25 / 04 / 2019 - Daito, Osaka Prefecture, Japan.
02:10 PM. Saturday. The Budokan. POV: Ayato.
"Shirakami and Atsusa!"
"Tanaka and Hiroge!"
"…!"
Breathing calmly as he heard his name barked across the hall, Ayato instantly sprung up from his cross-legged position on the sidelines.
He shouted a sharp response, proving he still had plenty of energy left to burn.
"Ossu!"
Brushing a few stray, sweat-dampened strands of dark hair out of his line of sight and slicking them back, he jogged out onto the interlocking foam mats, heading toward his designated zone on the far right side of the floor.
The moment he arrived, his sparring partner for the afternoon stepped up to meet him. Reflected in Ayato's sky-blue eyes was his senior, sporting a crisp white dogi and a distinct green belt tied securely around his waist.
Atsusa Mizuki. The second-year senpai had short, dark gray hair that was swept cleanly backward, fully exposing a fair forehead, save for a few loose strands framing his ears.
He possessed wide, somewhat dim brownish-blue eyes, and his expression carried a serious, somber weight that contrasted heavily with his naturally lazy features.
Ayato looked over curiously and offered a polite, friendly smile, which Atsusa acknowledged with a brief nod and a faint, half-amused smirk.
"Bow!" the club captain commanded from the edge of the mat.
Following the sequence of three traditional ceremonial bows, they straightened their postures simultaneously.
Moving in perfect sync, they slid into their respective fighting stances, muscles coiled, waiting for the final signal to engage.
"Hajime!"
Despite the command to begin, Ayato didn't rush. His expression remained calm and tempered, his eyes locked onto his opponent across the mat as Atsusa did the same.
This wasn't Ayato's first spar; he had long since abandoned the foolish first-year urge to charge in like a madman.
Instead, in the split-second where the match hung in the balance, time seemed to dilate. He felt no pressure to hurry.
Utilizing the lingering silence, he began to close the distance slowly, executing a controlled, low-profile slide across the foam pads.
Focusing entirely inward, Ayato narrowed his eyes as his senses amplified, expanding rapidly outward. The ambient field around him began to warp.
The distant, rhythmic clashing of bamboo swords from the Kendo side, the echoing, explosive shouts of the other sparring pairs, the sharp scent of old sweat and floor wax, everything was systematically captured and mapped by his sensory perception.
A flawless spatial grid.
Controlling this expanded awareness as easily as his own hands, his consciousness slipped into a quiet world where the physical dojo faded into absolute darkness, illuminated only by bright, pulsing points of light.
That darkness is space. He closed the distance amidst the muffled shouts and background noise.
That light is excitation. He looked across the dark grid through his dim, sky-blue eyes.
That figure of light was his opponent. Atsusa's physical form glowed brilliantly in the void, radiating like a blazing firefly.
'Spatial positioning, mapped. Training begin...'
Enveloped by that absolute inner calmness, Ayato suddenly lunged forward. Closing the one-meter gap in a flash, he skipped a step, containing the raw power of his fist.
He could feel the fluid trajectory of his knuckles and footwork; it wasn't just his body moving, it was pure, directed excitation and ripple over this darkness.
The attack triggered an immediate tactical reaction. Through the glowing silhouette of Atsusa's 'excitation,' Ayato accurately perceived the senior's intent:
A textbook diagonal side-step designed to evade the linear punch, which would overextend Ayato's momentum and leave his back completely defenseless.
But Ayato was already ahead of the script.
Planting his lead foot exactly where he knew Atsusa's side-step would land, Ayato intercepted the senior's path and swept his contained fist outward in a wicked hooking arc.
Caught off guard by the beginner's impossible prediction, Atsusa's eyes widened in faint surprise, but his seasoned instincts overrode the shock.
Quickly recovering his composure, his mind instantly began plotting his next tactical response.
Unable to completely dodge, the green belt reflexively threw his forearms up, shielding his ribs with his elbows just as Ayato's strike was about to collide.
Swish—
But the expected impact never materialized. Instead, Ayato smoothly slipped his weight right past the guard, instantly adjusting his posture to anchor his center of gravity for the next sequence.
His punch froze mid-air, trembling rather than flawless, its momentum spent so completely that it merely brushed against the heavy canvas fabric of the senior's dogi.
Atsusa, witnessing this level of mastery from a beginner, clicked his tongue as a sharp flash of genuine interest ignited in his dim brownish-blue eyes.
Far from being humiliated, the senior's competitive drive surged.
