The wind carried the scent of fresh earth and wood polish as the Rift closed behind them.

  The Ichimonban was behind them now—its ughter, its trials, its rhythm. Ahead stretched a stone path, ancient and quiet. The trees thickened, and the sky dimmed slightly, casting golden beams between the branches.

  They had entered the domain of the Second Gate.

  Watari adjusted the strap on his shoulder. “You guys feel that?”

  Ren nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Pressure. It’s calmer here… but heavier.”

  “Like it’s watching us,” Yumi said, her tone low.

  The path curved—revealing an old gate carved into stone and wrapped in vines. On its arch, a weathered inscription:

  Nimōnban: The Root Beneath the Storm.

  Masaki had come with them.

  He stopped just before the gate, arms crossed.

  “You’ve all grown,” he said quietly. “I see it. Your strength. Your intent.”

  The squad straightened a bit. Even Watari stood still.

  Masaki continued, “I understand now why Koharu sent you here. Why she wanted you trained through every gate.”

  He tilted his head, gaze distant.

  “Still… the timing is strange.”

  Ren blinked. “Because of the Kegare?”

  “Exactly,” Masaki said. “With everything going on, you’d think she’d form a squad to deal with it directly.”

  Kaito coughed into his fist. “Apparently the Chūkan denied her request.”

  Masaki exhaled a breath through his nose, almost a ugh.

  “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

  “The Koharu I know… would just make one anyway.”

  The squad collectively avoided eye contact.

  Yumi gnced sideways.

  Ren cleared his throat.

  Watari suddenly found his boots very interesting.

  Masaki’s eyes lingered on them all for a moment.

  “Mm. Just weird she hasn’t done anything.”

  A silence passed.

  He narrowed his gaze. The corner of his mouth twitched.

  He chuckled.

  Then he turned and walked a few steps back down the path.

  “You’re now at the Nimōnban. Do your best not to shame my name.”

  Watari stepped forward, scratching the back of his head.

  “Thanks for letting me steal Takeya… even though you just promoted him.”

  Masaki didn’t even blink.

  “If I need him, I can always simply go get him.”

  He turned his gaze to Takeya—who was half-smiling, trying not to look too proud.

  “But it seems like he’s grown being around you people… so maybe it’s for the best.”

  And with that, he vanished into the mist of the departing Rift.

  The gates groaned open.

  Standing at the center of the stone courtyard was a man built like a fortress. Dark-skinned, dreadlocked, a clean-cut beard, and a calm strength radiating from his stance. His Reibaku was not drawn, but the weight in the air said otherwise.

  He wore an open-vested captain’s garb, arms wrapped with leather bracers inscribed with runes. His eyes were golden, sharp and kind at once.

  Behind him stood a woman with locs tied high in a braided crown, her amber eyes piercing beneath a wrapped scarf. Her stance was poised like a panther mid-leap. The air around her buzzed with static.

  The man spoke first.

  “I am Sada Uemura. Captain of the Second Gate.”

  “And this—” he motioned gently to the woman, “is my lieutenant, Imani.”

  Imani gave a small nod. “Welcome to the Nimōnban.”

  Sada stepped forward. His presence wrapped around the squad like heat off sun-baked stone.

  “You’ve been sharpened at the First. You’ve learned rhythm, stance, cohesion.”

  He raised his hand—flexing fingers wrapped in the faint glow of Tamashkii.

  “But here… you’ll learn crity.”

  “How to hold your spirit steady even when the world burns.”

  His eyes scanned each of them—Watari, Yumi, Ren, Ryuko, Kaito, Akira, Takeya.

  “How to stand firm when your heart fractures.”

  The ground beneath them seemed to hum in agreement.

  “Here, you’ll learn what it means to strike without hesitation… and resonate through anything.”

  He turned away.

  “I hope you’re all ready.”

  CUT TO BLACK.