“Some roads begin in confusion, others in blood. Yours begins in both.”

  Shiro wandered through the neon-lit streets of Fukuoka, his wolf ears twitching beneath the noise. The press of voices, the hum of trains, and the occasional shout from a vendor created a dissonant chorus that pulled at his senses. Towering signs and concrete buildings walled him in on every side, their unfamiliar shapes twisting like a maze. His tail flicked behind him in frustration, and the Frost Pendant at his chest pulsed faintly, reacting to his rising tension.

  Red eyes scanning the crowd, Shiro moved through the throng, searching for anything—landmark, scent, sound—that might ground him. He turned sharply into an alley, brushing past a pedestrian, his ears swiveling for the smallest clue. But the city offered nothing. Just noise. Just strangers. Just steel.

  Then, high above the chaos, his gaze caught a figure perched on a rooftop—shrouded in cloak and shadow, outlined by the fading sunlight.

  Shiro’s heart stuttered. The silhouette wasn’t moving. Was he going to jump?

  Without thinking, Shiro lunged for a ledge, his feet kicking off the wall as he scrambled up a fire escape. The cold metal bit into his palms, and his breath quickened in the evening chill. He vaulted the last railing and landed in a crouch, gravel crunching beneath his boots.

  “Hey!” he called, straightening, his voice steady. “Don’t do it! Whatever’s wrong, there's another way!”

  The figure turned.

  And smirked.

  “You’ve got the wrong idea,” the man said, lowering his hood. His face was sharp, his eyes cold. A zanpakuto rested at his hip. “I’m not planning on diving. Though I appreciate the drama.”

  Shiro blinked, thrown off by the calm response. “Then why’re you up here?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “You’re acting pretty suspicious.”

  The man gave a soft shrug, stepping away from the edge. “City’s loud. Rooftops are quiet. And people rarely look up.”

  His gaze drifted to Shiro’s ears and tail, unmistakably wolf-like.

  “You, though—you stand out,” he added. “What’s a Beastman doing wandering downtown like a lost pup?”

  Shiro’s tail flicked, irritation flaring. “Is that how you greet everyone, or am I just special?” he snapped. “I’m not lost. I’m looking for something.”

  “Sure you are,” the stranger said, unconvinced. “You’ve got that ‘where-the-hell-am-I’ look written all over you.”

  “And you’re just some weirdo playing rooftop guardian?” Shiro countered.

  “Something like that.” The man studied him in silence for a moment, then added, “I’m Fuyu. And you... you’ve seen them, haven’t you? The monsters.”

  Shiro’s defensiveness faltered. “You know about them?”

  “Hollows,” Fuyu said. “Corrupted spirits that feed on the living. Most people can’t see them.”

  Shiro’s hand brushed the Frost Pendant at his chest. “I’ve fought them. No one else sees them, but I do. And they keep coming. I don’t know why. But I can’t ignore it anymore.”

  Fuyu’s eyes sharpened. “Then you’re already involved. Whether you like it or not.”

  He reached into his cloak and held up a small glass vial. “Crash course time.”

  Fuyu crushed the vial between his fingers. A fine silver mist bled into the air, writhing like it had a mind of its own. The temperature dropped instantly. The lights in the city dimmed. A pressure fell over the rooftop like a velvet noose.

  Then came the scream.

  It split the sky—a guttural, ear-splitting cry that shattered windows across the street. Dogs howled. Alarms wailed. The air itself shuddered.

  Shiro staggered back a step. A spike of spiritual pressure pressed down on him like a mountain.

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  From the far side of the building, the first Hollow rose. A mountain of muscle covered in knotted, matted hair. Its mask was a wide crescent grin filled with jagged ivory fangs. It dropped onto the rooftop with a sound like thunder.

  Shiro summoned a Glacial Kunai and hurled it, the cold slicing through the night. It cracked across the Hollow’s mask—but only barely. The beast roared and charged.

  Shiro dodged left. Concrete shattered as the Hollow’s claws tore into the roof. Dust flew. The rooftop groaned beneath the weight.

  Hakumei flashed in his hand. Shiro struck hard—twice. Sparks flew off the Hollow’s tough hide. Its paw lashed out. He blocked with his forearm, skidding across the rooftop, boots grinding against gravel.

  The Hollow pounced.

  Shiro dropped flat. Its bulk flew over him, crashing into a water tower. It exploded into a tidal wave of water and steel.

  Shiro flipped back to his feet, soaked, panting.

  Two more spiritual pressures surged.

  The spider Hollow crested the ledge like a grotesque dancer, limbs long and twitching, mandibles snapping in anticipation. The armored brute behind it moved with slow, deliberate power. Each step cracked the roof.

  Shiro didn’t hesitate.

