Kuroba Ayako
The MC's disguise didn't turn out as well as I expected.
****
Night had finally fallen.
Yotsuba Mahiro lay sprawled across the large, luxurious hotel bed, staring at the ceiling as he waited for a phone call.
Because of Senior Watanabe's unfortunate accident—and with the added complications of dealing with Headless Dragon—the dinner he was supposed to have with Sayaka had been postponed. Instead, they had agreed to meet for breakfast.
But…
"It's already this late, and still no call… tch, whatever. I'll just take a quick nap before she contacts me."
The clock on the nightstand ticked steadily past eleven o'clock. Mahiro yawned softly, fatigue weighing on his eyelids. Just as he let his eyes close, sinking into the drowsy comfort of the mattress—
Click.
The sound of the hotel door unlocking echoed through the room.
"…?"
Before Mahiro could even react, the bed dipped sharply under sudden weight. A familiar warmth pressed down on him, stealing his sleepiness away in an instant.
"I said, Ayako… Didn't we agree you'd call first? Why does this feel like a midnight raid instead?"
He opened his eyes—and immediately found himself staring into a pair of deep wine-red eyes filled with a faint hint of dissatisfaction.
The delicate girl perched on top of him, who had looked like a doll during the day, now leaned forward with her palms resting on his chest. The softness of her body pressed close, and her expression carried a dangerous sweetness.
"Mahiro-san… do you dislike Ayako?"
Instead of answering his question, Kurobane Ayako countered with one of her own, her tone carrying a faint tremble.
"…Not calling me Onii-chan anymore?"
Mahiro couldn't help but chuckle softly, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. The last time Ayako had called him that had been more than ten years ago, back when they first met.
At that time, she had been a small, genuine loli—her innocent eyes lighting up every time she saw him at the Fourth Research Lab. Mahiro had been startled at first, because Ayako looked so much like Maya. It was uncanny, almost like looking at a smaller version of her.
Since then, Ayako would visit him often, always tugging at his sleeve, always smiling at him. In a sense, he had practically watched her grow up before his eyes.
"…Heh. Now that I think about it, isn't this just another kind of Genji plan?" Mahiro muttered under his breath.
"Don't dodge the question!"
Her resentful little voice snapped him back to the present. Mahiro blinked, then sighed at the pouty look she was giving him.
"How could I dislike you, Ayako? What possible reason would I have to hate such a lovely girl?"
"Then… why did Mahiro-san refuse Maya-sama's marriage proposal?"
That question landed like a stone in his stomach. The hand he had been reaching out with to playfully twirl her curled hair froze mid-motion.
So she had come here for that.
"This humble maiden really likes Mahiro-san…"
Her peculiar speech habit slipped into her words as she lowered her gaze shyly, her red eyes glimmering in the low light. Then, almost timidly, she leaned against his chest, her small hands clutching at his shirt.
For a girl of her age to whisper something like that—it felt unbearably strange. Especially because her features bore such a striking resemblance to Yotsuba Maya. Seventy percent, at least.
It was almost as if that woman herself were pretending to act spoiled with him. And that thought alone was enough to make his head ache.
"…We'll talk about this later, alright? First, let's deal with the task at hand. You're still a junior high student. Once you're in high school, then we'll discuss it properly."
"Ugh, Mahiro-san always uses such excuses to put Ayako off…"
Her lips curled into a little pout, but despite her words, her eyes sparkled faintly—like she had just been given a secret promise.
....
Ayako's brief midnight raid ended there. Shortly after, Mahiro got dressed and headed down to the hotel's underground parking lot.
A long, sleek black Mercedes-Benz was already waiting for him. He walked straight up to it and opened the door.
"Mahiro-nii-san!"
Fumiya's voice rang out cheerfully as soon as the door opened.
But Mahiro nearly choked at the sight before him.
The Fumiya sitting inside looked completely different from his usual frail, young master appearance. Tonight, he had transformed into something else entirely. Something… adorable.
Yes. Adorable.
Like Ayako, he had wine-red eyes, but his lips were painted a glossy crimson that looked far too mature for his actual age. His hair was hidden beneath a short black wig, topped with a neat white headband. He wore a black dress with tights and knee-high boots.
The result? He looked almost exactly like a short-haired version of Yotsuba Maya.
"Hmph… Fumiya, I'll be counting on you and Ayako tonight."
