The night hung heavy over the city, a thick, inky blanket punctuated by the neon glow of distant billboards. Rain lashed down, turning the forgotten alleyways of the industrial district into glistening, treacherous paths. A man in slick form fitting suit had taken a path on a dark street, he heard them – a cacophony of metallic clangs, an unearthly shriek, and voices, hushed and urgent. Peeking around a rusted shipping container, his eyes scanned the scene unfolding.
Three figures, moving with impossible speed, were locked in combat with a grotesque, shadowy creature. It reeked of decay and something far worse, its form shifting and writhing like smoke given nightmarish substance. One of the figures, striking with glowing katana, spun and caught the man's gaze. It was Mika, her eyes, usually so full of vibrant idol energy, now alight with a fierce, almost desperate intensity. Just as she moved to shout a warning, the creature let out a deafening roar, turning its malevolent gaze directly onto him. "Get back!" Mika's voice, raw and strained, cut through the night, but it was too late. The Spider Cryptid lunged, its shadowy claws extending, impossibly fast. Vivian and Reina moved in a blur, intercepting the attack, their own glowing weapons meeting the monster's assault with a crackling burst of energy. The air vibrated with pure power, the ground beneath your feet shaking. Mika, momentarily distracted, saw his face, and for a fleeting second, the idol persona flickered through the Hunter, a flash of genuine concern. "You shouldn't be here... None of this... you can't tell anyone what you see!" She hissed, her voice low and urgent, before turning back to the swirling vortex of combat. "Now tell me, what in the world are you doing out here, caught in a mess like this?"
The man gently fixed the slightly crooked tie of his black suit that's seemingly out of place for the occasion. His shades making his expressions unreadable. "It's weakness is its lower abdomen. That's its vulnerable spot and where its core is located."
The rain continues to drum against the rusted metal of the containers, but for a split second, the frantic rhythm of the battle seems to stutter. Mika's grip on her katana tightens, her eyes narrowing behind the rain-slicked strands of her hair. She expects panic, screaming, or at the very least, a clumsy attempt to run. Instead, she gets a tactical observation delivered with the chilling indifference of a weather report.
Vivian, mid-draw with her luminous bow, shifts her gaze from the monster to the man in the suit. Her tactical mind whirs—no ordinary civilian would stand their ground, let alone identify a Cryptid's core with such surgical precision.
"The abdomen...?" Reina shouts over a thunderous crash as she parries a jagged, spindly leg with her glowing gauntlets. She skids back, her boots splashing in the puddles. "Mika! He's right! The plates are thinner down there!"
"I don't care 'how' he knows!" Mika snarls, though her focus shifts. She lunges forward, her blade tracing a shimmering arc of light through the dark. "Vivian, cover me!"
Vivian doesn't miss a beat. She releases a shimmering arrow that streaks through the air like a comet, piercing one of the creature's upper joints. The Spider Cryptid shrieks, a sound that vibrates in the marrow of one's bones, and rears back in agony. The movement exposes the pulsing, violet mass tucked beneath its heavy thorax—the core.
"Now, Mika!" Vivian commands.
With a burst of speed that defies human physics, Mika slides beneath the creature's reach. Her katana flashes—once, twice—slicing through the reinforced silk and into the soft, glowing underbelly. A fountain of black, viscous ichor sprays the pavement, and the Cryptid collapses with a heavy, wet thud, its limbs twitching before it begins to dissolve into acrid smoke.
The silence that follows is heavy. The only sound is the heavy breathing of the three idols and the steady rhythm of the rain. Mika sheathes her blade with a sharp *clack* and turns toward the man. She approaches him, her boots clicking on the wet concrete, the 'MUSE' idol charm on her gear swaying.
She stops a few feet away, her fiery gaze trying to pierce through his shades. Reina and Vivian flank her, their weapons lowered but not away.
"The lower abdomen isn't exactly common knowledge, 'stranger,'" Mika says, her voice low and dangerous, dripping with suspicion.
"Considering this is your first time encountering a Spider Cryptid, I'll give your performance a passable C." The man responds in a hushed tone, closing his umbrella as the rain subsides.
The smoke from the dissolving Cryptid swirls around the man's polished shoes, vanishing into the damp night air. The silence that follows his "grading" is deafening, broken only by the distant drip of rainwater from a rusted gutter.
Mika's eyes widen, a vein practically throbbing in her forehead. She takes a predatory step forward, the tip of her sheathed katana clicking against the pavement. "A 'C'?" she repeats, her voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and simmering rage. "We just saved your life, and you're giving us a performance review? Do you have any idea who—"
"Mika, stand down," Vivian interrupts, though her own voice is tight. The leader of MUSE steps into the faint light of a flickering streetlamp, her bow transforming, integrating back to her tactical suit. Her sharp, calculating eyes scan the man from his perfectly knotted tie to the way he holds his umbrella. "He knew it was our first time facing a Spider-type. That information isn't public. Even within the Hunter Association, our mission logs are classified."
