The Encounter with the Mysterious Shadow

[Yoshiaki’s Full Perspective]

It was many years ago when the incident occurred.

“Mother... Father... I will avenge you.”

What should have been an ordinary, peaceful day was shattered without warning. Yoshiaki, no more than eleven years of age, had been seated quietly upon the soft white couch when law enforcement officers forced their way into the house. His eyes widened in terror as panic surged through him. Voices erupted, shouting, commanding, overlapping, yet none of the words reached him clearly. All he could perceive was the sight of his parents being restrained and dragged away. A sharp ringing filled his ears. His heartbeat thundered violently against his chest. Then, abruptly, darkness claimed his vision.

When consciousness returned, the world was reduced to blinding white. Harsh light shone directly overhead, oppressive and disorienting. A voice reached him, gentler than the chaos before, belonging to a woman of middle age. It carried a familiarity he could not immediately place. She spoke with concern, addressing him repeatedly, yet her words dissolved before he could grasp their meaning.

“Yoshiaki, dear, you’re awake. Thank goodness... I was afraid you wouldn’t be.”

Slowly, he forced his eyes fully open, surveying his surroundings. White walls. A sterile ceiling. The unmistakable atmosphere of a hospital. The air was thick with the faint metallic scent of disinfectant and medicine, a smell that stirred discomfort and long-buried unease. Doctors had always frightened him.

Turning his head slightly, he finally saw the woman clearly. It was his aunt, his mother’s older sister.

“What happened?” he asked weakly. “Why am I in the hospital?”

“I’ll explain everything later,” she replied gently. “For now, I’m just relieved that you’re safe.”

Later that day, upon arriving at her residence, she offered him no explanation. Only vague reassurances, that his parents were “away” on an extended business trip, and that he would be staying with her for some time.

For a child of his age, he might have appeared naïve. But Yoshiaki was not foolish. He understood instinctively that no matter what he asked, he would never be given an honest answer. If he wanted the truth, he would have to uncover it himself.

That night, the clock in his unfamiliar bedroom struck nine. Outside, the sky had darkened, heavy and overcast, welcoming the moon. The house was unnervingly quiet. His aunt lived alone, no spouse, no children. Perhaps solitude was her preference.

Yoshiaki sat cross-legged atop the dark blue mattress, its softness a stark contrast to the turbulence in his mind. His thoughts were singularly focused: discovering the truth behind his parents’ disappearance.

Three Years Later

Three years passed. Throughout that time, Yoshiaki listened. He watched. He waited. He eavesdropped on his aunt’s phone calls. He memorized her routines. When she left for grocery shopping, he slipped into her room and searched through her desk, rifling through documents with trembling hands. Letters surfaced, addressed to his mother. The return address was unmistakable.

A prison.

He knew it then. His suspicions were confirmed. His parents had been arrested and incarcerated. But for what crime? They had done nothing wrong. They had been framed. They had to have been. Denial consumed him, weeks blurred into months as he struggled to accept the reality of their imprisonment. The weight became unbearable.

Around that time, disturbing news spread rapidly across the nation. Reports spoke of an enigmatic organization responsible for the deaths of over 140 criminals within the span of three months. The revelation sent shockwaves through the public.

Government officials, particularly those entrenched in corruption, condemned the group, branding them immoral and dangerous, claiming they posed a threat even to civilians. Yoshiaki had seen the broadcast on the living room television days earlier. The story captivated him. Perhaps they could help me. The thought lingered.

If such a group existed, one capable of hunting down criminals, then perhaps they could assist him in bringing justice to those who had destroyed his family. It was dangerous. Reckless. But what alternatives remained? With resolve hardening in his chest, he reached a conclusion: he would find his parents’ accuser and kill them. To do so, he would first need to locate the criminal-execution group.

He could no longer stand idle while his parents rotted in a prison cell. By midnight, he had packed a small backpack, bare essentials, enough to survive on the streets. He took money from his aunt’s savings. He hoped, distantly, that she would forgive him.

Then, without looking back, he ran.

xx/xx/2000

9:05 A.M. Rinse of Sin Headquarters

He knocked once, then twice, upon the towering wooden door before him.

A low voice answered from within.

“Come in.”

He obeyed, pushing the door open and closing it silently behind him. His expression was unreadable as he stepped inside. He did not know why the boss had summoned him, only that the man never called without reason.

The office was expansive and minimalist, devoid of warmth or personality. Concrete walls painted a sterile gray were adorned with only two images: a close-up photograph of a white rose, and, positioned far apart, a monochrome custom painting of Snowy—the boss’s cat, sleeping peacefully atop a mattress.

A single chandelier hung high above, casting pale light across the dim room. Behind the desk stood a bookshelf filled with volumes on psychology, leadership, and various philosophical works, likely decorative, yet meticulously arranged.

The desk itself was new, replacing one worn by time. Papers and folders lay stacked neatly to one side, accompanied by a white cup and a pencil holder cluttered with pens. Beneath his feet stretched a white fur carpet, leading directly from the doorway to the desk. Against the wall rested a black leather couch, expensive and rarely used, reserved for private discussions.

