The next morning, the air felt heavier.
Ryuji walked through the school gates with the same calm presence, but now the stares were longer, and the silence that followed him... thicker. Something had shifted after the stairwell incident. They still didn't know who he was, but they knew what he was capable of.
And fear spread faster than facts ever could.
---
Aika's Suspicion Deepens
In class, Aika sat quietly, pretending to focus. But her eyes kept drifting toward him.
He was always alone. Always watching.
She hadn't missed the way he'd moved yesterday. It was efficient—too efficient. He hadn't just fought back, he had dismantled the boy without blinking.
That's not instinct. That's training.
And that kind of training didn't come from a normal life.
During lunch, she found herself stepping out of her usual circle of friends and passing him in the hallway. Just to test something. Just to see if he'd react.
He didn't flinch. He didn't even look at her. But somehow... it felt like he already knew she was watching.
She whispered as she passed, "Who are you really, Tatsugami?"
He didn't respond. But he paused for just a second.
That pause was enough to confirm her suspicion—he wasn't just another quiet transfer student.
---
Flash – Ryuji's Past
That night, Ryuji sat on the floor of a dark room, legs crossed, shirt off.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a single hanging light.
His back—marked with old scars and healing cuts—rose and fell with steady breath.
Etched across that scarred canvas, a black-and-gray dragon coiled around a lotus, its eyes fierce, its tail trailing into waves of blood-red ink that wrapped around his lower back. The tattoo was striking even in shadow—ancient, violent, sacred.
Against the wall lay a bundle of clothes and a wrapped item that looked heavy.
He picked up a photo that had been folded too many times. The edges were worn. His eyes lingered on the face of someone in it—someone long gone.
He whispered a single line under his breath.
"I haven't forgotten."
Then silence again.
And in that silence, he reached for a blade wrapped in cloth—unstrapped it, checked the edge, then wrapped it again. Not to use. Just to remember.
---
Syndicate Watchers Move
Elsewhere in the city, a group of five men in black suits met behind closed doors.
"He's here," one of them said, laying out surveillance photos—blurry but clear enough to recognize the face.
"Tatsugami Ryuji. The Black Vow."
The room went silent at the name.
One man finally spoke. "Does she know?"
"No," another replied. "Not yet. But she will."
They all knew what that meant.
If the daughter of the Kurohane clan got close to him—if she found out who he really was—
everything would start unraveling.
And the blood we all had spilled to keep the peace between clans would be for nothing.