It had barely been three days since Kurayami's arrival in Okinawa when the news hit him like a punch to the gut. He stood frozen in the middle of the shopping district, the world around him blurred by the stark contrast of the giant red letters on the television screens reading *AMBER ALERT*. The face on the screen was his, a younger, more innocent version of himself, his cheeks still full of baby fat, and an old photo of him at six years old. A wave of nausea rolled over him.
His uncle's voice, thick with feigned grief and concern, filled the air like poison. Kurayami couldn't escape it, no matter how hard he tried. It drowned out the chatter of people around him, the noise of the street, the hum of everyday life. It was the only thing he could hear.
"My dear nephew went missing three weeks ago," his uncle's voice oozed from the speakers. "He was studying abroad in Korea and was supposed to return home for a few days. He made it to the airport but never out of it."
Kurayami's chest tightened, his hands instinctively clenching into fists. 'Studying abroad in Korea?' His teeth ground together. His uncle was lying through his teeth, spinning the story with an ease that made Kurayami's stomach churn.
"With the news of my declining health, my nephew was set to return permanently in the coming months, so I could guide him through the inner workings of our company," his uncle continued, his steady voice carrying a polished veneer of sorrow that masked the darker intentions lurking beneath.
The camera zoomed in on his uncle, the infamous Fukumoto Kenji, a man known for his brilliance and ambition. Even now, sitting there with fake sorrow in his eyes, he played the role of a grieving uncle perfectly. The world saw a concerned guardian. Kurayami saw the snake behind the mask.
'You old snake, what the hell are you planning?' Kurayami thought, bile rising in his throat. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a furious reminder of the tangled web of lies being spun about him.
"Fukumoto-san, your nephew is the only apparent heir to the empire your father created, but he hasn't made any public appearances since your youngers brother's funeral," the reporter prodded, her voice a mix of false sympathy and professional detachment.
"My sister's life, his mother was taken by a merciless assassin. I wasn't going to allow the same thing to happen to him," his uncle replied smoothly. "Sending him to my mother's birthland was for his safety. I never regretted my decision, but now, the moment he stepped foot in our country, he went missing."
Kurayami's breathing quickened. His uncle was playing the role perfectly, the poor dying man worried about his heir. Yet behind those carefully rehearsed lines, he was carefully placing every word to paint him as the lost lamb in need of rescue.
"Does the police have any new leads?" the reporter asked, leaning forward, her face twisted into a mask of fake pity.
"I wish they did," his uncle sighed, his voice taking on a deeper note of despair. "They suspect his kidnapper may be linked to the assassin who took his mother's life, but that's just a theory. I should have anticipated this. My health has been made public, and with him being the sole heir... opportunists are never far behind."
Kurayami's jaw clenched. His uncle's words swirled through his mind like smoke, distorting and twisting until the meaning became clear. 'They want me back. They need me back.' Without an heir, the company's fortune would crumble.
"What happens in the worst-case scenario?" The reporter's voice was gentle, too gentle, as if she enjoyed the spectacle unfolding in front of her. Her eyes gleamed with the glint of manufactured empathy, but Kurayami could see the hunger for more drama behind her gaze.
His uncle hesitated for a split second before delivering his line, his voice trembling just enough to sell the gravity of the situation. "If I lose my battle with cancer, like my father did, our fortune and company will go to the bank. But that's a scenario I don't even want to consider."
Kurayami's pulse pounded in his ears. 'With him dead and me missing, the Shie Hassaikai loses their biggest asset.'
The realization settled in like ice water coursing through his veins. 'No wonder they wanted me around. In a way, I was their golden goose.' The truth of it all hit him hard, threatening to choke him. He was never just their loyal dog. He was the heir, the key to Fukumoto's entire empire. The Shie Hassaikai needed him to secure their power.
He glanced around the crowded shopping center, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed he was. Any of these people could recognize him. Any of them could turn him in. He pulled his hood lower over his face, turning sharply on his heel as a surge of panic threatened to consume him.
His uncle's voice still echoed in his mind, the lies thick and oily, coating every word. Kurayami clenched his fists tighter, nails digging into his palms until the sharp pain grounded him.