Mahiro didn't show much of a reaction beyond a small nod. By now, he was used to this ridiculous disguise.
Since exposing their identities during an operation wasn't an option—and since Fumiya's magic made him the best suited for direct combat—Ayako often disguised her younger brother as a "cute little sister" under the excuse of hiding his true self.
This wasn't even the first time.
Back then, Fumiya had been mortified, blushing furiously whenever he had to appear like this. But after being forced into it repeatedly, he had eventually gotten used to the humiliation.
In the world of cross-dressing, Mahiro mused, there were only two possibilities: either never once… or far too many times to count.
As Ayako slid into the car behind them, Fumiya immediately turned to her with an annoyed look.
"Sis, you're so slow! We agreed on ten minutes, but it's been half an hour! At this rate, Maya-sama will scold you!"
"Oh~? Fumiya, are you trying to lecture your onee-chan? You're about a hundred years too early for that."
Ayako's wine-red gaze cut toward her brother like a blade.
Fumiya froze instantly, his posture stiffening before he swallowed his words. He meekly turned away, lips pressed shut.
No matter the time or the age, sisters would always hold the natural upper hand against their brothers.
The black Mercedes purred to life and rolled smoothly out of the underground parking lot, carrying the three of them into the night.
But in a shadowed corner of the garage, a nondescript business van had been parked quietly, its engine off. Ten minutes after Mahiro and the others had departed, the van started up.
And then, without a word, it followed them.
....
"Damn it… damn it! Our inside man failed!!!"
In the same luxurious private room, under the same dim glow of imported chandeliers, several men sat stiffly around the round table. The food was exquisite, steaming gently with rich aromas—yet not a single hand moved to touch it. The tension in the air was far heavier than any appetite they could muster.
The executives of the Headless Dragon wore expressions twisted with anger, their frustration making the silence between them nearly unbearable.
"Is it still that high school brat… that Yotsuba Mahiro?" one man growled, his voice almost breaking.
"That's right! Who else could it be besides that damn kid?!" James Zhu spat out the words. His teeth ground so hard it was as if he wanted to crush the boy's name itself. With a sharp slam of his palm, the table rattled violently, and the fine porcelain plates on it clattered together like nervous bones.
"Che… so what if he really is a magician of the Yotsuba Clan?!" James roared. "Doesn't he understand one of the most basic truths of this world—'blocking another man's path to wealth is the same as killing his parents'?! That little punk dares to stand in our way?!"
"If it really comes to that, then we fight them!" another executive barked, his eyes flashing with reckless fury. "What can the Yotsuba really do to us? Yotsuba Genzo, the one who struck the Great Han years ago, is long dead. And the infamous Witch of the River of Sorrows has been in her grave for three years! The Yotsuba are nothing but shadows of their former selves. All that remains is Yotsuba Maya… do you honestly think we fear the Yotsuba?!"
"Oh? So you're not afraid, huh?"
The mocking words slid into the room like a blade of ice.
"Wh–who said that?!"
Every man at the table froze, their spines stiffening. Cold sweat broke across their backs as their gazes darted about the room. Bodyguards stood at their posts, stiff and unflinching, but none of them had spoken. No outsider had entered. No one had even touched the door.
"Was… was that a hallucination…?" one man muttered, his throat tight.
But that fleeting thought was shattered the very next second.
A thunderous crack echoed as the south wall of the room suddenly gave way—yet it wasn't an explosion, nor a collapse, nor the tearing of concrete. No, it simply ceased to exist.
The wall decomposed in an instant, melting into fine dust that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Steel bars, rebar, reinforced plating—materials that should have withstood even military-grade explosives—dissolved neatly as if they had never been there. Wiring fizzled briefly, then fell silent. What remained was nothing but an open void leading into the night.
"Wh… what the hell?!"
"Impossible! This room was reinforced… even C4 couldn't…"
Their words broke into silence, swallowed by pure terror. This place had been built to withstand heavy assault, a fortress disguised as a restaurant's private suite. And yet, the wall had vanished like sand blown away by the wind.
"Who the hell are you?! Show yourself!!"
"Stop shouting, baka… I'm right here."
The unfamiliar voice returned, dripping with amused disdain.
Every head turned sharply toward the sound. And then, as if conjured from the darkness itself, he appeared.
