"Can Death... be killed?"
The question evaporated—swallowed by the endless chatter of late-night commuters packed into the metro like sardines in a neon-lit tin.
Skyscrapers blurred past the windows, their LED lights screaming ads into the dark. Billboards flashed. The world moved fast.
But he didn't.
Kai sat like a glitch in the clean, polished system—messy black hair, deep eye bags, the faint smell of defeat clinging to his clothes like a shadow.
In this sterile carriage of salarymen and students, he was the only crack in the glass.
Next to him sat a man who didn't seem to care—grinning, giggling like a toddler high on cotton candy. He looked like a bootleg model off some anime runway. Tall. White-haired. A bargain-bin Satoru Gojo.
Kai sighed and glanced at him. Even if he asked the question again, the noise would just eat it alive.
He was done.
This was the final stop—for his hope, for his future, for everything. So he did the only thing he hadn't in a week.
Click.
The phone powered on with a chirpy startup jingle, so out of place it felt cruel. The lock screen lit up with a photo: him and three friends, mid-laugh, making stupid faces.
He stared. And finally, after seven long, quiet days—
A smile.
A cracked, tired one.
"In another life..."
He whispered, just loud enough to be missed by fate but caught by the man beside him.
The silver-haired stranger turned, curiosity flickering in his eye like a matchstick.
"That's the spirit," he said, nodding. "Choosing to fight? Braver than rotting away."
Kai didn't look at him, but his reply was a slow burn.
"There's no bravery in getting the people you love killed. Peace... is worth running for."
The stranger chuckled, low and warm—like thunder before a storm.
"Then fight for that peace. For them. That's what you're about to do… isn't it?"
Ding!
The metro doors hissed open. A calm female voice crackled through the speakers:
"Next stop: Shinjuku Terminal."
The train rolled to a halt with a soft screech of metal against metal.
Then all hell broke loose.
Screams erupted like a tsunami. People shoved past each other, tripping, crying, clawing their way off the train. In seconds, the packed carriage turned into a ghost town.
Only two remained.
Kai... and the man beside him.
At the platform stood a dozen figures in black—slick tuxedos, polished shoes, identical sunglasses.
Men who looked less like passengers and more like funeral directors for fate. They didn't rush. They waited, polite as demons at a tea party, letting the last civilians escape.
Step. Step. Step.
One by one, they boarded. The silence was deafening now—thick, sharp, waiting to explode.
The men spread out in a half-circle, like wolves around two rabbits.
Kai didn't lift his head. Still staring at the floor. Still numb.
The white-haired man? He was grinning. Wide. Unbothered. Like this was dinner and a show.
"Took their sweet time."
Flick.
He casually snapped his fingers to the right.
THWACK!
Kai's head jerked left instinctively—just as a katana sliced through the air, missing his skull by inches and embedding itself into the fiberglass window behind him with a CRACK that split the silence.
Shards trembled. The blade buzzed in place, like it wanted more.
A voice growled from the platform.
"Found you, bastard."
From the shadows, a man with eyes like fire stepped forward, hand still outstretched from his throw.
"Got your brain back, huh? Finally figured it out—there's no running. Not from us."
Kai didn't answer the insult.
But he smiled.
A small, crooked smirk. Barely there.
It burned.
The younger man's face twisted in rage, a vein bulging on his forehead like it was about to burst.
"You little—! You're smiling? You're staring death in the face and grinning like a damn fool?! You're gonna die here—just like your frie—"
SLAP!
The sharp smack to his arm cut the words off mid-venom. He spun to face the one who dared interrupt him—teeth clenched, eyes wide—
And stopped.
"Tch."
A step back.
"Move aside, Takeshi."
The voice was rough. Calm. Old. Heavy with experience and regret.
A man stepped forward—mid-40s, crown already balding, hairline running from the war. He wore the tux like it itched, like honor had retired from his vocabulary a decade ago. A washed-up samurai trapped in a funeral suit.
He bowed—just slightly—toward the grinning white-haired man still seated beside Kai. An apology in gesture.
Like he had thought, this poor innocent retarded man was caught in between this messy drama and his legion didn't give him time to run away like other passengers.
Kai finally looked up.
And their eyes met.
His—dark, heavy, worn from running.
The man's—duller, but burning with something else. Fatigue. Bitterness. And something worse: understanding.
The train jerked and started moving again.
Doors closed.
Too late to run now.
The man inhaled slowly... then asked:
"Why?"
