Chapter Text
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Isagi Yoichi
“Isagi Yoichi, please wake up”
Blur
My eyes are heavy.
Oh Yeah.. classes. Damn it.
I slowly raised my head.
My classmates giggled.
At the front of the room, the professor adjusted his glasses, his expression dry. “Since you seem so well-rested, Isagi,” he said, tapping his chalk against the blackboard, “perhaps you can enlighten us. What is the main principle behind-”
I didn't even catch the rest of the question. My brain was still half-fried, but my mouth moved entirely on instinct.
“Efficiency through minimized motion and predictive outcome analysis,” I muttered, my voice hoarse from the cold night air. “If you eliminate unnecessary variables, the success rate increases. It’s about… controlling the field before it controls you.”
Silence fell over the room. Heavy, suffocating silence.
Huh
I blinked, the fog finally clearing from my vision. Everyone was staring at me.
The professor paused mid-step, his chalk hovering an inch from the board. “Correct.”
Suddenly, the giggles returned, but the tone had shifted. It wasn't mocking anymore. It was something else entirely.
I sank as low as I could into my seat, rubbing my temples. “Lucky guess..” I mumbled.
Except it wasn't. And I knew it.
Across the room, a girl whispered to her friend, “He’s so cool..”
From the back wall, a senior leaning against the row muttered, quieter but sharper, “Damn. Even half-asleep, the guy is a machine.”
I pulled my hoodie over my head, wishing the fabric would just swallow me whole. This is bad. Too much attention. I hate this. If they actually knew what had been occupying my mind last night…
Blood vectors. Blind spots. Exit routes. The exact number of seconds it takes for a body to go completely still.
Under the desk, my hand clenched into a tight fist. No. Stop. Focus. You're a normal student. Just a normal, tired college student.
“Yoichi.”
I flinched. The girl in the seat next to me leaned in close, a blindingly bright smile on her face. “You didn’t even try and you still nailed it. That’s kinda unfair, you know?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, staring at my notebook.
She laughed softly, her voice practically dripping with admiration. “Don’t apologize for being perfect.”
Perfect?
I almost laughed out loud. Yeah, right. If only she knew. At two in the morning, I was sprinting across slick rooftops, calculating wind resistance to land a clean, silent shot. At nine in the morning, I’m barely conscious in a macroeconomics lecture.
And the absolute worst part? I checked my wallet under the desk.
Empty.
I let out a long, defeated sigh, my forehead resting against the cool wood of the desk.
“I need to buy more instant noodles.”
.
.
.
“Mhm,” I hummed under my breath, weaving through the crowded hallway toward the cafeteria.
My stomach growled right on cue. Damn it. I’m starving.
I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, passing clusters of chatting students as my mind drifted. I wondered how Lici was doing at her school. She’d mentioned having a major test today. I just hoped she’d actually remembered to eat breakfast.
Before the thought could even finish, a heavy hand dropped onto my shoulder.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even need to turn around. My body already knew the exact weight of the threat.
“Yo, cutie,” a familiar voice drawled, entirely too close to my ear. “You sure you don’t wanna join the music club?”
I let out a quiet sigh, stopping in my tracks. Of course it’s him.
I tilted my head just enough to acknowledge him, keeping my voice soft but steady. “I’m sorry, Aiku-san. I swear, I’m really not as good as you think I am.”
Aiku laughed, a low, amused sound that vibrated through his chest. “Not as good?” he repeated, tightening his grip on my shoulder for a fraction of a second before letting it rest there casually. “Yoichi, you probably can play an entire piece flawlessly after hearing it exactly once.”
I blinked, feigning ignorance. “Can I?”
“Im willing to bet on it.”
His tone shifted. The teasing smirk was still there, but underneath it, something sharper flashed in his eyes. He was observing me. Measuring me.
I broke eye contact first, looking down at the floor. “I just want to get some lunch,” I muttered.
He chuckled, the tension breaking as quickly as it had formed. “Cute and honest. You’re killing me, Yoiyoi.”
My muscles stiffened slightly at the nickname. Too close. Way too close.
Deep down, my instincts began to prickle, the exact same cold sensation I’d felt last night, right before squeezing the trigger. It was the feeling of danger. It wasn't immediate, but it was incredibly real.
“I’ll pass,” I added quietly, smoothly slipping out from under his heavy arm. “Clubs aren’t really my thing.”
“For now,” Aiku said easily, effortlessly falling into step beside me anyway. “I’ve got plenty of time.”
That’s exactly the problem.
I pushed open the heavy cafeteria doors, instantly greeted by a wall of noise, warmth, and the overwhelming scent of food.
Focus. Food first. Primary survival priorities. I could worry about everything else later.
But as I stepped into the crowd, I could still feel Aiku’s eyes boring into the back of my neck. And this time, I was absolutely certain, he wasn't just looking for a new club member.
I loaded my tray without thinking.
Rice, extra portion. Fried chicken. Another side dish. Soup. Something sweet for later.
Okay, maybe I was thinking. Just not money.
Beside me, Aiku let out a short, amused laugh. “Of course you’d take that much.”
I glanced at him, entirely unimpressed. “I’m hungry.”
“I can see that.”
We ended up sitting at a nearby table. Well, more accurately, he chose it and I just followed because my arms were entirely too full to argue. The moment my tray hit the table, I sat down and started eating.
No hesitation. No polite small talk. Just bliss.
It was pure heaven. Warm food, real food, and not instant noodles for once. My shoulders relaxed without me even realizing it, and the chaotic noise of the crowded cafeteria faded into a dull hum as I focused entirely on my plate. For a fleeting moment… everything felt beautifully, perfectly normal.
I took another bite, then another, and then I paused.
Something felt off. It was too quiet.
I glanced up from my plate. Aiku wasn’t eating. He was just sitting there, his chin resting lightly on his hand, watching me.
“You’re not eating?” I asked after swallowing.
He hummed, his eyes never leaving my face. “I was thinking about it.”
“Thinking?”
“Yeah.” A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “But this is a lot more interesting.”
I frowned slightly, a sudden wave of self-consciousness hitting me. “Watching me eat?”
“Mm.”
That’s incredibly weird, actually.
I looked back down at my tray, awkwardly poking at a piece of chicken with my chopsticks. “You’re going to get hungry later.”
“I’ll survive.”
I hesitated, staring at the mountain of food, then slowly pushed one of my extra side dishes toward his side of the table. “Uh, Here. You can have this.”
Aiku blinked, a genuine flash of surprise crossing his features. It was the first time I’d seen him look caught off guard. Then, he chuckled, the sound softer and warmer than before. “You’re seriously offering me your food?”
“I took too much,” I muttered, looking away. “It’ll just go to waste.”
A total lie. I could have finished it easily.
He studied me for a second longer, as if trying to read between the lines, before finally reaching out and taking the dish. “Thanks, Yoichi.”
“Yeah.”
Silence settled over our table again, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. Just… heavy.
I kept eating, though my pace had slowed down significantly. His gaze still hadn't left me. Beneath the table, out of sight, my fingers twitched slightly on my lap.
Watching. Observing. Waiting.
That’s exactly what he was doing. It was the precise behavioral pattern of a predator closing in on,
No.
I forced the thought down, aggressively taking another bite of rice. He’s just a senior. Just an annoying, overly friendly guy from college. Nothing more.
Right?
“How’s Sendou?” I asked, keeping my focus entirely on my food, barely looking up. Sendou and Aiku are always together. Weird duo, honestly.
Aiku let out a quiet chuckle. “Ouch. I’m right here in front of you and you’re asking about another guy?”
I glanced up, giving him a completely unimpressed stare.
He just shrugged, entirely unbothered by my lack of enthusiasm. “Well, he’s probably drowning in work right now. Got a massive mountain of assignments from Sir Alaric. The man’s cursed.”
I nodded slightly, taking another bite of chicken.
To be fair, Sir Alaric was actually pretty fun. He was laid-back, always carrying a can of Coca-Cola around like it was a package included, and he constantly cracks the worst dad jokes imaginable.
(......which I may or may not have stolen a few times.)
He was also a talker. He could ramble so much during lectures that sometimes he’d just… completely forget to hand out coursework. For a whole month, we’d get nothing.
But then—he’d remember.
And suddenly, life became absolute hell. He’d drop a month's worth of assignments all at once. Three days to finish everything. No extensions. No mercy. He wouldn't even give us a full week to breathe.
I swallowed, my chopsticks pausing mid-air. “That’s rough,” I muttered.
