Chapter 7: Shadows of Doubt

The morning air in Tokyo was crisp, almost biting, as Shiro made his way through the Lycan Hunter Corps’ courtyard. Mist curled around his boots, and the soft clatter of armor from nearby trainees echoed through the training grounds. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, but inside, his thoughts churned like a storm.

Aiko stood by the medbay entrance, reviewing files on a digital tablet. When she saw him approaching, she looked up and offered a small, tired smile. “Morning, Shiro.”

He returned the greeting with a nod. “Morning.” His voice felt distant, as though each word passed through a barrier in his chest.

She tapped the tablet, then set it aside. “I’ve compiled the data from Lyon. The survivors we rescued… they’re stable. Emil’s recovery is ahead of schedule.”

Shiro exhaled slowly. “Good.” He paused, searching for the right words. “How are you holding up?”

Aiko’s smile faltered. “I’m fine.” She folded her arms, the tablet clutched to her side. “You… you seem distant.”

He shook his head. “Just thinking.”

She studied him, concern in her dark eyes. “About Europe?”

Shiro hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. And about Ryo… and Hideo. Mercy has a cost.”

Aiko set the tablet on a bench. “I know. But if we kill every werewolf without exception, we become executioners, not hunters.”

He met her gaze, shadows under his eyes. “I fear I’ll lose control one day.”

Aiko stepped closer. “You’re stronger than that. And if you ever—”

A sharp alarm cut through the courtyard, signaling an incoming emergency call. Aiko’s comm unit crackled: “Sector 7, downtown Ginza—multiple werewolf sightings, civilian casualties.”

Shiro’s expression hardened. “Let’s go.”

Sirens blared as Shiro and Aiko raced into a waiting armored van. Aoi and Kenta climbed in beside them, faces grim.

Kenta gripped his pike. “Ginza’s a shopping district—lots of civilians.”

Aoi checked her crossbow. “Witnesses report a pack—at least four adults, two juveniles.”

Shiro tightened the straps on his pistol holster. “We split into two teams. Aoi and I flank from the east; Kenta and Aiko take the west.”

Aiko’s eyes widened. “You want me on the front line?”

Shiro met her gaze. “You know first aid under fire. We need you there.”

She swallowed and nodded. “Understood.”

The van roared through the city streets, weaving between stalled cars and panicked pedestrians. Flames licked at a storefront as bystanders fled in all directions. The stench of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air.

They arrived at a plaza shattered by claw marks and overturned carts. Aoi and Shiro slipped into a narrow alley to the east; Kenta and Aiko moved along a parallel lane to the west.

Shiro pressed himself against the alley wall. Ahead, he saw two adult werewolves—fully transformed—ripping open a food stall. Their jaws snapped as they fought over scraps of meat.

Aoi raised her crossbow. “On three,” she whispered.

Shiro exhaled. “One… two… three.”

Aoi fired. Two silver bolts flew true, one into each beast’s shoulder. They howled, spinning toward the alley. Shiro stepped forward, pistol drawn, and fired twice. The werewolves staggered, then collapsed in spasms of fur and flesh, shifting into terrified men.

Shiro holstered his pistol. “Bind them.” He watched as Aoi knelt, snapping silver manacles around their wrists. Then he turned his gaze to the plaza beyond.

The plaza was chaos incarnate. Two juvenile werewolves—still partly human—dashed between crowds, their eyes wild. One lunged at a mother clutching her child. The other barreled into a café, sending tables and chairs crashing.

Shiro drew his katana. Aiko arrived beside him, medkit in hand. “I’ll cover the civilians,” she said.

He nodded. “Be careful.”

Aiko sprinted into the fray, barking instructions to bystanders and treating the wounded with steady hands. Shiro advanced on the first juvenile. It snarled, claws extended.

He dodged its swipe and slashed across its thigh. The creature yelped, fur giving way to human skin as it collapsed. Shiro’s blade paused at its throat, eyes meeting its terrified human gaze.

A fleeting thought: mercy.

He hesitated—and the juvenile lunged for him. Shiro parried its claws, slashing again, severing muscle and bone. The beast went still, body twitching, then stilled. Shiro stepped back, heart pounding.

Across the plaza, the second juvenile had cornered a group of civilians. Aiko intervened, using her medkit’s strap as a makeshift tether to trip the creature. It stumbled, and Kenta arrived, pike swinging. The blow sent it sprawling, and Aiko cuffed its wrists.

Shiro sheathed his katana and approached. Aiko met his eyes. “You hesitated.”

He looked away. “I… I almost let it kill more people.”

Aiko placed a hand on his arm. “You spared two lives today. But if you hesitate at the wrong moment, you’ll lose more than that.”

Shiro’s jaw clenched. “I know.”

Suddenly, a piercing howl split the air—different from the others. Deep, resonant, filled with malice. Shiro’s blood ran cold.

From the edge of the plaza emerged Villain X—taller and broader than any werewolf Shiro had faced. His fur was jet-black, matted with blood, and his eyes glowed crimson. He moved with lethal grace, every step radiating power.

Shiro’s heart thundered. “Villain X.”

The creature’s lips curled into a savage grin. In one motion, he lunged at the civilians nearest him, tearing through them with brutal efficiency. Shiro shouted, “No!”

He drew his pistol, firing round after round. Argent bullets hammered into Villain X’s chest, but the beast barely slowed. With a roar, Villain X swatted Shiro’s shots aside and sprinted toward Aiko, who was crouched over an injured child.

Shiro fired at his feet, trying to trip him. Villain X leapt over the sparks, closing the distance in an instant. Aiko looked up, eyes wide with shock.

“Shiro—!” she cried.

But Shiro was pinned by two adult werewolves—those he had bound earlier. They had broken free and tackled him from behind. His pistol flew from his hand, clattering across the stones.

He thrashed, but the werewolves were stronger. His katana was out of reach. From the corner of his vision, he saw Villain X bear down on Aiko.

“NO!” Shiro roared, and everything went black.

Shiro awoke to darkness and pain. His head throbbed, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. He was pinned face-down, wrists bound by silver manacles. The world spun as he tried to lift his head.

“Shiro?” Aiko’s voice—faint, trembling—cut through the haze. “Shiro, please wake up.”

He turned his head, vision blurring. Aiko lay a few meters away, clutching her side where blood seeped through her uniform. Villain X stood over her, claws dripping crimson.

Shiro’s heart seized. “Aiko—!” He strained against his bonds, but they held fast.

Villain X knelt beside Aiko, raising a clawed hand. He toyed with her, tracing a line of blood across her cheek. Aiko winced but refused to look away.

“Stay back!” Shiro spat, voice hoarse. But the werewolf only grinned, his fangs bared.

Aiko reached for her medkit, but Villain X slapped it aside. She tried to push herself up, but collapsed, her breath shallow.

Shiro’s vision tunneled. A deep, feral growl rose in his throat—an alien voice that belonged not to the hunter, but to the beast within. His eyes darkened; pupils narrowed.

Villain X laughed, dark and triumphant. He raised his claw high—and Shiro’s world went red.