The blows on the door thundered like explosions.
"Expecting someone?" Ryo asked, his body tensing.
Miyako shook her head, her gaze fixed on the wood vibrating beneath each impact.
The third strike shattered the lock.
The door came crashing down, dragging dust and splinters with it.
Five silhouettes crossed the threshold between rain and corridor smoke:
Azure Strike, Rank S No. 47, clad in blue armour crackling with electricity;
Redroot, No. 33, covered in what looked like living bark pulsing with crimson veins;
Solaris, No. 11, the woman wrapped in golden light, her hair floating like liquid fire;
and behind them, two lesser figures—Echo and Volt, both Rank A, but with the same predatory stare.
Miyako raised her weapon in a heartbeat, her finger hovering millimetres from the trigger.
Ryo mirrored her, though he knew their guns were toys against monsters like these.
Solaris spoke, her voice amplified by the radiant energy surrounding her.
"Don't run. Surrender, and it'll all end quickly."
Ryo gave a dry laugh.
"Quickly for us, I suppose."
The light in the hallway flared. Miyako narrowed her eyes, scanning for an opening, a shadow, any escape.
But Redroot was already extending his arms—ready to strike.
Ryo took a step forward.
"Miyako… run."
"What are you saying?" she growled, without taking her eyes off Solaris.
Ryo turned just enough for her to see his grin.
"Someone's got to distract these bastards, right?"
Solaris raised a hand; the air began to vibrate.
Ryo clasped his own hands together, muttering under his breath as brown waves of power spread across the floor.
Miyako looked at him—understanding too late what he was about to do.
"Ryo, don't you dare!"
"Too late. Run, Miyako."
The ground shook. A wall of stone erupted between them, climbing to the ceiling like a living barricade.
On the other side, the heroes roared.
"Fool!" Azure shouted, hurling a bolt of lightning that made the wall quake.
Miyako struck the stone with her palm, helpless.
"Idiot! They'll kill you!"
"Maybe," his fading voice answered, "but someone's got to buy time."
The apartment trembled with the violence of the clash.
From the other side came the sounds of explosions, the metallic hiss of energy weapons, and Ryo's voice—half curses, half laughter.
Miyako took a deep breath.
She grabbed Kuro, who was mewing in terror, and moved to the window.
She paused a heartbeat before jumping.
"Thanks… idiot," she whispered.
Then she leapt.
She landed on a metal fire escape that shuddered under her weight.
Rain began to fall again—cold, clean, indifferent.
Behind her, one last explosion lit up the night, staining the sky orange.
Miyako didn't look back.
She didn't want to see what little of her humanity was still burning away.
The fire escape groaned under each step.
Miyako descended clumsily, her body numb, her breath ragged.
The air smelled of iron and ozone; the drizzle washed the dried blood from her hands.
Kuro clung to her coat, trembling.
"Easy… almost there, Kuro," she whispered, though she wasn't sure if it was for him or herself.
Behind her, the building burned in hues of blue and orange—sirens, explosions, screams.
Every sound was a reminder of what she'd left behind.
But she didn't look back. She couldn't.
Her boots splashed through puddles as she turned into a familiar street.
It took her a moment to recognise it—the broken lights, the boarded windows, the graffiti-covered bench.
And then she realised.
It was that street.
The same place where, months ago, she had found Kuro.
A thin cat, caked in mud, trapped under a fallen sign.
She remembered his weak meow, his defiant stare.
And how, without knowing why, she had lifted him and taken him with her.
"The first creature that wasn't afraid of me," she'd thought back then.
Miyako stopped in front of the bank entrance.
The rain was heavier now, as if the sky wanted to wash away the past.
Kuro meowed, looking up at her with those yellow eyes that seemed to read her soul.
"Don't look at me like that, idiot," she said with a crooked smile. "You knew this wouldn't last."
The cat tilted his head, meowing again.
She sighed, taking off her coat and wrapping him in it.
She found a dry corner under an awning and laid him gently on a piece of cardboard.
"You don't deserve to follow my path," she murmured. "You don't deserve this noise, or this blood."
The cat stirred, trying to crawl out of the coat.
Miyako stroked him with trembling fingers, the skin on her knuckles split from the fight.
"You survived once, didn't you? You'll manage again."
Kuro meowed softly—almost a whimper.
"I know," she whispered. "But someone has to live without all this."
Her voice broke on the last word.
For a moment, everything seemed suspended—the rain, the distant hum of helicopters, the echo of her past.
Only her, the cat, and the city breathing through the shadows.
Kuro looked at her one last time before curling beneath the coat, as if he somehow understood he should stay.
Miyako stood, shaking.
"Good boy…" she murmured. "Don't look for me."
She turned away without glancing back.
Her footsteps echoed on the wet asphalt, her shadow stretching and fragmenting in the puddles.
For a second, the reflection of her eyes looked emptier than ever—deader than any corpse she'd left behind.
The rain kept falling.
Somewhere in the distance, a cat meowed—weak but persistent, like an echo refusing to fade.
