The next day.
Following the address Kisara had sent him, Yotsuba Mahiro took a taxi to a towering skyscraper in the heart of Tokyo.
This building was the Tokyo branch of the IFA—the International Initiator Supervising Organization. Abbreviated as IFA, it was responsible for managing the contracts between Initiators and Promoters, assigning partnerships, and maintaining the global IP ranking system.
The moment he stepped into the lobby, a sharp voice rang out:
"You're so slow!"
Tendo Kisara, who had clearly been waiting for some time, stormed toward him. The sharp click-clack of her hard-soled, round-toed leather shoes echoed against the marble floor.
Today she wore the same black JK uniform as usual, but her arms were crossed and her sharp eyes narrowed in irritation. The girl who normally smiled with such cuteness was pouting fiercely now.
And to Mahiro's surprise, another familiar face stood beside her—Rentaro Satomi.
Rentaro gave Mahiro an apologetic look, as if silently saying, Sorry about Kisara's temper.
"Why are you only just arriving?!" Kisara snapped, hands on her hips.
Mahiro lifted a hand in mock surrender. "My apologies, my apologies. Yesterday, I found a child outside and brought her home to look after. Because of that, I ended up running late today."
Rentaro's brows shot up. "A child? Is she… one of the Cursed Children?"
Mahiro nodded, confirming it.
The moment he did, Kisara's eyes sharpened with suspicion. She leaned forward, lowering her voice but still sharp enough to cut.
"I say… you weren't late today because you did anything strange to that child, were you? If so, as your President, I have the obligation to warn you—touching a child like that is illegal! I'll call the police!"
Mahiro froze. "…Haaah?"
The statement was so bizarre that for a moment he didn't even know how to respond.
"President Kisara," he finally said, his expression deadpan, "you can doubt my personality, but don't slander my interests. While I can admit lolis are cute, I'm not such a scumbag that I'd lay hands on a child. Don't lump me in with those creeps."
Besides, he thought bitterly, someone like that pitiful girl… the last thing she needed was more cruelty.
Shaking his head, Mahiro decided not to get dragged into Kisara's twisted imagination. Instead, he turned toward Rentaro and asked, "By the way, Satomi-san, what brings you here today? Don't tell me you came along just for my IFA license exam? That's overkill."
Honestly, even Kisara didn't need to come today. All she had to do was give him the address. But she had insisted, hovering like someone guarding their precious treasure. He couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
Rentaro scratched the back of his neck. "Ah… as for me, the IFA contacted me yesterday. They said they found a suitable Initiator for me."
"…Huh?"
Mahiro blinked in surprise, mentally drawing out a giant question mark.
So that's what this was about? For some time now, he had been wondering—Rentaro Satomi, as the supposed protagonist, should have already been partnered with a certain red-haired loli, Aihara Enju. Yet in the days they had known each other, she was nowhere to be seen.
So, they hadn't officially met yet.
Mahiro rubbed his forehead. What kind of plot timing is this? Don't tell me the story hasn't even started properly?
Kisara noticed his expression and thought he was confused about the IFA system. With a sigh, she explained, "Listen. With so many people applying to become Promoters nowadays, the demand far outweighs the supply of Initiators. Normally, after you pass the license exam, you have to wait before being assigned a partner by the IFA."
The reality was more complicated. When the system was first established, Cursed Children had been easy to capture and register. But too many Promoters treated them like disposable tools, recklessly sacrificing their Initiators in battle and replacing them as if they were nothing.
As a result, the surviving children had grown cautious. Many hid away, and some even resisted violently. That was why there was now such a severe shortage—Initiators were difficult to find, and even harder to convince.
"But you, Mahiro, don't need to worry," Kisara continued, her tone softening just slightly. "From your expression, I can already tell—you want to adopt that girl you found, right? After you get your license, you can bring her here and register her as your Initiator."
Mahiro shook his head. "I don't want that. Little Mibu's already pitiful enough as she is. And besides, for fighting, I alone am more than enough."
"…Mibu?" Kisara's lips curved into a teasing smile. "So that's her name. You seem to cherish her quite a bit."
