The city moved like nothing happened.
Trains ran.
Schools opened.
People laughed in cafés.
But beneath it…
Fear spread.
Because whispers were louder than sirens now.
And whispers all carried the same name.
> *Kurozaki Renji.*
---
### **1**
Renji sat on the edge of an abandoned rooftop, his coat wrapped tightly around him.
Dawn hadn't arrived yet.
The sky was still dark, bruised with storm clouds.
His ribs burned every time he inhaled.
He hated that more than the pain itself.
Not because it hurt.
Because it proved something.
He wasn't untouchable.
Not anymore.
Renji looked down at Kokuen resting across his knees.
The blade was matte black.
No shine.
No reflection.
Even rain refused to cling to it.
It slid off like the sword rejected the world.
Renji's thumb traced the red line that ran along the edge—thin, glowing faintly like trapped dawn.
His eyes narrowed.
Seijuro's words returned like poison.
> *"That sword… I know who made it."*
Renji's grip tightened.
Kokuen wasn't just a weapon.
It was a promise.
A vow forged into metal.
And Renji needed answers.
So he stood.
And walked toward the one place the city pretended didn't exist.
---
### **2**
The eastern outskirts had no streetlights.
No clean roads.
No cameras.
Only cracked alleys and abandoned factories.
This district was old—older than the gangs, older than the city's new money.
This was where forgotten things lived.
Including people.
Renji stopped in front of a rusted metal door.
No sign.
No markings.
If you didn't already know it existed, you'd walk past it a thousand times.
But Renji knew.
He knocked only once.
A slow scrape came from inside.
Locks clicked.
The door opened.
Warm light spilled out, amber like candle flame.
And a scent hit Renji immediately—
Metal.
Oil.
Smoke.
A forge.
Inside, the room was large but dim, filled with shelves of weapons—not modern guns and knives.
Blades.
Real blades.
Swords.
Tantos.
Broken fragments mounted like trophies.
At the center of the room sat a man on a wooden stool.
Old.
Not weak old.
Sharp old.
Like a blade that had survived too long to break.
His hair was white.
His eyes were black.
And the quiet around him was different.
Not fear.
Not tension.
Respect.
The old man looked up at Renji.
Then at Kokuen.
And his eyes narrowed.
"…So you're alive."
Renji didn't respond.
The old man continued.
"I was told you died."
Renji's voice was quiet.
"I didn't."
The old man chuckled softly, almost annoyed.
"Clearly."
Renji stepped forward.
The warmth of the forge kissed his skin, melting the cold rain away.
Renji spoke:
"I need answers."
The old man leaned back.
"And I need tea."
Renji blinked once.
The old man pointed toward a kettle.
"Make it."
Renji didn't argue.
He moved to the kettle like it was normal.
Like this wasn't a moment that could decide the fate of the city.
The old man watched him with eyes full of quiet judgment.
When Renji placed the cup down, the old man finally spoke.
"Kurozaki Renji…"
A pause.
"…you haven't changed."
Renji replied without emotion:
"You have."
The old man snorted.
"I've become smarter."
Renji's eyes held steady.
"You forged this."
He lifted Kokuen slightly.
The old man's gaze softened for the first time.
Not warmth.
Something closer to memory.
"…Yes."
Renji asked:
"Why?"
The old man didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stood and walked toward Kokuen, hands behind his back.
He looked at the blade like it was a child he raised.
Then he spoke.
"I didn't forge Kokuen for your strength."
Renji's eyes narrowed.
The old man's voice lowered.
"I forged it for your loneliness."
Renji's jaw tightened.
Loneliness.
The word landed harder than any punch.
The old man continued:
"You were always alone."
Renji's voice sharpened.
"I don't need anyone."
The old man looked at him, unimpressed.
"That's what the weak say to survive."
Renji's eyes flashed.
But he didn't speak.
Because deep down…
he knew it was true.
---
### **3**
The old man stepped toward the forge.
Flames flickered behind him like breathing.
"My name is **Kanzaki Genro**," he said.
"Blade monk. Weapon keeper. Whatever the streets want to call me."
Renji's eyes stayed on him.
Genro continued:
"Kokuen was forged during the Sunfall Incident."
Renji's expression darkened.
The room grew colder despite the flame.
Genro turned, eyes narrowing.
"You remember it?"
Renji's voice dropped.
"I remember everything."
Genro nodded once.
Then spoke like carving the truth into stone.
"The day the sun fell…"
A pause.
"…was the day the Council erased your world."
Renji's fingers tightened.
Genro continued:
"You were a boy who believed power meant fighting."
Renji didn't respond.
Genro's voice sharpened.
"And then the Council showed you the truth."
He turned his back to Renji.
"The truth is…
Power doesn't punch.
Power doesn't scream.
Power doesn't bleed."
Renji's eyes narrowed.
Genro looked over his shoulder.
"Power decides."
Silence.
Renji's breathing slowed.
Genro leaned closer to the forge and spoke:
"Kokuen was forged for one reason."
Renji's gaze sharpened.
Genro said it slowly.
"To kill those who control the city."
