Mashù sat with his water bottle clenched between his hands, his knuckles white with tension. For several minutes, he'd been staring out at the ceiling lights, his jaw working as if he were chewing words he couldn't quite spit out.
Finally, he took a deep breath and looked directly at Everyone
"Everyone, it's time I told you the truth of why I have two spirits." His voice was quieter than usual, stripped of its typical bravado. "It all started when I first got Qoyntauz..."
He paused, his golden aura flickering weakly around him like a candle in the wind.
"Three years ago..."
*The memory unfolded like a movie playing behind Mashù's eyes, and somehow, his teammates could sense the weight of it in his voice as he spoke.*
The spring afternoon had been perfect—one of those days when the cherry blossoms were at their peak and the air carried the promise of renewal. Thirteen-year-old Mashù walked beside his mother, practically bouncing with excitement as they made their way toward the local supermarket.
Sakura Mori moved slowly, each step carefully measured. The illness had been eating away at her for months, leaving her thin and fragile, but she still insisted on doing normal things—grocery shopping, cooking dinner, maintaining the routines that made their small family feel whole.
"OK, Mashù, what do you want for dinner today?" she asked, her voice carrying the gentle warmth that had been his anchor through the worst days of her sickness.
"Definitely something with bacon!" he replied, grinning up at her with the uncomplicated enthusiasm of a child.
They reached the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Sakura was checking her shopping list when the sound reached them—a roaring engine, growing louder by the second.
The truck came around the corner at impossible speed, its driver slumped over the wheel, unconscious or worse. It barreled through the red light directly toward the crosswalk where mother and son stood frozen.
"Mashù, watch out!" Sakura screamed, throwing herself toward him.
Time stretched like taffy. Mashù saw the massive grille of the truck bearing down on them, saw the terror in his mother's eyes, felt her hands pushing him away from the impact zone. In that crystalline moment between heartbeats, when death seemed inevitable, something inside him ignited.
His arms erupted in golden light.
The truck swerved—not mechanically, but as if guided by invisible hands. Its tires screamed against the asphalt as it careened past them, missing Mashù by inches before crashing into a parked car on the opposite side of the street.
Mashù stood in the middle of the crosswalk, completely unharmed, golden energy still crackling around his forearms like living lightning.
"Hey, kid, are you OK?" A stranger—a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a concerned expression—rushed over from the sidewalk where he'd witnessed the entire incident.
"Yeah, I'm not injured at all," Mashù replied, staring at his glowing arms in wonder and fear.
The stranger's eyes widened as he noticed the light. "Oh snap... your arms are glowing. You must've just awakened, and your wisp saved you."
"Mashù!" Sakura's voice was a mixture of relief and terror as she reached them, her hands shaking as she checked him for injuries. "I'm so glad you're OK."
Mashù looked up at the stranger, confusion replacing shock. "Oh wow... How do you know it's a wisp and not a spirit, sir?"
The man laughed, though there was something in his smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't you go to school? When you awaken, if a certain body part glows, it means the spirit hasn't fully matured, making it a wisp."
"Oh yeah, I did learn that," Mashù admitted sheepishly.
The stranger reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Mashù with deliberate care. "If you ever need help learning about your spirit, here's my card."
Mashù read the name aloud: "Bradoon Tenki... OK, thanks."
Sakura wrapped her arm around her son's shoulders, her relief palpable. "Mashù, let's go home. I'll give you an extra helping today for that scare."
"OK, bet!" Mashù grinned, the golden light finally fading from his arms.
Neither of them noticed the way Bradoon Tenki watched them walk away, or the calculating expression that replaced his helpful smile once they were out of sight.
A week later, Mashù found himself in an abandoned lot on the outskirts of town, practicing under Bradoon's guidance. The older man had proven to be an excellent teacher, patient and knowledgeable about spirit manipulation in ways that impressed even Mashù's naturally skeptical nature.
"Great, Mashù, you're doing great," Bradoon said, watching as the boy successfully dodged a series of thrown objects using his luck-based abilities.
Mashù scratched his head, looking frustrated despite the praise. "Really? I'm not really doing anything except getting lucky."
"And that's your spirit," Bradoon replied with that same smile that never quite reached his eyes.
"That's kinda lame..." Mashù muttered.
