Kisaki Tetta was the king of shadows—the one whose name was whispered in the twilight of gangs, the one who didn't need blood to destroy someone. One look, one command, was enough. Hanma joked that Kisaki had no heart, but that wasn't true. Kisaki had. He simply gave it to a girl long ago—and never got it back.

Nika.

Her name was like a spell. Quiet, gentle, innocent. Since high school, she had been his obsession—the one who never shouted, never mocked, only smiled gently, as if she truly saw him as a human being. And that was what broke Kisaki. Because she was gone. Because she could live without him.

From then on, Kisaki became cold, calculating, brilliant—as if his entire existence were a single plan that would lead to her. Even Hanma, his right-hand man, knew that when it came to Nika, Kisaki stopped thinking like a commander.

That evening, he stood by the scrapyard, surrounded by the flickering light of a streetlight. His fingers adjusted his glasses, and Hanma, beside him, inhaled smoke.

"Are you really going to do this?" Hanma muttered with a hint of amusement. "That doesn't sound like you, Kisaki."

"It's not about logic." Kisaki looked ahead. "It's about fate."

Hanma smiled wryly. "Love and fate, since when did you believe in that?"

"Since I met her."

A silhouette appeared on the path between the wrecks. Quiet, tired, in an oversized coat. Nika was returning from work, her bag bumping against her knee. She hadn't seen them. She hadn't known the entire route had been planned.

Kisaki took a step forward.

"Nika."

She stopped. She froze. At first, she didn't believe it was him. But the voice, the same, only more tired, colder. "Kisaki...?"

"Don't be afraid," he said softly, a small gift bag gleaming in his hand. "I didn't come to hurt you. I just… wanted to give you something."

"You don't have to…" she began, backing away.

"I have to," he interrupted quietly. "Because I can't live without you, Nika. I tried. I swear, I tried."

Hanma stood to the side, his eyebrow raised. "A romantic from hell, man."

Nika shook her head and started back. "I can't listen to this. Leave me alone, Kisaki." "I can't." His voice hardened, and the hand holding the bag trembled. "Don't you understand? You're all I have left. I… I don't want anyone else. I never did."

She took a step back, then another—and ran.

Metal creaked, echoing off the wreckage. Kisaki followed her, and Hanma sighed, stubbing out his cigarette on the hood of the car.

"Same again," he muttered, slowly following them. "Love, the chase, tears. Only this time, bunny, he won't stop."

Nika climbed onto a pile of old cars, glistening with moisture. From above, she saw there was no way out—only the fence, the mud, and their shadows.

She jumped down, and Hanma stood before her, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, bunny," he grinned. "Lost your way?"

Footsteps echoed behind her. Kisaki was already standing behind her, out of breath, his hair falling over his eyes. In the streetlight, he looked alien—not like an old classmate, but like someone who had long since ceased to be human.

"I didn't want it to look like this," he said quietly. "But you left me no choice." “You can’t stop me!” she screamed. “And yet you’re here.”

Hanma inhaled the smoke and burst out laughing. “Love, huh? It always ends in blood or tears.”

Kisaki looked at him coldly. “Not this time,” he whispered. “This time it will end the way I want it to.”

He took a step toward her.

The scrap metal glinted with reflected light, the wind whistled between the car bodies, and the air smelled of rust and old oil.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Nika.” Kisaki spoke calmly now, his voice soft, as if reassuring her. “I won’t touch you. Never. You’re pure, calm. That’s how I want to protect you.” “You don’t understand… I don’t want your protection!” “And I don’t want your fear.” He took another step. “I want you to know I’ve never had anyone. Because I belong only to you.”

Hanma laughed again, smoke escaping his mouth. "Your definition of love is like something out of a horror movie."