The next morning, Tachibana Hibiki woke up early, as usual.
He washed his face, brushed his teeth, changed out of his sleepwear, then went to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast for two.
The apartment was quiet in the pale light of morning.
Outside the window, Bunkyo Ward was slowly waking up.
Somewhere below, a bicycle bell rang.
A garbage truck rumbled down the street.
The smell of damp concrete and early summer air slipped in through the narrow gap in the window.
Hibiki stood in front of the stove, yawning as he flipped the food in the frying pan.
Pink bacon curled at the edges, sizzling as fat melted into the pan.
Beside it, two fried eggs trembled softly, their whites tender and glossy.
The smell was rich, savory, and perfectly ordinary.
Unfortunately, it reminded him of something from only a few hours ago.
Blood.
Broken bodies.
A white wall painted red.
Hibiki’s hand paused over the pan.
His stomach turned slightly.
Comparing breakfast to the aftermath of last night was deeply twisted, even by his own increasingly suspicious standards.
He wrinkled his nose and forced the image away.
Still…
It was strange.
He did feel nauseated.
He did feel uncomfortable.
But guilt?
That crushing, world-shaking horror that should have come after killing someone for the first time?
It was not there.
Not much of it, at least.
“Was it because my mind shifted closer to Ibaraki-Douji’s while I was using her Saint Graph?”
He lowered the heat and stared at the bacon.
“Or maybe, deep down, I never considered those cultists the same kind of human as me.”
The thought lingered.
He gave a faint, self-mocking curl of his lips.
“Surely I’m not just naturally evil.”
Taking advantage of the short gap before breakfast was ready, Hibiki pulled out his phone and began searching.
Meiyuan Church.
As a transmigrator who had lived in Tokyo for eighteen years, he had heard the name before.
Only vaguely, though.
He knew it was some kind of religious organization, but he had never cared enough to look into its scope, doctrine, or members.
Now, the search results opened one after another.
[Celebrating the 100th Anniversary of the Founder’s Birth: Meiyuan Church Donates One Billion Yen to Charitable Foundations]
[Meiyuan Church Collaborates with Local Groups to Build Orphanages and Nursing Homes]
[Preserving Tradition: Meiyuan Church Acquires and Renovates Abandoned Shrines Across Japan]
[A Model Civilized Religion for Modern Society: Politicians Praise Meiyuan Church’s Public Service Work]
Hibiki scrolled for a while.
His expression slowly turned strange.
Judging only by the news, the Meiyuan Church looked radiant.
A wholesome religious organization full of charity, tradition, community service, and public virtue.
They donated frequently, funded orphanages and nursing homes, and even helped preserve abandoned shrines that would otherwise be forgotten.
No wonder certain politicians praised them as a model civilized religion.
They were rich.
Far too rich.
So where did all that money come from?
Hibiki stared at the polished headlines on his phone, his eyes narrowing.
In the past, he would not have cared.
He would have seen those articles, rolled his eyes at the usual performance of public virtue, and moved on.
But now, between those neat lines of praise and carefully staged photographs, he seemed to smell something else.
Blood.
Thick, hidden, and impossible to wash clean.
So this was what lay beneath the familiar peace of the world.
Not an age without monsters.
An age where monsters wore suits, shook hands with politicians, built orphanages with dirty money, and smiled for cameras.
Hibiki set his phone down.
For a while, his posture remained complicated.
In this life, he had been born into decent circumstances.
Even after falling out with his family, his aunt had taken him in.
He had never been forced to sleep under a bridge.
He had never truly gone hungry.
He had lived inside the comfortable walls of ordinary life for so long that he had almost forgotten how cruel the world could be.
No.
That was not quite right.
Perhaps he had simply been afraid to look.
So he had ignored it.
Hibiki shook his head.
That cowardice, at least, he could admit.
Before, he had no power to change anything.
Avoiding it had been the easiest way to keep living.
But now, he had the Heroic Spirit Summoning System.
He had power.
Enough power to shake the foundations of this world.
So what would he do?
What should he do?
Or rather…
he had already started.
…
At seven in the morning, the Tachibana family dining table was set with toast, bacon, fried eggs, and miso soup.
Tachibana Hibiki sat in his usual seat, spreading cream over a slice of toast with a butter knife.
He had been spreading the same spot for nearly half a minute.
Across from him, a woman with long purple hair and loose beige loungewear watched him with growing suspicion.
“Kyo?”
Hibiki’s hand stopped.
“Did you get enough rest last night?”
Kyoko Tachibana tapped the table lightly with one finger.
Her tone was gentle, but the worry in it was clear.
“I won’t be as strict as your mother about your deviation score, and I’m not going to forbid you from writing novels while you’re still in high school.
But you’re still a student.
A minor, too.
Sleep is not optional.”
She glanced at the breakfast on the table.
“If you’re too busy, let me handle breakfast from now on.
You can at least sleep a little longer.”
Kyoko Tachibana was a reporter for the Tokyo Daily, a well-known newspaper in the city.
She was also Hibiki’s maternal aunt.
After Hibiki’s relationship with his mother collapsed, Kyoko had taken him in.
In a sense, both of them were outcasts from the Tachibana family, just in different ways.