Sitting casually on the polished edge of the round table, one leg draped lazily over the other, was a white-haired man. His long silver hair fluttered faintly in the breeze seeping through the broken wall, reflecting the neon lights of Yokohama's nightscape. His crimson eyes gleamed like jewels, sharp and mocking.
In his right hand, he spun a sleek black dagger, tossing it into the air and catching it without effort, over and over, as if this whole intrusion were nothing more than a game.
It was none other than Yotsuba Mahiro, cloaked in his new guise. His transformation, woven from the Yotsuba's Parade technique, made him appear less like a mere youth and more like a phantom noble—an alluring, dangerous reaper who had stepped straight out of legend.
The men at the table froze in shock.
"H… how did he—?!"
"It can't be… there's no way he breached this room!"
Mahiro smirked faintly, resting his cheek against his knuckles as though bored. "Ara, ara… you guys talk pretty big when my name isn't in the room. Not afraid of the Yotsuba, huh? Not even afraid of me?" His tone dripped with playful mockery, yet the edge beneath his words was sharper than the dagger twirling between his fingers.
The executives were silent, their bravado withering under the boy's piercing gaze.
As for how he had entered? That was thanks to Ayako's spell—'Apparent Instantaneous Movement.' It was an advanced technique, one that enveloped the target in a cocoon of compressed air, neutralized inertia, and then allowed them to travel across space in the blink of an eye by cutting a path through vacuum itself. To an untrained eye, it was indistinguishable from teleportation.
Ordinarily, Ayako alone would never have had the magical capacity to move someone so far, especially into such a fortified stronghold. But in Mahiro's hands, infused with his overwhelming precision and raw magical power, the spell blossomed into perfection.
Anywhere his crimson gaze could reach—he could step into that place as if the laws of distance had ceased to exist.
The sight of him sitting there, relaxed yet exuding an aura of absolute danger, froze the blood of everyone present. For a moment, no one dared even to breathe too loudly.
Mahiro's silver hair swayed faintly, his tailcoat's black fabric absorbing the light like a void. To the terrified executives, he looked less like a human and more like a harbinger of death—a Shinigami that had come to collect their souls.
"Well then," Mahiro said softly, his voice slicing through the silence, "why don't we have a little… talk?"
"Back at the Nine Schools Competition, I received quite a lot of hospitality. I came here today to return the favor."
"Attack!! Get rid of him!!!" The executives roared in unison, immediately ordering their private army—the Spell Casters—to move.
Mahiro sighed, almost pitying them. "How pitiful…" he murmured softly, watching the black-clad figures approach.
Spell Casters… Once magicians. Their self-awareness had been stripped away, leaving only husks—bodies turned into vessels for forced casting. Nothing more than weapons now. It was the ultimate fate for those whose lives had been reduced to tools.
The technology was especially rampant in ROMA—ironic, considering their obsession with human rights.
Tch. So they're working with the USNA too… Mahiro clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers.
Crack! The air trembled. The Spell Casters disintegrated instantly, their bodies unraveling into dust that scattered across the floor.
"...M-My Number Fourteen! Number Sixteen! Wh-what kind of monster is this?!"
One of the executives—a bloated middle-aged man in a gaudy suit, his hands heavy with jewels—clutched at his face and shrieked. His prized soldiers, bought from ROMA at such a high cost, had vanished without leaving even a hair behind.
As an executive of the Headless Dragon, he had seen cruelty, but this… this was on another level.
"So noisy." Mahiro's brows knitted together. "What gibberish are you even spouting?"
With a casual flick of his dagger, the man's body dissolved into nothingness—leaving behind only ashes staining the carpet.
"Gregory!" Douglas roared, his eyes bloodshot with rage and fear.
"Oh? So that was Gregory Liu just now." Mahiro chuckled lightly. His voice was calm, but to the others it was the voice of a demon whispering from the depths of hell.
"Wh-who are you?! What grudge do you have with us?!"
"Baka…" Mahiro's tone was colder than steel. "Such a stupid question. Next."
Another sweep of his blade. Another man erased from existence.
The survivors dared not breathe. Their legs trembled.
In Mahiro's blind spot, one man desperately edged toward the door. Two meters. One meter.
The moment his fingertips brushed the doorknob, he lunged—straight for the door and the wired telephone next to it.
"How foolish."
He slammed the receiver to his ear. "Hurry! Send people! There's an intruder!!!"
