Miyako crossed the street humming as if she were on her way to a date, her hands buried deep in her pockets. Before the building's metal gate, rusted and with a buzzer that barely worked, she paused for a moment. Two men stumbled out just then, swaying with the weight of empty beer bags.
She waited. She let the door close almost completely and, at the very last second, vanished. Her silhouette dissolved into the air and slipped in behind them, invisible, like a sigh slipping through the hinges.
Once inside, she became visible again in the gloom of the lobby. The floor was strewn with cigarette ends and damp stains, and a half-starved cat bolted between her legs with a frightened mew. Miyako's crooked smile spread as she murmured, as though speaking to it:'Easy, little one… I'm a shadow too.'
She climbed slowly, hands in her jacket pockets, whistling a discordant tune. Her boots echoed hollowly against the stairs, blending with the background noise of the building: a television blaring in some flat, a baby's muffled crying behind a thin wall, and, further up, the furious argument of a couple.
'Always the same, Kenji! You've wasted it all on those bloody machines!' the woman screeched, her voice rasping.'Shut up, Ayumi! It was my money!' the man barked, banging something that made the corridor shudder.
Miyako tilted her head like a curious cat, a crooked smile tugging her lips. Her eyes glinted with that strange fire—half amusement, half madness. For her, these rows were a free show, a pathetic comedy nobody else seemed to enjoy.
She lingered on the landing, watching them. The door was ajar, and from there she could see the woman standing in the hallway, finger raised accusingly. The man, fat and sweating, face red and veins bulging at his neck, spat his rage centimetres from hers.
Miyako clapped softly, almost childlike, as though applauding the intensity of their drama. The sound was faint, just a little snap in the air, yet the woman turned at once, eyes wide.'Did you hear that?' she whispered, trembling.
The man scowled and shoved the door aside, peering into the corridor.'Bah, rats, that's all.'
At that instant, Miyako vanished. Her body turned translucent, a barely perceptible spectre sliding between them without leaving a trace. She passed so close to Ayumi she nearly brushed her shoulder, stifling a laugh as the woman shivered for no reason.
The door remained wide open, the corridor exposed. Miyako slipped inside, invisible, light as breath. Behind her the quarrel carried on, as if the theatre would never end.
'Don't talk to me about rats, Kenji! The only rat here is you!' Ayumi shrieked, smashing a glass against the wall.
A few steps further, Miyako leaned against the concrete wall. Her smile spread, almost sweet, though her eyes sparkled dangerously. The human spectacle had opened the stage she needed.
She drew the folded photograph of Toru Hanada, the same one she had kissed in the street minutes before. Holding it before her unseen face, she tilted it towards the flickering light of the corridor.'I'm coming, Hanada…' she sang softly, as if to a lover. 'Get ready—the show's about to begin.'
Still invisible, she pressed the buzzer to Hanada's flat. The harsh buzz cut through the silence of the corridor, disturbing the distant music and the row beyond. Miyako cocked her head, waiting with the impatience of a mischievous child about to open a present.
Heavy footsteps drew closer behind the door.
She raised her weapon slowly, still unseen, lips curving into a dangerous smile. The game was about to start.
The door screeched and swung open. Toru Hanada loomed in the doorway: a hulking man, muscles taut beneath his sweat-soaked shirt, tattoos winding up his arms like black serpents. His scarred face glowed with a feverish alertness, like burning embers.'Who the hell…?' he growled, glaring at the empty corridor.
Nothing. Only the faint row of the couple and the buzz of the failing fluorescent above his head.
He scowled, stepped out half a pace, scanning both sides. Then he felt the cold press of metal at the base of his neck.
'Shhh…' sang a voice, childish and cruel all at once. 'Stay still and it'll hurt less.'
Hanada barked a dry laugh, rough as crackling wood.'Really? A little girl playing with guns?'
His right shoulder twitched—and suddenly a blaze shot down his arm, flesh engulfed in living fire. His skin did not burn: the combustion seemed to pour from within.'You've no idea who you're messing with.'
He spun sharply, hurling a flaming swipe towards where she should have stood. But Miyako had already gone, dissolved into smoke. The fire slammed the wall, leaving a charred mark and the stench of scorched plaster.
