There were four months left until the Tournament of Selection would commence—a monumental event that stirred tension across Terra. Though the tournament promised glory and recognition, most of the team, including Akemi, harbored uncertainty. It was the first of its kind, after all, and none of them truly knew what to expect.
Inside the dimly lit training room, the atmosphere was oddly calm. Dust particles floated lazily through shafts of light pouring in from the high windows. The distant hum of wind outside filled the silence—until it was broken by the soft tapping of a phone screen.
Izanami stood against the stone wall, arms crossed, one leg resting casually against it. Her sword, encased in a dark sheath, hung behind her back. Her crimson eyes shifted toward Atama, who sat slouched on a bench, completely absorbed in a mobile game. His thumbs danced across the screen with laser focus, oblivious to the world around him.
She watched him for a moment in silence before speaking.
"Train us," she said flatly, voice devoid of emotion.
Atama didn't react immediately. She waited, and then added with an almost reluctant sigh, "Since this is the first Tournament for Terra Selection... I'm trusting your intelligence—for once. Don't take advantage."
Still without looking up, Atama replied, his voice lazy and sarcastic, "Train who? An emo vampy boy, a girl with unparalleled bloodlust, a simping idiot stronger than you—"
"Not—stronger than me—" Izanami snapped instinctively, but her words faltered halfway. Her eyes twitched before she exhaled deeply and muttered, "...Yes, stronger than me." The admission tasted like ash in her mouth.
Unbothered, Atama kept playing, a small smirk forming at the corner of his lips.
"—And a librarian simp who's somehow worse than the simp who's stronger than you."
Another sigh escaped her lips. She didn't protest this time, but her mind burned with frustration.
Does he have to bring that up every single time?! she thought, forcing her face to remain unreadable. Her composure was part of her pride.
Atama continued, now clearly enjoying himself. "And then there's you... A hot woman—quite literally," he added with a side glance, referencing her fire manipulation, "with a rather... flexible personality. Count me—"
"If you're out—" Izanami began, a warning tone creeping into her voice.
Atama finally paused his game. He looked up at her with an easy grin and said, "Nah. Count me in."
Without another word, Izanami reached into her coat and flicked a sleek black ID card toward Atama with precise aim. It spun in the air like a shuriken before landing perfectly in his hand, right as he tapped the screen again.
"Come down in ten minutes—" she started, turning on her heel, but then paused mid-step.
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. "Scratch that. You just died in the game... so be there in five."
Atama frowned and glanced at his phone screen—his character's body lay sprawled across the battlefield, a digital 'YOU DIED' blinking mockingly.
Izanami's voice turned colder, slicing through the air like a dagger. "And believe me when I say this... I don't trust you, but I need your intelligence. If I had to choose between marrying you and killing myself—" she raised a brow, voice dry as dust, "I wouldn't hesitate to kill you first."
Atama let out a drawn-out yawn, stretching his arms over his head, unfazed.
"For all the—yawn—things you've said..." he mumbled between yawns, "you've lied—yawn—almost every time…"
He paused, blinking at the screen.
"...Aside from me dying in the game," he muttered. "Damn it."
Izanami didn't respond. She was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Atama slumped back with a sigh, staring at the ID in his hand. "Five minutes, huh? That's basically forever…"
Still, he rose, lazily pocketing the card as he trudged off—half out of curiosity, half because he was bored, and maybe... just a tiny bit because he cared.
Down in the training hall, Izanami stepped in silently, her eyes fixed on Seko. She had come to observe—perhaps even challenge—him, curious about his progress with the unpredictable composite sword.
Seko was already in motion, locked in a sparring session with Kiyomi. His strikes were relentless, crashing against her shimmering shields. In response, Kiyomi manipulated gravity—her ability humming through the air.
FOOSH!
In an instant, the force shifted. Seko was yanked sideways, slammed toward the wall as his own weight multiplied. Yet even midair, he wasn't done. With a swift motion, he activated the composite sword. The blade unraveled like a whip, its fractured segments spiraling outward, wrapping around Kiyomi's shield like a sentient chain—strangling, twisting, pressuring.
But just when it seemed the technique had given him the edge—
BOOM!
Seko's arm gave out. A violent explosion of blood followed as the weapon overloaded his body. His flesh tore open at the seams, unable to withstand the chaotic surge of energy. Blood splattered across the floor and walls.
Yet none of them rushed. He was a vampire, after all. The concern wasn't in his survival—it was in his control.
Seko's arm regenerates slowly- but surely.
