Kage's home sat on the far side of town, an abandoned building that once operated as a shop. Though time had worn away its purpose, remnants of its past remained-unopened crates stacked in the basement, faded signs, and dust-coated shelves. The structure had three levels, four if one included the roof, which Kage certainly did.
The ground floor, likely a waiting area in its prime, still retained its furniture. Two old but well-kept couches, four lounge chairs, a coffee table, and a receptionist desk with an office chair stood frozen in time, undisturbed by the world outside. The second floor held six conference rooms, identical in their arrangements-square tables with chairs on each side, dead plants in neglected pots, and faded pictures clinging to the walls. Only the placement and number of windows distinguished them. A janitorial closet stood at the far end of the hallway, its door slightly ajar.
The roof was empty save for a lone bench, one Kage had placed there himself. It was where he often ended his days, letting the silence of the sky settle over him. But the basement-that was where he truly lived. Training equipment filled the space, a computer hummed in the corner, and his bed was neatly positioned against the far wall. A single box held his most important possessions, while a false wall concealed his vigilante gear.
Kage entered the building, locking the door behind him before heading straight for the basement. Without pause, he launched into his training-a series of almost inhuman exercises and skillful practice with numerous weapons, some well made and other's improvised, and a few laps around the neighborhood's roofs to practice his parkour.
After finishing his training with a final climb up the salmon ladder, Kage pulls himself onto the roof and collapses onto the bench, breathing heavily. The sky is painted in deep hues of orange and red, the last remnants of sunlight clinging to the horizon. He watches in silence, letting the fatigue settle into his muscles, his mind momentarily still.
But the city doesn't rest, and neither can he.
As the last sliver of light disappears, Kage rises. Without a word, he climbs down and enters the basement, moving with practiced ease. He steps toward a section of the wall and presses his palm against it. A barely audible click follows, and the false panel shifts open, revealing neatly arranged gear.
One by one, he arms himself. A black bodysuit-fitted yet flexible, designed for speed and silence. Pouches and pockets, each placed with intention, holding tools and weapons within easy reach. Finally, he reaches for the mask resting on a small shelf at eye level.
A deep blue Oni mask.
In folklore, Oni masks are said to bring strength, to ward off evil. Kage wears his not to embrace the fury of the night, but to shield himself from it. The rage, the injustice—if he let those consume him, he'd be no different from the people he fights against. The mask is his reminder. His barrier.
He secures it over his face, pulling the hood over his head. Now, he is ready.
With one last glance at the dimly lit basement, he steps into the night.
Slipping out into the night, he moved swiftly across the rooftops, the city unfolding below him in glowing rivers of light. He listened in on the police scanner, tracking disturbances, until movement caught his eye-a girl standing on a balcony, speaking on the phone.
Tsubasa.
He found the coincidence amusing and crouched on the roof of the neighboring building, keeping to the shadows.
"...don't even know anyone at school," she said, her voice carrying into the quiet night.
The response on the other end was muffled, but whatever was said made her cheeks flush. "The only people I talked to today were you and that Kage guy."
Another response, and her blush deepened.
"W-well, he called me Tsubasa, so I just call him equally famili-"
She stopped mid-sentence, a startled shriek escaping her lips as a dark figure dropped onto the railing of her balcony. She stumbled backward, fingers fumbling to dial 911.
Kage, voice distorted through his mask, didn't look at her. "That's not necessary. I've already called them. You need to go inside. Now."
Her eyes widened, but she hesitated. "Yes, there's a suspicious man on my balcony," she told the operator, giving her address. A pause. "You already received a call?" Another pause. "Yes... I'll go inside now."
She lingered, studying the masked figure. "What's your name?"
Without hesitation, he replied, "Kurai."
Tsubasa frowned. "Why do I need to go inside?"
This time, he turned his head toward her. "Because it will be easier to stop the man trying to break in through your back door if I know you're safe in your room."
Her breath hitched. She tried to get a better look at him—his height, his build, any identifying features—but he was covered head to toe. All she could tell was that he was strong. Very strong. The mask, the hood, the darkness-all of it made him an enigma."...Okay."
She stepped back into her room, closing the door behind her.
Kage wasted no time. He dropped from the balcony, landing with practiced ease. As he rounded the building, he spotted the intruder just as the man picked the lock. Before the door could open, Kage struck—a solid punch to the face that sent the would-be thief tumbling across the ground.
The police arrived moments later. By then, Kage was gone.
From a rooftop opposite Tsubasa's balcony, he watched as she spoke with the officers. Once they left, she returned to her room, only to step back onto the balcony minutes later. Her eyes flickered across the skyline, and just as he moved away, she saw him.
Kurai