The airplane touched down with a gentle jolt, its engines humming as it rolled to a stop on the small private airstrip. Kurayami sat stiffly in the co-pilot's seat, his eyes fixed on the cityscape visible through the cockpit window. The sprawling lights of Tokyo glittered in the distance, but Naruhata—his destination—lay in the quieter shadows of the metropolis.
Mayhem purred softly on his lap, the rhythmic vibration grounding him as his fingers traced the sleek fur of his cat. The silence in the cockpit was thick, weighed down by the events of the last few days. Sato, seated next to him, powered down the controls before leaning back with a heavy sigh.
"Well," Sato began, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Here we are."
Kurayami didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the lights beyond, his mind replaying the last moments in Okinawa—the chaos, the screams, Jiro's blood on the ground. He clenched his fists, his fingers curling into Mayhem's fur, earning an annoyed meow.
Sato turned to him, his expression softening. "You sure about this, kid? Jiro wouldn't want you going alone."
Kurayami finally looked at him, his sharp obsidian eyes glinting with a determination that belied his nine years. "Jiro made arrangements. I'll be fine." His voice was steady, but the undercurrent of grief was unmistakable.
Sato frowned, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He didn't doubt Jiro's thoroughness—if the man said he'd made arrangements, then they'd be solid. But leaving a kid alone in a city like Tokyo, especially in a neighborhood like Naruhata... It didn't sit right.
"You know, I could stick around," Sato offered hesitantly. "At least until you're settled. Naruhata's no playground, and—"
"I can handle it." Kurayami cut him off, his tone firmer this time. "Jiro wouldn't have sent me here if he thought I couldn't."
Sato sighed again, shaking his head. The kid was stubborn, just like Jiro had been. He studied Kurayami for a long moment, noting the way the boy sat rigid, his hands trembling slightly despite the bravado in his words.
"You're not wrong," Sato admitted. "But handling it doesn't mean you have to do it alone."
Kurayami's jaw tightened. "I'm not alone. I have Mayhem." At the mention of his name, the sleek black cat stretched lazily before climbing onto Kurayami's shoulder, his golden eyes flashing with a hint of intelligence. "And Jiro left me everything I need."
Sato exhaled sharply through his nose, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Stubborn brat. Fine." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Kurayami. "This has the address. It's not much—just a one-bedroom apartment in a quiet corner of Naruhata. Jiro said it'd be safe, off the grid."
'One bedroom' Kurayami noted as he stared at the offered piece of paper 'He had planned for only mine escape'
Kurayami unfolded the paper, scanning the neatly written address. This was it—his new home, his new life. He nodded, slipping the paper into his pocket.
"Thanks," he said simply, his voice quieter now.
Sato hesitated before placing a large, calloused hand on Kurayami's shoulder. "Listen, kid. If things ever get too tough, you call me. I don't care if I'm halfway across the country—I'll come running. Got it?"
Kurayami looked up at him, his expression softening for a moment. "Got it."
"Good." Sato gave his shoulder a firm squeeze before letting go and stepping out of the plane. Kurayami followed, his small frame dwarfed by the towering figure of the older man. The air outside was crisp, the sounds of the city distant but ever-present.
A sleek black car waited at the edge of the runway, its driver leaning casually against the door. Sato handed the man a wad of cash and exchanged a few quiet words before gesturing for Kurayami to follow.
"This guy'll take you to the apartment," Sato said, turning back to Kurayami. "He's reliable. Doesn't ask questions."
Kurayami nodded, clutching Mayhem tightly as he climbed into the back seat of the car. Sato leaned down, his face briefly serious. "Take care of yourself, kid. And don't let Mayhem get into trouble."
The attempt at humor drew a small, fleeting smile from Kurayami. "I'll try."
Sato straightened, watching as the car pulled away. His hand lingered in a half-wave before falling back to his side. For a moment, he stood there in the fading light, a pang of unease twisting in his gut.
"Jiro, you better be right about this," he muttered under his breath before turning back to the plane.
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The car rolled to a stop in front of a narrow, weathered building tucked into a quiet side street. Naruhata was nothing like the bustling heart of Tokyo—it was quieter, grittier, with a sense of tired resilience in its faded signs and uneven sidewalks.
Kurayami stepped out of the car, clutching the small duffel bag that contained all his worldly possessions. Mayhem leaped gracefully onto his shoulder, surveying their surroundings.
"This is it," the driver said, nodding toward the building. "Third floor. Key's under the mat."
Kurayami nodded in thanks, shouldering his bag as he approached the entrance. The stairwell was narrow and creaked under his weight as he climbed, but it felt sturdy enough. By the time he reached the third floor, his legs burned slightly, but he didn't pause.
