On a lively street deep in the heart of the Entertainment District, the night was humming with energy—music, laughter, the clinking of cups. Among the bustle, one man had just finished his latest round of drinks.
A hulking figure with a scar running down his left eye stepped out into the dimly lit road.
It was Ogre—the same Imperial officer who had presided over a public execution just two days earlier. The stench of alcohol clung to him as he swaggered through the street, a lazy smirk on his lips.
"Huaaahhh… nothing beats sake after breaking a few bones during interrogation," he sighed contentedly.
"Ogre-sama?" a voice called from nearby.
Turning, Ogre spotted two men in traditional kimono attire weaving through the crowd toward him.
"We just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done," said one, bald-headed and smiling politely.
"And to thank you for the other day," added the other, a man with shoulder-length hair.
Ogre waved them off nonchalantly. "No problem. Come to me with whatever troubles you have anytime."
As they melted back into the crowd, a sickening grin twisted across his face.
I am the king of this city. The highest authority. I can do whatever I want, as much as I want.
To Ogre, the Empire wasn't a land of duty—it was a playground. He was nothing more than a cog in the Prime Minister's corrupt machine, but that didn't matter to him. As long as he had unchecked power, he could continue abusing it to his heart's content.
But just as he resumed his patrol, another voice called from behind.
"Ogre-sama."
He turned slowly to see a muscular man—bare-chested and calm—standing a few paces away.
"What is it?" Ogre grunted, eyes narrowing.
"I have something to talk to you about."
There was a pause.
"What? Spit it out."
"Talking about it out here might attract the wrong kind of attention…"
Weird man, Ogre mused, his fingers subtly brushing the hilt of his sword. Still, curiosity piqued, he played along.
"Alright, lead the way."
The man took him down a winding path to the outskirts of the main street—where lantern light faded and shadows swallowed the walls. It was secluded, quiet, and foreboding. Even a fool could tell it was the perfect place for an ambush.
"How about we talk in this alleyway?" the stranger asked.
He wore a twisted grin.
"Actually…"
Without warning, the man lunged. A glint of steel caught the moonlight as a knife slashed through the air, aimed straight for Ogre.
Reacting on instinct, Ogre jumped back, the blade grazing his coat.
"Figures… just some no-name punk who thinks he can take on the likes of me," he spat, drawing his sword.
But then something caught his eye. He stared at his attacker more closely, recognition flashing across his face.
"Wait… you're one of Gamal's? Hah! So that frog-faced freak's trying to mess with me now?"
The man only chuckled, dark and sharp.
"Wrong guess. This has nothing to do with Gamal. I just really needed to kill someone after failing my last job."
Ogre's grip tightened, lips curling into a sneer as he drew out his sword on his side
"Well, too bad you picked the wrong person to kill."
Their blades met with a shriek of steel. The alley erupted into a flurry of motion—sword arcs, knife thrusts, and quick footwork. Ogre swung heavily, forcing his opponent back, but the man was quick, ducking low and slashing at Ogre's leg. The officer grunted in pain, barely sidestepping the blow.
Ogre countered with a vicious horizontal strike. The blade hit a wall as the assassin flipped backward, using the momentum to hurl a throwing knife. Ogre deflected it with a clang of steel, his eyes blazing.
"You're fast, I'll give you that," he growled, now bleeding slightly from a shallow wound on his arm.
"And you're slower than I expected," the assassin smirked.
With a roar, Ogre charged. The alley echoed with the clamor of combat as sparks flew. Each blow was fueled by rage, each parry by purpose. Blood hit the stones—first a drip, then a splash.
Ogre landed a solid punch to the assassin's ribs, sending him skidding back. The man coughed, but laughed through the pain.
"You're strong. But not invincible."
The two combatants circled each other, breaths heavy and ragged in the thick night air. The assassin flipped his knife with fluid precision, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Opposite him, Ogre raised his broad-bladed sword, its edge glinting faintly under the dim lamplight.
After a tense moment, the assassin spotted an opportunity. He lunged, feinting to Ogre's right. Instinctively, Ogre stepped back—but the pain in his left leg flared violently, forcing him to falter.
The assassin hadn't moved past his original position—it was a bluff. And Ogre had taken the bait.
"Hah!" the assassin barked as he closed the distance and delivered a spinning kick. The blow sent Ogre crashing into a pile of wooden crates, the splinters embedding into his uniform and skin.
"Seems like your prime has left you... Captain," the assassin taunted, his tone mocking as Ogre groaned and struggled against the pain.
