As dusk fell, the sun surrendered to the west, bleeding its final rays across the horizon. A fiery red glow draped over the earth like a silken veil, silhouetting the small wooden cabin on the mountainside against the deepening purple of the sky.
Kuwajima Jigoro emerged from the kitchen, balancing a massive basin of steaming white rice. He set it on the weathered wooden table in the yard and craned his neck toward the rafters.
"Touma! Dinner!"
"Coming!"
A shadow detached itself from the roof. With the agility of a mountain macaque, Tendo swung down from the eaves, landing soundlessly on the packed earth.
"You brat," Jigoro grumbled, though his eyes lacked any real heat. "Why are you always climbing the roof? You have a perfectly good floor." He scooped a modest bowl for himself before sliding the entire basin toward his apprentice. "We're nearly out of grain. Finish this off, then head down to the village to stock up."
"On it," Tendo chirped.
He fell upon the rice with a rhythmic, mechanical efficiency. To any passerby, the sight would have been jarring: a small, retired swordsman daintily eating a single bowl while a twelve-year-old boy demolished enough starch to fuel a small army. In an era where white rice was a luxury, such an appetite would have been a death sentence for a poor family. It was only the generous stipends provided by the Ubuyashiki Clan that kept the "Small Pillar" and his "Little Monster" from starvation.
Once the basin was scraped clean, Tendo took the coin pouch from Jigoro and set off. The five-kilometer trek to Taoshan Town served as his evening cardio. He arrived in under ten minutes, his breathing steady, his heart rate barely elevated.
At the town's edge, the local rice merchant hoisted a heavy burlap sack onto the counter. It was a load that usually required two grown men to maneuver, but Tendo reached out and hoisted it with a single hand.
"Your strength is getting scary, Touma," the merchant said, wiping sweat from his brow. "If you ever tire of the mountain life, I've got a spot for you here. You're built for the work."
Tendo offered a wry, helpless smile. Ah, the curse of the natural-born laborer, he thought. If the Old Man hadn't found me, I'd be hauling grain until my hair turned grey.
"Sorry, Uncle Yamamoto! I've got a world to save! Working for a living is out of the question!" Tendo laughed, waving as he shouldered the sack.
"Hurry home, then!" the merchant called out, his voice suddenly losing its jovial edge. "The town hasn't been peaceful lately. People are talking."
Tendo stopped in his tracks. In a blur of movement that made the merchant blink, the boy was back at the counter, his golden eyes wide with a sharp, sudden intensity. "What kind of trouble, Uncle? Details. I need details."
The merchant shivered, unsettled by the boy's lack of fear. "They're calling it a serial killer. Over a dozen people gone. They found... pieces. Organs missing. It's gruesome, son. Just get home before the moon gets too high."
"I hear you, Uncle. Stay safe."
Tendo turned and vanished into the darkening street. The merchant couldn't see the boy's face, but he didn't need to. The air around Tendo had shifted. The lazy disciple was gone, replaced by something cold, sharp, and terrifyingly eager.
Perverted serial killers? Tendo's lips curled into a predatory grin. Not in this world.
The last sliver of sun vanished, and the woods were swallowed by the cold, silver light of the moon. A chill wind swept through the cedars, carrying the metallic, lingering scent of old blood.
Deep within a tangled thicket, a pair of crimson eyes snapped open.
The creature was a nightmare of green-tinted flesh and protruding fangs, its chin stained dark as it gnawed on a severed human arm. Suddenly, its body buckled. Its bluish-black nose twitched violently, catching a scent that made its every cell scream with an uncontrollable, primal greed.
The half-eaten limb thudded to the forest floor. The demon's fangs clashed together in a frantic, rhythmic clatter.
"Rare Blood!" the creature hissed, its voice a wet rasp. "So rich... so potent! How? How is such a treasure just walking through my woods?"
It began to salivate, a thick waterfall of drool soaking the moss. "If I devour this boy, I won't just be a nameless prowler. I'll rise. The Twelve Kizuki... the Master will finally see me!"
On the path, Tendo strolled with deceptive nonchalance. Nothing yet? he mused, adjusting the heavy rice sack. Maybe it really is just a human killer. How disappointing. I even brought my favorite cleaver for the occasion.
He felt the gaze before he saw the monster. It was a heavy, suffocating pressure—the stare of a predator that had already decided its prey was dead.
From the shadows, the demon watched Tendo's throat, its mind racing with culinary plans. Should it start with the head? No, the blood was too precious to spill on the dirt. It would drain him dry first, savoring every drop of that divine, Rare Blood essence. This was a gift from the heavens—an unarmed human cub, walking straight into the slaughter.
The demon's mouth split into a grin that reached its ears. It tensed its corded muscles, preparing for a silent ambush from behind. Caution was its mantra; a prize this great deserved a perfect kill.
It lunged.
But as the demon cleared the brush, Tendo Feiyuzhen did something the creature didn't expect. He turned his head.
Their eyes met—gold meeting crimson.
In that instant, the demon froze. It didn't see terror in the boy's eyes. It didn't see a "prey" realizing its end.
Instead, it saw a reflected hunger that dwarfed its own. It saw a cold, fanatical excitement—a killing intent so sharp it felt like a blade against the demon's throat.
The demon's momentum faltered. A single, terrifying thought flashed through its mind before the first strike:
Between the two of us... which one is the monster?