The morning light crept through the dusty windows of Old Fin's small home. The scent of tobacco and old wood filled the air, mingling with the faint sound of shuffling cards.
At the center of the room, Old Fin hummed softly to himself as he arranged a few gambling boards on the table — dice, cards, and an old roulette wheel he'd managed to repair weeks ago.
He smiled faintly as he placed a wrapped bundle beside them. Inside were small gifts — a new blindfold, a few sweets, and a set of carved wooden tokens shaped like coins.
"Boy'll like these," he murmured, chuckling quietly. "He's been through enough training. Time I made this place a bit more like home for him."
He poured himself a drink and leaned back in his chair, sighing. "I'll ask him today. Kid shouldn't be living alone now that Shizuku's gone…"
The thought brought a rare softness to his expression. Yuzuki had brightened his dull little corner of Meteor City — his cheerful stubbornness and quiet determination had given the old man something he hadn't felt in years: purpose.
Fin was mid-thought when the door creaked open.
He turned his head lazily, expecting maybe Yuzuki or one of the locals dropping by for cards.
Instead, three men stepped in.
Their presence immediately shifted the air — quiet, heavy, and cold.
Old Fin's eyes narrowed. His grip on the glass tightened slightly.
The one in front was tall, slick hair combed back, dressed too neatly for Meteor City's ragged streets. A faint scar ran across his cheek. His sharp smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Well, I'll be damned," the man said, voice smooth but laced with venom. "If it isn't Finlay 'Old Fin' Russo. Hiding out here like a ghost."
Old Fin's heart sank.
He recognized that voice.
"Rogan," he muttered. "Didn't think I'd see your face again."
Rogan Laetner — once his colleague under the infamous underworld broker Vasco Melnar, a man known for buying and selling lives as casually as chips at a table.
Rogan chuckled as he stepped further in, brushing dust off a nearby chair. "You were a hard man to find. A flamboyant gambler like you, running to Meteor City of all places — never would've guessed. Took us years to catch a scent."
Fin didn't move. "So… Vasco finally sent dogs after me."
Rogan tilted his head, smirking. "You stole a small fortune from him, Fin. You didn't think he'd just let that go, did you?"
Fin's gaze hardened. "You know damn well I didn't steal it for myself. Vasco was going to burn down that orphanage in Yorknew because they saw too much. I took the money and paid off the guards to let them go."
Rogan sighed, pretending to pity him. "Ah, right. The noble act. You always did have a bleeding heart."
He gestured for one of his men to close the door behind them. "Still, Vasco doesn't care about your reasons. You took what was his, and now he wants it back."
Fin's expression was unreadable. "So you're here to end me, then?"
Rogan smiled and slowly sat down at the gambling table across from him. He tapped the edge of a deck of cards with two fingers.
"Not yet. How about we play a game first? For old time's sake."
Fin's face didn't change. "I'm not interested in your games, Rogan. Get to the point."
The man laughed softly, gesturing lazily for one of his companions to pour him a glass of wine from the bottle sitting nearby. "Still as blunt as ever. I'll miss that about you."
He took a slow sip, then looked around the room — the small comforts, the neatly stacked shelves, the faint smell of cooking that lingered from breakfast.
"Living comfortably, I see," he said. "Guess that's what comes from stealing your boss's retirement fund."
Fin met his gaze calmly. "You want an answer to that?"
Rogan leaned forward. "Where's the money, Fin?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Rogan sighed through his nose and leaned back, swirling the wine lazily. "Always the same old song. Fine."
He nodded to one of the men near the door. "Search the place."
The man began turning over shelves and boxes, pulling up floorboards and drawers. Fin watched in silence, expression unreadable.
Minutes passed. The room grew tense with the sound of rummaging. Finally, the man straightened and shook his head. "Nothing here, boss."
Rogan exhaled softly, setting down his glass. "Well, Fin… I didn't want to do this."
He rose slowly, brushing off his jacket. "You were a good comrade once. Even an elder at that."
His tone darkened.
"But Vasco wants what's his. So if you won't talk…"
He adjusted his gloves, eyes cold and detached.
"…we'll just have to beat it out of you."
Fin didn't flinch. He simply stared up at them, quiet and steady — an old man long past fear, waiting for what he knew was coming.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the slow creak of Rogan's knuckles as he flexed his hand.
