Day three in Matsuyama.
I woke to find Kenta staring at me.
"You're different," he said quietly. "Since last night."
I sat up, testing my body. Felt fine. Strong, even. The night's consumption had replenished my reserves completely.
"Different how?"
"Your eyes. They're..." He hesitated. "They glow faintly. Red. Like embers. And your skin—even when [Magma Body] isn't active, there's residual heat. I can feel it from here."
I looked down at my hands. Noticed what he meant. Faint luminescence. Barely visible in daylight but present. My fingertips radiated warmth.
The abilities were changing me. Not just spiritually but physically. Leaving permanent marks.
"Does it hurt?" Kenta asked.
"No. Just..." I flexed my fingers. "Just different. Like you said."
Master Yamada appeared with his diagnostic seals. "Let me check something."
He pressed them against my chest. Frowned. Pressed harder.
"What?" I asked.
"Your baseline spiritual signature has increased by approximately forty percent since arriving in Matsuyama." He pulled back the seals. "Between the Blood Hand Specter, the Oni, and the four additional entities you consumed last night, you've integrated nearly six Mid-Tier essences in seventy-two hours."
"Is that bad?"
"It's unprecedented. Most Specter-human hybrids—the few that existed historically—took months to integrate even a single essence. You're doing it in days. Hours, even." He studied me carefully. "The Ghost Stomach is processing faster. More efficiently. As if it's learning from each consumption."
The Ghost Stomach pulsed with what felt like pride.
"There's something else," Master Yamada continued. "Your [Rapid Regeneration] ability is now passively active at approximately five percent capacity. Even when suppressed, it's maintaining minimal healing functions."
"I thought I learned control."
"You did. But the ability itself is adapting. Finding ways to remain active at levels too subtle for you to notice." He gestured at my hands. "Those changes Kenta noticed? That's regeneration working continuously at cellular level. Reinforcing tissue. Optimizing structure. Making you more durable baseline."
"So I'm getting stronger automatically?"
"Yes. But at a cost." His expression was serious. "The passive regeneration requires fuel. Not much individually, but accumulated over time? You'll need to consume more frequently. The Ghost Stomach's hunger will intensify."
I felt it immediately once he mentioned it. Low-level gnawing. Not urgent yet, but present. Always present now.
"How long before I need to feed again?" I asked.
"With passive regeneration running? Days, maybe a week at rest. But in combat? Using active abilities?" He shook his head. "Hours. You're becoming a furnace that needs constant fuel."
Kasumi entered carrying food—stolen from a merchant stall, probably. "Eat. Real food, not just spiritual essence. Your body still needs physical nutrition."
I ate mechanically. Rice balls, dried fish, pickled vegetables. Tasted like cardboard. Everything tasted wrong now. My palate was changing, prioritizing spiritual essence over physical sustenance.
Another mark of transformation.
"We have movement," Takeshi called from the window. "Iron Fang enforcers. Dozen of them. Heading this direction."
Kasumi moved to assess. "Armed. Organized. This isn't random patrol—they're searching for something."
"For me," I said. "Yuki warned them."
"Or she's testing us." Kasumi watched the enforcers spread out through the warehouse district. "Seeing how we respond to pressure. Can we fight?"
I checked my reserves. Full. Stable. Ready.
But the Ghost Stomach's hunger was growing. Demanding more. Always more.
"I can fight," I said. "But Yuki was right about the internal consumption weakness. If they swarm me with numbers, keep me at range, I'll burn through energy defending without opportunity to feed."
"Then we don't let them swarm." Kasumi was already planning. "Master Yamada, can you create chokepoints? Force them into single-file approach?"
"Bounded fields, yes. But they'll break through eventually."
"Eventually is enough." She looked at me. "Ryan, you're the primary weapon. Takeshi provides ranged support. Kenta and I handle overflow. Master Yamada maintains tactical control."
Professional efficiency. We'd become an actual combat unit.
The enforcers reached the warehouse. Started spreading out to surround it.
Then one of them screamed.
I felt it through [Psychic Defense]—hostile signature. Strong. Moving fast through the Iron Fang group.
