The Past

The name Phantom Reaper used to be spoken of with fear, a legend among killers. Renji Kisaragi had spent years standing out in the underworld, his sword a spook that never missed its target.

But all legends fade.

Five years ago, he abandoned it all, disappearing into obscurity.

Now, his hands, once coated in blood, knew only the rhythm of chopping vegetables and stirring broth.

The Reaper was dead. Instead there was a quiet man running a no-frills diner on the fringes of town.

Miso simmered in the air, hovering in the warmth of the morning sun pouring through the window.

Wiping his hands on his apron, Renji watched his daughter, Hana, giggle as she stacked cups behind the counter.

Her giggle was tender, innocent all he had fought to safe-guard.

His wife, Emi, looked over from the kitchen, a knowing smile relaxing the tension he hadn't even noticed had crept into his shoulders.

Life was simple. Life was good.

At least until a specter from his past walked through the door.

Sora walked into the diner with slow, careful steps, bright amber eyes sweeping the room as if looking for something no one else could see.

This was a young man barely in his twenties with shaggy silver hair that looked eternally unbrushed.

But that disheveled, grungy exterior belied something a hell of a lot more dangerous than whatever plain-Jane blade Renji had ever wielded.

A psychic.

Renji had heard stories about people like Sora those blessed (or cursed) with the ability to glimpse the future.

In his former life, such people were hunted, used, or killed before they became a threat.

And yet, there he was, in Renji's diner, a whirlwind of uncertainty in his eyes.

"You're late," Renji said, placing in front of him a fresh bowl of rice.

Sora looked surprised but sat down.

"You were expecting me?"

Renji shrugged.

"You've been creeping around for days outside. Knew you'd be coming in one of these days."

A slow smile crept across Sora's face.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who can read people well."

They sat in silence for a moment, sounds of the diner buzzing around them.

After a moment's hesitation, Sora spoke again.

"You used to be the Phantom Reaper, huh?

Renji's fingers tightened on his chopsticks, but his voice was steady.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You lie," Sora said, not unkindly.

"I see things, you know.

The past, the future it's all a jangled soup.

But when I look at you, it's like looking at a knife wrapped in satin."

Renji sighed, massaging his nose.

"You're not here for food?"

"No," Sora admitted. "I need your help."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning.

Renji had vowed never to go back to that life.

He had a family now.

But Sora's presence was trouble, and trouble seemed to find him, no matter how much he tried to avoid it.

Before Renji could refuse, the door chimed once more.

The presence that entered this time was much less ambiguous.

Ayame.

The woman glided like a shadow, her piercing eyes darting in the diner with the keenness of someone who'd spent her life in the crosshairs of adversity.

She wore a fitted black coat and had twin daggers hidden at her waist, carrying herself as though she had never eased her guard in her life.

She locked eyes with Renji and smiled.

"Are you still pretending you are a chef? " she said, making herself comfortable in the seat across from Sora.

"Pretending you're not a menace again?" Renji shot back.

Ayame laughed, but her face soon turned serious.

"We need to talk."

"I gathered," Renji muttered. "What is it this time?"

She shared a look with Sora and then responded.

"You have a bounty on you, Renji."

The words sent a cold chill up his spine, even if his face gave nothing away.

"I thought it was just a matter of time."

"This time is different," Ayame went on. "It's not just any bounty.

Someone wants you dead badly.

The type of bounty that brings out the worst of the worst."

Renji exhaled slowly.

It was a day he had known would arrive. He had a lot of enemies, too many ghosts.

But he had hoped, perhaps, that his past would remain buried.

"Who put it out?"

Sora shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't have the name, but… I glimpsed something. Someone powerful.

And it doesn't just want you it wants everyone in your orbit."

Renji's blood ran cold.

His wife. His daughter.

His family was in danger.

He stood suddenly, already thinking through a dozen options.

He had spent so many years constructing this quiet life, but peace was a delicate thing, easily broken. If his past was after him, then he had just one option.

He would fight. But he would not kill.

That's what he vowed to himself. To Emi.

To Hana.

Renji glanced at Ayame and Sora, his tone steady, unalloyed.

"Tell me everything."

The Phantom Reaper had buried his past once. But some ghosts will not stay dead.

And Renji Kisaragi was soon going to see why.

Sora paused to respond. "You're not going to like what I have to say."

"Try me."

Sora exhaled sharply. "I saw flashes. Faces. Death. You, fighting.

A storm of blood and… fire.

" His voice dropped lower. "Your diner, burning."

Renji's jaw tightened. "When?"

"Soon."

Ayame folded her arms. "We do not have the luxury of waiting.

We have to get your family out of here."

Renji glanced over at the kitchen, where Emi was softly laughing with Hana.

His grip tightened. "No. We stay."

Ayame raised a brow.

"You're really going to stand your ground?"

Renji nodded.

"If I run, they'll follow. If I struggle, I dictate the playing field."

Sora swallowed hard.

"Then we'd better prepare."

Because the storm was coming. And there was no getting away from it this time.

It was nighttime in the city, and shadows stretched wide over the peaceful streets.

The neon lights of the diner cast trippy colors around Renji as he sat alone at a booth. Outside, the streetlights faded in and out maybe a harbinger of the danger hiding in the dark.

Ayame stood by the entrance, a tense posture. "They'll come soon."

Renji nodded.

"Then let's welcome them in a way they'll never forget."

Sora's eyes glazed over momentarily as another vision flashed through his mind.

He shot back, his face dour.

"They're here."

There was a low rumble, the sound of footsteps approaching.

Then, the glass shattered.

The first strike had begun.