Idea Incursion 2

The dark pressed in like velvet, heavy and suffocating, but not empty.

Shu floated through it.

At first there was nothing, and then, images. Faint, blurred, as though half-sketched on fogged glass.

A girl’s hand, small, clutching a pencil, dragging into the margins of her notebooks

“Someone who’ll help… even the ones who help.”

Shu gasped awake.

The air was sour, tasting of rust and ash. He was lying on cracked tile, the world around him warped into jagged corridors that bent like broken ribs.

He staggered up, brushing dust from his shoulders, head pounding.

“Ran? Madoka?” His voice echoed strangely, like it bounced off walls that weren’t really there.

Only silence answered.

He remembered how the ground underneath him split open into a yawning chasm that swallowed him whole.

Fractured walls had risen like jagged barricades, cutting the space into twisted chambers. The tremors had torn them apart, isolating him from his allies.

Through the distortion, he thought he heard Ran’s guttural shout, far, muffled, unreachable. Madoka’s calm voice, distant. But the Zone had swallowed them, warped them away into other passages.

Shu rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles. “Well… guess it’s just me for now.”

Something in Shu’s chest twisted with déjà vu.




He had no time to plan ahead.

The silence was not silence at all. Shu’s ears rang with it, thick and pressing, his own pulse drumming too loud inside his Geistzer skull-mask. The broken environment stretched ahead, tiles sagging like wet paper, ceiling lost to the endless black sky that pulsed faintly, like some unseen giant’s heart.

Something was there.

He felt it before he saw it. A prickle down the back of his neck, the way a stray dog senses lightning.

Shu straightened, scarf dragging against the fractured ground. He didn’t move. He only stared into the void ahead.

The tiles trembled. Dust rose in a slow shiver.

Then it came.

From the black ahead, strips of cloth unfurled, each one as long as a train car and thin as a blade. Dozens at first, then hundreds, writhing free like a sea of snakes. They gleamed faintly, their fibers not fabric at all but something denser, sharper and each strip was marked with jagged red symbols that glowed like open wounds.

They slithered across the floor, then rose into the air, floating and twisting with a predator’s grace. Tentacles without flesh. Banners without a standard. Their point of origin was hidden by the darkness beyond.

The first strip snapped forward.

It was faster than his eyes could follow, a black-red blur that carved through the tile where he had stood a blink before. Shu rolled aside, scarf whipping, sparks scattering from his greaves as he skidded to his feet. The ground behind him exploded in a spray of dust, a clean trench carved straight through it.

Two more followed.

He caught one on his hand, fingers clamping down. The impact rattled his arm to the shoulder, his knees buckling under the sheer force. The strip writhed, muscles of cloth flexing like iron, jerking his arm sideways. The red markings burned brighter, cutting heat searing his grip.

Shu snarled, yanking hard... and the strip yanked harder, flinging him across the floor like a ragdoll. He hit a wall, stone cracking around him.

Before he could stagger up, another strip whipped in from the side. Instinct shoved him down just as it lanced through the wall where his head had been. Masonry sheared clean in half, collapsing with a thunderous crash.

Stronger than him. Faster than him.

The strips circled in the air now, dozens of them, weaving a web of black and red above his head. They moved with intelligence, coordinated, like fingers of one vast hand preparing to crush him flat.

Shu stretched, rising, skull-mask cracked faintly along the edge. His grin came back, lopsided, blood running at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” he rasped, scarf settling heavy against his shoulders.

“Guess that just means maximum effort.”

The cloths wrapped him like a storm. One band clamped his arm, another lashed his ribs, then half a dozen cinched at once, jerking him into the air and flinging him like a toy.

Shu smashed through a cracked balcony, wood and stone exploding into dust. Another strip whipped him downward, harder this time. He hit the floor with enough force to break straight through it.

The world fractured. Tiles, rebar, old concrete collapsed beneath him, until he was plunging into deeper layers of the Zone. He hit the bottom with a teeth-rattling crash, rubble collapsing in a choking wave.

Silence, except for the fall of dust.

The strips of cloth did not follow.

Shu coughed, rolling onto his knees, every rib aching under Geistzer’s suit. His scarf dragged in ash, torn almost to ribbons. “Son of a bitch…” He forced himself upright, grinning again even though his jaw throbbed beneath the mask. “Lucky me...”

Then he stopped.

There was something else here. Something big.

The space was vast, wider than the area above. The ceiling arched like a hollow ribcage, its beams warped, glowing faintly with the wrong light. And in the center of the ruin, a shape loomed.

It was similar to a Nightmare Eater. But not like the ones he’d fought before.

This one was enormous, its bulk filling half the chamber, its body more rotund than plated, folds of tar-flesh quivering as it moved.

Shu sighed and steadied his stance. “Alright. Big one. Let’s see what you’ve—”

Then he froze.

Because it didn’t attack.

The giant Eater didn’t even turn toward him. It lumbered slowly to the side, massive arms scooping up collapsed beams and shattered stone. With careful, deliberate motions, it piled the rubble back together, pressing chunks of wall into place. Where it touched, the distortion stilled for a moment, the warped geometry flattening slightly before sagging again.

Again and again, the creature worked — gathering, stacking, shaping. Its chest heaved with low, groaning breaths, but it didn’t roar. It didn’t bare teeth. It didn’t move to strike.

It only built. No, it restored.

Shu lowered his guard fractionally. Then after a while, he stepped forward and piled a few small pieces in the cracks where they had fallen from. The giant creature finally looked at him.




The clash with Ai had been chaos from the first second.

Her Idolon form was a nightmare of torn black dress and ragged hair, skin white as bone, her face flayed raw. The scissors in her hands shrieked as they cut through Nameless’s arms, through Simply Red’s cyclones, through every barricade Yae transmuted. She fought like she wanted to die, like she would split herself apart just to tear them down with her.

Momo grunted, bracing her ribs as Simply Red spun her kanabo into a whirlwind to push Ai back. “She’s not stopping! What is that thing?!”

Takaishi stood frozen, Nameless clawing and parrying on instinct around him. He’d already seen plenty of nightmares in the Zone, but this was something else.

Yae’s eyes narrowed and she lifted a hand. She had tools for this—but they weren’t cheap. Too costly to waste, too costly not to use.

“Cover me,” she said flatly.

Momo blinked. “You’ve got something?”

Yae didn’t answer. She snapped her fingers.

The world changed.

For an instant, the warped alley of the Zone vanished. The air bent into clean lines, infinite equations spiraling across a white-black canvas. Every flick of dust, every twitch of Ai’s broken body, every soundwave of Momo’s breathing — Yae saw it all at once. Laplace.

Her Realm of Possibility painted over the Flooding Zone.

Ai shrieked, scissors lashing, but Yae’s cold gaze pierced through the layers. Every fact, every shard of information bled into her mind. The monster in front of her wasn’t just a random Idolon. It wasn’t a phantom. It wasn’t an Idea-born horror.

It was a girl.

A Higan student.

Her name: Ai Suishi.

Her body was a ruin, every strike tearing her further, every kill patching her together. She wasn’t surviving despite the violence, she was surviving through it. The breakdown that had birthed this Idolon was the only thing keeping her alive.

Yae exhaled sharply and cut the Realm. The painted world shattered, vanishing, the Flooding Zone rushing back in. Blood ran faint from her temple, her smirk gone, replaced with something grim.

Momo frowned. “Well? Did you see anything?”

Yae’s voice was cold, clipped, but steady: “It’s not a monster. It’s a girl. Ai Suishi. She’s from Higan.”

