Deep beneath the mafia's headquarters, hidden from the world, lay a sealed underground basement.
That was where Nobu's true training began.
The mafia boss's right-hand man watched him closely, his expression cold and unreadable. At first, he intended to teach the boy only basic martial arts—nothing more.
But within minutes, something felt wrong.
Nobu copied every movement perfectly.
Each stance, each strike, each shift of balance—flawless.
The man's eyes narrowed.
Nobu had never trained before. And yet his body moved as if it carried decades of experience, like a warrior who had lived through countless battles.
Impossible…
Slowly, the right-hand man abandoned the basics.
He began teaching techniques meant only for assassins—dangerous, lethal movements designed to kill in seconds.
To his shock…
Nobu enjoyed it.
Pain didn't slow him. Fear didn't exist in his eyes. He absorbed every lesson as if he had been waiting for this life all along.
Beru's path was different.
He struggled.
Even the basics took time to master. His body wasn't built for speed or precision, but for power. Advanced techniques remained far beyond his reach.
Yet Beru never complained.
He endured.
Seven years passed.
The boys were no longer boys.
Nobu had become a silent shadow—fast, precise, terrifying.
Beru had grown into a sturdy fighter, his strength and endurance unmatched.
The mafia finally deemed them ready.
Their first real mission.
Kashi was assigned as their leader.
Their target: a small clan rumored to possess unexpectedly strong fighters.
Before they left, the mafia boss gave a single warning.
"Fight one-on-one," he said coldly.
"No unnecessary risks."
A helicopter cut through the night sky.
Nobu and Beru sat in silence, gripping their katanas tightly. Fear twisted in their chests—this was no training.
This was real.
They landed far from the clan grounds and moved in the shadows.
Their first objective was clear.
The clan leader.
They breached his room together.
Three strikes.
One moment.
The leader died without a sound.
Three elite guards remained.
They photographed the corpse as proof, then followed Kashi's orders—bombs planted in every room.
They split up.
Everything went perfectly.
Until—
A guard spotted Nobu.
Steel flashed.
Nobu tried to block.
Too slow.
The blade pierced straight through his chest.
Pain exploded.
As the guard raised his sword to finish him—
Kashi appeared.
One clean slash.
The man's head fell.
They escaped.
The bombs detonated.
The clan vanished in fire.
Nobu survived.
But the wound left a dark, permanent scar across his chest.
A reminder.
The mafia boss was delighted.
He hosted a luxurious feast in a high-class hotel, praising the trio openly. From that night on, Nobu and Beru became legends within the organization—the youngest members ever to complete a mission.
Training resumed immediately.
Harder.
Brutal.
They were taught swordsmanship, refining their killing intent with steel.
The city rotted from the inside.
Children sold. Teenagers kidnapped. Secret bases hidden in the dark.
Nobu and Beru hated it.
They didn't want money.
They wanted power.
Two more years passed.
Now, both were deadly swordsmen's
Three mid-rank missions completed.
The mafia rewarded them with a private luxury SUV—and their own katanas.
They were finally unleashed onto the streets.
Danger came quickly.
A beggar boy spotted them and vanished.
Minutes later, forty armed fighters surrounded them.
Nobu exhaled slowly.
Beru cracked his knuckles.
Three minutes later, bodies covered the ground.
Only one man remained alive.
From him, they learned the truth—
Two major criminals were kidnapping children, imprisoning beggar kids and teenage girls in a secret base… selling them like goods.
Nobu's eyes went cold.
Beru tightened his grip on his sword.
Another hunt had begun.