Kurayami crouched low on the rooftop, the crisp night air biting at his exposed skin. Mayhem perched on his shoulder, his golden eyes gleaming as he surveyed the scene below. The warehouse at Fukuro Lane loomed in the darkness, its weathered metal exterior blending into the shadows of Naruhata's industrial district. The faint hum of machinery and the occasional echo of voices carried through the stillness, punctuated by the distant wail of a siren.
From his vantage point, Kurayami could see the faint glow of light spilling out from a cracked window near the building's roofline. He adjusted the straps of his small satchel, ensuring it was secure, and glanced at Mayhem.
"Looks quiet for now," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "We'll slip in, get what we need, and get out. Simple."
Mayhem let out a soft trill, his tails curling around Kurayami's neck in what felt like reassurance. The boy's sharp obsidian eye scanned the perimeter one last time before he moved. He descended the fire escape with a practiced grace, his movements silent and deliberate. He reached the ground without a sound, his senses heightened as he slipped into the shadows.
The side entrance to the warehouse was locked, as expected. Kurayami knelt by the door, retrieving a slim set of tools from his satchel. Mayhem leaped down, his lithe form landing soundlessly as he kept watch. Within seconds, the lock clicked open, and Kurayami pushed the door ajar, peeking inside.
The warehouse's interior was dimly lit, the faint glow of fluorescent lights casting long, eerie shadows. Stacks of crates lined the walls, some marked with labels that hinted at their contents: electronics, medical supplies, and other items that didn't quite belong in a legitimate operation. Kurayami's jaw tightened. Jiro had taught him to recognize the signs of a trafficking hub, and this place had all the hallmarks.
"Stay close," he whispered to Mayhem as he slipped inside.
The warehouse smelled of dust and stale air, mingled with the faint metallic tang of machinery. Kurayami's steps were light, his movements precise as he navigated the labyrinth of crates. His goal was clear, gather information. Anything that could provide insight into the operations running through Naruhata. He'd already seen too much darkness in his short life to turn a blind eye to it now.
Voices echoed faintly from deeper within the building. Kurayami froze, pressing himself against a stack of crates as he strained to listen. Two men, their conversation low but animated, were discussing a shipment—one that sounded too valuable to be legal. Kurayami edged closer, keeping to the shadows, his ears picking up fragments of their exchange.
"…needs to be ready by tomorrow night. Boss doesn't want any delays."
"I get it, but security's been tight lately. Too many heroes sniffing around."
"Doesn't matter. We've got the deal set. If it goes south, it's on you."
Kurayami's fingers tightened around the edge of the crate. This was bigger than he'd anticipated. The mention of heroes suggested a level of scrutiny that could complicate things, but it also meant this operation was significant enough to draw their attention.
Before he could retreat, the creak of metal footsteps from the catwalk above sent his heart racing. He looked up, spotting a guard patrolling the upper level, a flashlight cutting through the shadows. Kurayami pressed himself lower, his breath steady despite the tension coiling in his chest.
Mayhem's ears flattened as the flashlight beam swept closer. The cat's tails twitched, and Kurayami's hand instinctively moved to calm him. The guard paused, his steps halting as he peered into the dimly lit space. For a moment, Kurayami thought they'd been spotted.
Then, a noise—a faint metallic clatter from the opposite side of the warehouse—drew the guard's attention. The man muttered a curse under his breath and moved toward the sound, his flashlight bobbing as he descended a staircase.
Kurayami's gaze darted to the source of the distraction, his sharp eyes catching a glimpse of a figure slipping through the shadows. The man was older, his frame broad and solid, clad in a tattered jacket and a simple mask that obscured most of his face. He moved with a quiet confidence, his every step purposeful as he navigated the space with an ease that spoke of experience.
Kurayami tensed, his mind racing. Who was this? He didn't look like one of the guards, but his presence here was just as suspicious. The older man's eyes met Kurayami's for a brief moment, and in that instant, an unspoken understanding passed between them. The stranger's expression hardened, and he gestured for the boy to stay put before disappearing into the maze of crates.
