Heroic Spirit Deck in Yu-Gi-Oh!

Chapter 377 - 377

"This is the only monster in my hand—King Hassan!"

Hoshino was certain she hadn't added Grandpa to her deck—she had never even seen him in the banner from the very beginning.

Yet, this card had been lurking in the shadows, like a guardian from the abyss, only to reveal itself in the moment his granddaughter was in danger—tolling the late bell witnessed by countless stars and eras.

"That card...!" Pegasus took a fearful step back. The instant he laid eyes on the card Hoshino revealed, the hidden left eye beneath his bangs throbbed with pain.

A sword capable of cleaving even the darkness of Shadow Games and the Millennium Items—bearing the weight of fate itself. This was a nightmare Pegasus could never forget.

But even more shocked than Pegasus—with a reaction far greater—was White Hoshino, who was staring directly at the Old Man of the Mountain card.

"Impossible?!! Gramps shouldn't even be in the deck! How could he appear... this is impossible!"

"Master, is there something wrong with that card?"

Anubis looked at White Hoshino, puzzled. In his memory, White Hoshino was always composed and overpowering—so overwhelmingly strong that even he, the so-called King of Destruction, could never hope to match. Never before had he seen her so shaken.

"Excalibur!!"

While everyone remained stunned, on Hoshino's field, Artoria Illya had already unleashed the radiant slash of the Holy Sword to counter the incoming destructive energy of the Sphinx.

"Is now really the time to be distracted? I told you—the flow of the duel is under my control now! Artoria Illya's effect activates! Her ATK increases by 1000 for every 'Heroic Spirit' monster revealed from my hand!"

[Artoria Illya ATK 2000 → 3000]

The sacred light of the sword overwhelmed the Sphinx's destructive blast, overturning even the remnants of Nero Alter's Golden Theater. As the golden light receded, the duel field returned to its original form—with only Hoshino's three Illyas still standing strong.

[Sphinx Token Destroyed]

[White Hoshino LP 1625 → 625]

A complete reversal. Despite having the Ramesseum on her field and summoning Nero Alter this turn, White Hoshino had somehow ended up losing the exchange—while Hoshino had only one card left in hand.

"If the monster in your hand is Gramps, then the Spell card you

A violent gust of wind sent white feathers spiraling through the air. As the towering figure shed his cloak, a fully armored assassin, wreathed in blue flame, made his declaration of death.

"When Grand Assassin Old Man of the Mountain leaves the field, I can Special Summon one [Heroic Spirit – Hassan-I-Sabbah] from my hand, Deck, Graveyard, or banished zone!"

His title of Grand was no mere honor—his slashes embodied the concept of death itself.

No protection. No resistance. No one escaped his assassination.

[Heroic Spirit – Hassan-I-Sabbah ★★★★★★★★★★★ (Level 11)] [DARK] [Fairy/Ritual/Effect] [ATK 3000/DEF 3000]

"When [Heroic Spirit – Hassan-I-Sabbah] is Ritual Summoned using Old Man of the Mountain's effect: Destroy all Special Summoned monsters on the opponent's field! His ATK increases by 1000 for each destroyed monster!"

White Hoshino's field held two Special Summoned monsters—Ozymandias and Kiyohime Alter.

None would be spared.

"—Sever the heads, 'Azrael'!"

With a single swing, the ultimate blade descended.

No struggle. No resistance.

This was not mere assassination—this was death.

Even if the opponent had a full field, this sword would end them all in one strike.

(*****)

I just kinda write this when I've got some free time on my work.

I wrote it in my language and used ChatGPT to translate it, so there could be a few errors.

It's inspired by Isekai Restaurant by Crossedge!

[Spinnets] Chapter 1

"So hot," I muttered.

I sighed and tugged at the front of my shirt, trying to fan some air in while squinting against the sun. Mid-July—peak summer. The time of year when people willingly roast themselves on beaches and call it fun.

Me? I'm an indoors guy. Curtains drawn. AC blasting. Something cold to drink. That's my kind of paradise.

But here I am: baking on a beach, sweating through my shirt, because democracy betrayed me. I voted for "stay home." Everyone else said "beach day." Guess who lost?

