The scene before Kyou is frozen horror—Sojiro and Chikage's lifeless bodies crumpled at Kyou Ren's feet, blood still seeping into the dirt. His breath comes in ragged bursts, fingers trembling where they clutch his mother's torn sleeve. His vision blurs. Then—something shifts.
A pulse of unnatural energy ripples through him, burning through veins like liquid fire before settling behind his eyes with an audible crack. He gasps—not from pain, but from the sudden intrusion of something ancient clawing its way to the surface inside him.
And then… his eyes change.
Sclera darkens to a smoky gray.
Iris bleeds into fractured silver-white, veined with faint lines like shattered glass spreading from the pupil.
The fractures glow softly, pulsing as if alive—as if something hidden behind them is straining to be seen (or remembered).
Kyou Ren staggers back a step, shaking his head as if to clear the sudden rush of something coursing through him. The world suddenly feels sharper, as if an invisible veil had been ripped aside revealing a truth he can no longer ignore.
His eyes flick back to his parents—to the pool of blood growing larger at their feet. His hands clench into fists, knuckles nearly white.
This… this is the price of failure.
Never again.
As Kyou Ren collapses from the sheer emotional and physical strain of his awakening, Hakutaku steps forward with a grin—not even fazed by the display of power.
"Mekura Eyes? Cute~ But still just a fledgling's toy." He twirls his bloodied blade lazily before pointing it at Yua. "Though I do wonder… Why do you think the realm wants Mizaru dead so badly, hm?"
Yua tenses. "Because she's dangerous."
Hakutaku laughs—high, shrill, mocking. "Wrong! It's because she knows things. Things that could shatter their precious illusions~" He leans in conspiratorially. "But hey—dont take my word for it." With that, he steps back into shadows (always theatric to the end), leaving them with bodies to bury… and questions burning worse than any wound.
They stand there for a while in the silence of the shrine, the only sound the wind rustling through leaves. Finally, Tenjo breaks the silence with a heavy sigh. "Mizaru better be worth all this trouble…"
Yua's voice is tight, still shaken from the brutal sight before them but finding her footing. "She has to be," she affirms, "or the realm wouldn't be so afraid of her."
Yua kneels beside Kyou's unconscious form, her shadow stretching over him like a vow. Her fingers hover just above his shoulder—hesitant to touch, but unable to pull away.
"...I owe you this." Her voice is low, barely more than breath. "More than I can ever repay." She doesn't know if he hears her (if the fractured glow of those Mekura Eyes still perceives anything at all)—but she says it anyway. Because some debts must be acknowledged aloud.
Tenjo watches silently from a few paces back (letting her have this moment; rare for him), arms crossed but expression unreadable (or maybe just unwilling to admit he understands that weight too). Then—practical as ever—he nudges Kyou's limp arm with his boot.
"Up we go," he mutters, hauling him over one shoulder with effortless strength (because emotions won't stop corpses from attracting scavengers). "We move fast. The realm didn't send Hakutaku just for show." His eyes flick to Yua meaningfully before adding:
"...And your kitsune better start talking soon."
Or next time? The debt might be paid in blood instead.
Elsewhere, under the harsh midday sun in the mountainous region, Ryo moves through his drills with relentless precision—each strike sharp enough to carve air itself. Sweat beads at his temples, but he doesn't slow. Can't slow. Not when every muscle remembers the phantom feeling of a blade lodged in Yua's gut (not again).
Nearby, perched on a weather-worn fence like mischievous crows, Sora and Haru observe with matching grins:
Sora, ever the instigator, kicks his feet idly. "Wow~ Ryo-nii's actually trying today! Miracle!"
His twin sister Haru hums in agreement before adding dryly: "Maybe if we cheer louder he'll finally land a hit on Kurobe-san."
Kurobe—impassive as ever—adjusts his sunglasses without comment (he hears them; he just chooses not to dignify it). His wooden training sword taps Ryo's ribs after yet another failed lunge. "Again." No frustration; no praise. Just expectation carved into stone (and they both know why).
Ryo grits his teeth… but resets stance without complaint (because if weakness got people killed last time? He won't be weak again.)
The scent of summer grass. The sound of wind chimes. A woman's laughter, warm like sunlight through leaves—
Little Ryo, no older than five, sprinting across the courtyard with bare feet and boundless energy. His mother watches from the engawa, her smile patient as he stumbles over roots and picks himself up (always so determined). But this time—he doesn't catch himself.
The gash on his knee is shallow but bloody. Tears welled up instantly (he was so proud a second ago), his tiny fists clutching at the wound like it might vanish if he pressed hard enough. Then—soft hands lifting him.
His mother's voice: "Shhh… It's okay to cry when it hurts." Her thumb wipes away tears before they can fall. "But pain is just proof you're alive." She presses a bandage over the scrape with practiced ease (how many times has she done this?) and adds gently:
"And next time? You'll be stronger for it."
(Now) —Ryo blinks back into reality, Kurobe's training sword poised at his throat (another loss; another lesson). The phantom sting of that childhood scrape lingers like an echo as sweat drips into his eyes. He doesn't remember resetting stance… but his grip on the wooden blade has tightened anyway (because what else is there to do but keep moving forward?)
One moment, Ryo is there—blinking back sweat and memory.
The next? Gone. A burst of speed so sudden even Kurobe barely tracks it before Ryo's wooden sword slams against his guard with enough force to crack the wood.
A beat of silence. Then—Kurobe smirks. It's small, subtle (almost invisible unless you know where to look), but it's there. Finally, The boy had been training like a machine for weeks now… but this? This was the first time he moved with something beyond discipline—with fire.
Sora whistles from the sidelines while Haru claps slowly, sarcastically.
"Took you long enough," she drawls.
Sora adds with a grin: "Guess even slow learners get lucky~"
The training grounds fall into abrupt silence as Tenjo and Yua step into view—but Ryo's gaze locks onto Kyou Ren's unconscious form slung over Tenjo's shoulder. His grip tightens on the wooden sword, knuckles whitening. Of all people…
Yua opens her mouth to explain, but the air is already thick with unspoken hostility (like a spark hovering over dry kindling).
Tenjo, ever the tactician, breaks the tension first—though not gently. "Save the glares for when he wakes up." A pause, then with deliberate calm: "We have bigger problems."
Ryo doesn't relax. Don't look away from Kyou. But he does ask—voice dangerously level:
"...What happened?"
(And more importantly—)
Why is he here?
🌀 End of Chapter Thirty One