Kurayami hesitated, torn between retreating and following. But the sound of hurried footsteps approaching left him little choice. He ducked into a narrow gap between crates, his heart pounding as two more guards entered the area, their voices sharp with urgency.
"Someone's here. Check the perimeter!"
Kurayami's grip on Mayhem tightened as the guards spread out, their flashlights cutting through the darkness. He held his breath, willing himself to remain still as the beams passed perilously close. Mayhem, sensing the danger, stayed perfectly still, his golden eyes fixed on the nearest guard.
A sudden commotion broke the tense silence. The sound of a struggle echoed from the far side of the warehouse, followed by the sharp crack of a fist connecting with flesh. One guard bolted toward the noise, leaving the other to continue his search. Kurayami seized the opportunity, slipping out of his hiding spot and moving swiftly toward the nearest exit.
He didn't make it far before a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. Kurayami twisted instinctively, his small frame slipping free as he turned to face his attacker. The guard loomed over him, his expression twisted with anger.
"What the…?" the man growled, reaching for him again.
Before he could react, a blur of movement intervened. The older man's fist connected with the guard's jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. The man didn't hesitate, grabbing Kurayami by the arm and pulling him toward the nearest exit.
"Kid, you've got guts," the man muttered as they slipped out into the cool night air. "But guts won't keep you alive in a place like this."
Kurayami yanked his arm free, his eyes blazing with defiance. "I can handle myself."
The man snorted, crossing his arms as he regarded the boy. "Sure you can. That's why you were one step away from getting caught."
Mayhem hissed softly, his tails lashing as he climbed back onto Kurayami's shoulder. The man's gaze shifted to the cat, his expression briefly amused before turning serious.
"Listen, kid," the man said, his tone firm. "I don't know what you're after, but this isn't a game. People die messing with outfits like this. What are you even doing here?"
Kurayami's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but defiant. "I'm looking for answers."
The man raised an eyebrow, his posture relaxing slightly. "Answers? To what?"
Kurayami hesitated, debating how much to reveal. "To what's happening in this city. To the people behind it."
The man sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Kid, do you have any idea what you're up against? These people don't play fair. They're ruthless, and they don't leave loose ends. You think you can take them on by yourself?"
Kurayami's jaw tightened, his fists clenching. "I don't have a choice."
The man's expression softened a hint of something akin to pity flickering across his face. "Everyone has a choice. The trick is knowing when to fight and when to fall back. Right now, you're way out of your league."
Kurayami glared at him, the fire in his eyes undimmed. "I've survived worse."
The man chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Maybe you have. But surviving isn't the same as winning. And if you keep going like this, you're not going to last long enough to make a difference."
Kurayami stayed silent, his mind racing. He didn't trust this man and didn't want to depend on anyone. But his words struck a chord, echoing Jiro's lessons in ways that made his chest tighten.
The man took a step closer, his gaze steady. "Look, kid. I'm not saying you should give up. I'm saying you need to be smart about this. Do you want to work in this neighborhood? Fine. But you're working with me. That's the deal. I keep you alive, and we figure this out together."
Kurayami's instincts screamed at him to refuse, to keep going on his own. But Mayhem's soft purr and the lingering adrenaline from the night's close call reminded him of the risks he couldn't ignore.
He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. "I don't need a babysitter."
The man smirked, his tone lightening. "Good. I'm not offering to be one. But you've got potential, kid. Don't waste it by getting yourself killed."
Kurayami nodded reluctantly, his voice firm but quieter. "Fine. Deal."
The man's smirk widened. "Smart choice, kid. Now let's get out of here before those goons regroup."
Together, they disappeared into the shadows of Naruhata, a tentative alliance forming in the dark.
