Morning sunlight gently caresses his face, illuminating his focused steel-gray eyes. Holding a photo, he gazes at the boy in the picture—once him, but now replaced by a 186cm tall man with broad shoulders and a deep scar across his temple.

  he thinks.

  "You can't do anything in this world if you don't face it like a man, Seiji!" Yasashiku's voice echoed in his memory, sharp and unwavering.

  With the guidance of Mr. Yasashiku Krueger—a stern but caring father figure—Seiji had forged himself into a weapon. Discipline, focus, and relentless training molded him into the man he is now. A war machine.

  Yet, one goal remained untouched by time: vengeance. And the truth behind his family’s death.

  Seiji’s jaw tightened as the memory resurfaced, his eyes darkening with fury.

  They will pay... He thought

  Seiji inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His gaze swept across his new apartment—his first place on his own after years of living with Mr. Krueger. The walls were bare, the furnishings minimal, but it was his.

  After years of training under Krueger, Seiji had chosen to work as a cashier at a convenience store in Shinjuku. It wasn’t just a job—it was a strategic move.

  Shinjuku, at the heart of Tokyo, offered easy access to all corners of the city and kept him connected to the pulse of Tokyo’s underground. Here, he could keep his ear to the ground, always aware of the shady dealings simmering beneath the surface of Japan’s capital.

  With a quiet exhale, Seiji returned the photo to its frame and placed it on top of the cabinet beside his bed.

  A fleeting moment of nostalgia, then he pushed it aside, focusing on the day ahead. He stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower, then prepared himself for work. Breakfast was simple—just enough to fuel him for the day. Once finished, he grabbed his things and headed out.

  His shift was from 9 to 5, a perfect cover for someone who preferred to operate under the cover of night. The daylight hours were for blending in; the darkness was for getting things done.

  Seiji arrived at the convenience store where he worked and was immediately greeted by his loud, egoistic co-worker, Toka.

  "Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Quiet-ji," Toka said with a sarcastic grin.

  Ignoring the jab, Seiji silently changed into his uniform and went straight to work with mechanical focus, as always.

  His calm and distant demeanor never failed to puzzle Toka, who constantly tried to break the awkward atmosphere.

  Determined to liven things up, Toka tried again to crack a joke. "Hey, Quiet-ji... if you were any quieter, I’d need subtitles just to know you exist!"

  He burst out laughing at his own joke while Seiji stood there, expressionless, unmoved as ever.

  No matter how hard Toka tried, he never got even a smirk. And that was just another normal day for the two of them.

  As the hours passed, the end of Seiji's shift finally came. He packed up his things, changed into his civilian clothes, and headed out into the evening.

  While walking home, his phone suddenly rang.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Seiji pulled it from his pocket—Mr. Krueger.

  He answered. “Seiji, I have news for you. Come meet me at my house,” Krueger said.

  “Good evening, Sensei. Can’t you just tell me over the phone?” Seiji asked.

  “I could,” Krueger replied, “but I have something to give you. Better not waste time.”

  Seiji sighed. “Fine. I’ll see you there.”

  

  “Nice to see you, Seiji. How are you settling into the new apartment?” Krueger asked.

  Seiji gave a slight nod. “Good to see you too, Sensei. I’m comfortable so far.”

  “You don’t need to call me ‘Sensei’ anymore,” Krueger said with a soft chuckle. “That chapter’s closed. Mr. Krueger will do—just like before.”

  “It’ll take some getting used to,” Seiji replied. “But alright… Mr. Krueger it is. So, what did you want to tell me?”

  Krueger’s expression turned serious. “Seiji, I’ve heard news—the Shikkoku clan has re-operated in Tokyo. You remember them, right? Infamous for drug trafficking, human trafficking… and worse.”

  Seiji’s brows furrowed. “What about them?”

  “They might have information about your family,” Krueger said. “Your father and I… we had history with them. They used to chase us.”

  “Why?” Seiji asked. “What did you and my father do?”

  “We were both orphans,” Krueger began. “Survival wasn’t easy. We stole from the Shikkoku clan—money, supplies, whatever we needed. That made us targets.”

  Seiji took a moment to process the revelation. “Then why did Dad leave for the U.S.?”

  “He met an American tourist here in Tokyo, your mother. Fell in love instantly. Not long after, he disappeared to the States. That’s all I know.”

  Seiji nodded, feeling the familiar ache of grief and anger resurface.

  To break the heavy silence, Krueger said, “Anyway, I have something to show you. Follow me.”

  They walked to a hidden garage nestled in overgrown grass and moss.

  “What’s this?” Seiji asked.

  “This is where I used to go during our breaks,” Krueger said. “Remember asking me about it?”

  A flashback surfaced:

  “Sensei, where do you go during breaks?”

  “Work hard, Seiji. When you're ready, I’ll show you.”

  Back in the present

  Seiji asked, “So… am I ready now?”

  Krueger smiled. “I’d say so.”

  He opened the garage doors, revealing a sleek, dark-colored customized Kawasaki Z1.

  “This was your father’s,” Krueger said. “He gave it to me before he disappeared, said he didn’t need it anymore. I’ve taken care of it all these years.”

  Seiji was in awe. The matte-black beast stood out, detailed with a white gas tank and the name ‘Sei’ etched on the side.

  “That was your father’s nickname around here,” Krueger explained.

  “But why show me this now?” Seiji asked.

  “Because I want you to have it,” Krueger said. “It’s yours now.”

  “Seriously?!” Seiji lit up.

