The studio lights flashed in rapid succession.
"Perfect! Hold that pose!" the photographer called, voice echoing across the vast space.
Aoi tilted her chin, one leg bent at an angle, Nekoma's spectral silhouette projected behind her like a living shadow. The black-and-red costume clung to her form-clawed gloves, flowing fabric, contacts making her eyes gleam like a demon queen's. Every movement was a careful balance of fierceness and playfulness, a living painting.
Click. Click. Click. The camera shutter captured every glint of her energy, every flicker of her power made manifest in subtle body language.
"Unreal! You're unreal!" the photographer exclaimed. "It's like you are the character!"
Aoi smirked, resting her hands on her hips. "That's because I don't pretend. I am the character."
She shifted gracefully, landing in a crouch as if ready to spring. Sparks of imagination and energy seemed to radiate from her. The lights reflected off the subtle shimmer of her costume, enhancing the illusion that the shadows themselves were alive.
Between shots, she slumped into a chair, sipping water. Her stylist approached, eyes wide. "Seriously... after everything you've been through, how are you still this confident?"
Aoi laughed softly. "Because if I stop enjoying life, demons win."
And in that moment, all the screams and terror of the mission melted away. She wasn't just a hunter-she was herself. Free, laughing, alive.
The morning market was loud and bustling, a chaotic contrast to the quiet death they had faced in the haunted apartment. Nao carried two bags of vegetables, sweat glistening on his brow as he balanced onions, carrots, and a particularly lumpy pumpkin. Hana walked beside him, calm and observant, her basket neatly lined with greens.
"So," Nao began, trying to sound casual, "did you know that carrots help you see in the dark?"
Hana raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Yes."
"Exactly," Nao continued, chest puffing slightly. "Because they're-uh... they're orange. Yeah. Bright colors. Good for the eyes."
Hana stopped walking. "That makes no sense."
Nao's ears turned red. "It sounded confident!"
She shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You're impossible."
He grinned sheepishly and continued walking, narrating everything from why tomatoes were technically fruits to why cabbage was the 'most noble vegetable.' Hana occasionally rolled her eyes, occasionally laughed outright, letting herself be dragged along in his chaotic, earnest enthusiasm.
At one stall, Hana reached for a perfectly round cabbage. Nao leapt forward dramatically. "Allow me, my lady! A hero must provide!"
"You're buying vegetables," she said dryly.
"Exactly. The most dangerous mission of all!" Nao whispered dramatically, glancing around as if the cabbages might strike.
Hana laughed-a genuine, soft laugh that made Nao's chest tighten. It wasn't the battlefield that scared him now. It was this-this normality, these small moments of connection after living through horrors no child should witness.
As they walked, Nao tried jokes, clever comments, silly stunts with crates of tomatoes. Most failed, some earned quiet chuckles, and one even earned Hana's full, unguarded smile.
"You were scared back there," Hana said quietly as they stopped at a stall to rest.
Nao nodded. "Terrified."
"But you didn't run," she observed.
"I thought about it," he admitted, cheeks warming. "Then I remembered I didn't want to disappoint anyone."
She smiled softly. "You didn't."
And for a few stolen minutes, with sunlight warming their backs and the smell of fresh produce around them, they walked side by side. Shoulders brushed. Hearts warmed. And neither dared say how much they'd missed each other's presence during the chaos.
The arcade was a cacophony of sound: music, bleeps, screams of joy and frustration, and the clatter of tokens and buttons.
Yuta's hands shook slightly as he approached a fighting game cabinet. "I... I don't belong here," he muttered, glancing nervously at the crowds.
Riku shoved him gently. "Relax. No demons hiding in claw machines today."
Yuta frowned. "You don't know that."
They picked a cabinet. Riku grabbed the first controller, cracking his knuckles. "Alright. No powers. No special tricks. Just button mashing and quick thinking."
Yuta groaned. "I'm bad at not thinking."
Click, press, combo, slam-the game began. Yuta lost immediately, his character being pounded into the pixelated ground.
Riku chuckled. "Beginner's luck, or beginner's pain?"
They tried again. Yuta focused. Lost again. Then, in a sudden flurry of unexpected skill and maybe a bit of luck, Yuta's character landed a perfect combo. He froze. "I-did I do that?"
Riku grinned. "I said no powers. That counts."
Hours passed. Yuta laughed when he messed up, groaned dramatically when he lost, and cheered exuberantly when he won. His usual worries-of being judged for his demonic power, of being seen as dangerous-slipped away like water through fingers.
At a racing game, he leaned into every turn, shouted at imaginary opponents, and high-fived Riku when he crossed the finish line.
"You should do this more," Riku said, genuinely surprised.
Yuta's smile was small, but real. "I think I will."
For the first time in a long time, Yuta wasn't a weapon. He was just a kid, enjoying himself.
Kaito walked slowly through the massive gates of the Kurobane estate, the ancestral home of his family of hunters.
Everything here was perfect: the raked gravel, the trimmed bonsai, the polished weapons on display. Every corner whispered discipline, duty, and expectations that could crush a man.
His father, Kurobane Masamichi, awaited beneath the old pine tree. Arms crossed, jaw firm, eyes cold. Every inch of him radiated authority-the kind that could silence a room.
"You're late," his father said, voice sharp as a blade.
Kaito bowed. "I returned as soon as the mission ended."
Masamichi's gaze swept over him, assessing. "I heard you survived. Survival is expected. Results matter more."
Kaito clenched his fists but remained silent. He wanted to shout: Teamwork saved lives. You think killing alone is the only strength?
Instead, he bowed again. "I will grow stronger."
His father paused, then said nothing, disappearing into the shadows of the estate with a quiet nod.
That night, Kaito sat alone, katana resting beside him. Moonlight spilled through paper windows, casting long, thin shadows across the floor.
For the first time, Kaito understood that strength wasn't always about standing alone. Sometimes, surviving alongside others-and learning from them-was its own kind of power.
Together Again
As evening fell, the hunters gathered for a simple meal. Food was spread across a low table, laughter echoing softly in the room.
Stories overlapped, teasing flew, and someone spilled tea-blamed on demons, naturally.
For a moment, the world was ordinary. No hunters, no demons, no life-or-death stakes. Just friends.
And after all the blood, terror, and fire, that felt like victory enough.