A faint ache pulsed through Kurayami's head as he blinked, disoriented, taking in the unfamiliar room. Light filtered through a nearby window, casting a warm glow over tatami mats and simple furnishings. The air was thick with the scent of medicine, a calming—even if unwelcome and suffocating—fragrance that grounded him as he pushed himself up slowly.
"Easy now." A calm, deep voice broke the silence. Kurayami's head snapped toward it, and he saw a figure seated by the low table, sipping tea. The man from the training field.
Kurayami instinctively tensed, the memory of the man knowing his real name setting him on edge. "Where am I?" he asked, voice rough.
"A safe place," the man replied, unbothered by Kurayami's guarded tone. He set down his tea with deliberate care. "You gave yourself quite the concussion out there, kid."
Kurayami frowned, trying to recall the sequence of events that had led him here. The training, the stumble, the darkness—and the man's voice calling his name. "How do you know who I am?"
The man's expression was unreadable. "I make it a point to know when someone interesting is wandering around my territory."
"Interesting?" Kurayami narrowed his eyes, already calculating possible exits from the room. "Or in your way?"
"Neither," he replied smoothly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Not until you prove to be one or the other." He leaned forward slightly. "But someone in your position should know better than to push themselves recklessly."
Kurayami ignored the jab, his eyes hardening. "I don't have the luxury of holding back on my training."
"True," he conceded with a small nod. "Yet a warrior's strength isn't in brute force alone. There's strategy. Patience. Things I'm guessing you're lacking... or avoiding."
The words stung, mostly because he was right. Kurayami's gaze dropped momentarily. "Who are you really?"
The man folded his arms, his tattoo catching the light, drawing Kurayami's attention to the symbol etched into his skin—the snarling wolf a reminder of the threat the man posed. "I suppose a reintroduction is in order. Jiro Arakaki."
Kurayami's blood ran cold. Now that he could think more clearly, the name was familiar, whispered among the underworld. The former leader of the Death Fang—a mercenary of unmatched skill, rumored to have taken down entire organizations single-handedly—or so they said.
"Why are you here?" Kurayami's voice was barely a whisper.
Jiro regarded him for a moment, as if assessing his response. "I'm retired, kid. Whatever I once was, that life is over. But I keep an eye on things." He tilted his head. "Especially when certain people surface."
Kurayami met Jiro's gaze, defiance flickering in his eyes. "So you know about my family."
Jiro's expression darkened slightly, a hint of sympathy flickering across his face. "More than I'd like." He paused, letting the words settle between them before continuing, "I knew your mother."
The mention of his mother hit Kurayami like a physical blow. His hands clenched, tension rippling through his shoulders. "What do you know about her?"
"She was... different from the rest of them," Jiro said softly, his voice carrying a respect that caught Kurayami off guard. "She wasn't someone who took easily to that world. The world of greed, filled with power-hungry people. She was a gentle soul but with a fire underneath. That fire didn't go unnoticed." He looked at Kurayami carefully, as if weighing how much to reveal.
Kurayami swallowed hard, anger and grief mixing in his chest. "They killed her."
Jiro nodded solemnly. "Yes. And you and I both know who was responsible."
Silence filled the room, heavy with unspoken emotions. Kurayami's fists tightened. "I don't."
Jiro's gaze was unwavering. "You do. You got this far, kid. Stop running from reality... Simon has always been a powerful force in the underworld... she gave the order."
The memories of his mother's kindness, her gentle touch, were now stained with a new, cold understanding of betrayal. He was aware of the Stockholm syndrome he had developed over the years towards Simon—he was a hostage, a dog on a leash for the Yakuza, and she was the trainer and one of his masters. Despite knowing the Shie Hashaikai were behind her death, he didn't want to believe his sensei was involved. He was a grieving, scared six-year-old when he met her, and she became a mother figure. But he knew her care for him paled in comparison to her loyalty to Ito-Sensei, a man who still haunted his dreams.
Kurayami looked away, fists unclenching, shoulders dropping. "Why would she?" he whispered, still trying to defend his former sensei.
"Because the Shie Hashaikai sees anyone with power as a threat. Your mother..." Jiro hesitated. "Was strong. She tried to protect your grandfather's legacy and her family. But she was betrayed."
"My uncle..." Kurayami whispered, chest tightening.
Jiro nodded solemnly. Silence once again filled the room as Kurayami tried to accept the truth, even if deep down he was aware of it. He had been in denial for almost four years now; acceptance wasn't easy.
