The last thing I remembered was the truck's headlights.
Brilliant white light flooded my vision, harsh and unforgiving, turning the world into an overexposed photograph. There was the screech of tires—rubber burning against asphalt in a futile attempt to stop tons of momentum. Then came the impact, though my mind couldn't quite process it. It was too fast, too absolute. One moment I existed, the next I didn't.
The void that followed was beyond description. It wasn't darkness, because darkness implied the absence of light, and this was the absence of *everything*. No sight, no sound, no sensation. No thoughts, no memories, no sense of self. Just... nothing. An eternity compressed into an instant, or perhaps an instant stretched into eternity. Time had no meaning there.
Then, slowly—painfully slowly—sensation returned.
Not the sensations I expected. Not the steady beep of hospital monitors or the antiseptic smell of medical facilities. Not even the pain of broken bones and torn flesh that should have accompanied being hit by a truck.
Instead, I felt warmth. Encompassing, womb-like warmth. The distant sound of a heartbeat that wasn't my own. Muffled voices speaking a language I somehow understood despite never having learned it.
And then, abruptly, violently, I was pushed out into light and noise and cold air.
I was crying. Small, helpless, infant crying. My lungs burned with their first breaths. My skin felt raw and oversensitive. Everything was too bright, too loud, too much.
But through the haze of newborn confusion and disorientation, one thought cut through with crystalline clarity:
"I remember."
I remembered being David Chen. Twenty-eight years old, software developer, perpetually single, living in a cramped apartment in San Francisco. I remembered my favorite foods, my annoying coworkers, my extensive anime collection. I remembered staying up late watching *K Project* for the third time, fascinated by the intricate worldbuilding and tragic character arcs. I remembered walking to the convenience store at midnight because I'd run out of instant ramen. I remembered the truck that ran the red light.
I remembered "dying".
And yet here I was, undeniably alive. But an infant ?. Undeniably in a body that wasn't the one I'd spent twenty-eight years inhabiting.
The realization should have broken me. Should have sent my nascent consciousness spiraling into madness. But there was something else there, something that kept me grounded. A presence in my mind that wasn't quite memories but felt like them. Knowledge that flowed in during those early days and weeks, as my infant brain developed enough to process complex thoughts.
I was Kurogane Rei. Born in Shizume City, Japan. The only child of Kurogane Hideaki and Kurogane Yuki, a perfectly ordinary couple with perfectly ordinary jobs—he was a mid-level accountant, she was a high school teacher. They had no supernatural abilities, no connection to any of the colored clans, no awareness of the hidden world that existed just beneath the surface of society.
They had no idea what their son actually was.
Because I wasn't ordinary. Not even close.
The knowledge came in dreams at first. Whispers in a language older than Japanese, older than any language currently spoken on Earth. I would wake up. or rather, my infant body would wake from sleep and I would *know* things. Things about power and shadow and a clan that existed before recorded history.
The "Kage Ichizoku" . The Shadow Clan.
My real family. My true heritage.
As months turned into years, as I learned to walk and talk and act like a normal child, the full picture emerged. The Shadow Clan was real. More than real. it was legendary. Every child in Japan who grew up aware of the supernatural world heard the stories. The Clan that had existed before the Dresden Slate was discovered in Germany during World War II. The Clan that had watched the rise and fall of previous Kings throughout history. The Clan whose numbers were unknown, whose powers were unfathomable, who walked among ordinary society completely undetected.
But no one had ever seen them. Not really. Not with proof.
There were stories, of course. Urban legends whispered in back alleys and recorded in classified government files. A mysterious figure who'd stopped a Strain rampage in Osaka fifteen years ago, wearing traditional clothing and a wide straw hat. A businessman in Tokyo who claimed someone in a demon mask had saved him from assassins sent by a rival Strain, only to vanish before police arrived. A Scepter 4 report from the early 2000s about an individual with impossible abilities who'd appeared during a clan war in Kyoto, ended the conflict with minimal casualties, and disappeared without explanation.
But no names. No faces. No concrete evidence. Just shadows and whispers and the growing conviction among those in the know that somewhere, hidden in plain sight, the Shadow Clan was watching.
The Gold King, Adolf K. Weismann, the longest-lived and most knowledgeable of all Kings, had spent decades trying to find them. Every intelligence agency in Japan and abroad had Shadow Clan investigation teams. Even JUNGLE, the mysterious organization I remembered from the second season of the anime, had dedicated resources to uncovering the truth. But I also remember that the shadows clan was never in the episode, I think it might exists because of my existence
Luckily, None had succeeded. The Shadow Clan remained a mystery, their existence confirmed but never proven, known but never seen.
Until I decided to change that.
The decision didn't come lightly. As I grew older, as I trained in secret with the abilities that awakened in my blood, I learned more about my heritage through those strange dreams and whispered memories. The Shadow Clan had rules. Ancient rules, enforced with absolute conviction for centuries.
The first and most important rule: *Never be seen.*
The Shadow Clan observed. They watched. They recorded history as it unfolded. When absolutely necessary, when the balance of power threatened to collapse entirely, when innocents would die by the thousands, when reality itself might be torn apart, they would intervene. But even then, they did so invisibly. A subtle push here, a small change there, always from the shadows, always without being witnessed.
To reveal oneself was the ultimate taboo. To let the world see the Shadow Clan as more than legend was to invite disaster, or so the ancient ones believed. Our power came from mystery, from fear of the unknown, from the uncertainty that kept even Kings cautious.
