(Tsukune's POV)
When the last bell of the day finally stopped its shrill ringing, I was already halfway out of my seat. Kurumu caught up to me in the hallway, her bag swinging, her tail wagging behind her like she'd been waiting for this moment all day.
Moka followed at a more measured pace, but there was something in her step that hadn't been there this morning. Lighter. Like she'd been holding her breath all day and had finally let it out.
The Newspaper Club room was on the base floor of the old building, the one that always smelled like paper and dust and whatever incense Shizuka-sensei used to keep her ears perky.
When we pushed open the door, she was already there, sorting through stacks of newspapers with the kind of frantic energy that said she'd been at it for hours.
Shizuka's ears perked up when we entered.
"Aono-kun! And you brought the girls! Excellent, excellent!"
Behind her, half-hidden in the corner near the window, was Gin.
I noticed him immediately because he wasn't doing anything noticeable. He had no camera in his hand, nor was he drooling from the corner of his mouth. The pervert from yesterday was nowhere to be seen. He was just standing there, hands in his pockets, looking almost... normal.
Almost.
He had two bouquets with him. One was larger than the other, with more roses, more ribbon, more everything. Moka's bouquet. The other, smaller arrangement went to Kurumu. And tucked between the stems of both were boxes of chocolates, the expensive kind that came in gold foil and probably cost more than my entire month's allowance.
Kurumu took hers with a suspicious look, sniffing the flowers like she expected them to explode. Moka accepted hers more graciously, but her fingers barely touched the stems before she pulled back.
"I wanted to apologize," Gin said, and his voice was steady. Calm. Not the breathy, excited tone from before. "For my behavior the other day. It was a long day for all of us, and I... acted out of tiredness. That's not who I want to be as your club president."
Kurumu's eyebrows rose, while Moka blinked.
Behind Gin, Shizuka-sensei's tail was waving in slow, deliberate arcs. Her eyes were open—fully open, which she almost never did—and fixed on Gin with an intensity that made me think she was mentally transmitting don't you fuck this up, Gintoki. This is your only chance. You're on thin ice.
"Thank you, Gin-senpai," Moka said, her voice carefully neutral.
"Yeah, well..." Kurumu shrugged, still holding her bouquet at arm's length. "Apology accepted, I guess. Just... don't let it happen again."
Gin's smile was almost convincing. "It won't."
Shizuka clapped her hands together, her smile snapping back into place. "Now then! Since everyone's here, let me officially welcome you to the Newspaper Club!"
She launched into a speech about the history of the club—founded decades ago by students who wanted to give the Academy a voice, awards it had won back in the day, the hard times it had fallen on recently.
I tuned out some of it, but my ears perked up when she mentioned the bonus.
"...and of course, one of the best parts of being in the Newspaper Club is the trips to the Human World!" Her tail was practically vibrating. "We have permission to go once a month to gather materials, conduct interviews, and experience modern human culture firsthand. It's an excellent opportunity to practice your human disguise skills."
Kurumu perked up immediately. "We get to go to the Human World? Like, actual human world? With malls and cafes and everything?"
"Exactly. Our next trip is scheduled for next month. You'll need to submit your paperwork by the end of the week."
Kurumu grabbed my arm, her earlier suspicion forgotten. "Tsukune! We have to go together! It'll be a date! A real date, in the human world!"
I was about to respond when I noticed Moka had gone very still beside me. Her face was pale, her hands clutched together in front of her.
She wasn't looking at me or Kurumu or Gin or even Shizuka. She was staring at the window, at nothing, her expression somewhere far away.
The human world. Right. She didn't have the best time there before coming here.
I made a mental note to talk to her later.
Gin was making a show of nodding along with Shizuka's explanation, but I caught the way his eyes kept drifting to the girls, and myself. To the way Kurumu was pressed against my arm, to the way Moka's skirt fluttered whenever she shifted her weight.
I don't know what Shizuka-sensei told Gin, but it seems it worked in a way because he wasn't expressing the Inner Pervert from inside his dog heart. He was good. I'd give him that. The pervert act was dialed down to almost nothing. But his eyes gave him away. The same hungry look, just... hidden.
