The morning of the delegation arrived crisp and tense in Lumora.
Kanashimi stood at the hidden exit ward, dressed in simple surface clothes—black hoodie, dark jeans, boots—looking every bit the unassuming teen. But his posture was perfect, face schooled into calm neutrality, the sacred crystal tucked safely in a concealed pouch against his chest, pulsing warmly like a second heartbeat.
Eldrin and Yoriichi stood with him, the four classmates waiting a respectful distance back as escort to the border.
Yōsei was nowhere to be seen.
Kanashimi glanced around once—subtle, but Eldrin caught it.
"She won't be coming," Eldrin said gently. "Fever took her in the night. High enough that the healers insist on rest. She fought it, of course—tried to sneak out twice—but we convinced her the village needs her healthy more than it needs her stubborn today."
Kanashimi's mask cracked for a split second—worry flashing in his gray eyes.
"Is she…?"
"She'll be fine," Yoriichi assured, voice steady. "Annoyed. But fine."
Eldrin smiled faintly. "She made me promise to tell you: 'Don't do anything stupid without me there to save you.'"
Kanashimi's ears pinked. He bowed. "I'll return quickly."
Alone.
The ward shimmered open.
Kanashimi stepped through—into cold surface air, snow crunching under his boots.
But before the ward closed, he paused, hand pressing lightly to the pouch.
The crystal's voice hummed in his mind—warm, ancient, amused.
You walk without her today, little bearer. But her heart travels with you.
Kanashimi's cheeks burned even in the cold.
I'm trying to focus.
Focus is good. But do not forget what I told you. She is fire. You are shadow. Together… inevitable.
We're sixteen.
The stars were older when they first aligned. Patience, child. The road is long.
Kanashimi exhaled a cloudy breath, face flaming.
You're enjoying this too much.
The crystal pulsed like laughter.
Immensely.
He shook his head, pulled his hood up, and walked into the snow—alone, serious on the outside…
secretly dying inside as the crystal's words echoed with every step.
The delegation waited.
Kanashimi emerged from the hidden forest path into the outskirts of Tokyo as dusk bled into night—city lights sprawling like a glittering ocean ahead. The air was colder up here, sharp with exhaust and distant snow.
He paused at the edge of civilization, gray eyes scanning the endless maze of streets and towers. No map. No phone. No idea where the "neutral ground" delegation waited.
So he did what felt natural.
He climbed.
A quick leap to a low rooftop, then higher—hands and feet finding holds on brick and steel with effortless grace, hoodie flapping in the wind. Twenty stories up in seconds, he crouched on the ledge of an office building, hood pulled low, gazing out over the neon sea.
And there it was—impossible to miss.
The Tokyo Chōjin Headquarters.
A sleek, towering spire of glass and reinforced alloy in the heart of the city, the massive stylized "C" emblem glowing crimson against the night sky. Floodlights swept the roof helipad. News helicopters circled like curious birds. Even from this distance, he could feel the hum of powerful tochi signatures inside—dozens of registered heroes on high alert.
The delegation was there. Had to be.
Kanashimi's face stayed calm, but inside his stomach twisted.
Alone.
No Yōsei to tease him out of his nerves.
No four classmates watching his back.
Just him, the city that feared him, and a building full of people who'd seen what he could do.
He exhaled a cloudy breath, pulled his hood lower, and dropped from the ledge—vanishing into the shadows below, moving rooftop to rooftop toward the glowing tower.
The boy who had made the world tremble was coming to talk.
And the world was waiting—terrified, fascinated, ready.
Kanashimi reached the heart of Tokyo as night fully claimed the sky, the Chōjin Headquarters towering ahead like a beacon of steel and light.
He didn't bother with doors.
From the shadows of a neighboring rooftop, he leaped—body arrow-straight, hoodie snapping in the wind.
Glass shattered in a glittering explosion as he crashed through a high-floor window of the headquarters, landing in a perfect crouch amid raining shards.