He smoothly stepped backward to reset his distance and threw a lightning-fast, low-profile jabbing punch from the flank, not to hurt Ayato, but as a deliberate, high-level test of the white belt's reflexes.
But Ayato was already in an absolute state of read.
Before the jab could even connect, Ayato anticipated the trajectory through his expanded spatial perception. He fluidly stepped off the line, slipping completely outside the strike's path.
From that moment on, the nature of the match shifted entirely.
The chaotic noise of the Budokan seemed to fade into the background as the two of them entered a flawless, synchronized flow.
What followed was a breathtaking sequence of ghostly exchanges, punches snapping forward and blocks sliding into place, feet gliding across the foam mats in perfect harmony, yet not a single strike actually landing hard.
Every move was countered, every feint was read, and every blow was perfectly contained a fraction of an inch from the skin.
And yet, unfortunately, through his hyper-focused spatial vision, he was barely dodging everything and blocking everything with only the bare minimum of white-belt moves that he knew.
So the illusion of ease was actually a strain on muscle and a hard time reading the 'excitation' itself; he was breathless, the dark vision dimming and his muscles aching.
"Yame! (Stop!)" the club captain's booming voice echoed across the mats, breaking the trance of their exchange.
Instantly snapping awake from his field perception, in one blink of an eye, the vision disappeared, replaced by the grinning face of Atsusa-senpai on the opposite side.
The overwhelming noise of the Budokan rushed back into Ayato's ears along with it.
Both he and Atsusa froze mid-stride, their chests heaving as they dragged air into their burning lungs, sweat pouring down their faces.
Then, they nodded discreetly and went back to their own starting positions, adjusting their slightly disheveled uniforms and locked eyes.
Atsusa gave a sharp, highly respectful nod, which Ayato returned with a tired but bright smile.
"Otagai ni rei! (Bow to each other!)"
They bowed deeply at the waist. "Ossu!"
The sparring session had ended.
———
05:00 PM. The School Gates.
"Good one today, Shirakami! I expect even more from you in the next session. Catch you later!"
Feeling a heavy hand clap down on his shoulder, Ayato flinched slightly, a startled expression crossing his face as Atsusa-senpai dashed past him.
Atsusa flashed a quick, genuine smile before jogging out through the main gates.
Recovering his composure, Ayato called out after him, "You too, senpai! Thank you very much for your help today!"
"Yeah, yeah…" Atsusa waved a lazy hand over his shoulder without looking back, his figure quickly dissolving into the afternoon crowd of commuters and blending in, leaving Ayato alone by the concrete gatepost.
Ayato sighed softly and pocketed both hands into his school tracksuit. Leaning his back against the cool brick wall beside the gate, his dim sky-blue eyes drifted upward.
The afternoon sky was painted in a striking palette of deep reddish-orange, the sun dipping dangerously close to the horizon and casting a long, warm amber glow across the bustling street.
The distant honking of cars and the steady, rhythmic scuff of passing footsteps drifted into his ears.
Every so often, he pulled his gaze away from the horizon to scan the crowd, looking toward the school exit with a quiet, persistent spark of hope. He was waiting for his twin.
Groups of students their age continuously flooded out of the gates, all clad in matching school tracksuits.
A few who recognized Ayato offered polite smiles; others ignored him entirely. Ayato didn't care.
His focus remained entirely locked on scanning the crowd for a single, familiar face—a search that intensified when he finally spotted the Kendo club members emerging, their heavy fabric bags of bamboo swords slung over their shoulders.
Pushing his back off the wall, Ayato stepped forward, but his anticipation quickly curdled into confusion. As the last of the club members walked past, there was still absolutely no sign of Akane.
"Huh. Your face looks familiar... I thought you were one of our kouhai for a second."
The voice belonged to a senior boy who had paused near the gate, noticing Ayato's lingering figure. He had deep blue hair styled in a short, gentle shaggy bob, and a remarkably relaxed, breezy smile.
Recognizing the Kendo gear the senior carried, Ayato immediately stepped closer, his words rushing out in a rare burst of anxious energy.
"Senpai! My name is Shirakami Ayato. By a face like me... do you mean Shirakami Akane? He's in the Kendo club. Do you know where he is?"
The sudden, sharp urgency in Ayato's voice seemed to infect the senior. Startled by the intense reaction, the upperclassman flinched slightly, his gentle expression shifting into a thoughtful, serious frown.
"I know him, of course," the senior replied, his tone turning curious and careful. "So you're his brother. But... wait, didn't you know? Shirakami-kun left early today."
Ayato froze. "Left... early?"
