The moment Watari stepped onto the battlefield, he could tell.
This wasn’t normal.
Twenty men stood before him.
Twenty.
The usual test was five.
This was something else.
The Musabori higher-ups were watching him.
Testing him.
“Do they know?”
He exhales, rolling his shoulders.
“Fine. If they wanted a show, he’d give them one.”
The first wave came fast.
Ten bodies rushed in, weapons raised, shouts overpping into a violent roar.
Watari barely sighed before disappearing between them.
A flicker of motion—his wrist snapped forward.
A pressure point strike.
The first man choked, body locking up.
A spin—heel kick to the jaw.
The second went down before he realized what hit him.
Another lunged—bad move.
Watari twisted low, grabbed the wrist, and redirected the man into his own ally.
A heavy crash.
Two more down.
Seven left.
They hesitated now, realizing brute force wasn’t enough.
The next wave changed tactics.
Three rushed at once, covering angles.
A better approach—but Watari adapted.
Sidestep. Pivot. A well-timed duck.
Their attacks carved through air, missing by inches.
They weren’t fast enough.
He was.
A sharp crack—elbow to the ribs.
One staggered.
Watari snatched a fallen weapon and hurled it—blunt side first—straight into the next man’s temple.
He dropped.
Four left.
Stronger. Smarter.
They fanned out, one circling behind.
Watari grinned.
“Finally.”
The moment the first moved, Watari was already there.
Momentum shift.
A sweep kick. A shoulder check.
He turned their own movement against them, one by one.
Fifteen down.
Five remained.
From the sidelines, whispers started.
“The hell is this kid?”
“He’s… he’s barely a Yoriki, right? But…”
And then—
The final five stepped forward.
Watari adjusted his stance—looser now, weight shifting.
This was the time to end it.
Lightning surged from the cube on his bracelet, crackling along his arm.
The st thing they saw before everything blurred—
“Take Form—Takeminakata.”
Lightning now crackled along his arm, illuminating the battlefield.
A greatsword slowly forms in his hands.
He was done holding back.
?Watari stood amidst the fallen.
Breathing heavy. Body aching.
But he had won.
And yet, as he turned, he realized something.
No one was cpping.
A slow, amused chuckle broke the silence.
A man stepped forward.
Not a normal one.
Not just another brute.
Something about him felt wrong.
“Your test isn’t over yet.”
The Musabori officer smirked.
“Kill them.”
Watari stiffened.
Killing people in general wasn’t his fancy, but killing for an initiation?
That just seemed ridiculous to him.
He stared at the man.
“They lost. Pretty convincingly. Shouldn’t that be enough?”
Then—his greatsword began to disappear.
The officer’s smirk widened.
“You think you get to decide, boy?”
Before Watari could react—
A blur of movement.
A spray of blood.
The Musabori officer cut down the unconscious initiates without hesitation.
Just like that, the men Watari had spared were dead.
His breath hitched.
His hands curled into fists.
“The only way to join the Musabori…” the man murmured, cleaning his bde,
”…is through blood.”
Watari didn’t move.
His fingers curled instinctively. His jaw tightened.
The men he’d just fought—he’d spared them. Left them alive.
And now?
They were nothing but blood on the floor.
A slow, bitter breath left his lips.
So that’s how it is here, huh?
The Musabori officer watched him, unreadable.
“What’s wrong, recruit?”
He took a step forward.
“You hesitated.”
For the first time, Watari felt it.
Suspicion.
This man—whoever he was—had seen through him.
”…and hesitation gets you killed.”
His voice was smooth, authoritative, yet ced with a quiet menace.
Watari swallowed hard, his mind racing.
He had been prepared to act the part, to fake his way through this initiation, but this?
Killing the unconscious?
That wasn’t a battle, that was execution.
