The Hunt for Ryuji

The first light of dawn crept over the academy grounds, washing the training fields in a pale, golden hue. The air was heavy with unease. Beyond the eastern walls, the forest loomed like a sleeping monster — its depths still cloaked in mist, the memory of last night’s bloodshed lingering in every shadow.

Inside the academy’s war room, silence reigned.

The chamber was dimly lit, its stone walls lined with maps of surrounding regions and patrol routes. A great wooden table stood at the center, cluttered with scrolls, ink brushes, and half-burned candles. Around it, the academy’s highest commanders gathered — faces grave, eyes weary.

At the head of the table stood Jinzo Takasugi, the head captain. His arms were crossed behind his back, posture rigid as iron. His eyes, cold and cutting, swept across the room like the edge of a blade. The torchlight flickered across his scarred face, deepening the shadows that carved his expression.

At his right sat the Obsidian Fangs — his elite commanders. Each carried an aura so distinct the air seemed to shift around them:

Kenshiro “The Black Wolf” Mibu leaned lazily against his chair, arms folded, face unreadable.

Renmaru “Venom Fang” Kirishima spun a kunai idly, smirking like a man waiting for chaos to begin.

Ayaka “Crimson Talon” Fujiwara sat with her back straight, gaze sharp as her blade, her dark hair tied neatly behind her.

Gorota “Iron Fist” Sakaki loomed large and restless, fingers tapping impatiently against the table.

And Hideo “The Phantom Current” stood quietly at the far end, his expression calm — yet his eyes spoke of things the others had not yet seen.

Jinzo’s gaze fell upon him.

“Report,” he commanded, his voice deep and firm.

Hideo stepped forward. His tone was as calm as ever, but the weight in his words filled the room like smoke.

“We encountered multiple demons,” he said. “Not beasts. Hunters. They moved with purpose — coordinated, precise. Their strength far exceeded expectations.”

The room fell silent.

Ayaka’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, her tone as cool as her demeanor.

“Organized…?” she asked. “You’re certain?”
Hideo’s gaze met hers — unwavering, sharp as tempered steel.“Without question,” he replied. “They were working together. Someone… or something is leading them.”

A deep, rumbling laugh broke the tension. Gorota slammed his massive fist against the table, shaking the maps.

“Hah! Perfect!” he barked, grinning wide. “Finally, a fight that’s worth my time!”

Renmaru leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, smirk widening.

“Don’t get too excited, Gorota,” he teased. “These aren’t your usual forest pests. Try not to lose your other arm before dinner.”

Gorota shot him a glare. “Keep talking, snake,” he growled. “Maybe I’ll use you for warm-up.”

Renmaru chuckled but didn’t reply. The air between them crackled with tension.

Kenshiro remained still, his disinterested gaze half-lidded, as though the entire meeting bored him. Only the faintest glint in his eyes betrayed that he was listening.

Jinzo’s expression remained unchanged. Without a word, he reached for a large scroll and unfurled it across the table. The map of the eastern forest stretched out — a vast web of terrain marked with red ink and cryptic symbols.

“This isn’t a simple demon hunt,” Jinzo said quietly. His eyes darkened. “Their leader — Ryuji — isn’t just another monster. He’s intelligent. Tactical. A commander of his kind.”

The torches hissed. The silence that followed was heavier than stone.
Ayaka’s voice broke it cleanly. “I’ll take my squad,” she said without hesitation.
Her tone was firm, decisive — no trace of doubt.

Hideo turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable. For a brief moment, their eyes met. In that silent exchange, there was no rivalry — only mutual respect between two warriors who understood one another’s strength.

“I will lead my squad as well,” Hideo said. His tone was calm but resolute. “We’ll go together.”

Ayaka tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk touching her lips.

“Hmm. Just don’t slow me down,” she murmured.
Renmaru grinned, his voice light with mischief.“Oh-ho… A joint operation? How rare. You two are getting along rather well.”

Ayaka’s sharp gaze flicked toward him, and Renmaru instantly raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath. The others knew better than to interfere — Hideo and Ayaka’s combined precision made them the academy’s deadliest duo in tactical operations.

Jinzo finally looked up, his gaze sweeping across the room with quiet authority.

“Hideo. Ayaka,” he said firmly. “Bring me Ryuji’s head.”
Both commanders bowed, their faces cold and determined.“As you command,” they said in unison.



- Ryouma Kisaragi’s Training

By the time the morning mist lifted, the training fields were alive with the clash of blades and shouts of discipline. The rhythmic clang of steel echoed through the air, mingling with the distant calls of birds and the rustle of wind through bamboo.

At the far end of the field, Ryouma Kisaragi stood alone. Sweat drenched his uniform. His breathing was harsh, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the hilt of his Kontantou. Every muscle in his body screamed, but his eyes — sharp, determined — refused to waver.

“Again!” barked the instructor, his tone unforgiving.

Ryouma gritted his teeth and charged at the wooden training dummy. His blade swung with force and emotion, splitting through air and wood alike — but his balance faltered. The strike landed heavy, shattering part of the dummy, but the recoil sent him stumbling to one knee.

He slammed his fist into the dirt, anger flashing through his eyes.

“Damn it…!” he hissed. “I’m still too slow!”

His arms trembled as he forced himself to rise. The instructors watched in silence, some nodding approvingly at his spirit, others frowning at his lack of control.

From the edge of the grounds, two students whispered among themselves.

“He’s too reckless,” one muttered. “He won’t last a day in the forest.”“He’s just another commoner,” the other sneered. “Dreaming too high.”

Ryouma heard them. The words struck, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he lifted his sword again. His knuckles were white, his breath shallow, but his eyes burned — not with anger, but with resolve.

He tightened his stance.
“I’ll prove them wrong,” he whispered. “No matter what.”

The sun blazed high above, its light glinting off his blade. In that single, silent moment, the world seemed to pause — and the path of the young samurai began to sharpen into destiny.

To be continue...