Hahahaha! Another incredible hottie. I love the young girls in this village—I don't think I'll ever get enough of them."
One of the men laughed with satisfaction, eyeing the exhausted girl.
"Right. That beautiful fair skin is practically begging us to devour it…"
The second grinned hungrily, dragging a cold, sharp knife slowly down her exposed belly. Reika winced in terror. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking hard enough to draw fresh tears, and laughed in cruel delight. The neat ponytail Shiharu had tied earlier had come undone, her long violet black hair now tangled and fanned across her bare shoulders.
"This village is truly stupid," the third man sneered, crossing his legs. "They chased out their only savior, and now they're crying for help. I want to laugh in their faces and tell them the help won't come but losing their beloved children should be punishment enough, right?" Haha!!
"So who's going first? Just take her by force if she refuses."
"No, that won't do. She looks so fragile—granting her death might be a mercy."
"Then let's knock her out first."
Shiharu watched the scene with icy rage. The black energy coalesced into a long, sharp katana in his hand. There were five young men—armed with knives, bottles of drink, and the metallic scent of blood. Two were conjuring a magical fire. Some were clearly cannibals, others rapists, all possessing strange powers to twist directions and more. Yet none had noticed his arrival.
They had been taking children and doing as they pleased. They were the reason so many had gone missing.
The moment his fingers closed around the katana, a dark thrill of killing intent surged through him. Surprisingly, the blade felt light—like an ordinary knife. Without thinking, Shiharu stepped forward and swung it in a clean arc at the necks of the two men tending the fire. Their heads rolled to the ground in an instant.
The remaining three scrambled to their feet, backing away in shock and fear.
"Oh crap. We're busted."
The first tried to mask his unease with a disdainful smile, clearly underestimating the seventeen-year-old boy before him.
"So what brings this little guy here?"
"I think he wants to be eaten," the second laughed.
The third, however, trembled visibly. He had seen how effortlessly Shiharu had found them and killed the others. Something about the boy was clearly not ordinary.
"Don't you think we should figure out what he wants instead of laughing at him?" he muttered, head bowed in fear.
"Urusai! I don't give a fuck!"
One of them shouted and struck his companion hard, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Can't you see he's no different from the other brats we bring here? What makes him special, huh? Yowamushi! Baka! You pathetic coward! You deserve to die! Just fuck off! What a waste of time you are."
Shiharu's eyes darkened with bloodlust. He lunged at the one hurling insults, driving the katana straight through his belly. The man beside him reacted instantly, swinging a heavy chain toward Shiharu's neck—but before it could connect, the attacker was slammed backward into a tree with bone-cracking force. He collapsed, motionless.
Shiharu glanced back.
It was Hoshiyuki. He looked completely recovered, as if nothing had happened. The ghost was focused on freeing Reika, keeping her blindfold in place. With a flick of his fingers, a long golden cloth appeared. He wrapped it gently around her body and healed her wounds. To his shock, when she slumped forward, she landed solidly in his arms without passing through.
"Shi… haru?" she called weakly, trying to identify who held her.
Shiharu had already bound the three surviving men together. He knelt in front of Reika and took her hand, offering a pained smile.
"I'm here, Rei."
He pressed her palm to his cheek.
"Then… if this is you… who's holding me?"
She asked curiously. Only then did Shiharu realize that Hoshiyuki could touch her without his form passing through. Their eyes met, wide with shock and a thousand unspoken questions.
"Are you okay?" Shiharu asked.
Hoshiyuki nodded and rose so Shiharu wouldn't have to kneel any longer.
"Can I try touching you?"
"Would you be disappointed if the result is the same?" Hoshiyuki asked gently.
Shiharu nodded, eyes sad.
"I'm scared, to be honest."
He watched as the black katana dissolved into thin air. Hoshiyuki sent Reika into a peaceful sleep before she could ask more, cradling her as carefully as if she were fragile glass. He then turned toward the bound men. Shiharu watched silently, a storm of unreadable emotions swirling inside him.
"If you're scared now, you don't have to try touching me. I'll let you when you're ready." Hoshiyuki's voice was calm.
"What should we do with these people?"
Shiharu's cold gaze shifted to the trembling men.
"Trap them in a hellfire more hellish than hell itself."
"Easy enough."
Hoshiyuki grinned with satisfaction. He extended his right hand, and flames erupted around the three men—fire that consumed only them, searing their skin while refusing to grant the mercy of death. Their screams filled the night as they begged for release, burning endlessly in torment.
Slowly, the world shifted back.
The distorted paths corrected themselves. The village returned.
By the time they reached home, everything was quiet.
Mr. Hotaru hadn't returned yet. The house was still.
Peaceful.
As if nothing had happened.
As if they had never left.