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes glimmering with mischief. "In that case, you should definitely make her your Initiator. Mahiro, you're strong—I know that. But listen carefully. Cursed Children can't survive long without regular inhibitor injections."
Her words made him pause.
It was true. More than issuing licenses and assigning partners, the IFA's most crucial role was distributing the inhibitor drugs that slowed the Gastrea virus inside the children. Without inhibitors, the viral infection rate in a Cursed Child's body would gradually rise. Once it exceeded fifty percent, they would lose themselves entirely… transforming into a Gastrea.
That was the foundation of the IFA's international authority.
"…I get your point," Mahiro admitted after a long silence. "It's not a bad idea. But let me think about it for now."
The truth was, he would have preferred adopting another child through the IFA. That way he could save two instead of one. But as if mocking his wishful thinking, reality quickly came knocking.
While they were talking, a suited man approached Rentaro. "Satomi-san, it's time. You can come pick up your Initiator."
Since there was still some time before Mahiro's own exam, he decided to tag along.
"Ahhh! Let go of me!!!"
A shrill cry echoed through the corridor.
They were led into a room, just as several staff members dragged in a struggling girl. Her white dress was torn and filthy, exposing thin arms and a body covered with scars.
Her waist-length orange hair flared in all directions, like a frizzball of static electricity.
She kicked and flailed wildly, her voice hoarse from screaming.
With the strength of a Cursed Child, it should have been impossible for even several grown men to restrain her. And yet, this girl—small as she was—had been subdued by only two staff members.
They were muttering instructions as if handling a dangerous beast. "This Cursed Child's emotional state is unstable. She's violent. Even though we've injected a small amount of muscle relaxant, proceed with extreme caution."
The girl's crimson eyes glared at them, glowing ominously in the sterile light. In those eyes, Mahiro could read three parts ferocity and seven parts fear.
Around her thin neck was a collar, heavy with chains, along with an identification tag—as if she weren't a person at all, but some item on display.
"Number 328… Aihara Enju," Yotsuba Mahiro murmured under his breath, almost unconsciously.
The words struck the air like a spark. The hall fell silent.
Rentaro's eyes widened. Kisara blinked, her expression stiff. Even the restrained girl froze in place. The ferocity in her gaze dimmed, replaced by visible confusion.
"How do you know her name?!" Rentaro demanded sharply. "Do you… know her? Or—did your Sharingan show you?"
Kisara had already come to terms with his strange ability. After all, if Gastrea monsters could exist in this world, then the Sharingan wasn't such an impossible thing to accept.
"Uh… yeah, something like that," Mahiro replied with a teasing smile, raising a hand as though to defuse the tension.
Kisara didn't even look surprised. She only gave a small sigh. "Yare yare… really, Mahiro-kun. Having a Sharingan must be so convenient."
But while they were talking, something unexpected happened. Mahiro's casual mention of her name had a profound effect on the girl. Her trembling stopped. The anger in her expression melted away, and she grew unnervingly calm.
The two staff members looked at each other in confusion. But since Number 328 had ceased resisting, they quickly unshackled her and left the room.
Rentaro crouched down to her level. His voice was steady, though his face betrayed little emotion. "My name is Rentaro Satomi. From today forward, I will be your Promoter. And you… are my Initiator."
But the girl ignored Rentaro completely. Her crimson eyes drifted past him and landed directly on Mahiro. She tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her expression.
"…Who is he?"
It was the first time she had spoken. Though her voice was hoarse from exhaustion, it still carried a clarity that couldn't be hidden.
Rentaro straightened, his gaze following hers. "His name is Yotsuba Mahiro. He's my colleague—and starting today, he'll be yours too. So you'll be working with him."
"Yotsuba… Mahiro…" the girl repeated softly. She let the name roll off her tongue slowly, carefully, as if engraving it into her very soul.
Not long after, once Rentaro had collected a week's supply of Gastrea inhibitors from the staff, he left the hall with the girl—no, with Enju Aihara, his new Initiator.
Mahiro, however, had no time to relax. His own IFA examination had already begun.
