At noon, our protagonist woke up startled, his body drenched in sweat. His eyes reflected a disturbing mix of fear and confusion.
"Gallael…" he murmured, as if calling someone distant. And, indeed, he was. The bastard was beyond his reach — and perhaps would never return.
The words emerged weighed down by the anguish of a nightmare, the suffocating burden of a "what if" that had never come to pass. His exhaustion slipped from his lips in a whisper, dissolving into the air like a final trace.
Fragments of the dream still lingered in his mind — vivid memories of a blade's echo, the sticky heat of blood on his clothes, the biting cold seeping into his bones. His breath came in short bursts, keeping pace with the frantic beat of his heart, hammering against his chest as if trying to escape.
His eyes roamed the room, slowly sliding over the chaos around him. A shirt hung from the door, forgotten. Shoes lay next to the bed, ready to topple. On the nightstand, his pants were carelessly sprawled, composing a scene of disarray that echoed the storm in his mind.
"Could it be?" he asked himself, slapping his own face in frustration, followed by an irritated sigh; the anger still haunted him. "Shit, I drank too much… my head's a mess!" He got up without dressing.
Slowly, bit by bit, what had happened began to fragment in his mind. He remembered the embarrassing laughter, the shameful moments… He even danced on a chair.
That girl… Amai… from the café had taken him to a bar. For a moment, his mind, unable to rest amid the inner chaos, considered absurd ideas — like the possibility that she wanted to rape him or sell his organs.
But as he pushed aside those stupid thoughts and looked around again, his eyes landed on the counter. Something caught his attention: a note written on a piece of paper.
On it, the message read:
"As soon as you wake up, message me; let's head out on our first mission!"
He read it with disdain and sighed.
We're doing what? I'm out! he thought, grabbing a towel from the wardrobe as he headed to the shower, trying to push away the morning's unsettling thoughts.
Work, already? No, that was too much even for a slacker like him.
Women! Ah, women! he exclaimed, lost in his own mental confusion before entering the bathroom. He tried to make sense of things… even the simplest ones…
He was restless, like an agitated dog, unable to cope with the turmoil around him. He crossed the apartment hallway, full of disorder — an inexplicable mess born of alcohol and mental exhaustion, clouding his thoughts. After all, he lived like a zombie, and now, a zombie without responsibility…
When he reached the bathroom, he noticed the blood he had vomited still stained the glass shower walls and the floor.
"No one's going to clean this up, huh?" he shouted out loud. Then rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, disgusted with the state of the place.
"Damn it!"
Then he realized: it was just him. Who else should do it?
Many teenagers were like him… well, anyway…
As he sank into his dismay, outside, the day began with a blinding glare, the morning light burning the horizon with an almost unbearable heat. The asphalt sizzled under the intensity of the dawn, creating an arid and empty scene. People, consumed by extreme fatigue, struggled against their lack of will.
It was the hottest day in a hundred cycles, turning the city into a suffocating desert. Amid that heat, two men were discussing business in a bar in the Sangai district — a more modest area, home to illegal foreigners, or Aijians, those without the pure blood of Saisho natives.
To contextualize this purism, it was as if the "true Aijians" were only the Japanese, while the rest were considered impure races. After all, the empire was governed by the nation-state that had won the Great War.
"Seven hundred thousand yen?! What the hell! Can't you cut me a deal?" complained Hugo, seated on the left with his legs crossed, wearing a pink suit, a flower pinned to his watch pocket.
Always eccentric, as usual.
"Come on, cheapskate, you spend half that amount every week on booze!" retorted the tall, slightly grumpy young man on the right. He wore a tight gray shirt that emphasized his muscles and drew Hugo Moreau's gaze, who sipped his drink distractedly, savoring both the liquor and the conversation.
He had a physique like an athlete, with the build of a bodybuilder.
"So what? My luxurious lifestyle has its price…"
"Yeah, I know it well…"
"But anyway, you'll get that amount for Diego Romero's head. And let me warn you, my friend, he's a level five exorcist with refined skills…" He pulled an envelope from his suit and placed it on the table. "Here's all the information on the target: his methods, techniques, and we'll provide everything you need to make sure you succeed… guaranteed!" he declared.
He then grabbed a vodka glass from the table and drank with some nervousness, feeling the momentary relief the alcohol gave him, freeing him from his burdens, even if only for a few seconds.
"Grade five?"
"Mhm…"
"Well, those kinds of exorcists are cautious and have sharp sensory abilities. You can't expect him to burn all his energy at once. Either way, I don't need anything else!" he concluded, holding a can of orange soda.
He grabbed the envelope with his other hand, pinching it by the corners, a half-smile curling on his face.
