Night fell over Tokyo like a curtain soaked in gasoline and regret.
The Konohagure compound buzzed with noise — engines rumbling, voices barking orders, crates slamming shut. Every inch of the warehouse was alive with movement. Steel tables cluttered with katanas, handguns, and armored vests reflected the pale fluorescence of overhead lights. The smell of oil and cigarette smoke clung to the air like ghosts who never left.
Ryo Konohagure stood by the open bay door, eyes fixed on the black vans lined up outside. His jaw tightened, a vein pulsing on his neck as he flipped his phone shut. "Nagashima Spa Land," he muttered. "The Ohara bastards are going there. We move before sunrise."
A group of men — dressed in casual street gear but strapped with weapons — loaded duffel bags into the trunks. Someone revved a tuned Nissan GT-R, the sound echoing through the steel walls. Another guy checked the GPS, muttering about routes and toll gates. The air was thick, tense, almost cinematic.
Inside, Daizo leaned against a table, calmly wrapping white tape around his knuckles. His movements were slow, precise — like he'd done this a hundred times before. He wore his black bomber jacket with the red Konohagure emblem stitched across the back, a remnant of their clan's old pride. His cigarette burned halfway, ash dangling dangerously close to his skin.
"Five million yen," muttered one of the younger members. "All this just for a sword?"
Daizo didn't even look up. "That sword ain't just a blade," he said, voice gravelly from years of smoke and blood. "It's our legacy. The Ghost is Konohagure's bloodline. We lose it, we lose our name."
The kid fell silent, tightening his vest straps.
Kenta, their second-in-command, stepped in holding a map and a folder of surveillance photos. The images showed a long-haired boy with glasses — Hydro — walking casually through blurry mall cameras. Kenta slammed the folder on the table. "That's him. That's the thief. Hydro Undergrove. We've confirmed he's the one who took Ghost last year. But there's a twist — the sword ain't with him no more."
"What do you mean?" another voice snapped.
Kenta flipped the page, revealing a photo of a community banner: "OHARA COMMUNITY COSPLAY MEET."
He tapped it with his finger. "We believe this 'Ohara Community' is holding it. Maybe he returned it to them. Maybe they're using it for show. Either way — they've got our blade."
Someone in the back laughed. "A cosplay group? You serious?"
Ryo glared at him. "Doesn't matter what they call themselves. They carry their name — Ohara. That's enough reason to strike."
The room fell silent again.
Only the sound of the GT-R idling filled the air, rumbling deep like a heartbeat before a war.
Daizo finally stood, flicked his cigarette to the ground, and crushed it under his boot. "Then let's move," he said. "We don't waste time with kids in costumes."
Outside, the night air bit sharp and cold. The convoy of vehicles lined up under the flickering streetlights — three vans, two bikes, and Daizo's black Lexus at the rear. Members strapped on tactical belts, zipped jackets, loaded magazines into pistols. Someone played a low hum of music from a nearby phone, something gritty and metallic, blending perfectly with the night.
"Yo, Daizo!" Kenta called. "We got confirmation the festival's in Nagashima Spa Land — Otakufest 2035. A full crowd. Thousands of people. You think we can hit them clean?"
Daizo slid his sunglasses on despite the darkness. "We move quiet," he said. "Blend in. We're not hitting a gang. We're taking back what's ours. No civilians. No mistakes."
"Copy that."
Engines roared one by one. The vans rolled forward, headlights slicing through the night fog. The streetlights reflected off their tinted windows as they left the compound behind — a moving shadow army cutting through Tokyo's veins.
Inside one of the vans, a younger member, Shin, checked his gear again and whispered nervously, "You think that guy — Hydro — will be there?"
Kenta smirked. "If he is, he's dead before sunrise."
Daizo was the last to walk out of the warehouse. He paused for a moment, looking back at the empty space — the home of the clan that once ruled Tokyo's underworld, now just a shadow of what it used to be. The scent of gun oil and memories hit him all at once. He slid into his car, the leather creaking beneath his weight. The headlights flared to life.
He whispered to himself, almost like a prayer.
"You can't go anywhere, you little brat."
