Tokyo: Proving one's position from behind the scenes

Adachi Ward General Hospital, third floor.

The incandescent lights in the corridor were a bit too bright. On the counter at the nurses' station, there was a bunch of carnations in a plastic bottle. The edges of the petals had turned yellow, as if they hadn't been changed for a while.

Nagayama Akira walked in through the fire door of the stairwell, his footsteps silent.

The concealment spell blended him seamlessly into the shadows of the corridor. With his improved cultivation and increased proficiency in spells, he could now cast this spell without leaving a trace. A nurse walked past him, carrying a stainless steel tray, her steps hurried, her gaze fixed straight ahead, completely unaware of his presence so close at hand.

Akira Nagayama did not linger in the corridor, but walked along the shadows of the wall to the single room at the end of the corridor.

The room was small, containing a hospital bed, a bedside table, a folding chair, and an old-fashioned air conditioner hanging on the wall. The curtains were drawn; they were made of a very thin blue fabric, and the streetlights outside shone through, casting a blurry orange hue on the curtains.

There was a label on the hospital bed that read "Nobuko Yoshida" with a line of smaller print next to it, which included the attending physician's name and the bed number.

A girl was lying in the hospital bed.

She was fourteen, or looked fourteen. Her face was small, with prominent cheekbones that jutted out from under her skin, and her cheeks were sunken, as if she hadn't eaten properly in a long time. Her hair was spread out on the pillow, black, and somewhat dry and split. Her lips were pale, almost white, and slightly parted, her breathing slow and even.

An IV catheter was inserted into the back of her right hand, the thin, transparent tube connected to a bag of saline solution hanging by the bedside. Electrodes for the electrocardiogram monitor were attached below her bare collarbone, several colored wires extending from the collar of her hospital gown and connecting to the machine at the bedside. Green waveforms flickered on the machine's screen, emitting a short beep every few seconds.

Akira Nagayama stood by the bed, looking down at her.

His fingers twitched in his pocket, and the illusory images of three copper coins flashed between his fingertips before disappearing. The divination result was clear, exactly the same as what he had calculated at the shrine—the [Zui Huo] destiny, a flickering fire, perfectly matching the imagery of spark iron.

Nobuko Yoshida, Sho Yoshida's younger sister.

On the night the evil spirit was born from the barren land of water, the Metropolitan Police Department brought her back from Gifu and made her stand in front of that building to see if the evil spirit would react to her. The evil spirit did react—it lunged at her. Two officers were injured on the spot, and Nobuko Yoshida was struck by the evil spirit's chilling aura and remains unconscious. The waveforms on her electrocardiogram show that her vital signs are relatively stable, but she simply cannot wake up.

Akira Nagayama extended his right hand, joined his index and middle fingers together, and gently touched Nobuko Yoshida's forehead.

The magic seeped into her fingertips, probing her spiritual center along her meridians. Her senses pierced through a hazy barrier, like passing through a thick fog, and then—

Dream.

The sky was a uniform, lifeless gray-white, with no sun or clouds.

The wind was strong. A silent, continuous wind, like something breathing slowly deep within the earth. The wind carried fine sand and grit, which stung my face slightly.

Human bones were everywhere.

The grayish-white bone fragments gleamed dimly in the grayish-white light of the sky. The wind whistled through the gaps in the bones, making extremely faint whistling sounds, like countless mouths sighing simultaneously in a very, very far place.

In the center of the pile of bones, there is a throne made of human bones, and sitting on the throne is a human.

He was a full size larger than normal, with broad shoulders and thick arms. He wore a gray kimono with wide sleeves, the fabric of which looked thick, and the hem spread out on the throne.

He has four arms.

His two upper arms rested naturally on the armrests of the throne, his fingers long and slender with black nails. His two lower arms were crossed in front of his chest, his hands loosely clenched into fists, the pads of his thumbs resting against the knuckles.

He has two faces.

The front of the face is deep-set, with long, narrow eyebrows and eyes, a high nose, and a slightly upturned mouth with a nonchalant, condescending smile. The skin is light brown, and black tattoos are distributed on the cheeks and forehead, with intricate patterns that extend from the brow bone to the jawline, resembling totems that would only appear in some kind of sacrificial ritual.

