Tokyo.
The city never really slept — it just powered down in waves. Right now, it was half-awake. Too early for rush hour, too late for the streets to be empty. A sea of suits and uniforms moved like a slow tide through train stations, all blinking into phones, brushing past without apology, breathing each other's air.
Above it all, in a quiet apartment wedged between a convenience store and a laundry shop, a boy stared at himself in the mirror.
Kaito squinted.
"…Too clean."
He yanked his black hoodie lower, stuffed both hands in the pocket, and kicked the side of the sink with mild contempt. His reflection stared back with that same half-dead expression: dark bags under sharp eyes, short-cropped black hair that refused to stay neat, and a vertical scar running behind his left ear.
He looked like someone who didn't belong in a classroom.
Which was funny, because he didn't.
"You're going to be late," came a voice from behind the paper-thin door.
Kaito didn't move.
"I'll go when I feel like it."
"You've been standing in front of that mirror for fifteen minutes."
"I'm blending in."
"You look like you're about to rob the school, not attend it."
"Good."
"...Lunch is packed. Don't make me waste eggs again."
Kaito sighed and pushed away from the mirror. His adoptive mother, Satomi, had a way of winning arguments by simply being persistent. It wasn't that he respected her authority. He just hated the sound of cold tamagoyaki. That felt like a crime.
He stepped out of the bathroom, grabbed the bento on the counter without a word, and nodded toward the girl half-asleep at the table.
"Yo."
Mikasa blinked up at him, hair messy, a rice cracker still in her mouth.
"…You're wearing black again."
"Obviously."
"They're gonna think you're a delinquent."
Kaito raised a brow. "I am a delinquent."
Satomi folded her arms behind them, eye twitching.
"You're a transfer student. Not an ex-gangster. Smile. Speak politely. Don't stab anyone."
Kaito stared at her. "That last one was oddly specific."
"You're oddly specific."
He gave her a thin, amused exhale and turned for the door.
Sugino High School.
A "reform-academic" institution. Clean uniforms, even cleaner PR team. A place where underachievers could get a second chance, and overachievers could safely look down on them.
What most people didn't know was that Sugino had a long-standing secret contract with the Japanese Assassin Federation.
Roughly 5–10% of its students were "special condition enrollees" — children of ex-assassins, retired agents, or active assets under civilian cover. They lived among the normal students. Ate lunch with them. Played sports with them.
Sometimes, they even killed with them.
But Kaito didn't care about that right now. His eyes scanned the gate, the rooftop, the reflections in classroom windows. Old habits died hard. There were three visible cameras. Two blind spots in the stairwell. One security guard who was asleep with his cap over his eyes.
Amateur hour.
He took a slow breath and stepped into the courtyard.
High school life hit him in the face like a right hook.
Noisy laughter, gum-chewing students, teachers trying too hard to be relatable, and… some kid beatboxing in the hallway for literally no reason.
Kaito's eye twitched.
He didn't know which was worse: the people here or the people who paid to send their kids here.
A girl ran past him carrying a bento the size of a laptop. A group of boys argued loudly about which anime villain was the "real sigma male." Someone shouted, "I left my biology folder in the urinal!" for reasons unknown.
Kaito stopped walking.
"…This is hell."
He found the teacher's office quickly. Knocked twice. Slid the door open.
A woman with pink glasses and a bob cut looked up from a messy desk.
"Oh, you must be the transfer student. Kaito Yamada, right?"
He nodded slowly.
Her brow lifted at the name. "Huh. That's a pretty normal name."
"Thank you?"
"Alrighty. Here's your schedule, locker key, and some advice: Stay out of the third floor bathrooms. They're haunted."
Kaito blinked.
"…Excuse me?"
She stood up and led him toward the door.
"You're in Class 1-C. Homeroom teacher is Mr. Kuwabara. Loud, but harmless. Good luck!"
He didn't even make it down the hallway before the whispering started.
"Who's the new guy?"
"He looks scary…"
"Is he wearing combat boots?"
"Wait, I think I saw him nod at a pigeon."
"Yeah. I think he's one of them."
Kaito didn't react. But his ears tracked every word. Every step. Every heartbeat nearby. He walked at a measured pace — neither slow enough to look afraid, nor fast enough to seem suspicious.
