Chapter 1:
Chapter 1- Kemonji Matsumoto
Kemonji The Nichiju
The interior of the Matsumoto’s SUV smelled of old upholstery and the sweet, lingering scent of strawberry candies—the kind Yakushi always insisted on buying at the gas station. Outside, Kakou City was a blur of emerald green and grey asphalt, glowing under a relentless sun that made the heat waves shimmer over the road.
Inside, the only sound was the low hum of the AC and the rhythmic scritch-scratch of Kemonji’s pencil dancing across his sketchbook. He was lost in the curves of a landscape he’d seen a thousand times, trying to capture the way the light hit the power lines.
"Brother, you’re holding the pencil wrong again," Yakushi said without looking up from her own book. She had that annoying way of knowing exactly what he was doing without even looking.
"Can you shut up for one moment, Yakushi! Im tryna focus on sketching here, k?" Kemonji sighed. He shifted his grip, though he knew she was right. He looked like he had gone through this every single time they stepped into a car.
He went back to his sketch, but the peace didn't last. A black sedan swerved into their lane, its headlights flashing like the eyes of a predator spotting its prey. Kemonji barely had time to look up before the world instantly dissolved into the screech of tearing metal and the crystalline shimmer of a shattering windshield.
The kitchen was small, cramped, and smelled faintly of turpentine and burnt toast. A single sunbeam cut through the dust motes dancing in the air, highlighting the stack of unpaid bills Yakushi had neatly organized on the counter. She handled the mail because Kemonji usually "forgot" until the lights went out.
"Brother, if you spend any more money on high-grade charcoal pencils, we won't be able to afford eggs next week," Yakushi said. Her voice was flat, practical, as she pulled the hood of her navy blue hoodie over her ponytail.
She’s technically right, but that 4B pencil was calling my name. Sigh..
"I'm heading out!" Yakushi announced, hopping on one foot as she slid into her school shoes. She pointed a finger back at the table with a knowing look that made her look years older than she was. "And don't just leave your mess there—put your plates in the sink when you're finished, okay?"
Yakushi opened the front door and stepped out into the morning. Silence rushed back into the room like a physical weight, pressing against Kemonji’s chest.
Finally, some peace and quiet, Kemonji thought.
But the stillness felt a bit too heavy, almost suffocating. He pushed himself up from the table, the chair legs scraping harshly against the linoleum, and gathered his dishes. He made sure to head straight for the sink—if he didn't, he knew he’d never hear the end of it when she got home.
A short while later, Kemonji stepped outside, taking a deep breath of the morning air to settle his nerves. He wandered through the streets, his footsteps aimless and restless. The city felt different today—colder, despite the sun.
What should I even do today? he wondered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
He watched the crowd of people rushing to work, feeling like he was moving in slow motion compared to the rest of the world. He let out a long sigh, but the sound was immediately swallowed by the restless hum of the city.
Out of nowhere, a stranger in a black hoodie and a face mask was standing right beside him. The man didn't bump into him; he simply appeared, matching Kemonji's stride with terrifying precision. The man leaned in, his breath cold against Kemonji’s ear.
“I have your little sister,” he whispered.
The words hit Kemonji like a physical blow to the gut. His heart froze in his chest, then began to thud with a sickening rhythm. His stomach twisted into a knot of pure ice.
“...You! Why are you doing this?!” Kemonji demanded, his voice a jagged mix of raw fear and rising fury.
The stranger didn't flinch. Beneath the mask, a cruel smirk pulled at his cheeks, his eyes glinting with a dark, predatory malice. He let out a low, mocking laugh that made Kemonji grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
“Don’t do anything reckless,” the man warned, his tone dropping to a deadly hiss that promised violence. “Your sister’s safety depends entirely on how well you listen.”
“If you want her back, meet me at Musho Bridge at midnight. Have 100,000 yen ready.”
Kemonji’s mind raced. I can’t let anything happen to her… I have to get there…
“…Okay,” he finally said, his voice tight.
The stranger vanished into a nearby alley, leaving a lingering chill in the air.
Moments later, the heavy thud of boots hit the pavement. Two police officers ran up, their radios crackling with static. One of them scanned Kemonji’s own hoodie suspiciously for a split second before looking past him.
“Hey! Have you seen a person in a black hoodie with a red emblem on the back?” the officer barked.
