Ashes

'Ouch.'

It felt like smoke as It stung his throat and filled his lungs why was there smoke in the air?

'It burns.'

The words ripped from his scorched lips, sounding so alien that it hardly felt like his own voice. Toon Horst coughed, his breath feeding the flames that clung to him like a relentless curse. His skin blistered and cracked, red flesh bubbling beneath the charred surface.
Yet death wouldn't take him. Fire wrapped around his chest, his arms, his face alive, hungry, and cruel. Each flicker sank deeper, marking him as its own. The stench of burnt flesh and hair filled the narrow street. Every gasp pulled in smoke like shards of glass.

He screamed a raw, broken sound. More beast than man.

"WATER! SOMEBODY WATER!"

But no one moved dozens of eyes glimmered through the smoke, cold and distant All the people who were simply watching were spectators. some whispered, others smirked. Not a single hand reached out. To them, he was no longer a man, just a warning. A spectacle. His vision swam. His knees buckled. The heat clawed at his soul. He tore at his chest, ripping away pieces of his melted shirt, only for skin to come with it. The agony was beyond human, a primal madness gnawing at his sanity.

"Please—!"
His voice cracked, barely more than a whimper.

No compassion. No mercy. A child pointed at him, giggling as his flesh burned. The fire roared louder, drowning out the sound of his own heartbeat. His hair turned to ash, his lips split and bled. Still, his body refused to die.

'Why is this happening? A public execution in broad daylight.'

"What is this old fucking China?!"

The world spun. He fell to his knees. a filthy puddle reflected his melting face steam hissed as drops hit his skin, a cruel mockery of relief.
With the last of his strength, Toon plunged his face into it. Steam billowed up, and his scream shattered the stillness. Through the boiling ripples and the blood-streaked water, Toon caught sight of a stranger staring back at him. Those silver eyes glimmered like molten metal, with cheekbones that were sharper than they should be. His hair was blackened, and something about it felt… off.

That face wasn't his.

He blinked twice to at least try to understand who he is looking at but still, the same reflection stared back.

"Who is this…?This isn't me. What happened?"

Then came the thought that twisted his stomach
Have I… transmigrated?

It sounded utterly insane, like something ripped from a novel. But the pain was all too real, and the body felt so foreign. No matter how much he tried to deny it, reality clawed back: wherever he was, it definitely wasn't home. A sudden jolt of pain split through his skull.

"Oww… my head." He dropped to his knees as memories surged in a tiny apartment engulfed in flames. Laughter from young men marked by the streets. Gunfire. Blood on asphalt. Sirens. Handcuffs. Cold bars.

It all crashed into him like shards of glass. Toon gasped, clutching his head. The migraine roared, then gradually faded to a dull throb. He took a breath, trembling.

"My clothes are gone… burned to ashes. At least my pants made it."
A dry chuckle slipped from his lips. The scent of smoke clung to his skin.

"What now?" he muttered. "I have no idea where I am."

The body he now inhabited belonged to a boy named Assad no last name, no legacy. A dropout lost to the streets.

"No surname? What kind of fool lives like that?"

He snorted, but the insult felt empty.

'Assad was eighteen. A dropout. Once bright, perhaps, with decent grades but swallowed by the underworld long before he could put them to use. The streets had claimed him. And this city Kurayamiya. A name that slipped off the tongue like ash. The syllables had a Japanese ring to them, yet the place felt stranger, heavier. It was foreign, yet oddly familiar. Was it really Japan? Or just a distorted reflection of it? He couldn't quite figure it out.'

Fragments of Assad's life swirled in his mind faces, gunfire, betrayal—all fading before he could grasp them. The harder he tried to remember, the quicker they slipped away, cutting him each time.

"Why was Assad executed?"
The question hung in the air, heavy as the smoke above the city.

A pale moon loomed over Kurayamiya its light silver and harsh. The city below whispered secrets in every shadow. Doorways stared back like unblinking eyes. Toon shivered. He could feel it He definitely wasn't welcome here. His stomach growled, echoing loudly in the stillness.

"Damn… already feeling hungry."

He checked his pockets. Nothing.

"Figures. I guess I'll have to follow Assad's lead if I want to eat… even if it means getting my hands dirty."

The alleys twisted on and on, cluttered with trash and broken signs. Groups of men laughed like hyenas, but none had anything worth taking. A city full of criminals, and not a crumb of bread in sight.

Then Toon heard crunching someone was eating. Toon's head whipped around at the sound at the spot of the crunching faint glow flickered in the darkness a cigarette ember, lazy smoke, a shadowy figure holding food.

'Don't think. Just take.'

He dashed forward, grabbed the food, and bolted down the alley. The stranger didn't even flinch, just watched him disappear.

"Yes! Finally, food."

He dropped to his knees, devouring it.

"Time to get diggin'—"

He froze mid-bite. The words felt wrong. Harsh. Not his own.
Assad's accent. Assad's voice.

Before he could process it, a sharp voice sliced through the night—

CRACK!

