The sun had long set by the time Izanami's public announcement echoed through the capital. The people were told that the "dangerous off-worlders" would be detained, questioned, and tried. The crowd dispersed with wary acceptance. But that was only half the truth.
Behind the towering government complex, inside a heavily shielded dome, the reality was far different.
Each of the four was escorted—not in chains, but respectfully—through silent, gleaming corridors. They were not taken to cells, but private rooms. Spartan yet comfortable. Medical drones hovered, attending to old wounds. Food was brought. No questions asked.
Eventually, they gathered again, standing in a large, dimly lit hall. The walls shimmered with technology far older than any surface human had seen. Izanami entered, clad not in her usual armor, but a ceremonial robe marked with golden glyphs of balance and judgment.
"Till now…" she began, her voice firm yet weary, "You did not fight much."
She tapped a projection node, and a massive hologram bloomed in the air. It showed a vast cosmic web—planets, realms, and voids, all connected by threads of unknown forces.
"But from now on… it will be different."
The hologram focused on a cluster of radiant figures standing before collapsing galaxies, shifting realities, dying gods.
At the center of it all—a symbol, constantly changing. Never the same form, but always the same feeling.
"The Guardians of Creations."
She paused, letting the term hang in the air.
"Yes… Creations. Not one. But many. We are just a thread in something far greater. You are now part of that fabric."
She turned to face them.
"You've already been assigned ranks—each one tied to your influence and potential impact. Seko, Violet, Atama… Kiyomi… you are not soldiers. You are catalysts. Sparks in an age about to ignite."
Then, almost casually, she added:
"Also… Violet."
The lavender-eyed man turned his head slightly, his smile thin.
"You were always mine. My agent. Sent to report."
She met his eyes with an unreadable expression.
"And I knew you wouldn't."
Violet raised a brow. "You wanted me to feel what they feel. And now… I do." He looked at Kiyomi, then Seko, then Atama.
None of them reacted.
Kiyomi yawned and stretched. "We figured," she said.
Seko shrugged. "Yeah. Obvious."
Atama was busy trying to juggle an apple with a gravity-manipulation trick. "Agent-boy simp vibes were too strong to miss."
Violet sighed. "You all suck."
Izanami smiled faintly. "Good. That means you're ready."
The projection shifted once more.
It showed a tear in reality… and something crawling through.
The room's energy shifted the moment Seko rose from his seat. His shadow stretched long under the ambient blue lighting, his expression cold and final.
"I'm out," he muttered.
But before he could take a second step—
FWASH!
A burning blade kissed the side of his neck, glowing with divine heat.
Izanami stood inches from him, her fire sword drawn and steady, her eyes like smoldering coals.
"It isn't a choice," she said, voice low and absolute.
Seko didn't flinch. His amber eyes stared back at her without fear, but his voice was weighted and raw.
"I was here to find answers. About my sister. About my family. To avenge the mountain monks who took me in when no one else did... not to play your damn hero."
Silence wrapped the room. The heat from her blade hummed against his skin, but he didn't move.
Then came the sound of a fruit thudding against a palm. Atama had stopped juggling. The humor in his eyes was gone.
"Oh yeah?" Atama said, casually taking a bite of the bruised apple he caught mid-air. "Then why'd you bring justice here, Vampy-boy? Why kill that rich bastard in front of everyone? Why rally the people?"
Seko didn't answer.
"Face it," Atama went on, wiping his mouth, "You already picked a side. And this—" he motioned to the room, to the hologram still flickering above them, "—ain't about playing heroes. It's about pulling the strings before someone worse ties 'em around your neck."
He walked closer, standing beside Seko.
"The Guardians get access to the big stuff. Hidden files, cosmic databases, faction secrets… You want to dig through the dirt of your past? Call your family 'Evil-villainy-shitty-piecy-of-shit' in the case files, and boom—classified clearance."
Atama smirked, tossing his apple behind him without looking.
"Or go back to wandering with nothing but blood and regret. Your call, Dracula-lite."
Seko closed his eyes for a long moment.
Then, he exhaled.
"…Tch."
He sat back down.
"I better be allowed to write how shitty they are."
Kiyomi smiled slightly, relieved. Violet crossed his arms, leaning back like he knew Seko would stay all along.
Izanami extinguished her sword, the fire receding into her hand as if absorbed by her veins. No apology, no praise—just a slow nod of acknowledgment.
"Good," she said.
Izanami stepped forward, the hologram shifting behind her—symbols and glyphs spiraling in a structured display. Her voice carried authority, but this time there was something... deeper beneath it. Almost reverence.
"Let me explain the hierarchy within the Guardians."
The visual interface lit up, forming a pyramid of light.
"At the bottom, we have Rank F—fresh recruits. From there, the ladder climbs through E, D, C, B, and A. Each one denotes your capability, reliability, and your access to classified information."
Seko, leaning back in his seat, barely hid his yawn. "Routine power-scaling trash. So next up is SS or EX or whatever bullshit they love slapping onto fancy titles." he thought dryly.
But Izanami wasn't done.
"Above A, we reach the S-class—elites who have proven themselves across galaxies. But beyond that… begins a realm where titles start to lose meaning."
The hologram flickered again. A golden glyph appeared above the S-tier.
"M-Class."
Everyone instinctively paid attention.
"Masters. Not just strong. Not just experienced. But individuals who have mastered a fundamental factor. Be it time, death, flora, destruction, or concepts we barely understand. M-Class are either broken, unpredictable, or just... something entirely other."
Seko raised a brow. Okay… not the same old thing.
Then Izanami took a breath—and her tone subtly shifted.
"Above them are the Patches."
The lights sharpened—symbols now shaped like glowing emblems stitched into cosmic cloaks.
"Patches aren't ranks. They're honors. Titles that bind meaning into a person's existence. First is the Legend Patch. A title given to those whose stories shaped entire civilizations, even unknowingly. They transcend rank—they inspire it."
Kiyomi's eyes widened slightly. Even Violet lowered his gaze in thought.
Then came the last.
The air tightened. The lights dimmed.
"And then... at the very top... is the Boundless Patch."
Seven shimmering figures appeared in the void of the hologram—shrouded, faceless, but pulsing with energy that felt... primal.
"Only seven exist in the entire multiverse. Only nine in the entirety of Creation. These are not heroes. Not even gods. These are... phenomena."
Her eyes locked onto each of them.
"Each Boundless can bend the rules of reality to their will. Not through power alone—but by their very existence rewriting the laws that bind others."
Seko folded his arms, no longer bored.
Atama whistled low. "Damn... Now that's my kind of endgame."
Kiyomi muttered under her breath, "Seven… I wonder if we've already met one."
Violet, quiet and focused, asked the question everyone was thinking:
"Has anyone ever climbed that far?"
Izanami didn't answer at first.
Then she simply said,
"…One."