He found the key where the driver had said it would be and unlocked the door. The apartment was small—just a single bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and a cramped living area—but it was clean and functional. A futon lay neatly folded in the corner, and a small table with two chairs occupied the center of the room. The faint smell of fresh paint lingered in the air.
Mayhem hopped down from his shoulder, padding over to inspect the space. Kurayami set his bag down and stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in.
It wasn't much, but it was his.
He walked over to the table, where a single envelope sat waiting for him. His name was written on the front in Jiro's familiar handwriting. Kurayami's chest tightened as he picked it up, his fingers trembling slightly as he opened it.
Inside was a short note:
"Kurayami,
This place isn't perfect, but it's safe. Make it yours.
Remember what I taught you: survive, adapt, and keep moving forward. You're stronger than you know.
-Jiro"
Kurayami folded the note carefully, tucking it into his pocket. He sat down at the table, his shoulders slumping as the weight of everything began to settle on him. Mayhem jumped onto the table, nuzzling his cheek in silent comfort.
For the first time in weeks, Kurayami allowed himself to breathe. He was alone now—truly alone, just like before Jiro—but he wasn't powerless. Jiro had prepared him for this, and he would make sure his mentor's sacrifice wasn't in vain.
"This is just the beginning," he murmured, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. Mayhem purred in agreement, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light.
Kurayami clenched his fists, determination hardening in his gaze. Tomorrow, he would begin the next chapter of his journey.
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The next morning, Kurayami woke to the soft golden light filtering through the thin curtains, Mayhem curled warmly against his side. For a moment, the unfamiliar surroundings made his heart race—a brief panic that subsided as memories of the previous day settled into focus.
Naruhata was different from Okinawa. Different from anywhere he'd been before.
The neighborhood hummed with a quiet intensity that felt almost alive. Through the window, he could see the narrow street below—a mix of aging concrete buildings, small shops with faded signs, and the occasional flash of a hero or vigilante uniform passing by. This was a place where the line between order and chaos seemed perpetually blurred.
Jiro had told him stories about Naruhata. Not just the official narratives, but the underground whispers—the true pulse of the neighborhood. A place where unofficial heroes, called vigilantes, operated in the shadows. Where quirks weren't just powers, but survival tools.
Kurayami dressed methodically—dark cargo pants, a fitted black long-sleeve that allowed easy movement, and soft-soled shoes. Every piece of clothing was chosen with purpose, a new habit drilled into him by Jiro. Survival wasn't about looking tough. It was about being prepared, being invisible when needed.
Mayhem watched him, golden eyes tracking each movement with an intelligence that went beyond typical feline behavior. The cat was more than a pet—he was a companion, a friend.
"We need to understand this place," Kurayami murmured, more to himself than to Mayhem. His fingers brushed the envelope from Jiro, still tucked safely in his pocket. A talisman of sorts—a reminder of his purpose.
The streets of Naruhata were a symphony of controlled chaos. Street vendors called out, mixing with the distant sounds of construction. Teenagers with quirks walked casually alongside salarymen, their powers blending seamlessly into the mundane rhythm of city life.
Kurayami moved with careful deliberateness. Not trying to blend in—impossible for a nine-year-old alone—but avoiding attention. His obsidian eyes constantly scanned his surroundings, a habit born of necessity rather than fear, a habit that was born even before the Yakuza.
A group of younger heroes caught his peripheral attention. They looked barely older than teenagers, clustered near a narrow alleyway, speaking in hushed tones. One had electrical sparks dancing between his fingers. Another seemed to shimmer slightly, her form not quite solid, more like water.
Mayhem, still perched on his shoulder, tensed momentarily. A silent warning that Kurayami had learned to trust implicitly.
Someone was watching.
The tension in the air shifted subtly. Kurayami didn't turn immediately—Jiro had taught him better. Instead, he continued walking, his peripheral vision carefully tracking the source of the attention through window reflections.
A young woman, barely out of her teens, stood partially hidden near a convenience store's awning. Her hero costume was practical—a dark blue jacket with reinforced shoulders, utility pants, and fingerless gloves. She didn't have the Pro-Hero air and arrogance. A sidekick most likely. Her quirk wasn't immediately obvious. Not that it actually mattered to him, any quirks aimed at him whether they were elementals, support like healing, or tracking quirks were useless against him. Which is mostly why the Shie Hassekai had that much difficulty finding him.
Her eyes were fixed on Kurayami with an intensity that was equal parts concern and curiosity. Most people would overlook a small child walking alone. She wasn't like most people. Maybe it had to do with the jagged scar running across his eye, after losing his eyepatch he disregarded any form of covering, after all, it wasn't unusual for civilians to get hurt during villain attacks. Heroes could do so much, they weren't all-powerful.