Shizuka-sensei finally wrapped up her introduction, glancing at a clock on the wall. "Oh! I have a faculty meeting in ten minutes. I'm so sorry to leave you on your first day, but Gin will handle the rest of the orientation."
She gave Gin a look that was equal parts warning and encouragement. "Be good, Gintoki."
She was out the door before any of us could respond, her tail the last thing to disappear around the corner.
Gin stood there for a moment, watching the empty doorway. Then he turned to us, and his smile was almost friendly.
"Right! First order of business for our new members." He gestured toward the back wall, which was covered in old posters and faded announcements. "We need to put up new recruitment posters. The Student Council says we have to keep the bulletin board active or they'll reassign the space."
He pointed to a stack of posters on the desk. "Grab one each. We'll put them up on the back wall. Good practice for handling the main news board later."
Kurumu grabbed a poster without thinking. Moka did the same. They both looked at the back wall, then at each other, then at the chairs stacked near the window.
"It's too high to reach," Moka said quietly.
Kurumu was already dragging a chair over.
"That's what the chairs are for, silly."
She climbed up without hesitation, the poster clutched in one hand, her skirt riding up just enough to show the tops of her thighs. Moka, after a moment of hesitation, grabbed another chair and did the same.
I watched Gin's face. The smile hadn't changed, but his eyes had. They were fixed on the two girls, tracing the lines of their legs, the shadows beneath their skirts, the curve of their—
'Nope.'
'Not happening.'
"Hey," I said, loud enough to cut through the moment. "Moka. Kurumu."
They both turned, mid-reach.
"Why are you straining yourselves when I can handle this with my familiars?"
Kurumu's brow furrowed. "You're going to summon them in the middle of the club room?"
I let my shadow ripple. Kuriboh popped out first, chirping happily as it spun through the air. The Vampire Familiar followed a moment later, its tiny wings beating frantically to catch up.
Kurumu's face lit up. "There they are! Come here, you little fluffball!" She reached for Kuriboh, and the creature, finally comfortable enough around her after all the petting sessions, landed on her outstretched hand. She immediately started cooing, rubbing its fluffy head with her finger.
The Familiar, more dignified, flew to Moka's shoulder and perched there, its little red eyes blinking at her with something that almost looked like respect. Moka reached up tentatively and stroked its head with one finger. The bat leaned into the touch, letting out a soft squeak.
She smiled. A real smile.
Kuriboh, meanwhile, had completely abandoned its mission. It was nestled in Kurumu's palm, letting her scratch under its tiny chin, making happy chirping sounds.
"Kuriboh," I said. "The posters. Remember?"
It chirped, grabbed the poster from Kurumu's slack grip, and flew toward the wall. The Familiar followed with Moka's poster, gripping it in its tiny claws.
I grabbed my own poster from the desk, took a step back, and let my wings unfurl.
The transformation was easy now. Just a thought, and the bat-like wings tore through the back of my uniform, spreading wide enough to cast shadows across the entire wall. I pushed off the ground and rose slowly, deliberately, until I was level with the top of the bulletin board.
I positioned myself directly in Gin's line of sight. His eyes had been following the girls, but now they were fixed on me, on my wings, on the way my shirt had ridden up to expose the small of my back, and on my ass, which I was making sure was prominently displayed as I stretched to reach the top of the board
I heard Kuriboh chirping in confusion. The Familiar squeaked.
I ignored them. Sure, it was embarrassing, but I am an idiot who is also petty. I can't help but spite him, so revealing my cake for his eyes to see is fair game.
"Sorry about this, Gin-senpai," I called over my shoulder, keeping my voice light. "Didn't mean to show off. Hope I'm not blocking your view of anything interesting."
Behind me, I heard a sharp intake of breath. A chair scraping against the floor. The rustle of fabric.
Kuriboh, apparently deciding this was a game, flew in front of me and wiggled its tiny butt in the air. The Familiar, after a moment's hesitation, did the same, hovering next to Kuriboh and wiggling its bat-bottom with considerably less enthusiasm.
I suppressed a laugh at seeing these summons act so honestly.
