PART 1: THE AMBUSH
The industrial district was quiet at 3:47 AM.
Too quiet.
Ren crouched in the bushes beside an abandoned warehouse, barely breathing. His black tactical gear—provided by Kurokami—blended perfectly with the shadows.
Beside him, Akari waited with the same stillness. Her eyes tracked movement through a gap in the foliage.
Fifty meters ahead, a figure moved through the darkness.
Human in appearance. Male. Early thirties. Walking with the casual confidence of someone who owned the territory.
But Ren had learned to spot the signs now.
The way it moved—too fluid, too precise.
The way it scanned the area—predatory, hunting.
The eyes—darker than they should be, even in the dim light.
Malis.
Ren's earpiece crackled softly.
"Target confirmed," Marcus's voice came through. "You're cleared to engage. Capture, not kill. We need it alive for questioning."
Ren pressed his earpiece once. Acknowledgment.
Akari did the same.
They'd been on surveillance duty for six hours. Watching. Waiting.
This was their third mission with Kurokami. First two had been reconnaissance only—tracking suspected Malis, gathering intel, reporting back.
This was their first capture mission.
The Malis moved closer to their position.
Forty meters. Thirty. Twenty.
Ren's muscles tensed. Ready.
Akari's hand moved—three fingers. Then two. Then one.
Now.
They burst from the bushes simultaneously.
[The Engagement]
The Malis reacted instantly—head snapping toward them, eyes widening in surprise.
"Humans? Here?"
It moved to run—
Ren used the Flash Step.
Blur.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, threw a low kick at the Malis's lead leg.
Connected.
The Malis stumbled but didn't fall.
Spun with a backhand aimed at Ren's head—
Akari was there.
Her palm strike intercepted the Malis's arm, deflected it upward, and she drove her knee into its ribs.
The impact echoed through the empty district.
CRACK.
The Malis gasped, doubled over—
Ren moved in from behind, executed a rear naked choke.
Arms wrapped around the Malis's neck. Squeeze.
Not to kill. Just to restrict blood flow. Make it pass out.
The Malis thrashed. Stronger than Ren expected.
It grabbed his arm, started to pry it loose—
Akari's fist drove into the Malis's solar plexus.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Precise. Controlled. Devastating.
The Malis's struggles weakened.
"Sleep," Ren hissed, tightening his grip.
Five more seconds.
The Malis went limp.
Unconscious.
Ren released it carefully, lowered it to the ground.
Breathing hard. Heart pounding.
But alive.
Mission successful.
Akari pulled out zip-ties—heavy-duty ones, the kind used for securing dangerous criminals.
They bound the Malis's wrists behind its back. Ankles together. Then connected the two with another zip-tie, creating a hogtie position.
"Marcus," Ren said into his earpiece. "Target secured. Requesting pickup."
"Copy. Two minutes out."
They dragged the unconscious Malis into the shadows, waited.
Ren checked his watch. 3:52 AM.
"Good work," Akari said quietly.
"You too. That combination was clean."
"Yours wasn't bad either. The Flash Step is getting faster."
"Ujishima's been drilling it into me every session." Ren flexed his hands. "Still not as fast as I want it to be."
"It's fast enough."
Headlights appeared in the distance.
A black van pulled up. No markings. Tinted windows.
The side door opened.
Marcus Ishida stepped out, followed by two Kurokami operatives in tactical gear.
"Nice work," Marcus said, looking down at the unconscious Malis. "Clean capture. No excessive damage. Exactly what we needed."
The operatives lifted the Malis, carried it into the van.
"Get in," Marcus said. "We're taking it back to headquarters for interrogation."
PART 2: KUROKAMI HEADQUARTERS – INTERROGATION ROOM
The interrogation room was cold.
Sterile white walls. One-way mirror on the far side. A single metal table bolted to the floor. Two chairs—one on each side.
The Malis sat in the far chair, still zip-tied, now secured to the chair itself with additional restraints.
It had woken up ten minutes ago.
Now it just sat there, silent, watching Marcus with those too-dark eyes.
Ren and Akari stood behind the one-way mirror with Commander Saito, observing.
"Standard interrogation protocol," Saito explained quietly. "We ask questions. Offer incentives. See if it cooperates. If it doesn't..." He trailed off.
"What happens then?" Ren asked.
"Experiments. Medical tests. We try to understand their biology. What makes them different from humans. What their weaknesses are."
Akari's jaw tightened but she said nothing.
Through the glass, Marcus sat down across from the Malis.
