A Name that shouldn't Exist

Kaito held the man's gaze, reading the tension in his smirk, the weight in his words.

"Because if he's really back… this city is about to burn."

Toru Renji.

The name alone had sent a ripple through The Hollow Den. Even those who pretended not to listen stiffened slightly, their shoulders tensing, their eyes flickering in his direction. It confirmed what Kaito already knew.

This wasn't just a name. It was a problem.

Kaito leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice low.

"Tell me why."

The man studied him for a long moment before taking another drag from his cigarette. The ember flared, casting brief light on his face—sharp jaw, tired eyes, old scars.

"You're serious, huh?"

Kaito didn't answer.

The man exhaled smoke, tapping ash onto the table.

"Fine. I'll tell you something, kid. But first—"

A new voice interrupted.

"That's enough, Ryuji."

Kaito turned just as a second man approached the booth.

Younger than Ryuji, but with a different kind of presence. Controlled. Cold. Dangerous. His dark jacket bore no insignia, but something in his stance made the entire bar subtly shift.

Ryuji sighed, stubbing out his cigarette. "Here we go…"

The new man stopped beside the booth, his gaze locked onto Kaito.

"You're looking for Toru Renji," he said flatly.

Kaito nodded. "And?"

The man's expression didn't change. "You won't find him."

Kaito narrowed his eyes. "Why not?"

"Because Toru Renji doesn't exist."

Silence.

Then Ryuji chuckled, shaking his head. "That's one way to say it."

Kaito's patience thinned. "Then who the hell did I meet in that warehouse?"

The new man ignored the question. Instead, he slipped something from his jacket—a folded piece of paper—and dropped it on the table.

Kaito hesitated, then picked it up. Unfolded it.

His blood ran cold.

It was an old photograph.

A group of young men in leather jackets, standing together in front of a run-down building. Their faces were younger, but Kaito recognized one instantly.

The same man he had met in the warehouse.

Toru Renji.

And beside him—

Kaito's brother.

His grip tightened on the paper. "What the hell is this?"

The man in front of him spoke calmly, evenly.

"A warning."

Kaito looked up, anger rising. "Who are you?"

Finally, the man's expression changed. The smallest shift—an almost-smile.

"Someone who knows what happens to people who chase ghosts."

Then, before Kaito could respond, he turned and walked away.

Kaito stared at the old photo, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

His brother. Toru Renji. Vetrax.

And now, someone else who knew more than they were saying.

One thing was certain.

This wasn't just a fight between gangs anymore.

This was history refusing to stay buried.