Kenji stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his freshly ironed, crisp white, buttoned-up shirt. His dark hair, usually falling casually across his forehead, was now neatly styled, swept back with a deliberate elegance.
A light, cologne hung subtly in the air around him, a clean, woody scent that was meant to be noticed, but not overwhelm. His tailored charcoal grey jacket rested neatly on the chair behind him, a silent sentinel of the evening's promise.
He had checked the meticulously laid plans for the evening three times already on his phone, scrolling through confirmations for the restaurant and cinema, even going so far as to call the restaurant a second time just to confirm their reservation, ensuring every detail was absolutely perfect.
The familiar flutter of butterflies in his stomach hadn't gone away, a nervous energy that pulsed through his veins, and the more he stared at himself, at the reflection of the man he was trying so hard to be, the more he realized how long it had been since he had felt this kind of exhilarating nervousness.
Not since their early college days, back when mustering the courage to ask Anastasia out for the very first time had nearly paralyzed him with anxiety, convinced he'd fumble the words or she'd simply say no.
He had long absorbed all of the original Kenji's memories and had started treating them as his own, he had long thought about it, whether he was the original kenji just who remembered his past life or someone who took over after the fool died it didn't matter he would bear everything and take it all as his.
It had been years, far too many years, since they'd had a proper date—a true evening dedicated solely to them, free from the countless demands of work, the endless responsibilities of parenthood, and the lingering shadows of their past.
Tonight, that was going to change. He was going to make it right, to rekindle a spark that had dimmed.
He had taken care of everything, every single detail, from the exact movie showtime to the table with the best view at the restaurant. He was going to make tonight perfect, a memory she could cherish for a long time, a living testament to his renewed commitment, to the man he was determined to be for her and their family.
From here on, these would be the memories that they would look back on not those dark days.
Even the matter of the kids had been decided with careful consideration and a bit of domestic negotiation. Anastasia had originally suggested calling their old, reliable sitter, a practical solution for busy parents. But after a bit of good-natured grumbling from the kids—especially Ayaka, who at sixteen felt her growing independence —they had collectively agreed to let her watch over her younger siblings.
At her age, she was more than responsible enough to handle them, and they had both emphasized that she should call immediately if anything, even the slightest inconvenience or squabble, happened. It was a compromise that pleased everyone, giving Kenji and Anastasia peace of mind, and Ayaka a taste of adult responsibility and trust.
Meanwhile, in her room, Anastasia was finishing up her own preparations. She sat gracefully in front of her mirror, brushing her long hair with slow, deliberate strokes, the soft glow of the lamplight reflecting a gentle, almost ethereal luminescence in her eyes. Her heart fluttered with a nervous anticipation she hadn't felt in years, a feeling so unexpected it surprised her.
'Why am I nervous?' she asked herself, a faint, wry smile touching her lips as she applied a hint of blush to her cheeks. 'I'm not some schoolgirl on her first date. This is Kenji. My husband.'
But she couldn't help it. Kenji had changed, radically so, undergoing a transformation she had once believed impossible, a metamorphosis from the cold, distant man he had become back to the warm, vibrant person she'd fallen in love with.
It was both unsettling in its unexpectedness, the sheer speed and depth of his turnaround, and deeply comforting in its profound sincerity. He was warm again, radiating a genuine affection she'd missed for so long. Thoughtful in ways he hadn't been in what felt like a lifetime. Funny, making her laugh with genuine mirth, a hearty, unrestrained sound that echoed her younger self. Loving, showering her and the children with an affection that felt both new and yet deeply familiar, like a long-lost melody.
He was everything she had once dreamed of in a husband, the ideal partner, and every single day, he was actively working to show that he was serious about being better, not just for her, but for their precious children, creating the stable, loving environment they all deserved. She had seen their younger ones gravitate towards him more lately, freely seeking his gentle guidance and comforting presence, something that warmed her heart more than anything.
She smiled softly, a genuine, tender expression, as she remembered a charming, almost hilarious moment earlier that week, Ayaka had been talking, rather animatedly, about a boy in her school, some polite, handsome student named Kiba. Kenji, overhearing the name from the kitchen, had frozen mid-sip of his coffee, the ceramic mug clattering slightly against the saucer.