The assessment itself was tedious, far from glamorous. It consisted of a full physical checkup to log basic data, followed by combat-oriented tests: shooting, strength evaluation, speed, and endurance.
To Mahiro, it was laughably easy. He cleared each category with results far beyond the recorded maximums. After all, he wasn't some street thug or desperate vagrant. He was the technological masterpiece created by the Fourth Research Lab—an artificial weapon designed to surpass the limits of humanity.
And naturally, there was no written test. Most IFAs were either criminals clawing for immunity or social dropouts with nowhere else to go. Very few were professional combatants. Out of several hundred thousand people across the world, only a few thousand had earned the IFA license.
What startled Mahiro, however, was how fast the system worked. The license was issued immediately after the assessment—no waiting, no extra paperwork.
"…So efficient?" he muttered under his breath as he walked back into the hall.
There he found Tendo Kisara waiting for him, her expression a mix of curiosity and suspicion. She stood near the exit, her posture sharp as though she were guarding against a thief.
Following her gaze, Mahiro realized that the crowd's eyes weren't simply on him—they were on all the new IFAs. Whispers ran through the room like wildfire.
When Kisara spotted him, her face brightened instantly. She rushed toward him, her long black hair swaying. "Hey, hey, Mahiro-kun! What's your IP ranking? It's gotta be high, right? Top 100,000 at least? No, no… with your power, I bet it's within the top 20,000 for sure!"
She clasped her hands together like someone praying for a lottery ticket, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Mahiro scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Eh… I didn't really check. When they gave me the license, I just pocketed it without looking."
"Baka!" Kisara pouted and leaned closer. "Come on, hurry up and look!"
Sighing, Mahiro reached into his pocket and pulled the card out. Before he could even tilt it toward himself, Kisara's head darted in. Her silky black hair brushed against his cheek, and the faint scent of shampoo tickled his nose.
Then came her sharp gasp. "E-Eight… three thousand six hundred and sixtieth?!"
Her voice rang across the hall.
Gasps echoed around them. Representatives and headhunters nearby froze, staring in disbelief. An IP rank of 8,360 straight out of the exam?!
That wasn't simply good—it was unheard of.
To put it into perspective, most rookie IFAs placed somewhere outside 100,000. Even Rentaro Satomi, after his own exam, had barely scraped past 120,000. Top performers might break into the 90,000s, with the rare talent touching the 80,000s.
But this boy—this supposed rich kid—was already in the eight-thousands?!
It was absurd. Impossible. Unreal.
Yet those who had taken the assessment with Mahiro weren't shocked. No, their expressions carried only a quiet, uneasy acknowledgment.
They had seen it with their own eyes.
Not only had Mahiro smashed the strength-testing machine with a single punch, but when a replacement was brought in, even that registered nothing but an error reading.
During the shooting test, his accuracy was frightening—every single bullet struck dead center, as if he had been born with a gun in his hands.
And in the long-distance endurance run… well, that was even more outrageous. Mahiro didn't just win. He left everyone else behind in the dust, dominating the track from start to finish.
He was, without question, a complete hexagonal warrior—perfect in every category. A monster among men.
Just as the murmurs of the crowd were reaching their peak, a languid female voice, touched with a Kansai accent, drifted across the hall.
"Oh, isn't this Kisara?"
The crowd shifted, and from the direction of the entrance, a young woman made her way forward with the grace of a noble. She was beautiful—painfully so. Her slender figure was wrapped in a furisode kimono, its fine fabric unable to hide her curves.
Her doll-like face bore delicate features, yet the tear mole beneath her left eye gave her an added allure, an air of danger.
"Tch… snake woman." Kisara's lips curled in open disdain, though she forced a fake smile before stepping forward.
"Well, if it isn't the young lady of the Shiba family. What brings you here…?"
But the woman didn't even glance at Kisara. She bypassed her entirely, heels clicking against the polished floor, and stopped directly in front of Yotsuba Mahiro. Her eyes locked on him, sharp and calculating, as though peeling back his skin to read what lay beneath.
