: the phantom of repercussions
Mangaka: Fidxair.
Artist: Nil.
Anime company :Jxst fxr.
There's a small bar at the edge of the worker district where the lights are always dim and the food is always half-warm.
That's my kind of place.
The owner, Devin, knows me better than anyone else in this city. He calls me "kid," even though I'm not sure when I stopped being one. His hands are rough from washing too many glasses, but his smile cuts through the gloom like a cigarette spark in the dark.
"Same thing as always, Ten?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say, sliding into my usual corner. "Whatever's cheap enough to regret later."
He laughs, sets down a bowl of soup that smells like metal and onions. I eat slowly, listening to the hum of tired men talking about lost jobs and unpaid rent. In places like this, dreams die before the bottles run empty.
---
On the wall near the counter, a torn poster flaps every time the door opens.
"FREE EDUCATION PROGRAM — APPLY IF YOU DARE TO CHANGE YOUR FATE."
I'd seen it for months but never cared.
Until now.
Maybe it was Isha's voice echoing in my head — Brains will save you more than fists.
Maybe it was the look the royals gave me back then, like I was something less.
Whatever it was, I wanted out.
The form wasn't free, though. Nothing ever is.
I worked night shifts carrying crates, cleaning alleyways, running messages for people who didn't bother to learn my name. Months passed, my hands blistered, my body ached, but each coin I saved felt like a small rebellion.
---
When I finally walked into the Application Office, I half-expected them to laugh.
An old man sat behind a wooden desk stacked with papers. His hair was white, but his eyes were sharp enough to see through lies.
He took my form, read it slowly, then looked up at me.
"You're from the lower district, aren't you?"
I nodded.
He sighed, tapping his pen. "You'll need more than grades, boy. You'll need grit. The others applying— they were born into power. You'll have to build yours."
"I don't mind building," I said. "I've been doing that my whole life."
That made him smile — just a little.
"Then go on," he said. "Surprise them."
He stamped my form. Application Received.
That sound felt heavier than any gunshot now I have to do the examination.
---
The walk home was quiet. The streets were thin with fog, the lamps flickering like they wanted to die. I was thinking about the future — for once, it didn't look so far away.
Then I heard footsteps.
Soft. Careful. Wrong.
I stopped.
Someone was following me.
When I turned, I saw him — a figure in a black coat, face covered, eyes cold.
"I've been told to remove you," he said calmly. "The rich don't like competition from the dirt."
He moved fast — too fast. The knife flashed before I could breathe. I dodged by instinct, the blade grazing my shoulder. The air burned as we crashed against the wall.
He was trained — smooth, efficient, no wasted motion.
I was just trying not to die.
I grabbed a broken pipe, swung, missed. He caught my wrist and pressed the knife to my throat.
"Any last words?"
I didn't answer. I just thought.
If I moved left, he'd cut my neck. Right, he'd stab my ribs. The only opening was—
I kicked his leg. Hard.
He stumbled.
I slammed my forehead into his mask, and the knife fell.
Before he could recover, I swung again — the pipe connected with his jaw. He hit the ground, dazed.
Then it happened.
The air around me thickened — smoky, heavy. My arms glowed faintly beneath the sleeves. The same fire from before — but calmer this time, colder. The smoke drifted toward him, and I watched as his strength faded. His eyes rolled back, his limbs trembling.
He gasped, terrified.
"What… what are you?"
I looked down at him. My heart was racing,I coughed blood again. Something else beat with it — a voice, faint and hollow, whispering from inside the smoke.
> "I am what you fear… and what you'll become."
I took the knife and sliced his throat.
The world tilted. The smoke curled around me like a shadow with a pulse.
A shape moved in it — tall, faceless, burning faintly red.
The Phantom.
I blinked, and it was gone.
Only the assassin lay there, dead , the street silent again.
---
I leaned against the wall, breathing hard, blood running down my arm. The old man's words echoed in my head — You'll need grit.
Guess I just proved him right.
But as I stared at my hands, the faint traces of smoke still dancing on my skin, I realized something worse than pain.
That thing in the smoke… it wasn't leaving it stared at me I started at him in fear.
It was awake. The phantom of repercussions.
---
🔥 End of Reap 3