...…
It sounded simple.
At least—
that was how Akira explained it.
Simple.
Everything with him was somehow simple.
A "minor problem" became a near-death experience.
"Basic compatibility" almost got us killed.
"Practical learning" apparently meant surviving things actively trying to tear us apart.
So naturally—
when Akira called training simple—
I stopped trusting the word entirely.
According to him—
this next phase was supposed to be frustrating.
Simple.
But frustrating.
Which somehow felt worse.
Because if Akira openly admitted something would be annoying—
it was probably hell.
Earlier That Morning — 03:00 AM
I woke up because something felt—
wrong.
Not dangerous.
Not threatening.
Just—
off.
Like instinct itself had dragged me awake before my brain understood why.
The room was dark.
Quiet.
Cold.
For a moment—
I thought I had imagined it.
Then—
I saw him.
Sitting directly at the foot of our beds.
Completely uninvited.
Completely comfortable.
Reading a magazine.
Leg crossed casually over the other.
Like this was perfectly normal behavior.
I stared.
He looked up.
Glanced at me once.
Then casually turned the page.
My brain—
still half asleep—
took several painful seconds to process reality.
Akira.
Akira was inside our quarters.
At three in the morning.
Not outside.
Not knocking.
Not acting like a functional adult.
No.
He had somehow entered our room and simply—
sat there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Reading.
Like an unusually attractive sleep paralysis demon.
I slowly lowered my head back onto the pillow.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I refused.
If I ignored this hard enough—
maybe reality would correct itself.
Then—
Akira spoke.
"Well," he said casually.
"You're finally better."
Pause.
"Freshen up."
"We're training."
I stared at him again.
Still exhausted.
Still trying to understand why a grown man—roughly twenty-five years old—was calmly sitting near sleeping teenagers at an unreasonable hour holding a magazine like this was socially acceptable.
Then—
something clicked.
Raimei had mentioned it before.
If someone with a lot of KA got close—
you felt it.
Naturally.
Pressure.
Weight.
Instinct.
Your body noticed powerful beings before your mind did.
But Akira—
felt wrong.
No.
Not wrong.
Worse.
He felt—
empty.
Or maybe hidden.
There was almost nothing around him.
Only the faintest mist of KA barely visible around his body.
Thin.
Controlled.
Subtle.
Like fog wrapping itself around something impossibly large.
And somehow—
that unsettled me more.
Because monsters usually leaked power.
The Seraphim had.
Kamiguri had.
Even Aarun carried presence.
Akira—
didn't.
Meaning whatever power sat beneath that calm expression—
he was suppressing it intentionally.
And that thought alone felt dangerous.
My attention shifted downward.
Toward what he was holding.
The magazine—
normal enough.
Weird for three in the morning.
But normal.
The other thing—
wasn't.
A Russian doll rested lazily in his free hand.
Except—
something about it felt deeply wrong.
Disfigured.
Warped.
Its painted face twisted unnaturally inward, smile distorted into something uncomfortable to look at.
Like heat had melted part of it—
or reality itself had damaged it.
It looked cursed.
Actually cursed.
The kind of object horror movies politely warn people not to touch.
I decided immediately—
for my own mental well-being—
not to ask.
Beside me—
Raimei stirred awake.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Like a man dragged unwillingly back from death.
He sat up with the energy of someone who had spiritually given up years ago.
Messy hair.
Dead eyes.
Utter exhaustion.
Like a zombie actor forced into overtime on a Disney set.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Saw Akira.
And somehow—
showed absolutely zero surprise.
Which honestly worried me.
This had happened before.
Far too many times.
Raimei sighed deeply.
The exhausted sigh of a man cursed by circumstance.
"…Morning," he muttered weakly.
Not enthusiastic.
Not confused.
Just—
defeated.
Akira, meanwhile—
looked excited.
Actually excited.
And somehow—
that made everything worse.
Because Akira only got excited when terrible things happened.
He stood immediately.
Magazine tucked beneath one arm.
The cursed Russian doll still hanging casually from his fingers like it belonged there.
"Good," he said brightly.
"You're both awake."