He tried to push his current feelings aside, meant to be dealt with later when he was truly safe and alone. He sneaked a peek at Jiro; the older man was observing him. He gulped. He wasn't tied to the bed, and the man had treated his concussion, but Jiro would be able to take him down anytime even if he was in his best condition. He was no match for the man, neither for Simon—the last time he encountered her on the train all those months ago, she had gone easy on him. The reason why she did that eluded him; normally he wouldn't be able to escape her.
"Are you going to turn me in?" he asked, the familiar feeling of hopelessness starting to resurface.
"While there's a significant price on your head, no, I won't." Kurayami narrowed his eyes at the man.
"Why not?" The man simply raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't take me wrong, I don't want you coming after my head, but I still need a reason. I need to understand."
"You're a smart kid. Because I owe it to your mother." The man sighed, allowing himself a few seconds of grief before wearing back his stoic mask and facing the son of the woman who changed his life. "How long has it been since your injury?"
"What was your relationship with my mother?" Kurayami demanded, completely ignoring the man's question.
"That's for me to know." Jiro inspected Kurayami's eye from his seat. "Probably less than a year long. It has healed well, but you still need to adjust to it."
"Tell me," Kurayami gritted out, hopelessness being replaced by fury.
"I don't think you're in any position to be making demands, boy," Jiro calmly replied. "You're still struggling with your depth perception, as demonstrated earlier. Not only that, but it's an obvious weakness you need to learn to cover, especially considering your fugitive status."
"Why do you care?" Kurayami's voice was sharp, defensive.
"Like I said, I owe it to your mother."
The words hung in the air between them. Kurayami swallowed down his fury, hands clenching the soft blanket as he processed everything—the truth and acceptance about his mother's death, this man's unknown connection to her, his own weakness. The realization that he was truly alone -aside from his cat- in this fight had been weighing on him for months, and now...
A sudden thought struck Kurayami, filling him with fierce determination. He locked eyes with Jiro. "Will you help me get stronger?"
Jiro studied him for a long moment, a sadness in his gaze. "Strength alone won't bring you peace," he said quietly. Then, after a pause that seemed to carry the weight of years, he added, "But if you're willing to learn the right way..." He nodded slowly, the gesture carrying the weight of a solemn promise. "Then I'll make sure you're ready."
****************************************************************************************
Sweat dripped from Kurayami's brow as he dodged another strike, his movements more fluid than they had been months ago. The morning sun cast long shadows across Jiro's field, where they had spent countless hours refining his technique. His depth perception, while still not perfect, had improved enough that he could anticipate most of Jiro's attacks.
Most, but not all.
The wooden sword caught him in the ribs, sending him stumbling backward. "Still telegraphing your moves, kid," Jiro said, lowering his weapon. "Your right side is—"
"—my blind spot. I know." Kurayami straightened, masking a wince.
A black blur materialized beside him, and Mayhem's golden eyes fixed on Jiro with what Kurayami swore was disapproval. The cat had become a constant presence during their training sessions, teleporting around the field as if supervising their progress.
"Your cat's getting protective again," Jiro noted, amusement flickering across his usually stern features. "But he has the right idea. You're relying too much on what you can see." He tapped the wooden sword against his shoulder. "Your other senses need to compensate. Listen. Feel. The air shifts differently when—"
Mayhem vanished in a wisp of shadow, reappearing on a nearby fence post. Kurayami tensed, recognizing his behavior. Sure enough, the cat's ears were pricked forward, his tails twitching in their practiced warning signal.
"Someone's coming," Kurayami said quietly, already moving toward the house.
Jiro nodded, his demeanor shifting instantly from instructor to guard. "Regular patrol or—"
"No." Mayhem teleported again, this time to Kurayami's shoulder. His claws dug into his training shirt—their signal for real danger. "Different. More organized."
"Inside. Now." Jiro's voice left no room for argument. "We'll continue this lesson later. Assuming your furry sentinel's warning system keeps being as reliable as it has these past months."
As they moved swiftly toward the house, Kurayami caught himself automatically cataloging exits and cover spots—another habit drilled into him through endless drills and past experiences. Three months of training hadn't just improved his fighting; his field awareness and other senses now mostly compensated for his lost sight.
As Jiro ushered Kurayami quickly into the house, the young boy felt a surge of nervous energy. He knew Jiro was hiding something about his past, and now it seemed that his past had caught up with them.
Once inside, Kurayami moved silently towards a window, peering out to get a better view. He could just make out half a dozen figures in the distance, moving with the disciplined coordination Jiro had been training him in.
