CHAPTER 19: Beware of Yukio!

  The morning was warm. Haru was training with Nao while Mugen supervised them. Kumiho was cooking, and Yumi was watering the plants. His left arm was in a brace, and he used a small crutch to support himself better.

  —Faster, noodle! Nao’s going to slice you before you even blink! —Mugen roared, arms crossed.

  Nao burst out laughing and tried to land a strike, but Haru blocked it with his wooden sword. Haru flashed a proud smile, which provoked Nao into kicking his legs out from under him, knocking him to the ground.

  —Agh! That’s cheating, Nao! —Haru complained from the floor, rubbing his calf, until his sword fell onto his head, drawing tears from the pain.

  —In a real fight, there are no rules, noodle —Nao replied, resetting her stance and offering him a hand with a teasing smile—. Master Ren always says pride is the first step toward a slash to the neck.

  Mugen let out a snort of disdain without uncrossing his arms. —Nao’s right. You get distracted by your own ego. If you were one second slower, you’d already be Nightmare food. Get up and again!

  —I’m going, I’m going! —Haru protested, taking Nao’s hand to stand, still rubbing the bump the wooden sword had left on his head.

  Mugen scratched the back of his neck, clearly irritated by the boy’s lack of discipline. No matter how much they trained, Haru always seemed to find a way to lower his guard at the worst possible moment. The atmosphere was strangely peaceful after the horror they had lived through in the subway with Sideral-Goliath.

  However, that calm was broken when the sound of rhythmic, elegant footsteps echoed from the temple entrance. Yukio, wearing his characteristic brown suit and carrying his briefcase, stopped in front of the wooden arch.

  —Well now, I didn’t know the temple’s disciples practiced kenjutsu —he commented with a gentle smile.

  Mugen tensed immediately, recognizing the man in the brown suit who had already lingered around the temple before. His fists clenched, and a small spark of irritation crossed his face at the sight of the visitor’s unshakable calm.

  —You again —Mugen growled, stepping forward to place himself between the newcomer and the others—. What do you want this time, “investigator”? We already told you this isn’t a place for briefcase-carrying tourists.

  Yukio did not seem intimidated by Mugen’s rough tone. He adjusted the handle of his briefcase with elegance and fixed his mismatched gaze on the group. His white eye subtly contracted, analyzing not only the temple’s architecture, but the people themselves.

  —Oh, how rude of me. My name is Yukio. I was hoping to speak with the temple’s master. Is he around? —Yukio asked, glancing about casually.

  Mugen did not relax his stance. Yukio’s presence caused an itch at the back of his neck—the same sensation he felt around high-ranking Nightmares.

  —Master Ren is busy guiding people who actually have faith, not guys who come here measuring the walls with their eyes —Mugen spat, completely blocking his path.

  Yukio let out a soft chuckle. His white eye lingered a second longer on Haru, noticing how the boy was still rubbing his head from the wooden sword’s blow.

  —What a pity. My sister, the chief of police, is very curious about how such a simple temple can have such a low “incident rate” in an area with so many people suffering from depression —Yukio said, shifting his uneven gaze back to Mugen—. I’m only looking for answers.

  Mugen stepped even closer, forcing Yukio to keep his distance. The mention of the police and the “incident rate” only irritated him further.

  —People come here looking for peace, not statistics —Mugen growled, his energy beginning to vibrate subtly, though still contained—. If your sister has questions, she can come pray herself. Now get lost before I help you down the stairs faster than you climbed them.

  —Such a temper… —Yukio murmured, shifting his attention to Yumi, who watched while leaning on her crutch—. It’s curious to see temple staff with such… specific combat injuries. A brace isn’t something you get from tripping on a step.

  Yumi tightened her grip on the crutch, but before she could respond, a serene yet authoritative voice echoed from inside the main building.

  —That’s enough, Mugen.

  Ren appeared on the porch, with his usual impeccable posture and that kind smile that seemed carved from wood. He was not dressed like a warrior, but like the spiritual guide the civilians knew. Upon seeing Yukio, Ren gave a slight nod, though his eyes did not reflect the same warmth as always.

  —You must be the young man who was observing our architecture a few days ago —Ren said, descending the steps calmly—. My name is Ren. How can Zettai-Rin Temple assist the law this morning?

  Yukio gave a small bow of his head, though his white eye never stopped scanning Ren’s posture.

