1890. In a world where death can strike without warning—with terrifying speed.

  In a distant land, where scorching sands and oppressive heat reign supreme, massive mountains rose high into the sky, their snow-covered peaks contrasting starkly with the vast green plains below, dotted with majestic trees stretching toward the heavens.

  …

  ..

  .

  These days, the rain fell heavily, turning the earth into thick mud and covering the ground with a thin layer of water. In a large bustling city, a roar rose from the crowd. Drums echoed, accompanied by cheers of joy and excitement. The buzz heralded a grand spectacle.

  The noise came from a massive dome-shaped building, filled with civilians stomping and clapping in a frenzy. A show for those hungry for entertainment.

  At the center: a ring. But not a boxing ring. Here, slaves entered the arena to be slaughtered by horrible creatures—grotesque, bloodthirsty monsters.

  At the top of the dome, a man stood on a metallic catwalk, hidden from the view of the crowd. He silently watched the ring. His youthful appearance was betrayed by his tousled brown hair, gently rustled by the ambient breeze.

  ??? — “When is she getting here? If this takes any longer, I’ll end up getting spotted…”

  He muttered these words, nervously tapping his foot—an obvious sign of impatience. In his hand, a soda can with the bold label “Sprite” printed on it.

  Suddenly, his eyes widened. The slave that had just entered the arena was a child. A frail little girl, completely naked, exposed to the greedy stares of the spectators who applauded enthusiastically. With hesitant steps, she walked toward the center of the ring, her small feet trembling on the cold ground. Just a few meters from her, a monstrous creature thrashed in its cage, desperate to taste its prey.

  ??? — “Ah… there she is.”

  The man sighed in relief. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he leaned forward—ready to jump into the arena. The young girl’s black hair, so long it nearly touched the floor, swayed gently as she took a step back. Her eyes widened as the cage creaked open ominously. The beast burst forth immediately, unleashing a bestial roar before charging at her. Drool dripped from its twisted jaws, betraying an insatiable hunger.

  The man leapt into action. With precision, he landed squarely on the monster’s head, stunning it briefly. Just enough time to slide down to the ground, narrowly avoiding the beast’s massive clawed paws. In a flash, he grabbed the girl by the waist and, with a fluid motion, hoisted her onto his shoulder.

  Man — “We can’t stay here… they’ll kill us.”

  He looked down at her. For a brief moment, his heart skipped a beat. Her deep brown eyes glowed under the dome’s dim light—a surreal softness amidst the horror. A chill ran down his spine, but he had no time to dwell on it.

  Around them, the spectators grew more frenzied. Stomping wildly, screaming with excitement, they formed a sea of masked shadows. Not a single face could be seen in that crowd, hands raised high, thirsty for blood.

  Without hesitation, the man placed a firm hand on the girl’s head.

  Man — “Sorry…”

  he whispered, before spinning her around him in a swift motion. Then, with controlled strength, he launched her high into the air.

  Precious seconds won. His eyes scanned the surroundings for an escape route. But all he could see was that ocean of masked spectators, cheering madly, urging the monsters to tear them apart.

  The man ducked under a creature and jumped onto its back. He sprinted, using it as a springboard to leap through the air and land on another, even larger monster. Landing on its face, he clung tight as the beast thrashed violently, trying to shake him off.

  In a quick glance, he spotted the girl falling from the sky. He inhaled deeply, then—gathering every ounce of strength—he propelled himself toward her. In one smooth motion, he caught her mid-air and grabbed onto a glass bar suspended above the arena. Their combined weight caused them to slide just outside the ring, narrowly escaping the slaughter.

  Without wasting a second, he hoisted her back onto his shoulder and dashed through the city. He ran without stopping—far from the dome of lunatics, far from the bloodthirsty beasts, far from the masked crowd drunk on violence. Only once he reached a dark, deserted alley did he finally allow himself to slow down.

  Gently, he set the girl down and let out a breath, a smirk tugging at his lips.

  Hagar — “Hagar. Hagar Brownson. Nice to meet you.”

  He held out his hand—a simple gesture, almost mundane. Yet the girl remained still, locking eyes with him silently. She didn’t look scared or shaken.

  Intrigued, Hagar crouched to her level. He gave a soft smile, trying to reassure her.

  Only the whispers of rain accompanied the suspended moment. With quiet steps, the little girl moved toward him. Her frail, pale body—naked under the moonlight—seemed almost unreal. Slowly, she raised her hand and placed it in Hagar’s. Her lips parted slightly, releasing a soft, fragile voice.

  Girl — “Makito Shirayuki.”

  A genuine smile spread across Hagar’s face. He gently squeezed her hand and, in an instinctive, tender gesture, brushed her hair.

  Hagar — “So you really are Japanese, huh?”

  Makito — “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

  Hagar shook his head, then leaned over the edge of the roof to watch the chaos in the streets below. Screams echoed through the city. Masked figures were running everywhere—clearly searching for someone. No doubt: they were being hunted.

  Without delay, he grabbed Makito’s hand and helped her climb onto a trash bin, then up to the roof of a small house.

