Treasure Room – The Noble Estate
Dazai trailed behind Mard Geer as they stepped into the estate's private treasure room. The air shimmered with a chill, touched by the weight of history. Relics gleamed beneath crystal light—swords older than cities, jewels that whispered of wars long buried. Power pulsed from the walls in silence.
He gave a low whistle, eyes gliding over the collection.
"Quite the hoard," Dazai murmured. "A shame none of these made it into tonight's auction. Still, my winnings weren't half bad. The duke of this house must be a man of exquisite taste, wouldn't you say?"
Mard Geer chuckled under his porcelain mask. He turned fully, his presence sharp. The air grew heavier—like a storm preparing to speak.
"Ah yes, Mr. Carnage. The duke would be honored to hear such praise from a scion of the Carnage bloodline." He tilted his head. "I trust the banquet pleased you as much as the bidding? But I am curious—why bid on that piece? A demon's jewelry… The Noir Renegade, wasn't it?"
Dazai's expression shifted. His eyes narrowed. Shadows passed over his face like memories.
"You're full of surprises," he said softly, taking a step closer. "So tell me... how many of your pawns are hiding here tonight?"
---
Ballroom – Moments Earlier
Akatsuki stood near the refreshment table, wine glass in hand, a half-smirk playing across his face. Around him, a small cluster of women leaned in, drawn by that casual, predatory charm.
"I've seen gold, gods, and glory," he murmured, locking eyes with one, "but right now, all I want is the jewel in front of me. So… milady, care to be mine tonight?"
She flushed, clearly taken—but before she could respond, the ballroom lights snapped off.
Pitch black. Then—a second later—they blazed back on.
The atmosphere changed. Silence fell. Dozens of masked figures now stood in the room, dressed in black, still as statues.
Akatsuki sighed. Loudly.
"Figures. Just once, I'd like to finish my drink in peace. But nooo—always gotta get the back of the horse's gift."
One of the masked men stepped forward. His voice was mechanical—lifeless.
"Akatsuki of the Assassin Guild. The New Ghost. You stand in Mard Geer's way. Step aside. The Adam's Apple belongs to him."
Akatsuki arched a brow, then stretched like a cat preparing to pounce. His smirk returned.
"Right. Forgot—when you kill a higher-ranked assassin, you inherit their name. Guess I'm earning another."
He turned to the guests. His voice was velvet-edged steel.
"Anyone who speaks a word of this… I will find you."
No one dared respond.
He drew his dagger. Its red aura pulsed like a dying star. In a blink, he vanished.
A blur of shadow tore through the attackers—each movement sharp, clean, fatal. Blood spilled, but he never stopped. Until—
Crack.
A brutal kick slammed into his ribs, sending him crashing through a table. He grunted, chest heaving as he rose.
"The hell was that?"
A lone figure stepped forward. Their black-and-white mask was carved with care—an executioner's face. Their stance—precise. Familiar.
"You're the brat who killed my sensei," the figure growled. "Ghost trained me. I don't care about protocol. I came to bury you. But first—I want to know. Why follow a tyrant?"
Akatsuki paused. His smirk faded. He began to pace, side to side, head tilting in rhythm. Then he stopped.
One hand rose to his left eye.
"I'll tell you a story," he said, his voice low. "There was a boy. Born in a place where you work or you die. A drunk for a father. A cracked-out mother. And one night… that drunk tried to take his little sister."
The air grew cold.
"So the boy killed him."
A beat.
"Didn't fix anything. Mom got thrown in rehab. The boy? He went to work. Streets. Cartels. Blood. Then came Tokyo. Simple job—kill a businessman, get out."
He stepped forward.
"But that man? He wasn't simple. The way he fought... the way he looked at me. He knew hell. Knew what I'd lived. I lost my eye that night—but I gained something else."
A long pause.
"An ally. One who didn't look down on me. One who gave me something I never had—a way out. My sister's in college now. My mother's healing."
He raised his dagger. Crimson light danced across the blade.
"I'm not serving anyone. I owe a debt—to the man who pulled me from the gutter. So call him what you want."
Akatsuki's voice sharpened, his stance shifting into a ready guard.
"But what's the point of black… without a little white?"