Then—
he stepped toward the door.
No explanation.
No briefing.
Nothing helpful.
"We'll meet in the fields."
A pause.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
Smiling.
The kind of smile people had right before ruining someone else's day.
"Oh."
His pale eyes settled on us briefly.
"You're gonna hate this."
Then—
he left.
Silence.
Long silence.
Raimei stared blankly at the closed door.
I stared at Raimei.
He rubbed his face slowly.
Like someone preparing mentally for suffering.
Then sighed again.
Deeply.
Spiritually.
The kind of sigh that came from repeated trauma.
"…Yeah," he muttered quietly.
"…we're cooked."
The Training Fields — Before Dawn
The cold felt different out here.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
Merciless.
Mist clung low against the endless training fields, swallowing the edges of the horizon while frost covered the grass beneath our feet. The sky was still dark, only faint traces of morning threatening to rise somewhere beyond the mountains.
The place felt old.
Not abandoned—
used.
Worn down by repetition.
By failure.
Like generations of Executioners had suffered here long before us.
Akira stood ahead of us casually, hands buried in his pockets.
Relaxed.
Unbothered.
Far too energetic for a man awake at this hour.
Like dragging exhausted teenagers outside before sunrise somehow counted as fun.
He glanced between us.
"You're late."
We weren't.
Not even close.
Raimei didn't bother responding.
Which—
somehow—
felt practiced.
Like he had long accepted arguing with Akira only wasted energy.
Akira sighed dramatically, as though deeply disappointed by our lack of enthusiasm.
Then—
his pale eyes settled on me.
"Kurosaki."
His tone shifted.
Subtle.
But firmer.
"With the warning hanging over your head…"
He paused briefly.
"…you should probably understand how Yokai actually work."
From inside his coat—
he pulled out the same disfigured doll from earlier.
The ugly thing somehow looked worse in daylight.
Or what little daylight existed.
Warped.
Crooked.
Its painted smile twisted unnaturally inward.
Wrong.
Deeply wrong.
The kind of object instinctively telling you not to touch it.
"A matryoshka doll," Akira said casually.
He tossed it lightly into the air.
Caught it again.
"You're gonna hate this thing."
I already did.
"Yokai," he began, pacing slowly across the frozen field, "aren't just monsters."
"They're made."
"Built from things humans leave behind."
He paused.
"Emotion."
"Hate."
"Fear."
"Grief."
His voice stayed calm.
Patient.
Unusually patient.
"And KA released during death."
That part immediately got my attention.
Akira noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"Which means," he continued, "they naturally resist KA."
He crouched slightly, drawing absent circles into the frost with one finger.
"Not completely."
"But enough."
He looked directly at me now.
"If you use too little KA against one?"
A shrug.
"You die."
"If you use just enough?"
Another shrug.
"You still probably die."
Raimei sighed beside me.
Not annoyed.
Just deeply tired.
Like hearing Akira explain survival through casual threats had become routine.
"So," Akira continued, standing upright again, "your biggest problem?"
He pointed at me.
"Balance."
"Control."
"Output."
"You don't know how to regulate KA."
"Right now you just throw too much at everything."
Pause.
"Which is impressive."
Another pause.
"…in a suicidal kind of way."
Before I could respond—
something heavy slammed against my chest.
I barely caught it.
Or rather—
it almost dragged me into the dirt.
Clever.
The cursedly heavy weapon nearly slipped from my grip immediately.
Even after training with it—
the thing still felt absurd.
Dense.
Cold.
Like someone made metal specifically to inconvenience me.
Akira lifted the matryoshka doll.
"This," he said casually.
"…is your target."
I blinked.
"The doll?"
"Yes."
"The creepy cursed doll?"
"Yes."
"The thing that looks possessed?"
"Yes."
His expression remained completely serious.
"You're destroying it."
"With Clever."
Silence.
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Then—
he smiled.
Far too casually.
"Good luck."
I thought I had things rough.
Then I looked at Raimei.
And immediately changed my mind.
Akira turned toward him.
"For you?"
He paused.
"Simple."
Raimei visibly flinched.
That reaction alone explained enough.
