I. The city without echo
Hanekura didn't appear on official maps. It was wedged between two ancient dried-up rivers and a railway line that no longer led anywhere. In the Tree's time, it was an industrial district under constant judgment: every business had to pass spiritual inspection, every temple emitted controlled vibrations, and even beggars bore surveillance marks on their skin. But since the Hill's Song, since the day the white root spoke without asking permission, Hanekura became a hollow. A place where the echo didn't return. Where the vibration wasn't judged.
Red Mist mafia , a young, ragtag organization born of trauma. They weren't strategists or enlightened ones. They were survivors. Men and women who had lost their voices in the abandoned temples, children with roots tattooed on their backs who didn't know what they meant, former spirit soldiers who no longer had a patron. No one spoke of the leader. Only his name was known: Izan , and that his power was invisible. It was said that Izan could replicate the voices of former judges of the Tree, but not as an echo: as a perfect forgery. An ability that confused even spirit sensors.
The city was tinged red by the industrial haze. The lamps malfunctioned. The air tasted of rust. And on the walls, one could sometimes hear ancient judgments whispered at random: "Guilty... cleared... approved..." They were Izan's imitations. Perfect copies, yes. But soulless.
II. A child between two silences
In an alley in District 3, a boy cried soundlessly. He had the mark of judgment on the back of his neck, but the skin beneath it was burned. Not by fire. By rejection. The network had tried to connect… and then abandoned him. Since then, he only heard broken phrases inside his head. His name was Yuto . He had lived his eleventh year among collapsed temples and gangs of thieves. But he still dreamed of the vibration. Of feeling like someone could tell him who he was.
That night, she crossed paths with a man in a black coat and gray eyes. He wore no symbol. He had no mark. Just a presence that made the wind change direction.
Akihiko.
He stopped in front of Yuto without speaking. The boy looked up, afraid, but also with a spark of hope. Akihiko crouched down. He looked at the burned skin. The failed mark. And he whispered:
—It's not your fault. The judgment you were seeking… no longer exists.
Yuto didn't respond. But for the first time, someone didn't see it as a mistake.
III. The ambush of the false judges
At the top of a rusty walkway, three members of the Red Mist watched Akihiko. They recognized the scar. The coat. They knew who he was. And they knew Izan wouldn't allow a former judgment-bringer to walk through Hanekura without accountability. One of them, a young man named Ura, descended the stairs like a shadow.
"Are you seeking redemption or judgment?" he asked, as the fog thickened.
Akihiko didn't reply. But Yuto did.
—He spoke to me… without judging me.
That was enough to activate the group. He was a threat. Not because of what he did, but because of what he represented: someone who didn't need a system to see another human being.
Ura drew his weapon: a staff engraved with imitations of sacred symbols. Activating it, he projected a field of false judgments. Each sentence uttered ("guilty," "deviant," "contaminated") weakened those who heard it, inducing guilt, disorientation, or spiritual collapse.
But Akihiko no longer bore any marks. He no longer responded to any judgment. He walked into the field without stopping. The words passed through him… and dissolved into the air.
"Your voice doesn't reach me," he said, and with a single movement, he deflected Ura's staff and brought him to his knees.
The fog thickened. More enemies arrived. But Akihiko didn't draw his weapon. He just watched.
—This city… doesn't need a new trial. It needs a true root.
IV. The song of the copy
Izan arrived silently. His body was thin, his face covered by a carved wooden mask. Standing on a metal structure, he spoke in a voice that was not his own: it was that of an ancient high priest of the Tree.
—You were marked. Why do you walk without a shadow now?
Akihiko looked up.
—Because I no longer have anyone to prove who I am to.
Izan replied another voice. This time, that of an ancient judgment:
—Those who do not submit… must be silenced.
But Akihiko stepped forward.
—And those who only imitate… will never understand.
Then, the Hanekura field vibrated. Not by power. By resonance. The hill still sang… and its echo had reached here. The white root was still alive. And its song, though distant, still said:
"Flourishing without permission… is also a way of existing."
END OF CHAPTER 103