Greetings fellow readers, MasterW here!
A new chapter for you guys.
By the way, this is a picture of what I imagine Saeko's father looks like. Just imagine him with a Yukata
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Now, the omake is referencing something that happened this chapter. So make sure to check it out.
Also, don't forget to throw stones to this story, unlike with me, it won't break it.
Without any further to do, enjoy!
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(Niguredou Yuria's POV)
After school ended, Niguredou Yuria made her way to the small convenience store her Sensei had mentioned.
She had asked Akira for advice on improving her string technique. Instead of teaching her himself, he had simply told her to come here, saying she would meet someone who could help her grow stronger.
The bell above the door chimed softly as she entered. Shin was mopping the floor near the entrance.
"Welcom— Oh, Niguredou-san. Welcome," he said with a friendly smile.
"Yo, Shin-kun," Yuria greeted casually. "Is Sakamoto-san here? Sensei told me to speak with him."
"He's in the back organizing inventory. You can go right in."
"Thanks, Shin-kun."
"Here, have a drink. Courtesy of the house," Shin added, handing her a cold bottle of tea.
Yuria accepted it with a small nod. "Thanks."
She walked through the "Employees Only" door and found Sakamoto and Lu in the storage area, both reviewing boxes with clipboards in hand.
"Sakamoto-san, Lu-chan, hello," Yuria greeted.
Lu instantly brightened. "Ah, Yuria-chan! Hello! It's been a while!"
"Yeah, it has…" Yuria replied with a small smile.
"Niguredou-san," Sakamoto nodded, setting his clipboard down. "You're here because of your Sensei, right?"
"Yeah. He told me to come."
"He called me earlier. Asked if I could lend you my newest employee for training." Sakamoto jerked a thumb toward the stairs. "Go up to the rooftop. He'll meet you there."
"Thanks, Sakamoto-san."
Yuria headed up the stairs, sipping her tea along the way. The evening air grew cooler as she stepped onto the rooftop.
She finished the bottle and placed it on the ground, idly kicking it around with small movements while she waited.
A few minutes later, the rooftop door opened.
A tall, slim young man in his late teens stepped out. He had short orange hair with long bangs secured by multicolored paper clips in red, black, white and navy blue. He wore a black shirt under dark grey pants and black laceless sneakers with light grey soles. Over everything was a green apron, and a name tag on his chest read "Apart."
"You're the one Sakamoto told me about?" he asked, eyeing her. "One of those sorcerers"
"I'm a sorcerer, yes," Yuria confirmed.
"I think I met some of your friends once. A girl with white hair, a boy with black hair, and another tall girl with a katana and purple hair."
"Oh, then you met them during the mission with Busujima-san, Kawasaki-san, and Ishigami-san."
"I guess," Apart shrugged. "Anyhow, I'm Apart. Sakamoto-san told me you needed help with training. But I don't know what I could help you with."
"Well, I can do this," Yuria said.
She extended her fingers. Thin threads of cursed energy formed, slicing the empty bottle on the ground into six clean segments.
Apart stared at the pieces for a moment, then looked back at Yuria. A new light appeared in his eyes.
"I can see now why Sakamoto-san said I was the most suitable teacher for you."
As he spoke, Apart extended his own hand. Razor-thin wires shot out, slicing the remnants of the bottle into dozens of even smaller pieces in an instant.
Yuria's eyes widened slightly as she watched the display.
"You also use strings?"
"Yeah, but mine aren't some magical mumbo-jumbos like you sorcerers use," Apart replied with a small grin. "Anyhow, seeing how we both fight with strings, I'd say we can get along. So… let's begin your lesson"
And so, under the evening sky on the rooftop of a humble convenience store, Niguredou Yuria began learning from Apart, the convicted Death-Row inmate escapee.
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(Third Person's POV)
After school, in a quiet clearing near the usual training grounds the group used, Sakurajima Mai walked alongside Zaimozuka Yoshiteru.
As they stopped in the open space, Mai crossed her arms and looked at him with a slightly impatient expression.
"Well? What did you make me come here for?" She asked. "And it better not be a love confession. You're a good friend and I'd prefer not to lose that. Besides, I like someone else."