“Right?” Aiku leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “I almost feel bad for the guy.”
“Almost?”
“Mm.” He grinned, a lazy spark in his eyes. “It’s Sendou. He’ll survive.”
I hummed quietly in agreement, returning to my plate. But as I chewed, that uncomfortable feeling crept back into the pit of my stomach.
Assignments. Deadlines. A three-day window. A suffocatingly tight schedule.
My fingers tightened around my chopsticks. That specific kind of high-stakes pressure... it reminded me entirely too much of,
No.
I forced myself to swallow, aggressively focusing on the flavor of the food instead. Normal conversation. Normal thoughts. You are just a regular student.
Across the table, Aiku was still analyzing me.
“You think about some pretty weird things when you go quiet like that, don’t you? That’s cute” he asked suddenly, his voice dropping slightly.
I blinked, keeping my expression perfectly blank. “No.”
“Liar.”
“I’m thinking about food.”
“That’s even cuter.”
I gave him a flat deadpan.
He just laughed, completely satisfied with himself. And just like that, the heavy tension broke and slipped away, but not entirely.
Because deep down, beneath the noisy chatter of the cafeteria and the smell of fried food, I could still feel it. That faint, horrifyingly familiar pull in the back of my mind.
Like something—or someone, was stepping out of the shadows, closing the distance between us.
Aiku leaned in slightly, resting his elbow on the table and bridging the distance between us. “You free tonight?”
I looked at him over the rim of my glass.
Me? Free at night?
Yeah, absolutely not. I had people to kill, sorry.
I shook my head, keeping my expression perfectly blank. “Sorry. Busy.”
Aiku let out a soft chuckle, entirely unbothered, like he’d already predicted the answer. “Of course. Rejected again.” I didn’t respond, choosing to focus on taking another bite of rice instead.
Then he added, his voice dropping into a casual, conversational tone, “I mean, you’re always busy at night, and then you end up dead tired in the morning.”
I stilled.
Just for a fraction of a second. A micro-expression so brief it would be barely noticeable to a regular person.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing my shoulders to drop and relax. “Lots of assignments, man. The workload is killer.”
Aiku laughed, easy and light. “Don’t die then.”
Underneath the table, my grip tightened so hard around my chopsticks that the wood creaked.
Don’t die.
The words echoed in my head, suddenly much louder than they should have been. For a split second, my brain completely overrode my civilian persona, kicking into overdrive,
Angles. Threat assessment. Tone analysis. Micro-fixations in his eye movement. Changes in his breathing pattern.
Was that a threat? A hint? A joke?
Yeah. Of course it was. Just a normal, everyday joke people say to stressed-out students.
I exhaled slowly, consciously draining the tension out of my chest. I’m being paranoid. Again. Every little thing doesn’t have a double meaning. Not everyone is watching you. Not everyone knows.
Across from me, Aiku remained completely relaxed, leaning back at ease, looking like a guy who hadn’t just inadvertently sent my brain into a tactical spiral. He took a bite from the side dish I’d handed over, nodding in approval. “Not bad.”
“It’s just cafeteria food,” I muttered, staring at my plate.
“Still. Free food tastes better.”
Silence settled between us again. Normal. This was completely normal. People talk, they joke, they eat. No one is tracking your movements. No one is connecting the dots between a sleepy sophomore and a ghost in the city's underbelly. No one can see the blood under your fingernails, I blinked, suddenly staring down at my hands.
Clean. Of course they were clean. I’d scrubbed them. I always do. Three times, with freezing water, until the skin was raw.
“Yoichi.”
I snapped out of it and looked up.
Aiku tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes studying the tension in my jaw. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yep.”
“You look like you’re about to fight someone.”
“I’m not.”
“Shame,” he smirked, a lazy, dangerous spark in his eyes. “I’d pay good money to see that.”
I gave him a flat deadpan. “You’d regret it.”
His grin only widened at that. And for a fleeting moment, something genuinely sharp flickered deep in his gaze. It wasn't just playful banter anymore. It was interest. Pure, unadulterated, predatory interest.
“Maybe,” he murmured.
And just like that, the feeling came roaring back.
It wasn't paranoia. It wasn't my overactive imagination. It was that raw, undeniable gut instinct that kept me alive on the streets. Something was entirely wrong here.
I broke eye contact first, picking up my drink and draining the rest of the water.
—————————-—————————-
04:17 p.m
Finally, I headed home.
Well—almost. I had one stop to make first, the same as every single day.
Elicianne. Lici.
“Big brother!!!”
There she was. A blur of light-blue—almost white—hair and bright gray eyes came charging straight down the sidewalk toward me.
I barely had time to brace myself before she crashed directly into my chest, her arms wrapping tightly around my waist. “I missed you so, so much!!” I laughed softly, steadying my feet against the pavement. “Lici, we literally saw each other this morning.”
“That was hours ago,” she huffed, looking up at me like that logic was entirely flawless and unarguable. I shook my head, a genuine smile finally breaking through my exhaustion as I patted her head. “You’re way too dramatic.”
“And you love me for it.”
“Unfortunately.” I looked down at her, my chest tightening with a familiar warmth. I really do.
I pulled back slightly to get a proper look at her, but as I did, my eyebrows knitted together. Wait a minute. When did she get this tall?
“Did you grow again?” I asked, frowning slightly.
She beamed, practically radiating pride. “Maybe~”
Unbelievable. I clicked my tongue softly in mock annoyance. “You’re sixteen. Why are you already trying to look down on your older brother?”
“Genetics,” she declared proudly.
“I blame the instant noodles.”
She burst out laughing, looping her arm securely through mine as we turned and started walking toward our apartment. “Maybe if you actually ate real food instead of living off sodium packets-”
“I ate real food today, actually.”
Lici stopped dead in her tracks. She slowly turned her head to face me, her gray eyes wide with exaggerated shock. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”
I reached over and flicked her forehead lightly. “Oi.”
She giggled, rubbing the spot but refusing to let go of my arm, clinging to me like we’d been separated for years. It was comfortable. Warm. Safe. This was the one place in the world where the background noise in my head completely shut off.
“How was school?” I asked as we picked up the pace.
“Boring,” she sighed immediately, tossing her head back. “The test was a joke, though. Easiest thing ever.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.”
She glanced sideways at me, her playful expression softening into something more observant. “You look really tired, Yoichi.”
I paused for a fraction of a second, my eyes tracking a passing car before I answered. “Just classes. The professors are being brutal lately.”
“Mhm.”
She didn’t push. She never did, no matter how weak my excuses sounded. That was just how we worked.
I swallowed hard, looking ahead at the lengthening shadows on the street. “…Lici,” I said suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“If I’m late coming back tonight… don’t wait up for me. Just lock the doors and go to sleep.”
She blinked, her smile faltering for just a moment. “Again?”
“Yeah. Things are a bit crazy right now.”
A small pause stretched between us. Then, she forced her bright smile back onto her face. “Okay. Just don’t overwork yourself, alright? I mean it.”
Don’t die.
The words from the cafeteria echoed in my head again. A different voice, a completely different context, but the exact same underlying weight.
“I won’t,” I said quietly, making a promise I prayed I could keep.
Lici squeezed my arm tighter, her voice dropping its usual teasing edge. “Good. Because I’d be really, really mad if you did.”
I let out a small breath, the ghost of a laugh escaping my lips. “Noted. I'll be careful.”
We kept walking side by side as the sky slowly dimmed above us, bleeding from a soft orange into a deep, bruising purple. Another normal evening. Another quiet, peaceful moment.
The calm before the night finally began.
I finished getting dressed, pulling the dark fabric over my shoulders and adjusting my sleeves one last time.
From the sofa, Lici’s voice drifted over lazily, her eyes still glued to her phone screen. “If one of those rude customers accidentally hits your arm again, please just punch them this time, big bro.” I let out a quiet laugh, checking my reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, sure. I'll get right on that.”
A cafe job. That’s what I’d told her. A small, late-night coffee shop down by the district border. Drunk salarymen, annoying college kids, endless shifts. It was an easy lie. Simple, grounded, entirely believable.
And infinitely better than the truth.
I glanced back at her over my shoulder. She was completely sprawled across the sofa, utterly relaxed, one leg hanging off the cushion while her messy hair spilled everywhere like she owned the place.
Good. She should stay like that. Normal. Protected. Completely safe from the world I was about to step into.
“Take care, Lici,” I said, stepping into the entryway and slipping on my shoes.
She just nodded, still tapping away at her screen. “You too.”