'I'm not going back. Not to them. Not ever.'
He disappeared into the sea of people, his heart pounding with a single, desperate need—to stay one step ahead of the wolves circling ever closer.
Kurayami burst through the door of the abandoned wooden shack, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The old farmhouse creaked under his weight as he slammed the door shut, his back pressed against it as if trying to hold the entire world at bay. For a moment, he stood there, chest heaving, ears straining for any sound of pursuit.
Silence. Only the faint whisper of wind through the cracks in the walls reached him.
His legs gave out, and he slid down the weathered door, landing hard on the dusty floor. The shack was dim, shafts of late afternoon sunlight cutting through gaps in the roof and walls. Despite its dilapidated state, the structure seemed sturdy enough to withstand the elements, save for a few leaks here and there.
Kurayami's mind raced, replaying the scene from the shopping district. His younger face, plastered across every screen, every social media platform. A ghost from the past, haunting him in the present. He buried his face in his hands, a low groan escaping his lips.
"How am I supposed to hide when my face is everywhere?" he muttered, his voice cracking. The weight of his situation pressed down on him—running from the Yakuza was one thing, but now his uncle had dragged the entire country into the hunt.
A soft meow caught his attention. Mayhem, materialized beside him in a shimmer of displaced air.
Mayhem headbutted Kurayami's arm gently, purring loudly. The familiar sound cut through the chaos in Kurayami's mind, grounding him in the present moment.
"Hey, buddy," Kurayami whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out with a trembling hand, burying his fingers in Mayhem's soft fur. The simple act of petting his cat began to chip away at the walls he'd built around his heart.
Years of pain, of abuse, of being nothing more than a dog in Yakuzas's grand schemes—it all came crashing down on him at once. A sob tore from his throat, raw and primal. Tears he'd held back for so long finally broke free, streaming down his face.
Mayhem climbed into his lap, kneading at Kurayami's chest as if trying to massage away the hurt. Kurayami hugged the cat close, his body shaking with the force of his sobs.
"What am I going to do?" he choked out between gasps. "I can't go back. I won't. But how long can I keep running?"
As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the abandoned shack, Kurayami let himself break down completely. Years of pent-up emotion poured out of him, each tear a silent rebellion against the life he'd been forced to live.
Mayhem stayed with him through it all, a constant, comforting presence. As Kurayami's sobs gradually subsided, replaced by quiet sniffles and deep, shuddering breaths, he looked back at his companion's eyes. "I'm going to need to train even harder, I need to keep us safe and far away from their grasp."
The cat blinked slowly, its golden eyes reflecting the determination slowly building in Kurayami's gaze. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
"Okay, let's think this through," Kurayami muttered, gently setting Mayhem aside and pushing himself to his feet. He began to pace the small confines of the shack, his mind racing. "They know my face, but it's an old photo."
He ran a hand through his long hair, tugging at the long strands. "That photo of me was one with long hair too...I'll cut it short, could dye it too. Not to mention my scar and blind eye, not even the people from the Shie Hashakai know about this" He glanced down at Mayhem, who was watching him intently. "What do you think, buddy? Think I'd look good as a blond?"
Mayhem meowed, head swishing in what Kurayami chose to interpret as a no. He felt his eye twitch slightly, his cat was very judgmental.
"Right, then I'll just cut it sorter." He grasped his hair which was in a low ponytail. "But that's not enough." Kurayami's brow furrowed in concentration. "I need to master my quirk, push it to its limits. And..." he hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "I might need to learn some new skills. Things I've avoided before."
He crouched down, running his hand along Mayhem's back. "Your quirk is going to be crucial, Mayhem. We need to figure out exactly how far you can teleport and how often. Unfortunately, we know for sure I can't teleport with you since my quirk cancels yours."
Standing once more, Kurayami moved to the shack's single grimy window, peering out at the darkening landscape. "We can't stay here long. We'll need supplies, and then we're going to need to avoid the city even more."
He turned back to Mayhem, a grim smile on his face. "It's not going to be easy, but we've got no choice. My uncle, the Yakuza, they think they've got me cornered. But they've never seen what I can really do when I'm fighting for myself, not for them."