Outside, the faint wind carried through Meteor City's slums — quiet, indifferent, and endless.
Yuzuki ran through Meteor City, every alley a blur of rust and shadow. He felt light — the high of his new Nen, the certainty that today he'd finally beat Old Fin at their game. He could already taste the victory, heard the imagined clink of coins.
He shoved the door open and stopped cold.
Old Fin lay on the floor, blood spreading across his shirt like spilled ink. Men crowded around him, fists and boots moving in slow, merciless rhythms. The little house smelled of iron and old liquor. Every head turned to Yuzuki the moment he stepped inside.
Old Fin saw him and screamed, voice raw and sharp. "Get out of here!"
Rogan's lips curved. He stepped forward, eyes flicking to Yuzuki with a new interest. Mocking, he said, "Elder Finlay — is this an acquaintance of yours?"
Old Fin coughed, blood flecking the air, and bawled out, "This boy has nothing to do with this! Please — let him go!" His voice shook, a plea more than an order.
Yuzuki's heart thudded. "Old Fin — what's happening?" he demanded.
Old Fin rasped, louder and more urgent, "Get out of here! Leave! Don't—" The last words choked off.
Rogan leaned in, casual as if discussing weather. "What's happening?" he said to Yuzuki. "Old Fin's past is catching up with him. Nothing serious." He smirked, then studied Yuzuki with a slow, assessing gaze. "Does he mean something to you? I can feel your anger from right over here." He hesitated, expression curious. "Though… surprisingly no bloodlust." He cocked his head. "Are you blind? Why the blindfold indoors?"
Yuzuki's face flamed. "Beating up a defenseless old man — does that make you feel superior?" he snapped.
Rogan laughed, low and amused. "Interesting," he said, as if tasting a new flavor.
Old Fin coughed again, eyes wet, and forced words out between ragged breaths. "I did some bad things in the past… they caught up to me. You don't have to get involved. Leave. Live."
Rogan's patience thinned. He looked to the man behind Fin and barked, "This isn't getting anywhere. End him."
Yuzuki's head snapped up. "What?" he said, a single word full of disbelief.
Boom.
The gunshot cracked the air. Old Fin spat blood as it hammered through his chest. He dropped, limbs folding like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"Old Fin!" Yuzuki shouted and lunged forward. He shoved past bodies, reached the elder, and fell to his knees. He pressed his hands to the wound, fingers slick with hot, metallic blood. He knew what he was doing was useless, felt it in his bones, and yet he tried anyway. Tears came wet and fast, cutting tracks through the grime on his cheeks.
Rogan stood and watched, voice smooth as ever. He lectured then — about reality, about debts and consequences, about how the world took what it wanted. His words rolled over Yuzuki like cold wind, but they did not touch the rawness in the boy's hands.
Old Fin's breathing was shallow, each breath a struggle. He looked up at Yuzuki, a tiny smile forming despite the pain. "I—wished…more time," he said, voice thin but steady. "Felt like—like a kid to me." He coughed. "Keep living. Keep being kind. Even if the world kicks you down." He blinked, then smiled faintly, as if the memory warmed him. "You're special." His chest gave one final, soft heave — and then he breathed his last.
Rogan bowed his head for a moment, a mock reverence. "Comrade," he said quietly, "may your road be easier." He straightened and turned, voice businesslike. "Ransack anything valuable. I want to be at the brothel before nightfall." He waved the order at his men.
Then a chill crawled across his skin. He turned.
Yuzuki was standing.
Old Fin's blood smeared his hands, dark and cold, running in slow rivulets between his fingers. The blindfold still covered his eyes, but his face had changed — calm, taut, the mask of someone whose sorrow had hardened into something colder. Rage sat behind his mouth like a held blade.
Rogan saw it and felt something shift in his chest. What incredible killing intent, he thought, the notion surfacing like a bad taste. They might have awakened a beast.
Yuzuki looked straight at Rogan. His voice was low and steady, each word precise and terrible. "None of you three are leaving here alive. Y'all will all die here."
The room held its breath.
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The story is 3 chapters ahead on my Patreon and it has a side story
" Plus I'll post chapters there as I write as well as side stories.