The third sin: First night

Take me..."

The words spilled from the headphones like a warm thread, weaving through Mori’s breath — wrapping him in the illusion of peace.

For a moment, the world was simple.
The chair rocked with the rhythm, the dim light danced with the dust, and the music swallowed everything.

Then — the sound of a lock turning.

The rhythm faltered, as if the song itself had lost balance.

“Mori, where are you?”

He opened his eyes halfway.
“Huh?!”

The door creaked open, a heavy voice filling the room.

“Ah—who—?! Agh!” He slipped from the chair in a clumsy mess, trying to collect himself from the floor.

“Uncle!” His voice trembled, caught between embarrassment and confusion.

The gray-haired man stood there — silent, unreadable.

“You seem... hardworking, Mori.”

A faint laugh escaped Mori’s lips as he scratched his head, trying to erase the moment from existence.
“Haha... yeah, always busy, you know?”

“The keys,” the old man said flatly.

The music stopped.

“The... keys?”

“This place will be an office again. Here’s its new leader — Alex.”

For a second, time froze.

Mori stared at Alex as if squinting at a blinding light in the middle of the night.
“What a pain... no girls, huh?” he muttered under his breath.

The two exchanged a look — one trying to understand, the other trying to avoid it.

The old man handed Mori a paper.
“Don’t bother your superior. He’s important to the director.”

Then he left, leaving behind a silence that weighed like smoke.

After a beat, Mori pulled out a roll of tape, stretched it across the floor with a tearing sound that cut through the quiet.

He split the room in half.

Said nothing.

Just returned to his bed, put his headphones back on, and pressed play.

The music returned... but it wasn’t the same anymore.

Alex watched him — his face a blend of defiance and indifference.

From the start, he knew this type.
The kind that never followed orders.

He sighed softly, letting the air drag the fatigue out of his chest.
“What a pain...”

He left the room.
The hallway air was cold, heavy with the smell of old paint and damp dust.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped on a single familiar name — Fiore.

The line rang twice before her tired voice came through, wrapped in the hum of medical machines:
“Ah—Tch. Hey Alex... how’s it going?”

“Fine, I guess. How’s Noah?”

Silence. Just the faint sound of her breathing through the static.

“No progress. His body isn’t reacting to treatment — like something inside him refuses to settle. I’m still running tests, but... sorry, I can’t help him yet.”

Alex’s voice softened — exhaustion mixing with gratitude.
“Without you, neither of us would’ve made it. Noah and I... we owe you our lives.”

The silence between them lingered, heavier than any word.

Then, after a pause:
“Fiore-san... you know anything about Sector 16?”

“Not much. It’s under the control of the Twenty-Two Dragons. Their leader there... bad reputation. Why?”

Alex looked down at the mission paper in his hand:
First Task — Track two suspicious individuals near Sector 16.

A faint smile crossed his lips, without warmth or meaning.

“No reason. Just curious.”

But deep down, he knew.

That cold pulse spreading in his chest wasn’t curiosity.

It was a warning —
telling him not to get involved.

In another part of the city…

A man in his mid-thirties, dressed plainly as if he cared little for fashion, sat on a rusted metal bench in a public park. Beside him lay a katana sheathed in a battered wooden scabbard. The air was still, smelling of old rain and iron. Next to him, a shadow of a man sat—a figure whose face refused to appear.

The man spoke in a low voice, weary from caution:
— So… when will you stop these actions?

The shadow answered without turning:
— They are my personal matters.

The man's eyes tilted toward him.
— Your personal matters are exposing us to suspicion… rumors are spreading here and there. You understand what I mean.

The shadow let out a faint laugh that showed he was brushing it off.
— I’ll deal with it myself. I don’t care about rumors, not like someone I know.

The air between them trembled. It was neither a sound nor a breeze, but a vibration in a deeper layer of reality. An aura rose from the man, pressing against the void itself as he gripped his sword and prepared to draw it.

— I’m glad we haven’t reached a solution. I’ll cut it off here and now.

The mysterious shadow finally raised his head. His eyes reflected a lightless sea, and with them he unleashed his aura toward the man.
— Pain… that is my answer. The pain that fuels my actions will never be extinguished.

The atmosphere in the park changed. Passersby altered their paths without thinking, birds vanished from the branches, even dogs dared not bark. Then the mysterious shadow rose.

— What is your aim—ignite a war against the Four Factions or what?

The shadow turned and smiled a pale smile:
— Maybe… maybe not.

Light flickered around him for a moment, then the shadow swallowed it.

