The hilt of the sword was still hot in Dòu Táng's hand, but nothing else happened. Even so — he was certain now.
Lu Zizhen was here.
Had she thrown him this sword because she was cornered, or was it a signal?
He glanced back at the shattered glass where their worlds had briefly overlapped — where blade met blade and the two planes had touched for a single heartbeat before the weapon flew through.
If attacks from that world could cross into this one…
then breaking the window must have sent a shock back there too.
In that case —
Got it.
Time to raise some hell.
He completely misunderstood the situation.
Transform!
A flash of black-and-pink light exploded outward.
The wolf-headed Tang Dou Ren re-formed, fists clashing as waves of pressure rippled through the cafeteria.
Power surged.
[Muscle Mode] — Activate!
His frame expanded, tightening into a two-meter wall of muscle beneath that absurd wolf mask. Unfortunately, the transformation still came with its idiotic warm-up routine — jumping jacks, arm swings, flexes.
So there he was:
a black-and-pink mascot-suit bodybuilder doing stretches under the moon, brandishing a telescopic sword.
It was… indescribably bizarre.
Then a flashlight beam flickered at the doorway.
A man in a security uniform stepped in, froze, and stared.
"…?"
Really? Tonight of all nights? Dòu Táng almost groaned.
Weren't guards supposed to arrive after the chaos ended? This guy clearly hadn't read the script.
"P-pervert!!" the guard shrieked.
I'm not a pervert, damn it!
But if the man started yelling for backup, rescuing Lu Zizhen would be a nightmare. "Wuhuuu!"
"D-don't come any closer!!"
Why did everyone say that when they saw him?! The guard swung his rubber baton wildly in panic.
Dòu Táng sighed, dashed forward, and caught the weapon mid-swing. With a squeeze —
Splurch.
The rubber casing burst open like flesh, revealing the steel core beneath. The guard froze. Industrial-grade rubber wasn't supposed to do that.
Dòu Táng put a finger to the nonexistent lips of his mask. Silence.
The man nodded frantically.
Dòu Táng dragged him inside and pointed at a chair. Sit. Stay.
Then the spectral clash began again — sword-light flaring in mid-air. The battle in the other world still raged, visible only as streaks of light.
The guard, on the verge of collapse, stared from the phantom sparks to the wolf-headed giant pacing before him — a nightmare given form.
Panic won. He bolted toward the kitchen. Of course.
The kitchen had knives.
If he could grab one, maybe he stood a chance. (He didn't.)
Dòu Táng tilted his head, exasperated.
Why did humans have such blind faith in their own combat ability?
He followed lazily, watching the man fumble for a chef's knife with trembling hands. The scene was almost comedic:
a terrified guard brandishing kitchen steel at a black-and-pink wolf-headed giant holding a toy-like sword, both frozen under cold moonlight.
Then realization dawned on the guard.
Obon. The Ghost Festival.
Of course! That coworker hadn't swapped shifts for "family reasons" — he'd just known better. This thing — it wasn't human. Only a monster could be that strong!
He shuffled sideways toward the exit. Dòu Táng mirrored him, step for step. "Wuhuu! Wuhuuu!"
His booming cry echoed through the empty cafeteria. Could this please stop turning into farce?!
Then — clang!
The guard, retreating blindly, knocked over a large soup pot. It crashed to the floor with a metallic bang that rang through the room.
A ripple spread outward — sound, or something deeper. Dòu Táng froze. He heard it too.
He turned.
Moonlight spilled through the shattered windows. Amid the returning clang of steel came heavy footsteps — and a woman's ragged breathing.
From the shimmer of colliding blades, two figures stepped through.
One: tall, broad-shouldered, clad in a rust-streaked Shōwa military uniform, katana clenched tight. Each swing screamed violence.
The other — Lu Zizhen.
Right hand forming a sword-seal, left gripping a gleaming blade, barely holding the spirit's onslaught at bay. Sweat ran down her pale cheek.
The ghost-wall had shattered.
" — Huff!"
CRASH!
In a blur of black light, Dòu Táng moved. One step. One kick.
The air detonated.
His foot slammed into the soldier-spirit's back with thunderous force. Glass erupted as the wraith flew through the doors, crashing onto the open field.
Rage boiled from the ghost.
Corporal Yamashita staggered upright, sword trembling under the moon.
Dòu Táng turned back to Lu Zizhen, scanning her quickly. She looked pale but unhurt. He exhaled softly and nodded once.
She managed a weak smile, lips bloodless. "Idiot… I threw the sword at the pot. You couldn't figure that out sooner?"
He ignored her, stepping toward the doorway. His hands gripped the frame —
Crack!
Wood and steel split apart under his fingers.
The black wolf-headed Tang Dou Ren stepped into the moonlight, resentment burning off him like fire.
He looked down at the soldier-spirit rising from the dirt —
—and the night trembled at the sound of his low, furious growl.
"Wuhuu…"
Under the pale moon,
the air itself seemed to shudder—
as if even ghosts feared the wrath of the living hell that walked among them.
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