Darkness.
Not the kind that came with night.
Not the kind that hid in corners or lingered behind closed eyes.
This was something else.
A world without edges.
No ceiling.
No ground.
No wind.
No sound.
Just endless black—
Stretching in every direction.
Like reality itself had been erased.
Rishiro stood alone in the middle of it.
His shoulders were tense.
His breathing uneven.
For a second—
He wondered if he had died again.
"…Okay," he muttered, glancing around.
"…Either I'm unconscious… or this is what happens when you overdo it and your soul gets evicted."
His voice vanished.
No echo.
No return.
Great.
Even the darkness wasn't listening.
He clicked his tongue and shoved his hands into his pockets—
Then paused.
"…Do I even have pockets right now?"
He looked down.
Still there.
"…That's creepy."
Then—
He felt it.
A presence.
Heavy.
Ancient.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Just… undeniable.
Rishiro's expression sharpened as he turned.
At first—
Nothing.
Then the darkness shifted.
A figure stepped forward.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Like the void itself was making way for him.
Dark robes layered over the body of a warrior.
Heavy cloth that moved without wind.
At his waist—
A katana.
Simple.
Clean.
And yet—
It carried weight.
Not like a weapon.
Like a verdict.
The man's face was composed.
Stern.
Unshaken.
He didn't look human the way others did.
He looked like the kind of man history refuses to leave alone.
The kind that becomes legend—
Because calling him "just a man" feels wrong.
He stopped a few steps away.
His sharp eyes studied Rishiro.
Then he spoke.
"So… you are the one chosen this time."
His voice was low.
Steady.
Every word felt final.
Rishiro blinked.
Once.
Then pointed at himself.
"Me?"
The man said nothing.
Rishiro glanced behind him anyway.
Still no one.
"…Right. Cool. Just checking. You know, in case there was another handsome idiot standing dramatically in the void."
No reaction.
"…Tough crowd."
Silence stretched.
Then the man spoke again.
"At least your mind remains intact."
"Debatable," Rishiro replied instantly.
"Depends who you ask."
Still nothing.
Wow.
This guy really was built different.
Rishiro scratched his cheek.
"…Alright, before the creepy mystery vibe gets worse—where am I?"
The man watched him for a moment.
Then answered.
"You stand within the boundary between consciousness and spirit."
Rishiro stared.
"…So basically a weird mind room."
"If that crude simplification aids your understanding—yes."
"Oh nice. We're translating ancient ghost talk now."
The man's eyes narrowed slightly.
Not annoyed.
Evaluating.
Then—
"I am Minamoto no Raikō."
Rishiro froze.
That name hit instantly.
Even through the haze.
Even in this unreal place.
A name carved into legend.
A hunter of yokai.
A figure spoken about—not explained.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"…You're kidding."
"I am not."
Rishiro stared—then exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Right. Of course. Fighting monsters wasn't enough. Now I'm meeting historical legends in my sleep."
Minamoto remained still.
Hand resting near his blade.
"The mask you wear contains my spirit."
The humor vanished.
"…What?"
"That power you felt. That force which overtook your body."
A pause.
"It was mine."
Silence.
Rishiro looked down at his hands.
"So that wasn't just the mask going berserk…"
"No."
"Great," Rishiro muttered.
"So instead of cursed gear, I got possessed by a legendary yokai hunter."
A breath.
"…Somehow that's better and worse."
"You are not possessed."
"Really? Because my body getting hijacked feels pretty possession-y."
A brief pause.
"You retained yourself enough to speak."
"…Wow. I feel safe now."
Minamoto ignored the sarcasm.
"The oni who passed that mask to you… was not entirely foolish."
"You knew him?"
"I knew of his kind."
Rishiro hummed quietly.
Then asked,
"So what—chosen one situation? Destiny speech incoming?"
"You were chosen."
Rishiro sighed.
"There it is. My life officially sucks."
For the first time—
Minamoto's expression shifted.
Barely.
"You speak boldly."
"And you talk like a history book with a sword."
A beat passed.
"…Hm."
Rishiro smirked.
"I'll take that as a win."
Minamoto stepped forward.
