Morning. Sitting cross-legged on the tatami, Sekou flicked through his phone. His feed was crammed with last night's "monster chaos"—shaky videos and grainy stills flashing by. The instant a black giant shattered. A woman with purple gauntlets. A flash of naked steel. A skeletal bow. And— a "half-yōkai boy" diving out a classroom window.
"Huh? 'A Black teen who's also a yōkai? Never seen that before.' Man... world's way too small."
He snorted and flipped the screen face-down.
At the table, Aki was silently frying chicken wings. Oil crackled in the iron pot; a sweet-spicy smell took over the morning air. Yukika perched backward on a chair, plate in hand, and pinched up a fresh wing with her chopsticks to press by Sekou's mouth.
"Here—aaah."
"I'm sixteen, not six. ...I can feed myself."
Grumbling, he still opened his mouth. The moment it hit his tongue, the tension fell out of his cheeks.
"G—good...! But listen. It's time you put me in real combat already. I wanna smash some yōkai. I won't hold back."
Before he could finish, Aki stood and gave his head one quick pat.
"Ambition. Good."
"Treating him like a kid," Yukika laughed, and the oil snapped louder.
Then came footsteps that dropped the temperature of the room by a notch. Shibukanu stepped out of the corridor's shadow, glanced at the wall clock, then fixed her eyes on Sekou.
"...All right."
The air at the table shifted. Aki lifted her lids a fraction. Ikue nudged her glasses into place. Yukika almost dropped her chopsticks.
"Was that a real 'all right'?"
"Ten minutes. We stand on the summit. Get ready."
With only that, Shibukanu turned on her heel. Yukika puckered her lips and whispered, "Shib saying yes that fast... rare."
"Statistically anomalous," Ikue admitted, softly surprised.
◇
He used to think a change in the wind couldn't change the scenery—until ten minutes ago.
Black volcanic rock under his feet, a scrubbed-clean sky overhead. Fuji's summit gleamed brighter than the clouds, pushing the world's sounds far away. Shibukanu glanced back over her shoulder once.
"You're making a face that says, Why here."
"Why Fuji?"
"Lately, weak ones have been surfacing here. We'll clean up. You'll join. Learn it in the field."
"If they're weak, then easy. A'ight, let's go."
Shibukanu pinned him with a flat reminder. "'Easy' applies to the side that dies, too. That's why I'm here."
"...That phrasing's scary."
"On."
She turned her back and crouched.
"Get on."
"Your back?"
"We need speed. Don't fall."
He did as told. Through her back, the feel of the gauntlets was cold—and the reliability sunk into his bones. In the next instant, Shibukanu dove down the slope.
Before his feet could even find the ground, her body made the incline an ally and flowed. Grit trailed like a tail; her soles read the knobs of rock.
The wind cried.
As if answering the cry, smudges in the sky unknotted.
—Bird-shaped shadows, ten, twenty. Beaks stretched into warped points, feathers replaced by mist black as ink. Gunyō—pack-yōkai—curved down in an arc. Their eyes were holes of black; a second pale face clung to each chest, smiling.
"Call your weapon."
"On it!"
Sekou opened his right hand and called the name from deep in his chest.
—The golden three-pronged staff, Vajra.
Mass bloomed in his grip; the chill of the shaft drew a hard line into reality. ...And his fingers slipped.
"Ah—"
The staff tilted and rolled down the bad footing.
One bird flipped and arrowed straight at his neck.
Shibukanu, still supporting Sekou with one arm, flicked her free left hand.
She must have flicked it "without a sound," yet the bird's shape pinned to the ground and collapsed with the rock.
"...Again."
"S—sorry!"
Sekou called the staff back. It snapped to his palm. This time, he didn't drop it.
A shadow came in; a wingtip grazed his cheek.
"Hyah!"
A whiff.
Only the shaft cut wind; the thing veered, slid behind him.
A heartbeat later Shibukanu's heel twitched. The kick shoved air; the pack-yōkai folded like paper and fell toward the valley.
"—Again."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Call. Grip. Swing.
Call. Grip. Swing.
The slope didn't stop. Gravity played friend and foe.
The pack-yōkai lured with sound, fooled the eye with shade, feinted overhead then stabbed from the rear diagonal.
With her back alone Shibukanu shifted their center just enough to keep Sekou feeling "on his feet."
"Your view is narrow. Drop your shoulders. Build your guard like you've already landed the hit."
"How you gonna hit before you hit?! ...Okay, okay—let my body do it."
"Don't think. Command your body."
Sweat got in his eyes. The wind sang.
—They're coming.
Behind his sternum, his body drew the path of the strike a heartbeat early.
Sekou stepped "down" once and sent the staff tip to meet the shadow's beak.
"—Rrah!"
A hard feel. Black mist sprayed like sparks; the bird's head snapped back; instead of a scream, the air tore.
"Yes—!"
Before the shout, his body was already rolling down.
His foothold disappeared; his center slid; the staff's weight dragged his balance off.
He tumbled; his knee smashed a rock; the skin of his palm split.
A spear of jagged lava filled his view—
—and the line of his fall snapped mid-air.
Shibukanu's arm caught him by the scruff; her other palm crushed a rock's edge to make a footing. Pebbles fell like rain; the wind wandered back late.
Without a breath out of place, she dropped an extremely short verdict.
"—You've got a mountain of work."
"...Yeah. I get it. I get it hard."
The pack-yōkai were still circling above, but at the edge of reach they scattered and melted into the canyon's dark. The presence receded. The grade eased. Even the color of the wind around them seemed to lighten a shade.
Shibukanu set Sekou down gently and gave his staff a brief look.
"Starting tomorrow, back to basics. I'll handle body movement in the mornings. Afternoons rotate."
"Rotate?"
"Aki for hasuji and speed; Ikue for principles and reading; Yukika for ma-ai—spacing—and resistance to madness. I'll set the order."
"Do I really need that last one?"
"Necessary. On the battlefield, abnormal is baseline."
She adjusted her sunglasses.
"In time, you'll be a proper yōkai. You'll stand on your own bones, not on someone else's back, and you'll stand on the side that protects what you decide to protect."
Her tone was flat, yet something lit hot in his chest. Sekou slung the staff over his shoulder and let out a breath.
"—I'll do it. I'm rough now, but I'll make it shine."
"Good. We're done for today. Heading back."
Shibukanu kicked off the slope, dropped her hips as if offering her back again, and jerked her chin: on. Sekou nodded without a word and hopped on.
Their two shadows ran the slope and soon crested the mountain's shoulder.
Clouds fell to their feet; the faraway city shrank to pepper dots.
Somewhere in that scatter of tiny lights, last night's clips were still looping.
The "mysterious clan"—Kibu.
The "half-yōkai boy"—Sekou Kagetsu.
The name rode the wind and spread. And the wind had already started to carry the smell of the next storm.
—-