Mahiro pov.
To be honest… this whole system is messed up. To let little girls, barely ten years old, step onto the battlefield, their small bodies stained with blood… how could anyone accept that?
Unacceptable.
"Since that's the case," Kisara suddenly said, her voice cutting into the heavy silence, "I have a suggestion. I wonder if you, Mahiro-san, would be willing to accept it?"
I tilted my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "Hmm? Oh? Let's hear it then~."
Her pale fingers tightened slightly, betraying her nervousness. She lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked straight at me with surprising determination. "It's just… I can give you a place to live. But in exchange, you'll have to become an IFA, join my Tendo Civil Security Corporation, and work as one of my employees."
Her tone wavered at the start, but by the end her voice was firm. Even so, I could see the faint trembling of her hands at her sides.
I studied her quietly for a few seconds before asking: "Just curious, why me?"
Kisara's crimson eyes did not waver. She spoke slowly, word by word: "Because of your strength."
Even if I seemed shrouded in mystery and carried the aura of someone hiding something, she could feel it—my power wasn't ordinary. And her company… it had just been established. She desperately needed capable people at her side.
Even if I was a stranger with no background, she had decided. She would not let go of a talent like me.
"But… there's one problem," I countered. "I don't have an ID. I'm basically an unregistered person."
Kisara's lips curved in a faint smile. "That's not an issue. I can help you with the paperwork. All you'll need is to pass the IFA licensing exam. As for salary—well, it'll depend on the commissions you complete. You'll get a percentage."
"Haah…" I exhaled softly, scratching the back of my head. This girl… she's way more persistent than she looks.
But the truth was, I really had no reason to refuse. Right now, I did need a place to stay.
So I nodded. "Alright, I accept."
Her crimson eyes lit up immediately. She straightened, her boots tapping lightly against the floor, and smiled so brightly that it was almost blinding. "Welcome to the Tendo Civil Security Corporation!"
She extended a slender, snow-white hand. The gesture was polite, almost formal, but there was a hint of girlish excitement in it too.
I clasped her hand lightly. Her palm felt delicate at first… but then, against her fingertips, I felt something hard. A faint roughness.
Calluses.
Sword calluses.
I'd felt the same texture on Sayaka-chan and Erika-san's hands before. There was no mistaking it.
So, another swordswoman, huh? And a beautiful one at that.
Our hands lingered only briefly before parting. Kisara's expression quickly grew serious again.
"Besides that," she said, her crimson gaze sharpening, "there's one more thing. As your president, I need to understand your true abilities to assign missions properly. So tomorrow, Mahiro-san… I'll need to have a match with you."
I blinked. "A match? Eh? Isn't that unnecessary? Wouldn't my strength be obvious once I get my IFA license?"
After all, the IFA system had rankings. Higher rank meant stronger ability—that much was supposed to be obvious. I'd even heard that the top few ranked partners could sway the balance of world militaries.
Kisara crossed her arms, her tone firm but teasing. "Heh, don't trust that system too much. Numbers alone aren't accurate. You only understand someone's power after crossing blades with them directly."
I caught a glimpse of something like nostalgia in her eyes. Of course—her childhood friend, Satomi Rentarō. His strength was solid, but his rank was abnormally low, buried beyond the 120,000s like some nameless mob character.
That alone had been enough to cripple her company's chance at receiving commissions. No wonder she insisted.
"Alright, alright," I sighed, raising my hands in defeat. "Have it your way. But tell me this—will I really be the only employee in this company?"
"Of course not," she replied instantly. "You'll meet someone else tomorrow morning. Until then, just rest here tonight."
She turned toward the inner room, her boots clicking softly against the wooden floor. But her voice quickly grew sharp, muttering under her breath. "Damn it, Rentarō… why won't you pick up your phone?"
Her face twisted from joy into visible displeasure as she gripped her phone tightly. Then, just as she reached the doorway, she suddenly turned back to glare at me.
"Oh, one more thing!" she snapped, her cheeks flushed pink though her phoenix-like eyes flashed dangerously. "You are absolutely forbidden from entering this room tonight! If you even try sneaking in… I'll chop you to pieces!"
The warning was fierce, but also flustered.
I raised a brow. Did she really think I was that kind of guy? I wasn't some shameless pervert lurking in the night, ready to assault a girl I'd just met.
Besides, if I truly had such intentions… wouldn't I have acted earlier, when I carried her unconscious body during the day?
