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Reborn in Type-Moon: Starting by Adopting Sakura - Chapter 42
🕑 Added 2025-08-09 02:02:37 +0000 UTCAfter a long moment, Yuu pulled back slightly, his expression becoming more serious. "Now, what's this about 'sorry for dragging me into this'? That's a really hurtful thing to say."
"…S-Sorry."
"You don't need to apologize for that." His tone softened. "Look at me, Iri. You're my partner in this. That means we face things together, right? That means I get a say in what risks I'm willing to take."
"…Mm." She nodded, though her eyes remained downcast.
"If you start talking like you're alone in this again, like you're some kind of burden I'm carrying, I'm going to have to remind you otherwise."
"I just—" she started, then paused, gathering her thoughts. "I keep thinking about all the things that could go wrong. All the ways this could hurt you."
"And I keep thinking about how we've made it this far by trusting each other," he replied. "That's not going to change now, no matter what's waiting for us in that city."
…
Elsewhere, in a dim apartment that had clearly seen better decades—
Ryunosuke Uryuu sat sprawled across a sofa that had probably been beige once upon a time, arms thrown wide in what could generously be called a homeless pose. Less generously, it looked like someone had simply given up on sitting like a normal human being.
An old, mold-stained book lay open on the coffee table before him, competing for space with empty takeout containers and what appeared to be several weeks' worth of questionable life choices.
He was deep in thought—or at least, what passed for thought in Ryunosuke's particular corner of the universe.
His latest hobby had been losing its appeal lately. The thrill was gone, replaced by a gnawing sense of ennui that no amount of creative problem-solving seemed to cure. It was like being a chef who'd run out of new recipes, except considerably more concerning.
Half a month ago, in a moment of what he'd generously called "returning to his roots," he had made the questionable decision to visit his hometown for the first time in five years. Family reunions had never been his strong suit, but rummaging through decades of accumulated junk? That held a certain appeal.
And there, buried in the archaeological layers of his family's warehouse—somewhere between rusted tools and boxes of things no sane person would keep—he'd found it.
A hand-bound journal, clearly the product of someone's very personal relationship with obsession. The craftsmanship screamed "definitely not mass-produced," more like "assembled by someone who had strong opinions about bookbinding and possibly reality itself." The dates marked it as being from Keiō 9—over a century ago, back when Japan was still figuring out what to do with itself at the end of the Edo period.
The handwriting sprawled across the pages like a spider having an existential crisis. Page after page of occult diagrams, summoning circles, and invocations that seemed to pull from every religious tradition the author could get their hands on. Christian saints rubbed shoulders with demonic figures in what could only be described as a supernatural guest list gone completely off the rails.
To any reasonable person, it would have been obvious garbage—the fevered scribblings of someone who'd clearly spent too much time alone with their thoughts and possibly some questionable substances.
But Ryunosuke had never claimed to be reasonable.
The moment he'd pulled it from that dusty pile of family history, one thought had crystallized in his mind: this was absolutely, undeniably cool.
And more importantly—it looked like fun.
"…Says here Fuyuki is a 'land of leylines.'" he squinted at the faded text, trying to make sense of handwriting that looked like it had been penned during an earthquake. "Hmm. It'd be a waste not to try."
After tidying up the apartment, he settled back into focus and resumed preparations for the ritual.
According to the journal, this was supposed to be a summoning of some kind, which apparently required both preparation and an offering. The necessary “materials” had been gathered earlier—he'd followed the book's instructions about drawing the circle, though he had to admit some of the steps seemed unnecessarily elaborate.
For the offering itself, he'd settled on his skull mask. It had the right aesthetic, and besides, he'd grown attached to the thing. There was something poetic about using his favorite accessory as part of an occult ritual.
"Fill, fill, fill, fill. Four times... wait, was it five?" He glanced between the book and his work, mumbling the incantation under his breath.
Then the pain hit—sharp and immediate, like someone had jabbed a needle directly into his right hand. Nothing had touched him, but the sensation was impossible to ignore: burning, tingling, and then a strange numbness that spread up his fingers.
"What the hell?!"
Before the discomfort fully faded, something extraordinary happened. A mark appeared on the back of his hand that looked almost like a tattoo.
Instead of alarm, he felt a surge of genuine excitement. The design was genuinely striking—artistic, even. He had no clue what it meant, but it was definitely the coolest thing that had happened to him in months.
His voice picked up enthusiasm as he returned to reading from the book, stumbling slightly over the weird phrasing but pressing forward with growing anticipation.
The moment he finished the final line of the incantation, the summoning circle began to glow with an ethereal phosphorescent light. He stared, hardly believing his eyes.
A thin mist began to gather over the circle. And from within that supernatural fog, a figure started to take shape.
She was slender with striking blue hair and dark skin that seemed to absorb the dim apartment lighting. Her body was wrapped in flowing black cloth that moved like liquid shadow, and her face was concealed behind a bone-white skull mask that managed to be both elegant and deeply unsettling.
Ryunosuke had expected many things from tonight's experiment. He had not expected it to actually work.
"Ooh—ohhh! That's SO COOL!"
If he had possessed even a shred of self-preservation instinct, this might have been the moment to reconsider his life choices. Unfortunately, subtlety had never been his strong suit.
The figure before him was mesmerizing—like staring into a flame that happened to be shaped like a person. He could sense something profound radiating from her, something that spoke to the very core of what he'd been seeking all these months.
His eyes lit up with the fervor of someone who'd finally found their calling, and he slowly stepped toward the center of the circle.
"My name is Ryunosuke Uryuu. Freelance. Hobby: killing. You—"
The moment his finger made contact with her skin, his voice died in his throat.
What he'd summoned was indeed a beautiful girl, but appearances could be devastatingly deceiving. Her flesh carried a curse that made her untouchable in the most literal sense—every part of her was infused with lethal toxins that could end a life in seconds.
This was Hassan of Serenity, and she was death given elegant, tragic form.
Ryunosuke, of course, had no way of comprehending the nature of what he'd actually summoned. Ancient magical assassins weren't exactly covered in his particular area of expertise.
Within moments, the supernatural poison began its work. Ryunosuke's expression shifted from excitement to something approaching euphoria as the toxins overwhelmed his system.
‘Ahh. This is it.’
In his final conscious moment, a smile spread across his face. He’d been searching for the perfect death all this time, scouring the world for something that would finally satisfy his twisted curiosity. And here it was—delivered through his own dabbling in forces he’d never bothered to understand.
He dropped to his knees. With a soft thud, his body collapsed over the bloodstained circle. In his final moment, there was no fear, no regret—only sublime, transcendent bliss.
His world faded to darkness, and the apartment fell silent once more.
