I was one moment away from writing his final name with the edge of the blade—
"You, frowning one… this isn't you. This isn't who you are."
The voice pierced the moment like a bullet through the heart of darkness.
The blade froze in midair.
I didn't turn immediately… but I felt her approaching — quick steps, tense breaths — then her hand gripping my wrist.
She wasn't strong.
But she was enough.
"What are you doing?!"
Sara pushed me a step back without fully understanding what was happening. Her body stood between him and me now. Between him and me… and between me and myself.
He didn't move.
He stood as he was — calm, cold — watching the scene as if observing an experiment whose outcome he already knew.
He smiled.
Not at me.
At her.
And only then did the past return all at once.
This man…
He wasn't just an enemy.
He was my mentor.
Outside the city, when I left as an angry young man without direction, he was the one who found me. He was terrifyingly intelligent. He knew how to read people before they spoke. He knew how to plan something before others even thought of it. He never raised his voice. He never threatened. He moved everyone like chess pieces.
I saw him as the model of power.
He taught me how to disappear.
How to observe.
How to strike without being seen.
Then, in my first real operation with him… he put me in the spotlight.
He told me it was just a small step.
He said he trusted me.
And when things collapsed…
he vanished.
He left me to carry everything.
All the evidence pointed to me.
Every thread ended with my name.
Prison was not punishment…
it was a factory.
And even though he was the reason I went to prison…
even though he put me in front and disappeared, leaving my name drowning in black files…
I never considered him my enemy.
I told myself what happened was a game bigger than me.
That I was weak.
That I wasn't ready.
I blamed myself.
I used to say:
If I had been smarter… I wouldn't have been deceived.
If I had been faster… I wouldn't have fallen.
If I had been like him… I wouldn't have gone to prison.
I didn't hate him.
I only wanted to reach his level.
But everything changed that night.
A night not in prison—
But the night I got out of prison.
The night my father returned home late…
And I was in the wrong place, watching from afar, searching for a chance to prove to him that I would become a good son, that I would change, that I would stay away from anything he didn't want me to be.
I saw him standing before my father.
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't shouting.
He was calm… just as he is now.
My father wasn't a criminal.
He wasn't part of our world.
He simply knew something… he was never meant to know.
From a distance, I pleaded with my eyes.
I didn't move.
I believed he wouldn't do it.
I believed he wouldn't cross that line.
He looked at me.
Not like an enemy.
Like a lesson.
And then—
He fired.
The gunshot wasn't the loudest sound.
The loudest was something breaking inside me.
My father fell before me.
And only then did I understand.
I wasn't his student.
I was a tool.
And he never leaves witnesses.
Not even me.
But he didn't kill me.
He left me alive.
Perhaps because he wanted to see me change.
He wanted to see what pain would make of me.
And from that moment…
I no longer sought to become like him.
I sought to surpass him.
That was where what remained of Ryan died.
And "Shadow Walker" emerged.
And now he stands before me.
The teacher.
The one who created the monster… then abandoned it.
"It seems you haven't changed," he said calmly, his eyes still on me.
Sara looked at him, then at me.
"Frowning one… do you know him?"
My enemy laughed softly.
"He didn't tell you who he is, did he? And he didn't tell you about the outside either?" he said, stepping sideways, enjoying himself. "Didn't he tell you how he came back from there?"
"Be quiet." The words left me with deadly coldness.
I couldn't wait any longer.
I moved.
This time, there was no hesitation.
I lunged at him at full speed, the blade flashing in a straight line toward his throat.
But he was ready.
He shifted half a step — a movement barely visible — and my wrist collided with his arm. He pressed against my joint; sharp pain shot through my arm, and the blade nearly fell.
He circled behind me in an instant.
His fist struck my ribs; the air burst from my lungs.
He wasn't physically stronger than me…
But he was calmer.
Every strike from him was calculated.
I threw a quick punch at his jaw. It landed. He stepped back half a step… and smiled.
"You've improved," he said, removing his sunglasses.
I kicked at his leg, trying to bring him down, but he grabbed my coat collar, spun me, and my back crashed into a café table. Glass shattered.
People screamed.
Sara tried to intervene.
I tried to rise quickly, but he was faster. His foot pressed on my wrist; the knife slid away.
He leaned close to my face.