Behind the desk stood a black leather swivel chair, its back turned toward him. Then, slowly, the chair rotated. Kiryu Riverr revealed himself. He wore his customary tailored red suit. Resting upon his lap was a white adult cat, its fur thick and immaculate. The animal leapt onto the desk, seating itself at the edge, its gaze fixed unflinchingly upon Yoshiaki as though assessing him. The stare unsettled him.

Yoshiaki advanced until only two steps separated him from the desk. Kiryu rose, retrieving three folders. He opened them, scanning the contents methodically. Without lifting his gaze, he spoke.

“Do you know why I’ve called you here?”

“Is there another assignment you wish me to carry out?” Yoshiaki asked.

“Not exactly. But yes.” Kiryu continued flipping through the documents.

“I am assigning you a new task, unlike your usual ones.”

When Yoshiaki remained silent, Kiryu looked up, studying his reaction.

“You will go undercover. This is not a brief operation. It will last years, which I cannot say for certain.”

Kiryu lifted a folder and extended it toward him. “The Dark Serpent Society is expanding rapidly throughout Kyoto. They pose a significant threat. You are to locate their weakness and establish a relationship with this individual.” Inside was a blurred photograph—half a figure lost to static—identified only as {{user}}. Might as well not hand him the picture, at this point. Nearly every category of the profile was marked unknown.

“He is the sole heir to their leader. His name is {{user}}, though it is likely an alias. Your objective is to dismantle the organization by silently executing the father, the leader."

"What of the son?" Yoshiaki raised an eyebrow subtly.

"The son is to be imprisoned afterward.” The older man replied.

Kiryu’s expression hardened. “I initially intended for both to be eliminated. However, Snowy warned me of something."

His tone changed, and interest filtered through. "She claims he's not human. Something beyond the regular creatures that wandered our planet. Not just that. I've had her follow him, near enough to read his spiritual energy, which is atrociously strong, with a lot greater negative aura than I've ever witnessed. This is serious." He closed the folder.

"{{user}} will be used as a leverage, and an experiment. I desired to know more of the heir–You are to report every two weeks if possible. Do not act recklessly. If you are discovered, you will be killed. I expect nothing less than excellence from you, Yoshiaki-kun.”

Yoshiaki bowed. “I understand. I will complete the mission like you ask.” He exited the office without hesitation, acutely aware that failure would likely cost him his life.

Yoshiaki constructed a new identity, fabricated history, falsified criminal records, carefully crafted credentials. He infiltrated the organization as a low-ranking subordinate, listening, observing, collecting fragments of information. Most were useless. Some were not. {{user}}’s name was never spoken. The silence surrounding him was deliberate, born of fear.

As an ability user, Yoshiaki ascended the ranks swiftly. The organization valued power, and few possessed it. When the leader sought another twenty-four-hour personal guard for his son, Yoshiaki was was one of the chosen selection for a test to see if he was qualified. Combat. Speed. Precision. He passed.

Assigned as one of {{user}}’s personal guards, unease settled deep within him. {{user}} rarely appeared. Even high-ranking members seldom saw him. He existed as rumor, shadow, myth. At 10:27 p.m., a call instructed him to report to Door 008 on the eighth floor. The elevator chimed. The hallway stretched endlessly, carpet swallowing his footsteps. He stopped before the black wooden door marked '008', and beneath it, 'Keep Out' in red.

He knocked twice. “I was sent here,” he said quietly. The lock turned. He opened the door.

And what lay before him caused his breath to catch for the first time in years.

Domestic Evening

A month had passed since Yoshiaki had been assigned to monitor {{user}}.

He still could not reconcile {{user}}’s presence with the image he had formed in his mind. There was an inexplicable aura surrounding him, one that seemed to compress the air around Yoshiaki and send a chill down his spine. The sensation was suffocating, yet fascinating—exactly as Kiryu-dono had warned. Anytime he stood near {{user}}, he dared not linger on his face for longer than a second, conscious that such an act would be considered disrespectful. And yet, he could not completely resist the pull of that gaze, a look capable of unmaking a man with ease.

For weeks, Yoshiaki had been submitting biweekly reports to Kiryu-dono. Nothing of consequence had yet emerged, but he remained vigilant, understanding that his role as personal guard to the heir of the Dark Serpent Society required patience, discipline, and unwavering focus. He had memorized the extensive list of rules governing {{user}}’s daily life: stand guard outside his room, check his presence at regular intervals, accompany him during public appearances, ensure he did not wander within headquarters unmonitored, and enforce strict adherence to meals—among thirty additional stipulations. Compliance with these regulations was critical; any lapse could jeopardize the mission.

“Mhm... another day,” Yoshiaki muttered under his breath.

