PART ONE, CHAPTER FIFTEEN: "GUST"

-THE GOLDEN BOY & THE INNER CITY-

The school presented quite a scene as one passed through its halls. Damaged windows, chipped tiles, cracked walling- no doubt the aftermath of the exercise that had continued after my exclusion. From what I could tell, the lower floors had assuredly suffered more damage, but those were of little interest to me. I had maneuvered these halls earlier in the day, and thus, I knew how to reach the school's roof. With each step I felt an unfamiliar chill in the pit of my stomach.

What is this feeling, I wonder?

It could not possibly be related to my future endeavors on the roof. After all, the superior and most splendid Satou Shibuya had no intentions of conceding to a- a coward who resorted to common tricks to convey their feelings. In fact, had feelings been conveyed? Who was to say this was a love letter? The logicial conclusion, as had been throughout my middle school career, was for it to be a letter of challenge.

I puffed out my chest at the thought. "To think that I could be bested, even in my weakest state, cannot be construed as anything more than the peak of hubris. T-that's right, a challenge! It only makes sense, does it not? With my showing during the early stages of the exercise, the obvious conclusion would be that amongst the riff-raff, I stand out as the strongest! But wait, the timeline doesn't line up..."

Or perhaps it did! As I sauntered down the hall, I reasoned the logistics of having a student go back in time to place a letter in my shoebox. The odds were realistically zero but I didn't disregard the possibility. It provided quite a timesink, such that I scarcely realized when I came to a halt in front of the stairway leading to the rooftop. A chill ran up my spine. Reason to myself as I might, I took the first step up those stairs. And then the second. Pride, which refused retreat, carried me all the way to the top, where a thick, metal door greeted me; the last barrier between myself and whoever waited out there.

Should I open it? H-how do I look?

I hastily pulled out my phone to check. Perfect, as per usual, but there was no harm in making some last minute adjustments. I ran a hand through my hair. My fingers stopped at the tie that bound my hair at the nape, then moved to straighten the black pin that kept the hair out of my eyes.

"I wonder if sister dearest will cut my hair..." I mumbled. "No, wait!"

What a farce! I shook my head to clear my thoughts of the tomfoolery that had, however briefly, tainted them. These were the magnificent locks that belonged to the pinnacle of aesthetic sensibilities, the most exquisite existence to grace the universe! I lifted my head and forced a smirk at the handsome devil that greeted me on my phone, then I pocketed the device.

It's all because those fools dared butt into my business. As if I would say anything weird. In fact, the most likely conclusion is that when I pass through this door, whatever unworthy existence I find on the other end will be groveling, begging for my attention! It's that simple!

With newfound resolve, I placed a hand to the door's silvery handle. The cool metal seemed to stick to my hands, and the door felt... heavier than I remembered. I pushed it open a bit. Grey light filtered in through the small gap, affording me a breath of fresh morning air. I took a deep breath, not for any particular reason, and tossed the door open. A gust of wind blew the hair into my eyes, but I marched forward. The door behind me fell back into place.

The roof had yet to see repairs from the exercise's earlier escapades. Torn fencing dangled off bent poles that overlooked massive gashes in the concrete beneath my feet. My eyes fell on the spot where Kohei Kitamura had sucker punched me off the roof, then naturally to the gaping hole in the field below. The hole had been boarded off on all sides with an array of construction tape and plugged with a large steel plate. It had not been particularly wide, so finding a temporary cover likely hadn't been much of an issue.

Even still, this is... somewhat troublesome.

I had no particular fear of heights, not at all, but I could not guarantee my safety if I fell in my current state. I pulled back a few steps from the roof's edge. There were more important matters to attend to.

"Surely you don't mean to keep me waiting," I murmured. "I'm not such an easy man that one could hope to charm me through being fashionably late. No, was I perhaps late? O-of course not, this is within the specified timeframe, and by extension I cannot be faulted. That's right, that's right!"

