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The first time I met Kenji Miyazawa, I had to remind myself that the world was cruel.
It was easy to forget, looking at him. He carried the countryside with him—golden hair like wheat swaying in the wind, eyes bright as the summer sky, and a laugh so light it could lift the weight of the world. Everything about him radiated warmth, as if he had never tasted the bitterness of deception or the sharp edge of betrayal.
I should have known better.
When the I first recruited him, Kenji was an anomaly among us. Unlike the others, who carried the scars of past battles or the heavy burdens of their sins, he was unburdened. He spoke of his hometown with a childlike fondness, of fields stretching endlessly beneath the sun, of meals shared among neighbors, and of a life so simple it was almost unbelievable. He was strong—unnaturally so—but it wasn’t his power that intrigued me. It was his innocence.
Or rather, the illusion of it.
At first, I dismissed my concerns. A boy like him had no reason to deceive. But time has a way of revealing things, and soon, I began to notice small moments, glimpses beneath the surface.
Kenji was generous. Overly so. He gave away his food without hesitation, lent money he never asked to be repaid, and offered help without ever expecting anything in return. People trusted him instantly. I watched as even the most hardened criminals lowered their guard in his presence. He would smile, pat them on the back, and tell them stories of home—disarming them, making them believe, if only for a moment, that the world was still kind.
Then, when they least expected it, he would strike.
It happened on an evening drenched in rain. We had been tracking a criminal syndicate involved in human trafficking, a case that had stretched on for weeks. The leader was a man named Suda, a ruthless strategist who had evaded us time and time again. He was cautious, always three steps ahead, always suspicious of strangers.
Until he met Kenji.
Kenji had walked right up to him in broad daylight, all smiles, with a basket of apples in his arms. “You look hungry, mister,” he had said. “You should eat.”
I remember the way Suda hesitated, eyeing the boy before chuckling. “You’re a strange one, kid.”
Kenji just grinned. “Back home, we always share what we have. A full belly makes for a happy heart.”
Suda took the apple.
Two days later, his entire operation collapsed. Every hideout, every deal, every safehouse—compromised. His men, who had laughed and patted Kenji’s back just days before, were arrested one by one.
And Suda himself?
We found him tied up in a warehouse, bruised and unconscious. The expression on his face still lingers in my memory—not fear, not anger, but disbelief.
The boy who had offered him kindness had been the one to destroy him.
That night, as the rain poured outside, I called Kenji into my office. He walked in with the same cheerful energy, his clothes still damp from the operation.
“You did well,” I told him.
He beamed. “Thanks, Boss!”
I studied him for a moment before asking, “Kenji, do you think you’re a good person?”
He blinked, tilting his head. “Well, sure! I help people, don’t I?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But you also deceive them.”
His smile didn’t falter. “Only when I have to.”
There was no hesitation in his voice. No guilt, no second-guessing. Just pure, unshakable certainty.
And that was when I understood.
Kenji Miyazawa was not naïve. He was not innocent.
He was honest, selectively. He was kind, strategically. He disarmed his enemies not with threats, but with trust—offering them safety before snatching it away. He played the role of the fool so well that even the smartest men failed to see the blade behind his back.
And he did it all without malice.
That was what made him truly terrifying.
I have led many warriors in my time. I have seen men kill without remorse, without hesitation. But Kenji’s methods are different—so subtle, so effortless, that his victims never even realize they’ve lost until it’s too late.
I wonder if he even realizes it himself.
Or perhaps… that’s just another illusion.
As he left my office that night, humming a tune from his village, I couldn’t help but watch him a little longer. He was still the same Kenji—bright, cheerful, full of warmth.
But now, I saw the truth.
Beneath that golden light was something far more dangerous.
A hunter who had mastered the art of making his prey come to him.