"Let's make this simple," Marcus said calmly. "You answer my questions, you get to live. Comfortable cell. Regular meals. No pain. Refuse, and things get unpleasant. Your choice."
The Malis smiled.
"I'm not telling you anything, human."
"Why not?"
"Because you're prey. And prey doesn't get to interrogate predators."
Marcus's expression didn't change. "You're tied to a chair in a government facility. You're not a predator right now. You're a prisoner."
"For now."
"You think someone's coming to rescue you?"
The Malis's smile widened. "I know they are. Eventually. And when they do, you'll all die screaming."
Marcus leaned back. "So there are more of you. Working together. Organized."
The Malis's expression flickered—just for a moment.
It had revealed something without meaning to.
"How many?" Marcus pressed.
Silence.
"Where are they located?"
Silence.
"What's your goal? Why are you hunting humans?"
The Malis leaned forward as much as its restraints allowed.
"Because you're food, human. That's all you are. That's all you've ever been. We're superior in every way. Faster. Stronger. Smarter. The only reason you've survived this long is because we've been hiding. Waiting. But that time is ending."
"Ending how?"
The Malis grinned.
"You'll see. Soon enough. All of you will see."
Marcus stared at it for a long moment.
Then stood.
"Have it your way."
He walked out.
[Behind the Glass]
"It's not going to talk," Saito said grimly. "Too committed. Too confident."
Marcus entered through the observation room door.
"Your assessment?" Saito asked.
"It knows something. Something big. The way it talked about 'waiting' and 'time ending'—whatever they're planning, it's coming soon."
"Should we try enhanced interrogation?"
Marcus shook his head. "Won't work. You saw how it reacted. Pain won't break it. It believes rescue is coming. It believes it's superior. Classic ideological commitment. Breaking that takes time we don't have."
"Then what do we do?"
"Medical experiments. Vivisection if necessary. If it won't tell us what makes them tick, we'll figure it out ourselves."
Ren felt his stomach turn.
"You're going to... cut it open? While it's alive?"
Marcus looked at him.
"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"
Ren opened his mouth. Closed it.
Did he?
This thing had called humans prey. Had said they were planning something. Had killed how many people?
"No," Ren said quietly. "No problem."
"Good. Because this is war. And in war, you do what's necessary to survive."
PART 3: THE PHONE CALL
Ren's phone rang as they were leaving the interrogation wing.
Unknown number.
He answered. "Hello?"
"Ren Kurogane?" A woman's voice. Professional. Formal.
"Yes?"
"This is Vice Principal Nakamura from Kazan High School. I'm calling to remind you that midterm examinations begin next Monday. Attendance is mandatory. Failure to appear will result in automatic failing grades across all subjects."
Ren's blood ran cold.
Shit.
He'd completely forgotten about exams.
Between joining Kurokami, the missions, the training—school had been the last thing on his mind.
"I... yes. I understand. I'll be there."
"See that you are. Your recent attendance has been concerning. Multiple absences. If this continues, we'll need to schedule a meeting with your guardian."
"Yes, ma'am. I understand. Thank you."
He hung up.
Akari was watching him. "Exams?"
"Next Monday. I completely forgot."
"Same." She pulled out her own phone, checked her school email. "Yeah. Midterms. Math, science, history, English, Japanese literature."
They looked at each other.
Then at the Kurokami facility around them.
Then back at each other.
"We need to study," Ren said.
"Desperately."
PART 4: REQUESTING TIME OFF
They found Kaiser in the main operations room, reviewing mission reports on a tablet.
"Kaiser-san," Ren said, approaching respectfully. "Can we talk?"
Kaiser looked up. "What is it?"
"We need a few days off. School exams. If we don't show up, we'll fail. And if we fail, our parents will pull us out of Kurokami."
Kaiser considered this.
"How long do you need?"
"Four days? Three for studying, one for the actual exams."
"And if I say no?"
Ren and Akari exchanged glances.
"Then we'll have to choose between school and Kurokami," Akari said honestly. "And our parents will make us choose school."
Kaiser smiled faintly. "Honest answer. I appreciate that." He set down his tablet. "You're approved. Four days. But I expect you back immediately after exams are finished. We have more missions lined up."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"And Kurogane, Shindo—" Kaiser's expression grew serious. "—don't fall behind in your regular lives. Kurokami is important. But so is maintaining your cover. If people start asking questions about why two high school students are missing constantly, it creates problems."
"Understood."
"Good. Dismissed."
They turned to leave—
"One more thing."
They stopped.
Defense Minister Nakamura walked into the operations room, carrying a briefcase.
