Then he saw it—the last thing he ever thought he'd witness in his life.
His mother's body, lifeless on the floor, a knife plunged deep into her chest.
Blood was everywhere.
It had soaked into the carpet, painted the tiles, streaked across the walls like a madman's canvas. Her clothes were drenched in it, the red pooling beneath her like a sick halo. The stench hit him next—metallic, heavy, unmistakable. Home had become something else. Something brutal.
Teji froze.
His breath hitched as a cold wave swept over him. Step by trembling step, he moved forward, legs weak beneath him, shoes sticking faintly to the bloody floor. He dropped to his knees beside her, hands shaking, heart pounding like it was about to explode.
His whole world was falling apart in silence.
His lips quivered. His eyes burned, but no tears came.
Slowly, he leaned down, resting his head against her stomach, searching for warmth that was no longer there. The blood soaked into his shirt, into his skin, but he didn't care. He couldn't even feel it.
"...What the fuck is this," he muttered, voice cracked and hollow. "God… where the hell are you when I need you the most?"
Then came the scream—raw, violent, from a place too deep for words. It tore through the house, through Teji, through the very core of who he was.
He screamed like he was breaking.
And as the anguish erupted from him, he slammed both fists into the wall with everything he had. His hands—still healing from the accident, reinforced with steel—hit the concrete with a brutal crack. The wall trembled, a thin fracture crawling out from the impact.
Pain shot up his arms, sharp and searing, but he didn't stop. Blood began to seep from his knuckles, trickling down the wall in crimson streaks, painting the pale surface with grief.
"Why can't I just live happily like the others?" he shouted, voice cracking as tears finally fell. "Why my mom?!"
He dropped to his knees, fists trembling against the fractured, bloodied wall, broken sobs leaking from his throat.
"God… please, tell me why…"
After a few days of investigation, the case was closed.
Murder.
His mother, killed in her own home.
The killer—gone, vanished without a trace.
Teji was left with nothing but silence. No answers. No justice. No purpose.
Days blurred. He stopped caring about himself. Stopped talking. Eating. Breathing felt optional.
He drifted through the city like a ghost—hood up, eyes empty, walking nowhere. Each step was weightless, meaningless. The lights of the city glared above him, but he didn't look up. He didn't look at anything.
Without realizing, his feet led him into a quiet alley. The sounds of traffic faded behind him. Everything was just... still.
Then came the shove.
A group of thugs, maybe six of them, swaggered down the alley from the other side. One bumped into him hard.
"Hey, watch your steps," the guy barked.
Teji kept walking.
The thug grabbed his shoulder. "Hey! Where's your damn manners, lil' kid? You know who the fuck I am?"
That's when Teji turned.
His eyes weren't just empty now—they were filled with something else. Something cold. Something unhinged.
Bloodlust.
Without a word, he slammed his fist into the thug's face. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed. The man dropped like dead weight. The others barely had time to react.
Teji snapped.
He became a storm—wild, precise, feral. Punches, kicks, elbows—like his mind had gone black and let his body take over. He didn't even register what he was doing. The screams were distant. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, the thuds of bodies hitting concrete—it all felt like a dull echo in his head.
Fast forward—
The alley reeked of blood.
Six thugs lay crumpled on the ground, unmoving, faces beaten beyond recognition. The walls were smeared with red.
And in the center of it all stood Teji.
Frozen. Silent. Breathing slow.
His knuckles dripped with blood. His shirt was stained dark. His eyes stared forward like he wasn't even there.
The blue lights of the police painted the alley in flashes.
He didn't flinch.
Fast forward—
Teji was in handcuffs.
The steel bit into his wrists, but he didn't feel it.
Didn't feel anything.
He sat in a cold metal chair under the blinding white light of an interrogation room. His hands were still stained with dried blood. His clothes stiff from it. The silence was thick—except for the ticking clock on the wall.
A detective sat across from him, arms crossed, eyes scanning Teji like he was some kind of animal.
"Six men," the officer said, voice calm but heavy. "All of them hospitalized. Broken noses. Fractured jaws. Dislocated limbs. And you..."
He leaned forward.
"...not a single scratch."
Teji didn't answer.
His eyes were hollow. His posture still. He just stared past the man like he wasn't even there.
The officer slammed his hand on the table. "I asked you a question! How did you manage to do this much damage and walk out clean?"