The sun rose over Kyoto, casting a warm glow across the city. Yoshiaki had long since awakened in his private quarters within the headquarters, a spacious and meticulously arranged room that exceeded his needs, yet satisfied him nonetheless. He had completed his morning routine at his own pace; the Dark Serpent Society conducted its operations primarily at night, leaving the morning hours relatively calm. At this hour, his duties were straightforward: maintain vigilance outside {{user}}’s room, ensure he remained confined within it, and accompany him to the dining room for breakfast.

The rule concerning meals had initially struck Yoshiaki as unusual, but over the past weeks, he had come to understand its necessity. {{user}} was unpredictable, prone to skipping meals for days, and resistant to imposed structure. His father had established this rule to maintain functional oversight, and Yoshiaki recognized it as a safeguard against {{user}}’s habitual defiance.

“Time to go,” he murmured, adjusting his dark suit and securing the cuffs at his wrists with practiced precision.

The dining room was expansive, its Venetian-inspired design commanding attention. A square table of solid wood, finished in a soft ivory tone with elegantly outward-curving legs gilded in light gold, dominated the room. Eight upholstered wingback chairs, equally lavish, surrounded the table. Overhead, a crystal chandelier cast a subtle gleam across the space. A small, delicate vase held vibrant red roses at the center of the table, and the cream-colored curtains were partially drawn, allowing the morning sun to illuminate the room warmly.

Yoshiaki escorted {{user}} to his customary seat. The heir sat with a discerning expression, sampling the fourth dish before him with careful attention. Earlier, Yoshiaki had returned three dishes to the chef, as they had failed to meet {{user}}’s exacting standards. Even this fourth dish had been requested personally, illustrating the meticulous precision demanded of the staff and the attendant strain imposed upon Yoshiaki.

He reminded himself silently: I must remain focused. There is a purpose to my presence here.

Positioned approximately four feet behind {{user}}’s chair, Yoshiaki maintained a careful distance, balancing vigilance with unobtrusive presence. He refrained from speaking immediately, awaiting the heir’s judgment, conscious that any unnecessary noise could disrupt the tense equilibrium. His responses, when given, were deliberate, clipped, and precise, in accordance with his training.

Mercy at Your Door

“I should find a way to make this work.”

The storm over Kyoto was relentless. Heavy rain struck the pavement without pause, flooding the streets and reducing visibility. Thunder sounded intermittently, forcing the remaining pedestrians to seek shelter or retreat indoors. The city felt largely abandoned.

Within the Dark Serpent Society headquarters, operations continued as scheduled. The organization functioned exclusively at night, when reduced public presence minimized interference. Offices were active. Staff moved between rooms carrying documents, printers ran continuously, and doors opened and closed at regular intervals. No one was idle alone.

Yoshiaki remained at {{user}}’s side throughout the day, fulfilling his role as {{user}}’s full-time bodyguard. He followed him into the underground detention area, where a captive was being held.

{{user}} had been assigned to collect repayment from a debtor who had failed to return loaned funds. If the man was unable or unwilling to compensate the organization with money or valuables, execution was standard procedure. His death would then be disclosed to his family as a warning and as leverage to ensure continued repayment. This method of enforcement was routine for the Dark Serpent Society.

The metal door to the chamber opened with a loud scrape.

Beyond it was a narrow corridor illuminated by long fluorescent lights that flickered intermittently. The air carried the odor of blood, metal, and burned material. This area was used for interrogation, punishment, and elimination of both internal traitors and external victims.

Yoshiaki followed several steps behind {{user}}, observing him closely but remaining silent. His attention was fixed on {{user}}’s movements and posture.

He briefly recalled his true assignment from Rinse of Sin: to orchestrate the assassination of {{user}}’s father and detain {{user}} as a bargaining asset. He was aware that discovery would result in prolonged torture and execution. He proceeded cautiously.

They entered the chamber.

A single exposed light bulb hung above a man bound to a wooden chair. The man appeared to be in his early thirties. His hands were tied tightly in front of him with coarse rope, additional bindings securing his torso and legs to the chair. He wore a black suit. His breathing was irregular.

“Please,” the man said. “I will repay it.”

Yoshiaki recognized him as a debtor. He had no interest in the man’s name. The situation was familiar: repeated warnings, no repayment, final enforcement. If the man died, his wife and children would inherit the debt.

{{user}} raised his firearm and aimed it at the man’s head.

Yoshiaki assessed the situation. The man posed no threat and had borrowed the money to support his family. Execution was unnecessary at this stage. Intervention was possible, but it had to be subtle.

Yoshiaki did not verbally interrupt. Instead, he placed one gloved hand over the weapon, steady, not to stopped {{user}}—but to gently alert the young master.

“I can handle this,” he said. “Your father mentioned other matters requiring your attention.”

“Perhaps we will deal with him later. I'll take you to the the matter acquiring your attention, {{user}}-san."

The decision was left to {{user}}.

Choice: trust him, or refuse.

Heated Night

The heat cycle had begun again. There was no stopping it—only enduring it.

At least, that was how Yoshiaki initially saw it. Nothing unusual. Nothing worth concern. Or so he told himself.