"Kurogane. Shindo. Before you go, I have something for you."
He set the briefcase on a nearby table, opened it.
Stacks of cash. ¥10,000 notes. Neatly bundled.
"Payment for your last two successful missions," Nakamura said. "¥500,000 each. Standard rate for field operatives. You've earned it."
Ren stared.
Half a million yen.
That was... that was more money than he'd ever seen in his life.
"We get paid?" Akari asked, equally stunned.
"Of course. Did you think this was volunteer work?" Nakamura almost smiled. "Kurokami operatives receive competitive salaries. Hazard pay for dangerous missions. Medical coverage. Death benefits for next of kin. This isn't charity. This is a job."
He closed the briefcase, handed it to Ren.
"Spend it wisely. Or don't. It's yours."
And he left.
Ren and Akari stood there, holding a briefcase full of money, completely speechless.
PART 5: THE MEAL
"I'm hungry," Akari said as they walked through Shibuya district.
It was 6:23 PM. The city was alive with people—salary workers heading home, students browsing shops, tourists taking photos.
Normal life.
It felt surreal after spending hours watching a Malis get interrogated.
"There's a family restaurant near here," Ren said, adjusting the briefcase. "Decent food. Not too expensive."
"We have a million yen between us. I think we can afford it."
They found a small restaurant tucked between a convenience store and a bookshop. Traditional setup. Warm lighting. Smell of grilled meat and rice.
They sat at a booth near the back.
A waitress appeared—young, maybe college age, tired smile.
"What can I get you?"
"I'll have the tonkatsu set," Ren said. "With miso soup and rice."
The waitress turned to Akari.
Akari studied the menu with intense focus.
"I'll have the yakiniku platter. The large one. And the tempura set. And gyoza. And... do you have katsudon? Yes? I'll take that too. And extra rice. Three bowls."
Ren stared at her.
The waitress blinked. "That's... that's a lot of food, miss. Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"All for you?"
"Yes."
The waitress looked at Ren, as if asking for confirmation.
Ren just shrugged. "She's hungry."
The waitress wrote down the order, still looking uncertain, and left.
"Akari," Ren said slowly. "That's like six meals worth of food."
"I know."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Just hungry. We were up all night. Fought a Malis. Sat through interrogation. I need to refuel."
"You're going to eat all of that?"
"Watch me."
Twenty minutes later, the table was covered in dishes.
Grilled meat. Fried pork cutlets. Tempura vegetables. Gyoza dumplings. Bowls of rice. Miso soup.
Akari picked up her chopsticks.
And began.
Ren watched in fascination—and growing horror—as Akari systematically demolished every dish.
Not quickly. Not messily.
Just efficiently.
Precise bites. Controlled chewing. Constant rhythm.
Like a machine.
The yakiniku platter vanished in five minutes.
The tempura set disappeared in three.
Gyoza—gone.
Katsudon—consumed.
Three bowls of rice—empty.
By the time she finished, Ren had barely made it halfway through his own meal.
Akari set down her chopsticks.
Dabbed her mouth with a napkin.
"Better," she said simply.
"Where did you put all of that?" Ren asked, genuinely amazed. "You're like 5'6" and maybe 120 pounds. That was at least four thousand calories."
"Fast metabolism."
"That's not how metabolism works—"
"I train a lot. My body needs fuel."
"This is inhuman."
Akari's expression flickered for just a moment.
Then she smiled faintly. "Maybe I'm just efficient."
The waitress returned to clear the table, staring at the empty dishes in disbelief.
"Was... was everything okay?"
"Delicious," Akari said. "Thank you."
Ren paid the bill. ¥8,400. A drop in the bucket compared to what they now carried.
As they left, he glanced at Akari.
"You're weird, you know that?"
"You've told me before."
"I'm serious. Who eats like that?"
"Someone who's been running on empty for eighteen hours."
Fair point.
PART 6: HOME – REN'S HOUSE
Ren's apartment was dark when he arrived.
8:47 PM.
His mother's shift at the convenience store ended at 9:00. She'd be home soon.
He set the briefcase on the kitchen table, opened it, stared at the money.
¥500,000.
This was... this was rent for three months.
Groceries for half a year.
This was security.
He heard the door unlock.
His mother entered, tired, carrying grocery bags.
"Ren? You're home?"
"Yeah, Mom. Here, let me help—"
He took the bags, set them on the counter.
His mother noticed the briefcase immediately.
"What's that?"
"Money. From work."
She walked over, looked inside, and her eyes went wide.
"Ren. What is this? Where did this come from?"