  Hagar — “We’ll have to move… but before that…”

  He took off his T-shirt and handed it to the girl. It was oversized—far too big for her—but it hung down to her knees and gave her at least a shred of modesty.

  Hagar — “You hungry?”

  Makito sat next to him, gently nodding as she held her stomach.

  Makito — “Yeah…”

  They climbed down discreetly, avoiding the patrols. Taking a winding path through dark alleys, they finally reached the city center. Hagar pushed open the door to a small bakery.

  Hagar — “Take what you want, while I go find us a horse.”

  Makito nodded and skipped over to the counter, eyes wide with wonder at the variety of fresh breads, just out of the oven. But it wasn’t the bread that caught her attention. After a moment, she tapped the glass of the display and turned toward him.

  Makito — “Brownson… I want that.”

  Her eyes sparkled as she pointed at a massive chocolate-filled donut, overflowing with gooey sweetness and dusted with sparkling sugar. Hagar couldn’t help but grin.

  Hagar — “No need to call me that—just talk casually… Mister! One jumbo donut, please!”

  The vendor, an elderly man with a warm smile, nodded and grabbed the donut with his gloved hands.

  Vendor — “Coming right up! Ohoho… Looks like someone has a sweet tooth!”

  Soon after, they left the shop. Makito held her treat close while Hagar confidently lifted her onto the back of a horse he’d managed to secure.

  They left the city just as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. The rising sun slowly illuminated the vast plain and the road ahead.

  Hagar — “We’re heading to another town… a small village, where we’ll live together…”

  He paused, brushing a gentle hand through Makito’s hair. He knew—she wasn’t just any child. She was being hunted. A rare Japanese girl in this country… and not just any girl. Makito Shirayuki—a name that carried a heavy secret.

  Hagar looked up at an old sign marking the road to the next village.

  “DeathTown.”

  ...

  ..

  .

  Eleven years later, in the small village of DeathTown.Makito and Hagar lived together in a bar...

  “KYAAAAAAAAAHHHH!”

  A shrill scream echoed, followed by the heavy sound of feet thundering down the stairs. The door burst open, revealing Makito—dressed in simple, comfortable clothes: navy blue shorts, a white top, long socks up to mid-calf, and blue slippers. She looked irritated.

  She marched straight to the counter, where Hagar, unfazed, calmly continued working as the bartender.

  Makito — “Hagar! Why is there no hot water?!”

  Frustrated, she stood on tiptoe and grabbed the collar of Hagar’s shirt. Despite being sixteen, she was still much shorter than him.

  Hagar, clearly used to scenes like this, scratched his head and sighed before answering.

  Hagar — “Well… between the number of glasses you break and the hours you spend in the shower, I can’t pay those big bills, you know.”

  He paused, watching with amusement as Makito’s shocked expression slowly shifted to realization. She loosened her grip on him.

  Hagar — “I’m trying to work so we can live comfortably, but if you keep wrecking everything, it’s going to get tough.”

  Makito lowered her gaze slightly, then, after a brief moment of thought, exclaimed with a spark of inspiration:

  Makito — “Ohh… ohhh… I need to find a way to earn money too!”

  She sat on the counter, swinging her legs back and forth, deep in thought. Then suddenly, her face lit up, and she looked up with a proud smile.

  Makito — “I could become the sheriff! I love fighting and I adore guns!”

  Her voice brimmed with enthusiasm, and her eyes sparkled with excitement as she looked at Hagar. He didn’t answer right away, seemingly weighing the pros and cons. But before he could say anything, a nearby customer let out a mocking laugh.

  Customer — “No way, kid. There’s already a sheriff in DeathTown… And anyway, it’s not the title that earns you money.”

  Curious, Makito turned her head toward the man, who continued his explanation with a raised, amused eyebrow.

  Customer — “You make money based on the townsfolk’s requests. If no one asks for anything, you don’t earn squat.”

  Makito — “I see…”She nodded thoughtfully, scratching her head as if the act of thinking was giving her a headache. Then, suddenly, she clapped her hands.

  Makito — “I’m going out.”

  Hagar looked at her with a trace of concern. He knew she was capable of anything. With a resigned sigh, he warned her:

  Hagar — “Don’t do anything stupid out there… I don’t want more people complaining to me again.”

  Makito waved her hand dismissively without even turning around, silently signaling him not to worry.

  Outside, she wandered aimlessly, letting the cool air help clear her thoughts. The village buzzed with life: horses’ hooves echoed on the dry ground, merchants shouted to attract customers, and the smell of fresh fish mingled with the acrid scent of alcohol.

  She suddenly stopped.

  As if struck by a sudden idea, she looked down at the sand beneath her feet. Her gaze locked onto it, unmoving, as the sounds of the crowd faded around her—replaced by the steady rhythm of her own breathing.

  Then, a thought crossed her mind. Fleeting. Determined.

  Makito — “What if I killed him?”

  Murder.

  A horrible thing, but far from rare in DeathTown.

  Here, in this forgotten corner of the Far West, the law was just an empty word—a fa?ade hiding the truth. DeathTown wasn’t just a village. It was an open grave. A place where blood flowed every single day.

