Japan moved as normal.
In a large apartment complex in the middle of Kyoto a man slept.
The first thing he felt was the sun on his eyelids, warm, insistent, sneaking through the gap in the curtains like water flowing through a grate. He groaned, a low rumble from deep in his chest, and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. The mattress dipped under his weight, springs creaking in protest.
The second thing he felt was a noticeable weight on his other hand, not heavy, but it was definitely there.
Then his stomach growled, loud enough to rattle the silence, and he laughed into the pillow, short, sleepy, genuine.
Fine. Up it is.
He carefully adjusted himself, removing his hand from under the body of the other person in the bed, her long black hair spilled everywhere
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting cool hardwood. The room was simple, a single large window overlooking a sprawl of rooftops and distant skyscrapers, a desk buried under a pile of paperwork and stuff. a punching bag hanging in the corner that almost looked like holes had been put in it. He stretched, arms high, back popping in a satisfying cascade. Muscles shifted under skin like cables pulling taut. He yawned wide enough to crack his jaw, scratched his stomach, and padded toward the bathroom, his half naked frame feeling a slight shiver.
As the man made his way in, he noticed himself in the mirror, he was a twenty-year-old with messy black hair sticking up in every direction, eyes still heavy-lidded and black as licorice in the morning light. He grinned at his reflection and reached for the toothbrush. Mint foam filled his mouth as he scrubbed lazily, humming something tuneless. Water splashed when he rinsed, droplets clinging to his chin before he wiped them away with the back of his hand.
The shower came next. He turned the knob all the way to hot, steam billowing up in thick clouds. Under the spray he tilted his head back, letting water hammer against his shoulders, running in rivers down his back. Soap, shampoo, a quick scrub nothing fancy. He didn’t bother with conditioner; his hair did whatever it wanted anyway. When he stepped out, the bathroom was a sauna. He toweled off roughly, wrapped it low around his hips, and left wet footprints on the floor as he headed to the kitchen.
The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the distant murmur of city traffic far below. He opened the refrigerator door and stared inside like it might surprise him one day. Eggs, rice, leftover grilled fish, a half-empty carton of milk that passed the sniff test. Good enough.
The rice cooker clicked on with a familiar beep. He cracked six eggs into a pan, the sizzle immediate and satisfying. With his free hand he grabbed a pair of chopsticks and drummed them absently on the counter, humming again. The fish went into the microwave for a quick zap. When everything was ready he piled it all into an oversized bowl steaming rice, runny eggs folded over the fish, a dash of soy sauce from the bottle on the counter.
After a couple minutes, he finished his meal. He placed the dish inside the sink for later washing.
He wiped his hands on a dish towel and leaned back against the counter, eyes drifting toward the hallway. What time was it? He should probably go wake her up now shouldn't he?
Meh, she could wake herself up. He decided. Picking his hoodie up off the chair he walked out of the apartment.
Outside, Kyoto was already awake.
The morning air hit him like a splash of cold water, the morning smelled like exhaust, fresh bread, and something floral from a nearby shop... Oh yeah and the smell of lead was also pretty impossible to miss.
He walked past a clean up crew, moving cars, scrubbing the street so hard you'd think the asphalt was gonna come off and picking up what looked to be human remains.
Oh man, what did he miss last night?
The street itself looked like a giant had taken a casual swipe at it: a perfect crescent gouge carved out of the road, twenty meters long, edged with melted asphalt and shattered concrete. A delivery van sat half-crushed against a lamppost, its roof peeled open like a tin can. The floral smell he’d noticed earlier was coming from a toppled flower stall, buckets of white lilies scattered across the pavement like snow
It was definitely not an unusual sight, but still.
Out of the alley next to him, a man jumped at him, his skin greyish with black ram like horns and purple irises.
The man didn't move, didn't need to, before the thing could get too close, the man slammed his fist straight into the top of its head.
The creature's head simply ceased to exist above the jawline. Grey matter and black ichor sprayed in a brief fan before the body realized it was dead and crumpled straight down, horns clattering against the pavement.
He shook his hand once, more out of habit than necessity, and glanced at the mess.
"I think I put a little too much into that." He spoke as he looked at his handy work.
