Deep beneath the mafia's headquarters, far from the eyes of the world, a sealed underground basement waited in silence.
That was where Nobu's true training began.
The mafia boss's right-hand man stood across from him, arms folded, expression cold and unreadable.
At first, he intended to teach the boy only the basics.
Simple stances.
Basic strikes.
Nothing more.
But within minutes…
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
Nobu mirrored every movement perfectly.
Every shift of weight.
Every angle of the wrist.
Every breath between motions.
Flawless.
The man's eyes narrowed slightly.
Nobu had never trained before.
And yet his body moved like a weapon that had already been forged in countless battles.
Impossible…
Slowly, the right-hand man changed the lesson.
The basic forms disappeared.
In their place came movements meant only for assassins—
Sharp.
Efficient.
Lethal.
Techniques designed to kill in seconds.
To his surprise…
Nobu didn't hesitate.
He didn't struggle.
He didn't even look afraid.
If anything—
The boy looked… comfortable.
Pain didn't slow him.
Fear didn't exist in his eyes.
He absorbed every lesson like someone who had been waiting for this life.
Watching from the shadows, the right-hand man felt the first flicker of unease.
Beru's path was different.
Painfully different.
Where Nobu flowed like water, Beru fought like stone.
Even the basics took time.
His movements were slower.
Rougher.
But every strike he landed carried frightening weight.
His body wasn't built for speed.
It was built for endurance.
For power.
And no matter how many times he fell—
Beru always stood back up.
Without complaint.
Without hesitation.
Seven Years Later
Time carved the boys into something unrecognizable.
Nobu became a silent shadow.
Fast.
Precise.
Terrifying.
A thin scar now rested across his knuckles—earned during training, never explained.
Beru grew broader, sturdier, his presence alone enough to make weaker trainees step back.
Strength and endurance radiated from every movement.
The mafia finally made their decision.
They were ready.
First Real Mission
Kashi stood before them, older now—but the cold in his eyes hadn't changed.
"I'm your squad leader," he said flatly.
Their target:
A small clan rumored to possess unexpectedly strong fighters.
Before departure, the mafia boss gave only one warning.
"Fight one-on-one," he said calmly.
"No unnecessary risks."
The helicopter sliced through the night sky.
Inside, silence ruled.
Nobu's fingers rested lightly on the hilt of his katana.
Beru rolled his shoulders once.
Neither spoke.
This wasn't training.
This was real.
They landed far from the clan grounds and moved through the darkness like ghosts.
Their first objective was clear.
The clan leader.
The breach was flawless.
Door.
Step.
Three strikes.
The leader died without a sound.
But three elite guards remained.
Photos were taken as proof.
Explosives planted room by room.
Everything moved according to plan.
Until—
Steel flashed in the dark.
One guard had spotted Nobu.
Too fast.
Too close.
Nobu raised his blade—
—but he was a fraction too slow.
The sword punched straight through his chest.
For a second…
Nobu couldn't breathe.
Hot blood flooded his mouth.
His knees buckled.
The guard raised his weapon for the finishing blow—
Then—
A silver blur cut through the air.
SHHK.
Kashi appeared beside them.
One clean slash.
The guard's head fell.
They escaped moments before the bombs detonated.
Fire swallowed the clan.
The night burned.
Nobu survived.
But the wound left a dark scar across his chest.
A permanent reminder.
He had been too slow.
Weapons in the Making
The mafia boss was delighted.
A lavish feast was held in a high-class hotel.
Praise.
Recognition.
Whispers of their names spread through the organization.
From that night forward—
Nobu and Beru were no longer trainees.
They were rising weapons.
Training only became harsher.
Brutal.
Relentless.
Steel replaced wood.
Killing intent replaced hesitation.
Meanwhile, the city continued to rot from the inside.
Children sold.
Teenagers kidnapped.
Hidden bases buried in the dark.
Nobu and Beru watched it all.
And quietly—
They began to hate it.
They didn't want money.
They wanted power.
Enough power to choose their own fate.
Two Years Later
Now both were deadly swordsmen.
Three mid-rank missions completed.
No failures.
As a reward, the mafia gifted them a private luxury SUV—
—and their own katanas.
At last…
They were unleashed onto the streets alone.
Trouble came quickly.
A beggar boy noticed them.
Then vanished.
Nobu's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…We're being watched."
Minutes later—
Forty armed fighters surrounded them.
Steel glinted under the streetlights.
Silence fell.
Nobu exhaled slowly.
Beru cracked his knuckles.
Three minutes later—
Bodies covered the ground.
Only one man remained alive.
Bleeding.
Shaking.
Terrified.
From him, they learned the truth.
Two major criminals were kidnapping children…
Imprisoning beggar kids and teenage girls in a hidden base.
Selling them like merchandise.
Nobu's eyes turned ice cold.
Beru tightened his grip on his sword.
In the darkness between them—
Something dangerous quietly awakened.
This time…
They weren't hunting for the mafia.
They were hunting for themselves.