Rain fell in sheets, loud enough to drown out thoughts, with the occasional crack of thunder just to drive the point home. People below scattered like rats, holding bags over their heads, slipping and cursing the sky.
On a rotting wooden bench tucked away in one of the city's narrow alleys, Kai sat still, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, forehead resting on a damp palm.
He looked awful. Clothes crusted with grime, reeking like wet dog. Eyes sunken, ringed in black. Three days without sleep did that to a person — especially when sleep meant something worse than insomnia.
But the storm? The storm was kind. It pushed the world back just far enough to breathe.
Step… step…
A voice rang out, too smug for the weather.
"Oh boy, oh boy. I could smell you from a mile away. If this is your idea of hiding, I'm giving you a solid zero out of ten, little Timmy."
Kai looked up.
Of course. The clown had arrived.
The man strutted forward with an umbrella in hand, dressed like a bargain-bin Gojo Satoru — white hair, smug grin, sunglasses indoors type. He plopped down on the other end of the bench like this was a reunion picnic, not a grim alley meeting. Didn't even flinch as his designer pants soaked through on the wet wood.
Kai said nothing. Partly because he was too tired. Mostly because words felt like too much effort.
The man set a silver box on the bench beside him with a casual tap, like he was placing down a lunchbox. Kai's eyes drifted to it, then back to the man, brows furrowed in quiet suspicion.
The white-haired bastard grinned.
"Still not feeling chatty, huh? That's fine. Makes things quicker. So… what's your decision, little Timmy?"
Kai twitched. That damn nickname again. He wasn't sure if the guy was being deliberately annoying or if it just came naturally. Probably both.
Still, Kai knew better than to snap at someone like him. He swallowed the irritation, sighed, and tilted his head back to stare into the curtain of rain.
"I accept your offer."
He paused, then continued.
"There's nothing left for me here. A normal life? That train left the station a long time ago. I can't even step onto the main road without getting lit up like a festival float. This… this is the only way left."
His voice was calm, but there was a crack under the surface.
The man chuckled, leaning back like he was lounging in a spa and not soaking on a rotten bench beside a wanted fugitive.
"Aww, don't get all gloomy on me, little Timmy. Life's a box of surprises. You've just been getting the ones full of nails, that's all. Anyway… we're on the clock. Uncle Matsumoto's already sniffing your trail. Go on. Open the box."
Kai stared at it a moment longer, then exhaled and clicked it open.
The lid lifted with a soft hiss, revealing what lay inside.
He froze for a heartbeat. Took a slow breath.
"...Ha."
He shook his head, lips curling into a tired smile. Not amused — just resigned.
The man beside him gave a little nod.
"That's the "the Door," Timmy. Just like I promised."
"How do I even know this thing'll work?"
Kai muttered, running his fingers across the cold metal.
The man gave a toothy grin.
"That's the fun part, huh? You don't. No one does. You're here because this is your last shot. You don't trust me — smart — but you'll still bet on a one percent chance, because that's all you've got left."
Kai didn't respond.
Of course he didn't trust this lunatic. The guy claimed to be Death, for crying out loud — and not in the cool, poetic way either. More like a caffeinated teenager with a god complex and no moral compass. Apathetic, unpredictable… and worst of all, annoyingly smug.
Kai stared at the contents of the box, jaw tight.
Then came the casual warning:
"You might wanna tilt your head to the left. Right now."
"...Huh?"
He didn't think. Just moved.
A split second later, a black katana hissed through the air and embedded itself in the bench — right where his head had been. The blade sang as it sank into the wood, and a warm line of blood slid down Kai's chin. A close shave. Literally.
Several black bikes skidded to a stop nearby, engines still rumbling. A sleek black car followed, silent and ominous. The passenger door opened.
A man in a black suit stepped out, face hidden behind an umbrella. Calm. Methodical. He moved to the back and opened the rear door.
And out stepped the real presence — a bald man in another tailored suit, walking with the confidence of someone used to giving orders... and making bodies disappear. He didn't speak.
He didn't have to.
"Oh? Your uncle is faster than I thought. Good, good."
The psycho grinned, watching the scene unfold.
"Kai..."
The voice was low. Familiar. Heavy with something that might've once been regret.
Matsumoto Renjiro.
Right-hand man of the one they called the Dragon — the man who ruled this city like it was just another part of his empire.
Renjiro wasn't just some enforcer. He was the one who had taken Kai and his three friends under his wing back when they were stupid, desperate kids trying to matter.
