The night still cloaked the city in a dense silence — the kind that weighs on your chest and makes the world feel suspended in midair.
High above, on the rooftop of the old warehouse that served as the base for Raijin no Kage, Kuto Yamazaki stared at the horizon. The city lights flickered below, reflected in the puddles left by last night's rain, as if mocking his defeat.
The cold wind struck his face, still swollen from his enemy's blows, slicing his skin like blades of ice.
Each gust echoed the chaos swirling inside him — a storm of rage, shame, and helplessness.
> "Seven days… or forget your family."
The loan shark's voice echoed in his mind like a living curse, repeating endlessly.
Kuto pressed the ice pack harder against his face, feeling the pain throb beneath the chill.
His body trembled. His muscles ached.
But his soul… that was in ruins.
Scars of Memory
The room was small, suffocating, windowless. A thin mattress thrown in the corner, a flickering bulb, and a torn poster of a man he swore he'd never forget — his father. The ex-fighter, the coach, the man of honor who'd taught him everything about discipline and courage.
In the corner of the poster, written in faded blue ink, were the words:
> "Be just. Even when the world is not."
Kuto read those words for the thousandth time, and this time, they felt like mockery.
He sat down, elbows resting on his knees, eyes hollow.
— I'm failing, Dad… — he whispered, voice cracking. — I'm losing myself…
For a moment, everything inside him wanted to collapse.
His eyes welled up, his chin trembled, but he swallowed the tears until his jaw locked tight.
Because in his world, crying was weakness.
But the image of his sister — tied up, crying, begging for help in that video — cut through his mind like a hot blade.
And no amount of rage could silence that scream.
The Gang Splits Apart
By the time the sun began to rise, the main hall of the base boiled like a pot about to explode.
Members of Raijin no Kage shouted at each other — bruised, wounded, exhausted, divided.
The floor was stained with dry blood and cigarette butts. Chains and batons leaned against the walls — relics of last night's war.
Kuto walked in through the chaos.
Dozens of eyes turned toward him — half with respect, half with hate.
— You dragged us into a war with no way out, Kuto! — shouted Renga, one of the lieutenants, his face covered in cuts. — We followed you because you were strong! Not to die for your mess!
The shouting grew louder. Shoves. Chaos.
Kuto tried to speak, but no one listened.
His chest burned with anger and shame.
Then he shouted:
— I KNOW I SCREWED UP, DAMMIT!
His voice echoed against the metal walls.
— BUT YOU'RE GONNA ABANDON ME NOW?!
The silence that followed hurt more than any punch.
Renga looked away, turned his back, and left.
One by one, the others followed.
And Kuto realized — it wasn't just a gang falling apart.
It was his own faith collapsing before his eyes.
A Whisper from the Unknown
That same night, the alleys of Shibuya reeked of rain and gasoline.
Kuto walked alone, when a raspy voice echoed from the shadows:
— Kuto… I heard you're out of options. Screwed, huh?
The man stepped out of the darkness — Iwao, the old informant. Sunken eyes, long coat, cigarette hanging from his lips.
— Say what you want, old man — Kuto muttered.
Iwao chuckled, coughing.
— Maybe I've got something… different.
He pulled from his pocket a worn piece of paper marked with a strange symbol:
🔺 A triangle crossed by lines, with an inverted eye at its center.
— This here's an invitation. A test. A path.
— A path to where? — Kuto asked, skeptical.
— Out of hell, maybe… — the old man said, tossing him the paper. — You need money, don't you? Maybe this game is your chance.
When Kuto looked up again, Iwao was gone.
Only the sound of rain remained.
And the symbol glowed faintly red in the dark.
Betrayal
Meanwhile, in a distant alley, Renga knelt before the same man who haunted Kuto's nightmares — Ryuzen, the loan shark.
His hands trembled, but his voice was steady.
— I'll give you everything. The base's location, the cash, the plans. I just want to live.
Ryuzen smiled, lighting a cigar.
— Loyalty's an expensive coin, kid. And you just sold yours cheap.
Renga lowered his head, trying not to look.
But the stench of sulfur and smoke hinted that something far worse was coming.
The Call
Back at the warehouse, Kuto sat alone.
Rain pattered against the window.
