In the boundless expanse of the cosmos, where stars flicker like distant memories, there existed a singularly insignificant sphere known as Earth. A humble fragment adrift in the infinite ocean of time and space, where life blossomed, aged, and ultimately succumbed to the unyielding march of entropy. Yet, within this fragile cradle of existence, there arose a remarkable species—humans. Born from the soil and shaped by time, these beings, in their ephemeral nature, harbored within themselves the dormant seed of boundless potential.
As the eons passed, the human race, in its ceaseless hunger for knowledge and mastery, began to unearth the arcane laws that governed their existence. They transcended the mere laws of their material world, casting aside the conventional understanding of Euclidean geometry and entering realms of unfathomable complexity. No longer confined to the mundane dimensions of space and time, humans unlocked the esoteric secrets of reality itself.
Through the alchemy of thought and imagination, they forged theoretical constructs—concepts that bent and twisted the very fabric of reality. With these intellectual tools, they learned to traverse beyond the veil, reaching across the boundaries of dimensions and intermingling with worlds that existed in parallel to their own. They built bridges between the known and the unknown, the seen and the unseen, with their minds becoming the key to unlocking doors to realms that defied all comprehension.
It was in these shadowed corners of existence, where the boundaries of possibility stretched beyond reason, that humanity's true power lay. And thus, they embarked on a journey—one that would see them step into realms unknown, where the laws of physics no longer applied, and where the very nature of reality itself would be rewritten.
On the fateful day of May 3rd, 2024, the world bore witness to an apocalypse beyond comprehension. A force—nameless, boundless, and unrelenting—descended upon Earth, shattering the very foundation of civilization. The heavens trembled, the land fractured, and in the heart of Tokyo, a cataclysmic phenomenon emerged—an event that would later be known as the Great Collapse.
Like the birth of a new nightmare, it manifested as a gaping abyss, rupturing the cityscape with an unspeakable ferocity. From its depths, an ominous crimson mist bled into the streets, consuming everything in its path. A tide of devastation swept through Tokyo, drowning its once-thriving metropolis in an ocean of despair. Families were torn apart, their cries lost in the cacophony of destruction. Lives were extinguished in the blink of an eye, swallowed whole by the relentless onslaught of the unknown.
Yet, death was not the worst fate that awaited those caught within the suffocating grasp of the red mist. A far more harrowing transformation took hold—one that defied reason and fractured the very essence of human identity. Those who inhaled its vile tendrils did not perish as mortals should. Instead, they were consumed from within, their sanity unraveling like threadbare fabric. Flesh twisted, bones warped, and reason eroded into madness.
What emerged from the mist were no longer human. They were aberrations, monstrosities sculpted by an eldritch force beyond mortal understanding. Their minds, once filled with dreams and aspirations, now harbored only insatiable hunger and unyielding bloodlust. They roamed the ruins of Tokyo, grotesque echoes of what once was, preying upon those who had yet to succumb.
The Great Collapse had not merely destroyed the world—it had rewritten its very nature. And as the crimson fog spread its tendrils across the city, the remnants of humanity stood upon the precipice of extinction, staring into the abyss of an era where the laws of existence had been forever shattered.
On the 10th of June, 2024, the world bore witness to yet another calamity—one not born from mere chaos, but from deliberate human ambition. A clandestine entity, shrouded in secrecy and menace, emerged from the shadows—the AVAL Foundation. A group of enigmatic minds, their hands stained with the ink of forbidden knowledge, tore open the fabric of reality itself. Through their machinations, a gate to an otherworldly force was wrenched apart, unleashing a cataclysm that defied reason. The collision of these realms brought forth an incandescent annihilation, an illuminating destruction that burned away the remnants of sanity and order.
Yet, as the world teetered on the brink of oblivion, certain individuals—mere teenagers and young adults—rose against the encroaching tide of darkness. They stood not as mere mortals but as warriors, guardians of a fractured reality. Among them was one destined for a fate far greater than any other—Chihiro Kamaniya, a boy whose blood carried the dormant legacy of an ancient and formidable power. On that day, his veins surged with the awakening of his Heroic League Blood, a lineage entwined with the myths of those who had once stood against cosmic horrors.
As the battlelines were drawn, Chihiro ascended as the leader of the Heroic League, a coalition of those who defied fate itself. They waged war against the Agents of Chaos, the abhorrent creations of the AVAL Foundation—humans who had been subjected to inhuman experiments, twisted into beings of overwhelming power and unfathomable intellect. The Foundation's singular objective was the rupturing of dimensional barriers, to unravel the limits of existence and seize dominion over realms that lay beyond the constraints of physical law.
But the tale of Chihiro Kamaniya was never meant to be one of simple heroism. Fate wove a cruel and intricate design around him, for he was not merely a warrior—he was the Crimson King. A sovereign of ruin, ordained to bring forth humanity's obliteration. A paradoxical existence, for he who was fated to protect the world was also bound to destroy it.
