The taxi pulled away from the curb, its taillights bleeding red into the evening haze. Akira watched it go—watched Kasumigaoka Utaha disappear around the corner—then turned to face the dojo.
Saeko stood beside him, her expression unreadable, her hand already reaching for the door.
"Saeko." His voice was quiet. "Are you scared?"
She shook her head. Not hesitation. Not denial. Just… truth. "Not scared."
"Good." He placed a hand on her shoulder, a brief squeeze of reassurance. "Get the katana. I'll wait here."
She nodded once and slipped inside, her footsteps silent on the wooden floor.
Akira turned.
The alley across the street had disgorged its occupants. Nine men—eight in hats and trench coats, their bulging sleeves suggesting concealed weapons, and one in the lead. Sharp-nosed. Sunken-cheeked. Eyes that held something greasy and calculating.
Saeko's uncle.
"Saeko!" The man's voice carried across the street, dripping with false warmth. "Your uncle has been waiting quite a while."
Akira didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched.
The uncle's gaze slid to him, assessing. Dismissing. "Kid. What's your relationship with that girl? You had her yet?"
"What's it to you, old man?" Akira's tone was mild, almost bored. "You should be grateful I'm letting Saeko get some practice in before she finishes you off. Otherwise, you wouldn't even have the right to speak."
The uncle's face contorted. Disbelief. Amusement. Then something uglier.
"Just you two?" He laughed—a harsh, barking sound that echoed off the quiet street. "Hahahaha! Kid, do you know who I am?"
"No." Akira's smile didn't reach his eyes. "And I don't want to know. I don't make a habit of remembering dead men's names."
The uncle's fleshy face twitched. His eyes bulged. For a moment, he looked less like a man and more like something that had crawled out of the dark.
"Baka."
Behind him, the eight men shifted. Sleeves rustled. Metal gleamed—knives, brass knuckles, a length of chain.
Akira stood alone before the dojo door, unarmed, unmoving, utterly unimpressed.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached.
Saeko emerged from the dojo, a katana in each hand. She offered one to Akira—hilt first, blade gleaming in the fading light.
He took it.
The weight was perfect. The balance, impeccable. He tested the edge with his thumb and felt it bite.
"Saeko." He didn't take his eyes off the men across the street. "Remember what I taught you."
"Yes, Bai."
"Stay close. Don't overextend. And if one of them starts acting strange—if they stop bleeding, if they get back up after they should be dead—call out."
"The Zombie Devil's influence?"
"Possible. Likely, even." He stepped forward, placing himself between Saeko and the uncle. "We end this tonight. All of it."
The uncle's patience ran out.
"Get them," he snarled. "Kill the boy. Bring me the girl—alive."
The eight men surged forward.
[Quest: Dojo Defense Battle]
[Phase: Engagement Initiated]
[Hostile Units: 8 (Human), 1 (Human - Uncle), 1 (Devil - Unmanifested)]
[Objective: Eliminate all threats. Protect Saeko Busujima. Secure the dojo.]
[Time Remaining: Variable]
Akira raised his katana.
And the night erupted into chaos.
The uncle's trench coat reeked—faintly, but unmistakably—of decay. The kind of smell that clung to graveyards and slaughterhouses. Even the thugs beside him shifted uncomfortably, their bravado faltering.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Saeko Busujima emerged from the dojo, two katanas in hand. She tossed one to Akira—who caught it without looking—then turned and locked the door behind her with unhurried precision.
She didn't even bother with her shoes.
The uncle watched, his rage curdling into something darker. He laughed—a dry, rasping sound—then roared, his face twisting into a mask of pure malice.
"Chop the man into mincemeat. Leave the woman alive." His tongue slid across yellowed teeth. "I want to personally verify if she's still a virgin."
The street, empty moments ago, began to fill.
They came from alleys and doorways, from parked vans and storm drains. Shambling. Silent. Their eyes were vacant, their movements jerky, their skin pallid and marked with the unmistakable signature of death.
Zombies. Dozens of them. All wearing the faces of local residents.
"Grandma Hanako?" Saeko's voice cracked. "Sister Hongdie?"
At the front of the horde, two familiar figures shuffled forward—an elderly woman who had brought her homemade pickles every New Year, a young woman who had helped her study for entrance exams. Their eyes were empty. Their mouths hung slack.
After her father's death, they had been her support. Her family in all but blood.
The uncle's laughter echoed off the buildings. "Recognize some familiar faces, do you? Surprising, isn't it?"
"You dog." Saeko's knuckles whitened around her katana. Her voice was ice. "I will kill you today."
"Big talk from a little girl who's about to become merchandise."
The uncle's grin widened. He knew something she didn't. These weren't ordinary opponents. They were zombies—they felt no pain, no fear, no hesitation. A blade through the chest wouldn't stop them. A severed arm wouldn't slow them. Only destruction of the brain would end them.
And once Saeko's katana got stuck in bone or flesh—once the zombies had her pinned—she would be his.
Hehehehe~.
The horde surged forward.
Akira stepped up beside Saeko, his borrowed katana catching the dim light. "Aim for the head," he said quietly. "Don't let them surround you. Stay mobile."
"I know." Her voice was tight, but controlled. "I know."
"Then let's go."
They moved.
Akira was first—not charging, but flowing into the horde like water through cracks. His katana sang. Heads left shoulders. Limbs separated from torsos. Each stroke was economical, precise, final. The zombies fell and did not rise.
Beside him, Saeko fought differently. She was fury given form—each strike personal, each cut a condemnation. But even in her rage, she remembered his teachings. She aimed for heads. She didn't overcommit. She moved, always moved, never letting the press of bodies trap her.
The uncle watched from the back, his smile fading.
These two weren't supposed to be good.
"They're just two people!" he screamed at his thugs. "Get in there! Help them!"
The eight trench-coated men exchanged glances. Then, reluctantly, they drew their weapons—knives, chains, lead pipes—and joined the fray.
[Quest Update: Dojo Defense Battle]
[Hostile Reinforcements: +8 (Human - Gang Members)]
[Casualties: 12 Zombies Neutralized]
[Remaining Hostiles: 34 Zombies, 8 Gang Members, 1 Uncle, 1 Devil]
[Time Remaining: Engagement Active]