'Ooh, so close!' she sang from the far end of the corridor, invisible, her deranged laughter drifting around him. 'You'll have to do better than that, Hanada. I'm very good at hide-and-seek.'
Toru roared, arm ablaze. With a violent motion he hurled an arc of fire across the ceiling, spreading it down the wall. In seconds the wallpaper and a neighbour's curtains were alight. Acrid smoke billowed, heat swelling fast.
'Come out, damn rat!' he bellowed, advancing as flames consumed everything in his path.
Miyako flickered into sight for a second, at his left, her silhouette wavering between visibility and air. Her weapon was raised, but the fire danced too wildly, covering all. To pause meant risking the flames swallowing her whole.
She skipped back lightly, laughing as though the heat were nothing.'Now this is what I call a hot date!' she cried, vanishing again just before another blaze swept past.
The corridor was a narrow inferno: locked doors, thick smoke, fire licking the walls. Miyako panted—not from fear, but exhilaration. A dangerous game, a dance of the unseen and the incandescent.
'One… two… three…' she murmured through laughter, dodging another sweep that burst the ceiling.
The hallway roared like an infernal throat. Flames climbed the cracked walls, devouring paper, dust, and filth built up over years. Dense smoke cast a grey veil across everything, the dying fluorescents flickering like stars about to die.
Toru Hanada strode through the fire, his right arm a whip of living flame. His footsteps pounded like hammers. Each strike ignited the air with a roar, the heat clinging like molten blades.'You can't hide forever, damned shadow!' he bellowed, spinning wildly, eyes frenzied.
Then—a laugh. Light, childish, cruel. A laugh that seemed to echo from everywhere.'Of course I can… I'm brilliant at hiding. Ask the ghosts in my house.'
Miyako appeared suddenly, a few metres before him. The twin barrels of her machine gun gleamed in the half-light, aimed square at his chest. Her eyes glowed, blue and fevered, like a girl adoring her favourite toy.
Toru didn't hesitate. He flung his flaming arm at her, a brutal swing that would have incinerated anyone. But Miyako vanished at the last instant, her body blurring into nothing. The fire crashed into the wall, crumbling masonry and splintering a doorframe.
'You're quick, little rat!' he snarled, teeth clenched.'And you're slow,' she retorted, unseen, circling behind him.
A metallic glint cut through the smoke. Miyako appeared just long enough to fire. The sharp report cracked the corridor. The bullet pierced Toru's right arm just below the shoulder. The blaze sputtered at once, spitting like a drenched torch.
His cry was half rage, half agony. Clutching the wound with his left hand, blood seeping dark beneath his tattoos, he tried to summon the flames again. Once. Twice. Thrice. Nothing.
'What… what have you done?' he gasped, eyes wild with desperation. 'Why won't it work?!'
Miyako reappeared before him, shedding invisibility like a discarded mask. She smiled, barely panting in the heat, weapon steady in her hands.'Oh, that…' she sang, mockingly. 'A little toy from Daddy. Bullets that switch monsters off for a while.'
Toru gnashed his teeth, trying again, but only smeared blood across his chest. His face twisted in despair, suddenly more human than ever.
'Shhh… easy, Hanada.' Miyako tilted her head like a broken doll. 'It's nearly over.'
The ex-convict glared up, eyes still burning with rage, jaw clenched.'Monster…' he spat.
She tilted her head again, feline, lips curling in a crooked smile.'Yes. But I'm the monster who gets the last laugh.'
And she pulled the trigger.
The shot thundered in the blazing corridor. The bullet pierced his skull above the brow. Hanada's body collapsed at once, crashing to the floor with a dull thud. Flames still licked the walls, but he was no longer there to feed them.
Miyako lowered the weapon and gave a brief, almost shy giggle. She stepped to the corpse, studying it as though trying to decipher an unfinished work of art. Then, delicately, she closed his eyes.'Thanks for the dance, Hanada. You were scorching.'
The smoke began to choke her, yet she seemed unbothered. From her jacket she drew a black canvas bag, the kind she used for special jobs. Unhurried, humming a child's tune, she arranged the body enough to take what she needed. Her knife glimmered in the firelight.
