The silence was so heavy that Katsuo could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall.The man was still there, seated, unmoving, his head tilted slightly towards him. A black mask covered the lower half of his face; only his eyes, metallic grey, observed him with a calm that froze the blood.
Katsuo closed the door behind him, slowly."Who are you?" he asked, his voice low.
The intruder did not answer.The faint flicker of the lamp stretched his shadow across the floor like a living stain.
"If you've come for money, you've chosen the wrong house," Katsuo continued, trying to keep his composure. "I've nothing of value… except perhaps a bad attitude."
The man inclined his head, as though acknowledging a mediocre joke. He did not move, not even when Katsuo stepped forward.There was something profoundly unnatural about that stillness.
"Are you one of ours? A bounty hunter?" Katsuo pressed.
Nothing. Not a word.
Then he felt it: a pressure in the air, the kind of silence that precedes an attack.Katsuo raised his arms and his veins began to harden, skin turning into thick, solid wood. But he never finished the transformation.
A sharp sound—an acute whistle.
The man had moved his right arm with impossible precision. From his wrist shot a dark cable that gleamed under the light, and at its end, a curved blade—a double-edged kunai—slicing through the air in an instant.
The impact was blunt.Katsuo had no time to cry out.
The hook embedded itself in his chest, just where his heart had begun to harden. His power faltered halfway, leaving one arm fully oak and the other trembling in raw flesh.
His body arched.His eyes flew wide, a strangled gasp escaping his lips. He tried to raise his gaze to the man, but strength was draining by the second.
The cable snapped back with a click, dragging a thread of blood that spattered onto the floor.
The masked figure rose calmly.His movements were silent, measured, almost ritual.He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the kunai with surgical precision, never breaking eye contact with the body collapsing before him.
Katsuo fell to his knees, fighting for breath. His wooden arm splintered as it struck the floor."Miyako…?" he whispered, barely audible. "What… did you… do…?"
The man did not respond. He turned, slid the weapon back into his forearm, and walked to the door.Before leaving, he paused a moment under the frame.The wind from the street stirred the curtain, lifting the dust from the floor, and the assassin uttered a single word, inaudible.
The door closed with a click.
Katsuo's body lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling.The clock went on marking time, relentless.
Tick.Tock.Tick.Tock.
And the house returned to absolute silence.
Dawn barely filtered through the curtains. A grey shaft of light cut across the room, striking Miyako's face as she still lay sprawled on the bed, tangled in sheets, her expression one of sheer boredom.On an old chair beside her, her leather jacket and submachine gun rested like pieces of the furniture. At the foot of the bed, the black cat Kuro stared at her with golden eyes, unmoving, as though awaiting an order.
Miyako exhaled wearily and ran a hand through her hair."Well, Kuro…" she muttered hoarsely, still half-asleep, "if they don't give me a mission today, I'll start killing out of boredom."
The cat answered with a low, indifferent mewl before curling back up."Ah, of course, you never stress about anything," she added sarcastically, rolling over. "All you do is sleep and watch me lose patience. What a marvellous life."
She remained like that a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of the waking city: engines, horns, the patter of fine rain against the windows. Finally, she rose. Her movements were precise, neither lazy nor hurried, as if every gesture were rehearsed.
The shower began to run, filling the bathroom with steam. Miyako pressed one hand to the tiled wall and let the water cascade over her head. She closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids, crimson flashes lit up: Centella's lightning, the hero's face before he fell.
She smiled, faintly."You weren't that easy to forget, were you?" she murmured, a note of pleasure in her voice. "But don't worry… there are plenty more to break."
The mirror fogged as she stepped out of the bathroom. Miyako dried her hair with a towel and dressed with her habitual meticulous elegance: fitted black trousers, white shirt with rolled sleeves, dark boots, leather jacket. She pulled on her gloves, adjusted her belt and looked at her reflection.
The steam formed a halo across the glass, and in the midst of it, her smile cracked like a fracture."Perfect," she whispered. "Cold, clean, and ready for another disappointment."
She slung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed the submachine gun from the rack. Kuro still sat in the same spot, half-asleep."Watch the house, Kuro," she said as she opened the door. "If someone breaks in, try not to fall asleep before they kill you."
The cat answered with a lazy mewl, and Miyako gave a dry laugh, shutting the door behind her.
The corridor smelt of damp and cigarettes. Outside, the city was the same: grey, filthy, alive in a sickly way.Miyako lit a cigarette, held it between her lips, and began to walk."Let's see if they have something interesting for me today," she muttered, exhaling smoke. "Or I'll have to invent my own amusement."
Her boots rang against the wet pavement as she disappeared into the morning mist.
The Bounty Hunters' bar stank of smoke, iron and distrust. The lights flickered intermittently, reflecting off scarred faces and laughter that wasn't quite human. Bottles clinked, the air vibrated with the metallic rhythm of weapons being cleaned, and the atmosphere was so charged it seemed one spark might set it all ablaze.
