---
---
Blood dripped from Akira's mouth as he leaned heavily against the cold, cracked wall, barely conscious.
The floor beneath him was soaked — a dark, sticky mixture of water, blood, and shattered glass. The body of the Shadow Wolf lay twisted and broken across the hallway, his throat carved open by a jagged piece of ceramic Akira had driven deep during their final, desperate struggle.
Akira could barely feel his hands. His knuckles were torn raw, the bones grinding beneath the shredded skin. Each breath stabbed through his ribs like knives.
But he had won.
And yet, no part of it felt like victory.
He collapsed fully against the wall, sliding down until he sat beside the corpse, the flickering light overhead casting long shadows. His voice was a hoarse whisper:
"I'm not dead yet…"
Pain flared through his shoulder where a knife had nearly severed muscle and sinew. Grimacing, he tore a strip from his own shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wound. The blood seeped through, but it was better than nothing.
Then came the grim ritual — cleanup.
With slow, methodical movements, Akira dragged the body inch by inch into the bathtub. He poured what little boiling water remained over the corpse, gagging as the stench rose. Bleach, acid, and every cleaning agent he could find were dumped over it. Gloves on. Hair covered. Phone switched off. Fingerprints wiped.
He had done this too many times before.
The safehouse was no longer safe.
He couldn't stay.
He knew others were coming. Kento was coming.
Akira caught his reflection in the cracked mirror.
His face was swollen and bruised, his left eye nearly shut. His lips were purple and split. He hardly recognized the man staring back.
He splashed cold water on his face and whispered:
"No more hiding."
---
The clock read 3:45 AM.
He packed only the essentials — pistol, knife, and a few painkillers.
He stepped out into the cold rain, blending into the sleeping city's shadows.
Target: Kento.
Akira had memorized Kento's habits. The bastard craved chaos but lived by patterns. Always returning to his comfort spot — a dilapidated building near the old bridge where he met Shadow Wolf for dirty assignments.
Pain tore through every step, but Akira kept moving, biting down groans, forcing his body forward.
Pain was the only thing keeping him awake.
---
4:41 AM — Near the Old Bridge
Fresh footprints marred the muddy railway line — two sets.
Not alone?
Doesn't matter.
Akira crouched behind a rusted pipe, silent in the dark. A rat skittered near his boot. He didn't flinch.
Movement.
A silhouette emerged. Hoodie up. Cigarette glowing faintly.
Kento.
Alive.
Relaxed.
Careless.
He had no idea Akira was still breathing.
---
Akira didn't rush. He waited.
Like a lion stalking prey.
He followed silently, slipping through alleyways, stepping lightly where Kento wouldn't hear.
No thinking. Only instinct.
Kento slipped into a rundown building covered in graffiti, the kind of place where people disappeared and no one asked questions.
Akira slipped in from the back. The floor creaked beneath his weight.
A crow cawed outside, sharp and mocking.
Kento stood with his back to him, texting casually.
Akira charged — slamming Kento against the wall, knife flashing.
But Kento reacted fast.
He elbowed Akira hard in the ribs, twisting violently and screaming:
"YOU?! YOU'RE ALIVE?!"
Akira didn't answer.
---
Akira moved closer, rain dripping from his soaked hair. His breath was ragged but his eyes burned with cold fire.
"Why did you do that?" Akira asked, voice low but sharp.
Kento smirked, cigarette still glowing between his fingers. "I think I should be asking you the same thing."
Akira's gaze hardened. "You've changed."
"Funny," Kento replied, eyes gleaming with malice. "You're the reason for that."
Akira's jaw clenched. "I never thought John's adopted son would become this."
Kento's smile twisted. "I don't think you're here to talk. So come on. Show me what you've got."
Akira looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. "How can you—"
Before he could finish, a brutal fist crashed into his face, sending shockwaves of pain exploding through his cheekbone.
"I said, don't waste time! Come upon me!" Kento snarled, stepping forward.
Akira staggered but forced himself upright, grimacing. His body screamed in protest — wounds still fresh, bones aching. Healing far from complete.
But there was no turning back now.
"I'm sorry," Akira muttered, a dangerous edge in his voice, "but I forgot to mention something—"
Kento cut him off with a cold laugh. "I also have a gun."
Both men raised their weapons in a flash — the sharp cracks of gunfire tore through the night.
Kento's bullet zipped past, missing Akira by inches.
Akira's shot was precise — two deafening cracks as both of Kento's knees buckled under the impact.
Kento howled in pain but fought to stay upright.
Before Kento could react, Akira closed the distance and struck viciously at both his arms, shattering bones and sending Kento's gun clattering to the floor.
Akira's voice was calm, almost clinical.
"There's never a need to fight with bare hands if the job can be finished quickly."
---
Akira tighting more said," I want to tell you something."
---