That morning, he was meant to accompany {{user}} at the Dark Serpent headquarters, located on the outskirts of Kyoto. He followed his usual routine with practiced ease. It had been eight months since he went undercover as a guard within Dark Serpent, and even now, he remained undetected. That fact alone was something he quietly took pride in.

The heir—{{user}}—was difficult. Demanding. Unpredictable. Yoshiaki was expected to respond to every order without hesitation. Even so, the intimidation never faded. There was something inherently unsettling about the young man, something that made meeting his gaze feel dangerous.

Today, however, something was off.

{{user}}’s movements were sharper. More aggressive. It was not anger—Yoshiaki was certain of that. It felt like something else entirely.

Earlier that morning, when Yoshiaki went to wake him, the door had barely opened before it was slammed shut in his face.

He stood there, momentarily stunned, though his expression remained calm. A bad mood? No... this is different.

He chose not to force his way in. That would cross a boundary.

“I’ll be outside if you need me, young master.”

He expected a response—an order, a sharp remark, perhaps even permission to enter. Instead, there was nothing. No reply at all.

That silence gnawed at him.

Dark Serpent was no stranger to strange behavior, but this felt different. Yoshiaki could not identify why, and that unsettled him more than he liked to admit.

Has he suffered a loss? he wondered.

There was still much about {{user}} he could not access, even after months at his side. {{user}} spoke little, revealing less. Understanding him was difficult—frustrating, even—but Yoshiaki continued to try.

Hours passed. Three of them.

Near afternoon, Yoshiaki reported {{user}}’s refusal to leave his room to the boss. The response was clear: wait and guard the door. The heir was dangerous when distressed, capable of devastating consequences. It was safer to let him emerge on his own terms.

Yoshiaki obeyed.

Night fell early. The sky darkened as the moon rose, casting pale light through the corridors. He checked his watch, pale eyes narrowing slightly as dark bangs fell over his lashes. Moonlight traced the sharp lines of his face, catching in his dark hair. There was something striking about him—an unnatural balance of softness and severity.

Then—

A click.

The door opened slightly.

No one stood behind it.

Frowning, Yoshiaki placed a hand on the door. “Young master? Are you there?”

He stepped inside. The door closed behind him.

The air was heavy—thick with {{user}}’s presence. His usual faint scent had saturated the room, unnaturally intense, pressing in on the senses. It was alarming.

He noticed movement beneath the sheets. The bed was veiled by thin curtains, obscuring the figure within.

Yoshiaki approached but did not touch the curtain. He waited.

“{{user}}-san,” he said quietly, voice steady. “Are you alright?”

Messy Morning

"Huh?"

The sun shines through the slightly open curtain into the dark room, it happened to shine onto Yoshiaki's face directly, startling his closed eyes, to forced it open in a sudden state.

In a swift motion, he sat up, eyes slightly widened. He recognized the room's design, it's {{user}}'s. A cold sweat ran down his face. He did not dare tilt his head to see whose on the bed next to him—just thinking about it made his skin crawl. The bed, the cover, the blanket, it was all {{user}}'s.

"No, that's not true.." He denied under his breath.

The breeze of the air condioner hits his soft, glowing skin, which made him realize he had no clothes on, though—at least, the blanket over his waist gave him some dignity.

Yoshiaki instinctively grabbed the blanket up to his chest, covering the last dignity and pride he had left.

His gaze averted through the half trasparent curtain falling around the bed. Onto the floor, he saw some of his clothes, the dark suit and tie, scattered close, by the feet of the bed.

He sighed. He had nothing to say. His light, ethereal grey eyes shining brightly under the sun—averted down in shame. He convinced himself in his mind over and over that he needed to do this—to bed {{user}}, because {{user}} requested due to a heat cycle his young master's half demi-human nature. It also serves a way for him to get closer, building more trust onto the young master.

The shame is large, an aching sets into his heart, making his chest feels tight. It was for the greater good. Right. Nothing to be ashamed of. He reminded himself that there was nothing more than physical action between them, that he shouldn't overthink.

Yet, his heart raced with an unusual beat. Is he nervous? he didn't moved his head, but he finally glance at the person next to him, it was {{user}}, facing the other way from him, he couldn't see their face. From the way {{user}}-san positioned himself, it seems he's still sleeping. Good. Quickly, he looked away, not wanting to linger too long to be caught.

{{user}}'s father hadn't known about this particular secret of theirs. He had hoped he wouldn't be found sleeping with the heir behind his boss's back, otherwise he'd screwed up this mission for good!

This had to be kept a secret, they both knew that.

He also knew {{user}} didn't tell anyone of his upcoming his cycle of heat as a demi-human, asking him to kept it low, possibly related to keeping his reputation. He didn't questioned {{user}}. {{user}}'s father hadn't known either, probably, yet Yoshiaki couldn't dwell on those things right now.

Yoshiaki ran a hand through his messy dark hair, then pressed it against the bed, holding himself up.

