New Breedom — Morning.
The hospital room was quiet except for the machines.
A man lay motionless on the bed, his body wrapped almost entirely in bandages. Tubes ran from his arms and chest into softly humming equipment. The monitor beside him showed a steady heartbeat—consistent, artificial, reassuring in a way that meant nothing.
His breathing was shallow.
Burn marks were visible where the wrappings thinned.
He was alive, but only just.
A second man sat beside the bed, half-lost in shadow. He hadn't spoken in a while. Hadn't moved either. He simply stared at the broken body in front of him.
Then he lit a cigarette.
Smoke curled upward.
His skin was light brown, his hands marked with tattoos that crept up his wrists. He took a slow drag, eyes never leaving the man on the bed.
Man:"They really did a number on you, huh?"
His voice was calm. Low. Almost casual.
He stood up.
A black suit. White shirt. Black tie. Gold earrings caught the sterile light. Glasses framed sharp, coffee-brown eyes. He stood just over six feet tall, lean and fit, hair cut into a clean buzzcut.
Knock.
The door opened abruptly.
Nurse: "Excuse me, sir, but—hey! You can't smoke in here!"
She scolded him sharply.
Another man stepped in behind her. Large. Broad-shouldered. Blue eyes beneath a heavy brow. A thick ginger beard framed his face, his long hair pulled back with the sides shaved clean.
He wore the same black suit.
Big Man:"Mahone. We've been summoned."
Mahone glanced once more at the man on the bed, then crushed the cigarette out against a tray.
Mahone: "Alright."
They exited together.
As they moved through the hospital halls, staff and visitors instinctively stepped aside. Not out of fear—out of recognition. These men carried themselves with certainty. With authority.
Big Man: "So… how is he?"
Mahone didn't slow.
Mahone:"He'll live. Whether he pulls through is up to him."
Big Man:"That's cold, coming from a brother. You know he was just doing his job."
Mahone stopped at the elevator doors.
Mahone: "That's the job."
The doors slid open.
As they stepped inside, the big man exhaled.
Big Man: "Still… Reader's an amazing Fighter. It'd be a shame if he doesn't make it."
The elevator descended.
Mahone watched their reflections in the mirrored walls.
Mahone: "He was careless."
(He adjusted his cuff)
"Always relied too much on that ability of his. Never trusted instinct."
The elevator opened into the garage.
They climbed into a sleek, futuristic black car.
Mahone started the engine.
Mahone:"Perception can be deceiving."
The car pulled forward.
"That's why you have to look deeper than what's on the surface."
(He glanced sideways)
"You get it, Edmund?"
Edmund nodded.
The car merged into New Breedom's aerial traffic, the city sprawling beneath them—alive and full of promises.
And somewhere ahead, something was already moving.
Country of Hinode — Sora City
One Day Before Deployment to Nitchtron
Sora City began to glow as night approached.
Neon signs flickered on one by one, reflecting off glass towers and polished streets. Air traffic moved overhead in steady lanes of light, while buses, trains, and subways carried people home. The crowds were dense, but unhurried. Voices were loud, laughter common. No one looked over their shoulder.
Levi walked among them.
It was his first time in Sora since arriving in Hinode. Structurally, the city wasn't much different from New Breedom—tall buildings, layered infrastructure, constant motion—but the atmosphere was different.
People were comfortable.
There was a sense of safety in the air that Levi observed but didn't understand.
He wore a black short-sleeve jacket over a gray shirt, a red tie hanging loose at his collar. Gray jeans. Black boots.
As he walked, the surroundings shifted.
Bars. Clubs. Restaurants. Host and hostess clubs.
The Second District — west side.
An entertainment district.
Music spilled out into the streets from multiple directions. Neon signs burned brightly against the darkening sky. Groups of people moved from place to place, already drunk or well on their way.
Then Levi smelled something.
Rich. Savory. Heavy with fat and heat.
He followed the smell to a restaurant.
The restaurant was small, clearly family-owned. A modest bar ran along one wall. The interior was warm, crowded, alive with conversation and the sound of sizzling meat.