  Makito shook her head quickly, dispelling her doubts. With a smooth motion, she pulled out a simple kitchen knife, studying it for a few seconds with a smile that was both innocent and sinister. Then, without wasting any time, she walked confidently toward the sheriff’s house.

  A small, unassuming home, where he lived and received those seeking justice. But today, she wasn’t there to talk.

  She was there to kill.

  Pushing the door slowly, she stepped inside without a sound. Dawn had barely started to chase away the night’s shadows, and the town was still silent. No one was inside… But a smell lingered in the air.

  Tobacco.

  Someone was smoking.

  She narrowed her eyes. It had to be the sheriff.

  Without waiting, she crouched and moved silently toward the stairs leading to the upper floor, gripping the knife tightly. Every step was measured. Every breath controlled.

  Above her, a creak.

  The sheriff was walking. The wooden floor groaned under his weight.

  Makito reached the top of the stairs and finally spotted her target. The man, his back to her, was pouring a drink into a glass. It was impossible to see what it was—but she didn’t care. She had no intention of letting him finish.

  In a flash, she leapt forward, blade extended, ready to strike.

  Sheriff — “Nice try!”

  With a swift move, he caught her wrist mid-swing. Before she could react, he twisted and rolled backwards, dragging her into a tumble on the floor. Then, using his momentum, he planted his feet into her stomach and kicked her hard against the wall.

  Makito — “Gah! He saw me?!”

  She got back up, wincing, trying to catch her breath.

  The sheriff calmly stood, unscathed, and let out a deep sigh. He stepped toward her, his eyes sharp.

  Sheriff — “No… I felt your murderous intent.”

  He paused, analyzing her face.

  Sheriff — “It was so strong, it gave me chills.”

  Makito, crouched low, tightened her grip on the knife handle. She wasn’t done yet. She _could_ kill him. Right here, right now.

  She lunged again—fast as a shadow.

  The sheriff, caught off guard by her determination, stepped back quickly and drew his revolver in one smooth motion. He pointed the weapon at her without hesitation, ready to shoot.

  But Makito moved just in time.

  She ducked low, dodging the barrel, and slammed her hand into the sheriff’s wrist. The hit knocked his arm upward, breaking his balance and opening a gap in his guard.

  The perfect moment.

  The sheriff gritted his teeth—

  Sheriff — “Shit… She’s like a predator…”He saw it in her eyes—that wild glint, that raw hunger. Like a wolf ready to tear into its prey. And today… he was the rabbit.

  His balance wavered. He tried to recover, but it was already too late. His body tipped backward, and the world seemed to slow around him.

  He saw her.

  Makito, charging straight at him, blade aimed for his chest. One well-placed strike, and it would be over.

  But he wasn’t finished yet.

  With lightning-fast reflexes, he grabbed the table beside him and raised it as an improvised shield.

  Sheriff — “You fight well, but you still lack technique…”He kicked the table with full force, slamming it into Makito.

  She couldn't dodge. The impact sent her flying, crashing hard onto the floor. Her knife slipped from her hands, sliding across the wooden boards.

  Makito — “Hngh… Damn it!”

  But she didn’t waste a second. Springing up, she lunged for her weapon and—without hesitation—threw it straight at the sheriff.

  He rolled to the side, barely avoiding the flying blade. As he began to get up, he froze.

  A low chuckle escaped his lips.

  Sheriff — “Not bad… You weren’t aiming at me, were you?”

  He glanced behind him and understood immediately.

  Makito had deliberately aimed for a gas pipe.

  The knife had struck it dead-on, piercing the metal and releasing a thick cloud of burning vapor that quickly filled the room.

  A perfect smokescreen.

  Smirking, he turned his head slightly, impressed by her cunning.

  But Makito didn’t wait for him to recover.

  Makito — “It’s not over!!”

  She burst through the steam and tackled him, grabbing him around the waist and trying to throw him to the ground.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  But she was clearly not strong enough.

  The sheriff, grinning mockingly, raised his revolver and slammed it against her head.

  CRACK!

  Makito’s grip faltered under the blow.

  With a smooth motion, he hoisted her up like a sack of grain and hurled her violently down the staircase.

  BOOM.

  Her body tumbled down the steps, thudding painfully until she hit the bottom.

  Silence returned to the room, broken only by the hiss of vapor still leaking from the ruptured pipe…

  Makito wiped the blood from her nose with the back of her hand.

  Her fingers, stained with that familiar crimson, hovered for a moment in front of her eyes.

  Her own blood.

  But there was no time to dwell on it.

  She sprang to her feet, wobbled slightly from the pain, and dashed into the kitchen. Her hands frantically searched the drawers, looking for something.

  She didn’t get the chance to find it.

  A harsh yank pulled her head back.

  The sheriff had grabbed her hair, lifting her off the floor before slamming her face-first onto the table.

  Sheriff — “Why do you want to kill me, huh? Who sent you?!”

  Makito gritted her teeth, her breath trembling.

  She hated this position.

  She suddenly felt vulnerable—pinned by the hair, overpowered by a man she already despised.

  A chill of disgust ran down her spine.

  A growl escaped her lips.

  With a sudden, furious twist, she broke free and delivered a lightning-fast kick straight to the sheriff’s face.

