"Sir, another gate just appeared near Akasaka Street. Apart from Shibuya, new ones are forming and none of them can be ranked."
The man with the spiked yellow hair and square glasses stood there, his knees nearly locking. He looked like he was vibrating. He held a tablet in hands that wouldn't stay still.
"Idiot! Can't you tell that gates never appear in just one area? They multiply!"
Hiroshi Tanaka didn't just speak; he projected. The guild master of Iron Fang slammed a palm onto his mahogany desk, the sound like a gunshot in the silent office.
He glared through his subordinate. "And now they're showing up across both Tokyo and Kyoto. Daisuke, are you blind or just useless?"
Daisuke's head dropped. His chin hit his chest. Hiroshi didn't wait for an answer. He began to pace, his boots thudding against the heavy rug. The air in the room felt ionized, thick with the weight of a man who had spent too much time looking into the abyss of dungeons.
"If the gate can't be analyzed by rank…"
Hiroshi's voice dropped to a low, jagged rasp. "Then it's no ordinary dungeon. It's something else."
Daisuke's mouth worked, but no sound came out. He was a secretary, a man of paper and schedules, now drowning in a world of predators. Hiroshi stopped pacing and looked at him. The contempt was plain.
"Pathetic. Can't you stop acting like prey? Oh, right. You are prey. Go back to your desk."
Shibuya Street — C-Rank Dungeon Gate
"Damn it! What kind of monster is this?"
The shout was swallowed by a roar that shook the very foundation of the dungeon.
The air inside the gate tasted of ozone and old copper. The hunters of White Claw were faltering. They had been hacking through trash mobs for hours, but the deeper they went, the more the labyrinth seemed to breathe with them, narrowing its stone throat.
Now, it had spat out a Crimson-Scaled Devourer.
The beast was a nightmare of evolutionary spite. Towering, covered in jagged, obsidian-hard scales, with veins of molten light pulsing beneath its skin. Its eyes weren't just red; they were pits of burning coal.
"Todashi, behind you!"
The warning was a second too late. The Devourer didn't lunge; it blurred. Its jaws snapped shut with a sound like a dry branch breaking. Todashi's scream ended before it really began.
The formation shattered. Total chaos.
"We're down to four! There were twelve of us!"
Blood pooled on the uneven stone floor, dark and steaming. The beast let out a guttural cry, a vibration that made the hunters' teeth ache in their gums. They were out of time.
Renji Kurozawa stepped into the Iron Fang headquarters.
He didn't look like a hunter. He wore a blue hoodie with the hood down, revealing white hair that looked like it had been bleached by a desert sun. His eyes were silver, distant, and flat. He moved without the wasted energy of the teenagers walking the Shibuya streets outside.
He walked up to the front desk. A man behind a computer looked up, startled by the sudden silence that seemed to follow the boy.
"Hello, sir. How can I help you?"
Renji reached into his pocket. He pulled out the white ID card and slid it across the polished counter. It made a soft snick against the wood.
"I want to join this guild," Renji said. His voice was level. No tremor, no bravado. "As a hunter."
The secretary picked up the card, squinting through his lenses. He looked at the card, then at Renji's face. The photo was a perfect match, but the eyes in the picture lacked the depth of the ones staring at him now.
"You?" the man asked, his voice skeptical.
"You actually want to be a hunter?"
Renji didn't blink. "Yes."
The secretary cleared his throat, feeling a strange pressure in his chest just being near the kid. "Alright. I'll have to inform the guild master. Your name?"
"Renji Kurozawa."
The secretary hurried down the hallway. He was moving so fast he didn't see Daisuke coming the other way with a leaning tower of files.
CRASH.
Papers exploded. White sheets fluttered through the air like dying birds. The secretary didn't even apologize; he just kept running toward Hiroshi's office.
Daisuke sat in the middle of the mess, his face twisting. "Aargh! That idiot! These were sorted! All of them!" He started grabbing at the papers, muttering curses, his eyes wet with frustration.
Inside the office, the secretary knocked, his breath ragged.
"Come in," Hiroshi said. He was leaning over a map of dimensional rifts, his brow furrowed.
"Sir, there's someone outside. An applicant."
Hiroshi looked up. He'd been losing men to the unranked gates. He needed fresh meat, or at least someone with a pulse. He stood up, adjusted his coat, and walked toward the lobby.
Renji was sitting on a bench, his hands resting on his knees. He wasn't playing on a phone or looking at the décor. He was just waiting.
"There he is, sir," the secretary whispered.
Hiroshi approached. He'd met thousands of hunters. He knew the smell of fear, the smell of ego, and the smell of power. From five paces away, he stopped. The air around the boy felt cold. Not like a breeze, but like a basement that had been sealed for a century.
"Hello, young man," Hiroshi said.
Renji stood up. He shook Hiroshi's hand. His grip was firm, but his skin was unnaturally cool.
"So, you want to join Iron Fang?"
"Yes," Renji said. He paused, his silver eyes meeting Hiroshi's sharp gaze. "But…"
"But what?"
"All I want is to be paid well."
Hiroshi barked a short, dry laugh. The kid was blunt. He liked that. Usually, they talked about honor or protecting the city. Money was honest. "That's fine. If that's your only request, then welcome."
"Renji Kurozawa," the boy reminded him.
Hiroshi tasted the name. Kurozawa. It rang a bell in a room of his mind he hadn't opened in years. He'd check the files later.
Daisuke finally finished gathering his papers and shuffled in, looking defeated. Hiroshi glanced at him.
"Useless," Hiroshi muttered. He turned back to Renji. "Daisuke will show you around. Kaito, take those files from him before he drops them again."
Daisuke jumped. "Yes, sir! Welcome, Mr. Kurozawa. This way, please!" He forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes and led Renji deeper into the labyrinth of the guild house.
Hunter Administration Council (H.A.C.)
Director Hayato Kurogane was a man built of sharp angles and expensive fabric. He sat in his office, the lights dimmed.
"Sir, the president has ordered dispatch to Akasaka Street. A new gate."
The man speaking stood in the shadows near the door. Ryo Hoshino. B-rank. He wore sunglasses indoors and kept his hands in his pockets.
Hayato sighed. The sound was like a tire leaking air. "Another one. If it's new, I can't send my regulars. We don't know the kill-rate. Let the privateers do it. Send Iron Fang."
Ryo stepped forward. "But sir, these are the president's orders. Direct orders."
Hayato stood up. He walked around the desk, trying to use his height to crowd the B-ranker. He leaned in, his eyes dark with irritation. "I decide where the resources go, Ryo. Not a man in a high chair who doesn't see the blood."
Ryo didn't flinch. He didn't even move his hands. "Sir, this is reckless. I'm just the messenger. Do what you want."
Ryo turned on his heel and walked out. The heavy oak door thudded shut. Hayato slammed a fist onto his desk. He had no choice. If the president found out he was stalling, his career was over.
That afternoon, the sun was a dull orange smear over the Akasaka construction site.
The workers were pouring concrete, the heavy rumble of machinery drowning out the sound of the world. No one noticed the air beginning to warp behind the crane. It looked like heat shimmer at first, then like shattered glass.
From the distortion, a leg emerged. Then six more.
It was a Kironis Stinger. Its black carapace glistened like wet oil. Six luminous red eyes swiveled in their sockets, independent of each other. It clicked its mandibles, a sound like shears cutting silk.
It watched the workers. They were small. They were loud. And they were entirely unprotected.
The Stinger crouched, its barbed tail twitching with a drop of clear, lethal venom.
"Hey! Look at the—"
The worker's sentence ended in a wet gurgle as the Stinger blurred forward.