Levi took a seat at an open table.
Waitress: "Hi!"
(She bowed politely)
"Can I get you something to start your order?"
Levi looked around. Almost every table had the same dish set in front of them, steam rising, the scent thick in the air.
Levi:"I'll have that."
He pointed at a nearby table.
The waitress smiled immediately.
Waitress:"Kobe steak. Good choice."
Minutes later, the food arrived. Levi cooked the meat slowly over the built-in table stove, watching the surface change color, listening to the hiss of fat hitting heat. When it was ready, he began to eat.
As he did, voices from the bar drifted over.
Customer 1:"You heard about it, right? The Red Moon just got a new Blade."
Customer 2: "Yeah, I heard. Supposedly a foreigner. Anyone know its name?"
Customer 1: "No one does. But the whole entertainment district's talking about him."
Customer 2: "Wait, him? I thought it was a woman."
Customer 1: "No. A guy. And people are terrified. They say he fights like a beast that refuses to die."
Customer 2:"…Like a god of war?"
The first man nodded slowly.
Customer 1:"They call him the Wrath Boy."
The name carried.
Several nearby patrons glanced around instinctively. A few conversations lowered in volume. Others pretended not to listen while clearly listening.
Levi continued eating.
Then the front door opened.
Three men walked in.
One was tall and skinny, shoulders hunched slightly forward.
Another was short and chubby, thick arms hanging loose at his sides.
The third was athletic, confident in his stride.
All three were covered in tattoos and piercings.
The change in atmosphere was immediate.
A couple of customers near the entrance stood up instinctively, hands reaching for coats or bags, intent on leaving.
The athletic man stepped sideways and blocked the door with his body.
Delinquent:"Hey, hey—where you think you're going?"
His tone was light, mocking, but his hand rested near his waistband.
Tall Delinquent: "Yeah… where you goin' in such a hurry?"
The customers froze.
They looked at one another, then slowly returned to their seats. No one argued. No one complained.
The three men walked to the bar and took seats.
Behind it, the Owner stiffened.
Owner: "You're early. I thought I had three more days."
Chubby Delinquent: "What? We can't come by and enjoy ourselves? Is that a problem, old man?"
Owner: "P-Please… you're scaring the customers."
He forced a nervous laugh, hands shaking slightly.
The delinquent leaned forward over the bar, eyes drifting past the owner and settling on the waitress.
Delinquent: "We want her."
The waitress froze.
The owner stepped in front of her immediately.
Owner: "No. You're not touching my daughter."
The delinquent's expression hardened. His hand slid closer to his weapon.
Before he could say anything else, the door opened again.
Chubby Delinquent: "Hey! Sit back down—we ain't done here!"
The command wasn't aimed at the owner.
It was aimed at Levi.
Levi had stood up.
He didn't respond.
He just walked past them and out the door.
Owner: "Th-That young man didn't pay."
The three men turned and followed.
The street outside was busy, but Levi turned into an empty side alley.
The footsteps followed.
A hand grabbed his shoulder and shoved him into the wall.
Tall Delinquent: "You know what you just did, right?"
Levi didn't answer.
The delinquent stepped forward.
Delinquent:"That restaurant back there? It's ours, so is every damn dime it makes."
He lifted his shirt, revealing tattoos across his back and sides.
"We own the whole block. Cafés. Salons. Dining halls. All of it."
The others did the same, exposing matching symbols.
Delinquent: "We're Yakuza."
(He leaned in)
"And when someone steals from us, or disrespects us, they pay with their life."
Levi stood still, his face hidden in shadow.
Chubby Delinquent:"Just kill this punk already. He's pissin' me off."
The delinquent pulled out a knife and lunged.
The ground shook violently.
All three staggered.
Delinquent:"What the hell—an earthquake now?!"
The shaking stopped.
Levi's aura ignited—painting the walls red.
The delinquent's confidence vanished.
Levi stepped forward and grabbed his wrist.
Bone cracked.
