The night slid over the temple like a shroud of thick smoke. From the hilltop, Miyako watched the place with a mixture of caution and curiosity. The traditional architecture rose imposing among the trees: curved roofs, red columns, and a perimeter wall guarded by stone statues. The breeze carried the scent of incense and the dampness of freshly watered earth. Everything seemed calm—too calm.
"Nice place to kill a hero," she murmured with a smile no one could see.
She activated her invisibility. Her body faded like a shadow dissolving into darkness. She walked through the bamboo that flanked the main entrance. Each step barely cracked over the dried leaves. Her breathing blended with the whisper of the wind.
The gate stood ajar. Miyako pushed it with a light touch, and the wood's creak shattered the temple's sacred hush. She paused for a few seconds, making sure no one had heard. Then she entered.
Inside, the air felt different. Heavy, full of discipline and calm. She heard the rhythmic thud of bamboo swords, the dry orders of instructors, and the panting of apprentices.
She followed the sound, moving quietly through the stone corridor. To her left, a group of disciples practised katas with millimetre precision. Each movement was clean, measured, almost mechanical.
"Nice little robots," she whispered softly, amused.
A master passed by her, his kimono brushing the floor. His hands were clasped behind his back, watching the youngsters with severe eyes. Miyako mocked him in silence, making invisible gestures: "Left, right, strike the air… what an awful discipline."
Her gaze kept moving, seeking a figure distinct, more imposing, more lethal: Kanzō, the blind Z-Rank hero. But there was no sign of him. Only the echoes of training and the smell of sweat mingled with incense.
She passed through the main dojo, careful not to stumble on the tatami mats. Every corner glowed under dim lanterns, making the students' sweat gleam like wax figures.
In one corner, a boy practised alone, repeating the same cut over and over. Miyako stopped to watch. He frowned, jaw clenched, arms trembling. "That's dedication or fear," she thought. Then, quietly: "I'll bet it's fear."
She kept going, passing another room where an instructor corrected a female pupil's stance. "Heroes teach control… while they destroy everything else," she whispered. Her voice barely more than a sigh, though her mind roiled.
Tension built in her chest. She didn't know whether it was excitement or rage. Maybe both. She remembered Katsuo's face for a moment. "Imagine that, Katsuo? Me here, among monk-swordsmen, hunting a man who can't see… yet could kill me without blinking."
She carried on. A group of apprentices walked past her, chatting and laughing. One of them said:"The master Kanzō defeated three criminals without lifting a foot.""Yeah, but they say he can't see anything. How does he manage?""They say he listens to breathing, to footsteps, to the wind… that he feels everything."
Miyako smiled to herself. "Then I'll have to stop breathing when I meet him."
The corridor ended at a sliding door. She pushed it slowly and found herself in an inner garden. The contrast was almost poetic: after the clamour of the training rooms, this garden's silence seemed eternal. Only the soft murmur of water filled the air.
Lanterns hung from the trees, white petals floated on the pond. The moon's reflection fractured on the surface. Miyako walked slowly, still invisible, marveling in her own way.
"Beautiful… too beautiful for an assassin with the title of hero."
She passed a small stone statue. At its base was a carved inscription: 'Sight is not in the eyes, but in the soul'. Miyako read it quietly, letting out an ironic laugh. "What a calendar quote."
She continued her inspection, but found no trace of Kanzō. Her patience was beginning to fray."Where the hell are you hiding, blind hero?" she murmured.
Her voice echoed between the temple walls, returning to her with a mocking tone.
Frustration started to show in her movements. She turned down a side corridor and pushed another door, which led to a more secluded area. On exit, she noticed the immediate change: the air was cooler, the vegetation denser. A rear garden, less maintained, covered in fallen leaves.
In the distance, the sound of a fountain cut the silence. Miyako walked toward it, scanning her surroundings with caution. It was obvious this was a place unseen by visitors."If I were an arrogant hero, I'd hide right here," she thought.
She proceeded until the bushes parted. On the other side of a hedge, a new courtyard—smaller, but better lit—came into view. And there, finally, she saw him.
Kanzō.
He stood in the centre of the garden, blindfolded with a black strip. His posture was calm, firm. Before him, two young men held wooden swords. Miyako froze, watching how the hero moved with a precision that defied all logic.
