The first light of dawn scattered over Tokyo as Satsujin Sha stepped off the pne, the familiar hum of the city greeting him like an old friend. He moved through the airport unnoticed, a shadow among countless travelers. His eyes remained sharp but distant, carrying the cold detachment of a man who had mastered death. Yet, something was stirring within him—an urge, faint but persistent. He didn’t want to admit it, not yet, but change was whispering to him.

  His footsteps carried him back to a pce he hadn’t seen in years: a house tucked away on the outskirts of the city. A home he had abandoned long ago, leaving behind not just walls but memories buried beneath yers of blood and silence. He opened the door, the old hinges creaking, as if the house were greeting him reluctantly. Dust hung in the air, settling over broken furniture and yellowed papers.

  Satsujin Sha stood in the doorway, staring into the dim interior. He felt it then, the pull of something unfamiliar—a flicker of doubt, a desire to leave behind the endless cycle of violence. Perhaps it was the Ghost's death or the fleeting moment of satisfaction slipping through his grasp, but for the first time in years, he thought about stopping.

  He wondered what it would feel like to let go, to fade away quietly like the shadows at dawn. Could a man who had made death his art truly step away from his canvas? He sat on the floor, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. The city outside buzzed with life, uncaring, unknowing.

  Then the door creaked open behind him.

  Satsujin’s senses snapped back into focus. He stood slowly, his muscles tightening, ready for what might come through that door.

  A figure stepped into the room, moving without a sound. He was dressed in dark clothes, the hood of his jacket casting shadows across his face. Yet his presence was unmistakable—this was not a stranger.

  It was Arika.

  Satsujin’s lips curled into the slightest smirk, but it wasn’t one of amusement. "So... it’s you," he said softly, his voice almost serene. "I thought you were dead."

  Arika didn’t answer. His movements were deliberate, his gaze sharp but unreadable. Satsujin knew that look well—it was the expression of a man who had made his decision long before he arrived here.

  The two stood facing each other in the dim room, the weight of old memories between them. There were no greetings, no warnings, only silence. It was the kind of silence that existed between two predators, where every word was unnecessary and every breath carried meaning.

  Satsujin's fingers twitched slightly, hovering near the hidden bde in his coat. He didn’t need to speak to know what Arika intended. He could feel it, the shift in the air, the subtle tension in Arika’s stance.

  But something gnawed at Satsujin's mind, an unsettling recognition. He could sense no fear from Arika—no hesitation, no hatred. Only inevitability.

  "Why now?" Satsujin whispered, as if speaking to himself.

  Arika's response came not in words but in movement. He lunged with the precision of a ghost, and Satsujin barely had time to react. The room erupted into a flurry of violence—a dance of bdes, a collision of forces long overdue.

  Satsujin fought with the same deadly precision that had made him a legend, but something was off. For every move he made, Arika was already there, countering, anticipating, pushing forward. It was as if Arika knew every thought before it formed, every strike before it nded.

  In the span of a breath, Satsujin felt the tip of Arika’s bde slice across his side. Blood bloomed from the wound, warm and sticky. He staggered back, gripping his side, eyes wide with disbelief. This wasn’t just an assassin—this was someone who knew him too well.

  Someone who had waited patiently, silently, for this moment.

  Satsujin raised his knife for one st attempt, but Arika was already there, sliding the bde deep into Satsujin’s chest. It was a clean thrust, precise and deliberate. The tip of the knife pierced his heart, and for the first time in years, Satsujin felt something close to peace.

  He sank to the floor, the weight of his body pulling him down as the room began to spin. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the wooden floor, soaking into the cracks like ink on parchment.

  Arika knelt beside him, watching the life drain from Satsujin's eyes. The killer, the hunter, the master of shadows—undone not by rage or revenge, but by something deeper, something older.

  Satsujin opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Only a soft exhale, a breath lost in the quiet of the room.

  And then, he was gone.

  Arika sat in the silence, his gaze lingering on the lifeless body before him. There was no triumph in his expression, no satisfaction—only the quiet understanding of a task completed. He wiped the blood from his bde and stood, his movements slow, deliberate.

  Outside, the city continued its endless hum, unaware of the end that had just unfolded within these walls.

  Arika walked to the door, pausing for a moment as if to gnce back—but he didn’t. There was nothing left to see.

  He stepped into the morning light, pulling the door shut behind him. The sound echoed briefly before fading into the noise of the city, leaving behind nothing but silence.

  Satsujin Sha, the shadow that had haunted so many lives, was gone. And with him, a chapter long overdue was finally closed.

  Or it was the beginning of the story. PSYCOPATH:VELVET FLOWING BLOOD

  TO BE CONTINUED