"Erh… don't tell me all that technical detail, that's your part, stud…" he said, taking another sip while his eyes followed an old man slowly riding by on a bicycle, a bundle of bread in the basket.
Just some poor guy… But who was he to care? Especially he, with such questionable morals.
He almost laughed, but…
He paused briefly before continuing:
"But tell me, Tamashiro, this pact you made… was it worth it?" he asked, curiosity in his eyes.
"Hold on…"
He paused, burped, then furrowed his brow toward his contractor, exhaling a smug sigh.
"My daughter is alive, isn't she?" A playful grin on his lips.
"Of course she is!" he confirmed, light and amused. "But still, you haven't changed, huh? You didn't grow a second personality or… sprout bat wings, did you?" he added, letting out a soft laugh, the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.
"Oh, naturally!" with a nod. "You had to make a joke like that, didn't you? But no… I'm still the same idiot as always! Hahaha!"
"You never change! It's pointless — there are solid men and then there are guys like you…"
"Like me?" he arched a brow, intrigued.
"Stubborn fools!"
Hearing that, he glanced at the clock above the doorway and let out a low chuckle.
"Well… either way, it was a pleasure seeing you again, old friend!" standing up and extending a hand with a smile. "You should hire me more often for jobs like this. This bar gets emptier every day… the economy's rough even for reckless drunks!" he said, casting a glance around as if absorbing the melancholic atmosphere.
The tables and chairs were stacked atop each other, made of dark wood, and the space was devoid of staff. The yellow walls showed signs of wear, while glasses on the counter still held remnants of drinks from the night before.
As they talked, Hugo remained attentive, catching every word with interest, until he noticed a certain urgency in the other's eyes and tone, as if something pressing awaited him.
"I can imagine… so, plans?"
"Amane's getting out of school soon. I wish I could stay and talk more, but…" His smile carried a nostalgic glimmer as his eyes fell on his companion's arm, as if remembering simpler, carefree times.
"I understand…"
"If you want to call me for demon exorcising too… for money, I'm in!"
"Demons? How ironic… Wouldn't the demon inside you be furious?" he said, standing and adjusting his suit with a refined gesture. Placing three one-thousand yen bills on the table, he continued: "Anyway, I can find you more gigs. If we weren't friends and your late wife weren't my sister…" he admitted, a hint of discomfort coloring his words.
"Don't start with that…" lowering his hand and turning toward the entrance.
Tamashiro, almost half a meter taller, reached the ceiling lights.
"Well, see you soon?"
"See you soon!" his friend teased, also turning toward the exit. "I'd like to see Amane, but… well, maybe she shouldn't be a victim of this world, not like my sister was. You get that, right?" For the first time, he spoke with seriousness.
"That will depend solely on her. But when this little drama of yours ends, stop by!" Walking toward the exit.
Moments later, the man left the bar, and the owner slammed the gate shut, ending business from that point on.
"When I'm done, I'll stop by, but I can't promise anything, alright?" pulling his car key from his pocket, unlocking the limousine parked across the street.
"Alright, if you come, let me know ahead of time, and I'll do something special!" he turned his back decisively and headed toward his motorcycle, a black Ducati Superleggera parked nearby.
"You got it…"
As he walked away, ready to leave, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. When he pulled it out, he saw a notification with a headline splashed across the continent's largest newspaper, NTNews:
"To you, who's tired of seeing lies sold as truth, who couldn't bear the pain caused by the order that controls everything.
We rebel against the exorcists, who crush those who dare to think differently. Against the Church of Elum, which preaches faith while ignoring humanity. Against this Empire, which lets the rich rise and the poor decay.
And we invite you to raise your head and walk beside us. We no longer needed change imposed on us; we needed to be the change."
"We'll build a place where lies are buried and justice is more than a hollow promise. A place where everyone has the chance to breathe, to live, and finally be who they truly are.
The time is now. Let's create the world we're owed. An enlightened world!"
His gaze lingered on the screen for a moment, reflecting on the message's content.
What the hell is this?
It was unbelievable.
"Your courage will be the spark that ignites the flame. By joining us — not as a mere spectator, but as part of this revolution — the change many deemed impossible will become real, and essential for the ultimate transformation!
It will be your fight, your choices, that make that radiant future real. It won't just be our victory — it will be yours too. You'll be part of it. One of us. Someone enlightened!"
He read to the end. Once finished, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to absorb what he had just read. Then, he started the car and slammed the door shut, shattering the calm and light-heartedness that had filled the moment before.
"Shit, so those bastards dropped this bomb on us? Just like that?" he raged. "And Kyotaka wanted to give this bastard more time… Shit… he didn't go down without the powder grazing our faces first… goddamn it!" He almost broke the steering wheel with a single slap.
From that moment on, the stage of the enlightened was set…
They had made the first move!