You alone, Atchan

"Regardless of whether your contribution allows us to finally defeat this evildoer, it will not void your oath from the duel with Tomoe. You must still make your choice by the deadline. This one-month extension, granted at your opponent's petition, is the last," the Elders said.

Atsunori has until the end of Autumn to convince Avery. Not a day more.

But the first few days must be spent preparing. During that time, the two of them don't meet at all—Atsunori is busier than ever, and Reiji may be spying on Avery. In one of their few calls, he gives her advice on training toward her transformation. She is advancing so quickly that she may already be close.

"There's little mystery to it. Keep using your magic to strengthen it, and eventually you will encounter a limit—something holding you back, preventing further progress. From there, the path differs from person to person and depends on their Yokai, but the principle is the same: find a way to surpass that limitation, be it by pushing through it or by reframing it with a shift in perspective. Once you succeed, you will transform into your Yokai. After that, further transformation will come easily."

At this point, Atsunori wouldn't be surprised if she succeeds before preparations are complete. It took him two years—and even then, he had been slightly above average.

She's already able to create full illusory environments, larger than the space they ocupy… likely pocket dimensions.

So much power in the hands of someone so undisciplined—she even admitted to abusing it for fun.

Mistress Tomoe is right. Avery needs proper guidance. There is no other way.

And yet, even a being as overwhelmingly powerful as that Kuuko was once sealed by priests of the past—another testament to how effective their powers are against pure Yokai, and why they remain so crucial for the family.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Reiji arrives punctual as a clock, and Avery waves as soon as she notices him. They exchange a few words and begin walking. The street is quiet and inconspicuous, slowly darkening as early night settles in. The damp scent of recent rain mingles with softly burnt roasted chestnuts.

Atsunori follows at a distance, wearing a modest grey jacket, pleated trousers and leaning on a thick cane. A bushy white beard covers his neck and half his face, the rest concealed under heavy makeup and false wrinkles. By walking with a slight hunch, he could pass for a tall, heavyset old man—as long as his muscles and, more importantly, his tattoos remain hidden beneath layers of clothing.

They reach the restaurant. Its exterior glows with amber light, windows faintly steamed from the warmth inside. Atsunori lingers outside for a few minutes, as cars slide silently to a stop along the road. Familiar faces step out with methodical discipline, forming a perimeter along the surrounding streets.

From inside, they are visible—but everyone keeps up the act, eyes averted and conversations flowing as if nothing were amiss. The deepest tables, the ones that matter most, are completely hidden from the exterior.

Once inside, the waiter greets him politely and guides him to his table. As he follows, Atsunori hears a faint click from the entrance door—a deliberate sound, almost ceremonial in its precision.

The establishment is packed tighter than a mouse bucket trap at the height of an infestation. A soft buzz of conversation fills every corner, the words themselves meaningless. Background noise for the setting.

His reserved table is the only one left free—directly behind Avery, Atsunori's chair back to back with hers. Before him sits his menu: a tall, polished catalog of choices he doesn't bother to read. Dark round glasses obscure his eyes, making him appear absorbed, while in truth he watches the large mirror wall ahead. Through it, he tracks every movement of Reiji behind him, every subtle action across Avery.

It's unfortunate they couldn't use her illusions for the ambush. Even with her incredible power, she's too much of a novice—her magic too unstable. Reiji would sense something wrong, and the entire operation could collapse.

As the two of them chat about meaningless things, the waiter arrives with aperitif wine. Avery keeps Reiji engaged, steering the conversation toward a particularly interesting topic—the Munakata—carefully drawing his focus. Just as Reiji leans in, the waiter adjusts his sleeves before serving his glass, a subtle motion that slips by unnoticed.

After the waiter leaves, Avery raises her glass in a cheer, and Reiji lifts his to meet it. They clink. She drinks without hesitation. The other glass moves toward the target's lips, Atsunori tracking every inch. It tilts slowly, almost lazily—then halts midair, as if time itself had paused.

Why did he stop?

Reiji's gaze leads him far beyond the table, toward a woman leisurely sipping tea. She's disguised like everyone else, even wearing a brown-haired wig—but why is Reiji staring at…

Those unmistakable…

Deep, black eyes.

Shit.

Reiji sets the glass down, not a drop touched.

The woman—Mistress Tomoe—stands in a blink, draws a gun, and fires.

Too late. By the time the bullet strikes Reiji's chest, his body is already transforming. The round lodges uselessly between newly dense red muscles, failing to pierce deep. His nose juts forward—grotesque and sharp, a warning of what he has become. With a violent tear of cloth, two enormous black wings burst from his back. All that remains of his human form are his hazel hair and the golden eyes—intense, but dulled.

Atsunori flings his chair aside and drags Avery behind him, ensuring she can't be used as a hostage, all while beginning his own transformation.

A ripple of noise sweeps through the room as half the present dive for cover and mechanical steel shutters slam down over every window. The rest—already transformed—stand still, awaiting orders, all locked on Reiji. None dare move recklessly against such an enemy, cornered as he may appear.

No weapons are trained on him either. Tomoe was the only one to draw a gun, hoping to land a single decisive shot when Reiji was still human. More firepower would only risk friendly casualties—and wouldn't be enough against him anyway.

The enemy opens his mouth—a weary sigh escapes first.

"You're really good at getting in my way, aren't you?"

Reiji's attention narrows entirely to Atsunori. With a lift of his hand, everyone goes rigid.