Kemonji swallowed hard. The stranger's threat echoed in his head like a death sentence. If the police interfered, Yakushi was as good as dead.
“N-no…”
They didn't wait for a second answer. They nodded and sprinted off toward the alley. Alone again, Kemonji’s hands curled into trembling fists. He stared at the spot where the man had stood and muttered to himself, “They’ll regret this… I won’t let them touch her.”
Midnight at Musho Bridge
Seven hours of agonizing silence passed. The night had grown cold and silent by the time Kemonji returned to the apartment. He didn't turn on the lights. Instead, he knelt beside his bed and pulled back the worn rug.
With a grunt of effort, he pried open the hidden trapdoor in the floorboards. Inside, the dim moonlight revealed stacks of bills sitting in the dark—a massive amount of money, far too much for any ordinary student to possess. It was his secret, his burden, and now, his only hope.
He didn't hesitate. He counted out 100,000 yen with trembling fingers, snapped a small suitcase shut, and stood up. The weight of the case felt like a lead weight in his hand as he headed back out into the night.
The walk to Musho Bridge was a blur of neon signs and shadows. His footsteps echoed in the quiet streets, each one a sharp, lonely beat of dread and determination.
Please let her be okay… please…
As he reached the edge of the bridge, the fog from the river clung to the metal beams. Then, he saw her. Yakushi was tied to a chair in the center of the walkway, her eyes wide with a fear that shattered Kemonji's heart.
The stranger stepped forward from the shadows of the suspension cables, smirking behind his mask.
“Give me my sister first,” Kemonji demanded.
The stranger laughed, a jagged sound in the night air. “Oh? And ruin the fun?”
Kemonji didn’t hesitate. He shoved the suitcase forward across the ground. “Take it. Now let her go.”
The stranger grabbed the case, his eyes gleaming. He raised a small remote with a single button. “Thanks for the money—”
Before he could press it, Kemonji lunged. He delivered a hard, desperate kick that sent the man flying backward. The stranger crashed over the railing and plunged into the river with a loud, heavy splash.
Silence returned.
Kemonji rushed to Yakushi and tore the ropes apart, his fingers fumbling in his haste. “Are you hurt?” he asked, scanning her for any injuries.
Yakushi shook her head, her small frame trembling. “…No.”
Relief washed over him, making his knees weak. Thank God… she’s okay.
The two of them walked together through the silent night, their shadows stretching long and thin under the flickering streetlamps of Kakou City. Kemonji kept a protective arm near Yakushi, his eyes constantly darting to the dark corners of alleys and the rooftops above. The suitcase was gone, and the kidnapper was somewhere at the bottom of the river, but the air still felt heavy with the threat of being watched.
Fifteen minutes later, the familiar, peeling paint of their apartment door came into view. As soon as the lock clicked shut behind them and they were safely inside the cramped, dimly lit hallway, the silence broke.
Yakushi turned on him, her small face flushed with a mix of lingering fear and sharp irritation. She didn't look like a victim anymore; she looked like a commander.
"You are such a dumb bro!" Yakushi scolded, her voice low but piercing. She pointed a trembling finger at him. "You casually took out 100,000 yen and just went outside with it! What if someone saw you? What if they followed you back here?"
Kemonji flinched, looking down at his worn-out shoes. He knew she wasn't just talking about the robbery. She was talking about the secret under the floorboards—the secret that kept them alive but also kept them looking over their shoulders. If the word got out that two orphans were sitting on a fortune, the "stranger in a mask" from tonight would be the least of their problems.
"I’m sorry," Kemonji apologized, his voice raspy. "I didn't have time to think of a better way. I just needed you back."
Yakushi let out a long, frustrated sigh, her shoulders finally dropping as the adrenaline left her body. She looked at the kitchen table, at the stack of unpaid bills that served as their shield against the world’s curiosity.
Same Yakushi as always, Kemonji thought.
The siblings sat together on the worn fabric of their couch, the only light in the room coming from the flickering glow of the television screen. Kemonji’s eyes were fixed on the screen, but his mind was still on the bridge, the feeling of the wind, and the weight of the suitcase.
Suddenly, the broadcast cut to a "Breaking News" graphic. A reporter stood in front of a high-security facility, her voice urgent and strained.
