In the end, for those who worship at the altar of power, language is a hollow currency. Like lions crossing paths in the tall grass, dominance isn't decided by the volume of a roar or the sheen of a mane. It is settled by the sharpness of the claw and the cold efficiency of the kill. As a fanatic of the martial arts, Kirukiru Amou didn't just understand this creed—she lived by it.
"A wise choice," Genji said, his voice a calm anchor in the room's lingering tension. "I have heard your desire. You are an unpolished stone, Kirukiru, but follow me, and the gods themselves will one day marvel at your edge. Now, stand."
Amou rose without a word of protest, casually wiping a smear of blood from her lip with the back of her hand. Her gaze was no longer bored; it was anchored to the man before her with the intensity of a zealot.
Genji turned toward the window, his gaze piercing through the layers of concrete and school architecture, locking onto a presence deep within the academy. It was weak compared to the Empress, but it possessed a jagged, desperate sharpness.
"Next," Genji said, moving toward the door. "We go to meet the others."
Amou blinked, her arrogance flickering for a brief second. "The others? Lord Genji, in this cage, is there anyone else truly worthy of your notice?"
It wasn't a boast; it was a clinical assessment from the woman who had already broken the "Five Swords" one by one.
"Whether they are qualified is not for you to judge," Genji replied, his voice drifting back as he stepped into the hallway. "It is for me."
Amou closed her mouth instantly. This was the decree of a being who had swatted her aside like a nuisance. She followed half a step behind him, her head bowed in newfound submissiveness.
The corridors of Aichi Coexistence Academy were usually a theater of noise and "correction," but now they were draped in a tomb-like silence. Though Genji had retracted the suffocating weight of his divine aura, the lingering dread kept the students barricaded in their classrooms.
The rhythmic thud-thud of Genji's boots echoed against the linoleum. He reached a corner at the end of the long hall and stopped.
Two figures blocked the path.
On the left stood a girl in a red-collared black uniform. The most striking thing about her wasn't her stance, but the white Hannya Mask concealing the upper half of her face. The mask was a nightmare of distorted features and ominous intent, leaving only a pair of cold, bottomless eyes visible. Her right thumb was hooked over the guard of the katana at her waist—the classic, hair-trigger starting position for an Iai draw.
Behind her, clutching a telescopic baton with trembling fingers, was a pink-haired girl whose resolve was clearly flagging. Her eyes darted nervously between the mask of her leader and the approaching strangers.
Onigawara Rin, leader of the Five Swords. And her shadow, Nono Mozunono.
"Halt," Rin commanded, her voice muffled but steady behind the lacquer. "I don't recognize you. No man enters this academy without registration. How did you get past the gates?"
Her eyes shifted, widening behind the mask as they landed on the figure trailing Genji. "Kirukiru Amou... you? Following a man? That doesn't fit your 'Empress' persona at all."
It was an absurd sight. The woman who looked down on the very concept of authority was now walking in another's shadow like a disciplined hound.
"Does it concern you, Rin?" Amou sneered, her narrow eyes flashing with a predatory light. "Move aside. I don't have time to play house with children today. I've found a true path."
"Playing house?" Rin's voice rose, her grip tightening on her sword. "The sky just tore open, and the entire academy is on maximum alert. As one of the Five Swords, it is my duty to eliminate every uncertain variable. And right now..." She locked onto Genji. "You are the greatest variable here. Your aura... it's wrong. It's dangerous. I'm taking you in for questioning."
Amou stepped forward, a feral growl building in her throat, ready to crush the girl for her insolence. But Genji extended a hand, stopping her in her tracks.
He looked at Rin with a flicker of genuine interest. Most would have fled from the "predator" scent he gave off, but Rin had chosen to bite back. It was a commendable spirit, but it was a spirit in turmoil.
Through his [Divine Appraisal] and his own memories of the "plot," Genji saw the cracks in her armor. She wore that mask because of a mother's spite—a forced concealment of a face that reminded her parent of a betrayal. She used the mask to project a ferocity she didn't truly feel, hoping the demon on her face would hide the girl underneath.
It was the ultimate contradiction to the Kashima Shinden Jikishinkage-ryu she practiced. Her style demanded "Zen and the Sword as One," a state of moral and spiritual perfection.
"You want to investigate me?" Genji asked, his voice soft yet carrying the weight of a mountain. "You hide behind a mask of an oni to find courage, yet your style forbids deception. You are escaping from yourself, Rin Onigawara. And the sword... the sword never smiles upon those who run."
Rin stiffened, her breath hitching behind the white mask. "You... what do you know of my sword?"
"I know that your heart is a storm, and your blade is just a piece of cold iron," Genji said, taking a step forward. "Would you like to see what a real blade looks like?"