As if in response, the jingle of a bell reached my ears, harkened by the faint scent of cherry blossoms. A chill run up my spine- I had felt this before. Instinct spun me around, where a threatening yet all too familiar pair of piercing red eyes came into focus. Deep crimson hair danced on the winds, bound into a ponytail by the source of the jingle, a single bell. It glinted under the pale sunlight, yet I could not possibly mistake its craftsmanship, nor its silvery make.

There, atop the entrance to the roof, stood the only individual that approached equal status with the undefeated SHIBUYA. Her black-gold blazer, sleeves rolled up, and its tails whipping furiously about like a war banner. Her skirt, now cut just above her thighs, this time hiding only the dark red gym pants she wore beneath. In fact, much of her uniform had been substituted out for the school's gym uniform. This was the freedom of choice that Niflheim afforded to those with absolute power, those who approached the pinnacle.

This was the authority of the Omega seat candidate, Keiko Kusanagi II.

"So you've finally decided to show up," said Kei. No, Kusanagi. Her voice was low, yet unmistakeably clear even amidst the winds that assailed us.

As I thought, this isn't a love letter.

I felt the Kusanagi heir scour my form with her gaze. She gave a low hum then hopped to the rooftop below without so much as a sound. Her approach, a confident saunter, was similarly quiet. No wasted movements, no openings. It felt as if a wall of steel had begun closing in. I stepped forward to meet her in the center of the roof. The two of us stopped two meters apart from one another, but I knew straight away that the distance meant nothing. I had always been within her effective range.

"What a surprise meeting you here." I kept my eyes trained on the devil in the other corner. "Though I suppose it's only natural that you would covet my attention, Kusanagi."

Her expression did not change. "That's technically not false."

I snorted. "Yes, of course not. Am I to assume that you're here to finally profess your undying love for me? If not, then you've stooped to some foul methods of setting up meetings."

"I'm unsure what you mean. First, I would rather not be seen engaging with you. Second, I required a method of interacting with you. Thus, I planted a letter for you to find." Kusanagi crossed her arms. "I don't believe I resorted to any underhanded methods, as you seem to imply."

"Surely you don't mean to play innocent. As if a letter in a shoebox could be construed as anything but the most obvious conclusion. If you believe for a second that I arrived in expectance of some grand meeting with an obsessive lout such as you, you're deluding yourself."

"I don't understand." Keiko Kusanagi stated this with a frown.

I clicked my tongue. I had suspected as much, but Keiko Kusanagi had scarcely changed one bit since childhood. Overwhelmingly talented, much like myself, but without any of the tact native to those of higher birth. She was perhaps the stupidest, most dense gravitational singularity I'd ever had the misfortune of meeting. To think that I had been interested in such a fool...!

"Yes, yes. At this point, I'm not sure what I expected." I gave a frustrated sigh. "As it is now remarkably clear that you find joy in leading on the hearts of the young innocents, let us change the subject. Surely there must be some reason you sought my attention?" I said.

"That's right."

A brief silence passed as the Kusanagi heir brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She lowered her hand just above the waist then turned a red eye towards the palm. Finally, she turned her eyes back to me, but this time I sensed something different in them. If she merely met my gaze before, now she stared at me in my entirety. I did not initially realize why, but when it clicked, a chill ran down my spine—she had not been looking at me. She had never been looking at me.

I closed my eyes to witness the presence that clung to my essence, the slumbering phantom that served as the source of my absolute power. She had looked at me? No, what a farce. Keiko Kusanagi's eyes had long since surpassed this. She looked through me, as if assessing my strength. It was this realization that brought me back to reality. I gave a small sigh and returned my focus to the monster of a Kusanagi heir that dared stand in opposition.

"Pry into the affairs of gods at your own peril," I warned.

