1997 — Shinsenkyo, Tokyo Outskirts.
The fog was thick enough to breathe. Cold dew clung to ancient stone, to leaves left untouched by modern air. Hidden behind shrine wards and forgotten train routes, nestled in the forested ribs of old Tokyo, stood a place the world didn’t know existed.
Tenka Academy.
The last bastion of traditional Yōjin.
Within its high wooden halls and spirit-forged walls, those born with the ability to channel Reikon, the soul-force that flows through the Veil, trained to fight the creeping corruption of the Yōma.
Today, the air inside the dojo was heavier than usual.
Dozens of students knelt in rows, sweat already gathering on brows before anything had begun.
At the front stood a man.
Black boots clicked softly on the tatami. A long black coat billowed gently as he moved. His black, textured two-block hair fell in careless waves, framing features so ethereal it was hard to call him just “handsome.” He was beautiful. Pretty. Striking.
He radiated silence, elegance, and danger.
Shinkai Arata.
Instructor of Advanced Kigyō Application.
And the strongest Yōjin alive.
He stopped, one hand behind his back, and slowly raised his other, the right.
"You control your Reikon, or it controls you," Arata said, voice smooth and formal. "Control is not how loud you shout. It is how quietly you break the world."
He flicked his hand.
A loud, metallic clang erupted from across the hall.
A reinforced training dummy made of spiritual alloy bent inward as though struck by a wrecking ball.
Gasps rippled across the students. Arata had barely moved.
"Power," he continued, turning slightly, "is not your Kigyō."
"It is how you move with it. Refined. Measured. Ruthless."
Suddenly, the dojo wall burst inward, wood and paper exploded as a shrieking figure hurled through. A Yōma, malformed and dripping black fluid, scrambled onto its limbs. One of the students screamed.
Arata didn’t blink.
He stepped forward. Still only using one hand.
The Yōma lunged, teeth unhinged, claws swinging.
Arata moved like water.
He sidestepped, slid his right hand into its shoulder, and crushed it inward, bones cracking, spirit core sparking. Before it hit the floor, he’d already dashed past it.
One-handed, no wasted motion.
His foot kicked off the ground, and he caught the collapsing creature by the throat, then slammed it into the tatami floor. The impact sent a shockwave through the wood.
Silence.
The Yōma dissipated into black mist.
Arata exhaled softly, as if disappointed.
He adjusted his glove, violet-gray eyes half-lidded.
"Some of you froze," he said without turning. "That is unacceptable."
"You do not get second chances outside these walls."
He walked toward the exit, then stopped, glancing back.
"Class dismissed."
"Those who froze... remain. We’re having a special lesson."
His expression never changed.
But somehow, behind the elegance and calm...
You could almost hear the grin.
Tenka Academy – Sublevel 3: The Hollow Grounds
The underground chamber thrummed with silence.
Carved from stone long before Tokyo ever had skyscrapers, this space was sacred.
Spiritual glyphs pulsed faintly on the walls, markings designed to absorb pressure from unleashed Reikon. Above, faint lanterns drifted through the air like fireflies with purpose, glowing blue.
Five students stood in a line. Silent. Shaking.
Arata stood opposite them, arms behind his back, black coat brushing the stone floor.
"You froze because your instinct is to survive," he began, tone flat but smooth. "Survival is for civilians. You are Yōjin."
His eyes swept across the students like a blade.
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Then he raised his right hand.
"Your Kigyō will only protect you if your will is sharper than your fear."
"So, let’s test that."
He snapped his fingers.
The ground behind him rumbled, and from a summoning seal, five constructs emerged, Reikon shells, shaped like Yōma but incomplete. They twitched and snarled, shadows barely bound to form, glowing with red runes under their skin.
One student swallowed hard. “S-sensei... is this a spar?”
"No," Arata said. "It’s exposure therapy."
The first puppet leapt.
The girl screamed and rolled away, summoning her charm-blade, Reikon flaring clumsily from her palms. She slashed wildly but missed.
"Rika. If your aim is that bad, at least yell with confidence."
Another boy, Kento, tried a Reikon burst to block his attacker, but his output was weak, it fizzled like a sparkler. The puppet slammed him against a wall.
"Kento, you're decorating the wall, not fighting."
"Nice form though. You died beautifully."
Arata didn’t move. Just stood there, elegant, calm, a hand in his pocket.
He sipped from a can of melon soda.
"Yamato, you're panicking. Ayame, you’re thinking too slow. Keiji… wow. You might actually be worse than the floor."
Despite the trolling, he was watching.
Every failed dodge. Every mistimed Kigyō. Every Reikon misfire.
And the students slowly, very slowly, began to improve.
Rika landed a glancing blow. Yamato dodged instead of blocking. Kento stood his ground.
After thirty minutes, the constructs vanished in a puff of black ash.
