What I Want to Protect, Between Blood and Memory
The Shibuya Crossing seemed suspended in time.
The wind carried the scent of dust and soot as the flickering lights of the billboards cast distorted glows on the deserted streets. In the midst of that silent chaos that the day before had been teeming with people—
Kairo and Azrael stared at each other. Two opposing presences, two forces ready to collide.
Kairo gripped his katana tightly, the blade vibrated with a silvery energy, his aura crackling, barely visible.
His forehead burned where Azrael had touched him long ago.
But his silent rage, with his eyes fixed, kept him from thinking about the pain.
His mind had only one question:
"Why is he wearing Aenna's pendant?"
It was ruined, rusted, the engravings unreadable—but deep in his heart, he knew... he knew it was hers.
The more he thought about it, the more the flame of wrath spread through his body.
Azrael smiled beneath his mask. "I see you're starting to awaken… but you're still too green."
"Tsk! I don't care. Answer me. What did you do to Aen?"
His aura flared, and inside he felt a strange force—but he was too caught up, too angry… He wanted to know, even if he feared the answer.
Azrael brushed the pendant as if he didn't know how it got there, as if he wore it by accident.
"I'll tell you the truth. I don't know who this girl you call Aen is—"
He looked down at the pendant as if the name rang a distant bell, like a faint echo.
"—I only know I won't allow anyone to destroy this reality like they did mine. Even if it means crushing the anomalies."
He looked up at Kairo. "Like you, dear Kairos."
Kairo didn't reply. His eyes were locked, full of rage and determination. He stepped forward, then again. His heartbeat quickened, but his mind remained clear.
"My name is Kairo. I don't even know who the hell this 'Kairos' you keep naming is."
He raised his head, taking a defensive stance.
"My name is Kairo, I'm 18, and I live in Tokyo."
A long silence fell between them under the flickering signs, the distant screams, and sirens.
The two began to circle each other, eyes locked.
Their katana blades hissed and vibrated, as if their powers recognized each other—a forgotten echo.
Azrael unleashed his aura: dense, dark, oppressive, violet.
But Kairo didn't flinch. They kept circling the intersection, eyes never leaving each other.
Suddenly, Kairo broke into a cold sweat. Adrenaline surged, and a nervous smirk appeared.
"This guy... if I'm not careful, he'll kill me for real," he thought.
Azrael stopped abruptly and asked:
"I don't see your brother, though. We were supposed to meet with him. Too bad—I'll hunt him down myself."
Kairo gritted his teeth and screamed:
"BASTARD!"
The air trembled.
Azrael moved first, vanishing in a violet flash.
Kairo instinctively parried, the enemy blade grazing his cheek, leaving a clean cut.
He counterattacked with precision—his kendo training kicking in—but Azrael vanished again, reappearing behind him.
"Too slow. Too emotional!" roared the Custodian of Oblivion, striking him in the back.
"Damn it!"
Kairo fell forward, tumbling on the asphalt.
He coughed, blood dripping from his mouth.
But he didn't care. He couldn't stop thinking about that vision—of his dead friends.
He stood up, gasping.
Azrael watched him, blade touching the asphalt, scraping with a shrill sound.
Still, Kairo didn't lose his smirk.
He raised his guard.
His eyes flashed silver for a brief moment. His Remembrance was awakening—still confused, but rising.
"I won't give up," he whispered. "Not until I've protected what I love."
"Let's see how many times you'll keep saying that," Azrael replied with a distorted voice.
The young man dashed forward. His katana sliced the air—rapid strikes, calculated thrusts.
Azrael seemed amused, deflecting each blow with his sword of pure darkness—but behind the mask, he was starting to sense something. Something familiar. Something dangerous.
He leapt into the air, levitating.
He raised one hand.
Kairo was mid-run, ready to jump, ready to strike.
But Azrael struck first.
From his palm, a blast of violet energy, like lightning, hit the boy's chest.
He fell. The cold asphalt knocked the breath out of him.
For a moment, there was only silence. Only the pounding in his chest, like war drums.
"Aenna…" he thought. His inner voice was a whisper, a desperate echo amidst a thousand doubts.
Trembling, numb, he rose again.
Still wearing that defiant smirk.
Azrael, floating mid-air, smiled beneath the mask.
"Let's see if you still wear that cocky grin after tonight."
He charged another energy blast.
---
Meanwhile, at the Baiku Pub on the west side of town, Jun and Hakura were helping Naoto get back on his feet.
"We need to get out of here," Jun whispered through clenched teeth.
Looking around, the pub was guarded by two corrupted officers.
A man's body still lay bleeding on the floor, the guests and owner frozen in terror.
