Year 2014
Kyoto,Japan
The sea moved slowly beneath the gray morning sky.
Soft waves rolled against the harbor, their rhythm steady and indifferent to the world beyond them.
A large man stood at the edge of the port, staring at the water.
He looked to be in his late fifties.
Tall. Broad. Built like someone who had spent a lifetime in discipline and war. His shoulders were wide, his posture rigid, and his hands carried the quiet heaviness of a man who had known violence.
A cigar rested between his lips.
His beard was white and thick, and his long hair had been tied behind his head.
He did not look Japanese.
Not even remotely.
If anything, he looked unmistakably Russian.
The man exhaled a slow stream of smoke as he watched the ocean.
Then his phone rang.
The sound broke the quiet.
He pulled the phone from his pocket and answered.
"Yeah?"
A voice spoke from the other side.
"Where are you? Your flight is today. You're coming home, right?"
The Russian glanced at the time on his watch.
"I know," he replied calmly. "My flight's in the evening. It's only eleven now."
He paused for a moment, eyes still fixed on the horizon.
"I'll come back," he said. "But before that… I have something to finish."
The man on the other side began to respond.
But the Russian had already ended the call.
The phone slipped back into his pocket.
Then he turned around and began walking.
The streets of Kyoto were alive with quiet motion.
People passed by him constantly.
Tourists, workers, students.
Everyone was busy with their own lives.
Most of them stared down at their phones.
Some were chatting. Others were scrolling through news feeds.
Headlines about crime, conflicts, disasters—events happening across the world.
But the Russian never looked at them.
None of it interested him.
Instead, his gaze wandered across the city itself.
The trees.
The small rivers cutting through the streets.
Traditional buildings standing quietly beside modern ones.
There was something peaceful about it all.
Something he seemed to appreciate deeply.
For a while, he simply walked.
Until the crowds slowly faded.
The streets grew quieter.
Soon he reached a narrow road where almost no one passed.
The air there felt older.
Quieter.
He kept walking.
Eventually the road led him to a place that looked like a forgotten cemetery.
Ancient stone graves stood unevenly across the ground. Moss and age had claimed most of them.
Some of the gravestones looked as though they had stood there for a century.
The Russian stepped inside.
Slowly, he walked between the graves.
His eyes moved from one name to another.
Searching.
Reading.
Remembering.
Then he stopped.
One of the gravestones caught his attention.
The name had almost completely vanished beneath moss and decay. Only faint scratches remained where letters once existed.
But the years were still visible.
1939 — 1964
The Russian frowned slightly.
"1939…" he murmured.
He shook his head.
"No… that's not him."
He stared at the stone for a moment longer.
Then a memory surfaced.
A small detail.
Something he hadn't thought about in years.
"The goggles…" he whispered to himself.
His eyes shifted toward another grave.
"If it was the one with the goggles… then it should be on the left."
He turned.
A few steps away stood another gravestone.
This one was larger than the rest.
Better crafted.
Almost as if someone had once cared deeply about the man buried beneath it.
But time had erased everything.
The name was gone.
The dates were gone.
Nothing remained.
The Russian didn't seem to notice.
Or perhaps he simply didn't need to.
He walked toward the grave slowly.
Then, without hesitation, he dropped to his knees before it.
His head lowered.
The cigar fell from his fingers into the dirt.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
And then—
The man began to cry.
Quietly.
Uncontrollably.
Like someone mourning a ghost that had never truly left him.
Year 2018
San Francisco, United States
A quiet neighborhood park rested beneath the fading light of the evening.
Four middle-school kids ran wildly across the grass, their laughter echoing through the open field. None of them looked older than twelve or thirteen.
They were playing tag.
One girl and three boys.
"Got you!" shouted the boy with the sharp eyes as he sprinted toward the girl.
His movements were fast and aggressive, almost competitive.
Just as he stretched his arm forward to grab her—
She tripped.
Her foot caught on the uneven ground and she fell hard onto the grass.
Before anyone else reacted, the boy with glasses rushed forward and helped her up.
"Are you okay?" he asked nervously.
Another boy ran over too. A small cross necklace hung from his neck, bouncing against his shirt.
He glared at the sharp-eyed boy.
"Come on! You need to be gentle. She's a girl!"
The sharp-eyed boy rolled his eyes.
"So what if she's a girl? She's a year older than me anyway."
The boy with glasses hesitated.
"M-maybe… you should apologize."
"SHUT UP!" the sharp-eyed boy barked.
The glasses boy immediately went quiet.
