One day had passed since the outcasts vanished into the mists, leaving behind only scorched earth, fractured stone, and the cold echo of a failed mission. Their goal—to capture Haru, the vessel of Chernobog—had crumbled beneath the weight of unforeseen resistance. Reinforcements had begun to pour in from the outer provinces of Yami. The Shadow Organization's offensive had been broken.
But the cost was far from trivial.
Beneath the central shrine of Yami, in a chamber choked with incense and lit only by wavering candlelight, Gaki stood alone. Sweat clung to his brow despite the cold stillness of the subterranean air. Before him, elevated on thrones of blackened obsidian, sat the Higher Circle—the Elders of Yami, ancient and unyielding.
Gaki's voice cut through the smoke like a blade. "I've lost access to my shadow style. It's sealed… trapped within a cursed relic during the battle. I fought without it. But I cannot protect the village like this."
The silence was immediate and heavy.
Then, from behind him, a voice rang out, calm and resolute.
"I'll do it."
Koumei Kurosaki emerged from the darkness, his ceremonial robes etched in silver threads that shimmered like moonlight on still water. Tall, composed, and commanding, he moved with the grace of someone who had long since accepted the burden of consequence.
"I'll retrieve your shadow style," he said. "I'll take the curse, find the relic, and return it to you."
Gaki turned, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "That curse could kill you."
Koumei gave a faint smile—one tinged with pride and sorrow. "You're meant to lead, little brother. I'm just here to make sure you live long enough to do it."
The elders did not object. They merely watched with eyes that had seen too much and spoken too little.
Above, in the highest tower of Yami, the current King—Kousei the Fourth—was already taking action. Defenses were reinforced. Patrols doubled. Ancient protocols, locked away for generations, were being revived. The surprise attack would not happen again. Not under his reign.
The Council launched a full investigation. Spies were deployed to far-off provinces, ancient ruins, and the dark places buried beneath Yami's foundations. The Shadow Organization was no longer just a myth—it was now an enemy of the state. And it would be hunted.
Far beyond the city's reach, Koumei led his team of three—disciples chosen not for strength alone, but for loyalty and unshakeable clarity—into the forgotten paths of the Black Dusk Basin. A place long erased from Yami's records, it thrummed with cursed energy and twisted chakra fields. Here, the illusions peeled back. The shadows took form.
They discovered crumbling monoliths etched with unspoken languages. Forests distorted by chakra burns. Tunnels that reeked of cursed seals and forbidden rites. They had found the threshold of the Shadow Organization's dominion.
And so, Day One of infiltration began.
And for the first time, the faceless war in the dark began to reveal its teeth.
Elsewhere, on the outer wall of Kage no Daigaku, two students sat in silence beneath the rising sun. Kimikage and Katakuichi—both caught in the crosswinds of revelation—watched the village stir below.
Katakuichi's jaw was tight, fists clenched in his lap. "I didn't come here to be a hero," he said. "I came to train. To sharpen myself. To kill my sister. That was all."
Kimikage said nothing. He watched the light stretch across the rooftops, chasing the night away.
"But she showed me something," Katakuichi continued. "Something I wasn't ready to see. Yami… it's not what I thought. Maybe it never was."
He looked away, his voice hollow. "She's not the monster they told me she was. Maybe I've been on the wrong side this whole time."
Kimikage's gaze dropped to his hands. "I joined because of Gaki," he said quietly. "He saved me. I wanted to be like him. Protect the village. Protect my family."
His tone hardened with the weight of betrayal. "But how do you protect something built on secrets? On blood and lies?"
Katakuichi didn't answer for a long moment.
Then, almost reluctantly, he asked, "So… what do we do?"
Kimikage looked toward the heart of Yami, where the spires pierced the sky and the shadow of the council stretched like a noose.
…I don't know," he said. "But staying here without answers feels like choosing to be blind."
They said nothing more.
The sun continued to rise, and the shadow of the central tower crept slowly across the courtyard, long and cold—like a hand reaching outward, waiting to grasp what remained.
But far beyond Yami's borders, deep within the hollow chambers of the Shadow Organization, another hand was moving.
Kuzu Endo stood alone in a sanctum lined with relics of broken warriors and forgotten gods. The air was bitter with ash and whispers of the dead. Before him knelt a figure—silent, still, and cloaked in the remnants of his former self.
Sensei Shidou.
His eyes, once warm and patient, now glowed faintly with corruption—shadow-forged, buried beneath layers of manipulation and curse.
Kuzu Endo stepped forward, a twisted smile curling on his lips.
"It's time," he murmured. "Go back. Pretend nothing has changed. Act normal. Teach them. Guide them."
He leaned close.
"And when the moment comes—take Haru."
Kuzu Endo turned away, his voice echoing like a prophecy down the obsidian halls.
"The vessel belongs to me. And this time… there will be no mistakes."