The train roared along the tracks, the metallic screech echoing through the air.
It would arrive any second.
Ruigh readied himself.
As the train finally screeched to a halt, he leapt from the roof with a fluid motion, landing in front of the startled passengers without so much as a stumble. Without sparing them a glance, he walked on, leaving the station behind.
The street stretched out before him, bathed in warm sunlight. It seeped into his limbs, relaxing muscles that hadn't known peace in a long time.
A rare feeling for a Killer.
His clothes were still stained with dust and blood, remnants of his latest fight. He sighed. You get used to that sort of thing.
Turning the corner, Ruigh spotted the small café ahead. Uhra always changed meeting points, and this time, it was here.
His eyes scanned the area.
There he was — leaning casually against the café's outer wall, grey sweatpants, black hoodie. Uhra was… different.
Ruigh stepped closer.
"I'm here, just like you wanted," he muttered.
Uhra raised a finger in mock disappointment.
"I expected more from the great Phantom," he said with a sly grin. "Especially for such a small mission."
Ruigh rolled his eyes.
"The mission wasn't easy," he replied, irritation creeping into his voice.
"Let's talk inside. No need for everyone to hear about a 'small mission'." Uhra chuckled and slipped through the door.
With a sigh, Ruigh followed.
They took the table farthest from the entrance.
Uhra crossed one leg over the other, smirking.
"Alright, tell me how you messed it up this time."
"I didn't mess it up." Ruigh's glare was sharp.
"But you can tell me about it, right?" Uhra's grin widened.
Ruigh exhaled.
"It was… bloody."
"In what way, Phantom?" Uhra leaned forward, tilting his head, clearly amused.
"There were a lot of enemies," Ruigh said flatly.
Uhra nodded knowingly.
"Right, a lot of enemies… and one disgusting Don. You know that title's only given to people in the underworld who possess supernatural abilities and join the business?" His lip curled. "So… did you make him suffer?"
"More or less," Ruigh replied.
"Good. Very good." Uhra leaned back. "Any problems?"
"One supernatural… probably a mercenary. Hit me with a shockwave and slammed me into a wall," Ruigh explained. "But I killed him by turning his own shockwaves against him. He tried to finish me with a shockwave-enhanced punch."
Uhra laughed and clapped his hands.
"I told you it would be useful to train manipulating the logic of force and pressure. That way, almost no punch can hurt you."
Ruigh stared out the window.
"Yeah, you were right. Happy now?"
"Very." Uhra's grin was wide. "Did you also use that trick where you turn the light black and make it into some kind of laser? What was it called… Black Force?" His eyes lit up.
"That name has nothing to do with the manipulation itself," Ruigh said, frowning in thought.
"Still, it's your fastest and maybe most effective technique," Uhra admitted. "I'll never forget the first time you tried it—"
"The forest was gone," Ruigh muttered, scratching the back of his head.
"Half the mountain too," Uhra laughed. "Got me in trouble with the Liger for destroying Training Area Five."
"That's in the past. We haven't talked properly in a while," Uhra said, his tone softening. "So… how's the great Phantom doing? Which mission was this now? You must be busy."
"The eleventh," Ruigh murmured. "The fifth in just three days."
"Busy indeed. I've just been stuck with paperwork, though I squeezed in a mission or two. Scum never takes a break."
Ruigh bit his lip. He hated that scum.
"Hey, seriously…" Uhra's hand landed on his shoulder. For once, he looked concerned. "Have you even slept lately"
Before Ruigh could answer, Uhra's phone buzzed.
The vibration was sharp and insistent — not the usual casual text.
Uhra glanced at the screen. His expression froze.
"What is it?" Ruigh asked, instantly on edge.
Uhra's voice was quieter now, almost unwilling to speak.
"…It's from the Liger."
Ruigh frowned.
"And?"
Uhra looked him straight in the eye.
"One Specelist Killer is dead."
For a moment, the café's background noise — the clinking cups, the murmured conversations — seemed to fade into silence.
"Who?" Ruigh's voice was low, cold.
Uhra swallowed.
"…Sam."
The name hit harder than a punch. Sam — the silent blade, one of the best among the Specelist Killers. If he was gone… then whoever did it wasn't just dangerous.
Ruigh's chair scraped back as he stood.
"Tell me where."
Uhra shook his head slowly.
"No location yet. Just… they found something else. The wall behind him… it was painted with his blood."
Ruigh's stare hardened.
"What did it say?"
Uhra's answer came like a blade sliding from its sheath.
"One word. War."
Outside, the sunlight felt different now — cold, dim
There out had kill someone a Specialist Killer
And declar war on all other