Saeko Busujima sighed regretfully again.
She decided she would ask her father if they could officially change the ancestral precepts and rename their Murasame sword. That way, she could legitimately use the treasured weapon in practice without feeling foolish. Moreover, she had heard that many powerful figures in the underworld were actively collecting historical artifacts, even going so far as to inflate prices astronomically to acquire them. In that case, even without renaming it, the antique sword could fetch a formidable price.
She wasn't worried that such pragmatic behavior would dishonor their ancestors. After all, her father had already cursed their ancestors' naming sense; what was there left to dishonor?
'It is already an unspeakable disgrace…' Saeko thought with a look of mild regret as she slowly pushed the storage room door closed.
But right before it clicked shut, Saeko frowned slightly, recalling a small discrepancy.
Just now, when her finger was accidentally cut on the blade, the blood had seemed to… vanish. It hadn't stained the steel or dripped onto the floor.
Saeko stopped and stared at the wooden box containing the Murasame, lost in thought. Then, she slid the door back open, took the sword out again, and examined it closely…
Nothing?
She raised a delicate eyebrow and looked at the steel from the hilt down to the tip. Still nothing. Not a single trace of crimson. She clearly remembered that a few drops of blood had welled up from her finger.
The stinging scar on her fingertip was undeniable proof.
After a moment of contemplation, Saeko took out her smartphone and began searching for the folklore surrounding the name.
Murasame—also known as Murasame-maru. This legendary sword kills without shedding blood, its sharpness unstoppable. Legend has it that it possesses the ability to control water; when it kills someone and draws blood, water vapor will magically condense from the air, cleansing the blade.
'Without shedding blood…'
She looked at the mythological description glowing on her phone screen, then looked down at the physical Murasame she was clutching tightly. What was the scientific principle behind this? Some kind of ancient, special waterproof or blood-repellent metallurgical material?
To verify her hypothesis, Saeko decisively drew the blade across her uninjured fingertip, slicing the skin and squeezing out a few heavy drops of blood without batting an eye.
She was vastly different from ordinary teenage girls. As the eldest daughter and heir of the Busujima family, she had grown up under rigorous, unforgiving swordsmanship training. Moreover, as a descendant of a strictly traditional family, she had naturally inherited certain "bad habits" regarding discipline, making her an extremely traditional woman. Highly skilled in cooking, humble and gentle in her public dealings with others, and deeply knowledgeable in the domestic arts, she was recognized as a textbook Yamato Nadeshiko.
With long, dark purple hair, a cold yet beautiful face, and a stunning figure, she exuded the captivating aura of a mature beauty. Her sense of fashion was somewhat modest and not intentionally provocative, but her imposing figure always managed to command unexpected attention.
She stared intently at the sword.
The fresh bloodstains were drying unnaturally fast. But in the blink of an eye, Saeko's striking eyes widened suddenly.
On the surface of the steel blade, mysterious water droplets were spontaneously gathering. In no time at all, a visible mist of water swirled around the sword out of thin air. It was actively cleansing the blade, washing away the blood and making Murasame appear like a lethal weapon shrouded in a misty spring rain.
'This... this is real…'
Her heart skipped a beat. At this moment, her astonishment was palpable. She didn't know that her impulsive action would reveal such a physically impossible, unbelievable fact.
'Could it be…?'
She instantly drew the sword fully from its scabbard and executed a few rapid, precise strikes of the Busujima-style swordsmanship.
Swish! Swish!
This physical test made Saeko's brows furrow even more deeply.
The balance and feel were absolutely terrible! It felt exactly the same as when she had tried to hold Murasame as a child. The spiritual resistance was incredibly heavy, making it difficult to control the momentum of her swings.
For a master swordsman like her, this sword felt like nothing more than a beautiful exterior hiding a rotten, uncooperative core. It was merely a decorative, magical trinket.
'Could it be… that a legendary sword actually has to recognize its master?'
This absurd, fantasy-novel thought suddenly flashed through her practical mind. Was that even possible? Condensing water mist to cleanse the blade was already a metallurgical and chemical masterpiece, enough to prove that her ancient ancestors and master craftsmen were not without immense merit. But to add a sentient clause that a famous sword must "recognize" its wielder? That veered straight into mythology…
After pondering for a long time, Saeko was somewhat uncertain.
