"Do you know when a weapon becomes perfect?""When it forgets it was ever human."—Axios
By the age of twelve, Itsumi was no longer seen as a child.
Not by the world.Not by the Organization.Not even by himself.
He was a myth.A whisper in the dark.The nightmare that bled into waking life.
They called him Ghost.
His kill count surpassed ten thousand confirmed targets—a number no assassin in history had ever reached. From engineers to activists, from scientists on the verge of breakthrough to politicians promising real reform—Itsumi erased them all.
Not with hate.Not with purpose.But with the cold obedience of a blade held by another's hand.
He no longer questioned.He no longer hesitated.He executed.
Inside the Organization, he became more than a tool—he was the weapon.
Other assassins noticed it.A kid, barely breathing, walking the halls with dead eyes.No joy. No fear. No rest.Just quiet.
"That's him," they whispered."The Ghost.""He never speaks. He never misses.""He shouldn't exist."
Many tried to speak to him—mentor him, challenge him, or even befriend him. But Itsumi gave the same answer to all of them, always in a calm, low voice:
"I work alone."
And he did.Every mission completed solo.No teams.No backups.Just success.
In the outside world, panic turned into obsession.
Entire agencies were formed just to study his kill pattern.Nations cooperated in ways they hadn't for decades, united by one goal: stop the Ghost.
But no one knew who he was.No name.No past.No confirmed sighting.
Only two things were ever consistent:
He wore black.
His hair was white.
That was all anyone could agree on.
Even this information was uncertain—gathered from fragmented security footage, dying witness reports, and incomplete AI reconstructions. No one had seen his face. Not even a clear silhouette.
Until Zhu Yuan.
Zhu Yuan, a rising lead investigator of the Public Security Bureau in New Eridu, was the first and only person to glimpse part of the Ghost.
It happened during a failed interception, where the Ghost eliminated a target in a private suite before vanishing from the rooftop.
For just a split second, as she turned a corner, she saw a figure leaping between buildings. Fast. Almost unnaturally fast.
But it was enough.
"Black outfit. Long sleeves. Slim figure. White hair—definitely white," she told her team, breathless but sharp.
It wasn't much, but it was more than anyone had before. That night, she briefed her partners, Qingyi and Seth Lowell.
"We're not dealing with a standard killer," Zhu said."Whoever this Ghost is... he's not human. Or he was, once.""We now know he exists. We know what he wears. And we know his hair. That's enough to scare the world."
From there, the wanted posters were updated. Sketches created from Zhu's description became the baseline: an assassin in black with flowing white hair.
No face.No age.No identity.
Just shadows.
Back at the Organization's headquarters, Axios stood in the operations chamber—a dim room lit by red mission reports, each stamped with a black X.
"Look at this art," he said, fingers brushing across the digital wall of names."No fingerprints. No resistance. No survivors."
An operative stood near him, hesitant.
"Sir... at this rate, he'll attract every intelligence agency on the planet."
"Good," Axios replied coldly."Let them try."
Another asked the question everyone feared:
"And if Ghost ever turns on us?"
Axios turned slowly. His expression was somewhere between amusement and disdain.
"He won't.""He has no one. No past. No hope. I broke all of that.""There is no 'Itsumi.' There's only Ghost.""And Ghost doesn't think. He obeys."
And it was true.
Something had shattered inside Itsumi long ago.
He no longer remembered birthdays.No longer remembered names.Not even himself.
Even the concept of right or wrong was gone.There were only missions.
He didn't cry.Didn't hesitate.Didn't remember.
Just moved.Like a shadow given form.
The world feared him.Security systems evolved to try and detect him.Armored convoys rerouted just in case he was nearby.
But nothing worked.
Ghost remained a myth with a kill count.
And Axios watched him from above, smiling like a king who had forged the perfect sword.
"More missions will come," Axios whispered in the dark, watching his creation kneel before another assignment."And you'll deliver, won't you, my beautiful little monster?"