You Call Yourself an Onmyoji?

* Five years Earlier*

Nighttime, Sumida Ward, Tokyo.

Beneath the heavy cloud cover, a 634-meter-tall golden spire pierces the sky, like a blazing sword ready to slice through the heavens.

This is the pinnacle of Tokyo Skytree. Howling winds rage at this altitude, their roar mingling with the crinkling of a hamburger wrapper.

And the muttering of a teenage boy.

"Ah~ Rias said the target would appear between 5 and 8 PM, but it's already past 7. Couldn't the intel be a little more precise? I've been waiting for over two hours, and now I'm starving. Might as well eat first…"

The boy takes a bite of the double burger he bought from the mall below two hours ago. His dark eyes reflect not the bustling nightlife of Tokyo, but a distant, pitch-black abandoned port.

Before he can savor the bite, his eyebrows twitch slightly. He seems to have spotted something unusual in the distance, letting out an exasperated tsk.

"Talk of the devil, and he appears. Can't a guy finish his meal first?"

With that, he steps forward, blending into the wind, his figure vanishing like ink in water.

Meanwhile, at the abandoned port, waves crash against the docks. The black waters reflect the distant, illuminated Skytree.

Bright headlights slice through the darkness as four staggered black Tiger-Head Bens turn a corner along the coast, speeding at 60 mph before coming to a halt at the dock.

All car doors open simultaneously. Interior lights flicker on, revealing sixteen suited men in sunglasses—bodyguard types—stepping out in unison under the soft yet bright glow.

The scene resembles a yakuza deal.

"Finally. We've been waiting ages…"

A rough voice echoes, but it's not from any of the sixteen men.

Not from the shore, either. From the water.

Borrowing the scattered light from the cars, a silent speedboat is visible, anchored near the dock. A hulking man over two meters tall, with wild hair, bulging muscles, and legs crossed, lounges inside. A locked briefcase serves as his pillow.

He only opens his almond-shaped, emerald eyes upon hearing the commotion, revealing a piercing gaze.

Without a word, the muscular man flips out of the boat, grabs the briefcase, and strides ashore. He places it on the ground, the thud making the surrounding bodyguards flinch.

"Here's your item. Where's the cash?"

"R-Right here…"

After a tense silence, a bodyguard steps forward, briefcase in hand, and slides it toward the man.

"Hm."

The man opens the case, revealing stacks of cash. He flips through it briefly before closing it. Then, he pushes his own briefcase forward.

"Alright, deal's done…"

"Ciao~ You're leaving so soon?"

Before he finishes, faint footsteps echo from the alley between the dock and warehouse, accompanied by a casual teenage voice with a faint Kyoto accent.

"Who's there?!"

"Show yourself!"

Like a thunderclap, the sixteen bodyguards whirl around, pistols drawn, tactical flashlights illuminating the newcomer.

It's a boy of about seventeen or eighteen, lean yet fit, dressed casually like he just left the gym. He holds half a burger, his cheeks puffed with unchewed food.

"Keikain Fukuki, acting head of the Keikain clan—Kyoto's premier onmyoji family. Specializing in high-net-worth clients. Exorcisms, demon slaying—you name it. Phone number: 185… Oops, got carried away with the pitch. Ignore the last part."

He delivers the spiel mechanically, takes another bite, and waves the half-eaten burger at the crowd.

"Alright, back to business. Everyone here who's human can leave. The items stay. And you—wolf-eyed loner demon—come with me. Bring both briefcases; I'm eating and can't carry them. Cooperate, and I'll ask Rias to send you back to the demon realm gently. Next time, register properly through the demon district before visiting the human world. Thanks…"

Arrogance drips from every word, and in a few sentences, he claims both briefcases.

But reality isn't a power-fantasy novel. Threats don't make villains cower. If they did, they wouldn't be villains.

"Loner demon?"

One bodyguard frowns.

"Yep."

Fukuki shrugs, nodding toward the hulking man.

"Can't you tell? Those aren't human eyes… Let's all cooperate and keep this civil. Otherwise—"

"…"

"…"

This isn't negotiation. It's a threat.

Words exchanged, there's no turning back—especially for the bodyguards, who know their employer's brutality.

Fail to deliver, and they're dead.

The air thickens with tension.

"Idiot!"

A bodyguard snaps, firing his pistol.

The shot acts as a signal. All sixteen guns unleash a barrage denser than a submachine gun's.

"Tsk, looks like overtime…"

Ignoring the onslaught, Fukuki sighs, shoving the rest of the burger into his mouth.

In the next instant, fierce golden spiritual energy materializes around him.

No flash of light. The burger wrapper in his hand turns to ash.

The bullets reach him… and vanish.

Not disappear—evaporate.

A high-speed camera would show the bullets melting into molten iron, then vaporizing before reaching him.

Fukuki strides forward, his spiritual pressure intensifying.

Such heat should incinerate everything, yet the asphalt beneath him remains untouched.

The wolf-man's eyes twitch. Sweat streams down his face.

This much power… An onmyoji? Really?

He knows he can't win. As a loner demon, he's not even top-tier in the demon realm. He fled to the human world for its easier prey.

But surrendering means returning to the demon realm—a life of servitude. Unacceptable.

Only one option remains: Run.

As a wolf demon, speed is his strength.

Buzz.

Just as he thinks it, Fukuki's phone vibrates.

"Huh?"

Rias and senior Jun should be elsewhere. Why now?

He checks the message. Not from them, but:

[Big sis is home. Where are you? Still out?]

Followed by a cute cat emoji.

Emmmm~

Fukuki lowers his brow, switches to voice input, and brings the phone to his lips.

"Yeah, still out. Be back in fifteen. Don't touch the big package in the living room—it's the new TV. You already broke one…"

Chance!

Seizing the moment, the wolf-man shoves a bodyguard aside, transforming. His face elongates into a wolf's snout, muscles rippling, fur sprouting. In half a second, he's a four-meter-tall werewolf, briefcase in claw, standing on a car roof.

The roof caves under his weight. Muscles bulge as he prepares to leap.

One jump will take him to the roof. His speed will outrun even a powerful human…

Or so he thinks.

A glowing golden finger presses against his forehead. Overwhelming pressure freezes him.

Is… this still a human?!

Fukuki's casual voice echoes.

"Dog. What now?"

The words land. In an instant, spiritual energy erupts, forming a mountain-sized golden lotus that slams into the port—

Illuminating All Rivers!