🌒 Chapter 2 — Rebirth in the Skin of the White Wolf
A breath.
A blinding white light.
And silence.
The world hung suspended between two heartbeats.
Ken opened his eyes. A sharp pain cut through his skull like a blade of ice. The harsh glare of fluorescent lights burned his retinas, forcing him to shut them again. He inhaled slowly — cold, sterile air filled his lungs, thick with the scent of alcohol, metal, and disinfectant.
Around him, everything was white and distant. The only sound was the steady beeping of a heart monitor, slicing through the silence like a metronome of life.
A hospital.
He was… alive?
His heart pounded wildly, every beat crashing against his ribs. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry as sand. His body felt heavy, foreign — as if it didn't belong to him. When he tried to move, pain shot through his chest like fire, forcing a hoarse groan from his lips.
— He's awake!
The voice startled him — soft, trembling, filled with relief.
Ken turned his head with difficulty. A young girl rushed toward him, eyes glistening with tears. Her dark hair framed a face both delicate and worn with worry. Behind her, a man in his forties approached, exhaustion carved deep beneath his eyes, but relief softening his features.
— Big brother… you scared me so much! the girl whispered, clutching his hand tightly.
Ken stared at her, confused.
— Big brother? You must be… mistaken.
She froze, fingers tightening around his.
— It's me, Hana… your sister.
The name echoed inside his mind — hollow, meaningless.
He slowly shook his head.
— I don't… have a sister.
The air grew heavy with silence. The man placed a hand on the girl's shoulder to calm her.
— It's normal, Hana. The doctor said this can happen after head trauma.
Then, turning to Ken, he said gently:
— Calm down, Ayato. You're in the hospital. You've been unconscious for two days. You had a terrible accident.
That name.
Ayato.
The moment it reached his ears, the world tilted. The room seemed to close in on him, the lights too bright, too cruel. Ken wanted to shout, to deny everything, but only broken sounds came out. They thought he'd lost his memory.
He knew the truth — something impossible.
The door opened. A doctor entered, clipboard in hand, smiling with professional calm.
— Mr. Ayato, your condition is improving. You're lucky to be alive, he said, scanning his notes. The bullet grazed your skull but didn't go through. You were very close to dying.
The words struck like thunder.
Images flashed before his eyes — the rain-soaked alley, the crack of gunfire, Ayato's voice echoing through the chaos.
"Survive… no matter what."
Ken's breathing quickened. The beeping of the monitor sped up.
— You should avoid stress and strong emotions, the doctor continued. Absolute rest, young man.
Ken nodded absently. But inside, his thoughts were screaming.
None of this made sense — the names, the faces, even his own breathing felt… wrong.
When the room finally emptied, he forced himself upright, his limbs trembling. The hospital gown brushed against his skin — skin that didn't feel like his. He pushed aside the blanket and stepped onto the cold tile floor. Every step toward the bathroom was a struggle.
He switched on the light.
And froze.
The mirror reflected a face he knew too well… but it wasn't his.
Sharper features. Tired eyes, cold as steel.
It wasn't Ken staring back — it was Ayato.
His pulse spiked. His throat tightened.
He was breathing inside another man's body.
His hand rose slowly, trembling. He touched his cheek, his jawline, his lips — every sensation confirming the truth he wished he could deny.
A wave of dizziness hit him, and he gripped the sink for balance. Memories burst like shards of glass through his mind — rain, screams, bullets, and Ayato's hand pushing him away.
Then that voice again, echoing from the edge of death:
"Survive, no matter what."
A single tear slipped down his cheek.
— Why… why did you do this, Ayato? he whispered, voice cracking.
His reflection stared back at him, unreadable. The man in the mirror looked like a warrior — strong, unyielding, dangerous.
Ken let out a bitter laugh.
— So this is what it means to be you, huh? The infamous White Wolf. And now… I'm your ghost.
He wiped his tears with the back of his hand and drew a shaky breath. Something inside him began to shift. Despair hardened into resolve.
— You wanted me to live? Fine, I'll live, he muttered.
But not as the man I was.
His fist slammed into the mirror. The glass shattered, scattering reflections across the floor. A hundred fragments showed a hundred faces — Ken, Ayato, and something else, something new.
— I swear… everyone who took our lives will pay.
A calm, amused voice broke the silence.
— Easy there, boss. Planning to redecorate already?
Ken spun around, startled.
A tall man leaned casually in the doorway, his dark hair falling over sharp eyes that seemed to see right through him. His presence filled the room — quiet, but commanding.
— Who are you? Ken asked hoarsely.
The man smirked faintly.
— Name's Yuri. I used to be — or maybe still am — the right hand of the White Wolf. The old man wants to see you once you're back on your feet.
Ken's breath hitched. The White Wolf.
Ayato's name. His legend.
And now, that world — a world of blood, codes, and betrayal — was waiting for him to step back into it.
He turned back toward the cracked mirror. The fractured reflections stared at him like a thousand versions of his fate.
He clenched his fists.
Inside, a vow burned like fire:
I'll avenge you, Ayato. I'll take your name, your war, your enemies. And I'll make them all tremble.
The White Wolf had been reborn.
But this time, he carried the wrath of the dead and the fury of a man who refused to disappear.