Bradoon's smile widened, and for just a moment, something disturbing flickered across his features. "No, that's amazing, especially in the right hands..."
The way he said it made Mashù's skin crawl, though he couldn't articulate why. "OK then... anyways..."
"Ahem... anyways, let's continue training," Bradoon said quickly, the moment passing so fast that Mashù wondered if he'd imagined the undertone.
Two weeks of training had left Mashù exhausted but exhilarated. His control over Qoyntauz had improved dramatically, and he was beginning to understand the true potential of his luck-based abilities. That evening, he collapsed onto his bed, textbooks scattered around him.
"Huh... I'm so exhausted. I guess I'll take a nap and do homework later," he mumbled to himself.
That's when the power went out.
The house plunged into darkness so complete it seemed solid. Mashù sat up, instantly alert. Power outages were rare in their neighborhood, and something about this one felt wrong—too sudden, too complete.
"Mom! What happened to the power?" he called out, grabbing his phone to use as a flashlight. "Mom?"
The scream that answered him froze his blood.
"Mashù, run!"
He stumbled through the dark hallway toward the sound of his mother's voice, his heart hammering against his ribs. In the dim glow of his phone's light, he saw a hooded figure standing over Sakura's unconscious form.
"Who are you?" Mashù demanded, his voice cracking with fear and rage.
The figure turned toward him, and Mashù caught a glimpse of eyes that reflected light like an animal's. Before he could react, something struck the back of his head, and darkness claimed him.
When consciousness returned, Mashù found himself in what appeared to be a familiar warehouse. The smell of rust and decay filled his nostrils, and the distant sound of water lapping against pilings suggested they were near the harbor. His head throbbed with each heartbeat, and his wrists were bound with rope that chafed against his skin.
"Wake up," a familiar voice commanded.
Mashù's eyes snapped open to see a figure emerging from the shadows. As the person stepped into the light cast by a flickering overhead bulb, recognition hit him like a physical blow.
"...mas... Mashù," the voice continued.
"Bradoon!" The name escaped as a mixture of relief and confusion. "Mr. Tenki, why are you here?"
The older man smiled—the same smile Mashù had trusted for weeks, but now it looked predatory in the harsh warehouse lighting. "Well, I'll tell you. I'm here to take your spirit."
The words didn't make sense at first. Mashù stared at his teacher, waiting for the punchline or explanation that would make this elaborate joke make sense.
"My spirit? But why, Mr. Tenki?"
Bradoon's smile widened into something that had nothing to do with humor. "Don't take it personally. I've been doing this for so long... you just happen to be the latest victim." He turned toward the shadows. "Devanga, start up the machine."
A younger man—barely out of his teens—emerged from behind a complex-looking apparatus that hummed with electrical energy. "Yes, sir."
Mashù's mind reeled as the full horror of his situation became clear. The weeks of training, the kindness, the helpful guidance—all of it had been a lie designed to catalog his abilities and prepare him for... this.
"This might kill you," Bradoon said with the casual tone of someone discussing the weather.
"No, you don't want to do this," Mashù pleaded, tugging at his restraints.
"Oh, but I do!" Bradoon's laughter echoed through the warehouse, cold and empty. "Ahahahaha!"
The sound of splintering wood and crashing metal interrupted his maniacal laughter. Someone—or something—had just torn through the warehouse roof like it was made of paper.
"What?" Bradoon spun around, his confident demeanor cracking. "Retaliare, how did you find us?"
A figure dropped through the hole in the roof, landing in a crouch that spoke of inhuman strength and grace. As he straightened, Mashù saw a man in his thirties wearing the distinctive uniform of a Spirit Guardian—but this wasn't the school uniform Mashù had seen. This was something older, more official, marked with symbols that seemed to burn with their own inner light.
"I put a tracker on your lackey over there," the man said, his voice carrying an authority that made the warehouse feel smaller.
Bradoon's face twisted with rage. "Huh... always fucking up. That's fine—I prepared for this so-called interference." He gestured sharply to the shadows. "Grunts, get him!"
What followed was less a fight than a demonstration of raw power. The Spirit Guardian—Retaliare—moved like liquid violence, his fists trailing platinum colored energy that left afterimages in the air. His battle cry shook the warehouse foundations:
"REVENGE RUSH!"