  The impact echoed through the room.

  The sheriff stumbled back, groaning in pain.

  Makito didn’t stop there.

  She grabbed the first object she could find—a glass—and hurled it at his head.

  CRASH!

  The sheriff reeled, dazed, as a thin stream of hot blood slid down his forehead. He blinked, swayed—

  And when he looked up, she was gone.

  Sheriff — “That little brat… she got me good.”

  He touched his forehead, feeling the slick, bleeding gash.

  ...

  Outside, Makito stormed through the crowded alleyways.

  The midday chaos filled the village: merchants shouting prices, horses clopping through the dust, and the pungent mix of tobacco and alcohol stung her nose.

  Makito — “Tch… My nose hurts like hell…”

  She gently rubbed the bridge of her nose, wincing slightly, until she finally reached the bar.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

  Inside, Hagar was still behind the counter, calmly polishing a glass before serving a customer.

  Hagar — “Makito, you’re back? What’s with the injuries again?”

  He stopped what he was doing and walked over quickly.

  With gentle hands, he took her face and examined her wounds carefully.

  They weren’t too bad… But seeing them on her face annoyed him as much as it worried him.

  Hagar — “You’re not too banged up… But how did this happen?”

  Makito turned her gaze away slightly. She searched for an excuse, something to dodge the question—but nothing came.

  With a resigned sigh, she suddenly leaned into his chest, burying her face in his shirt.

  As if to escape her shame.

  Or perhaps… her frustration.

  Makito — “You said we had money problems… so I tried to kill the sheriff and take his place.”

  Her fingers clenched tightly around Hagar’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric.

  Makito — “But he… he predicted all my moves. He was faster, stronger… I didn’t stand a chance.”

  She grit her teeth.

  Makito — “Damn it… I’m ashamed.”

  A heavy silence settled between them.

  Then, gently, a warm hand rested on her head.

  Hagar didn’t say a word. He knew that in moments like these, words were useless.

  So instead, he simply stroked her hair with rare tenderness.

  Makito Shirayuki… She wasn’t just a regular Japanese girl.

  She was far more than that.

  Hagar — “Alright, that’s enough. Come eat.”

  At those words, Makito lifted her head, her eyes lighting up instantly.

  Makito — “Yesss! I’m starving! I want apple pie and apple juice!”

  A faint smile tugged at Hagar’s lips as he obliged.

  The steaming pie, perfectly golden, sat in front of her beside a glass of fresh juice.

  Makito didn’t wait a second and bit into it with joy.

  But as she savored her first bite, Hagar met her gaze and said, in a serious tone:

  Hagar — “And that’s enough with your sheriff-killing nonsense. Tomorrow, I want you to apologize and quit the crap.”

  Makito slowed her chewing.

  He was serious.Very serious.She could tell.

  After a brief silence, she nodded, mouth still full.

  Makito — “Mmm… alright.”

  She scarfed down the rest of her pie, drained her glass of juice in one go, and bolted up the stairs.

  She slammed the door to her room shut and collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling with a tired look.

  Makito — “Damn… this day wore me out.”

  She slowly closed her eyes, hoping to fall asleep instantly…

  Bzzz…

  A fly.

  She cracked one eye open, then the other—annoyed.

  The fly buzzed around her, relentless, keeping her from drifting off.

  Makito — “Graahh! Do I stink or something?!”

  She shot upright, swinging her hands wildly to catch it, but the insect dodged every strike with uncanny speed.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The sound of clapping hands echoed through the room.

  Makito flailed in all directions—jumping on the bed, slipping on the floor—willing to do anything to squash that damn bug.

  But… the fly always stayed one step ahead.

  The battle raged for what felt like an eternity… until finally—

  Silence.

  Hagar quietly opened the door to check if Makito had finally gone to sleep.

  She was strangely calm.

  But when he laid eyes on her, he found her sprawled out on the floor, breathing heavily, completely exhausted…

  And the fly?

  Dead.

  Hagar gave a small, amused smile.

  Hagar — “Hey… don’t fall asleep on the floor.”

  He crouched down and reached out to shake her… but before he could touch her, Makito grabbed his wrist in a sudden, sharp movement.

  A reflex. Pure instinct.

  Hagar raised an eyebrow, surprised by the strength of her grip.

  But after a few seconds, Makito yawned, slowly letting go.

  Makito — “Hagar…? Sorry… I was just too tired.”

  Hagar — “It’s alright. Just don’t forget to shower before bed.”

  Standing up, he glanced at his wrist, rubbing the sore spot.

  She doesn’t play around…

  Without another word, he left the room.

  Makito headed to the bathroom.

  As she undressed, she paused in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection.

  Her fingers traced along her face, down the pale skin of her cheek.

  Makito — “…I’m starting to get curves.”

  She frowned slightly, thoughtful, then shrugged.

  Whatever, not important.

  She stepped into the shower, letting the warm water soothe her aching muscles.

  […]

  A few minutes later, she came out clean and relaxed, a relieved smile on her face.

  Makito — “Hey, Hagar, I’ve got a question.”

