151-155

*Chapter 151: Three Living Nightmares*

Soon enough, Riku, along with two others and Panam, arrived at the meeting spot—a modest, sparsely furnished house that felt open and airy, making it the perfect choice for the gathering. The nomads were already there, huddled in their respective groups.

The place was buzzing with people. Members from the Red Ochre, Buckle, Overton, Ortiz, and Salomon families had already shown up. Some were part of the Aldecaldo clan, while others hailed from the other six nomadic tribes.

The Aldecaldos were the first nomadic tribe to form, followed by Jodes, Snake Nation, Theras, Commoners, Hotbloods, and the Meta Group—collectively known as the Seven Nomad Tribes.

Panam belonged to the Bright family, one of the Aldecaldo-affiliated clans. They often flew the Aldecaldo banner without mentioning the Bright name much, likely as a survival tactic.

It wasn’t like they were pretending—after all, the Bright family was legitimately part of the Aldecaldos. No issue there. The Aldecaldos, originating in Los Angeles, were a coalition of dozens of families spread across California. Most of the families in Night City were tied to them.

“Man, it’s been a while since I’ve seen some of these folks. And there are a few new faces too,” Panam said calmly as she scanned the room, stepping into the not-so-crowded house. She recognized a few Aldecaldo-affiliated families she’d dealt with before, but there were also some unfamiliar faces she’d never met.

“Panam from the Bright family,” a few nomads who’d crossed paths with her before greeted her casually. Outsiders might not catch the subtle differences between Aldecaldo families, but they knew exactly who was who. One glance, and they could tell Panam was from the Brights.

The Bright family wasn’t doing too badly. Sure, they’d hit some rough patches in recent years, but under their new leader, Saul Bright, things were starting to stabilize.

This made Tran Buckle, standing nearby, a bit jealous. His Buckle family companions shared the same sentiment.

“If only we had a leader like Saul Bright, I’d be content,” Tran muttered under his breath, genuinely envious.

The Buckle family was also in a shaky state. Ever since their old matriarch, Serita Buckle, passed away, they’d gone through three leaders in just four or five years. Things were going downhill fast, and watching their once-proud family weaken was eating at everyone.

For nomad families, having a strong successor was everything. Without one, even the grandest legacy could crumble.

“Lorna’s not a bad person, but she’s too deep into her booze to control herself. Had to step down. Delou was brave enough, but he died too soon. As for Chary, I’m not holding my breath,” a flat-topped man next to Tran whispered. Delou Buckle, Lorna Ruiz, and Chary Darling—these were the Buckle family’s recent leaders. One died in battle, one quit, and one wasn’t taken seriously. Together, they’d driven the family to its current sorry state.

“Nobody’s betting on Chary, V. I just hope she can act normal and drop that nonsense about joining Snake Nation. Under Grandmother’s leadership, the Buckle family stayed proudly independent. And now, just a few years later, we’re supposed to bow to our old allies? I can’t stomach that shame,” Tran said, frowning as he spoke to Vincent beside him.

Tran was Serita Buckle’s grandson. His grandmother was a legendary figure, long-lived and brilliant, leading the Buckle family to prominence. But her very brilliance and longevity left the family without a strong successor—her chosen heirs didn’t even outlive her.

Vincent, another V, sighed. The Buckle family’s future was grim, plain as day. If they really merged with Snake Nation, what would become of them? He felt lost.

“Alright, nomad brothers, great to see you all! I’m Jack Welles, and these are Devil and V. We’re your new partners, and I’m hoping we can work together smoothly,” Jack announced, stepping forward with a confident introduction that drew everyone’s attention.

Vincent’s eyes widened as he zeroed in on the “V” Jack mentioned—a woman with a sharp, streetwise vibe.

“Well, ain’t that a coincidence? We’ve got a V over here too,” Tran blurted out before Vincent could say anything, leaving him slightly embarrassed.

“Oh?” Everyone turned to look at Tran and Vincent. Riku, especially, was intrigued. Studying Vincent, he thought, This guy really does look like the canon male V.

“Haha, what are the odds? I must have some kinda fate with people named V. This is the third one I’ve met!” Jack laughed heartily, chalking it up to destiny.

First, there was his old friend, a corporate V working a desk job. Then there was his Heywood pal, a street-running V. Now, here was a nomad V. So many Vs, each with their own path, but all connected by meeting Jack Welles.

“Vincent. Nice to meet you all,” Vincent said reluctantly under everyone’s gaze, forced to use his real name since there was another V in the room.

“Valerie. Guess we’re fated to meet,” V said generously, fist-bumping Vincent and exchanging contact info with a friendly grin.

Riku already knew V’s real name was Valerie. Jack had also mentioned another V, a corporate woman named Vivian, who was currently out of Night City on a job. Three Vs in one little Night City—what a stroke of luck.

Riku smirked to himself. The Buckle family hadn’t fallen apart yet, and nomad V, Vincent, wasn’t ready to leave his clan. Recruiting him would have to wait about a year and a half, until the Buckle family decided to join Snake Nation. When that happened, Vincent, Tran, and other young Buckles would likely ditch the family to make their own way in Night City. That’d be the time to pull Vincent in, using the connection they were building now.

“Alright, everyone’s here, so let’s talk business. We’re open to negotiating prices—don’t worry, we won’t shortchange you. But quality’s non-negotiable. No compromises there,” Jack said, cutting through the chatter. The guy was starting to carry himself like a real boss, exuding confidence even among the nomads. Some people were just born to lead.

Riku watched from the sidelines, feeling a bit like a proud mentor. This kid’s got potential, he thought, almost like a parent watching their child succeed. He wasn’t one for handling these kinds of deals himself—Jack was perfect for it. Riku preferred staying in the background, the mastermind calling the shots. If things went south, he’d step in. V, meanwhile, was the muscle, charging in when needed. Jack played the good cop, V the bad cop—a perfect dynamic.

The nomads exchanged glances, clearly pleased with Jack’s approach. He wasn’t as aggressive as some others, like that old bastard Kli Hall, who had a bad rep among nomads for lowballing prices.

As negotiations kicked off, Jack made it clear he wasn’t here to squeeze the nomads dry. He treated Haitians, Dogtown folks, and nomads the same. Sure, transportation costs varied due to distance, but Jack wasn’t one to nickel-and-dime. He offered a fair price—take it or leave it.