Kurayami clenched his fists, feeling a surge of power coursing through him. "They want a hunt? Fine. But they're about to find out that the prey they're chasing has teeth of its own."
As night fell, Kurayami settled into a corner of the shack, Mayhem curled up beside him. His mind was still racing, planning their next moves, but for the first time since he'd seen his face on those screens, he felt a glimmer of hope.
Tomorrow, the real fight would begin.
The pre-dawn air was crisp and heavy with moisture as Kurayami knelt at the edge of the Ryutan River. The water lapped gently at the shore, its surface a mirror reflecting the slowly lightening sky. In the distance, the first hints of sunrise painted the horizon in soft hues of pink and gold.
Kurayami stared at his reflection in the calm water, his eyes tracing the familiar contours of his face. His long, dark hair fell in a low ponytail over his shoulder, just as it had for as long as he could remember. As he gazed at himself, memories washed over him like the gentle current of the river.
He could almost feel his mother's gentle touch as she brushed his hair, her voice soft and filled with love. "You look so much like your father," she would say, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Even after her death when he was just four years old, Kurayami had kept his hair long, a living memorial to her memory.
His father remained a mystery, a man without a name or face in Kurayami's mind. All he knew was the echo of his mother's words and the reflection in the mirror that supposedly bore his likeness.
Kurayami's hand moved to the base of his ponytail, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders. This wasn't just about changing his appearance to evade the Shie hasakai; it was about shedding the shell of the person he had been forced to become.
With a swift, decisive motion, he pulled a small knife from his pocket and sliced through the ponytail. The sensation was strange, a sudden lightness that felt both freeing and terrifying. He held the severed hair in his hand, staring at it as if it were a piece of his past made tangible.
Turning his attention back to his reflection, Kurayami studied his new appearance. His hair now fell in a medium length, with long bangs partially covering his forehead and falling between his eyes. The sides framed his face, some strands just brushing below his ears. The overall look was tousled and somewhat spiky, giving him a casual, rebellious appearance, the sweet irony was not lost to him. There was a natural, windswept quality to it that made him look wilder, less contained.
His eyes were drawn to the scar over his left eye, a stark reminder of the life he was leaving behind, of the people, it was weird but after his mother's death, Simon-Sensei was the closest one he had as a maternal figure. While his grandmother was his closest and most loved person, she didn't really know him, she didn't know what kind of a monster they made her grandson to. Simon-Sensei did, she was one of the people to turned him into a mutt. His free hand unconsciously reached for his scar. The scar ran diagonally from just above his eyebrow, crossing down to his cheek. Its jagged, uneven path contrasted sharply with his otherwise smooth pale skin, slightly darker in tone and more pronounced than ever against his new, rougher appearance.
Kurayami's fingers grazed the scar, memories of the fight on the train with his sensei flashing through his mind. The pain, the fear, the moment he realized his world would become darker and duller, with only one working eye. But amidst that despair, he also found strength—an unshakable resolve to survive, no matter the cost.
He looked down at the severed ponytail in his hand, years of memories wound tightly in its strands. With a deep sigh, he loosened his grip, allowing the hair to fall into the river. The current caught it, carrying it away, a physical representation of the past he was leaving behind.
"Goodbye, Mom," he whispered, watching as the last strands disappeared into the water. "I hope you'll understand."
As the sun began to peek over the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape, Kurayami stood up. He felt lighter, not just physically but emotionally. The weight of expectations, of living up to an image crafted by others, seemed to have flowed away with his discarded hair.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool morning air. It was time to start his training, to push himself beyond the limits that had been set for him. He had always been strong, but now he needed to be stronger. Smarter. Faster.
Kurayami closed his eyes, focusing on the quirk coursing through his veins. It was always active, something he could never shut off, no matter how much he hated it. Yet, it was a part of him—a significant part that he knew he needed to embrace. He didn't know what kind of quirk his father had—probably something similar—but his mother's was bio-energy generation. She could generate and project bio-energy, and Kurayami suspected his quirk was a blend of both. His emitter-type quirk caused blue energy to seep from him every time he used it. While physical contact was required to completely nullify someone else's quirk, what if he could project that power over longer distances? It would make him both a mid-range and close-range fighter.
