"If you think you're the good guy… you've already lost."
A voice echoed from the night sky, emerging from between the clouds shaded in darkness.
A long figure stood in the sky—not flying, not floating—just existing within the storm. His voice echoed like thunder, but not from his throat—
"Believing you're the 'good guy' blinds you."
As his voice rang out, the clouds roared behind him, and thunder cracked the sky like glass.
"The moment you label yourself as good, you stop questioning your own actions. And when you stop questioning… you become dangerous. That's why you've already lost."
The sky darkened with unnatural swiftness, as if the heavens themselves had taken a breath—and held it. Thunder cracked like the earth itself was splitting in half, echoing across the land in deep, guttural roars.
Down below, a group of people stared up at the sky—at the long figure standing alone among the clouds. They couldn't understand, couldn't believe what was happening.
Someone from the group whispered loudly,
"Who are you?!"
The wind began to howl like a chorus of unseen spirits, bending trees to their breaking point and sending debris whipping through the air like deadly missiles.
"I am the one—"
"—who will show you true peace. The peace you see in the nation of Kurozawa is an illusion."
His voice echoed across the entire sky.
The storm was alive—wild, relentless, untamed. Rain lashed the ground in furious sheets, stinging skin and drenching everything in seconds.
Nature was no longer a backdrop; it had become a beast—raging, roaring, warning all in its path.
The people stood frozen, unable to believe their eyes or ears—Because for the first time in history. The question of true peace had been raised.
The voice roared again across the sky-
"You've never lived in peace. They taught you to smile so you'd forget what true peace is."
"Real peace isn't kind—it hurts. It breaks you first."
"You've just gotten used to the silence between wars."
"The nation didn't betray you… they simply closed your eyes with the illusion of peace."
______
A man stood atop a tree branch, arms crossed.
He wore a sleek, jet-black T-shirt, loose white pants, and modern ninja shoes. A cowboy hat rested low over his face, hiding half of it in shadow.
His clothes rippled with the wind's fury, yet he stood unmoving—like he was slicing through the wind itself.
The visible half of his face revealed an expression that made everything clear: he didn't care about the situation.
A mysterious, unreadable smile curved his lips, speaking louder than words ever could.
The wind picked up with a sudden whisper that grew into a roar, rushing through the trees and sending leaves spiraling into the air like frantic birds.
Far away from the chaos, in a quiet home, a 12-year-old boy and his mother sat peacefully—unaware of the storm brewing outside.
The boy, Kaizen Kazehaya, sat cross-legged, relaxed and playful. His mother, Aoei Kazehaya, sat in the traditional Seiza position—calm and composed.
They both sat in front of one single katana and a set of Hanafuda earring. But one earring—the one on the right—was missing.
"Mom! Can I take this blade and the earring?" Kaizen groaned, poking his nose with a finger.
Aoei turned her gaze toward him, tilted her head slightly, closed eye, and with a gentle smile, whispered,
"Of course."
Kaizen beamed with excitement. He sprang to his feet, ready to rush forward—
But just as he moved toward the katana, Aoei's arm slipped around him from behind.
Her soft hold turned cold.
In a voice that was no longer hers—low, chilling, and twisted—she whispered:
"Where are you going?"
"Let me complete my word first... I said-"
"Of couse - not"
Kaizen reacted-
"MOM! I hate you!" Kaizen snapped, then plopped down on the floor with a pout, arms crossed, fuming.
Aoei didn't flinch. She simply nodded with a calm smile.
"Oh my… my boy hates his mother—because she didn't let him take a katana and a Hanafuda earring."
Kaizen scrunched his face like a five-year-old who just had his lollipop stolen.
"NO!"
"You always restrict me! 'Don't do that,' 'Don't eat this,' 'Don't touch that!'"
"MOM! You're always putting boundaries around me!"
Still, Aoei didn't respond right away. The room held its silence.
Then, after a brief pause, she whispered gently,
"Listen, Kaizen…"
"This katana and earring—they're your father's legacy."
"This katana… it's not an ordinary blade. It represents something—"
She stopped suddenly, her voice trailing off as if she'd said too much.
Kaizen leaned forward slightly, his expression softening.
"Something? What…?" he murmured.
Aoei slowly opened her eyes, her voice barely a whisper—
"The katana…"
A pause.
"…of…"
Another pause—tense, heavy.
"…DESTRUCTION."
The moment the word DESTRUCTION left her lips, lightning flashed outside—brief and brilliant, slicing across the sky like a warning.
