"You good for nothing."
"You will die without achieving anything."
"You need to change; you can't act like this as an adult."
"You will die in the street."
These were the words Umeboshi Tatsunosuke had heard all his life. People always saw him as a nuisance, someone incapable of achieving anything meaningful, destined to die as a street thug like so many others who couldn't adapt to society. He wanted to prove them wrong—but he proved them right. He died without accomplishing anything of significance in his life.
The spirit in the park forced him to relive it all. Even in the afterlife, he was reminded of how weak he truly was. Immemorvis sent him flying with a single finger. When he thought he had been of great help in the fight against the spirit in the amusement park, he learned the harsh truth: Viora had been able to challenge the spirit within her own domain through sheer willpower alone. Meanwhile, he couldn't even escape his own nightmare.
Though he had technically repaid his debt to Cyrus, it didn't feel that way. He felt powerless and angry, his emotions festering inside him. He needed something to direct his rage at—something, anything.
He walked silently through the streets, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a hollow expression etched on his face. As a spirit, no one could see him—not normally, anyway. The world moved around him as if he didn't exist, a feeling he had grown accustomed to.
Eventually, he came across a familiar sight: a local bar he used to frequent when he was alive. A group of off-duty cops were entering the building, their laughter and camaraderie carrying into the night.
Looks like this place is still in business, he thought to himself as he watched them go inside.
Driven by a mix of curiosity and nostalgia, he phased through the wall into the bar's interior. He couldn't drink anything, of course—those days were long gone—but the pull of memories guided him here, drawing him back to a place that once felt like a refuge.
***
"Finally finished!"
Viora said, wiping the sweat off her face with a gentle smile. They had just finished painting the new fence white, and the result was quite good.
Cyrus nodded, his expression softening into a rare, gentle smile.
"Thanks for helping me paint the fence, Viora," he said.
She laughed, waving him off playfully.
"No problem, partner! I'm just super thirsty right now!"
Cyrus lingered for a moment before replying, "I'll grab some drinks from the convenience store. What flavor do you like? My treat."
Viora thought for a moment, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
"I want lemonade!"
Cyrus sighed, then effortlessly jumped over the freshly painted fence. As he landed on the other side, he glanced back and said,
"Alright. Don't mess anything up while I'm gone."
From inside the garden, Viora shouted indignantly,
"Seriously?! You think I'm going to destroy everything while you're at the convenience store? It's not even ten minutes away! Stop treating me like a child!"
Cyrus didn't respond, only raising a hand in casual acknowledgment as he began walking toward the store.
As he was walking, Cyrus suddenly felt something hurtling toward him at incredible speed. Instinctively, he turned around with a speed no human should have been capable of, his reflexes sharp and precise. With a swift horizontal kick, he sent the flying object crashing to the ground.
It was a knife.
He stared at it for a moment, his thoughts racing.
Did it already start?
Cyrus glanced up at the apartments towering above him, his mind racing.
I left my wooden sword behind... If it's one of the ten lower corrupted spirits of the wicked, I'm in big trouble. But I think I have a slight idea where they might be, based on where that knife was thrown from.
Without hesitation, he sprinted into a narrow alleyway, leaping between the walls with incredible speed and agility. In moments, he reached the top of an apartment complex.
From his new vantage point, he spotted a figure standing on a rooftop three buildings away. The individual wore a black hoodie, black pants, and a black mask. Their silhouette suggested it was a girl.
Cyrus began moving toward her, but before he could get far, a sharp pain stung his cheek. He froze for a split second, feeling the fresh cut, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of something moving.
The knife he had blocked earlier was flying back to its owner, slicing through the air with unnatural precision.
What kind of power is that? Cyrus thought as he watched the knife fly through the air. Telekinesis?
Wasting no time, he took off at incredible speed. The figure didn't move, simply standing there in a battle stance. Cyrus closed the distance quickly, leaping to an incredible height and landing on the same rooftop a few feet away from the stranger.
Now that he was closer, he could see her more clearly. She was undoubtedly a girl, her height around five foot five, dressed entirely in black, her face obscured by a mask.
Cyrus began walking toward her slowly, his eyes locked on her every move. Yet, she didn't react, standing perfectly still as though waiting for him to make the first move.
Can I do this without a sword... or not? he wondered.
Memories of his training flooded his mind. Back when he still lived in the mansion, both Grandpa and Sui-Pōn had drilled martial arts into him for as long as he could remember. He had honed his body and reflexes to the point where he should be able to hold his own, even without his wooden sword.
With that thought, Cyrus steeled himself, ready for whatever came next.
The figure reached up, pulling their hand out from beneath the black hoodie. Cyrus tensed, preparing himself for whatever was coming next.
She threw a knife toward him with the speed of a bullet.
Reacting instantly, Cyrus kicked the knife mid-air with incredible precision, sending it soaring into the sky. For a moment, he kept his eyes on the figure as she sprinted past him.
