The training post splintered again.
Asaki gritted her teeth, blade trembling in her hand. Sweat poured from her brow, her arms raw and shaking, her breathing ragged. The bamboo dummy barely bore a dent—despite hours of endless strikes.
She screamed and swung again—off-balance, wild.
The sword caught on the edge, skipped sideways, and she lost her grip. It clattered to the frozen ground.
She stared at it. Her shoulders trembled.
"Damn it…"
The wind howled across the mountain glade. Morning sun leaked between cedar trunks, indifferent.
She had trained here every dawn since their escape from the mountainside ambush. While Yumi slept fitfully, while Sayaka foraged, while Ishikawa healed in silence, Asaki tried to become something more.
But she wasn't.
She was still the girl who couldn't protect Yumi in the brothel. The one who hesitated when Shun had Ishikawa on his knees. The one who stood in Tomoie's shadow.
Tomoie had been graceful, fierce—like a thunderclap dressed in steel.
Asaki was… noise without storm.
She collapsed to her knees beside the fallen blade.
"Why can't I be more?"
The rustle of branches. A figure stepped into view.
Asaki's hand darted toward her sword—but the figure made no move. A man, wrapped in patchwork robes, gray and red, a conical hat hiding most of his face. He leaned on a twisted black cane.
And he wore a blindfold of crimson silk.
"Your stance is wrong," he said, voice like gravel rubbed smooth by time.
She stood slowly, eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who knows how it feels to be lesser. To taste power through a window you can't open."
The man tilted his head.
"You train like a student. Fight like a god. It's why you keep failing."
She clenched her fists. "What would you know?"
He tapped the ground with his cane. "I once chased a shadow, too. His name was Daijiro Ketsuen. They called him the Crimson God."
Her breath hitched.
He smiled.
"I walked beside him, then behind him, then far below him. Until I did what all his students eventually tried—I took the curse for myself."
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a tiny flask of black glass, wrapped in cloth.
"This," he said, "is what remains of my pact."
The vial shimmered, almost alive, the liquid inside thick and red like molten ruby. It glowed faintly in the cold air.
"You're a liar," Asaki said, stepping back.
"Am I?" he said, with a chuckle. "Then why does it call to you?"
She couldn't answer.
The man's smile faded. "You want to protect them. Him. Her. You want to stop waiting for others to rescue you. For Ishikawa to bleed in your place."
He stepped forward slowly.
"This will give you power. Reflexes like lightning. Muscle memory etched in blood. You will move before thought. Strike before doubt."
Her mouth was dry.
"But there is a price."
"I'm listening," she whispered.
"You'll lose something every time you draw from it. Memories. Dreams. Your joy. Your pain. A little more of your self. Until you forget who you were, and only the warrior remains."
She swallowed. Her heart pounded.
"Why are you offering this to me?"
He smiled again. "Because I was offered once. And I chose wrong."
He placed the vial on a stone near the training post.
"I cannot tell you what to do. But I can say this: gods do not save us. They break us. So become one… or be broken."
He turned and walked back into the trees.
Before he vanished, he added:
"My name is Karou. If you ever want to know what lies beyond the curse, come find me."
Then he was gone.
The trees swayed, and silence returned.
Asaki stared at the vial.
Her hand hovered over it.
Then—
"Asaki?"
She turned sharply.
Sayaka stood there, arms crossed, eyes cautious.
"Who was that?"
"No one," Asaki lied. "Just a traveler."
Sayaka didn't believe her. But she didn't press.
"Ishikawa's asking for you," she said.
Asaki nodded, wiping her face, trying to act calm.
They walked back in silence.
But behind them, the vial still pulsed faintly—waiting.
---
That night, Asaki dreamt of blood.
Of war.
Of flames dancing in her hands.
Of voices chanting in a language she didn't know, binding her in a circle of runes, fire consuming the stars.
She awoke breathless, heart thundering.
Her reflection in the water basin showed her eyes—still brown.
But for a moment…
She'd seen red.
---
Over the next few days, small things changed.
She was faster in sparring.
Sharper in reaction.
She could feel movement before it happened—could predict Sayaka's slashes and parries as if hearing echoes of a future not yet real.
But with every gain came a price.
She no longer felt hunger. Or thirst. She didn't sleep well. Her dreams were filled with war cries and bloodlotus fields.
And once—when Yumi accidentally bumped into her during training—Asaki's eyes flared crimson.
Just for a heartbeat.
Yumi backed away, eyes wide.
"Asaki… are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said. Too quickly.
She looked away, shame burning in her chest.
---
Later that night, she sat alone, staring at the sky.
The stars were cold and distant.
"I just wanted to be strong," she whispered. "Strong enough to protect the people I love."
She thought of Ishikawa, coughing blood.
Of Yumi, trembling and cursed by fate.
Of herself, always in the shadows.
Then she looked at her hands.
They were steady now.
Unshaking.
Capable.
But no longer hers.
---
From the forest edge, Karou watched. Silent. Sorrowful.
And in his robes, another vial—darker than the last.
Because he knew: every pact leads to another.
And the deeper one walks into godhood…
The harder it is to turn back.
---
To be continued…