Alarms blared instantly. Red lights flashed.
The conference room doors burst open.
There they were—the three Chōjin he'd left bleeding in the snow: Blaze, Volt (hand still bandaged), Graviton (shoulder wrapped). And Tony Stark, helmet off, arc reactor glowing under his suit, arms crossed with that trademark smirk.
The room froze.
Blaze's flames flickered to life instinctively. Volt's good hand sparked. Graviton's gravity field rippled the air.
Tony raised a hand, stopping them. "Easy, team. Looks like our guest RSVP'd with style."
Kanashimi straightened slowly, brushing glass from his hoodie like it was snow. His gray eyes swept the room—calm, unreadable, the same boy who'd humbled them days ago.
Tony stepped forward, grin widening. "Kid's got flair. Crashing through my window? Bold. I like bold."
Blaze growled. "You've got nerve showing up here after—"
Kanashimi's voice cut through, quiet but carrying. "I was invited."
Volt snorted. "By breaking in?"
Graviton's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
Tony tilted his head, studying Kanashimi like a fascinating puzzle. "Peace talk, right? That's what the bigwigs said. Though I gotta say, hoodie and dramatic entry isn't exactly 'diplomatic dress code.'"
Kanashimi didn't smile. Didn't flinch.
"I'm here for the delegation."
Tony chuckled. "Yeah, we figured. Question is… are you here to talk, or to finish what you started?"
Kanashimi met his gaze—steady, tired.
"Talk."
For now.
The room relaxed a fraction—but only a fraction.
Tony gestured to the conference table. "Then let's talk. But first—coffee? You look like you could use one. And maybe a less… explosive entrance next time."
Kanashimi didn't move yet.
The tension hummed.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, a certain feverish princess's voice whispered: Don't do anything stupid without me.
He exhaled slowly.
And stepped forward.
The shattered glass crunched under boots as security teams flooded the room, weapons raised—then froze at Tony's casual hand wave.
"Stand down, everybody. We've got a VIP."
Tony circled Kanashimi slowly, eyes sparkling with that genius-level curiosity, smirk never fading.
"First question, kid," Tony said, gesturing to the massive holo-screen behind him still frozen on a viral fan-edit: Kanashimi mid-air, snow threads glinting, captioned "Art." "Are you the artist of this masterpiece? Because damn, the composition, the drama—10/10."
Kanashimi blinked, hoodie still dusted with glass shards, face perfectly blank.
"I… don't know who they are."
Blaze snarled, flames licking his fists. "Liar."
Volt stepped forward, bandaged hand crackling weakly. "You fried my hand, you little—"
Tony raised a finger, shushing them without looking. "Easy, boys. Let the grown-ups talk."
He turned back to Kanashimi, grin widening.
"Leave that. Who called you here? Who sent the boy who turned my best team into performance art?"
Kanashimi straightened, voice quiet but clear, though the word tripped on his tongue like it was foreign.
"My master said… persee… persi… desr… yes. President."
The room went dead silent.
Tony's eyebrows shot up. "The President? Of which country? Because if you're telling me the Japanese PM or—wait—" His grin turned absolutely delighted. "No. You mean the big one? UN? Or—"
Kanashimi's ears pinked. "The… surface leaders. All of them. Message. Truce."
Blaze muttered, "He can't even say 'president' right."
Volt snorted. "Kid's a walking weapon and trips over words."
Tony clapped his hands once, laughing outright. "Oh, I like him. He's honest. Terrifyingly honest."
He stepped closer, offering a hand—casual, fearless.
"Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist… and apparently your biggest fan right now. Welcome to the building, Mr. Kanashimi. Let's talk before my team decides to get revenge and ruin my new favorite hoodie aesthetic."
Kanashimi stared at the outstretched hand for a beat—then, slowly, carefully, shook it.
No crush. No lightning. Just two hands meeting.
Tony's grin turned softer. "You've got the whole world scared and obsessed, kid. Including me. So… what's the message from your master?"
