The café smelled of freshly brewed coffee, thick and rich, mingling with the saccharine scent of pastries lined up neatly in the glass display. Condensation clung to the sides of their drinks—tiny, silent indicators of the contrast between warmth and cold.
Reika sat there, fingers ghosting over the rim of her tea, steam curling up in lazy tendrils. As always, unreadable.
The conversation was light at first—Himari's latest shopping haul, Ryou grumbling about the ridiculous cost of living in the city, Tetsuya making some naïve comment that earned him a round of amused chuckles.
For a moment, all that could be heard was the clinking of spoons against plates and the murmured conversations of other customers, oblivious to the shift in atmosphere at their table.
Reika didn't move. Her fingers still rested on the side of her cup, her expression unchanged. If something stirred within her, it was buried too deep to surface.
Himari let out a slow breath, breaking the silence. "Well… we're not detectives. Let the professionals handle it."
Tetsuya nodded quickly, eager to shake off the unease. "Yeah, not our problem, right?"
Ryou didn't answer.
Instead, he scrolled through his phone, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned the screen toward them.
A news article.
A picture.
The same village, now nothing more than scorched earth and ash. Tetsuya tensed. Himari sat up straighter. "This is the same place," she murmured, her voice lacking its usual confidence.
Ryou nodded, his voice calm but laced with something else. "According to the reports, it disappeared overnight. No explosion, no natural disaster. Just gone."
Tetsuya frowned. "No survivors? No one made it out?"
"None." Ryou's tone was cold. "Not even remains. No bones, no lingering traces of life. It's as if the entire place was… evaporated."
Silence.
Himari tapped her nails against the table, her usual fidgeting now carrying an edge of unease. "A high-level curse, then?"
"If it is," Ryou muttered, "it's not just 'high level.' It's something else." He exhaled slowly. "And the real question is… why did it take so long for anyone to notice? This village wasn't that remote. But somehow, it took days before people realized it was just gone."
Tetsuya shivered. "So you think… something was covering it up?"
Himari swirled the ice in her drink, watching the liquid shift. "Or something didn't want to be found too soon."
At the far end of the table, Reika stirred her tea with slow, methodical movements, silent as ever.
None of them noticed the way her shadow flickered unnaturally, as if responding to something unseen.
None of them noticed the faint reflection in her tea—where, for just a second, her own eyes were not her own.
───⭑⭒⚊奈落の顎⚊⭒⭑───
The morning air was damp with lingering mist, but the ground beneath their feet was dry and cracked. The kind of silence that pressed against the skin, heavy and waiting.
Four students stood in a line, each carrying an expression shaped by the weight of the world they'd been thrown into.
Himari, restless, shifting on her feet but holding her ground. Tetsuya, masking his nerves with a carefully neutral face.
Ryou, arms crossed, unreadable as always.
Reika. Still. Unshaken. A presence that could be mistaken for absence—until it wasn't.
Somewhere in the distance, a crow called out, its cry swallowed by the vast emptiness of the sky. It wasn't the presence of Yuuji that made the air feel heavier. Not entirely.
Sure, he stood there with his hands shoved into his pockets, his usually bright eyes dimmed into something sharper, something unreadable. His voice, when it came, was deceptively light.
"You had a day off, didn't you?"
Not a question. A warning.
Silence stretched between them, taut like a wire. No one answered. They knew better. And then Yuuji stepped aside.
Something emerged from the shadow he left behind—no, not something. Someone.
His footsteps were nearly soundless, but the atmosphere shifted the moment he arrived. A chill, subtle yet inescapable, crawled up their spines.
Megumi Fushiguro.
Older now. Taller than when the public last saw him. The same dark hair, though a little longer, the same sharp eyes—but there was something there, just beneath the surface. Something fractured. Something not entirely whole.
He surveyed them with the quiet intensity of a man weighing an outcome before it even arrived. And then, with a voice devoid of warmth, he said:
"Let's see how long you can last."
They barely had time to register the words before the first attack came.
Two Divine Dogs lunged without warning, claws raking through the air, digging into the dirt like knives through flesh.
Himari moved first, instincts sharper than hesitation. A twist of her body, a flash of gold, and she was out of reach.