A boot slammed into his face, sending him sprawling. Blood trickled from his lip.

"You little shit."
The voice was low. Feminine. Cold as ice.
"That's not how we do things around here."

Toon tried to scramble back, but another kick landed hard against his ribs. He gasped, instinctively curling his hands to protect himself.

"You don't take what isn't yours. Not here. Not anywhere. Even if this city has no laws, there are still rules."

The assault continued. Each blow pushed him further into the ground, each hit stripping away the last remnants of his pride. He cried out half in Assad's voice, half in his own. "S-stop! I'm sorry! I'll give it back, just—!"

The figure finally stepped forward, smoke trailing with every breath. A woman.

Her silhouette stood stark against the moonlight tall, poised, the trench coat shifting as she took another drag from her cigarette. Her eyes glinted, dark and calculating, sizing him up in silence.

Then, at last, she spoke. "Mercy…" She clicked her tongue. "That's your next lesson. Around here, you won't always get it."

She exhaled, a cloud of smoke curling around his bruised face. "…But I'll let it slide. I wasn't hungry anyway."

Toon blinked up at her through swollen eyes. There was something about her presence that felt heavy, as if she could see right through him not just his body, but the stranger lurking within it.

The woman tilted her head, observing him like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Mmm. Hey there, kid. You looking to make some cash?"

Her words felt laid-back, but there was a seriousness in her voice. This wasn't just a casual inquiry; it was a challenge.

"Yeah—I-I am," Toon replied, his voice shaky as he held his side. "I really need it. I'm broke right now."

She waved her hand, brushing off his urgency. "I didn't ask for your life story." A wisp of smoke curled between them. "But okay. There's something about you that piques my interest."

With a flick of her coat, she turned. "Come on, follow me."

The night hung heavy in the air, the streets deserted except for the sound of their footsteps. The woman led the way, her pace slow yet determined, smoke curling from the cigarette perched between her lips. She didn't glance back even once.

Assad lagged a few steps behind, his stomach still throbbing from the earlier kicks. For a while, they walked in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic tap of their shoes against the cobblestones, echoing through the narrow alley.

"…So, uh," Assad broke the quiet, attempting to lighten the mood. "Is beating up strangers for dinner money your usual thing, or am I just the lucky one?"

No answer. She didn't even flinch.

He pressed on. "At least tell me your name? Or should I just call you 'Boot-to-the-Face Lady'?"

Still nothing. The smoke from her cigarette wafted back towards him, sharp and bitter.

Assad clicked his tongue in frustration. "Tch. You're as cold as ice. Guess chatting isn't your strong suit."

Finally, her voice cut through the air low and steady, like someone who had nothing left to lose. "Talking's for those who have time. You don't. Not yet."

Her words silenced him instantly. He didn't quite grasp what she meant, but the chill in her tone sent a shiver down his spine.

She stopped at the entrance of a wider street. Her cigarette burned low, the glowing ember resembling a predator's eye in the darkness. She exhaled, smoke spiraling into the night.

Without turning to face him, she said, "I want to see what you're made of."

Assad frowned. "…Made of?"

Her gaze darted across the street, landing on a lone man stumbling out of a tavern, humming to himself, clearly inebriated. Without hesitation, she flicked her cigarette aside, stepped forward, and before Assad could even register what was happening—

CRACK.

Her fist slammed into the man's gut with brutal force. He gasped, doubling over, but she wasn't finished. She seized him by the collar and smashed his head against the wall. Once. Twice. The sickening sound of bone meeting stone echoed down the street, sharp and wet. Assad stood frozen, his silver eyes wide as he watched her continue, her expression unreadable, her focus unwavering.

Then, as casually as if she'd just finished a smoke, she ripped the man's shirt off his lifeless body and tossed it toward Assad. The fabric landed in his arms, sticky with blood and smelling strongly of alcohol.

"Put it on." Her tone was calm, almost disinterested.

Assad stared at her, at a loss for words. "…What the hell is wrong with you?"

She lit another cigarette, her eyes narrowing as the smoke curled around her. "Lesson one, kid this city doesn't give you anything for free. You take what you need, or you'll end up starving. It's that simple."

Assad reluctantly slipped the torn shirt over his shoulders. The cold bloodstains pressed against his skin, but he kept quiet. The woman smirked faintly, a hint of satisfaction in her expression, and turned away. They walked in silence again, the alleys closing in before opening up into a crooked plaza. Kurayamiya sprawled out before them, alive with energy even in the dead of night paper lanterns swayed overhead, shadows danced at every corner, and the air was thick with whispers of violence.

She paused, her gaze flicking toward a group gathered at the edge of the plaza. Four men leaned against a wall, laughing too loudly, hurling crude remarks at a couple of girls passing by. Cheap liquor bottles clinked against the cobblestones.

"See that group over there?" the woman asked, her voice flat.

Assad followed her gaze. "Yeah. What's up with them?"

"They're in debt."

