Akito dragged Raito through the underground maze like he owned the place, pointing out everything with a casual flick of his hand. Training mats? Sweaty, stained, and smelling like pure effort. Weapon racks? Loaded with wooden swords, dull blades, and a few scary-looking practice daggers. Gym corner? Kids grunting under weights heavy enough to crush a normal human. Then came the restrooms. Akito shoved the door open and steam rolled out like a living thing—thick, hot, and reeking of cheap soap and teenage sweat. Dozens of guys crammed the space, some half-naked, some straight-up naked, water splashing everywhere. Buckets sloshed. Guys scrubbed each other’s backs without a second thought, laughing and shoving like this was totally normal. Raito’s face burned. He tried to look anywhere except directly at anyone. Through the thin wall came giggles, splashes, and high-pitched chatter from the girls’ side. One single wall. That’s it. One pathetic slab of tile separating total cha

“Hey!” Subarashii finally barked, striding forward. Raito stopped.Subarashii closed the distance, voice low and venomous. “You know it’s smarter to keep your nose out of other people’s business, right?”“Yeah, yeah,” Raito fired back, “everyone keeps saying that crap. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna turn a blind eye to—”CRACK.A fist slammed into Raito’s cheek like a freight train. His head snapped sideways. He staggered hard, slamming back-first into the cold wall, vision flashing white.Subarashii flexed his hand, smirking down at him.“Couldn’t waste real strength on a weakling like you,” he said coolly. “Next time? It’ll be worse.”He turned and sauntered off with his crew, shoes clicking like nothing happened.Akito rushed over, eyes wide. “Why the hell did you do that? You could’ve gotten seriously hurt!”Raito wiped blood from his split lip, grinning through the sting.“Doesn’t matter,” he said, voice steady and bright. “I can take a punch for the people who matter most to me.”Akito

They turned. Sakura stood there, barely visible at the mat’s edge, shoulders hunched, eyes glued to the floor. Her voice cracked like she might cry. “Bullying the weak… it’s so wrong.” Akito blinked, still panting. “Sakura? You’ve been watching?” She didn’t answer. Just walked forward—slow, deliberate, like every step cost her something. She reached the rack without looking up, fingers closing around a long wooden staff. The grip was light, almost gentle. “Let me show you,” she said quietly, “how to respect the weak.” Akito raised both hands, half-laughing. “Whoa, hold up. I don’t fight girls—” “Sounds to me like you’re scared,” she said, voice sweet, innocent, but carrying a strange, quiet edge that made the air feel thinner. Akito’s grin faltered. “Of course I’m not scared. What if I hit you too hard?” “I can take it.” She lifted her head just enough for her eyes to peek through her hair. “I’m not going to break. After all… this is training, isn’t it?” Akito exha

The same giant hand from the entrance— The giant hand staggered up, five fingers splayed wide like a grotesque starfish. In the center of its palm, a massive eye blinked open—bloodshot, unblinking, scanning them with cold, predatory intelligence. It lunged. The three scattered in a frantic blur—Raito shoving Sakura sideways, Akito diving left. The hand crashed down where they’d stood, splintering floorboards into jagged spikes. It grazed Akito’s arm on the upswing—fabric ripping, skin splitting in a hot line. He hissed, stumbling, blood already welling. Raito grabbed him under the armpit. “Move—MOVE!” They bolted toward the only door still closed, dodging whipping tongues and staring eyes, the hand already rising behind them like a guillotine. Raito kicked the door—hard. Wood exploded inward. Stairs. Upward. No breath. No hesitation. They pounded up the steps, lungs burning, feet slipping on warped boards. The stairwell twisted, walls closing in, then suddenly opened into— A

Moments after entering the real world, Raito sucked in a deep, ragged breath. His wounds were gone—completely healed. No blood. No pain. Just smooth skin where scissors had torn through flesh and bone. Sakura launched herself at him without warning—arms wrapping tight around his waist, face buried in his chest. “Oh thank god you’re fine now,” she whispered, voice trembling with relief. Raito froze. Then—suddenly—his hands shoved her back. Hard. Like they had a mind of their own. He blinked, horrified. “So sorry—I didn’t mean to do that.” Sakura stumbled, but her smile never wavered. “It’s okay,” she said sweetly, eyes shining. “I’m so happy you’re alive and fine.” Akito—already wandering the room—called out from across the space. “Hey guys.” Raito and Sakura turned. Akito stood in front of a row of easels, holding up a faded canvas. More canvases leaned against the walls—dozens of them. All missing heads, limbs, eyes, noses. Just blank voids where features should be. Brushe