Jukai woke up again.Same stone floor. Same smoky ramen smell. Same bruised ego.
He wasn't even sure he slept, but at some point he must've blacked out while trying to practice summoning flames. The most he'd managed before passing out was to cook a single rice grain. It popped.
"Good morning, princess," the old man said, ladle in one hand, soup bubbling with suspicious enthusiasm. "You snored like a horse getting exorcised."
"Thanks," Jukai muttered. "You always this kind in the morning?"
"Only to people who owe me money and burn my furniture."
Jukai stretched and squinted through the smoke.
"Do you… have a name? Or should I keep calling you Soup Dad in my head?"
The old man scoffed. "Name's Doro. Master Doro. Retired war hero. Soup specialist. Two-time winner of the Broth Bowl. Once killed a cultist with a spoon."
"Cool," Jukai said. "Totally normal resume."
After a bowl of extremely spicy ramen ("it opens your flame pathways," Doro claimed — Jukai just cried), the conversation naturally turned to the cult that may or may not be spying on him.
"You said something about a Church?" Jukai asked, trying not to slurp too loud.
"Ah yes," Doro grunted. "The Church of Wounds."
Jukai paused. "That's the least comforting name I've ever heard."
"Yeah. They worship pain. Fire. Ascension through suffering. They used to be a real problem—until they got a permit."
"…A permit?"
"Yep. Officially recognized religious organization now. They even run the mail route on Wednesdays."
Jukai blinked. "So they're just allowed to walk around in creepy robes and whisper about sacrifice and nobody… stops them?"
Doro shrugged. "It's rude to interrupt someone's spiritual journey."
Jukai stared. "They sacrifice people."
"Yeah, but only the rude ones. And tourists. Mostly tourists."
At that moment, the front door opened and a robed figure walked in, completely silent, floating slightly above the ground. Their robes bled red from the sleeves like they'd been dipped in wine. Their eyes glowed like embers behind a smooth porcelain mask.
They moved slowly up to the counter.Everyone in the shop paused.
Doro looked up from his broth.
"Morning, Agnon. Usual?"
The cultist nodded.
"One boiled egg, extra bone marrow, sprinkle of blessed ash," Doro recited. "No blood this time?"
A soft, ghostly whisper: "It's a fasting month."
"Respect," Doro said, bowing slightly.
Jukai watched all this with wide eyes. "What the hell is happening right now?"
The cultist turned toward him. Slowly. The glowing eyes behind the mask narrowed.
"I smell the Hollow Flame."
Jukai choked on a noodle.
Doro leaned over. "You might wanna… not exist too loudly."
"What does that even mean?!"
But the cultist didn't lunge or chant or summon an infernal beast. Instead, he dropped three silver coins on the counter, bowed politely to Jukai, and floated toward the corner booth.
Doro patted Jukai's back. "See? Perfectly civil."
An hour later, after recovering from that spiritual crisis disguised as lunch service, Jukai was outside again, trying to light his finger like a cigarette lighter.
A single flicker of flame appeared. He gasped. Then it fizzled out. Again.
"I hate this world," he mumbled.
Just then, the ground trembled.
A loud boom echoed through the alley.
"MOVE!" someone shouted.
Jukai barely turned before a fireball soared through the street and exploded against the building behind him, launching ash and chicken feathers into the air. A second later, a girl in a tattered red cloak skidded into the street, dragging a smoking, cursed-looking cauldron behind her.
She slammed the pot down, turned to face Doro's door, and yelled,"OKAY, THAT KINDA WORKED."
Jukai coughed through the smoke. "…Are you Mira?"
She turned toward him, blinked, and said, "Who's asking? You a cultist? You smell like heresy."
"No! I'm—Jukai. I live here now. Kind of. I think."
"Oh, the kid who burned Doro's cat! Nice. Heard you're a flame dud."
"Thanks for the welcome."
Mira grinned. She was maybe a few years older than him, dressed in scorched armor that looked part-experimental and part-falling-apart. Her eyes burned orange-red, like someone had bottled sunrise in her irises.
She stuck out her hand. "You're coming with me."
"Wait—why?"
"Because I need someone flame-resistant. And you're dumb enough to try."
"That's not fair. I'm also broke and underqualified."
"Perfect. You meet the team quota."