  She approached the bartender, who was sitting on the couch, absorbed in his newspaper.

  He looked up, curious.

  Hagar — “Hm?”

  Makito stopped in front of him, arms crossed.

  Makito — “Do you love me?”

  Hagar squinted slightly.

  Hagar — “Huh?”

  Makito — “Like… romantically?”

  Caught off guard by the question, he let out a nervous chuckle and shook his head.

  Hagar — “No.”

  He folded his newspaper, thinking for a second before adding:

  Hagar — “I love you like a little sister… even if we’re not from the same family.”

  Makito raised an eyebrow.

  Makito — “Ah… not even sexually?”

  Hagar — “Excuse me!?”

  This time, he gripped his newspaper a bit tighter.

  Hagar — “No! Absolutely not!”

  Makito stared at him for a moment, expression blank.

  Then she shrugged.

  Makito — “Hm. Guess I’m just not attractive… You can say it.”

  Hagar let out a long sigh and buried his face in the newspaper.

  Hagar — “Go to bed, Makito…”

  Makito grumbled and turned on her heel, heading back to her room.

  She stopped at the door for a split second, casting one last glance toward Hagar.

  A glare full of irritation.

  Then she went inside and slammed the door shut behind her, plunging the house into a heavy silence.

  […]

  In front of her mirror, Makito stared at her reflection.

  Once again.

  She didn’t understand.

  Her body was changing. Her mind, too. But she couldn’t keep up… it was like she was stuck between two worlds.

  Her gaze drifted downward, pausing on her hips, her barely budding chest.

  The other girls in the village seemed so confident, so feminine, strolling around on the arms of older men… while she—she only saw an awkward little kid in the mirror.

  She sighed, frustrated.

  Makito — “I don’t want to be… like this.”

  She yanked a pillow from the bed and hurled it against the wall.

  Why did this world put so much importance on that stuff?

  Maybe some men liked women with a little belly, or thicker thighs…

  She lowered her eyes, her fingers timidly gliding over her skin.

  A strange shiver ran down her spine.

  A diffuse heat… oppressive…

  Her heart started racing for no reason she could understand.

  Makito shook her head violently and dove under the covers, hiding her burning face beneath a pillow.

  Makito — “What the hell… What the hell is this…?”

  She shut her eyes tightly, trying to ignore those unknown sensations flooding her mind.

  ...

  The next morning, Hagar felt an unusual weight near him.

  Half-asleep, he opened his eyes…

  Makito.

  Curled up beside him like a frightened child.

  Hagar — “What are you doing here?”

  His voice was still raspy with sleep, but he didn’t sound annoyed. Just… curious.

  Makito didn’t lift her head.

  Her voice came out weak, trembling:

  Makito — “I… I wet the bed again.”

  A silence settled.

  Hagar blinked, surprised.

  But he didn’t ask any questions.

  Gently, he reached out and stroked Makito’s hair, as if to say it was okay.

  Then he got up and quietly left the room.

  When he entered Makito’s, he stopped dead in his tracks at the smell.

  He didn’t need to check.

  He already knew.

  Hagar — “Ahhh… adolescence.”

  He sighed and started changing the sheets.

  Without a word.

  Without forcing her to talk about something she probably didn’t even understand herself.

  ...

  Makito — “I’m turning into a monster! Why do I keep soaking every bed for no reason?!”

  Hagar burst out laughing despite himself, then tried to compose himself when he saw Makito’s horrified expression. He placed a hand on her head and shook it gently to reassure her.

  Hagar — “Relax… It’s just puberty. Your body’s changing, that’s all. You’re going to start feeling new things, but that doesn’t make you a monster.”

  Makito suddenly grabbed Hagar by the collar, shaking him lightly, her cheeks flushed with frustration.

  Makito — “Then why am I all gooey, huh?! What the hell is that about?!”

  Hagar held back a laugh, taking a deep breath before answering seriously.

  Hagar — “What you're feeling… it’s just a natural reaction. It’s called... lubrication. It happens when your body thinks—”

  Makito — “NO! Don’t talk to me about that! I don’t want your lube science!”

  She flailed her arms in protest and pointed an accusing finger at him, her glare sharp.

  Makito — “I’ll slap it right onto your forehead, got it!? You look like a damn fork!”

  Hagar rubbed his forehead, trying to stay serious despite wanting to laugh again.

  Hagar — “Don’t worry, just let your body do its thing. It’s normal, and it’s going to happen again. You’ll get used to it.”

  Makito crossed her arms and pouted, lowering her head. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, then got out of bed with a determined step.

  Makito — “Whatever. That’s not gonna ruin my day anyway…”

  She stormed down the stairs and out of the house, heading straight toward the sheriff’s place.

  But as soon as she reached the front steps, the door slammed open. A strong hand grabbed her violently.

  Sheriff — “It was you who attacked me yesterday, huh? Good fighter… but coming back? Now that’s a first.”

  Makito struggled slightly, then raised her hands in a gesture of peace.

  Makito — “I just wanted to apologize!!”

  The sheriff shook his head, brushing off her words with a sigh. Instead of letting her go, he pulled her closer, his sharp eyes boring into hers.

