Morning came the same way it always did. The streets were already alive when I opened my eyes—people hustling back and forth, carts rattling over uneven stones, voices overlapping as merchants called out prices. Down here in the lower districts, the day never waited for anyone. Today, however, was different.
I lay still beneath my makeshift shelter, staring at the worn papers above me. My eyes drifted downward to the small bag of money hidden beneath them. The faint clinking sound felt louder than the noise of the streets outside.
"I won't let you down," I whispered.
The memory of the bartender handing me the bag surfaced in my mind—his tired eyes, his quiet faith. A small smile escaped me. I got up, put on my clothes, shoved the money into my pocket, and stepped into the morning air.
Three hundred gold pieces. That was the price of my chance.
---
When I arrived at the morgue, I immediately sensed something was off.
My boss stood outside, pacing back and forth. He kept checking his pocket watch, his face twisted into a deep frown. Smoke curled endlessly from the cigarette in his hand.
He noticed me and suddenly shouted, "Hey! Kenji I've been waiting for you!"
I stiffened.
"Sir, I didn't come late today," I said quickly.
For a moment, I braced myself. Then—unexpectedly—his expression changed. He grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously.
"I'm impressed," he said, grinning. "You really did it."
I stared at him, confused. Noticing my discomfort, he cleared his throat, pulled out another cigarette, lit it, and slipped the lighter back into his pocket.
"I'm proud of you," he continued. "You completed the task I gave you."
The east. The burning site. The tag. My heart skipped. I never collected the tag back.
"So here's why I'm impressed," he went on. "That journey to the eastern district? Seven of my workers quit on the spot. Two were killed on the way. Four were arrested by guards."
My blood ran cold.
So it wasn't just dangerous… it was a death sentence.
"I'm doubling your wages," he said, handing me a pouch. "And I'm adding ten extra gold coins." I opened it carefully. Together with the bartender's money, it came to seventy gold pieces. I exhaled slowly. Still far.
"Sir," I said as he turned to leave, "I want to take a scholarship exam. I need money. I'll do any job—anything." I bowed deeply.
He laughed. "Good. I like ambition. Follow me."
---
His office was small and nearly empty—just a chair, a table, and an inner room. He dragged out a large board covered in papers. Each sheet listed a job and its wage.
"These ones are decent," he said, placing several on the table.
I read them carefully.
Lifting stones for construction — 125 gold coins
Transferring foodstuff to cargo — 50 gold coins
Cleaning newly built buildings — 32 gold coins
Clearing soakaways — 48 gold coins
"This will do," I said with a smile.
I left the morgue, the morning sun barely peeking over the rooftops, painting the streets with a muted orange glow. The city was alive with the clatter of carts, the murmur of voices, and the occasional shout of a street vendor. My footsteps echoed on the cobblestones as I made my way to the construction site.
The site was a world of chaos and precision all at once. Muscular, able-bodied men moved with purpose, lifting heavy loads, hauling stones, and maneuvering powerful machines that groaned under their own weight. Dust hung thick in the air, mixing with the scent of wet earth and fresh timber. I was so absorbed in observing the machinery, the rhythm of labor, the sheer strength of the workers, that I didn't notice the voice shouting at me.
"Hey, shrimp! Get to work!"
I jumped slightly and turned toward the voice. A large man stood before me, bigger and more imposing than anyone else on the site. His muscles flexed under the sleeves of his overalls, and his blue hair caught the sunlight, glinting almost like steel. His expression was stern, unyielding, and full of authority.
"Yes, sir," I said, nodding, and immediately turned to my task.
I grabbed a wheelbarrow, its metal frame cold against my palms, and began pushing it across the uneven ground. Stones clattered inside, tumbling with every bump, and I felt the burn in my arms as I maneuvered it from the empty stretch of land to the foundation where it was needed. My back ached. My palms screamed under the friction and weight. I didn't stop. I couldn't. The rhythm of the labor swallowed me whole, and for a moment, I was nothing but motion, stones, and sweat.
When the sun finally dipped low in the sky, painting everything in amber, I trudged to the bar to cool my hands in a bowl of icy water. The cold stung, but it was relief, a momentary reprieve. Dinner followed—simple, filling, and necessary. By the time I returned home, my body ached in every joint. I lay on the floor, staring at my bruised, blistered palms, and despite the pain, a small, tired smile spread across my face. That night, I slept with exhaustion pressing down on me like a heavy blanket.