Shaking my head helplessly, I watched her retreat inside and slam the door shut.
I sighed, stripped off my jacket, and tossed it onto the back of a chair before lying down on the sofa. I shifted around a bit, searching for a comfortable position.
Time trickled by. The city outside fell into silence, wrapped in darkness, its streets devoid of life.
And yet… I couldn't sleep.
I lay there on the couch, staring up at the simple ceiling, my mind replaying everything that had happened today.
First, I inexplicably transmigrated. Then I stumbled upon a starving, beautiful girl. Then, somehow, I agreed to join her fledgling IFA company.
Fate, huh? Sometimes it really is absurdly unpredictable.
But there was something else—something far more important—resting heavy on my mind.
I lifted my right hand, fingers spread toward the ceiling. On my index finger, a ring shimmered faintly even in the darkness.
A relic of the Yotsuba Family.
The records had no documentation on it, but after activating it, I'd uncovered three abilities.
,,,,
Omni POV,
The first… was Crossing.
It allowed him to traverse worlds. The destination seemed random, unpredictable, like dice tossed by the gods. Yet there was always an anchor point—a place he could return to once the ring's energy had fully recharged. That certainty alone gave him a sense of freedom, a lifeline across countless realities.
The second ability was storage.
Yes, just like the cheats in those web novels he used to binge before his transmigration. The ring contained a massive internal space, capable of holding not only objects, but—according to the faint information he sensed from the ring—even living things.
"That part… needs testing," he murmured, narrowing his eyes. The thought of sealing away something alive unsettled him. What would happen to its body? Its soul?
And finally—the third ability.
The one that had emerged only after the ring devoured the Philosopher's Stone.
Mahiro's lips curved faintly as he thought about it. The ring had gained the power of material transmutation.
Of course, the term "turning objects into gold" was only a crude way to describe it. In truth, it was the culmination of what medieval alchemists had pursued with all their lives: the transformation of base materials into noble metals, the crafting of the fabled elixir, the creation of miracles through formulas woven into existence.
The Philosopher's Stone was not some miracle crystal formed by chance. No—it was a vessel that held an immense and complex magical formula, a framework of alchemy itself. A formula capable of rewriting the very essence of matter.
Unfortunately, Mahiro hadn't had the time to fully analyze its formula before the ring greedily swallowed it whole.
"Tch… guess there's only one way to find out."
He sat upright on the sofa, eyes glinting with curiosity. His hand stretched toward a porcelain teacup on the table. He pressed the ring against it.
Buzz—
A shimmer of light burst forth, faint particles scattering through the room like starlight drifting in the night sky.
When the glow faded, the plain ceramic teacup had been reborn. Its once dull white surface now gleamed brilliantly, pure gold from surface to core.
Mahiro exhaled slowly, admiring the weight and luster of the cup. "So it really works."
Yet his brows soon furrowed. A dull pain throbbed in his skull, accompanied by dizziness. He clutched his temple, scowling.
"This is… a bit troublesome."
Just now, when the ring activated, he had seen fragments of the alchemical formula flash before his eyes. But his mind had failed to decipher them.
Even with the Sharingan, which allowed him to replicate and utilize foreign techniques, he could only invoke the formula. He couldn't grasp the principle behind it, nor alter it.
It was the same as holding a divine grimoire written in an alien tongue—he could chant its verses, but not comprehend them.
In other words, he lacked the knowledge base. His foundation was simply too shallow.
"Yare yare… so I can play with the power, but I don't understand the song it's singing."
Still, his curiosity burned brighter than his frustration. He wasn't the type to give up after one headache.
"Let's try again."
He set down the golden teacup and reached for other objects on the coffee table—coasters, chopsticks, even a spoon.
The room soon glittered with faint starlight again and again.
...
By the time the night surrendered to dawn, the simple office had been transformed. Almost everything within reach on the coffee table—yes, even the coffee table itself—had turned to solid gold.
And yet, despite all his experimenting, Mahiro's understanding of "material transformation" had barely budged. If his progress could be measured by a bar, it would not even reach 1%.
He leaned back against the sofa, rubbing his temples. "Man, this is going to take forever…"
...
The following morning.
The sun crept lazily over the horizon, casting golden light across the Tokyo Area. The faint hum of awakening life drifted through the streets.
Knock knock.
A sudden pounding on the door broke the calm.
"Kisara-san, you awake? I forgot my key!"
