The world snapped back into place.

  When Akitsu Shouga opened his eyes, the scent of old wood, dust, and tatami rushed into his lungs so suddenly it stole his breath. Sunlight filtered through the high dojo windows, cutting pale lines across the floor.

  He was standing inside the dojo.

  Directly in front of him stood Kurogane Daichi.

  Daichi’s feet were planted firmly against the floor, knees bent, spine straight. His fists were raised at chest level, knuckles loose, shoulders relaxed. It was a stance worn smooth by decades of repetition—balanced, practiced, dangerous.

  For half a heartbeat, Akitsu’s mind was empty.

  “…Huh?”

  The red doors. The black water. The silence.

  “Where am I—?”

  “Don’t get distracted!”

  Daichi lunged.

  The distance between them vanished in an instant. A fist cut through the air toward Akitsu’s throat, followed by another aimed at his ribs, then a third snapping toward his temple—sharp, efficient strikes that carried no hesitation.

  Akitsu didn’t think.

  His body moved on its own.

  He stepped aside at the exact moment the first punch would have landed. Twisted his torso just enough to let the second slide past. His feet shifted, weight transferring smoothly, as if he had practiced this exchange a thousand times before.

  Too smoothly.

  Before he even realized what he was doing, his legs drove into the floor. The tatami creaked under the force as he launched upward, momentum coiling through his spine.

  His fist connected with Daichi’s jaw.

  The impact echoed through the dojo like a struck bell.

  Daichi’s eyes widened—just for a fraction of a second—before his body was thrown backward. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, the sound dull and final.

  Silence.

  “Ah—!?”

  Akitsu’s face drained of color.

  “I-I’m so sorry!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside him. Panic flooded his chest as he reached out. “I didn’t realize—! I just—!”

  His hands hovered uselessly over Daichi’s shoulders.

  Then—

  A low chuckle broke the stillness.

  “It takes more than that to knock me unconscious, son…”

  Akitsu froze.

  “…So don’t worry, alright?”

  “…You’re okay?”

  Daichi opened one eye, then the other, grinning despite the faint redness already blooming along his jaw. With Akitsu’s help, he slowly sat up, rolling his shoulders as if checking for damage.

  “You make me feel like an old man when you treat me like one,” Daichi said, laughing softly.

  “I’m sorry,” Akitsu said quickly. “I wasn’t ready for you to attack like that… I just reacted instinctively.”

  Daichi waved a hand dismissively.

  But behind the laughter, his thoughts churned.

  Those reflexes. That timing. That power.

  That punch nearly put me down.

  A monster.

  He swallowed the unease and hid it behind another chuckle.

  Before either of them could speak again, soft footsteps approached.

  Ayame Hoshizaki entered the dojo carrying a tea set, her movements precise and unhurried. She knelt beside the low table and set the cups down carefully, steam already curling upward.

  “That’s enough training for now,” she said calmly. “You should take a short break.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Daichi nodded. “Come here, son.”

  Akitsu followed, his heart still beating too fast, and sat across from him. Ayame poured the tea in silence, her eyes never lingering for too long.

  Daichi drank first.

  Akitsu stared into his cup, watching the surface tremble.

  “Master… may I ask you something?”

  Daichi glanced up. “What is it?”

  “This may be insensitive,” Akitsu said carefully. “You don’t have to answer.”

  He hesitated.

  “…What is your relationship with Hoshizaki-san?”

  For a moment, Daichi simply stared—then burst into laughter.

  “Oh, I thought it was something serious!” he said, wiping a tear from his eye.

  Akitsu frowned.

  Daichi’s laughter faded, his voice lowering.

  “A long time ago, I lost my wife to an unknown illness.”

  Ayame’s hands tightened slightly in her lap.

  “It spread quickly. She had three months left to live… and at the time, she was carrying my child.”

  Akitsu’s chest tightened.

  “She died the day the baby was born—premature.”

  The air in the dojo felt colder.

  “And several months later,” Daichi continued, eyes distant, “the baby vanished under a full moon. No trace. No explanation.”

  Akitsu’s fingers curled against the tatami.

  “It became an urban legend. People avoided me.”

  He exhaled.

  “…Until I adopted Hoshizaki.”

  Ayame stared at the floor.

  “She is my will to live now,” Daichi said quietly.

  Akitsu sipped his tea.

  That doesn’t fit.

  If she’s his anchor—why did he break?

  Why did Hikari say what she said?

  “Master,” Akitsu said at last, “are you dealing with internal conflict?”

  Daichi smiled smoothly. “No. I’m perfectly at peace.”

  Then, casually—

  “I hope that insane old Hikari didn’t tell you anything strange yesterday.”

  Akitsu stiffened.

  Daichi continued, unfazed. “She’s rumored to have lost her mind after her children went missing. People avoid her.”

  Something clicked.

  “Excuse me,” Akitsu said suddenly, standing. “I need to take care of something.”

  Daichi waved him off.

  Outside, the village noise swallowed him.

  Then he saw her.

  The white-haired girl.

  She was pulling another child toward an alley.

  She found her next victim.

  Akitsu moved.

  He seized her wrist and struck the side of her neck with precision. She collapsed without a sound.

  “Go home,” he told the shaking boy. “Don’t follow strangers.”

  The boy ran.

  Moments later, Akitsu stood before Miyu Hikari’s mochi stall.

  “Hikari-san,” he said calmly. “Why did you lie to me?”

  She recoiled.

  Their eyes flicked—

  Movement.

  Two hooded figures lunged from behind.

  Akitsu spun as steel flashed. He barely avoided the first strike, caught the attacker’s wrist, and drove the blade up into their throat. Blood sprayed.

  The second attacker charged.

  Akitsu stepped inside the swing and slit her throat in one clean motion.

  Both bodies collapsed.

  Akitsu slipped the knife into his pocket and walked away.

  His hands were clean.

  But inside—

  There was only emptiness.

  Behind him, Miyu Hikari stood frozen in terror.

  Akitsu never looked back.