Naoto, still staggering, nodded. "But how? They're watching us."
Jun scanned the room, then the alarm system above the door.
Right above one of the armed guards.
"A controlled blackout. I can kill the lights for thirty seconds. In that time—we run."
Naoto nodded again. It was a crazy plan, but the only one.
"We can't leave these people here. If the lights go out, they might start shooting blindly," Hakura said softly, glancing at the corpse.
"If they shoot blindly, there'll be massive casualties. We need to neutralize the guards," Naoto replied.
Jun clenched his fists. They had to come up with something—and fast.
7 hours remained until dawn.
---
Meanwhile, on a nearby rooftop, Riven watched the horizon.
The police officers lay below him, lifeless on the asphalt.
Gremit, crouched near a corpse, was about to eat an arm.
"Gremit, don't you think you're overdoing it? Killing's bad enough—can you not eat them, at least?" Riven snapped.
Gremit turned toward Riven like a scolded puppy, hurt.
"You're such a buzzkill. You asked me earlier to leave the cop alive too. Boring."
"Yeah, well, maybe if someone had told me that the boken soaked in your aura explodes on contact, I would've been more careful," Riven muttered.
"Eh, what's the difference now? You've killed. Was it… electrifying?"
Gremit flew up to Riven, their faces inches apart.
His yellow eyes gleamed, his toothy grin widened.
"Did you like it?" he asked with an animalistic voice.
Riven froze.
It had all happened so fast. He had never killed before—his mind was in turmoil.
Before he could respond, a weight formed in his gut. He staggered.
Riven and Gremit turned toward an alleyway.
"Gremit… you feel that too?"
"Yeah. A presence… ancient. Destructive."
But Riven wasn't looking at Azrael. He had spotted something a few blocks away:
Aenna and Lyra, chased by a terrifying Shadow. His heart leapt.
Riven gripped his boken. The crimson aura reappeared around the training sword.
"Let's go. We have to help them."
"You're insane. You're stepping between Oblivion and its prey. You'll die."
Gremit grabbed his arm to stop him.
Riven watched those two small, scared figures running toward the consuming darkness.
His heart pounded.
"What if I can't make it?"
For a moment, Kairo's image flashed in his mind.
The two of them, kids, boken in hand, with the world still intact.
"If I were stronger… we wouldn't be here now."
He closed his eyes for one second. Just one.
Then smiled—that reckless, defiant smile only he could wear.
"Sorry Gremit… but I'm not the type to watch from afar."
He pulled away from Gremit's grasp and looked him in the eye.
"I need something to brag about to Kairo. Just imagine how jealous he'll be when I tell him I saved Aen and Lyra."
A genuine smile formed on his face.
Riven leapt from the roof, boken ready in hand.
The smile on his face was the same Kairo wore in his darkest moments: the smile of someone who faced fear with courage.
He slid down the tiles of a building, sprinting as fast as he could.
"Ah… that reckless boy," Gremit thought, watching him disappear.
"What a shame. I'll miss him when I use him as my new vessel—hahaha!"
He chuckled, vanishing into the shadows of the night.
---
Meanwhile, at the police station, Sayuri, Yuto, and Hanazawa were fighting their own war.
Yuto, Hanazawa, and Sayuri made their way through the station with tasers.
But they weren't alone.
"Ien, duck!" said Yuji, shooting a corrupted officer behind him.
"Yuji? Is that you?" Hanazawa's eyes widened.
Yuji smiled. "Yeah. Sorry about earlier—I don't know what came over me. It was like being trapped in a tank, and all my darkest emotions took over."
Yuto stepped closer. "So it's like your worst memories and feelings surface and—?"
"Exactly," Yuji replied firmly.
Yuto laughed. Sayuri looked at him confused.
"Sweetheart, why are you laughing?"
Yuto looked at his mom. "For once, my brother's comic book obsession saved us. Mister Negative, huh?"
Sayuri, still puzzled, was pulled back by Yuji's touch.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Kaiaba. I have a daughter who's crazy about manga too—half the time I don't understand her either."
Sayuri sighed, but then noticed something on Yuji's neck.
It was small, sparking slightly—like it had short-circuited.
Ien noticed too and ripped it off, prompting a loud "Ow!" from Yuji.
"I know this tech. It's the police tracking chip—it must've shorted from the taser."
Yuto's face lit up. "Now I get how they brainwashed them."
Sayuri looked at Yuto.
"But it's just a tracking chip…"
Yuto finished the thought:
"…Placed near the spine, where a surge of dark energy could reach the brain."
Ien, Yuji, and especially Sayuri didn't quite get it.
