Chapter 4: The Five of Spades
The wind howled through the skeletal remains of the construction site in Shinjuku. It was a half-finished skyscraper, a monument to a future that would never arrive. Steel girders jutted out like rib cages against the purple-bruised sky, and the yellow safety tarps snapped violently in the gale.
Renji Kurosaki stood at the base of the tower, his hands deep in the pockets of his navy jacket. He looked up, his neck craning slightly to take in the vertiginous height.
"Structure integrity: compromised," he noted, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Visibility: poor. Verticality: significant."
He checked the phone he had registered.
GAME VENUE: SHINJUKU TOWER.
REGISTRATION CLOSES IN 5 MINUTES.
Around him, other players were gathering. There were seven of them. They looked like the dregs of the apocalypse—soiled clothes, makeshift weapons, eyes darting with the frantic paranoia of prey animals. A salaryman clutching a golf club. A young woman with a kitchen knife taped to her hand. A pair of high schoolers shivering in their uniforms.
They looked at Renji with a mixture of suspicion and confusion. He was too clean. Too calm. His white hair, unruffled by the wind, seemed to catch the moonlight, giving him an ethereal, ghostly appearance. He stood apart from them, not out of fear, but out of a distinct sense of hierarchy. He was the apex; they were the variables.
"Hey," the salaryman barked, pointing his golf club at Renji. "You. You got a weapon? You look like you're going to a fashion show."
Renji slowly turned his head. The black sunglasses hid his eyes, but the force of his gaze was palpable. He smiled—a small, pitying curve of the lips.
"A weapon implies I fear what's inside," Renji said smoothy. "I'm just here for the cardio."
The salaryman scowled, spitting on the ground. "Cocky prick. You'll be the first to die."
The phone in Renji's hand buzzed.
REGISTRATION CLOSED.
DIFFICULTY: FIVE OF SPADES.
GAME: TAG.
RULE: ESCAPE THE HUNTER. CLIMB TO THE ROOF WITHIN 20 MINUTES. THE ELEVATORS ARE DISABLED.
GAME START.
A heavy metallic thud echoed from the darkness of the ground floor garage entrance. Then came the sound of an engine revving—a chainsaw? No. A modified, rapid-fire nail gun.
"Run!" the high school boy screamed.
The group scrambled toward the stairwell, pushing and shoving. The salaryman used his club to trip the woman, scrambling over her to get ahead. It was a pathetic display of human nature stripped of its veneer.
Renji didn't move. He stood in the center of the concrete lobby, waiting.
"Panic wastes oxygen," he whispered to himself. Heart rate: 65 BPM. Adrenaline secretion: minimal.
From the shadows, the Hunter emerged.
It was a hulking figure, easily seven feet tall, clad in heavy riot gear and wearing a horse mask that was stained with dried blood. In its hands was a heavy-duty pneumatic nail driver hooked up to a compressor tank strapped to its back.
The Hunter saw the fleeing group and raised the weapon. Thwip-thwip-thwip. Three-inch steel nails shattered the concrete near the stairs, sending the players screaming upward.
Then, the horse mask turned toward Renji.
Renji stood motionless, hands still in his pockets. He tilted his head.
"A horse?" Renji scoffed, channeling Gojo's boundless arrogance. "A bit cliché for a Five, don't you think? I was hoping for a tiger."
The Hunter didn't respond. It raised the nail gun.
Renji's world slowed down.
This was the White Room processing power kicking in. He analyzed the Hunter's posture. The slight dip of the right shoulder. The tension in the trigger finger. The angle of the barrel.
Distance: 12 meters. Projectile velocity: approx. 400 meters per second. Reaction time required: 0.03 seconds.
To a normal human, dodging a nail fired at that speed was impossible. But Renji didn't react to the nail. He reacted to the intent.
Before the Hunter's finger fully depressed the trigger, Renji shifted. He didn't jump or dive. He simply leaned his upper body to the left, a fluid motion like water flowing around a stone.
Thwip.
The steel nail whizzed past his right ear, burying itself in the concrete pillar behind him with a dull crunch. A lock of white hair fluttered in the displaced air.
Renji grinned. The thrill of it—the proximity to death—sent a jolt of electricity through his nervous system. It was better than any video game.
"You missed," Renji taunted. "Try again."
The Hunter roared, a muffled, animalistic sound, and unleashed a barrage.
Thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip.
Renji began to walk forward.
He moved through the storm of steel with an elegance that defied logic. He sidestepped. He ducked. He pirouetted. Every movement was minimal, efficient, calculated to the millimeter. He was the "Infinity" made flesh—not stopping the attacks, but existing in the spaces where the attacks were not.
To the unseen observers watching through the cameras, it looked like the nails were passing through him.
"Is that... is that all?" Renji asked, now only five meters away.
The Hunter panic-fired, the compressor whining.
