Morning Came Loud
Shura shot upright in bed.
"HAAAAAA—WHY WON'T THEY TELL ME ANYTHING?!"
The inn walls vibrated.
A second later—
He stood.
A second after that—
He was sprinting.
Halfway down the stairs he stopped abruptly.
"…Wait."
He looked around.
"…Why am I running?"
Silence.
Deep thinking face.
"…Umm."
A pause.
"WHO CARES—YAAAAAA!"
And he bolted again.
The Missing Master
He reached Juro's inn first.
"Master Juro?!" he asked, already panting.
The receptionist blinked calmly.
"He does not stay overnight," she said. "He left before sunrise."
"…Left?"
Shura was already gone.
He ran to Yura's inn.
No.
Another street.
Another corner.
Dead end.
He slowed.
Breathing heavy.
"…What year am I even living in?"
A number surfaced in his mind.
At the Surface.
The thought didn't feel real.
It felt distant.
Like looking up at a sky you couldn't reach.
Far Above
On the Surface—
Ruka knelt in the soil.
Her fingers dug into the earth.
Tears darkened the ground beneath her.
"Where are you…?" she whispered.
"Why won't you ever listen…?"
Her shoulders trembled.
"You always chase answers… even when they hurt you."
Her voice cracked.
"I told you not to go…"
Wind passed quietly over the open land.
No reply came.
Below
Shura stopped walking.
A strange calm crossed his face.
A small smile.
Mother…
Don't worry.
I'll come back.
Just wait a few years.
He didn't know why he thought that.
But it felt certain.
Zenkyou's Therapy Method
He found the others near the market district.
"Where's Master Juro?" he asked immediately.
Orin shrugged. "Isn't he at his inn?"
"He doesn't stay there at night."
Zenkyou glanced at him.
"Forget that. Fireworks festival tonight. By the lake. You're coming."
"I need answers first."
Zenkyou smiled.
Then grabbed him by the collar—
—and launched him straight into the sky.
"I'M SORRRRRRRYYYYYY—!"
He vanished into the distance like a screaming comet.
Zenkyou crossed her arms.
Good.
He's not burning from the inside anymore.
When Shura crash-landed in a stack of empty crates several streets away, he lay there staring at the sky.
"…Okay," he muttered. "I'll come."
When he returned, slightly dusty and significantly humbled, Zenkyou's smile said:
As expected.
Streets of Lantern Light
They walked together as evening lanterns slowly flickered alive.
Ren stretched lazily.
"You understand now, right?" he said to Shura. "I'm very strong."
Orin snorted. "You were wheezing for twenty minutes."
"That was tactical breathing."
Shura raised both hands.
"Pause. Before someone destroys another public structure."
He looked at Orin.
"You only use bow and arrows?"
Yura answered first.
"Don't underestimate him. Distance means nothing to him."
Orin gave a small, unreadable smile.
Shura swallowed.
"…Then what was that thing earlier?"
Orin's tone shifted.
"Relics aren't just weapons," he said quietly. "They're wills."
A slight hush fell between them.
"If you're weaker than it," Orin continued, "it consumes you."
Shura thought of the Black Knight's trembling arm.
"And if you're stronger?" he asked.
"It adapts," Orin replied. "It reshapes itself to fit you. Like it wants to survive through you."
Shura looked at his own hands.
"…So I still have infinite questions."
Zenkyou glanced sideways.
"And infinite time. If you live."
Right on cue—
Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.
His stomach growled loudly enough to echo.
Zenkyou sighed.
"Food. Before philosophy."
Shura's face lit up.
"YAAAAAY!"
Ren suddenly stiffened.
"Oh. I need to report to Yun Shi."
He started backing away.
"Also, Tsuyoshi and Osuki's fight ended in a draw."
He turned.
"I'll catch up later."
Zenkyou waved him off.
"Don't get scolded."
The Beggar
Near a food stall, a beggar sat against the wall.
Tattered clothes.
Still posture.
Sharp eyes.
As Shura passed—
"Salutations, neophyte."
Shura stopped.
"…Huh?"
The beggar studied him carefully.
"Your expression betrays an epistemological hunger," he said calmly.
"To interrogate the abyss without preparation is to dissolve one's internal architecture."
Shura blinked.
"…What?"
The man did not change tone.
"Given your apparent deficit of spiritual liquidity, I humbly request a minor fiscal transference to prevent catastrophic metabolic cessation."
Shura stared.
"…What?"
The beggar sighed slightly.
"Money. For food."
"Oh."
Shura handed him coins.
The beggar accepted them.
His fingers brushed Shura's briefly.
Cold.
Not physically.
Something else.
"Why not take quests?" Shura asked. "It's not easy… but it works."
The beggar looked up.
And smiled.
Not grateful.
Not amused.
Evaluating.
"Because," he said softly, voice suddenly simple,
"observation pays better."
A flicker passed through his eyes.
For a moment—
Shura felt dissected.
Measured.
Categorized.
The beggar looked away first.
"Enjoy your fireworks," he said.
Shura walked back to the group slowly.
"…That guy was weird."
Zenkyou glanced toward the stall.
The beggar was gone.
No sound.
No trace.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Interesting.
Lantern light flickered brighter.
And somewhere between laughter, food, and fireworks—
Something had just marked Shura as worth watching.