Minutes later Miyako staggered from the building, sooty and swaying, black bag dangling from her hand. She smiled, as though leaving a party.
The night greeted her with fresh air, city lights mirrored in the nearby river. She lifted the bag and swung it, like a shopping bag.'Mum, Dad, Ren… look what I got.' She laughed to herself, speaking into the void. 'A little souvenir for the table!'
The mew of a black cat made her pause on the pavement. It sat atop a bin, eyes glowing like tiny lanterns. Miyako stared, then swung the bag at it playfully.'Want to see?' she asked, head tilted, smile twisted with sweetness and madness. 'Though I don't think you'll like tonight's supper.'
The cat watched in silence, then leapt away into the shadows. Miyako laughed lightly, as if it had answered.'Smarter than most humans, aren't you?'
Bag still in hand, she walked on through the neon-wet streets. The city swallowed her among flickering lights, vent steam, and distant sirens. She hummed happily, the bag thumping her leg like the beat of a macabre song.
The date was over. Now it was time to deliver the souvenir to the boss.
The mercenaries' building loomed like a dark mass against the neon sky. Its windows, sealed with metal plates, resembled shut eyes, and the generators' hum below gave it the air of a diseased heart refusing to stop. Miyako paused at the entrance, swinging the black bag like shopping. A thick drop slid down the canvas, splashing into the puddle at her feet. She watched it spread and let out a brief chuckle.
The gate creaked open, and the familiar stench hit her: cheap tobacco, gun grease, stale beer. The lobby was almost empty save for the barman at the makeshift counter. A thin man with a scruffy moustache and sweat-stained shirt, known simply as "Goro".
'Look who's back from hide-and-seek,' he muttered, not lifting his gaze from the glass he wiped with a grey rag.
Miyako strode to the bar and dropped the bag on it with a thud that rattled the bottles. Goro froze, rag clutched mid-air.'What've you got there, Miyako?' he asked, though his eyes already knew.
She leaned on the bar, head cocked, that crooked smile fixed.'A present for Daddy.' She winked, as if sharing a private joke.
He swallowed hard and pushed the bag aside gingerly, as though it might open on its own. She chuckled softly and moved towards the metal staircase.'And the lads?' she asked over her shoulder.'Out,' Goro said, returning nervously to his glass. 'Took a job a few hours ago.''Shame…' Miyako shrugged, boots creaking like old bones on the steps. 'I like it when they clap for me.'
The upper corridor was lit by a sputtering fluorescent, painting shadows that jumped and wavered. The bag thumped her thigh with every step, setting a grim rhythm she whistled along to. She stopped at the steel door of Daisuke Kurogane's office.
Two knocks. A pause. The boss's deep voice came from within:'Enter.'
Miyako pushed the door open with her usual exaggerated flourish, like an actress stepping onstage. The air was thick with cigarette smoke. A jaundiced lamp barely lit the desk, cluttered with empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays, and crumpled papers.
Daisuke sat in his high-backed chair, immaculate in his grey suit, scarred brow like a signature carved in flesh. He lifted his gaze and narrowed his eyes at the bag Miyako dropped onto the desk with a heavy thud.
'Job done,' she sang, letting the words echo in the gloom.
He didn't answer at once. Lighting a cigarette with ritual calm, he exhaled into the lamplight before speaking.'Did you make noise?'
Miyako spread her arms theatrically.'Me? Barely a whisper in the night. Well… a whisper with fire and screams, but you know, details.'
Daisuke stared, unblinking. Slowly he opened the zip, peered in just long enough to confirm, and closed it again without reaction.'I didn't ask for a spectacle, Shiranami,' he said at last, voice deep.
She leaned over the desk, hands pressed to the papers, eyes gleaming like wet blades.'But I brought results. And even a souvenir for your collection. Won't you applaud me?'
The silence thickened, broken only by the lamp's buzz and the crackle of burning tobacco.
Daisuke exhaled another plume of smoke.'You're useful, Miyako. Very useful. But one day that laugh of yours will cost us all.'
She tilted her head, feline, and her smile widened.'Then make sure that day never comes, boss.'
And she burst into a sharp, ringing cackle that echoed against the walls like a broken bell.