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The narrow streets of Naruhata seemed to grow darker the farther Kurayami walked, shadows stretching long and deep beneath the flickering streetlights. Knuckleduster moved ahead of him, his broad frame cutting through the gloom with a confidence that Kurayami couldn't help but envy. He trailed behind at a careful distance, his sharp obsidian eye darting to every alleyway and corner as his thoughts churned.
Knuckleduster had said little since they left the warehouse, his focus locked on the path ahead. Kurayami's grip on the strap of his satchel tightened, his mind racing with the implications of their tenuous alliance. He didn't trust the older man—not fully. Knuckleduster might have helped him tonight, but trust was a luxury Kurayami couldn't afford.
The memories of his escape from the Shie Hassaikai were still too fresh, the weight of their shadow pressing on his every decision. He'd been raised in that world, surrounded by the cold, calculating Ito-Sensei, the menace of Kai Chisaki, and Simon-Sensei's cold and twisted love. Their twisted sense of control had shaped him into a dog, the betrayal of the truth had cut deeper than any blade. He had escaped, yes, but at a cost—one that left scars far beyond the physical.
Mayhem's soft purr broke through his thoughts, the cat's tails curling slightly around Kurayami's neck. Mayhem had been with him since his escape over a year ago, the cold nights on the run, and now, this uncertain step into Naruhata's underworld. His golden eyes glinted in the dim light as if reassuring Kurayami that they would be in this together.
Still, the presence of Knuckleduster added a layer of complexity that Kurayami wasn't sure how to handle. The man exuded a rough practicality, his actions and demeanor suggesting someone who had abandoned illusions of heroism. But his motivations remained a mystery. What did he see in Kurayami? Why had he intervened? Was it pity, curiosity, or something else entirely? Did he know who he was? Where he came from?
Kurayami's fingers brushed against the folded flyer in his pocket, the one that had brought him to the warehouse tonight. "3-14 Fukuro Lane"—a simple address that had promised information as dangerous as it was. It wasn't the first time he'd taken a risk like this, and it wouldn't be the last. The stakes were too high to play it safe. He wasn't just running from the Shie Hassaikai; he was running from his name, his past, and his legacy.
Knuckleduster stopped suddenly, glancing back over his shoulder. His gaze settled on Kurayami, piercing and expectant. "You've been quiet," he said gruffly. "What do I call you?"
Kurayami froze for a heartbeat, his thoughts scrambling. His name wasn't just a name—it was a beacon for those hunting him. Police officers, underground heroes, Yakuza mercenaries—all with ties to his uncle or the Shie Hassaikai. Giving it to Knuckleduster wasn't just dangerous; it was suicidal. One slip of his real identity, and he'd be dragged back into the nightmare he'd barely escaped.
"Karma," he said finally, the word slipping out before he could second-guess it.
Knuckleduster raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by the sudden declaration. "Karma, huh? That's a hell of a name for a kid."
Kurayami's jaw tightened, but he met the older man's gaze steadily. "It fits."
And it did, in a way. Karma was a balance, a reckoning. It was what he'd seen in the Shie Hassaikai—the scales tipped too far in one direction, drowning others in suffering for their gain. He wanted to be the counterweight, the force that tipped the scales back. The name wasn't just a shield; it was a promise to himself.
Knuckleduster smirked faintly, though his expression remained unreadable. "Alright, Karma. Let's see if you live up to it."
He turned and continued down the alley, his footsteps steady and sure. Kurayami hesitated for a moment before following, his thoughts swirling with a mixture of suspicion and grudging curiosity. What did Knuckleduster want from him? And why was he offering help to someone he didn't even know?
They emerged into a small, hidden courtyard, the space surrounded by the backs of crumbling buildings. A single flickering light above a reinforced door cast the area in a dim, yellowish glow. Knuckleduster approached the door and knocked in a distinct rhythm, the sound echoing in the stillness. After a moment, the door creaked open, and a wiry man with a patchy beard peered out.
"You're late," the man grumbled, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Kurayami.
"Had a little detour," Knuckleduster replied, his tone casual. "Got a new recruit."