Tetsuya, however, wasn't as fast.
One of the beasts closed in, moments from tearing into him—but before it could, Ryou's hand shot out. Momentum twisted at his command, and in the blink of an eye, Tetsuya was yanked away from death.
Megumi didn't react. He only watched. Yuuji, standing beside him, did the same. No instructions. No guidance. This wasn't a training exercise. This was survival of the fittest.
Himari's energy flared, a burst of gold so blinding it was like staring into a dying sun. She launched herself into the air, her curse technique primed to strike down one of the Divine Dogs.
But just as she prepared to land her blow, the shadows beneath her twisted.
A hand, black as pitch, shot up from the ground and clamped around her ankle. The next second, she was yanked down with brutal force.
Her scream was brief—cut off by the impact of her body slamming into the earth. She couldn't move.
Her legs were trapped within the darkness, held in place by something far stronger than mere shadow.
Megumi still hadn't moved from his spot. "You think fights will always be fair?" His voice was cold.
Tetsuya gritted his teeth. His hands rose, his curse spreading outward—waves of disruption meant to scramble the Divine Dog's senses.
It worked.
The beast faltered, its movements stuttering for just a fraction of a second. But that was all Ryou needed.
Momentum shifted. He moved faster than logic allowed, his body snapping through space like a bullet breaking the sound barrier.
One strike—
And the Divine Dog was sent hurtling backward. For a heartbeat, it felt like a victory. Then Megumi lifted a single hand.
The shadows beneath him ruptured.
Something massive rose from the abyss—three heads, their forms twisting with malevolent energy.
A Hydra.
Its presence alone suffocated the space around them. "If this is all you have," Megumi murmured, "you'd already be dead." And still, Reika had not moved.
Not once.
The others had fought, struggled, reacted—but she remained where she was, untouched, unfazed.
As if none of this concerned her. Megumi's gaze finally shifted toward her. "You," he said, "why aren't you moving?"
Reika tilted her head slightly, her crimson eyes observing rather than answering.
Megumi's breath remained steady, his shoulders rising and falling in measured control. On the surface, he appeared the same as ever—calm, calculating, completely in command.
But something wasn't right. Reika stood too still. Not with the stiffness of hesitation, nor the readiness of a fighter waiting for the right moment.
It was something else.
Something unnatural.
Megumi had been in countless battles, had faced monsters, curses, humans who were worse than both. He had seen killers and survivors, had fought beside those who stood on the edge of life and death.
But Reika—Reika was something different.
The Hydra moved first.
One of its heads snapped forward, jaws yawning wide—Reika moved. Not with speed. Not with power. But with precision so unnatural, it was almost wrong.
She didn't dodge. She didn't block. She just stepped aside. The Hydra's teeth closed on empty space. And Reika, calm as a whisper, lifted her hand.
She touched it. It was not an attack. It was not a strike meant to wound. But the moment her fingers brushed against the Hydra's flesh—
Something changed. Megumi felt it. Not a forceful drain, not a violent consumption. Something quieter. More insidious.
Like the slow unraveling of thread. His instincts screamed at him.
Without hesitation, he willed the Hydra back into the shadows. But in that instant, a ripple of exhaustion ghosted through him.
It wasn't crippling. Not yet. But it was there. A heaviness in his limbs. A fraction of a delay in his movements. He stared at Reika.
She had not moved from her spot. Had not shown a single hint of strain. She simply watched. As if the world turned at a different speed for her.
Megumi exhaled sharply. No. This was just mental fatigue. He had fought worse. He could still—Reika stepped forward. Slow. Unhurried. Not to attack. Not to fight.
But to touch the air between them. It was barely anything. A gesture so small it shouldn't have meant anything.
And yet—Megumi's body reacted before his mind could. He pulled back instantly, shadows snapping up around him in a protective wall.
His heartbeat pounded against his ribs. Not from fear. But from something deeper. Something primal. His body knew before his brain understood.
Danger.
Not the kind that came from an overwhelming force. But the kind that crept in without you noticing. The kind that took and took—until you had nothing left.
Reika lowered her hand. There was no smugness in her expression. No arrogance. No sense of triumph. As if what just happened didn't matter to her at all.
And that—That was the most terrifying part of all.