The air in the alleyway seemed heavier than before, thick with tension as Ichiro's sharp gaze never wavered from Seijuro. His eyes squinted, suspicion and caution etched into his expression. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm yet layered with a quiet edge.
"So, just who are you, and what do you want?"
Seijuro didn't immediately respond, instead leaning against the wall, his posture relaxed but exuding an undeniable confidence. He regarded Ichiro with a bored expression, his eyes half-lidded as if the entire encounter was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
"The name's Seijuro Matsuda," he said nonchalantly, his tone light but with an undertone of arrogance. "And I'm just a simple guy who does whatever I want."
The alley fell into silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Neither side moved, locked in a standoff of unspoken challenges. Seijuro's calmness clashed against Ichiro's controlled demeanor, creating a palpable friction that seemed ready to ignite at any moment.
After what felt like an eternity, Ichiro finally broke the silence. "We're leaving," he said, his voice steady, almost too calm.
Seijuro raised an eyebrow at the sudden declaration, tilting his head slightly. "Leaving, huh?" he remarked, his tone tinged with curiosity. His lips curled into a faint smirk as he muttered under his breath, "Smart move, I guess…"
Ren's eyes widened in shock. "What?!" he blurted out, unable to hide his disbelief as he watched Ichiro turn on his heel. His fists clenched at his sides, his frustration palpable as he glared at Seijuro before reluctantly following Ichiro out of the alleyway.
As they walked, Ren quickened his pace to catch up with Ichiro, his face twisted in frustration. "Why'd you leave, Ichiro?! You could've taken him! I know you could!"
Ichiro said nothing, his expression unreadable, his steps purposeful.
"Hey! Are you even listening to me?!" Ren shouted, his voice rising with irritation.
Before Ren could utter another word, Ichiro spun around with blinding speed, grabbing Ren by the collar and slamming him against a nearby wall. The impact was swift and precise, leaving Ren stunned and momentarily breathless.
Ichiro's face was inches from Ren's, his usually calm demeanor replaced by a rare display of anger. "Idiot," Ichiro hissed, his voice low but brimming with frustration. "You could've gotten us killed just now!"
Ren blinked, the shock of Ichiro's words cutting through his confusion.
"Walking away was the only choice," Ichiro continued, his tone sharp. But the anger in his voice wasn't directed at Ren alone—it was also at himself. He released Ren's collar, his hand trembling slightly before falling to his side.
Ren, still catching his breath, stared at Ichiro. "But… I don't get it. You're strong enough to handle him! Why—"
"Shut up," Ichiro interrupted, his voice quieter now, almost a murmur. "You don't understand. That guy… he's not someone we can handle."
The weight of Ichiro's words hung heavily between them, and for a moment, Ren was silent. Then, his brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Ichiro's gaze dropped to the ground, his fists clenching at his sides. "I'm not the best at sensing Reitō," he admitted, "but even I could feel it. That guy… his Reitō…" Ichiro paused, as if struggling to find the right words. "It is way above my level."
Ren's confusion deepened, and his frustration bubbled to the surface. "What are you talking about? You're saying his Reitō is stronger than even yours? That doesn't make sense!"
Ichiro sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Listen. In this world, Reitō Mastery is everything. The brighter it shines, the higher your mastery. There are four distinct stages—Hajimari no Hi (Flame of Beginnings), Shōmei (Illumination), Kazan (Volcano), and Kami no Shōmei (Divine Illumination). The average martial artist barely make it past the first stage, and enrolling students like us at the academy are lucky if they hit level three in Hajimari no Hi."
Ren nodded, already familiar with this common knowledge. "Yeah, I get it. You're at level four in the first stage, and I'm at level three. We're not pushovers."
Ichiro's eyes narrowed. "Exactly. But that guy? Seijuro Matsuda?" He exhaled sharply, his voice tinged with disbelief. "He's already at level two of Shōmei."
Ren froze. "What?! That's impossible! No one gets to the second stage this early! How could—"
"I don't know," Ichiro cut him off, his voice heavy with unease. "But it's true. I felt it. And if he's already at Shōmei, then fighting him would've been suicide. He's a monster, Ren. A dangerous one."
Ren's face contorted with a mix of anger and fear, his mind racing to process what he'd just heard. Ichiro turned away, his gaze fixed on the horizon of the apocalyptic Tokyo.
"For now," Ichiro muttered, his voice almost too quiet to hear, "we avoid him at all costs. If we don't..."
"We might not even get to properly enroll at the Academy."
Ren watched as Ichiro walked ahead, his usual confidence replaced by a rare moment of vulnerability. And in that moment, Ren understood—this wasn't about pride or power. This was about survival in a world where monsters like Seijuro Matsuda existed.
The boy and his sister bowed deeply before Seijuro, their voices trembling with gratitude as they spoke in unison. "Thank you for saving us, sir!"
Seijuro scratched the back of his head, looking awkwardly to the side. "Yeah, yeah, don't get all dramatic about it." His tone was nonchalant, but there was a subtle flicker of unease in his posture, as though the weight of their gratitude didn't sit right with him. Despite his roguish demeanor, a part of him felt a shred of satisfaction for having helped.
