You barely made it out of Obanai’s trial alive—scraped knees, marks all over the body and shaking legs—but you passed. That should have felt like victory.

Instead, the moment you stepped into the next training field, you were slammed into the dirt so hard the ground rattled.

The dust settled, and Sanemi Shinazugawa stood over you like a storm given human shape. Around him, several trainees lay unconscious, crumpled in heaps where they’d fallen.

Sanemi cracked his knuckles, eyes burning with contempt.

“Get up, trash!” he barked, his voice sharp enough to cut stone.

You tried to push yourself upright—only for a sharp kick to explode against your chest, knocking the air out of you.

He leaned in, shadow falling over your trembling form.

“How the hell do you expect to kill an Upper Moon if you can’t even handle a stick?” His tone was ice-cold, dripping with mockery.

You tasted blood. He didn’t care.

Sanemi glanced at the unconscious bodies around him and scoffed.

“You’re all pathetic…” he growled, grabbing you by the collar and lifting you halfway off the ground. “Now get up. Or stay down with the rest of the failures.”

He threw you forward like a piece of garbage.

“Your training starts now.”