"Yeah. I don't know what kind of excuse he used to convince the captain, but he packed up and walked out of the dojo around 11:00 AM, if I'm not mistaken,"
Ryohara explained, a faint, concerned squint crossing his eyes as he peered at the white belt. "Did he really not tell you anything?"
The words hit Ayato like a physical strike. He stuttered for a fraction of a second, his voice catching in his throat before he managed to force his features back into a polite mask.
"Is... is that so? Ah. I see. Thank you very much for telling me, senpai."
Though his reply was sincere, a sharp, dull ache bloomed deep inside his chest. He let out a slow, heavy breath and shook his head dejectedly, his shoulders slumping under the weight of a sudden, overwhelming exhaustion.
"I won't bother you any longer, senpai..."
Stepping backward, Ayato turned and walked away into the orange twilight, leaving Ryohara standing alone by the gate.
The blue-haired senior parted his lips, an unspoken phrase lingering on the tip of his tongue as he watched the junior's retreating back.
A strange, fleeting wave of déjà-vu washed over him. He had been left alone by that exact same face before; the difference was that his kouhai had been a little more restrained, while this one was dejected.
Watching Ayato disappear into the crowd, Ryohara frowned quietly to himself.
'Is there something seriously wrong with those two?'
"Whatever, not my problem…"
Shaking his head, Ryohara too put up a smile, then walked into the crowd, blending in and vanishing.
…..
Minutes later.
Ayato sat quietly on a secluded park bench, his back leaning heavily against the cold, rigid backrest. His eyes were entirely vacant, staring aimlessly up into the void.
Night had officially fallen, swallowing the reddish twilight and replacing it with a pitch-black sky punctuated by a few lonely, twinkling stars.
A stiff, biting breeze blew directly across his face, but despite the sudden drop in temperature, his dim sky-blue eyes didn't blink.
He couldn't bring himself to care about the cold. He couldn't bring himself to care about anything.
"…"
Slowly closing his eyes, he let out a heavy, jagged sigh from the very bottom of his heart.
Fragments of shattered memories from those agonizing three weeks when everything began to fall apart drifted through his mind like fragile bubbles waiting to burst.
…
"Are you fucking nuts?!"
His hands flew forward, violently gripping the hem of Akane's shirt in a fit of pure, unadulterated rage.
He had screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking.
Why couldn't Akane understand? Every single one of Akane's meticulous attempts had ended in disaster, and all of Ayato's grueling efforts had been rendered completely futile against the sheer scale of the city.
"Why don't you see it for yourself?! Open your damn eyes!"
"What can we even do about this?! And what can you and your useless abilities possibly achieve in a situation like this? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!"
"I followed all your instructions! I did everything you asked of me, and look where it got us!"
In that moment, he had loathed him. He had bitterly resented Akane for forcing him down this path, for making him carry the burden of this choice, only to leave him stranded without taking an ounce of responsibility.
He hadn't wanted any of this.
Why didn't anything go according to Akane's perfect plans? Why did they always have to risk their lives?
"Are you happy now? Are you satisfied with all of this?!"
Will you still keep going? Even knowing the horrific risks, will you honestly follow this madness all the way to the bitter end?!
In the end, it was always the same. When faced with the crushing weight of their own consequences, people just run away. Right?
But Akane hadn't run.
"I'm sorry," Akane had whispered.
'Eh…?'
"I'm sorry if, over these past few days, everything I did was actually useless."
Those eyes had been terrifyingly calm, just as they always were. This new Akane, the one who had changed ever since he woke up, carried a strange, alien inclination.
But staring into that hollow gaze, Ayato had suddenly realized the horrifying truth. He had been completely, utterly wrong.
"So, you don't need to go anymore," Akane had stated flatly. "I'll just handle it by myself. After all—"
'No… stop…'
…
Gasping for air, Ayato's eyes snapped wide awake. He violently clutched his hand over his mouth as his stomach churned.
His head spun with sudden dizziness and his pupils dilated in panic as his posture collapsed forward, his body hunched toward the cold concrete and the dark grass beneath the bench.
The sensation was entirely sickening.
It was a creeping, poisonous guilt he could never truly escape, an undeniable reminder of what he had done and the cruel words he had spat on that fateful day. He was the one responsible.
He was the cause of Akane's suffering, the sole reason his twin had vanished into the night back then—and yet here he was, walking around under the sun, living a seemingly carefree school life.
'I hate myself so much…'
He loathed his own cowardice. He hated the fact that ever since that day, he could no longer look his brother in the eye. He hated his own utter incompetence.
