Chaos was music.
Feitan moved through the screams like a needle through fabric. Precise. Invisible. Lethal. The crash of shattering glass. Smoke, choked groans, the song of metal as it was drawn.
For anyone else, it would have been hell.
For him, it was home.
He wore the mask only as a formality. His face was hidden even without it—it always had been. His body was tense and composed, like a steel wire. Every muscle trained. Every movement premeditated. He didn't favor guns—too impersonal—but they were useful for entry.
The katana, though…
The katana was poetry.
He had used it the moment he entered the bank, with almost artistic precision. Clean strikes. Sharp. One to the throat, one to the abdomen. Not out of necessity.
Because yes. Because it had to be that way.
He smiled. Barely. An imperceptible hint. Not joy. Something darker. Peace.
The Genei Ryodan had planned everything. Feitan was only the needle. He was meant to pierce. And needles don't care about fabric—or the pain they cause. Every scream was a silent applause. Every step through blood, a confirmation.
The girl had seen him. The one with the brown hair. Maybe she recognized him. Maybe not.
It didn't matter. She was in the crowd. One of many. Just another hostage.
Another pleading voice.
"Please… my mother… I have to go home…"
Feitan heard her. But inside—nothing. No emotion. No reaction.
Just one distant thought:
"So much crying… over something so insignificant."
Other people's fear amused him. But not in a sadistic way. No. It was useful. It confirmed what he had always known:
People break.
He didn't.
When they loaded everyone into the van, Feitan was already cleaning his blade with a black cloth. He did it slowly. Almost meditatively.
Behind him, screams. Inside the van, panic. The creak of wheels, the stench of sweat, tears, fear. All around him, everything was human.
He was not.
Feitan was calm. He wasn't thinking about anything. Not home. Not the past. Not her.
Only the next move. Precision. The geometric beauty of terror.
And then, for a moment—just one—his pupils narrowed. He had locked eyes with the girl. The one with the cookies. The clear voice.
She was crying, curled up against a wall.
Feitan looked at her. Two seconds. No more. Then turned away.
"She's nothing. Just flesh. Just another mistake of the universe."
And he returned to doing what he did best:
Disappearing into the shadows.
Without heart.
Without weight.
Without a face.
---Ayumi...---
The light was sickly yellow, like that of a forgotten hospital.
It filtered through a barred window with frosted glass—enough to sting the eyes, but not to warm the skin.
Her wrists were tied behind her back. Ayumi now stood, forced against the wall. Her shoulders were giving out. Her legs trembled. Her body's weight slid slowly down toward her knees. But she couldn't collapse. The ropes were tight. Damp. They cut into her skin.
The room reeked of iron, mold, and stale sweat. The smell of bodies kept too long in the dark. And another smell—thicker, sharper: dried blood.
The walls were peeling, stained with black humidity and faded graffiti. On the floor, wood splinters, torn newspapers, and a crushed plastic cup—trampled who knows how long ago.
Sometimes she heard voices. Men laughing in the distance. A muffled scream nearby. A metallic sound—maybe an overturned chair, maybe something worse.
And footsteps. Slow. Heavy. They never ran. They always walked, as if they had all the time in the world. As if other people's fear fed them, spoonful by spoonful.
Ayumi was filthy, soaked in sweat, her face streaked with tears that had dried and returned. Scratches on her cheeks, numb hands, her clothes stained with dust and… blood.
It's not mine, she told herself.
It must be someone else's.
She couldn't remember.
She had stopped screaming.
At first, she had.
She had called for her mother, for God, for anyone.
But no one answered.
Now she was silent.
She only breathed through her nose, and occasionally a choked sob—like her body was still trying to cry even when her soul no longer could.
Then someone entered.
Three men. All masked. They said nothing at first. One of them grabbed her backpack. Searched through it. His hands were quick, cold. He pulled out her wallet.
The photo of her and her mother. Her ID.
The second man stepped closer. Spoke with a calm, almost kind voice. And that calm terrified her most.
"We have everything we need. We'll call your family. Let's see if they care enough about you."
Ayumi tried to speak, but only a weak whimper came out.
"You're not very rich."
The voice dropped lower. "You can tell. Faded clothes. No makeup. Simple things. Your mother work?"
She nodded slowly. "Only… only on weekends…" she whispered. The words came out like a broken breath. "We don't have money… we can't… we can't pay…"
One of them laughed. A dry, short laugh. Without any humor.
"Then you better start praying. You have one week. If we don't get the ransom…"
A knife clicked open. A clean sound, like a finger snapping against bare skin.
"…you'll meet a bad end."
Ayumi felt the blood drain from her face. Her breath caught in her throat. The room began to spin. The whole world seemed to collapse.
She thought of her mother, alone at home, with cold tea, and silence. She thought that maybe… she wouldn't be coming back.
A sob cracked her chest. But she didn't beg.
Not out of pride.Just because she didn't remember how.
---Feitan...---
Feitan received the order without reacting. Chrollo had given it to him—with that abstract calm that always defined him—in a dark room where even light seemed to bend to his voice.
"Take care of the girl."
Chrollo's voice left no room for questions. No explanation. No reason. Just command. Just structure.
Feitan barely nodded. He didn't ask anything. He didn't need to. He had long ago learned that those who seek meaning are only looking for weakness. He obeyed.
When he entered the room, Ayumi was already there. Bound. Hurt. Disoriented. Her face streaked with tears, skin dirty, hair stuck to her forehead with sweat and fear.
Feitan entered in silence.
The flickering neon lights barely lit the space. She couldn't see him. Just a pale glow. Bare walls, filthy, and in the room there was only her—tied, trembling, eyes swollen from crying. Dirty, torn, alive by mistake.
He'd been ordered to watch her. Nothing else. A task. Like cleaning a weapon. Like sealing a body bag. No difference. No meaning.
The girl barely lifted her gaze. Her eyes were glassy, lost, filled with something Feitan had erased from himself long ago: the desperate need to understand.
"Who are you?" Her voice was a broken whisper. "Why are you here?"
Feitan didn't answer right away. He looked at her like one looks at a malfunctioning object. Then, slowly, he spoke.
"You ask too many questions."
The voice was low, sharp. Flat. A thread of ice that never trembled.
She swallowed, her shoulders hunched. "I… I just want to know… what you want from me…"
Her voice shook. "I just want to go home… my mother…"
Feitan stepped away from the wall and took two steps forward. Shadows crossed his face, hiding his expression—but his eyes caught the light for a moment. Not anger. Not sadism. Just absolute emptiness.
"You have no value." He said it like stating an equation. "You're nothing. You're flesh. A resource. Tradeable merchandise. The rest…"
He made a vague gesture with his hand, toward her—toward everything she was: fear, identity, tears— "…is noise."
She stared at him, horrified. "You don't have a heart…"
It wasn't an accusation. She was too innocent for that. It was pure despair disguised as a question.
Feitan leaned in slightly. His face close to hers. He whispered:
"The heart is a burden. I travel light."
Then he stepped back. Returned to the wall, as if nothing had happened. As if she didn't exist at all.
Ayumi trembled. The tears kept falling, but she no longer dared to speak. She had touched something—a border, a fracture—and understood that beyond it…
…there was nothing.
Feitan, meanwhile, wasn't thinking about her. He wasn't thinking at all. He didn't need to.
Time passed. Hours slid by like silent blades. And within him, everything remained still.
Because in the void, Feitan was safe.And in the pain of others, he found order.
No ties. No memory. Only mission. Only function.Only silence.