Silence came in response. The Kusanagi heir parted both legs and lifted her arms. In that singular instant, an overwhelming pressure began to ooze forth from her. Frigid winds lapped in and around themselves like the ripple of a stone cast into a pond. Each singular wave bombarded my consciousness—she was far greater than any foe I had ever faced. Instincts that I had long forgotten bubbled to the surface as my body mirrored the red devil's posture, the Path of Jupiter's sole unnarmed stance, the Falcon's Posture.

This girl, she wouldn't—

She bolted forward before I finished the thought. A crimson flash. Talons as fast as lightning. I deflected the strike with my right forearm and reflexively directed a palm strike up, towards her throat. She twisted to the side, avoiding the strike, then she drew back. I stepped forward, mistakenly following the flow of wind. She stood ready to meet this hasty decision. The airflow I'd followed gathered at her back. She stomped forward, tossing all of her weight in my direction.

Deep crimson reiki rippled out from her base. It exploded forward in a full-body shoulder strike—the thunderous mountain fall. Crashing waves struck my chest and ripped the air from my lungs. I stumbled backwards and she pivoted forward, punishing my retreat with a palm strike to the throat. I couldn't catch my breath. My form collapsed as I fell back against the rickety metal fence behind me. The Kusanagi heir did not press her offense but kept her eyes trained on me. I knew why.

The Falcon's Posture—an anti-personnel form whose thunderous blows bypassed extremities to strike at vitals and internal organs. Its purpose—to kill ghoul-class demons, the weakest of the bunch, when faced with both the absence of a weapon and severe backlash. Had I been a ghoul, her last strike would have annihilated the core located in my head. Keiko Kusanagi II had already 'killed' me.

This damn girl!

I readily assumed my stance once more, but the Kusanagi heir simply stood, silent. I darted in, pivoted on my left leg, and directed a reiki-charged fist at her gut. She twisted, grabbing my arm and tossing me behind her. I stumbled, but corrected my stance and used the newfound momentum to release a spinning roundhouse kick. She ducked, clasped my leg with both of her arms, and tossed me to the ground. I slid to a halt and hopped to my feet, my breathing heavier than before. She had not broken a sweat.

The Kusanagi heir simply tilted her head. "As I thought, you're a disciple of the Path of Jupiter."

"Who can say?" I wiped the sweat from my brow. "Regardless, unarmed combat has never been my preferred form of battle. It's a waste of effort. Surely your intent wasn't to challenge my weakest subject?"

"No, I guess not."

There was a crimson flash as Keiko Kusanagi lifted her left hand. The winds at my feet nipped at the corners of my uniform, conjuring small gashes and cuts into its form. All coalesced in the palm of her hand, where a black and red singularity assumed physical form. Twisted sparks and red lightning danced in the dark blot, which lengthened into a meter-long black bar. Its silhouette closely resembled a malformed sword, formless and rejected by the surrounding world.

Every reiki circuit in my body fired to life for a moment before fizzling out without consent. My body's circuits were stressed—they would not do as I pleased. Only trace amounts of power responded to my call, one singular aspect out of four. I felt a bead of cold sweat roll down my back. In optimal condition, I could surely defeat this girl. In my current state, it took everthing just to conjure a wall of concrete from the floor with which to defend myself. It was as I finalized the structure that the world flashed crimson.

"Shortcut—Vorpal Sword."

My barricade collapsed, severed instantly into innumerable pieces. Quadrants, separated into quadrants, separated into quadrants. Repeat ad nauseum. The world fell to pieces.

There was no sound of impact to accompany the destruction that followed, no cacophony of explosions. The only fanfare that signified change was one final crackle of red sparks before Keiko Kusanagi's reality-killing sword sputtered out existence. The deep crimson lines that pulsated on her left arm slowly faded back into her skin. Her piercing eyes swept across the roof, then to me.

