Chapter 1
The steady hum of the overhead lights was the only sound in the Hollow Special Operations Section Six office, save for the occasional rustle of papers under weary fingers. Hoshimi Miyabi sat at her desk, posture rigid, eyes scanning the latest mission report. The clock on the wall read well past midnight, but she ignored it—just as she ignored the tightness in her shoulders and the exhaustion weighing at the edges of her mind. The ink on the pages blurred slightly, her vision straining from the long hours, but she refused to stop.
A quiet knock sounded at the door. Tsukishiro Yanagi didn’t wait for permission before stepping inside, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“Still at it, Chief?” Her voice carried no judgment, only familiarity.
Miyabi didn’t look up. “These reports won’t finish themselves.”
Yanagi sighed, stepping further in, her movements unhurried but deliberate. "You should rest. Even you have limits."
Miyabi knew she was right. She always was. But admitting it—acknowledging that she wasn’t as untouchable as she pretended to be—was something else entirely. She tightened her grip on the papers, as if bracing against the suggestion.
“Did you need something?” she asked instead, her voice sharper than intended.
Yanagi didn’t flinch, nor did she comment on it. Instead, she reached into a small bag and pulled out a still-warm cup of tea, setting it down on the desk without a word. The rich scent of roasted barley and honey curled into the space between them—grounding, familiar. Miyabi’s fingers hovered over the ceramic, hesitant, before finally wrapping around the warmth. A tension she hadn’t noticed in her shoulders eased slightly.
Yanagi took a seat across from her, arms crossed, watching in that quiet way she always did. Her gaze was steady, assessing—not with the sharp calculation she reserved for battle, but something softer, more patient. Behind the faint glint of her glasses, Miyabi saw something else—concern, yes, but also trust. Unspoken and absolute. It was the kind of trust that felt weighty, that demanded acknowledgment. And for a fleeting moment, it almost unsettled her. A silent presence, an unwavering shadow.
Miyabi took a slow sip, the heat sinking into her, slow and steady. She exhaled, the sound barely audible but somehow deafening in the quiet room. “Thank you.”
Yanagi’s lips quirked upward in the faintest of smiles. “It’s what a deputy does.”
A pause. Then, Miyabi set the tea down carefully. “You do more than that.”
Yanagi tilted her head, intrigued but saying nothing. She had long since learned that Miyabi never spoke without reason.
“You keep the team together. You make sure I don’t break.”
Yanagi’s expression softened, her lips curving in a near-imperceptible smile, the sharpness in her eyes easing into something gentler, something meant only for Miyabi to see. She adjusted her glasses, the motion deliberate. “You won’t break, Chief. Not with me here.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the quiet ticking of the clock. Outside, the world kept moving. Inside, for just a moment, they could breathe.
Miyabi let her gaze linger on Yanagi for a second longer than she meant to before returning to the report. The words were still there, the responsibilities still pressing—but somehow, the weight of them felt just a little lighter.
And Yanagi stayed, just as she always did. Miyabi let the quiet presence settle around her, a warmth she wasn’t sure she deserved but found herself holding onto anyway. For once, she allowed herself to believe—if only for a moment—that she wasn’t carrying everything alone.
The Hollow operation had been a disaster waiting to happen.
They were supposed to secure an abandoned research facility on the outskirts of New Eridu. Intelligence reported minimal Hollow activity—an in-and-out mission. But nothing ever went as planned. The moment Section Six set foot inside, the air became thick with distortion, the walls flickering between reality and anomaly.
“Chief, we’ve got movement—” Yanagi’s voice crackled through the comms just as the ambush began.
They were surrounded.
Shadowy figures, twisted and unrecognizable, moved through the ruined corridors. A standard containment mission had turned into a fight for survival. Miyabi’s blade cut through the air, slicing through the creatures with precision, but they kept coming, a seemingly endless wave of Hollow-born horrors.
Yanagi fought beside her, moving with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. The lenses of her glasses flashed in the dim, distorted light as she surveyed their surroundings with sharp precision. Soukaku’s laughter echoed through the comms, a sure sign she was enjoying the chaos, but even she was beginning to sound breathless. "Too many to count!" she called out, her voice crackling through the static. "Masamasa, keep up! We’ve got to punch a hole through these things!"
A blur of steel and shifting shadows followed her declaration as she tore through the Hollow monstrosities with reckless precision, a whirlwind of deadly strikes. Harumasa, ever the steady counterbalance, shifted his weapon—a bow that seamlessly split into twin blades—striking in measured, deliberate arcs to cover her openings. The two fought in perfect rhythm, pushing forward with relentless force, carving a path toward Miyabi and Yanagi.
Then, it happened.
Miyabi didn’t see where it came from—one moment, she was parrying a strike, the next, she was sent flying into a crumbling wall. A sharp pain erupted in her ribs, her breath leaving her in a choked gasp.
“Miyabi!” Yanagi’s voice, sharp and uncharacteristically alarmed, barely registered through the ringing in her ears.
For the first time in years, Miyabi felt fear. Not of death, not of pain, but of weakness. Of failure.
She struggled to push herself up, her vision spinning. The creatures closed in.
And then Yanagi was there.
She moved like a storm, her retractable naginata flashing in the dim light, cutting down the enemies before they could reach Miyabi. Her usually calm expression was dark with something dangerously close to rage. The glint of her glasses did nothing to mask the fire in her eyes.
“Stay with me, Chief,” she murmured as she pulled Miyabi up, steady hands gripping her shoulders. “Can you move?”
Miyabi forced herself to stand, ignoring the pain. “I’m not done yet.”
Yanagi let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Didn’t think you were.”
They fought back-to-back, cutting a path to safety. Soukaku and Harumasa covered their exit, their usual banter absent, replaced by tense coordination. When they finally reached extraction, there was no celebration—only the heavy weight of survival.
The emergency lights flickered inside the transport vehicle as they returned to HQ. Miyabi sat still, her uniform torn, the pain in her ribs a dull throb. Yanagi sat beside her, watching in silence, glasses slightly askew from the fight.
“You scared me back there,” Yanagi admitted after a long pause.
Miyabi turned her head, surprised. “I didn’t think you scared easily.”
Yanagi gave her a sidelong look, something unreadable in her expression. “Maybe I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I want to see you like that again.”
Miyabi stole a glance at Yanagi, catching the way the dim light reflected in her lenses—steady, unwavering, carrying an intensity she couldn't quite name.