The night bled into the city like a slow, suffocating poison. Every flicker of lamplight along the narrow alleyways of Kurohara was swallowed by the damp fog, and the cobblestones glistened as if they'd been freshly washed in blood. Shinomiya Reiji moved like a shadow among shadows, his breathing steady, his mind sharpening with every step.
Tonight was not about survival. It was about hunting.
A name had been etched into his memory since the ashes spoke to him—a name whispered by a dying voice: Tachibana Kaien. Whoever this man was, he had been there when the fire consumed everything. He had walked through the ruin without leaving a trace. Reiji's instincts told him that finding Kaien meant finding the truth… but the truth was never free.
Two men blocked the narrow street ahead, their silhouettes tall and still against the fog. They wore the black armbands of the Kurobane Syndicate, a gang known for making corpses disappear without sound. Their presence here wasn't coincidence—it was a message.
"Shinomiya Reiji," one of them called, his voice deep and dry, "you've been asking questions you shouldn't."
Reiji didn't stop walking. "And you've been breathing for too long."
The fight was fast, brutal, and silent—exactly how Reiji preferred it. A flash of steel, the crunch of bone, and the last man's body hit the cobblestones with a dull thud. Reiji didn't even glance back. In Kurohara, hesitation was just another way to die.
Beyond the dead men, the alley opened into an abandoned district. Buildings leaned like broken teeth, their windows hollow and black. Somewhere inside, he could hear faint tapping—rhythmic, deliberate, almost like… code.
Reiji tightened his grip on his blade. Someone was waiting for him.
And the veil over Kurohara's secrets was about to be torn open.