Kouhei felt it.
It was a faint tremor in the air, almost like the pressure before a thunderclap. His instincts screamed at him, and without thinking, he pivoted sharply to the side.
Something invisible had been coming at him fast, and he dodged it purely on instinct, the sharp rush of air brushing past his cheek as proof of what could've happened.
His eyes snapped to the side—and there he was.
Masayoshi.
"It's been a long time," Masayoshi sneered, his voice dripping with mocking familiarity. "Last time I saw you, I remember ripping your heart right out of your chest."
"So you really are still alive, huh?" Kouhei replied, his eyes narrowing, studying every inch of the man in front of him.
He'd expected someone torn apart, mangled, scarred by death itself. But no—Masayoshi stood there whole, unbroken, and utterly intact.
In one perfect, terrifying piece.
