In a small patch of forest just outside the city sat U.A. Heights Alliance—a dorm building meant for students who lived too far to commute. Still, some kids from Musutafu managed to get in if space allowed.
Right now, about a hundred students lived in those dorms, spread across different years. One of them was Eichi.
For the past month, while classes were out, he'd used the break to train hard and meet with both the Boss and Kraken. Most people figured he was just off doing his own thing. No one really questioned it. But what they didn't know was that most of the time, the "Eichi" they saw out and about was just a clone. The real one was holed up in the hidden spot, training in Fuinjutsu or reading old texts in peace. With less need for caution, he'd been able to make real progress.
Before sunrise, in the quiet stillness of the dorm's training yard, Eichi balanced on one hand, his body straight up in the air. His other hand tucked close to his side.
It was just part of his morning routine. Nothing flashy.
Then he felt it.
A familiar chakra signature entered his range. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Shino.
She'd been distant lately. Not unfriendly, just... quiet. She still came to training sessions with Haru and Aiko as well as Kaina, but she didn't stick around long. She never asked questions either—about him, the late-night disappearances, or the bruises that didn't come from school drills.
Eichi hadn't minded. If she wasn't saying anything, it meant she hadn't gone to Nezu either.
But he could tell. She'd been meaning to talk to him for a while now. And with Haru back in Kyoto and Aiko staying with her family in the city, the timing was perfect for her.
Mid-pushup, he paused upside down, still as a statue.
She was approaching, but not close enough to see him clearly yet.
He dropped down silently, landing on his feet, and pulled on a loose shirt. No point being weird about it.
If she was finally going to speak her mind, the least he could do was not look like a training-obsessed maniac.
He sat down calmly, legs crossed, back straight.
And he waited.
"You knew I was about to be here." she said as she aproached him.
"And you still hesitate when you have something on your mind." he said casually.
Shino bit her lip, like she was still unsure if this was the right moment—even though she'd already committed by walking over.
"...You're not like the others," she said finally.
Eichi didn't react right away. He just watched her, letting the silence speak while she gathered her thoughts. When she didn't continue, he gave a small nod, prompting her.
"I mean," she went on, stepping closer and finally sitting a few feet in front of him, "you never ask questions, you never try to show off, and you're always five steps ahead of everything." She looked down at her hands. "Sometimes, it feels like you're not even part of this school. Like you're just... passing through."
Eichi tilted his head slightly. "And you think that's a bad thing?"
"I think it makes it hard to know what side you're on," she admitted. "You're calm, sharp, way too capable for someone our age—and there's a kind of danger around you. The others don't see it, but I do."
A light breeze rustled the leaves nearby. Eichi's eyes narrowed just a bit, not in hostility—just reading her.
"But you never reported it," he said, voice even.
Shino shook her head. "No. I didn't think I needed to. I've been watching you. Whatever you're doing... I don't think it's out of selfishness. I know that you still have those peoples after you, but you're still here."
For a moment, Eichi was silent again. Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees.
"You're right," he said simply. "I'm not here to fit in."
Shino looked at him, brows drawn together—not with suspicion, but with something closer to concern.
"Then why stay?" she asked. "Why not run? People like you don't usually stop moving."
Eichi's gaze drifted to the side, toward the dorms barely visible through the trees, quiet in the early dawn.
"Because I made a choice," he said. "To train the ones who still have a chance to grow clean. People like Haru, Aiko... even you. You three remind me of what we used to fight for."
Shino blinked at that. It was the first time he'd ever included himself in the kind of war they all only read about in books.
"You used to fight?" she asked carefully.
Eichi's lip curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. More like an echo of one. "Long before you were waking up for school."
He leaned back slightly, hands behind him in the grass.
"I'm not naïve. I know the people after me haven't stopped looking. But if I keep running, I lose the one thing I still have control over—my path."
Shino let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
"You're not afraid?"
"Of course I am," he said honestly. "But fear's a tool. You hold it right, and it build bravery. Let it slip, and it cuts you instead."
There was a long pause between them. Just the wind through the trees and the distant hum of the school starting to wake.
Then Shino nodded slowly. "Thanks... for not lying to me."
Eichi glanced at her again. "I don't waste time pretending to be something I'm not."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah. I noticed."
"Also because this world—your world—is cleaner than mine. But it's built on lies too. I've seen what happens when people trust the system too much. I'm here to make sure the ones I train don't become blind like the rest."
Shino took that in for a moment, then asked quietly, "So... do you trust me?"