After a few moments, four men emerged from among the trees, their faces covered.
— Shall we follow him, sir?

The man lowered his aura and set his sword aside. He answered in a calm, decisive tone:
— You will be killed if you come near him even by a short distance. Return to your tasks, and I hope you did not hear or see anything here.

— We were not here at all.

They vanished as if they were nothing but illusions in the mist.

The man remained alone before a cold sunset that looked like cigarette ash. He muttered to himself, annoyed:
— Damn… I guess I’m too old for these things. They can’t even give me a quiet office to retire in...

After several hours

The city never slept.
Night there was just another kind of day — full of lights, noises, and faces that refused quiet.
Through that din, Alex walked with steady steps, his eyes fixed on two men who looked like stains on the bright street — leather jackets, tattoos, tense gazes searching for an exit that didn’t exist.

They slipped into the side alleys of Sector 16, where the light stops and the shadows begin to breathe.
Alex hid behind a crumbling wall, watching them for two full hours — no words, no movement worth noting. Only cigarette smoke and waiting.

> Two hours of silence... what a torment.
Is this what I’ve become? A watcher without patience? Fine — I’ll get the truth my way.

He exhaled and rose; anger simmered in his chest. He passed a small café lit by a dull yellow lamp, bought a cup of black coffee without looking at the vendor, then headed back to the alleys.
The hot coffee’s steam mixed with the night’s humidity as he stopped in front of the two men.

“What now?” one of them said in a low voice.
“We haven’t sold half the shipment yet… if the boss finds out—”
“Shut up. We can’t run from them.”

Alex appeared in front of them suddenly, his face as still as death.
“Who… who are you?!”
No answer came. He lifted the cup and poured the coffee into the first man’s face.
A burning scream cut through the night; the smell of scorched skin followed.
Before the second man could move, Alex grabbed him and slammed him down with a quick move, his knee pressing into the man’s chest.

“Now, you’re under my command.”
His voice was calm, but his eyes said worse.

“Who do you work for?”
“N—no one. We work for ourselves, I swear!”
Alex tightened his grip on the man’s wrist.
“Nonsense. Give me a name.”

The man began screaming:
“I can’t! Th— they’ll erase me from existence! You don’t know them— you’re no match for them… the Twenty-Two Dragons!”

He hadn’t finished the sentence before a powerful kick came from nowhere, driving Alex into the wall; his body jolted.
He raised his head slowly — the black muzzle of a gun was pointed at him.

A rough voice said,
“Looks like we found something interesting… right, Bill?”
A cold chuckle followed:
“This’ll lift the boss’s spirits… at least a little.”

---

Darkness.
A voice echoes in the void, cold as metal.

“So… Mr. Makregi, why won’t you speak to me?”

In the middle of the room, a man hung by his hands, his head bowed forward, drops of blood falling rhythmically onto the cracked floor.
Footsteps approached, a whisper from the shadows: “Come on, tell me… are you hiding something from me?”

A figure emerged from the dark, his features unclear except for the glare of his eyes. He leaned in until there was a single centimeter between him and the hanging man, then lifted his face into the dim light of a swinging lamp.

The scene resolved itself — an old bowling alley: lanes broken, balls scattered like corpses left after a fight. Behind him, several men stood silently, smoke rising from their cigarettes.

Shiu — the man speaking — began to rub his head violently, as if trying to force an idea out by force.
“Why, Makregi? Why did you betray me?”
He raised a rusty pair of pincers and struck Makregi across the face.
A muffled cry cut the air and bounced off the stained walls.

Makregi opened his mouth with difficulty.
“Why… why, Lord Shiu? I didn’t betray you — I never thought of betrayal!”

Shiu approached slowly, a cold smile forming on his face, then clamped the pincers over Makregi’s tongue.
“I’m tired of those words. I’m bored of this repetition… I want something new, something genuine this time.”
His eyes gleamed with a quiet madness, like a creature that takes pleasure in torturing its prey simply to pass the time.

The door slammed against the wall suddenly.
Alex was thrown in, face down, hands bound, breath ragged.

“Boss! We’re back!” one of them shouted as he dragged him in.
“Guess what we brought you!”

Shiu turned slowly; his smile widened until it looked as terrifying as it was childlike.
“Oh… oh… what did you bring me, Riho?”
He stepped forward with almost dancing steps, like a child awaiting a present.
But when his eyes landed on Alex, his expression froze for a moment.

Alex thought to himself:
Damn... captured again for the second time this week.
And this time... this place looks worse than hell itself.