Before he could resist, she grabbed his wrist and dragged him off down the alley, muttering about needing to test "portable flame extraction units" and how they "definitely won't explode this time."
"Do you even know how my flame works?" Jukai asked, stumbling after her.
"Nope," she said cheerfully. "But that's what field testing's for!"
Back at Doro's shop, the cat Kurozu watched them leave from the windowsill, licking its paw.
"She's gonna get him killed."
Doro shrugged. "That's part of training."
--
Jukai stumbled after Mira as she dragged him through the smoky back alleys of the city. His boots — which were at least two sizes too big and borrowed from Doro's "lost and never claimed" bin — clomped awkwardly with every step.
"Where are we going again?" he asked, trying not to trip over a charred pigeon.
"My lab," Mira replied. "Well, lab-slash-shed. It used to be a bathhouse before it exploded."
"That feels like a pattern."
She ignored him.
They arrived at a squat wooden building that leaned slightly to one side, like it was in the middle of an existential crisis. A hand-painted sign above the door read:
"MIRA'S WORKSHOP — KNOCK FIRST OR CATCH FIRE."
Inside, the place was packed with bubbling vials, scorched scrolls, and contraptions that looked like someone tried to combine alchemy, plumbing, and a bad dream.
Mira kicked over a bucket and motioned for Jukai to sit.
"Alright, newbie," she said, hands on hips. "Let's talk flame."
FLAME 101 (According to Mira, Which Means it's Probably 30% Wrong)
"Everyone's flame is different," Mira began, rummaging through a drawer full of mismatched gloves. "It's not like fire fire. It's soul fire. Magic fire. Some scholars call it 'Anima Ignis,' but I call it flame-vibes."
"…That sounds fake."
"It's science-adjacent."
She held up a chart that looked like a color wheel made of flame types, most of which were either on fire or smudged beyond recognition.
"There are hundreds of classifications," she continued. "Flames tied to emotion, memory, bloodline, trauma, cuisine, even tax evasion."
Jukai blinked. "Cuisine?"
"There was a guy last year whose flame only activated when he ate spicy dumplings. Real menace in the food fights."
She pointed at the very center of the chart.
"That right there? That's where you are. The blank zone. Unclassified. Unknown. Unstable. You're what scholars call a 'Uh-oh.'"
"That's not comforting."
"Neither is this," she said, tossing him a scroll labeled "Flame Mutation Symptoms and How to Not Panic."
Jukai looked down at his hand. He still couldn't make a flame appear on command. But every now and then, the ring on his finger pulsed — like it was waiting for something. Or holding something back.
"So what kind of flame do you have?" he asked, hoping hers was cooler than his.
Mira smirked and snapped her fingers.
Instantly, a spiral of red-orange flames bloomed up her arm, twirling like a ribbon of living heat. It didn't burn her — it danced. Flirted, almost.
"Mine's called Wyrmfire," she said proudly. "Inherited from my grandma. It reacts to pride. The more full of myself I get, the stronger it burns."
"So basically, your ego is your fuel source."
"Exactly."
Jukai stared. "That explains so much about you."
They sat in silence for a moment as a strange device in the corner began beeping ominously.
Mira casually whacked it with a wrench.
"So what happens if someone's flame… goes bad?" Jukai asked, cautiously.
"Oh, they usually explode."
"Sorry—what?"
"Or melt into a puddle of regret. Depends on your elemental alignment. There was this one guy whose flame turned into sentient smoke and tried to sue him."
"You're making this up."
"Am I?"
She leaned in.
"…Probably."
Suddenly, the door burst open, and a cultist stuck their head in.
"We're doing a ritual in the alley later. You're invited," they whispered, then vanished.
Mira waved dismissively. "Ugh. Woundy Wednesdays. They always show up unannounced."
Jukai stared at the door. "I'm so confused. Why does no one care about them being... y'know... murdery?"
"They brought cookies last week. Real good ones too."
As Mira began pulling out strange gadgets labeled things like "Heat Amplifier Mk. 1.3 (Still Kinda Explodes)," Jukai leaned back and sighed.
This world was weird. Broken. Explosive.
And somehow, he was part of it now.
His flame barely flickered. His debt never lowers. His maybe new mentor might be clinically unstable.
But hey...
At least the cookies were good.