Akitsu Shouga opened his eyes.

  There was no pain. No blood. No body.

  He stood barefoot upon a small red island, its soil the deep crimson of dried petals ground into dust. It felt soft beneath his feet, yet unyielding, as though the earth itself refused to be scarred. In the island’s center grew a single cherry blossom tree—its bark dark, warped, and split like old wounds that never healed. Its branches were heavy with blossoms the color of fresh blood.

  They never fell.

  And yet petals constantly drifted from them, peeling away in slow motion, as if the tree shed endlessly without ever losing anything.

  Beyond the island stretched a black void—not air, not sky, not water. Yet surrounding the island’s edge lay a perfectly still black sea. It reflected nothing. No stars. No light. Not even Akitsu himself.

  Floating upon that surface were cherry blossom petals.

  Eighty-five of them.

  They drifted endlessly, never touching, never sinking, each moving as if guided by an unseen rule. And farther out—

  Red doors.

  Dozens. Maybe hundreds.

  They stood upright with no walls, no frames, no hinges attached to anything at all. They hovered just above the black water, forming a loose, broken ring around the island—some near, some distant, all waiting.

  “Ah,” a voice said cheerfully. “You’re finally awake.”

  Akitsu turned.

  On the right side of the island sat a humanoid demon, legs crossed, elbows on his knees, chin resting in his hands. His skin was ash-gray, stretched tight over a lean frame. Curved horns swept backward from his head like polished obsidian blades. His eyes glowed faintly crimson—amused, observant, patient.

  “You know,” the demon continued with a grin, “you finally took action after two whole years. I was starting to think you’d just rot quietly.”

  Akitsu stared at him without expression.

  “I almost died of boredom,” the demon added, sighing dramatically. “Do you have any idea how dull eternity is without entertainment?”

  Akitsu exhaled slowly. “It would be a good thing if you died.”

  The demon blinked—then burst into laughter, clapping once as if genuinely delighted.

  “Oh, I like that one,” he said. “Still sharp. Still miserable.”

  Akitsu turned away. “We’re not friends.”

  “Of course not,” the demon replied easily. “And we never will be.”

  Akitsu walked toward the island’s edge.

  “That’s fine,” the demon went on, leaning back on his palms. “You can hate me. Curse me. Ignore me.” His grin sharpened. “You still can’t escape.”

  Akitsu didn’t answer.

  He stepped into the black water.

  It didn’t ripple.

  It didn’t cling.

  It felt neither cold nor warm—only empty, like stepping into the absence of sensation itself. He walked forward, each step soundless, toward the nearest red door.

  “Good luck,” the demon said lightly. “Try not to disappoint me.”

  Akitsu reached out.

  And opened the door.

  First Door

  The world slammed back into place.

  Akitsu blinked.

  He stood in the alley near the aqueduct district, blood still soaking his waiter uniform, stiff and tacky against his skin. The night air reeked of damp stone, smoke, and iron. His heart hammered—alive, whole.

  Footsteps echoed.

  “Hey,” a voice called. “You lost?”

  Three criminals stepped into view, blades already drawn.

  Akitsu frowned. “...Already?”

  They rushed him.

  Akitsu moved—faster than before, cleaner. He deflected the first blade, disarmed the second man with a brutal twist, and drove steel into a third’s throat. Blood sprayed warm across his cheek.

  Then—

  A presence.

  “You’re late,” Varkhan Lucem said calmly, emerging from the shadows as if the darkness itself had parted for him.

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  Akitsu raised his daggers. “This ends now.”

  Varkhan smiled faintly. “You say that every time.”

  They clashed.

  Akitsu lunged—

  Pain detonated through his chest.

  Varkhan’s blade slid precisely between Akitsu’s ribs, angling upward, piercing lung and heart in a single merciless line.

  “You lean too far forward when you strike,” Varkhan murmured.

  Akitsu collapsed, breath bubbling red from his lips.

  Darkness swallowed him whole.

  Second Door

  The red island returned.

  The demon clapped slowly. “Ohhh, that was quick.”

  Akitsu ignored him and opened another door.

  This time, he stood inside the hideout.

  Bodies already littered the floor—criminals and cultists alike, blood smeared across stone walls like obscene murals. Screams echoed as Akitsu tore through them, daggers flashing, hands snapping bones before blades finished the work.

  “Faster,” he whispered to himself, breath ragged.

  Varkhan stepped forward.

  “You changed the order,” Varkhan observed calmly. “Interesting.”

  Akitsu unsheathed Joyeuse.

  The relic shimmered faintly—straight radiant steel catching nonexistent light, gold inlays glowing as if sunlight had been imprisoned within the blade.

  Varkhan’s eyes narrowed. “So you brought a relic.”

  Akitsu swung.

  Light erupted—searing, blinding, holy violence ripping through the chamber. Cultists screamed as flesh burned where the radiance touched them.

  Varkhan staggered back with a snarl. “So that’s its trick.”

  Akitsu pressed forward—too eager.

  The world twisted.

  Varkhan vanished and reappeared at Akitsu’s side.

  “Your shoulder,” Varkhan said calmly. “You overcommit.”

  Steel flashed.

  Akitsu’s arm fell to the floor.

  Blood sprayed in a violent arc. Pain finally reached him—a white-hot scream tearing from his throat.

  Varkhan stepped in and slit his neck with surgical precision.

  Akitsu died choking on his own blood.

  Third Door

  “You almost had him that time,” the demon said, leaning closer.

  Akitsu didn’t look at him.

  He opened another door.

  Royal knights stormed the hideout, steel and shouts colliding in chaos.

  “Target sighted!” someone yelled.

  Akitsu moved through the confusion—killing criminals, dodging blades, slipping between allies and enemies alike.

  Then breath touched his ear.

  “You rely too much on momentum,” Varkhan whispered.

  Pain speared through Akitsu’s spine.

  His legs went numb.

  Paralysis spread like poison.

  Varkhan stepped into his vision. “You should have retreated.”

  The blade descended.

  Fourth Door

  The demon’s grin stretched wider. “Four deaths. Consistent. Predictable.”

  Akitsu met his gaze. “You enjoying this?”

  “Immensely.”

  Akitsu opened another door.

  Silence.

  The hideout was empty—no cultists, no criminals. Only Akitsu and Varkhan stood at its center.

  “No words?” Varkhan asked.

  Akitsu drew Joyeuse and his remaining dagger.

  They circled.

  “You’re improving,” Varkhan admitted. “But you hesitate.”

  “I don’t fear death,” Akitsu said.

  “That’s your weakness.”

  They struck.

  Steel screamed.

  Joyeuse flared with blinding light.

  Varkhan’s blade shattered.

  Hope flared—

  Then cold.

  A thin line opened across Akitsu’s throat.

  Varkhan exhaled slowly. “You ignore defense when you believe you’ve won.”

  Akitsu collapsed.

  Darkness.

  Akitsu stood once more on the red island.

  Eighty-nine petals drifted now.

  The demon rose, stretching lazily. “Well?”

  Akitsu stared at the doors.

  “…Again,” he said quietly.

  The demon’s grin widened, eyes burning bright.

  “Now you’re learning.”