Location: The High Keep of the Wind Demons (Fuma Corporation Headquarters, 45th Floor)

  I am Hattori Masanari. Former commander of the Iga shadows, a shinobi who once danced upon the edge of countless blades. Now, through a cruel twist of destiny and a highly confusing temporary employment contract, I serve as a bodyguard-retainer to the reincarnated tyrant of the corporate battlefield: Fuma Kotaro.

  We stood within his executive sanctum, a sterile, glass-walled fortress suspended forty-five stories above the earth. The air up here was unnatural. It was scentless, devoid of life, filtered through invisible iron lungs hidden within the ceiling. To the modern dead-eyed foot soldiers, it was a paradise of climate control. To a warrior of the Sengoku period, it was a sensory void.

  Yet, a shinobi’s body never forgets the wild.

  I paused mid-stride, my hand instinctively dropping to the handle of my invisible blade. A dull, throbbing ache bloomed in my left shoulder—the exact spot where a Takeda archer had grazed me at the Battle of Mikatagahara. My inner ear popped. The scent of ozone, damp earth, and wet asphalt mysteriously penetrated the sealed glass barrier of the tower.

  Barometric pressure. It was plummeting like a hawk diving for the kill.

  I dropped to one knee, bowing my head toward the mahogany desk where the Fuma Lord sat typing furiously on his glowing ledger.

  "My Lord," I spoke, my voice low and urgent. "The dragons of the sky are stirring. The atmospheric chi is collapsing inward. A great deluge approaches, swift and without mercy. We must prepare our defenses."

  Kotaro did not even look up. He merely swiped a finger across his Oracle Slate, summoning a map of swirling colored clouds. "Yeah. Guerrilla rainstorm. Radar says it hits in exactly five minutes. We need to get down to the ground floor. The company car is waiting."

  A guerrilla rainstorm. An ambush from the heavens themselves. The enemy was invisible, untargetable, and wielded the wrath of the water-kami. I tightened my jaw. I would not let this tempest claim my employer.

  Location: The Subterranean Merchant Outpost (Family Mart)

  Before we approached the crystal gates of the ground floor, Kotaro halted. He reached into the pockets of his impeccably tailored armor and tossed a heavy silver coin toward me. I caught it between two fingers. It bore the number 500.

  "Go down to the convenience store," Kotaro commanded, adjusting his cuffs. "Procure a cheap umbrella. I am not ruining this suit."

  "It shall be done," I declared, vanishing toward the blindingly bright merchant outpost located in the basement of the tower.

  I approached the rack of defensive armaments situated near the entrance. Among the black and blue fabric shields, my eyes were drawn to a cylindrical weapon of startling ingenuity. It was wrapped in a membrane of completely clear, solidified resin.

  I purchased it from the dead-eyed clerk, paid the 500-yen tribute, and stepped into the corridor to inspect my new armament. I gripped the curved handle and pressed the release mechanism.

  WHOOSH.

  With a sound like a drawn sword, the weapon deployed. The ribs of thin metal snapped outward, stretching the clear membrane into a taut, perfect dome. I stared upward through the canopy, my breath catching in my throat.

  Sorcery!

  It was a shield of solid water! Throughout history, the greatest weakness of any shield—be it a wooden pavise or a woven bamboo hat—was that it obscured the warrior’s vision. To block a strike was to blind oneself to the next. But this? This transparent canopy protected the wielder from above while allowing absolute, unobstructed visibility of the battlefield! I could see the enemy, the sky, the trajectory of falling arrows—all while remaining completely shielded!

  "Magnificent," I whispered, rotating the umbrella. "The engineers of this era possess minds forged by the gods. With this invincible barrier, even the wrath of the storm dragons shall be deflected."

  Location: The Crystal Gates (Ground Level Plaza)

  I returned to Kotaro, holding the clear shield at my side, my confidence absolute.

  We stepped through the automatic glass doors and into the chaotic embrace of the outside world. The "guerrilla rainstorm" had arrived, and it was no mere shower. It was an act of supreme meteorological violence. The sky was the color of bruised iron. The wind howled through the concrete canyons of the capital, whipping the rain not downward, but horizontally. The raindrops were heavy, striking the pavement like volleys of lead musketry.

  "Stay close to me, Lord Fuma!" I roared over the shrieking wind, stepping into the vanguard position. I deployed the transparent shield with a resounding snap, thrusting it forward and angling it against the onslaught.

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  The rain battered against the clear membrane, but I could see right through it. I watched the water shatter harmlessly against my invincible barrier.

  "Observe the superiority of this transparent armament, My Lord!" I shouted, bracing my legs into a solid horse stance. "The heavens themselves cannot pierce this barrier! We are untouchable! The sheer structural integrity of this—"

  BAM.

  A sudden, violent updraft of wind—a localized tornado spawned by the architectural layout of the skyscrapers—struck us from below. It caught the underside of my magnificent shield.

  Time seemed to slow. I felt the sickening lack of resistance in the handle. The thin, metallic ribs of the umbrella groaned under the immense pressure. And then, with a horrific, metallic CRUNCH, the shield betrayed me.

  The canopy violently inverted. The ribs snapped backward, pointing toward the sky. The perfect, protective dome was instantly transformed into a grotesque, inside-out chalice of jagged metal and strained plastic. It caught the wind like the sail of a doomed galleon, jerking my arm upward with enough force to dislocate a lesser man's shoulder.

