CHAPTER 15: A New Me

  Night approached the temple.

  Mugen, Kumiho, and Nao were outside the room of Yumi, who lay unconscious in his bed.

  "Little rebel," said Ren, who was watching over him. Two days had already passed since Ren managed to heal him, but Yumi’s body was still paying the price for forcing his will against Sideral-Goliath and Xerox.

  Mugen let out a snort, though for the first time his brow wasn't furrowed in anger, but in a worry he tried to hide by crossing his arms tightly. "He's an idiot. Throwing his shield to save Kumiho when he could barely stand... that’s not the act of an exorcist, it’s the act of a suicidal man."

  "It’s called sacrifice, axe-face," Nao intervened, though her voice lacked its usual aggression. She was sitting on the edge of the wooden corridor, distractedly swinging her legs. Her golden eyes, which usually flashed with wild fury, now seemed dull, fixed on the shadows the courtyard trees cast upon the temple floorboards.

  Mugen glanced at her, tightening his arms further. In reality, his muscles were not made of red stone nor was his axe present, but his silhouette alone remained imposing. However, he did not return the insult. Mugen's silence was the clearest proof that the situation was grave.

  "Sacrifice or stupidity, it doesn't matter," Nao continued in a whisper. "He did what we couldn't. He moved while we were all at our limit." Nao looked around. "By the way, where is he?"

  "The boy? After the master saved Yumi, he went to train on his own," Mugen replied calmly.

  On the other side of the temple, in the backyard, Haru was training with a stick of the same dimensions as his weapon; his expression was one of concentration and frustration.

  "I need to get stronger, so that what happened to Master Yumi... never happens again!" he thought while wielding the stick.

  Haru delivered a downward slash with such force that the air hissed, but as he halted the movement, his arms faltered. There was no green energy to support the weight of the impact, no "horse" to give him balance. It was just him, an ordinary piece of wood, and the warm morning sweat.

  Haru delivered a downward slash with such force that the air hissed, but as he halted the movement, his arms faltered. There was no green energy to support the weight of the impact, no spiritual "horse" to give him balance. It was just him, his worn-out sweatshirt, an ordinary piece of wood, and the cold morning sweat as it began to clear.

  "Dammit!" Haru exclaimed, dropping a knee to the dirt. His hands, covered in fresh blisters, gripped the stick with rage. "I'm slow here... I'm weak. If he appeared in this courtyard right now..."

  "You wouldn't last a heartbeat," a cold voice interrupted.

  Haru startled and turned his head. Kumiho stood in the frame of the back door, wearing his usual dark clothes and long coat—the same one he wore in dreams. However, in reality, the coat did not ripple with a purple aura; without weapons, he looked like an ordinary person.

  "Master Kumiho..." Haru stood up quickly, hiding his trembling and leaning the stick against the ground.

  "Training the movement is useless if the mind is elsewhere," Kumiho said, approaching with silent steps over the dry earth. "You are fighting the memory of Yumi falling, not a real enemy."

  "I just can't ignore it!" Haru blurted out in desperation. "He almost died because I wasn't able to keep up with the Sideral-Goliath. If I had been faster, if my will were more solid..."

  "You did what you could," Kumiho interrupted. "Losing a weapon in the dream world is a pain in the soul. You used your horse to save Yumi; you did what you could," Kumiho answered, looking at the sky.

  Haru clenched his teeth, feeling the rough wood of the stick dig into his wounded palms. Kumiho's words were meant to be a comfort, but to him, they sounded like a sentence of insufficiency.

  "Doing what I could wasn't enough," Haru replied, lowering his head so the master wouldn't see the frustration in his eyes. "In the dream, my horse... he is fast, he is strong. But out here, without him, I feel like I'm trying to run underwater. If the nightmares become more real—"

  Kumiho lowered his gaze from the sky and fixed it on the boy. Despite not having his revolver or his aura, his presence remained as sharp as a blade.

  "That is the mistake of all novices," Kumiho said, taking a step toward the center of the yard. "They believe the weapon makes the exorcist. The weapon is only a symptom of your will. If your will depends on a piece of green energy or a wooden mount, then it was never truly yours. It was a loan from the dream world."

  Kumiho pointed to the stick Haru held.

  "Yumi didn't throw his shield because his weapon was powerful. He threw it because his decision to protect was more solid than the metal of his shield. Here, in reality, is where the origin of that power is trained. If you can make that stick move with the same intention as you move your sword in dreams, then, and only then, will you have reached a new state."

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  Haru lifted the stick, observing it. It was dirty, splintered, and did not shine, but it was real. It was something he could touch and feel.

  "And how do I achieve it?" Haru asked, regaining firmness in his posture.

  "Do not stop moving," Kumiho replied with an almost mechanical coldness. "Fatigue is mental. Pain is a sign that you are still alive. If you can convince your body that this stick weighs as much as your soul, you will be able to flow."

  Meanwhile, near the entrance to the courtyard, Nao watched the scene hidden behind one of the temple columns. Her fingers unconsciously scratched the wood of the pillar. At the mention of that man, her pupils contracted. She too felt that void, that lack of "claws" in the real world that made her feel vulnerable.

  "A thousand more slashes, Haru," Kumiho ordered, turning to return to the interior of the temple. "And do not stop until the sweat prevents you from seeing the ground."

  Haru did not respond with words. He took a deep breath, ignoring the burning in his lungs, and raised the stick again. This time, the strike did not seek to cut the air; it sought to break his own weakness.