The rain followed, not gentle but fierce, falling fast and slanted under the force of the wind.
Branches swayed and groaned, gusts tugging at rooftops, rattling windows, stirring a strange, nervous energy in the air.
Inside, Aoei calmly rose and moved to close the windows, her movements precise despite the chaos outside.
Kaizen, meanwhile, stayed frozen—his eyes locked on the katana.
He whispered the word to himself, like it had imprinted on his mind:
"Destruction…"
As Aoei shut the last window, the world outside felt… altered.
It wasn't yet a storm of destruction -But it carried the weight of something unpredictable. Something wild. A storm that made you pause…Look up…And listen.
Inside, Aoei noticed Kaizen's eyes still fixed on the katana.
Beside her, there was a small wooden box. She quietly opened it, pulling out a katana wrapped in a white cloth.
Then, she gently removed one earring from her own ear.
With a soft smile, she whispered—
"If you want a katana and earring… take mine."
She extended her hand toward Kaizen, offering him the wrapped blade and the earring.
Kaizen's gaze shifted. His attention pulled from the katana to his mother.
He turned to her slowly, his expression serious—unusually so.
"No," he said firmly.
"I don't want a blade or an earring from a girl… or a woman."
"I'm a man. And as a man, taking a woman's katana—that would be shameful for me."
Aoei blinked, stunned for a second—then burst into laughter.
"See the one who still pees the bed—calling himself a man!?"
Kaizen's eyes widened. His face turned bright red with embarrassment.
He quickly covered his face with both palms, groaning—
"Mooom!!"
"Okay! If you don't want it, no problem." Aoei spoke softly, almost teasingly.
"I'll put it back in the box. If you ever want it… you can take it from there. Alright?"
She gently placed the wrapped katana back into the box and slipped her earring back on.
Then, folding her arms, her tone changed—sharp, strict.
"And remember—"
"Don't touch your father's katana or earring."
Her expression was bold, unwavering.
Silence.
Kaizen looked down, his voice low.
"…Okay."
But then, with sudden frustration, he raised his voice—
"Why can't I touch it? Why do you always give me instructions?"
"What will even happen if I just touch the blade?"
"Wh—"
Before he could finish, Aoei cut him off—her voice no longer calm.
"I'm telling you for the last time…"
A pause. Her tone turned dead serious, colder than before.
Her gaze pierced through him.
"Don't ever—"
"DARE TO TOUCH IT."
"Keep your voice down."
Aoei's words cut through the tension, calm but commanding.
"If you really want it…" she continued,
"…then be like your father." She didn't say more. She didn't need to.
Kaizen froze. His breath caught in his throat. That sentence echoed in his mind— "Be like your father…"
The words hit harder than any scolding.
______
For a moment, time itself seemed to pause. No birdsong. No voices. Just the steady, haunting rhythm of rain tapping on rooftops… And the distant whisper of the storm pressing closer.
People stood frozen in place, staring at the sky.
At that lone figure.
This wasn't chaos—not yet.
But something was in the air.
Something alive.
Watchful.
The storm didn't scream.
It didn't rage.
It simply… existed—calm, yet confident.
And everyone beneath it listened.
Then—
"Heads down, everyone." A voice echoed from between the clouds—deep, unshakable, and filled with quiet authority.
Some dropped their heads quickly. Others… didn't. They refused to bow. Maybe out of pride. Maybe disbelief. Maybe fear.
And then—a wind.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't fast. It came and went in a single breath—like a whisper of death.
At first… it felt like nothing had happened.
Then—bodies fell.
Cleanly. Quietly.
Those who didn't bow…Their upper halves slipped from their lower bodies, collapsing to the ground in eerie silence.
They died before anyone could even blink.
But those who obeyed—those who bowed—lived.
And then came the voice—
"I AM… TRUTH."
Another roll of thunder followed - Not a crack, not a blast, But a deep, growling growl that seemed to settle in the bones.
It wasn't violent, but it carried a weight. A presence.
The figure in the sky…
Still standing in the storm, not flying, not floating—Just existing.
His face, his body—still not fully visible. It was as if even nature feared to reveal him.
And in that heavy silence, He raised both arms wide—Forming a T-shape against the sky.
Then, with a voice that shook the clouds and made the earth hold its breath—
"I… will show you TRUE PEACE" Down on the ground, those still alive trembled.
Some shook in raw, helpless fear. Some broke down, sobbing and begging, praying to gods that no longer felt close.