And yet, in defiance of his own destiny, Chihiro fought. The Crimson King, the harbinger of humanity's doom, clashed against the tendrils of malevolence, seeking to obliterate the evil that threatened existence itself. But fate is never so easily denied. At the apex of battle, as the war reached its crescendo, the very dimensions trembled. A rift—a void of immeasurable depth—yawned open, threatening to consume all in its path. And as if in answer to an unspoken decree, it sought to claim him.
Chihiro Kamaniya, the Crimson King, was swallowed by the abyss.
The world held its breath as darkness devoured its protector. And yet, though their leader had vanished into the unknown, the Heroic League endured. They stood against the last vestiges of the Agents of Chaos, tearing down the AVAL Foundation's machinations. The final victory was hard-won, but it was theirs.
The world was saved.
But somewhere beyond the reach of time and space, beyond the limits of human comprehension, the Crimson King still wandered—lost in a dimension where the laws of existence had been fractured, where the echoes of forgotten gods whispered in the void.
And thus, the tale of Chihiro Kamaniya did not end.
It had only just begun.
Four years had passed since the ultimate battle—a period of stillness that seemed to stretch the fabric of time itself. The ruins of Tokyo had given way to new life, as the city, once ravaged by chaos, began to heal. Yet, this peace was not to be taken for granted, for the scars of the past were ever present, etched into the very heart of the city. In the quiet suburbs of Higashimurayama, a city known for its sacred temples and tranquil shrines, the whispers of history lingered in the air. The streets hummed with the rhythm of daily life, and the people, having rebuilt their world, lived in relative serenity.
At the University of Tokyo, where the sharp minds of the next generation gathered, the pursuit of knowledge flowed as endlessly as the rivers that wound through the land. The bustling campus was a hub of activity—students, professors, and the curious thrived in a world where the past seemed like a distant echo. Yet, amidst this modernity, there existed a place untouched by time—a beautiful garden, bathed in the delicate glow of spring. Illuminated blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant petals painting the air with color. Here, amidst the serenity of nature, sat a girl on a lone bench, her eyes fixed upon the flowers in quiet contemplation.
Her name was Yuri Shiraki, and though her appearance was unassuming, there was a depth to her presence that seemed to hint at a far more complex reality. With long, black hair cascading like a silken waterfall down her back, she wore a simple yet elegant white shirt, adorned with a blue ribbon that rested softly against her collar. The serene image she projected, however, was merely the surface of something far darker, a secret hidden beneath the folds of her seemingly innocent demeanor.
In her hands, she held a cup, the porcelain delicate and unblemished. Yet, her gaze was not on the cup but on the world before her—on the flowers that bloomed in elegance, their fragile beauty mirroring the fleeting nature of life itself. There was something in her quiet solitude that suggested she was not merely lost in thought; she was waiting. Waiting for something—or perhaps someone.
Yuri's bloodline was one steeped in darkness and power. The daughter of Grummen, the leader of the AVAL Foundation, she was a girl born into a legacy of chaos and control. A legacy that had once sought to unravel the very fabric of existence. Yet, she was different. She was a weapon, an embodiment of her father's will, yet she was also a pawn in a game whose end was still uncertain.
Her blood armament—shuriken—was not a simple weapon. It was a manifestation of her very essence. The tiny, lethal blades could be summoned at will, taking the form of swarms of spinning projectiles, which could be thrown with deadly accuracy. She could even string them together into chains or gather them to create shields that deflected even the most powerful of attacks. And when the need arose, her armament could evolve further—one of her shuriken could lengthen into a blade, a sword that could cut through the very air with surgical precision.
She was powerful—too powerful, perhaps. But it was not the weapon she had become that troubled her; it was the legacy she carried, the burden of her heritage, the whisper of her father's shadow that loomed over her every move.
As the breeze rustled the petals around her, Yuri closed her eyes, feeling the pulse of the city in the air. She had been waiting for a long time. There was someone she needed to meet—someone who would, in the end, decide whether her path would be one of redemption or destruction. The past had not simply been erased by the passage of time, nor had the darkness that lingered in her blood been fully purged. The past always finds a way to resurface.
She was not the same person she had been before, but could she ever truly escape her origins? And if the time came—if that fated meeting occurred—what role would she play? Would she be the instrument of peace, or would she again become the harbinger of chaos, as her bloodline had once sought?
As the garden around her blossomed in quiet harmony, Yuri Shiraki waited—her gaze steady, her heart uncertain, knowing full well that the fate of both herself and the world would soon intertwine in ways she could not yet comprehend.
The air between them was heavy with unspoken emotions, the weight of the past pressing upon their shoulders like an invisible force.
Kotetsu nodded, his expression calm yet unwavering.
"Yes, I am still waiting for my buddy's arrival." His voice carried a quiet certainty, as if the years that had passed meant nothing. His belief in Chihiro's return was unshaken. Then, turning his gaze toward Yuri, he asked, "And what about you?"
Yuri's response was accompanied by a soft nod and a small, decent smile—one that carried both warmth and a hidden melancholy.