"Kurokami. The government task force. I've been working with them."
"Working with—" She picked up one of the bundles, stared at it. "Ren, this is half a million yen. What kind of work are you doing?"
"Dangerous work. Important work." He met her eyes. "Mom, people are dying. Those serial killers on the news? I'm helping stop them."
"You're fighting them?"
"With training. Support. I'm not alone."
His mother set down the money, gripped his shoulders.
"Ren. You're sixteen years old. You should be studying for exams, not—not fighting killers!"
"I know. But Mom—" He put his hands over hers. "—I'm good at this. And they need people who can do it. If I don't help, more people will die."
Tears formed in her eyes.
"You could die."
"I could. But I'm being careful. I'm getting trained by the best. And—" He gestured to the briefcase. "—they're paying well."
His mother was silent for a long moment.
Then she pulled him into a tight hug.
"You're just like your father," she whispered. "Always trying to help people. Even when it's dangerous."
Ren hugged her back.
They stood there for a moment.
Then his mother pulled back, wiped her eyes.
"If you're going to do this—if you're really going to do this—then you take precautions. You listen to your trainers. You don't take unnecessary risks. Understood?"
"Yes, Mom."
"And you come home. Every night. No matter what."
"I will."
She looked at the briefcase.
"How much of this is mine?"
"All of it."
"Ren—"
"Mom, you work sixty hours a week to keep us fed and housed. You deserve this more than I do."
"This is your money. You earned it."
"And I'm giving it to you. Please. Take it."
His mother's lips trembled.
Then she pulled him into another hug.
"You're a good boy, Ren. Your father would be so proud."
PART 7: AKARI'S APARTMENT
Akari's apartment was in a different district.
Smaller than Ren's. One bedroom. Minimal furniture.
But clean. Organized.
Empty.
She entered at 9:34 PM, set down her bag, locked the door behind her.
Silence.
No parents calling her name.
No siblings asking about her day.
Just silence.
She walked to her bedroom, changed into training clothes out of habit.
Sat on her bed.
Stared at her hands.
I don't know who my mother was.
I don't know who my father was.
I don't know where I came from.
The earliest memory she had was the orphanage. Age four. Maybe five. A woman's voice telling her to be good. To listen to the caretakers.
Then the orphanage closed. She'd been moved to a group home.
Then another.
Then another.
By age twelve, she'd learned that asking about her parents led nowhere. No records. No information. Just blank stares and apologies.
So she'd stopped asking.
And started training.
Because training gave her control.
Training gave her purpose.
Training gave her an identity when she had none.
My life is training. Eating. Sleeping.
That's all it's ever been.
That's all it needs to be.
She stood.
Walked to her small kitchen.
Made rice. Grilled fish. Vegetables.
Ate mechanically.
Then cleaned her dishes.
Went to bed.
Set her alarm for 5:00 AM.
And lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling.
Thinking about nothing.
Feeling nothing.
Just existing.
This is enough, she told herself.
This is all I need.
But somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered:
Is it?
She ignored it.
Closed her eyes.
And forced herself to sleep.
PART 8: UJISHIMA'S TRAINING – THE PHANTOM STRIKE
The next morning, 6:00 AM, Ren stood in Ujishima's backyard.
The old man had cleared a space specifically for training—packed dirt, a few training dummies, equipment scattered around.
Ujishima stood in front of a wooden post, roughly the diameter of a telephone pole.
"You wanted to get stronger," Ujishima said, not looking at Ren. "I'm going to teach you something that will change how you fight."
"What is it?"
"The Phantom Strike."
Ujishima's hand moved.
CRACK.
The wooden post shattered.
Splinters exploded outward.
But Ren hadn't seen the strike.
One moment Ujishima's hand was at his side.
The next, the post was destroyed.
"What—how did you—"
"The Phantom Strike is a technique that allows you to throw strikes at three to four times your normal speed," Ujishima explained. "Not through supernatural means. Through perfect biomechanics."
He gestured for Ren to approach.
"Watch closely. I'll do it slowly."
Ujishima settled into stance.
"First, you pre-load. Shift your weight onto your back leg. Compress the muscles. Like loading a spring."
His body shifted. Subtle but visible.
"Second, you create tension throughout the kinetic chain. From your feet, through your hips, up your spine, into your shoulder, down your arm. Everything connected. Everything tight."
Ren could see the muscles in Ujishima's body engaging.
"Third—and this is critical—you release everything simultaneously. Not sequentially. Not in stages. All at once. Every muscle fires in perfect synchronization."
Ujishima's hand moved.