Opening his eyes, he looked out over the river, towards the city that was slowly coming to life. Back at the old farmhouse, Mayhem was waiting for him, ready to start their training together.
As the first rays of sunlight touched his face, Kurayami allowed himself a small smile. The road ahead would be hard, filled with challenges he could scarcely imagine. But for the first time in years, he felt truly alive. The future was uncertain, but it was his to shape.
With one last look at his reflection in the river, at the stranger with the tousled hair and determined eyes staring back at him, Kurayami turned away from the water. It was time to become the person he was always meant to be, not the pawn they had tried to create.
The hunt was on, but this time, Kurayami was ready to fight back. As he walked away from the river, each step felt like a new beginning. The training would be grueling, the dangers real, but he was no longer running scared.
He was running towards something now - towards freedom, towards strength, towards a future of his own making.
Two weeks had passed since that fateful morning at the river. The gentle lapping of water against the shore was now replaced by the rhythmic sound of fists and feet striking wood. In a secluded field, surrounded by a grove of sturdy trees, Kurayami had made his training ground.
The sun hung high in the sky, its heat beating down on Kurayami's bare shoulders as he moved from one tree to another, each serving as a target for his strikes. His newly shortened hair, now a shock of tousled black strands, clung to his forehead with sweat. The transformation wasn't just external; there was a new intensity in his eyes, a fire that burned with purpose.
Kurayami's movements were fluid, a testament to the grueling hours he'd poured into his training over the past fortnight. His fists connected with the tree bark in rapid succession – left, right, left – followed by a roundhouse kick that shook leaves from the branches above. But then, as he pivoted to face his next target, his foot faltered slightly, and his punch went wide, missing the tree by inches.
A frustrated growl escaped his lips as he steadied himself. The scar over his left eye seemed to throb, a constant reminder of the challenge he faced. His impaired vision, a result of the injury that had left him half-blind, continued to be a thorn in his side. While he had made significant progress in compensating for his blind spot, moments like these served as stark reminders of the work still ahead.
"Focus," Kurayami muttered to himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He centered himself, feeling the earth beneath his feet, the air around him. When he opened his eyes again, he moved with renewed purpose.
This time, as he whirled through his sequence of strikes, his accuracy improved. He didn't miss a single target, though some hits landed with less force than others. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress.
As Kurayami paused to catch his breath, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. It was a sensation he'd grown accustomed to over the past two weeks – a presence that observed his training from afar. His eyes scanned the treeline, searching for any sign of movement, but as always, he saw nothing.
Unbeknownst to Kurayami, high above the field, hidden among the thick foliage of a particularly tall tree, a shadow stirred. It had been there every day since Kurayami began his training, watching silently, never approaching. The shadow seemed to lean forward slightly, as if particularly interested in Kurayami's latest sequence of moves.
Back on the ground, Kurayami shook off the feeling of being observed. Whether it was paranoia born from his fugitive status or a real presence, he couldn't afford to let it distract him. He had to keep pushing, and keep improving.
He moved to the center of the field, closing his eyes once more. This time, he didn't open them. Instead, he began to move through a complex kata, his movements slow and deliberate at first, then gradually picking up speed. This was a new challenge he'd set for himself – learning to fight without relying on his compromised vision.
As he moved, he focused on his other senses. The feel of the grass beneath his feet, the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves, the scent of earth and sweat in the air. His body flowed from one position to the next, his strikes cutting through the air with increasing precision.
In the tree, the shadow leaned even closer, seemingly captivated by this display.
Kurayami's kata reached its climax, his movements a blur of speed and power. As he launched into the final sequence, his foot caught on an unseen root. For a moment, it seemed he would fall.
But instead of tumbling to the ground, Kurayami turned the stumble into a roll. He came up on one knee, his fist striking out at an imaginary opponent. His eyes snapped open, his breath coming in heavy pants.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't perfect, but he was adapting, and improving. Each day was a small victory.
As Kurayami stood, brushing grass from his knee, the shadow in the tree shifted. For a brief moment, it seemed as if it might finally reveal itself. But then, as quickly as the movement had come, the shadow stilled once more, maintaining its silent vigil.
