Kazuya rose to his feet, but it felt as if his spirit had been left behind.
A new body meant a new life.
A new life meant new memories.
And new memories almost always meant new pain.
He shuffled through the streets like a ghost, his steps slow and his gaze empty.
"Why? Why again...?"
No one answered. Not that he expected anyone to.
He wandered aimlessly until he found himself on a small hill. Sitting on a rock, he stared at the horizon, letting the wind and silence fill the hollow inside him. When the weight in his chest became too heavy to bear, he stood, deciding to head back and figure out his next move.
As he walked, fragments of memory surfaced.
This body's name was Souta.
An orphan. A boy who had a younger sister named Hina. The caretakers who raised them had given them those names.
Kazuya reached Souta's small home and placed his hand on the doorknob,
Then froze.
A flag hung nearby, swaying gently in the breeze.
The Shroud's emblem.
His breath caught.
I'm... in the body of an enemy.
The doorknob felt heavier now, but he forced it open. Closing the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed.
If he was going to survive here without raising suspicion, he needed to think like Souta. Act like Souta. Know everything Souta knew about The Shroud, their behavior, their customs, their way of life.
He was lost in Souta's memories when a sudden knock snapped him back to the present.
Before he could react, the door swung open and a boot slammed into his stomach.
"Ghh—!"
The floor met him hard. His breath was ripped from his lungs.
Through the haze of pain, he looked up to see three men looming over him. Through Souta's memories, he knew them.
Makoto Ishizawa, the one who kicked Souta just now, was someone who had once "helped" Souta buy medicine for his sick sister... and then used that debt to torment him.
Kazuya coughed, still struggling to breathe, as Ishizawa crouched down and gripped his hair.
"Listen here, you useless piece of trash," Ishizawa sneered. "I told you, you pay me back right after the war."
He sighed, almost mockingly disappointed.
"You could've picked the battlefield clean. Sold something. Paid your debt. But you Shroud dogs… lost, how pathetic."
Kazuya's anger flared, merging with Souta's own burning hatred, but fear, Souta's fear, kept him frozen.
Ishizawa had threatened Hina before, and he could do it again.
"You've got one week," Ishizawa said coldly. "Or I feed that precious sister of yours to the dogs."
The words hit harder than the kick. Kazuya's heart pounded, his hands trembling, but he couldn't move until Ishizawa released his hair and stood.
"Truly pathetic."
The men left, the door swinging open behind them.
Kazuya's nails scraped into the wooden floor. His fear burned away, replaced by something far hotter.
Order and protection.
That's what The Verdict fought for.
But those words blurred in his mind, swallowed by rage.
His nails dug so deep they broke skin, blood smearing the wood.
"I'll kill them."
He rose, closing the door behind him. If the day truly reset each night, then he had a deadline. Ishizawa would die before sunset, reset or not.
His fury, fueled by both himself and Souta's memories, blinded him to everything else. Morality, consequences, and even the fact that it was someone else's body.
He hunted them in broad daylight.
It didn't take long. Ishizawa and his lackeys sat drunk outside a liquor store, bottles at their feet.
Kazuya's walk quickened into a run.
He launched himself into the air, and his foot slammed into Ishizawa's face before the man even registered what was happening.
The two others scrambled, their eyes wide as their leader was sent sprawling. Before they could fully react, Kazuya whipped around and landed a back kick to the face of the one next to him.
The last man lunged forward, but Kazuya met him with a crushing punch that dropped him unconscious.
Ishizawa rose slowly, holding his bleeding nose.
"You bastard… what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm cleaning up filth."
"Filth? Who paid for your sister's medicine when no one else would? Me."
"And then you bled me dry and threatened her. You never cared about helping, you just wanted control."
Ishizawa laughed.
Kazuya's eyes narrowed.
"What's so funny?"
The man's answer came in the form of a shattered liquor bottle gripped like a blade.
"You think a piece of glass will help you win?"
"Against you? Yeah."
Kazuya's jaw tightened. Ishizawa's words weren't aimed at him, they were meant for Souta. The boy was mocked, dismissed, yet still trained every day for his sister's sake.
"I knew it, you don't deserve to live."
They charged.
Ishizawa swung the bottle, Kazuya kicked it away in an instant.
Time seemed to slow for Ishizawa.
Since when could this guy fight?
Before he could react, Kazuya's fist crashed into his jaw, sending him to the ground.
Kazuya crouched, grabbing a shard of glass. He pulled Ishizawa's head up by the hair, pressing the shard to his throat.
But he froze.
This is Souta's body. Souta's life. Souta's enemies.
The rage I feel… it's not all mine.
The glass trembled in his hand, nicking the man's skin.
Order and protection. Hate and revenge.
Torn between the code he lived by as a member of The Verdict and the raw emotions flooding through Souta's body, Kazuya struggled to choose a path.
After a long, heavy pause, he made his decision.
He walked away, three men lay bleeding on the ground behind him, their throats stained with fresh blood.