Eichi stood up, stretching his arms once as the sun finally started to rise behind him.
"If I didn't," he said, looking down at her, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."
Then he turned slightly toward the path leading back to the dorms, and added over his shoulder—
"Come. I know it's not the only thing you wanted to talk about, might as well make coffe while we're at it."
Shino didn't say anything right away. She just nodded once and followed.
They walked in silence.
The path back to the dorms was quiet, save for the soft rustle of wind through the trees and the distant hum of the city waking up. The sun had barely climbed over the rooftops, casting a pale orange glow across the pavement.
Neither of them felt the need to fill the air with words.
Eichi walked with his hands in his pockets, eyes forward, posture relaxed—as always. Shino walked a step behind, occasionally glancing his way, as if trying to read something he wasn't showing.
When they reached the dorm building, he opened the door and held it without a word. She stepped inside, giving him a brief look—grateful, but quiet.
Up the stairs they went, still not speaking. The hallway was empty, the other students either asleep or not back yet from break. The only sound was the soft tap of their footsteps against the floor.
Finally, they reached his door.
Eichi unlocked it and pushed it open. Simple room. And a little too clean for a high school student. Scrolls tucked away in a box near the wall. A small desk with papers. A mug half-finished from the night before.
He stepped in and gestured with a small tilt of his head. "Come in."
She followed, letting the door close behind her with a soft click.
Eichi went straight to the kitchenette in the corner and started making coffee. He didn't ask how she liked it—he already knew.
As she stood near the desk, her eyes landed on two photos leaning against the wall.
The first looked like a family picture. An old man with white hair and a tall hat stood in the center. The kanji on the hat read "Uzu." His expression was calm but firm. Beside him was a red-haired woman—older, gentle-looking, peaceful.
Below them stood seven others, all with the same deep red hair. Some looked like teenagers, others older, maybe in their twenties. They stood close, like they belonged together.
Her eyes drifted to the second photo.
It was different—less formal. A man in a blue uniform smiled at the camera, one hand resting on the shoulder of a green-haired girl with a small, reserved smile. His other hand was on a boy with messy yellow hair who looked grumpy, like he didn't want to be there. All three of them had metal headbands with a spiral symbol.
But it wasn't the man or the two beside him that held her attention.
It was the kid in front of them. Smiling wide, eyes nearly shut from how happy he looked. Both hands up in a peace sign, almost bouncing with excitement.
Shino stared at it for a long moment, then finally spoke.
"Is that... you?"
Eichi didn't look up from the coffee. "Yeah."
She glanced between the two pictures again, then back at him. "You were smiling."
A pause.
"Yup."
He poured the coffee into two cups and handed one to her. She took it silently, sitting down across from him.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then, she asked, almost hesitating, "What happened to them?"
Eichi's fingers drummed against the side of his cup. He didn't answer right away.
Then he said quietly, without looking at her, "Gone."
Not dramatic. Not angry. Just the plain truth.
Shino looked down into her coffee. "I'm sorry."
Eichi shook his head once. "Don't be. That world's gone too."
She wanted to ask more—but she didn't. Something in his voice told her that was enough for now.
So they sat there, the steam from their cups rising quietly between them, while the first rays of morning light crept through the window.
Then Shino spoke, her voice quiet but steady. "You know my father sent me here for Nezu, right?"
Eichi didn't even blink. "Of course."
"And... we're a family like yours."
"Then get to the point."
There was a pause. A breath caught between her throat and her words.
"While I was placed here by Nezu's request," she said slowly, "I still answered to my father."
She waited, coffee held close, like she wasn't sure what he'd say.
Eichi didn't react at first. Just took another sip, calm and steady.
"So," he said, still not looking at her, "Nezu got half the truth... and your father got the whole thing."
Shino didn't reply.
Eichi set his cup down, eyes meeting hers now—sharp but unreadable.
"I figured," he added. "Your hesitation wasn't just doubt. It was guilt."
Shino lowered her gaze again. "I didn't tell him everything. Not after the second month."
"What changed?"
"You did," she said, without flinching this time. "You weren't what he thought. What I thought."
"And now?"
"Father asked to meet you."
Eichi's brow twitched—just a little.
He turned his eyes back to her, still unreadable, but now with a new weight behind them.
"I see."
Shino watched him carefully. "I didn't say now. Not yet."
Eichi didn't speak right away. He moved, slow and deliberate, picking up his cup again but not drinking from it. Just holding it, as if thinking through every possible outcome.