This sword… perhaps she should take it out of the closet and let it finally see the light of day. It would be best to let her father make the final, authoritative decision. Surely a grandmaster swordsman could force a famous sword to recognize him as its master?
With a try-it-and-see attitude, Saeko formally enshrined Murasame on the decorative sword stand in the main hall of the Busujima family home.
Looking at the mist-producing blade, Saeko inexplicably thought of her father's usual "rebellious" and dismissive behavior regarding their heritage.
'If the saying "a famous sword recognizes its master" truly exists,' Saeko thought, a rare, wicked smile touching her lips, 'then wouldn't my father, who's always clamoring to break our ancestors' legs, end up having his own legs broken by the sword instead?'
The next day.
Yukino Yukinoshita and Miko Yotsuya unexpectedly "encountered" Saeko Busujima at the cafe. Because of yesterday's magical Murasame incident, Saeko was now deeply interested in Rom and his supposedly genuine tarot cards.
Moreover, Saeko was also quite interested in Yukino. She had heard of the Service Club—a club with a rather intimidating name, but one that actually dedicated itself to lending a helping hand to the weak. What kind-hearted people. As an upperclassman, Saeko treated the two younger girls to expensive coffee and pastries as a gesture of goodwill. She admired people with a strong moral compass.
However, after waiting for a long time at the agreed-upon table, Rom didn't keep his promise.
This made all three of them a little impatient.
'What's wrong with this guy...?' Yukino thought, checking her watch. 'He promised to meet us yesterday, and then completely forgot about it today?'
But because Yukino and Saeko both suspected that the man might possess real occult skills, they remained patiently in their seats. Seeing that the two of them were willing to wait, Saeko didn't want to leave early and miss the revelation.
It wasn't until dusk was rapidly approaching and the streetlights began to flicker on that Rom's figure finally appeared faintly in the distance through the glass windows.
And Rom's appearance at this moment was quite shocking.
Completely different from his sharp, formal tuxedo attire and energetic liveliness yesterday, he now carried a lifeless, utterly decadent air. It was as if he had been hiding in a dark room and wasting away for days. He was visibly disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, with heavy, bruised dark circles under his eyes, looking as if he had stayed up all night fighting a mental war.
His steps were heavy and dragging, burdened by a terrifying truth he didn't want to accept.
He arrived outside the coffee shop and saw the three girls sitting together, frowning and silent, clearly impatient with his tardiness.
He hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the handle, deeply undecided.
Last night, he had thought about the mathematically impossible tarot spread for hours. 'Should I just not get involved in this?' he had agonized. 'Regardless of whether real magic is true or false, what guarantee does a secular conman who makes money relying on cold-reading have for his own safety in the underworld?'
Moreover, he had spent his entire adult life maintaining a cynical, skeptical attitude towards true mysticism. If it was real... then what was the point of all his years of grifting? Was he completely wrong to abandon his training?
'No. I'm not wrong!' Rom's eyes suddenly flickered with desperate defiance. 'It was just a rare, statistical coincidence. I shouldn't doubt my entire worldview over a single parlor trick!'
It's fake. It's all fake.
The more he knew about psychology, the more he understood how foolish Granny Mitsue's teachings truly were. Even Granny Mitsue had deceived people before to make a living, hadn't she? What about her lectures on "playing the game of life" and "cultivating one's mind"? They were all just self-righteous excuses.
He was a conman, and Granny Mitsue was just an older, poorer conman. There was no real difference between them. The only difference was that Granny Mitsue only scraped together a few coins by saying a few flattering, ambiguous words to comfort grieving people. He was different; he had swindled a massive fortune with his clever, theatrical words.
'I'll prove it to myself,' Rom thought, his jaw clenching. 'I'll prove it to Granny Mitsue!'
Immediately, Rom didn't hesitate any longer. He pushed open the heavy coffee shop door, the bell chiming above him.
He was ready to participate. He was going to prove, once and for all, that tarot card readings were just a byproduct of confirmation bias and coincidence. He would prove that the results of the readings were completely irrelevant to reality, and that they had absolutely no connection to the supernatural…
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