“You guys are way better than that old geezer Kli Hall. We’re in,” Panam said first, her tone decisive. Jack’s offer was better than the target price Saul Bright had set for her, and since she wasn’t one to haggle over small stuff, she instantly took a liking to Jack, Devil, and V’s straightforward style. She preferred dealing with people who didn’t beat around the bush.

Truth be told, Panam and Saul Bright, the leader the Buckles envied, were like oil and water. Their constant clashes made her a prime candidate for leaving the Bright family early—more likely than Vincent leaving the Buckles.

The Buckle family was a traditional nomad clan, always staying outside the city. Vincent had never even set foot in Night City. If the family hadn’t fallen apart, he might’ve spent his life smuggling on the open road, never leaving the Badlands. The Aldecaldos, on the other hand, had closer ties to the city. All seven nomad tribes did, in fact.

They lived outside the system but weren’t entirely disconnected. From Night City’s post-war reconstruction to the collapse of America, the Seven Nomad Tribes were everywhere. Snake Nation and the Commoners built the New York-Boston extension of the maglev system. The Aldecaldos and Jodes helped rebuild Chicago and Los Angeles. The Aldecaldos even took on Mexico City’s reconstruction. Night City’s recovery owed a lot to the nomads’ efforts.

Compared to Vincent, Panam was more open to city life. But she’d only consider it once she’d had enough of Saul Bright. Her issue wasn’t with the family itself—just its leader. So, it wasn’t like she’d be branded a traitor for leaving.

“We’re in too,” Tran Buckle said, raising his hand after Panam. Like Vincent, he exchanged contact info with Riku, V, and Jack. Honestly, he was already thinking about his exit strategy. If the Buckle family joined Snake Nation, he’d walk away without hesitation. He wouldn’t accept that kind of humiliation.

Riku gave Tran a friendly nod. He was open to welcoming the Buckle family’s young talent. Nomads weren’t exactly embraced in Night City—city folks looked down on them as backwater hicks. Making it big in the city was tough for nomads, but Riku’s group could be their ticket in, building a mutually beneficial bond.

The deal was sealed quickly, with everyone on board and diving into the details. Jack took charge, having already hashed things out with Father and Old Captain beforehand.

“Vincent, judging by that look, the Buckle family’s in a rough spot, huh?” Riku asked, sidling up to Vincent with V as the leaders handled the finer points and others mingled.

“Yeah, it’s no secret. The Buckle family’s becoming a joke,” Vincent admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. Their once-proud identity was fading, and he felt powerless to stop it, watching the family slide into ruin.

“If things get too tough, come to the city. You won’t make a name for yourself out here. If you want to be somebody, Night City’s where you’ve gotta go,” V said before Riku could, clearly taking a liking to her fellow V.

Vincent fell silent, then shook his head. He wasn’t ready to abandon his family. The nomad code put loyalty to the clan above all else.

“Let’s see what the future holds. Who knows? Time will tell,” Riku said with a smile, not pushing further. Vincent wasn’t ready to give up on the Buckles yet, still clinging to some faint hope. But that hope wouldn’t last long. Even Tran, Serita Buckle’s grandson, had given up. The Buckle family’s spirit was broken.

The three chatted casually until the meeting wrapped up. Vincent’s personality clicked well with Riku and V—naturally, since he was a loyal, stand-up guy.

As the meeting ended, everyone said their goodbyes. Riku, Jack, and V hopped in their car back to Night City, Riku’s mind still on the nomads.

Among the tribes there, aside from Panam’s Bright family and Vincent’s Buckle family, one other stood out to him: the Red Ochre tribe. He remembered them thanks to Biotechnica’s dirty deeds.

Soon enough, the Red Ochre tribe would get screwed over by Biotechnica. Their regional R&D director and genetic engineer, Joanne Koch, had her eyes on them as test subjects. Riku didn’t mind lending them a hand—anything to stick it to Biotechnica.

Plus, there was still unfinished business with Sasha and the Securicine painkiller. That meant more clashes with Biotechnica, Zetatech Pharma, and even Petrochem pulling the strings behind them.

*Chapter 152: A Light in the Darkness*

With the nomad tribe business sorted, Riku and his crew returned to Night City. The city was a stark contrast to the Badlands, its neon lights flooding their eyes once again.

“Life out in the Badlands isn’t half bad, you know,” Jack mused suddenly from behind the wheel, clearly fond of the tight-knit vibe among the nomad families.

“It’s kinda like Heywood,” V added. “If you think about it, Heywood’s like one big nomad tribe. Everyone’s got each other’s backs, tied together by tradition and a bond that’s practically family.”

Under the influence of the Valentino gang, Heywood folks lived by values like honor, justice, and brotherhood, willing to pay any price to defend them. In Valentino culture, betrayal was the ultimate sin—traitors, like those in the Chaos Blade gang, often faced the death penalty.

Their approach to friendship was just as serious. There was a saying: if you’re thinking about befriending a Valentino, you’d better be sure from the start.

“Wanna hit Afterlife for a drink? Call up Lucy, Sasha, and the gang?” Jack suggested. After wrapping up a big job, it was time for the usual “bar night.” Say what you will about cyberpunks—they sure knew how to kick back.

Especially now. Life was way better than before. With cash to spare, they hit Afterlife whenever they felt like it. It wasn’t just about drinking—Afterlife was Night City’s unofficial “mercenary guild.” You could pick up all sorts of gigs there.

As the king of fixers, Rogue’s Afterlife wasn’t just for her own jobs. Plenty of independent fixers without their own turf used the bar as a hub to connect with cyberpunks for missions.

Fixers generally fell into two camps: local heavyweights like Padre or Old Captain, rooted in their districts, and independents who leaned on Afterlife’s platform. That’s how Rogue earned her “Queen of Fixers” title, and how Afterlife got its legendary rep.

“Let’s do it,” Riku agreed. He wasn’t passing this time—mostly because he always carried coffee with him, so he’d have something to sip at the bar.

Soon enough, the trio rolled up to Afterlife. The bouncer, Emmerich, didn’t bat an eye. Riku might’ve looked unfamiliar, but Jack and V were practically regulars, so bringing a plus-one was no big deal.

They grabbed a spot, and the bar was buzzing as always. Cyberpunks were everywhere—picking up jobs, turning in bounties, or just shooting the breeze. As soon as Jack and V walked in, people greeted them left and right. It was clear they’d made a name for themselves in the city.

Being a cyberpunk was all about strength. Show you’ve got what it takes, and you’ll earn respect.