Gin's face, when I finally turned to look, was a masterpiece of controlled rage. His jaw was clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding from across the room. His hands were fists at his sides. His eyes—
Oh, those eyes.
They were fixed on me with an intensity that had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with violence.
I finished tacking up the poster, then let myself drop back to the floor, my wings folding into my back as I landed. Kuriboh chirped and settled on my shoulder. The Familiar retreated to my shadow.
"Oh, Gin-senpai!" I made my eyes go wide. "You were staring. Don't tell me you're into that?"
His face went through several shades of red.
"I mean, I don't judge. Everyone has their preferences. I'm a very open-minded person." I waved a hand airily. "But please, don't make any advances. I'm a straight guy. Very straight. One hundred percent into women. Not that there's anything wrong with—"
"I'M NOT A FAGGOT!"
Gin's voice cracked on the word. His whole body was trembling, his fists shaking at his sides. I could feel his yoki spiking, the pressure of it pressing against my senses like a physical weight.
"I am a PROUD ALPHA MALE!" His voice echoed off the walls. "Who will love a woman to the DEATH!"
He stormed toward the door, grabbed the handle, and yanked it open so hard it bounced off the wall. He was gone before it stopped swinging, his footsteps already fading down the hallway.
The silence he left behind was deafening.
I withdrew my wings completely, letting my uniform settle back into place, and turned to face the girls. Kurumu was staring at the door with an expression caught somewhere between shock and disgust. Moka was... Moka was looking at me.
I walked over to them, put a hand on each of their shoulders, and gave them a gentle squeeze.
"You two are way too naive," I said, keeping my voice low. "How did you think he'd changed? In one day? A chronic pervert doesn't reform overnight. That's not how people work."
Kurumu's eyes narrowed. "You think the flowers were—"
"A setup. To get you comfortable and lower your guard. A basic tactic that worked on you like children with candy." I nodded toward the back wall. "And then he puts you on chairs, under the pretense of putting up posters, so he can watch you climb. Watch your skirts ride up. Watch—"
"Okay, okay, we get it." Kurumu's face was red now. Moka's wasn't much better.
I let my hands drop. "Well. Since our president has graciously excused himself, I guess we'll have to make do without him."
I walked to the desk where Shizuka-sensei had left a thick folder of materials. "I'll take over for now."
"Oh. She actually left us everything we needed to work in the Newspaper Club. There are documents, guidelines, materials on ethics, writing techniques that fit with the format of a newspaper."
"There's even material on how to conduct an interview, from techniques to lead the interview to how to structure it. I can only say we're set for today's meeting, girls."
I pulled out chairs for them, waited until they were seated, and then sat down across from them.
"The first rule of being a good journalist," I said, opening the folder, "is learning how to write. The second is learning how to edit. But the most important rule? Research. Fact-checking. You don't publish anything unless you're sure it's true."
Kurumu made a face. "That sounds like homework."
"It's called being responsible." I slid a section across the table to her. "Read this. It's about how to conduct interviews. I think it will fit you more since you have a charming personality and a pretty face that will get you plenty of opportunities to interview the students of the Academy."
Kurumu picked it up, still grumbling, but her eyes were already scanning the page.
Moka reached for a section on editing. Her fingers traced the words slowly, her lips moving slightly as she read.
I watched her for a moment. She looked... to have calmed down, and even her mood had changed.
I pulled a section for myself—writing structure, narrative flow—and started reading, since this is what I think I will focus on at the Club, writing articles.
For a while, the only sounds were the rustle of paper and the occasional chirp from Kuriboh, who had settled on the desk between us.
It was nice to have a peaceful day in such a chaotic place, to feel normal, like I was once again a high school student.
Truly I can say from the bottom of my heart, that this Newspaper Club was an undiscovered gem. The documentation Shizuka-sensei had left was thorough, professional, clearly the work of someone who cared deeply about the craft, and it pleased me because in the anime her presence wasn't shown that much.
Looking at the main points—the ethics guidelines, the research protocols, the interview structures—I realized that if this club shut down, it wouldn't just be a loss for Shizuka-sensei. It would be a loss for the Academy.