Her smile returned, slow, sharp."There you are… Z-Rank."
The wind ruffled her invisible coat. The pupils attacked Kanzō, and he responded with near-impossible elegance. Miyako couldn't take her eyes off him.
And in that moment, she knew: this meeting would not be like the others.
Her tone was mocking, but her eyes—though unseen—reflected something else: focus. Every time one of the pupils struck, Kanzō responded half a second before impact. His breathing was slow, his rhythm constant—as if he counted the pulses of those around.
One of the pupils puffed, frustrated."Master! I can't even touch him. It's impossible."
Kanzō tilted his head, and a nearly paternal smile played on his lips."If you rely on your eyes, you will always be a prisoner of fear," he said. He took a step forward and lifted his sword calmly. "Sight only shows you what stands before you, not what truly happens."
The other pupil mirrored his stance, trying to copy his position."So what am I supposed to do, Master? Fight with my eyes closed?""Exactly," replied Kanzō, without hesitation.
From her hiding place, Miyako chuckled softly."How poetic. Shame that with closed eyes everyone ends the same."
The younger boy obeyed, squeezing his eyelids shut. He advanced confidently, but his attack was clumsy. Kanzō turned slightly, touched his shoulder, and the boy collapsed with a brief moan. Without violence, without effort."The sound of your breathing betrayed you," the hero told him quietly. "Learn to listen more than to think."
The boy stood, frustrated, while his companion snickered."That's it for today," Kanzō said, lowering his sword. "Return to the dojo. The body learns when the soul rests."
They both bowed respectfully."Thank you, Maestro."
They left. One still complaining of the shoulder blow, the other joking about his clumsiness. They passed so close to Miyako she could smell their sweat and damp clothing.She followed them with her eyes, invisible, lips curving slowly."What an easy kill they'd make…" she whispered with sick delight. "One… two… and the hero stands alone."
But she did not act. Not yet.
Her attention shifted back to Kanzō, who remained motionless in the garden's centre. His sword rested on the ground, rain streaming down the wooden blade. He didn't seem tired. He didn't seem alert. He simply… was.
Miyako studied him intently. Her mind analysed every detail: how his feet barely shifted, how his breathing matched the wind's rhythm, the absolute stillness of his face. This wasn't just skill; it was something deeper. A connection with the environment that disarmed her."He doesn't 'see', I thought, he feels. He feels everything."
For the first time in a long time, Miyako did not laugh. She had faced impulsive heroes before, arrogant ones who threw themselves at death. Kanzō was not like that. He was pure calm. A wall of silence.
Her inner voice whispered:"Katsuo… this one would be a worthy rival of yours."
A thunderclap rolled in the distance, lighting the scene for an instant. Kanzō lifted his face to the sky, as though he heard the lightning before anyone else. His expression was serene, almost meditative.
Miyako, on the other hand, leaned against a bamboo trunk, her fingers tightening around the cold metal of her submachine gun."Let's see how long your calm lasts when it starts to bleed," she murmured, letting her rage resurface.
The hero drew a deep breath, inclined his head and rested both hands on his sword's hilt. He appeared to pray. The rain dripped onto his hair and clothes, soaking him. He didn't even move to shield himself.
Miyako took a step forward, invisible, measuring the distance. Every fibre of her body vibrated with the tension of the moment. But she did not fire. Not yet. There was something in Kanzō's stillness that held her back—a strange respect disguised as curiosity."Blind, old and calm…" she whispered. "If I kill you quickly, it would be a waste."
The wind gusted, causing the bamboo stalks to clatter like hollow bells. Kanzō remained still, as though the noise were part of his breath.
Miyako observed him closely, trying to detect a pattern, a flaw. She found nothing. He was perfect in his imperfection. And that irritated her."You're starting to annoy me," she said, letting out a twisted smile.
The hero stayed unmoved. But for a second, Miyako felt his head turn slightly—as though he'd heard her. She tensed. The air grew denser, the silence deeper.Then Kanzō returned his head to its original position.
Miyako held her breath. It had been only a coincidence. Or so she'd like to believe.
They stood like that—both still—separated by just a few metres and a world of opposing intentions.