The man continued his walk as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. And to be completely frank? That would be right, nothing out of the ordinary.
He stepped over the twitching corpse without breaking stride, nudging a stray lily out of his path with the toe of his sneaker. The cleaning crew paused mid-scrub to stare, wide eyes, frozen mops before one of them recognized the messy black hair and gold eyes and hastily bowed. He waved back like they’d just said good morning.
“Morning! Sorry about the extra cleanup. It jumped me first, promise.”
The crew muttered polite assurances and got back to hosing ichor off the sidewalk.
He kept walking, hands shoved into the hoodie pocket, breath fogging slightly in the crisp air.
He eventually made his way into a giant building in the middle of Kyoto, a giant black monolith sticking out of the ground. Windows blacked out. It was very noticeable.
Inside the building there were a bunch of people moving around the place. Some in armor, some in hazmat suits.
He walked up to the front desk.
The woman behind the front desk looked up as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. As her eyes fell upon him, her gaze softened, a small, familiar smile curving her lips. "Good morning," she greeted, her voice soft and pleasant.
"Morning, you got anything for me?" The man now known as ash asked
The woman, who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, shook her head. A few long strands of hair slipped free from the bun at the back of her head, framing her face in an almost motherly manner.
"Slow morning." She replied. Leaning forward on her elbows, she studied him for a moment. "You look... More unkempt than usual. Wild night huh?"
"Hm? What's that supposed to mean?" Ash asked.
"Nothing, nothing at all" the woman said with a knowing smile.
-----
America moved as normal.
A dark skinned boy sat in an airport. His bag on his shoulders and his eyes moving all throughout the air port. He leaned back in a plastic chair that had definitely seen better decades, one foot hooked through the strap of his duffel bag. The departure board above him turned on, letters flipping with mechanical clacking as flights blinked in and out. TOKYO. OSAKA. NARITA. KYOTO.
His destination glowed.
But he didn’t look excited in the slightest.
He didn’t look scared either, just wound tight, jaw set, fingers tapping an erratic rhythm against his thigh. A pair of earbuds dangled uselessly around his neck. He wasn’t listening to anything. Couldn’t focus long enough to bother.
Across the terminal, a family laughed. A kid ran past, dragging a wheeled suitcase that rattled like it was about to fall apart.
His phone buzzed.
He didn’t need to look to know who it was from. He still checked anyway.
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MOM: Boarded yet?
He stared at the screen. Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
DAD: Remember what you’re representing.
His thumb hovered over the phone for a good couple seconds. He locked the screen instead.
He leaned back in the chair.
He put his phone away and leaned back in his chair, his eyes roaming over the people passing by. That same laughing family nearby caught his attention, they all seemed like they enjoyed being together, they seemed... Happy.
“Flight 772 to Narita begins boarding in ten minutes,” the intercom droned, flat and cheerful.
The boy exhaled slowly through his nose.
He slowly stood up, He joined the line without looking back.
The carpet changed under his sneakers, old blues giving way to that aggressively neutral airport gray. In front of him was the family he'd been watching. The youngest kid was annoying, kicking his mother's leg in some kinda tantrum.
His annoyance spiked when the kid decided to start kicking his legs too. The mother simply smiled apologetically at him, obviously used to her kid's behavior. The line moved excruciatingly slowly, and the boy's patience wore thin.
The moment he stepped onto the plane, a flight attendant smiled brightly and gestured down the aisle. "Welcome aboard! Your seat is-"
But he was already moving past her, scanning the numbers overhead. He found his row, middle seat, of course and hesitated. To his left, an older man snored softly against the window. To his right, a woman was already digging through an overstuffed purse, muttering about lost headphones.
The boy exhaled through his nose again.
He shoved his bag into the overhead compartment a little harder than necessary, then dropped into his seat. The woman yelped as his elbow accidentally bumped her arm.
He didn't acknowledge it, didn't apologize before he sat back down.
He pushed his headphones into his ears and shut his eyes, ignoring everything and everyone else.
---
China moved as normal.
A white-haired boy sat cross-legged on a worn tatami mat, spine straight, hands resting loosely on his knees. Incense smoke curled upward in lazy spirals, clinging to the low ceiling of the shrine before thinning out.