Kanashimi met his eyes, voice steady again.
"Peace… if you mean it."
Tony's smirk faded into something almost respectful.
"Then let's find out if we do."
The conference room doors slid open again.
Captain Valor—Ethan Rogers—strode in, shield slung on his back, star-spangled suit pristine, expression set in that classic determined-jaw mode.
He stopped dead.
Eyes locked on Kanashimi.
The shield slipped a fraction on his back.
"You…" Valor breathed, voice a mix of disbelief and wariness. "You're the one from the video."
Kanashimi turned slowly, gray eyes calm under the hoodie, hands visible and empty.
"Yes."
Tony clapped his hands once, grinning like a kid on Christmas. "And there it is—the full reunion tour. Cap, meet Kanashimi. Kanashimi, meet Captain Valor, aka the guy who's probably been having nightmares about you since the boulevard."
Valor didn't laugh. He stepped forward, gaze flicking over the glass shards still on the floor, then back to the boy who'd dismantled three top Chōjin without breaking a sweat.
"You came alone," Valor said, voice low. "No escort. No weapons. Through a window."
Kanashimi inclined his head slightly. "I was invited."
Blaze muttered, "He always says that."
Volt flexed his bandaged hand. "Right before he turns you into modern art."
Valor shot them a sharp look—silence—then faced Kanashimi again.
"You killed a man in cold blood. Declared refusal to negotiate. And now you're here… for peace?"
Kanashimi's expression didn't change, but his voice was quiet, almost tired.
"I was sent to speak. Not to fight. Not today."
Tony leaned against the table, watching like it was the best show in town.
Valor studied him for a long moment—searching for deception, for threat, for anything human.
Finally, he exhaled.
"Then let's hear it. But know this—if you make one wrong move in this building…"
Kanashimi met his eyes, unflinching.
"I know."
Tony pushed off the table, gesturing grandly to the seats.
"Great! Everyone's threatening everyone else—classic diplomacy. Coffee's on me. Let's sit before someone's patriotism or teenage angst causes another window replacement."
He winked at Kanashimi.
"Black hoodie in a boardroom? Still iconic."
Kanashimi hesitated—then walked to the table and sat.
The most powerful heroes on Earth sat with the boy they feared.
And the real conversation began.
The conference room was already thick with tension—Tony leaning back in his chair, Valor standing like a statue, the three beaten Chōjin glaring daggers, Kanashimi sitting calm as a frozen lake in the middle of it all.
Then the building shook slightly.
Rotor blades thundered overhead, wind whipping the windows as a sleek black helicopter descended onto the headquarters helipad—Japanese government markings clear even through the glass.
Doors slid open.
The Prime Minister of Japan stepped out first—suit crisp, face grave, flanked by secret service in dark glasses.
And swinging in on a perfect web-line from a nearby tower—Arachnid, Japan's premier Spider-Man-esque Chōjin. Red-and-black suit with white web patterns, mask lenses reflecting the city lights, landing in a flawless crouch beside the PM with acrobatic grace.
The room's doors opened again.
They entered—PM leading, Arachnid a silent shadow at his side.
All eyes turned.
Tony whistled low. "Well, that's one way to make an entrance. Mr. Prime Minister, Arachnid—welcome to the party. We were just getting acquainted with our guest of honor."
The PM's gaze locked on Kanashimi immediately, recognition and wariness mixing.
"You are… the one called Kanashimi."
Kanashimi rose slowly, bowing with perfect formality—surface style, not village.
"Yes."
Arachnid's masked head tilted, lenses narrowing. "The kid from the video. You took down three of our best like they were nothing."
His voice was young, light, but edged with respect—and caution.
Blaze muttered, "Tell me about it."
The PM stepped forward, voice measured.
"We come in peace. The world has seen your strength. We do not wish war. We wish understanding."
Tony grinned. "See? Everyone's playing nice. Pull up a chair, folks. Coffee's hot, drama's hotter."
Valor stayed standing, shield hand twitching.