Jiro stood at the ready, his hands flexing at his sides. Kurayami watched, fascinated, as long blades suddenly sprouted from his mentor's wrists - serrated daggers that gleamed wickedly in the sunlight.
The strangers drew closer, and Kurayami recognized the uniforms and insignia of Jiro's former mercenary group, Shi no Agito. Their leader, a tall man with graying hair, stepped forward.
"Jiro. We've been searching for you." His voice held a note of warning. "It's time to come back. The Fangs need you."
Jiro's blades extended further, his expression hardening. "I left that life behind. I have no place with the Fangs anymore."
The leader's gaze swept the area, and Kurayami quickly ducked hiding himself among the shadows, praying Mayhem wouldn't give away his own hiding spot. The cat had vanished when the intruders approached, no doubt lurking nearby.
"You think you can just walk away?" The leader's voice dripped with disdain. "The Fangs don't accept deserters. You can not escape us. You're withering away in empty fields."
Kurayami's pulse quickened as he observed from his hiding spot, watching the tension mount between Jiro and his former comrades. He barely dared to breathe, feeling the weight of the threat that hung in the air.
Jiro didn't flinch, his gaze locked on the leader. "The Fangs don't dictate my life anymore," he said, his voice unwavering. "I found something worth fighting for here, something better."
The leader's face twisted in a mixture of anger and something almost like pity. "So you'd rather wither away here, then? Very well. But don't expect the Fangs to leave you in peace."
One of the other mercenaries, a stocky man with a scar running from his jaw to his collarbone, shifted his gaze toward the house where Kurayami was hidden. Kurayami's breath hitched as the man narrowed his eyes.
"Who's there?" the man growled, taking a step in Kurayami's direction.
Jiro's voice cut through the tension like one of his own blades. "You have no business here. Leave before this turns ugly."
The leader's eyes flicked toward the house, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Ah, seems like you've got yourself a new... student? Or perhaps a distraction?"
Jiro tensed but kept his expression calm. "Leave the kid out of this. He's got nothing to do with you or the Fangs."
The leader tilted his head, assessing Jiro's resolve. "Is that so? Funny, because I recall you saying something similar about yourself, once." He looked at his men, who took a step back, seemingly satisfied with their intimidation. "You've got until the next moon to reconsider, Jiro. After that, we won't be so polite."
Jiro didn't respond, his silence as sharp as the blades on his wrists. He held his stance as the mercenaries retreated, watching until their figures disappeared over the hill. Only then did he let out a slow breath, retracting his blades and glancing toward Kurayami's hiding spot.
Kurayami waited a moment, making sure the mercenaries were truly gone before emerging. His heart was still racing, but he fought to keep his expression steady.
"Well," Jiro said, his voice low, "seems you got a front-row seat to my past coming back to haunt me."
Kurayami nodded, still shaken. "Will you be okay?"
Jiro ruffled his hair "I'll be fine" then he looked away, a shadow passing over his face. "Just a reminder of a life I thought I'd buried." He turned back, his eyes sharpening. "And a warning that I should've been more careful bringing you here."
Kurayami shrugged, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "It doesn't matter to me, Jiro. I'm not going anywhere."
Jiro regarded him for a moment, then nodded, something like pride glinting in his eyes. "Let's make sure you're ready for anything, then. Training starts early tomorrow."
As Kurayami gave a small, determined nod, he couldn't help but feel that his life was about to become a lot more complicated and that was quite the accomplishment considering how messed up it already was.
****************************************************************************************
"Your tea's getting cold."
Jiro didn't look up from his newspaper as Kurayami entered the kitchen, sweat still cooling on his skin from the morning's exercises. Four months of routine had made these moments feel familiar, even comfortable—if you ignored the police scanner humming quietly in the corner, feeding them a stream of updates on nearby patrols and incidents. They both sat facing the exits, a habit ingrained from months of constant vigilance.
Kurayami slid into his usual seat, his eyes drawn to the new set of maps spread across the table, each one meticulously marked with red circles and arrows. His gaze sharpened as he noticed certain neighborhoods highlighted more heavily than others—areas where paid mercenaries had been skirting in recent weeks.
"Another search party?" he asked, taking a careful sip of his tea.
Jiro nodded, finally folding the newspaper and pushing it aside. "Third one this week. The Hassaikai are getting bolder. Not just them either—the Fangs have been moving closer too."
Kurayami clenched his jaw. The Shie Hassaikai had made it clear they weren't willing to let him slip through their fingers. And the Fangs, Jiro's old mercenary group, had been making subtle appearances since that tense encounter a month ago. It felt like a noose tightening around them both.