The boy with the necklace looked ready to argue back—but before he could speak, the girl raised her hand.
"Guys, it's fine," she said calmly. "I'm okay. Accidents happen when we play."
"Are you sure?" the necklace boy asked.
She nodded with a smile.
"Yeah."
The sharp-eyed boy clapped his hands suddenly.
"Alright, listen up! Today's the day."
The others looked at him.
"Tonight we're going to the abandoned ghost building."
The necklace boy grinned slightly.
"Right… but is everyone ready?"
The glasses boy swallowed.
"I'm a little scared… but I'll manage."
The girl thought for a moment.
"Sometimes my mom checks on me at night," she said. "Maybe we should go later than we planned."
"We said nine o'clock," the sharp-eyed boy replied.
"How about eleven?" she suggested.
The boy paused, thinking.
"…Fine. Eleven it is."
He pointed to the ground.
"Meet right here at eleven. Now go home."
The group separated, each heading toward their houses.
⸻
The girl reached home shortly after.
She had dinner with her family, then went to her room and started playing video games as if nothing unusual was happening.
Time passed slowly.
At 9:00 PM, she climbed into bed and pretended to sleep.
Her eyes remained fixed on the glowing numbers of the clock.
She waited.
And waited.
Finally—
11:00 PM.
She quietly stood up, opened the window, and carefully climbed outside.
The cold night air brushed against her face as she landed on the ground.
She ran toward the park.
The three boys were already there.
The sharp-eyed boy looked at her up and down.
"What are you wearing?"
She was wearing her night suit.
"It's what people wear when they sleep," she replied. "Don't you guys wear anything?"
The glasses boy shrugged.
"Just normal clothes."
The sharp-eyed boy waved it off.
"Whatever. Let's go."
He switched on a small flashlight.
⸻
After walking several dark streets, they finally reached it.
The abandoned building.
It stood like a massive stone giant in the darkness.
The structure looked like an old government building—tall, square, and lifeless. Broken windows stared down at them like empty eyes.
Paint peeled from the walls.
Rust clung to the metal frames.
Some of the outer pillars were cracked, and vines had slowly begun reclaiming parts of the structure.
The wind whistled through shattered glass panels, creating a faint haunting sound.
The sharp-eyed boy pushed the door open.
It creaked loudly.
Inside, a horrible smell greeted them.
Rotten wood, mold, and damp paper filled the air.
All four kids immediately covered their noses.
They stepped inside.
The floor was a mess of broken furniture.
Chairs with missing legs.
Tables split in half.
Shattered glass scattered everywhere.
Pieces of stone and chunks of ceiling plaster lay across the floor like debris from a forgotten disaster.
Their footsteps echoed through the empty halls.
Cobwebs hung from the ceiling corners like gray curtains.
The flashlight beam moved nervously through the darkness as they climbed the stairs.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Finally they reached the third floor.
At the end of the hallway stood a single door.
Locked.
The glasses boy stepped back.
"What should we do? It's locked… and I'm getting really scared."
The girl nodded quickly.
"Maybe we should go back."
"Shut up, both of you," the sharp-eyed boy snapped.
He pulled something from his backpack.
"My dad's hammer. I took it before leaving."
With all his strength—
BANG!
The hammer smashed into the lock.
One strike.
Two strikes.
Three—
The lock broke.
The door creaked open.
They slowly stepped inside.
The room was dark and dusty.
Old tables and chairs were piled in the corners. The floor was covered with scattered papers that looked like government records or historical documents.
Dust covered everything.
The glasses boy sighed in relief.
"See? No ghosts. Just boring records."
"Yeah," the necklace boy agreed. "Let's go back."
"Fine," said the sharp-eyed boy.
They turned to leave.
But then—
"Wait."
The sharp-eyed boy pointed his flashlight toward the corner.
"A closet."
The glasses boy groaned.
"Why? There's no reason to open it."
"Come on," the sharp-eyed boy insisted. "We leave after that."
The necklace boy sighed.
"Fine."
They walked over and grabbed the closet doors.
They pulled.
Nothing.
It was jammed.
"Push harder," said the sharp-eyed boy.
All four of them pulled together.
Suddenly—
BUMP!
The door burst open.
Dozens of files and papers fell out, scattering across the floor.
The glasses boy looked disappointed.
"See? Just boring files."
But the sharp-eyed boy suddenly noticed something.
"Hey… look at this."
He shined the flashlight on a strange file.
The others leaned closer.
"What does it mean?" asked the glasses boy.
"Don't ask me," said the sharp-eyed boy.
