Tokyo Exorcism Diary

Outside the apartment building, the old butler opened the rear door of the Rolls-Royce for Hoshino Gen and gestured for him to get in.

Hoshino Gen didn’t hesitate. He stepped in without fuss.

Seated on the other side of the backseat, Sasaki Ayane turned her head toward him as he entered, their eyes meeting through the morning light slanting in through the window.

“Good morning, Hoshino-kun,” Ayane spoke first. Her expression remained calm and composed, her voice as cool and distant as ever. Not the slightest hint of change could be found—despite the new relationship between them. Just like that unexpected encounter at the gym, she regarded him like a stranger whose name she happened to know, nothing more.

Hoshino Gen gave her a polite smile, then leaned against the window, his gaze wandering outside as the car began to move. For some reason, he glanced up at the apartment building, to the floor his family lived on. The morning light reflected in his mismatched eyes, shimmering with unusual ripples…

…

Roughly thirty minutes later, the car came to a stop outside an estate on the outskirts of Kōtō Ward, the Sasaki family residence.

The butler led Hoshino Gen and Sasaki Ayane from the car through the estate, past rows of meticulously trimmed hedges and garden paths, until they arrived before a private dojo nestled behind the villa.

Just as Hoshino Gen stepped up to the dojo’s closed gate, a sudden slicing wind roared through the air. He instinctively tilted his head—an instant later, a violent gust swept past his cheek, followed by a sharp thunk, ringing with the metallic vibration of tempered steel.

A hole had been blown through the dojo door.

He felt something warm slide down his face. Reaching up, Hoshino Gen’s fingers came away stained with blood. When he turned around, his eyes settled on a marble pillar outside the dojo—an entire katana blade had embedded itself into the stone.

The old butler had vanished at some point, leaving the scene without a word.

Hoshino Gen stared quietly at the sword buried in the pillar. Ayane, standing nearby, looked utterly stunned. Her gaze flicked from the blood on his face to the sword lodged in stone, her expression frozen with confusion. She clearly hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.

Then, with a deafening crash, the dojo doors swung open.

From inside the wide, sunlit dojo strode an elderly man in a plain white kendogi, holding a katana that shimmered faintly with an eerie glow. His face lit up with a mischievous grin, eyes locked on Hoshino Gen.

“Old Third’s got good taste, I could smell the bloodlust from miles away. Come on, boy. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Hoshino Gen’s eyes narrowed, and the air around him turned sharp.

But the old man—Sasaki Shinichiro—paid no mind. He turned to his bewildered granddaughter, laughed heartily, and said, “Ayane! If you don’t want your future husband tricking you like a fool, you’d better watch closely. Learn everything you can.”

Without warning, he slashed through the air. A white arc of energy—blinding and sharp—tore through the dojo like a blade of compressed wind, howling as it rushed straight for Hoshino Gen.

Without hesitation, crimson light surged to life.

A black-and-red katana—a demon blade—manifested in Hoshino Gen’s right hand, blocking the slash head-on just in time.

The impact shook the air. A shockwave burst outward, tossing Ayane’s hair wildly as she stared, wide-eyed and speechless.

Hoshino Gen took a step back as the pressure kept mounting. Even with the demon blade between him and the attack, he could feel the sting of the cutting energy on his skin—it was that sharp. Any ordinary weapon would’ve shattered. And him? He would’ve been split in two.

With a click of his tongue, Hoshino Gen twisted his body and used the force pressing against him to leap into the air. With a mid-air spin, he narrowly dodged the remainder of the slash.

The blinding arc sliced cleanly through marble pillars, trees, and even the edge of a nearby building—shearing everything in half. It only dissipated several dozen meters away, vanishing into a whirlwind of turbulent air.

“Good!” Shinichiro’s face lit up with unfiltered praise. “There aren’t ten people alive in Japan who could’ve blocked that and lived. You’ve got guts, kid.”

He relaxed, lowering the blade and sliding it back into its sheath. Without waiting for a response from Gen, he looked to his still-stunned granddaughter and laughed.

“Ayane! Did you catch that strike?”

Ayane stared blankly, lips slightly parted. She looked at her grandfather like she didn’t recognize him.

Yes, she’d learned swordsmanship from him since she was a child. And yes, she’d won the national middle school tournament easily, just as he’d instructed. But…

But no one ever taught her how to slash out a blade of energy. That wasn’t supposed to be real. That was fantasy novel stuff!

And yet her grandfather just did it. And Hoshino-kun… that blade in his hand looked like it was made of flowing light.

What the hell was going on with this world?

Seeing the granddaughter who’d always been cool and composed now staring off in dazed confusion, Shinichiro burst into another fit of laughter.

His laughter echoed through the dojo, until it suddenly stopped short.

In one smooth motion, he raised his sheathed katana behind him. Sparks flew as metal clashed—an instant block.

He glanced to his side.

Hoshino Gen stood there, his demon blade pressed hard against the old man’s scabbard. His mismatched eyes glinted with frost.

“Hey, old man, you really think a few half-assed compliments are gonna smooth things over after you tried to kill me?” Hoshino Gen said, voice low and dangerous. 

His left eye glowed red.

With that, he spun and lashed out with a fierce roundhouse kick.

Shinichiro barely adjusted his sword in time to block, but the force sent his wiry body sliding several meters back across the floor.

At the entrance of the dojo, Ayane stared at Hoshino Gen in stunned disbelief.

But Shinichiro only laughed louder.

“Good! Very good! Strong enough, fiery enough—just my type! Old Third wasn’t wrong about you. Kid, you really do remind me of myself back in the day!”

He pulled the blade from its sheath again, then tossed the broken scabbard aside.

Grinning, he raised the sword high and shouted, “I’m expecting you to call me Grandpa someday, so—”

He vanished.

A split-second later, he reappeared in front of Hoshino Gen, swinging his blade at the boy’s throat with lightning speed.

“—don’t die on me, kid.”