"When?" he asked.
"A week from now. In Osaka."
Eichi gave a quiet hum. Not agreement. Not disagreement. Just thought.
"So he's making a move now, eh," he said. "Must've taken him a while to decide I wasn't just some lunatic with red hair and sharp toys."
"He still thinks you're dangerous."
Eichi looked at her again, this time with a slight smirk. "He's not wrong."
She didn't smile back.
"This isn't a trap, Eichi."
"If it was," he said calmly, "I'd still go."
That caught her off guard. "Why?"
"Because running doesn't stop anything. And because if your father wants to look me in the eye—he'll get what he's looking for."
Shino hesitated, then asked, "Even if he decides you're not worth the risk?"
"Then he'll learn what kind of risk I really am."
He stepped past her, opening the small window to let the breeze in, the early morning wind brushing through his hair.
"But there still is an issue," he said. "I am not really allowed to venture as much, especially when I am under U.A "responsability" you see."
"Nezu arrenged a school trip in the end of this week, under pretext of fun before the real work."
Eichi let the breeze roll over his face for a moment, eyes half-closed. The silence stretched between them again, but it wasn't tense—just quiet.
"Of course he did," Eichi said finally.
Shino gave a small nod. "He thinks it'll help everyone relax before preparing for the festival as well as a reward for class C's hard work this semester. But... I think it's more for him to judge the real you."
Eichi chuckled under his breath. "Wouldn't blame him."
He turned back toward her, crossing his arms. "Where's the trip?"
"Mount Daikō. They booked a small camp up in the hills. Quiet place. No press. No heroes watching. Just students and a few teachers."
"Hmph." He tilted his head slightly. "Sounds like the perfect place for something to go wrong."
Shino didn't argue. She just looked at him, her face unreadable. Then she said, "Can I demand from you something?"
---
In a quiet part of Musutafu, tucked behind tall walls and overgrown hedges, there was an old traditional house. It didn't stand out. In fact, most people passing by wouldn't even glance at it. Just another old building in a city full of them.
But inside, it was a different story.
This was where the Boss lived. The one who kept the black market running under the name of the Shie Hassaika Clan. People called it the Eight Precepts of Death, but to those close to him, it was just "the family."
Right now, the Boss wasn't in a meeting or yelling orders.
He was in bed, lying on his side.
Next to him was a woman—his wife. Her hair was silver, her skin wrinkled from age and time. But her breathing was calm and steady, her hand lightly resting over his.
They'd been together for a long time. Before the power, before the bloodshed, even before the Clan took its name. She was with him when he was still just a small-time player trying to find his place in a city that never forgave weakness.
The room was dim. The only light came from the paper lantern outside the door, swaying gently in the breeze.
Then the phone rang.
It was an old model. Heavy. Encrypted. Mexican design—specifically built to resist hijacking. He had imported a batch of them and distributed them among his highest executives. Not for day-to-day use. These weren't texting phones. They were summoning tools. Reserved for emergencies.
Even then—only fools passed sensitive information through them.
Groaning, eyes half-closed, he reached for it. One look at the ID and he muttered to himself. "Who the—"
"Yo."
The voice on the other side came light and dry.
"If you hadn't answered, I'd have called your wife. You asleep or awake?"
"I'm asleep."
The voice had a smirk in it.
"Swear?"
And that was enough.
The Boss rolled his eyes and cut the line.
"Mmm... annoying brat," he muttered, already turning over to return to sleep.
Beside him, his wife stirred.
"Why would they call at this ungodly hour?" she asked, eyes still shut.
He pulled her closer with one arm. "Kid probably punched someone or caused a ruckus again. Figured he'd pin it on me."
She chuckled, half-asleep. "Still. Kai's got guts. Changed a lot since he was little."
"Yeah... rebellious little—"
"Shie?"
"You're right, Kai doesn't speak like that," he muttered, grabbing the phone to squint at the number.
His wife chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow. "Can't say I'm surprised. Adopting another one, are we? You're too kind for your own good."
"No, I didn't adopt anyone. Besides, he's not the kind to be adopted," he snapped, now fully awake, his frown deepening.
"Really? Color me surprised—who is it then?"
He ignored her, dialing the number instead. The line clicked, and a gruff voice answered:
"Finally woke up, eh?"
"What happened?" Shie's voice sharpened, alarm cutting through the sleep in his tone.
The child, the mysterious Eichi, never used the phone he'd been given. It sat in his drawer, untouched, collecting dust. Every now and then, someone would try calling it—once, even the Boss himself—but it would just ring out.