Kurayami stiffened at the description but kept his expression blank. The wiry man eyed him skeptically before stepping aside to let them in. The interior of the building was sparse, with mismatched furniture and a faint smell of cigarette smoke. It didn't look like much, but the atmosphere crackled with unspoken secrets.
Knuckleduster gestured for Kurayami to sit, and the boy complied reluctantly, perching on the edge of a worn-out chair. Mayhem leaped onto his lap, curling up and purring softly. The older man leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he studied Kurayami.
"So, Karma," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with a hint of skepticism. "What's your plan here? You've got guts, I'll give you that, but guts won't get you far without a strategy."
Kurayami met his gaze evenly. "I'm figuring it out."
Knuckleduster's smirk returned, though it was tempered by something harder, almost like concern. "Figuring it out doesn't work in this line of work, kid. You need a reason, a purpose. Otherwise, you'll just end up another name on a long list of people who thought they could take on the world and lost."
Kurayami didn't flinch, but his hands tightened slightly around Mayhem's fur. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Knuckleduster's tone sharpened, his gaze boring into him. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like a kid trying to outrun a past that's gonna catch up with you sooner or later. And when it does, you better be ready."
Kurayami's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He couldn't tell Knuckleduster the truth—not about the Shie Hassaikai, not about Fukumoto Industries, and certainly not about his quirk. Nullification as much as he hated it, was too dangerous, too rare.
Knuckleduster sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Look, I'm not trying to scare you off. But you're in deeper than you realize, and if you're not careful, you're gonna drown. You want my help, fine. But you've gotta be smart about this. No more charging into warehouses without backup. No more trying to do it all on your own."
Kurayami's gaze dropped to Mayhem, the cat's steady purring a small comfort. He didn't like relying on others, didn't like the vulnerability it brought. But Knuckleduster had a point. If he wanted to survive—to truly make a difference—he couldn't do it alone.
"Fine," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "I'll work with you. For now."
Knuckleduster nodded, his smirk returning. "Good. Let's see if you've got what it takes."
As the night stretched on, Kurayami couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking at a razor's edge. Every step forward brought him closer to retribution—and to the enemies who would do anything to drag him back into the shadows. But with Mayhem by his side and Knuckleduster's reluctant guidance, he resolved to keep moving forward. Because standing still was no longer an option.
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The discussion with Knuckleduster left a strange taste in Kurayami's mouth. Sitting in the dimly lit room with Mayhem's steady purring in the background, he couldn't help but feel like he'd stepped onto unstable ground. The wiry man who had let them into the building had said little after a brief glare in his direction, leaving Kurayami to wonder who he was and how he fit into Knuckleduster's operations. Whoever he was, his sharp, calculating eyes had made Kurayami's skin prickle.
Knuckleduster had made it clear he didn't trust easily, and he didn't expect the boy to either. That suited Kurayami just fine. Trust was a rare commodity for him, something he had learned the hard way could be used against him. But the older man's bluntness also carried a strange authenticity—something Kurayami wasn't sure how to reconcile with his instincts to keep everyone at arm's length.
When the conversation ended, Knuckleduster had leaned back in his chair and jabbed a finger at Kurayami. "Get some rest, kid. I'll call you when I have something solid. Until then, keep your head down. Don't do anything stupid."
Kurayami had simply nodded, keeping his expression neutral, before standing and making his way out of the building. The wiry man—"Tamao", Knuckleduster had called him—watched him go with a look that was more disapproval than anything else.
Now, as Kurayami walked the quiet streets back to his apartment, his thoughts churned with unanswered questions. Mayhem perched on his shoulder, silent but alert, his golden eyes scanning their surroundings. The cool night air carried a faint smell of rain, and the occasional buzz of a flickering streetlight punctuated the stillness.
Knuckleduster. The man was an enigma. He moved with the precision of someone who had spent years in the shadows, yet his demeanor was far from subtle. He was loud, brash, and unapologetically blunt—a strange contradiction to the calculated way he operated. Kurayami couldn't help but wonder who he had been before becoming a vigilante. And more importantly, why was he doing this?