Slow motion this time.
But even in slow motion, Ren could see it.
The explosive release. The perfect chain of motion. The efficiency.
"When done correctly," Ujishima said, "your strike moves so fast it appears to vanish. Your opponent doesn't see it coming. By the time their brain registers movement, they've already been hit."
"That's incredible."
"It's also extremely difficult." Ujishima's voice was serious. "Most fighters spend years trying to master this and never succeed. It requires perfect body control. Perfect timing. Perfect understanding of your own biomechanics."
"How long did it take you?"
"Eight years. And I'm considered fast."
Ren swallowed hard.
"Can you teach me?"
"I can teach you the principle. Whether you can execute it is up to you." Ujishima walked to another wooden post. "Now. Watch again. Full speed."
He settled into stance.
His hand moved.
CRACK.
The post shattered.
Ren hadn't seen it.
Not even a blur.
Just—gone.
One moment Ujishima was still.
The next, the post was destroyed.
"Your turn," Ujishima said. "Let's see if you can even grasp the basics."
PART 9: THE DRILL
For the next three hours, Ren drilled the Phantom Strike.
Or tried to.
It was impossibly difficult.
"Load the spring!" Ujishima barked. "Feet, hips, spine, shoulder—everything connected!"
Ren shifted his weight, tried to engage all the muscles simultaneously—
"No! You're doing it in sequence! It has to be simultaneous!"
Reset.
Try again.
"Load!"
Ren compressed his body like a spring.
"Tighten!"
He created tension through the kinetic chain.
"Release!"
He threw the strike—
Too slow.
The punch moved fast. Faster than normal.
But not Phantom Strike fast.
"Again!"
And again.
And again.
By the hundredth repetition, Ren's arm felt like it was going to fall off.
"I can't do this," he gasped, sweat pouring down his face. "It's impossible."
"It's not impossible. It's difficult. There's a difference." Ujishima walked over, adjusted Ren's stance manually. "Your problem is you're thinking too much. You're trying to control each individual muscle. That's wrong."
"Then how—"
"Stop thinking. Feel. Your body knows how to move efficiently. You've been training for three years. The knowledge is there. You just need to stop forcing it and start allowing it."
Ujishima stepped back.
"One more time. But this time, don't think about technique. Don't think about muscles. Just punch. Fast as you can. Let your body figure it out."
Ren took a breath.
Cleared his mind.
Looked at the training dummy in front of him.
And punched.
WHAM.
The dummy rocked backward.
Not shattered. Not destroyed.
But—
"Faster," Ujishima said, and there was approval in his voice. "Not Phantom Strike yet. But faster than before. You're learning."
Ren stared at his fist.
It had felt different.
Smoother.
More efficient.
"Again," Ujishima said. "One hundred more times. Find that feeling. Make it consistent."
Ren nodded.
And kept drilling.
PART 10: AKARI'S TRAINING – THE HEAVY BAG
Ashura Combat Club. 7:00 AM.
Akari stood in front of the heavy bag.
Alone.
The gym was empty this early. Just her and the equipment.
She wrapped her hands methodically. Tight. Secure.
Then settled into stance.
And started.
Thud.
Jab.
Thud.
Cross.
Thud-thud.
Hook-uppercut.
Rhythm. Consistency. Power.
She moved through combinations, each one flowing into the next.
No wasted motion.
No unnecessary flourishes.
Just pure, efficient violence.
Thirty minutes passed.
The bag swayed from the impacts.
Akari didn't slow down.
Forty-five minutes.
Her knuckles were raw even through the wraps.
She kept going.
One hour.
Sweat poured down her face. Her breathing was controlled but heavy.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud.
Five-punch combination. Clean. Fast. Devastating.
The gym door opened.
Master Kuroda entered, carrying his morning coffee.
Saw Akari.
Said nothing.
Just watched.
Akari finished her combination.
Stepped back.
Breathing hard.
"How long have you been here?" Kuroda asked.
"Since 6:00."
"And you're still going?"
"Yes."
Kuroda walked over, examined the heavy bag.
The surface was damaged. Indentations where her strikes had landed. Again. And again. And again.
"Most people would rest after an hour," he said.
"I'm not most people."
"No. You're not."
Kuroda set down his coffee.
"What are you trying to prove, Akari?"
She unwrapped her hands slowly.
"Nothing. Just training."
"You train more than anyone I've ever coached. Push yourself harder than anyone should. Why?"
Akari looked at him.
Her expression was neutral. Empty.
"Because if I stop, I have to think. And if I think, I have to feel. And if I feel—"
She stopped.
Looked away.
"I'd rather just train."
Kuroda studied her for a long moment.
"You can't run from yourself forever."
"I'm not running. I'm improving."
"Is there a difference?"
Akari didn't answer.
She dropped to the mat.
Push-up position.
"Akari—"
She started.
One. Two. Three.
Perfect form. Controlled breathing.
Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
Kuroda watched for a moment.
Then sighed.
Picked up his coffee.
And left her to it.
Akari kept going.
Fifty. One hundred. One hundred fifty.
Her arms burned. Her chest screamed. Her core felt like it was tearing apart.
She didn't stop.
Two hundred. Two hundred fifty. Three hundred.
Just keep moving.
Don't think.
Don't feel.
Just move.
Four hundred. Five hundred.
Her vision started to blur.
Six hundred.
Her arms were shaking.
Seven hundred.
She was barely lowering herself halfway now.
Eight hundred.
Keep going.
Nine hundred.
Don't stop.
One thousand.
She collapsed onto the mat.
Gasping.
Shaking.
Completely spent.
And for just a moment—
In that moment of total exhaustion—
Her mind was quiet.
No thoughts about parents she'd never known.
No questions about where she came from.
No wondering why she felt different from everyone else.
Just—
Silence.
This is enough, she thought.
This has to be enough.
She lay there for five more minutes.
Then forced herself to stand.
Walked to the locker room.
Showered.
Changed.
And left.
Ready to do it all again tomorrow.
[END CHAPTER 12]
SIDE STORY: THE CONVENIENCE STORE INCIDENT
Or: How Kaiser's Wife Sent A Malis To The International Space Station
PART 1: THE EVENING PATROL
It was 9:47 PM.
Kaiser Fujimoto, Marcus Ishida, and Silas Katsuragi walked through a quiet residential district in Tokyo.
Not on official Kurokami business.
Just... existing.
Even legendary warriors needed groceries.
"I need energy drinks," Marcus said, checking his phone. "We have three missions tomorrow. I'm not doing that on four hours of sleep."
"Coffee works better," Silas said quietly.
"Coffee makes me jittery."
"You fight Malis for a living and coffee makes you jittery?"
"Different kind of stress."
Kaiser said nothing. Just walked with his hands in his pockets, katana strapped to his back as always.
He was thinking about home.
Specifically, about whether he'd remembered to pick up his wife's package from the post office.
He had.
This time.
Learning from past mistakes.
"There's a convenience store up ahead," Marcus said, pointing. "Family Mart. Should have everything we need."
They walked toward it.
That's when they heard the sound.
PART 2: THE SCREAM
"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! PLEASE DON'T HIT ME AGAIN!"
The three shadows stopped immediately.
Combat instincts activating.
The scream had come from a nearby alley.
They moved as one—silent, fast, professional.
Entered the alley.
And found—
A thief lying on the ground.
Male. Maybe early twenties. Wearing a ski mask and dark clothing.
One side of his face was BRIGHT RED.
Not bruised red.
Not bleeding red.
HANDPRINT RED.
Like someone had slapped him so hard it had branded him.
The perfect outline of five fingers glowed on his cheek like neon.
Steam was literally rising from it.
"Please..." the thief whimpered. "I'm sorry... I'll never steal again... just let me go..."
Standing over him was a woman.
Mid-twenties. Average height. Long black hair. Wearing casual clothes—jeans, a hoodie.
And she was reading a magazine.
An idol magazine.
The cover featured multiple attractive male celebrities. Smiling. Posing. Perfect hair.
The woman had a nosebleed.
Not a small one.
A significant one.
Blood dripping from both nostrils as she stared at the magazine with intense focus.
"Takahashi-kun is so handsome..." she muttered, completely ignoring the crying thief at her feet. "And Sato-kun... and Yamada-kun... they're all so—"
She looked up.
Saw the Three Shadows standing at the alley entrance.
Her eyes went WIDE.
PART 3: THE ENCOUNTER
The woman's nosebleed intensified.
Dramatically.
Like a faucet turning on.
"Oh my god," she whispered, staring at Marcus and Silas. "Real ones. Actual real ones. Not just in magazines."
Marcus blinked. "Uh—"
"You're so TALL," she said, taking a step toward them. "And MUSCULAR. And your EYES—"
Silas took a step back. "Ma'am, are you alright—"
"I'M FINE. I'M VERY FINE. I'M THE MOST FINE I'VE EVER BEEN."
Her nosebleed was now a stream.
She didn't seem to notice.