A shame. But I intended to change that. At least stabilize things until next year, when I run for the Academy President seat.
---
By the time we packed up, the sun had already begun its descent. The walk back to the dorms was quieter than usual.
Kurumu had reclaimed my arm, but her chatter had died down to the occasional comment about the documentation we'd read, and even those faded as we left the main building behind.
Moka walked on my other side, her hand brushing mine every few steps, not quite holding on, like she was waiting for something.
When the dorms came into view, I slowed.
"Kurumu-chan. Give me and Moka a moment?"
She stopped, her body went rigid. "What? Why?"
"I need to talk to her about something. It'll just be a minute."
Her eyes narrowed, flicking between me and Moka. Jealousy, suspicion, the usual. But I caught her hand and squeezed it once.
"Please."
Her expression softened. Just a fraction.
"...Fine." She let go of my arm, shooting Moka a look that was equal parts warning and resignation. "But if you're not back soon, I'm coming to find you."
She stomped off toward the girls' dorm, her tail lashing behind her, and disappeared through the doors without looking back.
Moka watched her go, then turned to me. Her face was carefully neutral, but her hands were clasped tight in front of her.
I didn't beat around the bush.
"You were hiding something this morning. The way you huffed, the way your hand kept going to the Rosario—you've been on edge all day. What did Inner tell you?"
Her eyes widened. "I—how did you—"
"Your body language was giving you away," I said, keeping my voice low. "You kept touching the Rosario like it was a lifeline, and that huff you let out? Loud enough to cut through Kurumu's chatter. Something's been following us, and you knew about it."
She was quiet for a moment. Then her shoulders sagged.
"You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"No."
She took a breath, let it out, and told me what Inner had said—the strong yoki she'd felt in the corridor, the presence focused directly on them, the sense that whoever it was was stronger than Tamao, stronger than anything they'd faced before.
She spoke quickly, like she wanted to get it overwith, and when she finished, she was staring at the ground, her arms wrapped around herself.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have told you. I just—I wanted one normal day. One day where I wasn't the one who needed protecting. One day where I could just... be."
I reached out and flicked her forehead. Not hard. Just enough to make her look up.
"You're an idiot," I said.
She blinked. "What?"
"A good idiot. But still an idiot." I let my hand drop to her shoulder. "There was no need to keep it to yourself. I'm not going to fly off the handle just because you tell me something dangerous is lurking around. I can control myself."
She opened her mouth, closed it. Her cheeks were pink.
"That being said," I continued, "you should be careful around Gin-senpai starting now. Stick with Kurumu when you're going to the bathroom. When I'm not around. Don't give him any openings."
Her face scrunched up. "I have to stick with her?"
"Would you rather stick with him?"
She shuddered. "Fine. Fine. But I'm not happy about it."
"You don't have to be happy. You just have to be safe."
She was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "I'm sorry. For not telling you."
"I know." I squeezed her shoulder. "Just... next time, tell me. Okay? We're in this together."
She nodded, and for a moment, neither of us moved. Then she pulled away, her face red, and started toward the dorm.
"Goodnight, Tsukune."
"Goodnight, Moka."
She disappeared through the doors. I watched her go, then turned toward my own dorm.
The shadows at my feet rippled. Kuriboh chirped.The Familiar stirred. Even the Retainer appeared as if expecting something from me.
I looked up at the moon, not quite full, but getting there.
"Well, guys," I said quietly, rolling my shoulders, "we have a long night ahead of us. Gin's not going to wait forever, and when he moves, I want to be ready. So let's make the best of it—train like never before, push our limits, and figure out exactly what we're capable of."
Kuriboh chirped. The Familiar let out a soft squeak. The Retainer's tail gave a single, slow wag.
I smiled. "That's what I thought."
---
Back in my dorm room, with the door locked and the curtains drawn, I finally let myself breathe.
The room was small, cramped, the kind of space that felt more like a monk's cell than a teenager's bedroom. But it was mine. And over the past few weeks, I'd made it into something of a fortress.
The spiders helped.