Arachnid flipped casually into a chair, perching on the back like a spider.
"So, hoodie boy," Arachnid said, voice teasing but sharp. "You here to talk… or to swing?"
Kanashimi met his masked gaze.
"Talk."
For now.
The room settled into uneasy seats.
The real delegation had begun—with the most powerful players on one side…
and a sixteen-year-old boy in a hoodie on the other.
The world watched through leaks and drones.
And held its breath.
The conference room was packed now—Tony lounging with that trademark smirk, Captain Valor standing like a statue of judgment, Blaze, Volt, and Graviton still nursing wounds and egos, the Prime Minister seated with perfect posture, Arachnid perched on the table edge like he might flip away any second.
All eyes on Kanashimi.
He sat straight, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, gray eyes steady under the harsh lights.
Tony broke the silence first, casual as ever. "So, kid. You've got the floor. What's the real message from the hidden side?"
Kanashimi inhaled slowly.
Then spoke—voice quiet, but every word landed like a blade.
"You thank us for protection you never knew you needed.
You fear the power you've only glimpsed.
You demand partnership… after threatening to burn our homes from the sky if we refused."
The room stilled.
Blaze's flames flickered out.
Volt's sparks died.
Even Tony's smirk faded.
Kanashimi's gaze swept them all—unflinching.
"We have guarded your world for centuries. Ended threats in silence so you could sleep without nightmares. Killed monsters that would have devoured cities. Sealed artifacts that could unmake reality.
We asked nothing in return.
Only to be left alone."
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping softer—but somehow heavier.
"You discovered us by accident.
One curious girl got too close.
And your response was to debate capturing us. Stealing our duty. Turning our burden into your weapon.
So we showed you the cost."
Silence.
Absolute.
Arachnid's lenses widened. The Prime Minister's face paled. Valor's jaw tightened.
Kanashimi sat back.
"I am here because my village hopes you learned.
Not because we believe you."
He looked at Tony last—direct, calm.
"Your world is young. Greedy. Afraid.
Prove us wrong."
The room didn't breathe for a long moment.
Tony finally exhaled, slow and quiet.
"…Damn, kid."
He had nothing else.
No one did.
The truth bomb had landed.
And the silence said everything.
The silence after Kanashimi's words was suffocating.
Captain Valor was the first to break it.
He stepped forward, shield still on his back but posture rigid with that classic all-American righteousness.
"You talk about protection and duty," Valor said, voice steady but edged with conviction. "But you executed an unarmed man. In public. That's not protection—that's murder. You don't get to hide behind 'greater good' when you take a life in cold blood. There are lines, kid. Moral lines. We don't cross them, no matter the threat."
The room held its breath.
Tony raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, watching.
Blaze and Volt shifted, waiting for the explosion.
Kanashimi looked up slowly—gray eyes calm, almost curious.
"You speak of lines," he said quietly. "Your world drew first blood when it threatened to burn eleven villages—children, elders, innocents—to seize power it doesn't understand."
Valor opened his mouth.
Kanashimi continued, voice soft but unrelenting.
"You call it murder. We call it message. One life to prevent millions. Your militaries have done worse for less."
Valor's jaw tightened. "That's not—"
"You register Chōjin," Kanashimi cut in, gentle but merciless. "Control them. Fear them. Use them. How many 'lines' have you crossed to keep your world 'safe'?"
Tony whistled low. "Ouch."
Valor's face flushed—anger, shame, something in between.
"We have rules. Oversight. We answer to people."
Kanashimi tilted his head.
"And when your people feared us… they debated nuclear fire. No oversight. No rules. Only power."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Your morals are convenient. They bend when you are afraid.
Ours do not."
Valor stood frozen, mouth open, no words left.
The Prime Minister looked away.
Arachnid's lenses widened behind the mask.
Tony finally broke the silence, voice almost respectful.
"Okay, everybody. Round one to hoodie kid. Let's… take five before Cap's patriotism needs CPR."