Silence.
The sound of metal wheels grinding on the rails filled the void like static.
Two tired souls. One question.
And a storm just behind it.
"Does it matter—"
"Why did you turn your damn phone on, Kai?"
BAM.
The words landed harder than the katana earlier.
Kai froze mid-sentence. Silence again. The lights above buzzed as the train tunneled deeper into the city's underbelly.
"Dad, he just—"
"Shut your trap, boy, or I swear I'll shove that katana so far up your ass you'll sneeze steel!"
Takeshi flinched. Jaw clenched. He looked away, biting back the fury. He knew better. You don't bark back at Renjiro Matsumoto—especially not when his blood pressure's already above boiling.
Kai cracked another grin. Mocking. Daring.
It pissed Takeshi off, and Kai loved every second of it.
He was good at this.
That dumb anime obsession of his had turned him into a certified chuunibyou—over-expressive, dramatic, and always ready to deliver a monologue like he was headlining a shonen special.
But for four strange years... he'd been a good son to this man.
Renjiro Matsumoto.
Right hand of Dragon—the Feudal Lord who ruled half of Japan from the shadows. The other half? Just turf wars and crumbling gangster remnants trying to breathe in Dragon's fire.
Kai looked at him. Really looked.
"I ran out of hiding places, just like last time. And just like last time, when I was all alone… you found me."
His fingers tightened into fists.
Memory hit like a truck.
His twelfth birthday. Balloons, cake, a car ride. Then flames. A crash. Sirens. Silence.
Everyone gone.
And from that silence... came Renjiro.
Not a hero. Not a savior. Just a tired man who needed a courier that wouldn't talk too much in a school uniform.
But Kai didn't care.
He gave me a roof.
He gave me three idiots who felt like brothers.
He gave me something that felt like home—even if it was built on crime and chaos.
That was more than the world had offered before.
"I've… I've thought about this for so long…"
Matsumoto's voice cracked—quiet, broken. No thunder now. Just the wind left after a storm.
Kai's expression didn't change.
He didn't hate him.
He never could.
Even if this was the man who hunted down his friends. Delivered them—bound and broken—to the Dragon.
Matsumoto stared at the floor like it might offer mercy.
"What happens... if the Dragon demands a sacrifice? Do I save my family?"
He swallowed hard. His voice was trembling now.
"Little Akira... she calls you big brother. Sizune, she treats you like a son. Even this little bastard—"
He jerked a thumb at Takeshi, who scowled.
"Or... the people who've been my left and right hand these past four years...?"
His hands shook. Shoulders quaked like they were carrying the world—and maybe they were.
He tried to breathe, but the air betrayed him.
Choke.
Shudder.
Silence.
It was just a school job. A simple smuggling op. One case. One leak.
Then came the raids. The takedowns. The billion-dollar loss.
And when Dragon bleeds money...
He drinks lives.
"If I hadn't delivered someone... anyone... he would've come for my whole bloodline. First my daughter. Then my wife. Then my son. And then me—last—after making damn sure I heard every scream."
The train hummed on. Kai could almost hear the phantom wail of tracks twisting under the weight of fate.
"And I finally came to my conclusion…"
Kai met his eyes. No rage. No mockery this time.
Only... peace.
And then—a smile.
Genuine.
"And I wouldn't have forgiven you if it was any other way."
Renjiro blinked.
"Forgive me..."
"Already have."
For a moment, silence.
Kai and Matsumoto locked eyes—father and son in every way except blood.
Memories flickered behind both pairs of eyes. Laughs. Meals. Missions. Late nights soaked in danger and dry humor.
Kai had been more of a son than Takeshi ever was.
But blood... blood still pulled weight.
Even when it was poisoned.
Matsumoto exhaled slowly. His hand trembled slightly as he extended it.
"Come on… it's time."
Behind him, Takeshi grinned like a jackal watching a lamb walk into the butcher's arms.
Kai looked at the outstretched hand—the same hand that pulled him from the edge once, gave him shelter when the world tossed him aside like trash.
Now, it beckoned again.
Back into the fold.
Kai reached out…
And took it.
CLASP.
Their hands locked.
"What would it take…to kill Death?"
"Huh?"
Matsumoto blinked.
Then a voice beside Kai spoke—calm, amused, and older than anything in that train.
"I was here before the Primordial Flame first sparked… before cells crawled from the ocean… before kings wore crowns."