Treated them like nephews. Fed them, trained them, taught them how to handle a katana and throw a punch that would actually mean something.
He also put drugs in their hands and sent them running deliveries through high school hallways.
More than gang work, he gave them a place that felt like home.
And then it all went to hell.
A school op gone sideways. Cops hit a warehouse, seized over a hundred million dollars' worth of product. The Dragon wanted names. Everyone already knew who'd messed up.
Kai and his friends didn't even get a chance to run.
Now? Now his three friends were dead. He'd seen the bodies himself — broken and dumped like trash. He was only alive because they'd bought him just enough time to disappear.
But that time was running out.
Matsumoto stood there, face unreadable.
"The Dragon wants to see you," he said quietly.
Kai let out a bitter laugh.
"Yeah? So he can do to me what he did to them?"
A pause. The rain filled the silence for a beat.
"...Forgive me."
Matsumoto bite his lips.
"But this was the only way. Come with us, Kai. Don't make me do something I'll regret."
His eyes hardened, but there was a flicker of something behind them. Regret. Maybe even guilt.
"I didn't want your friends to die. I tried. I talked to the boss. He said… he said he won't kill you."
"You believe that lie?" Kai snapped, voice low but burning. "You caught them, Matsumoto! They looked at you like an uncle — and you handed them over on a silver platter."
His fingers wrapped around the katana still lodged in the bench. With a slow, steady motion, he pried it free. The metal groaned.
"You killed them, Matsumoto. You killed them."
If Matsumoto hadn't delivered them, maybe they'd still be alive. And if that was the truth… then Matsumoto would be already dead by now.
Kai's hand drifted back toward the silver box.
Matsumoto stepped forward, jaw tight.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Kai. Come with us. I promise… nothing will happen to you."
And he meant it. Matsumoto wasn't lying — not this time. He, too, was clinging to that one percent chance. That maybe, just maybe, his boss would spare the boy.
Kai laughed — bitter and empty.
"Then what? I get to live? To do what? Run errands for your gang again? Pretend the last three people I cared about aren't lying in a ditch somewhere?"
His voice cracked — not from grief, but from exhaustion. From carrying too much for too long.
"Alone again. Just like before. Before they found me."
He stopped. Took a breath. No need to unload the whole story. Not here. Not now.
Kai looked up at the man in black and gave a faint, tired smile — the kind that didn't reach the eyes.
"It's okay, Uncle," he said softly. "There's nothing left that can hurt me anymore."
He glanced down.
Then to the side, toward the box.
The cold metal seemed to pulse under his fingers — ancient, rusted, like it had survived a century just to end up in his hands.
A door.
He had two options.
Die quietly on his own terms… or die screaming under the Dragon's knife.
Some choices weren't really choices at all.
"If I die here, the Dragon will come for your head," Kai said softly. "If I go with you, he'll take mine. But I think I've figured out how to save us both, Uncle..."
He turned his gaze to the man sitting beside him — the pale, grinning psychopath who'd brought the silver box.
"You remember our promise, right?"
The man's grin widened.
"The promise is from Death. It will be honored."
Kai nodded, then looked back at Matsumoto.
His eyes were clear now. Sharp. Fierce.
"What are you—"
Matsumoto didn't get to finish. He had an expression of horror on his face.
Suddenly, every one of his men had their guns trained on Kai, shouting warnings, fingers twitching on triggers.
But Kai was already ahead of them.
In his hand was an old, rusty revolver — the same one that had been hidden inside the silver box.
Old. Heavy. Rusted.
The "door" the psycho had promised.
A way out — and maybe a way in.
His own death.
A choice.
One way or another, the end of this story had already been written.
He gave Matsumoto one last look. There wasn't hate in his eyes anymore. Just acceptance.
"Sayonara, Uncle."
Bang.
Matsumoto crumpled to the ground, a clean hole between his eyes.
Before the body hit the pavement, Kai was already raising the barrel to his own head.
The alley exploded into screams. Guns roared. Bullets tore through the air.
But to Kai, everything had slowed. He could see the rain falling, drop by drop. He could hear the psycho beside him laughing like a lunatic, as if watching a fireworks show.
Kai closed his eyes.
Bang.
A heartbeat later, the world vanished in a storm of gunfire.
.
.
.
Elsewhere… far away…
A boy opened his eyes.
[Death has chosen you, Kaizen.]