Even someone as experienced as Minamoto Raito couldn't help but feel the weight of this sorrowful fate—a feeling that haunted every Oni-Slayer of the Execution Bureau as they hunted down evil spirits and the Fierce Oni.
They were warriors who upheld justice, yet were often forced to strike down their own kind—friends, family, blood relations who had lost control and transformed into rampaging monsters.
This was the inner torment of being an Oni-Slayer: your target might appear innocent, even pitiful, like a fugitive simply trying to survive… but at any moment, they could devolve into a mindless beast that slaughtered indiscriminately.
Mercy at the wrong time could mean the deaths of dozens of innocents.
That's why the only way to prevent greater tragedy was to strike down the "oni" before them—kill one to save many. This was an unquestionable greater good.
Raito felt this truth more deeply than most.
After all, in his early days as a senior officer in the Bureau, he had personally slain his own younger brother, Minamoto Rika.
He had witnessed his brother succumb to madness, turn into an evil spirit that preyed on humans. And though it broke him, Raito held fast to justice—and ended his brother's life with his own hands. Then tossed the corpse into a well…
A memory that became an unending nightmare.
From that day forward, Raito was trapped in the dream of slaying demons—every Oni he cut down blurred into the face of his younger brother. Again and again, the vision of Rika overlapped with his enemies.
He drank alone on rainy days, lost in grief. Always recalling the moment he drove his blade into his brother's chest—how Rika, bleeding, had simply smiled and said in a familiar voice:
"Niisan… you're back."
As if he wasn't dying. As if nothing had happened. Just happy his beloved older brother had finally come home from the city and the world of gangs.
In that moment, Rika hadn't seemed like a demon at all.
He'd still been the shy, quiet little brother who used to follow him around, calling "Niisan" over and over.
Maybe, just maybe, at the very last second, Rika had returned to himself—back to being that gentle, innocent brother.
If that were true… then Raito had murdered his sibling, not slain a monster.
But no record had ever shown that a corrupted Oni could recover their sanity. The descent was irreversible.
Perhaps his brother had already died before the blade fell. And what he'd killed was just a hollow shell, puppeted by the demon inside.
"…Rika…"
"Raito-san, are you alright?"
Shirou's voice pulled him back. Raito realized he'd been lost in thought for too long.
Shirou gestured to the way Raito's hand had unconsciously gripped the hilt of Spider Cutter at his waist.
"You looked a bit… caught in a memory. The way your hand clenched the sword… it reminded me of someone thinking back to a painful battle—perhaps a very bloody one."
Raito scanned the crowd around them, smoothing out his expression. If they had been alone, he might have chuckled bitterly.
"Shirou-dono… next time, please don't be so accurate with your guesses."
He was really starting to lose it—just how much intelligence had Shirou gathered on him and the Orochi Eight Families?
Was Shirou about to blurt out even more personal secrets?
Raito decided he needed to regain control of the conversation before he was completely disarmed.
"I believe it's about time. After this exhibit, we've arranged a lunch. Sakura, what's the reservation again?"
He turned to the bespectacled woman beside him.
"One moment, young master… it's at Kagurazaka Ishikawa."
Shirou glanced over with curiosity. Oh? You're called Sakura too?
"Perfect. Let's head out immediately."
Thirty-Six Stratagems, Stratagem Thirty-Six: Flee.
Raito didn't sound like a decisive mob leader. More like a defeated general scrambling for an escape route.
——
The restaurant "Ishikawa" in Kagurazaka, Shinjuku, was renowned for its exquisite kaiseki cuisine. Michelin three-star for years. Reservations were nearly impossible—unless you were someone like the Orochi Eight Families.
Kaiseki typically consists of "one soup, three dishes"—a broth, sashimi, something boiled, and something grilled or fried.
Many complained about the portion sizes for the high price. But the true value was in the freshness, delicacy, the dishware, and the environment. The point wasn't to eat your fill—it was about refinement.
Taste might be subjective, but luxury? That was visible at a glance.
"Shirou-dono, this must be your first time having kaiseki. Only first-timers react like that."
Raito popped a sea urchin dressed in creamy white sesame sauce into his mouth, then followed it with grilled fish and fried broad beans.
"Kaiseki has a progression: 'sakizuke,' 'hassun,' then 'mukozuke,' 'nimono,' and 'yakimono'… The experience is in the order, the crescendo of flavors."
Shirou set down his utensils and gave Raito a dead serious look.
"See, I don't think it's about 'experience.' The true value of food is in satisfying hunger. If it tastes good—that's the best kind of experience. Everything else is just fluff. And this fluff just makes chefs lazy."
He pointed at a few dishes.
"This sea urchin with sesame sauce? Clever pairing—but the sesame is toasted. I'd use raw sesame for a cleaner contrast with the soft urchin."
"And here, the anago soup is decent, but this pickled lotus root with plum? The balance is off—the plum lacks enough acidity. I'd add a splash of lemon juice…"
Raito stared in awe.
Gone was the god-slaying, dragon-slaying Shirou. In his place sat a gourmet, a culinary genius with the air of a seasoned critic.
Under this intense pressure, Raito actually felt like even Ishikawa's head chef would bow before Shirou's judgment.
Wasn't Shirou just good at bento lunches? Why did he know so much about kaiseki!?
And dammit—the topic had somehow swung back in Shirou's favor again!
"Ehem… Shirou-dono, your suggestions are excellent. I'll have our people forward them to the chef."
Raito finally gave in.
"Let's cut to the chase. You didn't come here just because the clan invited you, did you?"
Shirou blinked. Well, honestly… he did come to admire your sword collection and copy all the blueprints. But he still needed a proper cover story.
"I wanted to ask—have you heard of a yakuza group called Aoiya? We could use your intel network for a small investigation."
Intel network?
Raito nearly had a migraine.
Shirou's own intelligence network was so ridiculous that it made the clan's web look outdated.
"…We can't just interfere with a gang's lawful business. Could you give me a good enough reason?"
Even if they managed many of Japan's yakuza, the Orochi Families maintained order—they didn't break rules without cause. Pushing too far could drive gangs into the arms of their mortal enemies—the Fierce Oni.
Shirou frowned. Even the mighty Minamoto were cautious. That meant Aoiya might be someone else's glove—a dangerous faction.
So he decided to up the stakes.
"What if I told you… the people behind Aoiya are eyeing your god?"
Raito's pupils shrank violently.
(End of Chapter)
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