He always preferred face-to-face meetings. No messages, no calls, no middlemen.
It wasn't just a habit. It was how he survived.
The Boss understood that. After all, Eichi wasn't the first paranoid one to pass through his world. He had raised another boy like that once—Kai Chisaki. Back then, Kai refused to touch anything that felt like it could be tracked or traced. Phones, cameras, even certain clothes. Eichi was the same. Maybe worse.
Sometimes the Boss wondered if that paranoia was just part of surviving in their line of work. Or maybe... it came from something deeper. Some past neither of them liked to talk about.
Still, it was hard not to respect the kid for it. Eichi never made mistakes, never left trails, never said more than he needed to. And when he did show up in person, it was always for a reason.
That's why the Boss never pushed him to use the phone. He didn't need to.
Eichi would come when it mattered.
"Nothing really," Eichi's voice came steady through the line. "Some things happened. Those things made me call you. We need to talk. In person. Now."
The Boss let out a low sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm at the estate. Come find me here."
"Fair enough."
The call ended.
He set the phone down on the nightstand, exhaling as the silence crept back into the room. But it didn't last long.
"I thought your business at the main office was wrapped up," Sasaki said quietly from the bed, still lying on her side. Her voice was calm—but not without weight. "What changed?"
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a gesture both habitual and warm.
"Nothing to worry about, Sasaki," he murmured.
Then he rose.
His silhouette passed the lantern light as he moved toward the built-in shower. The soft sound of the old wooden floor beneath his feet. His shoulders were straight, but something in his posture had sharpened.
Just before disappearing into the steam, he added—
"And please... make tea."
A soft sigh followed him. Sheets rustled behind as she sat up, brushing silver hair from her face.
"Alright," she said. "But I can't lie... I'm curious. The child who made you forgo the hidden rule of the Clan—he must be something else."
From the doorframe, his low chuckle echoed back.
"Well, you can't exactly call him normal, now can I?"
She smiled faintly to herself, pulling on her robe as she rose. "Even so. This is the estate. We're hours from the main office. He'll take time."
"No," the Boss said from inside the bathroom, water just beginning to run. "He's too practical. Too efficient. Give him thirty minutes, tops."
Then—his voice firm, final, just before the door clicked shut:
"And wake up Kai."
---
An hour later, Shie sat cross-legged in his house, a low breakfast table laid out before him with all the essentials. The food remained untouched.
It had been too long. Shie rarely worried, but this level of lateness was unprecedented for the boy. Punctuality was one of the few things the kid took seriously—every summons, every delivery, every transaction had always happened like clockwork.
Now, dressed in a traditional kimono instead of his usual suit, Shie heard the device beside him chime. "Shie-sama, two individuals have arrived. One claims you summoned him."
The irony almost made him laugh, if not for the unease coiling in his gut. If anything, he's the one who summoned me, he thought. But the mention of a second person piqued his curiosity.
"Let them in," he said.
Two minutes passed before a familiar, youthful voice cut through the silence. "Yo, been a while, old man."
Shie's eyes lifted slowly, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "That mouth of yours would earn anyone else a week of latrine duty," he said, pouring tea with deliberate calm. "Consider yourself privileged."
Eichi smirked beneath his black hood. "What an honor. Thank you very much."
Shie's teacup froze halfway to his lips as he noticed the second figure - smaller, silent, their presence so subdued he'd nearly missed it entirely. The blank mask stared back at him, smooth as porcelain and equally expressionless.
"And who might this be?" Shie asked, studying the masked child.
The masked figure moved with eerie grace, bowing at precisely fifteen degrees. "I am Neko," came the reply, voice soft yet clear. "Eichi's assistant, It's an honor to meet you, Shie-sama." The words were perfectly polite, yet something about the way the mask remained perfectly aligned sent an unexpected chill down Shie's spine.
The steam from Shie's teacup curled between them like a thin veil. He set the cup down with deliberate precision, the porcelain clicking against the lacquered wood. "An assistant," he repeated, his voice neutral but his eyes sharp. "Eichi, since when do you require assistance for our... simple transactions?"
Eichi flopped onto the tatami with exaggerated carelessness, limbs sprawling in a show of disrespect. But when he selected a rice ball from the breakfast spread, his fingers moved with surgical precision. He took small, measured bites, chewing thoroughly before speaking - the picture of proper dining etiquette despite his slouched posture.
