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Code: CBA84
Ending: 10/08/25
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The quiet click of the car door echoed faintly, swallowed immediately by the ambient hum of the city.
Kenshiro stepped out, his expression unreadable. He cast a final glance inside the car, where the two men remained slumped in their seats, eyes wide, telling a silent tale of their agony, their bodies limped in the seats.
He didn't say a word.
Then, without a trace, he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the city streets.
Kenshiro moved like a phantom through the waking city—his presence unnoticed, his steps soundless.
His mind was quiet, unnervingly so. The fury that had danced in his veins earlier now sat like embers under ash, waiting. That encounter had given him confirmation.
He was being watched. They knew who he was.
And now... they would know what he was capable of.
The memory of those tortured eyes from the two men still floated in his mind. They had broken faster than expected—almost disappointingly so—but they had confirmed one thing.
Their Boss didn't seem to underestimate or ignore Kenshiro. And that kind of attention... was dangerous.
By the time Kenshiro reached the hotel, around ten to fifteen minutes had passed.
He paused briefly outside the entrance, checking his reflection in the glass door. His face was calm, eyes slightly tired but composed. Not a single hair was out of place.
He pushed the door open.
Inside the lobby, Daisuke was standing near the counter, talking with the receptionist while Misaki—now looking more composed—was zipping up a large travel bag near one of the couches. She looked up immediately when the glass door opened and Kenshiro walked in.
"Kenshiro!" She called out, voice a mix of relief and faint irritation. "Where have you been?"
Daisuke heard her voice and turned around to see Kenshiro walking in.
"You're finally here," He said, relief softening his face.
"Yeah," Kenshiro smiled. "Told you I just needed some air."
"Feel better?" Daisuke asked gently.
Kenshiro nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for letting me go."
Misaki immediately rose and walked over, brushing a few strands of hair from Kenshiro's face.
"You didn't even take your scarf," She said, scolding gently. "You'll catch a cold…"
"I'm fine," Kenshiro said with a faint smile.
"You've barely slept," She said, eyes softening. "You're still not okay, are you?"
"I will be," Kenshiro replied, his voice steady.
He glanced around. Their suitcases were packed. Everything was neatly bundled and lined up by the couch. Misaki was still holding onto his arm, gently, as if afraid he might vanish again.
"We were just about to leave," Daisuke said. "The train back to Miyagi is in a couple of hours. I booked a cab already. We'll stop by for some quick lunch on the way."
Kenshiro's eyes drifted toward the window, watching the city passersby moving in their normal rhythm—laughing, talking, going about their day like nothing had changed.
But for him... everything had.
As Daisuke and Misaki grabbed the bags, ready to leave.
"Doctor Found Dead in Shocking Condition"
The headlines flashed across news terminals and hotel lobby televisions.
"Dr. Koizumi, the famous physician, was found dead this morning in his office. Authorities confirm that the body bears no exterior wounds and it is the result of a heart attack…"
Misaki blinked at the screen. "What…? Isn't that the doctor who—?"
Daisuke's face darkened. "Yes. That's him."
Kenshiro silently stepped beside them. His face betrayed nothing.
Misaki turned toward him, her eyes wide with a mix of concern and confusion. "Kenshiro…?"
He looked at her calmly. "Let's go home."
And with that, he turned, walking ahead.
His steps were light. His back was straight. But deep within his heart, a fire had begun to blaze—quiet, unrelenting.
----
Tokyo's Financial District
On the uppermost floor of a towering skyscraper, the atmosphere on this floor was thick with silence and power—an unnatural stillness only found in places where dangerous decisions were made behind closed doors.
The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a commanding view of the cityscape below, but none of it reached the heart of the man seated behind the vast mahogany desk.
He was a mountain of a man.
A hulking figure, broad-shouldered and built like a war machine. His tailored black suit barely contained his bulk, the fabric taut across his arms and chest. Every muscle seemed carved from iron, thick veins running down forearms that looked like they could snap necks with ease. His jawline was square and dusted with a fine layer of silver stubble, a brutal reminder of his age and experience.
But what truly defined President Araki Shimura was his eyes—sharp, cold, and glacial.
He radiated a fearsome stillness, an aura that made the very air feel heavier. It wasn't rage that lingered in the room. It was something worse—calculated ruthlessness.
Standing in front of his desk was a young secretary in a black suit, back straight, his hand clutching a tablet. He looked calm, but the faint sheen of sweat at his temples betrayed the tension he felt under the President's gaze.
Araki finally looked up from the folder he had been flipping through, setting it down with a quiet thump. His voice was low and calm.
"Give me the real report."
The secretary flinched slightly but nodded. "Yes, sir. The autopsy of Doctor Koizumi is complete. The findings were... disturbing."
"Details," Araki said flatly, leaning back into his chair, fingers steepled.
"No external wounds," The secretary began, swallowing. "Not even bruising or bleeding. But the internal trauma was severe—ruptured spleen and liver, fractured ribs, multiple spinal cracks, collapsed lungs… His body was broken from the inside. As if someone crushed him without ever laying a hand on his skin."
There was a moment of silence.
Araki narrowed his eyes.
"A silent execution…" He muttered, tapping one thick finger against the desk. "Acupuncture-based internal destruction. Pressure-point expertise."
His voice grew colder. "This wasn't a beating. It was surgical torture."
The room seemed to darken just slightly.
Then, after a pause, Araki's brow furrowed.
"Tch… Since the moment I laid my hands on that couple, I've had a bad feeling." He grumbled to himself, though the steel in his voice remained. "Should've ended the brat along with them."
He waved a hand, commanding now. "Contact the two we sent to observe him. Tell them to stop watching. I want the boy dealt with. Discreetly... Make it look like an accident—hit-and-run, suicide, anything that won't raise questions."
The secretary gave a tense nod and immediately pulled out his phone. "Yes, sir. I'll call them now."
He tapped the screen with trembling fingers and lifted the phone to his ear.
One ring… Two rings… Three…
The line went dead.
"…No connection," The secretary said, frowning.
Araki's eyes sharpened. "Try again."
He did.
The phone rang again but there was still no answer.
"I-It's not connecting," The secretary said, clearly unsettled. "There's no signal or response."
The room fell into a tense silence.
Araki didn't blink. He just stared at the window for a moment, then spoke with chilling certainty.
"Send someone to find them."
The secretary flinched. "Sir?"
"You heard me," Araki growled. "If I'm right… those two are already dead."
The words hit like a gunshot. The secretary stiffened, a drop of cold sweat sliding down the side of his face.
"I-I'll give the order immediately."
He stepped away quickly and began dialing a new number, relaying rapid instructions in hushed tones.
In the background, Araki leaned forward slightly, resting his massive arms on the desk, his eyes narrowed into ice-cold slits.