Tarou Satoru. He was feared by every hitman, every assassin, and every gangster, even though he was just 14 years old. Admired by some, until one day, he found his family.
The cafe was small and filled with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee and baked goods. Soft chatter from the few customers blended with the quiet hum of the espresso machine, creating a peaceful atmosphere. A tall young man with a spiky haircut and a nervous energy about him stood near the counter, fidgeting with a crumpled paper in his hands. He was speaking to a barista, but his eyes darted around, searching.
"He said he's here," the guy muttered to himself, looking at the paper again before stuffing it in his pocket. He sighed, adjusting the collar of his suit. "I've looked everywhere for you, big bro Satoru."
He took a step towards the door. The small bell above the door jingled, and a boy walked in, carrying a large bag of groceries.
"Excuse me," the young man said, stepping in front of the boy, his voice laced with a tense expectation.
The boy looked at him, his expression blank and unchanging.
The young man's eyes widened, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "I could see it… after all this time."
He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low mutter, thick with emotion. "It's been too long, big bro Satoru. It's me, Shiki."
The boy, Satoru, didn't respond immediately. He was busy helping a customer with a stack of manga.
"Thanks for coming," Satoru said to the customer, his voice soft and polite.
"Hey! Don't you dare ignore me!" Shiki yelled, his patience snapping. He slammed a fist on the counter.
The other customers looked over, startled by the sudden outburst. Satoru just stood there, calmly, as if nothing had happened. He turned his head slightly, his gaze falling on Shiki. "Huh? Oh, are you… Satoru?" he asked, a hint of genuine confusion in his voice.
Shiki's face fell, his shoulders slumping in disbelief. "Huh? It's me, Shiki! We used to work together! You don't remember?"
Satoru just nodded slowly. "Oh. Okay," he said, his voice flat.
Shiki felt a cold wave of disappointment wash over him. "So, it was true. You faked your death and stopped being a hitman."
He took a deep breath, trying to control the frustration that was bubbling inside him. "Please come back, big bro Satoru. You're too good to be staying like this," Shiki pleaded, gesturing around the small, unassuming cafe. "I'm here on orders from the organization. They miss you."
"Sorry, but I'm not going back," Satoru said, his voice calm, but with an unshakeable finality. "My days as a hitman are over."
Shiki's eyes narrowed, his voice rising in anger. "You used to be feared by everyone, even when you were just a kid! They called you the Legendary Hitman! What would you throw all that away for? What did we do wrong?" he yelled, his hands clenched into fists. "We had a family! A home! With them, we were more powerful!"
Satoru simply picked up a coffee cup, taking a long sip. He was unbothered by the shouts, the glares from the customers, or Shiki's visible disappointment.
"Honestly, I can't remember you now," Satoru said, setting the cup down. The line hit Shiki like a punch to the gut. It was a complete rejection of everything they once were.
Just as Shiki was about to respond, a commotion broke out near the store's entrance. "Oh, what's happening there?" Satoru said, his tone shifting back to one of mild curiosity.
A man was yelling at two frightened kids. "Hey, please let us go!" one of the boys said, his voice trembling.
"Hey, aren't you the one who stained my trousers?" the man shouted, his face red with rage.
Satoru calmly stood up from the counter and went over to them. His eyes, once blank, were now sharp, assessing the situation. "Hey, what is going on over here?" he said, his voice quiet but authoritative.
The man turned, scowling. "Hey, get out of here, kid!" he sneered, raising his hand to shove Satoru away.
But Satoru was already gone. He moved a single step to the side, his body as fluid as water. The man, unprepared for the quickness, stumbled forward and fell on his face.
The man got back up, now livid. He threw a clumsy punch at Satoru, who dodged with effortless grace, his head tilting to the side just enough to avoid the hit. Without a word, Satoru reached down and picked up a small, red rubber ball from the floor, one of the kids' toys. With a flick of his wrist, he slammed it into the man's face. The impact was enough to stun him, but not injure him.
Just as the man was about to get up again, a sudden kick connected with his face. Shiki stood there, his foot still in the air. The man collapsed, now fully unconscious. Shiki looked at Satoru, a mixture of rage and confusion on his face.
"Thank you!" the kids said, looking up at Satoru and Shiki with wide, grateful eyes.
"Hey! Are you the new fighter for the town now, big bro Satoru?!" Shiki yelled in anger, his voice echoing in the street. "Why did you pretend you don't know me?! We were family!"
"Hey, Sato!" a warm voice called from the back of the store.
"I'm coming, mom!" Satoru replied, his voice shifting back to its warm, domestic tone. He turned back for a moment and watched as Shiki began to walk away, his anger radiating from him. Satoru felt a small pang of regret, but he knew he couldn't go back.
As Shiki was about to turn the corner, a flying ball slammed into the back of his head. "Hey, you kids!" he yelled out in frustration, his voice filled with annoyance. In his anger, he kicked the ball with all his might. The ball went flying, slammed into a parked car, and then ricocheted back, slamming into his face again.
The kids who had been playing with the ball burst into laughter, pointing at him.
"Hahaha!"
Shiki, his face red with embarrassment, walked away as quickly as he could. As he turned the corner, he finally let his true thoughts emerge.
Ha… it's been four years since I last saw him, but he's doing well. Damn… he's still awesome. The way he was able to dodge that guy's attack, even though he was so close to him. Is he trying to say he's not rusty now?
Shiki's eyes began to sparkle, a small grin tugging at his lips. He knew now that Satoru wasn't rusty. Not even a little.
He pulled out his phone and received a message. "Did you manage to tell him to come back?" the text message read.
"No, sir. He refused," Shiki replied, his fingers flying across the screen. He paused for a moment, then added a final line, a quiet promise to himself and his boss: "But he won't be a problem for us. He is still the Legendary Hitman, and he still wants to be the best. I will be sure to drag him back to our side."