"Aw, come on old man. Even I need help sometimes." He flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Shie observed this paradox with narrowed eyes. The boy could play the fool all he wanted, but these small acts of control revealed more than he realized.
Every calculated movement, every precisely timed swallow - these were the tells of someone who had been with nobles.
"Your table manners remain impeccable," Shie remarked dryly. "Pity your mouth didn't receive the same education."
"Tell me, Neko," Shie said, pouring a second cup of tea and sliding it across the table, "what exactly does assisting Eichi entail?"
The mask tilted slightly as she straightened. "Whatever Eichi requires." Her voice was soft, yet carried an odd weight. "Inventory management. Middle men. Occasionally... problem resolution."
Eichi snorted. "She means she will keep the operation running in my absense." He reached for a rice ball from the breakfast spread. "Relax, Boss. She's good."
Shie's knuckles whitened around his cup. That was precisely the problem - he hadn't approved this addition. And knowing Eichi's methods, the girl's loyalty was likely secured through something far more binding than mere employment.
The old man's eyes narrowed. "Though I'd argue your... specialized creations have developed quite the international following." He let the words hang between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. "Particularly in those exclusive markets where discretion is valued above all else."
Eichi paused mid-slurp, the chopsticks in his left hand hovering perfectly still over the bowl. His eyes flicked up, suddenly sharp. "Oh yeah?" he said around a mouthful of cinnamon bun-another calculated contrast to his otherwise impeccable table manners.
The masked figure at his side didn't move, but Shie caught the subtle tilt of her head - not the mechanical adjustment of a trained shadow like Eichi, but something far more amusing.
The slight cant of her mask suggested genuine curiosity, like a child watching adults argue. It was the first truly human gesture she'd made, and somehow that made her more unnerving.
Shie's thumbnail traced a hairline crack in his teacup. "I've been expanding your clientele," he observed, keeping his tone light. "But speaking of new associates..." He set down the cup with deliberate care. "I should introduce someone as well. My heir apparent, if we're being formal about it."
A shadow shifted near the sliding doors. A boy stepped forward - fourteen years old but carrying himself with the precision.
Kai Chisaki's gloved hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching occasionally. His plague doctor mask obscured his expression.
Eichi's cinnamon-stained fingers froze halfway to his mouth. "Whoa there," he drawled, though his posture straightened almost imperceptibly. "Since when does the old man take on apprentices?"
Kai didn't wait for invitation. He crossed the room in measured steps.
When he bowed, it was at exactly seventeen degrees - two more than protocol demanded, a margin of "fuck you" degree of disrespect. "Chisaki Kai," he introduced himself, his voice filtered through the mask into something clinical and detached. "I handle the... restructuring of operations."
Neko's blank mask tilted between the two boys like a spectator at a tennis match. Eichi wiped his sticky fingers on his robes with exaggerated slowness, eyes never leaving Kai's gloves.
"Restructuring, huh?" Eichi's grin turned razor-sharp. "Sounds suspiciously like 'mopping up.'" He tossed the last cinnamon bun in the air and caught it in his teeth. "Didn't realize the yakuza ran a custodial service now."
The leather of Kai's gloves groaned as his fingers curled into fists. The clash of antiseptic and cinnamon in the air became suffocating.
"Kai." Shie's voice carried the weight of a gavel. He knew his heir's temper - knew how quickly a calm nature could become brutality. "Sit. There's much you could learn here."
As Kai stiffly took his seat, Shie's gaze flicked to Eichi's plate - cleared except for the kakuni bossam. "Impeccable manners, yet you leave the finest cut untouched."
"Nah," Eichi shrugged, licking sugar from his fingers. "Just don't fuck with pork."
"Found religion?" Shie arched an eyebrow.
"Please," Eichi snorted. "I just don't eat filthy animals. Pigs root in their own shit - that's nature's 'do not consume' sign."
Shie swirled his tea. "Yet kakuni melts like wagyu. Surely preparation—"
"Hey, sewer rat probably tastes like mochi too," Eichi cut in, eyes glinting. "But I'd never know cause I would'nt eat the filthy motherfucker." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "A pig's idea of fine dining is its buddy's diarrhea. That's not food - that's a biological hazard with legs."
Kai's mask turned fractionally toward the exchange, his gloved fingers twitching.
"Dogs eat feces too," Shie countered mildly.
"Don't eat Rover either."
"But you'd call a dog dirty, not filthy."
Eichi tapped his temple. "Dogs got something pigs never will - personality. You can train the dirt out; can't train out being a walking sewage plant."
