The sterile air of the underground laboratory tasted of ozone and antiseptic. Fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered overhead, casting long, trembling shadows across rows of dormant machinery. In the center of the room stood a cylindrical pod, taller than a man, filled with a viscous, phosphorescent blue liquid that pulsed with a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
The man known only as Subject Gamma approached the pod, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. In his gloved hand, he clutched a small vial. Inside, blood swirled—crimson, vibrant, and impossibly potent. Hiro Mizuki's blood.
"After all this time," he whispered, his voice a dry rasp against the silence. "All the failures, the degradation, the dead ends…" He raised the vial to the dim light, watching the rich red liquid cling to the glass. "The key was never in synthesis. It was in the source."
His hand trembled, not from fear, but from a feverish, all-consuming anticipation. With meticulous care, he slotted the vial into a port on the pod's console. A soft hiss filled the room as a mechanical arm retrieved it. He watched, breath held, as the vial was positioned above a clear intake tube.
The blood descended, a single, thick droplet at first, then a steady stream. It traveled through the labyrinth of tubes, a scarlet river against sterile white, until it met the glowing blue bio-gel within the pod. The two fluids did not mix immediately. The blood resisted, swirling in intricate patterns before slowly, inevitably, beginning to diffuse, staining the blue with threads of deep, corrupted violet.
The preparation was complete.
Gamma moved to a heavy medical chair bolted to the floor beside the pod. He sat, the cold leather creaking under his weight. From the side of the pod, a thick, reinforced tube extended, terminating in a vicious-looking injection needle, its point gleaming under the lights.
He did not hesitate. With a practiced motion, he gripped the back of his own neck, tilted his head, and guided the needle to a marked spot just below his skull.
SQUELCH.
The sound was wet, final. The needle bit deep, anchoring itself with a series of tiny, internal clamps. A sharp gasp escaped him, his knuckles turning white where they gripped the armrests. On the console beside him, a holographic display flickered to life, showing two sets of vitals: his own, and the pod's now-hybridized solution.
"Initiating transfer," he commanded, his voice tight.
A deep thrumming emanated from the pod. The violet liquid began to churn, agitated by unseen forces. Then, with a powerful surge, it rushed through the tube.
The moment it entered his bloodstream, Gamma's world dissolved into white-hot agony.
It was not mere pain; it was an invasion. A torrent of raw, foreign power crashed into him, burning through his veins like molten lead. His back arched violently, straining against the restraints he hadn't bothered with. Every nerve ending screamed. Visions, fractured and blinding, exploded behind his eyes:
A golden-eyed wolf, roaring under a full moon.
The visceral snap of bone and tendon, giving way to immense, transformative power.
A feeling of absolute, untamed strength.
And deeper, a warmth, a protective fury—Hiro's love for the cat-girl, Luna—a sensation that felt alien and sickeningly sweet to Gamma.
"No!" he snarled, teeth grinding. "Not that! Give me the POWER! Only the POWER!"
The monitors erupted in frantic alarms. Heart rate skyrocketed. Brainwave activity became chaotic, spiking into dangerous red zones.
"Critical instability detected. Cerebral overload imminent. Recommend immediate cessation."
"I said… NO!" Gamma roared, slamming a fist onto the console, cracking the screen. The alarms died into static.
The transformation within him was a war. His own cells fought the invading DNA, rejecting the graft. He could feel tissues tearing and re-knitting, bones aching with the memory of a different shape. His human form felt like a prison, a pathetic shell straining to contain a sun.
And then, a tipping point.
The agony didn't fade—it changed. It morphed from a destructive force into a catalyst. The foreign DNA stopped fighting and began to consume, to rewrite. A deep, resonant growl built in his chest, a sound no human throat should make.
His body began to change.
It was more violent, more explosive than Hiro's transformations. Where Hiro's shifts were a surge of majestic, controlled power, Gamma's was a brutal eruption. His muscles didn't just grow; they swelled, tearing through his clothes, bulging with grotesque, exaggerated mass. His skeleton cracked and lengthened, pushing him to a staggering eight feet tall. Coarse, jet-black fur sprouted like a shadow across his skin, and through it, burning like fresh wounds, pulsed vivid, crimson streaks—a corrupted echo of Hiro's orange.