Inside, he counted the corners. The exits. The vents.
When he reached Class 1-C, he stopped at the door.
A beat.
Another.
Then he slid it open.
Thirty pairs of eyes turned toward him.
The room fell silent.
And then—
"Oh hey! The transfer student's here!"
A tall, loud, overly friendly guy with bleach-blond hair bounded up to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"Welcome, bro! I'm Jin! Let's sit together at lunch!"
Kaito stared at him.
"…Get your hand off me."
Jin blinked. "Right, right, boundaries. Respect. I like that. You're a strong silent type, huh? I get that. Deep. Mysterious. Probably writes poetry at night."
Kaito walked past him and sat in the back corner without a word.
Jin followed like a puppy.
At the front of the room, Mr. Kuwabara — a man with the fashion sense of a malfunctioning blender — adjusted his tie and smiled like he'd been waiting for this moment all week.
"Class! We have a new student joining us today. This is Kaito Yamada! Let's all welcome him."
A few half-hearted claps. A few nervous glances.
Mr. Kuwabara smiled wider.
"Kaito, would you like to say a few words about yourself?"
Kaito looked at him.
"No."
"…Haha! Love the dry humor! Alright, take a seat then!"
He already had.
But not everyone was amused.
From two seats away, a girl stared at him with laser focus.
Short black hair. Sleek uniform. Legs crossed. Sharp posture.
Kaito recognized the type instantly. Not a civilian. Not at all.
She was watching for habits. Breathing patterns. Tells.
She had a blade in her bag. Maybe two. One on her leg.
She knew who he was.
He didn't know her name.
But he would.
Soon.
Kaito didn't look at her.
The girl two seats away — perfect posture, neutral expression, assassin's gaze.
He didn't need to make eye contact to know she was observing everything: the way he moved, the way he breathed, even the way he adjusted his chair when he sat. Civilian students didn't do that.
This girl was either trained… or born into the world he was trying to leave behind.
He tapped his finger twice against the underside of the desk. It was instinct. One for danger. Two for unknown variables.
The last time he did that, he was dodging poisoned needles in a bamboo forest.
Now, it was just a high school classroom with terrible fluorescent lighting and a teacher who still thought PowerPoint transitions were cool.
He relaxed his hand and stared ahead.
But his mind was already building scenarios.
The first half of class passed without incident.
Mr. Kuwabara babbled about school policy, the club sign-up deadline, and why it was important to respect the rules, even if you think they're dumb. Someone in the back snored. A gum wrapper hit the ceiling fan and fluttered down like a dead pigeon.
Kaito took note of all of it.
• The guy with the snoring problem? High pulse rate. Likely hungover.
• The girl who threw the wrapper? Good aim. Stupid priorities.
• Mr. Kuwabara? Too distracted to notice someone sneaking out the window.
But none of them concerned him.
Only the girl.
She hadn't written a single note. Hadn't blinked in his direction once since class started. But Kaito could feel her watching through the edge of her vision. Her attention was like a sniper's laser dot — invisible, but undeniable.
She's testing me.
At break, Jin crashed into his desk like a meteor.
"Yo! Bro! Want to grab milk bread from the vending machine? I'll spot you!"
"No."
"Oh come on, man, you can't be the brooding type 24/7. You gotta unwind. You ever played Gekko Blaster? I'll show you at lunch. You got a phone?"
Kaito stared at him.
"…Do I look like I play phone games?"
Jin leaned in, wide-eyed. "That's exactly why you'd be cracked at them."
"Cracked?"
"It means good."
Kaito blinked. "Then why not just say good?"
"Because cracked sounds cooler."
"That's stupid."
"You're stupid."
Kaito raised a brow.
Jin backed off instantly. "With all due respect, bro."
Kaito went back to ignoring him.
And still — she watched.
Not actively. Not openly.
She merely existed in the corner of his senses, steady and cold. Even as she chatted quietly with a girl beside her, her guard never dropped. She didn't laugh. Didn't fidget. Didn't stretch.
People who were that composed didn't come from normal families.
When the bell rang and students began to shuffle toward the hall for lunch, Kaito stood up and moved to leave the room.
He didn't make it far.
"Yamada-kun."
Her voice was crisp. No hesitation. No tone.
Kaito turned his head — just slightly.
The girl stood next to her desk, eyes leveled on his.
