Hardcore Exorcist: Reborn to Grind

Ever since Lord Jinichiro handed me the secret role of “pest repellent,” I’ve been all in.

My job? Keep the trainees from catching feelings for the Akai daughters. Natural instincts, sure—but instincts can be trained out.

Which meant spending a lot more time with the young ladies.

At first, only the second daughter, Lady Ayano, used to drop by the West Wing to slack off.

But then the eldest, Lady Reika, and the third, Lady Ouka, started showing up too. 

Word was their magic training had plateaued, so now they’re chasing more physical pursuits—strength work, martial arts, marksmanship.

Coincidentally, I’ve hit that stage myself, so I get where they’re coming from.

“Ikaku, these are the newly invited Masters to the Akai family.”

One day, not long before my sixteenth birthday, new faces show up behind the West Wing.

The former Akai head’s obsession with martial arts pays off again.

Master introduces them one by one, practically glowing with excitement.

“Rafael Salcedo. Jeet Kune Do, Escrima, Silat, and more—he’s mastered all of them. Demolished criminal hideouts using an array of ultra-practical techniques. They call him Rafael of the Blood Pool. A legend in Indonesia’s martial arts world.”

The man is tanned, early forties maybe, with sharp eyes and a relaxed smile.

His demo: fast steps, blinding karambit knife work, and footwork you can’t track.

He finishes with an awkward martial salute, and flashes that soft smile again. 

Unreal. I’m definitely picking something up from this guy.

“Next is Ms. Chiyo Hattori. She’s from a ninja village dating back to the Warring States. A master of Divine Shadow Aiki, she embodies the principle of softness shattering might. They call her Chiyo the Flowbreaker. She’s put countless divine techniques to use in actual combat.”

Old. Stern. Straight-backed like a steel rod.

She’s got the kind of presence that makes your spine stiffen just from being near her.

With those deep wrinkles and that razor gaze, she has the same aura as Master.

“So you’re Ikaku. With a fierce name like that, I expected a beast… Instead, I get a puppy.”

“You’re free to test whether I really am a—”

There’s a sharp sting at my throat.

Her fist is clenched. Something thin gleams between her fingers—a needle, hidden, like a claw. Pressed to my neck.

Whoa. Fast. Way too fast. I don’t even get a full line out?

We’re a full step apart, but she closes the gap in the blink of an eye—literally. No killing intent.

I’d been too slow to even guard. Truly divine technique.

“See? Still a pup. Practitioners of the dark arts don’t miss openings. You’re already dead.”

“...And so are you.”

“Hm?”

Ms. Chiyo looks down with only a single eye. Now that’s a weird technique.

She exclaims quietly, noticing my hand-blade hovering at her solar plexus.

“One-Inch Strike. I could’ve hit you any time. Though if you were aiming to kill, that needle would’ve landed first.”

“Hahaha! Interesting. Thought you were a mutt who couldn’t tell void from substance, but looks like you were the one leading me. I bit the bait. Well played. This kid’s got some real potential, huh, Alek?”

“I’m honored, Ms. Chiyo.”

Master looks relieved and turns to the last of them.

An unusual-looking master martial artist.

“This gentleman is Arvind Darshinu. A Master among Masters who perfected Pranayama breathing at an ancient temple in Kerala. They call him Arvind of the Secret Arts. He’s also a master of the flexible and ever-changing Indian martial art Kalaripayattu, wielding truly unique techniques.”

The man could be forty, or even seventy. Impossible to tell from appearance.

Brown skin, a turban, traditional Indian clothes.

But the unsettling thing is that he’s got no pupils—just pure white eyes.

Also, he’s been standing on one leg the whole time.

“Breathing is the essence of yoga. Hffff—Naga Hasta!”

He sweeps his arm like a wave. It stretches, rubber-like.

His fist smacks a wooden dummy five meters away.

...Wait, what?

“Whaaaat!?”

“Impossible!”

“Wh-what just happened...!?”

Even the other masters are startled.

