Ishikawa Region – Hunting Academy, 50 Years Ago
A sharp thud rattles through the dojo as twelve-year-old Yua slams onto the wooden floor—her ribs screaming in protest. Sweat drips from her chin, her breath ragged as she glares up at her opponent: a boy twice her size, already smirking down at her with pitiless amusement.
"That's five losses in a row." (Mocking.) "Maybe stick to theory classes?"
Yua wipes blood from her split lip and gets back up. (Always.) Her stance is uneven, but there's fire burning behind dark blue eyes that refuse to stay down.
From the shadows of the dojo's edge, two figures watch silently—one with arms crossed (unimpressed), the other with a barely-there smile (intrigued).
Gentoki, Captain of Ishikawa's 3rd Unit: "...She fights like someone who expects death." (Observation.)
Kiyara, his lieutenant (at the time his third seat): "...No. She fights like someone who refuses it." (Approval hidden beneath steel.)
"She's just wasting her energy, captain," the large boy sneers. "She'll snap like a twig under a real fight." (Mocking her again.)
Kiyara bristles, but it's Gentoki's calm response that commands the room like a crack of thunder. "Enough."
The boy steps back from Yua, scoffing but wary enough to listen to his superior. Yua doesn't break focus—not yet—just glares as she wipes blood from her face.
Kiyara steps forward, eyes fixed on Yua with a knowing gaze.
Gentoki watches as Kiyara steps forward, her usual icy demeanor softened—just slightly—by the sight of this stubborn, bleeding girl still standing.
She cares.
The realization makes something warm flicker behind Gentoki's stern expression. (Good.) Kiyara had spent too long hardening herself into a blade with no sheath… but here? In this reckless, spitfire child? Maybe she saw something worth guarding. (Maybe he wasn't the only one who could inspire loyalty.)
His hand rests briefly on Kiyara's shoulder—a silent approval. Then his gaze shifts back to Yua, assessing her with the same piercing focus he once used to cut down Kaimon at the realm's edge.
"You." His voice is deep enough to vibrate in their bones. "You fight like death is chasing you."
"...But Hunters don't run from death." "We hunt it first."
Yua's breath steadies, her fingers curling into fists—still trembling from exhaustion, but unyielding. She meets Gentoki's gaze head-on (something even veteran hunters hesitate to do).
"Then teach me how to hunt."
The boy who knocked her down scoffs. "You think you're worthy of the Captain's time—?"
Kiyara silences him with a single glance (sharp as unsheathed steel), then steps forward. Her voice is low, meant only for Yua:
"Prove you can take one more hit without falling… and I'll train you myself." (A test. A promise.)
Gentoki watches, arms crossed—but there's something in his eyes now… anticipation. (This girl reminded him of someone. Someone he failed long ago.)
Later That Evening —
Yua sits cross-legged on her bed, staring down at the old, folded photo in her hands. In it: her parents, two hunters who died trying to save Ishikawa from a threat 10 years ago.
(Her mother had the same eyes and fire, her father the same strong jawline. They both look so young.)
Beneath it is a photo of Kiyara in the same training uniform Yua wore today.
Lastly: Gentoki, staring down the threat with fearless eyes.
Yua presses the photo of Gentoki against her chest, knuckles white from how tightly she grips it. The candlelight flickers across her face—illuminating the oath carved into her expression.
"I swear… I'll become strong enough to stand beside you." (A vow. Not just to him—but to herself.) "No matter what it takes."
Present – This Sad Cruel World
Blood pools beneath Yua's fallen body as Kairos stares down at her with disgust deeper than hatred. This isn't fury—it's disappointment. Like watching a storm he once admired dissipate into nothing. (Pathetic.) His lips curl as he turns away... leaving behind only echoes of a promise that might now die with its maker.
Kyou's voice splits the air like a blade through bone, raw and ragged—"YUA!!!"—but she doesn't stir. Blood spreads beneath her, staining concrete in dark, unforgiving crimson.
Mei's hands shake violently over Satoshi's wound, tears blurring her vision as she stares at Yua's motionless form (too much blood… too much). Hiroshi can only stand there—mouth open in silent horror—because what do you even say when death carves itself into reality right before your eyes?