Two weeks passed. The final day came, it was time to receive our pay. We formed a line, anticipation hanging thick in the air. The man in charge, broad-shouldered and with a rough face that somehow softened when he smiled, began handing out the gold coins.
"You all did well these past weeks," he said, scanning the line with pride in his eyes. "That means I'm adding two extra gold to your pay."
A murmur of joy swept through the workers, laughter and exclamations mingling with the metallic clink of coins. I counted my earnings carefully once I returned home, stacking them neatly. Seventy gold, then twenty-five, then the extra from today—together, it added up to 195 gold coins. I exhaled sharply, a mixture of relief and determination flooding me. "One hundred and three more to go," I muttered to myself, clenching my fist in the air. "I'm going to get into that school—no matter what it takes." With that thought, I dropped my fist and let sleep pull me under.
The next day, I walked to the warehouse, a massive, shadowed building filled with crates and sacks. My job was simple in description but grueling in practice: move foodstuffs from the warehouse to a waiting cargo cart. The day was long, my muscles burning with the repetitive strain, yet by the end of it, I had earned fifty gold coins. I went to the bar afterward, dipping my sore palms into the cold bowl of water, letting the chill soothe the aches, before eating a quick dinner. Once home, I stashed the money carefully in my bag and lay down to rest.
The following day brought a new task: cleaning a newly constructed building. Dust and mortar coated my hands as I scrubbed walls and floors, my back arching in protest with each bend and reach. At the end of the day, I was paid thirty-two gold coins, small but significant.
Then came the least pleasant task: clearing the soakaways. The stench hit me before I even entered the house. I packed the filth from the toilets into containers and lugged it all to a massive hole in the forest, dumping it with grim determination. The work was miserable, exhausting, and humiliating, yet I persevered. Forty-eight gold coins were handed to me at the end of the day.
By the close of the month, after relentless labor, blisters, bruises, and aching bones, my earnings finally totaled 327 gold coins. I sank to the floor of my small shelter, staring at the coins lined neatly before me. Relief washed over me in waves. "Finally… I can apply for the scholarship exam," I whispered to myself, a spark of hope burning brightly within the fatigue of countless days of toil. "Finally… I can apply for the scholarship exam," I thought, a wave of relief washing over me as I imagined the possibilities ahead. The next month, I made my way to the exam center to submit my fee. The building stood at the outskirts of town, massive and imposing, with tall stone walls that seemed to scrape the sky. Its size alone made me feel small, yet determined. I was lucky to arrive just in time; the heavy iron gates were beginning to close.
"Excuse me… please," I called out, my voice carrying across the courtyard to the gatekeeper, a tall man clad in armor that gleamed dully in the afternoon sun. He looked like a squire or perhaps a private guard for the wealthy.
"I want to submit my fee to the man in charge," I said, stepping forward as the gates began to click shut.
"Well, you're in luck, kid," he replied, pointing toward the direction of a man who was just about to climb into a waiting chariot. "He's right over there, about to leave."
Without hesitation, I ran toward the man, dodging the few latecomers milling about the entrance. My heart pounded with excitement and nervousness as I caught up and handed him the fee.
"Say, kid… what's your name?" he asked, his voice warm and measured, carrying a tone of gentle curiosity. He was probably in his seventies—tall and dignified. He wore a brown suit that seemed slightly worn, paired oddly with bright red shoes that looked completely out of place, and he leaned lightly on a polished wooden walking stick. His white hair and neatly trimmed beard framed a face of calm authority, eyes bright with quiet wisdom.
"Tenshakuri, sir," I replied, bowing my head slightly. "Why do you ask?" I added, my curiosity piqued by the unusual question.
"Most students arrive here in large chariots or with a significant escort," he explained, a faint smile curling at the edges of his lips. "Some even send their butlers or attendants to submit their fees for them. But you… you are the only student to come all alone. Tell me… where are your parents?"
I didn't answer, my face remaining carefully neutral. I wanted to show nothing, though a part of me ached to explain. He studied me for a moment, and then, as if understanding my silence, he smiled softly.
Placing a large, reassuring hand on my shoulder, he said, "A lot of people like you don't usually show up at this school. I hope what you do here changes not only your life… but the impact you leave on this world."