"Can we speak privately?"
The class froze.
Jin immediately gasped. "Yo— Is this a confession?!"
Kaito's eye twitched. The girl did not react.
"No," she said calmly. "It's a question."
"Ohhh it's a secret confession."
"I'll knock you out," Kaito muttered.
"Valid."
The students filtered out. The teacher was long gone. Within a minute, it was just the two of them in the classroom.
The door clicked shut.
Kaito leaned against a desk, arms folded.
The girl stood with perfect posture, arms behind her back.
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then—
"Your footwork is wrong."
Kaito blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"Your heel placement. It's too heavy. Your step pattern favors your left leg. You're protecting an old injury."
"…You're not from around here, are you."
She stepped closer, but not threateningly.
"I don't care who you were. But I know what you are."
"And what's that?"
"Trained."
Kaito's eyes narrowed. "So are you."
She didn't deny it.
"My name is Yukine Minami," she said simply. "Second-year student. Captain of the fencing club. Daughter of Minami Jirou — former Federation agent, retired three years ago."
"And now?"
"Now I go to school. Just like you."
He paused. "You're Federation?"
"I was raised in it."
"That supposed to mean something to me?"
"No. But it means something to the people watching this room."
Kaito's head tilted slightly.
"Window. Left building. Fourth floor. Red curtain."
She glanced out the side of her eye. "Confirmed. Civilian camera team. But probably not surveillance."
Kaito raised a brow. "How sure are you?"
She didn't answer.
There was a silence. The kind that crackled with all the words neither of them wanted to say.
Then Yukine spoke again.
"I'm not here to fight you."
"Funny. You sound like you want to."
"If I did, you'd already be bleeding."
He smirked. "I've heard that before."
"I'm watching you because people like you don't just transfer in."
Kaito's face hardened. "People like me?"
"Ghosts. Survivors. Killers with broken leashes."
For the first time, there was something colder in her voice. Something personal.
Kaito didn't answer.
She exhaled. "There's a system here. A balance. If you upset it, people will die. And not just the ones who deserve it."
"You think I care?"
"You will. Eventually."
The door opened suddenly.
Jin poked his head in. "Yo, y'all still in here? The udon line's dying, let's go—"
Yukine turned and walked past him without a word.
Jin stared after her, then looked at Kaito.
"…Did she confess?"
Kaito sighed.
"I hate this school."
Later that day...
The fencing club practiced on the rooftop gym.
Kaito watched from behind the fencing nets, bento box untouched.
Yukine moved like a machine — fast, precise, not wasting a single movement. Every strike, every parry, every step was practiced a thousand times over.
He recognized it immediately.
That wasn't the movement of a school athlete.
That was kill training with a civilian filter on top.
And from the rooftop corner, he spotted something else — a boy in uniform not part of the club. Standing too still. Watching too quietly.
Kaito narrowed his eyes.
Not a student. Not a teacher. Not Federation.
Then the boy made a single hand signal — low, behind his back — directed toward Yukine.
Assassin code.
Kaito stood up.
He didn't know why.
But something told him:
This day wasn't going to end peacefully.
Kaito's fingers twitched by instinct.
That hand signal.
It wasn't a direct threat. Not yet. But it was a provocation. A challenge. Maybe even a warning. One only trained eyes would catch. The boy on the far side of the roof — shaggy brown hair, loose uniform, one sleeve rolled up like a delinquent who hadn't committed — didn't break eye contact with Yukine.
Yukine didn't flinch either.
Kaito's eyes tracked the distance between them. Twelve meters. Open terrain. The only cover was the storage unit behind the fencing gear, too far to be useful. Wind speed: mild. The roof railings wouldn't block a shot if it came down to it.
Still seated, Kaito lowered his chopsticks and snapped his bento box shut.
He stood.
Moved casually. Silently. Not toward the boy, but along the outer perimeter of the fencing nets. Like someone stretching his legs.
But his eyes never left the interloper.
Then it happened.
The boy's hand twitched. Not much — but just enough to show he had something beneath his blazer.
Weapon.
And the message was clear: Yukine, back off.
Yukine, of course, didn't.
She turned her head just slightly. Not enough to acknowledge the threat. Just enough to speak under her breath.
"Back line. Watch him."
