After Hiroshima… life did not end.
It continued.
That was what made it unbearable. I left without looking back. There was nothing left to confirm behind me. No voice would call my name. No light would remain on. Even the memory of that place felt… misplaced, as if it belonged to someone else.
The world outside was unchanged.
People walked. Shops opened. Morning came on time.
It felt wrong.
I returned to the military. Not because I chose to… because there was nothing else that required me.
Orders still existed. They always do. They don't disappear with loss. They don't pause for grief. So I followed.
I woke up at four. The cold bath felt the same. I ran ten miles. Same road. Same turns. Same rhythm of steps against the ground.
Strike. Retract. Strike again. Boxing. Taekwondo. Precision remained. Repetition remained. Everything remained…
Except one place—
The restaurant.
I still passed that street sometimes. Not intentionally. My feet just… took me there. There was nothing.
No wooden door. No faint sound of utensils. No presence behind the counter. Just an empty space where something once existed.
And yet—
my eyes still turned toward it every time, as if something would be there.
Years passed.
At first, I observed people.
It was a habit.
A slight delay in their speech, the way their shoulders moved when they lied, small inconsistencies, patterns.
I would notice everything. Correct everything. Maintain everything.
Then—
slowly—
I stopped.
There was nothing to maintain. Mistakes corrected themselves. Or they didn't… It made no difference.
Names began to disappear. Quietly.
One day I would look at someone and realize—
I knew his face, but not his name. Then another. Then more. I did not try to remember. There was no reason to.
My rank increased.
They told me I had earned it. I accepted it. It felt like being moved forward in a line that had no destination.
Men died beside me. At first, I looked. Then I acknowledged. Then— I did neither.
Their absence replaced their presence so easily.
As if nothing had been removed. That was when I understood. Not through thought… Through repetition.
Protection is impossible…
Time passed. My body aged. But my routine did not.
By 1960, I was 57.
I had already "moved on."
That is what people would call it.
I lived. I functioned. I followed. But nothing entered my life anymore…
No new meaning. No new weight. Just… continuation.
The same. Again. And again.
The next day.
The base was loud, orders being shouted, boots striking the ground.
Metal clashing. Controlled. Organized. Predictable.
Then— something shifted.
It was not a sound. Not a presence. Just—
something was no longer aligned.
The first scream came. It ended too quickly. Then another. Then silence.
Bodies fell. There was no exchange. No struggle. They simply stopped. Men I had trained with— gone.
Before the mind could even process the moment…
I stepped forward.
Because that is what I had always done.
Something was in front of me. No—
A shadow.
My body opened, there was no time to react. No time to understand.
Flesh separated. Bone followed. Breath left.
I was on the ground…
The sky above me looked the same. Unchanged.
"Oh… God… So this is how it ends…"
My voice sounded distant, even to myself.
The world dimmed. Sound faded.
And for a moment—
everything became quiet.
The kind of quiet that does not belong to peace…
…
Then—
my eyes opened.
Silence.
The base was gone. Bodies lay without order. Metal twisted into shapes that had no purpose.
The air felt heavy, as if something had passed through it… and left nothing behind.
And there—
he stood.
Tall. Still. Unmoving.
Dark robes resting against his form as if they were untouched by gravity. Long, obsidian hair drifting slightly— though nothing around him moved. His skin… pale like late winter. His eyes… crimson. Not glowing, not alive, just… present.
He was not looking at anything. And yet… it felt like everything was already seen.
Then—
I felt it.
That same feeling. The battlefield. The war. The silence after everything ends…
It was the same. Exactly the same.
Not once. Not twice. Always.
Jigen.
My lips moved. "Who… are you…?"
No answer.
Then—
"Kenshin Tadachi..."
My name. It felt… misplaced, like it no longer belonged to me.
"That is your name."
For the first time in years— my body reacted.
I looked down. My hands— were not hands.
Metallic fingers. Cold. Unfamiliar. Yet they moved as if nothing had changed.
"Are you done with your orders…?" Jigen said.
And in that moment—
I understood one thing…
Everything I had followed, every rule, every order, every repetition… It had led nowhere.
The wars, deaths, discipline… None of it held meaning. Not anymore. And this… this presence… had always been there.
Not causing, not stopping, just watching.
That thing had always been there—
Before I was born.
During everything I lived.
After everything ended.
Lord Jigen is eternal…
In the upper moon meeting,
I was being present in front of everyone, upper moons, and Lord Muzan.
Lord Kokushibo was the one whom I admired the most.
He has been living for 500 years, yet serving Lord Muzan and his orders. He never falters, never weakens. He's the strongest person I've ever seen…
…until I saw Ren Hajime.
Lord Kokushibo was my idol.
Lord Akaza was my favourite among all. He is strong, always training… and training. His dedication to become the strongest is amazing. Once, he even personally trained me in fighting.
I didn't like Lord Douma at all… not even Lady Eliza. Lord Douma was too manipulative and acted too immature. Lady Eliza seduces her enemies and disarms them, and disobeys those above her.
Lord Muzan is the tyrant king. He commands all of them. He is ruthless, cruel, and the ultimate commander. He really is the demon king. I always wanted someone like him to be my leader.
