The air inside Renjiro's small room was thick, suffocating.
Night had fallen again, but sleep would not come. It never did, not anymore.
He sat on the floor, his back against the cold wooden wall, eyes locked onto the flickering candle beside him. Its weak flame swayed, struggling against the unseen force that pressed against the walls of his mind.
The whispers had returned.
"They will turn on you."
"You already feel it, don't you?"
"Even Takeshi watches you differently now."
Renjiro clenched his fists.
Takeshi.
His mentor's words from earlier echoed in his mind—warning him, as if he were already lost.
"I have had to kill men like you before."
His stomach twisted.
Why?
Why did Takeshi say that? Did he truly believe Renjiro was heading down a path of no return?
Or worse—did he think Renjiro needed to be stopped?
His breath came in slow, measured inhales, but the weight pressing on his chest wouldn't fade.
Then—
A sound.
Soft. Almost imperceptible.
But Renjiro had spent too many years honing his senses to ignore it.
His body tensed.
Someone was outside.
His hand instinctively reached for the kunai beneath his pillow as he rose to his feet. Silent. Calculated.
Another sound—closer this time.
With a single movement, Renjiro blew out the candle. Darkness swallowed the room whole.
And he waited.
Seconds passed. Then—
The door creaked.
Renjiro moved.
A flash of silver—his kunai slicing through the air—aimed at the shadowed figure entering his room.
A sharp clang rang through the night.
The blade never found its mark.
Instead, it met steel.
A figure loomed in the doorway, their weapon effortlessly blocking his strike.
And for a moment, silence stretched between them.
Then—a chuckle.
Low. Amused.
"Not bad, kid."
The voice was unfamiliar. Deep, yet smooth, carrying an edge that sent a shiver through Renjiro's spine.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and now—he could see them.
A tall man stood before him, draped in a dark cloak that barely moved despite the faint night breeze. His skin was a deep olive tone, his features sharp and well-defined—a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and piercing silver eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. His black hair was long, tied loosely at the back, strands falling over his forehead.
But what stood out the most—
The scars.
A thin, jagged scar ran from the side of his left eye, cutting down toward his jaw. But there were others, hidden beneath his clothing, peeking from the collar of his cloak. Signs of a man who had seen war.
Renjiro didn't lower his weapon.
"Who are you?" His voice was quiet, but firm.
The man smirked, taking a single step forward. No hesitation. No fear.
"That's an excellent question." He tilted his head slightly, those silver eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "But let's start with an easier one."
He crouched slightly, leveling himself with Renjiro's height.
"What are you?"
Renjiro stiffened.
"What—"
"Don't lie to yourself, kid." The man's voice dropped slightly, the amusement fading just enough to reveal something else. Curiosity. Interest.
"I've been watching you." His smirk widened. "And I see what they see."
The air felt heavier.
"You are not just another orphan with bad luck."
The silver eyes locked onto him.
"You are something else entirely."
The words sent a shiver down Renjiro's spine.
The whispers stirred.
"He knows."
"He sees you."
"Be careful."
Renjiro took a step back, his grip tightening on the kunai.
The man merely chuckled again, standing back to his full height.
"Relax." He raised a hand, showing his open palm. "If I wanted to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
Renjiro didn't move.
The man studied him for a moment longer before finally sighing.
"You can call me Kaito."
His voice was casual, as if they were old friends.
"And I think you and I?"
He smiled.
"We have a lot to talk about."