"Open it," the necklace boy suggested.
The girl stepped back nervously.
"Guys… now I'm actually scared."
On the cover of the file, bold letters were written:
THE MONARCH OF THE WORLD
The sharp-eyed boy opened it.
"What is this?" he muttered. "I don't understand anything. What language is this?"
The necklace boy looked closely.
"Maybe French… or Spanish."
The glasses boy sighed.
"Well nobody here knows those languages."
"Let's leave," the girl said again.
The sharp-eyed boy kept flipping through the pages.
Then suddenly—
"Hey! This part is English. Glasses, you read it."
"Why me?"
"Because you're a nerd."
The glasses boy reluctantly began reading.
"Once upon a time… in a small village… there lived an Angel."
The others listened.
"She was divine and kind. She helped the villagers, and they depended on her."
"But one day… goblins attacked the village."
"Many villagers died."
"The Angel was the only one left alive."
"Then a human saved her."
"They fell in love… married…"
"And they had a child."
"A girl."
"She was an Imp."
He stopped reading.
"The end."
The sharp-eyed boy frowned.
"What kind of ridiculous story is this?"
He snatched the file and threw it aside.
The file hit the floor—
And a photograph slipped out.
The kids looked down.
The photo showed a man on his knees.
His face was outside the frame.
His body was riddled with bullet wounds.
Blood covered his clothes.
His arms were spread out.
The room suddenly felt colder.
The sharp-eyed boy looked away.
"Don't bother with this stuff," he said. "It's probably fake history or some weird prank."
He turned toward the door.
"Let's go."
One by one, the kids followed him out.
But just before leaving—
The boy with the cross necklace glanced back at the file.
For a few seconds… he stared at it silently.
Then he turned and left the room.
Year 1959 — Ballyhilin, Ireland
Time: 9:46 AM
The harbor was alive with movement.
Waves struck the wooden docks as workers rushed back and forth, loading the final cargo onto a large passenger ship preparing for departure to Norway.
Crates slammed against the deck. Thick ropes creaked as they were tightened. Seagulls circled overhead, crying loudly in the cold morning air.
Among the chaos moved the ship's captain.
"Come on, boys! We've got little time!" he shouted while walking quickly across the deck.
The man's name was Captain Michael.
He was in his mid-fifties, with weathered skin and a thick beard touched by gray. His entire life had been spent on the sea, and it showed in the confident way he moved across the ship.
"Show those beautiful girls back home what you're made of!" he called out.
He pointed toward one sailor.
"Jack! Faster! Didn't your wife feed you this morning?"
The crew laughed nervously as they worked faster.
"And Bran! Not like that—spread the net properly!"
Then he turned again.
"Jordan! Move it! Ten minutes, boys. That's all we've got!"
The ship preparing to leave the port was not an ordinary one.
Among the passengers were several wealthy businessmen, influential figures, and even a relative of a former French president. Their elegant clothing and expensive luggage made them stand out sharply against the rough working crew.
But because of an unexpected administrative emergency, another group had been placed on board as well.
Prisoners.
They were not violent criminals—only people who had entered the country illegally and were being transported elsewhere.
Still, their presence disgusted many of the wealthy passengers.
The rich travelers stayed in their luxurious section of the ship, refusing even to look at the prisoners. Their pride kept them separated, as if the others carried some invisible disease.
Soon the last ropes were untied.
The ship slowly pulled away from the harbor.
Within minutes the port had begun shrinking behind them. The coastline of Ireland faded into the distance as the vessel moved farther into the sea.
They were nearly one to two kilometers away from land when the shouting started.
A loud voice echoed across the deck.
"HOW DARE YOU!"
Passengers turned to look.
One of the crew members—Jack—stood frozen in place, staring at the ground.
Water dripped from a glass he had been carrying.
Apparently, by accident, he had spilled a little of it onto one of the wealthy passengers.
The man's face burned with rage.
"You piece of trash!" he screamed. "Do you even know who I am? I could destroy you in seconds!"
Jack said nothing.
He kept his head lowered.
Suddenly—
SLAP!
The rich man struck him across the face.
The sound echoed across the deck.
Just then, Captain Michael arrived.
"What's going on here?"
No one answered.
They didn't need to.
One glance was enough to understand.
The wealthy passenger turned toward Michael and shouted,
"So you're the captain, huh? Listen carefully, old lapdog. I'll destroy your career—and your crew's—because this stupid bastard ruined my clothes!"
Michael inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
And in the next second—
CRACK!