  —Master Ren, it is an honor. As I was telling your… guardian, we are conducting follow-ups on irregularities in the area. My eye has the peculiarity of detecting patterns others ignore —Yukio pointed to his white eye with unsettling naturalness—. And this place is full of very old… and very interesting containment patterns.

  —Oh, how interesting, an eye that can see things, I’ve never heard of that! Wah-hah-hah-hah! —Ren laughed with such exaggerated innocence that it confused Yukio.

  Yukio blinked. His brown eye showed human confusion while his white eye continued analyzing Ren’s energy flow, which remained strangely stable despite the laughter.

  —Do you find it amusing, Master? —Yukio asked, quickly regaining his composure—. I assure you, the technology behind this implant is no joke. It allows me to see that this temple is not just wood and stone; it is a cage of frequencies. A cage that seems to be vibrating dangerously close to rupture.

  Ren stopped laughing, though he kept his kind expression. He approached Yukio and, with a confidence that made the detective step back half a step, placed a hand on his shoulder.

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  —Young Yukio, the world is full of things that vibrate —Ren said gently—. This temple is older than I am, so perhaps my ancestors knew something, but they no longer exist.

  Yukio felt the weight of Ren’s hand on his shoulder. It was not physical weight, but a spiritual pressure so perfectly balanced that his white eye began emitting a sharp hum, unable to find a flaw in the master’s “frequency.”

  —I understand… —Yukio replied, subtly pulling his shoulder back to break the contact—. However, ancestors leave traces, Master Ren. And the traces I am following brought me here not because of the architecture, but because of what happened in the subway a few days ago.

  Yukio turned toward Haru, who stood silently beside Nao. The detective’s white eye contracted, focusing like a camera lens.

  —That “cage” I mentioned has a leak —Yukio continued, pointing at Haru—. My eye detected that you are something more than an ordinary person.

  —Oh, that is little Haru, the temple’s second newest member, just a normal boy —Ren replied lightly.

  Yukio let out a dry laugh that did not reach his eyes. He fixed his mismatched gaze on Haru again, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny that felt like an electric needle.

  —“Normal” is a very subjective word for someone emitting such a… distorted energy signature —Yukio countered, without looking away from the boy—. Do not misunderstand me, Master Ren. I do not doubt your word, but data does not lie. And if that is not the case—

  Yukio picked up the wooden sword lying on the ground. —Would you spar with young Haru? —he asked, pointing the wooden blade at him.

  The courtyard fell into sepulchral silence. Mugen stepped forward, jaw clenched, but Ren extended an arm in front of him, stopping him.

  Haru looked at the tip of the wooden sword aimed at him. Despite the detective’s gentle smile, his white eye gleamed with icy intensity, as if calculating every millimeter of the boy’s stance.

  —Spar? —Haru repeated, feeling cold sweat slide down his neck—. But I… I’m just an apprentice. I can barely keep my balance.

  —Just a simple routine exercise, young Haru —Yukio said, weighing the wooden sword with a skill that surprised Nao—. If you are as normal as Master Ren claims, you have nothing to fear. My eye merely wishes to confirm a… reading.

  —Wah-hah-hah! Young Yukio has a lot of energy for an officer —Ren said, stepping back to give them space—. Haru, accept. A good host does not refuse a guest’s request… so long as it is a friendly match, of course.

  —If what worries you is that you may not be very good, young Haru, I should mention that I practice fencing —Yukio added calmly, maintaining his smile.

  Mugen let out a warning growl. —If you touch a single hair on him unfairly, your briefcase won’t be the only thing that ends up broken.

  Nao tossed Haru his own wooden sword. Haru caught it midair and raised it to face level, one hand extended forward while the other held the sword in the same line.

  —How interesting —Yukio commented.

  Yukio did not wait for Haru to get comfortable. With a fluid movement, he slid across the wooden courtyard. There was no weight in his steps, only the mechanical grace of a fencer who had repeated the same attack thousands of times.

  —En garde! —he exclaimed, thrusting straight toward Haru’s shoulder.

  The movement was an exhalation of speed, but Haru did not step back. With a sharp motion, he deflected the tip of the wooden blade using the forte of his own weapon. The clash rang heavy and solid. Haru held his position, front hand marking the distance, eyes fixed on the detective’s movements.

  Yukio arched a brow. He had expected the boy to lose balance or panic, but Haru remained steady.

  —Your guard improved since I climbed those stairs —Yukio remarked, returning to his side stance—. But fencing is a game of chess, and you’re only trying to survive.