But silence answered him.
"No signal?!" Another executive pulled out his wireless device, fumbling to activate it. "Mine too…!"
Mahiro exhaled softly, almost disappointed. "Calling you idiots would be an insult to the word 'idiot.' Since I can appear here, it's obvious I've already blocked your communications. You really don't understand the simplest things, huh?"
He raised his hand. "And you wasted a chance to escape with your lives."
Another surge of Thought-Body Waves swept out like a silent storm. Half of the men vanished into dust, leaving only three trembling survivors.
"James!!"
Douglas's sanity snapped as his companions were annihilated before his eyes. The erasure was absolute—no corpses, no blood, only emptiness.
This man… No, this demon… was even more terrifying than their leader.
The sight dragged up memories from years ago—an incident in Okinawa.
"That magic that can erase everything…! You… you're that Okinawa Demon… Mahesvara?!"
"...Huh?"
Mahiro tilted his head, a question mark practically floating above it.
Seriously? Onii-san's getting blamed again? Mahiro's lips curved into a sly grin. Well, it wasn't his problem. If Tatsuya-nii had to shoulder a few more rumors, so what? He had the official backing to handle it.
Mahiro turned his attention back to the survivors.
Thud! Douglas, the leader, collapsed to his knees.
"P-please! Spare me!" He grovelled with tears and snot running down his face. "I'll tell you anything! Anything you want! I'll do whatever you ask!"
The leader of the Headless Dragon's Japan branch—reduced to a pathetic sight, begging for his life.
"Really now?" Mahiro crouched slightly, tilting his head with mock amusement. "You'll do anything?"
"Yes! Yes, I swear it!" Douglas bobbed his head frantically like a pecking chick. "I'll withdraw from the Nine Schools Competition! I'll leave Japan! You can take all my money! Just… just spare me, onegai!!!"
The terror Mahiro radiated had already surpassed Douglas's fear of his own leader.
"Good. Then listen carefully." Mahiro's tone sharpened like a blade. "Deliver a message to your boss—Richard Sun. Tell him… I'll be coming to have tea with him soon."
"Y-yes! Of course! I'll deliver it right away!" Douglas shouted, his voice cracking. His loyalty to his leader meant nothing before the overwhelming dread that gripped him.
"Oh, and one more thing." Mahiro's eyes narrowed, glinting with amusement. "About me being Mahesvara… that little rumor stays between us. You get me?"
"N-no problem, I'll definitely deliver your message!" Douglas, though startled at first, quickly nodded like a trembling puppet.
He greatly feared his leader, but the presence of this demon before him made his heart pound in icy terror.
"Oh, and one more thing," Mahiro's voice was soft, almost playful, but it cut like a blade. "Regarding me being Mahesvara—keep it a secret. Understand?"
"U-understood! We will absolutely not tell anyone." The group nodded frantically, fear written all over their pale faces.
"Good answer. I like it."
Mahiro bent down and patted Douglas's shoulder as if consoling him. For a brief moment, Douglas allowed himself to breathe, relief flooding through him.
But the next instant—
Shing!
The dagger in Mahiro's hand flashed, a streak of black light slicing through the air.
There wasn't even time for screams. Douglas and his confidants vanished—erased from the world without leaving behind so much as a shadow.
And then—
Whooosh!
A fierce blizzard descended without warning, swallowing the entire top floor of the restaurant in a coffin of ice. In an instant, the lavish setting was transformed into a frozen grave.
… … …
At that very same time.
Inside the luxurious VIP reception room of the hotel, Yotsuba Maya had not yet departed. She sat with refined grace, her posture composed as always.
Across from her sat an elderly man, his expression severe, his aged face carved with deep lines of experience.
"Madam, your tea," Hayama said politely, placing a steaming cup of freshly brewed herbal tea before her.
Maya delicately lifted the porcelain cup, inhaling the gentle fragrance. The subtle aroma carried an elegance that soothed the senses.
"Kudou-sensei," Maya's lips curved into a small smile. "Are you really not going to try Hayama's craftsmanship?"
"No need." The old man's tone was curt, leaving no room for argument.
"Is that so? How unfortunate," Maya chuckled softly, tilting her head. "Do you know, Sensei? Hayama spent quite a lot of effort perfecting this cup of tea. He even incorporated magic into the brewing process."
Her crimson eyes sparkled as she continued, "This delicate weaving of magic—perhaps even you, who are revered as the most skillful magician, would struggle to imitate it, wouldn't you?"
Before Kudou-sensei could respond, Hayama himself spoke up respectfully: "No, Madam. In terms of delicacy and refinement in magic usage, the Grandmaster is unmatched."
To an outsider, this back-and-forth might have seemed like ordinary household chatter. But to Kudou Retsu, who quietly observed, it was far from casual.
To him, it was a carefully staged play—a subtle contest of wills between mistress and servant, designed in part for his eyes.
The old man, however, was not so easily provoked. Patient, silent, he waited.
Maya, sensing his refusal to rise to the bait, slowly set her cup back on its tray. Her crimson gaze finally met his.
It was Kudou Retsu who broke the silence first. "Maya… it's been a long time since we've sat together like this, hasn't it?"
"Yes, it has," Maya replied with a faint smile. Her tone softened as though recalling a distant memory. "Since my sister's funeral… Sensei and I haven't met again. Almost three years now."
"Three years, hm…" Retsu let out a quiet sigh, his expression momentarily distant. "Though it was only three years, Maya, you've changed a great deal."
"Hehe," Maya chuckled, though her tone carried a shadow. "Time spares no one, Sensei. Isn't it the same for you? At the age of ninety, you too have grown older."
"No." Retsu's voice cut sharply, interrupting her with a firmness that filled the room. "I'm not speaking of age. I mean your heart. Maya… you've become even more unhinged."
At those words, Maya covered her lips with a hand, her shoulders trembling lightly as though amused.
"Oh, Sensei, how cruel," she cooed, her eyes glinting dangerously. "What makes you say that? Compared to the past, I've reined myself in quite a bit, don't you think?"
Her act of feigned innocence was transparent, her smile curving into something sharp and treacherous.
But Retsu's gaze remained piercing. His tone hardened. "You let him out. Isn't that madness enough?"
At this accusation, Maya tilted her head slightly, crimson hair brushing her cheek as she smiled sweetly. She looked almost like a mischievous child feigning confusion.
"Hehe… Sensei, could it be that you're talking about… Mahiroi?"
Her voice dripped with mock innocence, though her eyes betrayed amusement.
"But saying I 'let him out' isn't exactly correct," she went on, her tone turning gentle. "I'm just a foolish mother who suddenly had a change of heart."
Her smile softened into something maternal, yet unsettling. "I only wish to do what any mother should—let my child attend school, make friends, laugh, and dream. Spoil him a little… fulfill his whims. Is that truly so insane?"
Retsu's hand curled slightly, his knuckles whitening. "Your goal isn't so simple, Maya."
"What purpose do you imagine I have, Sensei?" Maya asked smoothly. She lifted her cup again, sipping as if the conversation was no more serious than idle gossip.
After a deliberate pause, she placed it down and folded her hands over her lap.
"I've never been able to control that child," she said quietly. "You, of all people, should understand that best. And you also know very well how that child came to be."
At those words, Kudou Retsu fell into silence.
Yotsuba Mahiro was no ordinary child. He was an ominous existence—an embodiment of sin, as if the very world had conspired to stain him from the moment of his conception.
Kudou Retsu—known by many as Kudou-sensei, the cunning and ever-watchful elder of the Ten Master Clans—looked at the woman before him and felt a fleeting sense of nostalgia. There were times, buried deep in memory, when he almost missed the days he had taken in the Yotsuba sisters, Shinya and Maya, as his disciples. Days when he taught them the secrets of magic, watching them grow with bright futures ahead.
But that illusion shattered long ago.
When Yotsuba Maya was only twelve years old, everything had changed.
That year, Maya, her elder sister Shinya, and the young Saegusa heir, Saegusa Kouichi, attended the International Magic Association's Asian Branch exchange meeting. It was supposed to be a harmless event, a gathering of young magicians meant to strengthen ties between clans.
Instead, it turned into a nightmare.
Unidentified terrorists stormed the meeting. In the chaos, Shinya fought bravely, but Maya was taken hostage. Kouichi tried to save her, but his effort cost him dearly—he lost an eye to protect the young girls.
By the time the Yotsuba Family tracked the kidnappers and recovered Maya, three days had already passed.
Three days of torment.