Still… his tyranny faded against Ren Hajime.
But Lord Jigen…?
He's different from everyone.
Despite being too cold with everyone, he acknowledged my dedication towards rules.
One day, he brought me to his mission. He spoke, "Midwinter… Do you still hate them for what they did to your hometown… and your family?"
"I'm not sure…" My voice felt unfamiliar. "But I'll never forget what they did."
Silence.
Then… "What if you get a chance to take revenge…?"
My eyes widened. Something inside me paused.
"Revenge? From those white people…?"
His gaze did not change. "I am establishing a new order... Certain powers must be removed for it to take form."
Understanding did not come suddenly. It aligned slowly, naturally.
"You know what that implies."
My breath shifted.
"Are you saying… I can act?"
No answer.
Then, he explained his plan to me.
…
Once he was done, I couldn't imagine what he said about his plans. I never thought he'd be capable of something like this. My perspective completely changed about him.
I knelt.
"Then I will fulfill it."
There were no further instructions.
After that—
the world changed.
At first, I destroyed most of the US Military all on my own. It was my first ever and last revenge.
Not only that, I was the one who destroyed about seventy percent of the world's entire military in a year.
I became an urban legend…
the shadow that walks after midnight.
I am so grateful that Lord Jigen found me... My heart no longer beats normally. But since I started following him, I feel as if I've returned back to my young days where I had purpose…
He gave me purpose. Meaning. My golden days seemed back.
As time passed, my missions become more dangerous—
Assassinating generals.
Disabling military installations.
Abducting officials.
Silencing witnesses,
and so on.
I understood one thing— That Lord Jigen doesn't work for anyone else. He only does Lord Muzan's missions when it matches his own.
Lord Jigen is absolute.
Sometimes when nothing was required, he would speak.
Not about plans. Not about war.
About things that did not belong to this time—
Forgotten histories.
Ideas that had no place in the present.
Truths that did not need proof…
I did not question them. I did not need to understand them fully…
Because the more I listened—
the more one thing became clear.
He is not part of this world.
He is the absolute truth. He's the force of nature. He is oblivion before everything. He has always been there.
That's why I decided to live for his orders… and only die for him.
———————————————————————
Now, in the present time.
He's standing in front of Kasumi. He thinks, "This kid… he has changed completely…"
Kasumi is standing in front of him, a mist-like aura emanating from him.
Kasumi slowly approaches him, his steps deliberate.
Midwinter senses something immediately—
He slips.
In that same instant—
Kasumi is already there.
A single upward slash. Clean. Precise—
Blood arcs into the air.
Midwinter's body reacts after the damage is done.
His shoulder splits—
"What—"
The thought doesn't finish. He turns—
Kasumi is already behind him. Looking back. Calm.
"You're right," Kasumi says, voice steady, almost quiet. "Rules are above impulses.
But you forgot something."
Midwinter's arms shift instantly—
metal twisting, extending— chainsaws roar to life.
He lunges with full speed. No restraint. No hesitation.
Kasumi turns. "…Some rules are meant to be broken."
A flash—
The chainsaws split cleanly, silently.
They fall apart before the sound can catch up.
Midwinter's eyes widened.
He doesn't stop. His leg shifts—hydraulics locking, compressing— and he drives a kick forward.
Impact.
Kasumi is launched—
air tearing around him as he's thrown back.
Midwinter appears above him mid-air. Too fast. Too precise.
"You don't understand." His voice is cold, final. "You're still inside it…
I've already lived through it."
Kasumi spins mid-air. Faster. Faster—
The air bends with him.
Mist forms from him.
Before Midwinter can follow—
Kasumi reverses the motion—
A downward strike—
Midwinter is slammed into the ground. The earth cracks on impact.
Kasumi lands on his chest effortlessly.
He looks down. "Oh?"
A faint tilt of his head. "So you won't accept it? Then answer me."
His voice lowers, more deeper.
"Does your master follow rules?"
Midwinter's eyes narrow.
"Or… is he the exception to them?"
A silence. Short. Sharp.
Kasumi exhales. A faint smile—not warm. "I knew it."
Midwinter taps the ground.
For a fraction of a second— nothing happens.
Then—
the earth breathes.
Mines. Grenades. Buried death— rises everywhere.
Kasumi inhales slowly.
The mist thickens. The battlefield disappears into it.
"Mist Breathing…" His grip tightens.
"…Sixth Form—"
He moves.
Not through space… through absence.
"Lunar Dispersing Mist."
Slashes—
one—
ten—
hundreds—
The air itself fractures. Blades pass through metal, through explosives, through space—
before anything can react.
Kasumi lands. Far. Silent.
For a moment— everything is still.
Then—
BOOM.
BAAM.
BOOM.
The sky ignites.
Explosions tear through each other mid-air, chain reactions collapsing into fire and pressure. Heat distorts the air. Sound crushes everything beneath it.
Smoke rises. Dust settles. Fire lingers.
And from within it— something walks out.
Midwinter.
Flames crawl along his body. Clothes burned. Metal exposed. White eyes—
still focused. Still present.