I was expected to follow these rules. To train in secret, to develop my abilities away from prying eyes, to eventually take my place as another invisible guardian watching the world from darkness.
But I couldn't do it.
Because I had something no other Shadow Clan member had: perfect knowledge of the future. Well, not perfect, I remembered the events of the "K Project" anime, which was just a snapshot of a much larger world. But I knew the major events. I knew the tragedies. I knew who would die and when and why.
Tatara Totsuka, murdered by the Colorless King while filming on his camera, his death captured on video and broadcast to the world. Mikoto Suoh, consumed by grief and rage, his Sword of Damocles cracking as he hunted for revenge. Totsuka's killers. The near-destruction of Shizume City when Mikoto's power finally exceeded its limits. Munakata Reisi forced to kill the man he considered a rival and perhaps even a friend, saving the city but breaking something inside himself in the process.
And those were just the major events. How many minor tragedies would occur? How many nameless clansmen would die in the conflicts between Kings? How many innocent civilians would be caught in the crossfire?
I couldn't just watch. I couldn't hide in the shadows knowing what was coming and do nothing.
So I made a choice. At age fifteen, during one of those strange dream visions where the ancient knowledge of the Shadow Clan was transmitted to me, I spoke back to the whispers.
"I'm going to break the rules," I said into the void. "I'm going to make myself visible. I'm going to change things."
The response was immediate and overwhelming. Disapproval crashed over me like a tsunami, the weight of centuries of tradition and countless Shadow Clan members, some still alive, most long dead pressing down on my consciousness.
*Foolish. Reckless. The rules exist for reasons you cannot comprehend. You will doom us all.*
"Maybe," I acknowledged. "But I can't just watch people die when I have the power to stop it. I won't."
*You are young. You do not understand the consequences.*
"I understand enough. I understand that power without action is worthless. I understand that hiding while innocents suffer is cowardice, no matter how you dress it up as wisdom."
*Then you will face the consequences alone. The Shadow Clan will not support you. We will not protect you. You will be cast out.*
I smiled in that dark space between dreams and consciousness. "I can live with that."
When I woke up, I knew the connection to the collective knowledge of the Shadow Clan had been severed. I was on my own. I still had my abilities, still had my heritage, but I would receive no more guidance, no more ancient wisdom, no more support from my invisible family.
But I'd also gained something freedom. The freedom to act. The freedom to be seen. The freedom to save lives.
Over the next eight years, I prepared. I trained relentlessly, pushing my body and abilities to their limits. I studied the supernatural world, learning everything I could about the clans and Kings and Strains. I crafted my persona—the demon mask with its crimson markings and curved horns, the wide straw hat that cast my face in perpetual shadow, the traditional clothing that marked me as something from another time.
And most importantly, I hunted for opportunities to use my ability. My birthright. The signature power of the Shadow Clan.
**Rob.**
The power to steal—no, not steal. To *copy*. To encounter any supernatural ability and create a perfect replica within myself, stored permanently, always accessible. The original user kept their power completely intact. I simply made a duplicate, like photocopying a document. The original remained pristine while I gained access to the same capabilities.
It was the ability that had allowed the Shadow Clan to remain hidden for so long. When you could copy any power you encountered, you could adapt to any situation, counter any threat. A Shadow Clan member could have the strength of a Red clansman, the precision of a Blue clansman, the technological prowess of a Green clansman, and the powers of dozens of Strains all at once.
We were the ultimate wildcards. The jokers in a deck already full of Kings.
Over eight years, I'd been busy. I'd traveled across Japan during school breaks and holidays, seeking out Strains and clansmen, always careful, always polite. A brief encounter, a handshake or a touch, and their ability would flow into me. Most never even noticed. Those who did thought it was just a strange sensation, nothing more.
By the time I turned twenty-three, my collection was extensive. Enhanced reflexes from a Strain in Tokyo. Spatial awareness from another in Kyoto. Fire resistance and pyrokinesis from a Red clansman in Osaka. Probability manipulation from a Strain in Yokohama. Energy constructs from a Blue clansman in Nagoya. Teleportation from a Strain in Hiroshima. Empathic projection from one in Fukuoka. Minor precognition that was part of my baseline Shadow Clan heritage. Reality anchoring, another baseline ability that let me exist slightly out of phase with normal space.
And dozens more. Each one practiced until I could use it instinctively, until switching between abilities was as natural as breathing. Each one tested in secret, away from prying eyes, until I understood its limits and capabilities.
I'd made myself into something unprecedented. Not a King—I had no Sword of Damocles, no Sanctum, no clan of my own to draw power from and support. But in terms of raw versatility and adaptability, I might be the single most dangerous individual in Japan.
And now, finally, it was time to use that power.
Time to step out of the shadows.
Time to save lives.
The Shadow Clan had hidden for centuries, and perhaps their way had been right for that time. But this was a new era. The age of Kings was entering its final chapters, whether they knew it or not. The events I remembered from the anime would shake the foundations of the supernatural world.
And I would be there, visible and undeniable, to make sure that when the dust settled, as many people as possible would still be alive.
My name is Kurogane Rei. I am the first witnessed member of the Shadow Clan in living memory. I carry the power of Rob and the weight of future knowledge.
This is my story.
This is how I changed everything.