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The Aftermath of the Hunt
Kurokawa City was no longer just a battlefield.
It was a graveyard of shattered glass, twisted metal, and broken bodies. The neon signs still flickered, the ruined streets still whispered with dying echoes, but the storm of battle had finally settled—for now.
The Bloodhound had fallen.
Ryo Asakura, the Phantom Syndicate's most ruthless tracker, lay in defeat. His breath was ragged, his muscles limp, his body broken. The predator who had spent his life hunting others had finally been outmatched.
Akira Takahashi stood over him, clutching the bleeding wound on his chest. His golden eyes were sharp, his breaths slow and measured. He was exhausted—but victorious.
Hiroshi Tanaka and Daisuke Mori arrived at his side, both staring at Ryo's unconscious form.
Daisuke whistled. "Damn. Never thought I'd see this guy on the ground."
Hiroshi crossed his arms. "Bloodhound or not, he was still human." He turned to Akira. "Nice job."
Akira didn't answer immediately. His mind was elsewhere.
Because something was wrong.
Even as the wind howled through the empty streets—
It was too quiet.
---
The Shadows Watching from Above
High above the ruined battlefield, perched on the skeletal remains of a half-collapsed building, two figures watched the fight's aftermath in eerie silence.
The first was draped in a long black coat, his silver hair reflecting the dim neon lights. His expression was unreadable, his violet eyes distant yet unshakably focused. He held himself with the poise of a conductor preparing his orchestra for a final performance.
Cetz.
The Phantom Syndicate's illusionist. The mastermind behind countless schemes. The Phantom King.
Standing beside him, arms crossed, was a taller figure—his presence even more unnerving. His skin was darkened by the glow of the streetlights, his features sharp and angular, yet eerily calm. Unlike Cetz, his face bore no amusement. No malice. Just a cold, detached certainty.
Minh.
The Time Tyrant.
The true power behind the Phantom Syndicate.
The one who had never lost a battle.
Minh gazed down at Ryo's fallen body without a trace of emotion. "He failed."
Cetz smirked slightly. "I wouldn't say that. He pushed them further than any of our other pawns."
Minh didn't reply immediately. His eyes slowly shifted to Akira, who stood below—breathing heavily, injured, but undefeated.
"…That one," Minh said softly.
Cetz raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"
Minh's violet eyes narrowed. "He's evolving."
Cetz let out a quiet chuckle. "That's what makes it fun."
Minh's gaze didn't waver. "It makes him dangerous."
Cetz turned slightly to face him, the amusement in his eyes flickering. "You think he's a threat to us?"
Minh didn't answer right away. He simply kept watching Akira—analyzing. Calculating.
Then, he finally spoke.
"No," he murmured. "Not yet."
He turned away from the battlefield.
"But soon."
And with that, the masterminds disappeared into the night.
---
Regrouping in the Wreckage
Akira exhaled, his chest aching from the wound Ryo had left behind. His fingers brushed against the torn fabric of his jacket—warm blood still seeping from the cut.
Daisuke frowned. "You okay?"
"I'll live," Akira muttered.
Hiroshi glanced down at Ryo. "What do we do with him?"
Akira's gaze darkened. They couldn't afford to let Ryo walk away—not after everything he'd done. But there was one problem.
Ryo was still breathing.
And that meant he was still a threat.
A soft groan escaped the fallen assassin's lips. His eyes fluttered open slightly—dazed, but aware. His body twitched, as if struggling to move.
And then—
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat.
"…You think this is over?" Ryo's voice was hoarse, but his smirk was still there, bloody and defiant. "You really think… you won?"
Akira didn't answer.
Ryo coughed, his breathing heavy. "You don't get it, do you?" His eyes gleamed with something dark.
"The real game hasn't even started."
Hiroshi scowled. "Tch. You still have the energy to talk shit?"
Ryo ignored him. His gaze locked onto Akira—a predator's stare.
And then, with a slow, deliberate motion—
His body began to fade.
Daisuke's eyes widened. "What the—"
Ryo's form distorted, as if his very presence was unraveling into the air. The red markings on his skin flickered—vanishing inch by inch.
Akira's stomach dropped. "No—"
Before they could react, Ryo's entire body dissolved into nothingness.
Not like an illusion. Not like a mirage.
It was as if he had never been there at all.
Silence.
Only the wind remained.
"…Shit," Hiroshi muttered.
Daisuke exhaled sharply. "He got away."
Akira clenched his fists.
This wasn't Ryo's doing.
This was someone else.
---
A Warning from the Enemy
Far away, deep within the Phantom Syndicate's hidden stronghold, Ryo Asakura gasped for air as his body materialized inside a dimly lit chamber.
He collapsed onto the cold floor, coughing violently. His body still felt broken. His ribs burned with pain.
And yet—
He was alive.
Barely.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the room.
Ryo gritted his teeth and looked up.
Standing before him, watching him with cold indifference, was Minh.
The mastermind stared down at him, arms folded. His violet eyes flickered with something unreadable.
Ryo wiped the blood from his lips, scowling. "Tch… I didn't need your help."
Minh tilted his head slightly. "Yes," he said. "You did."
Silence hung between them.
Then, Minh took a slow step forward.
"You fought well," he said simply. "But you lost."
Ryo's jaw tightened. "I—"
Minh raised a hand. "It's fine." His voice was eerily calm. "You gave us something far more valuable than a victory."
Ryo frowned. "And what's that?"
Minh's lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
"Information."
He turned away, walking toward the chamber's exit.
"Akira Takahashi has grown too much," Minh murmured. "He is no longer a minor inconvenience."
His footsteps echoed in the empty hall.
"Now," he said softly, "he is a problem."
A chill ran through the air.
And deep within the heart of the Phantom Syndicate—
The real war had begun.
---