The weight of Knuckleduster's words lingered. "Figuring it out doesn't work in this line of work, kid." Kurayami clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. He hated being treated like a child, but Knuckleduster wasn't entirely wrong. The truth was, Kurayami was still piecing together what his next steps should be.
Back at his apartment, Kurayami closed the door softly behind him and leaned against it, letting out a slow breath. The space was small and sparse, but it was his—for now. Mayhem leaped gracefully onto the table, his tails swishing as he stretched before settling down with a satisfied purr.
Kurayami dropped his satchel onto the futon and crossed the room to the small desk where his laptop sat. He flipped it open, the faint glow illuminating his face as he pulled up a search engine.
Knuckleduster. The name didn't yield much beyond rumors and vague stories from Naruhata's darker corners. A vigilante who operated without a quirk, relying on raw skill and sheer determination to bring down petty criminals and organized syndicates alike. But there were no mentions of who he was or where he came from.
Kurayami frowned, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. If Knuckleduster was as careful as he seemed, digging into his past wouldn't be easy. Still, Kurayami had learned a few things during his time in the Shie Hassaikai—how to sift through layers of information, and how to follow trails others thought they'd hidden.
But was it worth the risk? The older man didn't seem like someone who took betrayal lightly, and if he caught wind of Kurayami's prying, it could complicate their already fragile partnership. Yet Kurayami couldn't ignore the nagging suspicion that Knuckleduster's past might hold answers—or dangers—he needed to be aware of.
"What do you think, Mayhem?" he asked, glancing at the cat. Mayhem blinked at him lazily, his tails curling and uncurling in a way that Kurayami interpreted as indifference.
Shaking his head, Kurayami leaned back in his chair. "I'll figure it out later. First, we need to make sure the apartment's still secure."
He stood and moved to the windows, checking the locks and peeking through the curtains at the street below. Paranoia wasn't just a habit for him; it was survival. Between the Shie Hassaikai, the mercenaries, and his uncle's network of police and underground heroes, he couldn't afford to let his guard down.
Once he was satisfied that the apartment was as safe as it could be, Kurayami returned to the desk and pulled out a notebook. The pages were filled with Korean scribbled notes and diagrams, the beginnings of a plan to dismantle the network of corruption that had shaped his life. He flipped to a blank page and began writing:
Knuckleduster – Possible Connections
Operates in Naruhata.No quirk. Relies on skill and equipment.Known associate: Tamao (name could be alias).Motivations unclear.
Kurayami tapped the pen against the page, his thoughts drifting. Knuckleduster's offer to help was still fresh in his mind. The older man had said it with a blunt sincerity that Kurayami hadn't been able to dismiss outright. But trusting him… that was another matter entirely.
"We'll keep it professional for now," Kurayami muttered to himself. "But if he's hiding something, I'll find it."
Mayhem let out a soft trill, and Kurayami glanced at him with a faint smile. "And if things go south, at least I've got you, right?"
The cat's golden eyes gleamed in response, and Kurayami took that as an agreement.
For now, he would focus on gathering information and staying one step ahead of his enemies. But in the back of his mind, the question of Knuckleduster's past lingered like a shadow—a puzzle he couldn't help but want to solve.
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The flicker of the streetlight cast a jagged shadow over Knuckleduster as he leaned against the side of the building, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He watched the kid-Karma, if that was even close to the truth walk down the street until he disappeared into the darkness. The boy's frame was small, his steps careful but carrying a stiffness that betrayed how much he had been through. Knuckleduster let out a long breath, his hand absently brushing the cigarette tucked behind his ear. He didn't light it hadn't in years but the feel of it between his fingers grounded him. His gut told him there was a lot to know about the kid.
He left out a long suffering sigh and headed back to the safehouse.