The voice was low, male.
Mahiro froze mid-thought, his eyes flicking toward the closed bedroom door. Kisara's room remained silent.
Another loud knock followed. Thump thump thump.
"Oi! Kisara-san! Don't tell me you're still asleep?"
Mahiro sighed. Judging by her fiery personality, Kisara would've snapped back already if she were awake. Clearly, she was either still asleep or deliberately ignoring the caller.
"Guess I'll handle this," he muttered, rising from the sofa.
He crossed the office and unlocked the door.
The door swung open, revealing a young man standing outside. His expression was gloomy, sharp eyes immediately locking onto Mahiro.
For an instant, surprise flickered across his face—only to be replaced by grim seriousness. His hand instinctively slid toward the holster at his hip.
Mahiro raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are we going to fight right here at the doorstep?"
The air between them tensed, heavy like a taut string about to snap.
...
Meanwhile, inside his head, Satomi Rentarō was a storm of confusion.
Last night, when Kisara had called, he had been in the middle of a job. He hadn't been able to answer. And since she didn't call again, he assumed it wasn't urgent. By the time his work ended, it was already late, so he'd decided to stop by in the morning instead.
He had expected to be greeted, as usual, by his sleepy president—her crimson eyes half-lidded, her bedhead impossible to tame.
Instead, the door had opened to reveal… a stranger.
Not just any stranger, either. A handsome young man with delicate features, sharp yet oddly soft, the kind of face that would stand out in any crowd.
For a moment, Rentarō even thought he had come to the wrong place. He quickly turned his head to check the nameplate. No, it clearly read: Tendo Civil Security Corporation
So who was this guy?
A male escort?
The thought made him flinch. Although Kisara-san was only fifteen years old—a young girl standing at the very peak of her blossoming youth—she bore pressures far heavier than most adults. The burden of the Tendo Family weighed down on her shoulders every day.
So if she had, in her loneliness, hired some kind of "male escort" to ease her stress, Rentarō could almost understand. Almost.
But—
There was one glaring flaw in that theory.
Kisara-san had poured every yen of her savings into this newly formed Tendo Civil Security Corporation. They had been scraping by on supermarket discounts and leftovers for weeks. Money was so tight it squeaked.
There was no way—no possible way—she could afford to hire such a ridiculously handsome guy.
Which meant…
Rentarō's eyes narrowed like a hawk's.
This stranger wasn't a guest. He wasn't an ally.
He was an enemy!
An intruder who had somehow broken into the office, and who knew what he had already done to Kisara-san?!
As the air grew heavier, the silence between them became sharp enough to cut. Rentarō's hand drifted to the pistol at his waist, movements slow but deliberate.
At the same time, Yotsuba Mahiro's faint smirk faded. His expression stilled into calmness, sharp and unreadable. The atmosphere thickened, ready to ignite in an instant.
And then—
"AHHHHHHHH—!!!"
A shrill scream shattered the tension like glass.
"Kisara-san!" Rentarō's face twisted in alarm. Forgetting everything else, he shoved Mahiro aside and dashed into the room.
Mahiro followed at a slower pace, curious to see what fresh chaos was about to unfold.
The sight that greeted them could only be described as… a rare CG event, straight out of a visual novel.
Kisara, still dressed in her slightly wrinkled pajamas, was sprawled half on, half off the coffee table. Her hands clutched a bundle of teacups, her eyes sparkling like twin suns.
"This is gold, right?! It's gold, isn't it?! I'm not dreaming?!"
Her voice trembled with excitement as she pressed one cup to her lips and bit into it. When she saw the faint tooth marks carved into the solid gold, her crimson eyes practically exploded with light.
"Uoooohhh! It's real! REAL GOLD!"
Mahiro sighed. Her entire body radiated greed and joy, almost like a dragon discovering treasure.
Rentarō, however, noticed something entirely different. His eyes darted from the cups to the gleaming coffee table itself. Every object within Kisara's reach… had turned into solid gold.
His jaw slackened. "W-what the hell…? This table… these cups… I bought them myself! They were cheap discount items! How… how could they have all become…?!"
Before he could finish, Mahiro's dry voice cut through.
"President Kisara, if you keep leaning forward like that, your panties are about to show."
"Eh—?"
Kisara blinked. Then, following his pointed gaze, she looked down. Her loose pajama top had shifted, her slender figure almost fully exposed as she teetered on the edge of the golden table.
