New York's underworld was unusually loud that night.
Inside a gym reeking of blood and iron, a hulking mutant—known only as Ghoul—grinned as he crushed a dumbbell into a lump of mangled steel.
"Beautiful day to make a fortune," he muttered, voice dripping arrogance. "By tomorrow, every gang in this city will kneel—or get buried."
His bones crackled as he flexed, power rippling beneath his grayish skin.
Then a voice cut through the room—light, casual, and far too calm for this den of monsters.
"Talking to yourself now? That's usually the first sign of brain rot."
Ghoul froze. He spun around—only to find a stranger standing in his private suite, smiling faintly as if he'd walked into a café instead of a murder pit.
The intruder looked young—Japanese, lean build, bright eyes. The kind of guy who didn't belong anywhere near the criminal underworld.
"Who the hell are you?!" Ghoul barked, panic twisting through his rage. "How'd you get in here?!"
The boy—Ryuuto—tilted his head. "You finally noticed me. Cute. Here's your prize."
He flicked his wrist.
A dozen Sand Shuriken hissed through the air.
Ghoul barely dodged. The sand blades carved into the floor like razors. Worse, they seemed alive—swarming, flowing toward him with hunger.
Before he could counter, pain shot up his leg. He looked down and saw sand coiling around his ankle, hardening like concrete.
"Congratulations," Ryuuto said dryly. "You triggered my trap."
"Sand Binding Coffin!"
The sand surged upward, wrapping Ghoul's body in a crushing embrace.
"Bastard!" Ghoul roared, unleashing a blinding beam of X-energy from his palms. The shockwave tore through the sand and freed him—but not without ripping his own skin raw.
He leapt back, grabbed the chandelier above, and hurled it like a wrecking ball.
"Talk, kid! Who sent you?! You want to die this badly?!"
Ryuuto didn't move. The sand around him simply lifted, devouring the chandelier mid-air.
"I don't need to explain myself," he said, voice calm but sharp. "You're just another loudmouth who thinks New York belongs to him. Guess what—tonight, I'm cleaning up the trash."
The door slammed open—Ghoul's men stormed in, armed and shouting.
"Boss! We got him surrounded!"
Ghoul sneered, confidence returning. "You're finished, brat."
But the "brat" didn't even blink. He floated a few inches above the ground, eyes glowing with gold chakra light.
The sand howled to life.
In a blink, the chandelier shattered, the mob was thrown into the walls, and Ryuuto's voice rang out cold and clear:
"Sand Waterfall Funeral."
The ground erupted. Screams filled the room.
Every thug was buried beneath a roaring tide of sand, swallowed whole before they could even reload.
When the storm settled, only Ghoul remained—half-dead, bleeding, clutching two skeletal remains of his men as failed shields.
"You… you monster," he rasped.
Ryuuto stepped forward, forming a shuriken from golden sand. "Monster? That's rich. You've been running a black-market ring trafficking mutants. I'm the guy cleaning your mess."
Ghoul staggered back, trembling. "If it's money you want—I'll pay! Name your price!"
Ryuuto paused. "Money, huh? How about… one billion dollars?"
Ghoul's eyes lit up. "Done! You'll have it right now!"
"Cool," Ryuuto said, smile returning. "Then go to hell rich."
Ghoul's eyes widened. "Wha—"
Twin X-beams shot from his hands—but they struck only sand. Ryuuto vanished in a swirl of dust and reappeared behind him.
The shuriken glowed crimson.
It sliced clean through the air.
A single heartbeat later, Ghoul hit the ground, silent.
Ryuuto exhaled slowly, the sand retreating around him like loyal soldiers returning to their post.
[Ding! Mission Complete.]
[Reward: +10 Stat Points | Skill Proficiency Increased]
Shion's voice yawned in his head.
"Wow, you actually didn't blow up the whole block this time. Character development, Host."
"Keep talking, and I'll delete your voice pack," Ryuuto muttered, glancing at the fallen villain. "Another one down. New York's filth level: slightly less disgusting."
He turned toward the shattered window, wind whipping through his hair.
Somewhere far above, the city lights shimmered like embers—mocking, watching.
"Red Mirage," he murmured. "Guess that name's starting to fit."