Hokkaido – July 13, 2021 – 11:04 PM
Snow drifted gently across the pine-covered slopes of northern Hokkaido. The mansion, remote and wrapped in silence, stood like a forgotten memory in the woods. No guards patrolled its perimeter. Just a few men in dark coats stationed at the gates, sipping hot tea and trying to stay warm, not realizing death was already circling them.
Inside, the air was warm and filled with the scent of grilled pork and soy sauce. The hearth cracked, casting golden light against polished wood and handwoven rugs. It was dinner time—a quiet, rare moment of normalcy.
Alice Harrison, once the iron backbone of a covert law enforcement initiative, now sat at the dining table with her husband, Hiroshi, and his younger brother, Kaito. Kaito was nineteen, addicted to gaming and streaming, full of bravado, and had just finished a 6-hour Valorant stream.
"You're basically a war hero, Alice," Kaito said between bites, laughing. "You had the guts to go after Dylan freaking Daniels. That's like challenging Lucifer in a courtroom."
Alice smiled faintly. But she didn't correct him. The truth was worse than myth. Dylan wasn't just a man. He was a system of corruption, violence, fear—and most dangerously, loyalty. His power was no longer just muscle. It was ideology. Religion.
And somehow, she had wounded him.
But not killed him.
That was the mistake.
11:18 PM – The Silence Breaks
The first sound was muffled—a distant pop. Then a second. Then a third.
A low rumble echoed through the floorboards.
Kaito turned his head, frowning. "Was that... fireworks?"
Alice stood, instinct already kicking in. "No. That's gunfire."
Seconds later, the reinforced front door exploded inward. Wood and metal shattered in a spray of flame and splinters. The hallway was swallowed in smoke. Shadows surged forward—dark figures, armed, merciless.
"GET DOWN!" Alice shouted.
Too late.
The guards were already dead.
Her husband froze, his body shielding her. Kaito ran toward the hallway, adrenaline overriding fear.
That's when he stepped through the smoke.
Dylan Daniels.
In a long black coat, crimson tie loose against his throat, eyes burning with something ancient and cruel. He didn't raise a weapon. He didn't shout.
He just smiled.
"I told you, didn't I?" Dylan said, voice smooth as silk and twice as cutting. "I told you."
Alice's blood turned to ice.
Kaito grabbed a kitchen knife and lunged forward.
BANG.
The shot echoed like a hammer in a tomb. The knife fell first. Then Kaito.
Blood spread across the floor like spilled ink.
Alice screamed. Hiroshi collapsed beside his brother's corpse in horror.
"No…" he whispered. "No, no, no—"
Dylan strolled forward casually and holstered his weapon. Two of his men pinned Hiroshi to the ground, smashing his face against the hardwood.
"You think I care about rules?" Dylan muttered, now crouched in front of Alice. "You humiliated me. Burned my people. Put me in a cage. Do you really think this is just revenge?"
He leaned in closer, lips nearly brushing her ear.
"No. This is art."
He stood and grabbed Alice by the arm, yanking her up. She resisted, but he was stronger. Her husband thrashed in rage.
"Don't touch her!" Hiroshi yelled. "I swear, I'll kill you—!"
Dylan turned to him and laughed.
"Kill me?" he said, mockingly. "You're the one who's tied up like a stray dog."
He dragged Alice closer, twisting her wrist. She struggled, kicked, tried to pull away.
"You had your chance to end me," Dylan said. "But you didn't. So now, you'll remember me."
Then, without hesitation, he forced a kiss on her lips—hard, invasive, violent.
She cried out, trying to shove him away, but he held her firm. Hiroshi screamed in pure rage, tears streaming down his face.
Dylan released her and turned to her husband with cold amusement.
"Your wife's beautiful," he said. "But you don't know how to treat her. Don't worry—I'll show you how monsters do it."
The Streets of Shame
They were dragged into the snow.
The townspeople were forced into the streets by armed thugs. Children clung to mothers. Men watched in silent terror.
Dylan had it all ready. Cameras. Live streams. Drones circling like vultures.
The broadcast lit up across underground networks—Redstream, Blackveil, even hijacked TV signals. Everyone was watching.
Alice stood bloodied, hair in tangles, clothes torn. Her husband barely conscious beside her.
"Let's give the country a show," Dylan said into the camera.
He handed Alice a knife.
"Cut your hair. All of it. Now."
She refused at first.
Then a gunshot rang out near her husband's leg. Not a hit—just a warning.
Her hands shook as she began cutting.
Strands fell like snowflakes to the frozen ground.
The crowd, trembling and helpless, was handed tomatoes and fruit.
"Throw it," Dylan ordered.
One man refused. Dylan shot him in the leg. Screams erupted. The rest complied.
Alice was pelted with food. Her husband was stomped on. Someone sobbed, "I'm sorry" before throwing a tomato.
Six hours passed.
Dylan never blinked.
Before Dawn
They were left in the street. Her husband, now a lifeless corpse, held in her arms. Her hair gone. Her body bruised. Her mind shattered.
Dylan stood over her one last time.
"You were beautiful once, Alice," he said. "But now look at you. This is what happens to heroes."
He left without another word.
The Morning – July 14, 2021
The mansion was quiet.
Snow still fell.
Alice's body was found in the bathroom. Cold. Naked. No note. Just the bloodied scissors she used to cut her own hair resting beside her.
It wasn't the wounds that killed her.
It was the weight of failure, grief, and unending shame.
The media called it a tragedy.
The government called it an unfortunate event.
But the people knew better.
The Aftermath
Dylan Daniels didn't disappear after that.
He rose.
Every police officer connected to Alice was hunted. The ones who helped her were executed. Their families were buried in mass graves. Not even children were spared. The Italian mafia—his allies—sent hit squads with surgical precision.
The Prime Minister, when asked about Dylan, gave a blank stare.
The justice system collapsed in silence.
Dylan ruled not like a king—but a shadow behind every law, every deal, every silence.
Japan didn't forget Alice Harrison.
But no one dared speak her name again.
One Year Later
In a dark corner of the city, someone lit a candle in front of a black-and-white photograph of Alice.
A child stood beside them, fists clenched.
"I'll make him pay," she whispered.