Ren slammed another bundle of shattered obsidian bamboo onto the pile, breathing like he was personally offended by oxygen.

  Orin wiped sweat from his brow. “I hate him.”

  Shura nodded while dragging splintered stalks twice his height. “I already apologized.”

  “That apology,” Ren said flatly, “meant nothing.”

  The forest looked worse up close. Clean cuts everywhere. Too clean. Like the land itself had been insulted.

  Footsteps approached.

  Zenkyou emerged first, hands behind her head, eyes scanning the scene.

  She stopped.

  Then Laughed.

  “…Oh,” she said. “You look terrible.”

  Ren glared. “Say that again.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Zenkyou leaned forward slightly. “You. Look. Terrible.”

  Orin groaned. “Why are you like this?”

  Yura followed behind her, eyes bright with interest instead of malice. She tilted her head, watching Shura struggle to lift a massive stalk.

  “This is very good training,” she said sincerely. “Endurance, posture, recovery under strain. Master Juro is thorough.”

  Shura nearly cried.

  Juro appeared behind them, hands tucked into his sleeves.

  “Since you’re here,” he said pleasantly, “you two start cleaning as well.”

  Zenkyou froze.

  “…What did you say?”

  She turned slowly.

  Juro’s instincts screamed.

  He ran.

  “WAIT—” he shouted as Zenkyou lunged after him, aura flaring violently. “I’M KIDDING—”

  The forest shook.

  “HELP!” Juro screamed. “SOMEONE SAVE ME FROM THIS MONSTER—”

  They vanished into the distance.

  Silence returned.

  Ren blinked. “…Did they just—”

  Orin squinted. “Run.”

  Yura clasped her hands calmly. “They’ll be back.”

  “…Eventually.”

  They stopped at the peak of a mountain hundreds of kilometers away.

  Wind howled. The Ceiling loomed above, unmoving, eternal.

  Juro leaned against a rock, breathing harder than he’d admit.

  Zenkyou stood beside him now, arms crossed, gaze distant.

  “…What is Shura?” Juro asked quietly.

  Zenkyou didn’t answer immediately.

  “What kind of existence falls from a lie,” Juro continued, “and survives both worlds?”

  Zenkyou exhaled slowly.

  “Why is Shura?” Juro added.

  She smiled faintly.

  “…He reminds me of those days, Master.”

  Juro closed his eyes.

  “You should move on,” he said softly. “He’s gone.”

  Zenkyou’s smile didn’t fade.

  “Maybe,” she said. “But echoes don’t disappear just because you stop listening.”

  She turned.

  “It’s time to go back.”

  Juro opened one eye.

  “…You’re paying for the damage to the mountain.”

  Zenkyou laughed—and vanished.

  Juro sighed.

  Some losses cannot be repaired.

  Some never leave the body.

  Those who remain become the reason to endure.

  Those who helped me stand will never be forgotten.

  Far below, the forest waited.

  And Shura kept cleaning.

  Unaware that his existence had already begun to disturb old wounds that never truly healed.