The city never slept, but Itsuki moved through it like a ghost. Crowds spilled from bars and
late-night shops, neon signs bleeding colors across wet asphalt. No one noticed him,
though he noticed everyone. He counted exits the moment he stepped into a street. He
measured footsteps behind him, the rhythm of every shadow, the weight of every glance
that lingered too long.
Five years ago, he was frail, sleepless, broken. Now, he was carved from discipline and
obsession. Hayato had taught him how to move without being seen, how to turn silence
into a weapon sharper than steel.
His eyes locked on two men leaning against a shuttered storefront. One smoked, the other
checked the alley every few seconds. Their jackets were cheap, but their shoes were
expensive. Wrong balance. Wrong priority. Criminals. And then Itsuki saw it scratched
into the metal clasp of a belt the same jagged mark as the glove. The gang's symbol.
He didn't approach. Not yet. He followed them from a distance, slipping into shadows,
blending with drunks, keeping his pace irregular. They entered a narrow alley, laughing too loud. Itsuki was already ahead of them, perched on a fire escape, waiting.
The taller one lit another cigarette. The flame flickered, reflected in his eyes.
"You hear? Boss wants more girls. Younger this time. Says the last one was too much
trouble."
Itsuki's blood went cold, but his breathing stayed steady. He didn't need to hear more.
Dropping down silently, he let his shadow fall over them. The smaller man turned first,
eyes wide, but before he could scream Itsuki pressed a blade against his throat. The taller
one froze.
"You move," Itsuki whispered, voice flat, "and he dies before you take a step."
The thug stammered, "W-who the hell are you?"
"I'm the mistake you guys made five years ago," Itsuki said, tightening the blade. "Now talk. The glove. The symbol. Who do you work for?"
The taller one swallowed hard. "We we don't know names. Orders come through the
syndicate. Dockside. Warehouse district. That's all I know!"
Itsuki's eyes narrowed. Lies tasted different in the air, and he could smell them. Hayato's
voice echoed in his memory: Don't ask for the truth. Force it out. Fear is the sharpest tool.
He pressed harder, the blade nicking skin. The thug whimpered.
"Wait! Wait! We only follow our boss sumiyoshi's orders! He's the one who collects."
Sumiyoshi. A thread at last.
Itsuki didn't linger for threats. He moved with the speed of someone who'd practiced
silencing bodies until it was muscle memory. In two clean motions he closed the distance:
a sharp palm strike under the jaw to loosen the smaller man's knees, then a precise hit at
the base of the neck that flooded the limbs with numbness. The taller one tried to lunge,
and Itsuki's forearm snapped against the side of his neck, seizing a carotid pressure point
until the man's legs folded like a marionette with cut strings. Both men went down without
the air filling the alley with screams unconscious, breathing shallow but alive.
Itsuki stepped back into the shadow and watched them crumple. To the thugs they were
just two ghosts on the pavement. To Itsuki they were tools who'd given him the name he
needed.
"Pray you never see me again," he whispered, then vanished into the night.
Hours later, he returned to the hospital. His hands were clean, but his eyes burned. Sitting
beside Miyu's bed, he whispered, "I'm closer now. Just a little longer… then you'll open
your eyes and see what I've become. The world won't hurt you again."
He brushed her hair back gently, the predator and the boy colliding inside him. And for the
first time in weeks, he almost smiled because for once, the hunt had truly begun.
Itsuki went back to his apartment, though rest was never something he found. He lay on his bed, eyes wide open, unable to escape the insomnia that chained him. When the first light of morning slipped past his window, he left and wandered aimlessly. On the way, he passed by the old school where he and Miyu once shared days of warmth and quiet moments. As he walked past, he suddenly heard someone shout from behind. "Hey, hey, hey! Wait! You dropped your pen!" Itsuki turned around, slightly startled. A girl around his age stood there, holding out a pen. Her voice felt
oddly familiar. He recognized her Miri but she didn't recognize him. How could she? His face
had changed, marked with scars, his body hardened, his entire presence darker. "You didn't have to return it," Itsuki muttered quietly. "You can keep it." He tried to walk away, not wishing to linger, but he whispered softly under his breath, "Thanks… Miri." The girl blinked. "Hey, wait! It's yours, I can't take it. And… did you just say my name? Do I know you?" Itsuki ignored her, brushing her off with cold indifference, and kept walking. Human connections were no longer something he cared to hold. "You're so rude," Miri muttered, chasing after him a little. "You remind me of someone from my school days. Whatever, I have to go to the hospital to visit a friend." At that, Itsuki's steps faltered.Could she mean Miyu? Still, he said nothing and walked on. The girl eventually realized they were walking the same way for too long. "Hey… are you also heading to the hospital by any chance?"
she asked. "Or are you really just trying to get your pen back?" Itsuki quickened his pace, ignoring her entirely. He entered the hospital, leaving her behind. Miri frowned. "What a weird dude… and rude too. He should at least say something when others talk to him." When Itsuki entered Miyu's room, he silently began combing her hair, the same ritual he had performed for years. To him, it
was a sacred duty his way of apologizing, of keeping her alive in the world she could not wake into. Miri, arriving moments later, stopped in shock. "Are you some kind of creep with weird kinks?
What the hell are you doing to my friend?!" She called for the doctor in alarm. The doctor and a
nurse rushed in. But upon seeing Itsuki, the nurse relaxed. "Oh, it's just him. There's nothing to
worry about. You should calm down, young lady. That boy never left her side in these years. He never missed a day. Though… he usually comes at night. Strange he's here early today." Miri
blinked, confused. "What do you mean? Who is he? Her distant relative or something? I've never seen him before." The nurse gave her a small smile. "His name is Itsuki. He's a good boy, though he doesn't speak much. I've been here since the girl was admitted, and so has he. Always here, always tending to her. He doesn't talk to anyone but Miyu. I only know his name because of the visitors' files." The name hit Miri like lightning. She stared wide-eyed at the boy with scars, his hands gently brushing Miyu's hair. "Itsuki…? Wh-what?! That Itsuki?? From our school?? Are you
for real?!" Her voice rose in disbelief. "You disappeared right after the incident with Miyu. Everyone was so worried! Where the hell were you?!" She looked at him closer, her voice trembling between shock and recognition. "No wonder your crappy personality seemed familiar… but… what the hell
happened to you? Those scars… your body… you've changed so much." Itsuki's hand paused as he looked at Miyu's sleeping face, his voice quiet but sharp with conviction. "I never left Miyu.
Because in this world, she's the one who matters to me. Nothing else."