I didn't wake that morning to the bright rays of the November sun, nor to the tart–sweet scent of my beloved girl dozing beside , nor even to the steady call of my internal clock trained by daily morning workouts.
No — my sleep was brazenly interrupted by a deafening, growing rumble descending from the roof of the building.
A bad feeling crept down my spine. Without wasting a second, I threw the blanket aside and rushed toward the source of the noise.
Above, I found sothing that instantly riveted my gaze. For a mont, I was afraid to even blink, terrified that the scene before would dissolve like a mirage.
It was srizingly beautiful… and murderously dangerous.
Two won in combat gear were locked in what could only be described as a gladiator duel. I gathered myself, intent on intervening — but my curiosity and the hypnotic grace of their movents held rooted.
It is rare to see such beauty in motion. And every rarity draws the eye.
What I was witnessing was a level entirely apart from my own. It struck like a slap — just how far away my current skills were from theirs. diocre, by comparison. If I ever wanted to rise to such heights, I would have to study harder, train harder.
Bordeaux fought bare–handed; Katana wielded a sheathed blade.
It only took a short observation to judge the situation. Alexandra was good — but outmatched. My intuition pegged Tatsu Yamashiro's combat ability at around 85 points, significantly higher than Bordeaux's 79.
Still, as I'd learned before, pure skill was not a guaranteed ticket to victory. In a real fight, anything could happen. Often, the winner is decided only at the very last mont. And here — even though Katana was clearly pushing her opponent back — I couldn't say with certainty she would finish with the upper hand.
But enough was enough. I wasn't going to let this carry on any longer.
"Girls, it's four in the morning," I called out in my most reproachful tone. "Normal people are sleeping at this hour. Myself included, by the way! So tell — which unfortunate soul woke you so early?"
No answer.
They stood frozen, silently burning each other with fierce glares. Sothing was clearly amiss here…
What was the reason for such raw hatred? Was I missing sothing obvious?
My eyes fell on the weapon in Yamashiro's hands.
Wait. Hold on. This sword…
All this ti I'd assud that the aura of tension and despair around the girl was simply her detached, cold deanor. But now it dawned on — perhaps it wasn't Tatsu's personality at all.
Perhaps the culprit was this cursed artifact.
In truth, Tatsu herself was a bright, admirable sort — if a little reserved. But the katana in her possession cast her in an unsightly, ominous light.
The Soul Stealer — a weapon that had absorbed countless lost souls, along with their bitterness, hatred, and despair. It was easy to imagine those trapped voices spilling into the world, subtly poisoning those nearby.
And suddenly, I understood Sasha's strange, hostile reaction to the Japanese woman.
Mystery solved. I am a clever boy.
"Tatsu," I said politely this ti, "may I take a look at your weapon?"
"Why?" she shot back, more curtly than politely.
"If my theory's correct, your sword is the real cause of your disagreents with Sasha."
"What? That sounds like nonsense." Her skeptical gaze imdiately flitted toward Bordeaux.
"Why nonsense? This isn't just a blade — it's a cursed artifact, ho to imprisoned souls who radiate malice into the living world. Even now, they gnaw at those around it. That is why Sasha's been so unfriendly toward you."
"Really? And why don't I believe you? Oh right… maybe because you, unlike this lady, are actually crazy?"
Bordeaux ignored the jab, mulling over my words instead. It seed she was beginning to grasp the absurdity of her own behavior. Indeed, she had been utterly unlike herself these past days — illogical, uncharacteristically reactive.
"Tatsu," I said with a sigh, sensing the awkwardness settling over the scene, "for my part, I'm immune to such ntal… emissions. The sword's influence doesn't touch , so my impression of you is entirely positive. Others aren't so lucky. Alfred, for example — he's known you for years, and the Soul Stealer's pull on him was minimal—"
"And Bruce?" she asked, recalling the sword's recent stay in Wayne's care.
"Sa principle as with . Though with him, it's even more… unusual."
If that damned blade could sway Batman's will, I'd be shocked. The man's psyche is guarded by sothing fierce — perhaps the ntal equivalent of a bat lurking in the depths, clawing at any intruder. Exaggeration, of course… but it gets the point across.
I sipped in a breath. "Understand, this is a truly powerful weapon. But every cursed artifact cos with a price for the right to wield it. Perhaps — and this is only speculation — this very influence is why you will one day wear a mask, to shield yourself from the curse's constant whispering."
"And you're suggesting I… give up the Soul Stealer?" she asked, slowly drawing it from its sheath.
The blade left its scabbard with a faint, tallic sigh — and the air thickened instantly. Tension coiled in the room like a living thing.
It was as if hundreds of trapped souls were crying at once — to kill, to save, to annihilate, to raze the world in an instant. The chorus pressed against the skin, against the mind.
To , it was rely an interesting curiosity. Nothing more. But Bordeaux stiffened visibly.
To her credit, she didn't attack or even speak; she was actively wrestling her emotions into submission, as any professional should.
Tatsu seed unaffected, but that much was obvious — she was the blade's chosen wielder, and a true samurai. Hiding emotion was practically an art form to her.
Frankly, I couldn't imagine a more suitable guardian for such a capricious artifact… well, except for , of course.
"How about giving the blade for safekeeping?" I suggested. "I have a secure place, accessible only to ."
"You? With the Soul Stealer?" She searched my face for any sign of irony.
"Exactly."
"No… it's safer with . I won't entrust this weapon to anyone else," she said firmly, nodding once to herself as she slid the sword back into its sheath.
"Allow to add my thoughts," Sasha cut in, finally speaking. "I agree with Alex. With him, the katana will be secure. And more importantly, those it could… affect adversely will be spared the risk. You'll still be near the blade — since you'll be near him — but you won't be forcing everyone else into danger unnecessarily."
Tatsu's eyes narrowed. But the sarcasm I half-expected never ca. She seed to weigh Bordeaux's words for a long mont before speaking again.
"And this place you're both talking about… what is it?"
"So then you agree to give the sword?" I asked, extending a hand.
"Only for safekeeping, and only if I can reclaim it at any ti," she replied at last, passing the katana.
The mont the hilt touched my palm — it vanished. Completely. Not even a shadow remained.
Yamashiro's eyes widened. She scanned the air around us as if expecting it to be floating sowhere overhead.
"Where is it? Where did you put it?!"
"Relax. No need to flare up," I said calmly. "It's locked deep in my spatial storage. Perfectly safe."
"See?" I said after a mont, letting the weapon reappear in my hand — still sheathed — and passing it back to her with a faint, knowing smile.
"Is this… magic?" the samurai woman asked quietly, watching the katana vanish and reappear again.
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