His hands twisted into massive paws, claws like black diamonds extending with sickening clicks. His jaw distended, rows of serrated fangs forcing their way past his lips, which peeled back in a permanent, snarling rictus. And his eyes—they opened, glowing with a hellish, intelligent crimson light.
The transfer tube disconnected automatically, retracting into the pod.
Silence.
Gamma—the creature that was once Gamma—slowly stood. The medical chair groaned, then buckled under his weight, collapsing with a crash. He looked down at his new hands, turning them over, clenching and unclenching his fists. The raw, intoxicating flood of strength was unlike anything he'd ever simulated. It was primal. It was absolute.
He took a step, then another, each footfall a heavy thud that shook the floor. He raised his head, filled his massive lungs, and ROARED.
The sound was a physical wave. Glass monitors shattered. Support beams trembled. Dust rained from the ceiling. It was a roar of triumph, of agony transcended, of pure, unleashed id.
"YES!" his voice boomed, deeper and more distorted than Hiro's, layered with a guttural menace. "THIS! This is the feeling! This PAIN! This GLORY!"
He swung a clawed fist at a reinforced concrete support column. It didn't just crack—it vaporized in an explosion of dust and rubble. He laughed, the sound echoing monstrously in the ruined lab.
"Stronger," he rumbled, examining the destruction. "Faster. Better. No gentle heart to hold me back. No love to make me weak." He flexed, the crimson streaks across his body blazing brighter. "I am the perfected beast. And soon, Hiro Mizuki… soon, your world, your peace, your love… will all learn to fear my shadow."
The morning sun streamed through the classroom windows at Seika Academy, painting everything in warm, gentle light. The low hum of student chatter filled the room before the bell—a comfortable, mundane soundtrack.
Hiro Mizuki, looking for all the world like any other slightly-tired teenager, frowned at his open notebook. Numbers and symbols blurred together. He tapped his pencil against the page in a soft, frustrated rhythm.
"Stuck?"
He looked up. Luna had turned in her seat, her golden eyes soft with concern. A single fawn-colored ear twitched above her brow.
"Calculus," Hiro admitted, offering a weak smile. "It might as well be a foreign language."
Luna's tail gave a gentle, sympathetic sway behind her. "I finished early. Want me to look at it during lunch?"
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to,"she said simply, and the sincerity in her voice made something warm unfold in Hiro's chest.
Before he could answer, the classroom door slid open. Io Tsukishiro, their elegant and perpetually observant homeroom teacher, entered. The subtle chatter died instantly.
"Good morning, class," she said, her gaze sweeping across the room. It lingered on Hiro for a fraction of a second longer than anyone else—a look he'd come to recognize. It was the look of a former assassin assessing a potential threat vector.
"Good morning, Ms. Tsukishiro!"
Lunch on the rooftop was a bubble of normalcy. Yuki and Kaede were debating the merits of various downtown boutiques with intense focus, while Takeshi recounted a convoluted family drama involving his uncle and a misplaced lawn gnome.
"So," Kaede chirped, pivoting suddenly. "Weekend plans! Spill!"
Hiro took a bite of his sandwich. "Training, probably. Maybe a run." His 'training' was often code for trying to gain finer control over the Titan power that slept uneasily beneath his skin.
"Luna and I are hitting the new plaza shops!" Yuki announced, nudging Luna with her elbow.
"Ooh! Can I come?" Kaede clasped her hands together. "I need to find shoes for my cousin's wedding!"
As the girls' conversation dissolved into excited specifics, Hiro watched Luna. Her face was animated, her hands moving as she described a dress she'd seen in a window. The afternoon light caught in her hair, and she laughed at something Yuki said—a clear, bright sound that made Hiro's breath catch. This peace, this simple joy… he would burn the world to protect it.
The thought was immediately followed by a familiar, dull ache—a burning sensation that started deep beneath his sternum, right over the intricate mark hidden by his shirt. It wasn't painful, not yet. It was a warning. A silent bell tolling in his blood.
Later, walking Luna home through the honey-colored haze of sunset, the feeling persisted.
"You've been quiet since lunch," Luna said, her shoulder occasionally brushing his. "Is it the calculus? I promise, it's not so bad once you see the pattern."
