The morning sunlight filtered softly into the room, casting a golden glow over the clutter-free space. A small calendar hung on the wall, filled with vibrant, handwritten tasks: prayers, sword practice, archery, meditation, bonsai care.
From the floor, Paguman let out a soft grunt, his round pug face staring intently at the motionless figure buried under the covers. When no response came, he jumped onto the bed, his wet nose prodding at her hand.
“WOOF! WOOF!”
Sakura groaned, rolling over and pulling the blanket over her head. “Just five more minutes, Paguman…”
Paguman wasn’t having it. With a determined bark, he wiggled under the covers and planted himself against her shoulder, letting out a high-pitched whine.
With a dramatic sigh, Sakura peeked out from under the blanket. Her bleary eyes caught the numbers on the clock.
11:05 AM.
Her eyes flew wide open. “No way! I overslept?!” She sat up in a rush, her messy hair sticking out in every direction. “I can’t believe this—I couldn’t even fall asleep last night. I was too excited for today!”
She froze for a moment, her hand clutching the blanket. A faint image flickered in her mind—shadows, fire, and something monstrous. "My dream… that was horrific," she whispered, the memory slipping away like sand through her fingers.
Shaking her head, she threw off the blankets and scrambled to her feet. “Alright, no time to waste!” she declared, tying her kimono hastily.
She darted into the kitchen with Paguman at her heels, his tiny paws tapping against the wooden floor. Sakura grabbed a small bowl from the counter, filling it with food. “Sit, Paguman!” she said with a grin, holding the bowl just out of reach.
Paguman plopped onto his haunches, his tail wagging furiously as he tried to hold still. “Good boy,” she praised, finally placing the bowl down. He dove in with gleeful snorts, his enthusiasm earning a laugh from her.
She knelt on the tatami mat next, clasping her hands together. Closing her eyes, she murmured the familiar names of her ancestors, each syllable grounding her amidst the rush of the morning. When she spoke her father’s name, her voice softened. A faint chill prickled her arms, but she shook it off. “It’s nothing,” she whispered. “Today is special.”
With a deep breath, she rose and entered the dojo. The weight of the practice sword in her hands was familiar, almost comforting. Her first swing was clumsy—her grip too tight, her footing unsteady. “Focus,” she muttered to herself, adjusting her stance. Each swing, each turn, brought her closer to the rhythm she sought, the movements flowing naturally now.
Her father’s voice echoed in her memory: "A strong heart isn’t born—it’s forged. Keep going."
Satisfied with her sword practice, Sakura stepped outside, the crisp morning air brushing against her cheeks. At the edge of the garden stood her archery range, the wooden target weathered but sturdy. She picked up her bow, running her fingers over the smooth curve before drawing an arrow from the quiver at her side.
Her first shot veered slightly off-centre, thudding into the outer ring of the target. She frowned, lowering the bow. “Never rush a shot,” her father’s voice echoed in her mind. Closing her eyes, she steadied her breathing, letting the tension in her shoulders melt away.
This time, she aimed with deliberate precision. The arrow flew true, striking the target’s centre with a sharp, satisfying thud. A small smile tugged at her lips. “Easy,” she muttered.
Next came the bonsai garden. She settled onto the ground, pulling a pair of small pruning shears from her apron pocket. The tiny trees stood like miniature worlds; each branch carefully shaped under her guidance. She leaned close to one, inspecting its growth with a critical eye.
With gentle snips, she removed a few wayward branches, her movements precise and thoughtful. “There,” she said softly, tilting her head to admire her work. The simple act of pruning calmed her, each cut a tiny step toward harmony.
She placed the shears aside and ran her fingers lightly over the smooth bark of the tree. “Life is so fragile,” she murmured. “But even the smallest things can grow strong with care.”.
With the bonsai garden behind her, Sakura moved to the shaded corner of the yard where her meditation mat rested. She knelt on the soft fabric, the mat still warm from the morning sun. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and let the sounds of the garden fill her mind—the rustling leaves, the chirping birds, and the distant hum of life in the village.
Her breathing slowed as she settled into the rhythm of her thoughts. Images of the day ahead filled her mind—her plans, her excitement, and the promise of seeing Arata. A small smile tugged at her lips as she pictured his teasing grin. "He’d better not make fun of me for oversleeping," she thought, shaking her head lightly.
But a shadow flickered in her memory. Her dream surfaced again, unbidden—fire, destruction, and fear. Her smile faded as she tried to grasp the fleeting images, but they dissolved like mist in the morning light. Her breath hitched.
