The night was thick with fog, swallowing the narrow streets of an abandoned industrial district. Flickering streetlights cast long shadows on cracked concrete walls, the perfect playground for hunters and prey alike.
Taro Ayato moved like a shadow himself—silent, fluid, and invisible. Clad in all black, his lean, muscular frame barely made a sound as he navigated the maze of rusted metal and broken glass. Tonight, he was on a mission meant for no one else—one man against a dozen of the deadliest killers in the city.
Ahead, the target was guarded by a small squad of elite mercenaries, each trained in lethal combat and equipped with the latest weapons. They thought they had the advantage.
With a flick of his wrist, Taro dispatched the first guard—a precise strike to the neck that ended a life before a single cry escaped. The others turned, but Taro was already moving—a blur of speed and power.
Knives flashed, bullets tore through the air, but every attack was anticipated and countered with deadly efficiency. His fists struck with the force of hammers, his kicks shattered bones, and his reflexes seemed almost supernatural.
One by one, the mercenaries fell. No hesitation. No mercy.
By the time the last enemy hit the ground, Taro stood alone in the silence, breathing steadily, his eyes cold and unyielding.
He was not just a killer—he was the Legendary Hitman. Feared, respected, and unmatched.
In present life,
The sun rose over the quiet neighborhood, sunlight spilling gently through the window of a small convenience store. Inside, the shelves were neatly stocked with snacks, drinks, and everyday necessities.
Behind the counter stood Taro Ayato — a man whose round face, soft eyes, and slightly chubby frame made him look completely ordinary. His thick glasses slid down his nose as he carefully counted the day's earnings.
A customer entered, and Taro smiled warmly. "Good morning! What can I get for you today?"
The cheerful chatter and simple routine made the store feel peaceful. But beneath that calm exterior, Taro's mind was always alert.
Though his body now appeared soft and slow, he still carried the weight of a thousand battles in his muscles and reflexes — his legendary hitman skills hidden behind this unassuming façade.
Whenever trouble approached, Taro only needed to tap into about thirty percent of his true power to handle it quietly and efficiently. The rest of his strength—the one that once struck terror into the hearts of the deadliest enemies—remained locked away, waiting for the day it might be needed again.
For now, this was his world: a simple life, far from the darkness of his past. But deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before that past would come knocking once more.
Absolutely! I'll make sure Taro speaks very little, but when he does, his voice is low, calm, and deadly—commanding respect and hinting at his dangerous nature.
As the afternoon sun dipped low, casting warm golden light through the streets, Taro Ayato wiped down the counter one last time. The bell above the door jingled softly as the final customer left.
He flipped the sign to "Closed", grabbed his worn jacket, and stepped out into the quiet neighborhood.
Walking down the familiar streets, Taro's expression was calm, almost unreadable. His presence alone seemed to silence the usual bustle around him.
At home, the cheerful laughter of his daughter, Hana, and the warm smile of his wife, Emi, greeted him.
Hana ran up and threw her tiny arms around his waist. Taro's lips curled into a faint smile as he ruffled her hair gently.
Emi handed him a cup of tea. "Long day at the store?"
Taro's voice came low and steady, each word measured.
"Same as always."
He said no more, letting the silence fill the room.
They spent the evening quietly together—playing games and sharing soft moments. Taro rarely spoke, but his eyes spoke volumes: calm, watchful, and carrying the weight of a thousand battles.
As night fell, a shadow loomed outside the window, unnoticed by the happy family inside...
The soft morning light spilled over the street as Kaito-the assistant of Taro Ayato waited near the entrance of the small convenience store. His eyes scanned the neighborhood, alert for any sign of danger — but more than that, he was eager to see Taro Ayato, the man he'd heard so much about.
When the door opened, Kaito's eyes widened in disbelief.
Before him stood a man completely different from the stories — a chubby, round-faced shopkeeper wearing thick glasses, with a gentle smile that seemed too soft for a legendary hitman.
