The sun had risen again—but the battlefield didn't feel reborn. It felt haunted. Like the land itself refused to cool, refusing to forget the blood it had swallowed. The air clung like sweat. Thick. Ghost-heavy.
Ash drifted sideways across what had once been a camp. Or maybe a checkpoint. It was hard to tell now—everything was wreckage. Steel torn like paper. Armor cracked open like eggshells. The ground steamed where blood had boiled into the earth.
Daigo stood at the center of it, shoulders square, eyes low. His cloak hung in shreds, fluttering faintly in the uneasy breeze. His boots were soaked, not from water—but from dragging through whatever was left behind.
All around him were bodies. Or pieces of them.
Some were still intact—faces frozen in horror, mid-scream.
Others... weren't.
Ishigo stepped up beside him, his flame-charred coat swaying as he walked. His face was pale. "Goddamn… something didn't just fight them. It unmade them."
Daigo didn't respond right away. He was scanning the ruins. His voice came out low, almost distracted. "Any survivors?"
Ishigo shook his head. "None. Not even spiritual signatures. Like something erased them completely."
Then came the third. Quietest of them all.
Yeaga.
He said nothing. He didn't need to. His silence spoke more than any words could. His eyes—brown, flickering with a strange green sheen under the sun—were hollow. Focused on nothing.
"Still nothing, huh?" Daigo asked softly, not unkindly.
Yeaga didn't answer. Just clenched his hands around the hilt of his katana, like if he gripped tight enough, something might finally respond.
Everyone else had awakened. Daigo's Crystal Grey—refraction-based combat, reality-bending edge work. Ishigo's Blue Flame Requiem—flashes of slowed time, searing flame in symphony.
Even Reika had pulled away from them days ago after her shadows had started moving without her command. The whispers said she wasn't just powerful now—she was dangerous.
But Yeaga?
Still nothing.
No abilities. No resonance. No echo.
Just… silence.
Until the katana twitched.
It was subtle at first—a barely-there tremble in its sheath. Then a sharp hum built in his hands.
Yeaga flinched.
With a metallic snap, the blade split in two. Seamless. Effortless.
Twin katanas. Identical. Weightless in the air, but thrumming like thunder.
They hovered for a breathless second—then dropped into his hands like they'd been waiting for him all along.
Daigo's brow arched. "Okay… okay. What the hell was that?"
Ishigo let out a slow whistle. "Yo. Twin blades? I can't even handle one. This boy just unlocked some final season weapon set."
But Yeaga didn't laugh. He stared at the blades like they were strangers. Like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be holding them… or running from them.
"I don't feel anything," he whispered. "No link. No energy. These aren't… mine."
Daigo blinked. "You just caught your soul weapon, and now you're rejecting it like bad sushi?"
Yeaga didn't move. "It's not rejection. It's fact. I'm holding something that doesn't belong to me. Something that shouldn't exist."
He looked up at the others, his voice suddenly distant.
"Why isn't this in the holographic records? Why didn't the system log it?"
Before they could answer, the air shimmered.
A gate materialized at the far end of the field—its surface flickering like water made of light.
LEVEL-5 ACCESS GRANTED
Daigo's eyes lit up. "Yooo. We made it. Finally!"
He slapped Ishigo on the back, then turned to Yeaga. "Let's go, man. You too."
But Yeaga shook his head, quiet. "You guys go ahead. I'm not ready."
Daigo blinked. "Seriously?"
Yeaga looked down at the twin blades again. "You have your powers. Your paths. Your reasons. I don't even know what this is. It feels like I stole it from someone who died screaming."
"You're spiraling," Ishigo said. "Again."
"I'm being honest," Yeaga snapped, sharper than before.
Daigo sighed, then calmly walked over—and with no warning whatsoever, smacked Yeaga in the back of the neck.
Thud.
Yeaga slumped forward.
"WHAT the hell, Daigo?!" Ishigo yelled.
Daigo hoisted Yeaga over his shoulder like a sack of rice. "We don't have time for a full-blown identity crisis. He's coming. Conscious or not."
"You're an actual menace," Ishigo muttered.
"You love me for it," Daigo replied without missing a beat.
As they walked toward the glowing gate, Ishigo stooped to pick up Yeaga's blades.
They were heavy. Spiritually heavy. Like they were made of stories no one had ever told.
"Bro…" Ishigo murmured. "These aren't just swords. They're grief."
Daigo's voice came quieter this time. "Maybe they're made of it."
The gate opened with a hiss.
LEVEL 5.
They stepped through.
Elsewhere…
Reika stood still.
She was alone. The battlefield at her feet was cold, old—but still echoed.
Her katana was half-buried in the dirt. Its surface shimmered faintly, like something breathed beneath it. Her shadow stretched unnaturally long, curling behind her in ways that disobeyed the sun.
She looked forward.
Another gate.
LEVEL-5 ACCESS.
She didn't move yet. Just stood there, steady. Silent.
"One more step," she whispered. "And I'm X-Rank. No more babysitting. No more rules."
But then—
A voice.
Faint. Dry. Human.
"Do you really think… Shikibans are that evil?"
She turned. Slowly.
A figure leaned against a broken wall. Armor cracked. Face bleeding. His body… flickering. Disintegrating. But not from fire. From something deeper.
Spiritual unraveling.
Reika's katana vibrated. It was being drawn to him—like it recognized something.
The dying Shikiban looked up at her.
"Let me make something clear," he said between rattling breaths. "Shikibans aren't evil. We're reflections. We're what the academy buried."
She froze. "What are you talking about?"
"Do you know what happens to trainees who die during trials?"
"They're honored," she replied slowly. "Buried at the shrine."
He gave a broken laugh. "No. They're repurposed. Their soul energy harvested. Used to make us. To power them."
Reika's blood chilled.
"That's a lie."
"No," he said softly. "It's a blueprint. Tenshiko Academy turns corpses into weapons. And sometimes… into monsters."
He was crying now.
A Shikiban. Crying.
And then—he was gone. Absorbed.
Her blade pulsed.
A new black vein ran along the edge. A soft pulse, like something was alive inside it now. Or remembering.
She looked down.
"Why did a Shikiban cry?" she whispered. "They're not supposed to feel."
The gate still stood open.
But she didn't move.
Her eyes lifted to the sky—toward the glittering tower of Tenshiko in the far distance. Cold. Majestic. Untouchable.
She spoke softly, like someone reciting an old spell.
"Tenshiko Academy…"
A pause.
"…what the hell have you been hiding?"