Lowering his leg, he thought, What is she doing?
His question was answered as his eyes widened in realization—the knife he had sent flying high into the air was now hurtling back toward him at incredible speed. With no time to waste, he dodged by leaping backward. The knife crashed into the ground, embedding itself deeply.
Before he could fully process what had just happened, the masked girl was already charging toward him. Cyrus turned to face her just in time as she launched a backhand strike aimed at his face. He raised his right arm, blocking the attack with practiced precision.
Cyrus launched a barrage of precise strikes at the masked girl, each blow aimed to break through her defenses. Yet, she redirected every attack effortlessly, her movements smooth and circular, deflecting his strikes with calculated precision.
As the exchange continued, she suddenly shifted her stance and attempted a hip throw, aiming to slam Cyrus to the ground. But Cyrus reacted quickly, landing on his hands and flipping backward to regain distance.
As he stumbled back, his mind raced.
That manner of fighting… It's Hapkido!
Hapkido was a Korean martial art that emphasized using an opponent's strength and momentum against them. Rather than relying on brute force, practitioners redirected incoming attacks through circular movements, joint locks, and throws. The key principles of Hapkido were balance, fluidity, and control. With each strike, a skilled practitioner could manipulate the opponent's movements and use their own energy to counterattack, often without having to strike directly. The hip throw she attempted was a common technique, designed to take advantage of an opponent's imbalance and send them crashing to the ground with minimal effort.
Cyrus flew toward her at incredible speed, catching her off guard. In an instant, he grabbed both of her wrists, locking her in place.
She tried to counter with a roundhouse kick, but he reacted quickly, jumping while still holding her wrists. As they soared through the air, he brought his head crashing into her mask with tremendous force. The impact sent her tumbling to the ground, dazed.
Now on top of her, Cyrus paused just as he was about to strike. His voice was cold, controlled.
"It's over."
Then he noticed her finger twitch. Her movements were calculated, and in that split second, his instincts kicked in. He tilted his head to the right, allowing the knife to pass just inches from him. With precision, he reached out and caught the back handle of the knife mid-flight.
He stared at the knife, his eyes narrowing as he observed its detail. "A knife connected to a thread… almost impossible to notice. And that fighting style of yours… it's Hapkido, isn't it? You should've used Taekkyeon. You're better at it, Gwishin."
The girl behind the mask shifted, her face slowly emerging from the shadows. A beautiful young woman with a pale complexion and black eyes, her wolf-cut hairstyle framing her features. Blood trickled down her face, staining the middle of her cheek as she smirked. "Seems you've grown stronger since the last time we saw each other, Master Cyrus…"
She let out a sigh, her voice soft but laced with a hint of amusement as she lay on the ground. "I don't particularly mind being in this position, but don't you think it's time to get off me, Master Cyrus?"
Cyrus glanced down at her, realization flickering across his face. "Oh... right."
He stood up, then extended a hand to help her rise. She took it, pushing herself off the ground with a grace that belied her current state. Blood still streaked down her face, but she seemed unfazed as she spoke, her tone calm yet assertive.
"It doesn't matter if I'm better at Taekkyeon or not, Master Cyrus," she said, her eyes steady. "I've mastered Hapkido to near perfection. Taekkyeon, though... I've brought it closer to perfection."
She spoke in a tone full of respect, her voice steady despite the blood on her face. "This knife of mine is indeed connected by a thread... You noticed it quickly, as expected of you, Master Cyrus."
She paused, then continued with a slight shift in her demeanor. "But the weapon is incomplete. Normally, the full set consists of threads attached to each of my fingers, all connected to a knife. These threads give me precise control, allowing the knives to be thrown, manipulated mid-air, and retracted with ease."
She flexed her fingers, as if demonstrating the delicate control she described. "The threads are made of a special fiber, so thin it seems invisible... and sharp. If I wanted to, I could hold an enemy's neck in place with the fiber and slice it open with precision."
Her eyes darkened slightly as she spoke with quiet confidence. "But it's not a mundane fiber. It can even come into contact with spirits. I've spent the last four years mastering this weapon, Master Cyrus."
Cyrus nodded, a gentle smile curving on his lips. "Well, regardless, it's good to see you again, Gwishin."
She returned the gesture with a graceful bow, a soft smile of her own spreading across her face. "I'm glad I can serve you again after all this time, Master Cyrus."
chapter fifty-nine end
{after chapter poem}
To you who freed me from my suffering,
To you who freed me from a face that could not smile,
To you who allowed me to see the world beyond my hell,
To my angel who saved me from my tormentor,
Allow me to fight for your sake,
To shield you from pain,
To cut down your demons,
So that one day, perhaps, we may become something more.
Loyalty will be the path to the future I seek—
For you, and perhaps, for me.