“With a steady paycheck, I’m starting to feel like my edge is dulling,” Jack said, taking a swig of his drink as the three chatted.

“Corporate dogs are a different breed,” Riku shot back. “They’re all ambition and risk, clawing their way up. If you try to coast, you’re out the door fast.”

In the cyberpunk world, corporate workers were the ultimate grinders. It wasn’t about wanting to hustle—you had to, or you’d starve. Companies didn’t see employees as people; if you couldn’t deliver value, you were “optimized” out of existence.

“Fair point,” Jack nodded. “My other friend named V—you guys still haven’t met her. No clue what kinda gig she’s been sent on.”

Jack’s corporate V was proof enough. Desk jockeys couldn’t slack off and expect a cozy salary like the cyberpunks sometimes could. That corporate V had sold her soul to the company for a paycheck, and it wasn’t an easy life.

“We’re not exactly living the dream either,” V chimed in, rolling her eyes. “If this deal goes south, we’re in deep with the Haitian Voodoo Boys, Dogtown smugglers, and those nomads. None of them are pushovers.”

As they talked, Lucy slid into the booth next to them, her tone carrying a hint of resentment. “You three have been busy with some big stuff, huh?”

Riku, V, and Jack exchanged glances, instantly picking up on why Lucy was miffed. They’d agreed to team up, but the trio had taken down Night City’s organic meat mogul, Kli Hall, without looping her in.

It wasn’t intentional. The organic meat business hadn’t involved Lucy to begin with, and this job stemmed from that. It just didn’t cross their minds to call her—or Sasha, for that matter. Group missions were one thing, but personal jobs like this? They didn’t feel the need to drag others in.

“Take a seat,” Riku said, breaking the tension. “It wasn’t about needing a netrunner, or we’d have called you. We just barreled through it, no tech required.”

Lucy nodded, getting it. She didn’t press further and instead asked, “I picked up a gig. You guys free?”

“Count me in,” Jack said quickly, not wanting Lucy to feel left out. It really wasn’t about excluding her—just that she hadn’t been tied to the Kli Hall job.

“Let’s wait for Sasha,” Lucy said, ordering a drink and settling in. Funny how fate worked—two people who’d never crossed paths in the original timeline were now getting along pretty well.

Soon, Sasha arrived, rocking her signature cat-head look, dressed to the nines and radiating charm. “Sorry, kept you waiting?” she said with a grin, hands clasped in a playful apology.

“No worries. Waiting for a beautiful lady is always worth it,” Riku teased, making Sasha’s eyes crinkle with a delighted smile. Clearly, her effort to doll up paid off.

V rolled her eyes and took a swig of her drink. Jack chuckled, then turned to Sasha. “So, what’s this job Lucy mentioned?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a big deal,” Sasha said, pausing. She shot Lucy a mildly annoyed look, who avoided her gaze by focusing on her glass. Clearly, they hadn’t agreed on involving the others. “It’s about Biotechnica. You remember Securicine?”

V set her drink down, her expression turning serious. “The painkiller.”

She hadn’t forgotten. As someone with a conscience, she was eager to help if it meant making a difference. Jack and Riku’s faces hardened too—they were on the same page.

“Any progress on Securicine?” Riku asked. Sasha had been relentless about it, and he’d warned her to be careful. It wasn’t just a job—her mother’s death was tied to it. A vendetta like that wasn’t easy to let go.

“I found a new journalist, Max Jones. He’s way more legit than the last one. Max is known for fearless reporting, and he’s super interested in Securicine,” Sasha explained.

Max Jones. The name rang a bell for Riku. He was Regina Jones’ younger colleague, a real journalist driven by truth, unafraid of danger. Sasha had picked the right guy.

“He works for Night City Inquirer,” Sasha added.

V and Jack looked blank at the mention of Max, but Night City Inquirer clicked. It was a well-known indie outlet, home to hard-hitting reporters. The last big name from there was Liam Allen, a legend in journalism.

Liam had worked across independent news stations and portals, a veteran in the field. V and Jack knew him because he’d died over a Heywood investigation. About six months ago, on August 28, 2074, Liam was killed in his apartment by unknown assailants. He’d been digging into shady deals between corporate-backed developers and Heywood’s Vista del Rey district. He’d poked the wrong bear.

The killer was never found. Riku knew they never would be—three years from now, the NCPD would quietly drop the case. If Liam hadn’t been so high-profile, it wouldn’t have even lasted that long.

“Sounds like a solid guy,” Jack said. Night City Inquirer tackling Securicine wasn’t surprising—they were known for diving into taboo topics like corporate crimes, cyberpsycho deaths, and veterans’ plights.

“I’m meeting him tonight,” Sasha said. “He needs hard evidence—something that can undeniably prove Securicine’s issues.”

She had some trust in Max. Night City Inquirer had a reputation for fearless reporting in a city where journalists and investigators often paid with their lives.

“We’re coming with you,” Riku said firmly. Securicine was a big deal, tied to countless lives and billions in Biotechnica’s revenue. They wouldn’t sit idly by—Biotechnica would be watching. Even Night City Inquirer might be under surveillance, and Max could end up like his predecessors.

“Maybe we should loop in Regina Jones,” Riku suggested, drawing looks from the group. Regina was a familiar name—a fixer in Watson. Before that, she’d been a journalist, Max’s mentor even. She’d walked the same path as him but had since switched tracks.

Sasha shook her head. “Let’s meet Max first. Regina’s a fixer now. Who knows if she’s still got that fire she had as a reporter?”

“Fair enough,” Riku agreed. He knew Regina still cared about Max, but as a fixer, she’d likely grown more pragmatic. Whether she’d still take risks like Max was questionable.

The five finished their drinks and headed out to the meeting spot in a cramped Thorton. “Hope this doesn’t turn into an ambush like last time,” Riku said with a grin, making Sasha blush. Last time was on her.

“No worries,” Jack said, flexing. “Even if Arasaka’s Trauma Team shows up, we’ll take ‘em down!”

Jack was referencing Riku’s legendary fight against the Trauma Team, a feat that earned him the nickname “Immortal Demon” Daiwo Collins. The Trauma Team had never failed to take down a cyberpsycho in Night City—until Daiwo. His near-invincibility was a big part of his fame. Who wouldn’t want the ability to survive being cut in half?

The “Immortal Demon” identity had to stay under wraps for now. Invincibility was one thing; raw power or a “demon mode” was another. The allure of near-immortality was unmatched.

