"Souta, buy fewer snacks."
As they stepped out of the convenience store, Aki no Haruka advised, her hands struggling with two large plastic bags.
"Eating only snacks isn't good for your health. We came to buy ingredients for dinner."
"I don't care," replied the girl named Aki no Sora, gripping both of their schoolbags in one hand while holding a Pocky stick between her lips.
It was a biscuit stick covered in chocolate—the kind couples use for that playful 'kiss game'.
"They're heavy. Let's go home already."
"Alright," Haruka gave a small smile.
While their schoolbags weren't heavy, the two bulging bags of groceries and snacks certainly were. Haruka noticed Sora sneaking glances at his hands, and he understood her silent plea.
"What do you want for dinner tonight?"
Before transmigrating, the only thing Haruka knew how to make was instant noodles. Unfortunately, Sora absolutely hated those. Thankfully, he had the memories of the body's original owner to fall back on—or he'd have to resort to ordering takeout.
"Anything's fine."
After a moment's thought, Sora gave a lazy, vague response.
"Then let's make braised meat soup."
Adachi Ward.
Evening approached, and the golden hues of sunset painted the worn cityscape. Though technically part of Tokyo, Adachi was the poorest of its 23 wards. Many buildings here were over three or four decades old.
Utility poles along the roadside stretched tangled webs of cables through the air—reminding Haruka of the urban villages from his previous life.
And the Aki household was located right here.
"You're so slow."
Sora grumbled as they arrived in front of a standalone house, but she still opened the gate and stepped aside to let him in.
Haruka walked past his sister, glancing up at the building.
It was a typical 1980s standalone home—like those seen in old anime like Crayon Shin-chan or Doraemon—complete with a courtyard, two floors, and a surrounding wall.
Such houses had mostly been replaced by apartment blocks in busier areas. Only remote places like Adachi still had remnants of the past.
Wait—
Haruka's gaze caught something in the window and he paused.
"What is it?" Sora asked curiously from behind.
Haruka squinted at the pulled-back curtain, then casually looked away.
"Nothing."
If her brother said so, Sora wouldn't press. She stepped up to the door and unlocked it.
"I'm home."
While she announced her return, Haruka had already stepped inside first with their bags.
"Welcome—"
Shfft—
Before Sora could finish speaking, two shadows lunged at them from the sides. Cold metal pressed against their faces—daggers glinting in the dim light.
"Don't move!"
"Move and you die!"
BANG—the door slammed shut behind them.
CLICK—the light flicked on, illuminating the dim room.
"Yo, brought us some food too?"
A mocking voice called out from the living room, drawing the siblings' attention.
On the sofa lounged a burly, bald man with tattooed arms and a tank top, legs spread wide in a gang-leader pose.
"Robbers," Haruka said flatly.
"No, no, little lady, you're mistaken."
The bald man sat up with a grin.
"We're not robbers—just some big brothers standing up for our little bro."
He pointed to someone nearby.
"Yamamoto."
Just as Haruka suspected. He'd already grown wary when he saw the curtain pulled back.
Normally, he'd call the police. But with the magic flowing in his veins, Haruka had no fear.
"That's him!"
Yamamoto pointed furiously at Haruka, his eyes full of venom.
Always these troublesome fools.
Haruka's gaze swept over the coffee table—tape, a camera—and hardened.
Four thugs.
Two at the door, dressed in flashy 'street punk' attire, were holding blades to their necks. Yamamoto stood proudly in the center, while the bald man smirked from the couch.
"You're the brat who beat up Yamamoto?"
"Unless someone else did it today, yeah, that was me."
Even with a dagger at his throat, Haruka remained calm, causing Yamamoto to flinch but refrain from advancing.
He wasn't in charge here.
"Hah, bold one."
The bald man rubbed his jaw.
"I like bold guys. If you hadn't pissed off my little bro, I might've invited you to join our gang—Zansha Clan."
"Brother Rikkawa?!"
Yamamoto was furious and shocked.
The bald man silenced him with a look.
"Pity, though. I heard your family got some big compensation money? Hand it over and buy your life—and…"
His gaze turned to Sora.
It became lustful, greedy, and violent all at once.
"Hey girlie… spend one night with us, and we'll let your brother go. Sound good?"
He added with a smirk:
"Relax, we won't treat you like Junko Furuta."
That name instantly drained the color from Sora's face.
Thirty years ago, a high school girl named Junko Furuta had been brutally tortured, then sealed in a concrete-filled oil drum. The case shocked Japan, and her death became an infamous symbol of cruelty.
It had happened right here—in Adachi Ward.
"Let's take a photo too—for memories."
The bald man leered at Sora. Though thin, her sweet and cute face was like a living money printer. Their gang, Zansha, ran many seedy businesses. With goods like her, he could rise in the ranks—
"Are you done talking?"
That cold voice cut through the tension, sending a chill down the bald man's spine.
Haruka, still held at knifepoint, spoke calmly.
"Sora, close your eyes."
Sora obeyed instinctively. The others looked confused as Haruka's hand shot up.
He grabbed the thug's wrist.
CRACK—
His strength, bolstered by magic, crushed the thug's grip like a vice.
"AARRGH—"
The scream barely escaped before it was cut off. The thug froze, dagger falling from his hand.
D-rank Illusion Technique: Binding Spell.
SHFFT—
Haruka caught the falling dagger mid-air and spun.
The second thug had no time to react—silver light bloomed in his vision.
SPLAT—
His eyeball burst. The blade pierced his socket and sank to the hilt.
Fueled by rage, Haruka hurled the dagger. It nearly pierced through the thug's entire skull.
"You—?!"
The bald man leapt up.
SMACK—
Haruka was already at the couch, hand clamped over his face, silencing him.
He shoved him down hard into the seat.
Then raised a foot—
BOOM!
A vicious stomp crushed the man's lower body into the couch.
SQUELCH—
As Haruka lifted his blood-soaked shoe, red and white fluids stretched in sticky strands. He let go of the unconscious brute.
Then turned to Yamamoto.
THUD—
Yamamoto dropped to his knees, mind blank with terror.
"Souta Kiryuu… I-I was wrong! Please—"
"No, Yamamoto."
Haruka shook his head.
"You're not sorry. You just know you're about to die."
"Big bro, are you sure—"
"Go shower and change."
Haruka waved Sora toward the bathroom, then looked down at the writhing figures on the floor.
"Now to deal with you."
"Mmmphh!!"
Yamamoto and the other surviving thug were bound and gagged with their own tape.
With what they'd just witnessed, they knew better than to beg. But struggling was all they could do.
"Friends who kill often know—the killing part is easy. It's disposing of bodies that's hard."
With eerie calm, Haruka opened the sliding door to the yard. He dragged the unconscious bald man, the stabbed corpse, and all the thug's supplies into the courtyard.
The sky had darkened. With no tall buildings nearby and the walls shielding him, no one could see a thing.
"But for me, it's not hard."
He threw Yamamoto onto the pile of bodies.
"Enjoy your last few minutes."
SQUAT—
Haruka pressed his palm to the earth.
D-rank Earth Technique: Swamp of the Underworld.
The ground churned, turning into soft mud.
Originally a trap technique from the World of Fire, this jutsu was perfect for garbage disposal.
Haruka planned to sink them dozens of meters down—too deep for anyone to ever find them without industrial equipment.
And really—who'd dig here?
"Goodbye."
As Yamamoto sobbed and vanished beneath the soil, Haruka stood and dusted off his hands.
The courtyard surface had returned to normal.
"Alright… time to make dinner."