A brief pause hung in the air. Then, her tone dropped into something softer, a little more fragile. “Don’t come home too late.”
I didn’t answer right away, my hand lingering on the doorknob. “I’ll try.”
I stepped out into the hallway, closing the heavy door quietly behind me. The lock clicked into place with a sharp, definitive snap.
The apartment hallway was dim, bathed in a flickering, sickly fluorescent light. It was silent. Completely different from the warmth I had just left behind.
The moment the door closed, my civilian expression entirely faded. My shoulders dropped, relaxing—but not in the casual, tired way from before. My posture grew lighter, sharper, perfectly balanced. The sluggishness of the day vanished, replaced by an icy, absolute clarity.
I walked down the concrete stairs instead of taking the elevator. Less predictable. No blind corners inside a metal box.
When I stepped outside, the crisp night air hit my face. It was freezing. Good, it kept me sharp.
I pulled out my phone, the screen illuminating my face as I checked the encrypted message. Target. Location. Time. It was barely a ten-minute walk from here. Close. Convenient.
Way too convenient.
My eyes scanned the street automatically, registering details without even thinking. Reflections in the shop windows. The deep shadows stretching between the narrow alleys. I listened for the rhythm of footsteps behind me-
Nothing. Clear.
I slipped my hands deep into my pockets, continuing down the pavement like any other exhausted college student heading to a miserable graveyard shift. Blend in. Disappear into the background noise of the city. Become absolutely no one.
Because tonight, one way or another, someone wasn't going home.
.
.
.
I pushed open the heavy glass door of the café.
A brass bell chimed softly overhead. Warm, amber light spilled over me, and the rich, comforting aroma of roasted coffee beans filled the air. It felt grounding. Normal. Completely safe.
Behind the polished wooden counter stood Nijiro, casually wiping down a porcelain cup. He had been humming quietly to himself, but the moment his eyes landed on me, he perked up.
Right on time.
I returned the smile, keeping my demeanor perfectly casual—just another regular customer looking for a late-night caffeine fix. “One coffee for two, please,” I said clearly. “And a VIP room, preferably.”
It was a strange, nonsensical sentence. But then again, codes always are.
Nijiro didn’t miss a single beat. “Of course, sir.”
His customer-service tone shifted instantly, subtle, but entirely present for anyone trained to listen. He set the cup down on the shelf and smoothly stepped out from behind the counter, gesturing for me to follow. “This way, please.”
I fell into step behind him, walking past the empty main seating area and down a quieter, dimly lit hallway toward the back.
The “VIP room” looked exactly as advertised—clean, cozy, with plush leather seating and soft, recessed lighting. It was expensive enough to keep the average student or casual patron out, yet completely ordinary enough to avoid drawing any unwanted suspicion.
We both stepped inside, and the heavy door clicked shut behind us, cutting off the faint jazz music playing in the main shop.
For a long moment, everything was perfectly still.
Then, Nijiro walked over to the wooden paneling on the far wall. He raised his hand, pressing firmly against a seemingly random spot in the grain.
A soft, mechanical click echoed through the quiet room.
A section of the wall shifted seamlessly inward. It was a hidden door, sliding open with a low, hydraulic hiss to reveal something completely different on the other side.
Cold.
Dark.
Real.
Nijiro glanced back at me over his shoulder, his usual easygoing barista expression completely gone, replaced by a flat, professional coldness. “The client’s already waiting inside,” he said quietly.
I gave him a single, firm nod.
The very air in my lungs seemed to change the exact moment I stepped forward across the threshold, leaving the warm café lights behind. I was transitioning smoothly away from the fragile illusion of a normal life, stepping straight back into the world where I actually belonged.
The client was already there.
She was a well-dressed woman, seated across a small, minimalist table. To anyone else, she would have looked entirely composed, but I immediately noticed her fingers clenched tight against her lap. She was angry. Deeply, venomously angry.
Not at me, though.
Hopefully.
I pulled out the sleek metal chair and sat down across from her, my posture relaxed and my expression perfectly neutral. This was my professional face.
She didn’t waste a single second on pleasantries. “I need you to kill my husband.”
Well. That’s certainly one way to start a conversation.
I gave her a small, casual nod, as if she had just placed a standard coffee order. “Understood.” My voice came out calm and steady. Like this was entirely normal. Because in this room, it was.
I leaned back slightly, folding my hands together on the table. “Do you have a photo? His occupation? And, do you happen to know where he is right now?”
Her jaw tightened at the mere mention of him. For a split second, I thought she might hesitate or break down. She didn’t. Instead, she reached into her designer bag, pulled out her phone, and after a few quick taps, slid it across the table toward me.
I picked it up. The screen showed a man in his late thirties. Clean-cut, with a polished, charismatic smile. The exact kind of face people trust without a second thought.
I stared at the image a second longer than necessary, memorizing every line, the distance between his eyes, the structure of his jaw.
“His name is Kamio,” she said, her voice dropping a few degrees. “He runs a logistics company.”
Logistics. Convenient. A job like that meant a lot of erratic movement and plenty of environmental cover.
“Schedule?” I asked.
“Predictable,” she replied immediately, the words dripping with contempt. “He stays at the office until late. Sometimes he visits the shipping warehouses near the docks.” She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. “And tonight, he’s at one of them.”
My eyes flicked up to meet hers. There was no hesitation in her gaze, no lingering doubt. She really, truly wanted this man gone.
“Location?” I asked.
She slid a folded piece of paper across the table—a handwritten address.
It was close. Again. Way too close to my usual perimeter.
That faint, uneasy feeling from earlier crept back up my spine, but I didn’t let it show on my face. Instead, I nodded once more, handing the phone back to her. “Understood.”
A brief, heavy pause hung between us. Then came the final formality.
“Payment?” I asked.
The corner of her lips curled faintly. “Half now. Half after the job is confirmed.”
Fair enough. Standard protocol. She placed a thick, heavy envelope on the table between us. I didn’t bother opening it to count the cash. I didn’t need to; Nijiro would never let a client through that hidden door if the money wasn't already vetted and legit.
I stood up, signaling the end of the meeting.
“So, it’s tonight?” she asked, looking up at me.
“It is.”
Her eyes darkened with a grim sort of satisfaction. “Good.”
I turned toward the exit, my hand reaching for the panel.
“Wait.”
I stopped, glancing back over my shoulder.
She stared at the floor for a moment before looking up, her voice suddenly sounding smaller, raw. “Make it quick.”
I held her gaze for a beat, letting the silence settle. Then, I gave her a firm nod. “Always.”
I stepped through the threshold, and the hidden door slid shut behind me with a muted click, sealing her away in the dark.
Nijiro was already waiting when I stepped back into the prep room. Of course he was.
A sleek duffel bag sat on the counter, unzipped and waiting. Prepared. Ready.
I walked over without a word and pulled out the contents. My sword. A dark, weather-resistant tactical jacket. And black shorts, exactly how I preferred them. It made movement easier, left less room for fabric restriction, and allowed for much cleaner footwork.
I slipped the jacket on, adjusting the fit across my chest, before grabbing the sword and securing the scabbard across my back in one smooth, practiced motion. The familiar weight settled against my spine. It was comforting. Grounding.
Then, there was the mask.
I picked it up from the bottom of the bag, staring at it for a quiet second. It was a solid, heavy, helmet-shaped mask. It was restricting. It was annoying.
But it was entirely necessary.
I pulled it over my head, and my world narrowed instantly. My peripheral vision vanished, and my breathing grew a bit heavier against the internal filters. My movement was intentionally constrained.
All because of him.
The Boss.
I didn’t know his actual name, and I’d never seen his face, but he watched me. Always.
He claimed I possessed an absurd amount of “potential.”
Whatever that was supposed to mean.
I rolled my shoulder slightly, forcing my muscles to adjust to the physical restriction of the gear. Why did he insist on limiting me? Because, apparently, he believed that if I fought without it, I’d be entirely too terrifying.
I huffed quietly, the sound muffled inside the mask. Me? Terrifying? That’s… ridiculous.
I was just a tired college student who lived off cheap instant noodles and occasionally got yelled at by professors.
“You’re thinking again,” Nijiro said, leaning his elbows against the counter.
I glanced at him through the narrow visor. “Just remembering something stupid.”
He smiled faintly, a knowing look in his eyes. “Our ‘boss’ again?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to; he already knew the truth.
Nijiro tapped the wooden counter lightly with his knuckle. “You know, Yoichi, the guy isn't wrong.”