Three days of inhuman experiments that no child, no human being, should ever have endured. Maya was used as little more than a vessel for grotesque magical research—her body mutilated, her womb stolen from her to fuel twisted experiments in artificial magician breeding.
When she returned, she was broken. Her spirit lay in tatters, her body stripped of its ability to bear children. Despair gnawed at her soul, and more than once, Maya attempted to end her own life.
Only Shinya saved her.
With her powerful abilities, Shinya used her own magic to transmute Maya's unbearable "experiences" into mere "knowledge." It was an act of desperation, of love between sisters. That magic kept Maya alive—but at a terrible cost.
From that day forward, the Yotsuba Maya who once laughed and dreamed was gone. What remained was a hollow shell, her existence driven only by hatred.
Yes, Yotsuba Maya hated.
She hated the terrorists who had stolen her future.
She hated the world that had allowed it.
She hated the cruel fate that denied her the joy of ever becoming a mother.
And in that hate, she prayed—not for healing, but for destruction. For the world itself to collapse.
Then, fate twisted again.
Shinya, gentle and radiant Shinya, became pregnant.
Maya's hate, her prayers, her curse, poured into the unborn child inside her sister's womb. She cursed the world, cursed destiny itself, and clung to the hope that this child might one day inherit her hatred.
Perhaps her madness had reached its peak. For then, something impossible happened.
Maya herself became "pregnant."
Not in her body—for her womb had long been taken from her—but within that very organ, preserved in secret at the Fourth Research Institute. The stolen uterus, sealed away in nutrient fluid, began to swell as if alive, nurturing something within.
Day by day, it grew. Day by day, life stirred.
It was as if her hatred had taken form. As if her madness had been answered by the gods themselves.
And thus, Yotsuba Mahiro was born.
A cursed child. A miracle child. Blessed—or perhaps cursed—from birth.
From the moment his eyes first opened, Mahiro carried the "Cursed Eyes/ Sharingan": no matter what magic, what technique, what ritual—if he saw it even once, he could replicate it flawlessly.
The Yotsuba Clan, cold and calculating, branded this bloodline impure. To them, Mahiro was nothing more than the Fourth Research Institute's grotesque experiment, proof of a successful manipulation of life.
But Maya… Maya believed otherwise.
"No," she whispered countless times as she held him. "This child is my miracle. A gift from the gods. Proof that magic is nothing less than divine."
And so, she poured every ounce of her soul into raising him—not as a son, but as a weapon, an avenger who would one day destroy the world she despised.
Even before he was born, genetic modifications were performed. His body was designed, engineered to surpass even Yotsuba Miyuki, the so-called masterpiece of the Fourth Laboratory. Maya educated him, guided him, surrounded him with every resource and tutor she could call upon.
Yotsuba Mahiro grew quickly. Sharp, cold, powerful. A weapon honed from the moment of birth.
And now, he walked the same world as Shiba Tatsuya.
Kudou Retsu knew the truth of Tatsuya's existence as well. That boy, too, was no ordinary magician. He was the child of Shiba Miya, the elder of the twin sisters, and a weapon forged in darkness.
Maya had put the two of them together.
"What are you scheming, Maya?" Kudou-sensei asked at last, his old eyes narrowing as he studied his former disciple.
Maya smiled. That eerie, too-bright smile that unsettled even him.
"I only want to be a good mother, Kudou-sensei," she said sweetly. "To give my son the best of everything."
"Enough." Retsu's voice was low, filled with warning. "If that's all you'll say, then this conversation is over."
He knew it was pointless to demand more. Maya's lips would never reveal her true heart.
Maya tilted her head politely. "Then, Sensei, please rest early. I hear the Nine Schools Competition is keeping you quite busy."
The words sounded gentle. Yet her smile carried mockery, a sharp edge hidden behind false kindness.
Retsu did not answer. But as he turned to leave, the old man paused, his back to her.
"Yotsuba Mahiro left the Nine Schools dormitory tonight. Did you know? The Independent Magic Battalion also made a move this evening."
"Oh? Is that so?" Maya's tone was light, indifferent.
"It is both a reminder… and a warning," Retsu said gravely.
Maya only gave a soft laugh. "Thank you for the reminder, Sensei."
And with that, the old magician departed.
Left alone, Maya leaned back against the sofa. She lifted a delicate porcelain teacup, gazing into the golden surface where her reflection shimmered back at her.
A quiet smile spread across her lips.
