Chapter 39: My Body Isn’t the Same, But My Blade Still Cuts

The daughter lunged. The boy followed, his smile still fixed in that chilling, quiet curve, like a drawing that had been pinned to a wall too long. Hikigaya Hachiman dodged left, planting one foot against the altar's base and launching himself backward. His breath caught in his throat—not from fear, but from unfamiliar pressure in his chest. His balance was slightly off, his center of gravity shifted. He couldn't afford to think about it now. The mother was gone, dispersed like mist in the morning light. Two spirits remained. The daughter was fast. But reckless. And wounded—her missing arm flared like an open fault, spewing spiritual energy like steam from a cracked pipe. But the boy—silent and slow—was something else entirely. He didn't attack directly. He followed. He watched. He waited for mistakes. That was the dangerous kind. "Focus," Hachiman muttered. The daughter veered toward the left wall, pushing off it in an aerial flip, claws extended again like spears. Her scream reverberated through the room in echoes that overlapped unnaturally. Hachiman dropped low, sliding under her arc. The boy struck then, his small hand slicing toward Hachiman's shoulder like a guillotine. There was no wind-up, no warning. Just void. But this time, Hachiman was ready. He twisted and raised his hand, two fingers extended forward. "Spirit Flow Technique." The words left his lips instinctively—like they belonged to someone else now. His fingers pulsed once with a sudden surge of pressure—then unleashed it. A beam of searing spiritual energy shot from his palm. It wasn't light or fire—it was a twisting spiral of raw spirit force, like condensed soul matter. The boy's eyes widened for the first time—only briefly—before the blast hit. The beam tore through the room in a straight line, blasting a hole in the far wall, and through the boy. The small figure convulsed as if struck by a thousand invisible arrows. His outline flickered—like a TV losing signal—before his body burst into white mist, the same way his mother had. He was gone. 'Ding! Congratulations to the host for eliminating a high-level evil spirit. 500 spirit coin' The pressure in the room dropped by half. Silence. Only the daughter remained. She landed on the floor, breathing heavily. Her form twitched, frayed by unstable energy. But she didn't look scared. She looked enraged. "You were protecting them," Hachiman said, turning to face her. "Your mother. Your brother." She shrieked again. No answer. Just emotion. She rushed him. Hachiman prepared to raise his blade—then hesitated. His hand shook. His sleeve fell oddly across his wrist. And then, finally, he looked down. His breath caught. The uniform—the way it hugged his waist. The looseness in the gloves. His chest— "...No way." His voice. Too soft. Too light. He touched his throat. His fingers trembled. No Adam's apple. No— "What the hell..." His eyes widened. The Red Ponytail Bracelet still glowed faintly on his wrist—its crimson light dimming slowly, like an ember that didn't know it had gone out. "Did it... do this?" He stared down at himself for a moment too long. There was a new weight, a different shape. His stance, once loose and leaning forward, now instinctively corrected itself into something more balanced, more... fluid. More feminine. He turned his head to the side sharply. "Nope. Not thinking about it. Not now." The daughter screamed again, reminding him she was still there, still furious. Still hunting. He lifted his blade again—his stance slightly off. He corrected it. She charged. Fast. Desperate. One arm gone. Her balance was off too. So he matched her chaos with focus. He extended his left hand. "Spirit Flow Technique!" A sharp burst of spirit energy surged from his palm again, but this time—he aimed for the ground in front of her. The explosion wasn't meant to hit—it was meant to disrupt. And it worked. The force blew up debris and dust, knocking her slightly off course as she leapt. She stumbled for half a second in midair—just enough. Enough. In one fluid motion, Hachiman raised his blade, stepped through the dust, and slashed. A clean horizontal arc. There was no scream. Just silence. Her head separated cleanly from her shoulders—her ghostly form freezing mid-motion. The eyes, for a fraction of a second, widened—not in hatred. Not in fear. In relief. Her body slumped backward as the spirit matter disintegrated into white motes, flickering like fireflies before vanishing into the ceiling. 'Ding! Congratulations to the host for eliminating a high-level evil spirit. 500 spirit coin' He let his blade fall to his side. The weight of the moment hit all at once. The mother—gone. The boy—gone. The daughter—gone. And— He looked down again. "...And now I'm a girl." He slumped back against the altar, sliding to the floor. His breath shook. His arms ached. But worse than any of that was the overwhelming weirdness. This wasn't like some anime scenario. He didn't feel excited or moe or any of that. He felt disoriented. Like his reflection had betrayed him. "What the hell am I supposed to tell Komachi..." The bracelet pulsed once more on his wrist, its red light now fully extinguished. Hikigaya looked toward the empty doorway, where faint morning light filtered in from the corridor. "...I'll deal with it later." Right now? He just wanted to sleep.