Shortcut for survival

Rain falls like ash over Kurogane City.

Neon lights flicker through the storm, reflecting off steel skyscrapers split by ideology. On one side of the skyline, a massive holographic emblem glows — a silver scale wrapped in blue flame. The symbol of the Police.

Across the river, on darker towers, a crimson blade pierces a broken halo.

The Assassins.

Narration:

“In this world, justice is not blind.

It chooses a side.”

⸻

Scene 1 — A Failing Student

Miro Hakimajiro stares at his desk.

Red ink bleeds across his test paper.

28%.

The classroom hums with quiet judgment.

Teacher:

“Again, Hakimajiro? You don’t even try anymore.”

Snickers from the back of the room.

Miro leans back in his chair, forcing a lazy grin.

“Tests don’t define intelligence, right?”

But his fingers tighten under the desk.

Later, lockers slam. Students talk about academy exams, police internships, and Jujutsu aptitude rankings.

Miro walks alone.

A digital billboard flashes:

“Serve Justice. Join the Police Corps.”

Below it, vandalized in red paint:

“Justice is Paid For.”

He looks away.

⸻

Scene 2 — The Breaking Point

Small apartment. Dim lighting.

Bills scattered across the kitchen table.

His mother stands there, exhausted, still in her work uniform.

“You’re failing math. You’re failing science. Do you think I work double shifts so you can sleep in class?”

Miro shrugs.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“When?” she snaps. “When you’re eighteen and nobody wants you? You think this world rewards laziness?”

Silence hangs heavy.

Something inside him snaps back.

“Maybe I didn’t ask to be in this world!”

The words echo.

Her face hardens.

“If you’re so confident you can survive on your own… then go.”

She doesn’t mean forever.

But pride makes it permanent.

He grabs his hoodie and walks out.

The door shuts.

Too loud.

⸻

Scene 3 — Hunger

Hours later.

Rain soaks through his clothes.

His stomach growls as he walks toward a 24-hour store.

Streetlights flicker.

Then—

Metal clashes.

A body hits concrete.

Miro freezes.

In the alley ahead, a woman stands over two men in dark tactical uniforms.

Police.

One reaches weakly for his radio.

She steps forward calmly.

A short blade glints under the light — a Tonto, its edge coated in a faint green sheen.

She presses it lightly against his neck.

No hesitation.

No anger.

Just precision.

The body goes still.

Silence returns.

She wipes the blade on her sleeve.

Then she notices him.

Their eyes lock.

Time stops.

Miro’s breath shakes.

She walks toward him slowly.

Measured steps.

Her voice is calm.

“You saw nothing.”

He should run.

He should scream.

Instead—

“How much does that job pay?”

The question hangs in the rain.

Her expression changes slightly. Not surprise. Not anger.

Interest.

“More than a police officer makes in a year,” she says.

Miro laughs nervously.

“You’re joking.”

She doesn’t answer.

Sirens echo faintly in the distance.

She steps closer.

“If you want easy money, you’ll lose your life.”

He swallows.

“What do I have to do?”

She tilts her head.

“Kill.”

No dramatic speech.

No manipulation.

Just truth.

His mind flashes:

• His failing grades.

• The look on his mother’s face.

• The empty fridge.

• The word useless echoing in his head.

Police sirens grow louder.

She turns away.

“If you follow me, there’s no going back.”

He hesitates only a second.

Then steps forward.

“I’ll keep up.”

⸻

Scene 4 — The Mark

They move through back alleys like ghosts.

The city feels different now.

Colder.

More honest.

As they pass beneath a broken streetlight, something burns on Miro’s wrist.

He looks down.

A faint black symbol spreads across his skin like spilled ink.

Veins darken.

A pulse.

Lola glances back.

“So you can see it.”

“See what?”

“The mark of Haitan.”

The rain suddenly feels heavier.

Far above the city, unseen eyes watch from a surveillance tower bearing the Police emblem.

A voice over comms:

“Unregistered Haitan signature detected.”

Back in the alley, Miro grips his wrist.

It hurts.

But beneath the pain…

There’s something else.

Power.

Narration:

“He didn’t choose justice.

He chose the fastest escape.

And the world answered.”

Final panel:

The Assassin blade emblem flickers in crimson neon behind him.

And somewhere deep within his chest—

Something dark awakens.

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