The group arrived at the meeting spot in the Northside Industrial District. Sasha had wised up, picking an open area where ambushes were harder to pull off. Worst case, they could bolt into the Badlands.

A Thorton was parked nearby—cheap, reliable, and a favorite for those needing protection. Thanks to Riku’s endorsement, Thorton sales had spiked as people wary of their safety snapped them up.

“Max Jones?” Riku called, knocking on the car window. It rolled down, revealing a man in a crisp shirt, short hair, and a square jaw radiating old-school integrity.

“Sasha? You’re a guy?” Max frowned, foot hovering over the gas, ready to peel out. He was scared but resolute. Some things had to be done.

He was a torchbearer in the dark, his steps shaky but forward, lighting the way for others. He believed, one day, the darkness would be driven out.

“No need to worry,” Riku said with a smile, easing the tension. “Big job like this, you don’t expect us to let a lady come alone, do you?”

Sasha and the others approached, confirming Max’s identity via message. He relaxed, stepping out and lighting a cigarette. “Alright, let’s hear it,” he said, looking at Sasha.

This was no small matter—going head-to-head with Biotechnica. Most wouldn’t dare; those who did rarely lived long. But Max was ready. The moment he chose to be a real journalist, he’d put his life on the line.

*Chapter 153: Wait for My Return Before Acting*

“You guys… you’ve got some serious guts. These files are so detailed. The attack on Biotechnica’s building last time—that was you, wasn’t it?”

When Sasha showed Max Jones, a reporter from Night City Inquirer, the Securicine files, the guy was floored. The data covered every angle imaginable.

“Yup, pulled straight from Biotechnica’s database. It’s 100% legit. You can verify it yourself,” Sasha said with a nod. She was dead certain of the files’ authenticity—she’d done her own digging to confirm it. No way was she framing Biotechnica.

“I’ll check it out myself. We’re not some tabloid chasing clicks. I hope you get that,” Max said, pausing. This was almost too good to be true. Usually, landing a big scoop took ages, and the results often fell flat. But this? A bombshell dropped right into his lap. Max couldn’t quite believe it—he had to be cautious. This was about responsibility, to himself and to the truth.

Even though the files were comprehensive, he needed to confirm they were real. He only trusted what he saw with his own eyes.

Riku and Sasha exchanged a glance, their faces tinged with worry—not for the scoop, but for Max’s safety.

“Mr. Jones, no offense, but this thing’s under tight surveillance by Biotechnica. If you go poking around, they’ll likely spot you before you can even publish. You might lose your shot at breaking the story,” Riku said, keeping it diplomatic. In anime terms, he was basically saying, “Don’t be a hot-blooded shonen hero and rush in over your head.” Just do your job and stay safe.

“I’m not exaggerating,” Sasha added. “The last reporter I contacted got sniffed out by Biotechnica and flatlined.”

Her words were blunt, making it crystal clear: Max needed to understand the stakes. He should know what to do—and what not to do.

Max fell silent. He knew how dangerous this was. This kind of story was a one-way ticket to a body bag. Biotechnica would be hyper-sensitive, especially if they caught wind of someone planning to expose them.

“But I won’t publish anything I haven’t verified,” Max said, shaking his head after a moment. He had to confirm the files’ authenticity himself, maybe even interview victims. As a journalist, truth was his bushido. He wouldn’t run a story without checking every detail.

Riku’s teeth practically ached. Max Jones was stubbornly principled—unexpectedly so. But thinking about it, only someone with that kind of resolve could chase truth in Night City, risking their life for it. It wasn’t a job for ordinary folks.

“Fine. We’ll protect you while you investigate,” Riku said, compromising. If Max was set on digging, they’d make sure he didn’t end up dead. It was their responsibility, especially after the story broke. They’d keep him safe, at least until he was out of danger.

They couldn’t let Max end up like Liam Allen, the last reporter who “committed suicide” with a bullet in the back of his head in his own apartment.

“It’s not about being stubborn,” Max explained, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “These files are just paper evidence—Biotechnica’s internal test data and results. But publishing only this? It won’t bury them. They’ll wiggle out of it.”

Max was cautious, and for good reason. In his line of work, carelessness got you killed fast. The evidence wasn’t “solid” enough—it left Biotechnica too much room to muddy the waters, like they did with cyberpsychosis. Corporate PR had kept the cause of cyberpsychosis a mystery, even denying the condition existed, despite whistleblowers spilling the truth. Public opinion stayed firmly in the corps’ grip.

It was a lesson. If you didn’t land a killing blow, the corps would drown your scoop in misinformation. Securicine would keep poisoning people, and their exposé would just get buried in the trash heap of clickbait, making no waves.

Night City Inquirer had long been tracking cyberpsychosis issues, so Max knew the game. He needed undeniable proof—like data and cases directly linking Securicine to neurodegenerative diseases. Purchase records, onset timelines, genetic histories—the works.

Unlike cyberware, not everyone used Securicine, so proving its link to illness was easier than tying cyberpsychosis to implants. Still, it wasn’t a quick job.

“That’s not something you wrap up in a day,” V cut in, frowning. Digging through patients and users to build airtight evidence sounded like a massive undertaking—time and energy-intensive.

“But the risk is relatively low,” Max countered, his eyes glinting with determination. “Biotechnica can’t monitor every single person who bought Securicine. They’re not that omnipotent.”

Besides a sense of justice, Max had some tricks up his sleeve. His plan was tedious but safe.

Riku and the others exchanged looks, ultimately trusting the pro’s judgment. Max’s concerns made sense. If they were doing this, they had to do it right—no half-measures, no letting Biotechnica skate.

“So, I don’t really need your protection,” Max said. “Spreading out too much might tip Biotechnica off. Just get me the list of Securicine buyers and patients with neurodegenerative diseases. I’ll do discreet interviews.”

“No problem. That’s easy,” Sasha said confidently. Grabbing that kind of data was child’s play for her. It wasn’t top-secret—offline stores had it, and cracking that was low-effort.

“Alright then. Give me some time, and I’ll hit Biotechnica where it hurts,” Max said, stomping out his cigarette. He got in his car, said his goodbyes, and the meeting was over.

“So… we’re just done?” Jack said, spreading his hands. He felt like he’d shown up ready to fight, only to be benched.

“If you wanna help, it’s simple,” Riku said with a grin. “We’ve got hundreds of people under us indirectly. Some of them might’ve used Securicine. Ask around, see if anyone’s sick. That’ll give Max more cases to work with.”