Shie's lips quirked. "So if a pig could charm you like my best hostess..."
"Would need to be one silver-tongued oinker." Eichi's grin turned feral. "Like, ten times smoother than you, old man. And you're already Musutafu's slickest."
A teacup clicked against wood as Kai finally spoke, his filtered voice dripping with clinical disdain: "Fascinating dietary philosophy from someone who ingests enough sugar to embalm himself."
The room's temperature seemed to drop. Neko's mask tilted curiously toward Kai, while Eichi's sticky fingers paused mid-reach for another sweet.
"Fascinating heir you've got there, Boss," Eichi purred, his sensory abilities flaring to life like radar pings across Kai's simmering energy signature. "Let me personally apologize," he continued, performing a mock bow that showed exactly zero remorse, "for any... disrespectful phrasing toward your dear old man."
He straightened with a shark's grin. "Speaking of which - heard you're quite the handful. Gang wars in shopping districts, public disassemblies, picking fights with heroes..." Eichi whistled low. "That's some next-gen yakuza dedication. Admirable, really."
Kai's gloves emitted a barely audible creak as his Quirk energy spiked - Chakra swirling violently beneath his heart. His left eyelid twitched. "You've done your homework."
"Beautiful. Wonderful. Truly heartwarming," Eichi crooned, though his eyes flicked momentarily to Shie, noting the old man's wary tension. "But here's what puzzles me..." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "How's that working out for you long-term? Given your clan's already... tarnished reputation in polite society, bud." The word 'Bud' dripped with venomous sweetness.
Kai's breathing shallowed, his gloves now glowing faintly at the seams. Yet his father's presence beside him acted as the world's most volatile restraint system. "Apology accepted," he ground out, each syllable precise as a scalpel cut.
"'Cause rumor has it," Eichi continued cheerfully, "you're becoming a proper fucking nuisance, innit?"
The table vibrated faintly as Kai's hand inched toward the surface, energy distorting the air above his fingertips. His gaze remained lowered, fixed on some invisible focal point that might keep him from reducing Eichi to component atoms.
"See, every man needs principles," Eichi mused, popping a candied plum in his mouth. "When I was ten, I guarded this alcoholic noble - eight-hour shifts listening to gambling rants while other kids played with hero merch." He made a show of shuddering. "Three days in, I begged my mentor to quit. Know what he asked?"
Eichi's voice dropped into a flawless imitation of an older man's rumble: "'Did you give your word?'" He spread his hands. "Worst four weeks of my life. On the last day?" A theatrical pause. "The noble pulls me aside - says in twenty-seven years, no kid lasted a week. Slips me a bonus of eighty thousand yen."
He leaned in, his next words syrup-slow: "Most valuable lesson of my life. Consistency. Integrity." A razorblade smile. "Your problem, Chisaki? Yours is fucking fancifull, mate."
Kai's head snapped up. The table's lacquer began bubbling where his fingertips rested. Neko's cloak rustled though there was no breeze.
The moment stretched like a wire about to snap. Kai's voice, when it came, was eerily calm—the eye of a hurricane. "Delusional?" His gloved fingers pressed harder into the table, the wood groaning as his Quirk's energy pulsed in visible, parts of the table disapearing. "You lecture me about integrity while your 'assistant'—" his masked gaze flicked to Neko, "—wears a muzzle like a dog?"
Eichi's grin remained, but his fingers danced along the kunai hidden in his sleeve - a subtle tell Kai didn't miss. "Neko's no prisoner," he singsonged, though his shoulders had tensed fractionally. "Right, snowflake?"
The masked figure inclined her head just enough to be polite. "My choice," she whispered, the words barely audible. "My terms."
Kai's laugh was the sound of a scalpel scraping bone. "How... convenient." The remaining table surface beneath his hands warped, its molecules trembling at the edge of disintegration. "And I suppose Shie-sama should simply tolerate you disrespecting decades of tradition?"
Shie's knuckle rapped once against his teacup. "Kai."
Eichi didn't blink, didn't breathe - just locked eyes with Kai's golden glare. "Fucking hell," he breathed. He pointed two fingers at him. "Now that? That's proper terrifying, mate."
He rocked back from the table, scrambling to put distance between himself and Kai's quirk before turning to Shie with something like amusement. "Congratulations, Shie. You now have the finished article now aint y'a." A shaky laugh escaped him. "See that boy, right. He would murder and maim for you with the Shinigami on his side."
