The Wolf's Den

That statement alone made Assad's cool demeanor faltered. His smirk faded into disbelief.

"What do you mean, eight out of a million? You saw what I just did! I took them down like it was nothing!"

She simply took a slow drag from her cigarette, the ember glowing bright red, before exhaling the smoke into the chilly night air.. Her voice was steady, almost disinterested, when she finally broke the silence.

"Name's Shuren. Remember it." With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the cigarette aside, crushing it beneath her boot.

"Oh, I guess I should introduce myself too. My name is—"

"Don't bother. I already know who you are."

Assad opened his mouth, still hoping for some kind of explanation, but Shuren had already turned away, her coat swaying as she moved.

"Come on. We're going somewhere," she said matter-of-factly, stepping out of the alley without looking back.

Assad stood there for a moment, processing her words. Eight out of a million… His fists tightened, the initial shock morphing into something deeper but what may it be frustration, curiosity or a flicker of desire even he wanted to know for sure. Then he took off, following Shuren into the stunning streets of Kurayamiya. A dim lantern illuminated the sign of a little ramen shop. The place had seen better days; the paint was peeling, and the door creaked ominously on its hinges, but the mouthwatering aroma wafting out was simply irresistible.

"Sit," Shuren instructed as she settled onto a stool. The owner, an elderly man with weary eyes, didn't bother with questions he just nodded at her and disappeared into the back.

Just a few minutes later, two steaming bowls appeared on the counter, the broth so rich that it fogged up the glass pane separating them from the street. Shuren set her cigarette down on the table, balancing it between an ashtray and a napkin, then snapped her chopsticks apart with practiced ease.

She didn't hesitate. Her hands moved fluidly, drawing noodles and broth into her mouth with a steady, unhurried rhythm. Assad found himself staring at his bowl, the he looked at the chopsticks. His fingers twitched, fumbling awkwardly. He tried to imitate her, but the sticks slipped from his grip, clattering against the edge of the counter. A few noodles splashed into the broth, leaving small stains on his sleeve.

"Tch." He muttered a curse under his breath and reached for Assad's memories: anything, a fragment, an instinct. Surely this body should know how to eat ramen.

But there was nothing. Just static, broken flashes. Completely useless. Across from him, Shuren paused mid-bite, her eyes narrowing

. "…Why aren't you eating?"

Caught off guard, Assad stiffened. "I—uh…"

She leaned back slightly, observing him with that sharp, calculating gaze of hers. A thin wisp of smoke from her cigarette drifted between them.

"You don't know how to use chopsticks," she stated flatly. Not a question, an accusation.

Assad felt a flush creep up his cheeks, bristling. "Of course I do. It's just… been a while." The chopsticks slipped from his hand again, clattering against the counter. His excuse crumbled in the silence. Shuren exhaled through her nose, almost amused. "Pathetic." But then, without missing a beat, she picked up a noodle with her own chopsticks and held it out across the table

"Here."

The steam curled between them, carrying the scent of garlic and pork. Assad blinked, caught between pride and hunger. The noodle hung between them for what felt like an eternity before Assad finally relented, leaning in and slurping it down in one clumsy bite. Shuren smirked slightly, clearly pleased with her small triumph, then shifted her focus back to her own bowl.

The shop fell into silence again, the only sound being the gentle bubbling of the broth simmering in the background. Midway through her meal, she suddenly checked her wrist. Her expression turned serious.

"Ah, crap. I completely forgot about it."

Assad raised an eyebrow, his chopsticks still quivering in his grip.

"Forgot what?" Shuren pushed her bowl aside, flicked her cigarette into the ashtray, and stood up in one fluid motion.

Her coat swayed as she moved, leaving a faint trace of smoke in the air.

"I've got somewhere to be," she said, her tone brisk and impatient. "You wait for me and meet me at the other side of town and don't be late."

Assad opened his mouth to protest, to ask what on earth she was talking about, but before he could even get the words out, she was gone. The stool still spun slightly where she had been sitting, the smoke from her last drag curling in the air like a ghost that refused to fade away.

Assad sat there, frozen, staring at the empty spot she had left behind.

"What the…" he muttered, his heart racing. He hadn't blinked more than once, and yet she had slipped from his view entirely, as if she had never existed. The ramen in front of him steamed, untouched, suddenly feeling less like a meal and more like a trap. shock coursed through him. He had witnessed plenty of fights, seen his share of deaths, and encountered all sorts of tricks in the streets, but nothing like that.