"So, this might be Mahiro-kun and Tatsuya-kun's first real clash. I wonder… what will those two boys do to each other?"
The tea rippled softly as her laughter echoed in the empty room.
....
Rewind time by ten minutes.
"Second Lieutenant Fujibayashi, mission failed. We were too late."
"I understand. Then come back, Special Lieutenant Ooguro. But who exactly…"
"It was Yotsuba Mahiro, Second Lieutenant."
When Shiba Tatsuya spoke that name, he swore he could hear a sharp intake of breath over the communication line.
"It was him… Is it the same as the last Blanche incident?"
Tatsuya did not answer immediately. His eyes, calm yet always unreadable, followed the subtle ripples of his own reasoning. Even though he had witnessed the annihilation of the Headless Dragon's Japanese branch with his own eyes, he could not decipher Mahiro's exact reason.
"…Perhaps, it was for the students of First High."
That was the only conclusion Tatsuya could reach after replaying the event in his mind.
"Understood. Then we'll withdraw, Special Lieutenant Ooguro."
The line went silent.
Tatsuya lingered in the shadows, watching Mahiro from a distance. The young man still walked in his "Disguise Parade" state, the shifting layers of illusion trailing behind him like drifting haze. Tatsuya's expression remained neutral, but his thoughts ran deep.
There was no friction between them—for now. Their goals aligned, so their paths did not yet cross in opposition. Still, had he not realized that Mahiro was the one scattering mist illusions, he might have been tempted to test him.
At that exact moment—
Though Mahiro avoided running into Shiba Tatsuya directly, he was intercepted by someone else upon leaving the restaurant.
The stranger was male. Roughly twenty-five years old, carrying himself with the air of an aristocrat. His long, flowing hair gleamed faintly under the lights, and thin violet bangs veiled parts of his striking yet unsettling face. His steps, however, were not ordinary.
They followed a precise rhythm, almost ritualistic.
Mahiro narrowed his eyes. "Qimen Dunjia…?"
If four feng shui compasses were placed beneath his feet, each step would have aligned with exact points of direction.
The man paused, mildly surprised to be recognized. "Ara, so you could tell? Not bad. But no—this is not Qimen Dunjia. This is Guimen Dunjia."
He bowed lightly, as though in a refined tea ceremony.
"And if I'm not mistaken, you must be the rising star of the Yotsuba Family, correct?"
His politeness only heightened Mahiro's caution. The more courteous someone was, the more dangerous they tended to be. Mahiro knew this instinctively.
He expanded his observation range subtly, threads of perception brushing around the man's presence while replying with a faint nod. "That's right. I am Yotsuba Mahiro."
With that, the illusion of his "Disguise Parade" melted away. Since he had already been recognized, there was no point in continuing the charade.
"And you? Who exactly are you?"
"Excuse my rudeness. It's an honor to meet you. My name is Zhou Gongjin. As you can see, I am nothing more than an ordinary merchant on this Chinatown street."
Mahiro arched an eyebrow. Ordinary merchant?
No ordinary merchant would wield a strange art like Guimen Dunjia.
But what intrigued Mahiro more was the man's name.
"…Zhou Gongjin? As in Zhou Yu of Jiangdong?"
The man chuckled softly. "Heh. People do say that, but I'm afraid not. Gongjin is my given name."
Mahiro's shoulders slumped in mild disappointment. "Tch. I thought you were the real Zhou Yu. How boring."
His interest cooled.
"Then, Zhou Gongjin-san, did you stop me here for something important?"
"Indeed," Zhou admitted without hesitation. "I heard rumors that you were cast aside by the Yotsuba Family. I wanted to ask if you would consider working with my teacher."
"Your teacher? And who would that be?"
"Gu Jie—though some know him as Gide Schetz Black."
As the name left his lips, Zhou Gongjin's aura shifted. Reverence radiated from him, so thick it almost weighed on the air.
Mahiro blinked. That name… it rang a bell.
"The supreme commander of Blanche… and elder brother of Richard Sun, the leader of the Headless Dragon syndicate?"
"That's correct."
Mahiro snorted and laughed outright.
"Heh. Baka. Did you seriously come here without doing your homework? I'm the one who crushed Blanche's Japanese branch! And less than twenty minutes ago, I dismantled the East Japan division of Headless Dragon myself. Now you want to talk about cooperation? Do you take me for an idiot?"