His hand struck the man's face with full force.
The slap was so powerful that the man collapsed onto the deck, blood spilling from his nose.
Everyone froze.
No one had expected that.
Michael grabbed the man by his collar and forced him back onto his feet.
"Don't forget where you are," Michael said coldly.
His voice was calm, but heavy with authority.
"This is my ship. My property. Just because you bought a ticket doesn't make you the owner."
He leaned closer.
"So if you don't want to be thrown into the sea, stay silent."
Michael released him.
The wealthy passenger staggered backward, speechless.
Michael then turned toward Jack.
"Jack. Go to the storage area."
Jack nodded quickly and ran toward the lower deck.
Despite the sting on his face, admiration filled his chest.
That was why he respected Captain Michael.
One day… he wanted to become a captain just like him.
⸻
Jack hurried down the narrow metal stairs leading toward the ship's storage section.
The deeper he went, the darker the corridors became.
Finally he reached the last stair.
He stepped into the room.
Then froze.
His heart nearly stopped.
His legs trembled uncontrollably.
The storage room was filled with explosives.
Bombs.
Oil barrels.
Dynamite sticks.
Boxes of gunpowder.
There was enough explosive material there to destroy ten ships the size of this one.
But something even stranger stood in the center of the room.
A single box, neatly wrapped like a gift.
Jack's breathing became erratic.
With shaking hands, he ran back toward the stairs.
"CAPTAIN!" he shouted desperately.
Within minutes, Michael and several crew members rushed down.
They stepped into the room.
And their reactions were the same as Jack's.
Shock.
Fear.
Confusion.
Only Captain Michael managed to control himself.
But even he looked pale.
The shouting had already attracted attention.
Some passengers and even a few prisoners came down the stairs to see what was happening.
The moment they saw the explosives—
They ran back upstairs in panic, spreading the news.
Michael slowly walked toward the gift box.
He picked it up carefully.
Then carried it upstairs, where a large crowd had gathered on the deck.
Everyone watched in silence as he opened it.
Inside the box was a Bible.
Michael lifted it out.
Underneath it lay a tape recorder.
And beneath that—
A strange remote device with a single button.
After several tense moments of discussion, they decided to play the recording.
Michael pressed the play button.
Static crackled.
Then a young man's voice filled the air.
"Hello, everyone."
The voice sounded calm.
"If you're hearing this… that means you've played the recorder."
A pause.
"And if you played it… you probably found my gift."
Then the voice exploded into insane laughter.
"AND SOMETHING ELSE WITH IT!"
"AHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The laughter was wild and terrifying.
Nobody laughed.
Everyone felt fear crawling through their bodies.
The voice continued.
"Sorry… my bad."
"Well anyway… this is a game."
"A psychological game."
"Let's play, my dear friends."
A brief pause.
"The rules are simple."
"You have that remote."
"It can stop the boom that will happen in five minutes."
"But if you press it… instead of you… a school and a Hospital in the city will explode."
Another pause.
"But honestly… I don't care."
"You're already standing here."
"So…"
"Have fun."
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The maniacal laughter echoed through the speakers until the recording finally stopped.
Silence covered the ship.
Then chaos erupted.
"PRESS THE BUTTON!" one of the rich passengers screamed.
"We'll be saved!"
The prisoners quickly agreed.
"Do it!"
Captain Michael shook his head.
"We can't make a decision like this."
"We don't even know if the message is true."
"We've already wasted three minutes!" someone shouted. "Why should we die for people we don't even know?"
"Shut up!" Michael barked. "Let me think."
"There's no time to think!" a prisoner shouted.
Suddenly the man lunged forward, trying to grab the remote.
Michael reacted instantly.
He threw the device across the deck.
"Jack!"
Jack reached out to catch it—
But another passenger shoved him aside.
The man grabbed the remote.
Without hesitation—
He pressed the button.
A wave of relief spread across the crowd.
People sighed.
Some even laughed nervously.
"We're saved," someone whispered.
The passengers rushed toward the edge of the ship, staring toward the distant city on the coast of Ireland.
Even from the sea…
They could see it.
Dark smoke rising into the sky above the city.
But the next second–
BOOOOM!
The ship also exploded.
The rules were never real,
And
On the Port Someone was watching them
The ship
The blast
As the Ship blasted The man started to laugh crazily "HAHAHAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA"
Soon he sat down on his Knees while laughing
He Grabs his stomach with one hand and with other he started to punch the floor
But he didn't stop Laughing
"HAHAHAHHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA"
Chapter ends
To be continued