“About what?”
“That limiter.” He nodded toward my mask.
I flexed my fingers slowly, testing the tension of my gloves, adjusting to the artificial boundaries. He was right about the mechanics, at least. Restricted movement forced absolute efficiency. Under the weight of the limiter, every single step mattered. Every motion had to be completely deliberate. There was no room for wasted energy.
If I could fight fluidly like this… then without it, what would I even be?
I exhaled a slow, controlled breath. “I don’t see it.”
Nijiro chuckled, straightening up. “Yeah. That’s the scary part about you.”
I ignored the comment, grabbing the now-empty duffel bag and slinging it over my shoulder. I was ready.
“Same exit?” I asked, my voice distorted into a cold, mechanical tone by the mask's modulator.
“Back alley. It's clear.”
I turned, heading toward the rear exit without another word. Each step I took was quieter now. Lighter. Fundamentally different.
By the time my hand touched the handle of the back door, Isagi Yoichi had completely vanished. Only the Voidrunner remained.
And tonight, someone’s fate was already sealed.
The alley air was colder. Quieter. Cleaner.
I adjusted the strap on my shoulder, letting the familiar weight of the sword settle firmly into place as my steps slowed, then stopped entirely.
The Boss wouldn’t have approved this hit if it wasn’t valid. He never does. Every single request goes through him first, always filtered, always rigorously checked.
People on the outside think this kind of work is simple. They think it’s just about pointing a weapon and pulling a trigger for a briefcase full of cash. It’s not. Not every target is acceptable.
“Kill my business rival.”
“Kill my ex.”
“Kill my daughter.”
Yeah. No. Those requests never pass. Not unless there’s something much deeper, something completely rotten beneath the surface to justify it. The Boss decides where that line is. Not me.
Which means… I don’t have to question it.
I exhaled slowly, tilting my head slightly as I listened to the distant, quiet hum of the city. Because of his filtering, I knew I wouldn’t accidentally take the life of someone innocent. That moral boundary had already been drawn for me by someone else.
It was convenient. Maybe even a little cowardly.
My grip tightened slightly against my side. It wasn't like I considered myself a saint. People don’t get to claim the moral high ground after they've taken lives. It doesn’t matter what the reason was. It doesn’t matter who the target was. At the end of the day, blood is still blood.
I flexed my fingers, adjusting to the tight, unyielding constraint of the tactical gloves, the heavy mask pressing faintly against my face.
Still, despite everything, I move. I act. I take the job.
Because it’s just easier this way. Clear roles. Clear outcomes. No hesitation.
And, practically speaking… I desperately needed the money.
A small, almost humorless breath escaped my lips, muffled by the voice modulator. “Instant noodles won’t pay for themselves.”
The mundane thought felt entirely absurd in contrast to the weapon on my back and the mask on my face. But it grounded me. It kept things simple.
I pushed the thoughts aside and stepped forward again, my movements fluid as I disappeared deeper into the pitch-black alley shadows.
Tonight’s target was approved. Confirmed.
“Agent 41.”
The voice crackled through the helmet, clear, smooth, and perfectly direct.
Right. I forgot to mention that. This thing isn’t just for limiting my movement or looking intimidating; it’s basically a fully integrated, high-tech comms system.
Think Iron Man, but with a lot less vibrant red and a lot more existential dread.
I didn’t slow down as the audio connected. I sprinted across the rooftops, my boots landing softly against the concrete with barely a sound, leaping effortlessly from one building to the next.
“Nijiro,” I replied, my voice filtered and steady. “Status?”
“Agent 41, it seems like the target is still at his office.”
Of course he is. Predictable to the very end.
“I see.” I adjusted my footing mid-run, clearing the wide gap between two apartment complexes. “Anything important I should know before I make contact?”
A brief pause on the other end of the line.
“Bodyguards,” Nijiro said. “A lot of them, actually.”
I exhaled lightly, the breath fogging the internal visor for a fraction of a second before the vents cleared it. “Figures.”
“But,” he added, his tone shifting into something almost amused, “you can knock them out easily enough.”
“Yeah.”
Probably.
I landed on the edge of the final rooftop, crouching low into the shadows as I looked ahead. The logistics company headquarters finally came into view. It was a tall, sleek glass tower, its top floors still blazing with artificial light. Late-night work. Or maybe, more accurately, late-night mistakes.
“How many?” I asked, narrowing my eyes beneath the visor.
“Inside the main suite? Around twelve confirmed. There might be more rotating through the lower floors.”
Twelve. Not a catastrophic number, but certainly not a walk in the park either. Especially with a limiter on.
I rolled my shoulder slightly, feeling the heavy restriction of the helmet and the comforting weight of the sword pressing against my spine.
“Any external surveillance?”
“Standard CCTV cameras. Nothing too advanced. I’m looping the feeds on the perimeter now.”
“Got it.”
I stood up straight, my gaze fixed entirely on the glowing glass windows of the top floor.
Wind direction—left to right, five knots. Distance—manageable. Entry points—the front lobby is too noisy, the side balconies are entirely too exposed, which leaves the roof.
The roof is always best.
“I’m going in from above,” I said.
“Figured as much.”
I took a step back. Then another. My brain automatically began calculating the trajectory, the timing, the exact force needed for the leap.
“Agent 41,” Nijiro’s voice came through the comms again, dropping slightly quieter this time.
I paused, my muscles tensed and ready to spring. “Yeah?”
A brief, heavy silence stretched over the airwaves.
“Try not to overdo it tonight.”
I huffed softly under the mask. “Since when do you worry about my workflow?”
“Since you stopped noticing when you cross your own limits.”
I didn’t bother responding. Instead—I ran.
Three explosive steps. A heavy push-off against the ledge. Jump.
The freezing night air rushed past my helmet as I crossed the massive drop between the buildings. For a second, I was completely weightless, suspended over the glowing grid of the city.
Then, my feet hit the target building's rooftop. I absorbed the impact cleanly, dropping into a silent, perfectly controlled crouch.
Perfect.
I straightened up, my hand already reaching back over my shoulder, my fingers wrapping around the hilt of my sword.
“On site,” I murmured.
And just like that—the hunt begins.
I flicked my fingers in the air.
My tactical glove responded instantly, a crisp, blue holographic interface bleeding into the darkness before me like a floating monitor.
Hack.
Perimeter cameras—disabled.
Main grid circuit—severed.
The entire top floor instantly plunged into pitch blackness.
Nice.
I stepped through the shattered glass door of the roof access. Inside, my helmet’s visor calibrated automatically, shifting into night-vision mode. The world turned a sharp, neon-outlined monochrome, detailing every obstacle in pristine contrast.
The twelve bodyguards were already losing their minds. Flashlights clicked on, beams of light cutting erratically through the dark office like a chaotic laser light show.
“Hey—what the hell?!”
“The main power’s completely fried!”
“Check the backup gen—ghk—!”
One by one, they started dropping.
It was quick. Clean. Entirely non-lethal. Look, I know what you're thinking. “Yoichi, you’re literally an elite assassin, why are you out here acting like a glorified nightclub bouncer?” Because rules are rules! Boss’s orders are absolute: Only eliminate the approved target. No unnecessary casualties. Is it because of morals? …Let’s absolutely not open that psychological can of worms right now.
Anyway—one guy rushed me, his flashlight swinging wildly.
I sidestepped his clumsy trajectory, tapped the nerve cluster on his neck, and watched him fold like cardboard. Down.
Another one—built like a brick wall—tried to tackle me from the side. Wow. Bold choice, my guy. I ducked beneath his massive arms, swept his legs clean out from under him, and delivered a swift, precise punch to the jaw. Bonk. Sleep.
Honestly, right now, this felt less like a high-stakes black-ops infiltration and more like… highly aggressive bedtime enforcement.
I fluidly broke into a sprint, weaving deeper into the corporate suite. Almost there.
Then, a voice shattered the darkness from the main office.
“I KNOW MY WIFE WOULD HIRE AN ASSASSIN!!!!”
Oh. Well, there he is. Target spotted. Extremely loud, too. Honestly, very helpful of him to announce his exact coordinates during a stealth operation.
I stepped through the double doors of the CEO’s office—and stopped dead in my tracks.
…Oh.
Oh, wow. That’s new.
There was another guy standing directly in front of the target. He wasn't wearing a mask. His stance was completely wrong. He was holding a tactical blade like he had literally googled “how to be a cool assassin” five minutes before the lights went out. Is this a joke? Is the universe mocking me right now?
