The walk to the Elders' chamber was long, but Ren knew better than to keep them waiting. Each step he took echoed off the cold, obsidian walls, the silence of the underground corridors suffocating. The air was heavy—not with warmth, but with the weight of authority.
He had been here many times before. Yet tonight, the air felt different.
Two guards flanked the entrance, their expressions blank, their postures rigid. They were nothing more than statues—silent, unmoving. As Ren approached, they stepped aside in perfect unison, and the heavy steel doors groaned open.
Beyond them lay a chamber of shadows.
The room was circular, vast, its towering ceiling lost in darkness. At its center, a long, elevated table stretched out like a judgment altar, the five Elders seated behind it. The only source of light came from the flickering lanterns above, casting their figures in elongated shadows that stretched across the marble floor.
Ren walked forward, his boots clicking softly against the stone. He moved with calculated precision, not daring to lift his head until he stood in the middle of the chamber. Then, finally, he lowered himself onto one knee, bowing.
A pause.
Then—
"Rise."
The voice was deep, smooth, but carried the weight of command.
Ren obeyed.
And now, standing before the five most powerful figures in the Syndicate, he finally lifted his gaze.
The Elders
They were not just men and women—they were legends, ghosts of the underworld whose names inspired fear across the entire criminal underworld.
At the far left sat Elder Kaito Takeda—Akihiro's father. He was a man of quiet intensity, his presence not loud, but heavy. He had a sharp, chiseled face, his silver-streaked black hair neatly combed back. His dark eyes held no warmth, only cold precision, and though he was reserved, his silence carried more weight than words ever could. He sat perfectly still, fingers laced together, watching. Calculating. Judging.
Next to him sat Elder Shion, the only woman among them, yet no less terrifying. Her hair was ghostly white, flowing down her back like silk, and her kimono was deep crimson, embroidered with black sakura petals. Despite her delicate appearance, her eyes were sharp, gleaming like a predator's, and her voice—whenever she chose to speak—was always laced with something just beneath the surface. Amusement? Contempt? It was never clear.
Beside her, Elder Masaru exuded raw power. Unlike the others, he was built like a warrior, broad-shouldered and towering. A scar ran down the side of his face, a remnant of the countless battles he had survived. His presence alone was suffocating, his gaze burning into Ren like a blade to the throat.
Then there was Elder Tsukasa, the strategist. He wore no elaborate robes, no decorative rings—only a simple black suit. His demeanor was composed, methodical, as if he were constantly calculating a thousand possibilities at once. He never spoke unless necessary, but when he did, his words were absolute.
And at the very center, the one who had shaped Ren's very existence—
Elder Daizen.
His presence eclipsed the others.
The man who had taken Ren in as a child. Who had shaped him, molded him, broken him, and rebuilt him. He was the reason Ren was alive. The reason he was strong. The reason he existed.
A man whose face never betrayed emotion.
A man who had never once given Ren warmth.
His voice was as smooth as ever when he finally spoke.
"Ren."
Ren's posture remained straight, his expression unreadable. "Elder Daizen."
A pause. Then, Daizen's fingers tapped against the table once, the soft sound echoing in the chamber like a judge's gavel.
"Explain."
Ren did. Every detail. From the moment they entered Tokyo to the moment they found Yusuke's mutilated body. He recounted how the mission had already been compromised before it even began. How the enemy knew they were coming. How Takeda had been coerced, how they had found the note from "Y."
He did not embellish, did not defend himself. He spoke in nothing but cold, objective facts.
When he finished, silence followed.
And then—
Thud.
The impact was sudden. A limp body hit the floor behind him.
Ren didn't flinch. He knew what it was before he even turned.
A corpse. One of their own.
A low-ranking Syndicate operative, face pale, throat slit.
Elder Masaru's voice was calm. "That's an assassin who failed to carry out a mission effectively. He couldn't kill the child of a family we ordered him to eliminate. When we made it very clear to him that he must eliminate every member of the family."
Elder Shion exhaled, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Quite disappointing, really. This could be you the next time you fail carry out a mission effectively."
Elder Daizen, however, was unmoved. He regarded Ren once more. "And yet, you allowed this mission to fail."
Ren did not deny it. He bowed his head slightly. "Yes."
For the first time, Elder Kaito spoke, his voice deep, quiet. "You were careless."
Ren accepted the words without resistance.
Elder Tsukasa sighed. "You understand what this means, don't you?"
Ren's fingers curled ever so slightly at his sides. "Yes."
Failure is not tolerated.
He knew this. Had known it since childhood.
He was prepared to accept whatever punishment they deemed fit.
But instead—
Elder Daizen leaned forward, his expression unreadable.
"Ren." His voice was softer now. "What are you?"
Ren didn't hesitate. "Your weapon."
A small smile touched the Elder's lips. It wasn't warm. It wasn't cruel.
It was simply satisfied.
"And why are you still alive?"
Ren's voice did not waver. "Because of you."
"And if I told you to die?"
Ren's breath was steady. "Then I would."
A pause.