Miyako kept walking, invisible among the rain and the night.
The noise of the city faded behind her until only the sound of rain remained, and a whisper no one heard:
"Goodbye, Kuro."
Smoke still hung in the air of the ruined apartment. The floor was littered with debris, and the stench of dust and gunpowder was so thick it hurt to breathe.
Solaris moved through the wreckage with steady steps, the golden glow of her aura lighting the chaos. Beside her, Azure Strike held his weapon, while behind them, Echo and Volt searched every corner with wary eyes.
Ryo lay on the floor, a thin line of blood running down his temple. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes remained open—fixed on the wall of stone he had raised to save Miyako.
The structure was cracking.
Solaris approached, studying him. "Don't move."
Ryo coughed out a bitter laugh. "Was that… an order or a suggestion?"
Volt aimed his weapon, but Solaris lifted a hand. "There's no point."
Through the radio, a voice cut through the static:
"This is Sentinel Unit. Confirming primary target—the blue-haired assassin—escaped through the east sector. Repeat: she escaped."
Solaris's face tightened. "Where's the sniper?"
Cut to: a rooftop, fifteen blocks away.
The sniper, face hidden behind a black mask, adjusted the thermal scope with surgical precision.
The radio crackled.
"Permission to fire granted. Authorisation: Solaris."
The man breathed slowly. Through the scope, Miyako moved through wet streets, her silhouette framed by the reflection of streetlights in puddles. She no longer had the cat—only her weapon, and a gaze that didn't know fear.
Through the lens, she looked fragile. But the sniper knew better.
He set his finger on the trigger.
Shot.
The sound reached a second later.
A bullet sliced through the night with a dry hiss.
In the main street, Miyako felt it before she heard it. Her reflection in a shop window showed a flicker from the rooftops.
She turned instinctively—the bullet missed her cheek by inches, shattering a neon sign. Sparks rained around her as people began to scream.
Second bullet.
The city erupted.
Sirens, footsteps, shouts. A child fell, a woman stumbled, a car slammed into a pole. Within seconds, chaos swallowed the avenue.
Miyako ran through the crowd—not towards safety, but straight into the confusion. Every shove, every shadow, was a chance.
Her body ached; the wounds from the earlier fight burned, but she didn't stop.
Over the radio, Solaris listened to the report:
"Target on the move. Central street, zone seven. First shot missed. Requesting permission for second."
"Granted," she replied.
The sniper smiled beneath his mask. "This time, I won't miss."
But when he looked through the scope, she was gone.
Only the crowd in panic remained.
A blink, a flash—nothing.
Miyako had activated her invisibility.
The man cursed under his breath, slamming the weapon against the ground.
Static hissed through the radio.
Solaris muttered, "He's lost her. Again."
Meanwhile, Ryo—still on the apartment floor—gritted his teeth. He'd heard part of the transmission before they'd taken his comm.
"Come on, Miyako…" he whispered through bloodied lips. "Don't let them catch you."
A hero turned at the sound, but Solaris merely said, "Leave him. He's paid enough."
Out on the street, Miyako ran invisible through the chaos. Each step was a heartbeat, each breath a reminder that the whole world was now hunting her.
She had gone from hunter to prey in a matter of hours.
She stopped for a moment, leaning against a wall. Sirens closed in from three directions.
She caught her reflection in a shattered window—only a glimmer of cold eyes.
Then she whispered, voice raw,
"I'll rip every one of their eyes out."
The wail of sirens merged with the echo of her breathing.
Then she stepped into the darkness and vanished, swallowed by the city she herself had brought to ruin.
The rain returned—fine, almost transparent, as though the sky was breathing carefully, afraid to make a sound. Miyako walked aimlessly until the city dimmed around her. The streetlights fell behind, the sirens turned into a distant hum.
The park greeted her with the smell of rust and wet earth. The swings creaked in the wind. The fountain at the centre was dry, covered in moss and dead leaves. She collapsed onto an old bench—the same kind she used to sleep on before she had a roof… before she had a purpose at all.
She rubbed her arms, feeling the open wounds beneath her soaked clothes.
Her body ached, but her mind hurt more.
"Idiot…" she whispered, barely audible. "You ruined everything again."
Water slid down her face—she couldn't tell if it was rain or tears.
Her breathing mingled with the distant rumble of thunder.
Why are you still alive?
The voice pierced her like a needle. Her mother's voice. Soft, but sharp.
"Don't start…" she muttered.
You destroy everything you touch.
Your brother died because of you.
It should have been you.
She clenched her teeth. "Shut up…"
Another voice—deeper. One of her victims, maybe.
I just wanted to go home.
Why did you shoot me?
Heroes bleed too, you know?
"Shut up!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the dead trees.
The park went silent for a moment.
Then the wind returned, carrying leaves and dirt.
She covered her ears, trembling. "Stop… please, stop…"
But the voices returned—mixed, distorted, like a broken radio.
A cacophony of laughter, pleas, insults, her own name repeated again and again.