Kanashimi sat back, expression unchanged.
But inside, he felt the familiar ache.
He hadn't come to win arguments.
He'd come to stop a war.
And morals, it seemed, were just another battlefield.
Tony cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence like a record scratch.
"Okay, everybody—deep breaths. Cap's moral compass is spinning, our kid just dropped truth nukes, and we're all one wrong word from round two of Snowpocalypse 2045."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, that trademark grin sliding back into place—but his eyes were serious.
"Let's get practical. Real talk. Peace means sharing, right? You've got artifacts—weapons, whatever—that can handle threats we can't touch. Demons, reality-warping stuff, things that make my worst Tuesday look like a picnic."
He gestured openly, palms up.
"We've got tech, resources, global networks. Imagine combining that. Shared oversight. You keep the big scary keys, we help with the heavy lifting. No grabbing, no stealing—just cooperation. Everybody sleeps better."
The Prime Minister nodded slowly. "Japan proposes joint research facilities. Neutral ground. Transparency."
Arachnid swung his legs, voice light but pointed. "And maybe teach us a few of those thread tricks? Fair trade."
Valor stayed silent, jaw tight—still stinging from the moral takedown.
Blaze muttered, "After he turned us into swiss cheese?"
Tony shot him a look. "After we threatened to nuke his village, Blaze. Perspective."
All eyes turned to Kanashimi.
He sat perfectly still, hoodie sleeves over his hands, gray eyes unreadable.
Then he spoke—quiet, cold, devastating.
"You want to share the artifacts."
A pause.
"The ones that can unmake cities in a heartbeat. End bloodlines. Warp souls. Things your world would weaponize in a year."
Tony opened his mouth.
Kanashimi continued, softer.
"We have guarded them for centuries. Alone. Because every time the surface touched such power… it burned itself."
He looked at Tony directly.
"You build suits. Fly. Save cities.
We seal gods.
There is no 'shared oversight' when one side fears what it cannot control."
The room chilled.
Tony's grin faltered—just a fraction.
Kanashimi leaned forward slightly.
"Peace is not sharing power.
Peace is leaving us alone.
Or learning why we stayed hidden."
He sat back.
Tony exhaled slowly.
"…Fair point."
Valor finally spoke, voice low.
"Then what do you want?"
Kanashimi's answer was simple.
"Acknowledgment. Respect.
And the promise you will not force our hand again."
The heroes exchanged glances.
The Prime Minister bowed his head slightly.
"We will take your words to the world."
Tony managed a small, genuine smile.
"Kid… you're making this really hard to stay on the 'let's be friends' train."
Kanashimi didn't smile back.
"Good."
The delegation had its answer.
And the surface world just learned peace might cost more than they were willing to pay.
The room hung in that heavy silence after Kanashimi's refusal, everyone shifting uncomfortably under the weight of his words.
Tony cleared his throat, leaning forward with that charming, disarming grin—trying one last time.
"Okay, okay, I get it. Trust issues. Centuries of hiding. Fair. But hear me out—one more idea. Compromise. You keep the dangerous stuff locked down, we don't touch it. But share knowledge. Blueprints. Theory. Let us study from a distance. We help you upgrade wards, you help us understand threats. Win-win. Nobody takes anything. Just… cooperation."
The Prime Minister nodded eagerly. "Joint research teams. Neutral labs. No artifacts leave your villages."
Arachnid swung his legs. "Come on, man. We're not all bad. Some of us actually want to protect people."
Valor added, quieter, "We're offering partnership, not conquest."
All eyes on Kanashimi again.
He sat perfectly still for a long moment.
Then he spoke—voice soft, almost gentle, but every word carved in ice.
"Weapons and artifacts will be only one side.
Ours… or yours."
He leaned forward slightly, gray eyes sweeping the room.
"Take it if you can.
But know this: you cannot."
The temperature seemed to drop.
Tony's grin faltered completely.
Valor's hand tightened on his shield.