The last lantern in the garden flickered, and the sound of rain joined the distant murmur of training inside the temple.
The blind hero, motionless under the downpour, seemed a living statue. The invisible assassin, trembling with excitement and tension, seemed a shadow waiting for her moment.
Two distinct presences, one single silence.
Miyako raised her weapon—though she had not yet aimed."I see you, even though you cannot," she murmured.
The wind responded with a deep exhale, tossing her coat.
And so the scene remained: Kanzō in absolute calm, his sword resting on the ground, his soul open to the wind; Miyako, invisible among the bamboo, preparing her first move of the hunt.
The air smelled of storm. Something was about to break.The duel, though not yet begun, had already started in their breaths.
The wind ceased. Only the sound of rain beating the lanterns and the murmur of bamboo swaying. Kanzō remained in the centre of the garden, still, sword planted in the ground. But his expression changed. Just a slight tilt of the chin, a subtle gesture… enough to make Miyako tense."Whoever hides," he said in a low but tranquil voice, "stop hiding. We are alone."
The words dropped like stones in the silence. Miyako clenched her teeth, startled for a moment. Then she composed herself and smiled."For a blind man, you're quite sharp," she retorted, letting sarcasm soften her discomfort.
Kanzō didn't move."I do not need eyes to feel an assassin's intent," he replied.
The rain intensified, marking the moment's pulse. Miyako inhaled deeply, and her body materialised before him. Her figure emerged from the air like a shadow gaining weight and shape. First the outline, then the blue gaze that shone beneath the lantern."Well," she said, crossing her arms, "I suppose no more pretending."
Kanzō slightly bowed his head towards her, though his eyes remained hidden under the blindfold."No," he answered. "Not any more."
For a few seconds neither spoke. They studied each other without movement. Miyako with a twisted smile; Kanzō with the impossible calm of another world.
She was the first to break the silence."It'll be sad to see your students' faces when I kill you," she whispered, almost amused.
Kanzō tilted his head, and for a moment his expression seemed compassionate."You are the woman the heroes speak of," he said in a neutral tone, neither blame nor fear.
Miyako lifted an eyebrow, intrigued."Oh? So I'm famous at last. I wonder what they say about me."
"They say," he replied, with a note of bitterness, "that you killed Isamu. That you left Crimson Spark alive only so he'd suffer."
Miyako laughed, a sound mixing pleasure and madness."Indeed. I guess I'm a legend now."
Kanzō raised his head slowly to the sky. The rain dripped down his blindfold."What a waste," he murmured.
"A waste?" she echoed, offended. "I give meaning to this rotten world. Heroes kill for fame; I do it because at least I don't lie about it."
"No, Miyako," Kanzō countered, using her name though she hadn't spoken it yet. "You kill because you don't know what else to do with your pain."
That unsettled her. For a moment her smile wavered. Then she regained it, more forced."Tsk. You're quick to play the shrink, old man."
Kanzō stayed serene. He took a step forward and grasped his sword. The metal glowed under the rain."Tell me your name," he demanded softly. "I want to know whom I send into silence."
She raised her chin, proud."Miyako. The woman who will assassinate a Z-Rank."
Kanzō nodded slightly, without arrogance."Then, Miyako… your legacy ends here."
"Is that so?" she retorted, smiling through gritted teeth. "I hope your ears are ready to hear how your death sounds."
He rotated his sword gently, assuming stance. There was no tension in his muscles, no fear. Only determination."I do not fear the end," he said calmly. "But I fear what your soul has become."
"And I should feel guilty then?" she asked, preparing her weapon as her coat flared in the wind.
"No. You should only feel alive," Kanzō replied.
A long silence wrapped them. The lanterns flickered; the air was thick with electricity. Miyako squeezed the trigger without firing yet. Kanzō breathed calmly, sword slightly tilted forward.
It was the prelude to something inevitable.
Rain droplets fell between them, separating them into two worlds: one of fire, the other of stillness.
Miyako stepped forward, smiling again, though her eyes trembled with restrained rage. Kanzō made no move backward.
In that instant, the universe seemed to hold its breath.
Two presences. Two souls opposed. Light and shadow. Silence and noise.
The blind hero and the invisible assassin stared at each other without eyes……and the world held its breath.