TASAKU CLAN CASTLE APRIL 23, 2000
The atmosphere is unnervingly peaceful. Pink cherry blossom petals drift through the air, coating the stone paths of the sprawling estate in a delicate, floral shroud. But inside the long, shadowed corridors of the castle, the silence is broken by a desperate conversation between a young woman and an old man.
Woman: "Father, I can't bear this pressure anymore. My son... he is still so small. He hasn't done anything yet, and already everyone wants to kill him. Everyone! Allied clans, international organizations, entire governments... they all want him dead. Please, Father, find a solution. I am begging you as your child—help him."
The old man remains silent for a long moment, staring at the falling petals. When he speaks, his voice is like grinding stone.
The Old Man: "This world is born into four sides. The first side belongs to the Poor: they live a life of filth, dying from hunger or drugs. The second is the Ordinary: those who live a life of routine—wake up, eat, work, sleep—day after day, never wanting more. The third side is the Rich: born into villas and luxury, looking down on everyone else as mere slaves."
He turns to look at his daughter, his eyes piercing.
The Old Man: "But the fourth side... that is the side where neither you nor anyone else writes the fate. Fate is written by Nature itself at the moment of birth. That is Akos. The moment he was born, a new era began. Everyone is afraid. They tremble because they know that to fight him means certain death. Nature chose him, not us. He is the one who will protect the world, and that is exactly why they want to kill him. They know that once he grows up, there will be no power on Earth that can stop him. You cannot stop it; you can only delay it."
Woman: "But my child... I don't want him to live a life where he doesn't understand why he is here or how he became this target!"
The old man stands up and walks to the open balcony, taking a deep breath of the spring air.
The Old Man: "When Nature is on your side, no force in the universe can halt your path. This era will change the face of the world forever. History tells us there have only been three individuals in existence with this same ability—the Infinity Eyes. Your son is the third, and he is the strongest of them all. I will do everything in my power to hide him from the SIX HEADS—the supreme rulers of this world."
Woman: "But that is madness! To fight the Supreme Ones? I want to protect my son, but I don't want a war that will tear the entire world apart!"
The Old Man: "In this world, violence is rarely the only solution. There are ways and there are paths to victory that do not require a Power... but they all require sacrifice."
Suddenly, a maid bursts into the room, her voice trembling with terror. "My Lord! My Lady! There is a major problem! We are under attack by an unknown force!"
The mother's face drains of all color. "My child! No, no!" She scrambles to her feet so frantically that she slams into the doorframe, collapsing to the floor in a panic.
"My Lady! Are you alright?" the assistant cries, rushing to help her up.
CASTLE CORRIDOR – NORTH WING
The hallway is a scene of absolute slaughter. Ten elite guards lie dead on the floor, their throats slit or chests crushed. Standing over them are assassins dressed in pitch-black gear, their faces hidden behind cold, expressionless masks.
In the middle of the corridor stands Akos. He is only four years old, yet he stands with a terrifying indifference. There is no fear in his eyes, no trembling in his hands.
Standing before him is SAKOURA ROLIGHT of the DEVILS END, currently choking a struggling guard with one hand.
Akos: "The results you achieve are not the reason you are here."
Sakura drops the dying guard and turns, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "And my mind was going to... why in this world can a four-year-old child speak like that? I came here to show the Holy Child to this world! Hahaha! Little one, don't die yet. Many are coming, many things are changing, but one thing remains the same: you are a sacred being among jellyfish."
From the end of the hall, the heavy boots of the Tasaku reinforcements echo as they rush toward the scene.
Akos: "If you cannot reach me, then you will remain forever among the jellyfish."
Sakura: "Got you."
In half a fraction of a second, Sakura vanishes into thin air, leaving only a faint scent of ozone behind.
The guards arrive, skidding to a halt. They stare at the ten dead assassins surrounding the boy, their voices shaking with shock. "How... how did this child kill all of them?"
His mother pushes through the crowd, screaming his name. She throws herself at him, pulling him into a desperate, suffocating embrace, sobbing into his shoulder.
Akos simply stands there. He is an empty vessel. No emotion. No fear. No reaction to the warmth of his mother or the coldness of the dead. He is a predator waiting to wake up.
TOKYO – FEBRUARY 12, 2014
THE PRESENT
The winter air is crisp. Ruka and Akos are sitting on a park bench under the pale afternoon sun. Ruka is focused on her ice cream, while Akos stares blankly at the orange juice in his hand.
"Do you only drink orange juice?" Ruka asks, glancing at him. "There are so many other flavors you could pick from the vending machine. Why always this one?"
Akos doesn't look away from the bottle. His voice is cold, devoid of any nostalgia. "Why? What did I drink before? This is what I've had my whole life."
Ruka stops eating and leans back, stretching her legs out as she lies against the back of the bench. "I know... I know exactly how you feel. Our lives between the Real World and the Fake World haven't really changed. The only thing that's gone is the Hope we used to have."
She looks up at the grey sky. "Back then, those hours and minutes felt like Golden Time. They were precious. Now? That time is gone. But I'm trying, Akos. I'm trying to bring back those 'Heroic' hours for us."
"You can't change anything, Ruka," Akos replies flatly. "Everything is already different."
"Mah! I can change it!" Ruka snaps back, her voice tinged with a sudden, sharp sadness. "I understand what you've been feeling since that day... the day we lost the 17 friends from our group. We were a crew of 45... and now look at us."
he ice cream in Ruka's hand begins to drip, forgotten, as the weight of her words hangs in the freezing winter air.
"We were a strong crew once," Ruka says, her voice trembling with a mixture of nostalgia and pain. "We finished missions together, we celebrated, we laughed as one. But after that Black Slaughter... everything broke. Everyone took their own path. No one looked back. Some died, some quit, and some simply can't look at life the same way anymore."
She looks at Akos, searching for a spark of the boy he used to be. "Like Mikaro. He took a path of no return—a road filled only with violence and hatred for the whole world. But I didn't leave you like the others did." She takes a sharp breath. "I feel exactly what you've felt since that day you became 'undisputed.' The loss of our friends... we will close that wound. We will return stronger. Isn't that what you used to tell all the sorcerers? Every time one fell, you said it would be okay. You carried the whole weight on your shoulders... until the day you started seeing the world—and even us—as an obstacle."
Her eyes well up. "You don't do missions with anyone anymore. You go alone because you're terrified of losing someone else, Akos. But you need people at the top with you."
Akos stares at her, his eyes like two glass marbles—reflective but empty of any warmth.
"Humans can talk to ants," Akos replies with a chilling, surgical calmness. "But the ants cannot understand them. This world needs protection, but you cannot talk to the people about your problems. They simply don't have the capacity to understand the burden."
"But humans can talk to each other!" Ruka interrupts, her voice cracking. "I don't want to lose you to the darkness! I see it, Akos. Every time someone dies, you sink deeper. We all cling to the hope that 'next time' will be better. That's how we survive."
Akos remains silent for a long time. The wind whistles between them. Finally, he shifts his gaze, deliberately cutting the emotional cord.
"20% of my memory has returned," Akos says, his tone completely flat. "That is good. You should probably go buy a new ice cream. That one has already melted."
Ruka remains sitting on the bench, her gaze fixed on a group of small children playing nearby. She watches them with painful intensity, her face clouded with a deep, silent mourning for the childhood she never had.
Akos places a hand on her shoulder—a rare, grounding gesture. "Don't look at them," he says softly. "I know you wanted a life like that. But we were never allowed to be happy in that way."
"Only we know what happened to us," Ruka whispers, finally turning to look at him. "No one ever asks about our story... only those who lived through the same hell understand. But maybe... maybe we could still have a life like that?"
For the first time, a flicker of genuine emotion—an unsettling enthusiasm—flashes across Akos's face at her words. But it is quickly masked by his logical paradox. "Maybe we can," he says, "but at the same time, we can't. We are capable, yet we are forbidden."
"Agh..." Ruka sighs, looking ahead at the massive crowd gathering near the entrance of the District Mall. "We have so much ahead of us."
She turns to ask him what he thinks they should do, but the seat beside her is empty. Akos is gone.
THE TOKYO MALL – CINEMA LOBBY
Inside the mall, the atmosphere has shifted from Sunday shopping to pure terror. People are screaming, scrambling over chairs, and huddled in corners. "Call the police!" someone shrieks. "We're all going to die!"
Akos walks into the cinema lobby with a chilling, predatory stride. He doesn't look at the fleeing civilians; his eyes are locked on the stage at the far end of the hall.
A voice crackles over the theater's microphone, cold and philosophical: "Tell me...Hope? Death? Both are illusions, . The only truth is that everything that breathes… must stop breathing. Humans, devils, animals, even the cherry blossoms outside. Everything is already dead. They just haven't realized it yet.»
Akos freezes. His entire expression shatters—the indifference is replaced by a shock so profound it borders on physical pain.
There, standing under the spotlight, is a man holding a microphone in one hand and clutching a hostage by the throat with the other.
It is Mikaro.
Mikaro shows no shock. No sadness. No joy at seeing his old friend. He simply stares back at Akos with eyes that have seen the end of the world and found it beautiful.
The two of them stand in a heavy, suffocating silence, the screams of the crowd fading into the background as the past and the present collide in a single, lethal gaze