Reina, meanwhile, is busy shaking the last of the black slime off her gauntlets. She looks up, her usual sunshine-disposition replaced by a look of sheer bewilderment. "A 'C'? Seriously? I hit that thing so hard its ancestors felt it! That's at least a B-plus for effort!" She pouts, though she stays behind Vivian, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
Vivian ignores Reina's protest, her focus entirely on the man. "You're not a civilian," she states, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous octave. "No civilian stands in the middle of a Cryptid hunt without breaking a sweat, and no civilian knows about the core placement of a Weaver-class Cryptid."
Mika reaches out, her hand hovering near the man's shades as if she's tempted to rip them off to see the eyes beneath. "Who are you?" she demands, her fiery gaze clashing with the dark lenses of his glasses. "And how do you know our track record? You talk like someone who's been watching us."
She narrows her eyes, her voice dropping to a hiss. "Are you a handler from the Association? Or just some arrogant freelancer who thinks he can look down on us because we wear sequins and sing pop songs during the day?"
"My name is Kei. The council just issued the deployment of a newly built operatives, the 'Overseers'."
Kei showed them a hologram that came from his watch. The person in the hologram was the chairwoman of the Hunters Association. She explained that the death tolls of Hunters are increasing at an alarming rate. The analyzed causes of death are mostly confrontation with Cryptids above their class and recklessness in battle without a decisive plan and information about the monster. Overseers are tasked to prevent just that, or at least minimize the casualties. They will serve as the tacticians and brains of the operations of Hunters as well as track their combat abilities and progress.
The blue light of the hologram flickers and then vanishes, leaving only the sound of rain dripping from the warehouse eaves. The image of the Chairwoman—a woman whose authority is absolute in their world—leaves a heavy silence in its wake.
Vivian is the first to react. She crosses her arms, her tactical mind already dissecting the implications. "The Council didn't mention this during our last briefing. 'Overseers'..." She tastes the word, her gaze lingering on the watch on Kei's wrist. "A move to centralize control because of rising casualties. It sounds like the Association is losing confidence in field squads."
Mika, however, isn't interested in the politics. Her hand is still white-knuckled on the hilt of her katana. "I don't care who the Chairwoman is, we've survived this long without a 'tactician' breathing down our necks," she says, her voice low and sharp. "And I definitely don't need some guy in a suit standing on the sidelines telling me I'm a 'C' student while I'm the one getting covered in Cryptid guts."
She steps closer to Kei, her height disadvantage not stopping her from trying to intimidate him. "You want to 'minimize casualties'? Then stay out of the splash zone, Overseer."
Kei remains unmoved by Mika's proximity. He stands tall, his posture perfect, seemingly unaffected by the damp heat of the night. He slowly reaches up and removes his shades, tucking them into his breast pocket.
His silver eyes are revealed—piercing, cold, and strangely beautiful, yet they hold the weight of someone who has seen far too much. He looks at each of them in turn, his gaze finally settling on Mika.
"Mika Nam. Count Rank Skirmisher Type Hunter. Cited for having a short temperament and arrogant behavior." Kei spoke methodically, like looking at a defective weapon.
Hunters are divided into 6 ranks. Starting from the lowest; Baron, Viscount, Count, Duke, Archduke and the highest rank that can be bestowed upon a Hunter, King.
"Arrogance without skill is going to put you and your friends in imminent danger sooner or later."
The air between them practically turns to ice. Mika's jaw drops for a split second before her face flushes a deep, furious crimson. The "Count Rank" was one thing, but to be analyzed like a malfunctioning piece of equipment in front of her teammates—by a man who didn't even draw a weapon—was the ultimate insult.
"Arrogant—?!" Mika's hand blurs, the hilt of her katana slamming into the space inches from Kei's chest, though she doesn't draw the blade. She is close enough that her rapid, angry breathing should have ruffled his hair, but he doesn't so much as blink. "I have more kills in a month than most hunters have in a year! My 'arrogance' is what keeps me moving when things get ugly!"
"Mika! Enough!" Vivian's voice rings out, sharp and authoritative. She places a firm hand on Mika's shoulder and pulls her back. Though Vivian is composed, her eyes remain fixed on Kei, studying his silver gaze. There's something unsettling about him—a stillness that feels more dangerous than the monster they just killed.