Kaito blinked, then rubbed his eyes. "T-Taro? Is that really you?"
Taro's dark eyes met Kaito's calmly. Without a hint of embarrassment, he nodded slightly.
"Yes," he said quietly, his voice low and steady — carrying the quiet power of a man who had seen too much.
Kaito shook his head, still stunned. "I expected… something else."
Taro's faint smile deepened just a little. "Appearances can be deceiving."
Taro sat behind the counter, sipping his tea in silence. The store was quiet — but Kaito could feel the tension rising.
He stepped forward. "Taro… I have to tell you something."
Taro glanced up slightly. No words. Just that deadly, calm stare.
Kaito swallowed. "It's the Black Tiger Mafia. The same group you defeated years ago… but didn't kill. They're coming back. For revenge."
The air in the shop grew still.
"They're stronger. Better armed. And they know you're here."
Taro didn't flinch. He set the cup down slowly, then stood up — towering, quiet, unreadable.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was deep and controlled.
"I made a promise," he said. "To Emi."
Kaito knew what that meant.
Taro continued, cold but steady. "No more killing."
"But…" Kaito said, tense, "they won't stop. They'll burn this whole place down. Your family—"
Taro looked at him — sharp, silent.
"I won't kill," he repeated. "But I'll make them wish I had."
Kaito stood silently for a moment, staring at the man he respected more than anyone. The legendary hitman… now just a quiet father, keeping a promise.
"I understand," Kaito said softly. "I'll be back soon."
Taro gave a small nod, already turning back to the shelves.
Kaito walked out of the shop, his heart pounding.
Later that night – In a dark warehouse near the docks
The Black Tiger Mafia base was dimly lit, filled with armed men, crates of weapons, and tension in the air. At the center sat their leader — a cruel-looking man with a jagged scar running down his jaw.
Suddenly, the guards raised their guns. Someone was approaching.
Kaito stepped inside, unarmed, his hands raised.
The mafia leader narrowed his eyes. "And who the hell are you?"
"I'm… someone who owes his life to Taro Ayato," Kaito said quietly.
That name made the entire room go still.
"I'm not here to fight. I'm here to beg."
The leader leaned forward. "Beg?"
"Please," Kaito said, his voice firm but respectful. "Leave Taro alone. He left that life behind. He has a family. He just wants peace. Don't make him fight again."
There was silence — then cruel laughter.
The leader stood. "That old dog still breathing? You should tell him to run. Because when we come… mercy won't be on the list."
Kaito didn't flinch. He just bowed his head. "Then don't say I didn't warn you."
The mafia leader's grin twisted into cruelty.
"You came here alone… begging? Pathetic."
He raised his hand — a sharp gesture.
"Kill him."
The room erupted.
Several mafia soldiers rushed at Kaito, weapons drawn. Kaito's eyes narrowed. He dropped low, dodging the first strike, then spun — elbowing one in the ribs and sweeping another off his feet.
He fought hard. Fast. Focused. Trained by the best.
But there were too many.
A pipe slammed into his shoulder. A kick knocked him back against the wall. Blood ran from his lip, but he refused to fall.
The mafia leader watched, smirking. "You're strong, boy. But not enough."
One man stepped forward — taller than the rest, muscles packed under his coat, eyes cold. The strongest of the group.
He pulled back his fist — a punch that would crush bone.
Kaito raised his arms, bracing.
And then—
CRACK.
In a blink, the man went flying across the room, crashing through wooden crates like a missile.
Everyone froze.
Standing where he once stood was Taro Ayato —
Eyes sharp. Shoulders wide. No glasses. No smile. Just calm fury.
He had moved faster than anyone could see.
Kaito, wide-eyed, whispered, "T-Taro…"
Taro didn't look at him.
To the mafia leader, he spoke just one word — low, deadly:
"Mistake."