“No,” she said softly, shaking her head as if to dispel the unease. She straightened her posture, focusing again. “Today is too important to waste on bad dreams. Arata will laugh at me if I get all gloomy.”
Her gaze drifted to the sky, the clouds lazily drifting across the blue expanse. With a final exhale, she rose from the mat, feeling steadier. Her chores were done, and the day stretched ahead like an open path.
Returning inside, Sakura changed into her carefully chosen outfit, smoothing down the fabric and brushing her hair. The mirror reflected her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and she twirled once, the hem of her outfit swirling lightly around her. “This outfit is soooo cute! Arata is going to love it,” she said, a grin spreading across her face.
Her smile faltered for a moment, her brow furrowing. “But he’s totally going to tease me for being late… arrghh!” She slapped her cheeks lightly with her palms, as if to shake off her frustration.
Then, as if struck by an idea, her expression shifted to one of mischievous glee. “I know! I’ll turn it on him—make him rush instead.”
Paguman barked from the doorway, wagging his tail as if agreeing with her.
At the front door, her grandmother waited, her warm smile deepening the lines of her face. “Be safe, darling,” she said, resting a gentle hand on Sakura’s shoulder.
“I will. Love you, Granny,” Sakura replied, her voice soft but brimming with anticipation. As she stepped outside, the fresh air filled her lungs, and her heart fluttered with excitement. The day was hers.
Sakura hurried along the path leading to the riverbank, the soft crunch of gravel under her shoes keeping time with her quick steps. The morning sun had fully risen now, casting dappled patterns through the trees. Her thoughts drifted to Arata—what he’d say, the teasing grin he’d no doubt flash at her. But as she approached the clearing, the air seemed heavier, the quiet hum of the forest oddly subdued.
Meanwhile, by the riverbank, Arata lay stretched out, eyes closed against the warm morning sun. The peace around him was rare, a perfect stillness. As he waited, his thoughts wandered to Sakura, wondering what was keeping her. She’s running late, he mused, a little grin tugging at his lips. Better be extra nice when she gets here; she’s usually so grumpy when she's late.
Just then, Sakura’s voice rang out across the river, bright and full of energy. “Arata!” She was running toward him, her hair bouncing with each step, her hand waving eagerly. Laughing, he sprang to his feet and took off toward her, calling, “Coming, Sakuraaa!”
“You’re late,” Arata teased, His grin widened as he saw Sakura hurrying toward him, her cheeks flushed and her hair slightly out of place.
Sakura puffed out her cheeks in mock annoyance. “Don’t start! I had a busy morning, okay?”
“Busy sleeping in, you mean,” Arata quipped, his tone light but teasing.
She swatted at his arm. “Fine, maybe I did. But now you’re wasting more time!” Grabbing his wrist, she tugged him forward with a dramatic huff.
Laughing, he let himself be dragged along. “Alright, alright! I just didn’t realize you were in such a rush today.
“So, where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” she replied with a sly smile. “We’re catching the train to Hajima shopping district!”
As they reached Zora Station, the train was already approaching. Without a moment’s hesitation, Sakura dashed forward, her voice ringing out, "We are not missing this train, Arata! Hurry up and move!"
Arata pushed himself to keep pace, the two of them racing toward the platform. They barely made it, slipping through the doors just as they closed behind them. Arata collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling. Sakura leaned over him, her face alight with triumph, a soft, joyful smile playing on her lips. "We made it."
Once they’d settled into their seats by the window, the city buzzed around them, unfolding into a lively landscape of bustling streets and towering buildings. The train moved with a steady rhythm, and the blur of passing neighbourhood’s filled the windows with colours and movement. Sakura leaned against the glass, her gaze drawn to the vibrant sights of the city, her eyes bright with wonder. Arata stretched out comfortably beside her, his breathing calming as he took in the city’s ever-changing faces and winding roads.
With a playful grin, he leaned over, draping his arm over her shoulder. “So…what’s the rush?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
Sakura shot him a mock glare. “You just want to go to the Mega TCG store, don’t you?”
He laughed, scratching his head sheepishly. “Maybe… I need a few cards to complete my Senor Pinks deck.”
She rolled her eyes. “No time for that today. We have to be somewhere by 1 PM.”
The train slowed, the hum of its wheels drowned by the distant roar of Hajima’s bustling streets. Arata’s gaze flicked to the vibrant signs flashing past the window, anticipation sparking in his eyes. After they exited the station, Sakura took a few quick strides ahead, glancing back with a determined look. "Okay, not far from here," she said, already eager to press forward.
Arata chuckled, falling into step beside her. "Slow down, Sakura. We’ve got time," he said, casting her a relaxed smile.
