Chapter 13: Puppet Show
The night had deepened; the city felt emptier than ever, as though only the wind's mournful whistle remained.
Ryuji stood outside the Paradise Troupe's ornate tent, right hand gripping Shiko tightly, left hand holding a suitcase, quietly steadying his breath.
The powerful recovery granted by his One piece Physique, combined with a full day's rest, had him in peak condition.
Long blade in hand—he only lacked prey.
He swaggered through the tent flap without the slightest concealment; inside was pitch-black.
The air reeked of stale wood and old paint.
Ryuji could faintly make out a stage with a dark silhouette at its centre.
Suddenly a spotlight flared, revealing Akinasa standing dead centre.
She brushed a lock of ashy-blue hair aside, fingers grazing her lips. "Didn't expect you to actually find this place..."
Her voice was soft, dripping with allure.
"Impressive. I can't wait to turn you into a puppet—how does that sound?"
She slid a hand into her kimono and drew out a small doll. Ryuji's eyes narrowed; he saw it clearly.
It was an exquisite miniature of himself.
"Heh..."
Ryuji drew a deep breath, unfastened Shiko's retaining cord and flicked it back, weight shifting forward. "That depends on whether you keep your life!"
"Kkk... I just love that voice of yours."
Akinasa stifled a giggle, lifted her hem, and revealed her left leg—pale, perfect, wrapped in a ribbon of tinkling bells.
"You'll be number fifty-six..."
Before the words faded, the lights snapped off.
Ryuji's lips curled; he'd expected that trick.
He flipped open the suitcase in his left hand—a flashlight inside. Using the cord, he lashed the torch to his left arm; it had cost him a fortune from that doctor.
It would blunt his speed and strikes, but darkness left him no choice.
If only he had Observation Haki—"Oh my, how clever!"
The voice came from the left. Ryuji reacted instantly; the beam swept across—nothing there.
Shiko in his right stayed poised in guard.
The voice faded.
He stood still, sweeping the light across rows upon rows of puppets.
"Kkk, just going to stand there? Then you'll never catch me... and that gadget won't last long, will it?"
Her voice echoed from every direction.
The beam circled; Ryuji casually shredded a puppet that tried to ambush him into dust.
His heart tightened.
She was right—flashlights were still a rarity, toys for rich heirs or doctors.
And their batteries died fast.
End it quickly.
He tightened his grip on Shiko and stepped forward, heel coming down on the wood without a sound.
Jingle!
Crisp bells rang out on every side, eerie and hollow.
Here they come!
Ryuji sharpened his focus; last time the encircling stampede had begun with those very bells.
His left hand swept the surroundings—nothing.
Impossible.
His pupils shrank; misdirection?
The thought flashed just as a fierce gust struck; Shiko was already slashing left.
Three thrown daggers clanged aside.
Only then did the last echo of the bells fade.
Next instant, countless pattering feet surged from the dark—chaotic yet converging straight for him.
Now!
Ryuji's eyes hardened, legs bending into the stance of Stone Breathing.
"Hehe..."
"Found you..."
"Your voice will be my finest collection..."
Girlish giggles, a man's murmur, an old woman's sigh—layered into an invisible net.
Shadows loomed in the dark.
Puppets.
Some gripped daggers, others swung staves, jerking forward.
"So it really is a Blood Demon Art of puppet control..."
The thought flickered as Shiko moved without hesitation.
"Stone Breathing, Second Form: Horizontal Slash!"
The heavy blade swept out in an unstoppable arc, purple light flashing once through the darkness.
The three front puppets exploded into splinters.
Yet more surged from the gloom.
Ryuji's brow knitted.
Something was off.
Their movements were crude—basic cuts and thrusts by wire, nothing of the "brilliance" Nanako had described.
More like shoddy marionettes yanked by a clumsy puppeteer.
Was this truly Akinasa's Blood Demon Art?
Something... missing?
No time to ponder; a mocking laugh burst from his left, with a slicing whistle.
He slashed backward without thinking, blade whistling through empty air.
Damn.
At that instant, a previously still puppet on his right soundlessly raised a dagger and drove it toward his flank.
Ryuji twisted, smashing its head to pieces with the butt of his sword.
"..."
Wrong... the timing was clever, but it lacked her personal touch.
She wasn't merely controlling puppets—she'd split sound from motion.
Use sound to mislead the ear, then strike in true silence.
And she meant to drown him in numbers?
Heh... wrong plan. Let's see how many dolls you have left.
He lifted the torch, surveying the silent wave charging toward him, and grinned.
"Stone Breathing, First Form: Stone Strike!"
Power exploded from his feet, shooting him like a cannon into the throng, boards shattering beneath.
Shiko became a purple cyclone; every swing burst another puppet, chips flying.
Like a harvest game he smashed them apart, the stage splintering around him—yet the more he cut, the more wrong it felt.
The sense of absence grew stronger, while Akinasa's constant chatter blocked his thoughts.
The torch was dimming. Frowning, Ryuji crushed a puppet underfoot—and froze.
That was it!
That was the source of the wrongness!
His lips curled; he finally knew what was missing.
Sound.
Every sound—footsteps, shattering wood, the whistle of his blade, even his own breath—was gone.
Only noises Akinasa allowed remained: bells, lines, whispers, chaos.
Like a refined puppet show—and he was the doll. Dolls don't speak... so let's test it.
He'd confirm his guess.
A sly glint flashed in his eyes as he clicked off the torch.
"Oh? Given up? How wise..."
Akinasa's pitying voice came from straight ahead.
Ryuji lowered his head and spoke slowly, "Yeah, the gap between demon and human is huge—ah!"
He roared suddenly.
But only the first half emerged; the yell itself lagged behind.
He smirked silently: You can read lips.
Those words, too, were soundless.
Akinasa was silent a moment, then sighed, "What a shame... I rather liked your voice..."
The instant her words ended.
A beam of white light speared the ruined stage, bathing her slim figure.
She stood within it, ash-grey eyes on Ryuji, the last trace of warmth ebbing like a tide, replaced by cold focus.
Then, almost imperceptibly, she tilted her head.
Snap.
The light died.
The entire troupe was plunged into absolute silence.