Yuto pulled out a lollipop, unwrapped it, popped it in his mouth, and with nerdy confidence, looked at them.
"Alright, from the top… Kai and I noticed some similarities to an antagonist from the Spider-Man comics."
Ien's eyes widened. "Oh, that's where I heard the name—Mister Negative, the FEAST benefactor in New York who's a ruthless criminal by night!"
Yuto was surprised. "Didn't expect a detective to read comics."
"Hey, I'm 30. I still read them—otherwise I get bored on stakeouts," Hanazawa said, arms crossed with a smile.
Yuto shook his head.
"Anyway, one of his powers is corrupting and controlling people by bringing out the worst in them—memories, ideals… poof. You're just a raging, depressed puppet."
"That's exactly what happened to me," said Yuji.
"Exactly. And another power—he can transfer himself through objects, even manifest physically."
Sayuri smiled, brushing her son's head.
"You're saying he used the chip to control everyone who got the implant?"
"100 points to Mom. Nailed it." Yuto pointed at her.
"But I have a question. Where does his power come from?" Yuji asked, raising his hand.
Yuto raised his arms.
"That… I don't know."
Then Yuto's eyes lit up—not with light, but with realization.
He looked at Hanazawa.
"Why weren't you affected?"
Hanazawa scoffed.
"Because I never trusted them enough to get the chip installed."
---
Back at the crossing, Kairo collapsed to his knees, gasping.
Numb, the energy blasts had hit him hard.
His katana fell to the ground.
He wanted to stand—but his body wouldn't respond.
Azrael prepared for the final blow, hand raised toward him, violet light growing.
Kairo was frozen—caught in a whirlwind of emotions.
Fear.
Rage.
And finally… helplessness.
"Kairos…" A whisper.
Kairo looked to his side—and saw the silver-haired girl again, standing there beside him, calmly sipping from a cup like the chaos around them didn't exist.
But this time, she seemed real—not a vision.
She reached out her hand.
She opened her eyes—those beautiful silver eyes.
Her face seemed like a monochrome painting—clear, bright, graceful.
Then she vanished.
Kairo turned back toward Azrael, who had now fully charged his energy.
"You fight with your heart. I buried mine centuries ago. Tell me… how long before you do the same?"
The blast was ready.
"Remember, Kairos. I am eternal. I am the one who will rebuild reality from the anomalies," Azrael took a breath.
"Remember, Kairos. No one can defeat me," he raised a finger to the sky.
"Because I always come back ."
Kairo felt his helplessness grow.
"Why me? Why all this?"
He covered his face, visions flooding back again—
His friends' lifeless bodies, the roar in the distance.
Aenna's lifeless form in his arms.
"WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!" he screamed inside.
Azrael was ready to strike.
---
But something stopped him.
A sharp, precise shot.
Azrael was hit in the shoulder by a bluish bullet.
"What the hell—" he growled.
Hayashi Seiji appeared from the mist, his face marked, guns still smoking.
Kairo didn't recognize him at first—he was dressed completely differently.
"Master… Hayashi?!"
The mentor stepped between Kairo and Azrael, still hovering.
"Touch him again and I'll blow your head off."
Kairo looked up. Hayashi was there. Hurt, tired—but alive.
And ready to fight.
The air thickened with tension. Oblivion trembled.
The battle… had just begun.
While everyone else was fighting for survival, in the Kaiaba household, on Kairo's bed, the book left open began to turn its pages.
The wind, drifting in through the broken window Riven had shattered during his escape, rustled the paper gently.
As if the air itself were reading.
> "Not all memories belong to this life."
"There are thoughts that are not our own. Fears we were never taught. Faces we've never seen… yet somehow miss."
The pages kept turning, light yet echoing something ancient.
> They call them Remembrances.
Fragments of previous existences, forgotten realities—or perhaps ones that never truly happened.
When they awaken, consciousness wavers. Reality bends. History begins to bleed.
I've always believed that beneath the Genesis told in the Bible, a darker truth lies buried.
Outside, the wind carried the scent of ozone, soot, and rain.
Tokyo was burning. And time twisted.
> Anomalies are the knots. The critical points. Whoever bears one… is already condemned.
Because the world cannot stand what it cannot control.
Raindrops began to tap the windowsill, like fingers on wood.
The wind grew stronger, turning the pages faster—until it reached the last one.
> A man once told me: "Remembrances don't make you special. They make you dangerous."
And maybe… he was right.
> But if you're reading this, my son… then yours has already awakened.
And there is no going back.
A final whisper.
> Forgive me, Kairo, for never telling you.
— K.K.