Earth — Country of Hinode
Red Moon Headquarters
It was a bright, crisp morning at the monastery.
The courtyard sat unusually quiet. Most of the battalions had already departed—scattered across missions, patrols, and routine duties. What remained was stillness.
A man walked through it.
He stood at 6'0, dressed in an elegant dark blue suit, a black shirt and tie layered beneath. His skin was pale—almost silver under the morning light. His hair was short and neatly slicked to the side, black at the top fading into silver at the bottom. Dark brown eyes. A perfectly trimmed beard.
And an "X"-shaped scar carved across the left side of his forehead, cutting down through his eye.
His steps were firm.
Precise.
Silent.
Even his presence felt muted—like something that didn't quite belong in the living world.
Cold.
Distant.
Unsettling.
Even the birds perched along the courtyard roof fell silent as he passed
Amon Kurogane. Second Blade.
Beneath a nearby tree, sprawled across the grass, lay a massive young man.
Bald. Chubby. Completely relaxed.
He wore a black-and-red outfit inspired by the Red Moon—patterns of devil faces woven into the design. In one hand, he loosely held an open bag of chips. Resting on his stomach was a small portal console.
He stirred.
Then jolted awake.
Kon: "Oh man…"
A beat.
"I fell asleep… and lost my game."
He stared down at the ground.
Horror.
Kon: "My chips!!"
He dropped to his knees dramatically, staring at the scattered crumbs in the grass.
"NOOO…"
As Amon passed by, Kon glanced up.
Kon: "Oh—hey, Amon. How are you?"
Amon stopped.
A brief pause.
Amon: "I'm doing well."
His tone was calm. Controlled.
"I'm heading to the Second District."
A slight shift in his gaze.
"To check on the Yakuza. Chota has been acting… odd."
A pause.
"I intend to find out why."
Kon blinked.
Then his eyes lit up instantly.
Kon: "You're going to the entertainment district?!"
He jumped to his feet.
"That sounds fun—can I come with you?!"
His voice carried pure excitement—like a kid asking to go on a field trip.
Amon studied him for a moment.
Then—
A faint nod.
Amon: "Hm. Sure."
A beat.
"It would be useful to have additional strength."
A small pause.
"I'd appreciate your help, Kon."
Kon puffed his chest out proudly, flexing his arms.
Kon:"Yeah! No problem!"
He grinned widely.
Kon Sasaki. Fourth Blade.
Second District — West Side
Entertainment District
Neon lights flooded the streets outside.
Inside, the luxury hotel pulsed with life.
Mahone and Edmund sat at a casino table, chips stacked between them, glasses half-empty. Their outfits leaned into a loud, tourist-like satire—bright enough to blend in, careless enough to be ignored.
Perfect cover.
Edmund downed a shot.
Edmund: "You seen anything yet?"
Mahone didn't look at him.
He took a slow drag from his cigarette, eyes scanning the room through the reflection of the glass panels.
Mahone: "I have."
A beat.
"We can't act yet."
He exhaled smoke slowly.
"Too many cameras. Security's tight… and there are no blind spots."
Edmund leaned back slightly, lowering his voice.
Edmund: "Man, I just hope your source is right and he's actually here."
A pause.
"We're way out of jurisdiction. If anything goes sideways, we're screwed."
Mahone calmly set his cigarette down.
Mahone: "Don't worry."
A beat.
"I'll make sure it doesn't."
His eyes shifted subtly toward the elevator area.
Mahone: "Sometimes… you have to step outside the law to protect it."
He checked his watch.
Edmund noticed.
Edmund: "What is it?"
Mahone: "In about five minutes… we move."
Edmund frowned slightly.
Mahone leaned forward, voice low.
Mahone: "There's only one way in without forcing it."
"I blend in."
He nodded toward the elevators.
"The guards are checking for Yakuza tattoos. That's their filter."
A pause.
"But they're inconsistent. They only fully check one out of every few groups."
Edmund raised an eyebrow.
Edmund: "And you're planning to be in the group they don't check?"
Mahone gave a faint smirk.
Mahone: "I've been sitting here drinking and smoking for over an hour."
He gestured subtly behind them.
"The camera behind us has already labeled me as harmless."
A beat.
"A drunk tourist looking for a good time."
He stood slowly.
Mahone: "That's all they'll see."
Edmund nodded.
Edmund: "Alright… I can work with that. What do you need from me?"
Mahone: "Stay here."
A beat.
"Be my eyes above."
Edmund leaned back again, eyes sharpening.
Edmund: "Got it."
Mahone didn't waste another second.
The moment a group of partygoers started heading toward the elevators—
He moved.
Seamlessly slipping in with them.