She glanced at her watch, her pace slowing. "Alright, maybe we do have a little extra time," she admitted with a small grin.
“Exactly,” Arata replied, gently putting an arm around her shoulder. They walked in step, his arm light but steady around her as they took in the sights and sounds around them. Then, leaning in, he gave her a soft, playful kiss on the cheek. “Let’s just enjoy the walk.”
Sakura laughed, warmth spreading across her cheeks as she glanced up at him. "Alright, mister laid-back,” she teased. “Since you’re so keen on taking our time, I’ll let you enjoy the scenery."
Arata grinned and stepped back, extending an arm with a dramatic flourish. "Lead the way, oh wise one!"
They both laughed, the bustling energy of Hajima wrapping around them as they made their way deeper into the shopping district, taking in the lively shops and colourful storefronts that lined the streets. Their pace slowed, savouring the simple joy of being together amid the vibrant sights. The streets outside the train station bustled with life—street vendors shouted over the noise of the crowd, the smell of sizzling Takoyaki wafting through the air. Sakura slowed her pace, glancing up at the towering skyscrapers that stretched into the sky.
But then the ground beneath them shuddered. It was faint—barely enough to make the lampposts sway—but enough to make Sakura pause. She turned to Arata, her brow furrowed. “Did you feel that?”
Arata shrugged, his easy grin barely wavering. “Yeah, just another mini quake. They happen all the time.”
“Maybe…” Sakura’s voice trailed off, her fingers brushing the sleeves of her kimono. Her chest tightened as she glanced back the way they had come, a faint chill prickling her skin. “But it felt strange. Like… in the prayer room this morning.”
Arata nudged her gently, pulling her forward. “You’re overthinking it,” he teased. “Let’s focus on where we’re going.
Reluctantly, Sakura let herself be led, but her eyes lingered on the horizon, her unease growing as the tremor faded into the noise of the city.
As they finally approached Little Haru Street, Arata’s steps slowed, and a quiet recognition began to dawn. He glanced at Sakura, his cheeks-tinged pink, a mixture of surprise and fondness in his eyes.
“This is… the street,” he murmured, a shy smile forming.
Sakura beamed, her gaze softening as she glanced at him. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
“Of course I did. How could I forget?” as he approached closer to her
They stood there, the world fading around them, a shared memory lingering in their eyes. Arata stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers, their faces drawing near, hearts racing in unison
.
Just as their fingers intertwined, a flash erupted—a searing white-hot burst that shattered the serene street.
The explosion’s deafening roar tore through the air, and the peaceful streets of Hajima transformed into chaos.
The connection between them was torn apart as Sakura’s hand slipped from Arata’s.
The ground quaked violently, throwing them in opposite directions. Arata shouted her name, his voice swallowed by the thunder of collapsing buildings.
Dust and debris consumed everything, choking the air.
“Arata!” Sakura’s voice cracked as the force of the explosion sent her stumbling back.
She squinted through the dust and smoke, searching for him. The riverbank was gone, replaced by a chasm of shattered earth and flame.
Her chest tightened, panic clawing at her as she called out again, her words swallowed by the roar of the destruction.
In the blast's wake, an eerie silence pressed against them, as if the world held its breath.
Arata’s grip on Sakura’s hand had slipped, but he strained to see through the thick haze of dust.
As the debris settled, a dark, spherical object emerged through the haze, hovering ominously where the blast had originated.
It pulsed with a sickening rhythm, radiating an eerie glow. Fractures began to spiderweb across its surface, glowing like veins about to burst.
The air grew heavier, vibrating faintly with an otherworldly hum. The ground beneath her feet felt unstable, like it might crumble away at any moment.
“It’s alive…” Sakura whispered, her voice trembling. Her breath hitched as she took a stumbling step back.
For a moment, her mind flashed back to that morning—a moment of calm, her grandmother’s soft voice saying, “Be safe, darling.”
The thought felt absurd now, distant and unreal amidst the chaos.
“Sakura, move!” Arata shouted, grabbing her arm. “We don’t have time!”
Before he could say more, the orb shattered, erupting in a second explosion.
The force hit them like a tidal wave, a blast so powerful it seemed to tear the very ground apart.
Arata’s grip slipped as the shockwave ripped through them, and he watched in helpless horror as Sakura was flung backward,
her small shoe flying off and landing amidst the rubble. His heart clenched, the sight a visceral reminder of her vulnerability.
The blast sent him reeling, transforming their familiar surroundings into a twisted nightmare of choking darkness and noise.