Bodies flew like rag dolls as Retaliare carved through Bradoon's hired muscle with surgical precision. Each strike was perfectly calculated—enough force to incapacitate without killing, though the distinction seemed academic given the devastating efficiency of his assault.
"Kill him!" Bradoon screamed, grabbing Mashù's restraints. "Devanga, with me! Bring the boy!"
"No, give him back!" Retaliare called out, but he was still dealing with the remaining guards.
"We'll go to the backup lab. Don't you ever fuck this up again," Bradoon snarled at Devanga as they dragged Mashù toward a hidden exit.
Behind them, Retaliare finished with the last of the grunts—twenty-five trained fighters reduced to unconscious heaps in less than two minutes.
"Tenki, give up!" he shouted, but Bradoon was already at the far end of the warehouse.
"Hahaha, do you really think I would depend on those useless pieces of trash?" Bradoon's voice carried a note of manic triumph. "Devanga, ready yourself."
The young man beside him began to glow with an earthy brown light that made the concrete floor beneath their feet tremble and crack.
Retaliare's eyes widened. "No way... he's so young."
"This is why I keep him around," Bradoon crowed. "He has the spirit of earth—one of the original seven! Haha haha!"
The laughter died in his throat as he noticed Retaliare stagger, crimson blood staining his lips.
"Reven..." Retaliare coughed, more blood spattering the ground at his feet. "Shit, I used up too much power at once."
Devanga raised his hands, and the very air around them seemed to thicken with impending violence. "Landslide Blitz..."
Bradoon's grin returned, wider and more vicious than ever. "Uh oh, hero. What will you do now? I guess you'll have to witness the murder of an innocent kid. Devanga, end him!"
"Yes, sir. Landslide Blitz!"
The attack that followed was like watching a mountain collapse in fast-forward. Stone and earth erupted from the warehouse floor, forming a massive fist that hurtled toward the weakened guardian with enough force to pulverize concrete.
"No, don't!" Retaliare threw himself forward, putting his body between the attack and Mashù.
The impact was sickening—the sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh magnified in the warehouse's acoustics. Retaliare flew backward, blood streaming from multiple wounds, his body creating a crater in the concrete wall where he struck.
"Huh?" Mashù felt consciousness returning fully for the first time since his capture, shock and horror clearing the last fog from his mind. "N... nnnnnnooo. No way, Retaliare!"
"Devanga, grab him before he dies," Bradoon ordered coldly. "His spirit can be of use."
But as Devanga moved toward the fallen guardian, Retaliare stirred. Blood flowed freely from his mouth and nose, his breathing labored and wet, but his eyes remained clear and focused.
"K... kid, are you OK?" he asked, each word obviously causing him agony.
"Stop talking, you're dying!" Mashù struggled against his bonds, desperate to help somehow.
Retaliare managed a weak laugh that turned into a coughing fit. "Not gonna lie, this hurts... but I don't want to give that guy my spirit." His eyes locked onto Mashù's with surprising intensity. "Here, I'll give you my power to escape from here. Please stay alive, kid."
Another laugh, this one bitter and sad. "Haha, so funny. Get revenge for me and take this guy down. What's your name?"
"Mashù Mori, sir," Mashù replied, though he wasn't sure why formal address seemed important in this moment.
"Well, Mashù Mori, hold out your hand."
Somehow, despite his restraints, Mashù managed to extend his arm. Retaliare's grip was weak but steady as he grasped Mashù's fingers.
"My real name is Kotaro Makiba. I hereby pass on my spirit Retaliare to Mashù Mori." The words carried weight beyond their meaning, resonating with power that made the air itself seem to listen. "Mashù, do you accept this spirit and swear to protect the innocent and the Arctic Willow until you pass on?"
Mashù didn't understand what Arctic Willow meant, but the sincerity in Kotaro's dying eyes left no room for hesitation.
"Yes, I do."
"OK, it's done. I guess I'll finally sleep now."
Kotaro's hand went limp, but his eyes remained open, staring at something beyond the warehouse ceiling. In death, his face held an expression of peace that had been absent during the fight.
"Rest in peace, Retaliare," Mashù whispered.
Then the power hit him.
It wasn't like the gentle warmth of Qoyntauz manifesting. This was a torrent of raw emotion and energy—rage and grief and determination all mixed together into something that burned through his veins like liquid fire. His restraints snapped like paper as crimson light erupted around him, mixing with the gold of his original spirit.