Takaishi’s face drained of color. “That… that’s a student?!”

Ai staggered forward again, shrieking, scissors raised. Her flesh tore further, blood dripping from her every wound, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

“She awakened here. Alone,” Yae said, her eyes sharp on Ai even as her chest heaved from the strain of Laplace. “And she’s been fighting ever since. In a complete psychotic break.”

Momo gritted her teeth, Simply Red bracing for the next clash. “If we stop her now—”

“She could die,” Yae finished flatly. “She’s hurting herself because she's too strong, but at the same time her body’s only holding together because she's healing by hurting everything else she can as well.”

Ai came at them again, scissors flashing arcs of silver in the warped glow. Her Idolon form was horrifying up close, torn black dress fluttering, her hair lengthened into a storm behind her, her flayed face twisting in a frenzy that was no longer human.

Simply Red braced, kanabo raised, winds howling at her back. She caught Ai’s downward slash head-on — BOOM — the impact detonating like a thunderclap, the shockwave cracking the tiles and hurling debris in every direction. The oni staggered, blood weeping from her shoulder where the scissors had grazed, and only her counter-gale kept Ai from pressing through.

Nameless moved to intercept, a storm of arms twisting into a shield wall.

Ai didn’t hesitate, she hurled herself into the lattice with suicidal force. The scissors carved through a dozen hands, but Nameless locked down, redirecting her momentum into a violent counter-throw. Ai hit the wall with a crunch that snapped bone.

And she stood. Always stood.

Her body tore itself apart when she fought this way, with her bones cracking and muscles tearing and splitting, but the wounds closed again the moment her shears sank into a stray Nightmare Eater drawn by the chaos. She pinned one to the ground, blades scissoring shut, ichor exploding in a spray. Her arms snapped back into place, ribs sealed, and she devoured the shards of her prey, her body jerking, her shrieks breaking higher with every gulp.

"Give me two seconds!" Shouted Momo while Simply Red gathered and strengthened the flow of wind around her weapon.

Yae flicked a hand and the world bent. Walls of fractured glass and stone surged upward, transmuted into barriers braced between Ai and the squad. They lasted seconds before Ai’s scissors cut through them like paper, sparks and shards spraying.

“Got it!” Momo shouted, and Simply Red dove in, kanabo sweeping a storm of blows. The air filled with whirlwinds, razor gusts erupting from Ai’s body where they struck, tearing at her defenses, vibrating through her bones.

But Ai’s frenzy only grew. She swung wildly, tearing chunks from the oni’s forearm, even as the winds eroded her flesh. She howled through the blood. Cuts and gashes appeared on Momo's arm, reflecting the damage.

Nameless dashed in again, parrying another lethal strike, but Ai bent unnaturally, spine cracking as she twisted out of the hold, scissors raking across its torso. The arms broke apart, several dismembered, yet Nameless only reinforced its structure, slamming her back with a wall of palms.

Once again Yae had to intervene.

The air froze.

Dust halted mid-fall. Ai’s shriek cut into silence.

By controlling the ground underneath them Yae moved her allies like chess pieces: Simply Red dragged backward into the lee of broken walls, Nameless repositioned with its many hands braced around Takaishi. She exhaled, then released her power.

Time resumed.

Ai’s scissors carved through empty air where the oni’s head had been, sparks and fury exploding against nothing. Before her frenzied assault could continue though, something caught her attention.

Ai froze mid-lunge. The scissors quivered in her hands, her ragged breath steaming the air.

Nameless and Simply Red braced for the next strike, arms flexing, kanabo raised — but it didn’t come. Ai’s head tilted, ragged hair spilling across her ruined face. Her eyes weren’t on them anymore. She was staring past, toward something none of them could see yet.

Yae’s throat tightened. What now? she though to herself.

Then the wall behind them exploded.

Stone and warped tile burst outward in a storm of rubble, and through it barreled Ran Nejima in his Twinned Wrath form, horns blazing red and blue, his fists sparking with the remnants of a desperate clash. At his side moved Madoka, serene as ever in Kukurihime’s divine robes and form, though her pale hair was frayed and her mask cracked.

They stumbled into the alley, Ran catching himself with a snarl. “Out of the way!”

Yae blinked, heart hammering. “Where the hell, where’s Shu?”

Madoka’s voice came steady, but her words were grave, urgent. “We lost Shu. The terrain shifted, walls, chasms, the Zone itself turned against us. He was cut off.”

Her fox mask turned toward Yae, a crack running across its painted cheek. “We tried to track him. But when we followed the distortions, we found… this.”

"This?"

No answer came. No time for one. Because what followed them made the whole Flooding Zone seem to hold its breath.

From the shattered wall, a shape emerged.

It wasn’t like the others. Its silhouette was human. Tall, svelte, languid in its movements, like a man who had all the time in the world. Its skin was lacquer-black, sheen rippling with each stride. Where its face should have been, there was nothing but a smooth plane, no features, no eyes.

It wore something.

Over its inky frame hung a piece of cloth. Familiar. Distorted by the corruption, but unmistakable.

A Higan tracksuit jacket. Shu’s jacket.

The group froze. Even Simply Red’s storms guttered out, the oni’s kanabo trembling in her grip. Nameless folded tighter around Takaishi, its mass of arms shaking like it knew what stood before them.

The air around it was heavy. Too heavy. Like a gravity not of this world. The kind of presence that pressed into your chest and whispered: You are prey.

A presence overwhelming enough that the intruders dared not oppose it.

Or so it thought.

Ai shrieked, a sound of rage, grief, possession. And without hesitation, she dashed after it, scissors raised high, her broken body surging into motion.

Its faceless head tilted lazily, as though amused, and then the jacket flared outward like wings, strips of cloth snapping and curling in the air.




Yae didn’t flinch. Her eyes swept the battlefield in an instant.

"Alright... Frontline, Ran, Simply Red. Keep it occupied and cover for Suishi. Takaishi have Nameless cover us. Madoka, focus on suppression. I’ll keep you clear.”

The ground cracked under Ai’s feet before Yae even finished. She launched herself at the Eater, scissors screeching open, closing with a shriek of iron. The blades met its cloth-wrapped arm—clang—sparks and ichor spraying. The Flowering Eater caught her strike with a languid twist, its arm bending bonelessly as it redirected her into the ground.

Ran was already there, Twinned Wrath horns blazing, red fist colliding with its torso in an eruption of power strengthened through Life Expenditure while the blue hand seized its other limb as it was coming at him for a counter, nullifying the retaliation.

The impact forced the Eater back two steps.

Simply Red roared into the opening, a whirlwind carrying her kanabo in a cyclone arc. The weapon smashed against the Flowering Eater’s ribs. The sound was like a taiko echoing through the Zone. The vibrations rippled through its plating, making its body shudder.

Three steps.

But the jacket came alive. Strips of cloth whipped out like serpents, snapping across the battlefield.

One pierced Simply Red's side.

Another lashed at Madoka. Nameless moved instantly, its mass of arms forming a wall that absorbed the blow. Dozens of palms caught the cloth, fingers digging in, and with a ripple the Avatar redirected it sideways. Another strip shot toward Yae’s head, but time itself froze for a blink before resuming with her already sidestepped

Madoka raised her hand. Symbols burned across the warped ground. The air groaned, heavy with the sound of sutras. “I'll get to weakening the Zone,” she said, voice serene but strained. “But it will take time.”

“Buy it,” Yae snapped.

They didn't even get the chance. It noticed Madoka was doing something.