The boy was a walking contradiction, and Knuckleduster couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. Leaning against the creaking chair in the dingy back room of Tamao's safe house, he replayed their encounter in his head.
"Karma." What kind of name was that for a kid?
It was an alias, of course. That much was obvious. Knuckleduster had seen enough desperate people and fugitives to recognize when someone was hiding behind a mask. The boy's too-steady demeanor, the way he'd measured every word, every move—it all screamed caution. But it was the scar across his left eye and the blind, milky iris beneath it that told the real story.
Knuckleduster had caught the flicker of hesitation when he'd asked for the boy's name. It wasn't the usual kind of hesitation, the kind that came from a kid trying to lie their way out of trouble. No, this was different. This was the kind of hesitation born from survival, from someone who knew exactly how dangerous a name could be.
"Smart kid," he muttered to himself, his gaze fixed on the cracked plaster ceiling.
He'd been around long enough to know when a person's scars were more than just physical. Karma, or whatever his real name was, had clearly seen his share of trouble. The way he moved—always scanning, always ready to bolt—wasn't something a kid should know how to do. And that cat of his, Mayhem, wasn't just some stray. The way it stuck to him, the intelligence in its golden eyes… there was more to that creature than met the eye.
But it was the boy's scar that stuck with Knuckleduster. A jagged line cutting through the soft skin of his left eyelid, ending in that cloudy, sightless eye. It wasn't just a wound—it was a marker, a piece of history carved into his face. And from the way Karma carried himself, he was no stranger to pain.
Knuckleduster sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"What's your game, kid?" he muttered under his breath.
The boy was running from something—that much was clear. Knuckleduster had seen enough runaways to recognize the signs: the constant vigilance, the reluctance to let anyone in, and that damn chip on his shoulder. But this wasn't the usual teenage rebellion or bad home life. No, Karma was running from something big. Something dangerous.
He glanced at the worn notebook on the table in front of him, its pages filled with scribbled notes and diagrams. Most of them were about his current targets in Naruhata— smuggling operations, the dealers of Trigger, their manufacturers and the occasional syndicate. Along with notes of his missing daughter. But now, there was a new entry, hastily scrawled in the corner:
Karma – Alias?
Scar on left eye, half blind.Skilled, cautious. Not an amateur.Running from someone. Dangerous?Trust? TBD.
Tamao's gruff voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "What's with the kid?"
Knuckleduster glanced at his wiry ally, who was leaning against the doorway with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Not sure yet," Knuckleduster admitted. "He's got guts, I'll give him that. But he's hiding something. Something big."
Tamao snorted, exhaling a plume of smoke. "You really think bringing him in was a good idea? Could be trouble you don't need."
"Maybe." Knuckleduster shrugged. "But trouble has a way of finding me anyway. Might as well keep an eye on him."
Tamao shook his head, his expression skeptical. "Your funeral."
Knuckleduster smirked faintly as Tamao walked off, muttering something about babysitting. The man wasn't entirely wrong. Bringing Karma into his orbit was a risk, but it wasn't one Knuckleduster could ignore. The kid had potential, and more importantly, he had the kind of fire Knuckleduster respected.
Still, that didn't mean he'd let his guard down. The boy's wariness matched his own, and trust wasn't something Knuckleduster handed out lightly. Whatever Karma was running from, it was bound to catch up sooner or later. And when it did, Knuckleduster wanted to be ready.
He leaned back in his chair again, closing his eyes as he replayed their brief conversation. The kid had mentioned "answers"—something about figuring out the truth of what was happening in Naruhata. But the way he'd said it, the intensity in his voice… it wasn't just curiosity. It was personal.
"You're in deeper than you think, kid," Knuckleduster muttered. "Let's hope you're ready for what you find."
For now, he'd keep his distance, watch and wait. Karma's scars told one story, but Knuckleduster knew better than most that the real wounds were the ones people tried to hide. And if the boy thought he could outrun his past forever, he'd learn soon enough that some things had a way of catching up, no matter how fast you ran.