But that wasn't the part he allowed to show.
"Anyway," he added with a sly smirk, "you owe me now. Don't think I do life-saving gigs for free."
The boy's face scrunched up in confusion. "Huh? Owe you?"
"Yeah. You heard me," Seijuro replied, his smirk widening. "You didn't think I'd just step in out of the kindness of my heart, did you? What do I look like, some kind of saint?"
Before the boy could respond, his sister exploded with indignation. "You can't be serious! So you couldn't just help us because it was the right thing to do?" Her voice rose with righteous fury, but Seijuro's face twisted into a look of utter disdain, as if her words were nails scraping down a chalkboard.
He pinched the bridge of his nose in exaggerated annoyance before pointing toward the watches strapped to their wrists. "Listen, I'll keep it simple: hand over half of your points. That's all I'm asking."
"And if we don't?" the girl snapped, stepping forward with defiance blazing in her eyes.
Seijuro's smirk vanished, replaced by a menacing glare that sent a shiver down her spine. His blue eyed gaze flickered faintly, casting an eerie glow on his face. "Then I'll just have to take them," he said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone. "You know how that works."
The girl stumbled back, her bravado cracking, but before the tension could escalate further, her brother stepped between them. His expression had shifted, his earlier fear replaced by a calm yet resolute demeanor. "Alright, sir," he said firmly. "That sounds fair. You saved our lives, so a few points is the least we can offer."
"Smart kid," Seijuro thought, eyeing the boy with mild approval. "At least one of them knows how to negotiate."
The boy turned to his sister, cutting off her protests with a glance. "Come on, Komori. He's right. We owe him." Reluctantly, she nodded, though her glare at Seijuro suggested she'd rather be handing over her points to a rabid dog.
The boy tapped his watch, showing Seijuro the screen displaying his points: 150. "My sister also has 150. Split that in half, and you get 75 from each of us," he said, his voice steady despite the clear reluctance in his tone.
Seijuro felt a pang of disappointment as he glanced at the numbers. "Only 150 each? Man, these two are broke," he mused. But points were points, and he wasn't about to leave empty-handed.
"Fine. That'll put me at 400 total," Seijuro calculated silently. "Still 600 short of passing, but it's point more the less."
"Alright, we have a deal," he said aloud, extending a hand. The boy nodded and began navigating his watch's interface.
"Okay... How do we share points again?"
After a few moments of fiddling, Seijuro swiped through the menus himself, grumbling under his breath. "Damn thing's like a puzzle box…" Finally, he found the options he was looking for: two buttons, one green and marked Share, the other red and labeled Steal.
The siblings transferred their points without further fuss, and Seijuro's watch buzzed as his total updated to 400. A smirk crept across his face as he admired the new number.
But his curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't resist asking, "By the way, why didn't you two fight back earlier?"
The boy—Souta, as he introduced himself—rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's not that we didn't want to. We just… couldn't. My Enshō is Seika Flame, so it's more for support than offensive. I couldn't do much in a straight fight."
Seijuro raised an eyebrow. "Seika Flame, huh?" He recognized the name.
Seika 静火, the Quiet Flame, was one of the three legendary Enshō gifted to the Divine Warriors long ago. Known for its defensive and restorative abilities, it was powerful but ill-suited for combat.
"And your sister?" Seijuro asked, glancing at Komori.
Souta sighed. "Komori's Enshō is Hōka Flame. Normally, it's incredibly powerful, but she's still in the early levels of controlling it. Against the level of Enshō those two guys had… she didn't stand a chance."
Seijuro nodded slowly, his mind piecing together the situation.
Hōka 放火, the Ignition Flame, was generally the most physically strongest Enshō of the three. Infamous for its devastating offensive capabilities.
Ren Nakano, the guy whose punch Seijuro had caught earlier, was also a Hōka Flame. If Komori couldn't measure up to someone like Ren, it made sense that she'd struggle.
Souta's gaze turned inquisitive. "I'm guessing your Enshō is Hōka too, right? I mean, you caught that guy's punch like it was nothing."
Seijuro hesitated for a moment before shrugging casually. "Nah. My Enshō is the Yūka Flame."
Both siblings froze, their eyes widening in shock.
Yūka 幽火, the Phantom Flame. Ethereal and swift, enhancing reflexes and instinct to supernatural levels. It was naturally the quickest Enshō.
"Y-Yūka?!" Souta stammered. "Isn't that the Phantom Flame? The one that's all about speed and instinct? How the hell did you match a Hōka user in raw strength?!"
Seijuro rolled his eyes, cutting off the boy's rambling with an impatient wave of his hand. "I've got places to be and points to earn. Don't waste your time overthinking it." Without another word, he turned and strode toward the exit of the alley, his figure disappearing into the shadows.
"Thank you again, sir!" Souta called after him, his voice tinged with awe and lingering disbelief.
Komori muttered under her breath, still glaring at the direction Seijuro had gone. "Jerk…"
Seijuro smirked to himself as he walked away, his mind already focused on the next step of his plan. "These rookies are too easy. This test might just be easier than expected."