Dawn cracks over the training grounds—a battered warehouse on the outskirts of Hakuto's industrial district. Ryo and Kyou face each other, weapons drawn. No words exchanged yet—just the tension of two warriors who know this has to happen.
It's been three days since Kusuri showed up, and in that time... they've all trained together.
Kusuri trains harder than ever—pushing her body, her mind, her soul. She's got a score to settle, and she's driven by it.
Kyou trains just as much—if not more.
And Ryo: he's been relentless, training like his life depends on it.
But despite the training...
Ryo and Kyou train in silence. Their blades clash again and again, each strike sharper than the last. They're testing each other, pushing their limits, and the only thing making it look effortless is the fact that these two are used to fighting.
Finally Kyou stops, leaning on his sword, breathing harshly. His eyes meet Ryo's, and in that look...
It's the first real moment of connection and understanding between them. A silent language.
"Your Energy's Useless If You Don't Wield It Right."
Kyou exhales sharply, wiping sweat from his brow as he levels Ryo with a glare. His sword hangs loosely at his side—not in defeat, but exhaustion.
"You've got the power, but you swing it around like a kid with a toy."
Ryo doesn't bristle (for once). He just… listens. Because Kyou isn't wrong.
(He's been relying on raw Seishu surges—blunt force over precision.)
Kyou steps closer, dragging the tip of his blade through the dirt between them before stopping inches from Ryo's chest.
"Energy isn't just about output." His smirk returns, but there's no mockery this time—just challenge. "It's about control."
"Signets? You Mean Like...?"
Ryo blinks. The term isn't unfamiliar—Yua mentioned it once, in passing ("Every hunter's energy aligns with a Signet. It shapes how we fight."). But he never dug deeper.
Kyou rolls his eyes—of course Ryo doesn't know.
"Your 'affinity' is the damn core of your fighting style." He flicks his wrist, and dark energy coils around his blade like living shadow. "Mine's dark energy—stealth, speed, deception. Yours should've manifested by now."
"Earth carving Signet – Seismic Spikes."
Kyou's hand slams into the dirt and the ground shudders. Spikes of rock erupt from the earth like jagged teeth of stone in a violent, jagged spray. The air thrums with dark energy—the raw power of the earth bending to Kyou's will.
Ryo stares in surprise. His own energy has always been firehot and chaotic—nothing like that quiet, focused control in Kyou's Signet.
Ryo watches, listening intently as Kyou explains the connection between his heritage and his fighting style.
"My bloodline, the Ametsuchi, has mastered the Earth and Fire Signets for generations," he says, fingers flexing with the memory of old teachings. "In our clan, the balance between earth and fire is like breathing. It's not just a fighting style — it's who we are."
Kyou leans against his sword, eyeing Ryo carefully. There's a hint of challenge in his gaze—but also something else, something that makes him soften his tone just a bit.
"Look, I get it. Us being rivals makes this complicated... but when it comes to Signets, it's not about that. It's about compatibility and style. You need someone who understands how you move, how you think…"
"If Signets Are Off Limits... There's One Thing I Can Help With."
Kyou sheaths his sword, shifting his stance. A hint of a smirk returns to his lips as he says:
"Swordplay. You need to work on your fundamentals, Ryo. Your stance, your footwork — you're too careless."
Kyou's gaze hardens as he speaks about his family's fighting style.
"The Ametsuchi aren't just Signet masters," he says. "We're also renowned for our martial arts prowess. Our clan has honed this technique for generations. And when it comes to wielding a blade..."
"We're unmatched."
"Kenzaki..."
The name hits Kyou like a blade to the gut—sudden, brutal. His fingers twitch toward his sword, instinctive. (Kenzaki. A name his parents whispered about in hushed tones before they were gone.)
Ryo notices the shift—the way Kyou's stance tightens into something dangerously still. He doesn't understand why… but he knows that look. The look of someone recognizing a ghost from their past.
"...Yeah," Ryo says cautiously. "Why?"
"Clan of the Silver Storm."
Kyou's Memory – Years Ago
A young Kyou sits beside his father in their ancestral dojo, wooden training sword balanced on his knees. His father's voice is low—reverent.
"The Kenzaki… Their lineage traces back to the first hunters who could harness truth itself."
His mother adjusts her glasses across from them, adding:
"Their specialized in many forbidden techniques.' A single slash that moves like a storm. But it died with them. Or so we thought..."
Present Day – The Truth Stares Him in the Face.
"So You're Not Just Some Brat After All."
Kyou exhales sharply, shoulders loosening from their defensive tension. There's a new edge to his smirk now—something between respect and the thrill of competition.
"A Kenzaki… Huh." He rolls his wrist, sword glinting in the sunlight. "Guess that explains why you're so damn stubborn with a blade."
(And for the first time… he sees Ryo not as just another hunterintraining—but as a true rival.)
"Don't Get a Big Head."
Ryo meets Kyou's smirk with a slight snarl. He's never been one for titles or legacies, just action. And he's not about to let something as silly as bloodline get in the way.
"Don't get the wrong impression: if we're rivals, it's because you're a pain in my ass, not because of some ancient blood connection bullshit."
"Finally, You're Taking This Seriously."
Kyou lets out a huff (that almost sounds like a laugh), the tension draining from the air. He shifts his own stance, sword sliding into a ready position.
"Good. Let's see if you can keep up."
Ryo sits sprawled on the ground—dirty, sweaty, and completely floored by Kyou's skill. And the worst part? He can't even argue because it's true.