Mahiro's sharp 5.0 UHD vision had already caught a glimpse.
White. Ordinary.
A simple, cheap design befitting a penniless young lady.
Kisara's cheeks instantly flared crimson. "Y-you… baka! Don't look!"
Like lightning, she snatched up her clothes, bolted upright, and sprinted back into the bedroom, leaving only a blurred afterimage in her wake.
Mahiro: "..." Rentarō: "..."
Their gazes met in the heavy silence that followed.
"…Is she always like this?" Mahiro asked.
"…Pretty much," Rentarō admitted with a helpless sigh.
The two shared a moment of mutual understanding—an acknowledgment that life under Kisara's leadership would not be simple.
Still, Rentarō couldn't entirely blame her. If he himself woke up surrounded by mountains of gold, he'd probably go crazy too. After all, since Kisara cut ties with the Tendo Family, the two of them had been barely surviving on scraps and coupons.
…
Ten minutes later, the room had returned to some semblance of order. The golden teacups and plates were carefully stacked away, though the massive golden coffee table was far too heavy to move.
Kisara, now dressed sharply in her school uniform, sat upright on the sofa. Her long legs, wrapped neatly in black thigh-high socks, crossed elegantly. Arms folded across her chest, she radiated the aura of a queen about to hand down judgment.
Mahiro sat lazily on the opposite sofa, looking entirely too amused for the situation. His eyes gleamed like he was watching a live stage performance.
And Rentarō… was on his knees in full dogeza posture, forehead nearly touching the floor.
"Satomi-kun," Kisara's voice rang out like a whip, "do you have anything else to say for yourself?"
"Kisara-san…" Rentarō began weakly.
Her crimson eyes narrowed. Smack! A paper fan materialized seemingly out of nowhere and cracked against the back of his head, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
"How many times have I told you?! At the office, it's President Kisara!"
"Yes, President Kisara…" Rentarō winced, rubbing the sore spot.
But Kisara wasn't finished.
Kisara still looked like a Rakshasa demon, eyes sharp with contempt, showing absolutely no mercy as she pressed Rentaro further. "Now tell me, Satomi-kun—why didn't you answer my call yesterday?"
"Um… I thought it wasn't urgent, so—"
"So you didn't answer my call?!" Kisara roared, smacking him again with her paper fan. "Do you even realize I almost died yesterday?!"
Rentaro winced as another whack cracked against his head. Kisara-san's fan technique was as merciless as a katana strike. She wasn't exaggerating, either. Yesterday's encounter could have ended very badly—almost like the tragic prologue of a dark anime. If she had run into danger just a few minutes later… or not run into Mahiro at all… her fate might have been sealed.
Starving to death in an alley, or being captured and turned into some weaponized experiment—that would've been considered lucky. The worst outcome? Dismembered for the black market… or eaten by stray dogs.
"President Kisara," Mahiro finally interrupted, his tone calm but edged with amusement, "aren't you going to introduce me to my new colleague? Or… could it be this suspicious-looking guy here?"
Kisara blinked, realizing she had been so caught up disciplining Rentaro that she had forgotten Mahiro was standing there. She coughed into her hand, regaining her composure.
"Ahem. Right, let's do introductions. This irresponsible fellow here is your senior colleague, Satomi Rentaro."
She then gestured toward Mahiro. "And Satomi-kun, this is Yotsuba Mahiro. You'll be working together from now on. Make sure you teach him the ropes."
"Huh?!"
Rentaro practically fell over in disbelief, staring at Mahiro as though Kisara had just told him to train a kitten to become a samurai.
"He's… also going to be an IFA?"
"Not yet," Kisara corrected, flicking her hair with pride, "but he will be soon. I'll take him to get his IFA license in a few days."
Rentaro gawked. Even if Kisara said so herself, he found it impossible to believe. Mahiro looked fragile—delicate, almost porcelain-like, with fair skin and the bearing of some rich playboy who had never worked a day in his life. Could someone like that really survive as an Initiator-Fighter Agent?
"Kisara-san… you didn't get scammed, did you?" Rentaro whispered frantically into her ear. He lowered his voice, but Mahiro's sharpened senses picked up every word.
So that's how it was. To him, Mahiro wasn't a fighter, just a… pretty boy.
Kisara brushed Rentaro's concern aside with a smug little grin. "I understand your doubts, Satomi-kun. That's why… we're going to hold an induction ceremony."