The word echoed through the warehouse, heavier than gunfire.
The mafia leader tried to speak but found himself frozen. His lips moved, but his brain screamed:
We messed up.
That's really him.
That's the man they said no one could touch…
Some of the soldiers raised their weapons, trying to hide their fear behind barrels of steel.
Taro didn't flinch.
"You came after my assistant," he said quietly. "And you brought this… to my doorstep."
He took one step forward.
Just one.
But it felt like a mountain was moving.
"I made a promise," Taro said. "I won't kill anymore."
Then his eyes — cold, dark — met the leader's.
"But I will make sure none of you forget what pain feels like."
That was enough.
Half the men dropped their weapons. Others began backing away slowly. One even ran.
The leader tried to act tough, but his voice cracked. "Y-you think you scare me?"
Taro looked at him without a word.
Then in the next blink — he vanished.
A whoosh of air — and suddenly the leader was on the ground, arms twisted behind his back, face shoved into concrete.
He hadn't even seen the movement.
Kaito's mouth dropped open. "I… didn't even see him move…"
Taro leaned in close to the leader's ear.
"Tell the rest of the world," he whispered.
"Taro Ayato is still alive. And I keep my promises."
Back in the dimly lit mafia headquarters, the leader's face was twisted in frustration and disbelief. He slammed his fist on the table.
"He's alive… and strong." His voice was low, dangerous.
But then he smirked, masking his fear with arrogance.
"Call in our three strongest fighters," he ordered.
Within moments, three men entered — each towering and muscular, their presence filling the room with menace.
One cracked his knuckles, grinning. "So, this is the 'Legendary Hitman'?" he sneered. "Looks like a fat old man with glasses."
The second laughed, slapping his thigh. "I'm already feeling sorry for this chubby guy. We'll have fun breaking him."
The third nodded. "Yeah, he won't know what hit him."
The leader's eyes gleamed. "Good. Take him down. And make sure he regrets ever crossing the Black Tiger Mafia."
The next morning, the sun filtered softly through the shop's windows. Kaito moved around the store with ease — restocking shelves, ringing up customers — fully part of Taro's little family now.
The quiet felt peaceful, almost like the calm before a storm.
Suddenly, the rumble of a large engine shattered the silence.
Outside, a massive black truck screeched to a halt right in front of the store.
Before either of them could react, three masked men jumped out, moving quickly and efficiently.
In seconds, they grabbed both Taro and Kaito, forcing them into the back of the truck.
Kaito struggled against the ropes binding his hands, eyes wide with shock.
"How could you be kidnapped?" he whispered, voice tense. "You're the legendary hitman… How could this happen?"
Taro remained calm, his voice low and steady.
"There are many strong people in this world," he said. "And these three… I know where they're taking us — their headquarters."
Kaito swallowed hard, heart pounding.
"We'll see what they have planned. And how this ends."
The truck sped away, swallowing them into the shadows.
The truck's engine hummed low as it rolled into a dark, sprawling compound hidden away from the city.
The heavy doors opened with a grinding noise.
Taro and Kaito were dragged inside, their hands still bound.
They were led into a massive, dimly lit room — walls lined with weapons, maps, and surveillance monitors glowing faintly.
Standing tall and cold was the mafia leader, flanked by the three strongest fighters who had kidnapped them.
The leader's eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.
"So," he said smoothly, voice dripping with menace, "the legendary hitman and his little assistant. Finally in my grasp."
One of the fighters cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Can't wait to see if this fat man is all talk."
Kaito's jaw tightened, glancing at Taro.
Taro's gaze was calm and unreadable behind his glasses.
"Let's see what you've got," Taro said quietly, voice steady.
The air thickened with tension.
The fight was about to begin.
The tension in the room was thick, but before anyone could react—
Taro moved.
Like a shadow unleashed, he struck with lightning speed.
His fist connected with the first fighter's chest, sending him crashing into the far wall with a heavy thud.