“Hanuman Pada!”

The completely unhinged Indian’s leg snaps out like a whip, cracks the dummy, then snaps right back to normal.

Then he takes a deep breath. I wonder what’s coming next.

His chest balloons, and then—he exhales fire.

Literal fire.

“This is Pranayama. The breath technique of yoga.”

“...Master, this guy has to be a Mage, right?”

“He hasn’t had a drop of Ichor. He’s pure-blooded human.”

“I use no magic. You doubt the flame just now, do you not? I separate oxygen from the air, hold it in my lungs, then use my teeth as flint on exhale. A sacred art.”

“...Um, isn’t that magic?”

Master scolds me. “Ikaku, how many times must I tell you? This too is a technique achieved through body manipulation—namely, martial arts.”

“This is yogic breathing,” Arvind says. “With enough persistence, anyone can master these techniques.”

And just like that, the Akai family welcomes three new incredible Masters.

I learn a lot through martial arts exchanges.

About half a year later, the martial artists get a major upgrade. We’re now part of the main building’s permanent security detail.

According to what I heard, this is because the former head had heavily promoted us. 

The Exorcist elite have started taking our anti-personnel combat skills seriously.

Sure, they don’t factor in our anti-Demon capabilities, but we’re not complaining—being acknowledged by the noble magic houses is a big deal.

There’s always been debate: is it a waste to have top-tier Exorcists guarding the estate?

But putting nobodies on house duty while sending the best into combat? That’s risky.

The mansion has strong magical defenses—Demons aren’t the worry. The real threat is human: Demon worshippers.

We’re perfect for the role of dealing with them.

“Demon worshippers are traitors to humanity. They hate the Akai family for being at the center of Exorcism. They’re complete maniacs who occasionally make attempts to harm the Akai. Fearless bastards. If you spot one, shoot to kill.”

With more time in the main building, I see a lot more of the daughters.

Which means more stress.

“Lady Ouka, did the fabric shrink again? Your back’s completely exposed. And the sides are... borderline. His Lordship might worry.”

“This is a battle costume refined for optimal mana-to-swordsmanship synergy. By removing the back fabric, I eliminate air resistance when moving backward, ensuring mobility. I’m confident this style will become standard equipment for future Exorcists.”

“I see... Has it helped?”

“Yes. Quite. Lately I sense many openings in your guard. I believe I can match you using martial arts alone.”

She nods, greatly pleased.

I can’t tell her the real reason.

I can’t say she’s stripped down so much that only the front remains. That her generous twin peaks—characteristic of the sisters—keep bouncing wildly every time she moves and makes it impossible to focus on training.

No way I’m saying that.

“My older sisters are... that. Spacey, or rather, airheaded. So as the third daughter, I must fulfill my duties properly.”

You might be a little that yourself, y’know.

Not that loyal retainer Ikaku would ever say that.

“Understood, Lady Ouka. I’m always at your service.”

“Thank you. You’re very dependable.”

These perfectly serious training sessions with Lady Ouka take place almost daily.

“Hey, Ikaku! Don’t just focus on that shameless samurai. Pay proper attention to me, too. Meow~”

Since I’m coaching Kung Fu in the same training hall, the second and third daughters clash. A lot.

“Who are you calling shameless?! Take that back!”

“You, obviously! You start swinging swords around and shouting ‘Daily training!’ in Japanese clothes—which is fine. But now you wear that, and want to fight Demons dressed like it? It’s disgraceful! Ikaku must be so uncomfortable!”

“Ack… Ikaku, do you think that too?”

“...No. Absolutely not.”

“Phew. Of course not. Ikaku says so himself, Ayano. Please refrain from baseless accusations. Calling this outfit shameless is absurd. I have Reika calculate the most tactically rational design.”

Lady Ouka, you’ve figured out Lady Reika is... that. So why trust her with fashion design?

Well. Not my place to comment.

Loyal retainer Ikaku keeps his mouth shut.

“Let’s keep training, Ikaku.”