Miyako. Miyako. Miyako.
She leaned forward, gasping for air.
The metallic scent of blood still clung to her hands.
In her mind, she saw the bodies, the faces, the eyes.
Always open eyes.
"Maybe… I should've died with them," she whispered, voice breaking.
The words dissolved into the sound of rain hitting the ground.
For a moment, she thought of the cat—of Kuro, curled in that dry corner, not understanding any of this.
The thought made her laugh—a broken laugh, almost a sob.
"Even the cat made more sense than I do…"
Silence returned.
A thick, heavy silence that hurt more than the voices.
Until she heard it.
Footsteps.
One. Two. Three.
Slow, steady.
Not echoes from her head—real.
Miyako lifted her head, hair plastered to her face.
She stood slowly, her trembling hand on the gun.
"Who's there?" she rasped.
No answer.
Only the sound of steps drawing closer, squelching through the mud.
The park itself seemed to hold its breath.
And she—soaked, broken, finger on the trigger—waited.
Waited for the next step to snap the last thread holding her together.
The footsteps stopped a few metres from the bench.
A figure emerged through the mist and rain—tall, cloaked in a dripping black coat. His face was partly hidden beneath the hood's shadow, but the faint blue glow in his eyes made her aim without hesitation.
"One more step and I'll blow your head off," Miyako said, pulse steady but voice trembling.
The man slowly raised his hands in peace. His tone was calm—too calm for someone staring down a killer's barrel.
"I'm not a hero. If I were, you'd already be dead."
Miyako's teeth clenched. "Then who the hell are you?"
He gave a faint smile—tired but sure. "Someone who knows you, Miyako."
Her name in a stranger's mouth froze her. She lowered the gun a few centimetres, more out of curiosity than trust.
"How do you know my name?"
"Because I've been watching you," he replied matter-of-factly. "For months. Since your first kill, up to today."
"A stalker? How romantic," Miyako said with a sarcastic laugh, finger still on the trigger. "If you wanted a date, you're late."
"No," he said calmly. "I arrived exactly when I was meant to." His voice was deep, firm, each word heavy with purpose. "You're more fascinating than any other killer I've seen. You don't kill for pleasure… you kill to break."
She frowned. "Break?"
"Yes," he nodded. "You shatter balance. You break lies. The heroes cling to a rotten system that calls them saviours, when they're really the world's chains—chains dressed up as hope."
Miyako lowered the gun a little more, genuine interest replacing tension. "You sound like someone with authority issues."
He smiled again. "No more than you."
Silence. Only the rain drumming softly.
The man took a step closer. "I'm here to make you an offer."
"And what would that be?"
"Join me. Join us." His eyes glowed faintly, almost spectral. "We want to rewrite the world. No heroes. No hierarchies. No false gods."
Miyako watched him in silence, then let out a dry laugh.
"Rewrite the world? Sounds pretentious."
"Perhaps," he said evenly. "But you and I both know this world needs to be broken to be free."
Miyako thought for a moment, lips pressed tight, her mind replaying the chaos, the deaths, the blood, Kanzō's face falling under her bullets.
"And why should I join you?"
He tilted his head, as if the answer were obvious.
"Because with us, you can keep doing what you love—killing heroes—and no one will hunt you for it."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Miyako's eyes.
"And the price?"
"Only your loyalty," he said. "And your bullets."
She gave a soft, almost amused laugh.
"Loyalty, huh? That's a lot to ask from someone who doesn't even give their name."
He took another step, rain forming a dark circle beneath his boots.
"You don't need to know it. You just need to know you're not alone. There are many more like you out there."
Miyako stayed silent, studying his shadowed face. Then she lowered her weapon completely.
"As long as I get to keep killing heroes… deal."
The man nodded, satisfied.
"I knew you'd say that."
But before he could add anything else, a shout tore through the rain.
"Freeze!"
Seven soldiers emerged from the mist, rifles raised. One spoke urgently into his radio:
"This is Delta-3! We've got the blue-haired assassin in sight! Repeat, we have her!"
Miyako turned, cursing.
"Brilliant. Police only show up on time when I don't need them."
The man sighed quietly, lowering his gaze.
"Too much noise," he murmured.
He raised his right hand.
The air vibrated.
Chains of pale blue light burst from the ground, slithering like spectral serpents. In an instant, they coiled around the soldiers, crushing them against the pavement. A dull sound—bones snapping. Then… explosion.
The bodies vanished in a blue flash. Only smoke remained.
Miyako stared, a mix of awe and fascination on her face.
"What the hell was that?"
He glanced over his shoulder, half-smiling.
"A warning. And a demonstration."
She whistled softly. "I definitely like you."
"I know," he replied, turning away. "Now let's go. This city screams too loudly."
Both began to walk, their silhouettes fading into the mist.Miyako cast one last glance back — towards the empty park, towards the place where she had almost fallen apart.And she smiled."The rain kept falling over a city that no longer had heroes… only monsters that had learned to smile."