"No clapping."
Silence.
Raimei blinked.
"…What?"
"No clapping," Akira repeated.
"You'll generate lightning with one hand."
"Same strength."
"Same precision."
"Same output."
Raimei stared at him.
"…That's impossible."
Akira shrugged.
"Sounds like a skill issue."
Then—
he walked away.
Actually walked away.
Leaving us there.
Cold.
Confused.
And already suffering.
16:00
Training—
was hell.
Not dramatic hell.
Not cinematic suffering.
Just pure—
repetitive frustration.
The kind that slowly chips away at your sanity.
Hours passed.
Mist turned into daylight.
Daylight dragged into afternoon.
And somehow—
I still only managed two layers.
That was Akira's explanation for it.
Layering KA.
Control.
Light output.
Heavy output.
Switching between them naturally.
Not flooding everything recklessly.
Apparently my problem wasn't power.
It was regulation.
Too much—
my body broke apart.
Too little—
something else killed me.
Simple.
According to Akira.
Infuriating.
According to me.
Meanwhile—
Raimei had somehow adapted frighteningly fast.
By now—
yellow lightning crackled smoothly around one hand.
Controlled.
Focused.
Stable.
He wasn't perfect—
but he had it.
He could generate lightning without clapping.
And honestly—
it annoyed me.
Not because I hated him.
But because he was clearly better at KA manipulation.
Way better.
Then—
something clicked.
Not mentally.
Physically.
Mid-swing.
Mid-failure.
Mid-frustration.
I realized—
I wasn't supposed to maintain one level of KA.
I was supposed to switch.
Light.
Heavy.
Heavy.
Light.
Not before striking.
Not after.
During.
Mid-movement.
Mid-fight.
Like instinct.
Like breathing.
Something shifted.
Suddenly—
movement felt smoother.
Less forced.
More natural.
And something else stood out too.
I wasn't exhausted.
At least—
not like Raimei.
He looked awful.
Sweat soaked through his clothes.
Breathing ragged.
Hands trembling from overuse.
Meanwhile—
I was tired.
But fine.
Functional.
Like my body refused to stay empty.
Then it hit me.
My KA—
was replenishing itself.
Constantly.
Slowly.
Steadily.
Like something inside me refused depletion.
Weird.
Useful.
Concerning.
Mostly concerning.
Still—
useful.
I tightened my grip on Clever.
Focused.
One final attempt.
Light KA.
Mid-swing—
heavy.
Then switch.
Clean.
Controlled.
CRACK.
The matryoshka doll split cleanly in half.
Fragments scattered into the frost.
Silence.
I exhaled slowly.
Finally.
Done.
Then—
Akira smiled.
And immediately—
I knew peace had been temporary.
"Nice," he said casually.
Pause.
"…Now for the real thing."
The air changed.
KA shifted.
And from the tree line—
something stepped forward.
A Yokai.
Not overwhelming.
Not monstrous.
Not terrifying.
But—
average.
The kind of thing designed to kill beginners who got overconfident.
Akira stretched lazily.
"You've learned enough theory."
A smile crossed his face.
Excited.
Dangerously excited.
"Now…"
He pointed toward the Yokai.
"…show me you actually learned something."
And somehow—
training immediately got worse.
The Training Fields — 16:12
The Yokai looked—
normal.
And somehow—
that made it worse.
No grotesque limbs.
No distorted proportions.
No rotting flesh hanging from bone.
No monstrous features screaming danger.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing obvious.
Instead—
it looked lean.
Slim.
Compact.
Built like an athlete.
Short.
Efficient.
Its frame carried the kind of balance that looked effortless, muscles toned but not exaggerated, posture loose like someone who understood movement too well.
The type of body built for speed.
For precision.
Not power.
Its face remained strangely human.
Too human.
Calm.
Unreadable.
Only its eyes betrayed what it was.
Empty.
Cold.
Wrong.
Like something pretending to understand life.
It stood silently several metres ahead.
Watching.
Studying.
Waiting.
And what unsettled me most—
it ignored Akira completely.
Like he wasn't there.