The convoy began to move, engines growling like beasts in unison. Daizo followed last, tailing the line of vehicles as they disappeared into the Tokyo highway — neon lights reflecting on the wet asphalt, the hum of tires blending with the low, menacing bass of the city.
The Konohagure were coming.
And for the first time in years, the Ghost was calling its old masters back to war.
LATER
The Sky Cruise glided silently above the clouds — a floating palace drifting across the endless night. Its engines hummed like lullabies of metal and electricity, smooth enough that you could forget it was flying at all. Through his window, Hydro Undergrove could see the night stretching forever — a quilt of clouds lit by the thin glow of the moon.
He stood there for a long time, arms crossed, the reflection of the stars painted over his glasses. "All this just to become a cosplay staff," he muttered to himself, voice low and tired. "Does it even give me enjoyness?"
He sighed. The room's neon-blue light reflected off the metal case near the bed — a Subspace Duffel Bag that looked ordinary on the outside. But inside it, folded into dimensional space, was a single million dollars given from his Boss after the retirement. He'd be proud of it a long time ago — not only out of appreciation, but survival. Or maybe it was both. He still wasn't sure.
"I should save something," Hydro whispered, running his thumb over the smooth surface of the bag. "In case everything goes to hell again."
He dropped it onto the bed and sat down beside it. The hum of the Sky Cruise filled the silence, the steady vibration of engines beneath the floor. He leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"I can't tell if I'm running toward something," he said quietly, "or still running from it."
His eyes slowly closed.
And then, the world shifted.
A soft pulse rippled through the air — faint at first, then building, until the room around him began to dissolve into liquid shadows. The silver walls turned black. The lights bled into streams of violet smoke. Gravity fell away, and Hydro felt the familiar tug pulling him down — or maybe *inward*.
He opened his eyes, and he was standing on a black stone platform under a purple sky.
He was home.
Umbra.
The Realm of Infinite Darkness stretched out in every direction — an endless horizon of twilight and faint white clouds that never moved. The ground shimmered with strange light, reflecting an infinite void below. In the distance, a colossal castle rose like a monument to eternity, its towers and bridges made of obsidian and bone, glowing faintly with ghostly white veins.
This was his domain — the dimension that bowed to his will.
The land of the dead, ruled by the one who carried the Authority Over Death.
And tonight, it was alive with noise.
Through the wide gates of the castle, hundreds of shadow soldiers marched in rhythm — knights in jagged armor, spirits wrapped in chains, beasts made of ink and soul. Their eyes burned with violet light, like candles flickering in the void. Umbra was always still, but its people were never quiet.
At the heart of the courtyard, six towering figures stood before a massive bonfire that burned black and white. These were his highest ranks — his firstborn shadows.
Noirach, the humanoid spider, stretched her long limbs lazily across the marble steps, her voice hissing softly as she polished her blade. "The night grows silent again… and yet our liege remains absent. Does he no longer honor the realm he commands?"
Tensilong, the armored samurai with dual katanas and a crimson scarf, gave a deep, metallic chuckle. His armor bore a faint mark of the sun and moon. "Mind thy tongue, Noirach. Our lord walks among the living — he owes us no dance."
Umbrion, the largest of them all — a towering shadow giant with four glowing eyes — stood like a mountain, his voice shaking the ground as he spoke. "Our lord watches always. Even from the mortal world, his gaze sees through us. There is no absence in his presence."
Dr. Totem, the shaman sorcerer, tapped his staff made of bones against the floor, summoning sparks of blue flame. "Still," he said, voice ancient and cracking, "it hath been long since our liege last graced these halls. The shadows whisper of fatigue in his soul. Perhaps… he dreams again."
A sharp rumble echoed, and from behind the castle, Dreadmaw, the shadow T-Rex, stomped forward, eyes burning red. His teeth shimmered like black steel. "Dreams? HAH! Our master doesn't need rest! He's still the Sovereign who brought me back from extinction itself!" He lowered his head, almost pouting. "But if he did come back, I would totally ask for a feast. Been starving for centuries."
Noirach rolled her many eyes. "You are always starving."
"And you're always complaining," Dreadmaw shot back, flicking his tail. "Maybe eat a knight instead of nagging one."