The white-haired man grinned, adjusting his shades like it was all just entertainment.
"A little explosion's not gonna change that."
Silence.
Realization.
The room snapped to tension like someone yanked a grenade pin.
Takeshi's smile dropped like a dead body.
Even Matsumoto's hand tightened around Kai's, knuckles whitening.
"What are you planning, Kai?" he growled. "Don't be stupid."
Kai just started laughing.
Big, theatrical, full-on chuunibyou king-of-the-stage laughter.
"When does a boy become a man?"
The tuxedo killers shifted, drawing sleek katana in perfect synch—shhhhnk.
Takeshi stepped forward. Eyes narrowing.
"When he faces death and smiles."
Kai gently reached to his side.
CRACK!
He yanked the black katana from the shattered window with ease—the very blade Takeshi threw at him earlier.
Kurozakura.
The Black Cherry Blossom.
Matsumoto's prized weapon—gifted by the Dragon himself.
The blade sang as it came free, catching the neon light as if it drank it.
"Kai, don't do this. Whatever you're planning—"
"I've thought about it, Dad. Really thought about it."
Kai's voice was calm—too calm. Like he'd already said goodbye to everything.
"If the Dragon gets me, I'll be tortured beyond imagination. Scraped down to soul and screams."
A pause, then he added:
"But if I die before you hand me over…"
He smiled again.
That damn smile. Not mocking. Not bitter.
Resolute.
"Then you, the monkey behind you, and your whole family will be executed. Just like that."
Snap.
"So I found a solution."
He let go of Matsumoto's hand. The warmth vanished in a blink.
Then came the sound—
Zzzzzzzt.
He started unzipping his hoodie, slow and deliberate.
"This is my little gift, by the way… for handing them over to the beast."
He reached the bottom, then clutched the hoodie's sides.
Turned.
Smiled at the white-haired man still lounging beside him like this was a Sunday picnic.
"You'll honor your promise, right?"
"A promise from Death," the man said with a wink, "is a promise to eternity."
They locked eyes.
No words left.
Only understanding.
And then—
FWIP.
Kai flung the hoodie open.
"—SHIT! YOU BASTARD!"
Takeshi's voice cracked into a scream as his eyes widened in horror. He lunged forward, grabbing Matsumoto and shoving him hard away from Kai.
Chaos.
Tuxedoed assassins scrambled back, slipping, shouting, some falling over seats to escape.
"Kai…"
Matsumoto whispered, eyes shining with something between sorrow and pride as Takeshi dragged him away.
A sad smile etched onto his face.
Like he was proud.
Of this little bastard.
For having the guts to pull this off.
A series of LED digits blinked on Kai's chest.
Strapped tight. Glowing red.
Even if they'd attacked him, even if they'd tried to rip it out—it wouldn't matter.
The timer was rigged.
Any interference reset it to zero.
And everyone here would die.
"Nowhere to run, fools!"
Kai roared, arms wide like a mad priest giving the final sermon to a doomed congregation.
"We're traveling above the sea... HAHAHAHA!"
His laughter was wild. Unhinged.
Maybe he knew—this was his last laugh.
At least… in this world.
3...
He looked to the white-haired man still reclining like this was a damn cruise.Still smiling like the universe was just a very funny joke.
2...
"What if you're just a conman?"
1...
The man tilted his head, like a curious cat.
"Then I guess… you'll find out right—now."
BOOOOOOOM!!!
The bogey erupted.
A fireball swallowed steel and screams in a blink.
The train split in two halves, the rail track underneath blown apart.
Shattered glass rained like deadly confetti.
Flames whipped through the cars—hungry and merciless.
The laughter was gone.
Now only screams.
People burned.
Metal shrieked as it twisted and tore.
And then—the plunge.
The back half of the train, already blackened and burning, tore free and fell—
—into the ocean.
SPLASH—WHOOMPF—
The sea swallowed it whole, sending up geysers of white foam and black smoke.
The fire hissed against the water, fading slowly like the breath of a dying god.
Silence.
All that remained was a floating ring of debris. And ash.
Six months later.
Hundreds of dives. Millions in sonar scans, robotic submersibles, deep-sea drones.
Nothing.
Not a single body.
Not a scrap of that bogey.
Not even Kai's charred bones.
Gone.
Like the explosion had never happened.
Like the sea had decided to keep its secret.
Forever.
.
..
...
Elsewhere… far away…
A boy opened his eyes.
[Death has chosen you, Kaizen.]