Mayhem's tails flicked against Kurayami's neck—his silent signal. Not a threat, but something to be aware of.
The probably-sidekick took a step forward, then hesitated. Close enough to intervene if needed, far enough not to seem threatening.
"Hey," she called out, her voice soft but firm. "You're a bit young to be out here alone, aren't you?"
Kurayami stopped, turning with a measured slowness. Mayhem remained perfectly still on his shoulder, golden eyes locked on the sidekick.
Her stance shifted—not aggressive, but alert. 'Good insticks' Kurayami thought 'and highly observant' She was taking in every detail. The way he moved. The cat. The careful distance he maintained.
Something in her expression softened. Not pity. More like recognition.
"I'm Nuke," she said, taking half a step closer. "And you look like you're somewhere you probably shouldn't be."
Kurayami met her gaze. Direct. Unblinking. The way Jiro had taught him. "I'm exactly where I need to be," he responded, his voice quiet but steady.
Nuke's eyebrow raised slightly. A hint of a smile—more intrigue than amusement.
"This isn't a neighborhood for kids," she said, not as a threat, but almost like a warning.
Mayhem chose that moment to stretch, his movement drawing Nuke's attention. Her amusement seemed to grow.
"Interesting companion," Nuke murmured with a laugh.
The street around them continued its rhythm—vendors calling, distant construction, the constant hum of urban life.
Kurayami stayed silent, his expression unreadable. He weighed his response carefully, recalling Jiro's advice: Reveal only as much as you must.
"I can take care of myself," he said finally, his tone cool but not dismissive.
Nuke tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle she couldn't quite piece together. "You've got confidence, I'll give you that. But confidence doesn't mean much in the big city without backup."
Kurayami didn't flinch. "I have backup."
Mayhem let out a soft growl, his tails swishing in an almost theatrical display of menace. Nuke chuckled, her stance relaxing a fraction.
"Fair enough," she said. "Still, a kid wandering around this part of town? People are going to notice. Not all of them will be as friendly as me."
Kurayami's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm not looking for friends."
Her expression shifted—briefly surprised, then intrigued. "Alright, tough guy. But if you're not careful, you might find trouble instead."
Kurayami hesitated. He didn't trust her—not fully—but her demeanor didn't scream immediate danger. If anything, she seemed curious, maybe even genuinely concerned. But Naruhata was a big city and it wasn't a place for charity, he knew better than to take anything at face value.
"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, turning as if to leave.
Nuke didn't stop him, but her voice followed. "If you're ever in over your head, there's a place called the Night Owl. You can ask for Tremor. Tell him Nuke sent you."
Kurayami froze for a heartbeat before glancing back. Her mention of the name—Tremor—set off a flicker of recognition. Jiro had mentioned him once, in passing, as one of the few heroes who weren't in the industry for either money or fame.
"Thanks," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
Nuke gave a small nod, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned and melted back into the crowd.
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As Kurayami continued down the street, he felt the weight of her warning pressing on him. He wasn't naïve—he knew Naruhata was a predator's playground much like Fukuoka was.
His short time as a captive in the child trafficking rig came crashing back. It didn't last more than a day and he also helped the rest of the children escape, but... He was lucky, he didn't think he would be able to escape without the help of the rest of the quirks. He would be like them then, like the other kids, with no hope and helpless, he would have gone back to his tormentors and that thought alone terrified him. But he also knew that staying hidden didn't mean being idle.
Mayhem's tails flicked against his neck again, this time more relaxed, as if sensing the tension ebbing.
"She's right, you know," Kurayami murmured to the cat. "But unfortunately we don't have the luxury of playing it safe."
Mayhem purred softly, as if in agreement.
Kurayami's path eventually led him to a quieter stretch of the neighborhood. The towering buildings seemed to lean in closer, casting long shadows over narrow alleyways. He scanned the area, noting the subtle signs of movement—figures darting through side streets, shadows shifting where there shouldn't have been any.
He paused in front of a small corner store. Its windows were grimy, and the flickering neon sign above it buzzed faintly, but it had what he needed: a noticeboard covered in flyers, advertisements, and scraps of information.
Simon-Sensei had taught him that places like this were goldmines for those who knew how to look.
Kurayami approached, his eyes scanning the board quickly. Most of it was mundane—job offers, lost pets, garage sales—but a few slips of paper caught his attention.
One in particular:
"Warehouse work available. Nights only. Discretion required. 3-14 Fukuro Lane."
The address was familiar—it was one Jiro had pointed out on the map of Naruhata before. A chokepoint, he'd called it. A place where shady deals happened, where information flowed if you were brave—or foolish—enough to seek it.
Bound hands and a dingy warehouse, the memories came flooding back.
Kurayami tore the flyer down, folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket.