Elsewhere—far across the ocean, nestled within the towering mountains of Kyoto, Japan—life seemed untouched by the chaos of the outside world.
People walked the streets in harmony, laughter echoing through alleyways as families strolled hand-in-hand beneath the glow of traditional lanterns. It felt like a city frozen in time—serene, ordered, almost sacred.
Kyoto had become the dream for many. A bastion of structure and law in a world fragmented by Reiki.
But even in paradise, shadows moved.
Rain drizzled from the overcast sky, turning cobblestone streets slick and glistening. Through the crowded market roads, a woman moved urgently—hood drawn low, glasses fogged, soaked from the downpour.
She pushed past strangers, her breath shallow, her pace frantic.
Then—she slipped.
Her glasses cracked as they hit the pavement, scattering into broken shards.
(I'm nearly there... it's so far.)
Teeth clenched, she stood and pressed forward.
One hour passed.
Finally, she arrived.
A towering kingdom loomed before her—grand, immaculate, and intimidating. Carved from marble and gold, it stood as a monument to power.
She stepped forward.
The eyes of every nearby citizen locked onto her. Their faces betrayed no anger—only fear.
Fear of proximity. Fear of being seen with her.
They didn't fear her presence... they feared the consequences of acknowledging it.
(Everyone's afraid of me. It's not my fault, you know.)
She kept her gaze down, hands buried deep into her soaked sleeves.
The more she thought about their expressions, the harder it became to breathe.
Finally, she reached the entrance to the inner sanctum of the kingdom—a guarded gate flanked by four soldiers, armor gleaming.
They stepped forward, weapons drawn.
"Woman, do you know where you are? Leave now, or we'll—"
"What?"
The voice didn't belong to her.
It echoed down from the kingdom gates, silencing the guards instantly.
They dropped to their knees.
The girl—still and silent—didn't move.
She was used to this.
"That girl standing before you... did you just threaten her?"
The guards' faces went pale. Sweat pooled beneath their armor.
"No, sir! We didn't realize—"
"Quiet."
A shimmer split the air.
A dagger materialized out of thin space—and in the blink of an eye—four heads fell.
Their blood soaked the stone path, mixing with the rain.
The woman didn't scream. Her body shook, but her face remained still.
The massive doors creaked open.
A tall man emerged, long coat trailing in the wind like a banner of authority. His eyes found hers. He stepped down the marble stairway slowly, each step echoing like a gavel.
"Reima. Why do you look so afraid?"
The woman—Reima—looked up. Her hoodie was torn. Blood streaked across her clothes. Her glasses were gone.
"Those bodyguards... they didn't deserve to die," she muttered. "They were just doing their job. They didn't know who I was."
The man glanced at the bodies. His face was blank.
"Why do their deaths bother you? They were expendable. I told them when they accepted their roles—they lived only by my grace."
His words made Reima grit her teeth.
"You act like you would've spared them if they refused. You would've made them suffer."
He reached out and placed a hand on her head.
"Then isn't what I gave them—quick, clean—a form of mercy?"
She said nothing. Her silence spoke volumes.
"Reima, let's go. It's time. Your Sakusei remains dormant, but your potential is undeniable. After all… you are my daughter."
Reima gave a stiff nod.
They entered the inner hall.
It was breathtaking.
Murals of great battles and gods danced along the walls. The floor was carpeted in velvet crimson. Candles flickered from ornate silver sconces.
"So? Any signs of power? Any changes?"
Reima said nothing. Her hands trembled at her sides.
"Reima!"
She jumped.
He turned.
Her eyes shimmered with unspoken sorrow.
"If their deaths mattered so much," he said coldly, "then tell me—who were they to you? What memories do you have of them? What names? What stories?"
She lowered her gaze. Her silence—again—betrayed her.
"That's what I thought. End this pointless grief. Now."
Her trembling slowed. She forced stillness into her posture.
"Yes, Father."
They reached the throne chamber.
Massive pillars circled a raised dais. Atop it—a throne carved from obsidian, framed by more guards. Their expressions blank. Still. Trained.
He turned to her, gesturing to the seat.
"Do you see that? That throne is yours—if you rise to my level. Your comfort has kept your power shackled. You've never bled in battle. You've never stood on the brink of death."
His tone dropped.
"You know what that means."
Tears slipped down Reima's cheeks.
"...Yes, Father."
"Soon, if you show no progress, I will send you to the battlefield. You'll face war. If your Sakusei awakens, you'll return. If not... you'll die with the rest."
"Wait! You can't—what if—"
Waves of Reiki exploded from him.
The temperature dropped.
The guards held their ground, visibly straining.
"No more ifs. You've had enough chances. Prove your worth—or perish. One defective child will not bring me grief."
He turned.
"I will sit on the throne. You are dismissed."
Reima turned to leave.
"One more thing."
She froze.
"Your clothes. Torn. Your breathing—ragged. Did you wander far from the kingdom today?"
She steadied herself.
"No, sir."
His gaze narrowed. He saw through her lie. But he didn't call her out.
"Then make it home safe."
"Thank you... Father."
Outside the palace, Reima vanished into the mist. Her footsteps quiet. Her heart louder.
Inside, the man pulled out a phone.
It rang once.
"Hey! Funny seeing you call."
"Galen. When did I give you permission to act on your own?"
Galen chuckled.
"You should be used to this. Damon's too slow. I can finish the job quickly."
The man's voice tightened. But he smiled.
"If you can bring Kashikoi to me—good. If you fail, I already have a Plan B."
"Understood."
Galen lowered the phone. But the man spoke once more.
"One last thing. When you see him…"
He stood from his throne.
The air crackled with power.
"Tell Kashikoi... he has infuriated Shyn, the Ruler."
Across the ocean, in the city of Petersburg—
Galen landed on a rooftop.
Beneath him, a lone figure walked calmly down the street.
(So I was closer than I thought...)
He leapt down—his boots slamming onto the sidewalk.
Kashikoi stopped, unfazed.
"You didn't think I wouldn't notice," he said, smirking. "You've been leaping across rooftops like a lunatic."
Galen grinned, a twisted gleam in his eye. His smile was wide. Dangerous.
"I don't like quiet entrances. I want them to hear me coming. To run. But you—you're calm. I see why the king wants you."
Kashikoi raised an eyebrow.
"Your king has business with me? Then tell him this: if he wants to speak to me, he can crawl here and kneel."
The words hung in the air.
Galen's expression twitched.
A sword shimmered into his hand—etched with glowing veins of energy.
He lunged.
Kashikoi didn't move.
Until the last second.
His hand rose—crackling with electricity—and caught the blade mid-swing.
Sparks flew.
"Alright then," Kashikoi said, his voice low and cold. "Guess you'd rather die than do what you're told."
Their battle had begun.