta — he was the one
who called, and from his tone, it sounded urgent. I should've known better. It's
Kenta, after all. The guy could make "we're under attack" sound the same as
"we're out of tea."
Turns out, the big emergency was this: the three rookies finally completed their
Ruhbinder basics and were now officially cleared for missions. And of course,
Kenta wanted to celebrate.
How this guy became a house master still baffles me.
The academy's structure is simple but strict. Ruhbinders are divided into
Houses — squads led by a House Master. To earn that title, you have to be
monstrously strong, dangerously skilled, and chosen by the Elders themselves.
Each House Master picks their own Right Hand — in our case, that's Kamilah
— and the rest of us make up the team.
Our squad is House 5. The number's written in Arabic on our uniforms — a
mark that tells everyone who we fight for, and who we die with.
"Kuro! Finally," Kenta called out with that usual grin plastered on his face.
"These three have officially wrapped up their training. They can even summon
their weapons now. Can you believe it? Just four months ago, they were clue-
less eighteen-year-olds — now they've cracked a cherry."
I folded my arms. "I finished mine in two months. You never threw me a party."
He chuckled. "You were a pain in the ass even back then. Would've ruined the
mood."
I ignored that. "This isn't the time for jokes. There are new Hyoitai around —
and they're not the usual type."
"Yeah, I know." His tone shifted, subtle but heavy. "That's exactly why we're
all assembled here."
For a second, the weight in his voice drowned out the room's chatter. Relief
washed over me — if Kenta's taking something seriously, then it's real.
He might play dumb, act lazy, and joke like nothing matters…
But when the House Master moves, it means the storm's already on its way.
"Where's Kamilah?" I asked, scanning the room.
"She went to the restroom. She'll be right back," Aoi replied.
"Since when do you call her 'Lady'?" I asked.
"You got a problem with that?" she shot back, tilting her head with that usual
attitude.
I ignored her and turned to Kenta. "So what's the plan?"
Kenta leaned forward, his grin fading. "We track them ourselves. We can't sit
and wait while people die." He paused, glancing toward the door. "Let's wait
for Kamilah. Speak of the devil—"
The door opened.
"Ooh, sorry for keeping you waiting," Kamilah said the moment she stepped in.
"Kuro, how have you been?"
"Pissed off," I replied. "Been hitting dead ends all day."
She smirked. "You're always pissed off for some reason."
"Comes with the job, I guess."
Zayne spoke up. "Just how many of the enemy are out there right now?"
That's when I really looked at him. He looked different—stronger, sharper.
They all did. The soft edges from before were gone.
"Hey, Kuro, snap out of it," he said, snapping his fingers.
"Oh—yeah. Sorry." I exhaled. "We don't know the exact number yet. But it's
not one, that's for sure."
From the reports we've been getting, these Hyoitai might be Third Genera-
tion, Tier B class. The fact that they've been feeding without anyone noticing
means they've got techniques that could cause us real trouble," Kenta said, with
Kamilah standing beside him.
"I've never fought a Tier B Third Gen before," I muttered.
"Actually, you have," Kenta replied, glancing at me. "Your teacher was a
Third Gen. That trap she placed you in wasn't a joke."
I went quiet for a second. Yeah, he wasn't wrong.
"You three, listen up," Kenta said, his tone shifting to serious. "Hyoitai are
ranked by generations. There are four of them — and within each generation,
they're divided into tiers."
He folded his arms. "Fourth Generation has two tiers — F and E. Don't
underestimate them. They can still tear apart a human like paper, but for a
trained Ruhbinder, they're easy work."
He continued, "Third Generation has three tiers — D, C, and B. That's
where things start getting dangerous. They adapt fast, they evolve, and if
you're not careful, they can grow into Second Generation Hyoitai."
He paused, his expression tightening. "Second Generation only has two tiers
— A and S. None of you here can handle one of those. Only Kamilah and I
could stand a chance."
Kenta's voice lowered, carrying a weight that silenced the room. "Now, First
Generation Hyoitai… they have no tiers. If you ever meet one, you'll understand
why. Words won't do justice. They're beyond reason."
He looked directly at me. "And remember — both Second Gen (Tier S)
and First Gen Hyoitai can devour a Ruhbinder's Ruh essence. If that happens,
there's no saving you."