They were everywhere—in the corners, behind the desk, tucked into the crevices where the ceiling met the wall. Tiny bodies, delicate legs, eyes that glittered in the dark. They belonged to Rachnera Arachnera, the Spider yokai senpai from the class above mine, who bred them for pest control and sold them to students willing to pay. I'd bought a handful after the cockroach incident, and they'd been earning their keep ever since.
Not a single bug had crossed my threshold in weeks.
'Next time I see Rachnera-senpai, give her a glowing review. Maybe even a referral.'
I stretched my arms over my head, feeling a lingering annoying ache in my muscles from the day's tension, and with my mind going places, mainly thinking about who I would sooner or later face—an A-tier werewolf—I reached a realization: I wasn't ready.
For all that bravado, I was still reliant on Inner Moka in the worst case situations, but my ego was burning from shame.
It was that moment where in your bruised ego, later on the night you would start doing push-ups in an attempt at losing your weight only to give up the next day when muscle ache settled in.
Anyway, tonight I knew what I would do. I would train like a madman possessed by a Ghost.
To keep the momentum hot, I even began with the Ghoul Vampire Trigger, practicing my Vampire abilities and physicality.
[Ghoul Vampire Form: ACTIVE]
The transformation was smoother and faster compared to previous instances. The pain was still there—the stretching of skin, the shifting of bones, the burn of blood turning to something darker—but it was familiar pain. The kind you learned to work through and manage to lower levels of pain.
My skin paled. My fangs lengthened. My eyes bled from brown to crimson, and when I looked at my reflection in the darkened window, I saw a monster looking back. However, I didn't mind transforming in a Vampire since the power I possessed was addictive.
It became easier to understand why power-hungry humans would throw everything away just to be turned into Devils or Vampires.
Along with my evolved Bloodline Control, I had a window of thirty minutes inside this Vampire form before I would once again have a 'come to Jesus' moment with Alucard. That's plenty of time if you asked me, enough to defeat a higher level combatant.
While in this form, I sat cross-legged on the floor, closed my eyes, and reached for the blood in my veins, beginning a series of experiments that were outside the 'Class' that Inner Moka had taught me.
My blood instantly responded, just like a living thing.
Blood Magic was new to me—something I'd been experimenting with at night inside my dorm room or in the morning workout. On this part, I can only commend Inner Moka for patiently teaching me the basics of Blood Magic, even though previously I couldn't tap into the Vampire inside of me to explore further this infamous power of a Vampire.
She had spent hours explaining the theory on the flow of Yoki throught the body of a Vampire. Initially, I hadn't understood half of it at first, but practice had a way of filling in the gaps.
With the basics instilled by Inner Moka over one month, along with the vague concepts I knew from anime, games, and fantasy novels, I started to try to wield my own blood like the weapon it had become. I wasn't trying to recreate the insane stunts from Hellsing or the blood-bending from Avatar—that was way above my pay grade. But a simple projectile? A sharp edge? That seemed achievable.
To avoid overestimating my own ability to control blood, I started small.
With droplets from my fingers, I transformed them into blood pellets that I sent flying through my window. Each pellet was no bigger than a marble, but the force behind them was enough to punch through the thin screen and whistle into the night. I aimed at the dark shapes of trees beyond the dormitory, using their silhouettes as makeshift targets.
I was pleased that it worked from the first try. The penetration power was there; from this distance, I could see how some 'Demon Trees' were laden with bullet holes, their bark gouged out in small, angry craters. It wasn't elegant, but it was effective. And more importantly, it proved I could do this without setting my room on fire.
A new skill concept started being shaped in my mind with the remaining time in my Vampire form. Blood pellets were fine for harassment, but I needed something with real stopping power. Something that could pin an enemy to a wall or punch through armor.
This time, I began by building a thread of blood from a cut on my palm, thin as spider silk, winding around my fingers.
I wanted to build a weapon. Something simple, like a spike or a blade. But when I began to shape it, I quickly realized that a thread wasn't enough mass. The weapon kept collapsing, the blood refusing to hold a solid form for more than a few seconds. I needed more blood. More volume.
'Do I really have to do it?'