"It's not that," Hiro said, his hands in his pockets. He watched their shadows stretch ahead of them. "I was just thinking about how… calm everything's been lately. No crises. No rogue beast-folk. No mysterious threats."
"Isn't that a good thing?" she asked, looking up at him.
"It is. It's the best thing." He stopped, forcing her to stop with him. He searched for the right words. "But it feels like the air before a thunderstorm. Still. Heavy. Like everything is holding its breath."
Luna studied his face, her feline eyes missing nothing—the slight tension in his jaw, the way his own eyes kept scanning their surroundings on instinct. "Your mark?" she asked softly, knowing him too well.
He gave a single, short nod, his hand drifting unconsciously to his chest. "It's been… simmering. For days now. Not hurting, just… present. Awake."
Without a word, Luna reached out and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. Her touch was cool and sure. "Whatever's coming," she said, her voice firm despite the worry in her eyes, "we face it together. That's the promise, right?"
He looked down at their joined hands, then back to her face, finding an anchor in her unwavering gaze. The burning in his mark receded, just a little, soothed by her presence. "Right," he said, squeezing her hand. "Together."
Their brief stop at the convenience store was a masterclass in shared, flustered embarrassment. The elderly cashier beamed at them as they placed their drinks and snacks on the counter.
"You two make such a lovely couple," she said kindly while ringing them up. "It's nice to see young people so sweet together."
They froze, identical looks of panic flashing across their faces.
"We're not—!" they blurted in unison, then stopped, glancing at each other and flushing even deeper.
The cashier just chuckled, a knowing twinkle in her eye. "Of course, of course. That'll be 850 yen, dear."
The walk to Luna's apartment was steeped in a thick, buzzing silence. When they reached her door, the awkwardness crystallized into something palpable.
"So, um… thanks," Luna said, fiddling with her keys.
"Anytime," Hiro replied, his voice oddly formal.
"About what the cashier said…" Luna began, courage failing her halfway.
"Don't worry about it," Hiro jumped in, a little too quickly. "People just see what they want to see."
"Right," Luna nodded, a faint flicker of something—disappointment?—in her eyes. "Well… goodnight, Hiro."
"Goodnight, Luna."
He waited until her door clicked shut before letting out a long, slow breath, running a hand through his hair. He stood there for a full minute in the quiet hallway, the ghost of her hand still warm in his, before turning to leave.
The weekend shopping trip was a tactical assault led by Yuki and Kaede. Luna found herself herded from store to store, a steady stream of garments—colorful, frilly, daring—thrust into her arms.
"This one!" Kaede declared, holding up a little black dress that seemed to be made of sheer willpower and stitching.
"It has no back!" Luna protested, her ears flattening.
"That's the style!" Yuki laughed, already pushing her toward the changing room. "Just try it!"
Minutes later, Luna emerged, feeling utterly exposed. The dress was beautiful, and it did fit her beautifully, but it felt like wearing a spotlight.
"Oh, WOW," Kaede breathed.
"Luna, you look incredible!" Yuki clasped her hands together. "Hiro's eyes would literally fall out of his head."
Luna's face ignited. "That is not the goal!"
"Isn't it?" Kaede teased, waggling her eyebrows. "You mean you don't want to see the great Hiro Mizuki rendered completely speechless?"
Luna opened her mouth to deny it, but no sound came out. The mental image was… potent. She looked at her reflection again, a slow, secret smile touching her lips. "It… it is a nice dress," she conceded quietly.
Across town, Hiro was facing a different kind of interrogation. Takeshi was trouncing him at a fighting game, a rarity.
"Your mind's elsewhere, man!" Takeshi crowed after landing a flashy combo. "You're wide open! Spill it."
Hiro set his controller down with a sigh, the pixelated 'KO' flashing on the screen. "It's nothing."
"It's Luna," Takeshi stated, not asking.
Hiro shot him a look. "What about her?"
"Dude. Come on. The tension between you two could power the city grid. You like her. She obviously likes you. The math is simple."
"It's not simple math," Hiro countered, staring at the chaotic game-over screen. "It's advanced calculus. With variables like 'ancient, monstrous power' and 'society that hates beast-folk.' The world isn't built for… for us."
Takeshi's normally jovial face turned uncharacteristically serious. "Forget the world, Hiro. What do you want? Do you like her? Yes or no?"
