Hardcore Exorcist: Reborn to Grind

I throw out my One-Inch Strike, and the 103rd Cohort folds. They call for a ceasefire. 

We take the win, but not without bleeding for it.

Still, the 102nd Cohort stands victorious.

Tonight night, we party in triumph.

“Dude, you’re seriously amazing!”

“Can’t believe that actually worked in a real fight!”

“Honestly, I thought it was just for show.”

“See? I told you guys Ikaku’s a monster.”

They’re all fired up, genuinely pumped for me.

I come out of it feeling weak, though.

That should’ve been the perfect moment to pull off a Surge Punch—take the hit and fire back in one clean motion, Flowing power ripping through his centerline.

But no. I panicked. Charged in, then threw a One-Inch Strike as an afterthought.

Two moves instead of one. Split second too slow.

That breaks everything I’ve been training for.

I could see it in my head. Could feel the rhythm. But when that mana-charged middle kick came flying from a guy six years older, I just got scared.

First thought: Survive.

Then I lashed out with a half-assed One-Inch Strike.

There’s still a long way to go.

“You’re the top dog in our cohort for sure now.”

“Yeah, but if we’re talking who’s gonna make it big, it’s gotta be Hayate.”

“Shut up, I’m not talking careers. Ikaku’s the freak of nature around here.”

“If we’re ranking freaks, Ikaku’s way past most of us, though.”

Hayate. Best of the 102nd Cohort.

He goes by Hayate Akayanagi now. That “Aka” means the Akai family officially brought him into the fold.

Good-looking, sharp, and built like a champ. Kind, too. Handles everything like he was born for it.

Guess that’s what you’d call perfect.

So yeah, it made sense when he got tapped for the Akai family’s elite Exorcist unit—the Coral Terminators.

Someday, I want to get there too.

* * *

Four Years Since Training Began

* * *

The sky’s a slate of thick clouds. Cold rain hammers the earth.

I’m at a funeral.

Another one’s gone. Another member of my cohort who stepped into the world and didn’t come back.

At the Akai family’s cemetery, a crowd in black stands around a grave. A Sister from the orphanage lays a tiny urn into the pit.

Fifteen. That’s how many friends I’ve watched turn to ash.

Technically, cremation clashes with Christian doctrine—resurrection and all that—but the Akai family plays it practical.

Space is tight, and when Demons kill you, the body doesn’t always come back in one piece. Or at all.

So they burn us.

Someday, I’ll be in that grave too. One more urn among many.

“Everyone who went outside got wiped out, huh. Next year’s our turn.”

“Time’s sure moving fast.”

“You’re lucky, Ikaku. You get to stay another six years in the dorms.”

They say it like I won the lottery.

There are three others still in the dorms.

When I started Boot Camp at six, they joined at eleven.

Now they’re seventeen, making them the oldest ones still in the dorms.

Their clock’s almost out.

Of the 102nd Cohort, only Hayate Akayanagi’s made it past twenty.

The rest? Dead within two years of leaving.

“Hey, Ikaku.”

“What?”

“We’re probably gonna die next year.”

Another voice cuts in.

“Not like we’ll make candidate status.”

“Man, you can’t even shoot straight.”

“Yeah? You can’t channel mana for shit.”

“And I suck at both.”

The three final members of my cohort laugh, dry and bitter.

That stretch after Boot Camp and before eighteen—that’s the grace period. Officially, it’s just called Secondary Boot Camp.

You use it to patch your weak spots. Gain experience. Get smarter.

If Boot Camp is grade school, this part’s cram school.

If you want to join the Akai family, you train, apply, and pray you pass the candidate exam.

Make it through, and you start doing the same jobs as the Coral Terminators.

If you impress them during drills, real missions, guard duty, you get to enter the path I’m aiming for—serving the Akai Clan.

But almost nobody makes it through Secondary Boot Camp. Too many die before they even get close.

That’s why shooting for a Ninth-Class Exorcist License is the safer route. With that license, you might even skip candidate status altogether and go straight into the Terminators.

“If we could just roll with the elites, our odds might improve.”

“Yeah. But say you actually become a Coral Terminator. Wouldn’t you just end up fighting even tougher Demons?”

“Still... just being on Akai land during peacetime would feel safer.”

Go forward—it’s hell.

Stay put—it’s hell too.

That’s where they’re stuck. Trying to figure out which path has the least fire.

Me? I didn’t wrestle with it like they do.

Sure, I don’t want to die. That’s instinct. But I also want to repay the Akai family. 

And I like this. I love training.

Pushing body and mind to the limit. That’s who I am.

“Getting all gloomy just invites Demons. Chin up boys,” I say.

“But... don’t you get it, Ikaku? It’s not possible for us.”

“We can’t become amazing like you or Hayate.”

“We’ll die like the fifteen before us.”

“Hey, Ikaku. The instructor told us to find meaning in life... Do you reckon they did?”

The last one’s voice is barely audible over the rain. He’s crying.

I don’t have an answer.

Because I don’t know either.

“We’ve talked it over.”

“Hey, Ikaku. Would you use us up?”

“Huh? Use you guys how?”

“You mentioned wanting sparring partners before. Your old master’s too busy, right? Not enough hands-on time.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

There are stages to mastering a technique.

Learning. Understanding. Embodying.

First, you copy forms, build the basics.

Next, you grasp the ideas behind the moves. Make them your own.

Finally, you break the form. Apply the principle anywhere, in any situation.

That’s when it becomes a real weapon. Something you can use against people.

And to make it work against Demons? You need more.

Sparring’s essential for that. But sparring needs partners.

Dummies only teach form. It’d be great if Master could stay by my side 24/7, but reality’s got other plans.

“Instead of hanging on as bottom-tier Exorcists, occasionally stepping outside as side support, all just to scrape up points for a license we’ll never earn—we want to matter. Before we hit eighteen, get tossed out, and die... we want to go all out.”

“Honestly? No way we can match your level of dedication. But with three of us, maybe we can manage somehow.”

“You’ve been living at full throttle since you were six. You have to survive.”

“Four remain. And if anyone makes it out, it’s gonna be you, Ikaku.”

“Hey... become the meaning of our lives.”

Their voices tremble, but their eyes don’t waver.

I chew it over, deep and hard.

First, I thank them.