His gaze darted between Kai and Shie, hands raised in mock surrender. "And me? I wouldn't want to be the poor bastard who makes him come collecting."
A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint drip-drip of tea leaking through the disintegrating table. Kai's gloves still pulsed with unstable energy, casting jagged shadows across his plague doctor mask.
"Shie-sama," Kai's voice came out tight, "we're doing business with this fucker—"
"Language," Shie cut in, same tired tone he'd used since Kai was twelve.
Kai didn't blink. "I demand to know why." The words hung sharp in the air.
Shie sighed, rubbing the spot between his eyebrows where his headaches always started. "Because the little shit gets results."
"That's it?" Kai's gloves creaked. "No principles? No standards?"
"Standards?" Shie barked a laugh. "Boy, you torch entire blocks when you're pissed. Don't lecture me about standards."
Outside, Eichi's obnoxious laughter echoed in the room. At the same time, Neko's soft "Eichi, no" was barely audible.
Eichi's laughter eventually dwindled into a dry cough as he wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his sleeve, still grinning like he hadn't just poked a hornet's nest.
"Relax, Kai," he said, still catching his breath. "We're not enemies here. Unless you want us to be—then, by all means, monologue your way into a turf war. I'll make popcorn."
Kai didn't flinch, but the burning air around his hands stilled for a beat. The quiet between them grew dense.
Then—
"You're not funny," Kai muttered, his voice sharper now, stripped of theatrics. "You think that if you keep talking long enough, everyone will forget you're a liability."
Eichi's grin faltered for a fraction of a second. Just long enough for Shie to notice. Then it was back, bigger than before.
"If you ever come here, with a god damn opinion. I'll shove it so far up your ass, it'll never see the lightof the day again."
Neko shifted slightly, one pale hand gently resting on Eichi's sleeve, just once. A small, silent gesture.
The message was clear; Enough.
Shie's voice broke through the tension. "This tea is cold," he said simply.
Sasaki entered, as if summoned by ritual, holding a fresh tray. Her gaze briefly swept the room, lingering a moment too long on Kai's trembling gloves, then to the melted table, and finally to Eichi.
She said nothing, only set the tray down with the calm of a woman long used to rooms like this.
"Thank you, love," Shie said, softening just enough for his wife, before turning back to the boys. "Now. We will speak plainly."
Eichi straightened at last. The sharp humor in his face smoothed out, but something keener glinted behind his gaze. A shinobi's readiness. A predator's calm.
Shie didn't blink. "What did you want to talk about?"
Eichi didn't delay. "I'll be gone for a while. Off the grid. If anything's needed, Neko will handle it. She's the thread between us."
Kai said nothing, but the twitch in his brow betrayed his disapproval. The idea of trusting anyone that calm—anyone that annoying—clearly grated.
Shie's fingers tapped once against his teacup. "A shame," he said after a beat. "I was going to ask you to ramp up tag production. Demand's climbing faster than our supply."
A pause.
"You were the only one who could write those things."
Eichi offered a half-smile, but it didn't touch his eyes. "Yes. Because that's what I do."
Shie raised his cup again, but didn't drink.
"We'll adjust," he said finally, the words weighty with quiet warning. His eyes flicked to Neko without moving his head.
Eichi didn't look at Neko—Shino—but his voice held a note of rare seriousness.
"She can't do seals. No one else can. That's still my monopoly."
Shie's eyes narrowed slightly, calculating. "Then what good is she?"
Neko inclined her head again, just enough to acknowledge the barb without reacting to it. "I'm capable of delivery, surveillance, intel processing, physical recovery, and negotiations. Non-lethal only."
Kai let out a soft scoff behind the mask. "So, logistics and hand-holding."
"Logistics make or break wars," she replied, evenly. "As for hand-holding... sometimes even monsters need a leash."
Shie's lips quirked—not quite a smile, but something close. He leaned back, porcelain clinking against lacquer. "That's your leash then?" he asked Eichi, tone deceptively idle.
"More like a compass," Eichi replied. "She points at north when I'm buried in the dirt."
"You're assuming you can come back from the dirt," Kai murmured.
"I always come back," Eichi said. "And when I do, I like knowing things didn't go to shit."
Shie's gaze lingered on Neko a beat longer. He could read talent, he could read danger, and this girl was both—just bound in a different kind of code.
Not Eichi's brand of weaponized chaos, but something leaner. Gentler, maybe. But sharp all the same.
"Fine," he said. "You'll facilitate trade. You'll stay out of combat. If there's blood, it's mine to spill. Not yours."