  Krueger raised a brow. “Want me to change my mind?”

  “NO! No, I’ll take it!” Seiji blurted.

  Krueger chuckled, then returned with the keys and a helmet designed perfectly for Seiji.

  “One more thing. The address: 4-17-8 Odaiba, Kōtō-ku, Tokyo, 135-0091—their hideout in Kōtō district. An abandoned warehouse. Go scout it tonight. The bike’s muffler is custom-made for stealth.”

  Seiji nodded, slipping on his helmet and leather jacket. He hopped on the Z1 and roared out of the garage, vanishing into the night.

  Krueger watched him go, smiling to himself.

  “I’m proud of that boy…”

  As Seiji rode through the e1mpty streets, the Kawasaki Z1’s engine purred beneath him, a beast cloaked in the silence of the night. The wind tugged at his jacket, but his mind was sharper than ever—already crafting a plan. How do I approach the hideout? What exactly should I prioritize?

  It didn’t take long for the machine to eat up the distance. In no time, he arrived in Odaiba.

  Upon arrival, Seiji scanned the area for a place to stash Sei—the name he gave his beloved bike. A narrow alley caught his eye: dark, discreet, and close enough for a quick escape if needed. Perfect.

  He dismounted and walked toward the abandoned warehouse. Shadows danced under the dim streetlights. From a distance, he could already make out silhouettes—men in suits. No doubt, Shikkoku men, he thought.

  Outside the warehouse, the suited figures stood near a truck, offloading crates. The sharp chemical scent lingering in the air confirmed it—drugs.

  Keeping to the shadows, Seiji circled the warehouse, eyes scanning for a way in. At the back, he spotted a metal door, half-hidden by stacked crates—but a guard stood watch.

  He reached into his jacket and drew his tanto knife, its cold steel gleaming faintly. Crouching low, he picked up a rock and tossed it toward a trash bin nearby.

  The metal bin rang out sharply. The guard jumped, cursing under his breath, and approached the sound.

  In one smooth motion, Seiji struck. The blade sliced across the man's neck. He collapsed without a sound.

  Seiji flicked his wrist, sending a crimson arc of blood splattering across the ground as he wiped the blade clean. The moonlight glinted off the polished edge of his tanto, now slick with warmth and silence.

  Without a word, he slid the weapon back into its black lacquered sheath, the quiet click echoing like final punctuation in the stillness of the night. His expression remained unreadable.

  Seiji dragged the body into the shadows and stripped him of his suit. Slipping it on, he adjusted the collar, blending into the enemy's uniform. If he was going to infiltrate the warehouse unnoticed, this disguise was his only shot.

  Inside the warehouse, the air was heavy with cigarette smoke and tension. Seiji moved like a shadow, eyes flicking from corner to corner. He needed information—clues that would lead him to the higher-ups of the Shikkoku Clan.

  As he maneuvered past stacked crates, a voice called out behind him. “Hey!”

  He froze.

  The man approached, squinting. “You're the new recruit, right?”

  Seiji let out a soft breath. “Yeah... That’s me.”

  “Then get back to your post, rookie. I might be soft, but the boss ain’t.”

  “Appreciate the heads-up,” Seiji replied with a forced smile, turning to walk off before veering deeper into the facility.

  Inside the cavernous structure, horrors unfolded. Seiji passed a room where wealthy hostages were being tortured, cameras recording their pain. In other corners, he saw crates labeled with foreign markings—more drugs.

  His gaze shifted upward. A shadow entered a room on the second floor. That must be the one in charge, Seiji thought.

  He moved upstairs, silent on his feet. One by one, he checked the rooms—empty, useless—until he entered the one adjacent to the boss’s office. Papers littered the desk. His eyes narrowed.

  Documents listed other hideouts, names of district bosses—Kyoto, Shinjuku, Kōtō. Jackpot.

  He slipped the documents into his jacket and stepped out, knocking on the next door.

  “What?!” a voice shouted. “Didn’t I say not to disturb me?!”

  “Apologies, boss. There's someone outside—says he’s Alexander, the boss of the Kyoto district,” Seiji said, pulling a name from the papers.

  “What?! What’s that bastard doing here?! Did anyone tell him the Kōtō District's leader isn’t around?!”

  “Think the others tried, sir, but he insisted on seeing you.”

  Seiji thought. I thought this guy was in charge.

  “Damned American…” the boss muttered. “I’ll handle it.”

  As the door slammed shut behind the boss, Seiji slipped into the office. He rifled through drawers and found a mobile phone, more documents—shipment routes, locations. One was marked HQ.

  That’s it, he thought. That’s the lead I need.

  He exited quickly, returning to the back door. Outside, he swapped back into his regular clothes and disappeared into a nearby alley, staying low.

  But something was off.

  He heard footsteps—light, deliberate. Someone’s following me, he realized. He bolted, weaving through alleyways to shake the tail. I have to lose him before I reach Sei...

  He ducked behind a corner and pulled his gun, every nerve on alert.

  Minutes passed.

  Silence.

  He crept back toward his bike. Just as he reached for the handlebar—

  A soft but clear sound nearby. Too close.

  Seiji advanced cautiously, scanning the shadows. Nothing but the symphony of the night. Still, his instincts screamed. Something wasn’t right.

  Then—cold metal kissed the back of his neck.

  His heart dropped.

  Hands raised, he whispered, “Who are you?”

  Silence.

  Then a voice—deep and firm with a playful undertone.

  “You’ve been watching us... Mr. Seigetsu-san.”