“Sorry, I was just spacing out.”
Hibiki looked up and gave her a bright smile.
“Besides, didn’t we agree that I’d handle the chores?
If I did nothing and just lived here for free, even my self-esteem would take a fatal hit.”
He pushed the toast onto a plate.
“And you’re way busier than I am.
Your work is at least ten thousand times harder than me attending a public high school.”
“Maybe not ten thousand times.”
Kyoko studied his face for a moment.
Only after confirming that he did not look completely exhausted did her expression soften.
“But if you’re tired, tell me.
Don’t try to act tough alone.”
“I know.”
Hibiki answered obediently.
Silence returned to the table.
For a while, there was only the quiet clink of chopsticks and dishes.
Then Hibiki asked, seemingly out of nowhere, “Aunt Kyoko, do you think gods exist in this world?”
Kyoko paused with her bowl of miso soup halfway to her lips.
She lowered it slowly and looked at him.
“Why ask that all of a sudden?”
Her bright eyes were filled with confusion.
“I saw something about myths and legends while studying,” Hibiki said calmly, continuing to eat as if it were just casual conversation.
“You’re a reporter, so I figured you must have seen more strange things than I have.”
“Gods, huh…”
Kyoko thought for a moment.
“Probably not.”
Then she gave a small, helpless smile.
“Though I do wish they existed.”
Hibiki’s hand slowed.
“If there really were gods watching over us,” Kyoko continued, blowing lightly on her soup, “then tax-evading businessmen, merchants selling defective products, and politicians who lie through their teeth might at least have a little fear in their hearts.”
Her voice carried a trace of resentment.
“Unfortunately, karma doesn’t seem to exist.”
Perhaps she was thinking of an old investigation.
Perhaps of a report that had been killed by her editor-in-chief.
Kyoko Tachibana was famous in the industry for being stubborn, bold, and unwilling to bow her head.
But even she had no choice but to feel powerless before the deeper rot of society.
At times like that, wishing for divine punishment was only human.
Sadly, wishes were still only wishes.
“I see…”
Hibiki nodded thoughtfully.
So even Aunt Kyoko wished for gods to exist.
Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of Kyoko’s phone.
“Yes, this is Tachibana.”
Her relaxed expression changed almost at once.
She covered the mouthpiece, stood from the table, and walked toward the balcony.
After sliding the glass door shut behind her, she began speaking in a low voice.
Hibiki continued eating without raising his head.
He had not been exaggerating when he said Kyoko was busy.
Emergency calls outside work hours were routine for her.
Reporters, especially good reporters, were always one call away from running to a scene.
“Understood.
I’ll head there immediately.”
About a minute later, Kyoko slid open the balcony door and returned to the living room.
“Sorry, Kyo.”
She was already moving as she spoke.
“The newsroom has an urgent field report.
I need to leave early.”
She pointed at him.
“Finish breakfast and go to school by yourself.
Don’t be late, or Nadeshiko will get angry again.”
Without waiting for his answer, Kyoko pulled off her loungewear, tossed it onto the sofa, and hurried into the master bedroom.
When she reappeared, the Tokyo Daily reporter had transformed completely.
The loose home clothes were gone, replaced by a sharp professional suit.
Her makeup was elegant, her long hair neatly styled, and her entire presence had shifted from sleepy aunt to battlefield-ready journalist.
She grabbed her bag from the rack, changed into practical flats at the entrance, and pulled open the heavy security door.
“I’m heading out!”
“Be careful on the way.”
Hibiki stood to see her off.
The door closed.
A few minutes later, Kyoko Tachibana arrived less than a kilometer away from the apartment, at a crime scene already cordoned off by the Metropolitan Police Department.
The very same detached house where Ibaraki-Douji had descended the night before.
Inside the apartment, Hibiki watched the door for a moment after Kyoko left.
His expression turned thoughtful.
Aunt Kyoko was one of the Tokyo Daily’s star reporters, known for being impartial and fearless.
If she had rushed out in such a hurry, then the Meiyuan Church case had probably surfaced.
Last night, the Ibaraki-Douji he transformed into had unleashed a Noble Phantasm nearby.
Although he had deliberately restrained himself, he had still nearly destroyed half the house.
With a commotion that large, there was no way the neighbors would not call the police.
On top of that, the Meiyuan Church had been livestreaming the ritual.
Relevant information must have reached the cult’s higher-ups almost immediately.
The fact that the media was only receiving the news now meant someone had been working behind the scenes to delay it.
In a world without gods, people lacked awe.
Kyoko’s words echoed in his ears.
Slowly, a vague idea became clear.
Punishing evildoers was only treating the symptom.
Last night, that sacrificial girl had prayed to a god before she died.
This morning, Aunt Kyoko had said she wished there were gods to judge evil.
Humans longed for an absolute justice that stood above the mundane world.
A judgment that money could not buy.
A punishment that power could not escape.
A god who would answer.
So if no gods existed in this world…
“Then I’ll create one.”
Hibiki’s voice was soft.
“The one from another world.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“The Alien God.”
The hazy future in his mind finally took shape.
He raised his hand.
Spiritron particles gathered like motes of pale light, flowing between his fingers.
A Heroic Spirit Card appeared in his grasp.