sages of destruction

The late afternoon sun spilled golden light across the quiet Kyoto streets. Inosun, Reo, and Yoshino walked side-by-side, their schoolbags swaying gently. The conversation was warm, casual—just friends winding down after a long day.

“So…” Yoshino sighed, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk. “Midterm results are out. I don’t think I’ll ever understand physics. Thirty out of a hundred… that’s basically a crime.”

Reo chuckled, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Don’t feel bad. Some of us are born for numbers, some aren’t. Speaking of numbers—top score in math, right here.” He smirked.

Inosun didn’t gloat or tease. Instead, he pulled a rolled-up sketch from his bag. “And some of us are born for art,” he said quietly. Unrolling the paper revealed a bold, perfectly shaded drawing of Sung Jinwoo, every line precise and alive with energy.

“Whoa,” Yoshino’s eyes widened. “You drew that?”

“Hundred in arts,” Inosun replied with a small grin. “Guess I’m the Sung Jinwoo of the pencil.”

They laughed—but far away, in the shadows of an old temple, two cloaked figures watched them. The wind carried faint whispers.

From the alleys, figures in dark robes emerged — members of the Cult of the Twin Soul. Before the friends could react, hands covered their mouths, ropes bound their wrists, and the world went black.

---

When Inosun opened his eyes, he was in a cold, damp room. Dim lantern light flickered over cruel faces.

“They will restore the Twin Souls,” a cultist hissed.

The beating started. Harsh blows, mocking insults, and laughter. Reo’s lip bled, Yoshino trembled, but Inosun’s glare never wavered.

“Enough,” he said through clenched teeth. “You touch them again, and you’ll regret it.”

The cultists dragged him to a darker chamber. There, they drew a syringe and plunged it into his arm. But every time they tried to take his blood, it melted into steam in their hands, burning their skin.

“Impossible…” one muttered.

“His blood rejects us,” another spat.

Frustrated, they stuffed all three into a truck bound for Africa — a one-way trip to execution.

---

What the cult didn’t know was that the miracle talisman hidden in Inosun’s clothes had already activated, sending a silent signal to Vice Captain Yoshini Jinhuu of the Kyoto Jinkai High Defense District.

The truck screeched to a halt as explosions lit up the night. Yoshini stepped out of the smoke, his blade glinting in the moonlight.

“You picked the wrong students,” he said coldly.

But before he could free them, a gun pressed against Inosun’s head. The trigger pulled.

---

When Inosun awoke, he was lying in a hospital bed, the scent of antiseptic filling the room. Reo and Yoshino were beside him, both bandaged but alive.

The door slid open. Vice Captain Yoshini entered, his sharp eyes studying them.

“You,” he said to Inosun. “You broke the Rioten Curse… didn’t you?”

Silence.

He finally sighed. “Then you have no choice. All three of you will transfer to Kyoto Jinkai High Defense Training Base. You’re targets now — and the war has just begun.”

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