His words struck me like a gentle but powerful wind. I looked at him, surprised, and couldn't help but smile. It felt as though he already knew what I was capable of—that he saw the path I was about to walk.
With a final nod, we parted ways. My heart was still racing, my mind buzzing with excitement and determination. I had taken my first real step toward the future I had worked so hard for.
Later that evening, I found myself back at the bar, the familiar smell of smoke and stale ale wrapping around me like an old cloak. The day had been long, but my heart felt light with accomplishment. I and the bartender were quietly celebrating my first real step toward the scholarship.
"Here you go," I said, holding out a small pouch. "Twenty-seven gold coins. I made a little extra during work today."
The bartender's eyes widened slightly as he took the coins from me. "Thanks, kid," he said with a gentle nod. He counted them quickly, then looked up and added, "This money… it will be of great use to the bar. Thank you."
As we shared the moment, my ears caught voices from nearby. At a table close to the window, a group of royals leaned in, their faces twisted with displeasure. It seemed they had overheard our conversation. One of them, a man with sharp features and an evil curl to his lips, muttered under his breath, "Let's see whether you'll even be able to enter that school or not." His companions snickered quietly, their eyes flicking toward me like predators sizing up prey.
The next morning, I headed to work as usual, but something felt off the moment I stepped outside. My boss—who was almost always perched near the entrance, cigarette in hand, scanning the streets—was nowhere to be seen. A strange unease crept over me. It was unlike him to skip this small ritual of his.
I walked toward his office, the morning sun casting long shadows across the worn cobblestones, and hesitated at the door. Pushing it open, I stepped inside.That alone felt wrong.
I stopped at the doorway of his office, my hand hovering in the air before I knocked. The door was half-open, just enough for the smell to reach me first—sharp alcohol, stale and heavy, mixed with something sour that turned my stomach.
I pushed the door open.
He was on the floor.
Not sitting. Not slumped against the desk. Lying there, his back against the cold stone, one arm dangling uselessly at his side. An empty bottle rested near his fingers, another tipped over beside it, a dark stain spreading slowly across the papers scattered on the ground.
His chest shook.
At first, I thought he was laughing.
Then I heard it—the broken, uneven sound of breath dragged through tears.
"Boss…"
I rushed forward, my boots slipping slightly on the spilled drink. I dropped beside him and grabbed the bottle before he could lift it again, yanking it from his grasp and throwing it aside where it shattered against the wall.
"Put yourself together, sir," I said, my voice coming out harsher than I meant. I wrapped my arms around him before he could thrash or shove me away, holding him down as his body trembled.
His hands clenched into my clothes.
"My daughters are missing," he said.
The words came out hoarse, scraped raw, like he had been saying them over and over again to no one.
My breath caught.
"Sir… have you reported it to the king?" I asked quietly.
He let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"Yes," he said. "I have. But it seems like no one wants to do anything about it, ."
I didn't respond.
As expected. I wasn't even surprised.
Later that night, my boss left for home. It was good—I insisted I'd work overtime. He already had enough on his mind; I didn't want to add to his burdens. After finishing my tasks, I was about to head home when a strange sensation prickled the back of my neck. Shadows seemed to shift unnaturally around me, and a chill crawled up my spine. It couldn't be a rat. This… this was something much bigger.
…
Before I could process it, a figure in a dark cloak burst out from the shadows. He struck without warning—his boot slammed into my legs, lifting me clean off the ground. In midair, his fist collided with my stomach, and I expelled a mouthful of blood, crashing painfully onto the hard ground. Coughing violently, I struggled to rise, my vision blurred. Who is this guy? Why attack me?
The cloaked man leaned over, studying me with a chilling intensity, before slowly removing his cloak, revealing a lithe but menacing frame. "Killing you is going to be a breeze," he said, his voice cold and amused. Without hesitation, he hurled me toward the morgue's open doors. The metal clanged under my body as I hit the floor. Before I could recover, he drew a dagger from his belt and lunged at my neck. I bent backward just in time, feeling the sharp rush of air as the blade whistled past.
