The city was bathed in a palette of steel and shadow. The streetlights cast pale halos over the wet pavement, the last remnants of a recent drizzle still clinging to the asphalt like the breath of ghosts.
Towering above the skyline, rising like an obsidian fang, stood the Shimura Corporation Headquarters. It was sleek, sharp-edged, and cold as death.
Kenshiro stood across the street, the collar of his long black coat pulled up to his cheekbones. A cap obscured most of his face, and his shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally long under the flickering streetlamp behind him. He had watched the building for twelve minutes without moving.
He wasn't here as a visitor.
He was here as a ghost.
The wind whispered around him, carrying the distant murmur of nightlife... cars, laughter, footsteps, but none of it touched him. His gaze was fixed on the tower's glossy glass facade.
The thirty floor, where Araki Shimura's office loomed, glimmered like the top of a golden altar.
An altar built on bones.
"You thought you could silence me, Araki…" Kenshiro muttered under his breath, voice low, expression blank. "But that was the last mistake of your pathetic life."
Two guards patrolled the main entrance. Their uniforms were crisp, but their posture was lax, too many uneventful nights had dulled their instincts.
One of them lit a cigarette with one hand, the other tucked lazily in his pocket. The second man yawned and checked his phone, leaning against the polished pillar of the main entrance.
Arrogance breeds vulnerability.
Kenshiro closed his eyes and breath in a slow breath. He then slowly exhaled, emptying himself of everything—rage, tension, ego.
He killed his presence.
In his previous life, Kenshiro had mastered dozens of martial arts. He had walked through jungles where snipers hunted him and cities crawling with informants. And in those shadows, he learned the art of becoming nothing.
A ghost slipping into a tomb.
He angled his body, pressed close to the building's edge, and began moving, not directly toward the guards.
Twenty meters.... Fifteen...
The cigarette smoke drifted in his direction as he passed within breathing distance of the one guard. His scent was sweat and stale tobacco. But the man didn't twitch or even glance his way.
The guards remained in their idle chatter.
"Tomorrow, we're hitting that place in Roppongi. Hostess bar just opened, new girls in town."
"Oi, don't blow your whole salary on shots again, idiot."
The taller one laughed, swatting the other on the arm. Neither of them noticed the shadow slipping through the edge of their vision.
Kenshiro moved like running ink. His feet kissed the ground without a sound as the shadows welcomed him.
He slipped behind the guards. Then under the blind spot of a low-hanging security camera by the decorative plant wall near the entrance. Its lens turned rhythmically, pausing every three seconds.
Kenshiro had counted and timed it just now. He ducked precisely between its rotations, his cap shielding his face. Another camera mounted near the reception desk offered a partial view of the lobby.
He flattened his body to the marble wall and began inching forward with smooth, steady motions. He knew how to breathe without moving his shoulders, knew how to become a part of the silence around him.
The lobby was vast, gleaming marble floors reflected the overhead crystal chandelier lights, throwing patterns onto the mirrored columns.
A receptionist desk stood unmanned, surrounded by minimalist sofas and abstract sculptures.
But he wasn't here for the décor.
There were three more cameras in the lobby. One was behind the desk and another one angled toward the elevator corridor. As for the last one, it was directly above, slow-panning.
He spotted a tall potted plant near the left corridor which was a perfect cover.
He waited there for three seconds before the ceiling camera turned away.
And then he moved, slipping behind the plant just as the camera rotated back. Then crouched and scanned again.
To his left, there was the the elevators.
It would be an efficient and fast way. But they'd record him. Even if he disabled the footage, the risk of being stopped mid-ride or pinged by security was too high.
To his right was the emergency stairwell, marked with an old steel sign that looked almost forgotten amidst the luxury.
The Stairs might be slow and exhausting. But they sure would be quiet and safe with no sudden stops.
He didn't hesitate and moved towards the stairs.
Kenshiro turned sharply and crept toward the stairwell door. He reached it just as the overhead camera swept past again. His hand slipped into his coat and produced a thin strip of magnetic tape, swiped from a delivery badge weeks ago.
With a quiet click, the stairwell door unlocked.
The place was filled with darkness and the silence felt heavier.
He entered and let the door shut behind him, soft as a whisper.
Then looked up only to see the stairwell stretched like a never-ending helix above him, rails rising and folding into infinity.
The faint hum of the building's mechanical lungs could be heard through the pipes running along the wall.
Kenshiro took one breath and then he began to climb.
Step by step.
Floor by floor.
Each level passed like a heartbeat.
One... Two... Three...
His breathing became mechanical. His posture remained straight. His coat flapped slightly behind him, barely making noise as he moved. Sweat formed at the base of his neck but he ignored it.
His focus remained absolute.
On the sixth floor, he heard a noise of some metal clinked against metal.
He froze and pressed against the wall. He flattened himself against the shadowed corner between the landing and the stairs, his eyes narrowing.
Someone else was in the stairwell.
A security guard appeared two floors above. He looked lazy, mid-yawn, carrying a coffee cup.
Kenshiro didn't move, waiting calmly. He barely even blinked.
The guard took a few steps downward, then paused.
Kenshiro had stopped mid-step, one heel hovering above the floor. Not a sound had escaped him, but even silence can be suspicious when you're alone.
The guard leaned over the railing and peered downward.
Kenshiro was already pressed against the shadows, face tilted down, hat pulled low, coat blending with the dim walls.
The guard squinted and waited for a few seconds before he shook his head and took another sip of coffee.
"Damn nerves," He muttered, turning back.
Kenshiro waited until the sound of footsteps disappeared, then moved again.
Sixteen floors left... Fifteen... Fourteen…
Twelve... Eleven... Ten...
The world blurred around him. The only clarity was the image in his mind, the image of his enemy.
The same face that smirked at press conferences, shook hands with ministers, while silently ordering the deaths of those who defied him.
His parents.
Six... Five... Four...
His hand brushed the stairwell wall.
And finally, he reached the twenty ninth floor.
One level beneath the top.
He paused and slowed his breathing, pushing his focus.
Up here, the stairwell had two cameras, one just above the door, and one mounted high on the opposite wall.
Kenshiro reached into his inner pocket and removed a small mirror, no larger than a coin. He angled it upward and tracked the camera's rotation.
Thirty-degree sweep. Three seconds per direction.
He waited and quickly moved during the arc.
At the final landing, he crouched and eased the stairwell door open by a hairline crack.