Jack’s eyes lit up. “Good call! Plus, if you can cure them, that’s a win. Might even get us some allies who hate Biotechnica. Common enemies make the best bonds.”

“While you’re at it, I’m heading out to stock up on supplies for treatment,” Riku said. “Stay cautious until I’m back. Don’t move, even if Max gets enough evidence. Wait for me.”

This was a big deal, and Riku wasn’t fully confident in the crew’s readiness. V was starting to channel her inner V-shinten (V the Quake), but she wasn’t quite the living legend yet. He didn’t trust them to handle Biotechnica’s retaliation alone.

He planned to hit up Kimetsu no Yaiba (Demon Slayer) first, see if he could align with the Demon Slayer Corps on ghost-hunting. Then, he’d swing by Tokyo Ghoul’s world for some Rc cell suppressants—those were becoming a necessity. Without the ability to absorb Rc cells himself, he had to inject suppressants into those treated with his Biwa (tail-like cyberware).

“Need us to come with?” V asked. Sasha’s job didn’t need her right now, so she was free to tag along.

“We’ll have the lists done quick. We can join you too,” Sasha added. She and Lucy could handle the data grab fast, and Max didn’t need their help.

“Thanks, but this is a solo mission,” Riku said, waving them off with a smile. He’d love to bring them, but world-hopping wasn’t exactly something he could explain.

“Be careful,” V said simply, trusting Riku’s skills. With his borderline freaky abilities, he’d survive as long as he didn’t get cocky.

“Thanks for the help, Riku,” Sasha said, her lips pursed. She’d planned to handle this alone, and only Lucy had stumbled onto it, leading to this team-up. It felt like a hassle to drag friends in, but their support warmed her heart.

“We’re friends, right? Just remember—don’t act until I’m back. Even if Max has the evidence, wait for me,” Riku said, emphasizing it again.

It wasn’t a small matter. V might be growing into a force of nature, but she wasn’t ready to face Biotechnica’s wrath without him.

“No worries, we won’t jump the gun,” Jack said, thumping his chest and fist-bumping Riku.

“Head back. I’m outta here,” Riku said, nodding. His gear was stashed in his shadow space—no packing needed.

“Stay safe,” Lucy said quietly as she got into the car, her first words of the meeting. She didn’t wait for a reply.

Riku chuckled. Lucy saw him differently, like a kindred spirit. It was a misunderstanding, but he wasn’t going to clarify.

As Jack and the others drove off in the Thorton, Riku ducked into an alley. He pulled up the system interface, navigating to the [World] tab.

“Back to the past,” he muttered, activating the jump.

The [Back to the Past] menu popped up. Riku selected Kimetsu no Yaiba. The Tokyo Ghoul option vanished.

[Travel Complete]

[Current World: Kimetsu no Yaiba]

Riku’s vision blurred, and he appeared in a mountain forest—the same spot he’d left last time. He’d wreaked havoc on the local wildlife back then, and it probably hadn’t recovered yet. It’d only been, what, two months tops?

“Time to find Urokodaki-san, then link up with the Demon Slayer Corps. Let’s give those oni-slaying punks a cyberpunk shock,” Riku said, smirking. He also wanted to learn mask-carving from Urokodaki-san. The warding masks’ luck boosts were tiny, but they were still special items—great for gifting.

He slipped on his Ginko (Silver Fox) mask and headed toward Sagiri Mountain’s base, not far from Urokodaki-san’s cabin. Switching to his second form—oni mode—he tried to suppress his presence, but he clearly hadn’t mastered that skill. As he neared the cabin, a boy swinging a sword out front noticed him.

No surprise. That nose was unreal.

“Riku-san! You’re back?!” Tanjiro Kamado’s face lit up with joy. His nose twitched, picking up Riku’s scent instantly. He’d been worried—fighting oni alone was dangerous, and Riku hadn’t exactly parted with the Demon Slayer Corps on great terms.

“Tanjiro, that nose of yours is something else,” Riku said, stepping out from the trees and clapping Tanjiro’s shoulder with a grin.

The kid had visibly bulked up. Tanjiro was already sturdy, but two months of training had made his muscles even tighter.

“Heh, Riku-san, your scent’s gotten… weird. Besides the oni smell, there’s something else mixed in,” Tanjiro said, scratching his head, puzzled. He’d hesitated at first, catching an unfamiliar scent in Riku’s aura.

“Just the fruits of my labor,” Riku said vaguely, brushing it off. His gaze shifted to the cabin. He could smell Urokodaki-san inside—his nose was decent for picking up human scents.

“Keep training. I’m gonna talk to Urokodaki-san,” Riku said, patting Tanjiro again before heading to the cabin.

Tanjiro scratched his head, tempted to follow but deciding against it. He went back to practicing, though his focus was clearly shot.

Knock, knock.

“Come in,” Urokodaki Sakonji’s voice called from inside.

Riku pushed open the door. Urokodaki was sitting by the bed, talking to Nezuko Kamado. He looked up as Riku entered.

“Riku, have you made up your mind?” Urokodaki asked, his voice calm. It’d been a while, and Riku seemed more mature, his presence steadier.

*Chapter 154: All About Being Eager to Learn*

“Urokodaki-san, I’m ready to meet the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps.”

Riku took off his silver fox mask and nodded, straightforwardly stating his purpose. This time, he’d come back specifically for this.

When you’ve got some serious strength, it changes things. Riku wasn’t here to play along with the Demon Slayer Corps’ script anymore—he was ready to take center stage. The Corps’ leader, the Hashira, all of them would have to step aside. Let’s see who’s intimidating who when the time comes.

The Demon Slayer Corps’ intelligence network was something Riku had always wanted to tap into. There weren’t that many demons out there, and searching for them alone was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Over the years, the Corps had built a robust intelligence system to track down the Demon King and eliminate evil demons. With their help, things would get a lot easier—a win-win situation.

“Alright, I’ll contact the leader.”

Urokodaki Sakonji nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes as he looked at Riku. The kid had finally come around. The Demon Slayer Corps had no intention of harming Riku, and the leader’s open-mindedness would surely accept someone like him.

Riku didn’t carry the stench of blood or the aura of a man-eating demon, which proved Urokodaki’s trust wasn’t misplaced. As Riku had said, he was different from other demons. And after spending two months with Kamado Nezuko, Urokodaki was increasingly convinced of his words.

