The shards of ice didn't melt like normal water. They evaporated into a thin, freezing mist that smelled of ozone and ancient, stagnant air.
For a heartbeat, the living room was silent. Yuki stood in the center of the damp rug, her eyes fixed on the empty space where the fish demon had been pulverized.
She looked terrifying.
Her posture was straight, her expression was a blank slate of indifference, and the sheer amount of power she had just put out was enough to make the air hum.
Masaru stared at her, his Beretta still hanging in his hand. So that's it, he thought. She's been holding back.
She's not a victim; she's a weapon.
He felt a flicker of genuine respect.
If this was the Yuki he was going to be working with from now on, maybe they wouldn't all end up in a body bag by the end of the month.
Then, the mask shattered.
Yuki's knees buckled, and she hit the floor with a heavy thud. The indifference vanished, replaced instantly by a high-pitched, ragged sob.
She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as she wailed like a child who had been lost in a department store.
"I was so scared!" she shrieked between gasps. "It was so dark... and it was so big... and I thought I was going to be eaten! I didn't want to die! I don't want to die!"
Masaru's respect died a quick, painful death. He let out a long, loud sigh of disappointment, sliding his gun back into his holster. "And she's back. Great. For a second there, I thought we actually had a heavy hitter on the payroll."
Kuzushi walked over to Yuki, her brow furrowed. She didn't offer a hand to help her up; she just stood over her, looking down with a mix of professional curiosity and intense annoyance.
"The void," Kuzushi said, her voice sharp. "How did you trigger it? That wasn't just a basic ice spell. You bypassed the dimensional seam and projected a 360-degree cage. You need a Deviant rank of at least four to even attempt that, and you're a 3rd."
Yuki looked up, her eyes red and puffy, snot running down her upper lip. "I... I don't know! I was just really, really scared! I felt like I was suffocating, and I just wanted the big fish to go away! I just pushed my magic as hard as I could!"
Kuzushi groaned, rubbing her temples. "You 'pushed' it? You don't just 'push' a void into existence, you idiot. It takes calculation. It takes spatial awareness." She turned to Masaru, gesturing wildly at the sobbing girl on the floor. "She's a fluke. A high-spec fluke with zero control. If she does that again without a stabilizer, she's going to freeze her own heart solid."
"Well, she saved our skins, didn't she?" Alex said. He stepped forward, patting Yuki awkwardly on the head. He looked exhausted, but he managed a bright, supportive smile. "Right proper job, Yuki! Truly. That was some top-tier wizardry. You shredded that thing like a paper shredder. Don't listen to the pink-haired grump. You did brilliant."
Yuki sniffled, looking up at Alex. "Really?"
"Absolutely. Now let's get out of here before the DHC starts asking why the living room is a swimming pool."
-
Back at the Hunter's Liaison Office, the air conditioning was hummed at a low, expensive frequency.
Mai stood in the center of Kenji's office, her hands trembling as she held her report tablet.
She had spent the last hour meticulously documenting the mission—the hidden 5th Deviation, the manual void, and the way the team had barely escaped.
"The team encountered a nested void, sir," Mai said, her voice small. "The 2nd Deviation haunting was a lure. There was a higher-spec entity underneath it. It required an active void breach to confront. If the team hadn't had two members capable of void manipulation, they would have been lost."
Kenji didn't look up. He was leaning back in his mahogany chair, his feet up on the desk. He looked like a different man than he had three weeks ago.
He was wearing a brand-new gold chain that was thick enough to be a leash, and a Rolex glistened on his wrist, the diamonds in the bezel catching the fluorescent light.
He was flicking through a catalog of luxury yachts on his tablet.
"Sir?" Mai prompted.
"I heard you, Mai," Kenji said. His voice was oily and overconfident.
He didn't sound like a terrified middle-manager anymore; he sounded like a man who thought he had bought his way into heaven. "A big fish. A scary hole in the ground. They killed it, didn't they? That's what they're paid for."
"But the data, sir... the discrepancy in the deviation ranks—"
"Doesn't matter," Kenji interrupted, finally looking at her. He tapped the gold Rolex. "Results are all that matter. Sakura is an idiot whore who thinks she's the smartest person in the room just because she has violet eyes and a mean streak. She thinks she can buy me off with a bag of cash and some threats."
Mai's breath hitched. "Sir, please... don't talk like that. If she hears—"
"She's in India, Mai! She's playing diplomat while I'm the one actually running the show here," Kenji spat. He stood up, pacing the small room. He looked manic. "She asked me to erase her mortality quota. Can you believe the nerve? She wants her record wiped clean so she can keep her prestige."