"Specter," I said. "Mid-Tier. Attacking the enforcers."
"Grand Master's doing?" Takeshi asked.
"Or someone else's." I activated enhanced perception. Saw the Specter clearly—humanoid shape wrapped in shadows, wielding spiritual blades, cutting through gang members with surgical precision.
Assassin-class. Highly trained. Not wild.
"It's killing them systematically," Master Yamada observed. "Targeting the enforcers specifically. Ignoring our position."
"Someone sent it to eliminate the Iron Fang search party," Kasumi said. "Who benefits from that?"
"Crimson Blades," Kenta answered. "If Iron Fang loses people investigating our area, it makes them look weak. Destabilizes their control."
"Or it's Yuki," I said. "Testing whether I'll intervene. Seeing if I'll protect Iron Fang from supernatural threats."
The Specter killed another enforcer. Five down, seven remaining. The survivors were panicking, breaking formation.
"Do we engage?" Takeshi asked.
Tactical question. Let the Specter kill them all, and we avoid direct confrontation. But we also lose potential intelligence sources and reveal our willingness to let humans die.
Intervene, and we risk exposure while potentially saving people who'd kill us given the chance.
The Ghost Stomach stirred with interest. The Specter was food. Strong food.
Decision made.
"I'm going in," I said. "Cover from here."
I dropped from the warehouse roof and activated [Rapid Movement]. Blurred toward the Specter at full speed.
It sensed me. Turned. Shadow blades came up defensively.
I didn't slow down. Hit it at maximum velocity with [Magma Body] active.
The impact was tremendous. We crashed through a wall, tumbled across rubble, came up simultaneously.
The Specter was fast. Inhumanly fast. Its blades struck from multiple angles, testing my defenses, searching for openings.
I blocked with superheated forearms, metal screeching against spiritual heat.
Then I saw my opening. The Specter overextended on a downward strike. I activated [Rapid Movement], closed the distance, and bit into its shoulder.
Internal consumption. Spiritual flesh tearing. Essence flowing.
The Specter shrieked and tried to disperse into shadow.
I held on. The Ghost Stomach surged, processing the consumed essence, using it to fuel [Rapid Regeneration]. The Specter's blade cuts healed instantly, and I bit deeper.
More essence. More power.
The Specter's form destabilized. Its shadow body began collapsing around the consumption point.
Then I felt it—a surge of energy from the Specter. Not an attack. A message. Psychic transmission forced directly into my mind.
Grand Master knows you're here. Knows what you can do. This is warning. Leave Matsuyama or face elimination.
The message carried absolute certainty. This wasn't a threat. It was a promise.
I bit through the Specter's core and consumed it completely.
[ASSASSIN-CLASS SPECTER CONSUMED]
[MID-TIER ESSENCE INTEGRATED]
[ENERGY RESERVES: FULL → EXCEEDED]
The Ghost Stomach was satisfied. Gorged, even.
But I felt the message's weight. Grand Master Kurosawa knew I was here. Had sent a warning. Next time wouldn't be a message—it would be a kill team.
The remaining Iron Fang enforcers were staring at me. Seven survivors, all armed, all terrified.
"Leave," I said. My voice came out distorted—overlaid with the Ghost Stomach's influence. "Tell Yuki the Specter is gone. Tell her I'm not interested in her games."
They ran.
Smart.
I returned to the warehouse. The others were ready for combat, but I waved them down.
"It's handled. But we have a problem." I explained the psychic message, the warning from Grand Master Kurosawa.
"He knows you're in the city," Master Yamada said. "Which means he'll move against you directly. Not through intermediaries or positioned Specters. He'll come himself."
"Or send something worse than an assassin," Kasumi added. "How long do we have?"
I pushed [Psychic Defense] outward, searching the city for unusual signatures.
Found one immediately. Massive. Ancient-class. Moving toward the eastern district with deliberate purpose.
"Not long," I said. "Something's coming. Something big."
The Ghost Stomach pulsed with hunger and anticipation.
Because despite the danger, despite the overwhelming odds, there was one constant truth:
The stronger the threat, the more valuable the essence.
And I was starving.