Date: Early Summer, Taishō 13
Age: Akira — 7
Location: Azabu District, Tokyo
Combat Strength: ★☆☆☆☆ (Untrained child, strong instincts)
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The Azabu streets smelled faintly of rain and charcoal.
Wooden houses stood close together here, roofs tiled dark and heavy, their eaves dripping from a shower that had ended not long ago. Water gathered in shallow puddles along the dirt road, reflecting the muted gray of the sky and the slow sway of hanging paper lanterns.
Akira sat beneath a persimmon tree at the edge of a small shrine clearing.
His legs were crossed. His back was straight—not because someone had taught him posture, but because it felt right. A small cloth bundle rested beside him, carefully folded. Inside were bandages, dried herbs, and a wooden practice knife worn smooth from use.
He was alone.
But he wasn't lonely.
Akira tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded as he listened.
Footsteps.
Two adults passing.
A cat hopping onto a fence.
Wind brushing leaves—three different layers of sound.
"…So noisy," he muttered, then smiled.
> "Great Sage: Sensory awareness exceeds average human child parameters by 217%."
The voice echoed calmly inside his mind—clear, neutral, almost gentle.
Akira didn't respond out loud. He never did.
I know, he thought back. You don't have to say it like that.
> "Correction: Verbal acknowledgment not required. Information provided for self-assessment."
"Hah," Akira whispered, poking at the dirt with a twig. "You're bad at talking to kids."
> "Acknowledged. Adjusting communication tone…"
"New assessment: Akira is doing well."
That earned a soft laugh.
Akira liked Great Sage. It never lied. Never yelled. Never disappeared.
Unlike adults.
He glanced toward the nearby houses—toward that one in particular.
Kanroji Mitsuri's home stood just down the street, larger than most, with a well-kept fence and flowering plants climbing the walls. The air there always smelled faintly sweet—sugar, rice flour, and something warm.
Cooking.
Akira's stomach growled.
"Not yet," he whispered to himself. "Don't stare. That's rude."
> "Advisory: Staring increases probability of social discomfort by 64%."
"I know that too."
Still… his eyes drifted back.
---
Mitsuri Kanroji burst out of her house like a pink storm.
Her hair—long, thick, and braided—swung behind her as she ran, sandals slapping against the ground. She nearly tripped on the step, caught herself, and laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
"I forgot my ribbon again!" she called back inside.
A woman's voice—her mother's—answered with gentle exasperation.
"Mitsuri, you'll lose your head one day if it's not sewn on!"
Mitsuri giggled and spun in a little circle, then froze.
Her bright green eyes landed directly on Akira.
They stared at each other.
Akira blinked first.
"Oh," he said intelligently.
Mitsuri tilted her head. "…Hello!"
She waved. Big. Enthusiastic. Like they'd been friends forever.
Akira hesitated for half a breath.
Then he stood, brushed dirt off his shorts, and waved back—smaller, but confident.
"Hi."
She smiled wider, if that was even possible.
"You're the boy who sits by the tree every day, right?"
"…Yes."
"I knew it!" she clapped her hands together. "I told Mother there was a shrine spirit living there!"
Akira choked.
"A—what?"
She leaned closer, inspecting him seriously. "You're not a spirit?"
"No! I'm just— I'm a kid!"
Mitsuri gasped. "So you are a kid spirit!"
"That's worse!"
She laughed—clear, ringing, completely unguarded.
Akira felt something strange tighten in his chest.
> "Emotional response detected. Elevated heart rate."
Stop narrating, he thought back, flustered.
Mitsuri crouched down in front of him without hesitation, close enough that he could see the faint dusting of flour on her sleeves.
"I'm Mitsuri," she said proudly. "I'm seven!"
"…Akira. I'm seven too."
Her eyes sparkled. "We're the same age!"
She said it like it was destiny.
Akira scratched his cheek. "I guess."
"You guess?" She leaned in even closer. "That means we're friends now."
"Is that how it works?"
"Mm-hmm! I decided."
Akira opened his mouth to argue—
—and then closed it.
He didn't… dislike the idea.
> "Social bond formation initiated. Probability of long-term emotional significance: High."
Hey, he warned internally. Don't exaggerate.
> "Noted. Reducing phrasing intensity."
Mitsuri noticed the bundle beside him. "What's that?"
"Oh—this?" He knelt and opened it, showing the contents. "Bandages. Herbs. I help people sometimes."
Her eyes widened. "You're like a doctor?!"
"Not really," he said quickly. "Just… first aid."
"That's amazing!" she said, utterly sincere. "You're amazing!"
Akira's face warmed.
"…You say that too easily."
She smiled softly. "Is that bad?"
He thought about it.
"No," he admitted. "It's… nice."
They sat together beneath the persimmon tree, sharing the quiet. Mitsuri talked—about sweets, about cooking, about how she wanted to grow big and strong so she could protect everyone she loved.
Akira listened.
Really listened.
Something deep inside him stirred—an instinct older than words.
> "Observation: Subject exhibits protective intent toward Mitsuri Kanroji."
"Query: Is this emotion to be prioritized?"
Akira watched Mitsuri laugh, sunlight catching in her pink-and-green hair.
Yes, he answered without hesitation.
Very much.
Unseen by either child, the wind shifted.
And somewhere far beyond Azabu, in places where sunlight did not reach—
Demons moved.
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End of Chapter 1
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