My name is Kazuma Satou. A nuclear engineering student currently undergoing a study visit to Russia. The goal is simple yet prestigious to study more deeply the extraordinary nuclear technology they have developed and maintained over the past several decades. For a man in this era, being able to stand in such an international academic environment is already no small achievement.
I am among the few men who can be called fortunate in today's inverted society. Several centuries have passed since the Mato dimension manifested in Japan, shaking the global order and overturning the hierarchy that had been considered unshakable for thousands of years. The world I once knew through history books has now become nothing more than a footnote of an inevitable great change.
The position of men collapsed almost instantly. What used to be long debates about equality has now turned into a new norm accepted without many questions. The threat of invasion from Mato has never truly disappeared, and the fact that only women are compatible with the peach fruit—the source of that superpower caused the balance of power to shift in a semi-permanent way.
Women became the front line of defense, leaders of nations, controllers of strategic industries, and symbols of global strength. Meanwhile men, including me, live in a narrower space—allowed to contribute, but rarely fully trusted. The world no longer runs on the old logic.
Yes, the world now is an inverted supernatural society.
Why do I call it supernatural and not simply the era of superhumans? Because all these changes originate from the existence of another world called Mato. Without that dimension, without the gate that opened in Japan hundreds of years ago, perhaps human civilization would still move along a different path.
After one long week, I finally returned to my homeland. Even though this visit was relatively short, what I learned went far beyond the official syllabus provided by the university. Not only material about the newest generation of reactors or fuel enrichment systems, but also closed conversations with the male professors there discussions that were never recorded, yet full of meaning in a world that had changed direction.
While waiting for the boarding call, I opened social media. The timeline was filled with news about missing people who had just been found by the Anti-Demon Corps. When opening the comments, various praises and expressions of gratitude toward that department appeared.
Since the invasion from the Mato dimension never truly stopped, Japan formed an independent non-ministerial organization as the front line to face that threat. They stand outside the usual bureaucratic structure faster, more flexible, and of course dominated by women who consumed the peach fruit.
Thus the Anti-Demon Corps was born.
Six generations have passed since its formation. During that time, invasions from the world of Mato have still occurred. Not because they cannot be handled, but because they have never truly been resolved.
"Because the peach fruit only grows in Mato, that situation happens."
That's right. As long as the source of that power only exists there, the existence of Mato becomes a beneficial paradox. Too dangerous to ignore, yet too valuable to destroy. That is why the government never truly intends to close the gate.
The main duty of the anti-demon corps is to prevent large-scale invasions from occurring on Earth like the day of the beginning. This has been quite successful because for six generations there has been no major chaos aside from Shuuki that usually slip past the troops' observation because the gates appear in different places.
"Haah, the social inequality between men and women here is not too severe. I can still comfortably ride the train, while in Japan..."
I stopped my own thoughts. Just imagining it was enough to make my stomach twist. Since women took over the center of power, social rules changed drastically. Even in public transportation, separation became normal. The men's carriage is always overcrowded—shoulders pressing together, breathing heavy while the women's carriage is far more spacious and comfortable. No one questions it anymore. Everything is considered normal.
While at the airport waiting for the flight, sleepiness attacked mercilessly. It must be because I stayed up late again. A bad habit I find difficult to stop, even though I regret it many times. To drive away the fatigue, I decided to go to the restroom and wash my face with cold water.
The water flowed across my skin, slightly refreshing my clouded mind. In the middle of the sound of the running water, hurried footsteps entered the room. From the reflection in the mirror, I saw an old man standing behind me. His face was not very clear, but his uneasy aura could be felt even from several meters away.
Whatever his business was, it seemed he was waiting for me to finish using the sink. I quickly grabbed a handkerchief and dried my face, not wanting to block him.
That was the last thing I remembered.
When my consciousness returned, I was already inside a toilet stall. My position was sitting, the door tightly closed. Did I have a stomachache and somehow move here without realizing it?
"Ugh, my head…"
A dull pain throbbed at the back of my head, leaving a strange sensation that was difficult to explain. I tried to remember what happened after seeing that old man, but my mind felt covered by thick fog. Before I could force myself to remember further, the airport announcement echoed—the flight to Tokyo would soon depart.
"Damn, I'll be late!"
Panic defeated confusion. I quickly straightened my clothes, making sure nothing looked strange about my appearance, then hurried out of the restroom without realizing that my life had just changed in a direction that could never return to how it once was.
/---/
On the other side, Omar Bradley a researcher of French-American nationality was in a situation far from safe. The large and open airport had briefly given him an advantage; amid the flow of people coming and going, his pursuers had difficulty confirming his position. However, when Omar suddenly disappeared into the restroom, suspicion began to grow. Even so, because he had shown no signs of realizing their presence beforehand, no one suspected that the Mato Essence had already changed hands or more precisely, had begun flowing through the veins of Kazuma Satou.
The pursuers continued tailing him once he reappeared. Until finally, a third party moved first—approaching openly, without any attempt to hide their identities. From the way they walked and the gazes that were no longer pretending to be neutral, Omar immediately understood who was hunting him. The situation changed in an instant.
He ran.
