Mura Kaito was twenty years old, a metre eighty and something, with a canvas bag he dropped to the garden floor with the specific sound of something that weighs more than it appears.
"Mura Kaito," he said, looking at the three of them with an open smile. "Second year. Kato asked me to spend some time with you today."
"Tsukino Hina," said Tsukino.
"Shirogane Mei," said Shirogane.
"Ishida Taro," said Ishida.
Kaito nodded to each of them. Then he crouched down, opened the bag and took out four wooden training sticks — the kind that have nothing particular about them except that they are designed specifically to withstand repeated blows without splitting on first use.
He handed one to each of them.
He kept the fourth for himself.
"Right," he said, with the same smile. "Now you're going to face me."
The three looked at him.
Then they looked at each other.
Tsukino leaned slightly towards Shirogane.
"He's out of his mind," she murmured.
"Completely," whispered Shirogane, though without the tone of someone dismissing it entirely.
Ishida said nothing, but his expression said exactly the same thing.
Kaito coughed once. The kind of cough that has nothing involuntary about it.
The three looked at him.
"Even if there are three of you," said Kaito, settling the stick in his right hand with the ease of someone who has done this many times, "you should never underestimate anyone. That is the first thing you are going to learn today."
He readied himself.
The three of them, seeing him do so, did the same.
What none of the three had calculated was the speed.
Kaito moved forward before any of them had finished setting their feet, with an acceleration that did not correspond to someone of that size, and the stick went straight for Tsukino. She raised hers to block — she managed it halfway. The impact sent her back two steps and her arm protested from elbow to shoulder.
Ishida and Shirogane came in from the flanks at the same time.
Kaito deflected Ishida's stick with a turn of the wrist and pushed Shirogane's aside with his free forearm, retreating a single step to move out of both their angles without losing his balance.
The three stopped.
"Impressive," said Ishida, watching him with something that was not exactly admiration but came close. "One person deflecting all of us as though it were nothing."
Tsukino shook off the blow, rolling out her arm.
"We need to attack him without stopping," she said. "Give him no room to move."
Ishida looked at her steadily.
Shirogane looked at her with a smile that was not entirely confident — not because the idea seemed bad, but because it did not seem quite mad enough to dismiss either.
"Stop talking and fight," said Kaito, the smile still in place.
The three charged.
Kaito received them with the same calm as before, moving between the three sticks with an economy of motion that made plain something none of the three wanted to admit aloud — that the difference in ability between them and him was not a small one.
Tsukino tightened her grip on the stick and felt the familiar warmth of mana gathering in her palms. Just a little. Just enough for the next blow to have more weight behind it.
"Tsukino," said Kaito, without stopping moving. "No."
She looked at him.
"The idea isn't to use your powers right now," said Kaito. "The idea is for you to improve without them. If you depend on mana for everything you will never develop the foundation."
Tsukino released the mana with something that was not exactly obedience but worked the same way.
They kept going.
Kaito corrected them as he fought — the angle of Ishida's elbow, Shirogane's weight badly distributed on her left foot, Tsukino's tendency to telegraph her blow with her shoulder before her arm moved. He did not do it with the tone of someone scolding but with that of someone who notices things and says them because it is more useful to say them than not to.
When the pace dropped and the three of them were breathing harder than they would have liked to admit, Kaito lowered his stick.
"Good for today," he said.
It was at that moment that Yūta appeared through the garden door, wearing his training clothes and an expression that took a second to process what he was seeing — his three companions with sticks in hand and the look of people who had just finished something physically demanding.
Shirogane saw him arrive and though she had no obligation to say anything, she said it anyway.
"We've just finished," she said.
"You should have come earlier," said Tsukino, in her usual direct tone, without moderating it much.
Ishida simply picked up his bag from the ground and walked back inside without looking at him.
The three disappeared through the door.
Yūta stood in the garden with the training stick in his hand and the expression of someone who is not going to say it bothers him because it would be a waste of energy.
"Amane Yūta?"
He turned.
Kaito was watching him from where he had been standing, the canvas bag already closed at his feet.
"Yes," said Yūta, with his usual smile.
"Mura Kaito." He came closer and extended his hand. "Kato asked me to work with you today. He has matters to attend to."
Yūta blinked.
"I thought the mana side of things was something he was going to cover with me."
"He delegated that part to me." Kaito released his hand and looked at him with the same attention he had given the other three. "First, one thing." He gestured at Yūta's stomach. "Hit me there. With everything you've got."
Yūta looked at him.
"I beg your pardon?"
"In the stomach. One strike. Full force."
"Are you sure?"
"Completely."
Yūta looked at him for one more second. Then he exhaled, set his feet, and struck.
He put everything into it — the full weight of his body behind it, his arm extended all the way, holding nothing back.
The two of them stood in silence for a moment.
Kaito smiled.
"Good strike," he said.
Yūta looked at him with his eyes marginally wider than usual.
"How—"
"Mana," said Kaito. "I moved it through my whole body and concentrated most of it in my stomach before the blow landed." He paused. "That is exactly what you are going to learn to do."
Yūta looked at his own fist. Then at Kaito.
"That's what you were teaching them just now."
"No, they already know how to use it. Now it's your turn to learn."
Yūta closed his eyes. He clenched his fists. He concentrated on something he did not know exactly where it was or how to look for it.
Nothing.
He let the air out slowly and slumped forward, shoulders dropping.
Kaito laughed.
"You're like a baby learning to walk."
