I had always wondered about it.
Is there someone at the top of everyone running this world?
As I stood in the middle of the road, with almost 100s.....no 1000s of strangers wearing black suit and pants with masks on around me, I realized something very important.
Rich people can get anything they want, and get away with almost anything.
There was just one doubt, if 'he' wanted to kill me, was it necessary to bring these many men?
Was it necessary to bring guns to just kill me?
I had no way out, that was for sure.
It was the middle of a road, yet not a single vehicle passed by.
Not even a single soul was in sight.
It was as if the entire world held silence as to hear my heartbeat out loud.
I was staring at death itself.
I, alone, was looking at my entire life to crumble under a few seconds.
One of the guys took out a gun, and aimed for my heart.
His expression was cold, as if my death would have zero impact on him.
It was true though.
These were contractual killers.
They don't look out for mercy, nor for sympathy.
Before I could think of anything, a loud sound echoed through the pin drop silence of my surrounding.
I felt pain excruciating through my body, the bullet from the revolver had hit me, exactly where he had aimed.
Falling down instantly, I looked at the face of the one who shot me, with an even colder expression.
Apart from pain, I felt something superior to it.
Rage.
I swear, if I ever, by any chance, survive, I would shoot the hell out of this guy first.
Alas, I knew it was my time to go.
They say you get flashbacks of your life, and happy moments before your eyes before you die.
It wasn't the same for me, as all I could see was a pitch black canvas painted with red colored blood flowing.
My vision blurred, not from the pain, but from something else—an odd distortion, as though the air around me had begun to ripple.
The men didn't move.
Not because they didn't want to.
Because they couldn't.
Every single one of those black-suited killers froze mid-step, mid-breath, mid-blink.The world itself had paused.
The only sound I could hear was my own heartbeat—slow, ragged, yet impossibly loud.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I wasn't dead.Not yet.
A thin trail of smoke curled out of the bullet wound in my chest, but strangely… the blood wasn't flowing out anymore.It hovered.Suspended in midair like tiny rubies caught in invisible threads.
"He really did try to kill you."
The voice came from behind me—calm, amused, and dangerously familiar.
I tried to turn my neck, but even that felt like moving through mud.
Thus my remaining energy burnt out, and I closed my eyes, for the last time.
This is the end.
***
[Tokyo Metropolitan Aoyama High School, Class 2–C.]
[Date - 15th November 2025]
The second-years were buzzing with chatter when the homeroom teacher slid open the door and stepped inside, followed by a boy none of them had ever seen before.
The conversations died instantly.
"Alright, everyone, quiet down," the teacher said, adjusting his glasses. "We have a new transfer student joining us. Please welcome him properly."
Dozens of curious eyes drifted toward the boy.
He was tall, pale, and looked as if sleep had abandoned him years ago.
His messy black hair fell slightly over his forehead, where a faint scar ran diagonally across the skin.
No ordinary high school boy could have a scar like that, even if by accident.
His build was scary as it is, combined with the scar, students started whispering among themselves.
"Ahem! Please introduce yourself," the teacher insisted, gesturing lightly toward the front.
The boy stepped forward without hesitation.
His movements were calm—too calm for someone introducing himself to a new class.His eyes swept across the room once, expression unreadable.
"I'm Yuuya Kasuragi," he said plainly. "Nice to meet you."
His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried through the classroom with unsettling clarity.
A wave of whispers burst out almost instantly.
"Kasuragi…?""Where's he from?""That scar looks real—did he get into a fight?""He doesn't seem like the friendly type…"
The teacher cleared his throat, trying to regain the class' attention.
"Alright, alright, quiet down." Then, after a moment of hesitation—he couldn't hold back his curiosity either. "Kasuragi-kun, may I ask… how did you get that scar?"
Silence.
Even the students who were pretending not to stare were now fully watching him.
The boy blinked once, slowly.
Then he replied:
"I got hit with a bullet there."
Half the class froze mid-breath.
The teacher's face went pale.
"A b-bullet?!" he stammered. "That's—Kasuragi-kun, that's not—"
A corner of Yuuya's mouth curved up just slightly.
"Relax," he said. "Just kidding. It was an accident from when I was young."
Students exhaled all at once.
A few groaned in irritation.
It was officially confirmed now that the transfer student was a nutjob.
Some believed his words, some didn't, and some didn't really care.
The buzz vanished after he took a seat on the front row on the side facing the entrance to the class.
"Alright, let's start homeroom now. As Kasuragi-kun just transferred, I hope everyone help him, in case he needs anything.", the teacher announced.
The students affirmed in unison, "Understood, Makiba-sensei."
Homeroom proceeded as usual.
Or rather—it pretended to.
Because no matter how much the teacher droned on, no matter how many reminders about deadlines or cleaning duties he listed…a good half of Class 2–C kept stealing glances at the new boy sitting by the window.
Yuuya Kasuragi, meanwhile, didn't spare a single look back.
His eyes were fixed outside—on the grey November sky, on the faint reflection of his own face in the windowpane, on anything except the people surrounding him.
He opened a notebook, on which something was written, that read,
TARGET 1 - MAKIBA SENSEI
That single line seemed to glow on the page, as if the ink itself pulsed with purpose.
He lifted his head just slightly—enough to study Makiba-sensei with a calm that felt unnatural for a high school boy.
The shape of his face.The rhythm of his breath.The distance between them—no more than a few meters.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Yuuya's lips.
Not a smile of amusement.Not kindness.But the quiet, controlled smile of a man who had finally found the missing piece…the first step toward his objective.
Makiba-sensei continued talking about upcoming exams, unaware that the boy sitting in the front row was observing him the way a predator observes prey.
Yuuya closed his eyes slowly.
And in the darkness behind his eyelids, something ancient stirred.
A whisper—no, a chant—echoed through his mind.
A verse he did not learn.A verse he should not have known.
"Mrityor mā amṛtam gamaya…"(From death, lead me to immortality.)
A faint tremor rippled through the air.
Yuuya opened his eyes.
Makiba-sensei's chalk snapped in half.
He froze mid-sentence.
"Huh…? My chest… it feels—"
Before he could finish, his hand shot up to his heart.
His eyes widened.
Then—
THUD.
*********
Author's Note :
It might seem a little slow and cofusing, but please give this story a try, and I promise that it will be worth your time.
Next Chapter - Testing The Power Of Death
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