The target, Kamio, was half-hiding behind this random guy, pointing a trembling finger at me like a melodramatic villain in a cheap soap opera. “Kill him! Kill him now! I already transferred the funds to your account!”
The amateur in front of him squinted at me through the dark, trying to look menacing. Then, he actually spoke.
“So… you are the one they call The Last Sonata, huh.”
…
Oh, god, no.
Not that name.
My brain completely and violently derailed off its tracks. The Last Sonata?
Who in absolute hell came up with that?
Was it Nijiro?
It had to be Nijiro.
It sounds like I play a grand piano before murdering people! Do I look like I carry a violin case to work?!
Wait… do people actually think I do?
Is there an underground forum where people talk about this?
Is there fanfiction about me?! Oh god, there’s definitely fanfiction.
I should have picked my own alias. “The Instant Noodle Slayer.”
No—wait—that’s objectively worse.
Focus, Yoichi, focus. The mission. Kill the target. Ignore the walking cosplay disaster in front of you.
I tilted my head, staring at the guy through my visor. He didn't have a mask. His face was fully visible to the room.
Buddy.
Buddy.
Are you actively trying to get caught by the police? Is this your first day on the job? Did someone hire you off a flyer posted on a telephone pole?
I let out a massive, exhausted internal sigh. This was going to be so annoying.
“You should really be wearing a mask,” I said, my voice modulator turning the advice into a cold, flat mechanical drone.
He blinked, thrown completely off guard. “What?”
“Just, uh professional advice, man.”
I took a single step forward.
Instantly, the amateur tensed, raising his blade into a defensive guard like he just remembered he was supposed to be fighting for his life. Yeah. Definitely a rookie.
My thoughts spiraled out of control again.
Do I really have to fight this guy? Technically, yes, he's a hostile obstacle.
Do I want to? Absolutely not.
Can I just… gracefully parkour around him? Probably not, he looks exactly like the type of stubborn idiot who would chase me down the hallway.
Why are there always unexpected side quests when I'm already starving?? I just want my noodles.
I reached back slowly, my gloved fingers wrapping around the hilt of my sword.
The heavy helmet felt restricting for a second, my peripheral vision cutting off. Limiter on. Good. Honestly, it was safer for him this way. If I took this mask off, my spatial awareness would amplify by tenfold, and I’d probably accidentally slice his arm off before I could even process it.
“Move,” I commanded.
He didn’t move. Of course he didn’t. Why would a single thing go smoothly for me tonight?
Behind him, Kamio kept screeching absolute nonsense. My brain effortlessly filtered the noise out. Too loud. Too annoying. Zero survival instinct.
I exhaled a sharp breath against the visor filters.
Alright. Side quest it is. Let’s get this over with as dramatically and quickly as humanly possible. Because the faster I dismantle this idiot, the faster I can go home… and maybe, just maybe, the convenience store down the street will still have that specific brand of spicy seafood ramen left on the shelf.
I drew my blade, the dark metal hissing as it sliced through the cold air.
Time to work.
I moved.
Fast. Explosive. Zero hesitation.
The moment my foot drove into the floorboards, the amateur flinched. Too slow. Way too slow. My body had already simulated and decided the entire outcome of this fight before my brain could even derail into another stupid train of thought.
Angle, wide open. Guard, laughably sloppy. Intent, completely obvious.
Seriously, why was he holding his blade with his wrist bent like that? That’s not even a real stance—you know what, whatever, no time,
Flash.
A singular, breathless slash. It was clean, terrifyingly quiet, and absolutely final. The rookie collapsed to the floor before the nerve endings in his brain could even process what had just hit him.
I didn’t stop moving. I didn’t dare look back. Because I knew if I did, the internal monologue would start up all over again. Was that too brutal? Did I overdo it? The Boss is going to look at the security logs and give me that creepy silent stare- No.
Shut up. Ignore. Focus on the target.
Kamio stumbled backward in a panic, his expensive leather shoes catching on the edge of his mahogany desk. He crashed against it, his polished CEO facade completely shattering.
“I-I can give you a position in the company! Money! Stocks! Anything, literally everything I own! Just spare me!”
And there it is. The classic.
The cliché.
Every. single. time.
Honestly, do these corrupt high-profile targets all read from the exact same script? Do they have a secret Discord group chat or something?
“Hey guys, if a terrifying masked assassin shows up in your office, just offer them corporate benefits. Works zero percent of the time, but hey, stay hopeful! 💪🔥”
I sighed. The helmet’s interior filters muffled the sound, making it a dull, mechanical hum. God, this was exhausting.
“Too late,” I muttered.
I took one deliberate step forward.
Kamio completely froze, his eyes wide, pinned beneath the emotionless visor of my mask. Well, at least he was a fast learner.
One fluid motion,
Slash.
Then, absolute silence.
The crimson splatter followed a high-velocity vector, painting the expensive wallpaper behind the desk. …Okay, wow, yeah, that’s actually a lot of blood. I instinctively took a sharp half-step backward. Not out of guilt or remorse. Just,
Please don’t stain the jacket please don’t stain the tactical fabric please don’t stain the—
I looked down at my chest.
Oh. Nice. Clean. No major splatter on the gear.
Let’s go! Small victories.
I exhaled a long breath, rolling my right shoulder once to loose the tension. Mission completely accomplished. Side quest successfully included. No bonus rewards or loot drops, though. Truly unfortunate.
I turned on my heel, already pacing out of the ruined office. The twelve bodyguards in the hallway were still completely out cold, snoring peacefully in the dark. Good. No unnecessary casualties. Boss-approved behavior. Probably. Hopefully. If not, I’m definitely getting a vague, cryptic text message on my phone later tonight. Fun times.
I stepped back out onto the rooftop, the freezing night air hitting my visor. It always felt different after a hit. Cooler. Lighter. Or maybe that was just me being a melodramatic teenager.
I tapped the sleek touch-panel on the side of my helmet. “Agent 41 reporting.”
A sharp burst of static crackled in my ear. Then, Nijiro’s calm voice came through. “Done already?”
“Yep.”
A brief pause stretched over the comms. “You sound kind of disappointed, Yoichi.”
“I’m not.”
Maybe a little.
“That was incredibly fast, even for you,” Nijiro added.
“There was an extra variable inside. Another assassin.”
“From an agency?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“He wasn't.. good?”
Nijiro chuckled softly on the other end, the sound warm. “Unlucky for him, then.”
Unlucky for me, too, honestly. Because now that the adrenaline was fading, the gears in my head were starting to grind again. I absolutely hate thinking after a mission. My brain gets so weird and philosophical.
Like… what if that rookie assassin actually had a family to feed? What if he just really needed the money to survive, too? What if I looked exactly that stupid and overconfident when I started doing this six years ago-
Nope. Abort. Abort thoughts immediately.
I shook my head violently inside the heavy helmet to clear the fog. “Payment?” I asked, cutting straight to the point.
“Already processed and cleared. Your account is looking much healthier.”
Oh. Wow. Nice. Instant noodles heavily secured. Life is officially good.
“I’m heading back,” I said, my posture finally relaxing.
“Try to get some actual sleep this time, Agent 41.”
“No promises.”
“Figures. Stay safe.”
The line cut with a clean beep. Silence reclaimed the night.
I stood there on the edge of the skyscraper for a second longer, staring out over the sprawling, glowing grid of the city lights. Then, a tiny, muffled mumble escaped my lips.
“Spicy seafood flavor.”
Yeah. Entirely worth it.
Probably.
I turned, stepped cleanly off the precipice of the building, and vanished into the dark shadows of the city like I had never even existed.
.
.
.
The freezing wind rushed past my ears as I moved—roof to roof, step to step, my rhythm perfectly steady, perfectly controlled.
Then—
“First time I’m seeing you in person.”
What?
My tactical instincts reacted entirely before my conscious thoughts could even form. I stopped. Sharp. Dead silent. I dropped into a tight crouch on the very precipice of a concrete ledge, my visor already scanning the perimeter,
And there he was.
Standing perfectly still, leaning against a rusted vent pipe like he’d been waiting for me all night. He was clad in black from head to toe, a heavy cloak seamlessly blending into the midnight shadows, and a matte mask obscuring his face. The only thing violently breaking the monotony of his dark silhouette—
A sharp, vibrant streak of pink.
Well. That’s certainly a bold stylistic choice for a stealth build.
Sensing my hostility, he raised both hands in a casual, disarming gesture. “Relax, relax. I mean no harm. We’re both professionals in the same line of work, right?”
