Ch.30- Race

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Morning Shadows

Dawn light spilled through the temple gates, painting the stone floors in streaks of gold. Kenshin Mouriu stepped out from Division 1's sleeping quarters, the weight of the mask hanging at his hip like an anchor to a life he wished he could forget.

His boots scraped against the old courtyard stones. A sudden spike of pain stabbed through his skull. He winced, clutching his head.

— That place again — the altar… the chanting… my hands covered in… blood?

His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The world felt too close, too loud. He whispered under his breath, "Why now…?"

A breeze drifted by, scattering fallen petals across the yard. Yano Mikazushi, perched on a railing like a lazy cat, watched him with her sharp, stormy eyes. She popped a dried plum into her mouth.

"Oi, Mask Man," she called, voice teasing but her eyes concerned. "You look like you spent the night wrestling ghosts."

Kenshin didn't meet her gaze. He let out a slow breath, forcing the images back into the pit of his mind. "It's none of your concern, Yano. Worry about your own ghosts."

Yano's smirk twitched into a frown, but before she could retort, a slow, mocking clap echoed across the courtyard.

Akashi Peigon strode in, all cocksure swagger. His red-and-white hair shimmered under the dawn light, Chronox resting across his shoulders like a king's sceptre.

"Well, well… the proud mask man. Always brooding, huh?" Akashi's grin spread wider, venom hiding behind perfect teeth. "You new bloods are all the same — all bark, no bite. Trash, really."

Yano shifted, the wind around her stirring. "Akashi, shut your smug mouth for once. He's not in the mood—"

Kenshin didn't even glance up. He adjusted the strap on Marekuno's hilt, turned, and walked past Akashi as if he were a gust of stale air. His boots left dry echoes behind him.

The smirk fell off Akashi's face. "What was that?" His aura flared. He stepped forward, Chronox half-drawn, the air humming with the faint tick-tock of slowed time.

In a blink, a hand landed on his chest — light but immovable.

Ryen Kairo, hair tousled by the morning wind, leaned in close. His smile was the lazy grin of a man who found the world dull but its fools amusing.

"Hey, Chronomancer. Why waste your precious seconds on our division's business, huh?" Kairo's voice was a soft blade. "Or do you get your kicks from picking on people with actual scars?"

Akashi's eye twitched. His aura sparked like a match about to burn a house down. "One more word outta you, lone wolf—"

Yano pushed herself off the railing, dusting her sleeves. "Relax, boss boy. Save it for the race."

Kairo flicked invisible lint off Akashi's uniform. "Careful, pretty boy. Wouldn't want your shiny boots to get scuffed by real fights."

Akashi's blade hummed, but before he could strike, Kairo simply turned his back on him — the deepest insult. He tossed Yano a casual nod. "Let's go. Kenshin'll lose his mask before he loses to this show-off."

The three walked off, their laughter drifting on the breeze. Akashi's fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned bone-white.

He stared at the spot where Kenshin had stood. "Tomorrow… you're all going down. One by one."

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The Garden's Quiet Oath

Beyond the outer gardens, the training grounds rustled with the sounds of steel.

Blade Taizuka was soaked in sweat. Kamikaze's hilt dug blisters into his palms. He swung again — again — each cut faster, sharper, more desperate.

Kibito Akammi, lounging in the grass nearby, tossed pebbles into the koi pond. "Hey, bro! If you swing that any harder, you'll chop the sun in half."

Blade didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the sky — but his vision was full of Zester's mocking grin, Akashi's contempt, the sting of his humiliations.

"I won't be a burden. Not again. I won't be the weak link."

Kibito rolled onto his side, squinting. "Don't break the Order's flowers, man. Kagami will freeze your arms off if you ruin her favourite spot."

Blade exhaled through gritted teeth, Kamikaze's dragons flickering under his touch. He swung again. "I'll make sure I'm the one protecting you guys next time."

"Good," Kibito said, flopping onto his back and grinning up at the drifting clouds. "But until then… maybe take a break? Your sword's crying."

A sudden shadow fell over them. Jeitsu Meguruma, hair tied back, a stack of scrolls under his arm, watched with a catlike grin.

"Hard at work, Blade? Good. You'll need that spirit." He rapped his knuckles on a tree trunk. "Come on, thunderhead. You too, Kibito. Time for a little announcement."

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Inside the Hall — A Game Unfolds

The ceremonial hall filled with a storm of auras — the best of every division gathered under the same ancient roof. Fifty-two warriors lined the polished stone floor. Overhead, flickering lanterns made their shadows look ten feet tall.

Jeitsu perched himself lazily on the main podium, feet dangling. "Well, well… look at you all. The Order's future — or its biggest liability."

A ripple of tense laughter rolled through the room.

Suntaro Akammi, arms folded behind his head, nudged Kentaro Rikotsu beside him. "Hey, spark plug — you ready to fry everyone?"

Kentaro grinned, electric strands dancing in his hair. "Beat you twice over, big bro."

Jeitsu cleared his throat dramatically. "So! This idea comes straight from our darling genius Akashi Peigon."

Akashi, leaning on a column in the shadows, crossed his arms, eyes glittering with challenge.

Jeitsu continued, "It's simple. Jyu-Ichi Banteo is coming. Eleven divisions, one blade. And to decide who deserves what role… you'll run. A race."

A hush swept the hall. Blade's grip on Kamikaze's hilt tightened.

Jeitsu let it sink in, then pulled out a map covered in ink circles. "Each division's captain will pick your starting points — forests, caves, mountains, ruins. Fifty-five of you."

He tapped the finish line with a finger. "Your goal: the Hiraguri Lake Garden. Time limit: thirty-six hours. And only the first eleven to arrive make the cut. The rest?" He snapped his fingers. "No second chances."

Kentaro cracked his neck. "Obstacles?"

Jeitsu's grin turned shark-like. "Of course. Traps, illusions, surprise fights — all handcrafted by me. You'll learn what 'hell' looks like."

In the rafters above, Sekiro Tachibana adjusted his monocle, voice drifting like a judge's gavel. "One detail — only two from Division 1 will run. So, fifty-two contenders. Not fifty-five."

Jeitsu slapped his forehead playfully. "Oops! My mistake. Forgive me, Head Captains."

In the shadows, Ace and Neo, the real Heads, exchanged an unreadable glance — the faintest curl of a smile. Watching. Calculating.

Kinnatsu Yuri's voice boomed across the chamber, cutting the tension like a blade through silk. "So… tomorrow, your real battle begins. It's not the Order's name you're carrying. It's your own worth. Your blood. Your promise."

In a quiet corner, Kairo leaned against a pillar, smirking at Akashi's rigid back. "Heh. Tick-tock, pretty boy."

Akashi's lip curled. "Say that again tomorrow when you're crawling at my feet."

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The Silent Oath

Night fell. The Order slept, but the warriors did not.

On the eastern wall, Blade sat alone, Kamikaze propped against the battlements. He stared at the stars — at the vastness he still had to conquer. The wind carried his whisper like a vow.

"Zester… Akashi… the gap between us ends here."

A flicker of dragon-shaped mist swirled at his fingertips.

Across the compound, on the western rampart, Akashi Peigon spun Chronox's hilt, feeling time pulse around his skin. His grin was a blade's edge.

"They'll all see. The king stands alone."

High above, clouds drifted past the moon — like eyes half-lidded in a dream that was about to become a storm.

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To Be Continued