“The Taka Organization has made a move,” she announced, gesturing to the shattered glass behind her. “Reports confirm they have successfully stolen several specimens of the Sanju from the Japanese Science and Research Department.”
<Sanjus. Small, fluid, white worm-like creatures that first appeared during the meteor strike near Mount Fuji. To look at them, you’d think they were harmless, almost peaceful. They aren't hostile to humans, but they carry a dangerous, concentrated substance inside their bodies. If a human were to ingest one... they wouldn't stay human for long. They evolve. They mutate into something stronger... something strange.>
The reporter continued, her voice rising over the sound of sirens in the background. "One of the Taka members was apprehended during the invasion. After a swift government investigation, the member revealed the name of their Commander: Edo Yamatsu—"
Click.
The screen went black. The silence that followed was deafening. Kemonji stood there, the remote still gripped in his hand like a weapon.
Yakushi jumped, looking at Kemonji with wide, startled eyes. "Big Brother! Why’d you turn off the TV? They were about to say the leader's name!"
Kemonji didn't look at her. He stared at the dark glass of the television, his reflection looking like a stranger.
"There’s no use listening to news that won't help us," Kemonji replied, his voice cold and final. "Does the news ever actually solve the threats we're constantly facing? No. It’s the whole reason we have to hide our wealth just to stay safe."
He turned away, heading toward the kitchen
Kemonji leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Yakushi pack her bag. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Wait, isn't your history exam tomorrow?"
Yakushi froze, her hand hovering over her notebook. Her face went pale as the realization hit her. "Aghh! I forgot! I still haven't studied anything about the Sakoku Policy!" She started frantically flipping through her textbook, muttering about the isolation of the Edo Period.
Kemonji chuckled, the sound a rare moment of lightness after the horror on the bridge. "Then you better start now," he teased, nodding toward the clock. "It's already past midnight. The Shogun won't wait for you to catch up on your sleep."
The next thing Yakushi knew, the morning sun was piercing through her curtains. The alarm clock on her bedside table blared with a piercing, rhythmic ring.
"It’s morning already...?" she groaned, her eyes crusty and her head feeling like it was filled with lead. She squinted at the digital display and her heart nearly stopped. It was 8:20 AM.
"8:20?! School starts at 8:30!"
She scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over her Randoseru. She rushed out of her room, her hair a messy bird’s nest, and yelled toward the living room. "Big Brother! You didn't wake me up!"
She found Kemonji sitting calmly on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled through the news. He didn't even look up as she panicked.
"Nuh-uh-uh!" Yakushi barked. Before he could react, she lunged forward and forcefully snatched the phone right out of his hand.
"Hey!" Kemonji protested, reaching for the empty air.
"I'm hiding this for the day!" she declared, stuffing his phone into her pocket as a 'penalty' for his laziness.
Kemonji’s face pouted like a frustrated child, his shoulders slumping. "Fine! See if I care," he muttered, though he looked genuinely annoyed.
Yakushi didn't have time to argue. She sprinted to the kitchen, jammed a piece of bread into the toaster, and poured a glass of milk with shaking hands. She gulped the milk down and caught the toast as it popped up, taking massive bites while she rushed back to her room to change.
In a whirlwind of fabric and frantic movement, she threw on her school uniform, shoved her feet into her shoes at the genkan, and grabbed her yellow safety cap.
"I'm going!" she yelled, slamming the door behind her. She was going to have to run faster than she ever had before if she wanted to beat the 8:30 bell.
Yakushi skidded into the school building, her lungs burning from the sprint. She managed to slide into her classroom just as the final bell was about to chime.
"Oooh!" a voice chirped from the front row.
Here we go again, Yakushi thought, trying to flatten her messy "morning-rush" hair.
A girl named Rika leaned over her desk, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So?" Rika whispered loudly. "Did you finally tell your brother I have a crush on him?"
Yakushi didn't even blink. She sat down and pulled out her history notes. "NO. He has to focus on his academics!"
Rika pouted, leaning back. "Fair enough. But he's way too handsome to be stuck in that tiny apartment all day."
Suddenly, a piercing, rhythmic blare cut through the chatter of the classroom.
Some drill again? Yakushi thought, annoyed. I don’t have time for this; I need to study the Sakoku Policy.