I didn’t answer. I didn't budge an inch either. I just watched him through my narrow visor, tracking his center of gravity, measuring his reach, analyzing his posture.
He tilted his head slightly at my icy silence, then shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, fair enough. You did just brutally dismantle that poor amateur back there.”
So he saw that. Great. Fantastic. My stealth rating for tonight just plummeted to zero.
“Honestly,” he added, his voice practically laced with sheer amusement, “the speed on that slash? That was kinda hot.”
What?
My entire brain forcefully slammed its brakes, completely derailing. Nope. Not processing that. Rejecting that data packet. Permanently deleting that file from my memory banks.
I frowned heavily underneath the constraint of my helmet, my voice modulator rendering my tone into a cold, menacing drone. “What do you want?”
He burst out laughing, a light, easy sound, like we weren’t standing on a freezing rooftop in the dead of night casually discussing a murder. “Relax, I’m not hitting on you,” he said, waving a hand flippantly. “I’ve already got someone I’m intensely loyal to, alright?”
Uh.. Good for you?
Why are you telling me this?
He started circling me slowly, his boots tapping a deliberate, rhythmic pattern against the gravel. He was observing me, pacing around like I was some rare exhibit in a museum. I stayed perfectly still, letting him do it.
For now.
“So, this is The Last Sonata they all keep whispering about…” he murmured to himself.
Again with that godforsaken name.
Suddenly, his arm blurred. He pulled something massive and heavy from behind his cloak, a weapon with enough brutal heft that it looked like it could shatter concrete, let alone bones.
Oh. I see. So that's where this conversation is going.
“Just wanted to see for myself,” he continued, his grip tightening as his stance shifted. The lazy demeanor vanished, replaced by the terrifyingly sharp aura of a true apex predator. “If you’re actually worth all those dramatic nicknames.”
And then..he moved.
Fast.
Not amateur-fast. Not sloppy, desperate-for-cash fast. This was lethal, highly refined, beautifully trained speed.
I reacted on pure muscle memory. I whipped my sword up, and steel met steel with a deafening, echoing CLANG. Sparks erupted in the dark as I blocked the crushing downward strike cleanly, my feet barely shifting an inch under the immense kinetic force.
Okay. Wow. He’s actually really good.
I glared at him through the narrow slit of my visor, keeping my voice entirely flat.
“No harm, huh.”
He grinned beneath his mask—well, I couldn’t see it, but his tone said everything. “Relax!” he laughed, shifting his weight and pushing back slightly to break the clash. “I’m not gonna kill you.”
Is that supposed to be reassuring?
My thoughts immediately spiraled into a chaotic vortex of pure exhaustion. Great. Terrific. He’s one of those. The absolute worst archetype of assassin: the ‘I just want to fight you for fun and test my limits’ type.
Is there a sign taped to my back that says ‘Fight me for your mid-season character development’? I have groceries to think about, man.
I adjusted my grip on the hilt of my sword, forcing my breathing to remain calm, controlled, and perfectly efficient under the weight of the limiter.
“Then don’t make this any longer than it needs to be,” I warned.
Because honestly? I just finished a grueling mission. I am incredibly tired, I am absolutely starving, and my brain is already starting its typical post-hit existential nonsense.
He laughed again, louder and more genuinely excited this time. “Oh, I like you already!”
Highly unfortunate.
He shifted into a low, aggressive stance, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Come on,” he added, his voice practically buzzing with anticipation. “Show me why they call you that.”
I exhaled a slow, foggy breath against the internal filters of my mask.
Alright. Fine. If a high-stakes duel on a rooftop is what it takes for me to finally go home, then I’ll end this with absolute, terrifying efficiency.
Before he starts saying anything weirder.
He kept coming.
Swing after swing, heavy, aggressive, and incredibly loud. The sheer kinetic energy of his attacks was cutting through the air like mini-cyclones, but I didn’t push back. I didn't need to.
I just moved.
Step. Tilt. Duck. Slide.
Every single one of his strikes missed my vital points by mere inches. It was the absolute peak of minimal, resource-saving efficiency. Honestly, at this point, it felt less like a high-stakes duel and more like I was just… politely but firmly refusing his attacks.
No, thank you. Declined. Return to sender.
Meanwhile, this absolute psychopath would not stop talking.
“So you’re a Voidrunner!”
Clang
“Why not join an official organization?”
Whoosh
“It’s way more fun!”
Bang
“Man, fighting you is an absolute blast!”
Is this guy trying to murder me, or is he conducting a corporate job interview mid-combat?
I scoffed under my mask, fluidly slipping past another massive, sweeping arc. “Not interested.”
He laughed, actually, genuinely laughed, while effortlessly catching one of my rapid counterattacks on the flat of his blade.
“You’re easily one of the strongest independent assassins operating right now!” he shouted, his tone reaching a level of excitement that was starting to deeply concern me. “Seriously, join our organization! My cells exploded!”
…
My brain forcefully slammed its brakes for half a second.
Your what exploded?
I stared at him through my neon-outlined visor, entirely dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”
“Whatever!” he laughed, his voice buzzing with pure adrenaline.
Unbelievable. The guy was a certified lunatic.
But as he pulled back to reset his stance, the neon-hued night vision of my helmet caught a tiny, distinct detail. The edge of his sleeve. A small moon crescent shape.
Oh.
Oh, great.
The Ordo Noctis Regis.
One of the most terrifying, deeply entrenched syndicate organizations in the entire global underworld.
Which meant this guy wasn’t just a random, hyperactive freak in a pink-accented cloak.
He’s officially annoying and important.
Fantastic. Just what my quiet, noodle-filled life needed.
He lunged in again, his blade tracing a lethal vector toward my shoulder. But because he was relying entirely on raw, unadulterated excitement—there it was.
An opening. Finally.
I shifted my weight, abandoning my passive defense in a fraction of a millisecond. I moved with absolute, blinding precision. Slipping entirely inside his guard, I spun my sword in my grip, reversing the hilt.
The heavy, dull side of my blade snapped violently against his wrist.
Thak!
The localized shockwave shattered his grip instantly. His massive weapon slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the concrete gravel of the roof.
Silence fell over the rooftop.
He froze, his hands still raised in mid-air. I didn't give him a single chance to recover. I stepped deeply into his personal space, the dark metal of my blade already raised, stopping precisely one millimeter away from the exposed skin of his throat.
Still. Controlled. Absolute checkmate.
“Happy now?” I asked flatly, my voice modulator ringing with icy finality.
For once in his life—he didn’t talk. He didn’t laugh. He just stood there, staring down at the cold steel pressing against his neck, his mind visibly processing the fact that he had just been completely dismantled in a matter of seconds.
Good. Maybe that finally knocked some sense into his weirdly explosive cells.
Instantly, my internal monologue started screaming in panic. Okay, cool, checkmate achieved, we are officially done here.
Do NOT let him start another sentence. Do NOT give him time to breathe.
If he opens his mouth and says ‘that was hot’ a second time, I am literally throwing my sword off this building and quitting the assassin industry to become a full-time convenience store clerk—
Before he could even twitch a muscle to react, I moved.
I didn't execute a dramatic finish. I didn't deliver a cool, lingering parting line. I just dropped a smoke pellet, twisted my body into the dark, and vanished.
I melted back into the midnight shadows of the city like I had never been there in the first place. Because honestly?
Main mission: Done.
Annoying side quest: Completed.
Unexpected, highly political boss fight: Successfully avoided.
My daily quota for human social interaction: Way past its legal limit.
I am leaving.
After reporting in, handing over the weapon, the custom tactical jacket, everything, I left it all behind at the safehouse.
Logically, I could just keep my gear at home. It would be infinitely easier, faster, and save me the extra trip across town after a grueling hit.
But no. Absolutely not.
The mere mental image alone was terrifying—imagine Lici casually opening a random hallway drawer looking for a flashlight and pulling out a high-grade titanium sword instead?
Yeah, no thanks. I choose life. Keeping her completely insulated from this bloody mess of a double life was the only thing keeping me sane.
So, I walked back to our apartment like a perfectly normal human being. Just another completely exhausted, heavily sleep-deprived college student dragging his feet home late at night after a brutal cram session. Nothing suspicious. Nothing dangerous. Just tired, everyday civilian vibes.
When I finally unlocked the door and stepped inside—the apartment was dead quiet.
The lights were dimmed low. And there it was. Sitting right in the middle of the kitchen table.