"Do you think they'll come here?" Kurayami asked, his voice low.
Jiro's fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the table. "If they do, we'll be ready. But it means we have to step up your training. The Fangs won't wait forever." He studied Kurayami for a moment, his gaze as sharp. "How's your blind spot coming along?"
Kurayami grimaced slightly. "Better… but it's still a weakness."
Jiro's mouth tightened. "Then we work on it until it isn't."
The scanner crackled, interrupting the silence with a report of a disturbance nearby. Two unidentified individuals moving with what the police called "suspicious coordination." Jiro turned down the volume, his expression hardening.
"They're not just sending grunts anymore," he muttered. "They're probing, looking for weaknesses." He glanced at Kurayami. "It won't be long before they come knocking."
Kurayami's hand instinctively went to the small dagger at his waist—a habit he'd picked up from Jiro. "So what's the plan?"
Jiro's gaze flickered to the map. "We relocate soon. But before that, I need to teach you a few things."
"Teach me what?"
"How to outmaneuver hunters, the Fangs work in patterns—they're disciplined, predictable if you know what to look for. Their leader has a habit of tightening his perimeter bit by bit, testing his target until they make a mistake. I know his pattern better than anyone; I trained him after all."
Kurayami felt a flicker of adrenaline. This wasn't just hiding or running. This was strategy—a way to gain the upper hand against the people hunting them. He listened closely, his nerves tingling. "How do we stay one step ahead?"
"By doing what they won't expect." Jiro's voice carried steel. "You've learned to fight, Kurayami, but survival is more than that. It's knowing how to disappear, how to make your enemy think twice. We're not just waiting for them. We're leading them somewhere they'll regret."
Jiro began laying out their next steps, pointing to the marked areas. "These are chokepoints, places they'll check first. We'll make them think we're holed up here." He tapped one circle on the outskirts of town, near an abandoned warehouse. "With any luck, they'll waste days there while we slip out."
"And if they don't?"
A rare smirk crossed Jiro's face. "Then we make sure they leave empty-handed, with nothing but rumors and shadows."
Mayhem, stretched lazily by the window, his golden eyes fixed on them as if following the conversation. Kurayami reached out to scratch behind his ears. "Think he's up for some recon?"
"He'd be insulted if we left him out." Jiro's expression grew serious as he traced a line on the map. "If we move, we'll need to be fast. They've concentrated their patrols in the northern areas, especially here." He tapped a spot marked in red.
Kurayami studied the nearby terrain. "The dense forest cover could work to our advantage."
"Or trap us," Jiro countered, though not dismissively. "If we use it, we'll need to be quick. No waiting around. You'll have to be sure of every step."
Kurayami met his mentor's gaze, determination shining through his tired eyes. "I'm ready, Jiro. You've trained me well."
Jiro studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Then we move within two days."
****************************************************************************************
Two days later, as dawn broke over the chilly Okinawan landscape, Kurayami, Jiro, and Mayhem moved through the dense forest north of the safe house. The air was biting, the season's early winter chill seeping through their clothes as they advanced silently along the shadowed path Jiro had mapped out.
Jiro stopped suddenly, holding up a hand. He scanned the trees, his eyes narrowed. "They've been here," he murmured. "Fresh tracks, but..." He frowned, studying the ground more carefully. "Something's wrong. The pattern's different."
Kurayami's pulse quickened. "Different how?"
"Kazuo's changed his approach," Jiro muttered, referring to the Fangs' leader. "Usually, he tightens the perimeter gradually, like a python. But these tracks..." He gestured to several spots around them. "They're scattered, seemingly random. He's trying to make us think they're still following the old pattern." A bitter smile crossed his face. "Clever boy. He remembered what I taught him about false security."
"But we're still sticking to the plan?" Kurayami glanced over Jiro's shoulder. "Lead them toward the warehouse where it's rigged with explosives, then take Sato's jet to Tokyo?"
"Sato's one of the few from my mercenary days I still trust," Jiro nodded, but his expression remained tense. "He'll have the jet ready in the warehouse's hidden hangar. But with Kazuo changing tactics..." He trailed off, scanning the treeline.
A faint rustling behind them drew their attention. Mayhem's weight shifted on Kurayami's shoulder, the cat's eyes narrowing as he pinpointed the sound. Kurayami held his breath, pressing his back to the nearest tree.
Four figures emerged from the shadows their movements disciplined and precise. Jiro's expression hardened as he recognized the tactical formation. "Kazuo's elite squad," he whispered. "Go. Take Mayhem and head for the warehouse. The entrance to the hangar is behind the third support beam, marked with a red stripe. Sato will be waiting."