"No, no, no!" Zaimozuka quickly waved his hands in panic. "I had no interest in you like that either! It's something else… I want you to train me."
"Huh?" Mai raised an eyebrow.
"Sensei told me I have no battle sense and that I need to train it. And who better than one of Sensei's first students?" Zaimozuka explained. "Besides, without glazing you too much, you're one of the most capable fighters in our group… and one of the scariest ones," he muttered the last part to himself.
And he was right.
Every member of Yoshioka Akira's group had been ordinary civilians just a few months ago.
Even if Miko and Mai had a bit more training time, it was still astonishing how quickly they had all grown.
But Mai stood out even among them.
Unlike the others, she had no qualms about killing. Her approach to combat was ruthless and efficient, always looking for the perfect moment to strike from the back or deliver a fatal blow.
The best example was during the hospital mission. When they were planning how to handle the curse user, Mai hadn't hesitated for even a second when offering to deliver the killing strike. The same thing had happened in the park.
Zaimozuka had grown stronger, but he still felt he had a long way to go. And who better to teach him real combat instinct than the group's resident assassin?
He had already asked Saeko, but she was busy. Miko was helping train Hana. Shigeo was… well, Shigeo. Zaimozuka wanted actual training, not just getting beaten into the ground.
And Todo, his so-called brother, was busy with a mission. So, he wasn't available to help him.
Not for lack of care, mind you. When he told him about his last mission and how he managed to hit a Black Flash, he received a video call of Todo crying about how proud he was of his brother. And that he shall hit one on his next mission, and then both could go to a Takada-chan's concert to celebrate their achievements.
He is a nice guy, all in all
Nonetheless, Mai was the next logical choice. For better or for worse
"You want me to train you?" Mai asked, tilting her head.
"Yes, please!"
"...Okay then," Mai shrugged. "Why not? It's not like I had anything better to do. But just to be clear, I won't hold back my punches."
And so, Zaimozuka began his training.
Or, more accurately… his beating
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Saeko arrived at the Busujima family estate as the sun began to set. She slipped off her shoes and put on her loafers, walking silently across the tatami floors until she noticed the light in the living room was on.
She approached and saw a middle-aged man in a yukata sitting quietly, reading an old scroll.
"Father," she greeted respectfully, bowing as she entered the room "It is great to see you."
The man turned. Busujima Takao had gray hair slicked back with a few strands falling forward and a small scar on his cheek. He regarded his daughter with a steady gaze.
"Saeko. It is good to see you in high spirits as well."
But then he raised an eyebrow.
Even as distant as he could sometimes be, he was still her father. He could tell something was different about her. Years of sword training had sharpened his senses beyond what most people possessed.
"You look different, Saeko."
"Really, Father? I didn't notice," she tried to play it off lightly.
But Takao only narrowed his eyes further. "You've been dealing with the jujutsu world, haven't you?"
Seeing the charade was over, Saeko's expression turned serious. "You know about it?"
"You can't spend the years I have fighting with the sword without discovering one or two things. Now sit, and tell me everything."
And she did.
Her respect for her father, and the discipline he had instilled in her, made her obedient. Even if she was now far stronger than him physically, she still spoke with deference as she recounted how she had met Yoshioka Akira and how she had become as strong as she was now.
Throughout the tale, she couldn't completely hide the fondness in her voice when speaking of the white-haired teacher. Her father noticed, but said nothing about it for now.
When she finished, a long silence settled between them. Takao remained pensive for a moment.
"So, this sword Yoshioka-dono gave you… can you show it to me?"
"Of course, Father."
She walked away to her room and brought the katana alongside the stand she placed it. She has noticed the sword seems to be calmer when placed in a stand when not using it. Like putting a baby in a bed.
She came back to the living room and placed the sword in the middle of the table.
Takao's interest visibly rose as he examined the blade. "I can already tell this one is exceptionally well-made."
He had seen many katanas throughout his life, some exotic, some even cursed tools that had slipped from the sorcerer world. This one, however, carried a distinct presence.
He slowly unsheathed it just enough to see the blade. Immediately, he felt a wave of discomfort emanating from the weapon.
"Hmm. It's cursed."
"Indeed," Saeko confirmed.