Yūta looked at him with an expression that did not know whether it was offended or simply confused by the comparison.
"Close your eyes," said Kaito, in the tone he used when he meant it. "And instead of looking for something, feel. As though there were a river inside you. Don't push it — let it flow. Let it open. Let it expand on its own."
Yūta closed his eyes.
He breathed.
He did not look. He waited.
At first there was nothing. Then there was something — not exactly a physical sensation but not the absence of one either, something in between that was difficult to name with words that had not been designed for it.
He opened his eyes.
His right hand had an orange glow.
Not large. Not steady. But it was there.
Yūta looked at it for a full second. Then he started to laugh — not from nerves but from genuine surprise, the kind of laugh that comes out when something that seemed impossible turns out not to be.
"I did it—"
"Don't move," said Kaito, quickly. "Keep it there. Don't concentrate on the laughing, concentrate on holding it."
Yūta closed his mouth. Brought his eyes back to his fist. Breathed.
The glow stayed.
"Good," said Kaito, and he crouched towards the bag. He took out a wooden board about thirty centimetres long — thick, without splinters, the dark colour of something that had been treated to withstand impact. "This board," he said, holding it in front of Yūta, "is not ordinary. It can only be broken if the strike has mana behind it." He positioned it between both hands. "Hit it."
Yūta looked at the board. He looked at his fist with the orange glow.
He nodded.
He readied himself. He concentrated what he felt he had concentrated. He struck.
The glow disappeared just before the impact.
The silence that followed lasted exactly long enough for both of them to process what had happened.
Yūta looked at his hand. Then at the board, which was still whole.
Then he opened his mouth to say something and instead of words a shout came out — because his right hand was reminding him with considerable precision that striking hard wood with nothing to cushion the impact has concrete physical consequences.
Kaito stood looking at the board with a thoughtful expression.
"What happened?" said Yūta, shaking his hand carefully.
"That's what I'm asking you," said Kaito. "Why did you stop using the mana before the strike?"
"I didn't lose focus. I had it."
"And yet it disappeared."
Yūta looked at his fist. He tried for the river again. It appeared — faint, unstable — and was gone in under two seconds without him doing anything to extinguish it.
Kaito watched that. He laughed quietly.
"You ran out," he said. "The first time it's used it's difficult to sustain. The body is not accustomed to the expenditure." He held out one of the training sticks. "Train with this while I look for something."
Yūta took the stick. He began to move with it — without any particular technique, simply moving it, feeling the weight, looking for something that resembled what he had seen Kaito do with the other three.
Kaito picked the board up from the ground.
He looked at it.
On the hard, treated surface, where Yūta's blow had landed without mana, there was a crack. Not large. Not deep. But there — in a wood that Kaito himself had to concentrate considerably to mark.
He smiled to himself.
What an interesting one you've brought in, Kato.
He looked at Yūta training alone in the garden with the stick and his hand still protesting, and put the board away in the bag without saying anything.
"Let's train for a bit," he said, picking up his own stick.
On the other side of the compound, Kato Ginjiro walked through the interior corridors of the headquarters with his hands in his pockets and his usual unhurried pace.
The guard at the end of the corridor saw him coming, greeted him with a brief bow, and opened the door.
Kato walked through without returning the greeting, looking straight ahead.
"What does the old woman want now?" he said, in the specific tone of someone who has never minced their words and has developed no intention of starting.
The room on the other side of the door was large and orderly, with windows overlooking the inner garden. Seated behind the main desk was a woman of about seventy — back straight, hands resting on the table, a presence that filled the space without needing to move to do so. Mizushima Kana.
In front of her, in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, sat a woman of about thirty-five with her hair pulled back and an expression that, upon seeing Kato enter, shifted from neutral to something considerably less so.
Kirino Yuna.
"Kato," said Yuna, in the tone of someone choosing their words. "Maestra Kana, please forgive him."
Kato sat down in the chair beside Yuna without anyone asking him to.
Kana looked at him with the specific calm of someone who had dealt with Kato Ginjiro long enough to have left surprise well behind.
"Do sit down, Kato," she said.
"I'm already sitting."
"Then listen."
Kato made a click with his tongue but said nothing more.
Kana folded her hands on the table.
"I have called you both," she said, "because I need your groups to be set in motion." She paused. "The hunters who were sent into the field to deal with the mansion in the north of Tokyo are in the headquarters hospital. All of them. The active hunters remaining in Tokyo are very few, and the other bases are not in a position to send reinforcements at this time."
Yuna listened attentively.
Kato stared at a fixed point on the table.
"Kirino's group," Kana continued, "will go to the mansion. To investigate and contain whatever the injured hunters left unfinished." She looked at Kato. "Kato's group will go to the outskirts of Tokyo. There have been sightings of a different kind of remnant. One that appears to comprehend things with a clarity that goes beyond anything we have encountered until now."
The silence that followed lasted exactly as long as Kato needed to process what he had just heard.
"It is extremely dangerous," he said. "For first-year students."
"I know," said Kana.
"They are not ready."
Yuna turned slightly towards Kato.
"Maestra Kana," she said, in the careful tone of someone who agrees with the substance but not the manner, "please forgive him. But I share his concern. My students should not be facing something of that nature yet either."
Kana looked at them both.
"I have no active hunters left," she said, with the definitive calm of someone who thought this through before saying it. "The ones I had are in the hospital. The other bases will not help." She paused. "I understand that it is dangerous. But I have no other choice."