"I trust that the dead won't hold a grudge against me," he added coldly, raising his knife for the final strike.
But in that moment, something changed.
Suddenly, the assassin's hand felt lighter. Unnervingly so.
"Wha—?" he uttered in disbelief.
He looked down—and saw his hand was gone.
The pain arrived a heartbeat later. He shrieked in agony, spinning around in panic.
Behind him stood a young man with medium-length brown hair, eyes a piercing green, expression unreadably cold.
For Ogre, he was just another street thug. But to the assassin, he was a nightmare from recent memory.
One of the men who foiled their plot to assassinate the trade overseer.
"YOU—!" the assassin snarled, rage blazing in his eyes.
It was Tatsumi, Vito Corleone's unflinching enforcer.
Without saying a word, Tatsumi moved with lethal grace. He slashed the assassin clean across the torso from the waist to the left shoulder. Blood sprayed, but Tatsumi wasn't finished.
Grabbing the man by his chest hair, he dragged him upright only to deliver a second slash, this time across his back, forcing him onto his knees in a twisted heap.
Tatsumi circled him like a predator. He raised his shortsword and placed the blade under the assassin's chin.
"Look at me."
The command was quiet, but it carried the weight of finality.
The assassin, bleeding and broken, met Tatsumi's eyes. There was nothing human in that cold, detached gaze.
"Who the fuck are you?" he spat defiantly, his fury barely masking the fear.
"Your death."
In one brutal motion, Tatsumi drove his sword upward through the assassin's jaw. The blade punched through the roof of his mouth and emerged from the back of his skull. The body shuddered, then went still.
This kid... he took his time making that bastard suffer, Ogre thought, stunned. And in brutal fashion too. Impressive.
Tatsumi stepped back, flicking the blood from his sword. The metallic tang still lingered in the air as he turned to face Ogre, who was struggling to rise, one hand pressed tightly against his battered side, blood seeping between his fingers.
"What... You going to kill me too?" Ogre asked, managing a bitter chuckle. His voice carried both disbelief and resignation, a rare crack in his usual bravado.
To his surprise, Tatsumi didn't answer. He didn't even move. He simply stood there, sword lowered but ready, his gaze fixed not on Ogre—but beyond him. As though he was waiting for something.
"What are you doing?" Ogre pressed, tension creeping into his voice.
The silence was thick, hanging in the alley like a veil. And then… the sound of footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestones.
From the shadows emerged a woman with sharp amber eyes and fiery auburn hair. Her Imperial military uniform was pristine, though battle-worn at the edges. Heavy armor covered her upper body. Trailing behind her, looming like a beast, was her 'dog'—a massive, humanoid creature with fur-covered limbs and steel claws.
Seryu Ubiquitous had arrived. And Koro was with her.
"What in the name of justice happened here?" Seryu's voice cut through the tension as her eyes scanned the scene.
She saw Tatsumi, sword in hand, standing between a mutilated corpse and a bleeding Ogre.
Her face contorted in pure, unhinged fury the moment she registered Ogre's state. Her mechanical right arm shifted with a hiss and snap, transforming into a massive blade.
"You'll pay for this—!" she shrieked, lunging at Tatsumi.
Tatsumi dropped into a defensive stance, bracing for impact.
"SERYU, WAIT!!" Ogre bellowed.
Mid-attack, Seryu froze, her blade inches from Tatsumi's face. She turned toward her superior.
"He didn't do this to me," Ogre said, wheezing as he spoke. "That guy did... the one lying dead over there. Tatsumi saved me. Got to me just in time."
"But—" Seryu faltered.
"He saved my life, and you're trying to gut him. That's justice to you?" Ogre's voice, though weak, carried enough weight to shame her.
Seryu reeled back. Her eyes widened with realization, and the blade retracted back into her arm. She lowered her head.
"I'm… very sorry for the misunderstanding," she said, her voice much softer.
"It's okay," Tatsumi replied, sheathing his sword. "Just take him to get patched up."
Without hesitation, Seryu turned to Koro. "Help me get Captain Ogre to the infirmary."
The hulking creature responded with a grunt, stepping in to support the wounded man.
As they began moving away, Ogre turned his head toward Tatsumi.
"Hey, kid," he called out, voice ragged.
Tatsumi paused.
"Thanks… for saving me."
"Consider it a favor," Tatsumi said quietly, vanishing into the shadows of the alley. "I hope you know how to repay it."
The night swallowed his silhouette as Ogre watched him disappear—left alone to consider what kind of man had spared him, and what price he might someday be asked to pay.