Dawn crept slowly over Kujira City.
Smoke still hung low between shattered buildings, drifting through streets soaked with rain and blood. The war was over, but its weight lingered in every broken stone and every exhausted breath. Soldiers of Kagekawa's army lay scattered across the streets and courtyards—not dead, not wounded beyond recovery, but bound. Ropes tightened around arms and legs, knots precise, efficient. Too precise.
Kujaku Suijin stood among them, silent.
"This isn't our work," one of her ninjas said quietly, kneeling beside a tied soldier. "No blade marks. No crushing injuries. They were struck once… cleanly."
Another lifted a broken katana. The blade had snapped near the base, the metal warped inward.
"All of them are like this," he added. "Same angle. Same force."
A murmur passed through the group.
Kujaku's gaze darkened. She already knew.
"Describe him," she said.
The ninja hesitated. "It was strange, leader. Smoke appeared out of nowhere. Before we could react, everything went black. When we woke up… this."
Others nodded.
"No killing intent," another said. "Just overwhelming pressure."
Kujaku closed her eyes briefly.
From the steps behind her, small footsteps approached.
"Sakana?"
The girl clutched the edge of her mother's robe, eyes wide but determined. "Mama… the man who saved me. He was the same one they're talking about."
Kujaku knelt instantly. "Did he hurt you?"
Sakana shook her head. "No. He was gentle. He told me not to be afraid." She looked down, fingers tightening. "I want to thank him."
Silence followed.
One of the older commanders straightened slowly, his face pale as he stared at the broken weapons.
"These kicks…" he muttered. "Only one family ever fought like this."
Kujaku's eyes snapped to him.
"Say it," she ordered.
He swallowed. "The Enshin family."
The name fell like a corpse between them.
"That's impossible," someone whispered. "Kurome Enshin died years ago."
Kujaku said nothing.
Far beyond the city, the forest breathed.
Kurome walked alone beneath towering trees, gray robes brushing against damp leaves. The world was quiet again. No screams. No orders. Just the soft crunch of earth beneath his boots.
He did not look back.
He paused only once—when a presence pressed against his senses, familiar and sharp.
"Enough," Kujaku's voice said from behind him. "You can stop running."
Kurome's hand tightened slightly at his side. Slowly, he turned.
Kujaku stood at the forest's edge, rainwater dripping from her armor. Between them stretched years of blood, silence, and regret.
"You should be dead," she said.
"So should many others," Kurome replied calmly.
He reached up and lowered his hood.
Pure white hair spilled down his back, untouched by age. His eyes were ordinary black—human, calm, unreadable. Not hatred. Not mercy.
Only distance.
Kujaku inhaled sharply. "Kurome Enshin…"
"No," he interrupted.
The word was flat. Final.
"That name belongs to something else."
"You saved my daughter."
"She was innocent."
"You spared my enemies."
"They were finished."
Kujaku clenched her fists. "Why hide? Why pretend to be a stranger when the city needs you?"
Kurome's gaze shifted to the trees. "The world doesn't need Kurome Enshin," he said quietly. "That name only brings fear. Blood follows it."
He looked back at her. "If they know who I am, they stop seeing what I did."
A long silence passed.
Footsteps broke it.
Sakana stepped forward, clutching a small cloth doll. "Mister… thank you for saving me."
Kurome knelt before her.
"Live well," he said softly. "That will be enough."
She smiled through tears.
Kurome stood, already turning away.
"Will we see you again?" Kujaku asked.
"Only if the world forgets my name," he replied.
Smoke curled around him.
And the stranger vanished back into the forest, leaving behind a city saved by a man who refused to exist.