The Man Who Wasn't There

The warehouse air hung thick with dust and desperation. Four men surrounded Kokushiro, knives creating a cage of steel around him. The leader, marked by a scar over his eye, pressed his blade to Kokushiro's throat. "The bank details," he growled. "Now."

Kokushiro stood with an unnerving stillness, his eyes holding a calm, vacant gaze. He showed no trace of fear, only a cold, detached patience that unnerved his captors.

The first punch landed against his ribs, then another. The blows were solid and meant to hurt, but they produced only dull, meaty thuds. His skin did not redden; his bones did not crack. He absorbed the violence without flinching, his expression remaining utterly unchanged.

The thugs exchanged uncertain looks. "What's his problem? Why isn't he reacting?" one of them muttered, taking a nervous step back.

Frustrated, the leader dug the point of his knife deeper. "You think you're tough? Let's see how—"

He never finished the threat.

Kokushiro's hand moved in a blur of motion, seizing the leader's wrist. The sharp crack of breaking bone echoed off the warehouse walls. The leader cried out, his knife clattering to the floor—only for Kokushiro to catch it effortlessly before it hit the ground.

He examined the blade for a moment, his expression utterly vacant. "The grip is wrong," he stated, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. "It limits the cutting angle."

The blade became a silver arc. A wet, slicing sound was followed by two heavy thuds as the leader's severed hands hit the concrete. As the man stared in horrified disbelief at the stumps of his wrists, Kokushiro tossed the knife aside with disdain.

"Blades are for butchers. What I do is an art."

He then grabbed the screaming man's face and, with terrifying, casual force, slammed his head into the concrete floor. The impact was not a simple crack, but a wet, pulverizing crush that silenced the screams instantly.

The remaining three thugs stared, their knives shaking in their hands, their bravado evaporated.

Kokushiro turned his gaze to the nearest one. "You operate under a misconception," he stated calmly. "You believe everyone you target is prey."

As the man tensed to lunge, Kokushiro moved behind him in an instant. His arm shot forward, plunging through the thug's back and bursting out through his chest, a still-beating heart clutched in his fist. Blood sprayed out in a torrent, drenching the two remaining men like a gruesome shower. Kokushiro glanced at the organ, then crushed it in his hand.

The final two thugs turned to flee, but Kokushiro was a phantom of motion. He caught one, slamming him to the ground. He crouched over the terrified man, tracing a single finger down his trembling abdomen.

"You have something inside," Kokushiro cooed. "Let me see."

His hands punched through flesh and muscle with a sickening tear. With methodical, horrifyingly visible speed, he began tearing his way through the man's insides, pulling out glistening viscera while maintaining a chilling eye contact with the last thug standing.

That final man stood frozen, a dark stain of urine spreading down his leg as he witnessed the nightmarish dissection.

Kokushiro rose from the carnage, drenched in blood from head to toe. A terrifying smile stretched across his features. "Don't be scared," he said.

The man fell to his knees, hands clasped together. "Please! I'll do anything! Just let me live!"

"Relax," Kokushiro whispered. "I've saved something special for you."

He turned his head slightly, as if addressing the air beside him. "Hey buddy."

The Hebrew emerged from Kokushiro's body—a wave of living shadow that enveloped the begging thug, swallowing his final, piercing scream into an abyss of pure darkness.

The morning sun streamed through the grimy warehouse windows, illuminating a scene from a nightmare. Inspector Tanaka stood frozen in the doorway, his professional composure shattered.

One man's head was crushed beyond recognition, a dark pool of dried blood surrounding him like a halo. Another lay with a gaping hole where his chest should be, his organs scattered around him like macabre confetti. A third had been systematically disemboweled, his insides laid out in a horrifying display. The fourth... simply wasn't whole anymore.

Forensic technicians moved through the scene with pale faces, some stepping outside periodically to vomit. A young officer leaned against the wall, trembling as he tried to take notes.

"God in heaven," one of the senior detectives whispered, crossing himself. "What kind of monster could do this?"

Tanaka's eyes swept over the carnage, his mind racing. The level of brutality was beyond anything he'd seen in his career. This wasn't just murder - it was a statement. A declaration of something terrible walking among them.

Kage no Tech - Tokyo, Japan

The morning light found Kokushiro Akuma already at his workstation in the Kage no Tech office. The morning began with a routine briefing, where the manager cleared his throat and addressed the team.

