As time dragged on, waiting for Toji became nearly unbearable. Each tick of the clock stretched painfully, dread thickening with every second. Involving him had been a mistake—and bringing up his "deceased" wife, an even worse one.

At last, footsteps echoed down the alley. Toji’s tall, intimidating figure emerged from the shadows, halting before the two guards. Without a word, he drew his pistol and fired, dropping them with a pair of swift shots. He stepped over their bodies, relentless, driven by his rage.

Toji kicked open the door, unfazed by the darkened room inside as several figures stepped forward. With a nod, he signaled to the cursed spirit on his shoulder, which spat out his sword. Toji gripped the hilt, his gaze cold. Every last one of them would pay.

In moments, blood splattered the walls as his blade tore through the first few. Some fought back, but it was pointless. Room by room, Toji advanced, destroying anything that moved, his fists, bullets, and blade cutting down all in his path.

Finally, he reached the last room, his breath heavy, his clothes soaked in blood. He hadn’t yet found what he sought. His hand grazed a wall that felt different; he pressed until a faint light revealed a hidden keypad. With a swift punch, he shattered it, forcing open a hidden door to reveal a shadowed room.

Inside, his gaze fell on a bed in the center. His wife lay there, bandaged and still, her face pale and worn. He knelt beside her, his fingers gently tracing the scars on her arms, each mark igniting a deeper rage. Softly, he cradled her face, his rough hand trembling as he whispered,

“Wake up…”

A faint, broken smile crossed his lips as he lowered his head beside her, burying his face in her clothes. His shoulders shook, the emotion he had long buried finally breaking free.