My expression probably looked like I'd eaten something rotten, probably all twisted and wrinkled as if I had just eaten shit, reluctant to cut my own wrist.
There was something visceral about slicing into your own flesh, even knowing it would heal in seconds. Your body screamed at you not to do it, even as your mind overruled the protest.
I'd watched enough action movies to know that heroes did this all the time, but they never showed the hesitation, the moment of doubt before the blade bit in.
The output is insufficient, so I can only do this. I have to get used to the gory sights.
I tried again after the failed attempt. I wiped off the half-formed mess, took a breath, and cut a fresh line across my wrist, letting the blood flow. The crimson welled up quickly, warm against my skin, and I fought down the urge to flinch.
Stirring up my mana and Yoki, I started to shape the spike along with the shaft, letting the blood flow down into something longer and hideous in its uncreative shape. The mass grew, congealing into a rough pole about four feet long, with a jagged point at one end.
It looked like something a cave troll would have made, all uneven edges and lumpy proportions. Nonetheless, you couldn't fail to discern what type of weapon I wanted when building it.
This was a spear, a ugly one at that.
The shaft was crooked, the tip blunted, the edges rough like broken glass. I held it up to the moonlight filtering through the curtain. The blood inside seemed to pulse, and without a doubt, I'll have to work on the design of the Spear to not make a fool of myself.
This ability I just pulled out of my ass lacked a name, so after a minute or two, I muttered while holding the spear.
"You shall be known as 'Sanguine Spear'. Yeah. That'll do."
I called it Sanguine Spear because I wasn't creative enough to come up with anything better.
It was simple, direct, and it did exactly what it said on the tin. Blood shaped into a weapon that could be launched from the air since using Blood Manipulation I could levitate this construct. The framework for development has been established, but the cost left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.
The cost was steep—100 MP per spear—but looking in the future, the payoff was worth it.
If I can master this... if I can get to the point where I can summon them without thinking, without cutting myself open every time...
I held the spear in my hand, feeling its weight, its balance. It wasn't perfect, and ironically enough, I got this cave man's urge to throw my stick.
I almost threw it. Almost sent it flying across the room just to watch it pierce the wall. But I caught myself at the last moment, dismissing the spear with a thought, letting the blood evaporate back into my skin.
No. Not yet. Better to save the spears for live, moving targets. If I wreck the room, that old Tengu will tear me apart.
[New Skill Acquired: Sanguine Spear (LV.1 – 100 MP/usage)]
I stared at the notification for a moment, then dismissed it with a flick of my eyes.
'Two skills down… And so the grind continues on.'
I pulled back from the Ghoul form, letting my body shift back to human, and checked my MP, it was around 40% of my fully charged state, and the rate of recovery couldn't keep up with my mana squandering. It was not enough to do much else with Blood Magic tonight.
Nonetheless, Blood Magic and Vampiric trickery wasn't everything I had in my tool box.
I looked at the shadow pooling beneath my bed.
"Alright, it is time to work on the Sacred Gear. Who volunteers to be dismissed?"
"No one? Then you three better do rock-paper-scissors to find your loser."
The loser was Retainer, and it resulted in him being sent back into my Sacred Gear, but he was ready to answer my summon in an instant, unlike the process of creating new monsters that was rendered with plenty of failures before success.
The first thing I tried afterwards was obvious to anyone in the same predicament as me… summon a 'Creature' that was capable of fighting for me and also teaching me all of its fighting knowledge.
I closed my eyes and pictured such a being. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Muscles like they were forged from steel, a jaw like a brick wall, eyes that promised violence and destruction. Yujiro Hanma. The Ogre. The strongest creature on Earth (of course, a parallel Earth).
If I could summon him—if I could tap into his fighting experience, his instincts, his sheer overwhelming presence—I'd never have to worry about Gin or Kuyo or anyone else in this school.
[Summoning failed. Manifestation insufficient.]
'Well. I was expecting this, even if I know Baki to certain extent, I still lack the manifestation from the Sacred Gear to make it happen. I think Yujiro should be at most a level 5 'Monster Card' if I convert it to Yu-Gi-Oh standard.'