There's another face on the side. It's on the same head, extending from the front face, sharing the same jawbone. The side face has its eyes closed, its expression peaceful, as if it's asleep. It also has tattoos on its face, symmetrical to the patterns on the front.

Two-sided Su Nuo.

In Nobuko Yoshida's dream, the image of that demon appeared in this world for the first time, appearing on the throne of human bones.

She stood a dozen paces in front of the throne, barefoot, wearing the blue and white striped hospital gown. Her body trembled slightly from an uncontrollable fear welling up from the depths of her soul. Her legs felt like lead; she wanted to retreat but couldn't move, wanted to scream but couldn't make a sound.

The demon on the throne stirred.

He shifted his posture, loosening his arms which had been crossed over his chest. He raised one hand and casually rubbed the back of his index finger against his chin. The fingernail scraped against his skin, making a soft, rustling sound, like a blade gently gliding across a whetstone.

"Nobuko Yoshida."

The sound wasn't loud, but the entire space vibrated. As the sound waves spread, subtle ripples appeared in the gray-white sky, and the scattered human bones on the ground began to tremble slightly, colliding with each other and making soft, crackling sounds.

Do you hate it?

Nobuko Yoshida's pupils suddenly contracted.

hatred?

She thought of her mother. The last phone call her mother received was in front of her. She hadn't heard what the person on the other end said, but she remembered her mother's expression clearly after she hung up—not sadness, not anger, but a deeper, more profound despair, as if her entire being had been hollowed out. The next morning, she woke up to find her mother hanging from the beam. Standing in the doorway, looking up, she saw her mother's face was bluish-purple, her tongue protruding slightly, her eyes not fully closed, the whites of her eyes bloodshot.

She thought of her brother. Her brother, Yoshida Sho. The brother who always smiled and said, "It's okay." The next time they met was at the Metropolitan Police Department's forensic division; her brother, who had been in the freezer, had become a pale, bizarre corpse with a hole in his chest.

"Those people should all be killed."

Nobuko Yoshida's voice was forced out of her throat. It was hoarse and trembling, but every word was enunciated clearly.

"Those who drove my mother to her death, those who sent me to Gifu, those who killed my brother—they all deserve to die."

Ryomen Sukuna laughed.

It wasn't a sinister laugh, nor a maniacal one, but a genuine laugh, the kind that comes from the heart, as if he'd heard an answer that truly satisfied him. He laughed loudly, the sound echoing in the grey sky, making the scattered human bones on the ground tremble like autumn leaves. The laughter lasted a long time, then abruptly stopped.

"it is good."

His four arms moved simultaneously. The two upper arms rose from the armrests, and the two lower arms spread out in front of his chest, palms facing upwards. The smile on his face faded slightly, replaced by a serious expression; the curve of his lips changed from flamboyant to a composed smile, as if he were discussing a business deal.

"I'll give you a weapon and my fire spell. Go and take your revenge."

His voice slowed down, and he spoke each word carefully.

"In exchange, you'll help me collect my fingers scattered across the world. Twenty fingers, scattered throughout the island nation. Once you find them, keep them safe, and when you find a suitable container, let him eat them all."

Nobuko Yoshida looked at him.

The two arms of the two-faced Sukuna slowly lowered, returning to their original positions. The top two rested on the armrests, while the bottom two crossed over his chest. His profile remained closed, his expression calm, as if he had no idea who the person in front of him was talking to.

"The fire spell I'm giving you is called 'Vajra Wrathful Form'."

He raised his right hand, and a dark red light shone from the tip of his index finger. The dark red light shot out from the fingertip and entered Yoshida Nobuko's brow.

In an instant, a flood of information rushed into her consciousness. The "Wrathful Vajra" was a series of images—a wrathful Vajra with wide-open eyes, covered in flames, holding a sword, and trampling a struggling Mara beneath his feet. The Vajra in the images had three faces and eight arms, and flames burst forth from his body, burning away all impurities.

"With anger in your heart and fire as your sword, none of those who owe you blood will escape."

The sound of the two-faced Su Nuo echoed in my consciousness.

"When you wake up, there will be a weapon lying beside you. Take it and kill whoever you want to kill."

His form began to fade. The gray kimono, the four arms, the throne of human bones, the gray sky, the bones scattered everywhere—everything began to crumble like smoke blown away by the wind.

