The Galactors funeral hall was sealed.
No public entrance.
No observers.
No press.
Smooth white stone curved upward into a high ceiling, light diffused evenly from hidden sources so no shadows lingered too long. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and cold mineral—clean, controlled, final.
Silent Executioners stood at measured distances along the walls.
Not guards.
Witnesses.
No one spoke.
The funeral hall was quiet.
Too quiet.
The floor opened silently.
The platforms lowered first—slow, precise—descending into the stone beneath the hall. There was no sound of earth, no final thud.
The stone closed again seamlessly.
Then the markers rose.
Three white stone slabs emerged from the floor, names already engraved with exact precision—no dates missing, no titles omitted.
Aiko.
Arata (S-Rank Executioner).
Mei.
No decorations.
No symbols.
Only truth carved into stone.
Three sealed platforms rested at the center of the hall.
Transparent covers revealed them.
Prepared.
Cleaned.
Restored as much as possible.
No wounds visible.
No blood.
No signs of how they died.
Only stillness.
I forced myself to look.
Aiko—my mother—lay first—small hands folded neatly, expression peaceful in a way that felt unfair.
Then Mei, my sister-in-law.
Her face was calm. Too calm. Like someone who had finally stopped worrying about everyone else.
Arata was last.
My brother looked the same as always.
Quiet.
Untouched.
As if he might open his eyes and complain about the lighting.
I stepped inside.
Renya was already crying.
Not quietly.
Not the way people cry when they're trying to be strong.
His small shoulders shook as he stood frozen near the center of the hall, tears streaming freely down his face as he stared at the three platforms. His hands were clenched so tightly at his sides that his fingers had gone white, like if he let go—even for a second—everything in front of him would become real.
He had seen them first.
Before anyone explained.
Before anyone softened the truth.
Before anyone could prepare him.
This wasn't grief yet.
This was shock breaking into sound.
Leon stepped forward.
"This is the final identification," he said evenly. "Once completed, burial protocols will proceed."
No prayers.
No speeches.
Only confirmation.
Renya saw me instantly. "K—Kaien!"
The boy ran forward and buried his face into my chest.
"I'm sorry I'm late," I whispered, holding him tightly.
We stood before the graves.
I tried to kneel. My legs refused.
A single arrangement rested beside the hall entrance.
White lilies.
Simple.
Unmarked.
I picked them up myself.
No one stopped me.
I placed the first flowers before Aiko's stone.
My eyes refused to move to my mother's name.
My hands shook as I reached out. My fingers brushed Arata's name.
I knelt this time—pain flaring through my legs as my body finally gave in.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I was too late."
The flowers rested at the base of his name.
My gaze drifted to Mei's.
My hand hesitated before the last stone.
Mei.
She hadn't been loud like my mother.
She hadn't been distant like Arata.
She had been… constant.
She had worried about me more than Arata ever did—texting, calling, making sure I ate, slept, lived.
Whether I was still pretending everything was fine.
The one who worried quietly so no one else had to.
I placed the final flowers at her marker.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"I should've protected you too."
"I'm sorry," I thought, my chest burning. "Mom… Arata… Mei…"
"I couldn't save anyone… except Renya."
Renya's small fists clenched.
"I want them back!" he sobbed. "Mom… Dad… Grandma… I need them back!"
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The Executioners remained still—heads slightly lowered, hands clasped behind their backs.
They had seen this before.
Even the air seemed unwilling to move.
Yuna knelt and wrapped Renya into her arms, rocking him gently.
I stood there, hollow.
How long can I protect him? What happens if I fail again?
A hand touched my shoulder. Leon.
I looked up.
Leon held out several items.
Black gloves. A white executioner coat.
"This may be useful to you," Leon said.
I stared. "…What does this mean, Director?"
Leon didn't hesitate.
"I'm offering you a position," he said. "Executioner of Galactors."
My breath caught.
"Join us," Leon continued. "Because this is the only way I can guarantee Renya's safety."
I understood instantly.
This was the favor.
My fingers tightened around Arata's belongings, pressing them to my chest.
My eyes dropped.
Arata's coat.
Too clean. Too heavy.
I remembered the way my brother laughed at the dinner table. The way he never talked about work. The way he always came home smiling—like nothing in the world could touch him.
Now, I understood why.
If I become this…
My chest tightened.
…I may never be normal again.
I saw it clearly—this role didn't just take lives. It erased futures. It hollowed families quietly, politely, until nothing was left but silence.
"…You think I'm capable of this?" I asked quietly.
Leon met my eyes.
"No one can save everything," Leon said. "But power isn't just ability."
Yuna spoke softly.
"If we're meant to protect… we're meant to sacrifice."
I closed my eyes.
This isn't destiny. This is survival.
If I say yes… I don't get to pretend anymore.
"…Okay," I said. The word felt like a door shutting behind me. "I accept."
Somewhere behind me, I heard the faint sound of boots aligning.
As Leon lowered his hand, something slipped from the items he carried.
The broken S-Rank insignia fell gently to the floor.
Renya noticed it first.
He reached out with both hands and picked it up, small fingers curling around the cracked emblem. He stared at it silently, then pressed it against his chest.
No one spoke.
For a moment, the air around us felt… still.
My breath caught.
"Renya…?" I whispered.
The boy didn't answer. He only held the insignia tighter.
He didn't know what it meant—only that it mattered.
He wasn't crying anymore.
That scared me more than if he had been.
His breathing was steady again—too steady for a child who had just lost everything.
I looked at Leon.
"But promise me—Renya's safety."
Leon answered without hesitation.
"This position guarantees protection protocols," Leon said firmly. "Even I cannot override them."
Leon didn't look relieved.
He looked resigned.
A new voice spoke up. "You have my word too."
A man stepped forward.
Blue hair. Yellow eyes. A calm, grounded presence.
He stood like someone used to standing in aftermath.
"You?" I muttered.
"I'm Senjiro," he said. "I was your brother's colleague."
He bowed slightly.
"Arata saved my life," Senjiro said. "Now I owe you."
He reached into his coat and produced a simple, worn whetstone.
"He gave me this after my first near-death," Senjiro said. "Said a sharp blade and a sharper mind keep you alive. I've carried it since."
"Thank you," I said.
Yuna nodded once.
Something settled inside me. The decision was made.
I didn't see what happened next.
High above, in Leon's office—
A holographic screen dimmed.
The unknown presence watched silently.
A single symbol flickered.
Then vanished.
I thought power would feel loud.
It didn't.
It felt like weight.
I looked at Renya, at the broken insignia in his hands, and understood something I couldn't unlearn.
I didn't want revenge. I wanted control.
If surviving meant becoming colder—then so be it.
I wouldn't chase justice anymore.
I would become unavoidable.
And next time the world reached for what was mine—
It would fail.
✦ END OF CHAPTER 39 — THIS IS SURVIVAL ✦