The silence pressed down on him.
Then, his old phone buzzed.
An unknown call.
By instinct, he answered.
VIDEO STARTED…
For three seconds — just three — he saw hell.
His little sister, her face dirty, tied up in a dark basement.
Her eyes shook.
Her voice, trembling:
— K-Kuto… it's dark here… I'm scared…
The screen went black.
The sound vanished.
And his heart froze.
In a surge of despair, he hurled the phone against the wall.
The scream tore from his throat — raw, broken, animal.
He fell to his knees, pounding the floor until his knuckles split open.
Blood and tears mixed on the concrete.
— I'll get you out of there… even if I have to burn this whole damn world!
The invitation symbol, forgotten on the table, glowed faintly — as if it had heard him.
Dawn of Chaos
The sun had barely risen, but hell didn't wait.
Inside the old industrial depot, Kuto stood with his fists wrapped in blood-stained bandages.
Before him, the remaining members — scarred, thin, exhausted, but still breathing.
On the table, a small pile of cash.
Not enough.
But it was all they had left.
— Three more days — he said, voice hoarse but steady. — We finish this. Then we live like kings again.
Some smiled.
Others looked away.
The air was heavy.
And fate, as always, waited for the perfect moment to collapse.
And it did.
BOOM.
The explosion shook the ground.
The side doors burst open, windows shattered.
Screams. Smoke. Fire.
Ryuzen had returned — this time with triple the men.
The war began.
Chains sliced the air. Knives glinted under shattered neon.
Concrete turned red.
Kuto fought like a wounded beast, dropping enemies with swift, brutal strikes — every punch echoing the dojo lessons of his father.
But amid the chaos came the most painful blow.
— Enough! — shouted Dazai, his second-in-command. Blood dripped from his arm, but his eyes were cold.
He raised a backpack.
— That's it, Kuto. Your obsession cost us everything. We're done following a lunatic with a hero complex.
Before Kuto could answer, Dazai threw the backpack at Ryuzen's feet.
— This is our surrender. And I'm the new leader.
A deadly silence.
Then — the sound of weapons hitting the floor.
One by one, the members lowered their heads.
And what remained of Raijin no Kage knelt down.
Kuto stood frozen, blood dripping from his chin, watching it all in slow motion.
The promises. The laughter. The dreams of glory.
All crumbling before his eyes.
Ryuzen approached, smirking.
— Tick-tock, Yamazaki… four days left. Say goodbye to yourself in the mirror.
The first punch hit his stomach.
The second, his face.
The third, his ribs.
Each blow erased a piece of him.
Until Kuto fell.
But he didn't pass out.
He stayed there — motionless, breathing between blood and hate.
Alone in the Dark
The city slept under a thin rain.
He wandered aimlessly, body covered in bruises, a map of pain.
Until something glowed in the dark.
A red symbol painted on a concrete pillar — three vertical lines crossing a circle.
The same mark from the invitation.
Driven by curiosity — or despair — Kuto followed the markings through the walls of abandoned buildings, until he reached an alley where a hooded man waited, leaning on a black motorcycle.
The voice was deep, distorted by a modulator.
— Looking for a way out, huh?
Kuto said nothing.
— I've got one for you. Money. Freedom. A new start.
— What's the price? — he asked.
— Only one. — The man held out a glowing digital card. — Play… or die trying.
Kuto took the card.
The phrase burned into his mind:
> "NΞXUƧ chooses those who have nothing left to lose."
When he looked up again, the man was gone.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
And the wind blew cold — as if the world itself had taken a deep breath.
Final Countdown
Hours later, sitting in an empty alley, Kuto held his phone — crusted with dried blood.
The screen vibrated.
[BEGINNING IN: 00:59:57…]
A countdown.
And he knew — this wasn't just a game.
It was a door.
His hands trembled.
His eyes burned.
But for the first time, something inside him lit up.
> "If I can't save my family in this world… maybe I can in another."
The countdown ticked on.
00:10:00… 00:09:59…
The wind howled.
The Nexus symbol glowed on the asphalt, projected from his screen.
And Kuto smiled for the first time in days —
A broken, weary smile, but hungry for redemption.
> "What the hell kind of game is this…?"
The city fell silent.
And the countdown continued.