Prologue – Welcome to Kurogane City
Kurogane City… a place where dreams go to die and the devil collects his debts in blood.
This city isn't just corrupt—it's rotting from the inside out. A place where the neon lights flicker like dying stars, where rain doesn't wash away the filth but spreads it deeper into the cracks. The air is thick with the stench of gasoline, cheap cigarettes, and something more rancid, something metallic—the smell of blood soaked into pavement.
The streets never sleep, not because they're alive, but because they're hunting grounds.
Cracked asphalt, shattered glass, bullet casings littering alleyways like breadcrumbs leading to a grave. Stray dogs tear into plastic bags, their ribs sticking out like prison bars. Gangs own these streets—Yakuza, cartels, syndicates, nameless ghosts in the dark. The police? Paid off. The government? A joke. The city survives on crime, and if you aren't part of the machine, you're just another piece of meat waiting to be chewed up.
I should've left this place.
But I stayed.
For him.
For the old man who raised me.
For Shigure Diner—a tiny, rusting restaurant wedged between a gambling den and a hostess club. The walls are stained with age, the neon sign flickers weakly, and the kitchen smells like soy sauce and memories that don't belong to me anymore. My grandfather built this place with his own two hands, and when he passed, he left it to me.
A man with no money.
No future.
Just a legacy that barely keeps the lights on.
Most nights, I get maybe five customers. Some construction workers, a few drunks, the occasional salaryman looking for a cheap meal. Tonight, though? The city is too quiet.
That's when I hear it.
The door creaks open.
Cold air slips inside, carrying the scent of gunpowder and blood.
And before I can turn around—
Cold metal presses against the back of my skull.
A gun.
The muzzle is still hot. Recently fired. The heat seeps through my skin, and for a split second, I wonder if the next bullet is meant for me.
I've had guns pointed at me before. This city makes sure of that. But this time, something's different. The air feels heavier, thick with something dark, something violent.
And then—
He speaks.
A voice like silk, smooth and slow, but beneath it is something jagged, something cruel.
"You look calm for someone about to die."
I don't flinch. Fear is a luxury I can't afford. Instead, I exhale, steady, controlled.
"I'm used to it."
Silence.
Then—
A soft, low chuckle.
I don't need to see him to know he's smiling. But it's not a normal smile. It's the kind of smile that sends chills down your spine. The kind of smile you see in nightmares.
The gun lifts away.
Slowly, I turn around.
And that's the first time I see him.
He's tall. Too tall. Broad shoulders, a body sculpted like someone out of a magazine, muscles pressed tight against his dark clothes. He should look like a model, but instead, he looks like something out of a horror film.
He wears black gloves. The kind assassins wear. The kind meant to leave no fingerprints.
His skin is pale—too pale. Almost sickly. Almost… dead.
But it's his eyes that unnerve me the most.
Empty.
No anger. No amusement. No humanity. Just black pools of nothingness, staring through me like I'm already a corpse.
And then—
He grins.
A terrifying, sharp-toothed grin that doesn't reach his eyes.
The kind of grin that says he's already decided whether I live or die.
"Your name?" he asks.
His voice is low, smooth, but beneath it is something cold. Something hungry.
I swallow once. My body is screaming at me to run, but I don't. Instead, I meet his dead gaze and answer.
"Renji."
He stares at me.
Then—
He smiles.
Doesn't say anything.
Doesn't move.
Just smiles.
And for the first time in my life—
I feel like I've just invited a demon into my home.