The sheer, unadulterated panic that had contorted his face at the mention of a potential boyfriend for his little girl had made her laugh so hard she nearly choked on her tea, tears streaming down her face. He had become so fiercely overprotective when it came to their kids, seeing them as fragile, precious beings to be guarded.
'This is what I dreamed of.' she thought, a bittersweet pang echoing in her chest as fresh tears, born of both joy and lingering sorrow, pricked at the corners of her eyes. A loving husband. A stable home. Beautiful, vibrant kids growing up in a happy environment, different from what she had growing up.
But that seemed not to be, but while not as bad as her childhood it still hurt not to have been able to give her kids a good home and that same person who made it hard was now trying to make it right.
The pain hadn't disappeared entirely. She had forgiven him, yes, a deliberate, painstaking choice to move forward, a conscious act of healing. But there was still a scar, a ghost of the hurt he had inflicted. The wound wasn't gone, not completely, and she hadn't forgotten how much it had cost her, how deeply it had wounded her soul.
Still, Kenji was trying. Every day he showed up, every day he was present, striving to heal the breaches of the past with consistent effort and genuine remorse. And she had chosen to give him another chance, to believe in the man he was becoming, to rebuild the foundation of their life, brick by painful brick.
Was it a foolish choice? Maybe. But he was showing her that he was trying and that meant something.
Pushing those lingering, complicated thoughts aside, she turned to her closet, a vast array of styles waiting within, an arsenal for tonight. She lifted dress after dress, examining them critically until her gaze landed on one particular garment—a flowing sapphire blue, cut to perfection. She held it up, a slow, confident smile gracing her lips, a spark of playful vanity in her eyes.
'Let's see if this one leaves him breathless' she thought with a playful, mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She giggled softly, a sound of anticipation.
Downstairs, Kenji paced in front of the door, checking his watch for the fourth time in as many minutes. The anticipation was a palpable thing, a nervous hum beneath his skin, a mixture of excitement and fear that he would somehow mess it up.
He heard the faint rustle of her dress, the soft, rhythmic click of her heels descending the staircase, each step a gentle crescendo. He looked up and forgot how to breathe. The air caught in his throat, his jaw unconsciously dropping, his carefully composed demeanor dissolving into sheer awe.
She was stunning. Breathtaking. Her sapphire blue dress shimmered under the soft lights of the hallway, fabric that hugged her in all the right places, accentuating her graceful form with effortless beauty. Her makeup was subtle but exquisitely elegant, highlighting her natural beauty without masking it, and her long, dark hair flowed around her shoulders like a dark waterfall. She moved with grace, a confidence that seemed to defy gravity, and when their eyes met, she gave him a soft, knowing laugh that melted him on the spot, melting away all his anxieties, replacing them with pure adoration.
[SIMP]
He gawked, utterly spellbound, until she playfully reached up and gently closed his gaping mouth with a delicate finger. "You're going to catch flies, dear," she teased, her voice a warm caress, tinged with amusement.
"You're… wow," he managed, still stunned, his voice a little hoarse, barely a whisper. "You're absolutely gorgeous, Anastasia. Truly magnificent."
She laughed again, a musical sound that made his heart leap, a melody that promised joy, a promise of a beautiful night ahead.
Kenji, still a little dazed but quickly regaining his composure, took her arm into his, intertwining their fingers, his hand warm and firm around hers. He then turned to the kids, who were gathered near the living room, a mixture of feigned boredom and eager curiosity on their faces, their eyes darting between their impeccably dressed parents.
"Alright, you three behave yourselves," he instructed, his voice firm but affectionate, a loving authority. "If anything happens, anything at all—even if it's just a broken nail, Ayaka—call us immediately. Ayaka's in charge tonight, and you better listen to her."
"Yes, yes, Dad," Ayaka said, rolling her eyes with practiced teenage nonchalance, clearly already annoyed—but also, he noted with a hidden smile, a flicker of pride in her gaze, a subtle squaring of her shoulders.
With everything set, with a final wave with their children, they stepped out into the cool embrace of the evening, the city lights beginning to twinkle around them, ready for their long-awaited date.