Amid the smoke and chaos, a colossal shape emerged from the shattered orb, its grotesque, humanoid form absorbing the light as it descended with an eerie grace,
like a dark titan whose malformed limbs seemed to defy natural laws. The creature towered over the buildings, each step sending vibrations through the broken earth.
Its hollow gaze fixed on them, a deliberate malice in its movements.
Arata’s heart pounded as he scrambled to his feet, his mind screaming to reach Sakura. He surged forward,
but the rubble and chaos stretched the distance between them like an unbridgeable chasm. His thoughts raced, flickering between panic and determination.
Images of their shared past flashed in his mind—a laugh shared on a quiet afternoon, a gentle touch, a whispered promise, a kiss.
Those moments felt impossibly fragile now, their weight driving him forward.
Sakura’s trembling hands reached out as she saw him moving toward her. “Arata…” she whispered, her voice lost in the chaos.
But the creature’s attention shifted fully to her, its massive form casting a shadow that swallowed her entirely. She froze,
the raw malice in its hollow eyes paralyzing her thoughts.
The last thing Sakura saw was Arata’s face, horror-stricken, his mouth forming a desperate shout she couldn’t hear.
“Today was meant to be perfect,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her hands clenched into fists as she stumbled forward.
If I could just reach him—just this once, everything would be okay. I could make it okay.
But before she could close the distance, a cascading wall of debris crashed down between them, its deafening impact shaking the ground.
“Arata!” she screamed, her voice swallowed by the roaring destruction. The air grew heavy with choking dust, and the world around her dissolved into chaos.
The ground beneath her feet gave way, and she fell, tumbling into the darkness. Pain shot through her body as she hit the ground hard,
the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. Everything around her became a blur of sound and motion—crashing rubble, piercing screams,
and the relentless roar of destruction. Slowly, the overwhelming noise began to fade, replaced by a suffocating stillness.
Then, there was nothing but silence.
When Sakura opened her eyes, she was curled tightly into herself, her knees pressed to her chest.
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A piercing ringing filled her ears, muting the distant cries and the crumbling of debris around her.
Dust clung to her hair and clothes, coating her in a fine layer of ash, and the sharp taste of copper lingered in her mouth.
Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, and for a moment, she couldn’t tell if she was awake or still trapped in the nightmare.
“It’s not real… it’s not real… it’s not real…” she whispered, the words tumbling from her lips like a broken mantra.
Her trembling hands gripped her arms as though trying to anchor herself to something solid.
The swirling haze of dust made it hard to see, but the faint outlines of destruction loomed around her.
Her gaze darted frantically in search of Arata, but all she found was more wreckage, each jagged shadow twisting her fear into despair.
Her chest tightened as panic clawed at her throat. The nightmare felt endless, an inescapable vortex of fear and chaos.
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hands against her temples as if trying to will it all away.
In the distance, Arata spotted her huddled figure, a small shape amidst the devastation, and staggered to his feet, every movement weighted by pain.
His mind screamed at him to run, to reach her before it was too late. “Sakura!” he called, his voice breaking through the dust-choked air,
thick with desperation. Forcing himself forward, he pushed through the rubble, ignoring the searing pain in his side, his arm outstretched, willing himself to reach her.
But then, the towering, grotesque figure moved with calculated intent. Its hollow gaze fixed on Sakura as it raised its massive hand and struck
the building beside her with brutal force. The impact sent a torrent of debris and rubble hurtling toward them, filling the air with the deafening crash of collapsing structures.
Arata’s heart pounded as he pushed himself harder, trying to reach her before the debris engulfed them both.
Sakura’s eyes lifted slightly, her dull gaze sharpening as the shadow loomed closer.
Her vision locked onto Arata, his face twisted in horror and desperation. A single, heart-wrenching thought surfaced in her mind: This was meant to be a beautiful day—a day just like that day.
Just as his fingers reached out in vain, a cascade of falling rubble closed in between them, sent crashing down by the creature’s strike.
The last thing Arata felt was a sharp, crushing blow as something struck his body, driving him into the ground, his vision fracturing into darkness.
In the hazy moments that followed, faint light flickered in his vision as his eyes cracked open, struggling to focus on the chaotic scene around him.
Dust hung heavily in the air, fragments of stone were scattered across the ground, and the sounds around him were reduced to an eerie, muffled hum.
His head lolled to one side, and his gaze caught on something small lying in the rubble, inches from his outstretched hand—a small, blood-stained shoe, delicate and still.
His chest tightened, the ache deep and piercing, but then the darkness swept over him again, dragging him down, deeper into oblivion.
