Ren sat on the edge of his bed, still in the same clothes from the meeting. His body ached, the wounds from the last mission pulsing with a dull, persistent pain. He hadn't had the chance to get treated yet—he'd planned to do so first thing in the morning, but now, with everything that had happened, it was the least of his concerns. The news of Hideo Takeda's wife's brutal murder replayed in his head. The image of her severed fingers and teeth smeared in blood, wrapped neatly like a twisted present, was burned into his mind.
The signature. The mockery. The absolute lack of fear. Whoever Y was, he wasn't just another killer—he was playing a different game entirely.
Ren leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes unfocused. What the hell was Y? A rogue assassin? Some lunatic with a vendetta? Or was he something worse?
Then, his phone chimed.
A single message. No name. No number. Just text.
"Meet me at Nakanoshima Park 9 AM. I have valuable information for you."
Ren's expression remained cold, but his mind sharpened instantly. No one should have this number.
Only specific Syndicate operatives were allowed access to his line. He had no friends, no acquaintances outside of the underworld—because he wasn't supposed to. His life had been forged in steel and blood, shaped into something that existed only to kill.
For someone outside the Syndicate to have his number meant one of two things:
1.A mistake was made, which was highly unlikely.
2.It was a trap.
Ren smirked slightly. If this was Y, then he was making a big mistake showing himself so soon. Arrogant. Reckless. That meant it would be easy to kill him.
He stood up, walking over to the bathroom. If he was going to do this, he'd do it properly.
Preparation for the Hunt
The cold water ran down his face, washing away the exhaustion, the blood that had dried on his skin. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, stared back at him through the mirror.
His injuries ached—his barely stitched wound and ribs were still bruised, his right shoulder stiff. Nothing he couldn't push through.
After drying off, he dressed in something simple yet precise—dark, fitted clothes that allowed ease of movement but didn't stand out too much. Ren wasn't the type to focus on appearances, but he looked good in anything he wore. He wasn't conventionally attractive like Akihiro—he lacked that effortless charm—but he was rugged, masculine, sharp-featured, there was something sharp and masculine about him—unrefined, dangerous.
Before leaving, he slipped a small knife into his pocket and wrapped a thin wire around his wrist, concealed beneath his sleeve. One weapon might not be enough. If this was Y, then Ren needed to be ready to kill without hesitation.
Without another thought, he stepped into the day for the first time in days.
The park was almost empty at this hour. The streetlights cast a dim glow over the pathways, the air carrying a faint chill. Ren moved soundlessly, his sharp eyes scanning the area.
He expected an intimidating presence—someone powerful, someone who radiated danger.
The location was too obvious.
A secluded alley near an abandoned warehouse—a textbook setup for a hit. If Y had even the slightest intelligence, he wouldn't expose himself in a place like this. Which meant this could be a trap or a decoy.
Ren remained in the shadows, scanning the area. 9:00 AM. The morning sun cast harsh lines across the cracked pavement, but the place was still drenched in an unnatural stillness. No civilians. No Syndicate members. Just her.
A single figure stood beneath a flickering streetlamp. Waiting.
A hoodie concealed their face, their hands stuffed into the front pocket like they had nowhere else to put them. They looked out of place—too clean, too untrained to be an assassin.
But Ren didn't trust appearances.
Silently, he stepped closer, slipping behind them without a sound. Kill them first. Ask questions later.
The wire tightened in his grip as he raised it behind their neck. Just as he was about to pull—
They turned.
Ren froze.
His mind blanked for a full second.
This wasn't Y. This wasn't even close to what he had expected. It was a girl.
She blinked up at him, blue eyes meeting his with zero fear. Her features were striking, not fully Japanese, her golden-blonde hair cascading from beneath her hoodie. She was small—shorter than him by a lot although she seemed to be the same age as hm or even older—but what caught his attention was her body.
Even with the hoodie on, he could see the curves beneath it. The soft outline of her chest, the way her waist dipped inward before flaring out into wide hips and thick thighs. Her shorts ended dangerously high, revealing smooth, toned legs that shouldn't have belonged to someone meeting an informant in a shady park.
But Ren couldn't care less about her face or her looks.
"…Shit." He exhaled, his voice lower than usual. What the fuck was he doing?
"Did you just try to strangle me?" she asked, tilting her head.
Ren ran a hand through his hair, his heartbeat finally slowing. "I thought you were someone else."
