The following week dawned over the girls. The clock is ticking, slowly creeping it's way to Ten.
The address. An old unassuming manor located at the outskirts of the city. Hidden by towering trees and overgrown surrounding forestry.
The black van's tires crunched over the layer of damp leaves and fallen twigs, the sound echoing through the unnervingly silent woods. As the girls peered through the windows, the manor loomed ahead—a Gothic relic of gray stone and stained glass, partially strangled by thick ivy. It looked less like a training facility and more like a tomb for forgotten secrets.
Mika sat in the back, her left ankle tightly bandaged. She dared his challenge—no Aura healing—and every vibration of the van on the uneven road sent a sharp, grounding reminder of her defeat through her leg. She wore simple black athletic gear, her signature katana strapped to her back, though it felt more like a heavy burden today than a badge of honor.
"This place is creepy," Reina whispered, clutching her equipment bag to her chest. "It looks like the setting of a horror movie where the idols are the first ones to go. Right? Hehe~"
"Focus, Reina," Vivian said, her hands steady on the wheel, though her eyes were sharp, scanning the treeline. "We're here to learn how to 'not' be the ones who go first."
As the clock on the dashboard flicked from 09:59 to 10:00, the van pulled up to the front of the manor.
Kei was already there.
He stood on the decaying stone porch, a stark, vertical line of black against the chaotic green of the overgrown forest. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket today, just a crisp black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black slacks. His shades were on, and the blind stick rested against the stone pillar beside him. He didn't have a watch on his wrist, yet as the van's engine died, he spoke into the sudden silence.
"Punctuality is the first sign of a disciplined mind. You are exactly on time."
His voice carried effortlessly through the damp air, cold and resonant. He didn't move as they stepped out of the vehicle. His head tilted slightly, as if he were catching the scent of the rain or the rhythm of their heartbeats.
"Carry your bags," Kei commanded, his gaze—or the direction of his shades—fixed on the space between them. "And Hunter Mika... I can hear the unevenness in your gait. Good. It means you resisted the urge to cheat the pain. That honesty is the only reason you'll be allowed to step onto this grounds today."
He reached out, his hand closing around the handle of his blind stick with a practiced, fluid motion. He didn't use it to feel his way; he tapped it once against the stone, a sharp *crack* that seemed to command the very shadows of the manor to listen.
"The Hunter team 'MUSE' is dead for the duration of your suspension," he stated blankly. "In this manor, there are no fans, no charts, and no idols. There are only three students who are currently failing the most important test of their lives: survival. Follow me."
He turned and walked toward the heavy oak doors of the manor. Despite the uneven, cracked stone of the porch, his stride was perfectly balanced, his blind stick never once touching an obstacle.
"The first lesson is simple," he said over his shoulder. "Forget everything your Aura taught you. Today, we begin to learn how to see in the dark."
The inside of the manor was disparate to its dilapidated exterior. The living room is a splash of modernization and comfort.
The heavy oak doors groaned open, but the interior they revealed was nothing like the cobwebbed, decaying halls the girls had expected. Instead, they stepped into a space that breathed clinical sophistication. The air was climate-controlled, carrying a faint scent of sandalwood and expensive parchment. Polished obsidian floors reflected the dim, warm glow of recessed LED strips along the ceiling. Minimalist, high-end furniture sat in precise arrangements, and the walls were lined with monitors displaying scrolling streams of data—Cryptid sightings, weather patterns, and biological readings.
It was a fortress disguised as a manor.
Mika paused just past the threshold, her hand still gripping the strap of her katana. The transition from the muddy, overgrown forest to this hyper-modern sanctuary was disorienting. "What is this place?" she muttered, her eyes darting to a massive screen showing a real-time heat map of the Philippines.
"It is one of the Association's Hunter training facilities," Kei said, his blind stick clicking softly against the marble as he navigated to the center of the room with haunting familiarity. He didn't bump into a single piece of the sleek furniture. "And for the next few months, this is your home and classroom."
Kei raised his stick and pointed it to the upper floor of the manor. "There are rooms on the second floor. Take your things and find any room you like to occupy. Those rooms will serve as your sleeping quarters starting today."
Mika's eyes snapped toward the staircase, her jaw tightening. "Sleeping quarters? You mean we're 'staying' here? We have a penthouse in the city and a security team that expects us back for a choreography review tonight!"
Kei didn't even turn his head. He walked toward a sleek, minimalist kitchen island and set his blind stick down with a sharp *clack*. "Your management has already been informed that your 'intensive conditioning' requires total immersion. Your penthouse is currently empty, and your security team has been reassigned to other tasks. You are now in a controlled environment."