The last to speak was Terra, kneeling by the fire. His form was simple — a knight cloaked in fading shadows, his body faintly human compared to the others. He was the first one Hydro had ever brought back — his most loyal soldier, his oldest companion. His voice was calm, deep, and proud.
"Peace," Terra said. "Let not idle words poison this eternal eve. Our liege will return. He always does."
The group went silent for a moment, the only sound the crackle of the black fire and the faint whispers of souls drifting in the air.
Umbrion leaned closer to the fire. "Perhaps," he said, "we should prepare a celebration. A feast for the dead. A party to remind our liege that even in his silence, we remain his blades."
Tensilong grunted approvingly. "A banquet of loyalty, then."
Dr. Totem raised his staff. "A ritual of remembrance!"
Dreadmaw roared, shaking the courtyard. "AND A FEAST!"
Even Noirach smiled faintly, baring fangs. "Very well. A celebration, then. For our lord who walks between life and shadow."
Terra's helmet tilted slightly upward, as if listening to a sound none of the others could hear. "He is coming," he whispered.
A ripple of energy swept through the ground — soft at first, then stronger, like waves rolling through the void. The flames of the black bonfire stretched toward the sky, bending as if bowing to something greater.
And from that light, a figure emerged — cloaked in darkness, hair shifting like smoke, eyes glowing faintly blue.
Hydro Undergrove stood before them, his long coat fluttering slightly in the still air.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then the shadows dropped to one knee in unison.
"Welcome home, our liege."
Hydro looked around — at the castle, the crowd, the fire — his realm. His voice was quiet but carried through the air like thunder.
"…You guys talking about a party without me?"
Noirach hissed softly. "Forgive us, my lord. We thought you—"
Hydro raised a hand. "Nah, relax. I heard everything."
He walked toward the fire, gazing up at the violet skies above Umbra. "A party, huh?" he murmured. "Haven't had one of those in years."
Tensilong lowered his head. "Then shall we prepare it, my lord?"
Hydro smirked — faintly, but genuinely. "Yeah… why not. Guess it's about time the dead learned how to celebrate again."
The courtyard erupted with roars and echoes — cheers of the loyal dead filling the infinite dark. For a world that had no sunrise, it suddenly felt a little brighter.
And in the heart of it all, Hydro stood among his shadows — a king who never wanted a throne, smiling faintly as his world came alive again.
The throne hall of Umbra shimmered with obsidian light. Its walls breathed with faint pulses of life, shadows shifting and whispering as if the world itself exhaled for its ruler. The grand banquet had already begun — torches of violet flame flickered above long banquet tables of black steel, lined with goblets of void wine and dishes that glowed faintly like constellations.
Hydro stood at the far end, leaning casually on the armrest of his throne — his hood down, his expression unreadable yet calm. The celebration had been in full motion for hours. Thousands of shadow soldiers filled the kingdom plaza, their cheers deep and thunderous, shaking the realm itself.
Dreadmaw — the colossal T-Rex-shaped shadow with voice like rolling thunder — laughed first. "AT LAST! A KINGDOM WORTHY OF OUR LIEGE! Look upon this night, my kin — Umbra stands complete!" He slammed his tail with pride, sending tremors through the marble floor.
Dr. Totem, his massive form hunched and crowned with talismans and glowing runes, raised a shadow-goblet. "Indeed… and to think this empire was born from nothing but death and loyalty. Such creation could only come from the hands of our Sovereign."
Noirach, the humanoid spider draped in threads of silver shadow, descended from above, bowing low. "The architecture of your realm has reached perfection, my lord. Each corner now breathes your presence… truly, Umbra has become alive."
Hydro smirked faintly. "Alive, huh? Didn't expect the afterlife to have a nightlife."
A few of the soldiers chuckled. Even shadows could find humor when their king allowed it.
Tensilong, the Filipino-Japanese samurai shadow, stepped forward and kneeled, his spectral armor clinking faintly. "Liege… the fortress of the east has been completed. My men await only your command to patrol the gates. None shall trespass without facing death itself."