He hated that everyone still treated him like a normal, innocent student when he was anything but.
Yet, beneath all the self-hatred, he was still petrified of losing the fragile remains of his everyday life.
Hot tears finally welled at the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision as the memory ruthlessly replayed on a loop.
On the day Akane left on his own, it was Irina who had discovered his empty room. She hadn't said a single word; she had simply locked herself away in her bedroom, shutting out the world.
Everything had changed since that explosive argument, all because Ayato couldn't keep his mouth shut.
Why? Why did I say those things? Why am I like this?!
'It's all my fault…'
Even though he was desperately trying to atone for that unforgivable mistake, working himself to the bone like a madman and risking his life to scour the ruins of the city.
He still hadn't found a single, traceable fraction of Akane's footprint over those five days. In the end, what was all his training even for?
"Hahhhh…"
Swallowing the bitter, acidic bile rising in his throat, he breathed heavily, wiping a trail of saliva from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
Resting his trembling arms for a moment to regulate his erratic pulse, he finally leaned back against the park bench.
He stared up at the skies once more, his gaze dim, hazy, and entirely unreadable while his breathing steadied.
He just wanted to temporarily dissolve into the quiet tranquility of the park, to steal this unearned moment of peace that he could no longer find within the suffocating walls of his home.
Perhaps only out here in the dark, far away from his family, could his predatory guilt be briefly overshadowed by the ambient noise of the city.
Scoffing at his own pathetic attempt to escape reality, he reached out with a faint dizziness into his tracksuit pocket and pulled out his sleek, dark smartphone.
A sharp, solid crimson hologram flared to life from the frame, casting a blood-red glow over his dim features.
Keeping his head hung low, he opened the encrypted interface of the Dark Network, his eyes scanning the illicit, real-time news flooding out of Osaka.
He scrolled past weapons listings, black-market bounties, and restricted data drops, his mind drifting back to the strange dinner from a few nights ago.
What exactly had Akane discussed with Auntie? Why was his twin suddenly so obsessed with securing large sums of money?
Was there any way he could secretly help him? And why, over these past few weeks, had Akane looked so profoundly, physically exhausted?
The answers to those questions undoubtedly lay hidden deep within the encrypted nodes of this very network.
Utilizing his hard-earned LEVEL-3 Authority, Ayato could expend a portion of his accumulated underworld points to glean some information from the posts in the Regional News Section.
It had been a long, grueling journey since the initial outbreak for him to ascend to LEVEL-3 security clearance by scouring every single laboratory of that damned Bishop Marten.
With an expressionless, stone-like face, his thumb flicked across the holographic screen. Finding no immediate links to his brother, he let out another small, pent-up sigh.
Ever since Akane had first disappeared into the fringes, Ayato had been furiously chasing his ghost, hunting for any sign of life.
In the process, fully aware of the flawed, limited nature of his own ability, he had forced himself through hellish physical training and information-gathering routines.
Those five days after the argument had been an absolute nightmare for him—but he couldn't even begin to comprehend the horrors Akane must have endured entirely alone during that exact same timeframe.
He desperately wanted to know the truth, to satisfy the burning curiosity that plagued the rest of the family, but a terrifying realization kept him silent:
Ff he genuinely uncovered what Akane had suffered, the sheer weight of the guilt would likely break his mind entirely.
Gritting his teeth as a flash of pure distress crossed his features, he forced the thought away.
He knew Akane was actively plotting something right now, but he was completely blind to the specifics.
Had his twin accepted a dangerous underground commission? A high-risk corporate contract? He simply didn't know.
"Haahhhh…"
Finally, he closed his eyes for a brief second to steady his nerves before snap-opening them.
This time, he bypassed his general search and directly targeted the most recent news within the Regional News of Osaka Prefecture.
At the very top of the feed, his eyes locked onto a specific heading. His finger hovered motionlessly above the solid, tingling red hologram.
There, dominating the high-priority boards, was the rapidly escalating phenomenon that was currently throwing the city's authorities into a panic: The Strange Deaths of Osaka.
It was the exact same anomalous investigation he had secretly committed himself to solving.
"Better check the perimeter one last time," Ayato muttered to the empty park, his voice flat, weary, and entirely devoid of emotion. "I hope I cross paths with that entity soon…"
Shaking his head to clear the lingering ghosts of his past, he grabbed his gear bag from the ground.
Slinging it over his sore, trembling shoulders, he stood up.
Stepping off the grass and onto the pavement, he vanished into the dark, heading straight toward the latest active crime scene.