Ancient Secrets

Several days had passed since Ken, Tanimoto, and the handful of survivors from the road massacre arrived at the Hachioji facility.

The days there were a blurry mix of brutal routines, unappetizing food, and oppressive silence. The base wasn't a shelter; it was a factory designed to turn frightened civilians into weapons, or break them in the attempt.

However, the problems weren't exclusive to the rookies. In the depths of the base, the instructors had their own demons.

In an isolated training room, several meters underground, Natasha Kuroki stood alone in the center of the hall.

Around her, a dozen Karakasa (lesser Oni shaped like old umbrellas, with a single cyclopean eye and a long, drooling tongue) floated uncontrollably. They were low-level creatures, used for warm-ups, but in a group, they could be a nuisance.

Natasha had her eyes closed. She didn't need to see them, but to feel them through the disturbances in the air. One Karakasa lunged for her neck. She simply tilted her head to the left, letting the creature sail past. Another tried to lick her leg; she lifted her foot and stomped it against the concrete, making it burst into black smoke.

Then, the remaining creatures seemed to coordinate. With high-pitched shrieks, they all launched themselves at once from different angles in a suicide attack.

Natasha's eyes snapped open. Her right hand moved to the hilt of her katana. Using the Iaijutsu style, she drew her sword swiftly.

It was a single circular motion, so fast that the violet blade seemed to draw a ring of light around her. Natasha didn't even move her feet from the ground. The sound of metal cutting the air was followed by a dozen wet thuds. The Karakasa were sliced in half simultaneously and dissolved into ash before hitting the floor.

With a soft click, Natasha slid her sword back into its sheath. Silence returned to the room.

However, the sound of heavy metal being dragged shattered the calm. Natasha's instinct screamed a warning. She pivoted on her heels just in time.

From the shadows near the entrance, two thick silver chains shot out like metallic cobras, aimed directly at her chest.

The attack was heavy, designed to crush ribs. Natasha had no time to dodge. She half-drew her sword and used it to block the impact.

The force of the blow was tremendous. Natasha's boots skidded on the concrete, forcing her back three meters as sparks flew from the clash between her sword and the chains.

"My, my... so the elite novice prefers to vent her frustration on old umbrellas."

From the exit doorway, a figure emerged from the shadows with a theatrical stride. The sound of more chains dragging on the floor accompanied each of his steps.

He was a tall young man with an athletic, slender build. His face was irritatingly handsome, with a sharp jawline and a permanent mocking smile. He wore small, round red sunglasses, ridiculous for being underground, but they fit his style perfectly. His long, straight, silvery-white hair cascaded loosely down his back like a lunar waterfall.

Most notable, however, was his disregard for the uniform. He wore his jacket wide open, with no shirt underneath, displaying a torso covered in intricate yakuza-style tattoos that seemed to move over his skin.

Kyosuke Anayama. Class S Instructor. Natasha's personal headache.

"How low the elite Kijin have fallen if this is what you call training," said Kyosuke, stopping a few meters away. The silver chains wrapped around his forearms unwound to touch the floor, cracking the cement with their weight.

"What do you want now, Kyosuke?" said Natasha, sheathing her sword with a sharp motion, not hiding her annoyance.

Kyosuke shrugged, making his gold chains jingle. "Oh, come on, Naty-chan. You know I like to see you sweat. After all, there are very few women of your caliber in this hole. It's a refreshing spectacle."

"Take your cheap compliments elsewhere," Natasha replied coldly, brushing past him toward the exit. "I don't have time for your games."

Kyosuke let out a low chuckle, but his tone changed subtly. "Yeah, yeah. I was just joking to break the ice. Truth be told, I came looking for you because I had something to discuss. Something about the Gashadokuro ambush the other night."

Natasha stopped instantly, her hand on the handle of the armored door. "And what could you possibly know, spending your days filing your nails and flirting with girls, that Central Command doesn't?" she asked without turning around.

She felt Kyosuke approach from behind. There was no sound of chains this time, just a cold, dangerous presence. He leaned close to her ear.

"Let's just say..." whispered Kyosuke, his voice losing all theatricality, "...my sources suggest that Kijin existed in Japan long before the Great Calamity began. And someone out there doesn't want us to keep recruiting new ones."

Natasha froze. Her eyes widened in surprise. "What the hell are you talking...?"

Her words were cut off as Kyosuke stepped back, returning to his carefree pose as if nothing had happened. "Anyway, I must retire. Being this handsome and flamboyant takes a lot of time in these chaotic days."

With a light step, Kyosuke turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Natasha alone in the subterranean silence, with a piece of information that threatened to shatter everything she believed she knew about their world.

The next morning, the sun was barely visible over the mountains, but the 27 surviving recruits were already lined up in the main courtyard.

The silence was absolute. No one spoke. Fear and uncertainty were palpable. Except for Ken and Tanimoto, who shared a past, the others were complete strangers. Kids from different shelters, with different traumas, united only by the oversized gray rookie uniform. Ken glanced sideways at the nine members of his future Squad B, wondering who they were and if they'd survive the first day.

They waited. No one knew what, or who, to expect.

Then, the large metal doors of the main building opened.

Three figures stepped out onto the raised platform in front of the recruits.

In the center, in her impeccable uniform and with a serious gaze, was Natasha Kuroki. To her right, walking with an almost musical rhythm and adjusting a pair of red glasses, came Kyosuke Anayama, his silver hair gleaming in the morning sun and a smile... And to the left, a third figure, tall and broad, completely covered by a heavy, hooded cloak that hid any features.

The instructors for the new generation of Kijin had arrived. And the true hell was about to begin.