Kuroda led them in silence to the heart of the abandoned skate park. The place was a monument to neglect: cracked concrete ramps, benches reduced to splinters, and a carpet of rusted cans dragged along by the wind with a metallic hiss. Among the faded graffiti and the damp smell, a figure stood atop the highest ramp.
There was Honda, sitting with the arrogance of a king on a throne. Beside him lay Miyu's red umbrella.
"Honda, that umbrella belongs to Miyu. Give it back right now."
The delinquent responded with a guttural laugh that made the hair on the back of the girls' necks stand on end. It wasn't a human laugh; it sounded distorted, as if a deep, harsh frequency overlapped his voice, giving it an unnatural tone.
Honda jumped to his feet, gripping the wagasa with both hands as if it were a heavy baseball bat.
"You want it?" he asked, tilting his head with a twisted smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Then come and take it… if you can."
Mochi didn't step back. She took a step forward, locking her gaze onto his, analyzing every movement.
"Miyu," she whispered without looking away from her opponent, "stay back. Leave this to me."
Mochi shrugged off her coat and let it fall to the ground. From her pocket, she pulled out her knuckle dusters.
Honda roared—a beast-like sound that revealed there was little of his original consciousness left—and charged down the ramp. He came at her at alarming speed, the umbrella raised like a heavy club aimed straight at her head.
He's too fast! she thought.
Mochi planted her feet and threw a straight punch, intercepting the weapon's trajectory. The impact of metal against the reinforced wood of the umbrella sent sparks flying and produced a sharp, ringing clash.
CLANG!
The force of the collision made Honda stumble backward, surprised by the strength of her defense.
"Give up!" Mochi shouted, resetting her stance. "Return the umbrella before this gets worse."
"SHUT UP! SHUT UUUUP!" Honda bellowed, completely out of control.
In his mind, clouded by Ether, he had expected her arm to snap like a dry branch. Seeing that she had stopped him—and even pushed him back—only fueled his rage.
"Damn you!"
With a furious shout, Honda charged again, this time aiming from the side to crush Mochi's ribs. She spun quickly, blocking the strike with another punch. Her arm vibrated from the force of the impact; the boy was strong—far stronger than any normal human should be.
Damn… this is tough, Mochi admitted to herself as cold sweat slid down her forehead.
Despite her recent training, this was her first real fight against an opponent who actually knew how to hit. Honda was a veteran of street fights, and it showed in the relentless pressure he applied. Just maintaining her guard required total concentration; finding an opening to counterattack seemed, for now, impossible.
"What's wrong?" Honda mocked, swinging the umbrella with a force that sliced through the air. "Didn't you want your toy back? Come on, come get it!"
Blow after blow, Honda forced Mochi to retreat across the cracked asphalt. She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached; every strike from the umbrella sent shocks through her bones. Keeping up with that relentless pace consumed all her focus, leaving her barely enough room to breathe—let alone search for an opening in the delinquent's defense.
"What's wrong? Don't you want it?!" Honda roared, his voice growing more distorted under the influence of the weapon. "COME ON, TAKE IT!"
A particularly heavy blow threw Mochi off balance. She staggered back two steps, gasping, her lungs burning from the strain. Honda spotted the weakness instantly; his wicked grin widened as he swung low, aiming to crush her legs.
"Got you now!" he shouted, bringing the umbrella down with full force.
Mochi saw the attack coming, but her stance was too open—she wouldn't be able to lower her arms in time to block it.
No time! I have to take the risk!
In a desperate move, she lifted her right leg and drove a side kick straight into the body of the umbrella. The impact was sharp and brutal. It didn't push Honda back, but it completely halted the weapon's trajectory. Mochi stumbled back, limping slightly, feeling a burst of heat shoot through her shin.
When she glanced down, she saw a dark bruise already forming where the wagasa had struck. But she was still standing. She had stopped a reinforced attack using nothing but her own strength.
In that moment, a spark of confidence ignited in her chest—she had a real chance of winning.
"Yaaah!" Mochi shouted, launching herself forward.
She threw a straight punch at Honda's face, but he raised the closed umbrella like a shield; sparks flew again as metal met its surface. He stepped back to create space and immediately countered with a side swing.
This time, Mochi didn't hesitate. She raised her left forearm and took the blow head-on. The pain was sharp, and she knew it would leave another mark—but the sacrifice paid off. Honda was completely exposed for a split second after the swing.