The five dropped to their knees, gasping, sweating.
Arata walked between them. Silent.
Then he turned toward the wall, and drew a line in the air with his fingers. A glowing glyph appeared, a sigil of the Veil. His Kigyō, elegant and refined, activated instantly. The stone wall dissolved into shimmering air, revealing the training room’s exit.
"Lesson of the day: You don’t train to fight. You train to survive what fights you."
He paused at the doorway.
"Rest up. Tomorrow, you five will spar me."
Five heads slowly turned.
He smiled slightly.
"One hand."
"You can use both. And your legs. And your tears, if needed."
"But if none of that works, bring senbei."
He vanished into the hallway, boots echoing faintly behind him.
Meanwhile – Elsewhere in the City
High above Shinjuku, on a building that didn’t appear on maps, three cloaked figures stood under a storm-choked sky.
The tallest one, face obscured behind a veil of smoke, spoke:
"He moves like he remembers the world before the Veil was sealed."
"He teaches, but he is not one of them."
Another nodded slowly.
"The Hand That Strikes the Veil... he must be broken. Or he’ll unravel everything."
Lightning cracked across the skyline.
Thunder rolled like the roar of some sleeping god.
And in the dark below...
Yōma began to stir.
Tenka Academy – Inner Courtyard, Noon
The sun barely filtered through the trees, casting long shadows over the mossy stone floor of the central courtyard. Wind rustled through sakura petals not yet in bloom, and the faint buzz of Reikon shimmered in the air like summer heat.
Five students stood on one side of the field, weapons drawn, hearts pounding.
Across from them, leaning lazily against a worn torii gate, stood Shinkai Arata.
One hand tucked into his coat pocket. One hand free.
Same damn soda can in the other.
He took a slow sip.
"Begin."
The world moved.
Rika was first, charging forward with dual charm-blades, eyes glowing faintly violet as her Kigyō: Onmyō Pierce activated. Symbols swirled around her arms, enhancing speed and blade reach.
Yamato followed, his palms sparked with condensed Reikon orbs.
Kento unleashed a barrier sigil mid-run, hoping to trap Arata in a slowing field.
Ayame and Keiji flanked, channeling elemental blasts to pinch his movement.
Five-on-one. Coordinated. Trained.
Arata? Still not moving from the gate.
Until...
He vanished.
A gust exploded in Rika’s face. Arata had already sidestepped, hand brushing her shoulder as he passed.
She felt her blade arm go numb. The nerves muted by precision pressure.
She dropped her weapon before she hit the ground.
Arata didn't stop. He flowed.
He caught Yamato’s Reikon orbs with a flick of two fingers, redirected one toward Keiji. It exploded in the boy’s own face, knocking him back with a muffled yelp.
"Four."
Kento’s barrier activated, spiritual lines forming a cube around Arata.
He stood inside it. Calm. Looking around.
Then lifted one finger...
and pressed gently against the sigil line near his shoulder.
Crack.
The barrier collapsed instantly.
"Nice formation. Shame about the structural flaws," Arata muttered.
He flicked his wrist, and a compressed Reikon ripple shot out from his hand, invisible but loud. Kento flew backward as if kicked by a giant, crashing through the training post.
"Three."
Ayame's Kigyō activated, Sound Displacement.
She screamed, and the vibrations struck like a railgun. The courtyard trembled, her voice weaponized into a sonic blade.
Arata crouched low, sliding under the pressure wave. His coat flared behind him.
Still one hand.
He tapped the ground as he slid past her.
The air beneath Ayame's feet exploded upward, launching her mid-spin.
He caught her wrist before she hit the ground, turned, and gently placed her down.
"Two."
Only Yamato remained.
Sweating. Breathing hard.
He looked like he wanted to run but couldn't move.
"I-I'm not... I can't..."
Arata walked toward him.
The air warped slightly around his hand. Reikon coiled tightly, controlled, condensed, mercilessly efficient.
He stopped just a meter away.
"Your Kigyō isn’t strong. Your stance is wrong. You hesitate before you breathe."
"But…" Arata said softly, "you didn’t run."
He lowered his hand.
"One."
Yamato blinked. Then exhaled.
His knees buckled.
Later – School Rooftop
Arata sat on the railing, soda finished, one leg dangling over the edge.
The wind toyed with his hair. His eyes watched the distant city, calm, distant, but calculating.
Behind him, the Headmaster approached. An old woman with a cane and the posture of a sword.
"You didn’t go easy on them."
"They’ll thank me for that one day," Arata replied.
"And if they don’t?"
He turned slightly, violet eyes reflecting the horizon.
"Then I’ll prank them until they do."
He smiled.
But as he looked out again, his smile faded slightly.
"Something’s stirring in the Veil, Headmaster. The Yōma are getting… organized."
Lightning flickered in the distant sky.
"And I’ve only got one hand ready."