Still nothing.
Teji blinked. Barely.
The detective let out a frustrated breath, rubbing his temple. Just as he was about to say something else, the door opened with a click.
A man in a dark suit stepped inside—calm, composed, not a cop.
"We'll take over from here," the man said, flashing a badge that wasn't from the local precinct.
The detective scowled. "And you are—?"
"Classified."
Two more agents entered behind him, silent and expressionless.
The room's air shifted.
Teji finally looked up.
Something cold flickered in his eyes.
Once the cop exited the room, the atmosphere shifted—tenser, quieter, colder.
The suited agent stayed standing, arms behind his back, watching Teji like a predator gauging another.
"You know who we are, right?" the agent said calmly.
Teji barely moved. His voice was low, flat.
"…Boizano."
The agent nodded, faintly impressed.
"The damage you did was massive. We saw everything. The footage. The aftermath. What you did to those men..."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"…it would be a waste to let someone like you rot in prison."
Teji didn't respond at first. His eyes returned to the floor.
"I don't care anymore," he muttered. "Just let me die already."
But the agent wasn't fazed.
"We know what you want," he said. "You want revenge. You want to make the person who did this to your mother pay. And with that strength you've shown us… we can help you make it happen."
Teji's head slowly lifted.
"…Are you serious?"
His tone shifted. Not hopeful, but… focused. Sharper.
"Yes," the agent replied. "We can help you find the killer. But in return..."
He paused for effect.
"You work with us. No contracts. No end date. You belong to Boizano, for the rest of your life."
There was no hesitation in Teji's voice.
"I'm in."
He stood up slowly, meeting the agent's eyes, blood still crusted on his hands.
"No bullshit," Teji said coldly. "But if you lie to me… I'll do to you what I did to them."
His eyes burned with warning.
The agent gave a faint smirk.
"We wouldn't dare."
Fast forward–
After about 2 years in the intense training from Boizano, finally Teji became the special agent and found the killer of his mother.
Teji stood at the center of the decaying cabin, the rotting wood beneath his boots creaking in the stillness. The air was thick and heavy, soaked with the scent of mildew and decay. But it wasn't the smell that made his chest tighten, nor the dampness that soaked through his clothes. It was the weight of the moment. The man before him—the one on his knees, shaking with terror—was the reason his world had crumbled.
The killer. The one who had ended everything.
Teji's breath was steady, despite the storm of rage and grief clawing at his insides. He kept his gun aimed firmly at the man's trembling form, the barrel lined up with his chest. His hand was steady, unwavering, as his finger hovered just above the trigger.
The man's face was pale, slick with sweat. His eyes darted around, searching for an escape, but there was none. He was cornered, just as Teji had planned. The killer's hands were raised in a futile gesture of surrender. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was shaking, desperate.
"W-wait! I was just following orders! You don't understand, I—"
Teji's lips curled into a bitter sneer. He had heard enough of these excuses. The words no longer had any power over him. There was no more room for negotiation, no more mercy in his heart.
"You were following orders," Teji repeated, his voice cold as steel. "Does that make your actions any less real? Does that make you any less guilty?"
The man's eyes widened, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His knees buckled slightly as if the weight of his own guilt was sinking in. "Please," he begged, his voice cracking, "I didn't know… I didn't know what they'd do to her… Please, you have to understand. It wasn't supposed to—"
Teji took a slow step forward, his boots thudding softly against the floor, the sound so loud in the silence it felt like a drumbeat. He lowered his gun slightly, his gaze not leaving the man, as if contemplating his words.
"I don't care what you thought you were doing," Teji said, his voice a quiet growl. "You took everything from me. My mother, my family. I'll never get that back."
The killer's eyes widened with a flicker of fear, and for a brief moment, Teji saw something familiar in the man's face—a reflection of his own terror, his own regret. But it didn't matter. There was no more empathy left in Teji.
He raised his gun again, the cold metal gleaming in the dim light of the cabin. The man's pleas turned into frantic sobs, his hands shaking, pleading for his life.
"Please! Please! I was just doing my job! Please don't—"
But Teji had already made up his mind. He pulled the trigger.
The shot rang out, sharp and final, a deafening crack that shattered the silence. The sound seemed to stretch in the air, hanging for a moment before it finally faded into the trees.