'Would it work with Maken-Ki? What about bringing the Scythe guy from Seikon no Qwaser?'
'Hmm, I will have to sit it on the toilet and remember more from these animes.'
'Ahh, just like Kenichi: The Mightiest Disciple, he knows all sorts of martial arts and is around the same age as Tsukune, so I could even bring him along with me at the Yokai Academy… Right, there's the problem of Mikogami.'
'…But I don't want to face him right now.'
I sighed, rubbing my temples.
At 25% manifestation, I could summon 2-star monsters reliably, maybe 3-stars at a stretch.
Back to the drawing board.
I pulled up my mental list of options, that could be of help if I wanted to grow stronger and quickly. Those were the Warrior-type Monster Cards. Creatures with martial skill I could learn from, even if I couldn't directly absorb their knowledge.
The Six Samurai were tempting—iconic, powerful, endlessly versatile and what can I say, I used to play a deck that was all about the Samurais. I think I could attempt to summon an early version of the Great Shogun Shien, but wasn't he at a 4-star level? Too high for my current manifestation.
Maybe later, when the Sacred Gear gained more power alongside my own growth.
Another option I had considered were The Warrior Brothers—M#1 and M#2—much simpler, each at 3-star, they were monsters from the Duel Monster era without any effect, but their backstory was developed to the point they were more iconic than any newer broken monster card at 3 stars.
However, after another look, I can guess they were more muscle than techniques. Brute force wouldn't teach me anything I didn't already have.
The Dark Scorpions were... punchable. A bunch of villainous rogues who'd tried to steal the Sacred Beasts back in GX. They had skills, sure, but they also had egos. Summoning them felt like inviting trouble that I couldn't handle right now, mainly related to their status.
And then there was the one card that made me pause for longer and really think about it.
Silent Swordsman.
It was a Level Type monster, and it fit with the upper criteria of my Sacred Gear summonings. It was a LV.3. Warrior. Yugi Moto's signature card, the one that grew stronger over time. If I could summon him—even at his lowest level—he might be able to teach me how to wield a sword and above all else spar with me.
I closed my eyes and focused, trying to visualize the card in my mind, to use my imagination and will to create and summon this monster using Annihilation Maker.
Silent Swordsman LV.3. A young warrior, no older than sixteen. Lean, not bulky. Blue and silver armor, but lighter—more flexible, designed for speed. A helmet that hides his face, but through the visor, I can see young eyes. Sharp. Focused. A blade in his hand, not yet legendary, but already deadly.
He doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. His sword is his voice.
I poured my mana into the image, shaping it, willing it into existence.
[Summoning failed. Manifestation insufficient.]
First attempt. Failure.
I didn't let it discourage me. I'd expected failure. The Gear didn't give up its secrets easily.
I waited a few minutes for my MP to stabilize, then tried again.
[Summoning failed. Manifestation insufficient.]
Second attempt. Same result.
I adjusted my visualization, trying to make the image sharper, more detailed. The curve of the blade. The angle of the helmet. The way the armor caught the light—not the heavy plate of an experienced warrior, but the lighter gear of someone still growing into their strength.
[Summoning failed. Manifestation insufficient.]
'Third attempt… Even the third time was not a charm for me?'
Each failure cost me MP, but I had enough. I was learning something with every try—about the limits of my imagination, the gaps in my understanding.
I'm not visualizing him right. I'm thinking of him as a card, not as a person with a will of his own.
I took a breath and tried again.
Fifth attempt.
I didn't think about all the useless stuff, such as attack power, defense, or even the card's effect was secondary at that moment. I thought about a young warrior who had trained since childhood, who had dedicated his life to the blade, but who was still growing. I thought about silence—not the silence of emptiness, but the silence of focus, of purpose, of a mind so sharp it could cut through anything.
Visualizing the image of Silent Swordsman LV.3, I thought about a boy who didn't speak because he hadn't found the right words yet, but whose sword said everything that needed to be said.
I poured everything into the image. My mana. My Yoki. My will. And that distant hope that I could finally unlock a new path to my own power gain by gaining a reputable swordsman to teach me the ropes of the craft.
