The bar was on fire.
Smoke billowed into the night as sirens screamed in the distance. The neon signs flickered, drowning in smoke and chaos. People were starting to gather—too late to help, just in time to stare.
Ryoji grabbed Aiko's hand.
"We run," he said.
They slipped into the shadows behind the building. Through alleys. Down forgotten service tunnels. Past locked gates and rusting fences. Ryoji moved like a man who'd escaped this way before. Too many times.
Behind them, black vans slid into the burning street. Men in dark suits stepped out—calm, coordinated, speaking into hidden earpieces.
They weren't police.
Somewhere else in Tokyo.
A room, high above the city.
All glass and steel. Cold and clean.
A tall man in a white suit stood at the window, staring down at the fire in the distance. His reflection was sharp, his eyes unreadable. A scar ran from his jaw to the corner of his mouth—a permanent smile carved in blood.
Behind him, a woman in a military coat spoke quietly.
"We lost contact with Unit 7. Ryoji was there."
The man didn't move.
"Of course he was."
"Should we send in the Second Division?"
"No," he said. "Not yet."
He turned, walked to a table, and pressed a button.
A screen lit up: Aiko's face.
"The girl is the key," he said. "Not him. But if he stays in the way…"
He smiled.
"Kill him."
Back on the street.
Ryoji and Aiko boarded an empty train. It rattled through the underground, the city flickering past like a dying dream.
Aiko sat across from him, breathing hard.
"Who was that man? The one you knew was watching?"
"I don't know his name," Ryoji said. "But I've seen the mark."
He pulled something from the pocket of one of the attackers—
A silver pin shaped like a nine-headed serpent.
"I used to work for the agency that hunts people like him," he said. "Now I'm the one they're hunting."
Aiko's voice trembled. "What do they want with me?"
He looked at her for a long time.
"You don't know, do you?" he said.
She shook her head.
"You're the reason this city is waking up," he said. "And you're not supposed to be alive."
The train screeched to a halt.
Lights flickered. An alarm blared—a cold, mechanical sound that didn't belong to the city's usual system.
"They've hijacked the line," Ryoji muttered. "We get off. Now."
He yanked open the emergency door and pulled Aiko into the tunnel. They ran through the darkness, boots splashing in old puddles, their shadows dancing along the curved metal walls.
Behind them, a thud.
Then another.
Someone—or something—was following.
They climbed a rusted maintenance ladder.
Ryoji led her up, past dripping pipes and concrete shafts, until they reached a steel hatch. He kicked it open—
And they emerged on a rooftop.
Tokyo stretched around them, endless and electric. Rain started to fall—slow at first, then harder, soaking the rooftop in seconds.
But they weren't alone.
Four masked figures waited, blocking the only path across the rooftop. They were dressed differently—sleek armor, crimson visors, weapons designed for quick kills.
Assassins.
Aiko backed up. "They're everywhere."
"They're trying to box us in," Ryoji said.
He cracked his neck. "Let them try."
They came fast.
But he was faster.
The first assassin lunged with twin daggers—Ryoji caught his wrist mid-air, twisted, and sent him flying over the rooftop's edge.
The second came in with a chain whip. Ryoji ducked, closed the distance, and disarmed him with a strike to the elbow. Then spun him into the third.
Rain slicked the rooftop. Thunder rolled. Sparks flew from metal clashing.
Aiko could only watch in awe—until the final assassin came for her.
She screamed. Stumbled backward.
The blade came down—
And stopped inches from her skin.
The assassin froze.
Shaking. Trembling.
Then dropped the knife and fell to his knees.
Ryoji grabbed him. "What did you see?"
The assassin's voice cracked. "S-She… she carries the mark…"
"What mark?" Aiko shouted.
Ryoji looked at her—eyes wide.
"The serpents weren't after you by accident."
He stepped closer.
"Lift your sleeve," he said.
Aiko hesitated, then slowly rolled up her right sleeve.
Her breath caught.
A birthmark glowed faintly under the rain. A spiral sigil. Ancient. Elegant. It pulsed faintly—like it was alive.
"That's not a birthmark," Ryoji said. "That's a seal."
Aiko stepped back, heart pounding.
"What does it mean?"
Ryoji's voice was low.
"It means they've been watching you since you were born."
To be continued in Chapter 4...