  Yukio lunged again. This time it was a rapid series of feints, meant to confuse Haru’s sight and find an opening between his ribs. However, Haru closed his eyes, visualizing the wooden sword as if it were his soul blade.

  Yukio saw the boy close his eyes and, for an instant, thought he had surrendered. He launched a swift thrust toward Haru’s side—a move that should have ended the match in a second.

  Yet Haru did not move like a human. Without opening his eyes, he rotated his torso just enough to let Yukio’s blade brush past his brown suit. In the same motion, Haru unleashed a circular counterattack. The sound of his wooden sword cutting through the air was no longer that of a simple stick; it vibrated with an intensity that made the wooden planks beneath them creak.

  But in the end, Haru slipped and fell to the ground. His sword flew into the air and once again landed on his head.

  The sound of wood striking Haru’s skull echoed through the courtyard. The boy let out a sharp whimper and curled on the ground, rubbing the new bump as traitorous tears gathered behind his squeezed-shut eyes.

  —Ow, ow, ow! Not again! —Haru whined, losing all the mystique from a second ago.

  Yukio froze mid-attack, wooden sword still extended. He blinked several times, processing the abrupt shift. A moment ago, his eye had warned him of an overwhelming, dangerous presence, yet now he saw only a teenager rubbing his head on the ground. The technical hum in his vision subsided, returning to normal.

  —What… what just happened? —Yukio muttered, lowering the weapon. He was genuinely bewildered. His fencer’s logic could not compute how someone could go from a perfect dodge to such a pathetic slip.

  Nao burst into clear laughter, pointing at her companion. —I told you, Haru! The ground is your natural enemy!

  Mugen, who had begun to feel excited about Haru’s progress, smacked his own forehead and sighed with a mix of disappointment and relief. —Damn noodle…

  Ren, meanwhile, let out one of his jovial laughs as he approached Yukio. —Wah-hah-hah! You see, young Yukio. As I told you, Haru is a very normal boy. A bit distracted, perhaps, but with a very… earthly heart.

  Yukio looked at Ren and then at Haru. He set the wooden sword aside, but his expression was not one of victory. It was frustration. For a second, the data had shown him something incredible, but reality was handing him a ridiculous result.

  —I suppose… my reading was mistaken —Yukio said, though he sounded unconvinced by his own words—. The ambient static in this place must be interfering with the implant’s sensors.

  He adjusted his brown jacket and picked up his briefcase, casting Haru one last inquisitive glance before the boy managed to stand, still wobbling.

  —Even so —Yukio continued, recovering his professional smile—, a “normal boy” should not be that lucky. I will be watching, Master Ren. My sister does not believe in bad luck or convenient slips.

  And so Yukio left the temple and climbed into a car. Inside sat a man dressed in layered clothing—a black turtleneck beneath an extravagant white jacket adorned with pink rose symbols. He wore a prayer bead bracelet and all kinds of jewelry: rings, chains, earrings. His long, messy dark turquoise hair had red-accented front strands and was tied into a ponytail at the back.

  —Well, seems the boss didn’t do so well, huh? —he said in a voice elegant yet brittle.

  His fine features and sharp eyes gave him a delicate yet imposing appearance.

  —Silence, Mizuchi —Yukio snapped, now in a colder tone.

  —This time the temple won. But soon, I will know the truth —he continued.

  Mizuchi let out a melodic chuckle that ended in a dry cough. He adjusted his silver rings while watching, through the tinted car window, the silhouette of the temple shrinking as they drove away.

  —That boy… the one who fell —Mizuchi said, tilting his head as his turquoise strands with red accents fell across his face—. His soul makes a very off-key sound, Yukio. Like a cracked bell.

  Yukio did not bother looking at him. He kept his gaze forward, knuckles white from gripping his briefcase handle. The hum in his eye had ceased, but the dull ache in his temple persisted—a physical sign of the logical impossibility he had just witnessed.

  —I hope your unique hearing can help us, Mizuchi —Yukio said before the car accelerated, his tone blending urgency and cold resolve.

  —Of course, Yukio —Mizuchi replied in his slow, brittle voice, idly toying with one of his silver rings—. After all, even broken bells have a story to tell before they are melted down.

  The car drove off, leaving behind the dust of the road and the momentary peace of Zettai-Rin Temple. In the courtyard, Haru was still complaining about his bump, unaware that in that vehicle two men were driving away who had just placed a price on his secret. The “cage” Yukio had spoken of was not merely vibrating; it was beginning to crack, and the outside world was more than ready to see what would rise from its ashes.