Neko bowed again. "Understood."
Shie turned to Eichi. "And the tags?"
Eichi leaned back, popping a grape into his mouth. "I'll leave a batch before I vanish. But after that, you're on a diet until I'm back. No more expansion. Maintain the network you've got. Keep Kai from blowing half of Musutafu off the map. That's your mission."
Kai's mask tilted ever so slightly, his fists still tight at his sides.
Shie's tone dropped low. "And what about your mission?"
Eichi stood, brushing the fabric of his cloak into place. His smile returned—but it was sharp this time. Not playful. Not kind.
"Doing what I do best."
Shie's brows lifted slightly. "Oh? And what's that?"
Eichi didn't look back.
"Hunt."
A rush of air spiraled at his feet—silent at first, then building. The paper on the table rustled. Loose petals from the tea tray lifted into the air. Kai stepped back instinctively, one hand half-raised. Neko didn't move.
In a single blink, wind whipped through the room like a passing ghost—and Eichi was gone.
Only a faint swirl of leaves remained where he stood.
Kai's jaw twitched beneath his mask, and his hands slowly relaxed, knuckles popping in the quiet. The faint swirl of leaves on the floor finally settled, one resting on the melted edge of the table like punctuation.
"…Dramatic," he muttered.
Shie didn't respond right away. He sat still, gaze fixed on the space Eichi had vanished from, fingers steepled in front of his lips. Thinking.
Across from him, Neko remained motionless. No fidgeting. No nerves. Just that eerie, unreadable stillness that Kai found more infuriating than reassuring.
Sasaki returned, a cloth in hand, already wiping down the edge of the table like it was a normal day and not the aftermath of a storm. Her presence grounded the room again. Shie finally spoke.
"Tag rationing means slower movement on the underchannels," he said quietly. "Push too hard, and we expose the whole network. Pull back too much, and we got a riot in the market."
He turned toward Neko, not unkindly—but not gently either.
"You understand what that means, girl?"
Neko nodded. "You'll be walking a thinner line. Risk without expansion."
"And?"
"You'll need smarter exchanges. Quieter logistics. I can manage that."
Shie leaned back, allowing himself the smallest flicker of a smile. "We'll see."
Kai scoffed, turning on his heel and stalking toward the back room, muttering something under his breath about "babysitting couriers."
Sasaki watched him go, then glanced at Neko. "You hungry, dear?"
Neko blinked. The question hit strange after everything—but she nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Shie waved a hand. "Feed her. No use sending anyone out on an empty stomach. Even ghosts need fuel."
As Sasaki led Neko toward the kitchen, but before she stepped out of the room, she heard Shie.
"Girl."
She stopped, glancing back over her shoulder. Shie didn't raise his voice—he didn't have to.
"That life he spoke of," he said, eyes still fixed on the cold tea in front of him. "The one he's so damn proud of… Do you understand what kind of life that really is?"
Neko didn't answer right away. Her hand lingered on the doorway, fingers brushing the frame.
"He isn't proud of it, to be honest with you."
Shie's eyes flicked up, slow and sharp. He didn't interrupt.
She turned slightly, just enough for her voice to carry back into the room.
"He carries it like armor—but it's not pride. It's weight. Every step he takes drags pieces of it behind him, and every one of us can hear it, if we're listening."
Her voice softened, almost reluctant.
"I've seen the way he looks at peace. Like it's foreign. Like he doesn't trust it. That's not pride. That's survival."
Shie's fingers tapped once against the side of his cup. "Still. He wields it like a Totem."
"He has to," Neko replied. "Because if he didn't... it would swallow him whole."
She hesitated, then added, "I don't know everything. I know pieces. The blood he's walked through. The things he's done to keep breathing."
A pause.
"I wouldn't wish that life on anyone. Not even my worst enemies."
Shie leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking beneath the motion.
"And if you had been born in his shoes?"
Neko tilted her head slightly, eyes distant behind the mask.
"My life was heading that way," she said. "Not as fast. Not as brutal. But still… the same kind of emptiness was waiting. Just dressed up nicer."
Another beat.
"I like to think I stepped off the path. But now…"
Shie regarded her quietly. Then, more to himself than to her:
"Even ghosts need names."
Neko didn't reply to that. She just bowed her head slightly.
"Thank you for the meal," she said quietly, and finally stepped through the door.
The room grew still again.
Shie lifted his cup and drank the last of the cold tea, lips pressed in a thin, unreadable line.