  Haru closed his eyes and could feel how that stick began to change in his imagination into his sword. The weight of the splintered wood no longer felt like a burden, but like an extension of his arm. The sting of the blisters on his hands stopped being a hindrance and became the anchor that held him to reality.

  One slash, two, three...

  The sound of the wood cutting through the morning air became drier, more precise. There were no green sparks, but the air around him vibrated with renewed intent.

  Nao, from the shadows of the column, grit her teeth. Seeing the "noodle" exert himself that way turned her stomach—not out of contempt, but out of a stinging envy. She wanted that control, too. She wanted to stop depending on the uncontrolled fury of her dreams to be strong in the light of day.

  "If he can do it..." Nao whispered to herself, looking at her own empty hands. Her fingers curled, mimicking the shape of her ink blades.

  Inside the temple, Ren observed from Yumi's room. The sun had already fully risen, bathing the courtyard in a golden light that made the sweat on Haru's forehead glisten.

  "Tonight, I will send the boys out separately. I want you to wake up tonight; didn't you say you would always help me clean?" Ren said warmly, looking at Yumi, who still gave no response.

  Ren sighed, tucking Yumi's blankets with a patience only someone who has seen a thousand battles can possess. Outside, the rhythmic sound of Haru's stick against the air continued, constant as a metronome.

  "I know you hear me, little ice cube," Ren murmured, resting her hand on the boy's forehead. "The world doesn't stop. I need you to wake up, because those two are going to need a guide who isn't afraid of the cold."

  Suddenly, Yumi's breathing changed. He didn't open his eyes, but his fingers closed over the sheet with surprising strength.

  In the courtyard, Haru stopped. He was soaked in sweat and his lungs burned, but when he opened his eyes, the world seemed sharper. He was no longer looking for the green sword; he felt the weight of the stick in his hands and knew it was enough for now.

  Nao emerged from the shadows, walking toward him with her usual predatory gait, though this time there was no mockery on her face. She stopped a couple of meters away and held out her hand toward Haru's stick.

  "Lend me that thing, noodle," Nao said, her voice raspy. "If we're going separately tonight, I don't plan on being the only one who comes back empty-handed."

  Haru handed her the stick, noticing that Nao didn't grab it playfully, but with the same seriousness he had.

  "We'll win, Nao," Haru said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

  "You'd better," she replied, throwing an experimental slash that, though crude, carried a fierce intent. "Because if you die out there, I’ll beat your corpse."

  Mugen watched from a distance, leaning against the frame of the main entrance. He crossed his arms and looked toward the horizon, where the clouds were beginning to turn a heavy gray.

  At night, everyone was eating while Ren returned from being with Yumi.

  "I have to ask something that I’ve said to some of you many times, and to others, never." Ren's voice was more serious than usual.

  "Do you want to continue being Devourer Exorcists? You’ve already seen what happens when things aren't in our favor. If you want to withdraw, you can," Ren commented with determination.

  Silence took over the dining room. The only sound was the slight clinking of Mugen’s chopsticks against his bowl; he hadn't stopped eating, but his gaze was fixed on the rookies, waiting for their answer.

  Nao clenched her fists under the table. She looked at Haru, who had his eyes pinned to his plate, and then at Kumiho, who remained impassive despite his bandages. The memory of the mechanical giant and Yumi’s blood on the train’s metal flashed through her mind like lightning.

  "Withdraw?" Nao let out a bitter laugh that turned into a growl. "That guy... he mocked us. He treated us like we were broken toys. If I leave now, I’d just be the same girl who punched walls because she didn't understand the world."

  Nao looked up, and her golden eyes shone with the same intensity as the morning sun.

  "I’m not leaving until I rip that smile off his face. I’m an exorcist, old man. And if the dream world wants to bite me, I’ll bite back."

  Ren nodded slowly and then shifted his gaze toward Haru. The boy raised his head. There was no trace left of the "noodle" who trembled in the courtyard. His hands, though bandaged from the training with the stick, were steady.

  "I didn't know why I was here at first," Haru began, his voice clear and resolute. "I was afraid of the shadows and of what I couldn't understand. But Master Yumi risked his life so that we could be sitting at this table for dinner today."

  Haru remembered the feel of the wooden stick in his hands that morning—the feeling that, even without magic, his will was real.

  "If I withdraw, I’d have nothing left. I have no family, I have no friends. I want to protect this place. I want to be someone else's guide someday. I'm not going anywhere, Master Ren," he commented with a determination that surprised Ren.

  Ren let out a sigh of relief, disguised by one of his typical warm smiles. He stood up and placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

  "Good. Then there is work to be done. The teams will be..." Ren tried to say, but he was interrupted by Haru, who stood up.

  "Master, allow me to go alone," he protested without showing fear.

  Seeing Haru, Nao also stood up.

  "Me too, old man! Let me go solo!" she followed with a determined smile.

  Mugen and Kumiho didn't flinch, but in silence, they were telling Ren to let them.

  Ren, surprised, shifted his expression into a smile.

  "Fine then, the four of you will go on watch. I don't want any Rank B or A gates—not at least until Yumi wakes up," the master exclaimed, returning to his usual irony and happiness.

  Ren turned serious for a moment, looking at the boys' bandaged hands.

  "What happened on the train was no accident, but there are more important things for the moment," Ren said as the night finally fell.