I took a deep breath, my focus no longer necessary. I remained unharmed, but only by virtue of placing all of my efforts into preserving my defenses. A concrete monolith, comprised internally of layers upon layers of whatever metals I had drawn from the roof's foundation in my moment of struggle. The clean, almost mirror-like sheen of what remained reflected the strained expression on my face. A cursory glance around the roof suggested that I had gotten off easy. The square engravings that my enemy had carved into the concrete floor resembled a grid.

"It seems I was wrong," said the Kusanagi heir.

"In what sense?" I snorted, but could not suppress my twitching right arm. There was a dull ache that I attributed to using my ability during such a powerful case of backlash.

"Several days ago, when I escorted you to the Student Council Building, your strength reminded me of something important." Keiko Kusanagi brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She sighed. "But I suppose I was mistaken. I can say this now," she said.

I sensed the tension disappear from the Kusanagi heir's form. She no longer had any intent to battle, a fact she made abundantly clear with what she next said.

"Your power... for an instant, I thought it resembled that of the Golden King. Now I see that yours is less than a fraction of that abomination's own strength. A fraction of a fraction. A shard of a shard. When I look upon you now, I can tell, with absolute certainty, that you are comletely and utterly weak. Weaker than the smallest of insects, lesser in scope than even the most minute of microbial lifeforms."

"Hmph!" A heat brewed in my chest as I stepped forward to refute her claims. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Kusanagi gave a slow, wistful nod. A dull, red spark bounced off the palm of her hand, which closed tight into a fist. "So weak that I can barely feel your presence before me. So weak that in another world, I might have harvested your nape by accident. So weak that in another world in which we continued to fight, you have already been beaten."

At this, I froze.

"Truthfully, Satou Shibuya, I've already lost count of how many times I've seen you here, in this very instant, defeated by my hand. I've already determined that you could not possibly be the Golden King." Kusanagi lowered her head in an apologetic bow. "For this, crude as I am, I must apologize. You will be of no use to Minako or myself."

What?

"As payment for your time, please accept my advice. Idolize who you please, even a tyrant such as the Golden King, but be careful with who you mimmick. If I were that man..." Keiko gave a confident nod. "Yes, if it were him, then he would have already swallowed you whole. That's all I've come to say."

"Wait!" I reached out to stop her. "What do you mean—?!"

The only thing I grabbed was the lingering dregs of a crimson gust. A beat passed. Galeforce rushed forth from where the Kusanagi heir once stood. I stumbled backwards, one step, two steps, then fell onto my bottom. I sat in near-silence, privy now to the rapid beating of my heart, and the flit of cherry blossoms on the dying winds. I don't know how many seconds passed before I lowered my hand, nor how many more before I clasped that same hand to my face.

She had called me weak. In my weakest condition, with every advantage stacked in her favor, she had come to the conclusion that I was weak. So weak as to not even be worth her attention. So weak as to be useless to even a lesser existence such as Minako Minakami. She said that I could not possibly sit on the Golden Throne, that I could not have stood at the peak. She, the Omega candidate, had not afforded me even a modicum of the respect that I, the Alpha, so rightly deserved.

"If that isn't the pinnacle of hubris, what is?" I whispered.

I wanted to laugh. The corners of my mouth turned upright, but just as soon stalled. The laughter would not come, no matter how hard I forced it. Instead, I could only confront the words she had spoken. My gaze turned to the palm of my hand, which fell from my face.

Have... I gotten weaker?

It could not be true. Certainly, in the grand scheme of this existence, I was perhaps in my weakest state. Certain foes would assuredly present a tougher fight, but my defeat was still impossible. I was the strongest, so the logical conclusion was that I would never lose, no matter the circumstances. I had not lost. I had never lost, not in a fair fight. It had always been this way, and it would continue to be this way in the future. And yet, my mind wandered.

"You're that guy's magnum opus, so he doesn't want you wasting away in a corporate office."

The odds were astronomically low. Near impossible, even.

"Yes, you and your unruly bunch of comrades wasted valuable potential in petty squables whilst others prepared for the future."

But... they were not zero.