"But—" Kurayami began rebelling against leaving Jiro behind.
"Stick to the plan," Jiro said sharply, his eyes leaving no room for argument. Twin blades sprouted from his wrists, gleaming in the dim light. "I'll hold them here."
Kurayami nodded, reluctantly retreating into the trees. Behind him, he heard the distinctive sound of multiple quirks activating—one mercenary's hand being aflamed, another's hands morphing into serrated weapons, the air crackling with raw power.
With Mayhem safely secured in his hands, Kurayami navigated through the winding forest path, moving as swiftly as he dared. His heart pounded not just from exertion but from the weight of leaving Jiro to face Kazuo's troops alone.
The warehouse loomed ahead, its rusted exterior barely visible. As Kurayami approached, the morning silence shattered. The forest erupted with the sounds of combat—the screech of metal against metal as Jiro's wrist-blades clashed with the quirk-enhanced mercenaries, the crash of falling trees as bodies were thrown with superhuman force and the unmistakable cry of pain that could only have come from Jiro.
Kurayami ducked behind a fallen tree as three more mercenaries appeared, fanning out around the warehouse. Through gaps in the underbrush, he caught glimpses of the brutal fight taking place behind him. Jiro moved like a demon despite being outnumbered, his quirk-generated blades extending and retracting with deadly precision as he engaged multiple opponents at once. But even from this distance, Kurayami could see he was favoring his right side, blood darkening his clothes.
Then came the sound that would haunt Kurayami's nightmares—a wet, meaty thud followed by Jiro's agonized scream. Through the trees, he saw his mentor stumble, his right leg severed below the knee by Kazuo's wind shuriken technique.
"Stay back!" Jiro's voice rang out as he spotted Kurayami half-rising from his hiding place. Despite the grievous injury, Jiro's eyes blazed with determination as he used a nearby tree to pull himself upright. Blood pooled beneath him where his leg had been, but his hands remained steady on his weapons.
"You wanted a fight, Kazuo?" Jiro called out, his voice carrying across the clearing. "Come see what your old teacher has left to teach you."
Kurayami's hands trembled as he forced himself to turn away, clutching Mayhem close as he slipped through a gap in the warehouse wall. The pre-dawn darkness inside was broken only by a faint red stripe marking the third support beam. Behind it, just as Jiro had said, he found the concealed entrance to a small hangar where a sleek private jet waited. A gruff-looking man—Sato—stood at the ready beside it.
"Where's Jiro?" Sato asked, his weathered face creasing with concern.
The sounds of combat intensified outside, punctuated by another cry of pain. "Buying us time," Kurayami managed, his voice thick.
Sato's expression darkened with understanding. "Then we honor his sacrifice by getting you out of here. Now."
As they rushed to board the jet, the warehouse doors exploded inward in a violent burst of compressed air. Through the settling debris, Kurayami caught one final glimpse of his mentor. Jiro stood in the doorway, somehow still upright despite his mutilated leg, his body framed by the pre-dawn light. Around him lay the unconscious—or worse—forms of Kazuo's elite squad, their bodies bearing the precise cuts of Jiro's quirk. Blood pooled beneath his severed leg, but his stance remained defiant, wrist-blades extended and gleaming with a deadly promise.
Kazuo stepped into view, the air around him visibly distorting as he manipulated the winds to his will. His long coat whipped violently in his self-generated maelstrom, and his eyes—so similar to Jiro's in their intensity—fixed on his former mentor with a mix of respect and ruthless determination.
"You taught me to never leave a job unfinished, sensei," Kazuo called out, raising his hands as ribbons of razor-sharp wind began to spiral around him. The very air seemed too keen with lethal intent.
Jiro's response was to extend his blades further, the metal sprouting from his wrists longer and broader than Kurayami had ever seen before. "And you showed me why I left that life behind," he growled, shifting his weight to compensate for his missing limb. Even grievously wounded, he moved with the deadly grace of a predator, his quirk responding to his iron will.
"Go," Jiro's commanding voice carried across the space one final time. His eyes never left Kazuo, but his words were meant for Kurayami alone. "Live free."
The jet's engines roared to life as Kurayami strapped in, eyes glinting with unshed tears. Through the window, he watched the warehouse recede, knowing that this moment—Jiro's last stand—would fuel his determination to survive, to honor the man who had sacrificed everything to give him another chance at freedom.
Mayhem pressed against his leg, offering silent comfort as they climbed into the clouds, leaving behind the only person who had sacrificed everything for him.