“Hey! It’s my turn to be coached, Ikaku!”

“Hands off, Ayano. Ikaku’s mine.”

“No way, I found him first! Meow!”

“What’s with the ‘meow’? that’s so calculating, Ayano. Don’t lean on Ikaku, and don’t rub against him. Grrr. In that case, I’ll do the same!”

“I won’t lose! I’ve got meow × fluffy × rub rub rub♪”

I get rubbed. A lot. In the middle of the damn training hall. Arms yanked, shoulders mashed.

Sometimes I nearly got torn in half from being pulled from both sides.

Being wanted is nice, sure. But it’s not what you’d call restful.

These days, with death lurking behind every corner, the only real peace I get is buried in books.

Of course, academics aren’t just for peace of mind.

Back in Boot Camp, Instructor Kisame drilled a certain phrase into our skulls: Knowledge is power.

Master believes it. Most Exorcists do. So do I.

In battle, what sets us apart from beasts isn’t raw power. It’s what we leave behind. Lessons paid for in blood. That’s what fuels the next fighter.

And me? I have a head start—my past life gives me plenty to draw from.

The Akai estate’s main building has a dusty old library loaded with mystical lore. They give me browsing privileges. I dig in like a starving man at a buffet.

One day, while trying to figure out why I can’t use mana, I stumble across a weird old tome in Lady Ayano’s workshop. When I ask, she tells me it’s a grimoire Lady Yukino has forgotten.

“That’s a book on Astral Anima—soul magic.”

“Astral Anima?”

“Yukino’s the expert on that stuff. She might look frosty, but she’s got a soft side. Ask nice, and I’m sure she’ll teach you.”

With Ayano playing the go-between, I pay Lady Yukino a visit.

Out of all the sisters, she’s the one who keeps her distance. But with Ayano there, she can’t brush me off completely.

“...Um, so what do you want? I’m busy right now.”

“Ikaku has a question about Astral Anima.”

“I actually have a hidden talent,” I say. “I can astral project.”

“...What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you. Give me about ten minutes.”

I sit cross-legged in the corner of her workshop and slip into meditation.

Then—lift-off.

My vision peels away from my body.

“Ikaku? Oh my, Ikaku’s eyes have rolled back.”

“Could it be... his soul separated?”

They pat my now-empty body like worried nurses.

I can’t help myself. I give the cabinet a little shake.

Rattle rattle.

“Whaa!?”

“Aah!”

The ladies shriek. I rattle another shelf. Screams again.

This is getting fun.

I shake a few more—until they catch on.

“It’s Ikaku! Hey! Stop the pranks!”

“This is annoying. Come back now, or I’ll break your body.”

Ayano pouts. Yukino’s expression turns sharp and lethal.

I panic, dive back in, and as soon as I have control, drop into a deep bow.

“I sincerely apologize. I got carried away.”

“Really now? Bad boy,” Ayano huffs. “I demand reflection.”

Yukino’s eyes narrow. “If you really can separate your soul… how?”

“Well, I’ve been strength training since I’m a kid and…”

That’s probably it. So many reps of astral projection that the bond between my body and spirit wore thin. Like peeling off a sticker over and over until the glue stops working.

I don’t know. I’m no Mage.

“...You explained it, but it’s so abnormal I don’t understand.”

“Ikaku’s always been amazing. I’m glad you finally get it too, Yukino.”

“I say I don’t get it.”

Yukino crosses her arms, frowning.

“But if you can really consciously split soul from body, that’s incredible. It’s basically the first stage of Astral Anima.”

“Really? It doesn’t seem very useful.”

Yukino lets out a slow breath. Her sleepy eyes turn razor-sharp.

“For centuries, Mages have tried to master that split. This is a process toward achieving immortality. Discarding an aged body and placing the soul into a young one. By doing so, one transcends biological limitations.”

Oh right… I reincarnated.

Discarding my original body and entering a new one—that’s exactly me.

I’m getting chills down my spine.

