--{MAINLAND JAPAN SAGA}---
[NAGASAKI ARC]
~~~Shinkamigoto~~~
As the first light of May 3rd spilled across the horizon—golden and gentle, like sunlight exhaling across the sea—the squad finally arrived at Shinkamigoto.
The truck that had carried them all the way from Wakamatsu Island rumbled to a halt, its weary engine sputtering out a final groan before settling into silence.
One by one, they stepped down, boots thudding softly against the earth. Their silhouettes stretched long under the soft amber sky, the morning air still cool with the breath of the ocean.
"Ugh! All that travelling got my ass hurting..."
Itoshi complained as he stretched his back.
Kirashi stumbled out next, his hair a tousled mess and a yawn blooming from his lips like early mist curling above still water.
"Is this Shinkamigoto?"
"Yes! We have arrived!"
Mr. Kiriye replied proudly from the driver's seat of the truck.
"What are we doing here again?"
Itoshi asked, his head still floating in half-sleep.
"We're gonna take our boat ride from here to a port in Nagasaki,"
Ayro replied.
"What's the commission again?"
Itoshi asked once more.
Kara stepped off the truck last, gently carrying Jayu, still asleep in her arms—the child bundled against her shoulder like a kitten curled into safety.
Her own eyes were fogged with sleep; she rubbed at them slowly, her voice still coated in dreams.
"Good morning... We're here?"
"Shinkamigoto..."
Kirashi replied.
"Ah..."
"Our commission is the same as before. Just like Okinawa. We're cleansing Seele again. Difference is—we'll be doing it in the Kyushu mainland,"
Ryujin answered as he stepped down from the passenger seat.
"Why didn't we just take a helicopter instead of doing all this boat and truck stuff..."
Bonk.
Kara gave Aldrin a soft smack on the back of the head—light but firm. The thump echoed faintly in the quiet morning.
Aldrin blinked twice, still recovering from sleep—and now from Kara's strike.
Itoshi mumbled, his voice heavy with leftover fatigue.
"Fool... Did you already forget how we ended up here in the first place?"
"Ah... Yeah... Helicopter... Crash... Demon..."
As the last of them stepped onto the gravel road, Ryujin made his way toward Mr. Kiriye, who was still seated behind the wheel.
Each step crunched softly beneath his boots. He offered a quiet nod of gratitude and a faint smile—a rare moment of gentle calm from the usually stoic man.
"Thank you for everything, good sir."
Ryujin bowed lightly.
Mr. Kiriye tipped his worn cap with a calloused hand, eyes squinting kindly beneath its brim.
"No trouble at all. The road's always kinder with good company."
For a moment, they stood like that. A soldier and a fisherman. Two lives far apart, yet briefly joined under a rising sun. The silence between them was warm, like that found around shared campfires or long journeys.
But then—subtle as a cloud slipping across the sun—something changed in Mr. Kiriye's eyes.
His gaze flicked away for a moment, narrowing slightly. His smile faded into something unreadable. His hand gripped the steering wheel.
"By the way..."
The rest of the squad turned toward him.
Even Jayu stirred slightly in Kara's arms, sensing the sudden tension.
Mr. Kiriye didn't move, but there was a weight in his voice now—a strange edge that made everyone straighten slightly.
"Aren't you guys gonna take a shower..?"
A loud, painful silence followed.
The team stared blankly at him. A gust of wind rustled a few leaves nearby. A crow cawed somewhere in the distance. The truck engine ticked softly as it cooled.
Itoshi blinked first.
"Wait what?"
"Wait... we smell?"
Kara asked, blushing.
"Don't ask that. Of course we smell."
Kirashi replied, proudly.
"...This explains the sideways looks from the villagers last night..."
Aldrin concluded.
"We were in the field for three days. Fought Seele. Camped in demon-scorched earth. And you're asking now?"
Ryujin muttered, deadpan, facing his members.
Mr. Kiriye smiled again, the kindness returning to his tone.
"I didn't want to be rude. But... y'all smell like a cursed swamp."
Even Ayro let out a quiet snort of laughter.
"There's a small bathhouse by the port."
Kara sighed as Jayu tugged at her sleeve, asking to be let down.
"Alright, alright... One quick soak. We'll be less terrifying to civilians that way."
