The warm clatter of chopsticks.
Laughter.
The smell of grilled fish and miso soup drifted through the air. Ren sat between his parents at the dinner table, legs swinging under his seat.
His mom smiled as she topped off his rice bowl. His dad leaned back, sipping from a small cup of sake. For once, he looked relaxed.
"So, Ren…" his father asked, setting the cup down, "how were classes today? You actually focusing… or just pretending?"
Ren grinned, cheeks puffed with rice.
"I'm focusing! I swear! No slacking, promise. I wanna be like you, right? Police investigator!"
His mom laughed softly, wiping a grain of rice off his cheek with her thumb.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, sweetheart. Chew, then speak."
"Haai~" Ren said, still grinning.
She looked at him with gentle eyes.
"You're going to be a great investigator one day, my dear Ren."
His dad reached over, ruffling his hair.
"And if you keep bringing home good grades, who knows? Maybe you'll end up running the whole department."
It was a rare night. A calm one.
The kind you wish you could bottle forever.
And it lasted ten more seconds.
Tires screeched.
Ren glanced toward the window.
A black car slid to a stop outside—quiet, spotless. Out of place in their small neighborhood.
Before anyone could react—
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.
Gunfire tore through the house.
The window shattered.
Bullets punched through the walls. Plates exploded. Screams filled the air.
Ren dropped to the floor.
His mother cried out. His father lunged.
Blood splashed the walls. Glass rained down like ice.
Then—silence.
A groan.
"Re…n…"
Ren turned. His mother was on the floor, clutching her stomach, face pale.
His father lay beside her, blood seeping from his side, breathing in short gasps.
"Ren…" his father rasped, reaching out.
"Hide… go… now…"
But Ren couldn't move.
Move.
Please move…
Why won't my body listen?
Tears spilled down his cheeks.
But no sound came. Just trembling breath.
Just those wide, frozen eyes.
A voice broke through the air.
"No need to run."
A man stepped into the doorway.
Black suit. Black gloves. Slicked-back hair.
And a jagged scar running down one side of his face, covering one eye.
He walked toward the two bodies on the floor. Calm. Slow.
"This isn't personal," he said, raising a smoking pistol.
"Naga's orders."
Ren's father coughed blood, still glaring.
"You'll… pay for this…"
BANG.
His mother gasped. Reached a shaking hand toward Ren.
"Re…"
BANG.
Two shots. Two bodies.
Silence.
The man turned to leave—
Then stopped.
He glanced toward the kitchen.
Their eyes met.
The man saw him.
And smiled.
Just a little.
Then he vanished.
Ren didn't scream.
He didn't cry.
He couldn't.
He just sat there.
Shaking.
Small hands slick with blood.
Tears falling in silence.
I saw his face.
I won't forget it.
I can't.
That night, something inside Ren broke.
And something else… was born.
Naga.
He said Naga ordered it.
Ren looked at his palms—
Red. Sticky. Cold.
He clenched them into fists.
I don't know who you are…
But I swear, by Mom and Dad—
you're going to pay for what you've done.
He stood.
Walked to his parents.
Gently closed their eyes.
The house was torn apart.
Bullet holes in every wall.
Furniture splintered.
Blood everywhere.
In the distance—sirens.
Flashes of red and blue growing closer.
Ren didn't move.
He stood there.
Waiting.
Eyes cold.
Fists clenched.
Silent.
Graveyard — Days Later
People walked away from the funeral, one by one.
But Ren stayed.
He stood in front of the gravestone, holding a photo of his parents, fingers tight around its edges.
His eyes were tired. Hollow.
No more tears. Just dark bags under them.
Nothing left to cry.
"Mom… Dad… I'll get stronger. I'll bring you justice. I promise."
A hand landed gently on his shoulder.
"You're lucky, kid," a man said softly. "You survived. Now say goodbye. We need to go."
Ren didn't reply. He just stared at the stone.
One name echoed in his mind.
Naga.
One day… I'll make you suffer.
Orphanage — Playground
Children laughed in the background.
The sun was out.
Birds chirped.
But one boy sat alone on the swing.
Still. Silent.
His eyes were cold.
Dead.
A gunshot echoed in his memory.
BANG.
He flinched.
A voice called out—gravelly, amused.
"Heh… I love that look in your eyes, kid."
Ren turned.
An old man walked toward him.
Wearing a black kimono and wooden sandals. White hair. Scarred face. Grinning like a devil.
He knelt down.
Their eyes met.
"Those aren't the eyes of a kid anymore," the man said.
"They're the eyes of someone who's already buried something."
Pause.
A soft chuckle.
"Cold. Still. Like a blade in winter. Most people fear that look. But me?"
He smirked.
"I see potential."
He rested a hand on Ren's shoulder.
"I know what happened to your parents."
A pause.
"His name was Naga… right?"
Ren's eyes widened.
How does he know?
Who is this guy?
The old man stood and stared out at the other children.
"All of them… they're here because of him. Because of Naga."
Ren looked around the playground.
They're all like me?
He killed their parents too….
"But they don't have your eyes," the man said.
"They wear masks. You don't."
Ren clenched his fists.
"Do you want answers?"
"Do you want strength?"
He leaned closer.
"Do you want REVENGE?"
Ren remembered the graves. His promise.
He nodded.
"…Yes."
The old man smiled.
"Good. But I'll be honest with you—if you come with me, I'll train you to be more than just strong. I'll make you a shadow. An assassin. A ninja. This path is hell. But it's the only one that leads to Naga."
He pulled a shuriken from his sleeve and held it out.
"Don't worry. You'll still go to school. A book in one hand…"
He placed the weapon in Ren's palm.
"…and a blade in the other."
Ren stared at the metal star in his hand.
A book and a blade.
Not bad.
If the path is hell… I'll become hell itself.
He stood up from the swing.
"I want to be stronger, old man."
The man flicked his forehead.
"Call me Master, brat. Master Yamiji Kurouma—the last of the Kurokiri clan."
He extended his hand.
"Take this, and you'll become my student. My heir. My son."
Ren reached out and gripped his hand tight.
Yamiji smirked.
"Strong grip, kid."
"From this day forward, you're mine."
"Not as a weapon… but as my student. As my family."
As Yamiji turned to leave, Ren followed him through the gates of the orphanage—never looking back.
But just as they stepped into the street, a sleek black car passed by on the far side of the road.
Ren's steps froze.
His eyes locked on the man sitting in the back seat.
A scar on the right side of his face.
The same smile.
Him.
Yamiji stopped walking. "Something wrong?"
But when Ren looked again—
the car was gone.
Just shadows in the traffic.
He stood there, fists trembling.
"That was him," he whispered.
Yamiji turned his head slightly, sharp eyes narrowing.
"...Then our clock just started ticking."