As the afternoon sun hung high, the world grew busier—roads clogged with traffic, crowds filling the market. Somewhere along the road, Hikaru drove his van, focused on his deliveries, eyes steady on the lane ahead as vehicles moved in the same direction.
Then he noticed something wrong.
A lone figure walked down the middle of the road, moving against the flow of traffic. He wore a green shirt, black pants, slippers, and an overcoat. A low-brimmed hat cast his face in shadow. A guitar hung across his back. His hands were buried in his pockets, head lowered.
The walk felt wrong….Predatory.
It was Deva.
As Hikaru processed what he was seeing, his eyes suddenly widened in shock. The figure that had been far ahead was now on the bonnet of the moving van—crouched low, perfectly balanced, unmoving despite the speed.
"He… he's fast… no—" Hikaru's thoughts turned heavy. "It's not him. I'm the one who's grown weak after all these years of retirement."
Tension thickened the air. Hikaru and Deva locked eyes. Though surprise burned through him, Hikaru's face remained calm, betraying nothing as the van continued forward.
As Deva reached for the head of the guitar, the van's windshield shattered. A hand shot through the broken glass and clamped onto Deva's face. The grip felt like a hydraulic crusher.
Hikaru held him firm.
With a powerful leap, Hikaru launched into the air, Deva's face still trapped in his grasp. Wind tore past them as they rose. Then Hikaru twisted and hurled Deva downward.
Deva slammed into the road.
The impact cracked the asphalt, spiderweb fractures ripping outward as dust and debris burst into the air. Hikaru landed moments later, steady and controlled.
Behind them, the van swerved without a driver, lost control, and flipped across the road, metal screeching as it rolled.
Hikaru's eyes stayed locked on the screen of smoke and dust in front of him, searching for Deva.
Before he could react—before he could even realize—Deva was already in front of Hikaru taking his move.
The guitar swung horizontally, smashing into Hikaru's chest. The impact sent him flying, his body crashing into a moving truck with a violent shockwave.
The truck screeched to a halt due to the impact.
Hikaru dropped to one knee, breath torn from his lungs. His eyes widened as blood spilled from his mouth.
"I can't breathe…. what a monster," he thought.
The truck driver stumbled out, panic etched across his face, and ran without looking back.
Deva began walking toward the barely rising Hikaru. Deva's thoughts were calm….measured. "This will be my last contract."
His brown eyes didn't blink, fixed entirely on Hikaru.
The vehicles on the road continued moving, oblivious to the chaos. The world around them surged with motion, but the destruction and tension between the two men dominated everything in sight.
As the hostility rose, Hikaru noticed a school bus behind Deva, moving straight toward them from the other carriageway.
Deva lifted his guitar to finish it.
The weapon came down in a vertical strike—but Hikaru wasn't there.
The guitar slammed into the road, creating a crack on the asphalt.
For the first time, Deva's blank expression cracked with surprise. He looked front just in time to see the school bus passing by, continuing down the road.
"You can't run, Hikaru…" Deva said quietly, his face returning to its unreadable calm.
Inside the moving bus, teachers and students stared at a single figure seated at the back.
It was Hikaru.
His breathing was heavy, uneven. Blood dripped slowly from his lips as he leaned back against the seat.
"Don't stop the bus," Hikaru said, his voice strained. His body felt heavy, his breath growing thinner with each second.
"Here, take this handkerchief, mister. You're bleeding. Wipe it."
A small boy stood in front of Hikaru, holding out a neatly folded handkerchief in his soft, trembling hands—innocent, unaware of what Hikaru had just escaped.
Hikaru accepted it, pressing it lightly to his lips.
"Thanks, kid," he said, a faint smile tugging at his face.
As the bus moved on, somewhere else in the city, another threat was about to erupt, a massive office building loomed beside the roadside—the communication and command center of S.A.O. People moved past it constantly, crossing the street, unaware of its true purpose.
"Don't be so brutal, okay?" a young man said in a soft, teasing voice
Beside him walked his sister. They looked no older than twenty-two and eighteen.
They continued along the roadside. The girl wore a pink crop top, black cargo pants, and boots. Blue headphones rested around her neck. Her eyes glinted under the afternoon sun, and her long pink hair tied to a ponytail, the hair reflected the light as she walked.
Her brother was dressed entirely in black—a hoodie, cargo pants, and boots,his hairs spikey and swept back with few strands cover his forehead. A metal baseball bat rested loosely in his hand. His expression was calm, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
As they reached the gate of the building, two guards stepped forward, blocking their path.
"Are you a client?" one of them asked. "Showme your invitation data."
The brother smiled casually.
"I wonder," he said, tilting his head slightly, "I'm not a client."
Before the guard who questioned them could speak another word, a thin red line appeared across his throat.
Blood burst out a heartbeat later.
The sister stood there calmly, a CD held between her fingers. She had already moved. The cut had been too fast to register.
"Hey, what did you d—"
The second guard never finished.
His vision blurred as a sudden, crushing pain tore through his stomach. The brother was already behind him. In a single, overwhelming strike, he ripped through the guard's waist. The force was so violent that the lower half of the body burst apart, flesh and blood exploding outward.
Both guards collapsed to the ground.
Dead.
The gate stood open, silent, as if nothing had happened.
They entered the building….
Behind them, people panicked—running in every direction, some screaming, others frozen in terror, unable to process what they had just witnessed. Chaos swallowed the street.