When Arata awoke, his mind was in a fog of pain and confusion. Dust and smoke filled the air,
the silence only broken by the distant sounds of screams and collapsing buildings. Blinking through the haze, he struggled to his feet, his heart pounding as he glanced around.
“Sakura?” he called, his voice thick with desperation. “Sakura!”
There was no response, and panic rose within him, sharp and unforgiving. A dark, monstrous shadow loomed over him,
and he glanced up to see a towering Kaiju, its hollow eyes glinting with a terrifying hunger.
The creature let out a guttural roar, its gaze fixed on the city below, its massive claws reaching out toward Arata.
But just as the creature was about to strike, a figure appeared—a tall, imposing man dressed in a sharp, dark navy suit. His face was strikingly handsome, yet his strong, unyielding expression commanded immediate respect. With a swift, graceful motion, a massive sword struck, severing the Kaiju’s claws in one fluid movement. The creature recoiled, roaring in pain.
The man didn’t hesitate. "With a powerful thrust, he unleashed a colossal mechanical fist that rocketed forward, each piston firing with brutal precision. The impact crashed into the Kaiju, propelling it backward through building after building, the creature’s massive form splintering concrete and steel in its path. The force rippled through the air, leaving a shockwave that echoed through the shattered cityscape." The Kaiju let out a final, anguished roar, its colossal form collapsing in a heap of twisted limbs and broken concrete. Dust rose around it, swirling in the now-silentiary as the creature's life force faded.
The man in the dark navy suit moved with quiet grace, his every step deliberate yet gentle, as though he carried both strength and understanding in equal measure. He turned, and his steady gaze found Arata, who was barely standing, swaying with exhaustion and confusion. For a moment, the man’s eyes softened, a calm warmth cutting through the cold aftermath of the battle.
“Are… are you alright?” the man asked, his voice deep, his tone steady and reassuring.
Arata nodded weakly, but his mind was already elsewhere, gripped by a sickening dread. “I… I think so…” he managed to say, but his gaze darted anxiously around the rubble-strewn ground. “But… Sakura… please… can you help her?” His voice broke with desperation, a fragile hope clinging to his words.
The man’s expression softened, and he inclined his head slightly, his dark eyes unreadable. He approached a pile of rubble where Sakura lay, her body pinned beneath heavy slabs of concrete. Arata’s breath caught as he watched the man kneel beside her, his stomach twisting as he waited for some sign that she would be alright.
But the man’s silence spoke volumes. His face held a grim understanding, an awareness of the truth that Arata, in his injured state, couldn’t yet accept. With the solemnity of someone well-versed in the weight of loss, he summoned a large, translucent orb. Gently, almost reverently, he placed Sakura’s broken body inside, the orb glowing faintly as it closed around her, preserving her in a fragile peace that contrasted starkly with the chaos around them.
The man returned to Arata, his face composed but touched with sympathy. Leaning down, he met Arata’s searching gaze. “Rest,” he said quietly, releasing a fine mist from a small device in his wrist. The mist drifted toward Arata, and within moments, his eyes grew heavy, his body finally succumbing to exhaustion. The last image he saw was of the man’s steady, watchful gaze before his vision went dark, sparing him, if only for a moment, from the agony of reality.
The man glanced down at the orb containing both Sakura and Arata, his expression unreadable, his mind calculating yet touched with an undercurrent of empathy. “Time to get you both to safety,” he murmured to himself. With immense strength, he lifted the orb, his muscles flexing with ease beneath his tailored suit, and with a precise, powerful motion, hurled it skyward. The orb shot through the air in the direction of the hospital, propelled with a force that defied its seemingly delicate appearance.
As it soared, the man bent his knees, then leapt into the sky with a powerful burst, jets igniting from the soles of his polished shoes. The ground beneath him cracked, fragments of stone splintering from the impact as he propelled himself upward, quickly catching up with the orb. His focus was unwavering as he guided it with a fierce precision, descending upon the hospital’s entrance in a controlled arc.
As he landed, the ground beneath him shook with a powerful tremor, the impact sending a rippling shockwave not only through the crowd outside but reverberating through the walls of the hospital itself. People inside paused, startled by the sudden quake, heads turning toward the entrance, while outside, a hush fell over the onlookers and staff, all eyes drawn to the man standing at the centre of the quake’s aftermath. His presence commanded attention, his very stance radiating quiet, formidable strength.
He took a steady breath, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. “I need help—now!”
The urgency in his tone jolted the hospital staff into action. Doctors and nurses surged out from the hospital doors, rushing toward him, their initial hesitation replaced with swift purpose.