The wooden floors creaked occasionally, and the walls were old and battered with a coat of white paint scratched in some areas.
On the shrine, there was an old, faded photograph of a white haired woman, presumably the mother of the boy. She looked happy in the photograph.
The incense burned, releasing clouds of heavy smoke that filled the small room and hung in the air around the boy.
The boy exhales slowly, watching the incense smoke twist into strange shapes before dissolving into nothingness. His pale fingers trace the edge of the photograph frame, a silver border framing it.
The boy sighed. Standing up.
He turned his back to the shrine, opening the door and leaving.
On the outside was a shattered home, burnt, pieces of stone and wood all over the place.
Charred beams jutted from the ground like broken bones, half-buried under weeds that had clawed their way through cracked stone. The courtyard was now a checkered pattern of scorched earth and splintered wood. A single plum tree, miraculously spared, bloomed in the corner despite all the damage, its petals scattering like pale confetti over the debris. his hand lingered on the door handle just a bit too long, knuckles whitening before he released it.
The village beyond was stirring. Distant voices carried on the wind, farmers calling to their oxen, a vendor's cart wheels rumbling over rutted paths. Guangzhou's outskirts had always been like this: a blend of ancient quiet and creeping modernity, temples nestled against concrete high-rises. He'd never been anywhere outside the village.
A black sedan idled at the end of the overgrown path, engine humming low. Two people leaned against it, dressed in crisp black suits that screamed "official" even without the embroidered wards on their collars. The taller one, a woman with a scar bisecting her eyebrow, straightened as the teen approached. Her partner, a stocky man fiddling with a talisman necklace, nodded curtly.
"Liun Fung," the woman said, voice clipped but not unkind. "Time to go. Transport to the airport is ready."
He bowed shallowly, hands clasped in front. "Thank you for the escort, Agent Wei. Agent Zhang."
Liun slid into the back seat without a word, the leather cool against his skin. The car pulled away smoothly, leaving the ruins shrinking in the rearview mirror.
The drive blurred into silence, broken only by the occasional radio crackle from the front. Wei glanced back once. "The HAS alliance is a good opportunity. Japan will hone you further. Remember: you represent the Corp. Discipline above all."
Liun nodded, eyes fixed on the passing landscape—rice paddies giving way to urban sprawl, neon signs flickering to life even in the morning haze. "I understand. I will not disappoint."
He fiddled with his metal gloves, them clanging together.
Agent Zhang, the stocky man toying with his necklace in a bored fashion, raised an eyebrow to the boy in the back seat. "He's barely even spoken since we picked him up. A bit antisocial, isn't he?" He whispered to the woman.
"After what just went down would you be talkative?" The woman asked the man
Agent Zhang chuckled, "You've got a point. Kid's probably still in shock."
Liun pretended not to hear the comment, but his hands clenched into fists for a moment. Shock wasn't the right word.
His sky blue eyes stared out the window.
There was another word for it.. a word he didn't know.
---
Japan moved as normal.
A pink-haired girl walked out of school with her friends, blazer slung loosely over her shoulders instead of worn properly, tie undone just enough to skirt the line between Her laughter rang clear, sharp and bright, cutting through the late afternoon air like it didn’t know what fear was supposed to sound like. “See you tomorrow!” one of her friends called, already backing away. “Yeah! Text me later!” another added.
The pink-haired girl waved, smile still fixed in place, until they turned the corner and disappeared into the crowd. The smile slipped the moment they were gone.
She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and started walking.
She walked through the bustling streets of fukuoka, nothing really happened. That was normal, nothing ever happened.
It was the same as every day, the same route, the same crowds, the same dull routine day in and day out. She'd walk the same streets, on the same sidewalks, with the same people on every part of her commute.
It was boring, to say the least, nothing every happened. Not in a large way, sure there were little things to bring some minor excitement for a moment, but never anything large.
She turned a corner, walking closer to her destination: Her house.
The pink-haired girl entered her home, dropping her backpack near the door, kicking off her shoes in the process. She let out a huff, looking around the dimly lit residence with a bored expression, the silence filling the air uncomfortably.
