Deep in the mountains and forests, the bandit leader, Hori Masashi, ran for his life.
The recent days of indulgence—his women, the treasure, the drunken nights—flashed before his eyes with every desperate breath.
The more he remembered, the deeper his fear grew.
Escape.
He had to escape. Immediately.
"Mirage! Keep the fog coming!"
He returned to the mountain hideout, yelling at the massive clam sprawled on the ground.
The clam opened its mouth slightly and spewed a dense mist, laced with powerful illusionary chakra.
It was Mirage, a rare and formidable summoning beast.
Once belonging to the Second Mizukage, Hōzuki Gengetsu, Mirage had vanished after Gengetsu and another ninja, Musou, perished in a tragic, love-hate battle. For years, the beast's whereabouts were unknown—until, through a series of coincidences, it landed in Hori Masashi's hands.
A ninja from a minor village, Hori Masashi had talent, sure—but he was barely Chūnin-level compared to Kirigakure's standards. Even with Mirage, he couldn't wield the devastating power that Hōzuki Gengetsu once could.
At best, he could use Mirage's core ability:
"Magical Steam Tower"—a vast illusionary mist.
Hori glanced over his shoulder. No sign of Logan in the thick fog. Still, he didn't dare let his guard down.
That was Logan!
The image of Logan slaying the Three-Tails with a single stroke was carved into Hori's mind. He had witnessed it. He knew better than to think the mist would hold someone like him.
He sprinted into his room, dropped to the floor, pulled a heavy box from under the bed, and opened it. Inside was a mountain of gold, jewels, and precious stones—enough for a lifetime of luxury.
He hesitated. Then reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick notebook.
His journal. A personal record of everything he had learned from the Awakening Course.
He stuffed it into the box, slammed it shut, and bolted for the door. Kicking it open, he ran—only to freeze in confusion.
The door, which had just flown open, stood closed once more.
The paper talisman labeled "Awakening" was still glued neatly to its surface.
"…Huh?"
He tried again.
This time, he grabbed the handle, pulled it open, watched the paper slip to the floor—and stepped one foot outside.
He turned around and re-entered the room.
Once more, the door was closed, the "Awakening" talisman back in place, as if nothing had changed.
Chills crept up his spine like icy fingers.
What is going on…?
He wasn't under a genjutsu—his chakra flowed normally.
And yet…
Rustle…
A sound. Pages turning.
Hori Masashi turned his head slowly.
Logan sat calmly on the bed, flipping through the very notebook Hori had hidden in his box.
Gulp.
He swallowed hard.
The sound was deafening in the eerie stillness. Like a boulder splashing into a still pond.
"I remember you," Logan said without looking up.
"You used to ask me questions after class. Sometimes we stayed up late talking philosophy, politics, purpose…"
He paused, his eyes still scanning the pages.
"One day, you brought me a jar of homemade hot sauce. It's still in my fridge. Sasuke and Momo love it."
Snap!
He closed the notebook.
"You ran when you saw me. So you knew you'd done wrong. But why go this far?"
His gaze dropped to the box clutched in Hori's hands.
"…Was it because of this?"
Hori looked down at the treasure box.
Yeah.
That was it.
His home village had been wiped out during the conflicts between major shinobi nations. For years, he wandered aimlessly, witnessing all the suffering in the world.
He wanted to make a difference. To do something big. But he never knew how.
Then one day, he heard Logan speak.
And he woke up.
Later, through coincidence and luck, he signed a summoning contract with Mirage.
"It's fate," he'd thought.
He believed he was chosen.
He vowed to follow Logan's footsteps, to build a new world.
Until…
Women. Gold. Power.
They seduced him.
Awakening was supposed to make people human.
But Hori wanted to go beyond that. He wanted to be the best human.
He had fate. He had strength. So why…
"Why can't I be the best?"
Clunk.
He dropped the box.
From his belt, he drew a kunai and held it to his chest.
"…I'm sorry, Master Logan. I used your name for all the wrong reasons."
He didn't dream of resisting. He wasn't that foolish.
He was ready to die.
But Logan raised the notebook and shook it lightly.
"…Is that really all you feel sorry for?"
The pages were filled with chaotic scribbles, impassioned thoughts, sometimes completely illegible.
But they were honest.
The person who truly deserved Hori Masashi's apology wasn't Logan.
It was his past self.
The man who once dreamed. And the people he had since hurt.
Masashi shook his head.
"To my past self, to the people I hurt…"
He took a deep breath.
"…I don't feel sorry."
He looked up.
"This is just how the world works. This is the rule of man."
He clutched the kunai harder.
"Because of my past self, I now understand how undefeatable greed is."
He smiled bitterly.
"Your ideals are beautiful, Master Logan. They really are. Anyone who hears them wants to believe in them. But…"
Shhhk.
He drove the kunai slowly into his chest.
"I don't believe they can be achieved."
He collapsed to the floor, blood seeping from his wound, eyes dim but still locked on Logan.
He looked… almost sympathetic.
"How sad will you be," he whispered, "at the moment before you die, when you realize your dream is still out of reach?"
Logan didn't answer.
He pointed toward the foot of the mountain. "And your followers…?"
"Same as me…" Hori Masashi whispered.
"Death… is no pity…"
Thud!
His body crumpled against the door. The "Awakening" sticker fluttered down, landing over his face, concealing his vacant eyes.
Logan stepped forward, gently pushed the body aside, and opened the door.
The mist had cleared.
Terumi Mei approached with the group of bandits in tow.
Logan could still hear them shouting, even as he opened the door. They truly believed their leader was alive—that this was all an illusion.
Even after seeing the corpse, some screamed in denial, slapping themselves to wake up, refusing to accept reality.
"No one could beat the boss! Not in the fog! It's a trick! A trick!"
They didn't want to believe it.
Because if they did believe it—
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA!!"
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA!!"
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA!!"
Star Platinum's fists came down like thunder, hammering through the crowd. The strikes were swift, precise, and devastating.
Each blow was calculated.
Each bandit received the exact amount of punishment necessary to ensure death after maximum suffering.
"ORA!"
The final bandit was launched high into the air before crashing down..
Silence followed.
Logan turned to the center of the village and stared at the massive summoning beast—Mirage—the giant clam.
He walked up to it, stopped in front of the creature, and asked in a quiet, neutral voice:
"Can you speak human language?"
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