Reina looks back and forth between them, her sunshine persona completely eclipsed by the tension. "Hey, look, let's all just take a breath," she mumbles, though she looks at Kei with a pout. "He's a bit mean, isn't he? I'm Reina, by the way. Did the council say anything nice about my gauntlet work? I thought my timing was at least a B..."
Kei ignores Reina's plea for validation, his silver eyes remaining locked on Mika with a gaze that is soft in its clarity but piercing in its judgment.
"Skill is a variable. Mortality is a constant," Kei says, his voice devoid of any malice, which somehow makes his words cut deeper. He adjusts his cufflink, the movement fluid and precise. "You prioritized a flashy finish over a clean kill. That opening would have allowed a more intelligent Cryptid to sever your femoral artery. You survived tonight because the creature was feral, not because your tactics were sound."
Kei's gaze dropped to the scabbard of the katana near his chest. "I suggest you draw your weapon away from me before you get hurt, Hunter Mika."
Mika's eyes widen, a manic, dangerous laugh bubbling in her throat. The audacity of this man—this 'Overseer'—to threaten her after she just carved through a nightmare was the final straw.
"Before I get hurt?" Mika hisses, her thumb flicking the guard of her katana. The blade clears the scabbard by a mere inch, a sliver of shimmering, cold steel catching the moonlight. The air around her begins to vibrate, the temperature dropping as her Hunter aura flares, a jagged, violet pressure that would make a normal civilian's knees buckle. "You've got a lot of nerve for someone who looks like he's never seen a day of mud in his life. I'm a Hunter. I've survived things that would turn your hair white. You're just a bureaucrat in a designer suit."
She leans in closer, the tip of her scabbard still pressed near his heart. "Let's see how that 'Overseer' rank holds up when you're missing a limb."
"Mika! Stop!" Vivian's voice is like a whip crack. She doesn't just call out; she physically interposes herself, her hand clamping down on Mika's wrist with a grip that leaves no room for argument. She looks at Mika with a stern, warning glare before turning her eyes back to Kei.
Vivian's instincts are screaming at her. She looks at Kei—his pulse hasn't quickened. His pupils haven't dilated in fear. Even under the weight of Mika's killing intent, he is as still as a statue. To Vivian, that doesn't mean he's brave; it means he's certain.
"He's not bluffing, Mika," Vivian says quietly, her voice laced with a newfound caution.
Reina stands behind them, her hands hovering near her gauntlets, looking nervously between the two. "Guys, come on... the Cryptid's gone. Can't we just go get ramen or something? This vibe is really bad for my skin."
Kei doesn't look at Vivian or Reina. His silver eyes remain fixed on Mika, looking through her rather than at her. He doesn't move his hand to a weapon; he doesn't even shift his stance. He simply stands there, the embodiment of a calm, silent storm.
"Your Aura is leaking," Kei observes, his voice as flat and smooth as a sheet of glass. "Inefficient. You're wasting energy on an emotional outburst when you should be recovering from the hunt. If you want to prove me wrong, do it with results, not tantrums."
He reaches out—a movement so fluid and deliberate it's almost hypnotic—and uses a single finger to gently push the tip of Mika's sheathed blade away from his chest. "If you're still intent on being stubborn, I don't mind partaking in your little game."
The air pressure in the alleyway suddenly shifts. It isn't just the lingering malevolence of the Cryptid or Mika's flared aura anymore; it's a cold, clinical weight emanating from Kei that makes the breath hitch in Reina's throat.
Mika's eyes snap wide, her pupils constricting. The "game" comment hits her like a physical slap to her pride. "A game?" she whispers, her voice trembling with a dangerous edge. "You think my life's work is a game?"
She doesn't wait for Vivian to stop her this time. With a snarl, Mika's form blurs. She executes a lightning-fast draw—the Iaido strike she's perfected through a thousand midnight hunts. The steel of her katana whines as it cleaves the air, aiming not to kill, but to graze his shoulder—a warning to humble the arrogant Overseer.
But where there should have been the resistance of fabric or flesh, there is only empty air.
Kei isn't there.
Mika's blade finishes its arc, slicing nothing but the humid night air. She stumbles forward, the momentum of her missed strike forcing her to skid across the wet pavement. She spins around, her chest heaving, her eyes darting frantically until they land on him.
Kei stands by the trash heap, the rusted metal pipe held loosely in his right hand. He doesn't grip it like a brawler; he holds it with the grace of a conductor's baton. The contrast is insulting—the "Nation's Dream Girl" wielding a legendary blade of the Association versus an Overseer holding a piece of industrial scrap.
Kei's gaze darted towards the other two girls. "Are you two going to step aside or are you going to be martyrs for your teammate?"