But the voice that came over the intercom wasn't the calm, droning tone of the Principal. It was a teacher, sounding breathless and terrified. "This is not a drill! I repeat, this is not a drill! The school is being targeted by a Taka Representative! There is also a large meteorite fragment on a direct trajectory toward the building!"
The classroom exploded into chaos. Screams filled the air as chairs were overturned. Yakushi’s heart dropped into her stomach.
She didn't freeze. She grabbed Rika’s trembling hand, her grip tight and authoritative. "Let's go! We have to evacuate now!"
Rika nodded dumbly, tears pricking her eyes as they joined the flood of students surging into the hallways. They sprinted toward the west exit, the smell of ozone and smoke beginning to fill the air. They were only a few meters from the doors—from freedom—when the atmosphere changed.
The air didn't just get cold; it froze. It felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the hallway.
Yakushi looked up through the glass atrium of the entrance. A figure was levitating in the sky. He had skin as pale as marble and long white hair held back by a masculine headband. A black moon mark glowed with a sickening light on his forehead, and a single, jagged brown horn protruded from his temple.
“Heh… so these are weaklings,” he said. His eyes gleamed with a cold, superior light.
Then, with a sudden, violent flash, the Representative’s single brown horn began to glow with a blinding crimson light. A beam of concentrated red energy erupted from the tip, sweeping across the school courtyard in a wide arc. In an instant, the range of a thousand students gathered outside was caught in the path. They didn't even have time to scream; they were obliterated instantly, leaving nothing but scorched earth and a lingering scent of ozone.
Yakushi’s stomach dropped through the floor. Her breath hitched, her lungs feeling like they were collapsing.
I can’t believe this is happening.
High above, the figure raised a hand toward the sky, his eyes fixed on the massive fiery meteor that trailed fire behind it. “Time to end this,” he declared.
His horn pulsed with that sickening red light once more. As if answering his command, the meteor’s speed tripled—then doubled again—until it was moving ten times faster than its natural trajectory. It pierced the atmosphere like a needle through silk. Flames erupted into a roar of thermal heat as the meteor slammed directly into the school building.
Yakushi, paralyzed, stood there still grabbing Rika's arm. “…O… Onii-chan…” Yakushi whispered, her voice lost in the thunder. The world turned a blinding, absolute white, and the screams of the hallway were swallowed by a wall of fire. Nothing was left, not even ashes of the people who lost their lives.
Back in the cramped kitchen of the apartment, the TV blared with a volume that shook the thin walls.
|Breaking News: Kakou Elementary has been attacked by a Taka Representative,” the reporter’s voice was barely audible over the sirens in the broadcast. “Authorities speculate that these Representatives have ingested the stolen Sanjus, granting them catastrophic abilities. We have reports that approximately 4,000 students have died—
The broadcast cut off into a hiss of static.
Kemonji’s face went a ghostly shade of pale. Every nerve in his chest tightened into a knot of pure agony. He didn't wait to hear the rest. He didn't even grab his jacket. He rushed outside, his boots thudding against the stairs, and gripped his bicycle with a strength that threatened to bend the metal.
I hope Yakushi is safe… please be safe… he thought, his knuckles turning white on the handlebars as he pedaled with everything he had toward the rising column of black smoke.
When he arrived, Kakou Elementary was a skeleton of concrete and flame. The mysterious figure hovered over the ruins, laughing maniacally as if the destruction was a work of art.
“What weaklings!” he sneered, his eyes scanning the chaos for survivors.
Suddenly, the figure winced. A sharp, visible pain coursed through his marble-white body, his moon mark flickering. “This is bad! I don’t have time to waste!” he muttered, his voice strained as if his own power was tearing him apart.
Then, his gaze shifted. He locked onto a familiar, terrified face standing among the debris—Kemonji. “Him!” the figure hissed.
Without warning, the Representative surged through the air like a streak of white light, closing the distance in a fraction of a second. Kemonji froze. His mind went blank with a primitive fear as the shadow of the horned man loomed over him.
I guess this is it…
The figure’s hand clamped onto Kemonji’s shoulder with a grip like iron. “This will be just a little sleep for me!” the Representative shouted.
In an instant, a blinding light enveloped both of them, radiating outward until it eclipsed the sun. When the light finally faded and the dust settled, the figure—had vanished into thin air.
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