Nezuko was clearly special too. Two months had passed, and she was still asleep—a phenomenon Urokodaki had never seen before. Perhaps the tides were turning. This generation’s Hashira, touted as the strongest in history, carried the leader’s hopes. This was the Corps’ most promising era.

The emergence of unique demons like Riku and Kamado Nezuko seemed to hint at cracks in the Demon King’s control. Was he losing his grip on his own kind?

Was the millennium-long struggle finally nearing its end in this era? Whether it would be the end of the Demon Slayer Corps or the thousand-year reign of the Demon King depended on the efforts and strategies of both sides.

Urokodaki had faith in the leader. The Ubuyashiki clan had always produced exceptional heads, and this generation’s leader was particularly remarkable, with an unmatched ability to unite people.

“Urokodaki-san, what were you just doing with Nezuko?”

With the main matter settled, Riku voiced a lingering question. He’d noticed Urokodaki muttering something to Nezuko earlier, and it seemed pretty odd.

“I was giving her psychological suggestions. Once they take hold, Nezuko will subconsciously see all humans as her family and demons as enemies to be driven out.”

Urokodaki’s explanation left Riku stunned. Whoa, that’s some next-level move!

Leave it to the guy who crafted the “Disaster-Avoiding Mask” that boosts luck to come up with something this wild.

“Can I learn that? Oh, and the mask-making craft too—I want to learn that.”

Riku didn’t hold back. He was all about soaking up knowledge, and Urokodaki should be used to it by now.

“Sure, it’s not that hard, actually.”

Urokodaki was just as direct, diving right into explaining the “suggestion technique.”

It wasn’t as overpowered as Riku had imagined. The method required long-term conditioning to work, and the target couldn’t have strong resistance. The stronger their resistance or the more the suggestion went against their instincts, the harder it was to take effect.

Nezuko’s case was particularly tough. Even though she was asleep and lacked conscious resistance, Urokodaki’s suggestions went against her demonic instincts, making it a steep challenge.

“Two months, and it’s barely taken hold. I don’t know when she’ll wake up, but I hope I can complete the suggestion before then.”

Urokodaki sighed as he looked at Nezuko. Her situation was even more complex than Riku’s.

At least Riku retained his consciousness, could communicate and think normally, and could resist his demonic instincts through sheer will. Nezuko, on the other hand, didn’t have that capacity. What held her back was her bond with her family. Without Kamado Tanjirou, she might’ve already become a man-eating demon.

The suggestion’s success was critical for Nezuko. Otherwise, Urokodaki couldn’t rest easy about her.

Riku mentally noted down the “suggestion technique.” It felt like something he’d call “tasteless but too useful to discard.” On second thought, though, it made sense. If it was powerful enough to instantly rewrite a demon’s instincts, Urokodaki could just waltz in and take the Demon King’s throne.

**[Acquired Skill: Suggestion Technique Lv1.

Suggestion Technique: Influences the target’s mind through psychological suggestion.]**

The technique had become a system skill, meaning Riku had grasped its basics. It wasn’t too difficult, likely because its effects were limited. But maybe leveling it up could boost its power. What was weak at Lv1 might shine at Lv10 or Lv20.

Riku figured the skill was tied to intelligence and charisma. Higher stats in those could make it easier to influence targets and reduce their resistance.

“After dinner, I’ll teach you carving.”

Urokodaki tucked Nezuko’s blanket in and stood up, calling Tanjirou in from outside.

“Time to eat!”

Tanjirou was thrilled, quickly washing up and heading inside for dinner.

The meal was hearty—growing kids training hard needed good food to keep up with the physical demands. But no matter how delicious it looked, Riku could only watch. Instead, he started browsing Urokodaki’s collection of carvings.

Urokodaki had plenty of free time. As a Demon Slayer Corps trainer, all his expenses were covered, leaving him with lots of time to carve masks and wooden figures.

The Ubuyashiki clan had no shortage of money—spending it was never an issue. Money played a big role in the Corps’ current scale. Some joined for the high pay, though those driven by greed rather than vengeance often met grim fates. Facing demons required extraordinary courage, and hatred was a key tool in overcoming fear.

For the Ubuyashiki clan, money came as easily as the wind, thanks to their uncanny ability to “see the future.” If not for the curse they bore, they’d probably be thriving beyond imagination.

“Hold on a moment, I need to write a letter to the leader.”

After Tanjirou finished eating, Urokodaki sat at the table to write. Once done, he called for his kasugai crow, gave it some instructions, and handed over the letter. The crow nodded with surprising intelligence and flew off.

“Alright, the leader should respond soon.”

Urokodaki watched the crow disappear, noting that the leader was still very interested in Riku. After the last incident, Urokodaki hadn’t been blamed—instead, the leader had reassured him and told him to maintain a good relationship with Riku.

Seeing Riku again, Urokodaki felt he understood the leader’s foresight. The man must’ve predicted Riku’s return.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Riku grinned. He was eager to see the Demon Slayer Corps in all its glory—whether it was truly a gathering of heroes or just a bunch of radishes playing at being important.

“I’m confident you and the leader will see eye to eye.”

Urokodaki was certain of it. His trust in the leader had only grown stronger after this whole ordeal with Riku.

“Here’s hoping.”

Riku raised an eyebrow. He didn’t have any issues with the leader—guy seemed decent enough.

“Let’s go. Tanjirou can study, and I’ll teach you carving.”

Urokodaki stepped outside. It was time for Tanjirou’s academic lessons, so he’d teach Riku carving in the yard.

Riku followed, excited about the craft. After all, this was his first encounter with equipment that had actual attributes.

Normally, things like Sandevistan or cybernetic implants would count as gear, but they hadn’t been recognized by the [Limit System]. Riku guessed only special items like the “Disaster-Avoiding Mask” with unique attributes got the system’s approval. Regular gear boosting strength or agility didn’t cut it.

The mask was less “equipment” and more like a keepsake or trophy system.

Learning to carve was pretty straightforward for Riku—it was all about practice. Of course, artistic flair mattered too, or the work would feel lifeless and purely technical.

The real trick was figuring out how to imbue the “+0.01 luck” attribute. That was why Riku was so keen to learn.

Urokodaki handed him a set of tools and started explaining the basics. With a slight boost to his intelligence, Riku picked it up quickly.

Urokodaki was enthusiastic about teaching. None of his other students had ever shown interest in carving—probably because it didn’t directly boost combat skills.