Renji closed the distance. He removed his right hand from his pocket.
"Physics lesson," Renji said, his voice cold. "Force equals mass times acceleration."
He stepped inside the Hunter's guard. The riot gear was thick, designed to stop bullets and blades. But armor had joints. Armor had weak points.
Renji didn't punch the chest plate. He struck the Hunter's wrist—the one holding the gun—with a precise, chopping blow to the radial nerve.
Crack.
The Hunter dropped the gun, howling in pain.
Renji didn't stop. He flowed into a low sweep, kicking the Hunter's knee backward, shattering the joint. As the giant crumbled, Renji spun, delivering a roundhouse kick to the side of the horse mask.
The impact was thunderous. The mask caved in. The Hunter was launched sideways, crashing into a stack of drywall sheets, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Renji stood over the fallen beast, adjusting his collar. He wasn't even out of breath.
"Five of Spades," Renji muttered, looking down at the unconscious figure. "Disappointing."
He didn't bother climbing to the roof. He knew the rules. Escape the Hunter. The Hunter was incapacitated. The game was effectively neutralized.
He turned to leave, but then he stopped.
Slow clapping echoed from the shadows of the stairwell.
Renji turned his head.
Two men stepped out. One was a wiry man with tattoos covering his face and a katana slung over his shoulder—Last Boss. The other was a mountain of muscle with a shaved head and a scar running down his face, wearing a military fatigue jacket.
Aguni Morizono.
The Military Leader of the Beach.
This was the Butterfly Effect. In the original story, Aguni wouldn't be scouting a low-level Spades game. But Renji's arrival, the anomaly of a player clearing the Three of Clubs so efficiently, had perhaps triggered a more aggressive scouting protocol. Or perhaps it was just fate.
" impressive," Aguni rumbled. His voice was like gravel grinding together. "You took down a Type-2 Enforcer with bare hands. No weapon."
Last Boss giggled, his hand twitching near the hilt of his sword. "He moves funny. Like a ghost. Can I cut him, Boss? Can I?"
Renji turned fully to face them. He didn't look intimidated. In fact, he looked bored.
"And here I thought the zoo was closed," Renji quipped, eyeing Last Boss. "A horse, and now a bald eagle and a... lizard?"
Aguni's eyes narrowed. The air tension spiked. "You have a mouth on you, kid. Who are you?"
"Zero," Renji said.
"Zero," Aguni repeated. "We are the Beach. We control the cards. We control the city. You're strong. Join us."
It wasn't a request. It was a conscription.
Renji laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. "Join you? You misunderstand the food chain, Aguni."
Renji took a step forward, removing his sunglasses. The blue eyes locked onto Aguni's dark ones. For a split second, Aguni—a man who had seen war, who had killed countless men—felt a chill run down his spine. He saw something in Renji's eyes that he hadn't seen in a long time.
Absolute, unshakeable confidence.
"I don't join factions," Renji said softly. "I create them. Or I dismantle them."
Last Boss hissed and drew his katana. "He's mocking us! Die!"
He charged. Last Boss was fast—much faster than the Hunter. His blade was a blur of steel aiming for Renji's neck.
Aguni didn't stop him. He wanted to see. Is he real?
Renji didn't move his feet. He watched the blade arc.
Blade length: 70cm. Angle of incidence: 45 degrees. Speed: Substantial.
Renji raised his left hand. He didn't try to block the blade. He slapped the flat side of the sword mid-swing.
Clang.
The parry was perfect. The force redirected the blade into the concrete floor, sparking wildly.
Before Last Boss could recover, Renji's right hand was already gripping the man's face. He palmed Last Boss's entire visage, lifting the tattooed man off the ground with one arm.
"Weak," Renji whispered.
He threw Last Boss backward. The swordsman flew ten feet, crashing into Aguni, who caught him with a grunt of annoyance.
Renji stood there, one hand raised, looking at his palm.
"Tell the Hatter," Renji said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming the voice of the Administrator he aimed to be. "Tell him that a guest is coming. And he better have the best whiskey ready."
Aguni stared at him. He shoved Last Boss aside. For a moment, it looked like Aguni would charge. The two monsters stared each other down, the air crackling with violence.
Then, Aguni smirked. A terrifying expression.
"Zero," Aguni grunted. "I'll remember that name."
He turned and walked away, dragging a dazed Last Boss with him.
Renji watched them go. Once they were gone, he let out a breath he had been holding. Not of fear, but of anticipation.
Aguni Morizono. Strength: High. Tactical acumen: High. Emotional stability: Volatile.
Renji put his sunglasses back on.
"The variables are changing," he analyzed. "Meeting the final boss of the first arc this early... the difficulty curve just spiked."
He looked at the Five of Spades card lying next to the unconscious Hunter. He picked it up.
"Good," Renji smiled, walking out into the wind. "I hate easy games."
(To be Continued)