Blaze's flames guttered out.
Arachnid stopped swinging his legs.
Kanashimi continued, calm and final.
"You build suits. You register powers. You fight threats you understand.
We seal what you cannot.
There is no middle ground.
Choose: leave us in peace…
or try to take what was never yours."
He stood slowly—small, hoodie-clad, sixteen years old.
And somehow the biggest presence in the room.
"Thank you for the invitation.
My village's answer is no."
He turned toward the broken window he'd entered through.
Tony finally found his voice, quieter now.
"Kid… you're making it really hard to stay on the good side here."
Kanashimi paused at the edge, snowflakes drifting in.
"Good," he said without looking back.
Then he jumped—vanishing into the night sky like a shadow swallowed by storm.
The delegation sat in stunned silence.
Tony exhaled slowly.
"Well… that went well."
The Prime Minister stared at the empty space.
Valor gripped his shield tighter.
And outside, the city lights flickered—beautiful, fragile, waiting for what came next.
Because the boy in the hoodie had just drawn the line.
And no one knew which side the world would choose.
The conference room doors had barely closed behind Kanashimi's dramatic exit when the chaos erupted.
Captain Valor slammed a fist on the table—shield clanging against his back.
"He just threatened the entire world! 'Take it if you can'? That's not diplomacy—that's a declaration of war!"
The Prime Minister pinched the bridge of his nose, voice tight. "He's a child. Sixteen. And he speaks for hidden civilizations older than our nations. We… miscalculated."
Tony leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, smirk gone but eyes sharp.
"Miscalculated? We poked a sleeping dragon with a nuclear stick, then acted shocked when it breathed fire. Kid's not wrong—we did threaten to nuke his village first."
Blaze exploded, flames flickering around his bandaged shoulder. "Easy for you to say, Stark! You weren't the one getting holes punched through you by invisible string!"
Volt flexed his fried hand, sparks popping weakly. "He turned my lightning into a damn party trick. And now he's saying 'come and get it'? We should—"
"Should what?" Graviton cut in, voice gravelly, rubbing his sliced shoulder. "Rush eleven hidden villages with apocalypse toys? The ones he just proved we can't touch?"
Arachnid, still perched on the table, swung his legs nervously. "Guys… he spared us. Could've killed us. Didn't. That's not a villain. That's… scary restraint."
Valor turned to the Prime Minister. "We need a unified response. Now. Mobilize Chōjin globally. Prepare containment strategies—"
Tony interrupted, voice sharp. "Or… hear me out… we don't escalate. Kid just drew the line. We cross it, we lose. Badly."
The PM looked between them, pale. "He refused everything. No alliance. No sharing. No negotiation."
Blaze snarled. "Because he thinks he's untouchable!"
Tony's eyes narrowed. "Newsflash—he kind of is."
Valor's jaw tightened. "Then we prove him wrong."
Graviton shook his head. "Or we prove him right… and the world ends."
Volt muttered, "I hate that he's sixteen."
Arachnid sighed. "I hate that he's right."
Tony stood, helmet under his arm.
"Meeting adjourned. We take this upstairs. But mark my words—if we push, we better be ready to bleed."
He glanced at the broken window Kanashimi had left through.
"Because that kid? He's not bluffing."
The three "idiots" exchanged uneasy glances.
For the first time, the heroes who saved the world daily…
felt small.
The city sprawled below like a glittering circuit board, snowflakes drifting lazy through the neon glow.
Kanashimi sat on the edge of a high-rise rooftop, knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves over his hands, just… watching the sky. The real sky. Endless. Cloud-scudded. Stars peeking through the light pollution like shy diamonds.
A soft hum of repulsors approached.
Tony Stark in full Iron Man suit descended smoothly, thrusters dimming as he landed a respectful few feet away—helmet retracting with that signature whirr, face lit by the arc reactor's blue glow.
He took in the quiet boy on the ledge, no hostility, just curiosity.