Miyako entered with her firm stride, the kind that silenced more than a few voices. She didn't need to announce herself; her very presence dimmed the room. Some glanced at her with curiosity, others turned away.
"Well, if it isn't our lady of chaos," said a familiar voice.
Ryo sat at the bar, crooked smile on his lips, half-empty bottle in hand. His dishevelled hair and weary eyes betrayed him—he'd been there far too long.
"Still coming early, I see?" Miyako replied, leaning an elbow on the counter. "I wonder if you drink more than you breathe."
Ryo laughed, shrugging."You're still just as impatient. No mission yet?"
"Waiting is boring," she answered coldly, ordering coffee. "And I wasn't born to be bored."
The remark drew a few rough laughs from nearby hunters. But she didn't smile. She simply took her coffee and turned towards the corridor leading to the main office.
"The boss is waiting for you," said a stern female voice. It was Daisuke's secretary, tall, severe-eyed, always in black.
Miyako nodded, wordless. She strode down the concrete corridor until she reached a reinforced wooden door. Two sharp knocks.
"Enter," came Daisuke's grave voice.
The office was broad, dimly lit by a desk lamp. Maps, newspaper clippings, a darkened screen on the walls. Daisuke sat behind his desk, hands clasped, eyes fixed on her.
"You've proven efficient," he said bluntly. "And patient, though you'd never admit it."
"I'm not interested in patience, only results," Miyako answered, sitting without asking permission.
Daisuke studied her for a long moment, like one measuring the temperature of a bomb before deciding whether to cut the red or the blue wire. Then he opened a drawer, pulled out a black-wax-sealed envelope and slid it across the desk.
"Your next mission is in there."
Miyako arched an eyebrow."And the catch? There's always one."
Daisuke didn't reply at once."No one must know I gave it to you. When you leave here, you'll say you've no mission. Understood?"
The silence thickened. Miyako stared at him, suspicious, but curiosity outweighed distrust."Understood. What's inside?"
"Your target," Daisuke said, lowering his voice. "A Z-Rank hero. Top 10. Japan's number nine."
Miyako looked at him, and for the first time in ages, her expression shifted. It wasn't fear, nor surprise… but the gleam of pure excitement."A Z-Rank…?" she repeated, savouring the idea.
"His name is Kanzō, the Guardian of Dawn." Daisuke leaned back in his chair. "He manipulates sunlight—can concentrate it into blasts or forge it into a shield. In direct combat, his power rivals Crimson Spark."
Miyako laughed, a low, cruel laugh."So they want me to snuff out the sun. Interesting."
Daisuke watched her seriously."This isn't any ordinary contract, Miyako. If you fail, you'll die. No rescue. No backup."
She rose slowly, lifting the envelope with delicate fingers."Dying of boredom would be worse," she murmured, smiling with her usual mix of irony and madness.
Daisuke frowned."Do not take this lightly. He isn't like the others you've faced. If you underestimate him, he'll annihilate you."
Miyako leaned forward, planting both hands on the desk."And if he underestimates me, it will be his last dawn."
The silence stretched until Daisuke nodded."Go. Prepare. But remember: no one can know."
She turned towards the door and, before leaving, threw a final smile over her shoulder."Relax, boss. My mouth's sealed as tightly as this envelope."
The door shut with a soft click.
In the corridor, Miyako held the envelope in her hands, staring at it for a few seconds."A Z-Rank hero…" she thought.
Her pulse quickened.She smiled.
And with an elegant step, she returned to the bar, eyes alight as though already tasting the blood of her next prey.
The murmur of the bar was the same as ever: glasses clinking, rough laughter, conversations that mattered more for what wasn't said.
Miyako crossed the room with the envelope hidden beneath her coat. Her face betrayed nothing, but her stride was firmer than usual.
Ryo spotted her and raised his mug."Hey!" he called over the noise. "Did they give you something?"
Miyako stopped before him. For a fraction of a second she hesitated, recalling Daisuke's words: No one can know."Nothing yet," she lied smoothly. "Seems the boss just wants me as decoration."
Ryo chuckled."Well, at least you're a pretty decoration."
She arched a brow but said nothing. Sitting beside him, she ordered a beer and began to spin the mug between her fingers, eyes fixed on the golden liquid.
Ryo watched her sidelong, as if searching for something behind her calm."You know," he said at last, lowering his voice, "lately I've been thinking about Katsuo."
Miyako raised her gaze slightly."What about him?"
"He hasn't shown up all week," Ryo explained, scratching his neck. "Not once. And that's strange. He's not the type to vanish."
Miyako shrugged."Perhaps he's on a mission."