"It doesn't like me holding it. I suppose it has already chosen you as its wielder." He carefully returned the blade to its sheath. "This Yoshioka Akira… I've heard the name from Takagi-dono. He wants to invite him to a dinner."
"Oh? Is that so?" Saeko raised an eyebrow. She remembered her Sensei speaking with Takagi at the end of the school incident. But at the moment she thought nothing of it
"Hmm." Takao nodded. "I want to see this man for myself. I will speak with Takagi-dono and see if I can join the dinner."
"Can I come too?"
"Of course. You are my daughter," Takao said, then a small smirk appeared on his face. "Besides, I can tell you have a certain fondness for that teacher of yours, don't you?"
Saeko turned away slightly, a small blush coloring her cheeks.
"Heh. If he fulfills my expectations, then he has my approval."
"Thank you… Father."
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Akira returned to his house as the evening settled in. The moment he opened the door, he found two figures already waiting inside his living room.
Momobami Kirari sat gracefully at the low table, wearing a deep blue yukata that hugged her figure perfectly, accentuating every curve. Behind her stood her twin sister Ririka, similarly dressed in a matching yukata, her face hidden behind the usual mask.
Kirari smiled as soon as he entered, slow and predatory.
"Oh? No remarks now?" she commented, voice dripping with satisfaction. "It seems I'm finally wearing you out"
Akira calmly placed his belongings to the side and moved to sit across from her at the table, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
"My, my~ As always you have the most satisfying expressions to show me," Kirari continued. "But I'm here today to inquire about something. You see, a little bird told me you were leaving Soubu High, aren't you?"
"Hmm." Akira gave a slight nod. "Your informant seems to work fast, but I guess since he was granted the position he now has thanks to you, he ought to work hard to return the favor."
"Of course you knew about him," Kirari said, not even slightly surprised. "But well, I came here for a simple reason. I wanted to know… are you leaving the mundane world to dedicate yourself fully to the jujutsu world?"
"And what of it?"
"Are you going to leave everything behind then? Just like that?" Kirari's voice grew more intense. "And what about me? Are you going to leave me behind as well? Do you think I can allow you to leave me just like that?"
Her expression turned delirious as her eyes emptied, that blank, obsessive stare locking directly onto him.
Akira stared back at her in silence.
This woman… this mortal woman… had managed to stir emotions in him that he thought had long since been buried. A faint fondness resurfaced — memories of long-lost worlds and people who had once occupied similar spaces in his heart.
For all his knowledge, experience, and eons of training, some things always returned to emotion and memory.
For even in the void, where only beings far beyond mortal comprehension existed, they communicated through emotion.
Akira stood up slowly. Both Kirari and Ririka tensed, but he simply walked around the table and knelt in front of Kirari.
With surprising gentleness, he raised his hand and placed it on her cheek.
The warmth of his touch startled her for a split second before she melted into it. She brought both of her hands up to hold his, pressing it tighter against her face, eyes fluttering closed.
"Kirari," Akira whispered, the name rolling softly from his lips. "You really are something else."
Hearing his voice so close, Kirari closed her eyes fully, succumbing to the rare moment of warmth.
"If you really think you are deserving of me," he continued quietly, "Then prove it."
He slowly withdrew his hand and stood up, leaving Kirari dazed and reaching after him.
"You really are interesting," Akira said, looking down at her. "If you want a chance, then prove it to me. And I shall accept you."
"H… How?" Kirari pleaded, voice trembling with passion.
"That is for you to think. But allow me to tell you this, I am actually interested in what you can accomplish, Kirari"
Kirari heard his words, and a flame ignited deep inside her, burning with greater intensity than ever before.
Every one of the girls interested in Yoshioka Akira had no idea…
That another one had already taken the lead.
And unknown to her…...
She has helped the being known as Yoshioka Akira, become more himself
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(?)
Ash...…
Ash everywhere...…
That was the first coherent thought that pierced the haze.
He moved.
His body ached with a deep, bone-weary pain, as if every muscle had been torn and remade.
Ash clung to his skin like a second layer, gray and suffocating. He pushed himself up from the cold stone, rising from what he now recognized as a coffin.
He stood naked, completely bare to the cold wind. His fingers brushed over his own chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath. It felt… unfamiliar.