"I am waiting for him… to test my tea. So much that he never forgets about me." Her words were lighthearted, but there was a longing within them, a whisper of something deeper.
Kotetsu tilted his head slightly, as if seeing through the veil of her casual response. "I see… Your heart is in need of attention." His gaze was steady, unreadable. "So, how about a treat from me?"
Yuri blinked, a flicker of confusion passing over her face. "A… treat?"
Kotetsu smiled faintly, his voice carrying an eerie calm. "Yes. You're feeling desperate, I know. So, I can help clear the doubts—those subtle yet indubious attractions that are affecting your heart."
Yuri hesitated. A struggle formed within her, an internal battle between acceptance and refusal. There was something in his words that unsettled her, something that made her pulse quicken.
"I… I can't—" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Before she could move away, Kotetsu reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm.
"No problem," he said, his voice softer now, carrying an undeniable warmth. "You are our dear friend."
He smiled—a simple, reassuring expression—yet there was something in that moment, in that touch, that felt like an unspoken promise, a connection that neither time nor fate could sever.
The gentle rustling of petals filled the air as the wind carried the scent of blossoms across the garden. Yuri Shiraki sat in solitude, her fingers resting lightly on the rim of her cup, lost in thought. The idea of starting a business had been weighing on her mind—a means to carve out a life that was truly her own, free from the shadows of the past. She had power, but power alone was not enough. She needed stability, a purpose beyond the battles and bloodshed that had once defined her.
Yet, as she mulled over the future, a presence disturbed the tranquility of her contemplation.
The sound of footsteps barely registered before a voice—calm, but tinged with an unspoken weight—broke the silence.
"Many years have passed… We haven't seen Chihiro."
Yuri's gaze lifted, her expression unreadable as she turned toward the source of the voice.
A teenage boy stood beside her, his presence as quiet as the wind yet impossible to ignore. His hair was a deep grey-black, messy yet framing his face with an almost deliberate nonchalance. But the most striking feature was his eyes—his sclera were pure white, stark against the black pupils that sat at their center, like voids that drank in the light. His attire was simple—a green T-shirt and a pair of jet-black pants, a casual contrast to the enigmatic aura that clung to him.
Kotetsu.
The name flickered in Yuri's mind like a whisper from the past.
She said nothing at first, letting the weight of his words settle between them. The mention of Chihiro Kamaniya, the boy who had once led them, the one who had fought against fate itself, was like an echo from a life they had left behind. The world had moved on, but the void left by his absence remained—a silent, unanswered question.
Yuri exhaled softly, placing the cup down beside her. The reflection of the flowers rippled in the liquid within, as fleeting as the past they both carried.
"Four years…" she murmured at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "And still, there's no sign of him."
She looked toward Kotetsu, her expression unreadable. "Are you still searching?"
There was a pause, the hush of the garden filling the space between them. The past was not dead—it lingered, woven into their very beings, inescapable.
And in that moment, as the petals continued to drift upon the wind, both of them knew—the story was far from over.
The breeze carried a soft fragrance through the air, stirring the delicate petals that lay scattered upon the ground. The two figures stood amidst the serene beauty of the garden, their conversation weaving through the quiet like a thread of unspoken understanding.
Kotetsu smiled, his voice light yet firm.
"It's better to spend time with your friends rather than sitting alone."
Yuri's gaze flickered downward, her fingers brushing against the rim of her cup. "But… I like being alone," she admitted, her tone carrying the weight of quiet solitude.
Kotetsu chuckled softly, tilting his head. "Oh, you can. And I'll help you feel delighted while you do."
Yuri exhaled, her lips curving ever so slightly. "O…kay. But don't expect me to talk much."
Kotetsu nodded. "Well… okay. So, come with me."
Yuri's expression shifted—curiosity flickered in her eyes. "Where?"
Kotetsu's voice was as calm as the breeze. "To a naturalistic, peaceful place. A park."
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the porcelain cup for a moment. Yet, something about Kotetsu's words—his unwavering patience, his casual certainty—made it difficult to refuse. Slowly, she set the cup down and rose from the bench, brushing off her skirt.
"If you're insisting this much… then I'll come," she said, her voice carrying the softest note of surrender.
Kotetsu's smile brightened, a brilliance like the sun breaking through the clouds. "Okay! I'm glad you agreed to go with me."
Yuri glanced at him, a faint, playful glint in her gaze. "Yes, I am. After all, I am your friend's special person."
And then, in a quiet yet decisive motion, Yuri reached for Kotetsu's hand. Without hesitation, Kotetsu grasped hers in return. Their fingers entwined with an unspoken bond, one that carried both familiarity and something deeper—something neither of them would yet name.
Together, they began walking through the garden, their steps falling in sync with the rustling leaves. The blossoms swayed gently in the air, as if watching their departure with silent approval.
As they passed through the garden's final arch, leaving its floral embrace behind, the towering structure of Tokyo University loomed before them.