Mochi didn't waste the opening. She twisted her torso, channeling all the power from her hips, and drove a crushing right hook into his ribs.
The impact sounded solid—almost bone-deep. Honda let out a strangled cry and dropped to his knees, clutching his side with an expression of pure agony. The madness in his eyes flickered under the weight of real pain.
"It's over!"
Without giving him time to recover, she followed up with an uppercut that connected cleanly with his chin. His body jerked violently before collapsing backward, falling like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut.
Silence returned to the skate park.
Mochi stood over the unconscious body, her knuckles trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline. Her breathing was heavy and uneven. It had been her first real fight… and she had come out victorious.
"Miyu, I won!" she exclaimed, turning toward her companion with a smile born from pure relief.
Miyu ran over, stepping carefully over the cracks in the ground, her eyes wide and shining with almost reverent admiration.
"Senpai, you were amazing!" she shouted excitedly. "I knew you could do it!"
Mochi returned the smile, exhausted but with a spark of satisfaction in her eyes. She crouched down with a quiet groan, picked up the wagasa from the ground, and handed it back to its owner.
"Next time, don't lose sight of it."
"I promise!" Miyu exclaimed, hugging the umbrella to her chest as if it were a treasure. "I won't let go of it ever again, Senpai. I swear."
However, Miyu's joy quickly shifted to concern when she noticed her companion's stiff movements.
"Senpai… are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?"
"Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine," Mochi lied.
On the outside, she tried to maintain her composure, but inside she could feel the pain in her leg and forearm beginning to throb sharply. As she glanced at Honda's body, still lying motionless on the asphalt, a question crossed Miyu's mind.
"What will happen to him? Will he go back to how he was before?"
"As for that… it's better to ask the expert," Mochi replied, pulling out her smartphone.
As she dialed Haruka's number, she gave her friend a knowing smile.
"Don't worry. I won't tell her the details… at least not yet."
When Haruka's voice answered on the other end, Mochi asked as casually as she could: what would happen to a civilian corrupted by an Agency weapon? The first thing she received was an icy silence, followed by a direct question about whether she had lost her own knuckles. Mochi hurried to clarify that it was just a "hypothetical scenario," though Haruka's skeptical tone made it clear she wasn't fooled.
"As long as you remove the weapon, his body should purge the excess Ether and return to normal over time," Haruka finally explained calmly. "There's nothing to worry about. But it would be best for you to leave before he wakes up."
Following the advice, the two girls left the skate park at a brisk pace. By the time they passed the construction zone, the sky had already turned a deep violet, signaling the end of the day.
"What a shame… it's already too late to go to the café," Miyu lamented with genuine disappointment. "Senpai, I promise I'll treat you to the biggest dessert on the menu next time we meet."
"Don't worry," Mochi replied with a tired smile. "Today already had more than enough sugar and adrenaline."
They said goodbye with a hug and went their separate ways. When Mochi arrived at Haruka's house, dinner passed in a peaceful silence she deeply appreciated. However, the calm didn't last long. Afterward, when Mochi began changing into her sleepwear, Haruka's voice cut through the air like a whip.
"What is that?" the elf asked, frowning sharply.
Her gaze fixed first on Mochi's bare arm and then moved down to her leg. Under the soft light of the lamp, the dark, purplish bruises stood out alarmingly against her skin.
"What happened?" Haruka's tone turned severe, losing all the warmth from dinner. "Who did this to you?"
Mochi swallowed, her ears flattening instinctively against her head. She tried to come up with a quick excuse—a clumsy fall or an accidental bump—but the sharp look in Haruka's eyes made it clear that any lie would crumble instantly.
She let out a long sigh of surrender.
"Alright… I'll tell you everything."
* * *
Later that same night, far from the order of the school and the safety of Haruka's home.
In a secluded area of the bar and nightclub district, a woman walked alone beneath the flickering glow of neon lights. Streetlamps cast her silhouette onto a dirty sidewalk stained with mud and spilled drinks. She wore a tight, low-cut dress that shimmered under the light, and she walked unsteadily, swaying as if alcohol had taken full control of her senses.
Around her, the noise of the night swallowed the laughter of passersby. No one paid her much attention—she was just another figure in the early hours.
That was when three shadows detached themselves from a nearby alley.
It was Honda and his friends.