Strong. Yet the phantom sensation of flames still licked at the edges of his memory.
"Where… where am I?" he rasped, voice hoarse and ancient. "Cough!"
He coughed violently, expelling a cloud of fine ash that had settled in his throat. He did not even remember swallowing it.
After a few unsteady moments, his body remembered how to walk. He moved wobbly out of the broken coffin, eyes scanning the desolate landscape.
More coffins lay scattered around him. Skeletal corpses, some still half-buried in ash, littered the ground.
He approached one of the fallen bodies. A small, battered broadsword lay beside it. Something deep inside him whispered that he needed it. He picked it up.
The weight felt right in his hand.
He swung it once. Twice. The motion came naturally, as if etched into his very soul.
He continued forward, drawn by an invisible pull beyond the graveyard. There, sitting against a ruined wall, was an emaciated figure wrapped in tattered robes — little more than skin and bones.
"Excuse me, good sir?" he called, voice still rough with disuse. "Dost thou know where I find myself?"
The hollow creature lifted its head, empty eyes glowing with madness. It let out an inhuman screech and lunged at him with a broken sword.
He reacted on instinct.
The broadsword flashed. The hollow's head flew from its shoulders in one clean stroke. The body collapsed into ash and dust.
He stared at the sword in his hand, blinking slowly.
"That… was surprising," he murmured.
He pressed on.
Another hollow attacked, and it fell just as easily. His body moved with as though it had performed these motions thousands upon thousands of times before.
Eventually, he came upon the corpse of a knight, still clad in rusted but serviceable armor. The sight stirred something in him, a faint sense of nostalgia
He knelt and carefully removed the armor from the fallen knight, donning it piece by piece. It smelled of death and ash, but it was better than walking naked through this wasteland. The helmet was damaged, the chainmail torn in several places, but it would serve.
He grabbed a small flask lying beside the knight, something in him told him it was important
Before rising, he knelt once more beside the knight's remains, lowering his head.
"May thou rest in peace… Umbasa," the words left his lips unbidden, heavy with unknown sorrow.
He stood, now armed and armored, and continued forward.
The pull in his chest grew stronger.
He did not yet know why he had awakened here.
He did not yet remember who he was
But something deep within urged him forward.
He continued onward, broadsword in hand, cutting through the hollow beings that shambled toward him.
Each swing felt instinctive. Ash and dust scattered in his wake as he pressed through the cemetery.
Eventually, he reached a high slope.
In the distance, through the haze of falling ash, he could see shadow of a grand temple looming atop a hill. Something in his very being told him that was where he needed to go.
So, he kept moving.
Along the path, he came upon a spiral sword embedded in a small puddle of ash and bones. The sight stirred something familiar.
"Bonfire…?" The word slipped from his lips unbidden. He did not understand how he knew it, only that it felt right.
Slowly, he reached out, hovering his hand above the coiled blade. A faint pull emanated from within him. The sword ignited with a soft whoosh, flames licking upward in a small, comforting blaze.
He startled slightly at the sudden crackling, taking a cautious step back.
"By the lords…! Wait, which lords?" More unknown concepts bubbled up from the depths of his mind. He suddenly felt his pocket had more weight in it. He checked his side and found the small flask he had taken from the fallen knight now mysteriously full. "What sorcery is this?"
He uncorked it and took a cautious sip. The liquid tasted like warm nectar, spreading strength and soothing his aching body.
Shaking his head, he turned back toward the distant temple. Answers may lay there, he was certain. He continued forward, blade rising and falling as more hollows rose to meet him.
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At the end of the path stood a thick fog gate. With no other route available, he stepped through.
On the other side, in a small plaza, knelt an enormous knight, armor blackened and imposing, a coiled sword embedded in its chest.
He took careful steps towards it, the knight unmoving. He saw it had a big spiral sword on its chest.
Somehow, he felt he needed to pull it, and so, he did.
The moment he did, he giant rose, drawing its massive halberd with a grinding screech.
And so, the fight began.
He moved faster than he expected, dodging sweeping strikes that shattered the stone floor.
His body reacted with surprising nimbleness, rolling and sidestepping as the giant's attacks rained down.