Riku watched Urokodaki’s movements, hitting record mode on his cybernetic eye. The recording function was a game-changer, letting him save and review footage anytime.

As he recorded, Riku started carving, his hands steady as he mimicked Urokodaki’s moves with precision. It was pure craftsmanship.

“Not bad.”

Urokodaki nodded, impressed. To nail it like that after just one look? That was serious talent.

This was a craft Urokodaki wanted to pass down. In his free time over decades, he’d honed it into an art.

“Do a few more—tough ones. Throw in every technique you’ve got.”

Riku made the request because he hadn’t gotten a system prompt after finishing. Clearly, he was still short of mastering the skill. His carved mask didn’t have the “+0.01 luck” effect.

“Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

Urokodaki shook his head, but despite his words, he didn’t hold back. The old man cranked up the difficulty, showing off his skills.

Riku could tell Urokodaki was thrilled to have someone eager to learn. A lonely old craftsman finally found a kindred spirit—not an easy thing!

With his cybernetic eye glowing, Riku recorded every move. This time, Urokodaki picked a large, finely prepared piece of wood. Under his meticulous carving, it transformed into a lifelike little fox.

The craftsmanship was almost supernatural—handmade work this perfect was jaw-dropping.

**[Acquired Skill: Disaster-Avoiding Carving Lv1.

Disaster-Avoiding Carving: Craft special items that increase luck through carving.]**

As Riku finished his replica, the [Limit System] popped up. He’d successfully learned the skill.

His fox sculpture naturally gained an attribute, but when he saw it, he grimaced.

Luck +0.005. Was that the best Lv1 could do?

Riku groaned inwardly. He’d been hoping to level this up and craft a “Luck +100” artifact to dominate with sheer fortune. But 0.005? He wondered how much it’d increase per level—0.006? That’d be a waste of skill points.

Still, he owed this quick success to the [Limit System]. Normally, even a perfect replica wouldn’t carry the luck attribute because he hadn’t grasped the underlying mystery.

That was another perk of the [Limit System]. Though Lv1 was weak, it let him acquire the skill. Thinking back, mastering [Water Breathing Lv1] so fast was likely thanks to the system too, not just his relentless training.

“Guess I’ll have to grind this one.”

Riku sighed. He’d been too optimistic. If Urokodaki, a master, could only manage “+0.01 luck,” how could a newbie like him do better?

He’d practice until he reached Urokodaki’s level, then consider using skill points to upgrade. For now, points were better spent on more critical skills. He wasn’t strong enough yet, and skill points were still too scarce.

Checking his stats, he saw *[EXP: 899/1100]*. He was close to leveling up, which would grant one attribute point and one skill point.

His current skills were: Ultimate Creature Lv7, Water Breathing Lv2, Absolute Domain Field Lv3, Suggestion Technique Lv1, and Disaster-Avoiding Carving Lv1. Ultimate Creature Lv7 was still the priority—its impact was unmatched, even if other skills showed potential.

“You’ve got talent. Keep practicing, and you’ll surpass me.”

Riku’s sigh threw Urokodaki off a bit. Doing this well on the first try and still sighing? It’d taken Urokodaki decades to get to his level.

“Just wait. One day, I’ll outdo your skills.”

Riku grinned, playing along. This old guy was easy to please—he’d found the trick.

For Urokodaki, carving was like fishing for a fishing enthusiast.

*Chapter 155: The Unpolished Gem*

The reply from the Oyakata-sama arrived at noon the next day. A Kasugai Crow swooped into the wooden cabin, and Urokodaki Sakonji raised his hand to retrieve the letter from the crow’s back.

“Riku, Oyakata-sama requests your presence for a meeting.”

Urokodaki found Riku immediately, delivering the news with an urgency that seemed to surpass even Riku’s own.

“Alright, but no rush. I’ll head out tomorrow,” Riku replied casually, his hands busy carving a wooden figure. “I know you’re eager, but hold your horses.”

For Riku, waiting wasn’t a big deal. His plan was to set out in a couple of days anyway, giving his [Traversal] ability time to cool down. Though he felt confident about this trip to the Demon Slayer Corps, having [Traversal] as a backup was crucial—a safety net for any unexpected twists.

“No need to rush, indeed. Someone from headquarters will come to escort you,” Urokodaki said, not pressing further. Truth be told, it wasn’t as simple as just heading out. The location of the Demon Slayer Corps’ headquarters was top secret, known only to a select few. Even regular corps members weren’t privy to it, and escorts were arranged for transport.

“Pretty mysterious setup,” Riku quipped, though he understood why. Facing the Demon King, human flesh was far too fragile. While Demon Slayers could hold their own, the Ubuyashiki clan—Oyakata-sama’s family—was physically frail, unable to train or fight. If the base’s location were exposed and demons attacked, the Ubuyashiki clan wouldn’t even have a chance to flee. Without them, the corps couldn’t abandon their post either—they’d have to fight head-on. Caught off guard, a total wipeout was a real risk. So, the headquarters’ secrecy was airtight, a precaution carved in stone.

Riku kept carving, unhurried, honing his craft and occasionally asking Urokodaki for pointers. But while they were relaxed, someone else was in a hurry. That afternoon, a stranger dressed like a ninja, cloaked head-to-toe in black, appeared at the cabin’s doorstep.

“Urokodaki-san! I’m from the Kakushi, here to escort Riku-san!” the stranger shouted, bowing deeply. His voice sounded young, polite but clearly out of breath.

The Kakushi were a vital part of the Demon Slayer Corps, handling logistics and support. Their work was indispensable—collecting intel, cleaning up after battles, guiding members to the Swordsmith Village or headquarters. Without them, the corps would crumble. Thanks to their efforts, and Muzan Kibutsuji’s surprising restraint, demon incidents remained whispered legends rather than public knowledge. The Kakushi’s meticulous post-battle cleanup ensured no traces were left behind. These black-clad figures were the unsung heroes, the backbone of the corps’ operations.

“They sent someone already? Oyakata-sama must really be looking forward to this meeting,” Urokodaki remarked, stepping out of the cabin. The Kakushi’s swift arrival suggested they’d been dispatched immediately—maybe even without a Hashira meeting.

“Yes, Urokodaki-san. It’s an urgent order from Oyakata-sama,” the Kakushi replied, his face hidden behind a mask. He looked exhausted.

“Rest for a bit. Riku’s not here right now,” Urokodaki said, noticing the young man’s fatigue. He invited him inside to take a breather.