"Dammit! Atama's assumption was completely wrong! The moment I repel this sword... This happens!-"
The next moment, Atama enters the training grounds, He throws the ID at Izanami... Izanami all of a sudden blushes- for some reason, She maintains her poker face nevertheless.
Atama grabs Seko's composite sword and examines it.
"Thought so, Vampy boy-", He grins as if he knew it all along, "How was the explosion."
Kiyomi, Violet and Akemi were shocked while the victim, Seko was not much worried, knowing that Atama- despite his irritating and non-chalant character, does everything for a reason... He was the smartest human for a reason afterall.
"It burns, But your assumption-.. I know you knew this would happen before didn't you? Why did you do it?"
Seko's arm trembled as torn flesh began to knit itself back together—slowly, but surely. Steam hissed from the cauterized wound, and his expression remained calm, though his brows furrowed slightly in pain.
"Dammit…" he muttered under his breath, eyes locked onto the composite sword embedded in the ground nearby. "Atama's assumption was completely wrong… The moment I repelled this sword… this happens!"
Before the tension could thicken further, the heavy doors to the training ground creaked open with a metallic groan.
Atama strolled in casually, hands in his pockets, unbothered by the atmosphere. Without a word, he flicked the black ID card back toward Izanami. She caught it with ease—but something odd happened.
For the briefest moment, her cheeks flushed pink. Her usual stone-cold expression didn't crack, but that sudden blush betrayed something unspoken. She looked away, pretending nothing happened.
Atama's attention was elsewhere. He walked straight past her and crouched beside the fallen weapon. He lifted Seko's composite sword and examined it like a mechanic would a faulty engine—turning it slowly in his hands, studying every mechanism, rune, and joint.
"Thought so, Vampy boy," he muttered with a crooked grin, clearly satisfied. "How was the explosion?"
Kiyomi blinked. "Explosion…?"
Violet, wide-eyed, tilted his head. "Wait—what explosion?"
Akemi's expression hardened, her hand tightening around her spear. She took a cautious step forward, ready for anything.
But Seko—still regenerating—barely flinched. He sat on the edge of the platform, calmly watching Atama with a distant, thoughtful gaze.
"It burns," Seko said plainly, flexing his fingers as sinew slowly reformed over bone. "But your assumption… I know you already knew this would happen before it did, didn't you?"
His voice was level, devoid of accusation—just quiet curiosity.
"Why did you do it?"
The training room fell into silence for a moment. Even Kiyomi stopped breathing for a second, sensing something deeper beneath the surface of this exchange.
Everyone was waiting for Atama's answer.
Atama let out a long sigh as he stood up, the composite sword still in hand. His eyes didn't meet anyone else's. Instead, he stared at the weapon like it held the answer to some private equation only he could solve.
"Because I had to be sure," he said finally, his voice low and unhurried.
He tossed the sword lightly in the air, caught it again, and then continued. "I had a theory about its binding core—one that couldn't be confirmed unless it reacted to rejection. I knew there'd be a backlash. Just didn't know how bad."
He looked at Seko now, not smug, not guilty—just... calculating.
"You're the only one here tough enough to survive the reaction without dying or turning into ash. And the only one dumb enough to trust me while doing it."
Violet looked like he was about to say something, but Kiyomi grabbed his arm and shook her head.
Seko narrowed his eyes slightly. "So I was an experiment."
Atama gave a half-shrug. "A necessary one. That sword... it's not just reacting to you. It's evolving. Every time you resist it, it responds. That's not Kutol-forged tech. That's something else. Something dangerous."
He turned the weapon in his hand again, admiring the sharp edges gleaming under the training room lights.
"You needed to feel that. So next time, you'll stop relying on brute force and actually learn how to control it. Or it'll control you."
He walked a few paces forward and casually handed the sword back to Seko, who accepted it without a word.
Atama then looked around at the others—at Akemi's silent judgment, Violet's suspicion, Kiyomi's curious tension.
"And if you're all mad at me for risking his arm," Atama added with a yawn, "don't be. He regenerates."
He gave Seko a two-finger salute. "You're welcome."
Then, as if none of this mattered, he turned toward the exit.
Izanami, who'd watched the entire exchange without saying a word, tilted her head slightly. That faint blush from earlier had vanished. Now, her eyes were cool again—calculating, much like Atama's, but shaded with something... else.
"Next time," she said, "warn us before you play god."
Atama didn't stop walking. "If I warned you," he called over his shoulder, "you wouldn't let me."