"My Animus, Vice Blizzard—it freezes and shatters in an instant," the bald leader sneered, his serpentine gaze locking onto Miyuki. The vicious glint in his eyes screamed, You're next.
Miyuki's back prickled with fear.
People died—so easily, so unjustly, snuffed out in a heartbeat.
Seeing it unfold before him, his legs trembled.
Was this reality? The twisted face of modern Tokyo? The youths' malice made his head spin.
(What do I do? Run… or—)
Alone, Miyuki might've escaped this crisis. He'd headed for his old home and school believing he could handle himself.
But now, Inaba, Kyuto, and Kawahara were here—cellmates from Yomotsu Hirasaka. After witnessing Tanaka's death, he couldn't abandon them.
As he hesitated, a clear voice cut through the scene.
"Hey, what're you lot doing!?"
All eyes snapped to the source. Between Miyuki and the bald leader stood two uniformed police officers—navy blue uniforms, batons, and radios, the classic "cop" look.
The bald leader's face soured, his low growl menacing. "Oh?"
"You're Ghosts, aren't you?" an officer barked. "That emblem—Diablo? Stand down, or we shoot!"
They drew revolvers from holsters without hesitation, aiming at the group.
(Police!) Miyuki thought, startled by their quick draw but relieved. Surely these thugs wouldn't act reckless in front of cops.
Compared to the port's Armored Squad or special forces, revolvers seemed underpowered, but not every officer could carry elite gear.
(Saved…)
Miyuki raised his hands, as did Inaba, Kawahara, and Kyuto. But the bald leader and his crew just smirked.
(What's going on?)
A bad feeling hit. Miyuki frowned. As if confirming it, the bald leader taunted the officers.
"Shoot if you can, cop."
"What!?" an officer snapped.
"You know the deal—laws say you can't arrest Ghosts, right? So what, you'll just kill us? That makes you no better than the Reapers!?"
He burst into exaggerated laughter, his crew joining in.
(Reapers?)
The term was new to Miyuki. But the officers' faces hardened, their anger palpable.
"Shut up! We won't be insulted!" one shouted.
"Don't compare us to those filthy Reapers!" the other roared.
Their voices dripped with rage, clearly despising these Reapers. The bald leader, unfazed, grinned mockingly.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry for the shade. But you're loud, so how about you sleep?" he sneered.
"What!?"
"Didn't hear me? I said you're annoying!"
His voice dropped, eyes narrowing with clear killing intent.
"Stop!" Miyuki shouted, but it was too late.
The bald leader raised a fist and slammed it into the ground. Sharp icicles erupted, racing across the earth toward the officers in a brutal wave.
"What…!?" one gasped.
"Animus…!" the other cried.
Their eyes widened in shock and fear.
The bald leader's Vice Blizzard showed no mercy. The icicles slammed into the officers, hurling them back. They crashed to the ground, motionless.
"Nice view!" the bald leader crowed. "To us Ghosts, state power's nothing!"
He and his crew laughed, their voices coarse and vile.
Miyuki shuddered. They felt nothing—using Animus, killing, stealing—it was all natural to them. Whether facing unarmed civilians or armed cops, they wielded power without restraint.
He stared, frozen, as their laughter grew louder, chilling him to the bone. Inaba, Kawahara, and Kyuto trembled, speechless, faces pale, paralyzed by the reality before them.
But another emotion stirred in Miyuki—anger.
Their brazen violence, their arrogance in believing it was justified, their casual murder of Tanaka for money—it was unforgivable.
(I won't let them win!)
Gripping the black envelope in his pocket, he pulled it out and held it up.
"Hey!" he shouted.
"Huh?" The bald leader's eyes narrowed.
"This what you want? Take it!"
Miyuki flung the envelope like a boomerang. His gaze shifted, focusing on it. He seized the moment, his pupils flashing red.
A deafening boom echoed, flames erupting. The tattered soccer ball he'd touched earlier exploded at the bald leader's feet. He and his crew were blown back by the blast.
"Run, now!" Miyuki yelled to Kawahara, Kyuto, and Inaba, turning to flee.
The explosion had rattled the thugs, their encirclement faltering. His plan to sow chaos worked better than expected. All he had to do was break through—but the bald leader recovered faster than he'd imagined.
"What the hell did you do!?" he roared.
Despite the blast, he sprang up, charging at Miyuki with a raised hand. He dodged desperately—his touch meant instant freezing and death. His icy aura grazed his cheek as he evaded.
"I'll kill you!" he screamed, eyes bloodshot, forgetting the money in his rage. He swung wildly, but Miyuki, just as desperate, dodged his grasping hands.
In his frenzy, he grazed one of his own men. The thug froze and shattered like glass.
"Move, you idiots!" the bald leader bellowed. "Get out of my way!"
His crew scattered in panic, the scene descending into chaos with shouts and screams.