She didn't react how most people would when nearly getting assassinated. No fear, no screaming. Instead, she simply sighed.
"Well, that's an interesting first impression."
Ren narrowed his eyes. Who the hell was she?
She pulled her hood back fully, revealing her face. Soft, yet sharp where it mattered. Pretty in a way that didn't belong in a place like.
But that wasn't important. Ren forced his mind back on track, dragging his gaze back up to meet hers, cold and unreadable.
He always liked to analyze his opponents and notice every single detail about them to know what he is up against.
"You're the one who texted me?" Ren asked, his voice leveled as usual.
She nodded. "Yeah. I figured you'd show up armed."
He scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You didn't seem worried."
"Why should I be?" she countered. "You're not going to kill me."
That made him pause.
She wasn't wrong—not yet, anyway.
"You're the informant, right?" she asked, arms crossed. Her voice was smooth, calm.
Ren kept his expression unreadable. Informant? Who the hell told her that?
"Who gave you this number?" he asked, his voice flat.
She smirked slightly. "A man."
Ren's patience was thin. "I don't like repeating myself."
"I don't like answering questions for free," she shot back.
His fingers twitched slightly. She's playing games. That was fine. He could easily kill her before she even realized what was happening.
"What do you want?" he asked instead.
Her expression shifted slightly, her confidence flickering just for a second. Then, she inhaled deeply and said, "I need your help. I'm looking for the assassin who killed my parents."
…Ah.
Ren immediately understood what was happening.
She was chasing the wrong lead.
She thought he was an informant—someone who gathered and sold information about assassins. Which meant… she hated assassins.
She wouldn't trust him if she knew what he was.
When her eyes met his again, she asked, "What's your name?"
For the first time, Ren hesitated.
If he told her his real name, she'd find out eventually. She'd realize who he was, who he worked for. And then, she'd run. And he'd lose his only fucking lead.
So he lied.
"Kaito. And you said you had information?"
She studied him for a second, like she was trying to decide whether or not to believe him. Then, finally, she nodded. "Kaito, huh? Alright. I need your help." Ignoring his other question.
Ren almost laughed.
This girl was a fucking idiot.
He debated just walking away. She wasn't worth his time. As long as she didn't get in his way, killing her was unnecessary. He'd come here expecting something big, thinking maybe this was Y himself. But instead, it was just some clueless woman chasing ghosts.
He turned without another word. "Not interested. Stay out of assassin business if you don't want to end up dead."
But before he could take another step, her voice stopped him.
"A man gave me your number… and he told me to give you something."
Ren froze.
His instincts flared. A test. A bait. A trap.
Slowly, he turned back to her. "And?"
"I won't show you or tell you anything about him," she said, crossing her arms, "unless you agree to cooperate with me."
Ren's eyes darkened.
Smart. She was fucking smart. She knew he was interested—his reaction had given her just enough to push this in her favor.
Silence stretched between them as Ren sized her up.
Everything about this was wrong. No one outside the Syndicate should have his number. And the only kind of person who would leak it? A traitor.
His first instinct was to kill her. She was a liability, a loose end. He could take her out now and be done with it.
But if she really had information on the bastard who gave her his number…
Ren clenched his jaw.
The risks were obvious. She could be lying, trying to drag him into whatever bullshit she was wrapped up in. Or worse, she could be bait sent by Y himself. The smart move was to eliminate her now before this turned into an even bigger problem.
And yet.
If he walked away, he'd lose his only lead. If he killed her, whatever information she had would be gone with her.
That pissed him off more than anything.
"Fine," he said, voice low. "I'll help you."
She raised a brow, but before she could speak, he took a step closer, his presence suffocating. "But listen carefully. This isn't some game. You don't tell anyone we spoke. You don't contact me unless I tell you to. And if I find out you're lying to me—" His voice dropped to a whisper, cold and sharp as a blade. "I'll kill you myself."
To his surprise, she didn't flinch.
Instead, she smirked.
"Of course," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "I totally trust the guy who just tried to choke me."
Ren exhaled through his nose.
This was a bad idea.
The logical choice was to kill her. But she had unknowingly stumbled onto something bigger than her parents' deaths. The man who gave her his number was connected to Y, had to be. That was the only explanation.
And now, he had to keep her alive.
Ren watched her carefully. This girl was dangerous—not because she was strong, but because she wasn't stupid. She wasn't a fighter. She wasn't an assassin.
But she had a brain.
And that made her a fucking problem.