"Speak for yourself. I like the stench of battle."
Itoshi declared proudly.
Kara raised her fist again without turning.
"I'm going! I'm going!"
Itoshi panicked.
As the group slowly made their way toward the town's edge, still groggy and smelling like a battlefield, Mr. Kiriye leaned back in his seat, finally relaxing.
"They're just kids... but damn if they aren't the future,"
Mr. Kiriye thought to himself.
And with that, the sun rose fully—golden and strong. The wind carried away the dust, and Shinkamigoto stood ready, silent witness to the next chapter in the Cleansing Era.
~~~UWDS Asia Headquarters~~~
As battles raged across the regions of mainland Japan, the individual Trochanters of the squad, each carrying the weight of their own resolve, attended the joint commission.
Their eyes, heavy with quiet anticipation, watched over the squad that had faced the black, sluggish beast—the creature that had shattered the fragile peace they had once known.
The old man sat at the table, his gaze steady, fixed on the screen before him.
From this vantage, he saw the new generation of soldiers—each one a fire igniting in the dark—fending off the Seele's with courage they themselves had yet to fully understand.
His eyes, weathered by time and battle, betrayed no emotion, but his mind roamed back to days when he too had been one of them.
"The young ones of this generation really are energetic, huh?..."
Mr. Hasegawa muttered as he chuckled.
The Trochanter of Squad 152 lounged in his seat, feet propped lazily on the edge of an empty chair, arms behind his head in exaggerated comfort.
Though his posture was loose, there was something steel-edged behind his eyes—memories of long-forgotten fields and the smell of blood in the air.
"Man, I really thought it was just us squads clearing out the Seeles in Japan... Didn't think the Field Men were gonna be in on this too."
A reminder: Field Men, though unranked, are part of UWDS. Much like the support teams seen back in Cape Hedo, they aid squads during operations—but unlike traditional support units, they're also Gifted, trained to fight shoulder-to-shoulder in the thick of combat.
The Trochanter of Squad 660, seated beside him, didn't hesitate. He smacked the back of 152's head with the flat of his hand—a swift, unceremonious thwack that echoed faintly off the walls.
"Fool! How the hell did you think forty-two kids could sweep Japan clean by themselves?!"
"That hurts, you dumbass!!"
The two immediately began trading barbs, their argument swelling from voices to shoves to wild gestures.
In the dim conference room, where maps glowed on walls and reports whispered from digital screens, the commotion grew—but nobody intervened. They'd seen worse. Hell, they were worse.
Most simply turned back toward the central screen, watching live feeds of the field teams battling across various sectors—calm in their observation, detached from the chaos unfolding within arm's reach.
"Yo. Hachi."
Trochanter 376 called out.
"Hmm?"
"Where'd you find him?"
376 asked.
"I wasn't the one who found him."
Hachi answered.
The bickering Trochanters paused mid-grapple, glancing over with furrowed brows. A new topic had taken root, and the name behind it pulled at everyone's attention like gravity.
The room quieted, curiosity cutting through the static like a knife.
"The Squad Leader of 663 is the one who did. Ryujin."
"Hoh? Ryujin, huh?"
376 hummed, barely impressed.
"Yeah."
"I heard he picked up another one... A Wind user, right?"
Hachi nods.
"Yeah. That's Kirashi."
"Nine years alone in Kunigami Prefecture... and still walks out stronger than most. That's something."
376 wondered.
Nali raised a brow, facing Hacchi.
"Three new members within weeks. You sure that was a good call?"
"There's nothing to doubt. They're strong. And more importantly—they get along. That's rare."
152 muttered as he cleaned his clothes.
"Add to that... One of them's a Flame user."
220 added.
At that, the old man stirred.
The shift was minute—just a twitch of his eyelids, a small motion of his jaw—but it gripped the entire room. The air changed. Attention snapped to him like pulled strings.
A slow silence bled across the table as he lifted his head, eyes half-lidded, gaze unreadable. Then his voice cut through like rolling thunder, deep and steeped in something ancient.
"Itoshi Kiyagari huh... A Flame user who carries 'The Rhythm.' What an interesting specimen indeed... After so many hundreds of years... the stars aligned once again."
