Meanwhile— Shibuya Tower groaned beneath its own weight. The air inside was stifling. Concrete dust floated like ash through fractured windows. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, strobing the dark stairwell in erratic flashes.
Ren climbed. Each step echoed as he ascended, sword gripped tight in his hands. It felt heavier than before—not from weight, but from the pressure building in his chest. His boots scraped against rubble. Shattered glass crunched underfoot. The building leaned ever so slightly, and he could feel it in his spine, like walking inside a sinking ship.
He passed the 36th floor. Then a low growl echoed down from above.
Too late.
A massive dog-like creature lunged from the darkness between floors. Its body was leathery, stretched unnaturally long—like something that had been a wolf before someone twisted its bones and left it to rot. One eye bulged unnaturally from its skull, pulsing with yellow light. The other was gouged out, oozing essence. Its tongue lashed from a mouth filled with humanlike teeth, curved the wrong way.
"Shit—!" Ren barely brought the sword up in time. The beast crashed into him, and both went tumbling down several steps. Its weight slammed into his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. He grunted, barely keeping the blade between its jaws as it snapped down, saliva sizzling against the metal.
"Get off—!" Ren kicked upward, desperate. His blade wobbled, scraping against the stairs. The thing pinned him, snarling, reeking of sulfur and meat. Its claws tore into his coat and raked shallow lines into his shoulder.
He screamed. Instinct took over. He twisted, planting a foot against the wall—and heaved. The beast lost balance. With a shove of every muscle he had left, Ren threw it back. It rolled—twisting, flailing, snapping at the air—and then vanished with a distant crash as it tumbled down the stairwell.
Ren slumped against the wall, panting. His body trembled with adrenaline. His hands were slick with sweat. The sword's grip nearly slipped. "It's gone," he muttered to himself. But his shoulder burned. His side throbbed. His movements were clumsy—his inexperience raw and exposed.
He looked up the stairs again. The climb continued. Five more floors. Four. Three. Every step felt like dragging a mountain. He finally kicked open the door to the rooftop—light poured in like a flood, harsh and golden, slashing across his face and the battered concrete floor.
Ren staggered out into the open air and froze.
The rooftop of Shibuya Sky was in ruins. Where there had once been polished glass railings, panoramic observation decks, and romantic lantern-lit photo corners, now only shattered remnants remained—crushed stage lights, twisted speaker wires, shredded props of some event, confetti charred and ground into ash. A burned projection screen flapped limply in the wind like a defeated flag.
But the strangest sight of all was the Sakura Tree.
It stood impossibly tall at the center of the rooftop—a monstrous blossom of crimson petals, its branches sprawling like veins, rooted in steel, cracked tile, and blood. The bark looked almost burnt, but from its limbs spilled a slow, glowing mist that drifted into the sky like incense. Its roots pulsed faintly—as if breathing.
"What the hell is happening…" Ren took a step forward, sword trembling faintly in his grip.
Then— "You're just in time…" The voice came from behind. "…for the starter course."
Ren turned. At the far edge of the rooftop, standing with one foot perched atop a bent steel beam, was Trickstarr. He struck a pose, both arms wide like curtains opening.
Ren's blood ran cold. "Where is she?!" he shouted, stepping forward, his voice raw with fury. "Where's Airi?!"
Trickstarr cocked his head, mockingly. "Ah, ah, ah... not time for dessert yet, my dear swordsman," he cooed, spinning his cane once. "You've only just arrived at the appetizer." He snapped his fingers. A plume of pinkish-red petals burst from nowhere—then vanished.
Ren didn't wait. He charged, sword drawn.
Trickstarr's eyes gleamed. "Yes, yes! That's it! Let's see how sharp your lines are."
The rooftop blurred as Ren dashed forward, steel flashing in the sunlight—his heart pounding like war drums, the ruined city forgotten for now.
Trickstarr's grin never wavered. With a flick of his wrist, he tipped his top hat forward—and from the shadows beneath it, a blur of feathers and talons burst out like a cannonshot. A birdlike creature, sleek and long-winged, its body like a fusion of crow and paper lantern, screeched as it dove straight toward Ren.