Ryo... doesn't move or scream. His fists clench so tight his nails draw blood from his own palms. A cold, unfathomable rage burns behind his eyes as he locks onto Kairos' retreating figure... (This isn't over.)
And Kyou? He isn't screaming anymore. Just staring at Yua with something hollow and shattered in his gaze—because for once in his life... he doesn't have a single taunt left.
Ryo's mind plays like an album as the memories of Yua flow in, especially one in particular…
Flashback – One Month Earlier, Serenia
Sunset paints the streets gold as Yua—still new to this world, still wary of its fragility—watches Ryo toss a pebble into the river with a lazy smirk.
"Humans really just… live like this?" (Disbelief. Almost envious.) "No monsters? No hunts?"
He laughs, kicking another stone. "Nah. Just school and idiots like me." (A grin.) "Way better, right?"
She doesn't answer at first—just watches the water ripple where his pebble landed. Then, quietly:
"...It's peaceful." (Like she's admitting something forbidden.)
Ryo catches the way her fingers brush the hilt of her blade (always ready), how her eyes scan shadows for threats that don't exist here… and for once? He doesn't tease. Just knocks his shoulder against hers lightly—(a silent promise)—before leading her toward some hole-in-the-wall ramen stand he swears is "the best in existence."
(Back when they had time to waste...)
The memory dissolves like smoke as Kairos' footsteps walk towards Yua... Ryo's breath comes too fast, too shallow—because he remembers that day. He remembered thinking: "She'll outlive us all." (A lie.)
Kairos' fingers curl around Yua's limp wrist, dragging her off the ground with no more care than one would spare for discarded trash.
Blood drips from her fingertips, painting thin trails on the concrete as he adjusts his grip—hoisting her over his shoulder like a trophy.
Behind him:
Kyou is already moving, teeth bared in something between fury and desperation ("Put. Her. Down. You. Bastard.")—but Kairos doesn't even glance back.
Ryo's muscles lock, torn between chasing Kairos and protecting Mei and Hiroshi (who are still clutching Satoshi's shuddering body). His voice cracks: "YUA—!"
But Kairos just steps forward—and the world itself seems to flinch away from him as he vanishes into a rift of swirling darkness… taking Yua with him.
(The last thing Ryo sees is the faint glint of Gentoki's pendant still hanging around her neck... slipping into the void with her.)
Ryo stares down at where Kairos had vanished, hands shaking at his sides—and for the first time, he looks lost. His world has always been about hunting monsters, protecting his family, fighting alongside friends… Now, all of it feels so insignificant next to the reality of Yua being gone.
And it's not her absence that cuts him the deepest, it's how little he could do to stop it.
He made a promise... and failed. Again.
Kyou's eyes fix on the spot where Kairos vanished, his own hands trembling with an anger he can't even direct—because that bastard took his chance at revenge. And he can't even be selfish enough to grieve now, not when Hiroshi and Mei are still standing there.
"...Hiroshi. Mei." He turns to them—voice rougher than gravel but not harsh, not when his gaze still lingers on where Yua was just moments ago.
Mei's hand covers Satoshi's wound, but her eyes are fixated on that spot where Kairos vanished. Her expression is strangely blank now—like her mind won't let all the horror of what just happened sink in, not yet.
Hiroshi just stands there, shell-shocked and pale—unspeaking because this is too big, too horrible to be real. Yua's gone… and that monster took her like it was nothing.
Before She Learned to Fly ——
In the golden glow of a setting sun above a grassy field in Ryūketsu, a younger Yua runs barefoot through tall grass, the wind pulling at her messy black hair. Behind her: the distant form of her parents watching from their porch, laughing as their daughter shrieks with delight.
She chases after butterflies, trying to catch one with a net she fashioned herself… and the world has never felt as full or whole as in these perfect, fleeting moments.
"Where the Wind Once Sang"
The happiness fades—the laughter, the warmth, the light—leaving only the ghost of that girl's joy behind. A single butterfly escapes her grasp… just like everything else eventually would.
"We are all made of moments we can never return to."
"And Yua Aihara was no exception."
🌀 End Of Chapter Forty One