Chapter 46 – The Strong Amakasu Touma
Rarely in his life had Amakasu Touma ever been so embarrassed as this time, and it left him filled with a deep sense of defeat.
After slipping out of sight of the two girls, Yomi's attack immediately followed. Fortunately, within the school grounds they still held back somewhat, and that Demon God Fist woman hadn't struck personally—otherwise, Touma wouldn't have escaped unscathed.
Even so, his face had certainly been remembered. The plan to hide within the school and slowly infiltrate Hikigaya Komachi's social circle was now completely ruined.
Yomi's attack hadn't actually done him much real harm—it was something he had anticipated, and in the end they hadn't been able to pin him down.
What gnawed at him was the sheer humiliation.
It wasn't often he tasted that. Even when dealing with the heads of the Four Great Houses, he could usually handle things with ease. Only when facing a godslayer did he feel a hint of that pressure.
Yet this time, it was delivered to him by an ordinary girl who couldn't even wring a chicken's neck.
"Picked the wrong person…" sighed Amakasu Touma as he crouched on a tree branch, looking skyward.
At first glance, he had thought she was a refined Yamato Nadeshiko type, like Mariya. But in truth, aside from her appearance, she wasn't even the same species.
Shy? Or maybe afraid of men? Even so—this was way too extreme!
Thud!
A tremor ran through the ground, shaking the tree violently. Touma's face turned grim.
The aftershocks from the Nikko region still hadn't ended. Godslayers were still locked in battle with divine beings.
Not that anyone in Japan could stop those big shots from enjoying themselves anyway.
With a bitter smile, Amakasu Touma leapt down from the tree and began fixing his clothing.
He noticed a tear on his sleeve, likely from one of the sorcerers who had attacked earlier. The way the man had looked at him—it was as though he had seen a heinous heretic. Touma admitted, if he had been even a fraction slower to react, he might've lost an arm.
That expression still lingered in his memory. And he could read the meaning loud and clear—"Filthy heretic, go eat shit!"
"These lunatics…" he cursed under his breath, anger boiling. To him, those Dark Martial Artists weren't just unreasonable; they lacked even the slightest elegance in how they handled things.
So what if he practiced sorcery? Did that really justify chasing him until he was forced up a tree?
Heretic, my ass! You're supposed to be modern people, aren't you?
Japan's godslayers turned out this way because you idiots spoiled them rotten!
Ranting in his heart felt good, but Touma knew it was meaningless. His plan was already shit, and if he didn't escape before school ended today, he might end up dead—or worse.
Everyone in the magic world knew: what Yomi hated most wasn't practitioners of "Living Fist," but sorcerers who also trained in martial arts. To them, those hybrids were the ultimate heretics.
That was exactly why Yomi got along with almost no other organizations. By their standards, the entire magical world was a den of heresy. Even most martial clans would count as "heretic" in their book. With a level of chuuni this intense, it was no wonder they couldn't make friends.
In fact, the only group they could communicate with—aside from killing each other—was the Living Fist crowd. Proof enough: the only friends of chuunis are more chuunis.
And since Touma prided himself on not being a chuuni, he knew there was absolutely no common ground between himself and Yomi.
Step by step, straightening his clothes as he went, Touma finally reached the school gate. He no longer looked like some ragged refugee, though his appearance was still far from decent. The guards' strange stares said as much.
Luckily for him, Yomi hadn't disguised themselves as gatekeepers—though some posed as students, teachers, or gardeners. That allowed Touma to slip away smoothly.
Even after leaving the campus, he dared not let his guard down. Turning here, doubling back there, he employed so many counter-tail maneuvers that one could've compiled a whole anti-surveillance manual from them. By the time he reached the Committee's safehouse, he was starving and utterly exhausted. He hadn't been beaten to death, but he had nearly run himself to death.
The very first thing he did after finally reaching safety was to make himself a bowl of instant noodles.
Only after slurping down the last bite did he feel like he'd caught his breath again.
No wonder the Four Great Houses had always despised Yomi. Before Hikigaya Hachiman's rise it had been so; after his rise, even more so.
These lunatics had no concept of law at all, treating local powers as if they were nothing.
They had even chased him after he left school. If not for his vast experience in counter-surveillance, he'd have been caught.
Ha! Tail me? I'm your damn ancestor in that art!
But…
Setting down his empty bowl, Touma's weary face once more clouded with worry.
What now?
Up until today, he had been operating under the assumption that his plan would succeed. But after such a major setback… would Hikigaya Hachiman kill him when he got back?
That guy wouldn't care whether he had been set up or not.
Failure was the original sin—that was Yomi's favorite pretentious catchphrase. But for winners, even if they were enemies, those maniacs would show leniency and not immediately call in their big shots to wipe someone out.
"…Still gotta do it." Touma rubbed his hair irritably.
Looked like he had no choice but to keep showing up for work tomorrow. Surely they wouldn't dare draw their blades in front of students. Worst case, he'd just play cat-and-mouse with them after class again.
He had to admit, he was a tough bastard. Despite being run ragged today, he had already noticed that Yomi clearly had their hands tied in some ways.
And considering how blissfully unaware Hikigaya Komachi was of her brother's world, Touma understood that his situation wasn't quite so dangerous. As long as Yomi couldn't track down his hideouts, those shady martial artists would be forced to keep playing this game with him.
At that thought, a cold smile curved his lips.
Picking up the phone, he dialed a number.
"It's me. I need more manpower. Tell that person to step it up—send more people in."
After hanging up, Touma stretched, then went over to the wardrobe to pull out clothes for tomorrow.
Not just clothes—the whole look needed a change. He wasn't fond of such things, but the mission came first.
Still, Gokou Ruri was off the table for now. He'd have to switch targets. Arakaki Ayase might be more suitable—she was the daughter of a local assemblyman.
Like Komachi, her father hadn't told her about certain matters. And since her father was on their side, there was more room to maneuver.
Most importantly, Arakaki Ayase had a stellar reputation at school. Gentle, kind, considerate—the exact opposite of Gokou Ruri.
For dealing with such a sweet, docile girl, Touma felt it would be child's play.
He could approach her under the persona of "a man with a story."
The thought delighted him so much that he began humming a tune, then went off to take a shower, full of bright hopes for tomorrow.
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