Chapter 46: The Days That Wouldn’t End
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Fifteen days.
Fifteen slow, silent, suffocating days.
For most, time passes like flowing water. But for Akira, time had turned into a thick fog — unmoving, watching him, choking him. The world spun, but he remained still, trapped in a loop where every second echoed with tension.
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Day 1–3
The hospital discharged him, but he didn't return to his apartment.
Too risky.
Too exposed.
Instead, he moved into a safehouse — an abandoned one-room shelter once used by someone whose name had long been erased from the system. The windows were narrow slits. The walls were cold concrete. The only color came from a red calendar pinned crookedly on the far wall.
The lights flickered.
The silence wasn't comforting.
He didn't eat much. Just enough to stay on his feet. He didn't sleep much either. Just enough to keep his hands steady. His energy wasn't spent on recovery — it was focused on surveillance.
He kept a small black notebook. But instead of writing feelings, he recorded observations — unfamiliar faces on the street, patterns in the rain, altered patrol schedules. He noted everything.
Hinata hadn't called.
He hadn't expected her to.
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Day 4–6
Akira began retraining himself.
Not for war, but for silence.
He pushed his body, every ache reminding him he was alive. Push-ups. Shadow boxing. Meditation. Memory drills. Surveillance routines. One wall turned into his new planning board. A network of red and black markers ran through maps, photos, and mugshots.
At the center of it all:
> "Shadow Wolf – ETA: Day 15."
He checked the weather twice a day.
Tsu was still cut off — flooded roads, blocked trains, no-fly zones.
The entire region was a cage.
And he was the lone lion within it.
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Day 7–10
The silence became louder than screams.
Memories crept back like crawling insects in the dark.
Blood. Screams. Steel. Eyes pleading for mercy. Betrayals dressed as hugs.
He had never wanted peace. Peace made him weak.
But guilt?
Guilt was immortal.
At night, he stared at the ceiling, whispering names of those no one else remembered. Sometimes he looked at Hinata's photo — the one John had secretly handed him months ago.
Not out of love.
Out of guilt.
Out of what he had taken from her… and what he hadn't been able to give.
But he never cried.
Not once.
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Day 11–12
A package arrived.
No sender. No address.
Just a black burner phone and a folded note, placed neatly at the center of the safehouse doorstep like a dead bird.
> "Tick-tock. Don't forget who's coming."
— S.W.
He crushed the note in his hand, burned it over the gas stove, and dismantled the phone within minutes. Every screw, every wire, every circuit — pulled apart, dissected, destroyed.
The night stretched like an old film reel.
He didn't sleep.
He just stared at the door.
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Day 13 — Night
The safehouse was unusually quiet.
Rain tapped lightly against the lone window. The moon outside was a pale blur. Shadows bent unnaturally across the room. Something in the air had changed — like the moment before an earthquake or the deep breath before a scream.
Akira sat on the mattress, eyes wide open, but unmoving.
He hadn't spoken in hours.
He didn't need to.
Because something — no, someone — whispered in the dark.
> "Akira… you should not go near him…"
The voice wasn't external.
It came from nowhere and everywhere. Trembling. Soft. Old.
Akira blinked. The safehouse vanished.
He now stood in an open field under a warped blood-red moon. Fog choked the land. Wind howled low like a broken song. Standing ahead of him was a woman — old, hunched, trembling… but her face was blank.
Completely blank.
Only her voice moved.
> "He is not what he seems…"
"Why, Granny?" Akira asked. His voice sounded younger, smaller — like a frightened child. "Why not?"
> "He'll drag you into the part of you that you've locked away…"
The faceless woman raised a bony hand toward the horizon.
There — a silhouette stood under the bleeding moon. Broad-shouldered. Smiling.
Shadow Wolf?
Akira stepped toward it—
BOOM.
He jerked awake. Gasping.
Back in the safehouse.
The rain outside had grown louder.
The silence inside… deeper.
But the echo of that voice still rang in his ears:
> "Don't go near him…"
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Day 14
Akira woke up early.
The air was thick with moisture, and the light outside was dull gray. But he felt a strange energy in his limbs, like a storm was building inside him.
He dropped to the floor. Push-ups. Pull-ups from a pipe. Squats. Burpees. Planks. He pushed himself past fatigue, chasing the burn like a punishment.
Then — he showered. Cold water. No heat.
He changed his clothes, cleaned his weapons, then stared at the tiny, dusty kitchenette in the corner of the room.
A stupid idea entered his head: What if I cook something new today?
He had bought ingredients days ago, not expecting to use them. But now…
Boiled rice. Sautéed onions. Spices. Canned beans. Even a single egg.
He stirred it all in a pot, unsure if it would work.
The taste?
Terrible.
But he smiled anyway. A bitter smile. As if telling himself — you're still human, even if you forgot how to live like one.
The pan hissed.
The rain outside got heavier.
And somewhere in the distance, a siren began to howl.
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Day 15
Rain poured endlessly.
Clouds devoured the sun.
The city remained under warning, the roads dead quiet.
Akira sat on the floor, legs folded, body still. His pistol was cleaned. His plans redrawn. His mind — sharper than it had been in years.
He wrote a single line in his notebook:
> "Day 15 – Expect arrival."
And then… he waited.
Hours passed.
Nothing.
Then —
> Knock. Knock.
Two slow knocks.
Akira didn't move.
Another knock. Firmer. Louder.
He stood. Calm. Silent. A ghost with blood still running warm.
Each step toward the door echoed louder than the thunder outside.
He placed his hand on the knob.
Fade to black.
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