The scene resembled a criminal trying to escape law enforcement, except it unfolded in the middle of a busy international airport. Departure announcements mixed with the sound of footsteps and faint shouts. Even though he was no longer young, Omar moved swiftly, using the crowd as a shield. He knocked over luggage trolleys, turned sharply between lines of passengers, even jumped over queue barriers with an agility that did not match his graying hair.
Escaping the airport only gave him a brief breath of relief. Without hesitation, he stole a taxi whose engine was still running at the roadside, then sped away before the owner could react. However, the organization pursuing him was no group of amateurs. It did not take long before his position was tracked again.
The chase continued through the streets of Russia, turning into something worthy of an action film. Cars sped between snow that had begun to melt, horns blared, and sparks occasionally appeared as vehicles scraped against each other.
Behind the wheel, Omar revealed a side rarely seen from a researcher and bookworm. His hands were steady, his reflexes sharp, and his mind remained cold under pressure. He drove with precision, using narrow turns and city alleys to widen the distance. Yet no matter how impressive his efforts were, age and the number of enemies remained decisive factors.
Eventually, he was brutally cornered his car trapped with no gap to escape.
That was when everything ended in a single violent collision. Omar's vehicle was struck from the side with brutal force, pushed into the barrier of a bridge until it flipped over. Metal bent, glass shattered in all directions, and within seconds the vehicle plunged toward the frozen river below.
Yet fate did not immediately close the curtain. In the final moment before the car completely sank, Omar managed to escape. His aging body hit the water as cold as a blade, his breath nearly stopping from the bone-piercing temperature. With the last of his strength, he swam toward the riverbank, his fingers clawing at slippery stones until he finally managed to pull himself ashore.
As soon as he stood unsteadily, he realized there was no way out left.
Along the riverbank, men in black suits had already surrounded him. Firearms were raised, their muzzles aimed directly at Omar's soaked and trembling body. There was no gap, no shadow to hide in. Only the cold air and death drawing closer.
The door of a luxury car slowly opened. From inside, a man stepped out calmly, his suit different from the others more refined, more expensive, and radiating authority without needing to be spoken. His shoes touched the asphalt with a relaxed rhythm, as if this were not a bloody pursuit, but an ordinary business meeting.
"Omar Bradley... Hmm, you should have stayed quietly in your workspace."
The voice was flat, yet heavy with judgment.
Omar coughed softly, blood mixed with river water dripping from the corner of his lips. Even though his body weakened, his gaze remained sharp as he looked at the man before him—Thomas Walker, one of the largest investors in the Eden organization.
"Cough... Walker, in the end you also wanted that thing."
His tone was heavy, not only because of the injuries, but also because of a disappointment that needed no explanation. The look he gave was not toward an enemy, but toward someone who had once stood on the same side.
"Can't you stop being so selfish? Our purpose from the beginning in forming Eden was to revive the superiority of men!"
Walker stepped closer, his voice rising not only angry, but wounded by the betrayal he believed he had suffered. He mocked Omar for being stubborn, even though both of them came from the same conviction: doing anything for their greater purpose. They once sat at the same table, designing the future with cold logic and limitless ambition.
Omar laughed quietly, the hoarse sound mixed with a cough that tightened his chest. His memory drifted back to the dark days in the laboratory sterile rooms with blinding white lights, screams muffled by soundproof walls, and reports that disguised tragedies as data. He knew exactly how many unethical experiments he had conducted. How much blood stained his hands. How much suffering he had rationalized for a single hope: restoring balance.
Of course he had sinned. He never denied that. But at this point, sin was no longer the center of the issue. What frightened him more was the possibility that the power they created would instead give birth to chaos far greater than the inequality they tried to fix.
Amid the piercing cold air, his thoughts remained clear.
'It would be better to erase the existence of Mato. That way, the world returns to its original norms.'
That was the conclusion he reached after successfully perfecting Mato Essence. Not to duplicate the blessing of the peach, nor to create a new weapon for men—but to end the source of all those changes. Even though the plan would require time and no small amount of sacrifice, for Omar it was the most logical solution to resolve the polemic of the peach blessing power that had disrupted the balance of the world.
"Haah, because of you the internal relations in the organization cracked. Now, where is that thing?"
Walker spoke after letting out a long breath, trying to suppress the anger that had begun to overflow. His voice lowered, yet sounded even more dangerous cold and measured.
Omar only glanced to the side, toward the wet backpack lying not far from his feet. Such a small gesture was already enough. One of Walker's subordinates immediately moved, grabbing the bag swiftly before handing it to his superior.
Walker unzipped it without haste. From inside, he took out a small suitcase protected by a waterproof layer. His gaze briefly shifted toward Omar, as if trying to catch even the slightest reaction, before finally opening it.
Inside was only a glass bottle.
Empty.
The dim light of the evening sky reflected on the walls of the bottle that no longer contained the precious liquid. Silence covered the riverbank, with only the sound of wind and faint splashes of water.
"Where did you put that thing?"
Walker's voice had now completely lost patience. There was no more diplomatic pretense left.
"Heh..."
Omar snorted softly, his laughter thin and dismissive, as if this situation at the edge of death was nothing more than a bitter joke he had predicted from the beginning.
"YOU!!"
The shout broke the cold air, yet Omar remained standing with the last of his dignity, his old gaze implying one thing he had already moved further than they could ever imagine.