The hotel room was cloaked in an uneasy quiet. Misaki paced restlessly in the sitting area, the dim light of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. She glanced at the tray of food she had ordered—untouched, growing colder with each passing minute. Her heart ached with worry for Kenshiro.
"He hasn't eaten a thing," She murmured, her voice thick with concern.
Daisuke, seated by the window, sipped his tea slowly, his expression composed but weary.
"He needs time," He said firmly. "Pushing him now will only make things worse."
"But he's just a boy, Daisuke-san," Misaki argued, her voice cracking slightly. "He's barely spoken since we arrived, and now he's locked himself in that room. What if he—"
"He's stronger than you think," Daisuke interrupted, setting his cup down with a soft clink. His gaze turned toward Kenshiro's closed door. "Leave him be for now. Let him process things in his own way."
Misaki reluctantly nodded, but the gnawing worry didn't leave her. She sighed and sank into the armchair, her fingers clasped tightly together as she sent another worried glance at the closed door.
Inside Kenshiro's Room
Behind the door, Kenshiro sat cross-legged on the floor, his face a mask of cold detachment. The dim glow of the bedside lamp illuminated his sharp features, but his eyes were shadowed by a storm of thoughts.
The doctor's words replayed in his mind, each syllable dissected and analyzed. Something about the man's behavior had been off—the slight tremor in his hands, the evasive way he avoided direct eye contact. Kenshiro's instincts, honed over lifetimes of experience, screamed that there was more to the story.
"Blunt force trauma," He muttered under his breath. "The autopsy was rushed. The cremation was expedited. And no consultation with the family?"
He clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles whitening. "Suspicious."
Memories of his past life surged to the surface. He had once been the Strongest Martial Master, a man who could see through deception and read the subtlest cues in a person's body language. That part of him had been dormant since his rebirth, but now it stirred, awakened by the storm of emotions within him.
"I can't trust their version of events," He thought coldly. "If I want answers, I'll have to get them myself."
He stood, his movements fluid and deliberate, and grabbed a black hoodie from the wardrobe. Pulling it over his head, he adjusted the hood low over his face. His mind raced as he planned his next steps. He couldn't involve Misaki or Daisuke—they wouldn't understand. This was something he had to do alone.
He moved to the window and eased it open silently, the cool night air brushing against his face. The capital stretched out below him, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. He calculated the angle, his sharp mind analyzing the layout of the alleyways.
"Getting caught isn't an option," He thought grimly.
He slipped through the window, landing softly on the narrow ledge below. From there, he scaled down the side of the building with practiced ease, his movements silent and precise.
In his previous life, stealth missions were second nature, and that muscle memory had returned like it never left.
Once on the ground, he melted into the shadows of the city. The streets were sparsely populated at this hour, and he avoided the main roads, weaving through back alleys and using his heightened awareness to evade security cameras.
His goal was clear: the Doctor.
----
At the Hospital
The hospital was eerily quiet at this hour, its halls bathed in the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. Kenshiro crouched in the shadows near the staff entrance, studying the security system. A single guard patrolled lazily, his movements predictable and careless.
Kenshiro's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Too easy."
Timing his movements with precision, he darted across the gap and slipped into the building. The faint squeak of his sneakers against the polished floor was the only sound he made as he navigated the corridors, moving like a phantom. He had memorized the layout during his earlier visit and headed straight for the administrative offices.
The doctor's nameplate gleamed dully on one of the doors. Kenshiro pressed his ear against it, listening intently. A faint rustling sound confirmed that the doctor was inside, likely finishing up his late-night paperwork.
The hospital was cloaked in a deep, unnatural silence. The dim hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, flickering like a heartbeat on the verge of stopping. In the private office, the doctor slumped forward, his face buried in his hands. The lines on his forehead were deep with fatigue, but they weren't just from exhaustion—they were from fear.
The phone in his hand felt heavier than it should have as he dialed a number, his fingers trembling slightly. When the call connected, he didn't wait for pleasantries.
"It's done," He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned closer to the phone, as if the walls themselves were listening. "The autopsies are complete. The bodies have been disposed of as instructed. No one raised any questions. Everything went perfectly."
On the other end of the line, a voice spoke in low, clipped tones. The doctor nodded instinctively, his breath growing shallower.
"Yes, yes, I know. No loose ends," He replied quickly, his words tumbling over each other. "I'll make sure it's—"
He stopped abruptly, his words catching in his throat. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet, the air suddenly feeling thick and oppressive. A shiver snaked down his spine, his instincts screaming that he wasn't alone.
His gaze darted nervously around the dimly lit office, scanning every corner, but everything appeared in its place. Still, the weight of unseen eyes pressed on him, suffocating and undeniable.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end called, but the doctor wasn't listening. His lips parted to respond, but his voice faltered. Hastily, he muttered, "I'll call you back," and ended the call, dropping the phone onto the desk.
"You handled things perfectly?"
The voice, low and calm but as cold as a winter gale, sent his heart plummeting. He spun around in his chair so fast it nearly tipped over, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
A figure emerged from the shadows like a specter, its presence as commanding as it was unnerving. The slivers of moonlight streaming through the blinds painted the young boy's face in stark light and shadow, his sharp eyes glowing with an unearthly intensity. Kenshiro stood there, his hands resting at his sides, his expression carved from ice.
"How much were you paid?" Kenshiro's voice was a quiet blade, cutting through the suffocating silence.
The doctor's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, his already pale face turning ghostly white.
"W-What are you talking about?" He stammered, his voice cracking. "I don't know what you mean—"
Kenshiro's steps were slow but deliberate as he advanced, the soft thud of his shoes on the tiled floor resonating like a drumbeat of inevitability.
"Don't waste my time," Kenshiro said, his tone devoid of warmth, his sharp gaze slicing through the doctor's feeble lies. "Who told you to rush the cremation? Who paid you to silence the truth?"
The doctor flinched as though struck, his breath hitching.
"I...I don't..." He began, but his voice faltered under the weight of Kenshiro's unrelenting stare.
In a flash, Kenshiro's hands slammed down onto the desk, rattling the pens and papers scattered across it. His face was mere inches from the doctor's, his voice dropping to a low growl.
"Don't lie to me."
The doctor recoiled, his chair squeaking as he pushed it back. His trembling hands gripped the armrests as though they were the only things keeping him grounded. His eyes darted toward the door, but he knew escape was impossible.
"I—I'm just following orders!" He stammered, his voice quivering like a fraying thread.
"Whose orders?" Kenshiro's question came swift and sharp, the words striking like a whip.
"I can't tell you!" The doctor cried, his voice rising in panic. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down his temples. "You don't understand—they'll come after me! After my family! I'm—"
Kenshiro straightened, stepping back with unnerving calmness. His cold, calculated movements seemed more dangerous than any outburst could have been.
The doctor's eyes widened, his fear escalating at the boy's eerie composure.
"Then I'll make you understand." Kenshiro's tone was quiet, almost gentle, but it carried the weight of unspoken menace.
The silence that followed was suffocating. The doctor's ragged breathing filled the room, loud and uneven, as Kenshiro slowly leaned closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"I'll ask one more time," Kenshiro said, his gaze burning into the doctor's. "Who. Gave. The. Orders?"
The doctor froze, his entire body trembling as the boy's words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.