  Sheriff — “I’ll forgive you… if you help me take down a gang of bandits. They’ve got a camp not far from here.”

  Makito frowned, wary.

  Makito — “Uh… What do you mean? I… I’m not sure I want to do that…”

  The sheriff lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and leaned against the porch railing.

  Sheriff — “I don’t know why you tried to kill me, but I saw your potential. A kid like you, fast, ready to kill… it’s a waste to keep aiming at me. So come with me. Help me out, and you’ll get paid.”

  Makito hesitated, her gaze drifting for a moment. After all, money was the reason she tried to kill him in the first place… so what was the difference?

  Makito — “Alright… but I want to be paid _now._”

  The sheriff raised an eyebrow, then stood up. He tossed her a small sack full of coins, never breaking eye contact.

  Sheriff — “Here. Now let’s go. We don’t have time to waste.”

  Without another word, they rode out into the forest. The air was damp, heavy. A strange scent clung around them… something metallic and bitter that made Makito wrinkle her nose.

  Blood.

  Makito’s right hand gripped the sheriff’s coat, her fingers tightening slowly into the fabric. Her eyes scanned the dense forest nervously, trying to pinpoint the source of the smell. But it was everywhere—saturating the air, clinging to the trees. The thick foliage made it impossible to see far. Only the sunlight filtering through the canopy carved them a path.

  The sheriff remained calm. One hand on his revolver, the other tucked in his pocket, he rode forward with confidence.

  Makito — “Are we almost there? My ass hurts…”

  Sheriff — “Deal with it. We’ll be riding a while longer.”

  Makito groaned and closed her eyes, wishing the trip would go faster. She already missed the comfort of home. Then a thought struck her.

  Makito — “How am I supposed to defend myself?”

  Sheriff — “With a knife. You were pretty good with one yesterday.”

  She fell silent. The sound of hooves crunching dead leaves echoed in her head—but something else bothered her.

  Makito — “But they’ll probably have guns! I’m screwed without one!”

  The sheriff sighed and took another drag from his cigarette.

  Sheriff — “That’s exactly what I want to teach you…”He exhaled a thin stream of smoke.“How to defend yourself even when the odds are stacked against you.”

  Makito — “You know I don’t even have a knife on me, right? I don’t just carry one in my pocket all the time!”

  she huffed, squirming in the saddle.

  But she stopped cold.

  A new smell had joined the scent of blood. A more familiar one. Food.

  Straining her ears, she heard laughter in the distance, voices in a language she didn’t understand. A camp. Her heart clenched. No doubt about it: it was them.

  Instinctively, she gripped the sheriff’s coat tighter.

  Makito — “What do we do?”

  she whispered.

  The sheriff scanned the area, then pointed subtly to a side path.

  Sheriff — “We’ll try to sneak around. That way.”

  Makito wasn’t reassured. But she had to try.

  She slid off the horse and crouched low, carefully approaching the camp. Every step was quiet, deliberate. The laughter and foreign chatter grew louder. The tempting smell of grilled meat tickled her nose, but she ignored it.

  She hid behind a tree, eyes locked on the camp.

  Several armed men moved around a fire, laughing and talking. Their gear was heavy—almost military.

  She shivered.

  They weren’t locals.

  And judging by their weapons…

  She could die here.

  BANG!

  A spray of blood splattered the tree in front of her. A body thudded to the ground.Not the sheriff’s… one of the bandits.

  Makito jolted back, her breath catching in panic. Her heart pounded so loud it echoed in her skull.

  Sheriff — “KILL THEM ALL!”

  His voice cracked like a whip through the air.

  Makito took a deep breath and slapped herself, trying to push back the panic creeping into her limbs. Her legs trembled, but she forced herself to stand.

  Ahead of her, the sheriff stood unfazed, his revolver spinning on his finger before firing again. Each shot precise. Deadly. Bandits fell one by one, the clearing drowning in blood. Their screams—harsh, foreign—mingled with the echo of gunfire.

  Makito shivered. Her breath was ragged, but… a nervous smile crept across her lips.

  It was a massacre.

  But she didn’t have time to think.

  Strong arms suddenly grabbed her by the waist and slammed her to the ground. Her vision blurred as her head hit the damp soil.

  She barely had time to see a blade flash above her.

  "Shit!"

  Instinct took over—she rolled to the side just in time, avoiding the fatal blow. In the same motion, she kicked hard at the bandit’s hand, sending the knife flying into the grass.

  Makito staggered to her feet and snatched the weapon.

  But the man wasn’t done.

  He lunged at her with uncontrollable rage.

  Makito tightened her grip on the knife, her mind racing.

  “The liver…”

  She whispered it like a mantra—and struck.

  With a clean, sharp motion, she plunged the blade deep into the bandit’s side.

  A strangled gasp escaped him as blood poured out, soaking the dead leaves below.

  He staggered, trembling, his hands clutching his wound in vain.

  But Makito didn’t stop.

  Taking advantage of his weakness, she attacked again—stabbing him in the back.Once.Twice.Three times.

  Until he stopped moving.

  Silence returned, broken only by the distant ring of gunshots.

  Makito let go of the knife embedded in the corpse and stepped back, panting.

