SAI SHINU
Hours… days… maybe even weeks passed inside that void. Time meant nothing there. My senses were completely gone.
Then—suddenly—a presence.
I could barely hear, but I knew someone was standing beside me. I couldn't make out his words.
Not that it mattered—I wouldn't have been able to respond anyway.
With what little sense I had left, I felt something being placed near my lips.
A drink?
"Could it be anything, though?" I thought.
If it was poison, I wouldn't be able to stop it.
All I could do was have faith—faith that this stranger was here to help me.
JIRO IKIGAI
"Where am I?" I whispered. My own voice echoed back to me.
No answer.
"Whose room is this? How did I get here?" My thoughts were racing.
"Hey! Is anyone here?" I called out, but the silence swallowed my words.
The last thing I remembered was stepping out of that coffee shop.
After that—black. Total black.
I forced myself to my feet. I wasn't going to sit here and wait for something to happen.
First step—find a way out. But there was no door. No window. Nothing.
The only choice I had was to search the room.
As I began looking, a faint image flickered in my mind—memories of Sai.
Why now? It felt like years since we'd last met… but I knew that wasn't true.
I found a mirror, but it was so clouded with grime that my reflection was just a blur.
I tried using my phone camera instead, but the image was just as distorted.
"Something's wrong… Why the hell can't I see myself?" I thought, my chest tightening.
Eventually, while searching, I found a door.
The exit. But it was locked.
The more I searched for the key, the more memories of Sai came rushing back—flashes, sounds, moments we shared. I didn't understand why.
Finally, I found it—the key. My hands trembled as I turned it in the lock. The door creaked open. And there it was— ■ ■ ■
SAI SHINU
Time passed, and my senses began to return. Whoever this person was… he was helping me. Slowly, his features became clear.
Dark eyes—cold, empty, yet familiar. In him, I saw a reflection of myself.
But beneath that emptiness burned the hunger of a predator. A quiet, patient thirst for blood.
His hands bore scars—the kind only a blade could give. Not just any blade. Daggers.
To master one weapon takes years of relentless training. Endless repetition. Countless battles.
But he was young. Far too young to carry an aura this terrifying.
"Thank you for saving me," I managed to say.
"No need to thank me. Let's go," he replied, his voice sharp but steady.
"Go where?" I asked.
He turned to me. "Do you trust me?"