Kaiser stepped forward, hand on his katana hilt out of habit.
"Miss. Did you hit this man?"
"Hmm? Oh. Yeah. He tried to steal my purse." She gestured dismissively at the whimpering thief. "So I slapped him."
Kaiser looked at the handprint on the thief's face.
The glowing, steaming handprint.
"That's... quite a slap."
"I work out."
Marcus crouched beside the thief, examined the mark.
"This isn't normal," he said quietly to Kaiser. "Look at the tissue damage. The heat signature. This is—"
"Enhanced strength," Kaiser finished. "Way beyond human."
They both looked at the woman.
Who was now openly staring at Marcus with hearts practically visible in her eyes.
"Are you a Malis?" Kaiser asked directly.
The woman's attention snapped to him.
"Oh! You're perceptive! Yes, I am!" She smiled brightly, blood still dripping from her nose. "But I don't eat people! I'm a vegetarian Malis! I just really, really like handsome men!"
"That's... not a thing," Silas said.
"It is NOW!" She suddenly rushed forward, grabbed Marcus's hand. "Oh my god your hands are so big and strong! Do you work out? Of course you work out! Look at these muscles! Can I touch your bicep? Please say I can touch your bicep—"
Marcus looked absolutely terrified.
"Ma'am, please let go—"
"And YOU!" She grabbed Silas's hand with her other hand. "You're so mysterious! The strong silent type! I LOVE the strong silent type! What's your blood type? Are you single? Do you like coffee? I like coffee! We should get coffee together! All of us! Right now!"
Silas's face was completely pale.
The woman turned to Kaiser.
Reached for his hand—
PART 4: THE ARRIVAL
The wind came first.
Not natural wind.
Pressure.
Like a hurricane condensed into a single point.
Moving FAST.
The woman froze, hand halfway to Kaiser's.
"What is that—"
WHAM.
A frying pan appeared out of NOWHERE.
Slammed into the side of the woman's head with the force of a freight train.
The impact created a visible shockwave.
The woman's eyes rolled back.
She flew.
Not stumbled.
Not fell.
FLEW.
Straight up.
Through the air.
Higher.
Higher.
HIGHER.
Past the buildings.
Past the clouds.
Through the atmosphere.
[INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION – SIMULTANEOUSLY]
Astronaut Tanaka was conducting a routine exterior inspection when something slammed into the side of the station.
BANG.
He spun around.
A woman was stuck to the exterior hull.
Face pressed against the metal.
Unconscious.
Nosebleed frozen in the vacuum of space.
Tanaka stared.
Pressed his radio.
"Houston? We have a... we have a problem."
"What kind of problem, Tanaka?"
"There's a woman. On the outside of the station."
"...Repeat that?"
"A WOMAN. STUCK TO THE HULL. I DON'T KNOW HOW SHE GOT HERE."
Silence.
"Houston?"
"We're... we're going to need to call you back, Tanaka."
PART 5: THE CONSEQUENCES
Back in the alley.
Kaiser stood perfectly still.
Behind him: his wife.
Holding a frying pan.
Her expression was terrifying.
"Hi, honey," Kaiser said weakly. "I can explain—"
"Explain what?" Her voice was ice. "Explain why another woman was about to hold your hand? Explain why you were in an alley at night with a strange woman? EXPLAIN??"
"She was a Malis! We were investigating—"
"I DON'T CARE IF SHE WAS THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND!"
Kaiser's wife raised the frying pan again.
WHAM.
She hit Kaiser on top of the head.
Once.
Twice.
Two massive cartoon bumps swelled on his head.
Steam poured out of them like chimneys.
"OW! HONEY! PLEASE! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING—"
"YOU WERE ABOUT TO!"
"I WASN'T! I SWEAR! I LOVE YOU! ONLY YOU! FOREVER AND ALWAYS—"
WHAM.
A third bump appeared.
More steam.
Kaiser collapsed to his knees, holding his head, bumps throbbing.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... it won't happen again..."
His wife lowered the frying pan.
Looked at Marcus and Silas.
Both of them immediately put their hands up.
"We didn't do anything," Marcus said quickly.
"We tried to get away," Silas added, voice carefully neutral. "She grabbed us. We were victims."
Kaiser's wife studied them.
Then nodded.
"Fine. You two are innocent."
She turned back to Kaiser.
"But YOU—"
"I know! I know! I'm guilty! I'm the worst husband ever! I'll do anything! Just please stop hitting me!"
"You're cooking dinner for a week."
"Yes, dear."
"And doing all the laundry."
"Yes, dear."