  Her hand was slick with blood, shining in the filtered sunlight. The metallic scent stung her nose—but she didn’t flinch.

  The grass beneath her feet was red.

  And for the first time…

  She realized she had killed a man.

  She smiled.

  A wide, uncontrollable smile—almost euphoric.Then, without a second thought, she sprinted toward the camp, her heart hammering in her chest.

  Before her stood several bandits, weapons raised. The first—a revolver already aimed at her—didn’t have time to pull the trigger.

  CRACK!

  She landed a devastating kick square on his chin. His head snapped back, and he staggered, dazed, the revolver slipping from his grasp.

  Bandit — “You b—!!”

  Makito didn’t catch his words, but she saw his fist whip toward her face.

  She ducked just in time—feeling the whoosh of air as the punch whizzed past—and countered instantly.

  A flash of steel cut through the air. Her knife severed the hand that had threatened her.

  The bandit’s scream turned into a gurgle as she drove the blade into his throat in one swift, precise motion. Blood sprayed, splattering his fallen comrade.

  Without missing a beat, Makito spun and delivered a brutal kick to the second bandit, sending him rolling across the ground.

  Then she unleashed her fury.The knife struck again and again in an unstoppable frenzy—tearing flesh and bone.

  Her breath came in ragged gasps; her heart pounded like war drums. The earth beneath her was soaked in red.

  She sensed something under her fingers—a revolver. She yanked it free, and when she turned, a third bandit was already drawing his weapon.

  Time seemed to slow.

  BANG!

  A single bullet rang out.

  TING!

  Miraculously, she caught it on the edge of her knife, sparks flying at the impact.

  Instinctively, she squeezed the trigger.

  BANG!

  A shot tore into his arm.BANG! Another ripped into his torso.

  Still, it wasn’t enough.

  Makito charged. The bandit staggered, crimson streaming from his wounds.

  She leapt onto him, pinned him to the ground—and…

  PLUNGE.

  The blade plunged deep.Over and over.

  His final scream dissolved into a gurgle. But she didn’t stop.

  Her hands were soaked in blood, her clothes drenched, the metallic stench thick in her nostrils. She almost laughed.

  A strange warmth consumed her from within.

  Sheriff — “Makito!! Explosive barrel, up ahead!”

  Makito snapped back to reality, her eyes catching on a line of barrels near a tent. She raised the revolver.

  BANG!

  The explosion ripped the air apart—flames and debris hurled everywhere. The bandits’ screams joined the roar of the inferno.

  All around her, everything was red: blood, fire, lifeless bodies.

  She breathed deeply, intoxicated by the chaos. The thrill racing through her veins… wasn’t fear. It was something else.

  Pleasure.

  The sheriff beckoned her forward with a quick hand signal. They were ready.

  A massive wooden door loomed before them—silent, menacing.

  The sheriff drew a deep breath, held his revolver steady, and fired.

  BANG.

  A dull crack. A spray of scarlet erupted like an eruption.

  A sticky warmth splashed Makito’s face. She blinked, stunned, brushing her eyelids with the back of her hand.

  Then her gaze dropped.

  The sheriff’s head was gone. Only a mass of shredded flesh sat atop his neck, gushing life’s last stream onto the dusty ground. His body jerked once—refusing to accept death—then collapsed with a heavy thud.

  Makito’s stomach clenched.

  Makito — “Eh…”

  She barely had time to react. Her revolver rose, finger on the trigger…

  Too late.

  The last bandit was already on her.

  A colossus—the largest of the group—moved with inhuman speed. He seized her by the throat and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Then, with a roar of rage, he hurled her into the wall.

  The impact shattered the partition with a deafening crash, and she plummeted into an upstairs room.

  Makito coughed, breath knocked from her lungs. She tried to rise—but a massive hand grabbed her before she could move. The bandit clamped her against the bed, his hot, alcohol-scented breath in her face.

  Bandit — “What did you think?!”

  he snarled, bloodshot eyes blazing.

  “That you could waltz in here and kill everyone?! LITTLE BITCH!”

  Makito drew her knife and rammed it into his arm with all her strength. He barely flinched—only a maddened grin forming on his face before he squeezed her throat tighter.

  Air vanished from her lungs. She fought, struggled, but her strength was draining too fast…BAM. A fist—directly into her stomach. Pain exploded through her body like a shockwave.

  BAM.

  Another one.

  Then a third.

  CRACK.

  The bed’s wooden frame splintered under the ferocity of the blows.

  Makito choked for air.

  Bandit — “I’m gonna have fun with your body…” the bandit snarled, his breath ragged. “You’ll be mine… my toy… I’ll RUIN you, DESTROY you, KILL you!!”

  A shiver of horror raced through her.

  No… not like this.

  Summoning every last ounce of willpower, she reached desperately for anything—anything to fight back…

  Her fingers closed around the handle of her knife.

  With a desperate heave, she gathered her strength and…

  PLUNGE.

  The blade drove straight into the bandit’s eye.

  A bestial scream ripped through the night.

  He staggered back, hands clawing at the knife buried in his orbit. Makito rolled off the bed, coughing violently—each breath a dagger of pain.