The scream tore through the alley.
Levi leaned in close.
Levi:"Take me to your Boss."
The delinquent screamed again and nodded frantically.
He led Levi through a district that no longer felt like part of the city.
They entered a luxury hotel.
Polished marble floors. Gold trim. Chandeliers glowing softly overhead.
Too clean.
Too controlled.
They passed through a casino floor filled with noise—chips clacking, cards sliding, dice rolling. Laughter rang hollow, layered over desperation.
They stopped at a private elevator.
Two guards stood watch.
Security Guard: "Hold it. Oil gets hot on the heating stove."
The delinquent lifted his mangled hand.
Delinquent:"So does water."
The guard frowned.
Security Guard:"What happened to your hand? And who's the kid?"
Delinquent:"He's here to see the Boss."
(His voice shook from pain)
"Just let us through."
They were searched and allowed inside.
The elevator descended.
When it opened, darkness swallowed them.
Lights flashed erratically. Music pounded. People danced, fought, laughed, and snorted drugs openly.
A pit disguised as pleasure.
They stopped at another guarded door.
Four large men blocked the way.
The delinquent pulled back his sleeve, showing his tattoos.
Recognition passed.
A knock.
The door opened slowly.
Warm, golden light spilled into the hallway, cutting through the pulsing reds and violets behind them. Smoke rolled out first—thick, heavy, clinging to skin and fabric.
Inside, the room was wide and crowded.
Men and women filled the space—some half-dressed, others in tailored suits. Every visible inch of exposed skin was marked with ink: symbols, names, monsters, clan markings stretching from necks down to fingers. A long table sat in the center, buried beneath stacks of cash, scattered cards, bottles, and lines of powder carelessly cut and already smeared.
At the far end of the room sat a massive man.
Bare-chested. Thick, tattooed muscle layered with fat. Heavy gold earrings tugged at his lobes. Women leaned against him, draped over his arms and shoulders, touching him like he was furniture they owned—or property they were assigned to keep entertained.
A thick cigar burned between his fingers.
This was Chota.
Boss of the Yakuza in the Second District.
He looked up slowly, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of them.
Chota:"Who the hell are you two supposed to be?"
The delinquent swallowed hard, pain still shaking his arm.
Delinquent:"It's me, Boss. Tenya."
Chota squinted, tilting his head.
Chota:"Tenya… Tenya…"
Recognition flickered. Then a grin spread across his face.
"Oh. Right."
(A short laugh escaped him)
"The little rat who still owes me money."
Tenya's jaw tightened.
Tenya:"I'll get it. I swear I will. Just give me three days."
Chota leaned back, laughter booming through the room.
Chota:"Three days?"
He shook his head slowly, amusement dripping from every movement.
"You really got some nerve asking me that."
"You run around this city scaring civilians with tattoos that carry my symbol. You throw your weight around like you're something special."
(His voice dropped, sharp and deliberate)
"But when it's time to come through…You crumble."
The room erupted in laughter. Loud. Cruel. Enjoying the humiliation.
Chota:"You get me the money tomorrow. Not three days. Tomorrow, understand?"
Tenya nodded silently, eyes lowered.
Chota's gaze shifted.
Chota: "So?"
(He gestured lazily toward Levi)
"You gonna introduce your little friend, or is he just here to stare?"
Tenya swallowed.
Tenya: "He wanted to see you, Boss. He's—"
Levi: "The Seventh Blade of the Red Moon Clan."
The room went quiet.
Confused.
Then laughter burst out.
Woman: "A Blade?"
(She laughed openly)
"You serious?"
Man: "This kid's got jokes."
Chota waved a hand dismissively, cigar ash falling onto the table.
Chota:"Listen."
( He leaned forward, eyes sharp)
"If you want a job, all you gotta do is ask."
A thin smile spread across his face.
"But don't throw around names like that so lightly. Makes you look stupid."
He gestured toward the door.
Chota: "Now before I decide what to do with you—"
The door opened again.
Two guards dragged a woman inside by her hair.