Without missing a beat, Taro spun, delivering a devastating blow to the second fighter's jaw. The man flew backward, smashing through a stack of crates.
The third fighter lunged forward—but Taro was already there, his punch landing squarely in the man's gut, lifting him off the ground and hurling him across the room.
All three crashed to the floor, stunned and gasping for air.
Kaito's eyes widened. "How… how did he move so fast?"
Taro stood calm, adjusting his glasses.
"I told you," he said quietly. "Appearances can be deceiving."
Taro stood tall amidst the fallen fighters, his breathing steady and controlled. The three strongest mafia men struggled to rise but glared at him with growing fear.
Adjusting his thick glasses, Taro's eyes locked onto the mafia leader. His voice dropped low—calm but dripping with deadly intent.
"This… is only my 2% power."
The room went silent, the weight of his words hanging like a storm ready to break.
Kaito's jaw dropped, heart pounding.
If that's 2%, what does 100% look like?
The mafia leader's confident smirk faltered, a flicker of doubt crossing his eyes.
Taro's expression remained unreadable. One thing was clear: the real storm was yet to come.
The room shook with the force of every movement.
In just minutes — it was over.
Taro didn't break a sweat.
The three strongest mafia fighters were unconscious on the floor. The mafia leader lay slumped in the corner, bloodied, stunned, completely humiliated.
Taro calmly loosened the ropes around Kaito's hands.
"Let's go," he said.
Kaito followed, still in shock. "You… you didn't even use 10%."
Taro didn't answer. He just adjusted his glasses and walked out as if he had just taken out the trash.
Back at the shop…
The bell over the door rang softly as Taro stepped in with Kaito behind him.
The scent of fresh food and home greeted them.
And then—
"TAROOOOOOO!"
Taro froze.
There she stood.
Taro Emi — apron on, holding a wooden spoon, her eyes narrowed like a boss battle was about to start.
Next to her, their little daughter giggled, holding a drawing of her "papa."
Taro, the man who had faced armies without blinking, felt his throat tighten.
Kaito stared, confused.
"This guy just beat a mafia… but he looks scared now."
Taro gave a nervous smile.
"…I'm home."
Taro stood frozen, facing Taro Emi, who looked both sweet and extremely suspicious.
Behind him, Kaito gulped, still shaken from what just happened at the mafia base.
Then suddenly—
Kaito's mind buzzed.
A cold wave passed through his head like a whisper made of steel.
"If you tell my wife about the fight…"
Kaito's eyes widened.
"…I will kill you."
The voice in his mind was calm.
Deadly.
Taro's voice.
Kaito slowly turned to look at him — the chubby shopkeeper standing stiff like a guilty kid, avoiding eye contact with his wife.
Kaito whispered under his breath, "Y-You can control when I hear your thoughts…?"
Taro didn't respond.
He just gave him a slight side-eye glare that said:
"I'm not joking."
Taro Emi tilted her head, smiling sweetly. "So… where were you two?"
Kaito forced a nervous grin. "U-Uhhh… we were just… grocery shopping!"
Taro nodded quickly. "Yes. Long line."
Emi narrowed her eyes.
The scariest moment of the day… had just begun.
Late night.
The shop was quiet. Emi and their daughter had gone to sleep.
Taro sat at the table, calmly sipping tea, glasses still on, a slight bruise under his sleeve — though you'd never know from his face.
Kaito sat across from him, arms crossed, eyes serious.
The light above them flickered softly, casting long shadows.
Kaito finally spoke.
His voice was low, almost a whisper.
"The war's not over, Taro."
Taro didn't move. He didn't blink.
He simply took another sip.
"I know," he said quietly.
A long silence followed. The air felt heavier now — as if something much darker was approaching.
Then Taro stood, walking to the window, staring into the night.
His reflection looked calm.
But inside… the storm was already rising.
Than Taro and Kaito went to sleep.