The ruins of Osaka never stayed quiet for long. Shitsubo knew that now.
The night after he devoured the envy of the fire-camp survivors, the silence inside him shifted again. What had once been a shield and then a hunger was now a shadow with teeth. It followed him through the alleys and across the collapsed bridges, whispering in his own voice.
They'll tell others. They'll spread your face like plague. They'll call you monster. And they will be right.
Shitsubo ignored it. Or tried to. He scavenged in the bones of supermarkets, searched empty homes, tested cans of food with his knife for signs of rot. None of it touched the gnawing inside him. Ordinary food had become nothing but ash. He could only live on envy now.
But envy came from people. And people were dwindling.
It didn't take long for the whispers to reach him.
He heard them first as rumors blown on the wind of refugee clusters. From the shadows of gutted subway tunnels, he watched ragged groups huddle around scavenged fires. They spoke of Aggressors, yes—but also of another thing.
"A silent one," an old man rasped. "Looks like us, but isn't. It drained Kaoru like a sponge. Left him breathing, but gone. Empty."
"It doesn't kill," another muttered. "That's worse. It leaves you hollow. A husk."
Shitsubo's hands tightened in the dark. He hadn't killed. He'd only taken what the curse demanded. But to them, the difference meant nothing.
Soon the survivors gave the rumor a name:
The Silent Aggressor.
Shitsubo tried to stay away from them. He wandered further into Osaka's broken heart, where Aggressor patrols were thicker. But even there, the whispers of the curse gnawed at him. His silence made him invisible to the lesser Aggressors—they shied from him as if something fouler stalked beneath his skin. Yet every time he passed survivors, he felt their envy pulling at his bones like a magnet.
One night, cornered by hunger, he gave in.
A group of scavengers were pulling crates from an overturned truck. Three men, one woman, their cheeks hollow but eyes sharp. They hadn't noticed him yet. He could have walked past. Could have left them their prize.
Instead, he stepped forward. His silence spread like oil. The woman noticed first, her eyes darting to him. At once, the envy bloomed—envy of his steady stance, his weapons, his strange stillness that looked like control.
Shitsubo's chest seized. He wanted it.
The hunger surged. Black tendrils rippled from him—felt, not seen—sinking into their chests. They staggered, gasped, dropped their crates. Their envy bled into him, burning through his veins like fire.
When it ended, they were alive. Still breathing. But their eyes were glassy, their movements broken, as if someone had stolen the spark that made them human.
The curse purred. Shitsubo staggered back, bile rising in his throat.
Not human anymore. Not Aggressor either. You are mine alone.
Days blurred into one another. Survivors scattered, fleeing from Osaka's heart as rumors spread. The Aggressors pressed closer, turning the ruins into a hunting ground. And still, wherever Shitsubo walked, silence swallowed sound.
It was on the fifth night after the campfire incident that he found his brother again.
Genji.
Not face to face, not yet. Shitsubo saw him across a broken plaza, leading a knot of survivors—ten, maybe twelve. Genji had always carried light in his voice, even in childhood. But now, even from a distance, Shitsubo saw how heavy he'd grown.
The survivors followed him willingly. Trusted him. Where Shitsubo had become a curse, Genji had become a shield.
For the first time since the trials, Shitsubo felt something other than hunger. Shame.
He stayed in the shadows. Watched them pass. His silence kept them from noticing, but the hunger clawed at him. The envy radiating from that group was intoxicating—envy of Genji's leadership, of his calm, of his ability to hold people together.
Shitsubo's hands shook. He pressed them against the cracked wall, forcing himself to stay still. If he reached for them, even for one, they would crumble like the others.
Take them. You need them more than he does.
The whisper cut deep.
Shitsubo clenched his jaw until it ached. For once, he resisted. He let Genji's group disappear into the night without touching them.
But he knew it couldn't last.
---
The rumors grew. More survivors fled Osaka, claiming the city was haunted not just by Aggressors, but by something worse. They swore they'd seen a man with black-lit veins and a voice stolen by shadows.
The Silent Aggressor.
Shitsubo moved deeper, following the hunger, knowing he was leaving his brother behind. But in the ruins, another presence began to stir. Not Aggressor. Not survivor. Something in between.
And it was watching him.