"Seriously? Do you not see we're on a date?"
Rika Orimoto's voice dripped with annoyance, her delicate features pinched in disgust—as if a particularly persistent fly had dared to intrude on a romantic picnic.
She didn't even wait for Yuta to move.
Her right hand extended, index finger pointing almost lazily at the charging Cursed Spirit. A single, precise pulse of cursed energy erupted from her fingertip—a concentrated beam that punched through the creature's core like a hot knife through butter.
The Cursed Spirit didn't even have time to scream.
It detonated mid-lunge, dissolving into a cloud of black smoke that the wind quickly scattered. Where it had been, only a faint, acrid smell remained.
Rika lowered her hand, expression unchanged. She turned back to Yuta, her irritation melting into a warm smile, and threaded her arm through his.
"Where were we? Oh, right—you were telling me about that bakery near the station..."
Yuta blinked, katana still half-drawn, then let out a soft, amused breath. He sheathed the blade and allowed himself to be pulled along, a bemused smile tugging at his lips.
Through Bee Number Two, Kamo Itsuki observed the exchange. His lips curved into a small, amused smile.
'Okkotsu didn't even get a chance to draw his sword.'
He filed the observation away. Rika's power output was impressive—far beyond what her years of training should allow. In another timeline, she had become a Special Grade Cursed Spirit bound to Yuta's curse. But here, with proper guidance, that potential was manifesting differently.
'Raw talent. Both of them.' His gaze sharpened slightly. 'But overconfidence is a poison. They need a challenge—something that forces them to take things seriously.'
He made a mental note. Later. For now, they were performing adequately.
Bee Number Three hovered at the edge of a different hexagonal cell, its compound eyes tracking a far less composed scene.
Kanon was in trouble.
A centipede Cursed Spirit had erupted from the forest floor beneath her feet, its segmented body exploding from the soil with predatory precision. Kanon's reflexes saved her—a sideways leap, graceful as a diving fish—and the creature's gnashing mandibles closed on empty air.
The centipede fully emerged, coiling its grotesque length in the clearing. Its body was a horror of layered black scales, each segment bristling with blade-sharp legs that gleamed in the dappled sunlight. It turned its featureless head toward Kanon, sensing easy prey.
"You scared me! Kenjaku, come out and help me beat it up!"
Kanon's voice rang through the clearing, high and imperious.
The centipede tensed, sensing a potential threat.
Nothing happened.
Silence stretched, awkward and profound.
"Kenjaku!" Kanon stamped her foot, her face flushing crimson with frustration. "I said come out!"
"Handle it yourself." Kenjaku's voice echoed in her mind, patient but firm. "It's a low-grade spirit. You are more than capable."
"But it's scary!"
"I have taught you for three years. You can use your technique without summoning me. Do so."
The centipede, tired of waiting, decided the threat was imaginary. It lunged.
Kanon's eyes widened. Fear clutched at her chest—but beneath it, something else stirred. Years of training. Kenjaku's endless, grinding lessons. The memory of his voice, always pushing, always expecting.
She breathed.
Cursed energy surged into her palm, responding to instincts drilled deep. It wasn't her Shikigami's power—it was hers. Water coalesced, cool and alive, forming into a dense, spinning arrow.
She threw.
The water arrow shot forward, sharp as any blade. The centipede twisted, avoiding the strike, but Kanon was already moving. Her hands wove through the air, and the water responded—dividing, reshaping, becoming a storm of spinning discs.
Water blades slashed toward the centipede from multiple angles.
The creature spat a glob of foul, black mud from its maw. The blades met it mid-air, sizzling and dissolving, but Kanon had already repositioned. More water, more blades, a relentless barrage.
The centipede lunged, close enough for its stench to wash over her.
Kanon's hands came together. A wall of water, thick and dense, solidified before her.
THUD.
The centipede rebounded, stunned. Kanon didn't hesitate. The wall dissolved and pushed—a hundred water arrows launching in a single, overwhelming volley.
The centipede writhed, dodging, deflecting—but there were too many. One found its mark. Then another. Then a dozen.
Kanon raised her hand, and the remaining water gathered into a single, massive fist. She slammed it down.
CRUSH.
The centipede dissolved into dissipating cursed energy, its form erased.
Kanon stood in the sudden silence, chest heaving. The tension drained from her body like water from a broken vessel, leaving her limp and lightheaded.
She'd done it. Alone. Without Kenjaku.
A slow, incredulous smile spread across her face.
Through Bee Number Three, Kamo observed. A flicker of approval crossed his features.
'Not bad. Raw, but the instincts are there. With proper refinement...'
He shifted his attention to the barrier's energy readings. Multiple exorcisms, multiple data points. The system was performing beautifully.
'Now,' he mused, 'let's see how the others fare.'
"I'm so tired..."
Kanon collapsed onto the forest floor, limbs splayed, chest heaving. Her uniform was damp with sweat, strands of pink hair plastered to her forehead. She didn't move, didn't care about the dirt or the lingering smell of exorcised spirit.
"You deserve to be tired."
Kenjaku's voice cut through her mental space, sharp with displeasure.
"How many times have I taught you? A Grade 3 Cursed Spirit—and you expend that much cursed energy? Do you have any concept of efficiency?"
Kanon groaned, too exhausted to argue. She knew he was right. Her actual potential was far greater than this performance suggested. But knowing something in training and executing it in combat were two different worlds.
Kenjaku, however, was not particularly invested in lecturing her at this moment.
His attention had shifted to something far more significant.
'This Barrier... it's wrong.'
When Kamo Itsuki had first summoned those dozens of Cursed Spirits from thin air, Kenjaku's instincts had prickled. Cursed Spirits were born from distinct negative emotions—they didn't naturally congregate unless someone was actively collecting them, like Geto Suguru with his Cursed Spirit Manipulation.
But Kamo had claimed these spirits were from Akita Prefecture. The neighboring region. And the Shirakami Mountains bordered Akita perfectly.
'He gathered them. All of them. From an entire prefecture.'
The centipede's exorcism had confirmed his suspicions.
Kenjaku had watched the flow of cursed energy with a millennium's worth of expertise. The spirit's residual energy didn't simply dissipate into the environment as it should have. It was absorbed. Silently, efficiently, drawn into the invisible boundaries of the Barrier itself.
The pieces clicked together.
A gathering mechanism. A recycling system. Energy efficiency built into the very foundation.
'This isn't just a training ground.' Kenjaku's thoughts raced, each conclusion more unsettling than the last. 'It's a prototype. A fully functional system designed to concentrate and eliminate threats while reclaiming every scrap of expended energy.'
His mastery of Barrier Technique was extensive—he had seen and designed many in his long life. But this... this was different. This was evolution.
'If this technology is already this mature... what is he planning on a larger scale?'
The question lingered, cold and heavy in his ancient consciousness. Kamo Itsuki was not merely powerful. He was architectural. He was building something—something vast—and these students, this test, was merely a single brick in that grand design.
Kenjaku watched through Kanon's senses as the Barrier hummed softly around them, feeding on the aftermath of battle, growing stronger from the death it contained.
For the first time in centuries, the architect felt like he was standing inside someone else's construction. And the blueprints were hidden from his view.
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