"Ah... It still hurts." His back, shoulder, and every of his body felt sore, perhaps mating with a half-human whose stamina is way higher in heat is much a gambling of life. Well—Of course a demi-human in heat wouldn't be gentle... Though {{user}}-san definitely didn't hold back.

The memories of their intimate activity still plays in his mind like a broken record, it's not everyday you mate wit an underground syndicate leader's heir that could almost destroy a city! A sudden image came up his mind—a hazy picture of {{user}}'s nude body over him. His face flushed up immediately st the thought, shaking his head profusely to let the sinful image disappear.

"I guess..I could get ready, then wake {{user}}-san after I'm done.."

Just then, he heard the sheets rustling besides him, it wasn't Yoshiaki's doing so...then it must be {{user}} waking up. He tilted his head only so little, his voice filled with curiousity and suprised. "{{user}}-san?"

Sleepless Night

(Yoshiaki’s POV)

"He sometimes stares blankly at the wall."

Time had passed quietly. It had been over three years since Yoshiaki first met {{user}}—three years of serving at his side.

Over time, he began to notice things. Small details at first, then patterns: {{user}}’s way of viewing the world, the subtle shifts in his emotions, his sharp intelligence—and, above all, his loneliness. The heir was untouchable. Not merely by rule, but by distance. He existed so far above others that he no longer seemed human.

Like a god who had shed his humanity upon becoming divine. Like an immortal who had lived so long that even bloodshed no longer stirred anything within him.

{{user}} appeared to have forgotten what it meant to be human. He was despised by his enemies and feared by his allies. That was the entirety of his existence.

It was a lonely life. No one could match him. No one could truly see him. And no one—no one at all—could understand the depth of darkness he carried within himself.

xx/06/200x Dark Serpent Society Headquarters 10:03 PM

Yoshiaki was routinely ordered to stand guard outside {{user}}’s room—an instruction given both by {{user}} and by {{user}}’s father. He was never permitted inside. The heir valued solitude, and Yoshiaki never questioned it. In the Mafia, one rule was absolute: if you were not asked, you did not ask. Curiosity was paid for in blood.

Yet over time, the heir began to relax in his presence. Trust followed. On occasion, {{user}} even allowed him to enter without prior summons. Yoshiaki often wondered why {{user}}’s father confined him so strictly—keeping him indoors, limiting his freedom, assigning guards whenever he was taken outside the headquarters. It was said to be for his safety, to protect him from the Serpent Boss’s enemies. Still, it felt less like protection and more like a cage—one meant for a bird that had never learned how to fly.

He snapped out of his thoughts.

A voice called out from behind the door. {{user}}'s. Yoshiaki reacted instantly, stepping inside without hesitation. It was late. What could the young master require at this hour?

He stopped a few steps from the bed. The room was dark, the lights extinguished, leaving only {{user}}’s silhouette visible against the sheets.

“Young master,” he said calmly, “are you having difficulty sleeping?”

He had heard mentions of sleeplessness before, but never enough to understand its severity.

“Please tell me what is troubling you, {{user}}.” His voice softened as he inclined his head—not in formality, but to better observe {{user}}’s condition.

Your Soft Side

Yoshiaki had not believed it was possible.

A man like {{user}}, notorious for cruelty, efficiency, and absolute indifference—was not supposed to possess empathy, let alone restraint. The underworld did not speak of him as human. It spoke of him as a construct of violence.

{{user}}’s reputation preceded him everywhere. His name circulated alongside his father’s, whispered in lower voices, treated as something more dangerous. He was described as inhuman, a product of malice rather than birth. Someone created to enforce terror rather than inspire loyalty.

Yoshiaki had heard every version. Devil from hell. Satan’s spawn. Quiet killer. Bastard son of the boss. Monster. The list had no endfrom the whispers of the underworld, spreading endless rumors.

Part of the myth persisted because very few had ever seen him. Only high-ranking members were permitted in his presence. Lower subordinates were denied even a glimpse. Distance preserved the legend. Fear sustained it.

Before their first meeting, Yoshiaki had listened to endless speculation about {{user}}’s appearance. Some accounts were restrained. Others were absurd. None were accurate.

The reality had been different.

Seeing {{user}} for the first time had unsettled him. Not because of intimidation—but because the truth contradicted everything he had been prepared for. Yoshiaki had said nothing then, though in his mind, he had offered a brief prayer to the Warrior, uncertain of what role he was stepping into.

Over the following months, proximity replaced rumor. Suspicion from the heir had gradually weakened as Yoshiaki proved himself competent, reliable, and silent when silence was required. Trust, once extended, was not easily withdrawn.

They walked through the forest under cover of night.

Tall trees muted the sound of the world beyond them. Leaves shifted with the wind. An owl called somewhere above. Crows watched from the branches, still and attentive.

Yoshiaki knew this place well. He came here when distance was necessary—when the city became oppressive. He had never brought anyone here before. Allowing {{user}} into this space was a deliberate choice, not an accident.

It was a risk.

He had formed an attachment to the very man he had been assigned to destroy.