Kurayami stretched, his muscles aching from the intense workout. He cast one last look around the field, his gaze lingering on the tree where the shadow hid, though he remained unaware of its precise location. Then, with a determined set to his jaw, he moved back to his starting position.
"Again," he said to himself, raising his fists. The day was far from over, and Kurayami had miles to go before he could rest.
As Kurayami launched into his next set of drills, the shadow settled in to watch.
The next day arrived, the world still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness. Kurayami was already back in the field, his determination driving him to push even harder. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the promise of the coming sunrise.
Kurayami moved through his katas with increased speed, pushing himself to the limit. His breaths came in short, controlled bursts as he flowed from one movement to the next. But in his haste to improve, to overcome his limitations, he overextended on a spin kick.
His foot slipped on the dewy grass, and Kurayami felt the world tilt. He tried to correct, to turn the fall into a roll as he had done before. Instead of a graceful recovery, he crashed to the ground, his head slamming hard against the unyielding earth.
Pain exploded behind his eyes, and for a moment, the world went dark. When his vision returned, it was blurred and unsteady. Nausea roiled in his stomach as he struggled to his feet, his stance shaky and uncertain. He could feel something wet on his forehead as he got on his knees.
A rustle from the nearby trees snapped Kurayami to attention. Despite the spinning world around him, he managed to assume a fighting stance, his body tense and ready for combat.
From the shadows of the trees emerged a figure. In the dim pre-dawn light, Kurayami could make out the silhouette of a man, tall and muscled, moving with the fluid grace of a seasoned fighter.
"Your mistake," the man's voice cut through the silence, calm and measured, "was in your haste. You sacrificed form for speed, and it left you vulnerable."
Kurayami remained silent, his stance unwavering despite the tremors that ran through his body. The world continued to spin, and he blinked hard, trying to clear his vision.
The man took a step forward, and Kurayami tensed further, ready to either fight or flee. But the stranger made no aggressive moves. Instead, he simply stood there, regarding Kurayami with what seemed like curiosity.
"I am Jiro Arakaki," the man said, his tone neutral. Kurayami's eyes traveled to the man's form, and his eye caught a striking tattoo that covered his left shoulder, the bold ink stretched over his skin like a symbol of power. A fierce wolf's head emerged from within a perfect circle, its jaws open in a snarl, as if daring the world to challenge it. Cutting through both the circle and the wolf was a long sword, its blade pointing downward with a sense of finality.
"Shi no Agito" Kurayami murmured "Mercenary"
"Retired," the man said.
Kurayami's mind raced, trying to formulate a plan to escape, if the man was a member, even a former member of the Shi no Agito, then he had no chance against him. Besides he could have backup. But before he could formulate a response, Jiro spoke again, his words sending a jolt of shock through Kurayami's system.
"And you, young man, are Kurayami Fukumoto."
The use of his full name, his true identity, hit Kurayami like a physical blow. Panic surged through him, overriding the pain and dizziness. Without a word, he turned and ran, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He needed to hide, to escape, to process this new threat.
Kurayami stumbled through the trees, his vision swimming. He found a large, hollow tree trunk and squeezed inside, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The world was fading around him, darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision.
As consciousness slipped away, Kurayami was vaguely aware of footsteps approaching. He tried to fight, to stay awake, but the concussion pulled him under, plunging him into darkness.
When Kurayami next opened his eyes, he found himself in an unfamiliar room. Sunlight streamed through a nearby window, and the smell of herbs and medicine filled the air. He was lying on a comfortable futon, a cool compress on his forehead.
"Ah, you're awake," came a familiar voice. Jiro Arakaki sat nearby, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. "You gave yourself quite the concussion there, kid. But don't worry, you're safe here."
Kurayami tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. Jiro moved closer, his expression one of concern rather than threat.
"Rest now," the older man said, his voice gentle. "We have much to discuss, but it can wait until you've recovered. You're safe here, Kurayami. I promise you that."
As Kurayami's eyes drifted closed once more, his mind swirled with questions. Who was this man really? How did he know Kurayami's identity? And most importantly, could he truly be trusted?
The answers would have to wait. For now, exhaustion pulled him back into sleep.