In less than half a second, its languid swaying became a streak of violence. Ai was hurled into a wall, Ran blasted to the ground, Simply Red’s kanabo swatted aside in an explosion of cloth. The next heartbeat, the creature was crouched in front of Madoka.

Its faceless head tilted, sleeve-like arm raised, cloth tendrils coiling into a single spear aimed at her chest. One strike. Enough to unmake her where she knelt.

Time froze once more.

Dust hung midair, shards of tile suspended, Ai’s blood droplets halted in mid-spray. Yae stood with her hand raised, her black-clad Idolon form trembling. Her teeth were clenched, her eyes bloodshot as she reshaped the battlefield in it's entirety.

Nameless and Simply Red dragged back by unseen force. Ai and Ran relocated a full corridor away. Madoka shifted to Yae’s side in the same instant the spear stopped a breath from her throat.

Then time resumed.

The Flowering Eater’s strike cleaved only air.

But Yae staggered, panting. She could stop it, could outmaneuver it, but not endlessly. The Eater’s speed was monstrous, it could throw itself into full killing intent at any moment, over and over, with no fatigue. Each time she froze the world, the Zone strained against her, the false sky pulsing heavier.

Ran roared, Twinned Wrath’s horns blazing as he slammed into the creature’s flank again, red fist flaring up with power from sacrificed vitality. Beside him, Ai shrieked as she returned to the fray, scissors dripping ichor, her torso already pierced through by one of the Eater’s earlier blows. Both of them were leaking blood, guts torn, holes burned straight through.

And both of them kept fighting.

Every second they bought was paid in flesh.

Yae’s gaze snapped to Madoka, voice raw: “Can you weaken it? Anything. Anything to tilt this fight.”

"I have been weakening it,” she said “Since the moment we began.”

Yae stood behind there, her hand clenched at her temple.

Her sharp eyes swept the creature again, dissecting it like a puzzle. The Eater was powerful, yes, but too powerful. Stronger than what it should have been, even at this point. Her gaze sharpened. The jacket.

The tracksuit hung from its shoulders, cloth strips snapping and striking with a will of their own. And yet they weren’t being warped, weren’t being digested into the Eater’s essence like other possessions. They were independent. A Tsukumogami, no, worse.

An Irate Object.

“It’s not one enemy,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s two. A symbiosis. A flowering Eater and an awakened object, feeding into one another."

Ran staggered back, coughing ichor from a wound in his side. Ai clawed at the Eater’s ribs even as another limb punched through her shoulder.

They couldn’t out-brawl this.

Yae’s hand trembled as she pinched her temple. Think, Zennami Yae! Combat power alone won’t solve this. That’s never what decides things in the Idea World.

The Zone pulsed. The sky beat down on her like a great black heart. She closed her eyes, focusing.

What would Shu Jinkō do?

Well, the impossible. Duh.

But that's too vague. What could she do? Not smash harder. Not scream louder.

Shu didn’t fight to win, he fought to bend the world. To make it laugh with him, cry with him, stumble along in absurdity until even the impossible tripped over itself. He was chaos and charisma in human skin, and somehow, impossibly, things broke his way.

Bend the world their way?

Yae’s breath came ragged, her fingers trembling against her temple. She forced her mind sharper, sharper, until memory clicked into place.

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Of course. That’s it.”

This week’s PE activity was baseball.

She snapped her fingers.

The ground convulsed. Rubble dissolved into chalk-white lines. Broken tiles reshaped into clay diamond bases. Bleachers erupted out of the ruins, warped mannequins frozen as spectators. The Flooding Zone bent under her will, and in seconds the ruined corridor was a distorted baseball field, floodlit under a black sky.

The others froze mid-fight.

Ran snarled, one horn sparking. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Momo blinked, her oni Avatar clutching its kanabo like a bat. “Zennami, this isn’t—”

Even Madoka’s serene mask tilted, uncertain.

The Flowering Eater staggered, its languid body twitching. The jacket flared brighter. Its strips snapped taut, pulling its host upright. For the first time, the creature halted its berserk advance.

The Irate Object had taken the wheel.

The Eater raised one cloth-bound hand. The jacket’s strips coiled into the shape of a bat, then another, into the shape of a baseball glove.

Its faceless head tilted toward the makeshift mound.

“Step up,” Yae said, her voice calm again. “We’ve got a game to play.”

Ran looked between her and the monster, incredulous. “You’re saying this thing wants to play baseball?”

"One of them does. That jacket’s been backseating until now. And I just called it out.”

The Flowering Eater planted its faceless bulk at home plate, jacket strips writhing into the shape of a uniform. The bat lifted.

“We win the game, we break its rhythm. We break its rhythm, we break the union. That’s our out.”




The diamond glowed under the false floodlights, the crowd of mannequins frozen in a grotesque pantomime of cheering. The Flowering Eater stood at the home plate, bat raised in its languid hand. The jacket writhed on its shoulders like a coach whispering plays.

It seems the enemy took the first batting round.

Behind it, the “team” had gathered. A dozen Nightmare Eaters crouched in distorted parody of athletes, their blade-arms twitching as they fidgeted in the outfield. Their movements were jerky, reluctant, as if the jacket’s will dragged them into position like puppets.

At the dugout line, the student council and company huddled.

Yae’s sharp voice cut through the surreal scene: “Listen. That jacket isn’t just warped, it’s an Irate Object. A Tsukumogami, but far stronger. It’s full of resentment. Why? Because it couldn’t be used in sports. It was denied its purpose.”

She jabbed a gloved finger toward the field. “So, it’s allowing this. A game it would’ve been part of. A game it’ll never forget.”

Ran spat blood at the ground, speaking as he grunted. “You’re saying all this—” he gestured at the faceless monster team with his bleeding fist, “—is because of a goddamn jacket that didn’t get to play baseball?”

“Exactly.”

Ai swayed in place, her dress shredded, blood dripping steadily from the gaping holes in her torso. Her scissors trembled in her hands, her breath a ragged wheeze but her wide, bloodshot eyes stayed locked on the Eater. She seemed more docile now, at least enough not to fight with the other Awakened.

"Either way we'll kick their asses!" Despite the cuts and bruises, Momo’s grin was steady, and Simply Red’s face split in an eager, toothy smile. The oni spun her kanabo in her hands, the air hissing with each practice swing. Whoosh. Whoosh.

“They look ready,” Momo said, half-proud, half-terrified.

Takaishi stood stiff, Nameless at his side. The lattice of arms twitched restlessly, incomplete skull bobbing in its grip. The Avatar flexed its many fingers, linking and unlinking them into shapes, a catcher's mitt, its faceless yearning painfully obvious despite it's lack of expression.

Takaishi pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw tight. “It… it wants gear. It’s not shutting up about gloves.”

Ran growled, clutching his side where blood still oozed from the hole in his abdomen. “We’re barely standing. You really think we can run bases like this?”

“Sadly we don't have our healer with us,” Yae said, folding her arms. “You just need to move. You’re both monsters, Ran, Ai, you don’t stop even when half your guts are hanging out. That’ll have to be enough.”

The mannequins in the stands jerked suddenly, their arms frozen mid-clap but angled toward the diamond. The distorted floodlights burned brighter, casting warped shadows of players across the cracked clay. The jacket’s will had spoken: the Flowering Eater’s side would bat first.

Yae scanned the field, her eyes sharp, mind already assigning positions. “We’re the fielders this round."




Pitcher – Simply Red.
The towering oni Avatar stomped onto the mound, kanabo in hand. Her grin was feral, sharp teeth bared as her tailwinds whipped dust into little cyclones at her feet.