And seriously—who thought this was a good idea? We look ridiculous out here. If a civilian saw us, they'd assume we were filming a high-budget cosplay shoot. Thankfully, we found a private beach. No cameras. No curious tourists. Just us… people with unique quirk.

I scanned the sand, eyes half-lidded, searching for shade.

.

..

...

"Cain. Why are you hiding out here? The others are looking for you."

Her voice slid through the air—smooth, amused, like velvet soaked in red wine. Lazy elegance wrapped in heat.

I sprawled under the parasol, soaking up what little shade I had like an overcooked lizard. I cracked an eye open.

"It's hot," I said flatly.

"How astute," Roxana replied, one hand on her hip. "Would you like a gold star? Or perhaps some ice cream to soothe your tragic suffering?"

"Not sweets," I muttered.

"Tch. Such a picky man." She reached into her cooler bag. "Here. Water. Try not to die before lunch."

I sat up and took the bottle with a muttered thanks. Before I drank, I glanced at her—and yeah, I stared a bit.

Roxana stood tall, posture perfect even in beachwear. Her wide-brimmed hat couldn't quite hide those sharp, catlike crimson eyes that gleamed beneath the sun. Long, wavy blonde hair spilled down her back, swaying with the breeze. Her red bikini was bold and elegant, a striking contrast to her pale, porcelain skin. A sheer white scarf with butterfly motifs wrapped around her hips like a silk ribbon tied on royalty.

She didn't walk onto the beach—she arrived. Like the ocean had been waiting for her.

"Why are you staring?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, one brow arched.

"You look beautiful today," I said, eyes sliding away.

No game. No pick-up line. Just the truth. I took a long drink of water to stop myself from saying anything dumber.

God, that hit the spot.

"Heh. Today, is it?" Roxana's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "So I'm only beautiful today, hmm? Should I be flattered… or offended?"

She sank gracefully into the lounge chair beside mine, crossing her legs like a queen granting an audience. One hand lifted to prop up her chin, and her eyes—those damn eyes—glinted with dangerous curiosity.

Crap. That was a landmine. I stepped on it. Felt it detonate.

There was no way out. Roxana didn't just trap people—she enjoyed it.

"…I'd like to invoke my right to remain silent," I said, setting the bottle down. "Any further questions can go through my lawyer."

She laughed lightly, a sound like wind chimes laced with amusement. "Mm. A pity. I was going to reward you if you gave me a satisfying answer."

Then she leaned in—close enough that her breath brushed my ear. Her perfume—something expensive and delicate, like rice flowers blooming under moonlight—wrapped around my senses.

I froze.

"Where are the others?" I asked, cutting the moment short before I sank any deeper.

She gave a quiet chuckle, then rested her head on my shoulder like she belonged there.

"Running, are we? You know, Cain... you can't escape me forever," she murmured. "But if you must know, they're playing volleyball."

Volleyball?

"Why aren't you playing?" I asked, brow raised.

"I'd love to, really," she said, her tone soaked in sarcasm. "But I have a certain fondness for my bones not being reduced to powder."

"…What?"

"You'll see."

.

..

...

She led me down the beach. I expected something normal—waves, maybe a beach ball gently lobbed over a net.

What I got looked like a live-action anime fight.

The volleyball zipped through the air like a missile, trailing afterimages. Players launched themselves skyward like human rockets, twisting midair before spiking the ball with crater-making force. Every hit exploded sand upward like miniature mushroom clouds.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

"…I think they're playing a completely different sport," I muttered.

"Indeed," Roxana replied, casually lifting her sunhat to shield herself from the flying sand. "That's precisely why I abstained. I do enjoy having my skeleton in one piece."

I watched as one of them did a mid-air somersault and drove the ball into the sand hard enough to leave a smoking dent.

Honestly, I was more impressed the volleyball hadn't disintegrated.

And looking at them now—laughing, yelling, somehow not dead—I couldn't help but marvel at how far we'd come.

It all started the day my grandfather handed me the keys to his restaurant…

(***)

I stood in front of the two-story restaurant on the outskirts of Tokyo, staring up at it like it might vanish if I blinked.

It had that sleek, modern Japanese vibe—clean lines, warm wood, dim lighting you just knew would look amazing at night. But to get here? You had to wander down this sketchy back alley that made you question your life choices. If I hadn't known better, I would've thought I was in the wrong place.