Her parents were still at work and wouldn't be home until later, leaving her to herself in the bleak atmosphere. The empty feeling of the house was almost palpable, as if the vacant surroundings mirrored her own inner thoughts.
She entered her room, flopping back on her bed, not even bothering to take off her uniform. She stared at the ceiling.
The ceiling stares back, or at least, it would if ceilings had eyes. But alas, it’s just plain white, boring, and utterly unimpressed with her existential slump.
She pulled out her phone, thumb swiping the screen to life with habitual boredom. Social media feeds scrolled under her gaze, friends posting selfies from after-school hangouts, viral clips of idols dancing in perfect sync, a meme about overworked salarymen that hit a little too close to home. Nothing new. Nothing exciting. She liked a post out of obligation, then tossed the device onto her pillow.
The ceiling won the staring contest again.
She rolled onto her side, gazing at the posters on her wall. Most of these posters held the face of a strikingly beautiful black haired woman with violet eyes.
The girl smiled at the poster. That woman, was her hero.
Her smile lingered on her lips as she traced the edge of the poster with her fingertip, the glossy surface cool under her touch.
Kiyohime Juryoku, Director of the HAS, youngest ever. The headlines from two years ago still echoed in her mind: "Teen Prodigy Crushes Osaka Spiral, Saves Thousands." She had clipped every article, watched every leaked clip until her phone's battery begged for mercy.
She couldn't tear her eyes away from the image, as if the director's gaze held a magnetic pull. The words "Youngest ever" had been seared into her brain.
She sat up, and got off the bed, heading straight over to her drawer. She pulled it open and inside were a bunch of pieces of crushed up paper, and some pieces near proper quality.
She took one out of the drawer, looking at it for a second, then she looked back at the poster of kiyohime, then she looked back at the paper in her hands. The words j*b application staring her down.
She sighed "not possible" she crushed the paper and dropped it into the drawer.
She shoved the drawer closed with her knee and leaned back against it, arms folded
She closed her eyes.
Took a deep breath.
Opened her eyes.
The brightness of the room nearly blinding her...
Wait what?
she didn't remember turning the lights on when she came in, and it was definitely still dark when she sat down so what gives?
She looked up to see that the light was indeed off, not a single ray beaming from the bulbs.
She looked down to see, some kinda ball of light floating just slightly above her hands.
It was about the size of a basketball, shining bright enough that looking into it was like looking into the sun.
Her jaw dropped as before anything else, excitement crept into her voice.
"Woah!"
--- 2 Days later---
The world moved as normal.
The three teenagers walked up the stairs of a cramped apartment building, the concrete under their boots echoing through the narrow stairwell. The air smelled faintly of blood and lead, a city scent that hung around this part of kyoto like a permanent haze.
"You sure this is the place? It doesn't seem all that flashy," the pink-haired girl asked, her voice barely carrying over the soft rumble of a distant train. Her hair swirled around her face with each step, bright against the gray walls.
Liun, who was in the front didn’t slow, his boots thudding against the concrete steps as he checked the number on the phone in his hands. It wasn't his.
"Yes, this is the place we were told to find our division conductor," he said. The tone was formal, almost stiff. Even in casual clothing, he had the presence of someone who was definitely stronger than he looked.
The dark-skinned teen lingered a step behind them, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His dark eyes scanned every landing, every shadowed corner, as if he expected something to crawl out of the walls and try to eat them. He hadn’t said a word since they’d entered the building, and now the silence seemed almost oppressive.
The trio stopped in front of an apartment door on the third floor. The brass numbers gleamed faintly under the flickering hallway light.
Was this really the place?
Well, only one way to find out.
The white-haired boy knocked. The sound echoed sharper than he expected, rap-rap-rap, and seemed to sink into the walls instead of bouncing back. For a moment, nothing happened. The hallway was quiet except for the distant hum of a vending machine on the first floor and the faint buzz of electricity in the stairwell lights.
The dark-skinned boy exhaled sharply. "Yeah, we got the wrong place. There’s no way they’d stick us with some dusty old division conductor living in a dingy apart—"
He stopped mid-sentence as the door swung open.