The man's body jerked violently as the bullet tore through him, the lifeblood spilling onto the floor. His eyes went wide, blank. The life drained out of him, leaving nothing but an empty shell.
Teji didn't look away as the man crumpled to the floor, his body twitching once before going still. His heart didn't race, his palms didn't sweat. All that remained was the silence.
A silence filled with nothing but the echo of that shot and the weight of all that had led him to this moment.
No more words. No more excuses.
Just silence... and blood.
Teji's hand was still on the gun, but he didn't lower it. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, the reality of his actions slowly settling over him.
It was done. There was no going back now.
Present Day – In Class
The buzzing fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly. Teji sat at his desk, his eyes blank, lost somewhere far from the classroom.
Tamiki leaned forward slightly, curiosity etched into her expression.
"So… what does that mean?"
Teji didn't even look at her.
"I'll work for Boizano until the day I die. No bullshit."
The class fell silent. Even Jack, the one who had once pulled a gun on Teji, seemed unsure how to respond.
But then he spoke up.
"But… you'll get old, right? How are you supposed to keep doing missions when you're not as strong anymore?"
Teji slowly turned his gaze to Jack, his voice low and steady.
"If Boizano ever finds me useless… they'll just eliminate me."
He paused, expression cold.
"And replace me with someone new."
The room stayed quiet.
Nobody said anything after that.
The silence hung thick in the air.
Jack leaned back slowly in his seat, suddenly unsure if his question had been worth asking. His fingers curled around the edge of his desk, eyes flickering to Teji's hands—steady, scarred, deadly.
Tamiki's lips parted, but no words came out. She stared at Teji, her expression softening. She had always sensed something behind his eyes—something broken—but now she saw the weight of it. The kind of pain that didn't heal. The kind that turned people into weapons.
"But… that's not right," she finally whispered. "You're not just a tool to be used and thrown away."
Teji didn't answer.
Ren, who usually joked to break tension, was uncharacteristically quiet. His usual grin was gone, replaced with a cautious look. "Dude… that's messed up. They'd really just kill you if you couldn't fight anymore?"
Teji's eyes didn't flinch.
"That's the deal. No emotions. No weakness. No retirement plan."
A cold shiver ran down Hana's spine. She glanced away, uncomfortable, like she was sitting next to a ticking bomb.
Jack let out a breath and muttered, "Damn. That's not a job. That's a death sentence."
But Teji just leaned back in his chair, arms folded, gaze distant.
"It's fair enough, honestly," Teji said, voice low and calm. "I've killed too many people just to complete missions. If they decide to take my life one day... I think that's only fair."
The weight of his words sank into the room like lead.
Tamiki's chest tightened. She looked at him, really looked at him—and for the first time, she realized just how far gone he was. Not just scarred… but resigned.
"You say that like your life doesn't matter," she said quietly.
Teji didn't reply.
Ren rubbed the back of his neck. "Man, that's cold…"
Jack leaned forward, elbows on the desk, watching Teji with a furrowed brow. "So what, you're just gonna live like a walking corpse until they put you down?"
Teji stared straight ahead. "I don't care anymore. I got no purpose to live anyway."
Silence fell again, heavier this time. No one knew what to say.
Teji stood up, the tension in his body still simmering beneath the surface.
"Alright. Enough for today," he muttered, brushing invisible dust off his coat. His eyes flicked to the unconscious professor slumped against the wall. "Gotta take this idiot back to HQ."
He walked over, crouched down, and with one effortless motion, slung the old man over his shoulder like a duffel bag.
"Stupid old man," he mumbled under his breath.
As he turned to leave, the room still heavy with everything that had just been said, Tamiki suddenly called out, voice small but sincere, "Er… see you again."
Teji paused at the door.
Without turning around, he replied, "If I live long enough for that."
Then he stepped out, disappearing into the hallway, the door swinging slowly shut behind him.
As the door clicked shut behind Teji, silence lingered in the room, thick and uneasy.
But at the very back—near the dark corner no one ever paid attention to—someone shifted.
A boy, unfamiliar and quiet, leaned back casually in his seat. He hadn't said a single word throughout the whole ordeal. No one even noticed him when they walked in.
A faint grin curled on his lips.
"Hehe… got you," he whispered to himself.
Then, without drawing a single glance, he stood and slipped out the back door—silent, unnoticed, and gone before anyone even realized he'd been there at all.