She was crying before she hit the floor.
Her knees slammed hard against the polished surface. Her hands slipped, palms scraping uselessly as she tried to push herself upright. Someone kicked her leg back out from under her.
She collapsed.
The room reacted instantly—laughter, whistles, glasses raised.
Chota stuck his tongue out briefly, smiling wider.
Chota: "This little bird came begging for a job."
He tilted his head, mock sympathy dripping from his voice.
"Said she needed money for her kid."
He leaned back slowly, savoring the moment.
"How beautiful….How generous of her to give me such a reason."
(He spread his arms slightly)
"Of course I'll give her one."
Laughter erupted again.
Drinks were thrown. Liquid splashed across her hair and face. Coins clattered against the floor, bouncing around her like mock charity.
The woman beside Chota stood up.
She walked over slowly, deliberately, heels clicking against the floor. She grabbed the girl by the chin and forced her head up.
Woman:"So this is what desperation looks like?"
Slap.
The sound cracked through the room.
The girl whimpered, head snapping sideways.
Slap.
Harder this time.
The woman laughed, fingers tightening in the girl's hair. She dragged her across the floor, not far—just enough to make sure everyone could see.
Her hands moved freely over her. Casual. Invasive. Familiar. Like this wasn't new, like it had happened a hundred times before.
The girl sobbed openly now, breath hitching, body shaking.
Levi stood still.
He didn't avert his eyes.
He didn't tense.
He didn't react.
He simply watched, as one might observe an unpleasant but unimportant process.
Chota leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on Levi.
Chota: "I don't play with my toys until I know they work."
(A pause)
"So prove you're useful."
The woman turned her head toward Levi, grinning.
Woman: "Your turn, kid. You know what to do."
She leaned back down—
SPLOSH
There was no warning.
No buildup.
The woman's body folded inward violently.
Blood sprayed outward as she hit the floor, lifeless before the sound could even register.
The room froze.
The girl stared at the body in front of her, eyes wide, mind scrambling to understand what had just happened.
Before she could scream—
Her head separated from her body.
The cut was jagged. Twisted. Wrong. As if she'd been torn apart by something that didn't care about precision.
Her body slumped forward, collapsing beside the other.
Levi didn't look at them.
Then the aura spread.
Heavy and suffocating.
Red darkness pressed outward, swallowing the room whole.
Guards raised rifles—
Metal screamed as barrels crushed inward. Stocks bent. Triggers snapped uselessly.
Heads burst one after another, bodies collapsing where they stood, blood painting the walls and floor.
Levi stepped onto the table.
With one clean motion, he swept everything aside—cash, bottles, powder—clattering uselessly to the floor.
He looked down at Chota.
Eyes glowing red in the dark.
Chota: "Y-You're a gifter…"
Levi: "And you're a clown."
(His voice was flat)
"You parade around pretending to be gods."
(He stepped forward)
"But you're just pigs playing dress-up."
Chota roared and lunged—
Levi placed a hand on his shoulder.
The pressure dropped him instantly to his knees.
Bones screamed. Breath vanished. Chota clawed at the floor, gasping.
Levi: "You work for me now."
No emotion.
"Drugs. Weapons. Smuggling. Deals."
(A pause)
"All of it is mine."
Chota shook violently, eyes wide.
Chota:"Y-You realize what you're saying? The syndicate already belongs to the Red Moon Clan. Under the Second Blade—Amon Kurogane."
Levi grabbed him by the hair and pulled him close.
Levi:"Not anymore."
He released him.
Chota collapsed, coughing.
"Run your operations as usual and report to me."
(A beat)
"Is that clear?"
Chota nodded frantically.
Chota: "And… Mr. Kurogane?"
Levi turned toward the door.
Levi:"I'll deal with him in my own time."
Chota:"Wait… your name.Who are we working for?"
Levi glanced back, a faint grin cutting across his face.
Levi: "You already know."
The door closed behind him.
Silence followed.
Not relief nor grief.
Fear.
And one name burned into every surviving mind—
The Wrath Boy.