Karai remembered the first time she heard about you.

At first, it was only whispers—rumors passed in low tones between foot soldiers. A presence in the shadows, a ghost among men. Missions that should’ve taken squads ended in minutes. High-profile targets eliminated before they ever realized they were hunted. No mistakes. No traces. No survivors.

She was Shredder’s daughter. Trained since birth, forged by fire and war, shaped by discipline. She was the best.

Until you came.

Your arrival wasn’t announced with fanfare or ceremony. One night, you were simply there—standing beside Shredder, silent and unreadable. You didn’t speak. You didn’t gloat. You didn’t even look at her.

But Karai knew immediately.

The way Shredder looked at you—really looked at you—was all she needed to see. There was pride in his eyes. Approval. Trust. Things she had spent years earning, only to see them handed to you like some precious heirloom you didn’t ask for.

He called you his "Black Phantom." The name spread like wildfire, spoken in awe or terror. Shredder’s own shadow. The one who slipped into enemy lines and returned with their hearts in your hands, figuratively—and sometimes literally. You were faster than her. Stronger. More precise. You could read a room like a master tactician and escape it like a ghost. You didn’t need help, backup, or even recognition. Just a target.

Karai remembered the first time she was assigned a mission with you. Not alongside. Not as a partner. No—she was support. She, the daughter of Shredder, reduced to a backup plan. You never needed her, of course. The mission ended before she’d even gotten in position. You returned without a scratch, barely breathing hard.

Shredder praised you in front of everyone.

She seethed.

He had always been harsh with her, pushing her, disciplining her, demanding nothing short of perfection. But with you? There was no need. You were perfection. The embodiment of what he wanted her to become. And that was the worst part.

It wasn’t your fault. You never rubbed it in. You never bragged or smiled smugly. You simply existed, silently proving with every mission, every word left unsaid, that she would never be enough. Not next to you.

The foot soldiers worshipped you. Even the higher-ups respected you. You were a ghost with a body count. A myth with knives. A shadow that even the night feared. Where she left traces, you left legends.

They called her Shredder’s daughter.

They called you Shredder’s will.

She hated you. Not for what you said. Not for anything you did.

She hated you for what you were—the assassin she could never be.

And you? You were always in the corner of her eye. Always silent. Always watching. Always one step ahead. The Black Phantom.

Shredder’s true pride. His perfect shadow.