"May I be so bold as to ask," she said sweetly, "what is your relationship with this Mother Orangutan, young man?"
The venom in her words was obvious. The instant she brushed past, Kisara stiffened, her face freezing over.
Mahiro remained quiet for a moment, meeting her gaze without flinching. He, too, was evaluating her.
If his memory served, this woman was none other than Shiba Miori, heiress of Shiba Heavy Industries. Her reputation preceded her.
And just as the rumors suggested, her smile seemed… fake. Polished, professional, but utterly insincere. To Mahiro, it was a smile that smelled of oil and smoke, manufactured for business deals.
Even worse, it was clear she had deliberately approached him for one reason—to provoke Tendo Kisara.
And judging by the twitching vein on Kisara's forehead, she had succeeded spectacularly.
Still, Mahiro wasn't the type to be rude for no reason. Maintaining basic courtesy, he greeted her.
"Hello, Miss Shiba. I'm Yotsuba Mahiro, a new employee of Tendo Civil Security Corporation."
"I see. I am Shiba Miori, of Shiba Heavy Industries." Her voice was soft, polished, and fake. She extended one delicate, pale hand toward him. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Mahiro extended his own hand, giving it the lightest shake before pulling back. It was barely a touch, but even so, Miori widened her eyes in a show of surprise.
"It seems Mr. Yotsuba is not only very polite, but also very capable," she purred. "By the way… what is your IP ranking?"
Her words were deliberate, meant to sting.
From their brief contact, she had already gathered her own conclusions. His hands bore no calluses, his body was slim and almost delicate, his face too flawless—as handsome as an idol.
What kind of fool would hire someone like this into a security company? Unless…
Unless he was another survivor of the New Human Creation Project, like Rentaro Satomi. But that was absurd. The number of modified soldiers from that project had been limited from the start. Most had perished in the war. The survivors were rare treasures, not people you could just stumble across casually.
But whether he was genuine or not didn't matter to her. What mattered was watching Kisara stumble, watching her Tendo Civil Security Corporation fail. That was what Miori desired.
Mahiro, however, wasn't fooled. That fox-like smile reminded him too much of Erika's playful grin, the kind that masked dangerous intent.
"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose my ranking," Mahiro replied politely, lowering his eyes. His instincts screamed that nothing good could come of this conversation.
"Oh, come now," Miori pressed, tilting her head coyly. "There's no harm in sharing, is there?"
Mahiro took a step back. "If Miss Shiba has no further business, then I'll be going. I have someone waiting for me at home."
He turned on his heel, but Miori was faster. With a practiced movement, she slid into his path and latched onto his arm, pressing her body just close enough to draw gasps from the onlookers.
This woman was absolutely doing it on purpose!
"Wha—let go of him, you vixen!" Kisara's voice cut through the hall like a blade. She stormed forward, fury blazing in her eyes, and tried to yank Miori away.
But with the grace of a dancer, Miori shifted her weight, dodging with ease, only to cling to Mahiro's arm again.
"No way~" she said playfully, her Kansai lilt making it sound even more mocking. "I'm just curious about Mr. Yotsuba's ranking. Could it be that, like poor Rentaro, he suffered 'unfair treatment' from the system and ended up outside the top 100,000?"
"You… you snake!" Kisara barked back, yanking harder. "Don't you dare compare him to Satomi-kun! That was his own choice—he held back because he didn't want to show his true strength!"
Her voice rose, and then—unable to restrain herself—she dropped the bomb. "And Mahiro-kun isn't like that at all! He's strong—super strong! His IP ranking is already in the eight-thousands!"
For a moment, the entire hall froze.
Mahiro sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Kisara-san… should I call you naive, or just impulsive?
He had seen it from the start. Miori's words were calculated, sharp as knives. They were meant to provoke. And yet Kisara had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
Not only that, but she had practically announced his secret ranking to everyone within earshot.
Seriously, Kisara-san… you just sold me out without hesitation, didn't you?
******
As you can see, the recent chapters have been too big, taking too much of my time hence the reduction from 10 to 7 chapters per week.
See you next week!!