Do you ever wonder why a flower can never hurt the tree?
It isn't a matter of size or strength. It is because the flower is a part of the tree. It is a dependent, delicate extension that relies on the trunk for its very life. In this world, the people are the flowers, and the Government is the tree. We cling to it, we feed from it, and we believe we are safe under its canopy.
But imagine for a moment: what happens if the tree collapses?
The canopy falls. The sunlight vanishes. The "Laws of the Forest" take over, where only the strongest survive the rot. If I am to go against the powerful, I cannot remain a delicate petal waiting to be crushed. I must become the rough, unyielding bark. I must become the tree itself.
Kaito's internal monologue was cut short by a sharp tug on his hand. The "Surgeon of the Will" blinked, his cold, philosophical gaze dissolving instantly. The man who had shot the President of Azerion without blinking now faced a far more terrifying opponent: a five-year-old girl standing in front of an ice cream stall.
His serious, brooding face rapidly morphed into a mask of genuine tension. He looked at Hana, and his heart hammered against his ribs—not from guilt, but from the sheer, overwhelming power of her cuteness.
"Ice cream, Kaito?" Hana pleaded, tilting her head. Her eyes were wide, bright, and utterly devastating.
Kaito was lost. The man who lived by the iron will of the Asura was defeated by a single pout. "One... one scoop," he stammered, reaching for his coins.
After a playful afternoon that felt worlds away from the blood-stained carpet of the Government Sector, the two returned to their home. It was a decent, quiet place—the kind a normal family would own. Kaito worked the ground-floor bakery to support them, a cover that felt more like a sanctuary since their parents had passed away.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the Residential Sector in long, grasping shadows, Kaito went to close the window. His hand froze on the latch.
Across the street, two figures in heavy black coats stood motionless. They weren't passing through. They were staring directly at his window.
Kaito's pulse spiked for a microsecond. He didn't flinch. He didn't reach for his gun. He simply closed the window with a practiced, casual slowness, pretending he hadn't seen them. But inside, the "Surgeon" was already calculating escape routes.
Outside, one of the men tapped an earpiece. "Target confirmed," he whispered confidently. "We got him."
The Shadow in the Cell
The scene shifted far from the warm scent of Kaito's bakery to a place where the air tasted of salt and ancient dust.
An abandoned prison, hidden from the maps of Azerion, sat in a state of decay. Cobwebs draped over the rusted iron bars like funeral shrouds. In the center of the block, sitting on a lone wooden chair, was Kashishima Hatano. He wore a sturdy brown coat marked with the subtle watermark of the White Snow Guild, his white shirt crisp despite the filth of the dungeon.
He was facing a cell that seemed to swallow all light. Inside, a massive silhouette sat in the shadows, unmoving for five long years.
"Welcome back to the world of the living, Sea King," Kashishima said, his voice echoing off the damp stone. "It's been a long time, Hakimo Hanto."
A low, gravelly chuckle emerged from the dark. "A shark may be the king of the blue," the prisoner rasped, "but he's just a useless prize once you drag him onto the dirt. What do you want, Hatano?"
"I'm offering you the water," Kashishima replied, sliding a bounty poster through the bars. "Capture this man, and you return to the sea."
Hakimo leaned forward, the light finally catching his scarred, rugged face as he gripped the paper. His eyes widened. He began to stammer. "One... one billion Azer? This is impossible. Even the sum of my entire crew's bounty doesn't touch this. Who is he? What kind of monster did this?"
Kashishima stood up, his shadow stretching tall against the cell wall. "The Department has given him a name: The Shadow Fang of Azerion. It's confirmed he's a local. A ghost walking among the flowers."
Hakimo's fear turned into a feral, excited grin. The strongest man of the sea felt his blood boil at the prospect of such a hunt.
Suddenly, the heavy iron doors at the end of the hall slammed open. The two men in black coats ran in, their boots thundering on the stone.
"Commander Hatano!" they shouted, breathless. "We found the target! We got him!"