SSS-Ranked Demon Hunter: The Prodigy
Chapter 83: Thunder Road, Part 3

Chapter 83: Thunder Road, Part 3

Orange Zone. Prison "Oblivion."

There was a special cell, isolated from all others and treated with particular care. Its only inmate was Kang Suwon.

"Mr. Kang," called a guard from the other side. "You have a visitor."

Out of the darkness, Suwon brought his hands to the bars.

They brought him to a room with a glass wall in the center, separating him from the other side. When Suwon sat down, the glass cleared to reveal his visitor.

Sitting across from him was Yeonghee.

"Daughter..." he whispered, eyes widening with disbelief. "You came to visit me... I’m glad. W-what happened to your hair?"

"I’m not even sure how I ended up here," Yeonghee replied calmly. "Sooner or later, this had to happen. As for the hair... I just wanted to return to my roots. It’s been a while, Father."

"...I’m glad you’re safe. I heard you’ve been doing well managing things at home. Did you get rid of the housekeepers?"

Yeonghee nodded.

"It was time I started caring for myself. What kind of woman would I be if I couldn’t manage my own home?"

"Don’t say that. You’re not obligated to... but if it makes you happy, then I can’t argue."

"And you? Are they treating the former director of the Association well?"

"Don’t worry about me!" he perked up, trying to reassure her. "They’ve given me everything I need for a comfortable life. The staff here are decent too."

"I’m glad to hear that. You know, Father... The reason I often disobeyed you, the reason I always criticized you — it stemmed from how cold you were to me and Mother. Now that you’ve lost everything, how does it feel?"

"...Terrible. I’d do anything to go back and change it."

"I see. Still, I remember you as the man who raised me, and that’s why I can’t believe your words. I realized recently... I didn’t always lack your attention. I was the one trying to get it, and when you finally gave it, I pushed it away. Pretty ironic, isn’t it?"

Suwon swallowed hard.

"Daughter... I’m not lying when I say I’m sorry. I should have paid more attention, loved you more, been a real father—"

"But that time’s gone. Sometimes I regret not reaching out to you more, too... I guess I inherited my fragile heart from Mom. I always cry when I hear something painful."

Yeonghee gave him a bitter smile. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

"Father, I will never forgive you for all the pain you caused me and Mother. And not just us — think about the others who became victims of your experiments... You fell from grace, but... no matter what kind of father you were, you’re still my father. Cruel, infamous, and cold-hearted. I love you. Damn... maybe this is the first time I’ve said that out loud..."

Yeonghee clenched her hands and closed her eyes. She was trembling, holding back tears.

"It was important for me. I had to say it."

With a pained smile, she pressed her palm to the glass. Suwon’s shoulders shook at her words. He had longed to hear "I love you" since the day she was born.

Now, at last, when he heard it — his expression crumbled into sorrow.

Suwon raised his hand to the glass. Moments later, Yeonghee quickly covered her face and said:

"That’s enough."

The glass between them fogged over, hiding their expressions. In an instant, it became opaque — as if a curtain had fallen between their worlds.

"No... Daughter! Where are you going?"

Suwon was left confused. But she didn’t want him to see her like that.

"Damn, I cried again," she thought, wiping tears from her eyes. "I promised myself I’d be strong."

But this time, she succeeded. She finally overcame herself and said what had been buried in her heart for years. As if shedding a great weight, she grew closer to a new version of herself — mature, whole.

The next morning, as the sun barely brushed the horizon, she stood on the tatami mat. Her trainer was already waiting, while a gentle breeze slipped through the open doors of the dojo, caressing their focused faces. The silence was broken only by the crisp snap of a bamboo stick falling into the stream beyond the house — their signal. The sparring had begun.

They exchanged blows in rhythm, their wooden swords clashing like drum sticks in an ancient symphony. Each strike echoed softly in the air, their movements fluid and precise, resembling a dance of shadows against the clear morning light.

Outside, leaves rustled in harmony with the buzzing of insects, and on the nearby pond, the bamboo stick struck a stone again, as if to affirm that the world moved on — unshaken by fear or chaos. Just quiet. Just breath. Just Earth.

She sought that silence within — a state where her mind was calm and her body moved without unnecessary thought.

Her goal — to understand herself and awaken her blood weapon — grew nearer with each breath, each strike.