A bowl of ramen.
Entirely cold.
Of course it is.
I stared down at it for a long, quiet second. She made it for me again. She always tries to wait up, probably scrolling through her phone until her eyes get heavy and she falls asleep halfway through the night. A small, soft exhale slipped out of me as I pulled out a chair and sat down in the dim light.
“Thanks, Lici.”
I mumbled it to the empty room, even though she couldn’t hear it.
I picked up the chopsticks and started eating anyway. Look, let’s be entirely honest here: cold, coagulated ramen noodles are objectively not great. The broth turns into this weird, lukewarm film, and the texture is kind of sad. But it’s hers. She made it for me. So by default, that automatically makes it… better.
After finishing every last drop, I washed the bowl in the sink, dried my hands on a dish towel, and quietly made my way down the short hallway to her bedroom. Her door was left slightly ajar.
I pushed it open with the absolute maximum amount of stealth I possessed, moving gently.
She was already completely knocked out. Her messy hair was sprawled wildly across the pillow, and her phone was still clutched loosely in her hand, the screen dark. …Seriously, she never changes.
I tiptoed into the room, careful with the placement of every single step like I was traversing a highly volatile laser grid or trying not to trigger a landmine. I leaned down over the bed—and pressed a very light, careful kiss to her forehead.
“Good night, Lici,” I murmured.
It was soft. Barely even a whisper.
She shifted just a tiny bit beneath the blankets, mumbling something incoherent under her breath, but she didn’t wake up. Good. Perfect stealth execution.
I slipped back out of the room, pulling the door shut just as quietly until the latch clicked.
Finally, I retreated to my own room. The silence rushed back to greet me. I changed out of my clothes into a loose t-shirt, dropped heavily onto the mattress, and—
Stared directly at the ceiling.
Wide awake. Of course. Because the universe loves irony.
My brain completely refuses to shut up after a mission. It never does. The adrenaline might fade from my muscles, but the psychological gears just keep spinning at a million miles an hour.
So instead of tossing and turning in the dark, I reached over and grabbed a random book from my nightstand. Anything, really. It didn’t matter what the text was actually about. Textbook, fiction, poetry—whatever. Words help. They give my hyperactive brain something to process, filling up the ambient noise of my own head.
Time passed slowly in the quiet room.
Pages turned with a soft rustle.
Thoughts still drifted in and out of my focus, like uninvited guests—
The dangerous guy from earlier on the rooftop. The Ordo Noctis Regis syndicate. That weird, hyperactive lunatic shouting about his “cells exploding.” The amateur assassin who didn't even know how to hold his blade. My ridiculous, embarrassing nickname whispered in the underworld. The heavy smell of blood coating the corporate wallpaper.
Yeah, no. Absolutely not. Turn the page. Ignore it. Keep reading. Keep breathing.
At some point, I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
03:00 AM.
My vision was finally starting to blur around the edges. The printed letters on the page were beginning to blend together into a warm, incomprehensible smudge.
Finally. About time.
I didn’t even bother putting the book away properly on the nightstand. It just slipped loosely from my fingers, thumping softly onto the mattress beside me. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, drifting shut.
And just like that,
Black.
Gone.
—————————-—————————-
“Big bro, come on! We’re gonna be late!”
Ah. Morning.
Unfortunately.
I groaned quietly, dragging myself out of bed like my soul was still buffering on a bad internet connection. Every muscle in my body felt heavy, weighed down by the lingering ghost of last night’s rooftop sprint—but at least I had managed to catch a few hours of dreamless sleep. Progress.
“Coming…” I mumbled back, my voice thick and half-asleep.
Routine kicked in on pure autopilot. Bathroom. Cold water to the face. Instant regret. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a tense second, blinking away the bleariness.
Do I look suspicious?
I leaned in closer. No. Not suspicious. Just completely, utterly exhausted. Good. Perfectly normal for a college kid.
I threw on my clothes, grabbed a plain piece of bread from the kitchen counter, and shoved it into my mouth while standing up, the absolute peak of the glamorous college lifestyle, before following Lici out into the hall.
Click
The door locked behind us. I turned around—and immediately slammed right into her gaze.
She was frowning. Uh oh.
“Big bro,” she said slowly, narrowing her gray eyes just a fraction, “did you actually sleep last night?”
Danger.
It wasn't life-threatening, tactical danger. It was worse. It was terrifying big-sister instincts trapped inside a sixteen-year-old little sister’s body.
I chuckled lightly, a well-rehearsed, innocent scratch to the back of my head. “Kinda. Slept like a log, honestly.”
She didn’t look convinced for a single second. Of course she didn’t. She knew me entirely too well.
We started walking down the street anyway, joining the steady flow of the morning rush. The crisp morning air hit my face, filled with the mundane sounds of normal people going about their regular days.
Honking cars, casual chatter, bright sunlight filtering through the trees… it all felt weirdly, unsettlingly distant after last night. It was like I had accidentally switched dimensions during my shift and forgot to press the reset button.
Lici walked right beside me, occasionally glancing sideways like she was still trying to read the micro-expressions on my face.
Please don’t. I didn’t even know what expression was currently plastering my face. Probably a highly specific mix of “I’m starving” and “I fought a lunatic in a pink-accented cloak at two in the morning.”
We finally reached the gates of her high school. She stopped near the entrance, turning around to face me fully.
“Don’t overwork yourself today, okay? I mean it.”
Why did that sentence suddenly sound like she knew something she shouldn't?
I forced my expression to soften, offering her an easy, practiced smile. “Same to you. Good luck on your classes.”
She huffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not the one who currently looks like an extra from a zombie movie”
I patted her head lightly, messing up her light-blue hair just to break her serious mood. “Go on. Get inside before you’re officially late.”
She swatted my hand away with an annoyed giggle—but she smiled anyway. “Bye, big bro!”
“Bye.”
I stood there for a moment, watching her walk through the gates and seamlessly blend into the sea of uniform-clad students. Safe. Protected. Exactly where she belonged. Good.
I turned on my heel and kept walking toward my own destination. Three minutes. That’s all the transition time it takes for my brain to shift from protective big brother mode—straight into mundane college student mode.
The university campus finally came into view. Back to reality. Back to pretending I cared about microeconomics and GPA scores instead of exit routes and blade trajectories.
I adjusted the strap of my backpack, letting out a long, slow exhale.
Alright. New day. A fresh start. No high-profile targets. No weird pink syndicate guys. No chaos. Just boring, peaceful classes.
Hopefully.
Because honestly? I am entirely too tired for another unexpected side quest today.
.
.
.
Classes went by… normally.
Suspiciously normal.
Just endless lectures, frantic note-taking, and me fighting a losing battle against my own eyelids.
Honestly? It was kind of unsettling. When your baseline reality involves calculating bullet trajectories, absolute peace just feels like a trap waiting to snap shut.
Then,
“Food. Come on.”
Aiku.
He was already waiting for me outside the lecture hall, leaning against the wall like a permanent fixture. Seriously, do these people not have lives outside of tracking my exact coordinates?
I just nodded and fell into step beside him. I had zero energy to argue.
But as we walked down the bustling corridor, I caught it, that specific look in his eyes. A flash of slight, genuine concern. Oh no. Not this again.
“Did you sleep well last night?” he asked, his voice dropping into a lower register.
Why is everyone asking me that today?
Is it literally written across my forehead in invisible ink?
Warning: This guy committed high-stakes contract crimes at 2:00 AM and only got three hours of sleep.
I let out a weak, practiced laugh. “Kinda. Slept well enough.”
Aiku didn’t buy it for a single second. Of course he didn’t. Instead of dropping it, he reached over and aggressively ruffled my hair, completely destroying whatever structure it had left.
“Stop doing that,” he chided, though his tone was light. “You need proper rest, dude. You look like you’re running on fumes.”
I immediately swatted his hand away, frantically trying to smooth down my hair. “Stop messing it up.”
He scoffed, a lazy smirk returning to his face. “What? You look cute anyway.”
I’m ignoring that.
Before I could even formulate a suitably dry retort,
“YO-CHAAANNNN!!!”
Oh, god. No. Too loud. Too energetic. Entirely too early in the day for this level of noise.
And then, impact.
Ryusei slammed into my back, latching onto my shoulders like a human parasite. “I FINALLY finished all of my assignments! I can finally walk into the cafeteria like a normal, free human being again!”
“Yeah, yeah, great, I'm thrilled for you,” I muttered, twisting my torso in a desperate attempt to shake him off. “Get off me. You’re heavy.”
