Kenji was the kind of man who stayed quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that made you think he was kind. Not the kind of quiet that screamed "introvert." He was quiet in a way that every silence carried weight—a dangerous level of control.
-♤ -
Anika almost didn't make it home.
Her voice was cracked. Her body trembling. Her eyes, filled with fear. No blood. No tears. But her eyes told the whole story.
"Kenji…" She croaked as she opened the apartment door. "Kenji. H-He followed me. He tried to… drag me into a dark alley... I-I thought—"
She couldn't continue. She didn't need to.
Anika sat on the floor, right there at the door. Hugging herself, tears now falling. Shaking.
Kenji didn't speak. His jaw trembled. His grip on the armrest of the chair was tight—his fingers turning purple from how hard he held on.
"Plate number."
Anika froze and looked at him.
"Do you remember a plate number?"
The next day, they went to the station. Filed a blotter report. Named the suspect. Two witnesses also came forward, saying they saw the man—on a motorcycle, drunk, and vulgar.
"Just wait for the follow-up report," the cop said. "We've got a lot of cases right now."
Three days. A week. Nothing.
Until Kenji saw the suspect.
Sitting at a roadside eatery. Laughing. One arm around another woman's waist.
Free.
Unafraid.
Unbothered.
Kenji stared at him for several minutes. Then silently walked back to the apartment. Numb. Wordless. Emotionless. He went straight to their room, opened the closet, and pulled out the gun and knife he had hidden.
His face was blank. But his mind wasn't.
He was already planning. There was no, "Should I?"
There was only: Plan.
That very night, he found the man. In a dark alley. Still drunk. Staggering as he walked.
"Bro, got a cigarette?" The man asked.
Kenji didn't answer. In one blink. In one breath.
A stab to the side.
The man screamed. But it wasn't loud—it was like air escaping his lungs.
A second stab. To the chest.
A third.
A fourth.
Up to seven.
And then? Kenji pulled the gun from his side, pointed it to the man's head—and pulled the trigger.
Then he stood up and let out a deep breath. As if he could finally breathe again. He looked at the body one last time before turning and walking away. Going home.
He took a shower—meticulously, making sure there were no traces or scent. Then he walked to the bedroom, kissed Anika's forehead while she slept, and lay beside her.
Pulled her into his arms, tight and gentle. Brushing her hair softly.
He closed his eyes while inhaling her scent. Like nothing happened.
♤ -
"KENJI VARQUEZ, 27, ARRESTED FOR MURDER. VIGILANTE KILLING CASE IGNITES PUBLIC DEBATE AFTER SUSPECTED RAPIST FOUND DEAD."
Headline. Hashtag. Trending. Different opinions. Heated arguments. But Kenji? Still silent in the interrogation room.
Not scared. Not angry. Not remorseful.
"Do you feel guilty?" the investigator asked.
He stared into the air. "Not guilty."
It wasn't even 10 a.m., but the courtroom was already packed. Media. Netizens. Students who said it was a "field trip." Lawyers, activists, a few people from Kenji's past—none of them came to judge. They came to hear the voice of the man bold enough to admit to a crime.
He didn't deny it. He never apologized.
Wearing an orange jumpsuit, Kenji sat on the witness stand. Head bowed as the judge read the case details.
After a long list of technicalities and evidence, silence filled the courtroom. Everyone was waiting—to hear the voice of the man many called the "real-life vigilante."
The prosecutor stood. A sharp, brilliant woman. She was used to criminals—but not to this kind of calm, dangerous stillness.
"Mr. Kenji Varquez," she began directly. "I just want to know. After everything said in this courtroom—the witnesses, forensic reports, and testimonies—do you feel even the slightest remorse for what you did?"
Silence.
Seconds passed. Cameras zoomed in. No one moved.
Then Kenji looked up at her. Tilted his head slightly, like a bored child. Then… he smiled.
Not angry. Not fake. A smile you couldn't tell was comforting or a warning to run.
"Do I look remorseful to you?"
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
Like a cold breeze just passed.
The judge froze. The prosecutor hesitated. But Kenji wasn't finished.
He sat straighter. Deliberately—so that everyone could hear what came next.
"I know I'm guilty. I'm not denying that.
But if you're asking why I did it…" He looked straight into the prosecutor's eyes. Then at the judge. "…since when do we ask the devil why you ended up in hell?" He chuckled. "He knows what he did. And he knows where he belongs. I just got there first."
He sat back like that was enough. But everyone knew—he wasn't done.
The prosecutor, now clearly angry, asked again: "So you're saying… you knew it was wrong, but you still did it?"
"I knew it was wrong—legally. But not to me. I know what I did. I'd do it again. And I'd smile harder next time."
Tension burned through the room.
A lawyer, clearly not on Kenji's side, finally stood. "Mr. Varquez, you're not God. It's not your job to kill. You can't take justice into your own hands."
Kenji didn't flinch. He laughed. That annoying kind of laugh that says: "I know. I still did it."
"The law wasn't even ashamed of itself," he said. "Did you know that man had priors?
And still, no inquest. Still got away. Even after he almost ruined my girlfriend. Even if he did get locked up, what—five years? Maybe less? He could walk free. But now I'm the bad guy—because I didn't wait for a broken system to fix it?" He paused, looked straight into one of the media cameras. "Even if that bastard had been jailed, I would've followed him in there—just to kill him."
Chaos erupted in the courtroom. Mixed reactions. Applause. Outrage. Laughter.
But Kenji's face? Still. Stable. Calm.
Before the hearing ended, they asked him one last question. The court said it would be the final one. But Kenji's answer wasn't a response. It was a warning.
He looked at the judge. Then the cameras.
He didn't speak to be pitied. He spoke to be remembered.
"If ever a convicted rapist dies in prison… and you find out it's true… don't be surprised if they didn't get out on parole— but in a body bag."
- ♤ -
"Kenji is not the problem. He is the consequence."
"He's not unstable — he's terrifyingly stable."
"He has a moral compass. It just doesn't point north — it points toward vengeance."
As Kenji was being escorted out of the courtroom, a reporter yelled and shoved a mic in his face: "Kenji! What do you call what you did?"
He grinned. And answered, "Love."