Junko Furuta Body Novels & Stories

Jai tilted his head with an apologetic smile. “Ah! Sorry!” Ruta scratched his head nervously. “I forgot you’re not from here. Of course you don’t know them,” the boy smiled at him and counted with his finger. “Akaito Fujii. A prodigy from the Fujii clan. He has pale red hair and pretty, dark purple eyes. People like Akaito onii-chan a lot because he is very talented and creative, both in a fight or his achievement in the singing industry.” Jai listened intently to the boy.

he started, voice low, disbelief threading through it. “Yes,” Talia cut him off, her voice hoarse with urgency. “He’s transforming.” Dedrick blinked, incredulous. “That’s not possible. I mean, the old stories said it could happen—that the gene could awaken under duress—but no one’s actually seen it in centuries. He’s human, Talia. He shouldn’t be able to—” “Quiet,” she snapped, her eyes never leaving Atticus. Another scream tore from his throat, raw and inhuman. His back arched off the ground as another sharp crack echoed through the clearing. His left arm twisted grotesquely, the skin along his forearm rippling as fur erupted in uneven patches.

Boom! Ryuichi Furuta fell to his knees. His whole body went stiff, and his entire vitality disappeared at that instant. He was the Outer Elder of Shinkage Way, and was also a master of the level of a King of Arms. Despite that, he was still beaten by a young man from the great Country H with just two to three moves. He was baffled. How could this be? His heart was suffocating from his refusal to accept the reality of the situation. He couldn’t believe it! Yet, the truth was laid bare. Regardless of how unwilling he was, he couldn’t change it.

She was more than a foot taller than him, muscular body, tall, strong, long legs, square jaw, her skin was cyan blue, yellow eyes, vertical pupils, with her long pink hair, so long that it came down to the floor, but tied in a braid, they were smooth. Fury was wearing a red outfit, armour with horns on her helmet, wearing a long sword on her belt, a rope of thorns, black nails that she used as if they were the poisons and claws that she used to cut her enemies, besides poison, she was a great fighter, she was at the head of the hordes of Kurayami, a muscular, square woman who looked like an androgynous, both female and male. Kurayami took the woman as his bodyguard, ally as well as fighting

Kita left the room to wash up, feeling emotionally and physically refreshed. She changed into a soft, snug-fitting, crush-velvel material one-piece spandex jumper. The left side was gold, and the right was black drawstring string at the waist. Kita brushed her hair, wrapped a gold and black headband band around it, and kept it off her face. The jumper was so cute, and Kita liked how it showed off her shapely body so perfectly.

Reaching inside, he found a tuft of fur—orange and white. It was the same color as Rinko Morita’s hair. With a mix of wonder and disbelief, Takuto stared at the fragment of fur. What did this mean?

Sakura was praying very hard Jane would miraculously appear and sort out this mess when she heard a commotion on the other side. She looked up to see the famous Japanese designer Mr. Tachibana coming toward them, his long hair—dyed bleach blond—flying and his long white robe fluttering about him. Beside him was the woman Sakura had been waiting eagerly to meet in person, the woman who had given birth to her twenty-five years ago, Haruka Tanaka, also known simply as Ms. Ruka. She was tall, Sakura realized, with strong, angular face, and thin nose that sat nicely on her face. She was very beautiful.

Carly forged deeper into what seemed to be the highly lit room that led to the exit of the pack house, her eyes glistened in shock as her nerves stretched tautly. She felt soft arms trailing on her neck as it hooked, and her eyes flared in serenity. Her gaze flickered over to the feminine figure opposite her, sighing softly, she flashed a bright smile at Kihara, her sister. Swiftly, she ran a quick survey on her; caramel blonde hair packed in a messy bun, woodland eyes which she inherited from an ancestral trace, her face was mystically perfect, it seemed to have been sculpted by an artist.

replied Gerald in a casual tone. “I see… I go by Futaba Fujiko, and I’m part of Japan’s special forces. I’m here to participate in a special forces competition. Unfortunately, I somehow ended up getting sneak attacked by enemies of my family. Had you not stepped in, I would’ve surely died back there…” explained Fujiko as she shook her head.