"Total immersion?" Reina squeaked, clutching her bag tighter. "Like a training camp? But what about our fans? If we just disappear, the rumors will be insane!"
"The Association handles the narrative, Hunter Reina," Kei replied, his voice a flat line. "A 'health hiatus' or 'creative retreat'—it matters little to me what the public believes. What matters is that your presence in the city as under-trained Hunters is a liability the Association is no longer willing to bankroll."
Mika let out a sharp, frustrated breath, wincing as she shifted her weight onto her good leg. The high-tech comfort of the room felt like a gilded cage. She looked at the stairs, then back at Kei's shoulders. "You really have thought of everything, haven't you, Overseer?"
"It is my job to think," Kei said. "It is yours to listen."
Vivian, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward and gripped the handles of two of their bags. She looked at her teammates, her expression grim but determined. "Arguing isn't going to get our licenses back, Mika. If this is the only way forward, we take it." She turned her gaze to Kei. "What time do we begin?"
"You began the moment you stepped through the door," Kei answered, though he finally turned his head slightly in their direction, the light reflecting off his shades. "Go. Settle in. You have fifteen minutes to stow your gear and return to this room. If you are late, you will spend your first night sleeping on the porch in the rain."
Mika's eyes flashed with a spark of her old fire, but she didn't say a word. She reached down and grabbed her own gear, her knuckles white. With a labored, defiant stride, she began to hobble toward the stairs, the sound of her uneven footsteps echoing against the obsidian floor.
Reina followed quickly, looking over her shoulder at Kei one last time before scurrying up the steps. Vivian remained for a heartbeat longer, studying the man who had effortlessly dismantled their lives in a single night.
"The manor is equipped with biometric locks," Kei added, not looking at her. "The second floor is yours. The first floor is my workspace. Do not enter my quarters unless invited. Now, go. Fourteen minutes remaining."
Vivian nodded curtly and headed up the stairs.
Left alone in the center of the high-tech living room, Kei stood perfectly still. He reached out and picked up his blind stick, tapping it lightly against the floor—not to find his way, but as if he were listening to the vibrations of the girls moving through the house above him. He could hear Mika's labored breathing, Reina's frantic whispering, and Vivian's controlled, heavy steps.
"The idols have arrived," he murmured to the empty room, his voice a cold whisper. "Now, let's see if the Hunters are still inside them."
The second floor was as sterile as the first, a hallway of brushed steel and silent, motion-activated lights. The rooms were identical—spartan, minimalist, and devoid of the plush comforts their agency usually provided. Each room contained a bed with high-density foam, a single desk, and a locker for their tactical gear. There were no mirrors.
"Not even a vanity?" Reina whispered, pushing open the door to her assigned room. "How are we supposed to do our skincare? My face is going to break out from the stress alone. Pimples are harder to deal with than Cryptids."
"Priority check, Reina," Vivian said, dropping her bag in the room next door. She stepped into the hallway, looking toward Mika, who was struggling with her locker. "Mika, let me help with that."
"I don't need help," Mika snapped, though she winced as she leaned against the metal frame. She shoved her katana into the rack with more force than necessary. Her eyes were red-rimmed, not from tears, but from the sheer exhaustion of holding back her Aura. Her body screamed for the relief of a quick-heal, but Kei's warning echoed in her mind. "He's doing this on purpose. The rooms, the silence, the lack of mirrors... he wants us to forget who we are."
"He wants us to stop being our past selves," Vivian corrected, checking her watch. "Twelve minutes. Let's move."
When the trio descended the stairs, they found Kei standing by the large floor-to-ceiling window that looked out into the darkening forest. He hadn't moved an inch, his silhouette framed by the encroaching shadows of an impending rainstorm.
"Hunters. State your names, rank, role, and weapon of specialization." Kei stated. His voice cold and indifferent.
The trio lined up in the center of the obsidian floor, the minimalist lighting casting sharp shadows against their athletic gear. The air in the room felt pressurized, not by Aura, but by the sheer weight of Kei's presence.
Vivian took a half-step forward, her posture straightening into a formal military stance. She recognized the shift in the atmosphere—the "consultant" was gone; the Instructor had taken his place.
"Vivian Cruz," she began, her voice steady and clear. "Count Rank. Team Leader and Tactical Support. Specialization: Long-range precision and suppression. Weapon: Luminous Composite Bow."