The thugs were likely Ghosts, but their Animus levels seemed low—none wielded powers like his Vice Blizzard. They relied on him, forming a gang under his protection. But even they feared his deadly touch, turning the area into a brawl.
The bald leader shoved his men aside, still targeting Miyuki. He weaved through the chaos, but the crowd slowed his escape.
A cold arm reached from behind.
He braced to be grabbed—then a navy blur flashed past.
(What?)
Miyuki glanced over.
A familiar uniform from his school days, a bright red ribbon at the chest.
"A sailor suit!?" he blurted, stunned by its absurdity here.
A girl in a sailor suit darted through the thugs, brushing past Miyuki. With gymnastic grace, she kicked off the ground, her skirt fluttering as she arced through the air. Long, flaxen hair swayed, tinged with a cinnamon hue.
Landing, she clamped her thighs around the bald leader's head, flipping him face-first into the ground.
"Gah!" he grunted as he hit the earth.
The girl somersaulted away, but he rose quickly.
"You bitch!" he snarled, lunging for her.
A flash of steel gleamed. His right hand flew off, severed, and thudded to the ground. Everyone froze, unable to process it.
Crimson blood sprayed like spilled paint.
"My… my hand!" the bald leader screamed, clutching his arm.
The girl held a Japanese sword—a wakizashi—its tip aimed at him. Miyuki's eyes, however, were drawn to her appearance.
(What… is that?)
Cinnamon-tinged flaxen hair, and atop her head—beast-like ears. Not quite cat ears, more like a dog or fox. They twitched slightly, no mere decoration. She looked middle-school-aged.
The girl stood silently, her poised yet youthful eyes fixed on the bald leader.
The scene fell quiet, save for his low groans. Kyuto, Inaba, Kawahara, and the thugs watched from a distance, their gazes a mix of shock and caution.
They seemed especially wary of the girl. Miyuki studied her, but the girl's focus remained on the bald leader, their eyes not meeting.
Silence tightened the air, freezing it.
"Hey, that's enough!" a carefree voice broke the tension, jarring in its cheer.
Miyuki turned. A man with striking red hair approached slowly, wearing a black rider's jacket and leather pants. Tall, leanly muscled, he carried himself with a flair rare for a Japanese man. His style could've seemed pretentious, but his slightly droopy eyes held a disarming charm.
Yet Miyuki felt uneasy. He exuded an oppressive aura, not just a passerby. (Who is he?)
He walked casually but dominated the scene. His lips smiled, but his eyes didn't. His thoughts were unreadable.
If he was a Ghost, he was trouble. Unlike the bald leader's overt hostility, this man's ambiguity was dangerous.
The thugs stirred, muttering, "Akagami…" and backing away, wary. Only the sailor-suited girl, the bald leader, Kawahara, Inaba, Kyuto, and Miyuki remained.
Akagami, unfazed by their reaction, strolled closer, his gaze briefly catching the fallen officers pinned by icicles. A flicker of sharpness crossed his droopy eyes.
(What was that?)
Anyone would flinch at the sight of downed officers, but his reaction felt deeper, though it vanished quickly—perhaps Miyuki's imagination.
He approached, smiling at the girl. "Yo, Shiro. Good work. You're done."
"Already, Ryusei? Boring," Shiro pouted, her beast ears twitching. Reluctantly, she sheathed her wakizashi.
"Akagami!" the bald leader—Sakamoto—staggered up, clutching his bleeding arm, glaring with a grimace.
Akagami crouched, meeting his eyes with a breezy tone, like chatting with a friend. "Sakamoto-chan, this is a problem. No newbie bullying here. You know the rules, right?"
"Shut up! Who do you think you are!?" Sakamoto snapped, his bravado clear but unconvincing, his resolve unyielding.
Akagami's smile widened, then vanished.
"You killed, didn't you? Want to be hunted?"
His friendly demeanor evaporated, replaced by cold, unyielding killing intent. Miyuki gasped, realizing the truth.
(He's the same…!)
Instinct screamed it. Friend or foe, Akagami was a predator like Sakamoto, wielding immense power—beyond any normal human.
Sakamoto paled, his skull tattoo trembling. His fear was obvious, yet pride as the gang's head kept him defiant, unwilling to look weak.
Then, the icicle-pinned officers stirred, groaning. Sakamoto's strained face twisted into a sneer. "Too bad, huh? The cops are alive. Both of 'em."
He chuckled, as if erasing his crimes. Miyuki's anger flared, and he shouted, "Liar! He killed another!"
Akagami raised an eyebrow, surprised. Sakamoto, spitting foam, roared, "What!? Got proof I killed anyone!?"
Miyuki bit his lip, realizing his point. He'd seen Sakamoto kill Tanaka, as had Inaba, Kawahara, and Kyuto. But Tanaka's body was dust—no evidence remained. Without a corpse, proving murder was near impossible.
Akagami, Sakamoto, and Miyuki locked eyes in silence, the air thick with tension. The others watched, breathless, waiting.