Laughing.
Stumbling slightly.
Playing the part perfectly.
The group was stopped.
Guards stepped forward, scanning each person.
Eyes sharp. Movements precise.
They checked tattoos.
Weapons.
Faces.
Mahone swayed slightly, muttering under his breath like he'd had too much to drink.
The guards barely glanced at him.
Just another idiot.
They waved the group through.
Mahone stepped inside.
No resistance.
No suspicion.
Just like he predicted.
The elevator descended.
The atmosphere changed.
The deeper levels of the hotel weren't luxury—
They were lawless.
Music hit harder.
Lights dimmed lower.
Drugs. Money. Power.
This was the underworld.
Mahone stepped out.
Calm.
Focused.
He moved through the chaos until he reached a secured corridor.
At the end of it—
Chota's room.
Two guards stood outside.
Armed and alert. Watching everything.
Mahone stopped just out of sight.
Studying.
Calculating.
No way through the front.
Then—
His eyes shifted upward.
A vent.
Connected directly into the room.
Mahone's expression didn't change.
But his plan just did.
Mahone slipped into the vent—swift and silent.
Carefully, he crawled through the narrow shaft until he reached an opening overlooking Chota's room.
He stopped.
Watched.
Below him—
Chota sat comfortably, a thick cigar between his fingers. Smoke curled into the air. Women surrounded him. Laughter echoed. Money exchanged hands. Drugs scattered across tables.
Everything you'd expect from a Yakuza boss hideout.
But something felt… wrong.
Mahone's senses sharpened.
There was a scent in the air.
Iron.
Faint—but unmistakable.
Like blood.
Something had happened here.
Something recent. He noticed how no one stood near a certain corner of the room and one of the women in the room avoided looking at the floor entirely.
Mahone narrowed his eyes.
Then he moved.
With practiced precision, he pulled a small device from his pocket, aimed carefully—
Tick.
A tiny chip launched silently and embedded itself into the back of Chota's neck.
Mahone: "That'll do."
A beat.
"Now I just need to get out of here."
He began to shift back—
Then—
The doors opened.
Guards: "Sir… they're here."
Mahone froze.
He felt it instantly.
Two presences.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
The kind that made your body react before your mind could process it.
They entered the room.
Amon.
Kon.
From the vent, Mahone watched them step inside.
One moved with cold, controlled precision.
The other carried raw, chaotic weight.
Together—
They felt like death walking.
Chota noticed immediately.
Chota: "Oh…"
A beat.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Kurogane."
He forced a smile.
"To what do I owe this… sudden visit?"
His voice wavered slightly.
Amon didn't smile.
Amon: "I came because I haven't received any status reports lately."
He walked slowly around the room.
Each step deliberate.
Controlled.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Fear spread quietly across every face.
Amon: "You haven't answered my calls."
"I don't know what's happening with any of my operations."
A beat.
He stopped directly in front of Chota.
Looking down at him.
Amon: "It's… frustrating."
A pause.
"To be left in the dark."
Chota swallowed hard.
Chota: "Well… uh…"
"There's… an explanation, sir."
Amon said nothing.
Just stared.
Waiting.
Chota hesitated—
Then said it.
Chota: "I'm afraid to let you know that the Yakuza… no longer operate under the Second Blade."
Silence.
Heavy.
Tight.
Like a wire about to snap.
Amon didn't react immediately.
Amon: "So…"
A beat.
"Who do you serve now?"
Chota's lips trembled.
Amon moved.
A flash of metal—
One of his twin blades appeared at Chota's throat.
Perfectly still.
Perfectly placed.
Chota: "I CAN'T TELL YOU!"
A beat.
"Do whatever you want to me—kill me if you have to!"
His voice cracked.
"But I won't say who it is!"
A pause.
His eyes filled with fear.
"He's… far worse than you."
His body shook—not from Amon's blade,
but from the name he refused to say.
"I'd rather die here than be killed by him."
Kon let out a low whistle.
Kon: "Heh… that gave me chills."
A beat.
"I can do it if you want, Amon."
Amon stood there.
Silent.
Looking down at Chota like he was nothing more than filth.
A traitor.
A coward.
Then—
Amon: "Don't worry, Kon."
"We're killing everyone in this room."
The words landed cold.
Absolute.
No hesitation and no emotion.
Then—
Amon slowly lifted his gaze.
Up.
Toward the vent.
His eyes locked onto Mahone.
Amon: "…Including him."
Mahone's eyes widened.
He'd been found.
Not by just anyone—
But by the Second and Fourth Blade of the Red Moon.
The mission—
Compromised.
And now—
The Calculating Technician stood at the edge of hell itself.