The deputy head's office at the Tokyo central headquarters had that specific spaciousness of rooms designed to make important decisions feel important — high ceilings, windows that let in the afternoon light at right angles, a meeting table that already had two people seated when Hiroshi and Michiko Kato entered.
"Finally," said the man behind the main desk, standing.
Inoue Ryuichi was around fifty, with short salt-and-pepper hair and a presence that filled the office without needing to raise his voice to do so. He carried authority with the same ease with which others carry clothing — no visible effort, simply there.
"We've been waiting," he said.
The two men seated at the table stood.
"Hiroshi," said the first, a hunter of solid build with a visible scar on his jaw. "It's been a while."
"Mamoru," said Hiroshi, shaking his hand. "Same."
"Michiko," said the second, leaner, with glasses and a calm that contrasted with his companion's more direct energy. "Still a pleasure."
"Saburo," said Michiko, with a brief smile. "Likewise."
The four knew each other. That was clear in the economy of the greetings — without the formality of introductions, only the recognition of people who have worked together before and trust in that shared history.
"Sit down," said Ryuichi.
The four of them sat. Ryuichi remained standing, hands behind his back, looking out of the window for a moment before beginning.
"Powerful remnants have appeared in the north of Japan," he said, without preamble. "And we don't believe it's just that."
The silence that followed had the weight of something that was about to be confirmed.
"According to our team's investigations," he continued, "we believe this could be an organisation. We don't yet know with certainty whether that is the case. Nor do we know exactly what they are after."
Mamoru straightened in his chair.
"An organisation?" he said. "Of remnants?"
"It's what we're investigating," said Ryuichi.
Hiroshi and Michiko looked at each other.
"That's why I called the four of you," said Ryuichi. "We've already sent hunters to the north to assess the situation directly. But we only have the Tokyo headquarters, and based on what we've investigated, everything indicates they want to attack us."
"Then why send so many hunters north?" said Hiroshi. "If the threat is against Tokyo, shouldn't we be concentrating here?"
"Because the idea is to stop them before they arrive," said Ryuichi. "That's why I've taken as many hunters as possible north. To stop them at the source."
He paused.
"But if they fail, the four of you are the last line of defence."
Mamoru said nothing. Saburo said nothing either.
Ryuichi looked at them one by one.
"I didn't call you because you were the only ones available," he said. "I called you because, if everything else fails, you are the only ones capable of holding Tokyo long enough."
Michiko felt something tighten in her chest that was not entirely related to strategy.
"If that's your plan," she said, in a voice more controlled than she felt, "and the remnants come south, finishing off the hunters in the north one by one, they could reach the town. They could reach Ginjiro."
Ryuichi looked at her.
"Don't worry," he said. "They won't get that far. This is a precaution, not a confirmed prediction. Besides, the children are in Kana's care."
He paused.
"If anything reaches the town, Kana won't be fighting alone."
Michiko felt that her hands had closed into fists without her having consciously decided to.
Hiroshi put a hand on her shoulder.
"It's all right," he said, quietly.
Michiko looked at him.
"If something happens in the town," she said, addressing Ryuichi with a firmness that left no room for negotiation, "I'm leaving immediately. It doesn't matter what's happening here. I'm going to find my son."
Ryuichi looked at her for a moment.
"I understand," he said. "And if anything changes, you will be the first to know."
Michiko looked at him.
"I'm counting on that from you," she said.
Hiroshi leaned slightly towards Ryuichi.
"Please excuse her," he said. "She's worried."
"There's no need to apologise," said Ryuichi. "It's a valid concern."
Hiroshi guided Michiko to one side of the office with that specific gentleness of someone who knows his wife well and understands when space serves better than words.
Ryuichi turned to Mamoru and Saburo.
"Stay alert," he said. "For anything. If the remnants were to approach Tokyo, I'll know before anyone. They won't take us by surprise."
Both nodded.