"You still attack with anger," he whispered. "And I… only fight with the mind."
I shoved his foot away with everything I had, rolled aside, rose, and we exchanged rapid blows — scraping sounds, heavy breaths, swift movements.
But he was always half a second ahead.
In the end, he caught my arm, twisted it behind my back, pressed a nerve at my shoulder — pain paralyzed me just long enough.
Then he released me.
He didn't finish it.
He didn't try to kill me.
He stepped back twice.
"Not yet," he said calmly.
Then he looked at Sara.
"Ask him about the five years he spent behind bars."
His words fell like a stone into still water.
I charged at him again.
I no longer heard the screams.
I no longer saw the shattered tables.
I no longer even felt my pain.
All that existed before me… was him.
I moved fast, my knife back in my hand in a swift motion, trying to shorten the distance between his throat and the blade.
He didn't retreat.
He moved around me with unsettling ease, suddenly grabbing the edge of my shirt. I understood the motion too late.
I felt a sharp pull—
Then the sound of tearing.
The fabric ripped from shoulder to lower back.
Cold air struck my exposed skin.
I stepped back, furious — but I saw something else shining in his eyes.
It wasn't pain.
It wasn't fear.
It was anticipation.
Then I heard her voice.
Not a scream.
A whisper that broke halfway through.
"Ryan…"
Sara turned toward me, her eyes stopping on my back.
On the skin no one had seen for years.
On the name.
Her name.
"Sara."
Carved in dark, aged ink across my shoulders, etched as though it were a wound that had never healed.
The silence that followed… was more violent than the fight.
Even my enemy didn't move.
He let the moment work.
Left me exposed.
Sara stepped forward slowly, as if afraid the scene would vanish if she moved too fast.
Her eyes were not afraid.
They were searching.
"It can't be…" she whispered.
Then she lifted her gaze to my face.
She was no longer looking at a stranger.
She was looking through the years.
Through the old alleys.
Through the sand we played in.
Through the wall I once fell from.
"You…"
Her voice was not a question this time.
It was certainty being born.
"You're Ryan."
I didn't answer.
But my eyes did.
That part I tried to kill in prison…
The child I buried beneath layers of shadow…
Moved.
She didn't recognize me from the scar.
Nor from her name on my back.
But from the look that lost its coldness for a single moment.
"I knew," she said in a broken voice.
"I felt it… in the way you stand… in your silence… in the way you look at people as if you're protecting them from something they can't see."
My enemy laughed quietly.
"Beautiful," he said, wiping blood from his lip. "I always enjoy human moments."
He moved toward me faster than I expected.
I wasn't focused.
I was exposed… body and heart.
His punch struck my face hard; I staggered back into the wall.
I tried to regain balance, lunged at him again, we exchanged rapid strikes — heavy breaths, collisions — but he was always half a step ahead.
He shoved me hard, exploited my distraction, struck a sensitive point at my shoulder; pain numbed my arm for a decisive second.
He kicked my leg. I fell to one knee.
He approached, grabbed my torn collar, whispered near my ear:
"This is your weakness."
I looked at him with burning eyes.
I tried to stand, but he pushed me down again.
Then suddenly—
He let me go.
Stepped back.
Looked at Sara.
"He didn't tell you how he became this, did he?"
Then back to me.
"You're still learning, Ryan."
And he disappeared.
As he always does.
I remained on the ground, my breaths colliding in my chest.
And Sara… was looking at me as if watching a legend crack.
She wasn't laughing anymore.
She wasn't joking anymore.
Rage flooded my heart. I wanted to kill him then, even if it cost me my life—but he turned… and walked away.
I couldn't chase him immediately. My body wouldn't respond. And when I finally moved, he had vanished into the alleys.
As he taught me.
I stood there, breathing heavily, my hand trembling slightly… not from pain.
From truth.
I am not the strongest.
Not yet.
In the weakness I felt—
She approached slowly, knelt before me, touched the name carved into my back with trembling fingers.
"Even when you disappeared…" she whispered,
"you carried me with you."
I raised my head to her.
I could no longer hide.
I was not only "Shadow Walker."
I was Ryan.
Ryan who lost everything…
except her name.
And now…
The enemy knows I am weak.
And she knows who I am.
And that is more dangerous than any fight.