The final bell of the day rang, signaling the end of my first actual day of high school.
While the rest of the student body filtered out toward their various clubs or walked to the train station with friends, I made my way toward the athletics storage building behind the main gymnasium.
I kept my head down, maintaining a very careful distance from the main gym walls. My awakened *Spirit Vision* could still feel the crushing, oppressive weight of the Grade 3 tumor-curse clinging to the brickwork high above. I wasn't going anywhere near it.
Instead, I slipped into an abandoned alleyway sandwiched between the old equipment sheds and the perimeter wall. It was perfectly secluded, shaded by overgrown oak trees, and smelled faintly of rust and damp earth.
More importantly, it was crawling with Grade 5 Fly-Heads.
I had stopped by an open equipment bin near the baseball diamond and quietly borrowed a scuffed, heavy aluminum bat. It wasn't a cursed tool, but it was solid, and it would give me more reach than my bare hands.
I took a deep breath, gripped the bat tightly, and mentally activated my skill fragment.
[Presence Concealment (Basic) Activated. Duration: 60 Seconds.]
The ambient noise of the school grounds faded. My heartbeat went completely silent. I stepped into the shadows and swung.
*CRACK.*
The aluminum connected with a cluster of three Fly-Heads hovering over a puddle. A tiny spark of blue system-light flashed, and the curses popped into black mist.
[Entity Eliminated: 5th Grade Curse (x3)]
[Rank Difference: 0 (Rank F Threat)]
[Reward: Base 0.5 EP x 3 = +1.5 EP]
I didn't stop. I moved methodically down the alley, swinging the bat with every ounce of physical strength my frail body could muster. It was exhausting work. Without Cursed Energy to enhance my muscles, and with a Constitution of 4, I was rapidly burning through my limited stamina just swinging a metal stick at floating blobs of negative emotion.
[+0.5 EP.]
[+0.5 EP.]
I was sweating profusely, my breathing growing ragged and heavy, but the tiny numbers ticking up in my peripheral vision kept me going. I needed exactly 10 EP to upgrade my Constitution to Level 5. If I could just hit the baseline for a normal adult, I wouldn't feel like my lungs were collapsing.
But as my concealment timer ticked down to its final five seconds, the temperature in the alley suddenly plummeted.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. A low, wet growl echoed from the shadows near the back of the equipment shed.
I froze, tightening my grip on the bat.
Crawling out from underneath the raised foundation of the shed was a monster. It wasn't a pathetic Fly-Head. It was the size of a large wolf, walking on four twisted, human-like arms. Its face was a blank canvas of rotting flesh with a single, gaping maw filled with jagged teeth.
[Target Identified: Low 4th Grade Curse]
It wasn't as terrifying as the centipede in the locker room, but it was highly aggressive. And my concealment skill had just expired.
The creature's featureless face snapped toward me. It shrieked—a sound like metal scraping against glass—and lunged.
It was incredibly fast. My Level 4 reflexes barely registered the movement before it was in the air.
Pure survival instinct took over. I planted my feet and swung the aluminum bat like I was trying to hit a home run, aiming dead center for its mass.
The bat connected.
But instead of popping like a balloon, it felt like I had just hit a speeding motorcycle. The sheer physical density of the curse sent a violently jarring shockwave up my arms. The aluminum bat bent inward with a sickening *crunch*, tearing out of my grip.
The momentum of the curse carried forward. Its heavy, grotesque body slammed into my chest.
The impact lifted me entirely off my feet. I flew backward, the air exploding from my lungs, and slammed violently into the chain-link fence lining the alley.
Pain flared hot and bright across my ribs. I collapsed onto the concrete, gasping for breath, my vision swimming. Miraculously, nothing felt shattered, but my frail body felt like it had just been hit by a truck.
The Grade 4 curse landed lightly on its twisted arms, letting out a gurgling hiss. It coiled its body, preparing to pounce again and finish the job.
I tried to scramble backward, my hands scraping against the rough pavement, searching for the dropped bat. I was entirely out of my depth.
But before the curse could leap, a shadow dropped from the branches of the oak tree above us.
The figure landed on the concrete with the heavy, silent grace of an apex predator.
It was a girl wearing the Shuchiin Academy uniform, but her skirt was modified for movement. She had long, dark hair and an athletic, tightly coiled build. But it was her eyes that made the breath catch in my ruined throat. Her sclera—the whites of her eyes—were pitch black, framing piercing, predatory white irises.
Karla Kure.
