After dinner, the captain insisted we go for a walk through the district. He claimed it would help digest our meal, clear our heads, and let us scout the area before we slept and entered the spirit world for training. He spent a full fifteen minutes lecturing us on how sleeping right after eating could dull our performance.
As we strolled, the captain spilled more details about Kurozawa District, our assigned territory tasked with protecting its people from Muma. It was a modern hub in Shira City's northwest, born from urban expansion as the city's population swelled. The district boasted a university, a cutting-edge teaching hospital, advanced schools, smart residential complexes, and state-of-the-art surveillance systems.
Previously, two Muma hunter teams from nearby Izumi and Nagi Districts—Teams Five and Six—split the responsibility of guarding it. But with families and university students flooding into the new complexes, and the opening of schools, hotels, and tourist resorts fueling a vibrant nightlife, the load became too much for those teams. That's why Team Seven was formed, dedicated solely to Kurozawa—Shira's New Town.
The walk wasn't as bad as I'd feared. The district was gorgeous, with the cool night breeze carrying scents of nearby forests and the sea. Shira had the lowest population density in the country, making it feel tranquil compared to the capital. I was lucky to be assigned here, to a new team in a freshly built district. Thanks to Saya and Sensei, no doubt. Maybe this really was a new beginning.
After circling the area, we returned to the hotel. Before we split to our rooms, the captain said, "Training starts in half an hour. Meet me in that wide street near the park. It's a good spot."
---
Back in my room, I collapsed onto the bed, nerves frayed. I was always like this—not my first time, but the jitters never left. It reminded me of middle school basketball, a memory I didn't want to revisit. I'd tremble with anxiety before every game, but once I played, it vanished. It was the same at the academy, training to hunt Muma. Still, here I was, tense about facing another hunter tonight—this girl. Would the nerves fade once the fight began?
I closed my eyes and slipped into the spirit world. Instantly, I stood in my room in my spiritual form, gazing at my physical body asleep on the bed. In this state, my body repaired itself overnight. Smoking didn't harm us Muma hunters like it did normal people; its effects dissolved each night. Our muscles and strength developed faster too, recovering nightly, making us far stronger than ordinary humans. That's why, after my strength surpassed my peers post-middle school, I was banned from basketball and all competitive sports in high school. Muma hunters were barred from real-world athletics, and most worked undercover as police to leverage that strength, like Sensei, my sister, and Saya.
The spirit world was a distorted mirror of reality. My spiritual body wasn't ghostly—it felt like my real body, but lighter, stronger. We couldn't phase through walls or open house doors in some cases, as they were tied to their owners' psychic worlds. (It's complicated—you'll understand later.) Instead, we used open windows or carved entries with our swords.
I could smash this bed without my sword, and the real-world bed would be fine. But I couldn't touch my physical body—it was like a ghost to me. If I broke the bed here, it might increase the chance of my physical body falling off it in reality, but that's it. It might not even happen.
That's how the spirit world influenced the real one. I could destroy this room, and the real room would remain intact, but it'd raise the odds of a logical incident—like a burst water pipe or an electrical fire—wrecking it. That's the danger of Muma. If they razed a city in the spirit world, it could trigger an earthquake, a gas explosion, or some other catastrophe in reality—disasters no one, not even Saya, the Queen of Predictions, could always foresee.
---
I leaped through the open window, wishing I could fly like Saya in my spiritual form. Exploring the city that way would've been thrilling.
I vaulted to a nearby building, sprinting and jumping across rooftops toward the street we'd agreed to meet at. I wanted to arrive early to warm up alone before the spar.
As I landed in the street, my spiritual senses flared, detecting danger rushing toward me. I spun, barely parrying an attack with my sword, the clash of steel echoing through the empty street.
A girl stood behind me, retreating after her failed strike. Short black hair, pale skin, wearing a short skirt and a navy-blue tracksuit jacket. A prominent necklace hung around her neck, its pendant the size of a fist: a severed hand clutching a rose, the symbol of the Pure Hand Order, meaning "sacrifice is the path to purity."
"Who are you?" I demanded, shifting into a fighting stance. *What does a Muma hunter from the Church want with me? Have they figured out…*
She sized me up with a cold, contemptuous glare, then charged without a word.
I blocked her next strikes, but they were powerful, forcing me back. She attacked relentlessly, giving me no room to breathe or counter. I could only defend.
She was *fast*—speed was supposed to be *my* strength, but she was faster, her attacks so swift I could barely track them, even using one of my abilities while she used none. How was she this quick? She was almost as fast as Saya or Sensei.
She kept pushing me back, my breaths ragged, my defense faltering. One wrong move, and she'd take my head. After a moment, I noticed a name embroidered on her jacket: *Kirishima Shizune*. Was this the third member of our team?
The realization broke my focus, and I misstepped. She could've gone for my neck, but instead, the bitch *slapped* me—hard enough to make my head snap without turning.
Stunned, I left another opening, and she slapped my other cheek the moment I recovered. She was so fast she could loosen her grip on her two-handed sword just to humiliate me. Every mistake I made, she slapped me again. Her beauty wouldn't save her from the consequences. The last time someone slapped me, my reaction nearly got me expelled from the academy and ended my career as a Muma hunter—meaning my spiritual body would've been imprisoned for life or killed, killing me in the real world. Only Saya's expertise as a lawyer saved me then.
I kept retreating, but she stopped, leaving a gap between us in the street. We faced each other, her calm and composed, not even winded, while I panted like a beaten dog.
Her gaze was icy, dripping with arrogance, like a queen staring down a filthy beggar—not a threat, not worth dirtying her hands. Yet, with that same haughty air, she seemed ready to crush me if I dared approach her throne.
"You're weak," she said. "I haven't used any abilities, unlike you. I felt you using yours, and you still lost. You're too weak to face me, but I'll give you one last chance to attack. To reclaim your dignity. Come on."
Her words lit a fire in me. I couldn't take it anymore. Gripping my sword with both hands, I bit my tongue, spat blood toward her, and roared, "Shinkai!"
I couldn't use my full power—it was mostly sealed by Saya and Sensei because I couldn't control it. Most Muma hunters seal less than half their power, the strongest seal half, and only a few seal more. It's not that I'm among the strongest; I just can't handle all my power yet.
*Shinkai* breaks only the first seal, releasing a fraction of that power—the most I can manage now—and even then, I struggle to wield it. I promised Sensei and Saya I'd only use it if my life was in danger, but I couldn't let this wretch humiliate me like this. She'd *slapped* me—multiple times. I'd slap her ass in return.
Energy surged through me. My sword turned pitch black, swallowing all light in the street. Thick black smoke poured from it, from my body, from my mouth. I saw her expression shift—her relaxed stance stiffened, her grip on her sword tightening.
"Shinkai," she declared coldly.
Her black hair turned ashen white, lengthening. Her sword gleamed silver-white, and dense white smoke rose from her mouth, her body, piercing through her jacket.
She no longer saw me as a beggar at her gates but as a rival king coveting her castle—wanting to claim *her* and repay her slaps in bed. Her activation of her own *Shinkai* stoked a deeper urge in me to challenge and dominate. I'd make this wretch kneel.