The rain never seemed to end in this city. It poured like punishment from the sky, turning the streets into rivers of mud and reflecting the broken glow of neon signs. Most people stayed inside on nights like this, locked away with warmth and light.
But Shin Asakura wasn't most people.
He walked the empty streets with the storm clinging to him, each raindrop sliding down his coat. The storm never touched him. Not really. His world had no weather, no warmth, no cold. Only silence.
Inside the warehouse ahead, laughter and the clink of glasses carried over the storm. A dozen armed men guarded their boss, trying to drown their nerves with whiskey and cards. They had heard the rumors. The Phantom was coming. None of them believed it fully—until the first man vanished into the dark.
A cigarette hissed in a puddle as its owner fell lifeless beside it. Another turned at the wrong time, eyes widening as steel flashed with the lightning. His scream never left his throat.
Shin moved like a shadow, passing through them without pause. Bullets fired blindly into the dark, ricocheting against concrete, but he was already gone, already behind them. His blade whispered through the storm, cutting through bodies as easily as air. His black eyes never wavered. No hatred. No mercy. Just emptiness.
When silence finally returned, only the storm remained.
At the center office, the target sat hunched behind his desk, clutching a pistol in one hand and a stack of bills in the other. The smell of smoke and sweat choked the room.
When the door opened, he nearly collapsed with fear.
"W-wait! Listen—I can pay you. Triple. Ten times! Money, women, power, anything you want, it's yours!"
Shin said nothing. His expression was unreadable as he stepped forward, the storm's roar filling the silence between them.
The man's voice cracked. "Please… I have a family. I'll disappear, I swear it. Just… don't kill me."
Shin's gaze held him for a single, merciless moment. Then he moved.
The blade flashed. The words ended. Blood spilled across the desk, soaking the money the man had tried to offer.
Shin wiped his weapon with steady hands, his eyes dark and unfeeling. There was no triumph in his face, no regret. Only the same silence that had always lived inside him.
By the time the guards dared to enter, the room was empty. No trail, no sound, no sign of escape. Only corpses.
That was the last night anyone in the underworld saw Shin Asakura. Even his own allies never learned where he went. One moment he was everywhere—whispered about, feared like a ghost—and the next, he was gone.
The Phantom disappeared into the storm.
But that night was not the end of his story.
It was only the end of the man who knew nothing but killing.