"AHHHHH! FOOL'S GOLD!" The technique name escaped his lips without conscious thought, born from the fusion of luck and revenge energies.
"Catch him!" Bradoon screamed, but his words were lost in the maelstrom of power surrounding Mashù.
The boy who had been helpless moments before was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous. Devanga's earth attacks, which had seemed overwhelmingly powerful, now moved like they were underwater. Mashù danced between them with impossible grace, his dual spirits guiding his movements with supernatural precision.
"You'll pay for this!" he snarled, and his voice carried harmonics that made the warehouse windows vibrate.
More guards poured in from hidden entrances, but they might as well have been children wielding sticks. "Hey, stop right there!" one of them called out.
"REVENGE RUSH!" The technique came as naturally as breathing, silver energy trailing from Mashù's fists as he moved through the crowd of opponents like a force of nature.
When the violence ended, twenty more unconscious bodies littered the warehouse floor. Mashù stood in the center of the carnage, his school clothes torn, both spirits flickering around him like twin flames—one gold, one silver.
He found an exit through the hole in the roof, using his newfound abilities to leap impossible distances until he reached the warehouse's exterior. Only then, standing in the cool night air with the city lights spread out below him, did the full weight of what had happened crash down on him.
"Huh... huh... I finally made it out," he gasped, and then the tears came.
He cried for Kotaro Makiba, who had died protecting a stranger. He cried for his mother, who was probably still unconscious and alone. He cried for his own lost innocence, for the comfortable world that had been torn away in a single night.
But mostly, he cried because he could feel both spirits inside him now—Qoyntauz's gentle warmth and Retaliare's burning need for justice—and he knew that the boy who had gone grocery shopping with his mother just weeks ago was gone forever.
Present day...
Mashù's voice trailed off, leaving the cafeteria in absolute silence. His teammates stared at him with expressions ranging from shock to sympathy to understanding. The weight of his story hung in the air like a physical presence.
"The spirits fight each other sometimes," he continued quietly, his hands trembling slightly around his water bottle. "Qoyntauz wants me to be careful, to rely on luck and avoid direct confrontation. Retaliare wants me to hunt down every criminal, to make them pay for what they've done. Some days, I can barely tell which thoughts are mine and which belong to them."
Kamira reached across the table and placed her hand over his. "That's why you're always showing off. You're trying to prove you can control both of them."
Mashù nodded, not trusting his voice.
"What happened to your mother?" Anjero asked gently.
"She's OK. The Spirit Guardians found her and helped cover up the incident. As far as the official record goes, there was never a kidnapping—just a gas leak that caused some memory issues." Mashù's laugh was bitter. "But she knows something happened. She fears for my safety everyday I visit her every week to let her know im ok."
Yoku, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the story, finally spoke up. "And Bradoon Tenki?"
Mashù's golden aura flared briefly, tinged with silver-streaks. "Still out there. Still taking spirits from kids. The Guardians have been hunting him for three years, but he's always one step ahead." He looked directly at Anjero. "Which is why your mother's message about thirty years of violence is so important. People like Tenki aren't working alone. There's something bigger happening, and we're running out of time to stop it."
The revelation cast their earlier conversation in a new light. Anjero's mother hadn't just been talking about random criminal activity—she'd been warning about an organized campaign to steal and corrupt spirit energy on a massive scale.
"The Arctic Willow," Anjero said suddenly. "Kotaro mentioned protecting the Arctic Willow. Do you know what that means?"
Mashù shook his head. "I've been researching it ever since that night, but I can't find any reference to it in the Guardian databases. It might be a code name, or a person, or..." He shrugged helplessly. "Or something so secret that even the teachers don't know about it."
"We'll figure it out," Kamira said firmly. "All of it. Tenki, the corruption crisis, your dual spirits, the Arctic Willow—we'll figure it out together."
For the first time since beginning his story, Mashù smiled—a genuine expression that reached his eyes. "You know what? I actually believe that."
Outside the cafeteria windows, the city lights twinkled like earthbound stars, peaceful and unaware of the darkness gathering in the world of spirits. But inside, five young guardians sat united by shared secrets and the growing understanding that their individual struggles were part of something much larger.
The war for the future of spirit energy had already begun. They were just beginning to realize they were the ones who would have to fight it.