Ren's instincts flared. He dropped low, rolling sideways across the cracked rooftop just as the avian beast sliced overhead, its wing trailing motes of glowing confetti. The wind from its flight kicked up debris and broken flower petals, spinning them into the air.
Ren surged forward from the roll and slashed—his sword arcing in a clean, horizontal strike.
CLANG.
Steel met a fan of playing cards—shimmering and razor-thin, each one spinning with a faint metallic hum. Trickstarr blocked the blow effortlessly, the impact sending him sliding back a few feet, his heels scraping lines in the rooftop.
"Oooh," Trickstarr cooed. "You've gotten faster."
Ren didn't answer. He pressed on. A flurry of blows followed—Ren's sword slicing, stabbing, whirling. Trickstarr met them all with his impossible, dancing defense. His deck of cards expanded, a full circle now, each flick of his wrist sending them whipping around like a sawblade barrier. Every time Ren swung, a card met it. Steel sparked against illusion.
Thrust—parried. Slash—redirected. Jump strike—countered.
Trickstarr wasn't even sweating. "Come on," he sang. "Don't just flail."
Ren gritted his teeth and kept up the assault—but it was like trying to cut through smoke.
Then the bird came again. Its screech split the air as it looped behind Ren. He heard it coming—ducked just in time—but that moment's pause cost him dearly. Shit—!
Trickstarr moved. In a blink, the deck of cards exploded forward in a fan—dozens of gleaming projectiles spinning straight at Ren. He raised his sword to block, barely catching the first wave— but a second followed, forcing him backward with every impact. His boots scraped tile, his balance slipping. One card slashed across his thigh. Another skimmed his cheek, leaving a red trail. The rest pummeled the air around him, pushing him toward the rooftop edge.
Trickstarr advanced slowly, gracefully, his cane twirling. "You're passionate, I'll give you that," he said, still grinning. "But passion alone won't win this stage."
With a sudden snap of his fingers, the cards halted midair—then spun and reformed into a spiral, circling Ren like wolves. The bird shrieked above, circling again, casting strange shadows.
Ren stood panting, sword gripped tight, his limbs sore and his mind racing. "I can't keep up like this... He somehow knows my every move..."
Trickstarr tilted his head, expression now vaguely curious. The cards hovered closer. "Did you think this would end with a kiss?"
Ren's grip tightened. "I don't need an ending," he growled. "I just need to defeat you and put and end to this." He stepped forward..
Trickstarr clicked his tongue. "Cute. But how, exactly, do you plan on doing that—when I've been playing with you this whole time?"
The moment the words left his mouth, the cards flared outward. They struck all at once. Ren barely raised his sword in time to parry a flurry of glancing slashes, each card whistling through the air with surgical precision. He stumbled back, boots grinding against the rooftop gravel.
Trickstarr advanced, walking through the chaos like a showman on stage, his cane clicking softly as he spun and threw it into the air. The cane glowed mid-spin.
Then, with a flick of his fingers, Trickstarr pulled a single playing card from his coat: the Jack of Clubs. "Let's raise the curtain a little more, shall we?"
He flicked the card toward the tumbling cane—and impact.
BZZZZKKT—CLANG!
The cane expanded instantly, metal segments unfolding like a telescope, turning into a massive, growing polearm staff. It whipped out, knocking Ren clean off his feet.
"Ungh—!" Ren slammed into the metal midair, then tumbled along the growing staff, helpless as it stretched further—a bridge of absurd magic—until the far end smashed into a halfcollapsed building across the rooftop gap. BOOM. Glass and debris shattered.
Ren hit the wall with a sickening crack, blood spattering the side. He dropped to a crouch, one hand gripping a twisted railing, the other barely holding onto his sword. He gasped, bruised, bleeding— But still alive.
Trickstarr mused, watching him with open delight. "Good job on learning how to control your essence."
Ren coughed, wiping blood from his mouth. "Andre… taught me how to reduce damage by using essence in my body parts for shielding." It had saved his ribs from shattering. "Still hurts like hell though…" he muttered under his breath.