“However, from ancient to modern times, across all cultures, not a single Mage is known to have succeeded at this. Or even if they did, it’s been kept secret...

That’s precisely why it’s been the dream, earnest wish, and cherished desire of rulers since antiquity. Astral Anima is truly divine work in ‘God’s domain.’”

“Y-Yukino, wait! There’s no way someone like Ikaku could do such a thing... He can’t even use mana!”

“Rationally, I agree,” Yukino says. “But the phenomenon we just witnessed exceeds our understanding. Whether it’s real or not should become clear through verification.”

“But if Ikaku truly wields Astral Anima...”

“The magical world would be turned upside down.”

They stare at me, faces tight with tension.

“What happens to me if word gets out?”

“No clue,” Yukino says. “But Father would use you. Other magic clans will surely desire Astral Anima from you—especially since you’re human. Many factions in the magical world still despise our race. They’d probably use any means necessary.”

“Any means necessary... specifically what?”

“Confinement. Torture. Dissection. You’d be a lab rat till death.”

“Holy…”

My blood runs cold.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Ayano says. “I’ll protect you.”

“Then this has to stay absolutely discreet,” Yukino says. “We’ll test in secret, verify in secret. Ikaku—you cannot tell anyone about this. For your safety, and to avoid saddening my sister.”

The three of us formed a silent pact.

Training. Pushing. Hiding secrets. My days at the Akai estate are packed to the brim. I don’t have time to breathe.

Days shoot past like arrows, and all I can do is hang on.

Before I know it, my eighteenth birthday looms.

One day, I’m summoned by the head himself—Lord Jinichiro.

“Ikaku,” he says. “My loyal and trustworthy retainer. You have served well. I thank you.”

“Your words honor me.”

“We’ve reviewed your application to the Coral Terminators... and we’ve decided not to proceed.”

His face twists like it pains him to say it.

I don’t argue.

I just stand there and take it.

“The Coral Terminators are the Akai family’s direct Exorcist unit. They’re deployed not only domestically but overseas as well. Their work directly affects the Akai family’s standing. We cannot add someone who cannot use mana to their ranks.”

“…”

“How wonderful it would have been if you could wield mana. It’s truly unfortunate.”

I take a deep breath. My throat trembles.

I push it down and bow low.

“If I was able to repay even a small debt to the Akai family, there could be no greater joy. I was fully prepared for the possibility of not becoming a Coral Terminator.”

“…I see.”

“Thank you for everything. I’ve received more than I deserve.”

“You’re not leaving the estate just yet.

Oh yes, Ikaku, though the timing is poor, regarding my daughters’ upcoming birthday party—it will be a grand celebration with guests from home and abroad as usual, but I’d like you to be away from the estate that day.”

“As always.”

That’s the norm. Whenever guests pour in—foreign and domestic—I disappear.

It’s so no one sees the anomaly. A man with no mana, working under the Akai banner.

No matter how I claw my way forward, I don’t belong.

“I’ll enjoy the time off. I’ll make it worthwhile.”

“Appreciate it. Sorry, as always.”

Preparations for the quadruplets’ celebration are already in motion, a year-round effort.

The Coral Terminators are all recalled to guard the estate. Every last one of them.

A noble’s party isn’t just a party. It’s a power display. Every detail scrutinized—staff demeanor, food quality, logistical flow, threat response.

And for an Exorcist family, the caliber of their fighters speaks volumes.

No room for weakness. No impurities. 

* * *

Party Day

* * *

West Wing. My room. 5 a.m.

I’m at my workbench, disassembling my Five-seveN Mk3.

It’s the standard-issue pistol for Akai Exorcists, paired with the P90.

Small caliber, high capacity. Smooth recoil. Great range. A beast in the right hands.

Top-tier muzzle velocity and armor penetration.

I run a cloth over the matte-black polymer frame. Smooth, no rattle.

I strip, inspect, polish every part.

Next: ammo.

Holy 5.7×28mm armor-piercing mercury rounds.

Custom Ikaku load. Quadruple the powder of a standard mercury round. Engineered with magically compressed powder.