But Zhou Gongjin didn't flinch. His calmness almost bordered on arrogance.
"They were nothing but disposable pawns. My teacher doesn't care for such small fry. What he values… are talents like you. A prodigy with overwhelming strength, yet abandoned by his clan. Don't you think it's a cruel fate, Mahiro-san?"
The words were honeyed, dripping with false sympathy.
Mahiro's smirk vanished into a cold glare. "Cruel or not, I don't need pity. And I sure as hell don't need to cozy up with stateless terrorists. Save your offer. Goodbye."
He turned to walk away.
"Oh dear… this is troublesome." Zhou sighed theatrically, raising a pale hand to his forehead. "My teacher can be rather willful. He ordered me to secure your cooperation at any cost. Which means…"
His hand flashed.
"…I'll have to be a bit forceful. Quick! Howling Celestial Dog!"
A yellow talisman flew from Zhou's fingers. At once, the sky warped, and the colossal shadow of a four-legged beast descended. Its eyes burned like twin purple flames as it lunged at Mahiro with jaws wide open.
Mahiro's lips curved in faint amusement.
"Oh? Now this is interesting…"
The spell Zhou Gongjin unleashed was unlike any magic he had seen before. It carried a faint resemblance to a Shikigami, but more precisely, it was like a crude and watered-down version of the legendary Six Ding Six Jia technique.
If it were any ordinary magician, they might have been caught off guard.
But before Mahiro—
"…it's honestly underwhelming."
Rip!
With both hands, he seized the summoned demon dog by its upper and lower jaws. A surge of strength burst from his body, and with a single twist—he tore the beast apart in one brutal motion.
"Impossible… I spent ten years crafting that shikigami!" Zhou Gongjin's face stiffened, his words a mix of disbelief and anger. His so-called trump card, the Howling Celestial Dog, had been reduced to nothing in seconds.
Mahiro brushed the remains aside, his cold gaze sharpening. "So when you can't negotiate, you just sic a beast on me? Pathetic."
The atmosphere tightened, a suffocating weight pressing down. Cold sweat streamed down Zhou Gongjin's forehead as Mahiro crushed the shredded ofuda in his palm and surged forward.
"Ice Mist Divine Realm!"
At once, a whirlpool of freezing psions burst forth, wrapping around Mahiro's fists. Strangely, the chill did not seep into the air—it compressed tightly around him, focused with surgical precision.
Under the glow of the streetlights, his fists gleamed faintly with a greenish-blue radiance.
"Here it comes…" Zhou Gongjin's eyes widened in horror.
With a sharp step forward, Mahiro drove his ice-laden fist straight for Zhou's face.
"Guuh—!"
Fear overtook Zhou Gongjin, forcing his body to twist unnaturally as if folding through another dimension.
"Guimen Dunjia again?" Mahiro spat. "Baka! Did you really think I wouldn't see through your cheap trick?!"
He redirected his strike, slamming his fist down on Zhou's contorted frame.
BOOM!
The street cracked violently as freezing psions surged outward. Ice crystals spread along the asphalt, devouring the ground where Zhou should have been. Yet—when the smoke cleared, there was no trace of him.
"Tch… he used Earth-style escape magic? That's absurd." Mahiro exhaled, irritation flickering in his eyes.
Meanwhile—
Three hundred meters away, Zhou Gongjin's figure reappeared, slumping weakly against a wall. His dignified air had vanished completely, replaced by trembling exhaustion.
Half of his body was covered in frost. The cold hadn't merely clung to his skin—it had pierced him deeply, freezing muscle, bone, and even his organs.
He spat out shards of ice mixed with blood. "Haaah… terrifying… cough! …Teacher… do you really intend to ally yourself… with such a monster…?"
His breathing grew ragged. Just a single punch had nearly ended his life. Not only had Mahiro seen straight through his Guimen Dunjia, he'd even wrapped high-grade magic around his fists to turn them into weapons.
Though Zhou had escaped with his one-time emergency technique, his body was on the verge of collapse. Each breath rattled his chest like shattering glass, as though his very life span had been cut down.
"Yotsuba… Mahiro…" he whispered bitterly, before sliding down the wall, leaving a streak of bloodied frost in his wake.
*******
This guy Zhou Gongjin uses ancient magics
Yes, Gu Jie really is Gide Schetz Black or Jiedo Heigu