The door slammed open hard enough to rattle the paper walls.
A tall, wiry man swaggered in like the room had been waiting for him. Messy topknot, kimono wrinkled and sour with old sake. One lazy glance at the sword riding his hip told the whole story: ronin. No master, no rules, no off-switch.
"Captain Oda," he slurred, "word is you caught something interesting."
Oda's jaw flexed. "Nakamura. This doesn't concern you."
But Nakamura's eyes were already on me. Cold. Measuring. Ugly.
"A foreigner," he sneered. "Claims he walked out of the demon woods by dumb luck. Tell me, Captain, did the gaijin beg? Or just cry?"
His laugh scraped like a blade on stone.
I kept my gaze on the floor. Kneeling. Surrounded by spears. Jacket still crusted with whatever used to be that thing in the forest. Not the time.
Then the hunger hit.
A white-hot spike through my gut. The Ghost Stomach woke up snarling, not asking, demanding. Stress was feeding it, turning every heartbeat into a dinner bell.
I clenched my teeth so hard something creaked.
"What's wrong, foreigner?" Nakamura mocked. "Forest wasn't so kind after all?"
"Nakamura, enough—" Oda started.
"No." The ronin's hand dropped to his sword. "This thing strolls in here covered in blood, spins lies, and expects sake and a futon? Back home we had cleaner ways to deal with trash."
Oda's voice dropped to winter. "This isn't your home anymore."
Nakamura rounded on him. "I've bled yōkai while your men pissed themselves behind walls. And you put me on the same level as that?"
His glare slid back to me.
Inside my head the hunger whispered: Weak. Sloppy. Food, if it comes to it.
I shoved the thought down.
Nakamura stepped in and kicked my shoulder. Not crippling. Just humiliating.
He grinned and drew back for another.
Oda rose. "Stand down."
"You don't command me." Nakamura's third kick came harder.
Instinct twisted me aside at the last instant. Spears twitched; guards ready to run me through.
Nakamura waved them off, delighted. "No, let the dog stand. Let him show us how he 'survived.' Refuse, and everyone knows he lied."
Every eye burned holes in my back.
I exhaled.
"Fine," I said, meeting his stare for the first time. "Courtyard. Bare hands."
He blinked once.
Then the grin split wider. "Good. Let's give the men a show."
Word spread like wildfire. By the time we stepped outside, a rough circle was already scraped into the dirt and soldiers crowded three deep, betting copper coins and sake cups.
Nakamura tossed his sword and outer robe aside, rolling his shoulders. Even half-drunk, his movements were smooth, practiced. Longer reach, heavier muscle, trained since he could walk.
I had the dark.
"Captain Oda," I said quietly, eyes still on Nakamura. "One condition."
"Speak."
"Douse every torch."
Laughter exploded.
Nakamura roared loudest. "He wants to lose where we can't see the tears!"
"Just making it fair," I answered.
Oda studied me for a long second.
"Extinguish them."
Torches died one by one. Darkness swallowed the yard.
Someone cursed. Boots shuffled. Most of them couldn't see their own feet.
I could see everything.
[Night Vision] turned moonlight into daylight.
I moved.
Left. Right. Behind. Three feather-light taps, just to let him know I was already playing.
He bellowed and charged blind.
This time I let him catch me.
His fist locked on my collar. The world flipped. My back hit the ground hard enough to rattle teeth and drive the air from my lungs in a whoosh. Real pain flared across my ribs.
Gasps ripped through the soldiers. Someone laughed: "The gaijin's finished!"
Nakamura's drunken grin loomed above me. "Pathetic."
Then the world snapped into silver clarity.
I was gone before his next punch landed.
A sidestep. A palm to the solar plexus. Controlled. Precise. He folded with a choked gasp.
He swung wild. I caught the wrist, pivoted, swept his legs. He crashed down hard enough to kick dust into the air.
Silence.
I stepped beside his head, close enough for him to feel it.
"Your stance telegraphs everything," I murmured. "In those woods you'd already be dead."
He wheezed something that might have been a curse.
"Light."
Torches flared alive.
Nakamura lay groaning in the dirt. No marks on me that anyone could see.
I turned away fast so they wouldn't catch the thin line of blood at the corner of my mouth. That throw had cracked something inside. Without the dark, without the speed, I would have lost.
Captain Oda's eyes tracked the scene: Nakamura broken, me standing calm, the crowd afraid to breathe.
"Incredible," Oda said at last, voice quiet, shaken. "We are far from finished speaking, foreigner."
The hunger in my stomach purred, satisfied.
For now.
Then cold green text flickered across my vision.
[WARNING: Consecutive high-intensity ability usage detected] [Hunger Level: 87% → 91%] [Time until forced rampage: 47 hours 12 minutes] [Recommended action: Consume high-grade specter essence immediately]
My smile died.
Forty-seven hours.
Whatever was waiting deeper in those woods… it had better be strong.
But the looks around me told the truth: This wasn't a victory.
This was a declaration.
I wasn't simply a foreigner who survived the demon forests.
I was something far more dangerous.