The front door had a "CLOSED" sign hanging crookedly in the window. Locked, of course.

I pulled out the old brass key Gramps had given me. It clinked faintly in my hand, still warm from the sun.

[Cain-kun, me and your grandma are going on vacation! Here's the key to the restaurant. Take care of it while we're away, okay?]

That was it. He said it with a big grin—and before I could even ask where they were going or when they'd be back, they just… drove off. Grandma waved like they were only going to the grocery store.

I tried calling. No answer. No texts. Out of reach. Gone.

So here I was. After a week of "thinking it over"—which was really just me lying on my bed—I'd somehow decided to, uh, "manage" the place.

RING RING

The door chime jingled as I stepped inside.

"...Whoa."

This was my first time actually seeing the place. I'd never been here before—Gramps always said it wasn't time yet, whatever that meant.

Inside, it was way nicer than I expected. Minimalist, clean, but cozy. Warm lighting. A few tables. A long counter that faced an open kitchen, and—was that a bar?

I walked over, eyes scanning the bottles lined up on the shelves behind it. Few were familiar, others not so much. One label caught my eye.

"Shadowbanish Wine?" I read aloud, picking it up. "What even is this stuff?"

The bottle was smooth and cold in my hand, the label old and worn like it had stories to tell. I turned it over, but there wasn't much info—just a little emblem I didn't recognize.

I glanced at the clock.

"Yeah... little early for a drink."

I carefully placed the bottle back and tossed my bag onto one of the chairs.

"Well, guess I should get started cleaning if I wanna earn a taste of whatever weird stuff Gramps has stashed here."

Rolling up my sleeves, I stretched with a yawn and looked around.

(***)

Next Day

I leaned against the open kitchen counter, eyes barely open, praying no one walked through that front door.

Please, no customers. Not today. Not with this monster of a hangover.

Yesterday had been… eventful.

After I finished cleaning, I found some stuff Gramps left behind. Notes, mostly. Scattered around like he expected me to just get it. The first one read:

[Supplies will replenish every week.]

What does that even mean? Is someone delivering them? Do I need to call someone? There's no number, no instructions, just that one ominously vague sentence.

The second note was even stranger:

[Any kind of currency is acceptable. Just use the cash register.]

What? Any kind? Like dollars? Euros? Monopoly money? How does that even work?

"Ugh…"

My head throbbed worse just trying to make sense of it. But that wasn't the end. Among the notes was a thick recipe book. Looked normal at first—until I read the ingredients.

Dragon tails? griffin legs?

Gramps, were you secretly a chuuni?

Then, in a moment of poor judgment, I decided to reward myself with a drink. Just a little taste.

"Odin Ale." That's what the label said. Sounded cool. Godly, even.

It was sharp and sour going down, but the aftertaste was surprisingly sweet. I had three shots.

Then I woke up on the floor this morning wondering if I was dead.

I'm usually pretty confident with alcohol—but that stuff? That wasn't a drink. That was a mythical trial. And I failed. Hard.

RING RING

The door chime echoed like a gunshot in my skull. I winced and peeked out from behind the counter, hoping it was just a stray breeze—

Nope. It was a customer.

An older man stepped in, wearing a long coat and sporting a weird goatee. And… wait. Was that a sword strapped to his waist?

Great. I'm still drunk. No sane person walks around Tokyo in broad daylight with a sword, right?

He glanced around casually, then spotted me.

"Haru? I thought you were on vacati—" He stopped, eyes narrowing as he took a better look at me. "...Who are you?"

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to stand up straighter. "Uh... I'm Cain. I'm managing the place while my grandfather—Haruto—is away."

His expression shifted. Eyes lit up like he recognized something. "Hooh, so you're the grandson, huh?"

"You… know me?"

He chuckled as he walked over and took a seat at the counter. "Hahaha, of course. Elizabeth never shuts up about you."

Oh no. Grandma talked about me here? Please tell me she didn't mention anything weird…

He leaned back comfortably, like he owned the place. "Name's Silvers Rayleigh. But just call me Rayleigh, kid."

He locked eyes with me—sharp and amused, like he was sizing me up and already liked what he saw.

(*****)

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