The night felt heavy. Soft moonlight slipped through the window, spilling across the bed where a little girl slept, no older than eight. Her chest rose and fell gently, the pale glow resting on her innocent face.
Hikaru stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a pink shirt and blue pants. He walked to the window and looked up at the sky.
"I can't let them harm Mina and Sarah."
The thought tightened in his chest. He turned back toward the bed, watching his sister Mina sleep peacefully, unaware of the danger closing in.
As the night passed, Hikaru's fear for Mina—his sister—and Sarah—his girlfriend....only grew heavier
The next morning, soft sunlight washed over the airport as people moved in and out in steady streams. Taxi drivers called out, trying to catch attention. The air was filled with the fresh smell of food drifting from the nearby stalls.
Hikaru sat at a table in front of the food court with Mina beside him. Hikaru was wearing his usual black hoodie and cargo and blue slippers while Mina was wearing a red shirt and track pants with shoes.
"Hey, brother, why are we here?" Mina asked, her face full of innocence.
Hikaru replied in his usual calm tone.
"You and Sarah are going on a vacation with Uncle Rio."
Mina tilted her head, curiosity flashing in her eyes.
"But brother, what about you?"
"I won't be coming," Hikaru said. "I have some urgent work"
Before Mina could ask anything else, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Hey, Mina! Over here!"
She turned around and spotted two people walking toward them. It was Sarah—a beautiful woman with diamond-like blue eyes that stood out immediately. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and she wore a pink shirt, blue jeans, and black shoes.
Beside Sarah walked another man, slightly older, no more than thirty-two. He wore a white button-up shirt, black half pants, and slippers. His expression was calm, almost mischievous. White hair was tied into a small bun, a few loose strands falling over his forehead as he carried a piece of luggage.
As they reached Hikaru, Sarah immediately lowered herself and hugged Mina tightly. A bright smile spread across her face, happiness clear in her eyes.
"Oh, Mina, I missed you so much."
"Me too, Sarah," Mina replied, her excitement obvious as she hugged her back.
"Oh, so you didn't miss Uncle Rio?" Rio said, putting on an exaggerated sad expression.
It's not like that," Mina said quickly. "I missed you too, Uncle."
"Well then," Rio said, grinning, "here's a gift for my little girl." He pulled out a chocolate bar and handed it to Mina. Her eyes lit up as she took it.
"You're spoiling her," Hikaru said.
"A little spoiling is okay," Rio replied.
Sarah turned to Hikaru, curiosity in her voice.
"Hey, why did you suddenly plan this trip?"
Hikaru answered calmly, "Ithought I never gave you a proper gift. A surprise felt better."
Sarah studied his face, concern slipping into her tone.
"Is everything okay, Hikaru?"
"Yes," he said quickly. "Nothing like that."
An announcement echoed through the terminal, informing passengers that the plane would depart in thirty minutes and asking them to proceed to their respective gates.
Mina, Sarah, and Rio headed toward the plane, waving a final goodbye to Hikaru as they disappeared into the crowd.
As the afternoon rose, the city grew busier. People crowded the streets now, footsteps quicker, voices louder, the world settling into its rhythm.
Somewhere inside the city, a traditional restaurant—once known for its calm—felt strained. Customers sat irritated, their glances sharp, patience thinning.
On the floor near one corner, a man sat cross-legged, drinking from a bowl of soup with loud slurps that cut through the quiet. He wore a green shirt, black pants, and slippers,on top of the shirt he wore black overcoat. His face remained hidden beneath the shadow of a low-brimmed hat. Beside him lay a guitar, resting against the wooden floor.
As the customers grew increasingly irritated, the owner of the restaurant finally stepped out.
He walked toward the man sitting on the floor, irritation clear on his face.
"Hey, mister. I've warned you many times—stop slurping like that."
The man didn't respond.
Rage crept over the owner's expression as he reached forward, hand closing in, about to grab the man by the collar.
BURST!
The owner's head exploded violently—his body left standing for a brief, unreal moment. The guitar was now resting against the man's shoulder. Blood dripped slowly from the body of it. The swing had been too fast for anyone to perceive.
Panic erupted.
People screamed. Some stumbled back in horror, others gagged and vomited, frozen in shock.
Thud.
The headless body collapsed onto the floor. Blood spread across the wood, seeping into the gaps as the room drowned in silence and terror.
Even in the chaos, the man sat peacefully, slurping his soup as if nothing had happened. Screams echoed around him, footsteps scrambling, bodies colliding—but he remained still.
His phone rang.
He took it out calmly. From the other side of the call, came a composed voice, steady and measured, like that of someone wise and experienced.
"Hey, Deva. Can you do it? Remember, he's not a small player."
Deva took another sip before answering.
"Don't worry. I'll handle it. Just get the payment ready."
He ended the call and returned to his soup, unbothered, as blood continued to pool across the floor.