The space itself changed.
Sharper.
Like standing near something that could cut you—
Without moving.
"Listen well, boy."
Rishiro's expression hardened.
"Your body cannot withstand my full power."
Silence.
"What you used tonight… was only a fragment."
"A sliver."
"And even then—"
"Your body nearly broke."
Rishiro clenched his fists.
He remembered.
The pain.
The cracking beneath his skin.
That overwhelming force.
"So don't call you unless I really need to?"
"Do not make light of this."
The words hit harder than expected.
"If you recklessly invoke my strength—"
"Your body will tear itself apart."
"Not later."
"Immediately."
Silence.
"…Yeah," Rishiro muttered.
"I figured."
Then, quieter—
"…Why me?"
That question lingered.
Minamoto didn't answer right away.
"I'm serious," Rishiro said.
"There had to be someone better."
"There were."
"…Wow."
"But strength alone is meaningless."
Rishiro looked up.
Minamoto's gaze locked onto him.
"I have seen powerful warriors break at the first sign of fear."
"I have seen skilled men abandon others to save themselves."
"You were afraid."
"You were wounded."
"You knew you could die."
A pause.
"And still—"
"You stood."
Rishiro froze.
Those words…
Hit deeper than expected.
"You stood between monsters and those who could not fight."
"…That is why."
Rishiro looked down.
"…That sounds cooler than I deserve."
"You are still reckless."
"Inexperienced."
"Fragile."
"…There it is."
A pause.
"Yet not hopeless."
Rishiro blinked.
"…Did you just compliment me?"
"I stated a fact."
"…I'm framing that."
Minamoto continued.
"Your weakness is temporary."
"What matters is what you do after facing it."
Rishiro's expression shifted.
The ruined street flashed in his mind.
The fear.
The people.
The power he couldn't control.
"I hate this," he muttered.
"Good."
"…Good??"
"The moment you accept weakness—"
"You stop trying to overcome it."
That shut him up.
"…You're kinda intense," Rishiro muttered.
"I was a yokai hunter."
"…Fair."
"And you talk too much."
"…Wow. That hurt."
"It was meant to."
"…Okay yeah, that's fair too."
The darkness shifted.
Minamoto's form began to fade.
"You're leaving," Rishiro said.
"This meeting ends."
"Man… mysterious people always say that."
A pause.
"…At least say it normally."
Minamoto looked at him.
Then—
"Very well."
"…See you around, kid."
Rishiro froze.
Then laughed.
"No way—you actually said it."
"You asked."
The smile faded slowly.
"…I can use your power again?"
"Yes."
"But if I mess up?"
"…It will consume you."
Rishiro exhaled slowly.
"…Yeah. That's a terrible feature."
"Then become stronger."
Simple.
Absolute.
Rishiro nodded.
"…Got it."
"One more thing."
"When you call upon me—"
"Do so with resolve."
Rishiro sighed lightly.
"…Panic's been working pretty well so far."
For the first time—
Minamoto smiled.
Sharp.
Faint.
Real.
"Then learn to stand above even that."
And then—
He vanished.
The darkness shattered.
Pain.
White-hot.
Bone-deep.
Rishiro's eyes snapped open with a gasp.
The ruined street rushed back.
Cold air.
Blood.
Broken stone.
And agony.
It slammed into him.
"Ghk—!"
His fingers dug into the ground.
His body trembled violently.
Everything hurt.
Breathing felt like glass.
Moving felt impossible.
It was enough to break anyone.
But slowly—
He pushed himself up.
One arm.
Then the other.
His legs shook—
Almost gave out—
But he stood.
Around him—
People watched.
Alive.
Shaken.
Crying.
Breathing.
Safe.
Rishiro lowered his gaze.
His entire body screamed at him to fall.
To stop.
To rest.
But when he looked at them—
A small smile formed.
Tired.
Crooked.
Real.
"…Yeah," he whispered.
"…Worth it."
Under the broken moon—
With pain tearing through him—
With his body barely holding together—
Rishiro stood.
And for the first time—
Not as someone who survived.
But as someone who chose to stand.
And that…
Was enough.
End of Chapter 41