  He sprinted forward, sliding under the spider’s first strike, slashing upward with Hakumei. The blade carved through one leg. The Hollow shrieked, stumbling back.

  But the brute was there.

  A backhand like a wrecking ball smashed into Shiro’s side. He crashed through a billboard. Wood and steel rained around him.

  He forced himself to stand, coughing blood, face pale.

  The Frost Pendant pulsed again.

  He growled, dragging his sleeve across his mouth.

  The spider Hollow leapt. Shiro flung two kunai in quick succession. One hit a shoulder, freezing it. The other struck the mask—chipped it.

  Then the beast was on him.

  He brought up his arm. Claws tore across it. Blood sprayed.

  He dropped to the ground, kicking upward. The spider reeled back. Shiro rolled to his feet, breathing hard.

  The armored Hollow charged. Shiro summoned a Frost Mirage—his double splitting off to the left. The beast took the bait, swinging hard.

  Mist exploded.

  Shiro moved.

  He ran up the creature’s arm, leapt off its shoulder, twisted in midair, and hurled a kunai down.

  It sank deep into a crack in the armor.

  The beast howled.

  But the spider returned, latching onto his back. Claws sank in.

  Shiro screamed.

  He twisted, drove an elbow into its face, then rolled, pinning it beneath him. Kunai in hand, he slammed it into the cracked mask.

  Once. Twice. Three times.

  It shattered.

  The Hollow disintegrated beneath him.

  But the brute wasn’t done.

  It slammed its fists down where he lay.

  Shiro rolled. Too slow.

  One fist caught his leg. He heard something crack.

  Pain lanced through him.

  He forced himself up. Limping now. Bleeding. The world spun.

  Still, he raised Hakumei.

  He breathed. In. Out. The pendant pulsed like a war drum.

  He charged.

  The brute roared.

  They met in the center of the roof.

  Hakumei clanged off bone. The brute swung wide. Shiro ducked, rolled between its legs, slashed its exposed calf. Frost bloomed.

  It howled, spun, slammed its massive body forward.

  Shiro jumped, landed on its shoulder, and drove his sword straight into the weak spot.

  The blade sank halfway in.

  The brute bucked, howling in agony. Shiro was flung free, crashing hard onto the rooftop. His vision blurred. His ribs burned.

  He crawled to his knees, summoning a final kunai.

  The brute turned, panting, one eye wild with rage.

  Shiro stood.

  “Enough,” he growled.

  He hurled the kunai.

  It struck the exposed mask—dead center.

  The Hollow froze.

  Then, with a great groan, it shattered into a million frozen shards.

  Shiro dropped to one knee, gasping. His vision tunneled.

  And then he collapsed.

  Fuyu appeared beside him, crouching low.

  “You’re not invincible,” the Shinigami murmured. “But you’re not nothing either.”

  And with a flicker of motion, the rooftop vanished into speed and wind.

  The fight was over.

  Fuyu crouched beside Shiro’s crumpled form, the bloodied Beastman barely conscious. His breathing was ragged, each inhale shallow and shuddering. Frost clung to his limbs, but it no longer felt like his own power—it felt foreign, distant. Spent.

  Without a word, Fuyu lifted him effortlessly onto his back. Shiro didn’t resist. He couldn’t. His vision flickered, his fingers twitched, and then went still.

  The rooftop vanished into blur and motion.

  In mere moments, they arrived outside the central hospital. The building loomed against the moonlit sky, sterile and modern. The awning cast a long shadow across the pavement, where Fuyu laid Shiro down gently against a support pillar.

  The automatic doors remained closed until Fuyu stepped forward. The sensor caught something—though no one could see him—and the doors hissed open. Fluorescent light spilled out into the night.

  Inside, a nurse at the reception desk glanced up—and froze.

  Her eyes went wide at the sight of the bloodied young man slumped outside.

  “Code blue! We’ve got someone down outside!”

  A rush of medics burst through the doors, scrambling around Shiro. Stretchers. Gauze. Urgent voices.

  They moved right through Fuyu, never seeing him.

  He stood still as they passed, their bodies weaving around his spiritual form without pause. Not one of them reacted—not even when he stood directly in their path.

  He watched in silence as they lifted Shiro, strapping him down, pressing gauze to his wounds, shouting vitals.

  “I’ll make sure they see you,” he said softly, though the words were meant only for Shiro. “You’ve done enough for one night. Rest.”

  As they pushed the stretcher through the hospital doors, Fuyu turned his back and walked toward the shadows. He paused only long enough to toss a hard candy into his mouth, unwrapping it with a sigh.

  The automatic doors hissed shut behind him.

  No one noticed the man who was never there.

  Fuyu vanished into the night.

  But the cold lingered behind him.

  But something inside Shiro had only just begun to awaken.