Catcher – Nameless.
Behind home plate, that thing crouched stiffly. Nameless unfolded its arms into an impossible catcher’s mitt, dozens of palms laced together. Its hands flexed eagerly, ready to snatch the first pitch from the air or tear apart whatever nightmare tried to rush the plate.

First Base – Ran Nejima.
He planted his stance wide, fists clenched, gaze burning. Even injured he would fight to keep those damn things off his base.

Second Base – Ai Suishi.
Ai staggered into position, scissors dragging in the dirt. Her eyes locked obsessively on the Eater wearing Shu’s jacket.

Third Base – Madoka Onguuchi.
"I think I know what you're planning" said Madoka from third base to Yae.

Shortstop – Yae Zennami.
"Good, then I'll be counting on you." She planted her boots in the warped clay, hands folded behind her back, smirk confident.

Outfield – Momo and Takaishi.
Momo jogged into left field, rolling her shoulders. She glanced toward the oni at the mound and grinned, mirroring her Avatar’s cocky posture. "Alright Takaishi, let's show them Idea World folks how it's done!"

Takaishi trudged out to right, grim as ever. He didn’t meet Nameless’s eager gaze. "Sports huh..."

The game began.




At the plate stepped the first batter, a Nightmare Eater. It wasn’t as sleek or languid as the Flowering one, just a plated brute. But under the Irate Jacket’s will, it gripped a bat-shaped shard of its own flesh, and crouched into a parody of batting stance.

Simply Red stomped onto the mound, kanabo raised high, her grin wicked. A storm brewed around her, winds hissing through the warped diamond.

She didn’t pitch.

She swung.

The kanabo crashed down, striking the ball with a thunderous BOOM. The vibration rattled the whole diamond, and the ball screamed forward like a cannon round.

The Nightmare Eater swung, too slow.

Too weak!

The ball obliterated its bat-arm with a sickening snap, shards of ichor spraying. The brute howled in confusion as the umpire that didn’t exist barked in every player’s head: Strike one.

The Eater limped back to stance. Simply Red just twirled her kanabo, grin widening.

She swung again, faster, harder. The ball tore down the plate, slamming into the Eater’s chest. It staggered, plating cracking, its bat-arm still dangling useless.

Strike two.

The oni laughed, booming and cruel, spinning her kanabo in anticipation of the final blow. The pitch came, a crushing overhead smash that split the Zone’s air like thunder. The ball hammered past, snapping through the Nightmare’s stance. Its form dissolved into ichor mid-swing, erased from the game.

Strike three. Out.

But the next batter… was wrong.

It wasn’t one of the ordinary Nightmares lined up in the dugout. Instead, the jacket’s strips lashed outward, weaving cloth into shape. A phantom projection of the Flowering Eater stepped into the box, tall, languid, faceless. A duplicate made from resentment.

Yae narrowed her eyes at shortstop. “The jacket’s showing its hand.”

Nameless flexed uneasily at catcher.

Simply Red snarled and wound back another brutal pitch. The ball shot forward, faster than sound, a comet of leather and pressure.

The phantom Flowering Eater moved with liquid grace. Its cloth-bat swung.

CRACK.

The sound was wrong, not shattering, but harmonious, like the Zone itself had clapped in approval. The ball tore down the line, screaming toward deep left field, its trail glowing red like a comet.

Simply Red pivoted hard, kanabo swinging into the wind. Cyclones burst into being, twisting into a screaming tunnel of air, every gust clawing at the ball. But the thing didn’t slow, it only cut sharper through the gale.

“Not enough!” Yae barked from shortstop, eyes already darting for the next move.

Far in the outfield, Madoka raised her hand. The ichor and plating left behind from the first Nightmare Eater shuddered, compacting into a pitch-black sphere dense as gravity itself. The Yata Mirror coalesced, spinning slowly in the air like a miniature singularity.

The ball slammed into it, thoom. And then, with a violent twist, the mirror spat the ball back, angled straight toward second base like a bullet.

Ai launched herself, her body tearing further with the effort. The phantom Flowering Eater was already blurring toward second, its languid steps covering impossible ground. For a heartbeat, they were side by side, Ai’s broken body against the phantom’s perfect grace.

Her scissors clanged against the ball, sparks bursting as she redirected its path. The impact split her palms, blood spraying, but she swung it away, carving its trajectory with brute force the power of love.

The ball screamed across the diamond, whistling toward third base where Madoka stood waiting. She raised her hand, and the Yata Mirror returned to her, collapsed into her palm, absorbing the ball in a burst of darkness before spitting it gently into her grasp.

She caught it.

But the phantom Flowering Eater was already there. By the time the ball was secured, its faceless frame slid onto third base.

Madoka exhaled through the crack in her mask, voice even but heavy. “Safe.” she admitted.

The jacket’s strips writhed triumphantly from the dugout.

The next batter shuffled forward, another plated Nightmare Eater. It raised its crooked bat-arm. Simply Red smirked wide, with stormwinds swirling around her weapon.

BOOM.

The pitch came down like thunder. Strike one.

Another booming swing, winds howling. Strike two.

The Eater swung desperately at the third, but the kanabo smashed the ball past it, shattering its plating with the recoil. Strike three. Out.

The second Nightmare Eater stepped up. It fared no better. Three crushing pitches, three broken swings. It dissolved into ichor before reaching first base.

Two outs.

But the next batter… got a piece of it.

Simply Red wound back for another earth-shaking pitch, kanabo hammering the ball down the line like a meteor. The Nightmare Eater swung awkwardly, but somehow... crack! it connected. The ball screamed off the bat, slicing high through the warped air, trailing smoke and sparks.

“Outfield!” Yae snapped instantly, already tracking the arc.

Momo sprinted from left field, teeth gritted, one hand clutching her side where bruises painted her ribs. She still pushed forward, Simply Red’s winds roaring faintly behind her, aiding her running. But Takaishi’s sharp eyes caught the stumble in her stride, the way she winced.

His jaw clenched.

Faster.

His body blurred, nearly superhuman speed carrying him across the warped clay. Dust exploded beneath his feet as he reached the falling ball. It touched ground before he could grab it, but the force was enough to make it bounce high.

SNATCH.

It smacked into his palm with a solid crack. Without pause, Takaishi pivoted and hurled it, his arm whipping with inhuman strength. The ball rocketed across the diamond, screaming toward Ran at first base like a bullet.

Ran caught it clean, foot planted firm. The Nightmare Eater barreled forward, claws outstretched—

SMACK.

The ball slammed into Ran’s gauntlet just as the Eater lunged past the bag.

"You're out pal" said Ran before punching through the Nightmare Eater with the ball held in his fist.

The Nightmare Eater dissolved mid-sprint, scattering ichor across the base path.




From the dugout, the Flowering Eater rose at last. The Irate Jacket writhed over its frame, strips of cloth coiling like serpents. Its faceless head tilted languidly as it stepped into the batter’s box. The phantom it had conjured earlier still loomed on third base, waiting

Simply Red stood on the mound, kanabo raised high, winds raging around her. Her grin faltered just slightly.

Ran muttered through gritted teeth at first base, “This is it. If it scores, that’s two. We can’t let that bastard through.”

The Flowering Eater crouched into stance. Its bat wasn’t wood or steel — it was cloth, writhing and hardening into a razor edge with each pulse of the jacket’s hatred.

Simply Red swung down, hurling the first pitch with a booming gust. The ball screamed across the plate, the Zone warping in its wake.

The Flowering Eater swung lazily.

BOOOOOOOM.

The bat connected.

The ball erupted off it like a railgun round, shockwaves tearing the clay, a sonic boom detonating through the diamond and blurring upward, splitting the black sky.