He raised his head slowly and scanned the room:
A run-down bowling alley — the floor cracked and full of dust and cigarette butts. The walls smeared, the ceiling rotted and near collapse. Cockroaches raced between broken chairs, and the air was a mix of mildew, smoke, and blood.

When he attempted to shift his position, Shiu was suddenly right in his face.
A young man, roughly Alex’s age — childlike features, but eyes that held the calm of someone who had seen death… and learned to love it.

Who is this?
There is something dangerous about him… I feel the air around him heavy, almost alive.
I need to find a way out… now.

Alex began to feel something strange as he stared into Shio’s eyes—
a crawling sensation deep in his gut.
Fear? No… it was something more primal,
a blend of terror and fascination.

His body trembled slightly—then, unexpectedly, he smiled.

Shio raised an eyebrow, then smiled back.
(Hoho... now this one’s interesting.)

The air between them froze.
Both men stood motionless, locked in each other’s gaze.
Seconds stretched into what felt like hours.
A pressure—thick, suffocating—started to seep out from their bodies.
No one dared to breathe, much less interfere.

Then— tap... tap... tap...
A knock at the door shattered the silence.
A crowd of gang members poured in.

One man pushed through them, shouting angrily,
“You haven’t gotten the info yet?! What the hell have you been doing all this time, freak?!”

He was the boss of another gang—
one that belonged to the same alliance as Shio’s.
But Shio didn’t even look at him.

The man’s face turned red. He stomped forward and grabbed Shio’s shoulder.
In that instant, Shio spun around like a blade.
His strike would have torn through the man’s throat—
if not for Riho, Shio’s right-hand man, who intercepted the blow just in time.

Everyone froze.
The fat boss stumbled back, his face pale with shock.
“You— you attacked me! Do you know what the Elders will do to you for this?!”

Shio rose slowly, calm as ever, and stepped toward him.
“Come on, fatty... I was just joking.”
He stopped inches from the man’s face, his tone soft but sharp enough to cut.
“I was focused on something important... and you ruined my concentration.”
He leaned closer, eyes glinting like knives.
“But we both know—if I had meant that strike, you’d already be a corpse with a hole in it.”

He glanced at Riho.
“Right?”

Riho raised his hand—blood still dripping from the puncture in his palm.
“Yes, sir.”

The fat man’s expression twisted with anger and fear.
Shio patted his shoulder lightly.
“Next time, my assistant’s hand won’t be there to save you.”

The man glared at him, trembling,
(Damn you, Shio... I’ll kill you, you damned child...)

One of Shio’s men approached carefully.
“Boss... what should we do with them?”

Shio’s gaze shifted toward Alex—long, calculating, almost curious.
“Unchain him,” he said. “Give him a seat... and something to drink.”

Then his eyes flicked toward the two dealers.
“Sit them with him.”

Moments later, the four sat around a wooden table at the back of the hall.
Shio’s men surrounded them from every side, silent as statues.

Behind them stretched the decrepit bowling alley—
broken lanes, shattered pins,
and in front of them, suspended in the middle of the hall,
was Macreagy’s tortured body—
a silent warning to anyone who dared to betray Shio.

Shio spoke first, his tone sharp yet calm.

> “So… it’s you.”

Everyone froze, waiting for his next words.

> “Tell me—blue or red?”

“Red,” Alex replied instantly.

Shio’s lips curved into a faint smile.

> “Basketball or soccer?”
“Soccer.”
“Jazz or pop?”
“Jazz.”
“Super Neo or Jeremy the Invincible?”
“Super Neo.”

A brief silence—then laughter.
To everyone’s shock, the two began talking easily, as if they’d known each other for years.

The moment was broken when the back door slammed open.
A man entered, carrying a little girl—no older than six.

The fat boss groaned,

> “Finally! You’re late, you idiot.”

Shio’s eyes turned cold.

> “What’s the meaning of this, you pig?”

The fat man pulled out a stamped paper and waved it arrogantly.
Shio’s expression darkened.

> “An official order,” the man said. “From the First Leader’s aide—signed and sealed.”
“If you can’t get results, I’ll use my method. Don’t worry—it’s very effective.”

The girl lifted her head toward the hanging body.

> “Daddy… Daddy…”

Macreagy screamed,

> “My daughter—Nina! You bastards! Using my child against me?! After all these years serving your damn organization?!”

The fat man silenced him by gripping his mouth.

> “Shut up, you worthless rat. If it weren’t for the rush, I’d enjoy carving you and your brat both.”

He gestured—one of his men grabbed the girl and placed her in the middle of the bowling lane.

Shio snapped, fury breaking through his calm.