Then Daizen nodded once, pleased. "Good."
He gestured slightly. "You will fix this. Find the rat behind this. Eliminate them, I don't care who they are. Do not return until it is done. Or else you will die in their place"
Ren bowed low. "Yes, Elder."
Without another word, he turned and left.
Aftermath
The walk back to his quarters was silent.
When he entered his room, the weight of the conversation settled over him. The Elders had reminded him—again—of what he was.
A tool.
A weapon.
An extension of their will.
He removed his outfit and threw it in the bin.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. Blood still stained his clothes, his skin. The wound on his arm throbbed, but it was insignificant. He got a needle and thread from his bedside locker, and then he started to stitch the wound, he showed no sign of pain while stitching even though it hurt like hell js face remained blank with no expression. It wasn't healthy but he didn't care, it was what he could do for now to stop the wound opening up and stop the bleeding. He will get good medical care tomorrow.
He exhaled slowly.
He had work to do.
But for now, just for a moment—he closed his eyes.
Sleep did not come easily.
But then again, it never had.
NEXT MORNING
Ren barely felt the shaking at first. His body was heavy with exhaustion, his mind caught between sleep and wakefulness. But the hand gripping his shoulder was relentless.
"Ren. Wake the fuck up."
His eyes fluttered open to the sight of Akihiro standing over him, his face unreadable but tense.
"What?" Ren's voice was rough from sleep.
"Get up. Now. It's important."
Ren sat up sluggishly, rubbing his eyes. His body still ached from the meeting with the Elders, but Akihiro wasn't the type to wake him for nothing.
"Give me a second—"
"No time. Get the fuck up."
Ren didn't argue. He swung his legs over the bed, still in his black pajama pants and loose T-shirt. He didn't bother fixing his disheveled hair or wiping the faint traces of blood from his knuckles. The urgency in Akihiro's tone told him this wasn't something that could wait.
As soon as Ren stood, Akihiro turned and strode out of the room. Ren followed, bare feet against cold tile, his mind still sluggish as they made their way through the corridors.
The moment they stepped into the Umbra Division's meeting room, Ren knew something was very, very wrong.
The atmosphere was suffocating. The room was packed with every umbra division member, and the look on their faces said everything before a single word was spoken.
Tense. Grim. Silent.
Hiroshi stood at the head of the room, arms crossed, his face like stone.
"Sit."
Ren took a seat without question. His exhaustion was gone now, replaced by a sharp awareness.
Hiroshi didn't speak.
Instead, he reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
The news anchor's voice filled the room.
"Breaking news out of Osaka—authorities have confirmed the brutal murder of a high-profile individual. The victim, identified as Asami Takeda, wife of Hideo Takeda, was discovered mutilated beyond recognition. Her body parts were scattered across six different locations, making this one of the most disturbing cases in recent memory."
Ren's body went completely still.
The wife of Hideo Takeda.
The wife of the man whom Akihiro killed last night.
Holy fuck.
"I thought you said he promised to protect them?" He said turning to Akihiro
"He did, at least that's what Takeda told me"but this bastard was clearly not a man of his word like Takeda had thought.
The report continued, but Ren barely heard it. His focus was on the details.
Fingers and teeth removed.
The same thing as Dr Yusuke. Her fingers and teeth removed.
He didn't remove Yusuke's teeth because he didn't want the police to identify him, he did it as his M.O.
A signature. A calling card.
A sick, deliberate method.
The news anchor's voice droned on.
"Authorities are baffled by the gruesome nature of the crime. The victim's fingers and teeth were completely removed, a signature that doesn't align with any murder we have seen in the history of Japan.…"
Hiroshi muted the TV.
Without a word, he reached into a small gift wrapped box on the table.
The smell hit first. Coppery. Sharp.
Ren watched as Hiroshi unwrapped the box and it dripped with blood, something bloodied and grotesque.
Fingers.
Teeth.
Ren felt the air in the room shift. Someone swallowed hard. Another cursed under their breath.
And then—Hiroshi held up a note.
The paper was stained with blood, but the words scrawled across it were disturbingly clear.
"To Barbie,
Hope you enjoy my little present to you.
—Y"
Silence.
A heavy, deafening silence.
Then—
"Son of a bitch."
It was Akihiro. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. His jaw locked, his entire body tense with barely contained fury.
Ren exhaled slowly, his mind processing at rapid speed.
Whoever Y was, he wasn't just a killer.
He was mocking them.
Blatantly. Fearlessly.
He had promised protection.
And this bastard had slaughtered Takeda's wife less than twenty-four hours later—sending them a gift just to rub salt in the wound.
Hiroshi crushed the bloodied note in his fist and looked at them all, his voice like a growl.
"This is not just some some rat or a fucking psychopath. This is someone who's challenging us. Mocking us. And I'll be damned if I let that stand."
His eyes burned with something dangerous.
"I don't care what it takes. We're finding this sick fuck. And we're killing him. Slowly."
No one argued.
Because they all knew—
This wasn't just a job anymore.
This was war.