"Fancy meeting you here, rooftop philosopher. Thought you'd be halfway to Narnia by now."
Kanashimi didn't startle. He glanced over, gray eyes calm.
"I like the sky," he said simply, voice soft. "In the village… we can't see it. Trees too tall. Wards bend the light. Crystals glow instead."
Tony paused, surprise flickering across his face.
He stepped closer—slow, non-threatening—and sat on the ledge beside him, legs dangling over the drop like it was nothing.
"So this is your first real look at the stars?"
Kanashimi nodded once, gaze drifting back up.
"They're… bigger than I thought."
Tony followed his gaze, quiet for a moment—the billionaire genius actually shutting up to just look.
"Yeah," he said finally. "They have a way of making everything else feel small, don't they?"
Kanashimi's lips curved—the tiniest, almost invisible smile.
"In the village, we're taught the sky belongs to the surface. That we stay below to protect what's under it."
Tony huffed a soft laugh. "And tonight you told the entire surface to back off. Bold move, kid."
Kanashimi shrugged, hoodie shifting. "They weren't listening any other way."
Tony studied him sideways.
"You know… I get it. The hiding. The duty. I built my first suit in a cave with a box of scraps to protect people who didn't even know I existed."
He paused.
"But the sky? That's free. Nobody owns it."
Kanashimi looked at him then—really looked.
Tony smiled, small and genuine.
"Take your time up here. Stars aren't going anywhere."
He stood, helmet snapping back into place.
"And hey—if you ever want a better view, my jet's got great windows."
Repulsors flared softly.
Tony lifted off, leaving a faint blue trail in the night.
Kanashimi watched him go.
Then turned his face back to the stars.
For the first time since arriving on the surface…
he let himself just breathe.
Kanashimi sat on the rooftop ledge, knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves over his hands, just breathing in the vast night sky—stars winking like they were sharing a secret with him.
Then the air tore.
A swirling portal ripped open mid-street below—purple-black edges crackling, vomiting out a massive dog-like monster. C-3 rank: hulking, fur like jagged obsidian, eyes glowing red, jaws dripping void-saliva. It landed with a boom that shattered pavement, roaring loud enough to rattle windows for blocks.
Cars swerved. People screamed. The beast lunged—claws raking a bus in half, sparks and fire erupting.
Kanashimi was already moving.
He stood on the ledge, snow whipping around him.
Then jumped.
Straight down—thirty stories, body arrow-straight.
Mid-fall, his hands flashed through signs—too fast for human eyes.
Green tochi surged, lightning chirping in his palm—Chidori, brilliant and shrieking.
He landed on the monster's back like thunder.
One thrust.
The spear of lightning punched clean through the beast's spine.
The monster convulsed once—massive body arching—then collapsed in a smoking heap, portal snapping shut behind it.
But the shockwave exploded outward—windows shattering for blocks, car alarms wailing, snow blasting away in a perfect circle.
The sound—a shrill, piercing screech of pure tochi discharge—echoed off buildings like a banshee's cry.
People below clutched ears, some dropping to knees.
Kanashimi stood atop the dead beast, breathing hard, Chidori flickering out.
He looked around at the destruction—the terrified faces, the filming phones, the sirens already racing closer.
His face stayed calm.
But inside: Not again.
He leaped away—rooftop to rooftop, vanishing into the night before heroes or news could swarm.
The city had its new video.
#KanashimiSavesTokyo trending before he even reached the forest edge.
And our boy just wanted to see the stars in peace.
Kanashimi stepped through the hidden ward just as dawn touched the forest canopy, snow still clinging to his hoodie, exhaustion carved deep into his young face.
Word traveled faster than he did.
The heart-tree council chamber was already assembled when he arrived—escorted in silence by the four classmates who hadn't left his side since the border.
Lord Eldrin sat at the head, expression unreadable.
Master Yoriichi stood beside him, arms folded, silver hair catching the moss light.