The phantom Flowering Eater blurred from third, crossing towards home plate in seconds. The real Eater loped easily toward first, , then second... leisurely, unstoppable.

Yae’s smirk cracked. Her mind blazed. If that clears, it’s two points. We’ll be chasing shadows. Think. Think.

If they didn’t pull a miracle out of their sleeves now, the score would be lost before they even held a bat.

The phantom already slid into home plate, and the real monster rounded second.

And then the sky cracked.

A thunderous split ran across the darkness above, like glass shattering under too much weight. Through it came two shapes tumbling down.

First, a massive rotund Nightmare Eater, the strange one Shu had found below, the one that rebuilt instead of destroyed. Its bulk plummeted like a collapsed building, limbs flailing.

And clinging to its side, thrown along for the ride, came Shu Jinkō.

“WHOOAAAAA—!”

Torn scarf whipping around him. He pinwheeled, trying to get his bearings mid-fall. His eyes locked on the ball, still screaming through the air, a red railgun blur of death.

Somehow, impossibly, his hand snapped out.

SMACK.

The ball slammed into his hand like a meteor. His whole arm rattled, the shock blasting through his chest and knocking the breath out of him. He winced, teeth bared... but he held it!

“GOTCHA—ow ow ow ow ow—!”

Below, the rotund Eater crashed straight onto the Flowering Eater, flattening it against the diamond. Cloth strips lashed wildly as the Irate Jacket screeched.

And then Shu bounced.

The impact catapulted him off the big Eater’s rolling bulk, spinning him end over end. He hit the ground, rolled, tripped over his own cape, and finally skidded to a halt right on the diamond, ball still clenched in his bruised fist.

The Flowering Eater, pinned under its rotund cousin, was immobilized.

Shu blinked, dazed, then looked at the ball in his hand. His grin cracked wide under the skull-mask.

He raised it high.

“OUT!”

Yae stared at him, dumbfounded, her smirk twitching into a disbelieving laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

Ran barked out a laugh through blood, Ai trembled with wide, glassy eyes, and even Madoka tilted her cracked fox mask as though sighing in relief.

But it was true.

Through sheer luck — absurd, impossible Shu Jinkō luck — the Flowering Eater and its jacket were out.

The inning had ended.




On the field, everyone staggered back to the dugout line. Ran clutched his stomach where the Flowering Eater had speared him. Ai limped, still trembling with her scissors dragging. Simply Red leaned on her kanabo, blood dripping from a dozen cuts. Even Yae’s breathing was sharp, her hand pressed against her temple from overexertion.

Shu, battered but upright, raised a hand.

Ran blinked as the hole in his abdomen sealed, leaving only a dull ache. Ai’s trembling stopped as her muscles knit back together, though the haze in her eyes remained. Simply Red stretched as her and Momo were healed. Even Madoka’s cracked mask gleamed faintly as the fissures smoothed.

“There we go,” Shu said, his grin easy. “Nothing a little pick-me-up can’t fix.”

The relief was palpable, but so was the exhaustion.

While they caught their breath, Shu listened. Yae explained it bluntly: the jacket’s resentment, the symbiosis, the forced baseball game.

When she finished, Shu chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Baseball, huh? Honestly, that’s…” He let the grin widen. “That’s some pretty genius thinking, Yae. Using its own spite to box it into rules we can bend? I like it.”

Externally, Yae smirked, tilting her chin smugly. “Naturally. Someone had to keep the rest of you from flailing.”

Internally, her stomach flipped, her chest tightening at the direct praise. But she locked it away, folding it into her mask of confidence and smugness.

Shu turned to the rest, serious now. “Alright. I’m captain, so it’s on me.” He looked at the field, then back to his team.

Shu rubbed his chin, his grin sharpening.




Then he stepped to Ran, clapping a gauntlet against the bigger boy’s shoulder.

“Ran." he said "I got an idea you see..."

He whispered something to his right hand man.

“Heh, is that so...? Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

Shu nodded once, then turned to Ai.

Her breath hitched when his gaze fell on her. Her hair hung like a curtain across her face, her scissors trembling in her grip.

“Ai.” Shu crouched slightly so his skull-mask met her lowered eyes. His voice softened, even in the storm of the Zone. “I’ve got something big for you. Important.”

She froze, chest tight, her mind screaming and melting all at once.

"I know it’s hard. I know what it takes out of you.” His grin turned warm, steady. “But I trust you. Can I count on you?”

Her throat locked. She tried to speak, failed, then rasped out through the blur of blood and tears: “…y-yes.”

Shu straightened, clapping his hands together with a crack of deep red fire. “Good. That’s what I needed to hear. You two will be our ace for what comes after, too.”




The Flowering Eater stood tall on the mound, sleeves writhing like serpents. It coiled the ball in its cloth, faceless head tilting languidly.

At the plate, Simply Red stepped up with her kanabo slung like a bat, tailwinds howling behind her.

The first pitch came. A blur of cloth, the ball launched with impossible speed, twisting through the air with spiteful weight.

Simply Red swung whoosh and missed.

Strike one.

The second pitch came faster, harder. The oni swung again... and missed.

Strike two.

Simply Red rolled her shoulders. Her grin didn’t falter.

The third pitch tore forward.

SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!

The sound split the diamond, thunder rolling across the Flooding Zone. The ball screamed off the bat, tailwinds lashing it forward, tearing it deep into the outfield.

The Flowering Eater’s faceless head tilted sharply, cloth strips flaring. At once, the phantom projection sprang to life, streaking toward the sky-bound ball.

The Flowering Eater turned back toward the diamond. Toward Shu, standing at the dugout line alongside Madoka. Both were looking mighty confident.

The Flowering Eater’s cloth strips lashed irritably.

It knew.

They had done something.

Simply Red stomped onto first base, kanabo left behind for the next batter. The oni winked at Momo in the dugout.

At the plate came the next batter: Nameless.

The mass of arms bent low. It clutched Simply Red’s kanabo in a grotesque parody of a stance, dozens of hands linking together to grip the weapon.

Across the mound, the Flowering Eater swayed. It would not let another one through.

First pitch — whoosh. Nameless swung, a hurricane arc of arms and kanabo, but the ball spun past.

Strike one.

Second pitch — faster, crueler. Nameless swung again, the shockwave rattling the stands, but missed.

Strike two.

The Flowering Eater tilted its faceless head. Its confidence returned.

It glanced across the diamond. Ran was the first one it looked at, crouched low. His eyes were locked, unblinking, staring directly at the Flowering Eater. It's lingered on him, waiting for the trick.

Nothing.

The third pitch coiled in its sleeve. It snapped forward, fast, perfect, lethal.

And for an instant, the Flowering Eater felt it.

A hollowing in its arm. A faint sapping of strength. Its release faltered, though just barely. The ball spun imperfectly, momentum wobbling, control bleeding away.

Its head snapped toward Madoka.

She stood serene beyond third. Kukurihime’s robes shimmered with ancient sigils. Negacion been briefly activated, and it's effect had seeped into the Eater’s limbs, robbing it of clarity. And with Shu’s radiant aura bleeding from the dugout, Madoka’s power pulsed stronger than ever, her weakening finally enough to make a difference on the enemy, albeit a small one.

Dozens of arms flexed at once, gripping Simply Red’s kanabo with impossible force. It swung.

BOOOOM.

The ball cracked against the weapon’s head, exploding off it like a cannon. The shockwave shook the Zone and t he ball screamed across the field, tailwinds spiraling behind it.