"An induction ceremony? Since when do we even have that?" Rentaro frowned, clearly lost.
"Of course we do!" Kisara puffed her chest proudly. "I went out of my way to prepare one."
And with that, she led them both out of the office.
The so-called "induction ceremony" turned out to be a strength test—simply put, a sparring match. Mahiro wasn't surprised by the idea, but when they arrived at the designated location, he raised an eyebrow.
Despite Kisara being dirt-poor, she somehow owned a full-fledged dojo.
The large wooden floor gleamed faintly under streaks of sunlight breaking through the skylight. Dust floated lazily in the air, catching the light like motes of spirit energy. The place had an air of quiet tradition, one that clashed with Kisara's current broke-lady image.
What shocked Mahiro more was that Kisara wasn't the one facing him. Instead, his opponent was the perpetually gloomy Satomi Rentaro.
"Hmm…" Mahiro's sharp eyes flicked over him. "Mechanical modifications, huh? Right hand, right leg… and the left eye too. Prosthetic-grade augmentations. Interesting."
Rentaro stiffened. "You—how do you know that?"
Mahiro smirked faintly, raising a finger toward his eyes. "Simple. My vision's a little special. It allows me to see through things—your body, your secrets, your truth."
To prove it, he turned to Kisara. "Just like you, President Kisara. Congenital diabetes… and worsening kidney failure. If I'm not wrong, you finished hemodialysis just three days ago, right?"
"...!"
Kisara froze, silent. Her lack of denial was an answer in itself.
She had already witnessed strange things from Mahiro: the teleportation-like speed when he dragged her into a food dash yesterday, the sudden appearance of pure gold in her office this morning, and now… eyes that could see through hidden truths.
Who exactly was Yotsuba Mahiro?
Her suspicion never faded, not even last night when she ordered an investigation into his identity. Yet the result was clear: no record of any "Yotsuba Mahiro" existed in Tokyo. Not even the surname Yotsuba itself existed in any registry.
That left her with only two possibilities.
Either Mahiro was lying—an escaped subject from the so-called "New Human Creation Project."
Or… everything he claimed was somehow real.
"Enough talk," Kisara finally declared, narrowing her crimson eyes. "Satomi-kun, Mahiro—begin."
"Got it," Rentaro said, stepping forward with cautious resolve.
"Sure," Mahiro replied, tone unreadable.
The rules were simple: fight with full strength. Rentaro was fine with that. Mahiro, however, remained silent, measuring how much of his strength he should reveal. Too much and he might accidentally kill his opponent with a casual flick. Too little and Kisara might doubt him further.
Still, considering Rentaro had cybernetic prosthetics, he probably wasn't too weak. Maybe this would be interesting.
The moment Kisara gave the signal, Rentaro launched forward. His body moved with speed and precision, the cybernetic leg propelling him in a blur. In an instant, he was right in Mahiro's face, delivering a sharp upward punch.
The timing was clean, the angle precise. It was a solid strike—one even professional fighters would struggle to dodge. Rentaro himself thought it was flawless.
But Mahiro didn't even shift his stance.
He simply tilted his head ever so slightly, letting the punch slice past his cheek. His feet hadn't moved a single centimeter.
"...Holding back?" Mahiro asked softly, his voice calm yet sharp as a blade. "Satomi-san, you're looking down on me a little too much."
"My apologies," Rentaro answered with a wry smile. "I'll be serious now."
And then the room erupted.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Rentaro unleashed a flurry of blows, his arms and legs striking with the weight of a fighter who had trained for years in the Tendo Style. His cybernetic limbs cut through the air like hammers, each strike sharp enough to break bone.
To anyone watching—especially Kisara—the two clashing figures must've looked fierce, almost evenly matched. Wood creaked beneath their movements, the gusts of their strikes making the dojo shudder.
But to Mahiro, it was painfully different.
Slow.
Too slow.
Every movement Rentaro made dragged before his eyes like molasses. His strength, his footwork, even the way his body shifted—it was sluggish, clumsy, crude.
Not even close.
Compared to the martial masters Mahiro had glimpsed across worlds, this was child's play. Even that bald musclehead Yagumo Kugonoe, infamous for his raw brawling, fought with sharper instinct.
Rentaro's technique was textbook, yes. But the execution? Amateurish. Hesitant. Holding back.