"Remember our deal. You help me find my finger, and I'll give you the power to take revenge. A fair deal, no cheating the young or old."

The last trace of sound vanished into nothingness.

reality.

Nobuko Yoshida's eyelids twitched suddenly.

Akira Nagayama stood by the hospital bed, withdrawing his fingers from between her eyebrows. His right hand took out a small porcelain bottle labeled with the character "fire" from his sleeve.

Remove the bottle cork.

A sweltering heat emanated from the bottle, the lingering warmth of a stove, like the residual heat rising from the bottom of a pot while cooking with firewood. The heat spread throughout the ward, and the petals of the carnations on the bedside table curled slightly at a visible speed, as if they had been gently roasted by something.

[Embers and Qi in the kitchen].

【Zui Fire】A type of True Qi, of low rank, third grade. It's like the embers in a stove, neither blazing fiercely nor suddenly extinguished; it's a gentle, simmering fire that can stay burning all night. Flickering, but never extinguished. It's perfectly suited for guiding Qi into the body of someone with the 【Zui Fire】 destiny.

The grayish-red true qi flowed from the bottle's mouth, like a wisp of smoke compressed to its limit, its color between dark red and gray, carrying tiny, almost invisible specks of light. It drifted from the bottle's mouth towards Yoshida Nobuko's dantian and disappeared directly into it, like a drop of water falling onto a red-hot iron, emitting an extremely faint hissing sound.

The magical power advanced along the path he guided. She possessed the [Beak Fire] destiny within her, which resonated with the [Stove Ember Qi]. All he had to do was help her complete the first step of drawing Qi into her body, and then let the [Vajra Wrathful Form] operate on its own.

The "Wrathful Vajra Form" is a practice from a previous life of a practitioner of the "Beak Fire" lineage, which follows the path of nourishing fire with anger. As long as there is anger in the heart, the fire will not be extinguished; the anger comes and goes quickly, aligning with the imagery of "Beak Fire." Yoshida Nobuko's anger was precisely the best fuel for this flame.

The last meridian is connected.

The operational path of the Vajra Wrathful Form clearly emerged in her consciousness, perfectly matching the images transmitted to her by the two-faced Sukuna. Her magical power began to gather in her dantian, and a wisp of extremely faint grayish-red magical power condensed from nothing into form, like a newly ignited spark—weak, but inextinguishable.

Early stage of Qi cultivation.

Nagayama Akira withdrew his right hand and took out the piece of spark iron from his storage bag.

The fist-sized iron block lay quietly in his palm, its dark red luster flickering like breathing. His left hand formed a forging incantation, and the power of the [Ghost Gold] technique surged from his fingertips, transforming into countless extremely fine golden threads that completely enveloped the spark iron.

The forging process is quick.

Spark Iron is a spirit object of the "Beak Fire" element, possessing the virtues of both metal and fire, which are beneficial for forging. Nagayama Akira used the power of "Demon Metal" as his hammer and the forging technique as his anvil, stretching, extending, and shaping the Spark Iron. The dark red iron block began to deform under the wrapping of golden threads, gradually elongating, widening, and thinning from an irregular lump of iron slag. The edges were smoothed by magical power, and the rough texture of the surface was pressed into a fine, flame-like pattern.

Fire overcomes metal. In the previous life, it was rare for a metal-element cultivator to forge a fire-element artifact. However, the Dao wisdom at the Purple Mansion level and the sluggish spiritual atmosphere of this world made it feasible to forge fire with metal.

The magical artifact was forged, a heavy sword taking shape—double-edged, with a thick back and a wide blade that remained relatively consistent in width from tip to tip, forming a slender trapezoidal shape. The blade was dark red, with flowing flame-like patterns on its surface, alternating between light and dark, perfectly mirroring the luster of spark iron itself.

Akira Nagayama placed the greatsword to Nobuko Yoshida's right, with the hilt pressed against her palm.

The moment the sword hilt touched her palm, the magic power within her body pulsed slightly, as if in response.

Akira Nagayama stood up, took a step back, and enveloped himself in concealment magic once more. He turned and walked silently toward the door. He stopped at the doorway and glanced back at Nobuko Yoshida on the hospital bed. Her hand was already gripping the hilt of the greatsword, like a drowning person grasping at the last piece of driftwood.