The word was out before Hiro could armor himself against it. "Yes."
"Then tell her," Takeshi said, as if it were the most obvious solution in the universe. "The rest is just noise. You're so busy worrying about the storm, you're missing the sunset, you know?"
Hiro was silent. His friend's words were simple, but they cut through the complex knot of his fears with surprising precision.
Monday brought the familiar routine, but the undercurrent remained. During literature class, Io paused her lecture on classical allegory. Her sharp eyes, from the front of the room, were locked on Hiro. More specifically, on the space over his heart. Beneath the thin cotton of his school shirt, the Titan mark was emitting the faintest, almost imperceptible golden glow.
His power is stirring, she thought, her assassin's instincts humming. But he's not calling it. It's being called to. Something is drawing the beast out.
After the final bell, she intercepted him as he packed his bag. "Hiro. A moment?"
He straightened, instantly wary. "Ms. Tsukishiro?"
She moved closer, her voice dropping below the chatter of departing students. "Your mark. It's restless."
He blinked, shocked. "How could you possibly—"
"I have a keen eye for anomalies," she interrupted smoothly. "And for danger. When a power like yours becomes active without its wielder's intent, it is not a sign. It is an alarm. Be vigilant. Trust your instincts—they are now more than just human."
She left him then, a chill trailing in her wake. Io's warnings were never casual. The knot of anxiety in Hiro's stomach tightened.
That evening, the prickling awareness intensified into a full-blown sensation of being watched. He took the longer route home, his senses stretched taut. The setting sun cast long, distorted shadows across the quiet streets. Every rustle of leaves, every distant car horn, felt amplified. He stopped under a flickering streetlamp, his gaze scanning the darkened windows of the surrounding buildings, the deep alleys.
Nothing. And yet, everything felt wrong.
High above, on the roof of a forgotten office building, the Unknown Man lowered a pair of high-grade binoculars. He was back in his human form, though his eyes held a new, unsettling crimson tint. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.
"There you are," he murmured, his voice still rough around the edges, as if not fully accustomed to human speech. "The original article. Living your small, simple life." He chuckled, a dry, unpleasant sound. "So unaware that your masterpiece has already been improved upon."
He flexed his hand, and for a second, black fur and crimson light shimmered across his skin before vanishing. "Soon," he promised the distant figure of Hiro. "Very soon, we'll put our strengths to the test. I wonder… will your love make you strong? Or will it be the crack that shatters you?"
He melted back into the gathering darkness, leaving only the faint, sour scent of corrupted power on the wind.
That night, in her cozy apartment, Luna texted Hiro a simple goodnight. She held her phone after he replied, staring at the screen until it dimmed. Her other hand rose to touch the delicate silver bracelet around her wrist—his Valentine's gift. It was cool and solid, a tangible piece of his promise.
"When?" she whispered to the quiet room, her thumb tracing the engraved pattern. "When will we stop being too scared to say it?"
In his own bedroom, Hiro lay staring at the ceiling, Takeshi's words echoing in his head. You're missing the sunset. He grabbed his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button next to Luna's name. Courage surged, then faltered.
His mark flared, a sharp, hot pulse that made him gasp. It wasn't a call to transform. It was a warning. A seismic tremor from deep within his power, sensing a rival quake.
He dropped the phone onto his chest, the moment lost. The warm thoughts of confession were swept away by a cold, creeping dread. Takeshi was right about one thing—he had been feeling the approaching storm.
Now, he could hear the thunder.
Hiro's room. He finally drifts into a fitful sleep, his brow furrowed. One hand rests over his heart, over the quietly glowing mark. Outside his window, the moon is serene, bathing his room in peaceful silver light.
The ruined laboratory. The massive, crimson-streaked wolf stands amid the wreckage. He raises a clawed fist, and the crimson energy around him intensifies, casting hellish shadows on the walls. His crimson eyes glow with manic triumph and infinite hunger. The pod beside him, now empty and cracked, reflects his monstrous form.
"In the light, love hesitates, its confession caught in the throat. In the darkness, a clone of power is born, its purpose carved from envy and rage. Two beasts, one born of heart, one forged in shadow. Their paths, now set, are racing toward a collision that will shake the very foundations of both their worlds."