Umbrion — the largest and most ancient among them, resembling a mountain of swirling darkness — bowed his head. "This celebration… it is our tribute, my king. Our way of expressing gratitude for the freedom you've bestowed upon us. You gave the forgotten dead purpose once again."
Hydro looked away, the purple light glinting off his glasses. "Purpose, huh… maybe I gave it to you guys because I can't find mine."
A moment of silence passed. Even shadows could feel weight.
From behind, Terra approached — his form human-like, but his eyes burned a deeper hue than the others. He was the first shadow Hydro ever extracted. His voice was calm, grounded. "My liege," he said, standing close, "you seem distant tonight. Your heart beats differently than before."
Hydro exhaled softly. "Maybe. The real world's loud. You go there, and everything's flashing lights, noise, and people pretending they're fine. I came here, and for once… it's quiet."
Terra studied him. "And yet, you plan to return."
Hydro nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Yeah. I'm going back. I got friends waiting — and people I probably shouldn't keep waiting. Guess I owe them something."
Terra tilted his head. "Forgive me, liege, but… you owe no one anything. You've long transcended their world. Why return to the ones who once left you behind?"
Hydro's gaze softened. "Because… maybe I still wanna see if they changed. Or maybe I'm the one who needs to."
Terra said nothing at first — only stared at him, seeing the flicker of humanity that no death or godhood could erase. "You've not changed, Hydro Undergrove," he murmured. "You've only remembered who you were."
The hall grew quiet again. Even the flames dimmed.
Hydro turned to face his legion — his army of the dead, his shadows, his family of another kind. "You guys built something amazing," he said, his voice carrying across the chamber. "All of this — the towers, the cities, the laughter. It's more than just a kingdom. It's proof that even in death, there's still something worth living for. You all made that real."
A low hum of pride rippled through the hall. Millions of shadow soldiers bowed in perfect unison.
Hydro raised a hand. "Keep watching over this place. Keep building it. I'll return when I can — but for now, I got things to do topside."
He gave Terra a nod, one that said thank you without words.
Terra bowed low. "Umbra shall stand eternal, awaiting your shadow to return home, my liege."
A violet portal began to swirl behind Hydro, the color bleeding into the floor like liquid light. The moment before he stepped in, Dreadmaw roared again, his voice echoing through the endless night. "LONG LIVE THE SOVEREIGN!"
The chant followed — eight million shadows calling in unison:
"LONG LIVE HYDRO UNDERGROVE!"
Hydro smiled faintly. "Don't wait up too long," he muttered, and stepped through the portal — fading from the kingdom of twilight back to the world of light, carrying with him both his immortality and the humanity he refused to lose.
And when he vanished, the shadows bowed once more — to the man who ruled both death and life, yet chose to walk among the living.
NEXT MORNING
The morning sun spilled gold over the endless sea as the cruise ship Allure of the Seas eased into the Nagashima Port. The ship's engines rumbled to a stop, and the air buzzed with excitement as the heavy steel doors opened, releasing a flood of vehicles and passengers eager to touch solid ground again.
Down by the docks, the Ohara Community's white-and-blue tour bus waited like a loyal companion. Its engine purred softly, tinted windows gleaming under the sunrise.
"Finallyyy! We're here! Japan, baby!" Quinn practically skipped down the ramp, her luggage bouncing behind her. Her bright hoodie flapped in the breeze as she darted toward the Ohara bus.
"Slow down, you maniac!" Bea called out, laughing as she tried to keep up, dragging her own suitcase.
Kai was already in the bus, munching on shrimp chips and waving from the window. "C'mon, Quinn! You're blocking the doorway! I wanna take the window seat!"
"You always take the window seat!" Quinn shot back but hopped inside anyway, planting herself beside Kai with her phone already out.
The engine hummed louder as the bus doors closed behind them. The Ohara crest reflected faintly on the windshield. Outside, the vibrant sprawl of Nagashima City stretched far and wide — towering billboards, neon lights still glowing from the night before, and the faint smell of ramen drifting from a nearby port diner.
Quinn's phone camera clicked-clicked-clicked as she snapped photos of everything — the view, the people, the endless rows of cherry trees just beginning to bloom.
"Ugh, you're such a tourist," Bea teased, leaning against the seat with her arms crossed.