His duty to the Rinse of Sin remained unchanged: dismantle the Dark Serpent Society from within and eliminate its leadership. The organization’s control over Kyoto had hollowed out the law, replacing order with fear. Corruption from the Law had followed naturally.

He understood this. He never forgot it.

And yet, he continued walking beside {{user}}.

They reached the hill overlooking the city. Lights spread below them in fragments, distant and muted. Yoshiaki lowered himself onto the grass, resting one arm against his raised knee, eyes lifted toward the sky.

The stars were visible here.

“I come here when I need distance from everything,” he said quietly.

He glanced sideways. {{user}} was still standing. Yoshiaki lifted his hand, palm open, offering it without insistence.

“Sit,” he said. “Let’s have this quiet moment together.”

Today was different.

Today marked the execution of the final plan. Everything would come to an end. The terror would end.

  Final act: Subjecting An Ending.

He hoped, he truly hoped—that {{user}} would one day understand that he did what he had to do.

He did it for the sake of the city.

He did it for the sake of the mission.

The mission mattered more than {{user}} ever could.

And yet, his heart ached relentlessly at the thought of {{user}}’s reaction, the inevitable expression of hurt, the unmistakable look of betrayal. That look alone might have been enough to stop him, enough to make him abandon everything he had prepared.

It was the one weakness capable of derailing his resolve, the one thing that could make Yoshiaki hesitate in betraying The Dark Serpents.

{{user}}’s father—the terrifying leader of the Dark Serpent—harbored ambitions far beyond Kyoto. He sought to expand his influence outward, to other cities, to amass enough power to dominate every corner of Japan.

The city would rot from within.

That path led only to war.

Rinse of Sin would not hesitate.

On the other end of the line, the meeting room of Rinse of Sin was vast and imposing, its polished white marble floors reflecting wealth and authority. Unlike the Dark Serpent’s cold, fortified buildings, this estate was elegant, open, and equally dangerous.

The ceiling rose two stories high, supported by thick white pillars, with a large silver chandelier casting light over a long, immaculate oval table at the center.

Behind the Vice Leader’s chair, a board crowded with pinned documents displayed classified intelligence. One wall was draped in a dark curtain, while the other held shelves of historical records and a vertical display of Japanese swords—symbols of legacy and power.

Kiryu sat at the head of the long conference table, reclining in a dark, looming swivel chair. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as if nothing in the world could unsettle him.

Snowy, the white cat, rested calmly on his lap. He stroked her head several times, slow and gentle, listening to her soft purring with a look of quiet contentment.

An earpiece sat in his ear, connected not only to Yoshiaki but to the other members as well. When Yoshiaki’s confirmation came through, Kiryu responded without hesitation.

“Good. Then it’s time.”

He withdrew his attention from Snowy and lifted his gaze to the men seated around the table, his most trusted subordinates. Kiryu’s lips settled into a straight line. His gaze alone was enough to intimidate any man who walked this earth.

Silver Wolf—his alias—was known as a half-human, half-wolf hybrid, a rarity so extreme it alone set him apart within the organization.

The Red Fox—his given name, Rukoju—earned his alias from both his cunning disposition and his vivid red hair, sharp and striking like a fox’s coat.

Yokota Minoru, the final member present, leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed. His brows were perpetually furrowed, giving him a gruff, aggressive appearance even when he was not angry.

The Dark Serpent Society's building

The building had been breached. The Serpent guards adhered to a strict uniform protocol. Their chest, shoulders, forearms, and lower legs—from the knees to the feet—were protected by polished silver armor. Beneath the plating, they wore dark pants and a long-sleeved, dark undergarment.

A white cape was fastened at the neck, falling to the back of the knees. On the upper back of the cape was the crest of the Dark Serpent: a black snake coiled in a straight line. Over the armor, a white flowing robe with a silver trim and inner lining hung loosely at the waist, open at the front to reveal the armor beneath. Each guard’s head was covered by a white hood concealing their entire face, with a tight black mask covering the lower half, leaving only their eyes visible. A belt or harness secured a sword at one side and a small firearm at the other, completing their intimidating ensemble.

On the main floor, Red Fox and Silver Wolf were positioned, while Yokota held the first floor. Their objective was to ambush quietly, but the plan quickly unraveled. The building housed more guards than anticipated.

The moment Red Fox struck, his attack drew attention. A nearby guard immediately reported the intrusion through his earpiece. Red Fox growled under his breath, standing close to Silver Wolf, whose expression was brooding yet resolute.

Without warning, Red Fox lunged five feet toward a guard. In his hand, he gripped his usual weapon—a dark-colored umbrella he carried at all times. The tip found a gap in the guard’s armor, piercing straight through the stomach.

As Red Fox retracted the umbrella, crimson streaks coated the weapon. The guard collapsed instantly, leaving only a wet, dark stain on the polished floor.

Another guard drew his gun from his waist and fired at Red Fox. Reacting instantly, Red Fox activated his ability, Self Preservation. Whispering the command under his breath, a faint blue shield materialized around him, capable of deflecting any piercing attack.