"Hey, pretty…" Honda said with a crooked smile, stepping into her path. "What's a girl like you doing out here alone at this hour?"
"Don't you want to come have a little fun with us?" Kuroda added, letting out a malicious laugh.
"We'll take good care of you, don't worry about a thing," Shōma finished, winking as he closed the circle around her.
The three of them surrounded her completely. The woman barely reacted—no screams, no attempt to run, no resistance. Some passersby noticed the scene out of the corner of their eyes, but quickly looked away and picked up their pace. In that district, everyone knew the golden rule: if it's not your problem, don't get involved.
Laughing and muttering obscenities, the three dragged the woman into the depths of a dark alley.
"Honda, you go first. We'll cover the entrance," Kuroda said, turning to watch the main street.
"Yeah, hurry up, then I'm next," Shōma added impatiently.
Honda pushed the woman against the brick wall with a rough laugh. She remained motionless, almost still. Her body barely seemed to register the impact.
"Come on, don't make this boring…" Honda muttered, stepping closer as he started unfastening his pants.
Then it happened.
A spray of warm blood splashed across Kuroda and Shōma's backs.
"Hey! What…?"
Both of them turned immediately.
And what they saw sent a cold chill through their bones.
Honda stood with his back to them, his body rigid, frozen in place. Through his torso—from his back to his chest—protruded a slender arm, covered in blood.
The woman's arm.
She had pierced him as if he were paper.
Honda's body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud. Blood spread across the concrete, forming a thick, dark pool.
The woman, now standing before the two of them, stepped calmly over the corpse. Her heels crushed Honda's chest without the slightest hesitation.
Her eyes glowed with an intense golden hue—unnatural, fierce. Like a predator's.
Kuroda took a step back. Shōma couldn't even breathe.
"What… what the hell is that?"
The woman smiled.
And took another step toward them.
It took them several seconds to react. When they finally understood what they had just witnessed, they screamed in panic and turned to flee. But they weren't fast enough.
She lunged at them with inhuman speed, reaching Shōma in an instant. She raised her arm and, with a precise slash of her long nails, tore away his lower jaw.
Blood burst outward.
Shōma dropped to his knees, his eyes wide as he tried to scream. Only a horrible gurgle escaped him before he collapsed completely.
Kuroda tried to run, but the woman chased him. She caught up in a heartbeat, grabbed him by the shoulder, and slammed him against the wall with such force that the concrete cracked.
She pinned him there with a single hand.
He struggled with all his strength, unable to comprehend what was happening. He was strong, big, used to overpowering others—but this woman, slender and seemingly drunk, had him completely at her mercy.
"What… are you?" he whimpered, his eyes filled with terror.
She didn't answer. She only smiled—a macabre grin revealing a row of sharp fangs.
Then, with a sudden motion, she drove her claws into his throat. With a violent pull, she tore out his windpipe.
Kuroda fell to the ground, writhing as he choked on his own blood, making horrible, convulsive sounds.
She ignored him completely. She took a few steps forward, wiping the blood from her hand as she muttered, her voice laced with growing hatred.
"Damn cat…" she spat through clenched teeth. "I swear I'll make you pay for what you did to me. When I catch you—when I have you in my claws… I'll make you wish for death."
Her eyes burned with rage, with pure resentment. She hated that girl with every fiber of her being. That girl who had reduced her to this humiliating state.
After being crushed on the pavement, her original body had suffered severe damage. Repairing it would have required an enormous amount of energy and time… two things she didn't have. She knew that if she stayed there, the hunters would arrive soon.
And that would be the end.
She had no choice.
If she wanted to survive, she had to abandon her body and find a replacement. But the area was deserted. The streets were empty. There were no available bodies… human ones, at least.
So she took what she found: a rat. A filthy, repulsive street rat.
She spent hours crawling through the sewers like an animal.
Her consciousness, trapped in that rotting body, twisted with rage and humiliation. The mana she possessed was barely enough to keep her aware. And just when she thought all was lost… she found her.
A completely drunk woman, sitting alone on a bench, unable to stay awake.
It was her salvation.
Possessing that body consumed almost all of her remaining energy, but she managed it. Now she occupied a human body—but she was far from her former power. She could barely use a few minor spells. Nothing compared to what she had once been.
It didn't matter.
She swore to herself that she would regain her power.
And when she did… that girl would pay. She would make her suffer like never before. She would make her beg for death.