Vivian blinked, snapping out of her daze. The sight of the clinical, silver-eyed man carrying their strongest fighter as if she weighed no more than a bundle of stage costumes was jarring. She cleared her throat, her professional mask sliding back into place, though it felt more fragile than ever.
"Two blocks north. Behind the abandoned cannery," Vivian answered, her voice slightly strained. "It's a blacked-out transit van. Disguised as a standard talent management vehicle."
Kei nodded once, a sharp, economical movement. He began to walk, his pace steady and unfaltering despite the slick, uneven ground. He didn't look down at Mika again, nor did he look back to see if the others were following. He simply moved with the quiet confidence of a man who knew exactly where he was going.
Mika, tucked against his chest, felt a strange, terrifying sensation. For the first time in years, she felt small. She could hear the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart through the fabric of his suit—it wasn't racing. It was calm. Almost 'too' calm for a man who had just dismantled a Count-rank Hunter.
"I could have... I could have healed myself if you'd just let me go," Mika muttered, her voice small, her face still burning with shame. "Aura can stimulate cellular regeneration. I don't need you to—"
"You would have exhausted your remaining Aura reserves on a non-lethal injury while in a high-threat zone," Kei interrupted, his voice cutting through the rain. "The primary rule of survival: never deplete your tank until you are behind a secure perimeter. Using Aura for convenience rather than necessity is why Baron and Viscount ranks have a seventy-percent mortality rate in their first year."
Mika went silent. Every time she tried to bite back, he met her with a wall of cold, hard logic.
Reina trotted alongside them, her heavy gauntlets clanking softly. She kept glancing at Kei's arms. "Um, Mr. Overseer? Kei? How did you do that?" she whispered, her curiosity finally winning over her fear. "The pipe... the move... we couldn't even see your Aura flare. What kind of ability is that?".
"You couldn't see anything because there was nothing for you to in the first place." Kei replied as they turned the corner, the sleek black van coming into view under a flickering streetlamp.
The van's sliding door hissed open as Vivian pressed the remote, revealing the high-tech interior—a stark contrast to the grime of the industrial district. Kei stepped inside the vehicle, his movements smooth and unaffected by the weight he carried. He placed Mika onto one of the padded benches with clinical care, ensuring her injured ankle was elevated.
Mika didn't even try to protest this time. She sat there, her hair matted against her forehead, staring at her boots as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. The shame was a physical weight in her chest, heavier than the rain-soaked gear she wore.
Reina climbed in right after them, her wide eyes still fixed on Kei as he stepped back out onto the wet pavement, his black suit remarkably unruffled. "What do you mean 'nothing to see'?" she asked, her voice hovering between confusion and awe. "Every Hunter has a signature. A ripple. Even the stealth-types. You moved like... like a glitch."
Kei stood by the open door, the flickering streetlamp catching the silver of his eyes. He didn't look like a warrior; he looked like a shadow that had accidentally taken human form.
"That's because I am 'not' a Hunter." he stated simply.
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the sound of the rain seemed to fade. Vivian, who was about to climb into the driver's seat, froze with her hand on the door handle. Mika's head snapped up, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and disbelief.
"That's impossible," Mika whispered. "You... you moved faster than my strike. You redirected my Aura-infused blade with a 'pipe'. Without Aura, your bones would have shattered from the feedback alone. You're lying."
"Aura is a crutch that creates a roar in the ears of the gifted," Kei responded, his voice cool and detached. "You rely on the 'extra' to compensate for the 'basic.' Because I have nothing, I must have everything else—timing, physics, and the ability to read the minute muscular contractions of an opponent who is too busy shouting with their energy to realize they are telegraphing their every move."
He looked at Vivian, who was staring at him as if seeing him for the first time.
"The Association didn't send me because I am stronger than you, Hunter Vivian. They sent me because I am what you are afraid of: the proof that all the power in the world is useless in the hands of those who do not know how to use it."
Mika's hand gripped the edge of the van's seat, her knuckles white. "An ordinary person..." she echoed, the words tasting like ash. "You're saying a human with no Aura—no blessing, nothing—just made a fool out of me?"
