The briefing room was colder than usual.
Kouji sat with his hands folded, eyes fixed on the folder in front of him. The assignment paper inside was thin — just a single-page incident report: Unconfirmed Humare activity.
No backup listed.
Just two names.
His and—
"Yorihito will accompany you," said the man standing across the room.
Hanzo.
Kouji looked up.
The higher-up's voice was crisp, final. He stood with the rigid posture of someone who didn't expect disagreement — slicked-back black hair streaked with white, dark coat draped like armor.
"Why?" Ryo asked, leaning in the far corner of the room. His tone was casual — but flat.
"We need someone with suppressive ability in case things escalate," Hanzo said simply. "Yorihito fits the type."
Kouji could feel Ryo's eyes flick toward him briefly. Then away.
Hanzo turned back to Kouji.
"You're not being tested," he lied. "This is just routine."
Kouji nodded. "Understood."
He didn't believe him.
The walk to the target zone was long.
Industrial outskirts, rows of shuttered shops and broken street lamps. A low Kyokai buzz lingered in the air — faint but real.
Yorihito walked several paces ahead, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, gum snapping between his teeth.
"You know," he said eventually, "when I heard you were getting pulled out of the dorm like a broken blade, I figured they'd leave you in storage."
Kouji didn't answer.
Yorihito turned slightly, eyes glinting.
"But no. They sent you back out. And with me, no less."
Kouji kept walking.
Yorihito's tone darkened. "You still think you're better than me?"
"No."
"Then start acting like it."
They reached the site — an old mechanical loading dock, half-collapsed, Kyokai residue thick along the ground like oil.
It wasn't long before the Humare appeared.
It leapt from the shadows, muscles bulging unnaturally, eyes dead.
Kouji reacted immediately, drawing the old weapon he'd forged weeks ago — a spear with a thick, almost ceremonial design.
The first swing connected — solid.
The second fractured the blade.
Crack.
The spear splintered mid-motion.
Kouji stumbled, eyes widening.
The Humare lunged.
Strings lashed across the space and tore into it — limbs shredded in a precise, practiced rhythm.
The Humare hit the floor in three pieces.
Yorihito lowered his arm, chewing lazily.
"Still useless," he muttered.
Then a noise.
Two small figures stepped out from a broken side wall — kids. Maybe eight, maybe ten. Dirt-stained, terrified, shivering.
Kouji ran forward to cover them—
Then stopped.
He froze mid-stride.
Yorihito was in front of him.
Kouji's body wouldn't move.
"Funny, isn't it?" Yorihito said softly. "You're all about saving people. But you never actually get there in time."
Kouji's fingers trembled.
"They didn't let me kill you. Said you were interesting."
Kouji blinked. "...Who?"
Yorihito smiled, sharp and cold.
"But if something were to happen… something tragic… in the heat of a mission…"
He turned toward the children.
Strings formed between his fingers.
Kouji's limbs locked. His Plus didn't respond. The blueprint in his mind was gone — like his thoughts had been cut loose.
He stared at the kids.
At the string slashing at them.
At Yorihito's outstretched hand.
He couldn't move.
Not even one step.
And then—
A voice.
Low. Calm.
Like silk pressed against his ear.
"Do you just want to watch?"
Kouji's mind reeled.
"No."
"Then I'll lend you a hand."