  She scrambled toward the door, nearly tripping…

  But an icy hand yanked her hair. With brutal force, the bandit hurled her through the window.

  Glass shattered into a thousand shards around her. She felt the cold night air whip her face before she crashed onto the hard earth below. Her ears rang. Her body refused to move.

  Above her, the colossus laughed.

  Bandit — “YOU’RE MINE NOW… YEEEES!!” he panted, swaying slightly.

  Makito ground her teeth and summoned her last reserves of strength.

  Makito — “Ugh… n-no… no!!”

  She unleashed a flurry of punches—her fists hammering his torso and face—searching for any weakness. He seemed impervious; his laughter echoed in the darkness.

  Makito — “…Heh.”

  She smiled. A feral, predatory grin. Blood dripped from her nose, but she didn’t care. The bandit froze, a flicker of dread in his eyes. Something was wrong. This girl… she looked insane.

  Seizing his moment of hesitation, Makito rammed her knife into his arm with surgical precision—piercing muscle, shattering bone. Rolling free, she landed safely out of reach.

  The bandit staggered back, breath coming in ragged gasps, sweat beading on his brow. His fingers trembled; his whole body screamed: _Run._ This wasn’t normal.

  Bandit — “…I thought it was just a legend… your divine gift… The Predator’s Eye?”

  Makito said nothing. Her eyes glowed—narrowed, predatory. She _was_ a beast now, a true predator stalking its prey.

  With a single bound, she charged him and drove her knife deep into his chest. He roared, grabbed Makito, and slammed her into a tree, blood spraying from her mouth. Yet she barely faltered—rising immediately, her grin widening.

  For her, the world had changed. Everything slowed, sharpened. She saw his moves before he made them—every breath, every muscle. A lattice of red lines mapped every possible path to his death: bullet arcs, attack angles, open vulnerabilities.

  She was no longer just a fighting girl.

  She was a hunter.

  Makito dodged each of his swings with eerie ease. His breaths came harsh; his face twisted with rage.

  Makito — “Ohh… I’m gonna be late for dinner.”

  She murmured the words breezily, mocking him. Then, seizing an opening, she plunged her knife into his leg with surgical accuracy. He screamed—but his fury overpowered the pain. Instead of collapsing, he gritted his teeth and yanked out his shotgun.

  BANG.

  He fired—but Makito had anticipated the shot.

  She vaulted aside, landing lightly, her gaze locked on him. Before he could raise the gun again, she whipped out her revolver.

  BANG.

  A perfect headshot.

  Silence fell.

  Makito froze, muscles taut, then collapsed, utterly spent. Her breathing slowed; every movement felt heavy. Her clothes were soaked in blood, her skin sticky—and still, her mind echoed with the image: the sheriff’s head exploding in the muzzle flash.

  She lifted her eyes, searching for the horse. Through the thinning trees and orange-tinged sky, she spotted it—still tethered in the clearing.

  Makito — “I’m tired… time to go home.”

  She forced herself upright, every muscle screaming. She trudged to the horse and stopped dead at the sheriff’s corpse—lifeless, soaked in blood. Makito looked down… and reached for his badge.

  The golden star, splattered with red, caught the dying sun’s last rays.

  She had tried to kill him… but in the end, he had died first.

  Makito — “Now… I’m the sheriff.”

  A cruel smile curved her lips as she swung onto the horse and rode slowly away from the carnage.

  [Later…]

  When she pushed open the saloon door, the music stopped dead. The place was packed, but a deathly silence fell instantly. Every head turned to Makito—she was coated in dried blood, her gaze weary yet piercing. She walked slowly forward, her body still numb from pain.

  Behind the bar, Hagar—mid-conversation—froze, setting down his glass.

  Hagar — “M?Makito…?!”

  Without hesitation, he vaulted over the counter and caught her, holding her gently against him. Her body trembled, her breath uneven.

  Then he noticed the sheriff’s star clutched in her hand.

  Hagar — “…You killed him?”

  Makito — “No… the bandits did.”

  She exhaled the words in a tired, almost detached tone.

  Hagar looked down. He understood. He knew exactly which bandits she meant—they were notorious, feared.

  Makito lifted the sheriff’s badge above her head and declared in a firm voice:Makito — “Now… I’m the sheriff. Any objections?”

  Silence. No one moved.

  Then, a single sound broke the tension. The musician—a fox?man with a raspy voice—resumed playing the piano. An upbeat melody, accompanied by a light song.

  A smile spread across Makito’s lips.

  Hagar — “Congratulations, Makito.”

  Makito — “Thank you, Hagar.”

  He took her hands.

  A mischievous glint in his eyes, he led her gently to the center of the saloon.

  Makito squeezed his fingers tighter, her heart strangely racing. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink.

  Then, without warning, they began to dance. A laugh escaped her.

  After a brief hesitation, the patrons raised their glasses.

  Patron — “To the new sheriff!!”

  A thunder of voices rose, mugs clinked, and everyone let themselves be carried away by the celebration. The music picked up again, laughter erupted, and the dance continued in the heart of the saloon.

  The night was still young.

  — End of Prologue —