It’s the dropout’s workaround for not being able to blast through Demon armor with magic.

Money equals bullets. That’s the dorm economy.

But now, they’re more than that.

These rounds are lifelines. I clean each one like it’s sacred. Line them up. Two hundred and two. About two hundred thousand yen.

Pricey for pistol ammo. The only downside.

Or maybe a testament to the Akai family’s deep pockets—and the trust they put in a trainee like me.

I load twenty rounds per mag. Ten mags. Then I slide them into my belt rig.

Each of the two reassembled custom Five-seveN Mk3 gets a full clip. Polished, chambered, locked in.

Next: knives.

Drawer open. Row after row of shining silver blades. Daggers. Combat knives. Bowies. Karambits.

I pick six daggers and strap them in.

“Phew. Time to go.”

I’m leaving the estate. I need to gear up right.

The Soul Brand etched into my flesh? It draws demons. Outside Akai protection, I’m a walking target.

Wish I could bring the P90, but that’d raise eyebrows.

I’m not a licensed Exorcist. If I get stopped by police, it could bring trouble for the family.

I’m not heading into a war zone. Just keeping myself alive. Two pistols—that’s the line, I’d say.

I shrug into my black coat and step out.

“Yo, Ikaku. Heading out?”

I run into Hayate in the hall. Same height. Better face. This guy’s got the clean-cut look. My cohort mate.

“Yep, heading out. Same as always.”

“Same as always, huh.”

We chuckle and trudge toward the main gate.

“It didn’t work out in the end. I can’t become a Terminator.”

“Seriously? That’s actually kind of surprising.”

“Is it? Feels pretty expected to me. The surprising part would’ve been if I had made it.”

“You’re pretty well-liked, strong, and I thought you easily met all the conditions.”

“I’m ultimately just a social outcast.”

“So that’s really what it comes down to. That sucks, partner.”

“Yeah, partner.”

He slings an arm around my shoulder and gives me a good shake.

“You really leaving?”

“Rules are rules. More orphans are coming up behind us. Gotta make space.”

When you hit eighteen, that’s it. Grace period ends.

Stay only if you’re a servant or a full-fledged Exorcist.

Servant route’s mostly for the girls. They cling to that option like it’s salvation.

No one here lacks mana. No one but me.

“I see... I really wanted you to stay, Ikaku. You’re the last one from our cohort.”

“I wanted to work with you too, Hayate. Well, I’m gonna go enjoy a rare day off.”

“Have a blast spreading your wings. Though you’ll be kicked out soon anyway! Lucky you, partner—from now on you can spread your wings all you want!”

“Ugh, you’re annoying. What a pain.”

He laughs all the way back to the mansion.

* * *

Hayate hustles back to the West Wing.

“Ikaku’s out, Alek.”

“Mmm. Excellent. All right—let’s begin decorating. Ron, Lee, do the upper levels. Chiyo, Rafael, Darshinu—main entrance.”

The Coral Terminators and their trainees swarm the largest dojo in the West Wing.

It’s a sprawling martial arts hall. Everyone affectionately calls it the Dojo.

Having already succeeded and nearing eighteen, Ikaku is the leader among the candidates.

A loner, quiet, with an extraordinary presence who’s trusted by the Akai daughters and the family itself—a mysterious figure.

There was no way the candidates wouldn’t be drawn to his charisma.

What everyone is excitedly preparing for is none other than Ikaku’s birthday party.

They’re not doing this without permission.

The head of the Akai family, Jinichiro Akai, has given his approval.

“What are you giving him for his birthday present? Throwing such a grand party, you must be giving him something amazing, right?”

“This is a secret I haven’t told anyone... After the party, I’m going to call Ikaku out and challenge him to a duel.”

“That’s...”

“Expert rank means inheriting a school’s techniques. But Master? That’s something else. You have to defeat a Master in full combat. No holding back.

It’s no longer about the school. You become the inheritor of the title of Master, of everything that Master has built up over their lifetime.”