The memories of the 'old' Ren Ichijou slammed to the forefront of my mind. I had seen her before. At the underground banquets where the Yakuza syndicates negotiated with the true monsters of Japan's underworld. I remembered my father, the hardened boss of the Shuei-gumi, sweating nervously into his sake cup just from being in the same room as her grandfather. The Kure clan weren't just assassins; they were selectively bred demons.
The moment her boots touched the ground, an aura of pure, unadulterated bloodlust exploded from her. It wasn't Cursed Energy, but it was so violently intense, so heavy with genuine murderous intent, that the air itself felt like it was choking.
The Grade 4 curse, acting on pure survival instinct, shrieked in absolute terror. Mistaking the Kure clan assassin's killer intent for a massive, lethal threat, the monster scrambled backward, clawed frantically at the brick wall, and scurried out of sight into the gutters.
Karla didn't even look in the direction the curse had fled. She couldn't see it. Instead, her terrifying, black-and-white eyes locked entirely onto me.
She tilted her head, her expression shifting from a bored pout to intense, burning curiosity. She slowly walked over to where I was slumped against the fence, casually kicking my bent aluminum bat with the toe of her boot.
"Well, this is weird," Karla said, her voice carrying a strangely cheerful, melodic tone that completely contrasted with her demonic eyes. "I know you. You're Ren Ichijou. Raku's sickly older brother, right? The fragile phantom of the Shuei-gumi. What are you doing swinging a bat in an alleyway like a complete psycho?"
I coughed, holding my bruised ribs, desperately trying to control my breathing.
"And then," she continued, leaning over me, her face inches from mine. "You suddenly flew backward ten feet and slammed into a fence. I didn't see anyone hit you. But you looked like you were fighting for your life."
She reached out, poking my shoulder with incredible, bruising strength. I winced hard, my Level 4 Constitution screaming in protest.
"Your muscles are barely holding together," Karla noted bluntly, dissecting my physical state in seconds. "Your breathing is shallow. You have the constitution of a sick Victorian child. You don't have any martial arts training at all."
She leaned in closer, a wide, slightly unhinged smile spreading across her face.
"So why does a fragile guy like you have the eyes of someone staring down death? What were you fighting, Ren?"
My mind raced. The 'old' Ren would have stammered, terrified of the Kure girl who could snap his neck with two fingers.
But as I looked up at her demonic eyes, a crazy, desperate idea sparked in my head. I couldn't survive Grade 4 Curse impacts without a better foundation. Karla Kure was a physical anomaly. She represented the absolute pinnacle of human martial arts.
"I was shadowboxing," I gasped out, my voice raspy but steady. I pushed down my fear and leaned into my exceptionally high Charm, using every ounce of my corporate negotiation skills to meet her gaze directly.
"Against the idea of my own death."
Karla blinked. Then, she threw her head back and burst into bright, echoing laughter.
"Pfft—hahahaha! Oh my god!" she howled, slapping her knee. "That is so incredibly edgy! Did you read that in a manga? 'The idea of my own death!' That's hilarious!"
I didn't laugh. I just stared at her from the ground, my expression completely unchanging, my breathing steadying despite the pain.
Her laughter slowly died down. She wiped a tear from her eye, looking back at me. Her smile faded into something far more intense and predatory. She realized I wasn't blushing or embarrassed by her mockery.
"You aren't joking," she whispered, her white irises narrowing. "You actually think something is going to kill you."
"I realized something today," I said, pushing myself up against the fence, ignoring the shooting pain in my ribs. "The weak don't get to keep what they want. If I want to survive in this world, being a fragile spectator is no longer an option."
I looked directly into her eyes.
"You're bored, aren't you?" I asked smoothly.
"You're a Kure. A normal high school life is a joke to you. You're looking for to pass the time."
Her smile slowly returned, wider and far more dangerous than before. "Maybe. And you think you're interesting, Yakuza boy?"
"I think I have the drive to survive, but I lack the foundation," I said evenly. "Train me, Karla. Break my body down and rebuild it. In exchange, I promise I will become the most entertaining project you've ever had."
She paused, perfectly still.
She was a monster born into a clan of monsters. To her, weaklings were just background noise. But here was the famously frail son of a Yakuza syndicate, sitting in the dirt, terrified out of his mind by something she couldn't see, yet demanding she teach him how to fight. It was a massive contradiction, and it hooked her curiosity completely.
"Alright, Ren Ichijou," Karla grinned, showing her teeth. "You've got yourself a deal. Come to my estate on Saturday. But if your fragile little bones snap during the warm-ups, I'm not apologizing to your dad."