Her co-captain — a girl with spiky hair and a sharp sense of timing — nodded, stepping into position behind the group, suddenly far more serious.
Kaito reached the corner of the fencing area, leaned on the net post, and yawned exaggeratedly.
"Hey," he called across the rooftop. "Creepy guy in the rolled-up sleeve. You need something?"
The boy blinked.
Smiled.
"Ah. Sorry. Just admiring the footwork. It's... elegant."
His tone was too smooth. Practiced. Civil in a way that put up red flags everywhere.
Yukine didn't say a word. She simply turned back to her opponent and resumed sparring.
But Kaito didn't let it drop.
He took a step forward. Hands in his pockets. Tilted his head just slightly.
"You Federation?"
"Me? Nah. I'm freelance."
That wasn't comforting.
The boy turned and walked toward the rooftop stairs — not quickly, but with a kind of grace that made Kaito's instincts ring.
He's not bluffing.
He's scouting.
And most importantly —
He wasn't here for Yukine.
He was here to confirm something.
Kaito's presence.
Before disappearing down the stairs, the boy glanced back one more time.
And winked.
Later that night.
Kaito sat on the edge of the apartment's balcony, hoodie up, legs dangling over the fourth floor.
The lights of Tokyo buzzed below like static. Neon signs. Cars. The gentle hum of the city he was learning to live in. Or pretend to.
Inside, his sister was asleep, curled up on the couch with an anime still playing. His adoptive mother — Yui — had gone to bed two hours ago, but she'd left tea out for him. She always did.
Kaito didn't drink it.
He didn't trust stillness when it was too peaceful.
His mind wandered back to the boy on the rooftop.
That posture.
That grin.
He'd seen that kind of look before — right before a kill.
And that meant this school wasn't neutral.
It never had been.
A small chirp broke the silence.
Kaito looked at the burner phone by his hip. The screen flashed with a message.
[Unknown]: He's not the only one watching. Don't get comfortable. - K]
Kaito narrowed his eyes.
He stared at the message for a long time.
Then deleted it.
Next Day – School Grounds
Jin was waiting at the gates with two onigiri and a suspicious amount of energy.
"Yo, Kaito! You seen the transfer girl yet?"
Kaito didn't break stride. "No."
"Bro, she's apparently Russian. Blonde. Intense. Real model vibes. Transferred this morning. People are saying she came from some crazy elite school abroad."
"Sounds like a pain."
"She sits in our class."
Kaito stopped walking.
"…Why are all the dangerous people magnetized to 1-C?"
"Because we're the main characters, bro!"
Kaito sighed.
"Also, Yukine's already talking to her. And it's tense. Like, 'cold war in a school hallway' tense."
Kaito adjusted his bag strap.
"Fine. I'll check it out."
He didn't admit it — but the hair on his neck had already stood up.
Because if Federation agents, freelancers, and ghosts were circling the same school…
That meant something was coming.
And Kaito knew one thing:
He hated being dragged into war zones.
Especially when there was homework involved.
Kaito stepped into Class 1-C and felt the atmosphere shift.
The room was tense. Not in the same way it was when he walked in yesterday — that was tension born of curiosity. This was something else. A low hum of pressure. Like the room was waiting to see who'd move first.
At the center of it stood Yukine.
Sharp, precise, unbothered as always. She stood near the front row, arms crossed, gaze locked on the girl across from her. The new new transfer.
And Kaito saw it instantly.
Not just the blonde hair, tied into a tight braid. Not just the pale skin and frigid expression, or the perfect posture that reminded him of glass that wanted to break something.
It was her eyes.
Icy blue. Focused. Cold. And calculating in a way that told Kaito three things:
• She was dangerous.
• She wasn't hiding it.
• She was trained to kill before she learned kanji.
"Am I interrupting?" Kaito asked dryly, stepping in.
Half the class looked relieved. Jin, for one, whispered, "Thank god," before slinking to his seat.
Yukine didn't glance at him, but the blonde girl did. Slowly. Precisely.
Her gaze slid across his face. Paused at his shoulders. Drifted down to his feet. It was like being dissected without a scalpel.
She tilted her head slightly. "You must be Kaito Yamada."
Kaito didn't answer.
"I was told about you," she added, voice clipped, Japanese faintly accented. "They said you were the quiet type."