The man carefully lowered the orb to the ground, opening it with a wave of his hand. As the translucent shell dissolved, it revealed Sakura and Arata within, both battered and bloodied. Sakura’s face was nearly unrecognizable beneath the bruises and blood, her limbs twisted in unnatural angles. Arata lay unconscious beside her, his body covered in cuts and bruises, his breathing shallow.
The medical team’s faces darkened as they took in the severity of Sakura’s injuries, a silent understanding passing among them. Moving with quiet respect, they gently placed her body in a dark body bag. The soft hum of the zipper closing was almost unbearable in its finality, a sound that seemed to press into the silence with an unspoken sorrow.
Just as they were about to zip the bag fully, Arata’s eyes flickered open, his vision hazy as he tried to sit up, his memory a whirlwind of fractured images—the explosion, the rubble, Sakura’s smile before it all went dark. He glanced around, and his eyes locked onto the dark bag the doctors were closing around her. The scene snapped into place in his mind, and his heart lurched with a horrible realization.
“No…” he whispered, his voice a choked murmur. Panic clawed at his chest, and he struggled against his weakness, his voice rising with desperation. “No!” Arata’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. “That’s Sakura—don’t take her! She’s not gone!” His body convulsed as he reached out, his words fading into broken sobs.
He tried to lunge forward, but his battered body refused to obey, his movements weak and slow. The medical staff attempted to restrain him gently, their hands steady as they tried to calm him down. A nurse placed a hand on his shoulder, her face filled with empathy. “Sir, please, you need to rest,” she said, her tone soft.
But Arata’s panic only intensified, his cries filled with raw agony as he fought to reach her. “Don’t… don’t take her! Sakura, please… please!” His voice was hoarse, broken with a grief so deep it echoed through the air. Tears streamed down his face, his heart shattering with each desperate plea.
Finally, a doctor approached, a syringe in hand, his face a mask of sympathy as he injected a sedative into Arata’s arm. Within seconds, Arata’s struggles slowed, his breathing evening out as his consciousness slipped away once more. His eyes locked on the body bag one last time, his voice fading into a pained whisper. “Sakura…”
The medical team continued their work in silence, wheeling both Arata and Sakura through the hospital doors. Their faces were sombre, burdened by the weight of the tragedy they had witnessed, yet their hands moved with care, treating both young lives with the respect they deserved.
Hours passed before Arata’s eyes opened again. The sterile light of the hospital room felt harsh and unforgiving, the soft beep of machines a hollow, repetitive reminder of the present. His left side was bandaged heavily, his body aching with every small movement. He lay still, his mind raw with the fresh memory of loss, each thought of Sakura like a jagged wound reopening.
Outside, the man in the navy suit stood in the hallway, his tall frame casting a shadow against the door. He exchanged a quiet conversation with the lead doctor, his voice low and resonant. “How is he?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the door with a look of profound understanding.
The doctor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Physically, he’ll recover, but emotionally…” He paused, the empathy evident in his tone. “He’s been through something most wouldn’t survive. Healing from that kind of pain will take time.”
The man’s expression softened briefly, though his gaze remained intense, a quiet strength in his bearing. “How long until he’s ready for release?”
“Week’s, maybe more,” the doctor replied. “We’ll monitor him closely, but his body is responding well.” the man nodded, his face resolute.
Inside his room, Arata lay in silence, his gaze unfocused, the memory of Sakura’s face lingering in the forefront of his mind. The ache in his heart was heavy and unyielding, each beat a reminder of what he had lost.
The man stood outside Arata’s room; his face set with quiet resolve. The recent conversation with the doctor had been sobering; he had seen this kind of pain before. Though he knew words alone couldn’t heal such wounds, he hoped his presence might offer some direction. After a soft knock, he turned the handle and stepped into the dimly lit room.
Arata lay in bed, pale and hollow-eyed, a ghost of the vibrant young man he once had been. His unfocused gaze slowly shifted toward the tall figure in the doorway. For a long moment, they simply glanced at each other, the silence heavy with shared loss.
The man cleared his throat gently and took a step forward. “Arata,” he began, his voice low yet steady, “my name is Hataro. We met once, when you first arrived in Japan.” His expression held firm, though a note of gentleness softened his gaze, offering a quiet assurance.
Recognition flickered in Arata’s eyes, a faint memory surfacing through the haze of grief. But the memory quickly gave way to a sharper, more immediate question. “Where… where is Sakura?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “They… they were putting her in a bag, but…” His voice trailed off as if unable to complete the thought, a glimmer of hope still clinging to the possibility that what he’d seen wasn’t true. Deep down, though, he knew.
