Chapter 4: First Hunt

The dawn sky over Tokyo was bruised with gray clouds as Shiro stepped onto the rooftop helipad of the Lycan Hunter Corps’ headquarters. A black helicopter, its rotor blades whirring, awaited him and a small team bound for the outskirts of the city. Operation Silver Alliance still loomed two weeks ahead, but today’s mission was domestic: intercept a rogue werewolf spotted near the Tama River.

Master Takeda stood by the open hatch, arms crossed. Beside him were two junior hunters—Aoi, a sharpshooter armed with a silver crossbow, and Kenta, a brute-force specialist wielding a reinforced steel pike. Shiro nodded curtly.

“Briefing?” he asked.

Takeda handed him a tablet. The screen displayed CCTV frames: a tall man with matted black hair and tattered clothing, sprinting along the riverbank. In the last frame, his silhouette bulged with lupine muscle, claws extended.

“Witnesses say he slaughtered a patrol of civilian security guards,” Takeda explained. “They fired conventional rounds—useless. We need to neutralize him before he reaches residential areas.”

Shiro studied the images. “Any sign of hostages?”

Takeda shook his head. “No. But the river’s current is strong; he could use it to disappear. We have one shot.”

Shiro strapped on his gear: silver katana at his back, pistol loaded, spare magazines at his belt. He vaulted into the helicopter just as the blades dipped.

The chopper banked west, skimming low over Tokyo’s sprawl until the urban jungle gave way to reed-lined riverbanks and abandoned warehouses. Rain began to fall in fine sheets, turning the landscape slick and treacherous.

Aoi peered through a scope. “There—across the river.” She pointed to a shadowy figure darting between reeds. “He’s moving fast.”

Kenta tapped his pike. “Let me at him.”

Shiro raised a hand. “Team formation Alpha. Aoi provides overwatch. Kenta and I flank from the east bank. Takeda, you coordinate evac routes for civilians.”

Takeda acknowledged with a nod. “Move.”

Shiro and Kenta slid down a steel ladder to the river’s edge. The cold water lapped at their boots. On the opposite bank, the werewolf—now fully transformed—snarled, scenting the air. His fur was matted with mud and streaked with blood. He lifted his snout and howled, a sound that echoed like a knife through the rain.

Shiro’s heart pounded. He inhaled deeply, recalling Takeda’s lesson: read the beast’s intent. The creature’s posture was aggressive but erratic—frustrated by the river’s current.

He raised his pistol. “Aoi, on my mark…”

Aoi’s voice crackled: “Ready.”

Shiro counted down: “Three… two…”

On “one,” Aoi squeezed the trigger. A silver bolt whistled across the water, striking the werewolf’s flank. The beast roared and turned, charging toward Shiro and Kenta.

Shiro fired twice, bullets striking the creature’s shoulder and thigh. It staggered but pressed on, claws gouging the muddy bank. Kenta met it head-on, swinging his pike. The steel shaft collided with the werewolf’s jaw, snapping it back. The beast snapped its teeth, drawing blood from Kenta’s forearm.

Shiro dashed forward, katana drawn. He circled to the werewolf’s blind side, remembering the scent threshold that broke its human form. He slashed across its calf, silver blade biting deep. The creature howled in agony, fur giving way to skin as it shifted into a man clutching his wound.

Shiro hesitated—just as before—and the man seized the moment, lunging at him with bloody hands. Shiro sidestepped, pistol raised, and fired a round into the man’s chest. The bullet tore through muscle and lung. The man collapsed into the mud, breathing raggedly, eyes wide with shock.

Kenta dropped his pike and knelt beside the fallen man. “He’s human now.”

Shiro sheathed his katana. “Bind him.” He looked up to see Takeda and Aoi crossing the river via a nearby footbridge. Takeda carried a set of silver manacles.

Takeda approached, expression unreadable. “Good work. But he’s just the beginning.”

Shiro glanced at the captive, blood pooling around him. “Another life taken. Another decision made.”

Takeda’s gaze met his. “That’s the burden of the hunter.”

Back at headquarters, the debriefing room buzzed with activity. Forensic reports confirmed the victim was a local construction worker, torn apart by claws before the team’s intervention. Security footage showed the werewolf—now bound in silver manacles—yelling incoherently about “the hunt” and “the blood.”

Shiro reviewed the footage with Aiko. She pointed to the captive’s eyes. “See how he flinches at the sight of blood? That’s pure instinct.”

Shiro frowned. “And yet… he fought like a cornered animal.”

Aiko closed the file. “He’s another reminder: mercy can be fatal.”

Shiro leaned back. “I can’t ignore that.”

Aoi entered, drenched from the rain. “Europe confirmed. We depart in three days.” She placed a dossier on the table: Operation Silver Alliance – Euro-Lycan Taskforce Brief. Photos showed French and German hunters armed with specialized gear—collars emitting UV light, belts of silver-coated knives, and portable cryogenic grenades.

Shiro picked up the dossier. “Different tools… different methods.”

Aoi nodded. “They’ve studied the werewolf genome in their labs. Their tech is cutting-edge.”

Shiro’s expression hardened. “We’ll share our katana techniques. They’ll teach us theirs.” He closed the dossier. “Prepare my kit. And send Ryo’s files to the Euro team. They need to study his case.”

Aoi hesitated. “Ryo—the one you spared?”

Shiro’s gaze dropped. “He killed again. His file is a warning.”

Aoi met his eyes. “Understood.”

That night, Shiro returned to the rooftop terrace. The rain had stopped, leaving the air crisp and clean. He drew his katana and inspected the blade under the moonlight. The edge was perfect, but he felt its weight differently now—heavier, burdened by lives saved and lost.

Aiko joined him with two cups of tea. She offered one to Shiro. “Tomorrow, you leave home.”

Shiro accepted it. “I’ll learn from others… and come back stronger.”

She studied him. “Promise me you’ll remember why you fight.”

He looked out over the city. “I fight to protect innocents.” He paused, then added quietly, “And to ensure mercy doesn’t become regret.”

Aiko placed her hand on his shoulder. “You carry both sword and conscience. That makes you… unique.”

Shiro sheathed his katana. “Then I’ll show the world that hunters can have hearts, too.”

Below, Tokyo lay silent, its shadows deep. But Shiro was ready for the hunt—wherever it might lead.