Morning finally arrived, carrying with it a quiet beauty that felt almost out of place. Soft sunlight spilled across the barracks, illuminating blooming flowers whose colors seemed too vibrant for a place tied so closely to bloodshed. Birds sang freely from nearby trees, their melodies weaving through the crisp scent of fresh air. It was peaceful—deceptively so.
Sentarō lay awake in the small house assigned to him by the Fourth Division, his body resting but his mind refusing to follow. He had not slept even once through the night. Every time his eyes closed, fragments of the previous day surfaced: the captain's gaze, the vice-captain's words, the strange, oppressive sensation that clung to them like invisible smoke. It wasn't power. It wasn't fear. Yet it lingered, gnawing at his thoughts.
Then he heard it.
SWISH! SWISH!
The sound sliced through the silence with sharp precision.
Sentarō's brows furrowed. He slowly sat up, his body tense. The noise came again—rhythmic, controlled, unmistakably deliberate.
"What is that…?" he wondered.
He rose from his futon and followed the sound, moving through the house until he reached the back. The moment he stepped outside, the source revealed itself.
Tadatoshi stood in the open yard, shirtless, his muscles taut and glistening with sweat. He wielded two swords, one in each hand, his movements sharp and exact. Every swing cut cleanly through the air, each step measured, each transition seamless. His breathing was controlled, but the sweat pouring from his body made it clear—he had been training for a long time.
Sentarō watched silently.
Without stopping his drills, Tadatoshi spoke, his tone sharp and dismissive. "What do you want, Sentarō?"
He didn't turn. He didn't slow down. He simply continued, blades flashing under the morning light.
Sentarō's eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in realization.
"So this is it," he thought. "This is why he's a monster."
There was no arrogance in Tadatoshi's movements, no wasted effort. Only discipline. Consistency. Relentless repetition.
Sentarō felt something stir within him. His lips curled into a grin, his gaze sharpening with determination.
"Hehehe… nice try," he murmured under his breath. "But I don't plan on losing to you."
At that moment, Tadatoshi stopped.
The blades came to rest. He turned, locking eyes with Sentarō. There was no surprise in his expression—only resolve.
"Hmph," Tadatoshi replied, a grin mirroring Sentarō's. "I'm not losing to someone like you."
They stood there, staring at one another.
There was tension—but not the kind born of hatred or ego. It was the tension of rivals, forged by the same hunger. A shared, unspoken vow to surpass the other.
Before either could speak again, a familiar voice cut in.
"Huh? You two aren't fighting? That's great!"
Tōkichirō strolled into the yard, his signature grin plastered across his face.
"OF COURSE WE AREN'T!" Tadatoshi snapped instantly, spinning toward him. "DO I LOOK LIKE AN ANIMAL TO YOU?!"
Tōkichirō burst into laughter. "Hahahaha! Looks like The Fire is still burning bright, Tadatoshi."
He clapped his hands together. "Alright, you two—get ready. Duties start today."
Not long after, Sentarō and Tadatoshi stepped out of the house fully dressed in their uniforms and haori. The crisp fabric felt unfamiliar, heavy with responsibility.
To their surprise, Reiko stood nearby alongside Tōkichirō.
"Morning, Reiko," Sentarō greeted, his face brightening.
"Good morning, Sentarō," she replied warmly.
Tadatoshi merely scoffed.
Tōkichirō gestured forward. "Alright then, let's move."
They began walking toward the Fourth Division's main building, the morning sun casting long shadows behind them. Halfway there, Tōkichirō suddenly stopped, rubbing the back of his head.
"Oh—right. Almost forgot. Your squad placements."
"Squad placements?" Sentarō asked, tilting his head.
Tadatoshi clicked his tongue. "How dumb are you?!"
Sentarō shot him a glare. "Who are you calling dumb?!"
"Alright, enough," Tōkichirō interjected, raising his hands. "It's too early for this."
Reiko turned away, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
"A squad," Tōkichirō explained, "consists of seven samurai. Six members—Ashigaru and Kashi—and one leader, a Chūshi."
He resumed walking. "Each squad is assigned missions based on their performance, efficiency, and combat ability."
"So all I have to do," Tadatoshi said eagerly, slamming his fist into his palm, "is join a squad and start killing criminals?"
"Yeah!" Sentarō added, grinning. "I can't wait."
"You two better leave some for me," Reiko said, her eyes burning with resolve.
Tōkichirō laughed heartily. "I knew you new Ashigaru had The Fire… but this eager? Hahahaha!"
Sentarō hesitated before speaking again. "Hey, Tōkichirō… what exactly is this 'Fire' you keep talking about?"
The grin on Tōkichirō's face softened.
"When I was young," he said, "my father told me that The Fire meant being crazy."
That only deepened their confusion.
"He believed that only those who were truly crazy could kill mercilessly for what they believed was right," Tōkichirō continued quietly. "Especially in an era where right and wrong aren't clearly defined."
A silence followed.
"Your father?" Sentarō asked gently.
"He was a samurai," Tōkichirō replied. "Ever since I was a child, I wanted to be like him."
"And where is he now?" Tadatoshi asked.
"He died in the line of duty."
The air grew heavy.
Sensing the shift, Tōkichirō laughed loudly. "Ah! No need to worry—this was a long time ago! Everything's fine!"
But Reiko noticed it. The laugh didn't reach his eyes.
"Anyway," Tōkichirō said quickly, "we're here."
They entered the courtyard. Waiting there was a young man with black hair, dressed in a police uniform. His sharp features and cold gaze immediately sent a chill through Sentarō and Tadatoshi.
"This is your squad leader," Tōkichirō announced. "Anzai Muneshige."
Reiko frowned. "Wait… what about you?"
"I've got a mission," Tōkichirō replied. "I won't be available."
"A real mission?" Tadatoshi scoffed.
"Only Ashigaru, Kashi, and Chūshi use squad systems," Tōkichirō said with a teasing smile.
That only irritated Tadatoshi further.
"Alright, I'm off," Tōkichirō said, waving as he departed.
The moment he was gone, Muneshige clicked his tongue. "Tch. Why am I stuck babysitting damn Ashigaru?"
His glare sharpened. "Especially you three—survivors of the Night of Blood."
"Out of forty squads, you had to end up in mine," he muttered.
"Hey," Tadatoshi shot back confidently, "we didn't ask to be here. So stop whining."
The courtyard went silent.
Muneshige's expression twisted with fury. "You arrogant bastard… you talked back?"
Before Tadatoshi could continue, Reiko stepped forward. "We apologize for his insubordination."
At the same time, Sentarō clamped a hand over Tadatoshi's mouth.
Muneshige scoffed. "I don't care where you came from. All that matters is obedience."
He turned away, walking off while releasing that same strange aura.
The same one Sentarō had felt from the captain.
The same one that had kept him awake all night.
As the three stood there, a single question echoed in Sentarō and Tadatoshi's minds alike.
"What is really going on in the Police Force?"