Hataro’s face softened, and he nodded, taking a seat beside the bed. His voice was calm, steady, almost a balm to the aching chaos inside Arata. “I’m sorry, Arata,” he said softly. “She’s gone.” The words were simple, but they cut deep, each syllable settling heavily on Arata’s heart.
Arata stared at Hataro, the room closing in as reality crashed down around him. A hollow pain opened in his chest, a void that seemed endless. He shook his head slightly, his lips parting as if to protest, but no words came. He felt as if he were drowning, his world collapsing in on itself.
“I know this pain,” Hataro continued gently. “Losing someone you care about like this—it can feel unbearable. But you have a choice. If you want to channel this pain, if you want justice… or revenge,” he added, his voice taking on a firmer edge, “then join us. Join the Korrese. Become strong enough to make those who caused this pay.”
Arata’s gaze slowly shifted, meeting Hataro’s eyes. A flicker of something—anger, purpose, perhaps even a faint hope—began to kindle in his expression. Hataro reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, unmarked card, pressing it into Arata’s hand.
“When you’ve healed,” Hataro continued, “come to this location.” He gestured to the card. “We can help you find a way forward. But remember, this path won’t be easy.” He stood, giving Arata one last steady look.
Arata glanced down at the card, his fingers trembling as he held it. The address printed on it was simple, nothing more than coordinates and a name he didn’t recognize. But the weight of Hataro’s words settled over him, infusing him with something he hadn’t felt since the explosion—purpose. Even through the fog of his grief, a spark of determination took hold, a reason to keep going, if only to make Sakura’s death mean something.
Hataro turned and moved toward the door, leaving Arata in the quiet, his mind a mixture of raw pain and newfound resolve. As he exited into the hallway, his gaze met that of an elderly woman, her elegant yet frail figure flanked by two tall men in black suits. The guards stood with silent strength, their eyes forward, though a flicker of recognition passed between the woman and Hataro.
The old woman’s gaze lingered on him, a quiet gratitude flashing across her weathered features, and in Hataro’s eyes, a shadow of sadness surfaced, the faint trace of a shared, unspoken history.
With a respectful nod, he continued down the hallway, leaving the woman and her guards in silence. Behind him, Arata held the card tightly, his grief entwining with the possibility of vengeance, his mind fixed on the path that lay ahead.
The old lady watched as Hataro disappeared down the hallway, her gaze sharp with a quiet resolve. After a moment, she turned and walked slowly in the direction of Hataro’s room, her steps light but purposeful. Her guards trailed behind her with silent efficiency, their dark suits blending into the shadows of the hospital corridor.
Reaching Hataro’s door, she paused, glancing over her shoulder at the two imposing figures who flanked her. “Wait here,” she instructed softly. Her voice, though gentle, held a firmness that left no room for question.
With a respectful nod, the guards stepped back, positioning themselves on either side of the door. The old lady’s hand rested briefly on the door handle before she pushed it open, slipping inside as the door clicked shut behind her.
As Michiko entered the room, her gaze immediately found Arata’s, and in that instant, a wave of raw, uncontainable grief washed over him. Arata’s face twisted with anguish, and a heart-wrenching cry escaped him, filling the room with a palpable sorrow. The sound echoed through the quiet hospital hallway, a piercing reminder of the depth of his loss.
Michiko, Sakura’s grandmother—the woman Sakura had tenderly said goodbye to on that fateful morning—walked slowly toward him. Her steps were measured, and her face was etched with an age-old grief that mirrored his own. Reaching Arata, she wrapped her arms around him, her embrace firm yet gentle, as if trying to hold together the broken pieces of his soul.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” Arata’s voice was a choked whisper, but it carried the weight of his guilt and sorrow, each word tumbling out in a cascade of remorse. His pain seemed to grow louder, filling the room, reverberating through the walls and even spilling out into the hallway where the guards, usually unflinching, cast somber glances toward the closed door.
Michiko, Sakura’s grandmother, walked slowly toward Arata. Her steps were measured, her face etched with grief that mirrored his own. Reaching him, she wrapped her arms around him, her embrace firm yet tender, as if holding together the shattered pieces of his heart. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” Arata sobbed into her shoulder, his words heavy with guilt. Michiko’s tears glistened in the dim light, her quiet presence embodying the memory of Sakura.
With her voice barely above a whisper, she spoke through the tremor in her chest, “Oh, Arata…” The warmth in her tone was filled with understanding, the acceptance that both their hearts had been irreversibly shattered. She didn’t need to say more; her presence alone held the memories of Sakura, and in that moment, they mourned her together, a shared, unspoken bond forming between them amidst their profound loss.