He shot her a look, narrowing his eyes. "…To who?"

She didn't respond. She merely tilted her head slightly, exhaling smoke into the night, her cold eyes fixed on him.

That was all he needed to know. Assad got it.

No orders. No instructions. Just an expectation.

His chest tightened, but his mind sharpened. If they owed her, then this was a test and the rules were already set.

Across the plaza, four men were taunting the girls, inching closer with their words dripping in false bravado. One of them slung an arm around a girl's shoulder, coaxing a forced laugh from her, while the others circled like hungry vultures, their focus split between intimidation and pride. They were oblivious to the silver-eyed boy lurking in the shadows.

Assad stepped into the light, his footsteps steady and purposeful. The men's laughter faltered as they caught sight of him, the atmosphere shifting ever so slightly.

"Names," Assad said, his tone flat and his silver eyes narrowing. "All of them. Now."

The four men exchanged puzzled looks before one of them let out a harsh laugh. "What are you supposed to be? A debt collector or something?"

Assad's stare remained unflinching. "Your debt is overdue."

The girls exchanged glances between the men and Assad, snickering. "Debt? From him? He looks like he can't even afford his own dinner." "Yeah, maybe he wants to pay with that ugly mug of his."

The men's grins widened, feeling emboldened. One of them stepped closer, looming over Assad, trying to assert his dominance. "Kid, you don't just stroll up to us talking like that in front of women. You got a death wish?"

The jeers from the group of girls cut deeper, mocking his clothes, his singed appearance, his sheer audacity.

But in the corner, one girl's laughter caught in her throat. Her face went pale the moment she locked eyes with Assad.

She recognized him.

She'd heard the tales about Assad, about who he was and how he lived, but he was supposed to be dead. Seeing him alive, standing right there, made her hands shake. She didn't dare utter a word, but fear wrapped around her like a tightening noose.

Assad noticed her reaction but chose not to acknowledge it. His voice remained icy, slicing through the noise.

"Last chance. Names."

The guys just laughed, brushing off Assad's words as they turned their backs to him, eager to impress the girls nearby.

But the girl who had gone pale couldn't keep quiet any longer. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "T-That's… that's him… the one who—"

She never got to finish her thought.

Suddenly, a deafening crack shattered the night as one of the men flew past her, twisting in the air before crashing into the wall behind them. Dust cascaded down from the bricks where he hit.

Everyone froze in place.

Assad stood where the man had just been, his leg still raised, silver eyes glimmering softly in the moonlight. He slowly lowered his foot, his expression unreadable.

The other three snapped out of their shock, fury igniting in their eyes.
"You bastard!" one of them yelled, charging forward with a wild swing.

Assad tilted his head slightly. In a flash, his hand shot up, catching the man's wrist mid-swing. With a sharp twist and a brutal yank, the man's arm cracked like dry wood. His scream echoed in the alley, cut short when Assad drove his knee into the man's gut, folding him in half before tossing him aside like yesterday's trash.

The next attacker tried to circle around, swinging a rusted pipe. Assad didn't even glance his way. He ducked low, his movements smooth, and drove his shoulder into the man's stomach, lifting him off the ground before slamming him onto the stone pavement with a bone-rattling thud. The sound of air rushing out of him filled the alley as he lay there, limp.

The last one hesitated, sweat trickling down his face. But whether it was pride or sheer stupidity, he charged forward with a roar, fists flying in a desperate flurry of punches.

Assad's eyes sharpened.

Step. Pivot. Strike.

Every punch was expertly dodged, redirected with a precision that suggested he had rehearsed this dance a thousand times. His counterattack was brutal: a fist slammed into the jaw, a kick that snapped the man's knee, and an elbow that crashed into his temple. By the time Assad was done, the man lay crumpled on the ground, twitching and unable to get back up.

Silence.

The girls could only watch, their earlier smirks and giggles vanished. Dust still lingered in the air where the first man had slammed into the wall.

Assad rolled his shoulder, breathing steadily, as if it had all been just a warm-up. His icy gaze swept over the group, lingering for a moment on the girl who had recognized him.

He checked for the money and found only 2000 rand , which made him furious after all that, this was all he got?

'Damn, these idiots are already broke. What a waste of my time.'

Without saying a word, he turned his back on them and walked toward the woman in the trench coat, who had been watching the whole scene with a sly smile playing on her lips. As he walked back, Assad wiped the blood from his knuckles, his footsteps echoing in the stunned silence of the alley. The four bodies behind him groaned and writhed, broken and beaten. He stopped in front of the woman, his chest rising and falling with calm, measured breaths.

"So," he said, tilting his head with a slight smirk, "how did I do on your little test?"

The woman exhaled, smoke curling in the air between them. Her tinted glasses caught the soft glow of the moon, hiding most of her eyes but Assad could feel her gaze piercing right through him.

"Eight," she replied flatly.

Assad blinked. "…Out of what?"

She tapped her cigarette against her coat, ash drifting to the ground. "A million."