In the town, the telephone line connected with a dry click.
"Yes?" said Kana, with the phone resting on her shoulder while she finished sorting something on her desk.
"Kana," said Ryuichi's voice on the other end. "I need to bring you up to speed on something."
He explained — the remnants in the north, the possible organisation, the hunters sent, the decision to keep Hiroshi and Michiko in Tokyo as a last line of defence for as long as the investigation lasted.
Kana listened to everything without interrupting.
"They took both of them?" she said at last, in a tone that did not quite conceal that she disagreed. "Both at the same time?"
"It was necessary," said Ryuichi.
"Now in the town I'm alone with the children," said Kana. "If anything were to happen here, I'd have to protect them myself. Alone."
"I know," said Ryuichi. "And that's why I'm telling you now. If anything changes, the children are your priority."
Kana did not respond immediately.
"And if something changes too late?"
On the other end, Ryuichi did not respond straight away either.
"That's why I chose you as my successor," he said at last.
Kana closed her eyes for a second.
Not because she did not understand the answer.
But because she understood it perfectly.
"Understood," she said.
She ended the call and stayed looking at the phone for a moment with the expression of someone calculating how many more things they have to hold up alone.
The back garden of the Kato house was dark except for the moonlight and the faint orange glow of the mana in Ginjiro's hands.
He had been practising for over an hour — alone, with nobody to correct the elbow angle or the badly distributed weight, repeating the same movements his father had taught him with the determination of someone who has decided that if they have to be alone they may as well use the time.
"What are you doing out here?"
Ginjiro spun round, the mana going out with the start.
Kana was standing at the garden entrance with her arms crossed.
"Maestra," said Ginjiro, the surprise still visible. "What are you doing here?"
"I was worried about you being alone," said Kana, approaching. "I came to check on you."
She looked at the garden — the marks in the grass from Ginjiro's feet, the hour, the darkness.
"You're doing good work with your powers," she said, with her usual direct assessment. "The flow looks more stable than last week."
"Thank you," said Ginjiro.
Then he went straight to the point, because that was how he always operated.
"Do you know anything about my parents?"
Kana looked at him.
"Straight to it," she said, with something that was almost a smile.
"Well?"
"They went to Tokyo for a mission," said Kana. "It will last a week. You don't need to worry."
It was only partly true, and Kana knew it as she said it. But the other part — the one that included remnants in the north and a possible organisation and the possibility that the mission might last far longer than a week — was not something a ten-year-old needed to carry.
"All right," said Ginjiro.
I can't tell him what they really told me, thought Kana.
"Maestra," said Ginjiro. "Will you help me train?"
Kana looked at him. The hour, the darkness, what awaited her tomorrow.
"Just for a little while," she said. "It's already late."
Ginjiro smiled with that energy of his that had not gone out despite everything he was carrying inside that night.
"Thank you, Maestra."
Somewhere in the north of Japan, in a clearing among mountains where the hunter formation had held its defensive position for the last three hours, five figures stood ready with their weapons out and the specific tension of people who have been waiting for an attack they knew was coming, but did not know when.
It came without warning.
A flash — not of light but of pure movement, too fast for the body to understand it should react — and the head of the hunter on the left was no longer attached to the rest of their body before the group had finished processing that something had happened.
Six remnants emerged from the shadows around the clearing.
The four remaining hunters dispersed with the instinct of training, but there was something in the air — a pressure that veteran hunters learned to recognise too late — that made the space itself feel different, heavier, more hostile.
The group leader stepped to the front, sword ready and voice steady, even though the rest of the body was not entirely in agreement with that steadiness.
"We can't be afraid," he said, looking at the six remnants. "We are hunters."
He turned towards the others to reinforce the message.
The other three were not looking at him.
They were looking behind.
The leader followed the direction of their eyes.
One of the six remnants was looking directly at him.
And smiling.
As though it had just heard a lie.