Kenshiro stepped out of the grand hotel, the crisp air of the capital brushing against his face like the breath of fate itself.
His jaw was clenched, his breath heavy. His usually calm eyes now blazed with a storm of untamed fury. A fire that had been building in his chest had finally reached its peak.
There was no turning back.
"Misaki…" He muttered under his breath, remembering the way her eyes shimmered with warmth as she clung to his arm earlier that morning. "I'm sorry for lying to you."
He had told her he was going to visit his parents' grave for the last time.
That part was true… but only after he was done spilling blood.
Kenshiro knew that if he told her the truth, she would do everything to stop him in order to protect him.
But he didn't need protection, at least not now.
He needed revenge.
And if she informed Daisuke out of concern… it could destroy the fragile calm he had worked so hard to maintain.
No. He would bear the burden alone.
His footsteps echoed down the empty sidewalk as he turned into a dimly lit alley. The noises of the capital, the distant chatter, the horns, the murmur of life, slowly faded behind him.
Here, in the backstreets, it was silent… unnaturally so.
He cracked his knuckles and cracked his neck, looking forward to meeting the guy who had turned his life upside down.
Each step he took brought him closer to the scent of blood and old grudges.
Kenshiro's fists tightened.
"You took everything from me…" He whispered to the wind. "Tonight, I'll return the favor."
Kenshiro's hand reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a small photograph, faded, creased at the corners. A family portrait. He stared at it.
"Forgive me, Mother. Father. For what I'm about to do."
------
The city skyline bled into the night, casting long shadows over the marble floors of the towering obsidian building nestled in the heart of the capital. At its highest level, within a vast office lined with glass walls and shimmering dark furniture, Araki sat still as stone in his seat.
The air in the room was cold despite the mild spring weather outside. It wasn't the air conditioning that created the chill.
It was the man himself.
He was feared, respected, and envied by a lot of people in the capital.
He was the kind of man who could order a massacre and sip his wine while discussing opera.
He sat behind a desk of lacquered mahogany, his long fingers drumming rhythmically on the surface as he listened without expression.
His secretary stood before him, a young man in his late twenties, dressed immaculately, but sweating ever so slightly around the temples. He spoke quickly, precisely, but with a tremor buried beneath his voice.
"…And the truck… well, sir… the report says it missed. The target has… survived."
He paused for a moment, the silence heavy enough to press down on the soul.
Araki's fingers stopped. He slowly lifted his head, his cold eyes locking onto the secretary's face like a pair of twin blades unsheathed.
The secretary froze, swallowing hard. He couldn't help it, those eyes felt like they were looking through his skin and counting his bones.
Araki tilted his head slightly and exhaled through his nose, a long, calm breath. Then, finally, he spoke.
"So… the brat lives."
His voice was smooth as silk.
The secretary nodded once, sharply. "Y-Yes, sir. The driver said the taxi carrying the target changed its route at the last second. A coincidence, perhaps. Or maybe…"
"Or maybe," Araki finished for him, his lips curling into a faint smirk, "he isn't as naïve as we thought."
The smirk widened, not with amusement, but with something darker.
A quiet satisfaction. As if he were almost pleased, the boy had survived.
"Tell me, Suda," Araki said lazily, reclining back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach, "What's more effective? A death that comes silently in the night… or the knowledge that death almost came, and could come again at any moment?"
The secretary blinked, unsure whether it was rhetorical.
Araki continued without waiting. "Fear, my dear Suda… is the real weapon. Pain fades, grief passes. But fear…" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Fear seeps into the bones. It stains the soul. Every shadow becomes a blade. Every sound, a threat. If that boy has a brain in his skull, he'll run back to whatever hole he crawled out of."
He paused, eyes gleaming. "And he'll never dare to show his face in my city again."
Suda gave a hesitant nod, though his heart was pounding.
Araki stood now, the movement smooth, deliberate like a lion rising from a nap, not because it was angry… but because it was hungry. He walked over to the tall windows and looked out over the city, hands clasped behind his back.
"Send word to the driver," He said, his tone suddenly curt. "Tell him to disappear. I don't care if he hides in the mountains or in some brothel basement. He did his part. His payment will be wired discreetly."
"Yes, sir."
"But…" Araki added, voice softening with dangerous weight, "…if he gets caught… if his loose tongue draws attention…"
He turned halfway, just enough for Suda to see the chilling gleam in his eye.
"…then he and his entire bloodline will be turned to ash. Understand?"
Suda paled, his lips dry. "Understood, sir."
There was a silence.
Then Araki's smirk returned, that same cruel, elegant twist of the lips that had haunted so many before.
He walked back to his chair and sat down again, reclining as if the matter was over. He poured himself a drink and swirled it gently in the glass.
"No need to send more dogs after him," He said finally, lifting the drink to his lips. "Let the fear do the work. It always does. The most elegant weapon… is the one that never needs to strike again."
He took a sip and closed his eyes for a moment.
"Dismissed."
Suda bowed deeply and exited the room without a word, careful not to let his shoes squeak on the marble floor.
Once alone, Araki sat in the growing darkness, illuminated only by the city lights below and the faint reflection of his own smile in the glass. He whispered to himself, voice low and almost amused:
"You're a brave one, Kenshiro. But bravery… is just the first step to foolishness."