“...Man, you martial artist types are really something. So clumsy. You could just give it to him directly. It’s not a national certification or anything. Aren’tyou just planning to lose to Ikaku anyway?”

“Of course not. I intend to fight to defeat him. It’s meaningless unless he surpasses me properly. Ikaku understands, whether I’m holding back or not. That said, he’s strong. Nine times out of ten, he’ll win. If he gets serious, that is.”

Aleksandr grins wide.

“The perfect setup, isn’t it?”

“A surprise birthday party to make him happy and celebrate, then a somber night where master and disciple seriously exchange fists and complete the inheritance ceremony... You’re quite the romantic, Alek.”

“Heheheh. I’m actually pretty particular about the situation. Ikaku will be my final inheritor. He’s really worked hard. I want him to inherit in the best possible way.”

“Do you know what the Akai family members are giving him?”

“Don’t dig too deep, Hayate.”

“Come on. Only he needs to be surprised, right?”

“Honestly. This is why young ‘uns are no good... I don’t know what the Akai daughters are giving. Lord Issei and Young Master Masataka seem to be preparing something too, but I deliberately haven’t pried into that.

However, I do know what the family head is giving him. This is top secret. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course. I won’t say a word.”

Aleksandr looks around and shares the ultimate secret with Hayate.

“He’s making Ikaku a Coral Terminator. So he can remain in the estate.”

“Whaaat?! Seriously?!”

“You’re being too loud, fool.”

“Sorry... That’s an incredible surprise. He was so depressed about it.”

“Right? If you ask me, Lord Jinichiro is far more of a romantic.”

“So even his name is…?”

“Indeed. He’s apparently giving him the name ‘Ikaku Akamuro’ instead.”

“Damn. Yeah, he’s gonna be thrilled about this.”

“Perhaps I’ve said too much. You help with the preparations too.”

“Got it, got it.”

“Now hurry up. We also have the Akai ladies’ birthday party to prepare for. That’s the main event! Finish getting ready so we’re not late!”

Preparations in the West Wing go on in full swing.

* * *

I burned the day chasing distractions.

Saw a trendy movie. Ate barbecue. Shabu-shabu. Steak. Sushi.

I basically stress-ate following my instincts, mainly focused on satisfying my appetite with the allowance Lord Jinichiro gave me.

“Damn. Hah, so it really didn’t work out.”

It’s official. I’m out once grace period ends.

Yet despite accepting it, reality still hits pretty hard.

Twelve years since I entered Boot Camp at six. and I can’t become an Exorcist.

That’s one of my main goals gone.

That night, I stop by the cemetery owned by the Akai Clan.

It’s a forty-minute walk from the estate. Just right for the way back.

I buy bright flowers.

I lay them at the mass grave.

“Guess it’s time for me to fly the nest, too.”

I run through a few Kung Fu forms in the moonlight.

“How’s that? I’ve gotten pretty strong.”

The cold stones don't answer.

“…But I’m not joining you yet. Not for a long time. I’m gonna live, and live, and live. So long they’ll be sick of me. I’ll outlive Hayate, the best of our cohort.”

I speak my vow and say my goodbye.

As I trudge back, scrolling through my phone, I see Coral Eldarian trending on social media.

Curious, I search it up.

A video’s blowing up—posted thirty minutes ago.

It's a news clip. Helicopter footage.

The massive mansion of the magical noble family that had become a symbol of the region is engulfed in roaring flames.

“This is unbelievable! I simply cannot believe it! The mountain’s burning! Coral Eldarian is engulfed in flames!

Gunfire has been reported and it appears some kind of combat is taking place! Strange flying figures have been spotted. It’s dangerous to approach even from the air—ah!

Something’s headed this way—ahhhhh! Avoid it! Avooooid—”

The feed cuts, then loops back.

I look up. The rain clouds are stained blood red.

“Blood Moon… Demons.”

I bolt into an all-out sprint back to the estate.

No hesitation. Not one wasted second.