The rain hadn't stopped since the night they returned.
It came down in sheets that blurred the lights of the city into streaks of white and gold, like paint dripping down a canvas. Eiden stood by the window, watching droplets chase each other down the cracked glass. Inside, the apartment hummed faintly with life — the smell of wet jackets, the faint clatter of metal, Renji arguing with Kendo over whose turn it was to cook.
It felt strange, almost peaceful. But deep down, he knew peace was something temporary — a brief calm before something worse arrived.
Morning — The New Routine
Training started before dawn.
Noboru stood at the center of the dojo, arms folded, eyes half-lidded with the calm that only old soldiers carried. Jin was beside him, his presence sharp and composed, even in stillness.
"Again," Jin said, his tone cutting through the morning air like a blade. "Control your flame. Do not let it control you."
Renji's spear ignited in a burst of orange-red, spinning in his hands before flickering out.
Kendo followed, his sword flaring brighter and sharper, but the heat scorched the edge of the floorboards.
"Sloppy," Jin muttered. "You two fight like you're trying to prove something to each other. You're brothers — not rivals."
Renji scoffed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Tell that to him."
Kendo's mouth twitched into something between a grin and a grimace.
Eiden sat cross-legged at the back of the room, watching quietly. He hadn't been asked to join, not yet. Noboru had told him to "observe first, act later."
But every time he saw them move — the precision, the force, the raw soul energy dancing around their weapons — something stirred inside his chest. It wasn't envy. It wasn't fear either. It was something nameless.
Something waking up.
Later that morning, Eiden found himself sitting across from Noboru at the counter of the small kitchen. Steam rose from their mugs of coffee.
"You're quiet," Noboru said, not looking up from his drink.
Eiden shrugged. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
He hesitated. "Them. Renji and Kendo. They seem… determined. I'm not sure I understand why."
Noboru's lip twitched, almost forming a smirk. "Their father owes money to an organization that eats souls for profit. Determination comes easy when blood is at stake."
Eiden looked down at his mug. "And me?"
"What about you?"
"I don't know why I'm here yet," he said quietly. "Or what I'm supposed to do."
Noboru set his cup down. "You'll figure it out. Sometimes purpose doesn't come to you — you walk into it by accident."
The man's phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the name and frowned faintly. "Daichi."
Eiden's heart skipped a beat. The name was familiar — his brother's name. But hearing it from someone else made it sound distant, foreign.
Noboru answered. His tone shifted instantly, sharper, professional. "Yeah… you're already there? … How many of them? … Alright. Don't die before I can scold you."
He ended the call and turned toward the window. The rain had grown heavier.
"What's going on?" Eiden asked.
"Daichi's working," Noboru said. "Reaper Agency found traces of a small criminal sect — they've been trading souls, making fake contracts, binding humans into pacts they can't escape. Scum."
He turned to Eiden. "You'll hear about it later, but it's better you see what the real world of Reapers looks like first. Those who think the law protects them haven't seen what's underneath."
City — The Agency's Hunt
Downtown was darker than usual. The alleys were flooded, lights blinking erratically under the rain.
Daichi stood in the middle of a half-lit street, coat collar turned up, a lollipop tucked between his lips. His expression was unreadable, eyes scanning the blackened storefronts and shuttered signs.
Beside him stood his partner — Arata — a tall man with slicked-back hair, sharp features, and the calm precision of someone who planned every breath before taking it.
A handgun rested at his hip, but the faint pulse of soul energy around it made it clear: this wasn't an ordinary weapon.
"North side's been quiet," Arata said, checking a small device that flickered with faint soul readings. "But south warehouse — that's where it spikes. Multiple signatures. Could be the Lotus' remnants."
Daichi removed the lollipop, tossing the stick aside. "Let's end it quickly. I'm not in the mood to chase idiots through the mud."
Arata's lips twitched. "You say that every mission."
They moved through the rain silently, their footsteps muffled by puddles. As they approached the warehouse, they could hear the faint hum of ritual chanting.
Inside, half a dozen men in tattered cloaks surrounded a glowing sigil drawn in red. In the center was a woman — bound, trembling, her soul faintly flickering like a candle ready to die.
Daichi stepped forward, his expression unchanging. "You picked the wrong district for this."
The nearest cultist turned, eyes glowing faintly blue. "Who are you?"
Daichi's coat sleeve fluttered as his soul energy surged. "The one who buries you."
Arata lifted his gun. "Let's make this clean."
The fight erupted in seconds.
Arata's weapon roared, but each shot transformed midair — shifting shape into blazing spears, slicing arcs, even chained bullets that wrapped around enemies like serpents. His quirk, Reaper Weapons, made him unpredictable and deadly.
Daichi didn't draw a weapon. He didn't need to. His movements were too fast, too deliberate — he moved like smoke, slipping between enemies before they even realized he'd struck. His lollipop habit wasn't for show; it kept his focus anchored. Every blow he delivered carried a cold, refined weight.
A cultist lunged at him with a jagged scythe. Daichi caught the weapon with one hand, broke it over his knee, and slammed his palm against the man's chest. The reaper's body folded — not physically, but spiritually. His soul cracked like glass.
Arata whistled lowly. "Still overkill."
"Still talking," Daichi muttered.
When the last of the cultists hit the ground, Arata lowered his gun, exhaling slowly. The glowing sigil faded, leaving the bound woman unconscious but alive.
Arata turned to Daichi. "That's the fourth sect this month."
Daichi wiped rain from his cheek. "They're multiplying. Someone's backing them."
"Maybe," Arata said, holstering his gun. "Or maybe the world's just getting hungrier."
Daichi said nothing. He just looked out at the skyline — at the endless lights that stretched into the mist — and for a brief second, his reflection in a puddle seemed older than he was.
"Let's report in," Arata said. "Before it rains harder."
Daichi didn't answer. His mind had already drifted — to a boy he'd barely known, somewhere in the same city.
He wouldn't say it out loud, but a thought brushed the edge of his mind: Eiden… I wonder if you're still alive in all this.
He popped another lollipop into his mouth and walked into the storm.
Nightfall — The Flicker
Back at the dojo, the night had turned quiet.
Eiden sat alone under the lantern light, practicing a movement Jin had shown him — a simple stance meant to focus energy through the body. But tonight, it was different.
He closed his eyes, and the hum beneath his skin became a pulse — deep, resonant, like something inside him was answering a call.
A faint glow spread across his palms — pale silver, like mist caught in moonlight.
Renji noticed first. "Whoa. Eiden, your hands—"
The glow faded instantly, leaving nothing behind but silence.
Noboru looked up from the hallway, expression unreadable. "So it begins."
Eiden opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, thunder cracked outside — a deep, rolling sound that shook the glass.
In the city, Daichi stopped walking, his senses tingling for a moment. The soul energy he felt was faint but familiar — the kind that belonged to blood.
He said nothing. Just turned away and vanished into the rain.