Yokohama greeted Tatsumi not with metropolitan luxury, but with its own rough, salty breath. The port district was a completely different world from the manicured campus of U.A. or even the bustling city center of Tokyo. Here, the air was heavy with the smell of diesel, fish, and rusting metal. The groans of giant cranes and the hoarse horns of ferry boats became the constant background music. This was a world of workers, sailors, and people who lived in the cracks of society—the perfect environment to hide a secret.
Their new safe house was a reflection of that environment. It was no longer a luxurious villa, but a cramped and dusty two-room apartment above a closed-down ramen shop. It smelled of a mixture of stale instant noodles and old dust. The only thing out of place was the array of advanced communication equipment and monitors that Hawks' agents had installed in the living room, turning the dump into a digital nerve center.
When Tatsumi entered, he was greeted by a now-familiar sight. Akame sat cross-legged on the floor, calmly disassembling and cleaning every part of the silenced sniper rifle she would be using. Nearby, Leone was taking off her first disguise—a delivery woman—while grumbling about how uncomfortable cheap work boots were.
"Welcome to our palace, Dragon Boy," Leone said with a tired grin. "Hope you like the smell of dust and regret."
"It's... functional," Tatsumi replied, putting down his bag. His 'Tyrant' persona immediately took over. He walked to the main table where a layout of the target warehouse was already displayed. "Any developments?"
"Plenty," Leone replied. "I've been walking around for a few hours. The guards on the outer perimeter are members of a hired local biker gang, 'The Port Hounds'. They're stupid, arrogant, and care more about their paycheck than their duty. They are our most obvious weak point."
Akame looked up from her rifle. "I observed from a distance last night. They have predictable patrols. But the camera system on the inner fence is much more advanced, with thermal and motion sensors. And I'm sure there are more professional guards inside."
Tatsumi studied the layout. He pointed to a tall, old grain mill building, about eight hundred meters from the warehouse. "This is the observation post Hawks marked for me." He shook his head. "Too obvious. That's the first sniper's nest any competent security team would check. We need something else."
For the rest of that day and all of the next, they worked tirelessly, turning the cramped apartment into a war planning center. They didn't just rely on Hawks' initial data; they built their own picture from the ground up, brick by informational brick.
Leone became a chameleon on the streets. One moment she was a lost tourist with a camera, photographing the port's architecture while secretly mapping the positions of security cameras. The next, she was a chatty bartender, pouring beers for dockworkers and gang members, her sharp ears catching every piece of gossip and complaint. She managed to find out the shift change schedule for 'The Port Hounds' and even the name of their captain who apparently had a gambling habit.
Akame was a ghost in the night. When the port grew quiet, she moved. She climbed fences, moved in the blind spots of the cameras she had identified, and tested the range of the motion sensors by throwing small pebbles. She mapped every shadow, every possible infiltration and escape route. She was an artist painting on a canvas of darkness.
Tatsumi and Hawks, meanwhile, fought their war from a distance. From their apartment window, Tatsumi used high-powered binoculars to observe the warehouse for hours, noting every detail: the types of trucks coming in and out, the model of weapons the guards carried, even their smoking habits. He relayed this information to Hawks, who then hacked into local databases, looking up the trucking company, tracking the criminal records of the guards, building a psychological profile of their enemy's fortress.
On the second night, the night before the mission, they gathered for the last time. The map before them was no longer just a layout; it was a living organism they had dissected, every artery and nerve exposed.
"Alright," Hawks said through an encrypted speaker. "Based on your new intel, we're changing your position, Tatsumi. Not the grain mill, but on top of one of these inactive container cranes. The line of sight is a bit more limited, but they'll never expect that position."
They perfected every detail of their plan, from the timing of Akame's infiltration to the secret signal Leone would use to start the diversion if needed. Everything was ready.
The Night Before the Hunt
After all the planning was done, a tense silence returned to the apartment. Their meal that night was just a bowl of hot instant ramen, eaten in silence around a small, rickety table. Rain began to fall outside, its heavy drops hitting the window, creating a melancholic atmosphere.
"You know," Leone said, breaking the silence as she slurped her broth. "For a bunch of kids trying to save the world, you two are really serious. You need to learn to relax a little, or you'll get old before your time."
Tatsumi just smiled faintly. "It's hard to relax when we're about to walk into a nest guarded by Yozakura assassins."
"We... never had much chance to relax," Akame added, her voice soft, her eyes staring out the rain-streaked window. There was a deep sadness there, an echo of a childhood that had been stolen from her, not just once, but twice. "For us, being vigilant means staying alive."
Leone looked at the two teenagers before her. Behind their incredible strength, she saw two old souls trapped in young bodies, both carrying invisible scars. Her protective instinct flared up again. "Well then," she said in a softer tone, "just make sure you stay alive. I'm starting to like you two, you weird kids."
Tatsumi felt the sincere warmth from Leone's words. He glanced at Akame, who, despite showing no emotion, seemed a little more relaxed. Inside this shabby apartment, in the middle of a strange city, surrounded by danger, for a moment, they felt like a family. A very dysfunctional and deadly family, but a family nonetheless.
He remembered his promise to Momo. The promise to return. That thought, a shadow of his other life filled with light, became his anchor in this storm. It gave him strength. It gave him a reason.
Zero Hour
One hour before the meeting was scheduled to start. The rain had now subsided to a light drizzle, blanketing the port in a thin fog. Perfect for their operation.
The team moved out.
Akame was first. She wore her black infiltration suit, every part of her body laden with hidden weapons. She didn't say goodbye. She just gave Tatsumi a short nod, then jumped out the back window, disappearing into the wet alley like a raindrop herself.
Leone followed a few minutes later. She now wore the work clothes of a port mechanic, complete with oil stains and a baseball cap pulled low over her face. "Okay, kids. Time to get to work," she said with a grin. "See you on the other side." She walked out the front door, blending in with the sparse crowd of night workers.
Now only Tatsumi remained. He stood in the middle of the empty apartment, wearing his 'Tyrant' costume. He felt the dormant Incursio within him, ready to be called. He walked to the roof, feeling the cold drizzle on his face before his helmet formed.
In the distance, he could see the flickering lights of Warehouse Number 7. Somewhere in there, Akame was on the move. On the streets below, Leone was taking her position. And in the digital sky, Hawks was watching over them all.
With a silent flap of his wings, he launched into the wet night. The rain masked his sound, the darkness masked his form. He was a ghost flying towards the enemy's nest.
In all three of their earpieces, Hawks' voice came through, calm and controlled.
"All assets in position. The countdown begins."
"The hunt is on."