"Then they should've said less."
The girl didn't smile, but there was a flicker — something like amusement, or maybe approval.
Yukine finally spoke. "Introduce yourself."
The blonde stepped forward. She didn't bow. Just spoke.
"Elizaveta Volkova. You may call me Lisa."
There was a moment of silence.
Someone at the back whispered, "That's kinda hot." Someone else smacked them.
Lisa's gaze never left Kaito. "I transferred here for cultural integration. But I suspect that will not be the only thing I learn."
Kaito raised a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She stepped a fraction closer. "You and I are not the only predators here."
He didn't move. "You sure you're not just projecting?"
"Perhaps. Time will tell."
Mr. Kuwabara burst through the classroom door right then, holding two cans of coffee and a half-eaten fish cake.
"Good morning, my beautifully unstable class!" he chirped, clearly unaware of the tension. "Ah! Our new new student! Welcome! You're… Miss Vol… Volkovich…?"
"Volkova," Lisa corrected, still watching Kaito.
"Right, right! Wonderful! Just grab a seat and try not to break any hearts or bones on your first day, okay?"
Lisa turned, her braid flicking over one shoulder. She walked to the only open seat — directly beside Yukine.
Kaito didn't miss the way Yukine stiffened for half a breath. Then relaxed. Professional. Measured. But her fingers tapped twice against her thigh.
Signal.
Trouble.
He sighed and slumped into his seat.
Class began — or rather, Mr. Kuwabara rambled through a lecture about Japanese history while simultaneously trying to eat his breakfast and hook up a projector that clearly hadn't worked since 2005.
But no one was watching him.
Everyone's eyes darted between Kaito, Yukine, and Lisa. The new holy trinity of dangerous vibes.
At some point, Jin scribbled on a piece of paper and slid it to Kaito under the desk.
Bro… I think we just became the main characters of an anime.
Kaito blinked once.
Then wrote back:
I'm dropping out.
Lunch Break
Kaito didn't even make it to the hallway before Jin was at his side, yapping like an overexcited pug.
"Dude. Lisa. You felt that aura, right? Like, damn. I think she's a war criminal or something."
Kaito grunted. "She's definitely something."
"She said she trained with the Spetsnaz when she was ten. TEN. I didn't even know how to make toast at ten!"
"I still don't think you do."
"Harsh but true. Anyway, Yukine clearly knows her. Or knows of her. You see that tension? That's assassin beef."
"You're not wrong."
"I never am."
"You literally said lemon milk was 'underrated gas station energy.'"
"Exactly. Never wrong."
Kaito turned a corner, intending to head for the rooftop again. He didn't trust eating in the cafeteria — too many variables, too many eavesdroppers.
But this time, Yukine was already there.
She was alone, arms folded, staring out over the city.
"You're late," she said, not turning around.
"I didn't know we scheduled a meeting."
"We didn't. But we need to talk."
Kaito leaned against the railing beside her. "About Lisa?"
"Yes. And no."
She glanced sideways. "Lisa Volkova is a Russian ghost operative. Her family was part of an Eastern bloc assassination syndicate that disbanded after the Cold War."
Kaito frowned. "Then what's she doing in Tokyo?"
"Officially? 'International Integration.' Unofficially… she's hunting."
"For who?"
Yukine didn't answer.
Kaito waited.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter.
"There's a rumor going around the Federation. Someone is building a new Anbu."
Kaito stiffened.
"…What?"
Yukine's eyes met his. Cold. Serious. No pretense.
"Not our Anbu. Not what was lost. Something worse. A project that started underground — built from surviving assets of dismantled assassin factions. They're calling it… Project Kagemusha."
Kagemusha. Shadow Warrior.
Kaito didn't like the name. It sounded too much like something his village elders would have whispered in fear.
"Who's behind it?"
"No one knows. But a few Federation agents were pulled off their current missions. They were told to investigate… and to find you."
Kaito stared. "Why me?"
Yukine looked away. "Because you're proof the old ways still exist. The last of a breed they thought extinct."
There was silence.
Kaito breathed in slow.
"…You're saying someone wants me to rebuild the monster I ran from?"
"No," Yukine said. "I'm saying someone thinks you already are."
The wind howled across the rooftop.
Far below, the bell rang.
Lunch was over.