The room went cold after that.
I haven't been a Ruhbinder for long, but I've already learned one thing — fear
gets you killed out there.
I said that to myself, my eyes locked on Aoi.
"Hey, but cheer up," Kenta said, his usual grin returning. "I'd never send you
on a mission out of your league. So if you do die out there…" — his grin widened
— "…it'll be because of your own incompetence and lack of confidence in your
ability. Stay focused."
"Wow, you really have a way of scaring people, you big jerk," Kamilah said,
arms crossed but clearly used to his antics.
"At least someone's noticing he's a jerk," Zayne added, backing her up.
"C'mon, Kenta's the coolest guy I've met in a while," Sosuke said, grinning as
he patted Kenta on the shoulder. "We should spar sometime—one-on-one. No
Ruh, just fists."
Kenta smirked. "You sure you're ready for that, rookie?"
Their voices faded a bit as my phone buzzed. I pulled it out, frowning. Is that
who I think it is?
"I gotta take this," I said, stepping out of the room.
The air outside was quieter, heavy. I picked up.
"Hey kid, it's me—Takumi. Where are you?" His voice came through sharp,
tense.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"I passed by Ikebukuro. Get here already—I've got something for you."
"It'll be closed by the time I get there," I said.
"Don't worry. I've got a friend—he'll let you in. And come alone."
The line went dead before I could answer.
I usually do the hanging up—but oh well.
I slid my phone into my coat and turned back to the room. "I'm heading out.
It's getting late," I told Kenta.
"Alright. I'll call when something comes up," he said, not looking up.
"Hey, when do we get to go home?" Zayne asked.
"Shut up—you're living a king's life in here," Kenta shot back.
Their voices faded as I walked out.
The academy grounds were quiet, the night mist rolling over the training fields.
The moonlight spilled across the rooftops, catching the faint shimmer of the
concealment barriers that kept us hidden from the outside world. I made my
way to the dorms, grabbed my empty sheath, and stepped outside.
The air was cold and sharp—perfect for clearing your head. The forest path
down Mount Takao was wrapped in silence, broken only by the crunch of gravel
beneath my boots. My breath fogged in front of me as I descended toward the
station lights glowing faintly in the distance.
By the time I reached the train platform, it was nearly deserted. A single vend-
ing machine hummed beside a flickering streetlight. The last train to the city
screeched in, its windows reflecting the mountains behind me and the endless
sprawl ahead.
I boarded. The rhythmic clatter of the train filled the silence, Tokyo's skyline
slowly rising as the countryside melted away. Neon swallowed the night as I
reached Ikebukuro—signs buzzing, streets damp from the evening drizzle, and
a few drunks staggering out of bars.
The theater loomed at the end of the street, its lights dimmed, curtains drawn,
the kind of quiet that doesn't feel natural.
What the hell are you dragging me into this time, Takumi…
The glass doors creaked as I stepped inside.
The theater was quiet—too quiet for this hour. Just the faint hum of the
projector and the scent of old popcorn hanging in the air. I moved through the
corridor, my footsteps echoing against the tiled floor, the glow from the movie
screen leaking faintly from the hall ahead.
Inside, the theater was drenched in flickering light from the screen. A film
played softly—some old drama, voices distant, hollow. Most of the seats were
empty except for two figures in the farthest row.
Takumi.
And someone sitting beside him.
They were seated close, her head resting gently on his shoulder, his body
perfectly still. From a distance, it looked almost peaceful—like two lovers lost
in a movie. But something in that stillness clawed at me.
I stayed there for a second, frozen, watching the silver light flash across their
silhouettes.
"Takumi?" I called quietly.
No answer.
The projector kept rolling, the film's dialogue echoing faintly through the
room, filling the silence between us.
"Hey… come closer, kid. Don't be shy. The movie's great," Takumi's voice
called out, calm, too calm.
The words echoed through the near-empty theatre, blending with the soft mur-
murs from the screen. I could see their silhouettes, frozen in the flicker of the
film — the woman still resting her head against him.
Something about it felt wrong.
I stepped down the carpeted aisle, one cautious foot after another, my eyes fixed
on them. The projector light painted everything in silver and shadow, flashes
of color from the movie washing over the seats.
"Sure," I said quietly, lowering my guard just enough to look natural — but my
hand was already on my sheath.