Each clash of steel sent sparks flying, and he found himself grinning despite the danger
This felt... right.
As the battle continued, he managed to cause more and more damage to the enormous knight.
But then the knight transformed.
Black, writhing mass erupted from its body, twisting into a monstrous serpent-like head with glowing red eyes. The creature roared, lunging with terrifying speed.
He fought harder, blade flashing in wide arcs. The serpent snapped at him, but he rolled beneath its jaws and drove his sword into its side. Black ichor sprayed as he carved through flesh and darkness alike.
With a final, powerful overhead strike, he cleaved through the beast's core.
The monstrous form collapsed, dissolving into ash and fading light.
A warm energy surged through his body. Small cinders began to glow across his skin, yet he felt no pain, only strength returning. He looked down at himself, surprised, but the phenomenon soon settled.
In the center of the plaza, another bonfire manifested. He ignited it, feeling his body recover fully.
Just then, a faint whisper echoed inside his mind. He touched his chest, but found nothing. Nearby lay the coiled sword he had pulled from the giant. He picked it up and continued forward.
He pushed open a set of heavy double doors at the other side of the plaza, and found himself at the base of a long slope leading up to the temple. More hollows rose to challenge him, but they fell just as quickly.
At the top, he entered through an aperture and stepped into a vast shrine. Five giant thrones loomed high above. In the center, by a small pool of ash, stood a blindfolded blonde woman in elegant robes. Nearby, a man in battered armor sat on a set of stairs
He walked down to meet the blonde woman, who even while blindfolded, turned to his direction as he approached
"Ah! Welcome to the bonfire, Unkindled One," the woman spoke softly, her voice gentle "I am a Fire Keeper. I tend to the flame, and tend to thee. The Lords have left their thrones, and must be deliver'd to them. To this end, I am at thy side."
"Unkindled One… that would be me?" He pointed to himself. "And where am I? What is this place? What is going on, and who am I?"
"Oh? Thou dost not know?"
"No. I awoke in a cemetery full of coffins and ash, and made my way here."
"I see… thou hast gone through quite the ordeal," the Fire Keeper hummed. "Then, Ashen One, first produce the coiled sword at the bonfire. The mark of ash shall guide thee to the land of the Lords. I shall explain thy purpose then."
"Coiled sword? Thou meanest this one?" He held up the spiral blade.
"Indeed."
"...Very well then."
He walked to the small pool of ash and stabbed the coiled sword into its center. The blade ignited, bathing the shrine in warm light.
He stepped back and turned to her.
"What shall I do now?"
"Thou shalt go to Lothric, where the homes of the Lords converge," the Fire Keeper explained. "But first, allow me to explain thy purpose. Thou art an Unkindled One, and to be Unkindled is to be a vessel for souls. Sovereignless souls will become thy strength. I will show thee how. Thou hast soul echoes within thee. Allow me thy hand."
He hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand.
She began to pray.
"Let these souls, withdrawn from their vessels. Manifestations of disparity. Elucidated by fire. Burrow deep within me. Retreating to a darkness beyond the reach of flame. Let them assume a new master. Inhabiting ash, casting themselves upon new forms."
Power flowed. He felt something leave him and return stronger. At the same moment, flashes of memory assaulted his mind, fragments of battles, open fields, a life-long forgotten
When it ended, he staggered slightly, breathing hard.
"Ashen One, art thou safe?" the Fire Keeper asked, concern in her voice. "I felt thy soul brimming with something else during the ritual. Is everything alright?"
"I… recovered some memories," he said, still processing. "I am still sorting through what I saw… but I remembered my name."
"Oh, how fortuitous, Ashen One."
"Do not call me Ashen One," he replied. "I am Aaden." He looked at her gently. "Nice to formally meet thee… um…"
She tilted her head. "Is something wrong, Lord Aaden?"
"I was simply asking for thy name."
"Lord Aaden, I have no name. I am my duty, and I shall live for my duty. As Fire Keeper, I am here to guide thee to thy destiny."
"We are in this together, aren't we?" he said. "If thou hast no name, then allow me to give thee one. Thou helped restore some of my memories, it is the least I can do."
"I… suppose."
He studied her for a moment, then smiled faintly.
"I know..... Thy name shall be… Annabelle."