He leaned back in his chair. The deep furrows in his face darkened under the ambient glow of the screen, casting the expression of a man who had seen too much—and still hoped to see more.
"It's a shame... I won't be around when things really get crazy."
The old man Mr. Hasegawa chuckled.
"Get crazy...?"
With almost a smile, Mr. Hasegawa turned to Hachi.
"Hachi... All the top Gifted of every element have already surfaced. And now, the Flame has two."
Hachi looked down.
"Ryo... and Itoshi."
"Indeed. And they're bound to clash. Not because they want to. But because they must."
Mr. Hasegawa warned.
A heavy quiet draped the room.
No one had anything to say. Or maybe they all did—but didn't dare speak it. The future, spoken so plainly, suddenly felt like a cliff edge before a storm.
Then—without warning—a scream tore through the speakers.
The sound was raw, primal. The voice of someone too young to die—and too awake to know it was happening.
Eyes shot to the main screen.
There, in flickering feed, they watched a member of Squad 330 fall. One of the monsters—a grotesque, blackened Seele—descended upon them like shadow incarnate. Flesh tore. Blood sprayed. The feed cut to static.
"ZO!!"
330 cried out in desperation.
He stood so suddenly his chair scraped the floor, crashing backward. His elbow knocked a ceramic cup from the table—it shattered as it hit the floor, a hollow clink that pierced the heavy silence like a blade.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
~~~Nagasaki~~~
[May 3, 2169 - 8am]
"Sorry sorry sorry!!!"
Kirashi pleads.
The clatter of porcelain rang out, sharp and sudden, as a cup skidded off the edge of the table and shattered against the floor.
Fragments scattered like fallen stars, and for a moment, the entire cafeteria paused—just a beat—before resuming its morning rhythm.
"Jeez, man. You should chill."
Itoshi hushed, one brow raised.
"You pay for that."
Ryujin didn't even glance Kirashi's way as he lifted his mug, the rising steam curling around his face.
He took a slow sip, letting the bitterness of the coffee steady his breath. Calm, as always.
Meanwhile, Kirashi crouched by the floor, muttering apologies under his breath as he carefully gathered the shards, their edges gleaming in the morning light.
Nearby, Aldrin, Jayu, and Kara were already deep into their ramen, the steam fogging their cheeks and softening their weary expressions.
The broth was rich and fragrant, each spoonful a small comfort after the restless days behind them.
"Wahh! So good!!"
Kara exhaled.
"R-R-Right!!"
Jayu joined in.
"Mornings are nice!"
Aldrin agreed.
Their voices rose in light-hearted delight, bubbling with the kind of joy that only comes when the simplest things—like warmth and flavor—feel like gifts.
Kara's eyes sparkled as she took another bite, the moment tugging the corners of her lips into a wide grin. Jayu, her chopsticks trembling slightly from excitement, slurped noodles like it was the first proper meal she'd had in a lifetime.
"Well, you three sure are enjoying yourselves..."
Itoshi raised an eyebrow, but his voice was light, teasing more than annoyed.
Kara turned to Itoshi, brows furrowed.
"Come on! We haven't had a nice breakfast in three days!"
Jayu argued.
"This is my first in months!"
Itoshi shook his hands, defeated.
"Okkk, okkk! Just enjoy yourselves!"
A soft chuckle escaped him as he reached out and gently ruffled Jayu's hair. She blinked at him, eyes wide with surprise, then beamed—so wide it lit her entire face.
"We're gonna get you back home... ok?"
"Ok!"
Her reply was small, but her voice held no hesitation—just trust.
Around them, the hum of the cafeteria returned. Utensils clicked softly against bowls, quiet chatter blended with the occasional laughter of strangers.
Light spilled gently in from the windows, and for just this morning, the war outside felt far away.
And somewhere under the table, Kirashi was still apologizing.
"I said I'm sorryyy—this piece won't come off the floor!"
"Don't cut yourself. If you bleed on the tile, you clean it."
Ryujin suggested, deadpan.
"He's been in this squad for what? A week? And already owes the cafeteria a cup and probably a bandage."
Aldrin teased.
They laughed—not because things were easy, but because for a moment, things were normal.
And in times like these, normal was sacred.
~~~To be Continued~~~