Simply Red bolted from first, dust exploding in her wake. Nameless flung the kanabo aside, arms reaching skyward in grotesque triumph, incomplete skull rattling like laughter.

The Flowering Eater’s cloth strips writhed violently. It knew now.




The dust hadn’t even settled from Nameless’s swing when the Flowering Eater lashed its cloth back, the jacket writhing like a furious storm of serpents.

It swayed on the mound, sleeves curling around the next ball. The faceless head tilted, not lazily this time, but sharp. Every inch of its body radiated killing intent.

Yae narrowed her eyes as she checked the enemy. “It knows. It’s already compensating. Will probably stop messing around.”

Madoka raised her voice softly. “Our weakening won’t land again. It will throw harder and pour more power from the Jacket to crush the interference.”

Everyone’s gaze flicked to Shu.

He just laughed. A bright, rolling sound, absurd and out of place in the black-lit diamond.

“Perfect.”

Ran blinked away from his target for a second. “Huh?”

Shu jabbed a thumb toward the mound. The Flowering Eater’s faceless head was turned squarely at him. The cloth strips snapped with restless fury, every bit of it's attention directed not at the batters but at Shu Jinkō.

Shu's confidence however didn't change much. The Flowering Eater had indeed overcompensated for what little effect their weakening abilities could have on him.




The next round went to the Eater. As predicted, it had powered through their puny weakening.

Ai staggered back from the plate.

She’d swung with everything, tearing her body apart with each strike even, but the Flowering Eater had powered straight through the weakening and enhancements. Three blazing pitches, each harder than the last, each thrown with spite aimed at Shu himself.

Three strikes.

Out.

The Eater’s faceless head tilted smugly as Ai slumped, trembling, dragging her scissors back toward the dugout. But the smugness cracked as soon as its eyeless stare slid back to Shu. The boy hadn’t flinched once. He was still standing there on the dugout line, arms folded, smiling and radiating that absurd confidence that made the Zone itself falter.

Shu turned calmly toward the team. His eyes scanned them, one by one, deciding who the next batter would be.

is gaze settled on Takaishi.

“You’re up.”

The words hung like a hammer blow.

Takaishi froze. “…Me?”

Everyone else blinked.

Ran’s jaw dropped. “Prez, are you serious? Why not me?"

"Well you are already busy with something right?"

"That's true but..."

Takaishi’s stomach dropped. His legs felt leaden, his throat dry.

“I—uh—look, maybe one of the others—” His voice cracked. “I-I’m not—I can’t—”

Shu cut him off with a firm clap of his hand on his shoulder.

“You can.”

Takaishi blinked up, meeting Shu’s grin.

Takaishi’s knees shook. He swallowed hard. “…Damn it.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Takaishi stepped out of the dugout and toward the batter’s box.




Takaishi managed to lift the Kanabo, just barely.

The Flowering Eater wound its sleeve, ready to humiliate the frail human sent to the plate.

But Shu and Madoka weren’t about to let that happen.

At the dugout line, Shu clapped his gauntlets together, radiant fire bursting from his chest like sunlight. Deliverance bled into the diamond, golden warmth flooding Takaishi’s frame, numbing his fear and lighting his veins with strength he didn’t believe he had.

Madoka followed his example. Her hands traced glowing sutras in the air, layering one over another. Enhancement sank into Takaishi’s muscles, hardening his stride, sharpening his focus. His already absurd physical capabilities pushed even more. At the same time, her Negacion was used once more, the weakening effect wrapped around the Flowering Eater once again, subtly loosening the tightness in its throw, introducing the smallest wobble. They knew it would overpower the weakening effect, but there was no harm in trying.

Takaishi gripped the kanabo. His heart thundered so loud he thought it would burst. The pitch came screaming forward.

He didn’t swing. He angled.

Crack.

The ball trickled off the bat, rolling short down the line in a perfect bunt.

Even the Flowering Eater froze mid-step, cloth strips snapping violently in irritation.

Takaishi staggered back, arms screaming. His fingers throbbed with pain; the bat had nearly torn his grip apart. His hands were already raw, knuckles and palms bleeding.

But that wasn’t the hard part.

Now he had to run.

He dropped the bat, teeth clenched, and sprinted toward first. Nameless was already ahead of him, web of arms unfurling grotesquely as it charged into second. Simply Red thundered toward third, winds whipping like a cyclone at her back.

The Flowering Eater’s cloth lashed out in rage, strips snapping toward the ball to intercept.

Every muscle in Takaishi’s body burned, but his speed spiked, the Deliverance and Enhancement surging together. His stride blurred into something just shy of superhuman, his shoes pounding the warped clay like war drums.

The ball rolled short, the Eater’s phantom lunged to grab it—

But Nameless’s arms whipped out from second, slapping the cloth away, twisting it aside just long enough.

Dust exploded under Takaishi’s feet as he dove for the bag. His palms slammed down, burning, skin tearing—

And he landed on first base.

Safe.




The mannequins in the stands twitched and rattled, their frozen arms jerking in grotesque parody of cheers as Shu stepped onto the plate.

The Flowering Eater loomed on the mound, glyphs on the Irate Jacket blazing so bright they painted the diamond red. Its faceless head tilted low, every ounce of its hatred fixed squarely on Shu. It seethed, sleeves coiling around the ball.

Shu flexed his hands, then hefted the kanabo Simply Red had passed off. The weapon vibrated in his grip, every swing heavy, thunder rattling through his bones. Even in Geistzer’s Idolon form, it dragged at his shoulders.

“Man, I’ll be honest with you guys,” Shu said, adjusting his stance with exaggerated focus, “this thing is way heavier than it looks. If I miss, someone better run out there and tell the crowd we’re switching to golf.”

Ran snorted. “Pffft...”

Even Yae’s smirk twitched into something genuine, and Momo laughed openly, shaking her head.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, projecting his voice like a sports announcer, “we’ve got ourselves a classic set-up here at the Flooding Zone Diamond. Bases loaded—Simply Red on third, Nameless holding down second, and our boy Takaishi clutching first like his life depends on it.”

Ran barked a laugh from behind. “You’re insane.”

Shu ignored him, twirling the kanabo once, nearly dropping it before planting it back on his shoulder. “And here comes the last batter, folks—no one’s betting on him, he can barely swing, he’s too much of a fool for this kind of work—but hey, sometimes the heart of the order just falls right in your lap!”

Even Momo cracked a grin, shaking her head. Yae pressed her lips together, her smirk twitching despite herself.

The mannequins in the stands convulsed harder, their arms clapping faster, grotesque applause mixing with something like real excitement. The jacket twitched with them, its glyphs flaring faintly with enjoyment, like it wanted to play along.

The Flowering Eater immediately snapped its faceless head toward it, sleeves lashing. The glyphs dimmed, forced silent under its dominance.

Shu’s grin only widened. “Aw, don’t be like that. Let the jacket have its fun—it’s just good sportsmanship.”

He bent his knees, kanabo trembling in his grip. The skull-mask tilted toward the mound.

“All bases loaded. Two outs. Batter steps up. This is it, folks. The play that’ll decide the whole damn game.”

"You didn't get any strikes yet" corrected Yae from afar.

"I'm just trying to get in the zone!" said Shu.

“Pitcher’s ready,” he muttered, voice dropping low. “Batter’s ready.”

Then, louder, echoing through the Zone:

“Maximum Effort!”

The Flowering Eater wound back.

The Flowering Eater wound up. The Irate Jacket writhed in fury, every strip snapping taut. Then—

WHOOOOOOM.

