Darkness still draped the sky over Japan.
The moon hung high, surrounded by a sea of distant stars, their pale light reflecting off the endless stretch of Tokyo below. Neon signs and city lights shimmered like constellations brought down to earth, creating a breathtaking contrast between the heavens and the urban sprawl beneath them.
Atop the tallest skyscraper in Shibuya, Vice-Captain Taneki sat quietly at the edge of the roof.
One leg dangled over the side as the wind brushed against his coat. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes, glowing faintly purple, were sharp and distant, as though he were staring straight through the city rather than at it.
His thoughts drifted back to that day.
To the incident in Tokyo.
The hall.
The panic.
And that faint yellow glow.
"…That energy," Taneki muttered under his breath. "There's no doubt about it."
He clenched his jaw slightly.
"What I sensed was the residue of a dimensional barrier."
Whoever had deployed it hadn't been careless. The energy signature was faint, intentionally suppressed.
"They didn't want me to notice," Taneki continued. "And there's no way their goal was simply to kill the people inside that hall."
His gaze hardened.
"They were trying to accomplish something else."
A presence appeared behind him.
Taneki didn't flinch.
His eyes glowed brighter as he let out a tired sigh.
"Welcome back, Captain," he said calmly. "How was your turn?"
The man standing behind him was the Captain of the First Division.
Tall and broad-shouldered, his physique radiated power even at rest. Long crimson hair flowed down his back, catching the moonlight, while his red, glowing eyes surveyed the city below with quiet authority. His face was handsome, sharply defined, yet carried the unmistakable weight of experience and command.
His name was Daishi.
Daishi stepped forward, stopping beside Taneki at the edge of the skyscraper.
"It was nothing out of the ordinary," he replied. "Though from what I've heard… things here were anything but."
Taneki gave a small nod.
"Yeah," he said. "Bizarre is putting it lightly."
Daishi folded his arms as he spoke, eyes scanning the city.
"I went to inspect the incident site myself," he said. "My assumption was that a dimensional barrier was used to conceal the Zunan's presence. I searched for any remaining traces, but there was nothing."
He frowned slightly.
"If a barrier was used, then whoever deployed it is exceptionally skilled at erasing their tracks."
"They did use one," Taneki confirmed. "I saw the remnants when I arrived. But whatever trace was left is long gone by now."
He clicked his tongue quietly.
"I can tell whoever's responsible isn't finished yet… but I can't predict their next move. That's what's annoying."
Daishi let out a low chuckle.
"No need to stress over it too much," he said. "Whoever did this has already declared all Japanese Zunan Fighters their enemies. We'll uncover their objective eventually."
He paused, then added, "What about the survivors? How are they holding up?"
Taneki looked away from the city.
"I didn't check on them personally," he admitted. "But there's no doubt many of them will suffer severe PTSD. It'll take a long time before they can function normally again, if ever."
Daishi's expression darkened.
"The public doesn't understand Zunan Fighters… or Zunan powers," he said quietly. "To them, we failed. Thousands died under our watch."
He sighed.
"We should arrange condolences. Something official. It might help ease the backlash, at least a little."
"Fine," Taneki replied. "I'll handle it."
"No," Daishi said immediately. "I will."
Taneki glanced at him, confused.
"You'll be busy tomorrow," Daishi continued. "You haven't forgotten about the incoming new recruits, have you?"
Taneki groaned and leaned back on his hands.
"…That completely slipped my mind," he muttered. "What an annoying chore. Assigning training programs, platoons, evaluations…"
Daishi smirked.
"You're far too lazy for your position," he said. "From what I've heard, they're already in the middle of their final test. Tomorrow's going to be rough for you."
Taneki sighed deeply.
"Looks like I don't have much of a choice."
Daishi turned away from the edge of the building.
"Then I'll take my leave," he said. "Hopefully I can uncover more information about this case."
In the next instant, he vanished.
To an ordinary observer, it would've looked like teleportation, but Taneki knew better. Just like him, Captain Daishi was simply ridiculously fast.
Silence returned to the rooftop.
Taneki stared back out at the city.
"…The Captain didn't want to say it," he thought. "But the most likely cause of the breach… was a Japanese soldier."
His eyes narrowed.
"But pointing fingers now would only cause panic within the military."
He let out another slow sigh.
"Things are getting tense," Taneki muttered. "And whatever's coming next…"
His purple eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
"…It's definitely not going to be simple."
---
Pathro stumbled out of the portal and collapsed onto solid ground.
For a brief moment, his vision swam as his senses recalibrated. The air felt different. He could feel it immediately.
This wasn't the fabricated world anymore.
This was Earth.
Not the hollow replica he had obliterated, not the lifeless test ground stripped of people and animals, this was the original planet. His home. The only real difference between the Earth he destroyed and the one he now stood upon was simple, yet overwhelming.
Life existed here.
People. Animals. A living world that could bleed.
Pathro exhaled shakily.
Blood still trickled from the wounds in his body, the deep punctures left by the Ichigan's horns, the burns from the point-blank explosions he had endured. His muscles screamed in protest, his vision blurred at the edges, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Then a familiar voice greeted him.
"Well, welcome back, head boy," the woman said casually. "You look pretty roughed up, kid."
Pathro lifted his head just enough to see Instructor Kamir standing before him, arms crossed, expression amused but sharp. His lips twitched in irritation.
