Hikari no Kuro (Black of Light)
He was born into violence. Trained by sixteen. Forced to kill by seventeen.
By eighteen, Kuro did not inherit Tokyo’s underground. He absorbed it, until his silence ruled louder than screams.

For twenty years he wore a scar under his eye and blood on his knuckles. His father built a king; Kuro became a monster who believed he deserved no light.

Then he vanished. No war. No funeral. Just rain, a battered T9 phone, and a throne he abandoned only after making sure it would not collapse without him.

Hikari was never meant to meet him. She has spent her life learning how to disappear: shaking hands, hidden bruises, a breath that catches when men get too close. She does not believe in rescue. Only survival.

When violence corners her in a dead-end alley, Kuro sees her. Not a victim, not a ghost, but someone worth pulling back from the edge. Even if the calm he wears stops holding.

This is not a love story. It is a covenant written in bone and forty-three seconds of silence, between a woman who believes she is ash..., and the man who knows ash still burns.

Because even in the purest light...
a shadow always lingers.

! Content warning ! : violence, trauma themes, harassment.
Chapter-specific CWs provided.

CW:Graphic violence, blood, trauma themes, medical distress.


Tires ripped through the alley's silence. Two black SUVs skidded to a halt, doors flying open. Men in dark, tactical gear spilled out—silent, efficient, scanning the carnage. Hikari flinched, shielding Kuro with her body.


A man with sharp eyes, a grim mouth and a suit—Jin—barreled past the corpse, his gaze locking on Kuro and then Hikari.


The shot cracked through the alley—sharp, final. The ringing phone exploded into plastic shards against the wet bricks.


Jin whirled, pistol still raised—not at the corpse, but at Hikari. Cold. Assessing. 


His eyes were flint, voice taut with suspicion: "You called. Do you work for Hideo? Is this a setup? Answer."


The other men fanned out, weapons drawn, sealing the alley. Rain drummed on Kevlar vests.


Hikari shrank back, pressing herself against Kuro, shielding him instinctively. Tears blurred her vision. "N-no, I… He… needs h-help—"


Before Jin could react, a broken whisper cut through the rain: "Jin. Gun. Down."


All eyes snapped to Kuro. He'd forced his eyes open—slivers of crimson burning through the haze—and fixed Jin with a look that brooked no argument. Jin's weapon lowered instantly, his stern mask cracking into raw concern. "Boss…"


With a guttural groan, he braced a blood-slicked hand against the wet concrete and tried to push himself up from Hikari's lap. Muscles trembled violently. Broken ribs grated beneath torn skin. Fresh blood welled at his temple.


"Stop, Kuro!" Hikari cried, grabbing his shoulder. He felt terrifyingly cold.


Jin lunged forward. "Don't—!" His mask cracking for another time, he dropped to his knees beside Kuro, pressing a gloved hand firmly against Kuro's chest, forcing him still. "The ribs are shattered, Boss. You move, you puncture a lung." His voice was low, urgent, stripped of its earlier hardness.


Chapter 10 - 1.10 – Stubborn. As usual.