The first stop of the night was the cinema. Kenji wanted to start off there, a classic, unassuming beginning, designed to ease them into the evening and tap into their shared history.
Despite her cool, almost detached exterior that she often presented to the world, Anastasia had always adored comedies, and especially bad movies, reveling in their unintentional hilarity. She used to say bad movies made her laugh the hardest, the sheer absurdity dissolving her composure, and she loved them for that pure, unpretentious joy.
He still remembered the way she used to snort with laughter when a scene was particularly ridiculous, a sudden, charming sound, then immediately try to pretend she hadn't, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. They used to watch a lot of them when they were younger, a cherished tradition from their college days that had offered countless hours of lighthearted fun.
They sat near the back, in the intimate privacy of the darkened theater, their shoulders brushing. It wasn't long before she was giggling again, a delightful sound, and after releasing an unladylike snort, hiding her face behind her hands in mortification while Kenji grinned widely beside her, relishing the sound, letting her infectious joy wash over him. It was like stepping back into his memory.
Next, he took her to a fancy rooftop restaurant, a place he'd scouted specifically for its ambiance and stunning views. It was dimly lit with candles, casting warm, dancing shadows that played across their faces, and offered a breathtaking panoramic view of the city skyline, a glittering tapestry of lights stretching out beneath the night sky.
They talked over a delicious three-course meal, the conversation flowing effortlessly. They reminisced about old friends, shared awkward dates from their youth. The ease of their conversation, the comfortable silences punctuated by shared smiles, was a balm to his soul.
Then came the surprise. The one he'd saved for last, the grand finale of the evening.
Dancing.
He brought her to a lounge with a live band playing, the melodies weaving through the air like a comforting embrace. The atmosphere was inviting. She blinked in surprise, her eyes widening slightly in genuine astonishment, then laughed in pure delight, a sound that rivaled the music itself, a cascade of happy notes.
"You remembered," she whispered, her voice filled with genuine wonder and a touch of disbelief as if it were an impossible feat.
"How could I forget, my love?" he replied, his voice soft, sincere, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Anastasia loved to dance; she loved dancing more than almost anything else.
In college, she would always drag him and their other friends out onto the dance floor, her energy infectious, her joy palpable, a vibrant whirlwind. But over the past few years, she had been so busy, so burdened by life's challenges, that he hadn't seen her dance, hadn't seen that massive, uninhibited grin that would appear on her face as she spun and twirled around, lost in the rhythm.
He could feel the familiar pang of guilt in him, a sharp ache in his chest; his past self, the old Kenji, truly was a bastard for letting that joy fade.
They danced for what felt like hours, swaying, twirling, gliding effortlessly across the polished floor. The old spark in her eyes came back, blazing brighter than ever, rekindled by the music and the moment.
She spun, twirled, and laughed, a cascade of musical notes, as Kenji, did his best to keep up, propelled by the sheer force of her happiness, by the warmth of her hand in his. Well, that and His Gamer system.
[System Alert!]
Dancing has leveled up! (LV 2)
For a while, they were young again unburdened by past pain, free from the responsibilities, no lingering shadows to dim their light. Just pure motion and music.
Then, during a slow, intimate number, his gaze swept over the room, his enhanced senses detecting a subtle shift in the air, a faint, discordant hum beneath the jazz. His lips brushed her ear as he leaned in, his voice a low, casual murmur. "Be right back. Gotta use the restroom."
She nodded, still swaying gently to the music, her eyes closed in contentment, utterly oblivious to the sudden shift in his demeanor, the subtle hardening of his gaze, the faint clenching of his jaw.
Omiji hadn't expected to find the human they had been searching for in a place like this. A lavish, human-filled establishment, brimming with soft lights, the sickeningly sweet scent of human perfumes, and sweeter-than-honey music, was hardly the squalid den he'd imagined for the ruthless killer.
He and his yokai underlings had been dispatched by the Flesh Rippers Gang under direct orders from Boss Shuten-dōji himself. Their gang was currently working in concert with other yokai factions, preparing for the grand resurrection of Lady Hagoromo Gitsune, an event that would usher in a new, glorious age for all yokai kind, a time when humans would tremble. This meant resources were tight, and the Boss couldn't afford to waste men on petty revenge. But even so, he had sent a clear, unyielding directive, find the arrogant human who had dared to cross them, the one who had killed four of their brothers in Kyoto, and end him, rip him apart for his insolence.