"I could've died, you know," he said bluntly. "What kind of test was that?"
Kamir snorted.
"Nah," she replied dismissively. "We were watching you the entire time. Me and the other instructors."
She leaned closer, smirking.
"If it actually looked like you were about to kick the bucket, we would've stepped in. But be honest, would you have fought like that if you knew we were watching you?"
Pathro clicked his tongue.
"…That Ichigan was stronger than I expected," he admitted. "Hard to believe it's officially considered low-class."
Kamir's smile faded just slightly.
"Believe it or not," she said, "there are Zunans far stronger than that thing."
Then she grinned again.
"But you should still pat yourself on the back. We weren't expecting you to actually kill an Ichigan."
Before Pathro could respond, the world tilted violently.
His knees finally betrayed him.
His strength vanished all at once, like a switch being flipped.
He collapsed forward.
Kamir caught him mid-fall using telekinesis, lifting his body effortlessly into the air.
"Huh… he fainted," she muttered. "Makes sense. You pushed yourself way past your limit."
She grabbed him by the waist with one hand, his unconscious body floating weightlessly beside her.
"Let's get you healed up, head boy."
And just like that
She vanished.
Morning arrived over Japan.
The sky was crystal clear as the sun slowly rose, washing the city in pale gold. The massive clock tower in central Tokyo chimed softly.
6:00 AM.
People were already moving through the streets. Trains hummed to life. Shops opened their shutters. The city, wounded but breathing, pressed forward.
A massive public screen flickered on.
"My name is Kenneth Kamito," a voice announced. "Reporting live from Saiki TV, Tokyo. Here is our first headline."
The broadcast played everywhere, on televisions at home, radios in cars, screens in crowded intersections.
"The Minister of Defense has addressed last night's incident in Tokyo," Kenneth continued. "Where a Zunan identified as an Ichigan species appeared and killed approximately five thousand civilians."
His tone remained professional, but the weight was unmistakable.
"In his remarks, the Minister stated that discussions are currently underway with military personnel. The exact cause of the breach remains unknown. However, he assured the public that every effort is being made to determine how this happened, and how similar incidents can be prevented in the future."
The screen shifted to footage of the ruined hall.
"In addition," Kenneth said, "the military, through the Ministry of Natural Disasters, has prepared official condolences for the families affected. The Minister stated that while money can never replace the loss of loved ones, the government must offer something to express its remorse."
The broadcast ended.
The reactions were immediate.
"Money? How much money could they possibly offer?"
"Do they seriously think people will fall for that?"
"They better find out what caused this fast."
Voices echoed everywhere.
Some rejected the condolences outright, calling it a bribe meant to silence outrage. Others accepted it quietly, believing the government was at least trying to help.
But most people
Most were conflicted.
They didn't know how to feel.
Grief. Anger. Fear. Gratitude. Distrust.
All tangled together.
Tokyo continued moving forward under a rising sun.
.but the shadow left behind by that night hadn't faded at all.
----
On Okinawa Island, the aftermath of the night's chaos lingered quietly inside a hospital room.
A television mounted high on the wall continued airing Saiki News, its soft glow filling the space with muted light.
The room contained four beds, separated only by thin curtains for privacy. It wasn't a high-security ward, after all, hospitals weren't built to contain monsters.
But these cadets didn't mind.
The curtains remained open.
There was no reason to hide from one another.
Inside the room lay Pathro, Kiligaku, Kaile, and Toshiro, all dressed in identical blue patient uniforms. Bruised, exhausted, patched up, but alive.
Pathro sat half on his bed, one leg dangling to the floor, the other pulled close. His elbows rested on his raised knee, his chin cushioned by his folded hands as he stared at the screen.
"…They really took this long just to talk about condolences?" he muttered. "Yeah, the public's not gonna take that well."
Kiligaku sat upright on his bed, both feet planted on the floor, arms resting casually beside him.
"Well," he replied, shrugging slightly, "they're not exactly used to dealing with something like this. The idea probably came to them late."
Toshiro lay flat on his bed, head resting calmly against the pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling rather than the television.
"That's not our responsibility anyway," he said coolly. "That's the job of the Minister of Natural Disasters, not us soldiers."
He paused.
"And frankly? He should've responded much faster. Especially considering his ministry is the most useless one we have."
Kaile turned her head sharply toward him.
"Useless?" she repeated. "That's a strong word. Why do you say that? Is it because of the law, what was it called again?"
Toshiro answered without hesitation.
"The Law of Ordem."
He shifted slightly, irritation creeping into his voice.
"It prevents natural disasters altogether. Floods. Earthquakes. Volcanic eruptions. Tsunamis. Cyclones. Droughts. All of it."
The Law of Ordem; one of the great laws created by the Zunan Fighters.
Its role was absolute: to suppress nature's fury itself.
After all, what was the point of humanity fighting Zunans in another universe if Earth itself decided to wipe them out on its own?
Toshiro continued, his tone sharp.
"Because of Ordem, that ministry has been irrelevant for years. No disasters to manage, no crises to respond to. And now, when their moment finally comes to do something, they respond late."
Pathro exhaled softly.
"Don't be too harsh on him, Toshiro," he said. "The Zunan Fighters kinda made him slack off."
He glanced back at the television.
"When you've got Ordem handling everything, you stop expecting chaos."
The room fell quiet.
The broadcast continued.
Outside, the world kept turning, uncertain, wounded, and watching.