No reaction.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Its attention stayed fixed entirely on me—
and Raimei.
Akira yawned softly behind us.
"This one's average," he said casually.
Like he was discussing weather.
"Not weak."
"Not strong."
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
"Enough to kill you if you mess up."
Helpful.
Very helpful.
Cold wind drifted through the field.
The grass shifted softly beneath my feet.
I tightened my grip around Clever.
The weapon felt steadier now.
Still absurdly heavy—
but manageable.
Familiar.
My palms adjusted naturally around the handle as I slowly coated the metal with KA.
Carefully this time.
Controlled.
Not overflowing.
Not reckless.
A measured stream.
Light.
Heavy.
Switching.
The way Akira wanted.
The metal vibrated faintly beneath my grip.
Like it responded.
Like it noticed.
Across from us—
the Yokai lowered its posture slightly.
Still silent.
Still calm.
No wasted movement.
No obvious hostility.
Just—
focus.
Beside me—
Raimei shifted.
His stance lowered.
Fingers raised carefully.
Positioned to snap.
No clapping anymore.
Yellow static crackled faintly around his hand.
Controlled.
Waiting.
Watching for an opening.
Then—
the Yokai disappeared.
Not moved.
Not dashed.
Gone.
One second—
standing still.
The next—
nothing.
No sound.
No warning.
No visible motion.
Just—
absence.
Then—
pain.
Sharp.
Violent.
Sudden.
My knee exploded with agony.
"—Tch!"
The force buckled my leg instantly.
Something had struck me.
Hard.
But precise.
Too precise.
Not brute force.
No.
This felt surgical.
Focused.
Like being pierced by pressure itself.
A punch?
A blade?
A needle?
I couldn't tell.
Only pain remained.
White-hot and immediate.
My balance broke.
Instinct forced me sideways.
Too slow.
Still too slow.
"LEFT!" Raimei shouted.
SNAP.
CRACK.
A streak of yellow lightning exploded through the air.
Fast.
Violent.
Precise.
The blast split through the field—
straight through empty space.
Missed.
The Yokai was already gone.
Again.
It stood several metres away now.
Calm.
Relaxed.
Watching us.
Like we were a puzzle.
Or prey.
Blood ran slowly down my knee.
Not much.
But enough.
Enough to understand.
It wasn't trying to overpower me.
It was dismantling me.
Mobility first.
Methodical.
Efficient.
Raimei clicked his tongue quietly.
Hand still raised.
Fingers ready.
Waiting for a clean shot.
Not wasting energy.
Not panicking.
Smart.
Meanwhile—
my mind raced.
Fast.
Too fast.
Movement.
That was it.
The realization hit suddenly.
Hard enough to stop everything else.
I understood the attacks.
The switching.
Light KA.
Heavy KA.
Mid-strike.
Mid-contact.
But—
that wasn't enough.
It wasn't just attacks.
Movement too.
That had to be it.
The concept applied everywhere.
Speed.
Weight.
Balance.
Reactions.
Footwork.
Switching KA during movement.
Not before.
Not after.
During.
But—
how the hell was I supposed to do that while getting beaten apart?
The Yokai vanished again.
Gone.
Instinct screamed.
Move.
Something shifted inside me.
Without thinking—
I adjusted.
Lighter.
My body moved.
Faster.
Cleaner.
The pain in my knee lessened—
just enough.
Then—
heavy.
Right before impact.
BOOM.
Something slammed into my side.
Hard enough to crack the ground beneath me.
Pain shot through my ribs.
But—
I stayed standing.
Barely.
My feet dug into the frozen dirt.
The force didn't send me flying this time.
The Yokai landed several metres away.
Its expression remained blank.
But for the first time—
it paused.
Interested.
Watching me differently now.
Behind us—
Akira smiled.
Slowly.
The dangerous kind.
The kind that meant suffering was about to become educational.
"Oh?"
He folded his arms.
His expression looked—
pleased.
"Kurosaki…"
He tilted his head slightly.
For the first time all day—
there was actual interest in his voice.
"…you're finally starting to think."
And somehow—
that felt less like praise—
and more like the beginning of something worse.