  "TREACHERY!" I bellowed in absolute horror.

  I wrestled with the twisted monstrosity. The weapon had turned its fangs against the wielder! It flailed wildly in the wind, resembling a giant, skeletal bat trying to rip itself from my grasp and ascend to the heavens.

  "What fragile, cursed engineering is this?!" I screamed, using both hands to drag the inverted umbrella downward. "It is a trap! A weapon designed to capture the wind and assassinate its owner! Forgive me, Lord Fuma! The shield has been compromised!"

  Location: The Eye of the Tempest (Corporate Drop-Off Zone)

  SNAP. RIIIIP.

  Under the relentless assault of the tempest, the cheap metal skeleton shattered. The transparent membrane tore away, flapping wildly in the wind like a surrendered flag. The weapon was dead.

  I threw the useless, twisted handle into a nearby puddle.

  The rain descended upon us, cold and unforgiving. The armored carriage was still twenty paces away, parked at the curb. I could not allow the Fuma Lord’s immaculate armor to be soiled. If tools of modern artifice could not protect him, then my own flesh and martial prowess would have to suffice.

  "Fall back, My Lord!" I shouted, stepping directly in front of Kotaro.

  I widened my stance, dropping my center of gravity. I took a deep breath, focusing my chi, and entered a state of pure martial flow. I raised my hands.

  If I could not block the rain, I would parry it.

  "WATER-SPLITTING CHOP!"

  I unleashed a blinding flurry of Tori-te open-hand strikes. My arms became a blur of motion. I struck at the descending raindrops, slicing the air with devastating speed. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! I deflected a drop aiming for Kotaro’s left eye. I backhanded a sheet of water hurtling toward his shoulder. I was a human whirlwind, attempting to physically beat the storm into submission through sheer, unadulterated violence.

  "I SHALL CLEAVE THE WATER!" I roared, my hands stinging as they slapped the freezing rain at blinding speeds. "NO DROP SHALL TOUCH YOU! HURRY TO THE CARRIAGE!"

  Behind my flurry of desperate martial arts, Fuma Kotaro stopped walking. He stared at me for a long, silent moment. The wind whipped his hair, but his expression was one of profound, exhausted pity.

  He let out a long sigh that was somehow audible over the roaring storm.

  Without a word, Kotaro reached behind his neck. He seized the collar of his ￥100,000 waterproof, seam-sealed, Gore-Tex tech-jacket, and casually pulled the hood over his head.

  My eyes widened in shock as the water simply beaded up and rolled off the dark, magical fabric. It was an impenetrable cloak of shadows! A mythical garment that rebuked the water-kami without a single wasted movement!

  Kotaro bypassed my frantic, flailing form. He calmly walked the remaining twenty paces, opened the door of the armored carriage, and slid into the dry, luxurious interior.

  I stood alone in the tempest, my hands still raised in a fighting stance, utterly soaked.

  Location: The Belly of the Armored Carriage (Luxury Town Car)

  The interior of the carriage was warm, smelling of rich leather and expensive cologne.

  Kotaro sat on the right side, pristine, dry, and casually scrolling through his Oracle Slate.

  I sat rigidly on the left side, looking like a drowned rat pulled from a castle moat. Water poured from my hair, cascaded down my nose, and formed a rapidly expanding puddle on the expensive floor mats. I was shivering, my pride wounded far deeper than my flesh.

  In my hands, I gripped the twisted, jagged metal handle of the ruined umbrella. I squeezed it until my knuckles turned white.

  "My Lord," I muttered, my voice dripping with cold water and dark resolve. "When the sun rises tomorrow... I shall return to the subterranean outpost. I shall demand a full refund from the Merchants of the Family Mart. Their weapons are defective, and their honor is false."

  Kotaro didn't look up from his screen. "It was five hundred yen, Masanari. Let it go."

  "I will not," I whispered to the twisted metal. "Blood must be paid."

  Masanari’s Cultural Notes (Glossary)

  ? Guerrilla Rainstorm (The Sky Ambush): A sudden, violent meteorological phenomenon in the modern capital. Unlike a proper siege, it offers no warning, striking with horizontal rain and winds capable of uprooting weak trees and destroying cheap armor.

  ? The Transparent Shield (Vinyl Umbrella): A brilliant concept ruined by tragic execution. The idea of a see-through shield is a tactical masterpiece, but the skeletal structure is made of a metal so weak it surrenders to the slightest updraft. It is a treacherous tool that turns its fangs on the wielder.

  ? The Cloak of Shadows (Gore-Tex): A legendary fabric worn by corporate warlords. It possesses the magical property of completely rejecting water, allowing the wearer to traverse tempests without raising a single hand in defense. True power.

  63 Days Remaining.

  Next Episode Preview:

  Episode 38: The Duel of the Micro-Banners and the Fragments of Soul!

  Masanari: "A new battlefield! The Fuma Lord is engaging in a ritual of greeting with the retainers of a rival clan! They are presenting small, white banners to each other, bearing their true names and allegiances! This 'Meishi Kokan'... what a terrifying psychological war! Offering one's soul-plate from a lower stance to feign submission while waiting for an opening...! To bend an opponent's banner is a declaration of war! I, too, must forge my own banner with ink and brush!"

  Next Time: Masanari mistakes the etiquette of exchanging business cards for a lethal assassination technique, and unleashes killing intent on an executive who disrespects Kotaro's card!

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