The apartment smelled faintly of antiseptic and the lingering trace of dinner. The city below pulsed with neon lights and distant sirens, but inside, the air was still. Ren stepped over the threshold, mask in hand, his boots silent on the worn wooden floor. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel like someone else—not Shade, not the Cloaks' instrument, just a brother.
His sister, Mariko, sat at the small kitchen table, frail arms folded around a mug of tea. The scar along the left side of her face caught the dim light, a faint pink crescent in contrast to her otherwise pale skin. Her eyes lifted as he entered, bright with innocent excitement. "Nii-san!" she said, voice soft but full of warmth. "You're back early today! Did you bring anything from school?"
Ren forced a smile, placing a small paper bag on the counter. He avoided her gaze for a fraction too long before replying. "Something for dinner," he said evenly, voice calm, betraying none of the tension he carried like a second skin.
Mariko tilted her head, eyes scanning his face. "You look… tired." Her words were gentle, but the observation carried a weight that made him flinch inside. He reached for the bag, setting it down with measured care, and sat opposite her, letting a rare quiet settle between them.
The apartment felt like a fragile bubble, a small sanctuary against the sprawling chaos outside. The window showed the distant glow of skyscrapers and neon advertisements, the city breathing and alive. But here, in this small space, the world seemed manageable. For the moment.
Mariko poured him a cup of tea without asking. It was a ritual, one they had maintained since the fire that took their mother. The memory of that night still haunted him—flames devouring everything, the heat of her screams, the acrid smell of smoke—but he could not let her see the shadows that lingered in his mind. Not yet.
"Did anything… happen at school today?" she asked cautiously, stirring her tea.
Ren hesitated, words catching in his throat. School was a facade, a cover orchestrated by the Cloaks. Its true purpose was far from the mundane lessons Mariko imagined. He was not there to learn algebra or history. He was there to watch, to listen, to report—a spy for the organization that had become his family in the shadows.
He sipped the tea slowly, letting the warmth soothe the chill that never left him. "Nothing unusual," he replied, keeping his tone light, almost casual. A lie. A carefully crafted fragment of normalcy to protect her.
Mariko smiled faintly, setting down her cup. "I wish I could go to school with you… sometimes it must be fun to have friends." Her gaze flickered toward his, searching for any sign that he agreed.
Ren laughed softly, a sound he hadn't allowed himself in years. It was brief, almost alien, but she took it as truth. "Friends are… complicated," he said. A statement neutral enough to satisfy her curiosity but vague enough to hide the truth.
He remembered the countless nights stalking heroes, the weight of bodies he had left behind, the faint pulse of stolen Idols vibrating in the bags he delivered to the Cloaks. And yet, here he was, sipping tea with his sister, the faint scent of her hair mingling with the aroma of brewing tea. The contrast was almost unbearable—he, a killer in the shadows, a spy and assassin; she, a frail girl believing he was her protector, her hero.
Mariko reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, revealing the scar she bore from the fire years ago. "Do you think… do you think Mom would be proud of us?" she asked softly.
The question stabbed at him. Pride, heroism, innocence—all concepts that had been corrupted in his life. His mother had died because of lies and cruelty, and now he lived as one of the city's shadows. And yet, he had to protect Mariko, had to maintain the illusion of heroism for her sake.
"I'm sure she would," he said, voice firm despite the ache in his chest. It was another fragment of truth he could offer without revealing the darkness within.
Mariko smiled, eyes closing briefly, savoring the answer. "Good. I like that," she whispered.
The quiet lingered, filled only by the faint hum of the city. Ren glanced at the small TV mounted in the corner. News broadcasts flickered, showing images of missing heroes, masked men striking at the heart of the city, rumors of the Shrouds' rising influence. Even here, in this safe pocket, the world outside pressed against the walls.
He caught himself thinking about the Cloaks' instructions for tonight's work—deliver harvested samples to a buyer at the shipping docks. The thought was clinical, detached. It had to be. The contrast between this small domestic scene and the horrors he facilitated nightly was a chasm he navigated with precision.
"Will you… be back for dinner tomorrow too?" Mariko asked suddenly, voice almost hesitant.
Ren paused, considering. Lies were easy, truths were deadly. "I'll try," he said softly, letting the words hang. They were neither promise nor refusal, just enough to keep her trust intact.
She leaned back, a faint yawn escaping her lips. "I hope… I hope I can see you smile for real someday," she murmured, almost to herself.
Ren's hands curled slightly on the table. For a fleeting second, he imagined a life where that could be true—a life where he was simply a brother, not an instrument of death. But the reality pressed against his ribs like iron: missions, targets, the Cloaks, the Veil, the Shrouds, the prophecy—he could not escape it. He could not allow escape.
The apartment door opened quietly. Fang and Grave had returned earlier from a separate assignment, though they did not speak. Their presence was a shadow at the edge of his awareness. Ren could sense them without needing words—the rhythm of their breathing, the subtle clicks of equipment on their belts. They were always there, silent witnesses to his duality, a reminder of the life he could never fully share.
He excused himself briefly, walking to the small balcony. The city stretched out before him, lights like scattered stars, oblivious to the machinery of death operating beneath its glow. He allowed himself one deep breath, letting the cool night air fill his lungs. No smoke curled this time, no mask, just the quiet moment between assignments.
"I wonder," he whispered to the empty night, "how many people sleep thinking they are safe… when someone like me is out there, moving in the shadows?"
The rhetorical question was unanswered. The city hummed on, indifferent.
Returning inside, Ren found Mariko asleep at the table, head resting against folded arms. The tea cup had cooled, untouched. A small smile ghosted his lips despite himself. He adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, careful not to wake her. She deserved warmth, comfort, and the illusion that the world still had light in it.
He lingered a moment longer, watching her chest rise and fall in even rhythm. He thought of the Cloaks, of Veil, of the shipments waiting to be made, and of Akihiro, his rival shining like gold in the city's light. Each element of his life pressed against the other like tectonic plates, tension building beneath a thin surface of calm.
The night waited, indifferent. Missions would resume, bodies would move, and shadows would dance across the city once more.
But for now, in the quiet apartment, with only a scarred sister as witness, Ren let himself be simply a brother—silent, protective, and endlessly burdened.