"You made a fool of yourself," Kei corrected tonelessly. "I simply provided the mirror."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, obsidian-colored tablet, tapping the screen briefly before handing it to Vivian. The leader of MUSE took it with a hesitant hand, her eyes scanning the data scrolling across the display. It was a terrifyingly detailed breakdown of their combat encounter: heart rates, Aura fluctuations, tactical errors, and even the exact millisecond Mika had left her guard open.
"That is your preliminary report," Kei said. "As of 00:00 tonight, Hunter team-MUSE is under suspension. You will hand over your licenses as you are unauthorized to perform any Hunter activities in the meantime."
"You're joking," Mika breathed, her voice cracking as she clutched the edge of the seat. "You can't just... we are Count-rank! The Association needs us! The city needs us!"
"The city needs competent protectors, not idols playing at war. Another team will be deployed at your area of jurisdiction while you're suspended." Kei countered, his hand extended, palm up, waiting. The flickering streetlamp made the silver of his eyes look like polished mercury. "Your licenses. Now."
Vivian looked at the tablet in her hand—the 'D-minus' staring back at her in cold, digital ink—and then at her teammates. She saw Reina's lip quivering and Mika's sheer, shattered pride. As the leader, the weight of the casualties Kei mentioned pressed down on her. She knew he was right. If they had faced something stronger, she would be planning three funerals tomorrow, with her included in it.
With a trembling hand, Vivian reached into a hidden compartment in her tactical vest and pulled out a sleek, metallic card—her Hunter License. She placed it into Kei's palm. It felt heavier than her bow.
"Vivian, no!" Mika hissed, trying to lunge forward despite her compromised ankle. She winced, collapsing back onto the bench as a sharp bolt of pain reminded her of her limitations.
"He's right, Mika," Vivian said, her voice hollow. "Look at us. We couldn't even touch a man who doesn't possess a single drop of Aura. If he were a Cryptid, we'd be soulless husks on the pavement right now."
Reina followed suit, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she handed over her license. "Does this mean... we aren't Hunters anymore?"
"It means you are students again," Kei replied, his fingers closing over the three metallic cards. He tucked them into his breast pocket with the same care he had used for his shades.
"The association didn't only assign me to be your team's Overseer. I am also tasked to be your instructor during your suspension. To reform and train you until you are fit to have your licenses back." Kei stated blankly.
"So until then, you will train while juggling in your lives as Idols."
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the van. The rhythmic ticking of the vehicle's cooling engine was the only sound against the steady downpour outside. The girls of MUSE, who were used to the roar of adoring crowds and the flash of cameras, now sat in the dim, clinical light of their transport, stripped of their authority and their pride.
Mika looked up, her face pale, her wet hair clinging to her cheeks. "Instructor?" she echoed, the word feeling foreign and bitter. "You... a person without a single spark of Aura... is going to teach 'us' how to fight? We've killed hundreds of Cryptids! We've reached ranks other Hunters spend years dreaming of!"
Kei didn't flinch. He didn't even look annoyed. He simply slid on his glasses back, concealing his silver eyes once again.
"You've survived hundreds of Cryptids," Kei corrected coldly. "There is a difference between killing through competence and surviving through luck. Tonight, your luck ran out. If I hadn't been here to provide the weakness of that Arachnoid, you would have continued to bash your weapons against its reinforced carapace until your Aura ran dry. And then," he stepped closer to the van door, "you would have discovered exactly how little your 'Idol' status matters to a creature that only wants to harvest your soul."
Vivian gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. She looked at Kei through the rearview mirror. "Training while maintaining our idol schedule... do you have any idea what our days look like? We have rehearsals, fan meets, recordings. We barely sleep as it is."
"Then you will learn to operate on the threshold of exhaustion," Kei replied, his voice devoid of empathy. "The Cryptids do not check your Calendar before they manifest. If you cannot perform a perfect parry while sleep-deprived and fatigued, you are a liability to the Association and to each other."
He reached out and gripped the handle of the sliding door. Kei held out a piece of paper containing an address. He handed it to Reina who is too overwhelmed to even join in the conversation.
"Meet me at this address at exactly 10:00 AM next week, Monday."
