The rain fell over Tokyo like a silver veil, washing the streets of Shinjuku but unable to cleanse the residual spiritual energy lingering in the air. Kurogane Haruto leaped between rooftops with the grace of a wildcat, his footsteps no louder than the patter of rain against concrete. His black haori, soaked through, clung to his muscular back, but his sword remained dry within its saya—he still didn't consider the fleeing yokai worthy of his sacred blade.
"Stop running, vermin!" Haruto shouted, dodging a metal bucket hurled by invisible hands. The yokai—a third-class Nure-onna—laughed with a voice that echoed like water draining down a pipe.
Then, a mellifluous laugh cut through the sound of the rain.
"What a pathetic samurai," mocked a feminine voice above him.
Before Haruto could react, three silver shuriken sliced through the curtain of rain, each finding its mark with lethal precision. The blades embedded themselves in the yokai's throat, making it shriek before dissolving into purple smoke.
Haruto looked up to see his savior balanced on the tip of a lamppost as if she weighed no more than a feather. The girl—no, the kunoichi—pulled down the cloth covering her face, revealing almond-shaped eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the light around her. Her black hair, wet from the rain, cascaded like an ebony cloak over her shoulders.
"Shizuka Ren," she introduced herself, leaping down to land on the roof beside him without making a sound. "You must be the new recruit. Slow. Loud. Predictable." Her eyes raked over him with disdain. "But at least you know how to hold a sword."
Haruto felt heat rise up his neck. "I didn't need your help, kunoichi."
Ren smiled, revealing slightly pointed canines. "Of course not. That's why you'd been losing the yokai for three blocks."
The sound of footsteps in the rain interrupted his retort. A third figure emerged from the night mist—a tall woman holding a red umbrella that magically deflected every raindrop. The BECS emblem—a golden chrysanthemum on a black background—gleamed on her brooch.
"Kurogane Haruto, Shizuka Ren," announced Fujiwara Ayame, tossing them a pair of paper talismans that floated into their hands. "As of today, you are Squad Kurogane. Your first report is on my desk by tomorrow."
Before either could protest, she vanished in an explosion of sakura petals, leaving behind only the sweet-incense scent that always followed her.
Ren turned to Haruto, her perfume of jasmine and steel invading his senses. "Looks like we're stuck with each other, samurai," she whispered, running her fingers along the sheath of his sword before disappearing into the night like a shadow.
Haruto remained in the rain, his sword pulsing in its saya like a second heartbeat. He had the strange certainty that his life would never be the same again.