The SUV groaned as it navigated the final set of switchbacks, eventually descending onto a vast, mist-shrouded plateau tucked into the shadow of the great peaks. As the engine cut out, the silence of the mountains rushed in, accompanied by the faint, sharp scent of sulfur drifting on the cold wind.
"We've arrived," Marito announced calmly, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Welcome to the base of the giants."
Gyau was the first one out, leaping from the vehicle and stretching his cramped limbs until his joints popped. He took a deep, lung-filling breath of the thin alpine air and let out a triumphant grin. "This is it! Norikura Kogen Onsen. This place is absolute peak, guys. Seriously, if you come to the Japanese Alps and don't soak in these waters, you've basically wasted your life."
[The Real History of Norikura Kogen Onsen]:
Norikura Kogen is a sprawling highland formed over thousands of years by the volcanic activity of Mount Norikura. The landscape itself is a product of ancient lava flows that cooled to create this unique sub-alpine plateau. The hot springs here are legendary, primarily known for their "Milky White" (Yushiro) waters. This striking coloration is caused by the high concentration of hydrogen sulfide and calcium from the volcano's deep thermal veins. Historically, since the late 19th century, this area has served as a vital sanctuary for mountaineers and explorers. The waters are scientifically recognized for their ability to treat neuralgia, muscle fatigue, and poor circulation, making it a place of physical restoration for anyone brave enough to climb the surrounding peaks.
Marito glanced around the group, counting heads, but his brow suddenly furrowed in annoyance. "Wait... where the hell is Anne?"
The group turned in circles, searching the immediate area, but the silver-haired woman had vanished. She had seemingly dissolved into the mountain mist the moment the car stopped. Marito sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Typical. She's likely scouting the perimeter or looking for signs of the target. Forget her for now; let's worry about our stomachs first."
As if on cue, Rio's stomach let out a thunderous growl that echoed across the quiet clearing. He leaned heavily against the SUV, looking pale. "Marito, I'm serious, I'm about to pass out. We've been driving since Tokyo and I haven't had a single decent meal. Is there anything around here that isn't made of grass?"
Marito nodded toward a rustic, weather-beaten building constructed from dark cedar wood. A traditional blue noren curtain fluttered at the entrance, and the steam billowing from the roof vents carried an aroma so savory it made their mouths water instantly.
They stepped inside the shop, greeted by the cozy warmth of a wood-burning stove and the rhythmic sound of boiling broth. They ordered the local specialty—Shinshu Ramen.
Gyau took a massive, steaming slurping bite of the noodles and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Wow! This ramen puts every shop in Tokyo to shame! You can actually taste the sweetness of the mountain spring water in the broth. It's incredible!"
As they sat around the scarred wooden table, the heavy tension that had followed them from the city began to lift, if only for a moment. They spoke of trivial things—school, the city lights, and the strange path their lives had taken. It was a rare pocket of normalcy in a world that was becoming increasingly supernatural.
"Enjoy the comfort while it lasts," Marito said, setting his chopsticks aside with a click. "Because where we are staying tonight won't have a kitchen or a heater. This is your last taste of civilization for a while."
They piled back into the car for the final leg of the journey. As the SUV climbed higher up the slopes of Kengamine, the lush forests began to thin, replaced by jagged obsidian rocks and hardy alpine shrubs.
"Wow... what a great view," Kawsoki whispered, his eyes glued to the window. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the clouds in bruised purples and fiery oranges. Rio watched the scenery, mesmerized. The sheer scale of the mountains made their problems feel small, yet the energy he felt humming beneath the earth told him otherwise.
Finally, they reached a secluded clearing near a cluster of gnarled, ancient pines. Marito stopped the car and walked toward a massive tree that looked like it had stood guard over the pass for a millennium.
Without a word, Marito reached into his inner pocket and withdrew a rectangular slip of weathered paper—a Talisman (Ofuda) inscribed with complex, crimson symbols. He pressed the paper firmly against the rough, lightning-scarred bark.
As his palm made contact, a visible ripple of energy distorted the air. The paper glowed with a faint, ghostly luminescence, and the red ink seemed to pulse like a heartbeat before fading into the wood.
"What are you doing, Marito?" Rio asked, stepping closer to inspect the tree.
Marito didn't turn around. "I'm setting a boundary, Rio. This talisman masks our presence from the 'Air' of this mountain. It ensures that whoever—or whatever—is tracking us will find nothing but empty woods. Now, let's move. Our 'home' is just ahead."
The journey had ended, but as the wind howled through the pines, Rio knew the real training was about to begin.