He just laughed loudly in my ear. Of course he did.
Then, he leaned a bit closer, squinting at my face. “Damn, Yo-chan. You look terrible.”
I deadpanned, staring straight ahead. Very supportive. Truly the peak of friendship.
“Still hot, though,” he added with a goofy grin.
I exhaled a slow, deeply suffering breath.
Ryusei finally hopped off my back, stretching his arms over his head like he hadn’t just physically assaulted me two seconds ago. Then came the inevitable punchline.
“So, you sure you don’t wanna join our music band? We still need a keyboardist and second vocalist.”
There it was. The daily invitation. Like an unskippable side quest in a video game that simply refuses to disappear from your log.
I shook my head immediately, not even looking at him. “Nah. Still not interested.” Aiku clicked his tongue, shaking his head dramatically. “Such a waste of raw talent.” Ryusei nodded in fierce agreement. “Yeah, seriously! Imagine Yo-chan under the stage lights? The entire crowd would literally faint. That’s kinda hot don’t you think?”
Stage lights. A musical performance.
My brain completely betrayed me, violently throwing a specific memory into my face:
The Last Sonata.
Oh my god. NO.
I physically cringed, my shoulders tensing up. “Please stop talking,” I muttered, burying my face slightly in my collar.
They both burst out laughing.
They thought I was just being shy.
We finally reached the chaotic warmth of the cafeteria, grabbed our respective trays, and sat down at our usual table. Normal. Everything was completely, beautifully normal.
I picked up my chopsticks,
Clink
—and paused for a fraction of a second. My mind involuntarily drifted back to the dark. The rooftop.
“Join us.”
“That was kinda hot.”
Nope. Absolutely not.
I forcefully shoved that entire memory file into the absolute deepest, darkest basement of my brain, slammed the door, locked it, and threw the key into a psychological volcano. I am a normal college student.
Eating cafeteria food. With my annoying, overly affectionate friends. That is my entire reality.
“You’re spacing out again, Yoichi,” Aiku said, leaning forward on his elbows.
I blinked, snapping back to attention. “M’ not.”
Ryu leaned over the table, squinting at me with an overly dramatic, intense expression. “Yo-chan, listen to me. If you pass out mid-meal, I am legally obligated to carry you princess-style to the clinic.”
“That sounds entirely like a threat.”
“It is.”
I let out a long sigh, breaking eye contact. Then, I dug into my food.
“Yo, you two know about The Last Sonata or whatever cool nickname they gave them?” Ryusei said, leaning back in his chair like he was about to start an underground true-crime podcast.
Oh no.
Not this. Not here. Not while I’m literally holding a glass of milk like a normal, harmless civilian.
“Word on the forums is he killed some corrupt boss in a big logistics company last night, Cameo? Korneo? Kamio?” Ryusei continued casually, gesturing with his chopsticks.
I froze for half a second. Just half.
Then, my survival instincts overrode the panic, and I forced myself to keep moving, smoothly lifting the glass to my lips, taking a calm, measured sip.
Normal. Be normal.
Aiku nodded, swirling the soup in his bowl. “Yeah, police are already investigating the top floor. They’re assuming it’s them, The Last Sonata based on the way the target was killed.”
The way the target was killed. Can we absolutely not phrase it like that while I am trying to digest my lunch?
I stiffened slightly. I genuinely hate this topic.
It’s NOT even because I’m scared of the police getting a lead or getting caught—Nijiro’s digital clean-up is flawless—but because hearing your friends casually gossip about something your hands did hours ago?
It’s weird.
It’s deeply, profoundly weird. It feels like accidentally overhearing your own true-crime documentary before you’re even dead.
Aiku noticed the shift immediately. Of course he did. He has the situational awareness of a hawk when it comes to me.
“You look scared, Yoichi,” he said, his tone softening into something surprisingly gentle. “Relax, dude. We’ll protect you from people like that, you know.” He chuckled right after, trying to keep it light, like it was half a joke to ease my tension.
Ryusei didn’t laugh, though. He just nodded, his expression turning entirely serious. “Yeah,” he said, fixing me with an uncharacteristically solid gaze. “Without a doubt.”
I stared at the two of them for a blank second.
Protect me from me I guess?
My brain immediately derailed into a chaotic, hysterical spiral. What would they even do if the 'Last Sonata' actually showed up?! Throw a bass guitar at me?! Start singing aggressively in harmony?!
“Back off, terrifying masked assassin! This is a musical intervention!”
I almost choked on my milk.
I forcefully swallowed it down, clearing my throat and exhaling quietly to steady my pounding chest. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
Play it off. Act entirely unimpressed by their alpha-male routine. Do not laugh. Do not think.
But they stubbornly didn’t drop it. Aiku leaned back slightly, arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes still intently watching me. “I mean it, Yoichi.”
Ryusei nodded again, his jaw set. “Same here.”
Why did that statement suddenly feel so much heavier than it had any right to be?
I looked away from them, taking another completely unnecessary sip of milk just to avoid the intense sincerity in their eyes. It felt warm. It was incredibly annoying. It was… terrifyingly comforting.
Stupid.
If only they actually knew. If only they knew that the fragile, easily startled guy they were fiercely trying to “protect”—is the exact same apex predator they were just gossiping about. The same one who was painting a corporate wall crimson a few hours ago.
The same one the underworld is calling a legendary executioner.
I stared down at the laminate table. Yeah. Let’s definitely keep it that way. It’s infinitely better for everyone involved.
I set the glass down quietly, the clink echoing softly against the cafeteria noise. “You guys are weird,” I muttered, looking anywhere but at them.
Ryusei grinned, the serious tension evaporating as fast as it had arrived.
.
.
.
I pushed my chair back, the metal legs scraping sharply against the cafeteria floor as I stood up.
“Already leaving?” Ryusei groaned, throwing his head back in an overly dramatic stretch as he prepared to stand up too.
Aiku snorted, a lazy grin playing on his lips. “Oh, come on, princess. Stay a little longer. The gossip was just getting good.”
I rolled my eyes, lifting my empty tray with practiced ease. “Got assignments. Deadlines don't care about your gossip.”
Ryusei laughed, his arm blurring as he reached over to aggressively mess up my hair again. “Our pretty little genius! Of course you’re running off to study!”
“Stop-” I violently swatted his hand away, running my fingers through my hair to fix it for the literal third time today. “You are incredibly annoying.”
“Yet you keep hanging out with us,” Aiku added, slinging a casual arm over Ryusei's shoulder.
…Highly unfortunate.
I didn’t even bother replying this time. I just turned on my heel and walked ahead toward the tray return, eagerly leaving their chaotic energy behind.
Even from a distance, their voices carried over the ambient noise of the cafeteria. Of course they were still talking about it.
“I’m telling you, Aiku, the forum post said the way he moves is like water-”
“Yeah, yeah, The Last Sonata, we get it, Ryusei. You have a crush-”
“Fuck you! You know well I'm staying loyal to that person-”
“All of us apparently-”
“Still, Im telling you The Last Sonata-”
Please, for the love of god, stop saying that name in public.
I accelerated my pace, my sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Distance equaled peace. Almost.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed against my thigh. A sharp, rhythmic vibration.
Oh. Right.
I slowed down slightly, stepping into a quieter alcove near the exit corridors before pulling the device out just enough to glance at the screen.
A new encrypted message. Short. Direct. A set of coordinates and a single name.
New target.
The corner of my mouth twitched, my lips curling into a tiny, barely perceptible smirk underneath the shadow of my bangs. Well. That certainly didn’t take long. The blood from the last guy wasn't even dry on the corporate wallpaper yet.
Please, universe, don’t let this be another overly talkative target. Please don’t let it be another guy who begs and offers me corporate stocks. And please, absolutely under no circumstances, let there be another uninvited side quest with a vibrant personality and a pink cloak.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket, my face resetting into a perfectly calm, neutral mask.
Alright. Let’s see what kind of beautiful chaos tonight brings.
Behind me, Ryusei’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Oi! Yo-chan! Don’t walk too fast, your legs are short!”
Aiku added, his voice laced with absolute amusement, “Give up, he’s actively ignoring us again.”
I didn’t turn around. I didn’t even slow my stride. I just lifted my right hand slightly, giving them a lazy, half-hearted wave over my shoulder.
Because right now—I’ve got two completely irreconcilable lives to balance. And somehow, against all known laws of physics and psychology… I’m still keeping both of them from violently crashing into each other.
So far.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