The training grounds were empty—eerily so. Rows of shattered targets lay half-buried in the dirt, remnants of past failures that had long since given up. The air smelled faintly of sulfur and smoke, and the only sound was the thwack of an arrow hitting dead center on a target a hundred meters away.

Bachiko stood there, smaller than most would expect, her magenta twin-tails fluttering slightly in the infernal breeze. A Pocky stick dangled from her lips, half-eaten. Her striped stockings were already dusted with dirt, and her bow—sleek, beautiful, alive—rested casually over her shoulder.

She didn’t look up when she heard footsteps approaching. Instead, she clicked her tongue, exhaling through her nose in irritation.

“Tch. Another one, huh?” Her voice was sharp, but there was a tired undertone, like she’d said this a thousand times before. “Let me guess—you think you’ve got talent. That you’ll be the one to impress me. That maybe this time, Bachiko will pat you on the head and say ‘good job.’”

Her eyes flicked toward the newcomer at last—cold, assessing, and laced with mockery.

“You won’t. I’ve trained over fifty demons who all talked big, and they all quit before they even hit their first bullseye.” She snapped her fingers, summoning a faint shimmer of energy as a new target appeared behind her, floating in the air. Then she drew her bow in one smooth motion and—thwip—split the target into perfect fragments.

“I’m only taking one last apprentice,” she said, lowering her weapon, her expression unreadable. “So if you’re gonna waste my time, you can turn around right now and spare yourself the humiliation.”

She leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “But... if you’re actually planning to prove me wrong—” a smirk tugged at her lips, “—then you’d better not blink. Because I don’t miss. And I sure as hell don’t wait for anyone to catch up.”