> “Stop this now! Give me time—I’ll get the information myself!”

The fat man sneered.

> “It’s an order, Shio. Nothing you can do now.
Alright, someone—take the first shot.”

A man lifted a bowling ball and rolled it—
it missed, bouncing harmlessly aside.

> “Nice shot,” the fat man laughed. “Next!”

Shio’s hands clenched until blood seeped from his palm.
Alex noticed, stepped closer silently.

The next ball grazed the girl’s cheek.
Macreagy’s voice broke,

> “Nina… I’m sorry, baby… I’m so sorry…”

A third man stepped forward—
but before he could throw, Alex moved.

He was on him in an instant, choking him with brutal precision.

> “You bastards… I won’t stand by and watch this!”

The fat man screamed,

> “Kill him!”

But Shio’s men moved first, blocking their path.
The fat man went pale with rage.

> “What are you doing, brat?! Call them off now—you’re defying the Council!”

He laughed, confident Shio wouldn’t dare.

But Shio walked forward slowly.

> “Maybe I should have killed you then…”

He touched one of the fat man’s men on the chest—
his hand twisted slowly.
The man screamed, body trembling violently.

> “To hell with orders… to hell with the Council… to hell with you all.”

Shio’s fist clenched—
and the man’s heart exploded from within.

Before the full brawl erupted—
the windows shattered.

Three figures crashed through, hitting the ground hard.
Everyone froze.

Alex’s breath caught when he saw the one in the red scarf—
Jashin.
The man who had once saved him and Fiora.
Now he was barely standing, covered in blood.

The three rose—Jashin, and two others in violet uniforms, faces wrapped in black scarves, holding long sickles.
They lunged at him—
he blocked with his staff, killed one, and impaled the other—
but not before a blade sank into his leg

Jashin staggered back from the shattered window —
but before he could move, dozens of men in dark violet uniforms stormed in, their faces veiled in black cloth.
Chaos erupted instantly. The two gangs clashed with the newcomers, turning the hall into a storm of screams, blood, and shattered glass.

In the midst of the chaos, the fat man slipped away through the back door, panting:

> “Move! Hurry up, you idiot! We’re going to die here!”

Meanwhile, Alex untied Makregi and looked toward Shio —
who stood motionless in the center of the battlefield, eyes locked with Jashin.
They moved as one — two predators circling death itself.

> “Now I’ve got you… no escape this time!”
Shio’s hand gripped Jashin’s chest — and froze.

Something in Jashin’s eyes made his blood turn to ice.
Fear. Pure, primal fear.

Before Jashin could strike back, Alex appeared out of nowhere, grabbed Shio, and dragged him through the smoke.

They stumbled into the rain-soaked alley.
Alex grabbed Shio by the collar.

> “I know what you saw… I saw it too. But you can’t give in now. I need you—to stop this war.”

Shio swallowed hard.

> “Y-Yeah… let’s end this.”

Then —

> Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three shots split the air.
One tore through Alex’s shoulder, the others pierced Shio’s chest and gut.
They both collapsed.

From the shadows came a mocking laugh.

> “Well, well… look who’s crawling now. Poor little Shio.”

Rain poured harder.
And from Alex’s bleeding body, a faint aura began to rise — wild, shifting, alive.
He stood up, each breath a struggle.

> “W-What the hell—?!”
The fat man fired again. One bullet struck Alex’s side, knocking him down.
But Alex rose again.
Another bullet hit his head… and stopped.
Floating, spinning slowly in the air.

The rain slowed around him.
He kept walking.
Bullets flew — bending, missing, deflected by unseen gusts.

> Click. Click. Click.

Out of ammo.

Alex stood over him, dripping in blood, his face twisted in fury.

> “Wait, I—”
BOOM!
A single punch smashed him to the ground.
“My face—!”
BOOM!
Another. The floor cracked. The fat man went limp.

Alex raised his fist again, but Shio’s hand caught it mid-air.
The man was barely standing.

> “You’re alive…”
“Yeah, you idiot,” Shio muttered, smiling weakly.

Alex collapsed into his arms.

> “Hey… stay with me… somebody—help!”

Shio fell too.
Then a shadow appeared, holding an umbrella — the Old Man.

> “He’s lost too much blood…”
He lifted both of them.

As he raised his gaze, Jashin stood before him.
Their eyes met — cold, wordless understanding.

Jashin stepped past him.

> “You can’t live like this forever.
Now that twenty-two dragons are after you… things will get ugly.”

> “It’s a road of no return,”
Jashin murmured, voice broken, and disappeared into the rain.

> To be continued...