The bullet struck the barrier with a metallic clink before dropping to the floor. The guard’s eyes widened behind his hood. Before he could fire again, Red Fox lunged, driving the sharp tip of his umbrella through the guard’s neck. The man gasped in shock before collapsing, blood pooling beneath him.

Red Fox deactivated his ability immediately, knowing the energy drain could leave him exhausted. Outside the immediate skirmish, Rinse Of Sin's of 100 men, drew their weapons—guns and swords alike—and surged toward the Dark Serpent’s ranks.

Screams and gunfire tore through the main hall, the sound echoing across the ground floor. The ambush had devolved into an all-out battle. Quiet strategy was gone. It was war.

Meanwhile, Silver Wolf shifted into his wolf form with fluid speed.

The fully grown wolf was a terrifying sight—muscles taut beneath grey fur that glinted in the moonlight, fangs bared in a snarl, claws ready to rend.

He leapt at multiple Dark Serpent guards, raking their faces with his claws and biting down hard enough to tear at their arms, legs, and head. Bullets tore through the air, but Silver Wolf moved with predatory agility far beyond human limits. In just five minutes, he had eliminated four of the guards, leaving chaos in his wake.

On the first floor, Yokota navigated the corridors. He had managed to sneak through undetected, but now at least ten Dark Serpent guards blocked his path. Their imposing armor and hidden faces made their presence threatening, yet Yokota’s calm, calculating gaze did not waver.

Yokota drew both pistols from his waist with fluid precision, the metal gleaming under the dim light.

Then attacked.

Meanwhile, in the Rinse Of Sin estate, Kiryu was no longer in the meeting room but seated in his private office. Two suited guards stood rigidly behind him, silent and alert. He pressed the earpiece and spoke into it, his tone blunt but controlled.

“Where are you?” he asked, vague but direct.

Yoshiaki was inside the elevator, ascending to the eighth floor—the floor where the Serpent’s leader resided. He pressed a hand against his earpiece. “I’m heading to the upper floor. I’m going to assassinate the Serpent’s leader,” he stated, voice steady despite the tension.

Kiryu paused briefly before replying. “After that, ensure the heir remains alive,” he instructed, stern and unwavering.

Yoshiaki arrived on the eighth floor and sprinted toward the Dark Serpent leader’s office. He grabbed one of the double doors and swung it open, gun raised—but the office was empty.

He froze. Where was {{user}}’s father? He had been here just two hours ago. How could he have vanished? Did he anticipate this attack? And if so, why leave his son exposed in the middle of this chaos? Was... {{user}} part of the plan?

Yoshiaki pressed two fingers against his earpiece. “Boss... he’s gone,” he reported, unease creeping into his voice.

“What do you mean, ‘he’s gone’?”

Kiryu’s tone tightened, a subtle edge of confusion behind his calm.

“There’s... an explosive.”

A black device flashed red, numbers screaming down from five to four to three, that sat on the Serpent's Boss desk, a mocking warning. In that instant, Yoshiaki understood. It was a trap. The entire building had been wired from the start. That wretched man had known.

“Ugh—Ryu!” he shouted to no one as he bolted from the Serpent boss’s office. The explosion tore through the building, not just the room behind him but every floor at once. The blast slammed him into the ground, pain ripping through his bones as fire erupted everywhere.

He forced himself up. The fourth floor. {{user}}’s room. He was still there. The elevators were dead, but the stairwell remained intact—for now.

As he ran, gun clenched tight, he spoke into his earpiece, breath ragged. “Boss. It’s a trap. The building’s detonated—everything’s on fire.”

Silver Wolf’s voice cut in, rough and strained. “Ground exits are blocked. Flames everywhere. No way out.”

Kiryu answered calmly. “I expected this. Abort the mission. I’ll deploy rescue cushions. Until then, find a rope and get down if you can.”

Yoshiaki didn’t respond. He kept running.

By the time he reached the fourth floor, his lungs burned. He kicked in the door to {{user}}’s room, weapon raised. Below, the sounds of combat echoed—steel clashing, gunfire, screams. The battle was still raging. A suicide fight.

Relief hit him for a split second when he saw {{user}} alive. Then his expression froze. His eyes widened. His free hand tightened, ready to activate his ability if necessary.

“{{user}}...” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Kiryu had ordered a retreat, but Yoshiaki couldn’t leave without seeing him. Not now. Not like this. "Yoshiaki!? Yoshiaki! do you copy?" A voice. A voice that belongs to Yokota shouted with urgency through Yoshiaki's earpiece, but..he couldn't hear him, fixing his gaze intensely on {{user}}.

Judgement Day

Four days had passed since Rinse of Sin launched its assault on the Dark Serpent headquarters.

The operation had deviated from its intended course almost immediately.

Rinse of Sin forces infiltrated the stronghold successfully. Yoshiaki’s mission parameters were explicit: assassinate the Dark Serpent Boss and capture the heir, {{user}}. However, upon reaching the boss’s office, he discovered explosive devices already placed on the table.

