Shiro Sakamaki, who had always been fond of fine cuisine, found himself resisting food for the first ti in his life. Every cell in his body scread against the raw at placed in front of him.
While raw fish was still within his comfort zone, red at was a different story entirely.
"Shiro-kun, you don't like Sakura Sushi?"
Shiro nodded stiffly. He had already recognized it.
The at was a deep red, marbled with white streaks and a firm texture. Though called "Sakura at" because of its color, it was, in truth, raw horse at. People in Japan simply referred to it more elegantly.
"Then... should we order sothing else?" Kato gumi asked hesitantly.
"It's fine," Shiro replied. "It's just raw at. I'll give it a try."
Without hesitation, he dipped it in soy sauce and placed it into his mouth.
The flavor was tolerable. Perhaps due to careful preparation, it lacked the fishy sll he dreaded. Still, the raw texture of the at made him uneasy.
Kato gumi noticed his strained expression and asked with a suppressed smile, "So, how is it, Shiro-kun?"
Shiro sighed. "I can only say... he probably lived as a fine racehorse."
Then he reached over and flicked gumi's smooth forehead. She winced and imdiately covered the spot, pouting at him with playful reproach.
"Kato-chan, you've beco dangerous. Laughing at my jokes now?"
But Shiro's grin didn't last long.
If the horse at was barely within the threshold of acceptability, the next dish—pork belly sushi—completely crossed the line for him.
Luckily, the al ended with a few dishes made from cooked ingredients: a raw pickled egg yolk and beef tongue sushi. Not ideal, but at least sothing he could eat without gagging.
When it ca ti to pay, Kato gumi swiftly pulled out her wallet and settled the bill before Shiro could react.
"Kato-chan, what are you doing?"
gumi pocketed the change and said, "It's a thank-you. You gave such an expensive gift last ti, rember? I've been aning to return the favor."
She smiled. "But I guess Shiro-kun isn't a fan of raw red at. How about we get regular sushi next ti?"
Shiro shrugged. "As long as it's not raw red at, I'm fine."
Then, despite her protests and the playful glare she shot him, Shiro hailed a taxi and gently ushered her inside.
---
anwhile, deep in a remote and long-abandoned village in Japan...
What should've been an uninhabited ghost town was now bathed in light and brimming with activity. Large quantities of weaponry and personnel were being shipped in continuously.
Heavy equipnt—trucks, choppers, artillery—clattered and roared. It was a full-scale deploynt.
Soldiers patrolled the area with chanical precision, weapons always in hand, nerves taut like bowstrings.
What stood out most, however, was the diversity: uniforms from different countries, skin tones from every continent. A multinational force, reminiscent of a rogue IWC unit.
Yet despite their patchwork appearances, every one of them carried the unmistakable air of hardened veterans—n who had stared into death and spat in its face.
The bloodlust and battle-hardened aura they exuded was enough to send even the fiercest yokai fleeing.
They were not in neat formation, but every weapon pointed in the sa direction: a void.
Roughly 300 ters ahead, in the middle of an empty clearing, hung an enormous black hole—pitch-dark, silent, and terrifying.
A rift in reality.
Not even the strongest artificial light could illuminate its interior. It was a gaping mouth of darkness, seemingly capable of swallowing light, matter, even ti itself.
And yet, oddly, the surroundings were unaffected. Small animals scurried past the clearing unhard.
This was one of the only three known "black rifts" on Earth.
It was from this very one that the forr Demon King had once escaped, leaving behind a wake of death and destruction. More than a century had passed, and the legends still persisted.
Tonight, the international force was rotating out—new units arriving to relieve the exhausted defenders.
A short distance from the periter, a crowd of individuals in strange attire observed the black hole. They were Transcendents—extraordinary humans, gathered from around the world.
Unlike the grim-faced soldiers, most wore reluctant expressions. The job was as thankless as it was fatal. No one knew what could erge from the rift next, or whether they would survive the encounter.
Though not all were top-tier powerhouses, each of them had survived more battles than most soldiers would see in a lifeti.
Off to the side of the crowd, a lone ronin sat cross-legged, completely nude except for a tangled mane of hair and an old, plain katana resting beside him.
No one dared approach him.
Despite his shabby appearance, he was one of the Tier 6: Tectonic warriors in Japan. Called in at the last mont, he had arrived directly from training, too focused to even change his clothes.
He had felt no imdiate threat from the black hole—yet. So he sat and ditated, waiting.
But peace was not ant to last.
Just as the defense lines shifted and heavy weaponry was being redeployed, a shrill alarm split the night sky.
"Battle stations! Everyone take position!"
"Light the periter! Aim at the rift! Prepare for incoming!"
In seconds, the village was engulfed in noise and steel. Guns clicked. Motors roared. Floodlights powered up.
The once-quiet village transford into a warzone.
The Transcendents quickly took their places, lining up behind the wall of soldiers like a second wave.
Together, soldiers and supers stood unified—an iron fortress ready for the unknown.
The ronin opened his eyes.
A flash of silver glead in his gaze. His katana trembled beside him, as if sensing the battle to co.
Inside the command center, staff monitored volatile data streams, eyes darting between screens and printouts.
Sweat beaded on their brows as they logged fluctuating energy readings. The numbers were rising—fast.
"Status report!" a calm voice barked.
A middle-aged officer approached the display. His uniform identified him as a lieutenant general.
Miles, the chief analyst, didn't look up. "The rift's collapsing inward. Energy surges spiking. We're hitting peak fluctuation."
He paused, then added gravely, "We have less than 30 minutes before sothing cos out."
The general nodded, his expression grim. Silently, he muttered:
"I wonder how many we'll lose this ti..."
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