“Thank you so much!” the Kakushi bowed again, clearly relieved. He was worn out and still had a long journey ahead.

“No rush. He should be back soon,” Urokodaki murmured, glancing at the sky.

Riku had gone out that afternoon with Kamado Tanjiro to train in Water Breathing at a waterfall in the mountains—a traditional, almost mystical training method passed down through Urokodaki’s teachings.

“Feel it deeply,” Riku said, watching Tanjiro with a hint of amusement. Poor Tanjiro couldn’t rely on the “Chip Breathing Method” like Riku, who had a brain-computer interface. Riku had brought a few interfaces and even mastered the minor surgery to install them, but Tanjiro was vehemently against it. To him, sticking something weird in his head was just too out there. So, he stuck to the old-school way of learning Water Breathing, which, under Urokodaki’s abstract methods, depended heavily on natural talent. For now, Tanjiro was getting a thorough “cooling off” under the waterfall.

Two months in, Tanjiro was undeniably dedicated, but his insight needed work. He was memorizing techniques, but they remained surface-level, not yet internalized.

“Have you applied your skills in actual combat?” Riku asked from the shore. Practice was great for building a foundation, but real fights were another beast. Being a training ground champ meant nothing if you froze in a real battle.

“What?!” Tanjiro shouted, struggling to stand upright against the roaring waterfall. The deafening water drowned out Riku’s words, and just staying balanced was a challenge. Chatting was the last thing on his mind.

“…” Riku sighed, waiting on the shore. When Tanjiro looked like he was about to pass out from the relentless water, Riku waded in and pulled him out. This wasn’t some gentle cascade—it was a torrent that could sweep a person away.

“Cough, cough!” Tanjiro spat out water, shaking it off his training clothes. They were simple enough to swap out later, and the water was clean enough to double as a bath and laundry session. “Riku-san, what did you say earlier?”

“Have you done any combat training?” Riku repeated, already guessing the answer.

“Uh… does attacking Urokodaki-sensei while he stands still count?” Tanjiro’s response was as expected. He’d been drilling basics—reflexes, endurance, sword swings—but actual combat? Just him swinging at Urokodaki, who effortlessly deflected every move.

“Maybe it’s not time for that yet,” Riku muttered, frowning. Something felt off. Tanjiro’s progress was impressive, improving daily, showing the potential of a true protagonist. But Urokodaki’s teaching seemed… restrained, not matching the level Riku expected from a former Hashira. Was there a reason?

Riku pondered. It was odd that Urokodaki, a mentor of such caliber, had only Tanjiro as a student. Had something happened in the past? Did Urokodaki lose his drive to train new Demon Slayers? From his respect for Oyakata-sama, it didn’t seem like he had any issues with the corps. There was a story here, maybe a trial meant for Tanjiro, the protagonist, to uncover.

Unable to piece it together, Riku let it go. His kagune—a blue-purple, blade-tipped tendril—sprang from his arm, pointing at a bewildered Tanjiro.

“Alright, Tanjiro, show me what you’ve learned. Don’t hold back. You can’t hurt me. Attack with the resolve to slay demons, to save your sister!” Riku’s voice was firm. Sure, Tanjiro would grow on his own, with challenges finding him as the protagonist, but Riku felt a duty to step in as a mentor. Urokodaki’s secrets were his own, but Riku had no qualms about teaching combat.

“Uh…” Tanjiro hesitated, gripping his sword but unsure how to start.

“Tch.” Riku stepped forward, matching his strength and speed to Tanjiro’s level. His kagune lashed out like a blade, stopping just short of Tanjiro’s face. Tanjiro froze, unable to react.

“If you don’t strike first, a demon won’t wait politely,” Riku said with a grin. Tanjiro was still green, but that was understandable for his age.

Riku stepped back, giving Tanjiro a chance to attack. Spurred on, Tanjiro didn’t hesitate this time, charging with full force. Knowing Riku was unharmedable, he fought as fiercely as he did against Urokodaki, showing off his training.

Clang! Clang! Riku parried Tanjiro’s strikes. The kid’s fundamentals were rock-solid, but that was it. His combat relied purely on raw talent—impressive, but unrefined. He was a gem, rough and unpolished. So, Riku decided to polish him—hard.

Thud! Tanjiro hit the ground, grimacing in pain from the fall.

“Again,” Riku said, lunging with his kagune. Tanjiro barely dodged, sensing that Riku wasn’t bluffing about striking hard. And he was right—Riku was ready to draw blood if needed. With healing abilities at hand, he didn’t hold back.

Soon, Tanjiro was covered in cuts, panting heavily, overwhelmed by helplessness. He couldn’t touch Riku, who could end him with a single strike.

“That’s enough,” Riku said, retracting his kagune. He’d been practicing with it too, treating it like a fist-blade that guarded his entire arm. Tanjiro collapsed, exhausted, his wounds bleeding but ignored in his fatigue. Though he knew Riku wouldn’t kill him, every attack felt terrifyingly real, far scarier than the mountain’s traps. Those he could smell and anticipate; Riku’s moves were unpredictable. Despite matching Tanjiro’s speed and strength, Riku dominated completely.

Swish! Before Tanjiro could speak, Riku’s tail-like kagune pricked him. The wounds began healing visibly, but Tanjiro’s head spun as Rc cells took effect. Without natural Rc cells, humans couldn’t handle them without suppressants. Riku injected one, and Tanjiro returned to normal.

“What was that?” Tanjiro asked, wide-eyed.

“A power that could reattach your head if it got chopped off. Get it? If you don’t get serious, I will kill you. Want to feel what death’s like?” Riku’s tone was light, but Tanjiro’s sharp nose caught the truth—he wasn’t joking.

“Let’s head back,” Riku said, pulling Tanjiro up with a chuckle. It was late; the extra training had taken time. Tanjiro followed, sore and shaken, the memory of those wounds lingering despite being healed.

Back at the cabin, they found Urokodaki and the Kakushi member.

“What happened?” Urokodaki asked immediately. Though Tanjiro’s wounds were gone, the blood on him was obvious, even to the Kakushi.

“Just some light combat training. Don’t worry, I know my limits,” Riku said. The outcome spoke for itself—Tanjiro was fine. Urokodaki had little to argue.

“…” Urokodaki fell silent, inspecting Tanjiro. No wounds, no blood beyond the stains. The Kakushi, however, gaped, wondering if Urokodaki’s training was always this brutal, leaving trainees bloodied.