Reina followed, though her voice wavered slightly, lacking its usual idol-pop vibrance. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt before clasping her hands behind her back. "Reina Ramos. Viscount Rank. Front-line Vanguard and Brawler. Specialization: High-impact close-quarters combat. Weapon: Kinetic Gauntlets."
The silence stretched for a moment as all eyes turned to Mika. She stood at the end of the line, her weight shifted heavily onto her right leg. Her face was a mask of simmering resentment, her jaw set so tight it looked painful. She stared at the back of Kei's head, her eyes tracing the line of his white collar.
"Mika Nam," she spat out, the words sounding like a challenge. "Count Rank. Assassin and Skirmisher. Specialization: High-speed execution and Iaido. Weapon: Nanotech-reinforced Katana."
Kei didn't turn around. He remained staring out at the grey, weeping forest, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Ranks," Kei said, the word dripping with quiet disdain. "A system designed by the Association to give you a sense of progression, like levels in a video game. To a Cryptid, a 'Count' tastes exactly the same as a 'Baron.' The only difference is that the Count usually has a bigger ego, which makes them easier to bait."
He finally turned, the movement slow and deliberate. The light caught the edge of his shades, hiding his eyes but not the clinical scrutiny of his gaze.
"Hunter Vivian. You identify as a 'Tactician,' yet you allowed your team to be led into an ambush in a high-visibility industrial zone. You relied on your bow to solve a problem that required a brain."
He shifted his head toward Reina. "Hunter Reina. A 'Vanguard' who forgets that her job is to create openings, not just to hit things hard. You fought with your eyes on the monster, but never on your teammates' positions."
Finally, he looked at Mika. He didn't say a word for several seconds, letting the silence grate against her nerves.
"And the 'Assassin,'" he murmured. "An assassin who screams her presence with a violet light show and telegraphs her killing blow with enough time for a blind man to count to three."
Mika's hands balled into fists, but she didn't speak. The memory of the rusted pipe against her throat was still too fresh.
"You are not Counts, Viscounts, or Barons here," Kei stated, walking toward them until he was only inches away from Vivian. "You are three survivors who have been lucky enough to live through your own incompetence. Your weapons are currently useless because the hands holding them are undisciplined."
He reached out and tapped the blind stick against the floor.
"First order of business, Hunter class lectures. Follow me to the meeting room." Kei stated, his pace already leading towards the said room.
As he walked, Kei's steps slowed before coming to a full stop. "And Hunter Mika, you can heal your ankle now. I think you already understood my point."
The tension in Mika's shoulders snapped. It was as if she had been holding her breath for an entire week. At his word, a faint, flickering violet glow emanated from her hands as she reached down to touch her swollen ankle. The Aura, usually a roaring fire when she was in combat, felt like a gentle, rhythmic pulse now.
Within seconds, the bruising faded, and the jagged sensation of bone-on-bone friction smoothed out. She stood up straight, testing her weight. The relief was physical, but the mental scar remained. She didn't feel triumphant; she felt like she had just been granted a mercy she hadn't earned.
"I understood," Mika muttered, her voice barely a whisper. She didn't look at him, but she followed the others as they trailed behind Kei's rhythmic *tap-tap-tap* down a secondary corridor.
The meeting room was a stark, amphitheater-style space. A massive, semi-circular desk of frosted glass dominated the center, with three ergonomic chairs facing a wall-sized holographic projector. There were no windows here, only the cold, clear light of the monitors.
Kei walked to the front of the room, standing before the dark screen. He didn't sit. He didn't even lean.
"Take your seats," he commanded.
As the girls settled in, the giant screen flickered to life. It didn't show music charts or fan metrics. It showed a high-speed, grainy thermal recording of the fight in the industrial district. It was their encounter with the Arachnoid.
"Most Hunters think they die because the monster is too strong," Kei began, his voice echoing in the acoustically perfect room. "They think if they just had more Aura, or a sharper blade, they would have survived. They are wrong. Most Hunters die because they do not understand the mechanics of the creature they are fighting, or the limitations of the bodies they inhabit."
He tapped a command on the glass desk, and the video froze on the moment Mika lunged with her flashy vertical strike. A red line traced the path of her sword, while a yellow box highlighted her exposed midsection.
"This is you, Hunter Mika. You are using approximately thirty percent of your total Aura output just to make your blade glow. That light is useless. It does not cut deeper; it only serves to blind your own peripheral vision and tell the Cryptid exactly where your strike will land."
He turned his head toward them, the reflection of the holographic data dancing across his shades.