Mai felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. "You... you did it, didn't you? You wiped the data cloud like she asked?"
Kenji let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
He turned his tablet around to show Mai the DHC internal server.
The mortality rates for Sakura's unit were still there—glowing in bright, incriminating red.
Daiki Yoshida's death. Sato's death. The high attrition rate of the last six months. Everything was still on the record.
"I didn't erase a single byte," Kenji grinned. "In fact, I flagged it for the internal auditors. If the board sees how many contractors she's burning through, they'll pull her license. And when she's gone, who do you think they'll tap to manage her assets? Who's been the most 'reliable' supervisor on the floor?"
"You're going to get us killed," Mai whispered, her eyes wide with horror. "You don't understand what she is. You know about the subway incident. You know about the chains. If she finds out you betrayed her—"
"She won't do a damn thing," Kenji snapped. "She's a corporate tool. She plays by the rules when it suits her. I have the money, and I have the leverage. Now get lost, Mai. Go file the paperwork and stop being so dramatic. You're starting to sound like your mother."
Mai stared at him for a long, silent moment. She saw the sweat on his forehead and the way his eyes darted greedily toward the gold on his wrist.
He hadn't just taken the money; he had let the money rot his brain. He was a dead man walking, and he was too arrogant to see the noose.
She didn't say another word. She turned and left the office, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
-
In the Minato apartment, the tension was of a different sort.
Masaru and Alex were locked in a stalemate at the dining table. Their elbows were planted firmly on the wood, their hands gripped together in a white-knuckled knot.
Between them sat a plastic container of leftover stir-fry. It was three days old, the vegetables had gone limp, and the sauce had separated into a questionable oily layer at the bottom.
"I'm telling you, it's still good," Masaru grunted, his face turning a deep shade of purple as he applied his full force to Alex's arm. "A bit of heat, and it's a five-star meal. You're not throwing away twenty yen worth of nutrition on my watch."
Alex was sweating profusely, his blonde hair sticking to his forehead. He was leaning his entire body weight into the struggle, his bicep bulging. "It's a health hazard, Masaru! It looks like something we'd hunt in a sewer! If you eat that, you'll be in the hospital again, and I'm not carrying your arse to the doctor!"
"Winner decides!" Masaru roared. "If I win, I eat it. If you win, you can toss it in the bin with your dignity!"
Kuzushi was leaning against the kitchen counter, holding a bag of chips and watching them with an expression of pure, unadulterated boredom. "Come on, Hair-tie! You've got a foot on him and at least twenty pounds of muscle! Don't let the scavenger beat you!"
"I'm trying!" Alex wheezed. "His hand... it's like a bloody vice!"
Masaru didn't say anything. He just narrowed his eyes and focused.
He didn't have Alex's gym-toned muscles, but he had the wiry strength of a man who had spent his life fighting for every scrap of food and every inch of space.
He wasn't arm-wrestling for the stir-fry; he was arm-wrestling because he hated losing.
For a full minute, neither of them moved. The table creaked under the pressure. Yuki sat on the couch, watching them with a confused expression, her earlier breakdown forgotten in the face of the sheer stupidity of the display.
"Give up, Alex," Masaru hissed through gritted teeth. "I can do this all night."
Suddenly, a loud pop echoed from Alex's arm.
"Ow! Crap! Cramp! Cramp!" Alex yelled, his face contorting in pain.
Masaru didn't show mercy. The moment the resistance faltered, he yanked Alex's arm down, slamming his knuckles onto the table with a resounding thud.
"Winner," Masaru panted, releasing Alex's hand.
Alex slumped back in his chair, clutching his forearm and groaning. "You savage... you actually did it. My arm is dead. I hope you're happy."
Masaru didn't answer.
He grabbed the plastic container, popped the lid, and used a discarded pair of chopsticks to take a massive, dripping scoop of the stir-fry. He shoved it into his mouth in one go, chewing with a look of intense, spiteful triumph.
"Ugh, that's revolting," Alex said, looking away. "Truly. It's not my health anyway. If you end up with a tapeworm, don't come crying to me."
"Tastes like victory," Masaru mumbled around the food.
Kuzushi snorted, tossing a chip into her mouth. "Tastes like food poisoning. But hey, at least the apartment is quiet for once."
Masaru finished the container and licked the chopsticks. He felt like crap, his stomach was already starting to protest, and he was pretty sure he'd pulled a muscle in his back.
But as he looked at Alex's annoyed face and the empty container, he felt a small, dark sense of peace.
He was alive, he was fed.
Is this what a normal life feels like?