"Let her be," Yurei chuckled from behind, his black hair brushing his shoulders. "We all kinda are."
Nate yawned beside him, camera hanging from his neck. "Yeah, but she's the only one documenting everything like it's the end of the world."
Quinn grinned, not even denying it. "Oh hush, this is history! And also—" she quickly typed something on her phone, smiling at the glowing screen.
[Message Sent → Hydro]
> Hydro!! We arrived in Japan!! Can't wait to meet you again!!
Her smile lingered as she pressed send. She leaned her head against the glass, eyes glittering. "He's gonna be so surprised…" she whispered.
The bus rolled out of the docks, passing through the busy streets of Nagashima, the Ohara members chattering, laughing, and sharing snacks. The whole bus radiated that first-day-of-summer-camp energy — anxious, excited, chaotic, but full of life.
Meanwhile — Chubu International Airport.
The Sky Cruise shimmered in the morning sun as it descended onto its landing pad. The gigantic aircraft hissed and vented air as the doors opened, and waves of passengers began stepping out. Among them was Hydro Undergrove, dragging his duffel bag that looked… a little too heavy for normal luggage.
He adjusted his glasses, letting the cool breeze wash over him. The Japanese morning air felt clean — pure, almost. The kind of scent that makes you feel like everything's starting over.
He sighed. "All this just to become a cosplay staff…" he muttered, glancing up at the clear sky. "Does it give me enjoyness?"
The other staff members were already walking ahead, chatting and laughing. Hydro followed quietly, blending in with the group — gray hoodie, black jeans, simple cap. He looked ordinary enough… if you ignored the faint glow that sometimes flickered from his eyes when the light hit wrong.
When they reached the terminal, a woman in a neon pink jacket waved them over — the Otakufest 2035 lead organizer, clipboard in hand, walkie-talkie crackling every five seconds.
"Alright, team!" she said with a bright, commanding grin. "Welcome to Japan! Hope you all had a good flight — or whatever that sky cruise thing was." She laughed. "Name's Aimi, I'll be your lead organizer for this event. Now let's make some magic happen!"
"Magic?" one of the staff chuckled. "We're literally running on three hours of sleep."
"Exactly!" Aimi clapped. "That's when the best ideas happen — half-awake, caffeine-fueled, and completely unhinged!"
Hydro smirked faintly. He liked her energy.
Aimi flipped her clipboard and started reading off tasks. "Alright! Cosplay security — check in at the main gate by 9 AM. Booth coordinators — you'll follow me to the setup hall. Hydro, you're with the stage crew, yeah?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I can handle setup and wiring."
"Perfect," she said. "Stage crew meets near Hall C. We've got about a hundred displays to unpack, props to fix, and someone's life-sized mecha statue that's apparently missing its head, so—"
The group groaned in unison.
Hydro adjusted the strap on his duffel bag and muttered under his breath, "Guess I'm starting my morning with decapitation. Cool."
Aimi blinked, then snorted. "Hydro, right? You're funny. Keep that energy — we're gonna need it."
Hydro's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down and saw Quinn's message lighting up the screen.
> Hydro!! We arrived in Japan!! Can't wait to meet you again!!
He smiled — small, genuine. The kind of smile he hadn't made in a while.
[Hydro → Quinn]
> That's cool. Japan looks nice, huh? I'll meet you all soon. Don't get lost.
He slipped his phone back in his pocket, eyes drifting to the city skyline in the distance.
Aimi clapped her hands again. "Alright crew, let's move! Otakufest 2035 doesn't build itself!"
And just like that, the whole group began walking toward the buses outside — laughing, yawning, complaining, but alive.
Hydro followed at the back, silent but content, the soft hum of chatter filling the air.
For once, he wasn't running from death, destiny, or cosmic balance.
He was just… a guy heading to work at an anime convention.
MEANWHILE
The wind that morning bit cold through the streets of Osaka's outskirts, dust swirling over the cracked road. A small figure stood by the roadside — a little girl no older than nine, hoodie too big for her frame, backpack dangling off one shoulder. She was the "Five Billion Dollar Girl", though she never asked for that name. It was a curse — one whispered by people who wanted her gone or bought.