The night draped itself heavily over Kurayamiya, with neon signs flickering like fireflies on their last legs.

On a slanted rooftop, a man reclined with his arms behind his head, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. His eyes were half-closed, taking in the restless city that pulsed below. To him, the chaos was just background noise, a lullaby for those who thrived in darkness. Suddenly, a sharp vibration buzzed against his wrist. He lifted his arm, glancing at the black band wrapped around it. The screen glowed with a single name.

Shuren?

A smirk crept onto his face, smoke curling past his lips.

"Well, this is a surprise. Didn't expect you to be the one calling, Shuren." The screen flickered, and her image appeared, distorted by static. She skipped the pleasantries, raising her hand and giving him a lazy middle finger with a grin.

"I might've found someone who can actually beat your ass in a fight," she said flatly, her voice thick with smoke.

The man straightened up, the cigarette slipping from his lips. His smirk vanished, replaced by a sharper, colder expression.

"...The fuck did you just say?"Shuren leaned back against a wall on her side, exhaling a plume of smoke that twisted like a serpent. She didn't respond, just kept staring at him with that same smug look.

His jaw tightened. "You're joking. No one in this godforsaken city stands a chance. Don't mess with me."

Her smirk widened, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Guess you'll find out soon enough."

The call ended abruptly with a sharp click, leaving only static buzzing on his band the man on the rooftop clenched his fist until his knuckles cracked, the calm demeanor from earlier replaced by a brewing storm in his eyes.

"Who could she be talking about…?"

Assad dragged a hand down his face and let out a sharp breath.

'This is insane…'

He pushed himself up from the table, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stepped out into the restless streets of Kurayamiya. Neon signs flickered above him, casting distorted glows on the cracked pavement. The city felt alive in a way that was almost threatening eyes lurking in the shadows, whispers carried by the night breeze.

His mind was a whirlwind.

'The only way to survive is to act like Assad.'

That memory had resurfaced earlier, faint yet piercing, like a warning etched into his mind. From what he'd gathered, this body's previous owner wasn't just some harmless street dweller. He was a force to be reckoned with. Unpredictable. A man who thrived on blood and violence.

Toon clenched his fists. "If I want to make it here… I have to become that. I have to become him."

But as he walked, the certainty in his words began to waver. His eyes flitted across the unfamiliar streets, the twisting alleys, the endless glow of signs written in a language that felt foreign to him. He had no clue where the "other side of town" even was.

'Damn… I don't even know this place. How the hell am I supposed to get across town?'

He slowed his pace, scanning the crowd. Every person seemed sharper, tougher, more dangerous than the last. And here he was a stranger in someone else's skin, stumbling through a city that could sense weakness like blood in the water.

His jaw tightened. No. I can't let them see it. Not a single crack. Not a single mistake. I am Assad now.

With that thought, he buried his fear deep down and kept moving, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He kept moving, his eyes darting around, his heart feeling heavy in his chest. Memories flashed through his mind, fragments he was trying to piece together into something coherent. But it was all just shadows. Eventually, he found himself in a narrow alleyway. The stench of smoke and sweat hit him like a wall. A small crowd had gathered some leaned against the wall, puffing on cigarettes, while others were caught up in a scuffle over something he couldn't quite see.

Assad felt a tightness in his chest. Every instinct told him to turn back, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral, unreadable. Dangerous men could sense fear. If he wanted to survive, he had to don Assad's mask.

He walked steadily, sticking to the edges, when suddenly, a man in the crowd began to convulse. His skin rippled, and he could hear bones cracking beneath the surface. In mere seconds, fur erupted all over his body, and his face contorted until it morphed into that of a tiger, though his clothes remained, stretched over the monstrous form.

The creature's eyes blazed with hunger and fury. "GIVE ME THE DRUGS!" he bellowed, his voice a guttural growl that still held a hint of humanity.

Assad froze, ice coursing through his veins. His mind raced. What the hell was happening? A regular guy just… transformed into a tiger? What kind of madness was this?

The crowd didn't even seem surprised. They merely stepped back, as if this was an everyday occurrence. But for Assad, this was the first taste of something far beyond his comprehension.