Renji's eyes widened slightly.
The old man continued.
"It's made from **Kuro-ishi**, a rare black ore taken from beneath the old shrine ruins."
Renji's attention locked in.
Genro's fingers traced the blade's air like he could still feel its birth.
"Kuro-ishi absorbs light… absorbs heat… absorbs sound."
He looked at Renji.
"That's why it doesn't shine."
Renji stared at Kokuen.
So it wasn't style.
It was purpose.
Genro continued:
"And the red edge?"
He smirked.
"That's the price."
Renji's eyes narrowed.
Genro spoke:
"The red edge is sealed with the blood of a man who wanted revenge on the Council."
Renji's throat tightened.
Genro looked at him like he already knew Renji's question.
"You want to know who?"
Renji's voice was quiet but sharp.
"Who."
Genro smiled slightly.
"The one person you tried to forget."
Renji's breath caught for a fraction of a second.
Genro said the name.
"**Kurozaki Haruto.**"
The room froze.
The name struck Renji like lightning.
Haruto.
His brother.
No…
Not blood brother.
Something deeper.
His world.
His first king.
His protector.
The person who died in the Sunfall Incident.
Renji's face stayed calm.
But inside…
everything cracked.
Genro continued like he wanted to tear the wound open.
"Haruto begged me to forge a sword that could reach the Council."
Renji's fingers trembled.
Just slightly.
Genro didn't miss it.
"That's why Kokuen exists."
Renji's voice came out like broken glass:
"…He used his blood?"
Genro nodded once.
"He was dying anyway."
Renji's jaw tightened hard enough to shake.
Genro stepped closer.
"And he said something before the blade cooled."
Renji's eyes lifted slowly.
Genro's voice lowered.
"He said:
> 'If Renji ever returns to the darkness…
> give him the Black Flame.'"
Renji stared at Kokuen.
Rain outside.
Flames inside.
And in his chest…
something woke up.
Not rage.
Not sadness.
Resolve.
Genro spoke softly.
"Kokuen isn't a sword."
Renji's eyes hardened.
"It's a message."
Genro nodded.
"A reminder."
---
### **4**
Renji stood in silence.
Then asked:
"Why didn't you give it to me before?"
Genro answered:
"Because you weren't ready."
Renji's eyes narrowed.
Genro continued.
"You were angry back then."
Renji tightened his grip.
Genro pointed at the blade.
"Kokuen doesn't obey anger."
Renji blinked.
Genro's eyes sharpened like a knife.
"This sword has one rule."
Renji asked:
"…What rule?"
Genro spoke:
> "The calmer you are…
> the sharper it becomes."
Renji's pupils tightened.
Genro continued:
"When you lose control, the blade becomes heavy."
Renji breathed slowly.
So Kokuen was built to punish weakness.
Not physical weakness.
Emotional weakness.
Genro smirked.
"A sword made for a paradox."
Renji whispered:
"…Perfect."
Genro stared at him.
"You're still stubborn."
Renji looked up.
"Haruto believed in me."
Genro's expression softened slightly.
"He did."
Renji stood.
Lifted Kokuen.
And bowed his head slightly.
Not in gratitude.
In oath.
Genro watched him.
Then said:
"If you fight the Council…"
A pause.
"…you won't get a second chance."
Renji's eyes became cold.
"I don't need one."
Genro chuckled, amused and annoyed.
Then threw something at Renji.
Renji caught it instinctively.
A black cloth wrap.
Genro spoke:
"Wrap the hilt."
Renji glanced down.
Genro continued:
"The sword respects silence.
So hold it like silence."
Renji wrapped it carefully.
Then stood.
The air around him felt different.
Not stronger.
Sharper.
Genro's voice lowered.
"Renji."
Renji looked up.
Genro asked quietly:
"Do you know what Haruto's last words were to you?"
Renji froze.
Genro continued.
"He said…"
Renji's throat tightened.
Genro spoke:
> "Don't become a demon."
Renji's fingers tightened.
Genro's eyes narrowed.
"And yet here you are."
Renji stared into the fire.
Then whispered:
"I'm not a demon."
Genro asked:
"Then what are you?"
Renji's gaze sharpened like dawn cutting the night.
"A ghost."
---
### **5**
Renji stepped outside.
Rain was waiting.
But now…
the rain felt small.
He walked.
Hands in pockets again.
Kokuen at his side.
But his mind was different.
He wasn't fighting gangs anymore.
He was fighting the people who controlled the city's fate.
And now he had a reason beyond pride.
Haruto.
The promise.
The black flame.
As Renji walked, his phone vibrated once.
A single message.
Unknown number.
Only three words.
> **"You survived. Good."**
Renji's eyes narrowed.
Another vibration.
Another message.
> **"The Council is moving."**
Another.
> **"Meet me at 2:00AM. Old bridge."**
Renji exhaled slowly.
Kaede.
So she wasn't just a helper.
She was a thread connecting him to something bigger.
Renji looked up at the sky.
The clouds were parting.
And far in the distance…
the first hint of dawn appeared.
Renji whispered:
"…The real war begins."