Chapter 156: Deputy Captain Yukibashiri
Seiko sat holding her bowl, a complex mix of emotions swirling in her chest.
She hadn't expected him to remember her favorite food—udon. It was from so long
ago, back when they were still raw recruits... and this time, he had cooked it
himself.
She already knew Natsuya was an exceptional cook. Half a year ago in Yokohama,
she had wanted to eat her fill, but her shyness around him had kept her from
opening up properly.
"It still tastes the same," she whispered softly.
Natsuya: ?
Did I make udon for her before?
Seiko offered a faint, mysterious smile and didn't answer.
Night fell.
The swordsmen gradually dispersed, and the lights in the dojo flickered out one
by one. Eventually, the only sound left was the gentle chime of the wind chimes
hanging from the veranda.
Seiko sat on the porch, watching the boy who was still sweating away, pushing
through extra training drills in the moonlit courtyard.
The initial sense of awkwardness she had felt upon arriving earlier today had
melted away like spring snow, absorbed into the deep night.
In a strange way, it felt just like those evenings in Yokohama.
She quietly picked up her wooden sword, stepped into the courtyard, and fell
into step right beside him.
"Natsuya-kun."
Seiko spoke suddenly.
The boy's body hitched slightly, and he paused his basic kata drills.
"Hmm?"
"I... I really worked hard these past six months."
She looked down at her hands.
The back of her hands remained smooth and youthful like any girl's, but the
palms were covered in thick, hardened calluses. From her initial desire for
revenge, to blindly driving herself to keep up with Natsuya's pace, to accepting
his guidance, and finally venturing alone into the frozen north...
Swords in hand, she had carved out her own path.
"Back then, I thought to myself: He's so strong, and he's working that hard. I
can't stay behind."
"The Snow Breathing... you planted the seed for it."
"Later, up in Hokkaido, I slowly modified Water Breathing into what it is now."
"Without any outside references."
"I just took everything I knew, everything I felt, and mashed it together using
the methods you taught me."
Natsuya listened quietly.
Then, Seiko raised her head, her eyes catching the moonlight. There was no
shyness in her gaze now. No girlish hesitation or starry-eyed awe.
She looked like a true swordsman.
Bathed in the frosty white mist of her own breath, she looked remarkably similar
to the image of a lone warrior dancing through a northern blizzard.
Seiko had truly acquired the aura of the strong.
"So, I want to spar with you."
Not a drill. Not a practice match.
A challenge.
Yukibashiri Seiko stared straight at him, her voice soft, but each word driven
by an unyielding weight. "I've gotten stronger, too."
"Oh? Is that so?"
Natsuya walked over to the edge of the veranda and wiped away his sweat. He set
the wooden sword aside and reached for his gear instead.
Swapping the practice wood for the real deal.
A cool, early-spring breeze swept through the courtyard, fluttering the edges of
Natsuya's white haori and whipping his dark hair across his brow.
Against a genuine swordsman, using a wooden sword felt a bit too casual.
Natsuya turned back. "Alright. Let's see it."
No one ever learned the result of that midnight duel.
However, when the Wednesday training sessions resumed the following week, the
trainees noticed a new face joining the advanced ranks: Yukibashiri Seiko.
She trained alongside the rest of them. The same heavy sweat, the same ragged
breathing, the same relentless pushing of her physical limits under Natsuya's
supervision.
Seiko had officially joined Group A.
Yet, subtle differences made it clear to the observant Slayers that she held a
special status.
For instance, the "Luminary Hashira's Wednesdays" were strictly limited to
Wednesdays. On Mondays and Fridays, Natsuya rarely hosted formal classes.
Yet Seiko seemed to have a VIP pass that allowed her to come and go as she
pleased, even utilizing the dojo on weekends.
Try getting weekend hours with the Boss, more than one envious Slayer thought.
Furthermore—
"Seiko, take Squad 018 on a sweep of the western ridges," Natsuya instructed
casually after a morning drill. "Their formation integrity is still a bit shaky.
Keep an eye on them."
Seiko nodded, her voice steady. "Understood."
Because of her proven strength, Natsuya frequently deployed her as a "3+1" or
"2+1" anchor in other regional squads. It served a dual purpose: letting her
accumulate live-combat leadership experience while protecting rookie Slayers
from sudden spikes in difficulty.
It was essentially a managerial promotion.
Watching the dynamic, the other trainees exchanged knowing glances.
If calling her a 'favorites hire' is wrong, I don't know what right is.
Of course, nobody was stupid enough to voice the complaint out loud. On one
hand, you didn't question a Hashira's orders. On the other hand, Seiko's combat
record spoke for itself. She had pulled several squads out of total team-wipes
over the past month.
Thus, without an official decree from HQ, a new title naturally took root among
the northern Slayers:
"Deputy Captain Yukibashiri."
Whenever they saw her, most Slayers greeted her with a respectful nod.
Naturally, there were a few contrarian hotheads who grumbled in private, but
their complaints stemmed entirely from competitive envy.
And since there was a "Deputy Captain," the logical question followed: Who's the
Captain?
That question was answered the day Natsuya officially donned his newly tailored,
custom-woven haori featuring the bold kanji character for [LUMINARY] (曜) stamped
across the back.
"The Corps has its rules, but up here in the North, we follow the rules of the
Karakuraza," Natsuya announced to the gathered assembly.
"From here on out, when we're in the field, you will address me as Captain
Kokonoe."
Special Service Section 9, Demon Suppression Unit, Captain. It's my task force,
and I'm making up the lore as I go.
The Slayers exchanged dazed glances, then saluted in unison. "YES, LORD
HASHIRA—I MEAN, CAPTAIN KOKONOE!"
Natsuya: Good enough.
Amidst the growing rhythm of the dojo, an unexpected visitor arrived in early
April.
It was Oishi Kujuro, the medical researcher and professor Natsuya had met back
at the Sendai Medical University. He had tracked Natsuya down to the dojo,
bringing along a few of his brightest students to observe and study under the
"Miracle Doctor."
The students were wide-eyed youths, bursting with academic curiosity. One of
them even tried to wander over to Natsuya's forge to inspect his smithing tools,
looking like he wanted to dissect them.
Natsuya didn't have the patience to talk shop about medical theory. He simply
tossed a stack of medical manuscripts and ancient pharmacopeia he'd scavenged
from various places onto a table and told Professor Oishi to read them.
As Oishi dove into the texts with starry-eyed reverence, one of his young
student assistants stepped forward. He looked a bit nervous, but his eyes burned
with sharp, inquisitive ambition.
"Excuse me... are you from the Far East originally, sir?"
Natsuya blinked. First time someone's ever doubted my regional specs based on my
accent.
"Why? Do I look like an immigrant?"
The young man smiled politely. "Your pronunciation and local idioms are
practically native, but the underlying linguistic grammar... it has a distinct
cadence that doesn't quite match standard regional dialects."
"Ah. Probably just a dialect quirk from where I grew up."
"Is that so?" The young man didn't press further, offering a polite bow.
"Anyway, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Asano Sakajin."
"Of course, that's the name I use here in the Far East for my studies."
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