Instead of attacking, fingers slide through the side of his hair. "Always right behind every step I take. Anytime I try something, you're there the next moment. The first time, I thought it was just my luck. Now? I know better."

His hand presses briefly against his temples, concealing his eyes. When it lowers, they look… different.

Smaller. Trembling slightly. The weak smile that follows might even suggest… sadness.

"By now," he continues, "I've realized only you could've pushed me this far. Not the Elders. Not Tomoe. You alone, Atchan."

That nickname shatters the room.

The floor sinks into darkness, dragging walls and furniture with it. People blur, then fade, then vanish. In the end, nothing remains but Atsunori and the eyes before him. They sink lower, to the height of his knees. And instead of the enemy he must kill at any cost, they belong to someone else.

To a small boy he once knew.

"Kairi…"

"Kill him!" Tomoe's bark yanks Atsunori back into reality.

Everything slows as the room surges toward Reiji.

A blue-skinned Oni-kin charges with twin cleavers. Beside it, a spider the size of a cow skitters forward, followed by a swarm of smaller ones, each no larger than an infant. A massive skeletal hand thrusts onward shedding its last scraps of human flesh. Tomoe too—her bloodshot eyes blazing in the first of her Hannya forms.

Yet in this near-frozen instant, Reiji's arms move freely.

They pause, pointing at Atsunori. A smirk flickers across Reiji's face. Then his limbs swing past him, leaning toward the attackers still trapped in crawling motion.

No warning. No cast.

A force unlike anything Atsunori has ever felt erupts from Reiji's hands, obliterating everything in its path.

The building convulses, tables, bodies, walls—gone. Even Atsunori is hurled backwards, he twists mid-fall, throwing his back to the blast as he shields Avery.

Blackness follows, and smoke and dust choke the air as shapes shift and blur. The silence is broken by groans, screams—and a single, commanding call that cuts through the chaos.

"Don't let him escape! Do whatever it takes to stop him!"

Tomoe's voice snaps him into motion. Through the dark haze, Atsunori charges toward a faint spill of light—a jagged hole torn open by the blast.

His sight catches the winged silhouette just in time.

Reiji lowers his stance—

And Atsunori lunges.

He grips the Tengu's leg an instant before takeoff. Instead of stopping him, the sudden force rips Atsunori from the ground.

They rocket upward. The initial pull flings them several floors above the street before settling into a tense rythm—gravity dragging them down, each magic-amplified wingbeat hauling them back up.

"Let go!" Reiji snarls.

"Never!"

"I'll keep climbing. This is your only chance. Do you want us both to die?"

"So be it. Better than—"

An abrupt surge yanks them higher.

Below, police and family members ring the streets, transforming in turn. Spells are readied. Weapons raised. None fire.

"Shoot!" Atsunori roars.

Bullets, scorching fire, focused water streams—all streak toward them. Reiji alters his wing rhythm, veering sharply. Some attacks land—on Reiji, on Atsunori—but the distance saps their force, and soon they no longer reach.

They climb past rooftops, until the clouds swallow them whole.

Atsunori refuses to let go, enduring kicks and thrashing. His grip is iron-tight—bones creak faintly beneath his fingers.

Movement stirs in the surrounding darkness. Atsunori reacts instantly, shouting, "Here! Reiji is here!"

A black, feathered shape bursts forth, colliding with Reiji and swaying Atsunori dangerously. Reiji shoves the attacker back—a Kotengu. Lesser, more primal, a humanoid crow. But between Reiji's past wounds and Atsunori's weight, the Kotengu might stand a chance.

He isn't alone. An object the size of a melon slams into Reiji's shoulder. The Kotengu strikes in tandem, forcing him downward—but only for a moment.

Reiji counters a careless swipe, stunning his opponent. Then his hand finds the thing clinging to his shoulder—a female head sucking his blood—and rips it free. The woman screams, a sickening crack echoing under Reiji's grip. With a savage motion, he hurls her at the Kotengu.

His ally's head falls into his arms, caught gently to avoid crushing her.

"Watch out!" Atsunori's shout comes too late.

A following wind slash carves deep into the lesser Yokai's chest. Both Munakata disappear into the clouds below.

"Anyone else!?" Reiji roars, ragged and gasping.

The answer comes as a chorus of howls. Ghostly, human-shaped figures emerge from the mist.

This many? She might've gone too far.

They are Tomoe's doing, born of her third and most potent Hannya form. She can detach the spirits of the weak-willed and bind them to her service. It's deeply traumatizing. The victims effectively die while under the spell.

The ghosts drift closer. Slow—but Reiji's strength is waning under the weight of Atsunori and the prolonged exertion.

"Stay away!" Wind gusts burst from Reiji's hands, but physical attacks are useless.

When the spirits touch him, their hands pass through flesh. Atsunori feels the tremor run down the leg he's holding. Reiji's cry tears into the sky.

Like much of Tomoe's magic, the ghosts cause no visible injury. But the pain is mind-splitting, cold as plunging into liquid ice—burning and paralyzing all at once.

Then the scream cuts off. The force lifting them vanishes. Reiji has lost consciousness, and both begin to fall.

Breaking through the clouds, the forest below rushes up with terrifying speed. Seconds remain.

Atsunori's thoughts scatter—Avery's future, the many injured, the truth behind the villain known as Reiji.

Yet, amid the chaos, a quiet certainty settles in him.

At least… I fulfilled my mission in the end.