He kicked me again, this time forcing me into the wooden wall that separated the morgue from the room where they washed bodies. The impact slammed me onto a table, my limbs bouncing painfully as I struggled to keep my balance. The man vaulted through the wall, dagger poised, aiming to finish me. Desperation surged, and I grabbed a metal bowl, using it to block his strike. Twisting sharply, I leveraged the bowl against him, sending him crashing to the floor with a harsh thud.
"Okay, kid. I'm done playing—time to finish this," he hissed.
"Yes, of course!" another voice—mocking and gloating—responded. Is he talking to someone else? This guy is insane, I thought, my mind spinning.
He charged again, moving faster than I could anticipate. Blades flashed in a deadly dance, slashing across my ear, tearing halfway through it, grazing my cheek, and raking across my shoulder. I swung at him, but my punches were sluggish, too slow. He seized my arm, yanking me close before slamming his boot into my stomach. Pain radiated through my ribs, but I retaliated with a desperate, brutal headbutt. He stumbled to his knees. I thought I had the upper hand—until he recovered, launching me into the air, smashing me against the ceiling, and then propelling me into the next room, where rows of dead bodies lay in icy silence.
Cough… cough… My lungs burned, blood coating my throat, my body screaming in agony. I crawled into the shadows between the lifeless bodies, trying to make myself as small as possible. He prowled the room, searching. "Where are you, kid? This will be quick. Don't make it boring for me," he taunted, pulling out multiple blades and inspecting them with a terrifying calm.
I crept from my hiding place, a tiny surgery knife gripped tightly in my hand. I lunged, aiming for him, but he was faster, twisting my wrist painfully and holding me off balance. "Aargh!" I screamed, pain radiating up my arm as he slammed me to the ground, dangerously close to the fiery furnace used to burn bodies.
"Heh… time to stop playing. First, I'll end you, then burn you with all this evidence. Surely, even if I don't burn you, you'll blend with the bodies. The royals will confirm your death, and I will be rich beyond measure." His words chilled me, but I focused, unwrapping my bandages. My skin, raw and scarlet from earlier burns, glistened in the furnace's glow. I thrust my arms into the fire. Flames licked and coiled up my arms, red and yellow, twisting like living serpents. Pain seared through me, but the smoke curling from my body caused my assailant to stagger, coughing violently.
"What… what's happening to me?" he gasped.
"The smoke from my body weakens a man," I said, standing tall, arms blazing. The fire painted my skin in violent shades of red and yellow, dripping blood where the flames met raw flesh. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
"THAT'S IT! I'M GOING TO END YOU RIGHT NOW!" he screamed.
He charged, blades slicing through the smoke, but I vanished into thin air. Panic flared in his eyes as he swung blindly, throwing knives in every direction. One grazed me, knocking me out of hiding.
"There you are," he hissed.
He rushed me, aiming for my throat. I twisted just in time, narrowly avoiding a strike that would have cleaved my forehead. Damn, the smoke effect gave him near-perfect cover. I stumbled backward and snatched some intestines from a waste drum.
"Time to end this," I muttered. With a swift motion, I flung the entrails into his face, coating him in putrid mess and blinding him.
"Aargh! What the—?" he yelled, frantically trying to wipe the filth away. That was my opening. I lunged forward, blade flashing, and slashed his throat.
ARRCK… ARRCK… NORRKKK… BRRKKK… ARRCK! Blood erupted from his gaping wound. He tried to speak, but only strangled gurgles escaped before he collapsed, lifeless, onto the cold floor.
I stood over him, dagger in hand, blood dripping from the blade, his throat, his mouth… and my hands. "That settles it," I whispered as the fire in my arms died down. My head throbbed violently, each pulse sending unbearable pain across my skull. My stomach turned. I clutched my mouth with both hands, but blood gushed freely, spilling onto the floor as I collapsed.
Then I felt it—a cold, oppressive weight pressing down on my back. I turned slowly, and my blood ran ice-cold. An eyeless, purple spirit hovered over me, its body shrouded in a red aura, jagged teeth sharp as a hundred needles, swirling like smoke from my back. Fear paralyzed me; there was nothing I could do. If I ran, it would follow. If I hid, it would find me. I could only stare as it floated silently until it spoke in a voice like grinding stones:
"Young one… you stand before the Phantom of Repercussion."
I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. All I could do was stare in sheer terror, heart hammering in my chest, until the darkness consumed me.
[Blackout—I fainted.]
End of Chapter 3