The basement training room was silent except for the whisper of steel cutting through air. At 5 AM, while her family slept peacefully upstairs, Akira moved through sword forms that would have made her former colleagues weep with envy. Each strike carried the weight of power she could barely contain,with power that had grown beyond anything she'd possessed during even her legendary hunting days.
Crack.
Another practice dummy split cleanly in half, the reinforced wood unable to withstand even her restrained strikes. Akira paused, breathing heavily as she surveyed the destruction around her. This was the third set of equipment she'd destroyed this month.
"Damn it," she whispered, setting down her blade. At this rate, Keith would start asking questions about their sudden need for new basement storage.
Her eyes fell on the old hunter magazine tucked behind the equipment rack—a relic from her past that she couldn't quite bring herself to throw away.
Her own face stared back from the cover, younger and fiercer, with the headline "STRONGEST HUNTER: Akira Yamamoto Claims Top Rank."
Someone had drawn a red X across her face in permanent marker.
The memories flooded back unbidden: the whispered conversations that stopped when she entered a room, the anonymous letters questioning her achievements, the reporters who seemed more interested in her personal life than her hunt records.
"Women don't belong at the top.""She slept her way there.""Real hunters don't need to prove themselves with publicity stunts."
And then the death threats had started.
Akira clenched her fists, feeling the dangerous surge of her new power responding to her emotions. The air around her shimmered with barely contained energy, and the remaining practice dummies groaned under an invisible pressure.
"I could level this entire city now," she murmured to herself, then immediately felt ashamed of the thought. This was exactly the kind of thinking that had driven her from the hunter world.
The assumption that power equaled worth, that strength justified everything.
Footsteps on the basement stairs made her freeze. She quickly grabbed a towel, wiping sweat from her brow as Keith appeared carrying two steaming mugs of coffee.
"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked with that gentle smile that still made her heart skip after all these years.
His red eyes took in the destroyed equipment without comment, though she saw him catalog every detail.
"Just needed to work off some stress," she said, accepting the coffee gratefully. "You know how I get when Sephy has big decisions to make."
Keith nodded, but his gaze lingered on the split dummies. "These look like they were cut with a blade far sharper than anything we keep down here."
Akira's heart hammered, but she kept her voice level. "The old equipment was getting brittle. I should probably order replacements."
"I'll take care of it," Keith said easily, then stepped closer to examine one of the cleanly severed practice posts.
His fingers traced the cut with professional interest. "This is incredibly precise work. The blade would have had to be moving at tremendous speed to achieve this kind of edge definition."
He knows. The realization hit her like a physical blow. Of course he knew.
Keith had always been observant, but lately his perceptiveness seemed almost supernatural.
"I've been practicing," she said lamely.
"I can see that." Keith's voice carried no judgment, only gentle concern. "The question is why you feel the need to practice in secret."
Before she could answer, Keith's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and frowned slightly.
"Work?" Akira asked, grateful for the distraction.
"Something like that." Keith pocketed the phone and looked at her with an intensity that made her feel transparent.
"Akira, you know you can tell me anything, right? Whatever's happening, whatever you're worried about—we're in this together."
The sincerity in his voice almost broke her resolve. She wanted to tell him everything: about the power breakthrough that had left her feeling like a loaded weapon, about the equipment she'd been secretly ordering for Sephy's training, about the growing certainty that their peaceful life was about to be shattered.
Instead, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I know. I'm just... adjusting to the idea of Sephy leaving for the academy. You know how I am."
Keith's expression softened, but something flickered in his red eyes—a depth that reminded her, not for the first time, that there were things about her husband she didn't fully understand either.
"We both do," he said quietly. "But she's strong, Akira. Stronger than either of us were at her age."
After Keith went back upstairs, Akira pulled out her encrypted phone and dialed a number she'd memorized but hoped never to use.
"Procurement services," came the clipped response.
"I need gear rated for A-rank minimum," she said without preamble. "Full combat setup, discrete delivery."
"This is irregular. Previous clients require verification for-"
"Tell them that the Sword Saintess is requesting a favor."
The silence on the other end stretched long enough that Akira wondered if she'd been disconnected. Finally: "Understood. What specifications?"
"Everything. Weapons, armor, enhancement items. If it can keep an A-rank hunter alive in the tower, I want it."
"The cost will be—"
"Money isn't an issue. Discretion is."
As she ended the call, Akira looked up at the ceiling, imagining Keith moving around their bedroom above. He'd brought her coffee, examined her destroyed equipment with professional interest, and asked careful questions—all while pretending to be nothing more than a concerned husband and university professor.
But Akira had spent too many years reading people in life-or-death situations. Keith knew far more than he was letting on. The question was: what was he hiding, and why?
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked in a pattern she recognized—Keith was standing at their bedroom window, looking down at the basement entrance. Watching. Waiting.
Whatever secrets they were both keeping, Akira had the sinking feeling they were about to collide in ways that would change everything.
She picked up her sword again, but this time she held back her strength, moving through forms that looked normal, human, harmless. Just in case he was still listening.
After all, if Keith was hiding something, she could hardly blame him for it. Glass houses and all that.
But as she practiced, Akira made a silent promise to herself: whatever was coming for their family, she would be ready. Even if it meant revealing the monster she'd become in the process