Reina's fingers trembled as she took the small, unassuming slip of paper. Her eyes darted from the address to the man standing in the rain, whose suit remained impossibly crisp despite the downpour. She looked like she wanted to ask a dozen questions—*How? Where? Why?*—but the weight of his gaze kept her silent.
Kei stood framed by the van's door, the flickering streetlamp casting long, jagged shadows across his pale features. He didn't look like a mentor; he looked like a grim reaper who had decided, for reasons known only to him, to postpone their harvest.
"10:00 AM," Kei repeated, his voice cutting through the drumming of the rain. "If you are even a second late, I will recommend a permanent revocation of your licenses. Your popularity may grant you leniency in the music industry, but in my jurisdiction, you are simply three lives I am tasked with not letting go to waste."
He looked at Mika one last time. She was still clutching her injured ankle, her eyes burning with a mixture of hatred and a newfound, terrifying realization of her own fragility. She didn't spit a retort this time. She just watched him, her breath hitching in her throat.
"Wait," Vivian called out from the driver's seat, her voice tight with the pressure of her responsibility. "How are we supposed to explain your presence to our management? We're MUSE. We have security, managers, stylists... you can't just shadow us."
"Your agency has already been 'notified' of a new consultant specializing in high-stress management and physical conditioning," Kei replied, his tone as flat as a dial tone. "As far as the world is concerned, I am just another member of your staff. As far as you are concerned, I am the only thing standing between you and the abyss."
Without waiting for a response, he stepped back into the shadows. The rain seemed to swallow him almost instantly, his tall, lean silhouette blending into the gray haze of the industrial district.
"Don't treat your injury with Aura, Hunter Mika. Let the pain remind you of just how easy you can lose everything with one single mistake." his voice drifted back to them, disembodied and cold.
Kei pulled something out from his suit pocket. With a flick of his hand, the retractable blind stick stretched out, letting it tap on the wet ground.
The rhythmic *tap-tap-tap* of the blind stick against the wet asphalt echoed through the quiet alleyway, a sound more piercing than any of Mika's previous outbursts.
Mika leaned forward, her face pressed against the cool glass of the van window, her eyes widening. "He... he's blind?" she whispered, her voice trembling. The thought was a jagged pill she couldn't swallow. She had been bested—humiliated—by a man who didn't even use his sight the way she did.
Vivian watched the retreating figure in the side mirror, her grip on the steering wheel never loosening. The way he navigated the puddles and the debris with that stick was too fluid, too precise. He wasn't just walking; he was measuring the world around him with every vibration.
"He told us we were too busy 'shouting' with our energy to notice our mistakes," Vivian murmured, the realization finally dawning on her. "While we were blinded by our own light, he was listening to the shadows."
Reina clutched the address slip to her chest, watching the white tip of the stick disappear into the darkness beyond the streetlamp's reach. "He's not just a person without Aura," she said softly, her sunshine-spirit replaced by a cold, haunting awe. "He's something else entirely. We were fighting a monster tonight, but I think... I think the Association just sent us something much scarier to fix us."
The sliding door of the van remained open for a few seconds more, allowing the damp, cold air to fill the cabin—a stark reminder of the reality they had tried to ignore. The idol life, the flashy costumes, the high-rank accolades—none of it mattered in the face of the clinical, terrifying efficiency of the man who now held their lives in his breast pocket.
Mika looked down at her swollen, throbbing ankle. The pain was sharp, insistent, and as he commanded, she didn't reach for her Aura to heal it. She let it burn, a constant, physical proof of her failure.
"Monday, 10:00 AM," Mika rasped, her eyes hardening even as the tears finally began to blur her vision. "I'm going to show him. I'm going to show that suit-wearing ghost that MUSE isn't just a group of girls playing at war."
Vivian reached back and pulled the door shut with a heavy *thud*, sealing them inside their high-tech sanctuary. She put the van in gear, the engine humming a low, mournful tune.
"We'd better," Vivian said, staring at the empty street where Kei had vanished. "Because I don't think he gives second chances. And I don't think he'll be satisfied until he breaks us down to the bone."
As the black van pulled away, leaving the industrial district behind, the only thing left in the alley was the lingering scent of ozone and the rhythmic, ghostly memory of a stick tapping against the ground—a countdown to the day their real training would begin.