Kyou sheathes his sword with an exaggerated smoothness, that cocky smirk back on his face.
"You learn pretty fast," he admits.
"But your balance sucks."
"Who—?"
Ryo's eyes lock onto the figure lingering in the shadows—there but not there, like a whisper against reality. A silhouette draped in an intricate kimono, colors shifting between deep red and stormgray, its edges bleeding into mist.
The spirit's fingers rest on the hilt of an unseen blade, posture mirroring Ryo's own fighting stance… but sharper. More refined. More lethal.
And when it turns its head slightly—just enough to meet Ryo's gaze with glowing silver eyes—he knows. This is no hallucination.
"The Blade's Spirit..."
Ryo's Memory – Sachi's Lesson
Sachi had stood before them all—her voice steady, firm.
"A Kizugami is more than just a weapon. It has a spirit—its own will, its own instincts."
Kurobe nodded sagely from the sidelines while Haru and Sora exchanged wideeyed glances (they'd never seen one manifest before). Sachi continued:
"When the bond between hunter and blade deepens… the spirit shows itself to its wielder. Only them. And when it does… that's when true mastery begins."
(Now – Ryo understands.)
"Stay Down, Dumbass."
Mei glares at Satoshi as he stubbornly tries to shuffle across the room, one hand clutching his stillhealing ribs. Hiroshi sighs and grabs his shoulder—halfsupporting him, halfpushing him back toward the couch.
"I'm not useless," Satoshi grumbles (even though he clearly is).
Ryo watches from the doorway, exhaustion weighing on him after training with Kyou... but there's something else now too—something sharp prickling at his senses. The Kizugami spirit lingers in his mind like a whispered secret. Waiting.
(And whatever's coming next… he knows it won't be easy.)
"Feeling Better?"
Ryo approaches Kusuri, eyeing her with a mixture of caution and curiosity. She looks improved—though he knows from experience how quickly wounds can mask pain.
"Yeah," she says softly. "The herbs were effective."
His gaze drifts to her sword—the cleaver strapped across her back like another limb.
"You always carry that thing around?"
"Wait—That's a Kizugami?!"
Ryo stares at her cleaver, realization hitting him like a strike to the chest. He's never seen another hunter carry one—not outside of his own blade. The implications ripple through him in an instant:
How many others have these weapons?
Why didn't Yua mention this?
And most importantly… what does Kusuri know that he doesn't?
"You Didn't Know?"
Kusuri tilts her head slightly, studying Ryo like he's speaking another language entirely. The confusion on her face is genuine.
"...Kizugami blades are standard for lowtohigh rank hunters in my Territory." She adjusts the strap of her cleaver with a practiced flick of her wrist. "Didn't your friend train you on this?"
Ryo clenches his jaw—because no, they didn't. (Another thing Yua never told him.)
The air shifts as Kyou leans against the doorway behind them, arms crossed and smirk razorthin:
"Guess even some things get left in the dark sometimes."
"Right."
Ryo exhales, shaking his head slightly (he should've remembered that). The weight of Kyou's past—his sister, his abandonment of the hunter life—hangs between them like an unspoken truce. No blade for him… by choice.
Kyou watches the exchange with a lazy smirk (but his eyes are sharp), shifting against the doorframe before pushing off to leave.
"Some of us don't need swords to fight."
(And maybe that's true… but Ryo wonders what battles Kyou is truly running from.)
"Sounds Familiar."
Kusuri crosses her arms, that faint, dry amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. The irony isn't lost on her—two strongwilled fighters starting from zero in a world already stacked against them. Just like those comic book heroes.
"The SilverEyed Warrior and Shadowed Hero didn't start off invincible either," she muses aloud (mostly to herself), watching Ryo and Kyou with newfound interest.
"...Guess history really does repeat itself."
Ryo blinks—because yeah, maybe he is playing the part of an underdog protagonist now. (And damn if that doesn't piss him off just a little.)
Hakuto's Capital – Emergency Council Session
The president stands at the head of a polished conference table, flanked by grimfaced officials. Satellite images of Kaimon attacks flicker on screens behind him—proof that humanity is losing ground. His voice is steel:
"Hunters operate outside our laws, answer to no one. They are as much a threat as the creatures they fight."
A general slams his fist down.
"We need control. Now."
"With All Due Respect, General—Are You Stupid?"
The woman's voice is cold amusement as she leans forward, fingers steepled. Her gaze cuts through the tension like a blade.
"Hunters move faster than bullets. They heal wounds that would kill normal humans in seconds." She tilts her head, smirking. "So please—enlighten us. How do you propose we 'control' beings who laugh at the laws of physics?"
Silence grips the room. The general's face darkens—but he has no real answer. (Because she's right.)
"Enough."
The president's voice slices through the argument like a knife. He exhales, rubbing his temples as if battling a headache—which, given tonight's topic, he probably is.
"Bickering won't solve this." His tone carries finality. "We need actionable intelligence before we make any moves against hunters. Observation first. Then strategy."
He nods to an aide hovering near the door—a silent command to adjourn for now. The room murmurs in reluctant agreement... but beneath it all lingers one undeniable truth:
Hakuto's government is scared. (And fear makes people reckless.)
(A government poised to strike. Hunters unaware of the storm brewing. And somewhere in the shadows—two rivals, a Kizugami spirit, and a cleaverwielding girl who knows too much...)
"Hakuto doesn't fear monsters… it fears what hunts them."
⚔️ End Of Chapter Forty Four