Episode1

Rain always seemed heavier in this part of the city, as if the sky knew exactly how much blood the streets had swallowed. It was a Tuesday evening — ordinary enough to be forgettable — and I was closing up the small bookstore I’d inherited from my mother.

I had the radio playing softly, a string of old jazz melodies wrapping the empty shop in a warm haze. My little sister, Rika, sat at the counter, chin in hand, sketching something in her worn notebook. She always drew in silence when she was anxious, though she’d never admit it.

“Almost done,” I called over, sliding the last stack of books onto the shelf. “You’ll be home in twenty minutes.”

Her pencil paused. “Kaito… did you see that car?”

I turned toward the window. A black sedan sat idling across the street, tinted windows reflecting the golden streetlamps. It wasn’t unusual in the city, but there was something wrong about the way it hadn’t moved for the last hour.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Close the shop. Leave. Now.

I frowned. “Spam,” I muttered, tucking the phone away — but then, the sound of tires screeching tore through the street.

Another car, a dark SUV, swerved and stopped right outside the store. The passenger door flew open. A man stepped out. Tall, broad-shouldered, black coat flaring in the wind. His dark hair was slicked back, his eyes cold steel even under the flicker of the lamplight.

And I knew that face.

“Renji…” I whispered.

Renji Saito. My father’s right hand. The shadow in every family photograph. The man who vanished from my life the night my father died, eleven years ago.

He didn’t knock. He pushed the shop door open with enough force for the bell to clang violently.

“Kaito,” he said, his deep voice slicing through the space like a blade. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Rika froze, her wide eyes darting between us. “Who—?”

The glass exploded before she could finish. Bullets tore through the front window, splintering wood, shattering shelves. I dove over the counter, pulling Rika down with me.

Renji was already moving — gun drawn, expression unshaken. He returned fire through the broken glass, each shot precise, deliberate.

“Go!” he barked, grabbing my arm and hauling me toward the back door.

I struggled against him. “What the hell is going on?!”

“You’re being hunted,” he growled. “And if you want your sister to live, you’ll listen to me.”

The cold certainty in his voice silenced me.

We crashed into the rain-soaked alley, where another man was waiting — younger, with sharp features and a scar across his jaw. He wore a long trench coat and carried a rifle slung across his back.

“Boss, they’re surrounding the block,” the man said. “We need to move.”

“Riku,” Renji addressed him, “cover the rear. No one touches them.”

Riku nodded once and disappeared back toward the street.

Renji’s grip on my arm didn’t loosen until we slid into the SUV. The driver, a woman with short, platinum hair and ice-blue eyes, glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

“This is him?” she asked.

“Yes,” Renji replied. “Drive.”

The SUV roared to life, weaving through narrow streets with impossible precision. I clutched Rika’s hand, heart hammering in my chest.

“Someone explain,” I demanded. “Who’s hunting us? Why now?”

Renji’s eyes met mine — unreadable, but intense enough to pin me in place.

“Because,” he said, “your father’s seat is empty. And every vulture in this city knows you’re the rightful heir.”

My stomach dropped. “I told you — I’m not part of that world.”

“You were born into it,” Renji replied flatly. “You don’t get to choose blood, Kaito.”

The woman driving — later I’d learn her name was Ayane — smirked faintly. “You really thought you could live out here, running a bookstore, like they’d forget? Cute.”

I bit back the retort burning on my tongue. Rika’s trembling hand in mine reminded me this wasn’t the moment for pride.

We didn’t stop until the city lights faded into the distance and the SUV turned down a secluded road, leading to a sprawling estate hidden behind iron gates. The rain had eased into a fine mist, clinging to the manicured hedges and marble statues.

Inside, the air was warm and scented faintly of sandalwood. The entrance hall gleamed with polished floors and a chandelier dripping with crystal.

“This is temporary,” Renji said, guiding us deeper inside. “Until we deal with the threat.”

“I’m not staying here,” I said sharply.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. “You almost died tonight. Your sister will die if you walk away.”

The weight of his words pinned me still.

Ayane appeared again, leaning casually against the doorframe. “We’ve got two days before the enemy makes their next move. Riku’s tracking their safehouses, but it won’t matter if you don’t take your place.”

I met Renji’s gaze, searching for something — maybe the boy I remembered from my father’s shadow, the one who never smiled but always stood a step behind us. Instead, I saw a man carved from steel and fire, and for a terrifying moment, I couldn’t tell if he was my salvation or my ruin.

Rika squeezed my hand. “Kaito… please.”

My voice was barely a whisper. “Fine. But I’m not one of you.”

Renji’s lips curved — not into a smile, but something sharper, hungrier.

“Not yet,” he said.

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The rest of the night blurred — clothes laid out in the guest room, Rika tucked safely into bed, the muffled hum of voices in the hall. I stood by the window, watching rain streak down the glass, when I heard footsteps behind me.

Renji.

He stepped into the moonlight, shadows sliding over the sharp planes of his face. “I should’ve come for you sooner,” he murmured.

“Why didn’t you?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His jaw tightened. “Because I promised your father I’d keep you out of this life.” He paused, eyes darkening. “But I can’t protect you from the shadows anymore.”

There was something in his voice — a confession, a warning, maybe both. And even though I hated the world he came from, my pulse betrayed me, quickening under the weight of his gaze.

That was the moment I realized — this man would burn the city to the ground for me. And that terrified me more than the bullets.

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