[❗]
[Summoning in progress...]
The shadow at my feet rippled. Not like before—not the quick flicker of the Familiar emerging, not the slow emergence of the Retainer. This was different, it had a deeper effect as the darkness seemed to thicken around my shadow, later on congealing and taking shape.
[Manifestation threshold met. Summoning Silent Swordsman LV.3...]
A figure rose from the shadow.
He was young. No, he was younger than I expected; I swear he looked twelve years old.
However, his young age didn't affect his build. The young swordsman was built like a lean tank—the kind of build that prioritized speed over power. His armor was blue and silver, but lighter than I'd expected, more like reinforced cloth than heavy plate. A helmet obscured his face, but through the visor, I could see sharp eyes, a firm jaw, the hint of a mouth pressed into a thin line.
In his hand, a blade. Not a katana, not a broadsword—something in between, elegant and deadly. He held it like he'd been born with it.
The first thing I noticed when he came to be was how still and silent he was.
He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stood there, waiting.
[Silent Swordsman LV.3 summoned successfully.]
[Silent Swordsman LV.3 - Status]
[Type: Warrior – 3-Star Monster]
[Summon Cost: 200 MP]
---[Abilities]---
[Magic Nullification Field] – Hostile magical effects within 10m weakened by 30%. Direct magical attacks reduced by 20%. Passive.
[Blade of Silence] – Attacks are silent and can cut through weak magical barriers (C-tier and below). Passive.
[Stillness of Mind] – Tsukune gains 10% resistance to mental interference when within 10m. Passive (stacks with Kuriboh).
---[Signature Ability]---
[Silent Evolution] – After 5 minutes on the field and successfully blocking/negating three hostile magical effects, evolves into Silent Swordsman LV.5. 30-second transformation. Cooldown: 24h.
I stared at him, not trying to focus on his abilities too much, but damn, he was busted in a Supernatural World that was mainly focused on magic/demonic spells/attacks.
Meanwhile, the Swordsman stared back at me.
He was... younger than I'd imagined, but I guess it matched with the visuals of the card I had in mind.
"Uh," I said. "Hi."
We were deep into the night, and the silence was agonizing. He said nothing. Not a word. Not a grunt.
Just the faint tilt of his head, like he was waiting for orders.
'Of course.'
'He is the silent swordsman, so I can't expect him to start talking with me.'
I cleared my throat and told him that the reason I summoned him. "Silent, you might be uncomfortable being summoned by me and appearing in this strange world. But, the reason you have been summoned was because I require your help."
"There are insurmountable evils in this world that I will have to face, but the current me is far too weak to even consider entertaining the thought of facing such evils. These three have also been summoned from your Dimension and have become my spirits."
"Since I am too weak to face the future evils of this world, I want to wield the sword just like a Warrior such as yourself."
"I can give you time to adjust to this world, but before that, I have a question for you…"
"Are you willing to teach me how to wield a sword?"
After a long pause where I was just stared at, making me feel awkward, the young man slowly raised his sword and pointed it at me.
I blinked. "You accept? What? You want to spar? Now?"
He didn't nod or gesture an answer. Just stood there, his sword extended in my direction, waiting for my action.
I looked back at Silent Swordsman. "Okay. But not here. I don't want to explain to the dorm master why my room looks like a war zone."
He frowned , but lowered his sword. He turned around and looked at the window, then did something unexpected.
"No, wait—"
He stepped through the glass like it wasn't there, dissolving into shadow on the other side, and seconds later the glass had turned into glass dust.
I sighed, grabbed my jacket, and followed.
He was waiting for me in the clearing of the nearby forest where I would train my strikes. He had his blade already drawn, doing some sword moves as if to adjust to this smaller form of his, and even if I wanted to nitpick or bitch about his sword skills like some professional hater, I couldn't.
His movements and his posture were perfect, as if he was some Ancient Hero who had fought countless battles against Archfiends, Evil Magicians, or Dragons.
'I better open my eyes and try to sponge as much as I can from him since it is a fair cry wish to think he will tell me anything or bother with instructions…'