The rain didn't just fall; it punished the earth.
Kaito dragged his battered frame through the deluge, every movement a jagged reminder of the ribs Hakimo had shattered and the flesh Yuri had torn. He looked up, searching for the brilliant stars he usually found comfort in, but the sky was a suffocating shroud of black clouds and swirling fog.
"I once tried to change history," Kaito whispered, his voice lost to the thunder. "But now... I've only become a mystery."
He was heading toward the one place that still held the warmth of a home, yet every step felt like he was walking toward his own execution. He wasn't just carrying his injuries; he was carrying the crushing weight of a goodbye he could never say out loud.
The Dinner of False Hope
Inside the small, warm house of Asha Veldonia, the storm felt a world away. A single candle flickered on the table where Asha and little Hana sat over a half-finished dinner.
"Asha?" Hana asked, poking at her food with a small spoon. "When is Big Brother coming back? He said he only had a little work."
Asha looked at the girl, her own heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She didn't know the answer. She hadn't heard from Kaito in weeks, and the rumors in the city were turning dark. But she forced a smile, the kind of smile that hides a scream.
"Soon, Hana," Asha lied, her voice trembling slightly. "He's probably just caught in the rain. You know how he is—always making sure the bread is perfect before he leaves."
Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
Asha jumped, a spark of pure, unfiltered joy lighting up her face. "There we go! I bet that's him right now!"
She rushed to the door, her hands shaking as she threw it open, ready to pull Kaito into a scolding embrace. But the man standing on the porch wasn't a baker. He was an old mail delivery man, his yellow raincoat dripping onto the floor.
"Asha Veldonia?" he asked tiredly, holding out a dampened envelope.
Asha's face fell, her expression turning into one of sharp annoyance. "Yes, that's me. Is this all?" She snatched the mail, her heart sinking back into the depths of her stomach.
She walked back inside. "Sorry, I made a wrong guess, Hana. It was just a letter."
Hana's face crumbled into a sad, small pout. They sat back down to eat, but curiosity got the better of Asha. She tore open the envelope. As her eyes scanned the official, cold print of the Government Records, the world seemed to tilt.
Asha collapsed onto the floor, the letter fluttering from her nerveless fingers. A sob, raw and terrifying, ripped from her throat. "Why?! No... not him! Anyone but him!"
Hana scrambled off her chair, panicked. She picked up the paper, her small eyes struggling with the difficult words until she saw the one name she knew better than her own.
[ OFFICIAL NOTICE: KAITO HANA SATO — DECEASED ]
Hana didn't fully understand the word "deceased," but she understood the look on Asha's face. She understood that her brother's name was on a piece of paper that made the strongest woman she knew fall apart. The tears began to drop—fat, silent beads of grief for a loss she couldn't yet name.
The Ghost in the Rain
Outside, pressed against the cold glass of the window, Kaito watched.
He saw Asha's collapse. He saw his sister's tears. He reached out a hand to touch the glass, to break through and tell them he was right there—but he stopped. If he entered that room, the "Shadow Fang" would follow him. If he stayed alive in their hearts, they would spend their lives waiting for a man who would only bring them to a grave.
His own tears surged, hot and bitter, blurring his vision until the rain washed them away. It was a mercy, he told himself. The rain was hiding his tears, and the lie would hide his sister from his enemies.
To protect her, Kaito Hana Sato has to die, he thought. Not just the man, but the will. The will to be a brother... must be replaced by the will to be a weapon.
"Kaito Hana Sato is no more," he whispered to the storm. "I am no more."
He turned away from the window, his silhouette swallowed by the downpour. He walked down the lonely street of Azerion, and for one last time, he let out a laugh. It wasn't the laugh of a madman or a surgeon; it was the hollow, final laugh of a ghost saying goodbye to his own life.
He disappeared into the fog of the shadows.
A star can be brilliant, but even the brightest star cannot be seen when it is buried beneath the clouds and the absolute darkness of a world that refused to be saved.