Mahiro sighed. "Yare yare…"
As another uppercut tore upward, Mahiro simply shifted his weight, slipped inside the strike, and drove his fist into Rentaro's chest.
Boom!
The air cracked like a gunshot. Rentaro's body was blasted backward, his feet scraping against the floor before he slammed into the dojo wall.
"Satomi-kun!" Kisara gasped, eyes wide.
But Rentaro wasn't done yet. Even mid-air, he twisted, landing on his feet with a heavy slide across the wooden floor. He gritted his teeth, coughing, and charged again.
"It's not over yet!!!"
This time, there was no hesitation. His prosthetic leg dug deep into the ground, launching him with a burst of acceleration. His shout cut through the dojo like a battle cry:
"Tendo Style Combat Art, Form Two—Sixteenth Technique!"
"Hidden Zen: Black Heaven Wind!"
A rising kick exploded upward, slicing the air like a dragon's ascension. The strike tore through Mahiro's centerline, its momentum meant to finish the fight in a single blow.
Mahiro leaned back slightly. The boot passed in front of his nose, the air rushing past with a violent whoosh.
But Rentaro wasn't finished.
"Hidden Zen—Profound Bright Nest!"
Twisting mid-air, his other leg lashed out in a spinning arc, the movement flowing perfectly from the first strike. It was a textbook combination, one designed to overwhelm and crush an opponent's guard.
Clang!
Mahiro blocked the strike with his forearm, his expression calm, almost bored.
Rentaro landed and staggered back, sweat breaking across his forehead.
He had gone all out. Those two techniques were his strongest, passed down from the Tendo Style. Yet Mahiro had swatted them aside like they were nothing.
"This guy…" Rentaro muttered, his breath heavy. "What… is he?"
Mahiro dusted his sleeve, his tone light yet courteous. "Those two moves were decent. But now—it's my turn. Please be careful."
He didn't wait for an answer.
In the next instant, he was gone from Rentaro's vision.
Teleportation—that's what it felt like. One blink, and Mahiro was already in front of him. His leg whipped upward, mimicking Rentaro's earlier movement perfectly.
"Hidden Zen: Black Heaven Wind!"
The gust of air cracked like thunder. The kick cut straight through Rentaro's guard. His cybernetic eye registered it, but his body couldn't react.
He could only watch as Mahiro's heel smashed into his chin.
Crack!
The sound rang out across the dojo.
Rentaro's vision went white. His body lifted clean off the floor, flipping backward before crashing down with a violent thud.
For a moment, everything was silent. His mind felt like it had sunk underwater, muffled and hazy.
"Satomi-kun!" Kisara rushed forward, dropping her composure completely. She knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder. "Are you okay?!"
"Cough… cough, cough!" Rentaro spat, groaning. He was bruised, his jaw aching, but miraculously intact. His cybernetic reinforcements had absorbed most of the impact.
"Sorry, sorry!" Mahiro jogged over, crouching down. His expression was oddly genuine. "I didn't hold back enough. Are you okay, Satomi-san?"
Rentaro blinked at him, wincing. "I-I'm fine… but… what the hell was that…?"
More than the pain, it was the move that shook him. Mahiro had copied his own technique—and executed it with skill that made his look like a sloppy imitation.
Kisara noticed it too. Even without mastering Tendo-ryu, she could see the difference. Mahiro's Black Heaven Wind had been flawless. No—beyond flawless. Its execution was sharper, cleaner, more perfect than anything Rentaro could've produced, even with decades of practice.
Even Shōma Nagisawa , their expelled senior, could never reach that level.
Mahiro dusted off his jacket, smiling faintly. "Ah, I forgot to mention… my eyes aren't just for seeing through people's secrets. They also allow me to instantly grasp the essence of any technique performed before me. In other words… I can learn any move on sight."
Rentaro: "...?"
Kisara: "...???"
The dojo went dead silent.
Rentaro's face twisted in disbelief. Kisara's crimson eyes widened as if she had misheard.
"You… you can instantly learn any technique?" Rentaro repeated, dumbfounded.
"Exactly," Mahiro answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Kisara's lips curved slowly into a grin, her earlier irritation vanishing. If Mahiro wasn't lying—if he truly possessed that ability—then she hadn't just picked up a colleague.
She had picked up a treasure.
Her crimson eyes gleamed with newfound interest.
"Yotsuba Mahiro…" she whispered to herself. "You might just be the key I've been waiting for."