"And taking Yuki to school every day."
"Yes, dear."
"And NO complaining about ANY of it."
"Yes, dear."
She finally lowered the pan completely.
"Good."
Then she turned and walked away.
Just... left.
Like nothing happened.
PART 6: THE AFTERMATH
Kaiser sat on the ground, still holding his head.
The three bumps steamed gently.
Marcus and Silas stood a safe distance away.
The thief had passed out from sheer terror at some point during the chaos.
Nobody cared about him anymore.
"Your wife is terrifying," Marcus said finally.
"I know," Kaiser said weakly.
"She sent that woman to SPACE."
"I know."
"Actual space. The space station. In ORBIT."
"I KNOW."
Silas crouched down, examined Kaiser's head bumps.
"These defy physics."
"Everything about my wife defies physics," Kaiser muttered.
Marcus started laughing.
Quietly at first.
Then louder.
Soon he was doubled over, gasping for air.
"It's not funny!" Kaiser protested.
"IT'S HILARIOUS!" Marcus wheezed. "You can cut bullets! You can kill Malis! You're one of the THREE SHADOWS! And your wife just BODIED you with a FRYING PAN!"
Silas's mouth twitched.
Almost a smile.
Almost.
"I'm glad my suffering amuses you," Kaiser said dryly.
"Oh it does," Marcus said, wiping tears from his eyes. "It really, really does."
Kaiser stood up carefully, bumps still steaming.
"We're never speaking of this again."
"Oh we're DEFINITELY speaking of this again," Marcus said. "This is going in the group chat. This is going on the mission reports. This is going to be LEGENDARY—"
"Marcus, I swear to god—"
"'Kaiser Fujimoto, legendary warrior, defeated by kitchen equipment.' Has a nice ring to it."
"I will end you."
"You can TRY. But your wife might get to you first."
Kaiser groaned.
Silas spoke up quietly.
"For what it's worth... I'm also terrified of your wife."
"Thank you, Silas. That's very comforting."
"You're welcome."
PART 7: THE WALK BACK
They walked to the convenience store in silence.
Kaiser's head bumps had finally stopped steaming.
But they were still there.
Visible.
Glowing slightly.
Marcus kept snickering.
"Stop laughing," Kaiser said.
"I can't help it. Your HEAD—"
"I know what my head looks like, Marcus."
They entered the Family Mart.
The cashier took one look at Kaiser's bumps.
Then looked away quickly.
Pretended not to see anything.
Smart cashier.
They grabbed their items. Energy drinks. Coffee. Snacks.
Paid.
Left.
As they walked back, Marcus's phone buzzed.
He checked it.
Started laughing again.
"What now?" Kaiser asked tiredly.
"News report. International Space Station. They found an unconscious woman stuck to the hull. They're calling it 'the strangest space debris incident in history.'"
Kaiser put his face in his hands.
"My wife sent a Malis to orbit."
"Your wife is a LEGEND," Marcus corrected.
Silas nodded seriously. "Agreed. Absolute legend."
"I hate both of you."
"No you don't."
"...No. I don't."
They walked in comfortable silence for a bit.
Then Marcus spoke.
"Hey, Kaiser?"
"What?"
"Never change. Your wife is the best thing about this job."
Despite everything—the bumps, the humiliation, the frying pan—
Kaiser smiled.
"Yeah. She really is."
[BONUS SCENE – THE SPACE STATION]
The vegetarian Malis woman woke up inside the International Space Station.
Surrounded by confused astronauts.
"Where... where am I?"
"You're in space," Astronaut Tanaka said carefully. "We don't know how you got here."
The woman thought for a moment.
Remembered the frying pan.
The terrifying woman wielding it.
"I made a mistake," she said quietly.
"What kind of mistake?"
"I tried to flirt with a married man."
"And that sent you to space?"
"His wife is VERY protective."
The astronauts exchanged glances.
"We... we should probably send you back to Earth."
"Please don't."
"Why not?"
"Because she's down there. And I don't want to die."
"Ma'am, you're in SPACE. You should already be dead."
"I'm a Malis. We're durable."
"You're a WHAT?"
"Never mind. Can I just stay here? It's safer."
[END SIDE STORY]
THE MORAL OF THE STORY:
Never flirt with Kaiser Fujimoto.
Not because he'll kill you.
But because his wife WILL send you to orbit.
With a frying pan.
And you WILL deserve it.
Also, Kaiser's wife is officially more dangerous than any Malis.
NASA is still trying to figure out how that woman got to the space station.
They never will.
Some mysteries are better left unsolved.