And some—
Some just stared blankly, eyes wide, as if they'd already accepted death's cold hand on their shoulder.
The wind was alive.
It curled around corners, danced through alleys, hissed between buildings—
Tugging at clothes, lifting shutters with eerie clatters, and whistling softly through every crack like a thousand unseen whispers.
And in the sky…
That figure—massive, unmoved, untouchable—stood above all.
The one who called himself TRUTH.
His voice—not just thunder—but judgment.
"True peace demands blood—
And yours… is next."
A pause.
The kind that makes even the air hold still.
Then he spoke again—slower, deeper—like a prophecy written in storm.
"When the first moon rises…
Even the gods will bleed."
Another pause.
A deeper silence.
Then—
"And—"
The wind stopped.
Everything stopped.
"…when the sixth moon rises—"
"—the war of Reality begins."
The clouds thickened. Lightning rippled in slow veins across the sky. And in that stillness, all that could be heard—was the sound of people breathing in fear.
Clouds rolled overhead like restless tides, layered and deep, painting the sky in hues of charcoal and steel.
The storm had become a presence—no longer just weather, but something alive. Something watching.
As the last echo of the words "WAR OF REALITY" faded across the skies, a heavy silence fell.
And slowly—fearfully—people began to raise their heads.
Every gust of wind felt colder now.
Sharper.
It wasn't just air moving—it was a warning. Like every breeze whispered the same message: "It has begun."
Then—
From the heavens, the voice of TRUTH returned, one final echo before his vanishing.
"BE… PREPARE."
And with that, his form began to dissolve into the darkened sky—like the storm itself was swallowing him whole.
He didn't vanish like a man—he faded like a nightmare returning to sleep.
People locked their doors.
Curtains drawn.
Children held tight.
Because storms like this didn't come often. And when they did—they reminded the world…Peace is not always silence.
______
Kurozawa Kanon Association Academy
A towering building of marble grace and old wood, Inside—empty corridors echoed only with distant thunder.
Academy president-
President Shuren-
Shuren, academy president. Sitting silently alone in a hall room, his face was Covered in white bandages—
Not just his face, but his entire body wrapped tight like a silent monument of pain and past battles.
Only his eyes, nose, mouth, and strands of silver-black hair remained visible.
He sat motionless in the great hall.
Yet something shifted.
A presence.
Unwelcome.
Uninvited.
His eyes remained closed, but the air told him enough.
With a voice like cracked ice, he whispered boldly:
"Who are you?"
"Don't try to hide."
Just as his words settled into the silence—
"Ohh!"
A voice echoed from the shadows behind him, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The figure stepped into the candlelight. His presence didn't feel like normal human. Blood dripped from his fingers—soft and slow—as if he had just wrung the life out of someone before entering.
Voice laced with dark amusement.
"I thought you wouldn't notice. But your sixth sense… it's aow.soom."
The storm outside seemed to hush as the air inside grew thick.
Shuren's voice remained calm.
Unshaken.
Still seated, eyes closed, hands calmly placed on his lap.
"Don't get me angry."
"Just say who you are—and why you're here."
Another pause.
A silence heavy enough to bend the walls inward.
Then the stranger tilted his head, blood still tracing lines down his wrist.
And with a voice darker than the wind, he answered:
"OKI."
The voice echoed like a closing gate.
"Well, I won't waste time."
"I'll say it directly—"
A breath held.
A moment suspended.
"The Creator of Oniran…"
"…has declared war on the Sixth Moon."
"BE PREPARE."
The words didn't shout.
They echoed.
And just like that—
He stepped back.
And vanished into thin air, like smoke leaving no ashes.
Outside…
The wind howled low, whispering warnings between the cracks of the world. It wasn't a storm meant to destroy—But one that demanded attention.
A reminder from nature itself: Prepare—not in panic, but in respect. Because even the most silent temples eventually hear the sound of thunder.
Inside the grand hall, silence returned. Except for the soft drip of a leaky roof tile.
Shuren sat motionless, absorbing the weight of the message.
His voice came not in fear, but in thought:
"If this is true...That the Creator of Oniran has declared war on the Sixth Moon..."
A pause.
A deep breath.
"Then…"
"…this academy must open again."
A slow lift of his chin.
"To train protector Kurozawa nation."
Another pause, as if the very word formed a bridge between generations.
"The SEIRINS."
And as his eyes finally opened, glowing like twilight suns, he whispered coolly-
" Where is that-"
"-cowboy hat MAN"