She stood under a flickering streetlight, holding her thumb out like she'd seen in movies. "Please…" she whispered. "Just one car…"
One by one, vehicles zoomed past — trucks, sedans, taxis — their tires splashing puddles near her shoes. Not one slowed down. Not even a glance.
Her throat ached from the cold and the silence. "Nobody sees me," she murmured, voice cracking. She hugged herself tighter.
Minutes turned into what felt like hours, until the distant rumble of an engine echoed. Headlights swept across her face — a bus, its sign reading:
"Ohara Community Transport – Route B."
She waved frantically, both hands this time. "H-hey! Please stop!"
The bus screeched to a halt, brakes screaming against the asphalt. The door hissed open.
A middle-aged man with silver-streaked hair leaned out — the driver, wearing the Ohara badge pinned proudly on his uniform. "Whoa, whoa, kid— you okay?" His voice was rough but kind, the way only someone's uncle could sound.
The little girl sniffled, stepping closer. "I… I need to go somewhere. Somewhere safe."
He frowned, looking around the empty street, then back at her trembling hands. "You out here alone?"
She nodded, eyes down.
The man sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Damn… You picked one dangerous road to walk alone, kid."
He hesitated — just for a second — before opening the door wider. "Alright, come on in. It ain't safe out here."
Her eyes widened. "R-really?"
"Yeah, really. You think I'd just let you freeze out here? C'mon."
She stepped inside, clutching her small backpack tight. The bus was mostly empty — a few old seats, some filled with boxes and tools. It smelled faintly of gasoline and instant ramen.
The driver watched as she sat down halfway through the aisle, small legs barely reaching the floor. He sat back behind the wheel and started the engine.
As the bus rumbled back to life, he spoke again. "So… you got a name, kid?"
The girl looked out the window for a moment before replying softly, "…Mina."
"Mina, huh?" The driver smiled faintly through the rearview mirror. "Nice name. I'm Kenji. You can call me Mister Ken if you want."
"Mister Ken…" she repeated, almost like she was trying to remember how it felt to say someone's name.
Kenji glanced at her reflection — messy hair, tired eyes, but something gentle in her face. "You hungry? I got some bread somewhere…" He reached under his seat, rustling through a plastic bag. "Aha!" He tossed a small loaf back toward her.
Mina caught it clumsily. "T-thank you!"
He grinned. "No problem. Gotta keep that energy up, yeah?"
The bus hummed through the empty roads, passing rice fields glowing under the early morning light. For a moment, it almost felt peaceful — just the soft rumble of the wheels and the hum of the radio.
"So, Mina," Kenji said gently, keeping his tone casual, "where you headed?"
She hesitated. "Somewhere safe… away from bad people."
His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, his eyes softening. "You mean the kind that don't care if you're just a kid?"
She nodded silently, staring out at the trees flashing by.
Kenji let out a quiet sigh. "Yeah… I know that kinda bad."
Mina turned to look at him. "You do?"
"Mm-hm. Back in the day, I used to drive for some folks I shouldn't have. Real messed-up people." He gave a small, guilty laugh. "Guess I'm trying to make up for it now, y'know? Giving rides to the right people for once."
Mina blinked, confused but intrigued. "…You're a good person, Mister Ken."
He smiled sadly. "I try, kid. World's too full of folks who stopped trying."
For a while, neither spoke. The bus cut through the mist, headlights carving paths through the gray dawn. Mina slowly nibbled the bread, the tension in her shoulders easing bit by bit.
Kenji spoke again, quieter this time. "You got anyone looking for you? Family?"
Mina's hands froze. Her voice trembled. "…I don't think so."
Kenji didn't push. He just nodded and muttered, "Then don't worry. You're safe here. Ain't nobody touching a kid while I'm driving."
She smiled — small, fragile, but real. "Thank you, Mister Ken."
He chuckled. "No problem, Mina. Just… keep that seatbelt on, okay? We got a long ride ahead."
The bus drove on, deeper into the heart of Japan.
And for the first time in days, Mina — the girl everyone wanted for the wrong reasons — finally felt like she could breathe.