They'd tracked him for days, painstakingly following faint leads, narrowing down the location to Shizuoka City. The sight of him, walking casually into this very club with a beautiful human woman, his guard seemingly down, had been utterly unexpected, but lucky. A gift from the spirits, perhaps, leading the prey directly to the hunters.
He and his underlings, followed, observing the man from the shadows, blending into the human crowd with practiced ease. They watched him laugh, drink, and dance, blending seamlessly, almost too perfectly, into the human crowd.
Eventually, in the chaos and shifting bodies of the dance floor, they lost sight of him for a moment, a brief, infuriating lapse. But one of Omiji's men, a smaller, tanku yokai, rushed in moments later, panting, his eyes wide with urgency.
"He slipped out through the back, Boss!"
Omiji cursed under his breath, a guttural snarl that vibrated with suppressed fury, and immediately gave chase, storming into the narrow, refuse-strewn alley behind the building, his remaining underlings scrambling to follow, their forms flickering in the dim light.
Empty. The alley was utterly, chillingly empty. A cold gust of wind swept through, rustling discarded papers.
He grabbed the underling who had reported the escape, his grip like iron on the yokai's shoulder, his single, menacing eye blazing. "Where did he go?! You worthless worm?! He couldn't have just vanished!"
Before the trembling yokai could stammer a response, before he could even form the words, Omiji's instincts, honed by years of predation and countless battles, screamed. A primal, bone-deep warning resonated through him, a jolt of pure, unadulterated danger.
He ducked, twisting his body violently, a fraction of a second too late to save his subordinate, whose wide, terrified eyes were fixed on something behind Omiji.
A whip-crack echoed through the narrow alley, a sound that ripped through the air like tearing silk, impossibly fast, impossibly precise.
The underling's head, still clamped in Omiji's hand, flew clean off his shoulders, severed with impossible precision, a swift, brutal decapitation. A geyser of red, viscous yokai blood spurted from the neck, splashing onto the grimy brick wall and coating Omiji's hand in warm, sticky ichor.
Omiji rolled instinctively, dropping the headless corpse with a grunt of disgust, as he spun to face the threat, his single, menacing eye narrowing, glowing faintly with malevolent energy in the dim alley light. He was ready.
Kenji stood there, a dark silhouette against the moonlight filtering between the tall, shadowed buildings. His blade was extended, poised, its sharp edge glinting, dripping with the last drops of his enemy's life. His eyes, usually warm and gentle when he looked at Anastasia, were now sharp, calm, and utterly cold, devoid of emotion, a predator's gaze fixed on them, promising death.
Ten yokai. One dead. Nine remained, their monstrous forms shifting in the shadows.
They varied in type—some beast-like, hulking and brutish with razor claws; others spectral, ethereal, and unsettling, their forms semi-transparent; some humanoid, bearing grotesque features and wicked grins—but all were between High-Low Class and Mid-Mid Class in power, dangerous threats to any ordinary human, easily capable of tearing apart a dozen armed men. Their leader, Omiji, was clearly the strongest, radiating an aura of raw malice and ancient power; he was easily High-Mid Class, a formidable opponent, even for Kenji.
Kenji sighed, the sound barely audible over the distant strains of jazz from the club, a weary exhale that carried a hint of resignation. His sword, now gleaming ominously in the moonlight, seemed to pulse faintly with an inner light, a reflection of its wielder's grim resolve.
"God, what did I do to deserve this?" he muttered the question more a rhetorical complaint than a genuine inquiry, a familiar lament. Then, a grim, humorless smile touched his lips, a sardonic twist. "Oh right—Big G is gone."
He gripped his sword tightly, the familiar weight of the hilt a comfort in his palm, a direct extension of his will. His stance shifted into a ready, every muscle tensed, every sense alert.
————————————————————
If you want to read ahead and access 5 advanced chapters, check the patreon
Link:patreon/Phantomking785