The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains of Nagisa Shiota's small Tokyo apartment, casting a pale golden glow over the room. The air smelled faintly of ramen broth and paper—old notebooks and photographs stacked neatly on his shelves. Nagisa sat on the tatami mat, a steaming bowl of noodles before him, his chopsticks resting lightly in his hands. Outside, the city moved with its usual rhythm: taxis honked faintly, commuters hurried past the narrow streets below, unaware of the quiet figure lost in thought.
Nagisa picked up the first bite of ramen, but paused, staring at the framed photographs lining the wall beside the kitchen table. There were pictures of his old students from Class 3-E—some had aged, others still bore the spark of youth he remembered. Karma Akabane's defiant smirk captured perfectly, Kayano's gentle smile, Sugino's determined look, and even Okuda's endless cheerfulness. And in one frame, slightly faded, was Koro-sensei: impossibly round, impossibly bright, impossibly gone.
Nagisa exhaled softly, almost whispering to himself.
"It's been years… and yet… it feels like yesterday."
He remembered standing in that classroom, years ago, feeling small and insignificant, a shadow amid brighter personalities. The kid who had once trembled at Karma's teasing, the one who had doubted himself, had grown—not only in skill but in heart. Yet growth came with memories that still weighed heavily on him. The faces of those who had passed… the friends lost too soon… he still saw them when he closed his eyes.
Kaede Kayano. Her sudden smile. Her laughter that had lit up even the darkest moments. Gone, taken too early. He had been powerless to save her, and every day since had been a quiet reckoning with that failure.
"If only I had…"
Nagisa swallowed the thought, tasting the bitter broth as it burned slightly on his tongue. He focused on the steam rising from the bowl, a fragile reminder that life persisted, that he persisted.
A faint knock at the door startled him. Nagisa's eyes flicked to the apartment entrance, a flash of instinct sharpening his senses. His hands didn't tremble, but the memory of his training—the countless hours learning observation, deduction, and assassination—rushed to the forefront. Slowly, deliberately, he approached the door, peering through the small peephole. The face on the other side was unfamiliar but carried an unmistakable presence: cold, calculating, direct. The aura of danger was immediate, undeniable. Then he just waited and began leaning against the wall in wait thinking Nagisa was busy or something.
Nagisa's mind raced, not with panic but with methodical assessment. The person on the other side would not hesitate. They would not negotiate. They were the type to deliver their mission without preamble, without mercy. And yet, despite the threat, Nagisa felt a strange clarity: he was ready. And he could tell due to his intutation that this was someone sent to kill him.
But even as he prepared, his thoughts drifted backward, as they often did. He remembered the farewell party thrown by his students a month ago, the voices of those who had once mocked him now ringing with admiration and warmth.
"You really changed, Nagisa," Karma had said, smirking but with an undeniable sincerity in his eyes."I mean it… you're not the same timid kid from middle school. You fought for us, taught us, and… maybe even saved us in ways you don't even realize."
Nagisa remembered looking at each of them—those he had once thought of as his "students," but who had become his mirror, reflecting the person he was striving to become. Some were on the verge of tears. Others masked their emotions behind awkward grins, but all of them shared a quiet reverence he had never known before.
He remembered Araga's words most clearly, whispered just before he left the classroom for the last time:
"Don't forget… everything you taught us wasn't just about fighting. It was about life. Don't ever forget that."
Nagisa had smiled then, but the smile had carried a quiet ache. He had said goodbye not just to his students but to a chapter of life that had defined him. Even now, months later, that ache lingered—a bittersweet companion.
He glanced back at the photographs. There were images of moments he had once thought trivial: a picnic with students, late-night study sessions, awkward attempts at sports day competitions. Each frame was a frozen fragment of life that had, at the time, seemed small but now carried immense weight.
"We were… alive together," he thought. "Even if some of us didn't survive it."
His eyes lingered on one particular photograph, partially obscured by the frame of a larger group shot. It was Kaede, laughing with her eyes closed, unaware of the danger that loomed over her life. Nagisa felt a pang in his heart, an ache that never quite faded. He reached out, fingertips brushing the glass lightly, and whispered:
"I didn't fail you… not entirely. I… I'll keep moving forward… for all of you."
Nagisa shook his head, as if to dispel the memories that had momentarily pinned him. He returned to his ramen, savoring the warmth and the simple, fleeting comfort it brought. For a being who had once lived under constant threat, the quiet simplicity of a meal was a treasure.
The knock came again, louder this time. Nagisa's instincts flared. Slowly, he set down his chopsticks, wiped his hands on a cloth, and moved toward the door. His movements were precise, measured—not the hurried motion of fear but the calculated approach of someone who had survived countless life-and-death situations.
He looked through the peephole again. The figure remained the same: an assassin's presence, cold and unyielding. Nagisa could tell from the stance, the aura, even the eyes, that this was someone trained, someone dangerous, someone who would not relent.
He opened the door slowly.
"I am Yoku Hakumura," the figure said, voice calm but carrying an unmistakable weight. "I am an assassin sent to eliminate you."
Nagisa's heart did not skip a beat, but his mind raced. Years of training, years of experience, had led him to this moment. He did not flinch. Instead, he studied Hakumura, analyzing posture, gaze, the slightest twitch of muscle, the tone of speech. This was not a negotiation; this was a challenge, and he had faced challenges before.
Nagisa stepped aside, inviting the visitor in. His voice, calm and measured, carried the weight of experience.
"Then let's talk," he said.
Once the door was closed, Nagisa sank into the small chair beside his table, the faint aroma of ramen still lingering in the air. He studied Hakumura carefully, noting the subtle details: the glint in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the faint smirk that suggested confidence in his mission. Nagisa understood the type immediately: bold, ruthless, and precise. But he had faced impossible odds before. He had survived. He had grown.
As Hakumura stepped further into the apartment, Nagisa's thoughts drifted again. He thought of his own failures, the friends he had lost, the lives that had ended too soon. He thought of Koro-sensei, whose guidance had been both harsh and gentle, whose lessons had carved Nagisa into the person he was today. And he thought of his students—the people who had once doubted him, now looking up to him with respect and admiration.
He had lived through pain, loss, and fear, and he had emerged stronger, yet still human. Still capable of feeling, of longing, of remembering. And now, facing this new threat, Nagisa realized something: it wasn't just his skill or his training that mattered. It was the people he had loved, the lessons he had learned, and the life he had built that gave him strength.
"I survived before… and I will survive again," he thought, voice silent but resolute.
He looked at Hakumura again, eyes sharp and focused. "I want to know… who sent you, and why. But more importantly… I want to understand you first."
Hakumura tilted his head slightly, as if intrigued by Nagisa's composure. "You are calm… considering you have been given a death sentence. Most would panic, yet you… observe. You calculate. I see the shadow of your past life… but also the light."
Nagisa's lips twitched in a faint smile. "The past is never gone. But it doesn't control me. It teaches me. And today… I choose to face it."
For a long moment, silence hung between them. Outside, the city continued its restless rhythm, oblivious to the quiet tension within the small apartment. Inside, Nagisa felt the full weight of his journey—the kid he had been, the person he had become, the teacher he had been, the friend he had lost. And he realized something essential: no matter what came next, he would not face it alone. The memories of those who had touched his life, the lessons of his teacher, the bonds with his students—they were all part of him now, a silent army of support and strength.
And as Hakumura stepped closer, the faintest flicker of a smile played across Nagisa's face. Not fear. Not hesitation. Just resolve.
"Let's begin," he whispered, almost to himself, a quiet promise to his past, his present, and whatever future awaited him.
To Be Continued…