The pitch tore forward, not as a ball but as a missile. Sonic booms erupted in its wake, shockwaves splitting the clay. The air exploded as the throw ripped across the plate, dust and smoke billowing in a suffocating storm.

The Eater tilted its faceless head, smug, certain. Its eyeless gaze slid to Shu, waiting for the sight of him broken.

But when the smoke cleared, it froze.

Because the ball, the impossible, murderous pitch, wasn’t screaming anymore.

It was floating.

Pitch black, lazy, hanging in the air like it weighed nothing.

Shu gave it the gentlest tap with the kanabo.

And the world flipped.

The black sphere rocketed upward, not batted so much as unleashed, soaring high into the warped sky, its edges distorting the floodlights.

The Flowering Eater reeled, cloth strips snapping violently. What?! How?!

But it was too late.

The plan had never been about the swing. The plan was that the Eater had been so consumed glaring at Shu, so consumed forcing its rage into one perfect pitch, that it never noticed the swap.

The ball it had picked had been a small Yata Mirror from Madoka, and fully under her control.

“All yours, Madoka!” Shu shouted, already sprinting for first base.

The Flowering Eater’s fury hit meltdown. Its sleeves lashed, and the phantom projection tore across the field, streaking after the ball.

But as it leapt the Mirror slid sideways, dodging.

She was controlling it. Every time the phantom lunged, the sphere angled away, weaving through the sky like a teasing star.

Nameless was already halfway to third, arms outstretched grotesquely. Simply Red thundered across home, winds booming with her laughter.

For a heartbeat, everyone expected her to just thunder past, same as always. But instead, the towering oni girl skidded to a halt—

—and threw up both peace signs beside her face.

“✌️(≧▽≦)✌️”

She tilted her head, cheeks puffed, one eye squeezed shut in a cartoonishly exaggerated wink. A swirl of red wind kicked up around her, forming a lopsided heart in the dust cloud.

Momo buried her face in her palm, groaning. “…She’s been watching too many idol shows…”

But her grin betrayed her pride.

One Point

Nameless followed the oni's lead, legs blurring unnaturally until it slid into home, skull rattling like mocking laughter. Two points.

Takaishi came last, stumbling, lungs tearing, hands raw from the bunt. He dove headfirst into the bag, barely beating the phantom’s desperate swipe. *Three points.

But the Flowering Eater did not play fair.

Its sleeves flared, glyphs burning with raw spite. In a single step it shattered the sound barrier, the sonic boom ripping across the diamond like an explosion. It tore through the field, cloth snapping out to snatch the black Yata Mirror from the air. The sphere buckled against its grip, gravity twisting, but the Eater dragged it down by brute force alone.

And then it was on Shu.

“Prez!” Ran roared.

The Eater’s hand speared forward, fingers piercing into Shu’s side, straight through Geistzer’s armor. Blood sprayed across the warped clay as the monster lifted him into the air, holding him aloft like a broken doll.

The Flowering Eater pulled its arm back, ready to tear Shu apart in front of everyone.

But the jacket… rebelled

Strips unbinding from the Eater’s flesh. They writhed in protest, lashing like serpents, pulling away. The Irate Jacket burned with resentment—not at Shu, not at the game, but at its partner.

Shu coughed blood, grinning weakly beneath the skull-mask. His voice cracked but carried, defiant even in the Eater’s grasp.

“Hey… look at you two.” He raised his trembling hand, gauntlet still glowing faintly. “Your partner was just enjoying the game. Having fun even with a little rule bending. That’s what this was supposed to be. But you…”

His grin widened, absurd and bright even with blood dripping from his chin.

“You had to go and ruin it.”

The Flowering Eater froze, its faceless head jerking violently as if in disbelief.

The jacket ripped free with a sound like tearing sky, its glyphs bursting into wild crimson spirals. Cloth strips lashed in every direction, no longer bound to the Flowering Eater, writhing like serpents starved of purpose.

The Eater staggered, faceless head jerking in disbelief. For the first time, it looked… less than invincible.

Shu, bleeding, still hanging half-slumped in its grip, raised his voice through the pain. “Now!”

Ai moved before thought.

Her Idolon form blurred into a streak of torn black dress and glinting steel, her scissors flashing. Her face—flayed, ruined—twisted with anguish as she crossed the diamond. This was his jacket. Shu’s. The thing she had clutched, worshipped, broken herself over in the shadows. But Shu had asked her, back at the dugout. Work with Ran. Do this for me.

So she obeyed.

With a scream that split her throat raw, Ai drove her scissors forward. One single, brutal stab, all her obsession and frenzy condensed into a single motion.

The blades sheared through cloth and glyph alike, piercing the Irate Jacket’s writhing form. The glyphs shattered, bursting into arcs of red light. The jacket convulsed, its serpentine strips writhing and curling inward, its power torn apart in one unbelievable stroke.

The Flowering Eater let out a distorted shriek, staggering, its faceless head twisting violently as it felt the backlash.

And that was when Ran moved.

Twinned Wrath’s form brighter than ever, red and blue both blazing with pure energy. He had been patient all game, every exchange, every clash. Ran had been feeding. Stockpiling.

The Flowering Eater had been enjoying limitless stamina and energy, its boundless drive fed by the Irate Jacket—it had never noticed. To the monster, that reservoir was endless. It never realized Ran had been tapping into it as well.

For the entire game Ran had been amassing power through Linked Vengeance.

Ran roared, the sound rattling the warped diamond. His red fist ignited like a star. He converted every shred of stolen stamina into raw destructive force, his body trembling with the weight of it.

Then he punched.

The blow landed square against the Flowering Eater’s chest.

BOOOOOOOOM.

The shockwave obliterated the field. The clay split, the mannequins in the stands shattered into dust, the floodlights exploded into arcs of static. The sheer force dwarfed even the Eater’s railgun pitch, a strike that put its proudest throw to shame.

The Flowering Eater’s body bent inward, ichor spraying, its faceless head snapping back. The blast hurled it across the diamond like a ragdoll, slamming it through the warped fences and into the black horizon beyond.

Silence.

Ran stood trembling in the crater, his fists still glowing, his chest heaving.

Ai staggered, scissors dripping, staring at the shredded remains of the jacket she had just impaled.

And Shu, still bleeding but grinning through it, finally let himself drop to his knees.

The game was over.




The diamond was cracked to ruin, the warped chalk lines glowing faintly as the Flooding Zone’s pulse finally ebbed. The mannequins in the stands had dissolved into heaps of ash, their frozen applause stilled at last. Everyone stood catching their breath, bloodied and half-broken, but alive.

Momo leaned on Simply Red’s kanabo, eyes squinting at the massive, rotund figure still collapsed in the outfield. The big Eater Shu fell along was still out of commission.

She jabbed a thumb toward it. “So, uh… Prez. Mind telling me what that thing is? Or should I even be asking?”

Shu had only just pushed himself upright. His grin was tired but steady. “That big guy? Believe it or not, he’s another Flowering Eater. Met him when I got dropped into the basement of this place.”

Momo blinked. “Another? Don’t those things usually… y’know… kill everything?”

“Yeah.” Shu rubbed the back of his neck. “But this one didn’t. He wasn’t lashing out, just… rebuilding rubble. Over and over. Like he was trying to put the Zone back together instead of tearing it down.”

He looked out at the collapsed field, his voice thoughtful. “I’ve got a theory. Flowering Eaters feed on dreams, right? Desires. The one we fought—” he jerked a thumb toward the crater Ran had punched into existence, “—was fattened up on someone’s anger. On the dream of lashing out. But this big guy…” Shu’s eyes softened. “He fed on the dream of fixing something broken. Of making it whole again.”