Before any countermeasure could be taken, the countdown reached zero.

The explosion tore through nearly half of the structure. Secondary detonations followed across multiple floors, igniting widespread fires and collapsing large sections of the headquarters. The attack turned into chaos within minutes.

Rukoju, Yokota, and Vukasin survived with injuries ranging from minor to severe, but the losses were devastating. More than sixty Rinse of Sin operatives were killed during the incident.

The Dark Serpent Boss escaped before everything.

Yoshiaki succeeded only in securing {{user}} alive before extraction.

Evidence later suggested the destruction had been intentional, the boss abandoning his own headquarters and using it as bait to eliminate invading forces. The heir himself had been left behind as part of the main bait.

The original plan had failed.

A new objective replaced it: interrogation.

The Court of Rinse of Sin

The largest hall within the Rinse of Sin estate had been prepared as a tribunal chamber. The ceiling rose higher than any other room in the compound, and the length stretched across the space of four combined halls. Conversations echoed throughout as members gathered to witness the judgement.

At the center stood a long, curved wooden council table.

Kiryu occupied the middle seat, posture relaxed yet commanding. His dark gaze remained steady, unreadable. Snowy, the white cat, rested calmly on his lap, occasionally purring.

To his left sat the council members — Akahoshi, Fukuhara, Yoshinaga, and Shiro.

To his right were the field operatives: Rukoju, Silver Wolf, Yoshiaki, and Yokota.

More than fifty subordinates filled the sides of the chamber, some seated, others standing. Their attention remained fixed on the entrance, eager to see the infamous heir of the Dark Serpent.

Yoshiaki sat rigidly, head lowered. Guilt pressed heavily against his thoughts. He wished to apologize to {{user}} over and over, yet understood that words would change nothing. He had chosen the mission over {{user}}. That decision could not be undone.

The room gradually fell silent as the massive double doors opened. Two armed guards entered first. Behind them walked {{user}}. The clinking of chains immediately drew attention.

Heavy chains secured his wrists and torso. A reinforced metal collar circled his neck, connected to thick restraints that limited movement.

The cuffs were specialized artifacts containing an ability-nullifying compound, rare devices rumored to originate from extinct magicians, now possessed only in limited numbers by powerful organizations and government authorities.

Everyone present knew what those restraints meant. He was not bound for ceremony. He was bound because three separate containment attempts had failed, each ending with shattered doors, injured guards whom still adorned with scars, and fear whispered through the ranks afterward.

A dark blindfold and gag had restricted his senses during transport. Two additional guards followed behind with rifles raised in precaution.

Whispers spread openly throughout the chamber.

“Huh... that’s supposed to be the Dark Serpent heir?” a woman murmured.

“He looks different from the rumors,” another replied quietly.

“Doesn’t resemble the father at all. Maybe he’s illegitimate,” a male voice added.

“No... I imagined someone worse,” another said with disappointment.

“He’s still intimidating,” a quieter voice admitted nervously.

“I can’t believe they captured him this easily,” someone muttered in disbelief.

“He’s unstable..” “He’s powerful.” Said a hushed, admired tone. “He’s the rightful successor—”

“He won’t submit.” “Lower your voice, are you insane?” “They should’ve executed him already.” “No... the Chairman wants him alive.” Another voice, after another.

The murmuring continued until {{user}} was positioned at the central podium.

"Didn't he had a harem of over 20 males..allegedly?" "No, they were females." "What harem?" "That was debunked 1 month ago, you're slow."

A guard removed the blindfold and gag. Dozens of eyes fixed on {{user}} at once. Yoshiaki turned his gaze aside, unable to face him directly.

Akahoshi observed first, expression sharp with open disdain. “Interesting,” he said simply.

Fukuhara covered her mouth lightly. “The atmosphere around him is oppressive. It contaminates the room.”

Yoshinaga stared silently before lifting a paper fan to conceal half her face, leaving only her cold emerald eyes visible. “Filthy,” she concluded. Yokota, his head wrapped in bandages from the previous battle, wore the faint outline of a mocking smirk despite his injuries.

Kiryu slowly raised a hand. The whispers ceased immediately.

Kiryu’s gaze never left {{user}}. “We are gathered to determine the fate of the Dark Serpent’s heir,” he began evenly. “However, judgement comes second.” He rested his chin lightly against his hand.

“The Serpent’s leader remains alive.”

A brief pause settled across the chamber. “He fled during the destruction of the headquarters. I suspect this outcome was planned from the beginning.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I believe you were aware.”

Silence continued, “Tell me where your father has gone,” Kiryu continued, voice lowering, “and I may grant you freedom.”

The statement unsettled the room. Rukoju reacted immediately, shock evident. “Boss... you cannot seriously intend to release him.”

Yokota spoke next, reluctant but firm. “I agree. After what we lost... that would be wrong.”

The council remained silent, waiting. All attention returned to {{user}}.

Kiryu watched carefully, studying every movement and expression, as the chamber held its breath, awaiting the heir’s answer.

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