"Team, this is Hikari Aoki, our new junior developer. She'll be shadowing on the Anvil project." He then gestured to Kokushiro. "Aoki-san, you'll be working with Akuma-san. He'll be your mentor."

Hikari offered a formal bow, a warm, friendly smile on her face. "Yoroshiku onegaishimasu, Akuma-san. I'm really looking forward to learning from you."

Kokushiro responded with nothing more than a slight, silent nod, his eyes already back on his screen. The dismissal was cold and final, setting the tone for the entire day.

As the hours passed, Hikari tried repeatedly to bridge the gap he enforced. During a mid-morning lull, she approached his desk with a cup of coffee. "I noticed you take it black, Akuma-san." He accepted it with a quiet "Thanks," without looking up. Later, hoping to spark any form of personal conversation, she asked, "Did you do anything interesting, Akuma-san?" "No," was the flat, single-word reply she received. Each attempt was met with the same impenetrable wall, and yet, instead of being discouraged, Hikari's interest only grew. There was a mystery in his silence that she felt compelled to solve.

This fascination was still on her mind when she sat down for lunch with Kenji and Mika, her expression a little dreamy as she glanced toward Kokushiro's empty desk.

"You've been trying pretty hard with Akuma-san," Mika noted with a knowing smirk. "That's brave."

Hikari's cheeks flushed slightly. "Is it that obvious? I just... I think there's more to him than he shows. He's so... intense."

Kenji almost choked on his drink. "Aoki-san, you have a crush on him?"

"I wouldn't call it a crush," she said, playing with her food and avoiding their eyes. "I just find him... intriguing. In a way I can't really explain."

Mika shook her head, laughing softly. "Oh, you've got it bad. Look, a word of advice? Everyone finds him intriguing at first. The strong, silent type. But the silence never breaks. He's been here ten months, and no one knows a thing about him. Trust me, you're wasting your time."

"But he's so brilliant," Hikari insisted, her eyes lighting up. "And there's something in his eyes... like he's seen things."

"Or he's just a grumpy programmer who hates people," Takeshi chimed in from the next table, overhearing the conversation. "We have a betting pool on how long new hires stay interested. My money's on two weeks."

Hikari just smiled, a determined glint in her eye, offering no other rebuttal.

The workday eventually dwindled into a quiet evening, the office nearly empty. With the communal space silent, Hikari stood by the window, phone pressed to her ear, her tone calm and measured as she finally reported her findings.

"He's difficult to read," she said into the receiver. "Completely anti-social. Barely speaks, doesn't interact with anyone. I tried the usual approaches - coffee, casual conversation. Nothing penetrates." She listened for a moment, her gaze fixed on the city lights outside. "Yes, he's exactly as described. But there's something more beneath the surface. It's not just social awkwardness. The way he carries himself... it's deliberate." She paused, her expression thoughtful before delivering her final assessment. "I'll continue the approach. But this will take time. He's not someone who lets people in easily."

Hanging up, Hikari remained by the window for a long moment. Her friendly workplace demeanor was gone, replaced by a quiet, professional intensity. The mystery of Kokushiro Akuma had just become much more complex - and much more intriguing.

Investigation Area - Tokyo, Japan

The scene was cordoned off in a dimly lit, narrow backstreet of Shinjuku. The ambient glow of neon signs from the main road didn't quite reach the grim tableau. Inspector Tanaka and his officer, Haruto, stood over a body crumpled in the shadows.

Haruto's face was pale under the beam of the portable police light. "Sir... it's the same person. The one Kokushiro told us about. But how could it be possible? The person who killed several people in that Azabu-Juuban district massacre and the warehouse... is found dead here? Like this?"

Tanaka knelt, his eyes critically scanning the corpse. "That's true," he said, his voice a low rumble. The timeline made no sense.

A forensic officer in white coveralls approached, snapping off her gloves. "Inspector. Confirming the victim is deceased. Rigor mortis has come and gone. Liver mortis is fixed. Based on the advanced decomposition in this humidity... I'd place time of death at approximately four days ago."

Tanaka stood up, his expression turning grim. "Four days?" He looked from the body back to Haruto, the implication hanging heavy in the air. "The blood sample from the Azabu-Juuban district massacre. The one we have on file. Did they match?"

The forensic officer shook her head. "No, sir. Both are different blood. The sample from the Azabu-Juuban scene and the blood from this victim... they are from two different people."