"Yeah, that's what I thought… but—" Ryo smirked mischievously, "could it be he's in love with someone and that's why he's distracted?"
The air changed in an instant.
Miyako stared at him without expression… and then, almost imperceptibly, drew her submachine gun and levelled it at his forehead.
The metallic click of the safety carried even through the bar's noise.
Ryo froze, his nervous smile dissolving."Hey, hey, it was a joke, Miyako…"
She looked at him with cold eyes, unblinking."Don't joke about that," she said, her voice low, almost a whisper. "It won't end well for you."
For several seconds, no one breathed. Then, slowly, she lowered the weapon, holstered it, and took a sip of beer as though nothing had happened.
Ryo exhaled, forcing a nervous laugh."Always so intense…"
Before the silence could stretch further, Goro appeared from behind the bar, drying his hands with a rag."Here you go, drinks for you two," he said in his usual calm tone.
"Thanks, Goro," Ryo answered, still tense.Then, seizing the moment, he asked, "By the way, you haven't seen Katsuo lately, have you?"
Goro paused a moment, feigning thought."No. Haven't seen him in quite a while. Perhaps he's on a job out of town."
Miyako watched him closely. That tone—too neutral. Something didn't fit.But she chose to say nothing.
"We'll see him soon enough," she said finally, standing.
"Where are you going?" Ryo asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Home. No missions, no fun," she replied, draining the last of her beer. "And if you keep making jokes like that, next time I won't miss."
Ryo raised his hands in surrender, laughing nervously."Got it, Miyako. No jokes, I promise."
She didn't smile. She simply turned on her heel and left the bar, abandoning the murmur and yellowed lights behind her.
As she walked into the night, her mind repeated the same thought:Katsuo's missing… and Daisuke's given me a secret mission.
The air smelt of storm. Something was moving in the shadows.
Night had fallen completely.Streetlamps flickered fitfully, casting yellow flashes across the damp pavement. Miyako walked with hands in her pockets, thoughts spiralling.
"You don't see it, do you?"
The voices returned, soft at first, but laced with mockery.
"Your little friend isn't coming back.""They all end the same… dead, like your family."
Miyako clenched her fists, grinding her teeth."Shut up," she muttered.
The night wind carried the word away as though erasing her rage.
The district still bore the scars of the battle against Crimson Spark. Half-collapsed buildings, shattered glass, walls patched with new boards. Reconstruction was underway, but the air remained heavy, oppressive.
At each step, her boots echoed in the puddles.She thought of Daisuke, of the secret mission, of that name still resounding in her mind: Kanzō, the Guardian of Dawn.
A Z-Rank.A Top 10.The kind of target that meant glory… or death.
But what truly unsettled her wasn't the assignment—it was Katsuo's disappearance.
Ryo had been right: a week was too long.And though she'd never admit it aloud, a part of her considered him… her partner. Perhaps her only real bond in that pack of mercenaries.
"I'd better check myself," she muttered.
The night air grew colder as she turned down Katsuo's street.
In the distance, workers were clearing rubble and installing new electric lights. The smell of fresh cement and dust lingered.
Katsuo's house stood intact, silent, without the slightest sign of life. No open windows, no smoke from the roof.
Miyako halted before the door. She glanced about—no one in sight."All right," she whispered. "Let's see what's going on here."
She vanished.
Her figure melted into the shadows. The lock clicked faintly as it was forced from within.
Inside, the air was stale, tinged with metal and damp wood.She lit the torch on her watch and crept forward.
"Katsuo… are you alive, or did you just leave your house to gather dust?" she joked, though her voice rang too loud in the silence.
She advanced through the corridor, noting every detail: a cup half-washed, Katsuo's jacket hanging on the chair, a dark stain on the floor that looked like old blood.
Her smile faded."I don't like this…"
She knocked lightly on the bathroom door."Katsuo? You taking a shit or fell asleep in there?" she sneered.
Silence.
She turned the knob. Empty.
The bathroom mirror was cracked at the corner, the air damp.
The voices returned, sharper, mocking."You already know, don't you?""He's dead. Like everyone who follows you."
Miyako closed her eyes, drew a long breath."No. He's tougher than that. He doesn't die so easily."
But even as she said it, a weight settled in her chest.
She left the bathroom and leaned against the wall, surveying the house: so orderly, so… frozen in time.
Her reflection in a dusty window smirked back at her."If you're playing games with me, Katsuo… I swear I'll kill you myself."
She switched off the torch and vanished once more.
She slipped out silently, leaving the door ajar.
Outside, the moon faintly lit the reconstructed street.
And there, across the road, a man in a black mask stood watching.Still. Silent. His eyes glinting faintly beneath the shadow of his covering.
The wind tugged at his long coat. In his right hand, the metal of the hook gleamed for a heartbeat before vanishing into the shadows.
Miyako never saw him.But he saw her.