Three academy teachers—the same ones who had always looked at Kanashimi with thinly veiled disdain—sat stiffly along one side: Master Hoshino (iron-gray hair, perpetual frown), Master Kaito (sharp features, sharper tongue), and Master Reina (cold eyes, colder words).
Two elders—Thorne and Lira—flanked them, faces lined with centuries of judgment.
The room was silent as Kanashimi bowed deeply in the center.
Eldrin spoke first, voice calm but carrying the weight of the village.
"Report."
Kanashimi straightened, voice steady despite the fatigue.
"I delivered the message. They offered partnership. Shared artifacts. I refused. Told them the power stays with us—or they take it if they can."
A ripple through the teachers—Hoshino's lips thinning, Kaito's eyes narrowing.
Kanashimi continued.
"They pushed. I left. Then a C-3 breach opened in the city. I sealed it. One strike. The surface saw."
Elder Thorne grunted. "And made you their new god, from the broadcasts."
Yoriichi's gaze was piercing. "You acted alone."
Kanashimi met it. "I was alone."
Master Kaito leaned forward, voice dripping disdain. "Convenient. A chance to show off. To make the surface fear you more than respect us."
Master Reina added coldly, "He endangers the village with theatrics."
Master Hoshino's tone was ice. "Always the cursed child seeking attention."
The four classmates bristled, but stayed silent.
Eldrin raised a hand—silence fell.
"Enough."
He looked at Kanashimi, eyes softening.
"You refused their greed. You protected their city when you could have walked away. You returned unharmed."
Yoriichi spoke, voice quiet thunder.
"You carried Lumora's voice perfectly. Strength without cruelty. Refusal without war."
He stepped forward, placing a hand on Kanashimi's shoulder—firm, proud.
"I am satisfied."
The teachers shifted uncomfortably.
Elder Lira smiled faintly. "The crystal chose well."
Eldrin rose.
"The pilgrimage begins in three days. Rest. Prepare. The world watches—but Lumora stands."
He looked at the teachers.
"And we stand together."
Kanashimi bowed again—deeper this time.
As he turned to leave, Yoriichi's voice followed, soft enough only he heard.
"You did well."
Outside, the four classmates were waiting—grinning, relieved.
Akira slung an arm around his shoulders. "Told you. You're stuck with us now."
Kanashimi didn't pull away.
And for the first time, the weight on his chest felt shared.
Kanashimi froze mid-step, one foot already toward the door.
The praise—"You did well"—had warmed him for a single heartbeat.
Then the "but" hit like winter wind.
He turned slowly, bowing again—deeper, forehead nearly touching the floor this time.
Yoriichi stood motionless, arms folded, silver hair catching the moss light, voice low enough that only Kanashimi heard.
"You used power without permission. Thread Severance in the city. Chidori against the breach. Forbidden outside life-or-death… and not on surface soil without council sanction."
Kanashimi's voice was small, steady. "The breach would have killed dozens. I… acted."
Yoriichi stepped closer, presence heavy.
"Intent does not erase rule. You know this."
Kanashimi kept his bow, not daring to rise.
"Yes, Master."
A long pause.
Yoriichi's tone softened—just a fraction, the way only his student would recognize.
"You protected lives. You upheld Lumora's name. But discipline is the chain that keeps power from becoming curse."
He placed a hand on Kanashimi's bowed head—firm, grounding.
"Punishment deferred until after the pilgrimage. You will carry the crystal with full awareness of what restraint means."
Kanashimi's shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit under the touch.
"Thank you, Master."
Yoriichi withdrew his hand.
"Rise. Rest. Tomorrow you prepare for the road."
Kanashimi straightened, meeting his master's eyes—gray on steel.
"I will not fail again."
Yoriichi's mouth curved—the barest hint.
"See that you don't."
As Kanashimi finally left the chamber, the weight of praise and warning mingled on his shoulders.
He had done well.
But the chain of discipline was never truly off.
And outside, waiting in the glowing paths, a certain princess was definitely not eavesdropping…
Definitely.