Inferno in Red

Hiroshima City ― Present Day

It was Nami Eguchi’s 34th birthday. Hair stylist. Bar owner. Firestorm in heels. She ran "Red Athena"—a late-night bar tucked deep in Hiroshima’s backstreets, where stylists, dancers, and loners gathered like moths to flame. But tonight was different.
She opened early—9:00 PM. A rare gesture for a rare occasion. To celebrate, she launched a birthday promo: "Eat-All-You-Can for 1500 Yen" (drinks not included). She even invited her closest friend, Riza, known on the circuit as The Soul Siren, to perform a special set.

Nami was legendary—for her style, her swagger, and most of all, her rage.
She had a magnetic charm, yes—but it was her outbursts that echoed through the alleyways of Hiroshima.

Among her greatest hits:
– Hurling a flaming cocktail at her ex’s car.
– Pummeling a customer for calling her “just a beautician.”
– And the heartbreak of her life: her daughter, Hana, now lived with Nami’s estranged mother after a final blow-up left broken glass, a bloodied lip, and a silence that never healed.

“I burn everything I touch,” Nami once said. “But at least I don’t pretend I’m anything else.”

Tonight, though, was supposed to be different.
A chance to breathe. To be celebrated.

Until—

“Your food sucks! It's horrible!” a customer yelled, waving a greasy plate in the air.

Nami blinked. Slowly removed her birthday hat.

Without a word, she grabbed two empty beer bottles. She hurled one. Direct hit to the heckler’s skull. The second? She shattered it across his head with a scream.

Blood sprayed onto the buffet table.

Yes—tonight was different.

Just more blood this time.

Yuriko's Dream

The night was peaceful—stars scattered like soft lanterns above.
Yuriko sat on a small wooden bridge with Kenshin, their feet hovering above the clear, whispering stream below. Fireflies drifted lazily in the summer air.

Kenshin turned to her, his voice gentle.

“Do you still want to continue this?”

Yuriko blushed, her fingers brushing his hand.

“Of course… Your presence is my peace. My shelter. I can’t imagine this world without you.”

But just as she smiled—the stars blinked out. The river stilled.
The warmth vanished.
She turned.
Kenshin was gone.
In his place, behind her—cold gauntlets gripped her shoulders.
She froze. The scent of ash filled her lungs.

The Headless Samurai leaned in, pressing her into his iron embrace. From the shadows beneath him, a voice rose—low, guttural… haunting.

“My Crimson Orchid… I have returned.”

She looked down.
In his armored hands was Kenshin’s head.

Yuriko jolted awake. Gasping. Drenched in sweat.
Her heartbeat thundered—echoing off the walls like war drums.

“What… does it mean?” she whispered, gripping her bedsheet.

Drawn by instinct, she rose and looked out the window.

There, under a flickering streetlamp,
the Headless Samurai stood upon his black horse—motionless. Watching. Waiting.

Yuriko’s breath caught in her throat.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked the night.
“They deserve it. These people… these sinners… they rot the world.”

A gust of wind swept through the street. And just like that—he was gone.

Yuriko pressed her hand to the glass, eyes fierce, voice resolute.

“Three more… my love.”

Red Athena ― Midnight

A regular plays the piano in the corner. Cigarette smoke hangs like fog. Nami, in a baby blue kimono over jeans, laughs loud and slams another drink. Then―silence. A woman in black walks in, uninvited. She has pale skin, and her eyes reflect candlelight like ink."Bar's closed," Nami barks. The woman says nothing. She places her hand on the wooden counter. Where her fingers touched, a black ink stain blooms, spreading like a bruise. Nami sees it, blinks, but shakes it off. She turns back to her drink. When she looks again, the woman is gone. And the ink is now on Nami's wrist.

The Wrath Awakens

Nami dreams of fire. The wallpaper in her childhood home peels like scorched skin. Her father’s voice rips through the halls—shouting. Her mother sobs behind a locked door. Nami hides in the closet, knees to her chest. But then—she sees herself from the outside. Standing tall in the hallway. Eyes glowing red. Fists trembling with rage. Then it appears.

A headless figure at the end of the hallway. Clad in ancient armor. Cradling a shamisen. It plucks a single note. Over and over. Like a heartbeat. Like a curse.

Plink.
Plink.
Plink.

Nami screams. Charges at it. Swings fists at smoke and shadows. Curses gods, demons, and the very ground she walks on.

She wakes.

Gasping. Screaming. Cursing at the empty air. Chest heaving. Hands shaking.

She looks down—the ink-like mark still stains her wrist.

“Headless Samurai…” she whispers, breathless.

She stumbles into the bathroom.
Washes her face, her hands, her hair—scrubbing like the water might save her.

Then, kneeling before the mirror, she whispers to the air.

“Please... forgive me. I burn too easily. But I’m kind to those who love me. I’m thoughtful… I try…”

A whisper answers—right in her ear:

“You’re just a beautician…”

Something in her breaks.

“DON’T YOU DARE UNDERESTIMATE ME!”

She howls, hurling bottles, punching the walls, cracking the mirror.
Grabs a half-full beer bottle.
Holds it like a weapon.

“SHOW ME YOUR FACE!”

Then—a blinding flash.
Like lightning.

She looks down.

The bottle is sliced clean in half.
Not broken.
Cut.

She screams, flings the pieces across the room, grabs her keys, and runs.

Outside.
Engine roaring.
She drives into the night, gripping the wheel like a lifeline.

She dials.

“Hana. Sweetheart. Please. I’m dealing with something… something awful. I just need you to know—Mama lo—”

Her words freeze.

In the rearview mirror—

The Headless Samurai.
Sitting calmly in the back seat.

A red line blooms across her neck like a thin ribbon of blood.

Then—

BHANG!

Metal bends.
Glass shatters.
The car slams into a lamp post.

The phone clatters to the floor.

On the other end:

“Mama? ...Mama? Are you there?”

Aftermath

An hour later.
Firefighters arrive at the alley behind Red Athena—drawn by the smoke, the flames, and the sickening scent of burning metal and flesh.

The car is charred black.
Its frame twisted like a dying insect.
Inside, strapped to the driver’s seat, they find what’s left of Nami Eguchi.
Her body is burned beyond recognition.
And headless.

Ten meters from the wreckage, officers find it—
Her severed head.

Face scorched.
Eyes wide open in terror.

It rests eerily upright, as if placed there deliberately.
Next to it: a fresh, unopened bottle of beer.
Wrapped in waxed paper with a note scribbled in black ink.

One word:

“Forgiven.”

And just beneath it—

An inkblot.
Still wet.
Still spreading.

Between Realms ― Train Cabin

Yuriko sat alone, the windows flickering with passing memories.
She flipped to the next blank page in her notebook.

“Wrath has been silenced. Who shall I mark next?”

She tapped the mirror shard.
An image flickered—of a man with dozens of keys hanging on his belt.

She smiled.

“Envy... is ready.”


[Next: Green-Eyed Man]