Standing there was a man who looked barely older than they were, maybe four years at most. Messy black hair fell over his forehead in careless strands, and his eyes were a sharp, almost unnatural black, the kind of black that swallowed light rather than reflected it. He was tall, ridiculously so, standing somewhere between six-foot-six and six-foot-seven. The kind of height that made your neck ache just looking up.
Ash leaned down slightly, peering at the three of them with utter confusion as his eyes scanned them. "Who are you people?" His voice carried a casual weight, he hadn't exactly expected a bunch of teenagers to show up at his door today.
The white-haired boy bowed politely. "Apologies for the intrusion, sir. My name is Liun Fung. We were instructed to report to this address to meet the person who would be training us as our division conductor."
The man blinked once. Then twice. His gaze flicked left and right down the hallway, like he was expecting a hidden camera crew to jump out at any second.
“…Training you?” he repeated, incredulous.
His eyes wandered back to the three of them. The pink hair, the white hair, the dark hair. Each a different contrast against the gray walls. He clicked his tongue, a sound of mild frustration mixed with disbelief.
"Gimme a second," he muttered, locking the door behind him.
The teens immediately started talking amongst themselves, voices a mix of nervousness and impatience.
The pink-haired girl drummed her fingers against her arm, her excitement barely contained. "Um… at least he looks kinda cool. Plus, who knows, maybe he’s way cooler than we think he is," she said, tilting her head and squinting slightly as if she were already imagining some epic reveal.
The dark-skinned boy shot her a look sharp enough to cut glass. “You’re insane,” he muttered.
Liun stood straighter, posture perfect despite the awkwardness, hands folded neatly in front of him. “Please, lower your voices. If this truly is our division conductor, we should show some respect, he will be the one teaching us after all” he said in a quiet but firm tone.
"Yeah, right. Respect," the other boy said, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t exactly hiding his disdain. The man in front of them clearly hadn’t impressed him yet, and he was already sizing him up, "also, gimme back my phone!" He snatched his phone right out of the white haired boys hand.
Meanwhile, behind the door ash moved towards his bed, picking his phone off the bed and typing a number deliberately and quickly.
Before long, he dialed the number, the caller ID, tagged kiykiy "Hey, uh… Kiyo. Did you, uh… did you send me a surprise I wasn’t aware of? Like, maybe three?"
There was a pause as he let the other person on the line speak. "Wait, really?" He said after they had finished talking.
"I mean, I guess I can, but I’m not really sure I can teach them anything," he said, his tone skeptical as he leaned against the wall.
"Wait, for real?! Oh, that’s actually kinda cool," he finished, voice now tinged with a little bit of excitement.
The line went dead as the phone clicked off. Ash let out a sharp sigh. "Hmph," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple like the whole thing was already a headache.
He pushed the door open to see the three still standing there, staring at him with expectation.. well except for the dark haired kid who didn't look like he expected anything from the older man.
He rubbed the back of his head with a dopey smile "Alright so uh... What are your names?"
The pink-haired girl blinked up at him, there was a little bit of excitement in her eyes. She bounced on her toes once, twice, before thrusting out a hand with way too much enthusiasm. "I'm Yui Hoshino! Sixteen, from Fukuoka, my favorite food is bean buns and dango and I like all things sin hunter"
He scratched the back of his head again, glancing down at her outstretched hand like it might bite. "Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you, Yui." He shook her hand gently.
Liun stepped forward, bowing at a precise ninety degrees, his white hair catching the hallway light like fresh snow. His voice was steady, respectful, with that formal clip that screamed discipline.
"Liun Fung, sir. From Guangzhou, sent by the Onmyo Corp for training under the alliance agreement. It is an honor to be under your guidance."
Ash waved off the bow with an awkward laugh. "Whoa, easy there. No need for the 'sir' stuff Ash is fine." He said laughing it off.
He looked towards the other kid, the dark skinned one, expecting a similar introduction.
But no. The teen just leaned against the wall glaring daggers at him.
"Oh that's Malik. He's not really talkative" Yui introduced for him.
Ash sighed, looking at the three teens in front of him.
Yeah this was gonna be a long year.