The grand chamber exuded a sombre majesty, its high gothic arches and brutalist stone walls casting long shadows across the room. The architecture felt timeless yet imposing, the perfect setting for the weighty deliberations of the Council. Seven figures sat around a polished round table; their faces obscured in shadow, but their grave expressions reflected in the gleaming surface. The air was heavy with tension.
“How could this happen?” one man roared; his voice raw with anger. He slammed his fist on the table, the sharp crack reverberating through the vaulted room. “Six thousand years of protection—broken! Over one thousand six hundred lives lost! How does a Kaiju breach the anti-Ochi field? This isn’t chance; this is betrayal!”
His words cut through the uneasy silence like a blade. Across the table, another figure, her posture rigid, spoke with measured calm. “Betrayal is not a claim to be made lightly,” she said, her voice icy. “But let us consider the magnitude of what has happened. The pylons are no simple structures. Each one is constructed over decades by the Forgers, their sequence known only to one person in any generation.”
The tension in the room thickened as her words sank in. Another Council member, a lean man with a calculating demeanour, tapped his fingers against the table. “Precisely,” he murmured. “Forgers live in isolation to protect their work. And yet, every pylon within a 60-kilometer radius was destroyed in the exact sequence required to disable the field. Coincidence? I think not.”
The first man, his face flushed with fury, snapped back. “And what would you have us do? Blame the Forgers themselves? Point fingers at our own?”
The lean man didn’t flinch. “I am merely stating the facts. Without destroying the pylons in their precise order of construction, the anti-Ochi field should have held. That means someone had knowledge—knowledge they shouldn’t have.”
A hushed murmur rippled through the room. The accusation, unspoken but clear, left an ominous silence in its wake.
“And if the deaths weren’t catastrophic enough,” the first man continued, his voice dropping to a bitter growl, “Japan’s next high priestess is among them. The last descendant of the ancient line, gone.”
A collective intake of breath swept the table. The loss was more than a tragedy—it was an incalculable blow to the world’s spiritual balance.
From the shadows, a figure finally broke the silence. “The Kaiju is dead,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate. “The real question is: who killed it?”
The grizzled man straightened; his anger momentarily quelled. “Who else? Rank 1 of the Korrese. Thank Haru that Hataro was there. Without him, the devastation would have been total.”
The calm speaker tilted his head slightly, his tone now edged with scepticism. “How fortunate, then, that Rank 1 was already in Tokyo. So perfectly timed. Almost as if…”
“Watch your tone!” the grizzled man thundered, his fist hitting the table again. “Hataro has earned his rank and his place. Show some respect.”
“Enough.” The word was spoken softly, but its effect was immediate. All eyes turned to the head of the table, where the Council leader sat in a chair more ornate than the others. His expression was unreadable, his steepled fingers casting a long shadow on the polished surface before him.
“We are here to uncover the truth, not to make baseless accusations,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “Prepare the reports. Summon the Forgers. And ensure that every angle of this disaster is thoroughly investigated.”
From the shadows behind him, his assistant stepped forward, a composed figure holding a stack of papers. He began to speak, his tone steady and professional. “At 12:56 PM, a Category 4 Kaiju breached Tokyo’s anti-Ochi field. The mechanism of the breach is currently unknown, but the Kaiju’s initial attack levelled much of the central Hajima district. This resulted in the confirmed loss of 1,678 lives, including Japan’s future high priestess, Sakura Raito.”
The room fell into a heavy silence.
“The attack lasted approximately seven minutes. Hataro, rank 1 of the Korrese, engaged the Kaiju within four minutes of the breach and neutralized the threat.”
The Council murmured amongst themselves, some in grim approval, others with unease. The assistant raised his voice slightly to continue. “Forensic analysis has confirmed that all pylons within a 60-kilometer radius were destroyed in sequence over the course of five hours prior to the breach. The precision of the attack indicates knowledge of the pylons’ construction order.”
A wiry man, who had been silent until now, leaned forward, his hawkish gaze piercing. “You’re suggesting insider knowledge. Are you saying the Forgers are involved?”
The assistant hesitated, then shook his head. “We are not drawing conclusions yet. But it is clear that whoever orchestrated this had access to information that is supposed to be impossible to obtain.”
The Council leader stood, his presence commanding absolute attention. “This meeting is adjourned. Investigate every lead. The truth will not remain hidden for long.”
As the Council rose, their faces still shadowed by doubt, the weight of the tragedy hung heavy in the room. Outside, the first rays of dawn broke through the clouds, casting faint light on a world forever changed.