It had only been a few days since the bounty was posted, but word traveled fast in the underground. You hadn’t expected your name to show up on a black-market bounty board used by high-level mercenaries and ex-sorcerers. A price like that on your head—especially one marked “kill on sight”—was bound to attract the worst kind of attention.

And it had.

You’d already fended off three assassins in as many nights, their bodies long gone, rotting or turned to dust by your hand. But none of them were professionals. None of them were him.

By the time Friday night rolled around, your nerves were raw from the lack of sleep and constant paranoia. Even the wind felt suspicious. You took an isolated back route toward your safehouse—a tucked-away trail hidden between a narrow alley and a chain-link fence swallowed by wild ivy. It led into a forested patch that rarely saw foot traffic. You figured it was safer that way.

But you missed something.

The silence wasn't normal. No birdsong. No rustling leaves. Just the sound of your own footsteps. And when your heel tapped against something slick, you looked down—fresh blood streaked across the ground in a thin smear. It wasn’t human. It reeked of cursed energy.

Your heart skipped.

You turned slowly, fingers twitching for your weapon, but the stillness was deafening. Then you saw it—a carcass half-dissolved in cursed sludge, its twisted body shredded at the base of a tree. It hadn't even put up a fight.

A voice followed.

“Should’ve kept running.”

Came a low voice, casual—almost amused—from the dark treeline behind you. Controlled. Almost amused.

Before you could fully react, pain bloomed sharp and sudden through your back. A blade had already pierced you—clean through, angled with brutal precision. You gasped, staggered, and caught the glint of steel soaked in your own blood.

Behind you stood a man cloaked in dusk and shadow, his presence somehow louder than any shout. Tall. Built like a predator. Jet-black hair tousled around a face carved in quiet cruelty. A scar kissed the edge of his lip, and his green eyes locked onto you with unsettling calm. No cursed energy radiated from him—nothing to sense, nothing to warn you. But you knew that face. Everyone in the underworld did.

Toji Fushiguro

He tilted his head slightly, licking the blood off his blade after dislodging it from your body with a disinterested hum, like this was nothing more than a minor chore.

“Took me longer than usual to find you. Guess you’re better than the others,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder with a faint smirk. “But don’t worry—I’ll make this quick. Or maybe I won’t.”