10:30 PM

The warehouses of Tokyo Bay had borne witness to many kinds of drama and violence. Tonight—brightly illuminated by the full Moon—was to be no different. A black limousine pulled up, and several burly men in black suits stepped out. They lined up facing the concrete edge of the pier, clearly waiting for something. Every so often one of them nervously glanced at his watch, though they all knew their guest would arrive on time—as always. Their eyes remained fixed on the gray-black waves lazily slapping against the concrete wall.

At precisely 10:30 p.m., a pale male hand emerged from the water and latched onto the edge of the pier, followed immediately by another. A man climbed up onto the dock, dressed in a traditional white kimono trimmed with red. Both his clothes and his long black hair were heavy with water, dripping in large drops. The man made a wide sweeping motion with his arms, and in an instant he was completely dry.

The men in black—much taller than the newcomer—immediately rushed toward him and dropped to one knee. None of them dared to raise their eyes.

“Murata-dono!”

“Very good. As always, right on time. Just the way I like it. But wait—where is Harada-san? Where is the package?”

“Our deepest apologies! There were… complications!”

Murata said nothing for a moment.

“Complications… I dislike them very much. Explain.”

“Someone… intercepted the package! Harada-san is currently in pursuit—he will surely recover it soon and punish the thieves severely!”

“Do we know who it was?”

“Murata-dono! It was… some girl!”

The man in the kimono smiled faintly to himself.

“I think I already know who…”

“She was accompanied by… a man! A gaijin!”

“Oh?” Murata tilted his head in mild surprise. “A foreign element, then… quite literally.”

He turned his gaze toward the Moon, as though admiring its sunlight-reflecting surface. All the while, he remained standing in the same spot, a single step from the edge of the pier—as if he did not wish, or perhaps could not, move any farther.

“Well then. We’re already late, so what harm is there in waiting a little longer? If the matter is not resolved by midnight… I will have to take action myself. You all know what that means, don’t you?”

The men lowered their heads even further, too afraid to utter a sound.

At exactly 9:23 p.m., a train from Shin-Hakodate-Hokuto Station arrived at Tokyo Station. One of the last passengers to disembark was a tall, slender girl wearing tight black trousers and a simple dark-purple jacket. Her black hair reached the nape of her neck, and a white headband rested on her forehead. She carried a large backpack and looked around the platform uncertainly.

“Asagi-kun!”
She heard a childlike voice calling her name.

“Excuse me…?”

From the crowd emerged a short girl with a youthful—though not quite childlike—face, dressed in a white-and-gray ceremonial kimono, with pink ribbons in her hair.

“Hi there! I’m Aya, your guide from the shrine!”

“Aya…-san?”

“Come on, let’s go!” Aya enthusiastically tugged Asagi by the sleeve. “The prophecy says it’ll happen tonight at midnight, and we still need to catch a taxi! By the way, how was the trip?”

“Pretty long. I boarded in Sapporo, then transferred—nine hours total… Wait, a taxi?”

“What did you expect, a plane? There’s no time—we’re heading to Tokyo Bay! There’s going to be action!”

“Demons.”

“Of course! Otherwise we wouldn’t summon our last active exorcist all the way from Hokkaido! Now come on, no time to waste!” Aya’s cheerful enthusiasm was downright infectious.

Mr. Harada had seen much in his life. He had exorcised spirits, wrestled with demons, and mastered several esoteric rituals. Circumstances eventually forced him to abandon that world of mysteries and take up something far more mundane—but his abilities proved useful in the ruthless realm of organized crime. He appraised the value of magical objects, cast simple curses at his superiors’ request, and oversaw artifact acquisitions.

But now, during what was perhaps the most important exchange of his life, a girl had appeared out of nowhere and snatched an invaluable item right from under his nose! This was no coincidence—she knew exactly where and when to be there. If he’d had time to investigate her connections, he would have found her without fail, but there was no time. Mr. Murata was already waiting, and the delivery was delayed.

Being the cause of dissatisfaction for someone like Mr. Murata was profoundly, disastrously unwise. Harada wasn’t certain what kind of power Murata wielded—but he knew it was immense.

The only lead he’d managed to uncover in such a short time was that foolish tourist who had fled alongside the thief—only to escape again thanks to the girl’s magical tricks. There was no choice left.

Mr. Harada drew his wakizashi and carefully sliced his index finger. Blood dripped onto a complex diagram drawn in white chalk, with white candles burning at its corners. He had learned the ritual from one of the European grimoires—a fact he didn’t particularly like—but desperate times called for desperate measures.

He aligned the corners of the diagram with their corresponding power sites on a map of Tokyo. The dripping blood revealed one thing clearly:

Tokyo Tower.

“To the cars! Move!”

“Sir, couldn’t you go a little faster?” Aya asked the taxi driver politely.

“I’m doing what I can, miss.”

“We need to be there before midnight—it’s very important!”

“And what are two young ladies doing at the docks at night? Wait—am I getting involved in something illegal?!”

“Please don’t worry, nothing of the sort!”

“There will be a fight,” Asagi said, fully focused, her muscles tense and her face set.

“A fight?!” the driver nearly screamed.

“It's nothing!” Aya quickly tried to calm him. “It’s… sports! Yes, training—kendo! My friend has wooden swords in that backpack!”

“At the docks? In the middle of the night?”

“Youthful enthusiasm—you know how it is,” Aya waved dismissively.

The driver studied Aya carefully in the rearview mirror.

“Are you talking about yourself, young miss, or your friend?”

“Aya-san, I don’t think that helps our situation…”

The taxi pulled over to the side of the road.

“Ladies, please forgive me, but I’m not going any farther. This seems shady, and I want no part in it. I have children to support…”

“We’re begging you! I’ll add something extra…” Aya pulled out a small pouch and began counting coins one by one. “This may take a while…”

“You’ll catch up.” Asagi jumped out of the taxi and sprinted toward the pier, now quite close.

“Asagi-kun! Wait—there could be danger…! Four hundred yen… four hundred ten yen…”

Asagi shot forward like an arrow. Hours-long pursuits of demons through mountains and forests had been the best training imaginable. Besides, she could feel a powerful presence just ahead—waiting. Lurking. Ready to strike. A few minutes before midnight, she reached the pier.

Murata still stood motionless, one step from the edge, gazing at the full Moon.

“Gentlemen, time has nearly run out,” he announced to the men in black suits gathered around him. “Harada-san has failed to deliver, though I am certain he tried his very best. I fear, however, that his negligence will have very serious consequences—and not even by my hand…”

And at that very moment, precisely at midnight, the Moon split in two.

“So, we begin!” Murata cried joyfully. “Come, my soldiers—together we shall search for what we need!”

He made a pulling motion with his hands, as though hauling on an invisible, heavy rope. A spectral, gigantic anchor chain appeared in his grasp, which Murata yanked as easily as if it were a shoelace. The horrified men looked up as the phantom of the battleship Yamato manifested in the sky and began to descend upon them.

From the ship burst spirits and demons in all directions, ready to destroy and slaughter anything in their path, surging toward the brightly lit city of Tokyo. Murata merely smiled at the spectacle.

At that moment, Asagi ran onto the pier and assumed a combat stance.