"Remember the last time," her trainer said gently, "when you were in danger. Find that spark within you, the one that pushes you to defend your honor and yourself. Whether you’re fighting for others or yourself — you must become one with your soul!"

Each of their strikes was punctuated by the tolling of a bell atop the house. The wind outside stirred fallen leaves and whispered of oncoming rain. The sky, once clear, was now overcast, and birds soared toward warmer shelters.

When the first branch fell to the earth, the city was swept by a sudden downpour.

Evening had come. Rain drummed across the streets in shifting rhythms, while rush hour cast glowing headlights across the wet asphalt.

Neon lights painted the noisy city in hues more vivid than usual. Even in such weather, people moved under umbrellas without pause. Among them walked Yeonghee.

Her steps were quiet, almost invisible as she drifted past the crowd, a small umbrella in her hand. Dressed in a warm coat and cap, her gaze followed the riverside promenade. A nearby park bustled with parents and children.

"Don’t run in the rain, you’ll catch a cold!"

Parents called after their little ones.

"Look, sweetie, this statue was built to honor those who protect our country."

Yeonghee could barely hear the laughter of children and the gentle scolding of parents — but it brought her peace.

Approaching the river, she looked out over its smooth current.

"So calm..." her lips murmured softly.

She adjusted the loose end of her scarf. Turning slightly, she watched the families go about their lives, each following their own current.

"...What kind of person would I be if all I had was a parent’s love?"

The next day, she resumed training with her instructor. They sat facing each other, kneeling, listening to the quiet harmony of the stream flowing through the courtyard.

She rose, wooden sword in hand, and assumed her stance. Her movements were steadier, her gaze calmer. There was no fear left — only resolve. Each motion carried the weight of maturity she hadn’t possessed before.

"The last time I battled was a year ago..." she said quietly, as if speaking to someone who wasn’t there. "That’s the time when someone crucial to me left. Chose another path. But I still hoped his decision was the right one. Ever since, I kept searching for a way to catch up to him — to understand his strength, his spirit. And now... I think I’ve found my own."

Her trainer noticed it — a thin stream of blood slid down her arm and soaked into the blade. It trembled.

The wood darkened, absorbing the blood from within, until it glowed with a dim, pulsing crimson light. The sword was no longer wood — it had come alive.

This was Kenketsu.

Her blood had forged the perfect katana: living, breathing, born from pain and longing.

"I won’t just catch up to him..." she whispered, eyes fixed on her weapon. "I’ll become stronger. I’ll become someone he would’ve been proud of."

Kenketsu: Amehana.

"Young miss... You did it," the trainer murmured. "This blade is one of the most beautiful creations I’ve ever witnessed."

Amehana — a blood katana, the embodiment of that delicate space between pain and beauty. Its hilt was curved gently, like a petal, its form like a bud on the verge of blooming. Along the blade, crimson veins stretched like blood vessels all the way to the tip.

That was her soul — fragile, like a flower needing care. But even in drought, without sunlight or warmth, it didn’t wither. It learned to grow on its own.

By that time, on the other side of the Green Zone, a breakthrough had occurred — the Association had managed to trace the Mafia’s movements through various parts of the city. And then... they uncovered a disturbing inconsistency.

A war with the Mafia was becoming inevitable — as if they themselves were inviting it, constantly stepping over the boundaries of the law.

"Miss Director!" called out an employee seated at one of the monitors. "We’ve found concrete data — several families were murdered in a single night. Confirmed reports say it was carried out by individuals in black, armed with revolvers."

Sashi approached the employee’s station.

"The Mafia, then... What could they want from these families?"

"All the evidence suggests extortion. They took money from the wealthy and distributed it to the poor — most likely humanoid demons... Take a look."

On the screen, footage showed a man in plain clothing walking through the rainy streets. A black car pulled up beside him, and without hesitation, he stepped inside.

"We’ve identified him. It appears he’s connected to the Mafia. We might be dealing with a major figure preparing to incite upheaval in the city."

"I see..." Sashi murmured, deep in thought. "But what’s their real goal? Extorting the rich, supporting the poor..."

Then her eyes widened as a horrifying realization dawned.

"...Could it be...?"

A gathering of all demon-citizens. Civil war. The Mafia intended to seize control of the city.

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