Shin Sekai's Amaterasu..

Outside the hospital, the rain fell steadily, blurring the boundary between the crowd and the hospital building it pressed against.

Camera lenses glinted beneath plastic covers. Microphones were raised, lowered, raised again. Voices overlapped—questions shouted with rehearsed urgency, speculation packaged as concern for the welfare of an injured student.

At the center of it all stood a line that did not move no matter how many reporters where pressing against it.

Members of Japan’s top-ranked guild, Shin Sekai, formed a living barrier around the hospital’s main entrance. Their presence alone was enough to stop anyone from pushing forward inside.

They didn’t show up with weapons and they didn’t need to. The insignia of the red sun on their white coats, the calm discipline in their posture, and the subtle pressure radiating from their mana fields made their message clear.

'This is the limit. Don't get near any further'.

The miracle of Akira’s survival had spread faster than anyone had intended.

A 17 year old academy student, pulled from the wreckage of demon outbreak alive. A rescue operation conducted under extreme conditions, and his instant recovery that defied expectations of the medical staffs.

Every fragment of information, no matter how incomplete, became fuel for speculation.

Reporters spoke of fate, of destiny, of hidden talent. Online forums had already begun weaving theories.

Shin Sekai had responded to the situation immediately. They were the ones who controlled the demon outbreak. They were the ones who had rescued Akira and admitted him to the hospital ward.

They'll not answer anything else. If they do, the blame for the outbreak will be placed on them by the public, as the whole raid exercise happened under their control.

“Please step back,” one guild member said calmly, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise. “The hospital is not accepting visitors or interviews at this time.”

“We just want confirmation!” someone shouted. “Is it true the boy survived without permanent damage?”

“Is he conscious?”

“Was Kyoto Academy Instructors involved in this tragedy?”

The questions came sharper after that.

'Why were his injuries classified?'

'Why hadn’t his family been informed?'

'Why was a full Shin Sekai unit stationed at a civilian hospital?'

No answers were given.

Behind the line of guards, several guild members exchanged brief glances, communicating silently. This wasn’t about public safety. Not really. It was about containment of rumors.

If the truth surfaced—that Shin Sekai had nearly lost a student under their watch, that Kyoto Academy’s systems had failed to protect one of their own.. the damage would reach the ripple from the base to the top where the higher ups of the Magic Guild Association, who regulate all guild and mages reside.

Prestige was a fragile thing. It took decades to build, but only a few moments like this is enough to fracture it. And this incident had come dangerously close to doing just that.

A wave of unease moved through the guild formation as the air shifted.

Mana pressure rolled outward, heavy and unmistakable. Forcing even the most persistent reporters to step back instinctively. Conversations stopped and cameras dipped.

Something was arriving.

The rain parted unnaturally near the edge of the hospital grounds, droplets falling, then evaporating away into air. From that distortion, stepped a man clad in white ceremonial coat, it was etched with symbols old enough that only a few could still read them.

Amaterasu had arrived.

He didn’t announce himself. His presence alone carried overwhelming authority.
Even among the Shin Sekai’s elite, he stood apart.

A sudden shriek cut through the air.

From the far end of the street, the ground cracked open with a violent snap, asphalt splitting as something massive forced its way through.

A warp gate had opened.

The smell of scorched rot spread instantly.

A giant demon emerged—tall, dark, malformed, its body wreathed in unstable demonic mana like sludge and lashed out like exposed nerves.

The crowd screamed.

Reporters scattered, abandoning equipment as their instinct overrode curiosity.
Shin Sekai members moved in unison, forming a secondary perimeter, but none advanced.

Amaterasu stepped forward.

The demon roared, charging blindly, its power surging outward in waves that shattered nearby streetlights and sent debris skidding across the pavement.

Amaterasu raised a single hand. Light condensed—a blinding, explosive, and impossibly dense matter on his palms.

And instantly, He disappeared from where he stood.

The air screamed under the pressure. In the next instant, the demon was gone.
Destroyed without a burst of spectacle, it was completely erased.

Its form collapsed inward as if crushed by a force too absolute to resist.

The rain resumed as though nothing had interrupted it.

The reporters gathered to take photos and ask questions based on the battle that ensued before. But, Amaterasu lowered his hand, already turning away. Uninterested.

For the public, it was a spectacle. For Shin Sekai's Guild members, this is just an another day at their job. They moved in to handle the remaining demons from the A rank warp gate.

The message they wanted to make was clear: everything was under control if Shin Sekai is at the scene.

**************

“He couldn’t have survived,” the Amaterasu said quietly. “That kid’s injuries were worse by the time I arrived.”

Beside him stood the Supervisor of Shin Sekai—a lean old man dressed far too well for the weather. His coat was royal to the say the least. A cigar smoldered between his fingers, its scent cutting through the damp air.

“Well,” the old man replied casually, exhaling smoke, “maybe it’s just sheer luck, Amaterasu.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “They aren’t all geniuses like you, never having to worry about surviving. It’s a hard-knock life for regular people.”

Amaterasu’s expression didn’t change.

“You should keep an eye on the kid,” he said after a pause. “Something seems odd. I feel like.. he is a demon in disguise.”

The Supervisor laughed, then promptly coughed, the smoke catching in his throat. He waved a hand dismissively, recovering quickly. “Come on now. He’s just a nobody who clung to his dear life.”

He took another slow drag, eyes half-lidded. “I checked his school records. It’s a surprise how he even survived this long in Kyoto Academy to begin with.”

Amaterasu didn’t respond.

Beyond the shelter, the guild was already restoring order. Reporters were being ushered farther back. Statements were being prepared—carefully worded, deliberately vague. The incident would be framed as a controlled operation. To the media, this narrative would hold for the time being.

Amaterasu remained unconvinced.

Something about the situation refused to settle in his heart.. Injuries that should have been fatal, Recovery that shouldn’t have been possible.. 

He gazed out into the rain, watching droplets race down the window in silence.