The energy in the training hall was thick, charged with expectation.
The five warriors stood firm, their Take Forms now fully manifested.
Watari’s grip tightened, the air thrumming with anticipation.
He could feel the raw presence of Raikou, Kiyohime, Tsukuyomi, Erebus, and Takeminakatastanding beside them—
This was it.
The true test.
And then—
Laughter.
A low chuckle, rippling through the room like a bde slicing through silence.
Ayase smirked, arms crossed, shaking his head.
“You still don’t get it, do you?”
Koharu scoffed, her expression tinged with amusement.
“I told you those fake things wouldn’t work here.”
“Take Form is an invocation. You’re asking for something to manifest. ‘Come Forth’ is a decration. The Chūkan does not answer requests. It answers resolve.”
It happened instantly.
Like mist dissipating under the sun, the forms they had called upon began to falter.
Ryuko’s daggers flickered, fading in and out of existence.
Yumi’s twin sais were gone, her fingers clutching at empty air.
Akira’s Raikou—present but unstable, its drumming off-rhythm, unsteady.
Ren’s katana?
It wasn’t even there.
The realization hit them like a gut punch.
Everything they thought they knew—everything they relied on—was gone.
Watari’s breath hitched.
He looked down at his own Reibaku, still strapped to his side.
Unlike the others, his sword trembled violently, as if alive—
As if screaming at him.
Koharu’s eyes narrowed slightly, an intrigued glint fshing across her gaze.
“Oh?”
The trembling intensified, the very air around Watari shifting.
A deep, pulsing wind spiraled around him.
The others turned, watching as he reached for the hilt, fingers curling around the bde’s grip.
The moment his skin made contact—
The room exploded into motion.
The wind turned violent.
It howled through the hall, spiraling in a frenzied vortex.
The pressure sent loose debris flying, robes whipping wildly in the gust.
The ground cracked beneath Watari’s feet.
The room reacted.
Everyone reacted.
Ren’s eyes widened, instincts fring.
“What the hell is this?!”
Yumi took a cautious step back, shielding her face from the sheer force.
Akira’s usual smirk was gone, repced by something closer to awe.
Even Ryuko—who was never impressed—narrowed his eyes, intrigued.
The energy wasn’t just powerful. It was untamed, yet aware.
Koharu’s smirk widened.
“Interesting… I like this boy.”
Watari stood still in the eye of the storm, his fingers tightening around his weapon.
But he wasn’t wielding it—not yet.
His lips moved, barely audible beneath the roaring wind.
He was talking to it.
The words were lost to the others, but the intent was clear.
A conversation was taking pce, one only he could hear.
He wasn’t commanding the bde.
He was understanding it.
Then—
Everything stopped.
The wind pressure that had threatened to tear the room apart vanished in an instant.
Silence swallowed the hall whole.
Ayase tilted his head, studying Watari closely before exhaling through his nose.
“Hmph.”
A small, satisfied nod.
“Seems someone’s learning fast.”
His eyes flicked to the side.
“Hitomi.”
A single name. A single command.
Hitomi—who had been observing from the sidelines—uncrossed his arms and stepped forward.
“Maybe,” Ayase continued, smirking, “it’s time for you to step in. Wouldn’t want these kids getting too cocky, after all.”
Hitomi walked with unshaken confidence, his gaze locked onto Watari.
No wasted movement. No unnecessary theatrics.
He simply was.
The others watched, silent, waiting.
This was different.
They felt it.
The way the air shifted around him.
The way his presence seeped into every corner of the room without a single word.
Hitomi came to a stop a few feet from Watari, posture rexed but absolute.
He reached for his weapon, gripping the hilt.
Unlike the others, he did not decre Take Form.
He simply exhaled and murmured:
“Come forth, Shirakumo—the White Cloud.”
A pulse.
Mist bloomed into existence, thick and suffocating.
Not a haze. Not an illusion.
A storm of silence.
Everything Watari had felt just moments before—the raw, untamed wind—was crushed beneath this presence.
The only thing he could compare this presence to was Enenra, Yasuke’s form.
Shirakumo’s mist stretched, curled, and consumed the space between them, swallowing the room’s energy whole.
And then—
A single movement.
Watari didn’t see it.
Didn’t hear it.
Didn’t even feel it until it was too te.
A dull thud.
His vision blurred, body lurching backward—something had struck him.
Fast. Too fast.
The impact wasn’t just forceful.
It was surgical. Precise.
As if Hitomi had known exactly where to hit before Watari had even moved.
His back smmed against the floor. Hard.
“Scatter.”
Hitomi’s voice was a whisper, yet it rang louder than any battle cry.
The moment the word left his lips, the battlefield shifted.
The mist swirled—heavier, suffocating—as if the very air had turned against Watari.
Watari barely had time to process the pain before Hitomi was already moving again.
Another strike.
Barely a flicker of movement—but it connected.
Again.
And again.
Each impact sent him sprawling, like a puppet being unraveled at the seams.
Watari gritted his teeth.
This isn’t—!
He pushed forward.
A desperate lunge.
A wild, forceful swing of his bde.
Too slow.
Hitomi had already accounted for it.
His body shifted—effortless, smooth.
Watari’s attack missed by a hair’s breadth.
But before he could react—
Another strike.
The world flipped upside down.
His breath was gone.
His body hit the ground, harder this time.
His arms refused to move.
“You misunderstand power.”
Hitomi’s voice cut through the haze.
Watari gasped for air.
His body refused to respond.
He wasn’t just losing.
He was being humiliated.
His mind spiraled.
Why can’t I nd a single hit?! Why is he so—?!
Then, the fshbacks.
One after another.
Ren’s words:
“Power isn’t just about swinging harder, idiot.”
Yumi’s voice:
“If you can’t trust yourself, how can anyone trust you?”
Kaito’s ugh:
“We’ll see our goals through together, right?”
The orphanage kids’ voices, all of them calling his name—
Takeminakata’s voice rumbled deep in his soul.
“Your bde is only as strong as your conviction. If you doubt yourself, you will never wield me properly.”
Watari’s breath hitched.
“You wield me like a man who waits for permission. Why do you hesitate? A bde that does not trust itself will never strike true.”
The truth crashed into him like a thunderstrike.
It wasn’t that Hitomi was faster, stronger, better.
It was that Watari didn’t believe in himself.
The realization burned through his core.
And then—
Something shifted.
The air stagnated—
A deafening silence before the storm.
Then—
BOOM.
A violent gust erupted from his body, tearing through the mist.
The wind roared, but this time—it wasn’t chaotic.
It was controlled.
It was harnessed.
Takeminakata’s presence expanded.
Then—
Takemikazuchi, Raijin’s Fang, had arrived.
A massive Odachi, its bde longer than any standard katana, forged in the likeness of a storm itself. Jagged lightning-like cracks ran along the edge, glowing faintly with raw, untamed energy, as if the sword itself was barely containing the force of a thousand tempests. Each subtle movement of the bde left behind a lingering hum—the whisper of thunder waiting to strike.
For the first time in the fight, Hitomi paused.
His gaze flickered.
Amused.
Finally, a smirk.
“So you’ve finally stepped into the storm. Try your best not to get swept away.”
Then—
He stepped forward for real.
Cut to bck.
