Chapter 19: Rain in the Order
For a brief moment they both thought they were dead, but then the man on cloak holding his mug of coffee close his face but was shaking..his expression dead bleeding from his eyes, ears and mouth and the other at the alley completely shaking and bleeding from his eyes, ears and mouth...
The mug of lukewarm coffee milk trembled faintly in the Cloak Man's hand. He wasn't shaking—at least, he didn't think he was—but a ghost of something metallic still lingered on his tongue. Across the table, Kageyama sat impeccably poised. He raised his own cup calmly, his eyes unreadable.
"Why are you shaking?" Kageyama asked, his voice soft—more breeze than sound.
The Cloak Man blinked. Was he? His heart felt steady, but the sensation from a moment ago clung to him like sweat: blood pouring from his eyes, ears, mouth—terror in pure form. Yet, nothing. No blood, no panic. The café hummed normally. A barista called an order. Someone laughed at a far table.
The Cloak Man lowered his eyes, lifted the mug, and drank. The cold sweetness of coffee milk grounded him, even if it didn't comfort. The moment was gone—if it ever happened at all.
Kageyama set his cup down gently.
"You gave me something useful," he said. "Both of you. Even if you were rather careless with your narrative. You let it slip. You showed too much. Next time, don't be seen."
A small, hard smile tugged at the edges of his otherwise indiscernible face.
"A bug's been watching from outside. Make it quick. Make it quiet."
Kageyama rose, fluid as shadow. He pulled a wide-brimmed hat from the rack, threw a warm black jacket over his suit, and wrapped a white scarf around his neck in one smooth motion.
Kanji, the café owner—broad, gentle-eyed, polishing something—approached. "Already heading out, Kageyama-san?"
"Yes," Kageyama replied. "Our meeting's over."
Kanji gave a knowing nod, then glanced at the Cloak Man. "Listen to his advice, young man."
"I will," the Cloak Man muttered.
"Safe journey, Kageyama-san! Come back soon!"
Kageyama paused by the entrance, plucked a colorless umbrella from the stand, and gave a subtle wave. The girls at the counter giggled behind their drinks. He opened the umbrella soundlessly, stepped into the gentle rain, and vanished into the drizzle like a passing thought.
Outside, under the awning, the Cloak Man stood with his black umbrella. He watched until Kageyama disappeared into the mist. Then, he touched his left ear.
"Current location of the target?" he murmured.
A crisp female voice responded. "They're heading east. On foot."
"Understood. Tell the rest to regroup at the basement. I'll be there shortly."
"Yes, sir."
The earpiece clicked off. A male voice chimed in next—rough, familiar.
"Lucky escape today, wouldn't you say?"
"Yeah," the Cloak Man exhaled. "Very lucky."
He stepped into the street, vanishing under the curtain of rain.
---
High above, perched on the edge of a rain-slicked rooftop, he was watched.
Six figures—clad in tactical black, their suits hugging every muscle, every joint—crouched silently. Gas-mask-style helmets concealed their faces, and strange weapons rested in discreet holsters across their bodies: axes, daggers, guns, and tools that had no name in modern warfare.
At the center stood their leader.
A Japanese woman, early 30s but ageless in presence, with long black hair braided into the wind, and piercing green eyes visible behind a custom visor. Her black-and-silver axe floated beside her, spinning slowly. Her gaze never left the Cloak Man.
She tapped her ear. "Commander. Visual on the suspected leader. Orders?"
A pause. The comms buzzed with static.
"Yes, sir… Copy. Awaiting action."
But then she stilled. Her spine stiffened.
Something was wrong.
With trained precision, she snatched a shadowed throwing knife from her boot and hurled it—not at the street below, but at her own team. The blade ricocheted off nothingness with a hard metallic clink, spinning into the rooftop wall.
The nearest assassin, No. 3, had dodged just in time. "What—?!"
"How long have you been there?" the leader demanded.
From the nothing emerged a figure.
Slender. Short-cropped black hair. Yellow, glowing eyes. A cloaked woman stood between the rooftop rails—bare-faced save for a black mask. Her skin was dark, rich, unmistakably African. Beautiful. Dangerous.
She said nothing.
The assassin leader narrowed her eyes. But then she felt it again: another presence. Closer this time.
"She's not alone!" she snapped.
Her axe whirred to life beside her, spinning faster.
The squad spread into defensive positions, alert, coordinated. Every one of them was trained to sense anomalies in the flow of energy—the "order" as they called it. And yet... they had felt nothing until it was too late.
A second tremor whispered through the air.
"No. 7—behind you!" the leader shouted.
The male assassin twisted, drawing his katana. He struck—hard, clean. The blade met resistance, collided with something invisible. Sparks burst into the atmosphere. His sword vibrated violently against an unseen force.
"Oh my," a woman's voice purred. "What a drag…"
A girl materialized, just inches from his face.
What was blocking his strike was behind her bare hand, or so he thought but with closer look into it the sword wasn't even touching her hands at all.
She looked barely twenty, with long pink hair cascading over a bright pink-and-white jacket. Glowing blue eyes twinkled playfully. She was masked but wasn't afraid.
She vanished, No. 7 POV: he blinked and she was gone.
she reappeared beside the African woman, tossing a wink toward the stunned assassins.
No. 7 POV: he turn and she was already then, like she was there to begin with.
"You had to blow our cover, didn't you?" she teased.
The leader of the assassin squad didn't flinch. Her axe now hovered at her shoulder, ready to cleave enemy if needed. She tapped her comms again.
"…We've been spotted, sir."
No reply or she didn't wait for it
Just silence. And the growing hum of tension between the rainfall and drops.
Neither side moved. Neither side trembled.
But both knew, the next motion would not be quiet.
---
To be continued
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