I stopped two rows behind them and leaned forward slightly.
"You can at least look at me," I said.
The air split.
Something moved—fast. A blur of steel and wind sliced across my face, close
enough that I felt the sting on my neck.
I dropped low instinctively, eyes scanning the darkness.
Yeah… I don't think so.
By the time the seat rocked from the strike, I'd already closed the distance —
moving through the dim light, eyes locked on Takumi and the shadow that had
just attacked.
The movie kept playing.
The audience on screen laughed.
"Niceee… you're fast," a woman's voice purred from the darkness. The way she
said it — playful, mocking — sent a chill down my spine.
"I was going to finish you with one slash," she continued, stepping into the
flickering light, "but I guess it's my lucky day. I get to play with my prey."
Her silhouette swayed between frames of the movie, the light from the screen
catching strands of silver hair and the curve of a grin that didn't belong on a
human face.
"Who are you?" I asked, my hand gripping the saya.
She tilted her head. "Aren't you going to ask about your Mr. Takumi over
there? You really are self-centered."
My stomach tightened. "…He's dead, isn't he?"
"Correct," she said without a hint of remorse. "I killed him. Pumped so much
venom into his veins his body's nerves just… stopped working." She smiled
wider, proud of her own cruelty. "But I left his brain intact — so I could insert
my webs into it and control him. Amazing, right?"
Before I could move, she walked toward Takumi's body, her movements elegant,
deliberate. Then — without hesitation — she gripped his head and ripped it
clean off, tossing it across the room like garbage.
"He's useless now," she said, licking the blood from her hand. "You… you're my
new toy."
From beneath her coat, she drew a ninjatō and a tantō, both blades glinting
under the theatre's dim light. Her stance was low, perfect balance, predatory.
The movie behind her kept rolling — some romantic scene still playing, com-
pletely detached from the nightmare unfolding in front of me.
And in that surreal glow, surrounded by blood and flickering frames, I realized
— this wasn't going to be a normal fight.
I drew a deep breath and focused, channeling Djinn energy into my saya.
The air around me vibrated — faint whispers, like echoes from another realm
— before dark blue, ethereal smoke spiraled around my hand.
In an instant, my long katana materialized through the haze, its blade humming
softly with power. I drew it free in one smooth motion and took my stance —
eyes locked on her, heart steady, ready to cut through whatever nightmare she
was.
"It's always women," I muttered, tightening my grip on the hilt. The movie's
glow painted her face — beautiful, perfect even, but her eyes told another story.
Deranged. Hungry.
"Why the hell do I always end up fighting the crazy ones?"
She smiled — slow, deliberate — tilting her head as the light flickered across
her blade.
"Maybe because sane women don't survive long around men like you," she said,
voice sweet but venom dripping from every word. "Now… scream for me, Ruh-
binder."
I exhaled slowly, clearing my mind. The world dimmed around me — only
her, the sound of the projector rolling, and the faint hum of the screen remained.
She moved first. A blur of motion, her tanto flashing like a fragment of moon-
light.
I parried — sparks split the darkness. Her second blade followed instantly,
aiming for my ribs. I twisted, the edge grazing my coat. Too close.
She smiled, stepping lightly, almost dancing around the rows of empty seats.
Her every strike flowed like silk, no wasted motion, no hesitation.
"So refined," I thought. "Even monsters can move beautifully."
I countered with a clean diagonal slash — the kind meant to end a fight
— but she ducked under it, her hair brushing my blade, her laughter echoing
across the theater.
"Too slow, samurai!"
The blue aura from my katana illuminated the seats around us — shadows
stretched like specters across the screen. She darted in again, and for a split
second, her face was inches from mine — her smile, twisted and perfect.
Then she whispered, "Let's make this fun."
I barely saw the movement — a strand of glowing silk shot past me, cutting
through the seat beside my head.
Before I could react, more threads spread around the room, weaving fast, closing
the exits.
"Shit," I muttered, lowering my stance. "She's turning this whole place into
a web."
She giggled, her silhouette framed by the silver light of the movie screen.
"Don't die too quickly, Kurosawa."
And as the lights flickered, she vanished into the darkness — leaving only
the sound of her blades sliding against each other.
I raised my sword, breath steady.
"Guess this night just got longer."
[To be continued...]