Shu exhaled. “And if I’m right, those dreams weren’t random. Both of them came from the same person—the one who spawned this Zone in the first place.” He paused, then added: “…Ai.”

That made Momo straighten. “Wait—Ai? You mean that Ai? Ai Suishi?”

“Yeah.” Shu turned, pointing.

At the edge of the diamond, Ai still stood in her Idolon form. Ragged black dress fluttering, ruined face hidden beneath her long hair, her giant scissors dragging grooves in the clay. Her body swayed as though the only thing keeping it upright was sheer obsession.

Momo sighed, rubbing her temple. “Tch. Figures. Guess I can’t avoid it anymore. I’ll have to actually talk to her after this.”

Shu tilted his head. “What, to recruit her? You thinking your gang could use another bat on the lineup.”

“No,” Momo said flatly. Her eyes lingered on Ai. “But I should at least talk to her. After all this…”

She looked back at Shu. “…She’s my cousin.”

Shu froze, his grin twitching. “…Wait, for real?”

Momo gave him a look like she couldn’t believe he was the one asking stupid questions. “Yeah. For real.”




Bonus Scene 1

The static-laced vision winked out, the sound of Shu’s triumphant laugh fading into white hiss. Gone.

In their place: the dim backroom of Morinaga Videos.

An old cathode-ray TV buzzed on a sagging stand, the screen still glowing faintly with the last frozen frame of Shu grinning through blood. Empty VHS cases were stacked high around the room like broken teeth. A dusty fan whined overhead.

Kenji Kurosawa leaned forward in his busted folding chair, elbows on his knees, white hair glinting under the flicker of the CRT. His wide eyes reflected the frozen image.

“…And CUT!” her soft, spliced voice chirped, a cheerful ka-chunk like a tape deck clicking off.

Kenji threw his arms wide. “Terrible! Absolutely amateur-hour!” He spun toward Itsuro and Rin, his voice booming like he was calling to an audience. “You don’t blow your villain’s hand in the first act! You tease the danger, you foreshadow, you pace it out so when the third reel comes crashing down—bam! That’s when the lead eats his downfall!”

Rin sat cross-legged on a milk crate in the corner, hood pulled low, a small snack wrapper quietly crinkling in her hands. She didn’t flinch at his outburst, her tone flat and quiet. “…So we failed. We didn’t take him out.”

It hadn’t been the Flooding Zone that split Shu from the others. Not exactly. The sudden chasm, the twisting walls, the cloth that lashed and dragged him into the depths. those weren’t the Idea World’s chaos at work. They were Itsuro’s hand.

Or rather, the hand of his Idolon.

Those strips of cloth that had bound and tossed Shu like a ragdoll weren’t the zone’s spontaneous malice. They were part of Itsuro’s form, hidden beneath Rin’s concealment. Together, the trio had orchestrated his separation, isolating the “protagonist” so they could stage their own test against him.

Itsuro leaned back against a shelf, half-shadowed, his sharp eyes watching the static on the screen instead of her. His voice was level, clinical. “No. You did well. Hiding me like that meant they’ll assume the cloth attack was just another denizen of the Idea World. And there’s nothing wrong with striking at the leader if opportunity presents itself. Even if it didn’t work, we still got a ton of useful info about what they're capable of. If we weight our options now..."

Rin nodded once, though her expression didn’t shift from her tired blankness.

Kenji slapped his thigh, scowling. “Weight, shm-eight. You can’t just stab at the protagonist in the cold open! You’re wasting your money shot before the setup’s had time to breathe!” He jabbed a finger at Itsuro like a director berating his actor. “Your motivation was all wrong! You need proper escalation! A second-act twist, maybe a heel reveal—then you pull the rug out and deliver the payoff! That’s how you structure the narrative!”

Rin leaned her chin against her knees, voice flat but steady. “…So? What do we do now?”

"As I said" Itsuro hated having to repeat himself “We keep our advantage. They don’t know it was us. They think it was just another monster. That’s all that matters for now.”

Kenji barked a laugh, loud and theatrical, cutting through the gloom. “Wrong, wrong, wrong!” He pointed a finger at the screen, his grin manic. “You’re treating this like a chess match again! When it’s a screenplay!! Right now, we’re background extras throwing soup at the lead. No menace, no mystery, no gravitas.”

He leaned back, spreading his arms like he was conducting an invisible orchestra. “What we need is escalation! Pacing! A properly lit reveal in the second act that ties back to the opening scene. Otherwise, when the credits roll, we’re just nameless thugs getting flattened by the hero’s theme song!”

Theme songs? Rin, low and almost without realizing it, mumbled under her breath:

“Go Geistzer… He’s the Hero of Darkness, arriving right before it dawns..."

Her voice trailed off, and she tugged her hood lower, cheeks pink in the dim light. “…Forget I said anything.”

Kenji’s grin sharpened, clapping his hands once like a director approving a take. “Exactly! Even the peanut gallery hums his leitmotif. That’s what we’re up against: a walking franchise! Of course the audience will eat it up!”

Itsuro had been silent, his gaze still on the flickering CRT. He tapped one finger against his arm, slow, measured. Then his lips curved into that faint smile again.

“…Maybe you’re right.”

Kenji blinked, taken aback by the concession.

“Not just the buildup. If he insists on being the invincible hero of a pulp serial… then perhaps the key isn’t to fight him on his terms at all.”

He leaned forward, the static light carving his face into sharp planes. “Every perfect hero needs his foil. The role that flips the narrative. Not another action reel… but a shift in tone.”

Kenji’s grin returned, wild and toothy. “Now you’re speaking cinema! The buddy cop picture becomes a thriller. The swashbuckler turns horror.” He jabbed a finger toward Shu’s frozen face on the screen. “You change the reel, and suddenly the hero’s in the wrong movie.”

Rin looked between them, her expression unreadable, though her small voice slipped out. “…You’re talking about rewriting the story.”

Itsuro smiled.

"I'm talking about changing the entire genre."




Bonus Scene 2

The sun beat down over Higan’s dusty baseball field, cicadas buzzing loud enough to drown out the chatter. The class was lined up along the dugout, half-bored, half-excited to finally have something different from the usual laps and stretches.

“Jinkō!” the PE teacher barked. “You’re up!”

Shu slung the bat over his shoulder and jogged toward the plate. A murmur ran through the class—at first because of the usual presence he carried, but then because of what hung off his frame.

“Oi, Prez, what the hell’s with your jacket?” someone called.

Shu stopped mid-step, turning with that easy smile. The tattered remains of his PE jacket clung to his shoulders, ripped to ribbons, the zipper mangled beyond recognition. The fabric fluttered like battle flags in the breeze, the holes scorched and frayed.

He tugged it a little straighter, like he was showing it off. “Oh, this?” His grin widened, not defensive in the slightest. “Figured I’d give it the sendoff it deserves.”

The laughter and jeers died off into something quieter confused glances and curious stares.

He turned back to the plate, the bat resting casual on his shoulder. For a heartbeat, the jacket didn’t look pathetic at all. It looked like it had been through hell and back, a trophy of some untold battle.

The pitcher wound up. Shu planted his feet.

The ball cut through the air with a hiss. Shu’s swing came with a grin and a shout—

“MAXIMUM EFFORT!”

Crack!

The ball screamed upward, clearing the outfield, sailing past the fence like it had been waiting for this moment all along.

A home run.

Edit

Pub: 30 Sep 2025 18:49 UTC

Edit: 02 Oct 2025 19:26 UTC

Views: 43