The Enemies Make Their Move

Now, what remains to be seen,” Ginrei’s words sounded from the TV screen flickering in a dark office chamber, “is whether the human government will uphold their law!”

A rough, scarred hand pushed a button on the remote control, pausing the recording. It rewound the video and turned it on again, so that Ginrei would repeat his words. Then, the hand paused the recording once more. A snarl came from the armchair. The owner of the hand – a gruff but well-groomed 45-year-old man of medium height, dressed in a comely black suit – put the TV remote away on a small table and crossed his feet. His polished boots glimmered in the TV light.

“The damned Kagurayama Clan, always getting in my way!” he muttered in his deep, sonorous voice. He glared at Kenzō on the TV screen, standing beside Ginrei. He tapped his forefinger on the armrest of his seat. “If their stupid princess were mine as she was supposed to, none of this would’ve happened! But she had to go and marry a god… Now, the Inari Woods are slipping away from me!”

He joined his hands with his fingers intertwined and stared at his feet, falling into his thoughts. This man was Tetsuhiro Watanabe, the prime minister of Japan and the scion of the country’s greatest gun-making family. He was a Steel Mage, crafting deadly guns with his bare hands. But he believed that wasn’t enough. A genius like him was destined for more than to be a simple gun manufacturer. So, he went into politics. He believed he’d take Japan to new heights in the worldly arena by mass-producing the deadliest weapons. He may even reconquer the Kuril Islands in the future, if his current plans went well! But for all of that, he needed the magic-imbued minerals from the rich soils of the Inari Woods, where the yōkai energy overflowed.

“We need to get rid of that fox,” he finally said, glaring at the paused image of Ginrei on TV. He glanced at the shadowy corner in his dark office, where a manly figure stirred. “Has that woman contacted us yet?”

“Not since the last time I checked,” answered a deep, cold voice of the man. “Want me to check again?”

“Please do!” Tetsuhiro said. He added with a snarl, “She promised she’d bring the goods in the evening on August 15. Well, it’s evening already!” He glared at his wristwatch. “Where the hell is she?”

The man from the shadows came in the feeble light as he passed between Tetsuhiro and the TV. He was tall, well-built, and dressed completely in black save for his green soldierly trousers. He was 26 years old, with sleek black hair tied in a bun and cold, grey eyes like Tetsuhiro’s. He carried a sniping gun on his back, pistols in each of his pockets, and a bag full of bullets on his waist. He was Tetsuhiro’s private gunman, executing his assassination orders with precision and secrecy. His Absolute Sight Magic helped him in his sniping job. As for his unwavering loyalty to Tetsuhiro despite his brazen, almost casual tone with the prime minister, he had a good reason for it.

“Daisuke,” Tetsuhiro called him as he opened the door, “tell the maids to brew me some coffee while you’re at it, will you?”

“Sure, Dad,” Daisuke, the sniper, replied and shut the door behind him.

Tetsuhiro sighed and cast his eyes down. Ever since he lost his betrothed, Nene Kagurayama, to Dragon God Dairyū, he had looked for a woman with a similarly worthy magic as Nene’s Absolute Thought. But finding a person with Buddha’s greatest magical gift was difficult. In the end, he settled for a woman with Absolute Sight Magic and a common background – a benign soul, Sakura Iwato. He genuinely loved her, but their happiness was brief. Sakura died in childbirth, leaving Tetsuhiro a single father to their only son, Daisuke.

Tetsuhiro took a little locket from his breast pocket and flipped it open. It showed the picture of a lovely, pink-haired young woman with candid brown eyes and a cute mole on her right cheek. Tetsuhiro bitterly smiled, tearing up.

“Protect Daisuke and me from up there, will you?” he whispered to the picture of the woman – his beloved late wife, Sakura Iwato. “We’ll purge this land of the beastly yōkai and guide our nation to greatness!”

The door creaked open again, revealing Daisuke with a small coffee cup. A hooded figure followed him inside, her hands covered in ghastly wrinkles and purple claws. A long, white braid with reddish tints hung down her shoulder. Tetsuhiro blinked several times to dispose of his tears and put the locket back into his pocket. He straightened up in his seat and knitted his brows. He took the cup Daisuke had proffered him and glared at the woman.

“You’re late!” he grumbled.

“I told you it might take time,” the woman answered in her high-pitched voice. Her braid coiled like it was a separate muscle and not just strands of hair. It displayed her irritation as a scorpion yōkai. She took a little, bullet-sized glass container with fiery, orange liquid out of her pocket. “I want that fox to die as much as you do, for my personal reasons. So I made sure the venom would work.”

Tetsuhiro took the venomous bullet from her. The heat from the fiery liquid warmed his fingers. A satisfied grin covered his face. If this Flame Scorpion venom reached the heart of that annoying fox, he’d be a goner for sure. He handed the bullet to Daisuke.

“You’ll have one chance,” he said, with the tone of a doting father proud of his son’s genius. “Make it count!”

Daisuke grabbed the bullet, rolled it in his fingers to check its quality, and loaded it in his sniping gun. His pupils dilated, and his grey eyes swirled around them – the display of his Absolute Sight Magic.

“I never miss,” he said decisively.