Chapter Text
“There is a legend of a world shrouded in pitch-black darkness, where not a single speck of white exists. There, monstrous beings born of hell appear to satisfy a single desire—to devour. Yet within the darkness lurks their greatest fear. A boy filled with boiling rage, bearing a single purpose in his heart. Revenge. With the weapon known as the Devil's Blade, slash, tear apart, and drag down every demon. And be with his beloved—a girl called Kanon Mizushiro."
『漆黒の闇に包まれた世界がある。そこには一片の白すらない。地獄から生まれた怪物たちが、ただ一つの欲望──貪り尽くすこと──を満たすために現れる。しかし闇の中には、彼らにとって最大の恐怖が潜んでいた。沸騰する怒りに満ちた少年が、ただ一つの目的を胸に抱いて。復讐。悪魔の刃と呼ばれる武器で、あらゆる魔物を斬り裂き、引き裂き、引きずり落とせ。そして最愛の者——水城花音という少女と共にいるために.』
Rain tapped softly against the apartment window in uneven rhythm.
Kanon sat on the small sofa of her Tokyo apartment, one leg crossed, one hand loosely holding a cup of cold tea she forgot to drink. The lights of the city bled through her curtains in thin streaks of gold and navy. Her violet tie was slightly loosened now, the only sign she was alone—no students, no classroom, no mask.
It had been a long day. A long life.
She exhaled slowly.
Earlier, she had attended Iruka and Jill’s wedding in Jewel Land. It was small. Simple. Real. They deserved that much. They deserved peace. And she was… happy for them. Truly.
But happiness for others did not lessen the ache in her chest.
She should’ve gone home right after. But home and lonely were synonyms now.
A picture frame on the coffee table caught her eye. Iruka, Jill, and her. A forced smile on younger Kanon’s face. Iruka trying to look serious and failing because Jill was elbowing him with a grin. Kanon traced the frame with a finger.
Sensei’s a dad now, she thought.
Jill is a mom now.
And somewhere, someone else had made her feel what it was like to almost be their family too.
“You idiot…” she murmured, leaning back. “You dumb, sword-dragging, long-coat wearing idiot…”
Her voice cracked in a breathy laugh she didn’t mean to make. Not funny enough to smile. Not sad enough to cry. The in-between hurt worse.
Elsewhere—in a forest soaked in moonlight and carnage—Sakurā surged forward without hesitation.
A demon lunged at him with a howl.
The Devil’s Blade carved through it in a single brutal upward swing. The demon exploded—green slime spraying like a burst pipe, splattering trees, branches, the ground, and the bottom half of Sakurā’s coat. It dripped, thick and bubbling, steaming faintly in the cold.
Sakurā didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. He never did.
Another demon staggered from the shadows, only to be met with a horizontal cleave that reduced it to nothing but collapsing mass and flying green ichor. It splashed across his cheek, his mechanical arm, his boots.
He blinked once. Slow. Empty.
Opal hovered nearby, wings flicking green droplets off in disgust. “Ew… reminds me of bad slime experiments…”
Diana shook herself off like a wet cat. “He really attracts the messiest demons.”
Sakurā didn’t respond.
That was normal.
Back in Tokyo, Kanon stood from the couch, restless.
She wandered to the window. One hand rested on the glass as thunder rolled somewhere far off.
“You really left without a word…” she whispered.
Her reflection met her gaze. Older. Sharper. Stronger, technically. But hollowed in places no one else could see.
“You owed me an explanation,” she muttered. “Something. Anything.”
Silence answered.
Her jaw tightened with frustration she couldn’t hide even when alone.
“I’m a teacher now, you know,” she said. “I yell at students. Iruka-style. It’s terrifyingly effective. You’d probably say I sound just like him…”
A pause.
“…Idiot.”
Opal glanced at Sakurā, floating beside him as he walked further into the trees, stepping over the dissolved remains of a demon like it was nothing.
“You ever think about her?” she asked softly.
Sakurā kept walking.
Diana sighed. “Of course he does.”
Another moment. The wind carried leaves across his boots.
He didn’t speak.
But his left hand twitched just slightly… toward the inside of his coat, where something folded and paper-thin rested against his chest.
A small photograph.
Worn at the edges.
A girl, her hair longer now, her smile painted over sadness.
Kanon turned from the window.
“No point in hoping,” she said to herself, voice firm now—not broken, not wavering. Practiced. Polished. Armor.
Yet—
“…Stay alive, at least,” she breathed into the silence.
It did not echo.
But somewhere, far away in the deep green dark, a demon hunter stepped over another pool of green slime, and continued walking forward.
Stoic.
Quiet.
And carrying someone’s name in the only place his heart still remembered how to beat.