The neighbors had already rushed outside into the street. Some had heard Shura's screams. Others had already called the police.
Within minutes, patrol cars arrived. Red and blue lights flashed across the quiet Kawasaki neighborhood as officers began sealing the area with yellow tape.
An ambulance soon followed.
Not long after, a woman from Child Protective Services arrived.
She approached the group of neighbors where Shura sat wrapped in a thick gray blanket. His small body trembled, but his eyes were dry now. Empty.
The woman crouched down in front of him.
"Are you okay?"
Her voice sounded soft.
But the look in her eyes wasn't.
And Yomi noticed it immediately.
Don't answer.
Shura stared at the woman.
Why? he asked quietly inside his mind.
Because she doesn't feel anything.
Yomi's voice was calm.
I can sense it. To her, you're just… another case.
Shura looked at the woman for a few more seconds.
Then he said nothing.
That night, he didn't answer a single question.
Not from the police.
Not from the doctors.
Not from the social workers.
He simply sat there in silence.
The procedure was simple.
Shura Daigo would be placed in a state orphanage until he turned eighteen.
There was nothing he could do about it.
He was just a little boy in a world ruled by adults.
The nights were the worst.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again.
The living room.
The blood.
His parents.
But Yomi was always there.
Always talking.
Always distracting him.
Sometimes even making him laugh.
Even though, deep inside, Shura wasn't getting better at all.
Life in an orphanage was usually harsh.
But Shura's family had not been poor.
Or at least… what remained of it.
Because of that, Shura was placed in a special orphanage. One designed for children from more stable backgrounds.
Life there wasn't as brutal as other places.
Still…
It was never home.
One night, Shura woke up and walked quietly toward the bathroom.
The hallway was dark.
But a faint blue light flickered at the end of it.
A television.
Like any curious child, Shura slowly approached.
One of the night staff was sitting on a chair, watching the news.
Shura stopped just outside the doorway and listened.
"…Last week marked one year since the horrific murder in the Kawasaki district…"
Shura froze.
"…a child was left without parents in broad daylight, inside their own home…"
His throat tightened.
"…surveillance cameras captured the suspect, identified as Kenji Takasawa, a known serial killer responsible for several similar crimes."
Yomi whispered inside his mind.
That's him…
Suddenly, Shura could see the man's face clearly on the television screen.
The person who had taken everything from him.
The one who had made him more alone than he had ever been.
"Why…" Shura whispered.
But he had whispered a little too loudly.
The chair scraped across the floor.
"Shura?!"
The night assistant stood up immediately.
"What are you doing here? It's past your bedtime!"
Before Shura could react—
A slap struck his cheek.
The sound echoed through the hallway.
Shura didn't say anything.
He simply turned and walked back toward his room.
Behind him, the woman slowly covered her mouth.
"Oh God… what have I done?"
Her voice trembled.
"It's impossible… he must have heard everything…"
Tears ran down her face.
And in the dark hallway…
A single tear quietly slid down Shura's cheek as well.
Years passed.
At some point, Shura ran away from the orphanage.
The streets became his new home.
By the age of fifteen, he had begun fighting in illegal boxing matches in the suburbs.
People quickly noticed his talent.
He wasn't particularly strong.
But he was fast.
Extremely fast.
Agile.
Precise.
The fights were brutal.
Often rigged.
Referees could be bribed easily.
Money controlled everything.
Bruises over bruises.
Blood over blood.
Shura was no longer the quiet, timid boy from before.
He had become a fighter.
And Yomi…
Yomi was still with him.
Inside a dim underground ring, two fighters circled each other.
The crowd shouted wildly.
Shura's opponent was tough.
The match was close.
Very close.
The bell rang.
Break.
Shura sat on a stool.
Someone pressed a cold towel against his neck.
He removed his mouthguard.
Yomi spoke calmly.
You need to break him in the second round.
He's good.
Shura smirked slightly.
"You don't have any better advice than that, Yomi?"
Just then, his trainer approached.
A greasy, second-rate hustler.
"You're losing this fight."
Shura looked up slowly.
"What did you say?"
The timid child from years ago was completely gone.
His eyes were cold.
The fight resumed.
Moments later—
Shura was knocked out.
He lost.
Later, inside the trainer's office.
"That was your last fight," Shura said coldly.
The man shrugged.
"I'm a man of my word."
He placed a stack of money on the desk.
"Here."
Then he slid a small piece of paper toward him.
Shura picked it up.
Over the years, Yomi had changed too.
He was no longer the harmless imaginary friend from childhood.
Something darker surrounded him now.
Almost monstrous.
Shura opened the paper.
A name.
Kenji Takasawa.
And an address.
The following night.
A dimly lit street.
A hooded boy approached an old man walking alone.
Without warning—
Shura struck.
One precise punch.
The man collapsed instantly, like someone hit by a professional boxer.
The streetlight flickered.
For the first time, the old man saw his attacker's face.
"…So revenge finally found me in old age," the old man said quietly.
Shura stared down at him.
Hatred.
Disgust.
Silence.
Then Yomi spoke.
Do it.
Shura obeyed.
Punch after punch.
Blood after blood.
The old man didn't resist.
He already knew.
There was no escape.
Eventually…
His breathing stopped.
Yomi spoke again.
"We're done."
Shura stood there, breathing heavily.
He looked up at the star-filled sky.
His fists were covered in blood.
He clenched them tightly.
"That's right."
His voice was low.
"From today onward… there will be no more blood."
"I will never cause something like this again."
Back in the present.
Shura sat at the poker table across from Ren.
But the sight of blood…
Had driven both him—
And Yomi—
Completely mad