Chapter 1 — The Man Who Returned from Hell

  Eight years had passed.

  Eight years in hell.

  And now, Nao Shizen had finally returned.

  Long, unkempt hair. A hardened, well-built body. Empty eyes. And a deep scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to just above his left ear—more than enough to draw the stares of passing strangers.

  He walked slowly, surveying the city.

  When he had left, it had drowned in blood and screams.

  Now… it looked normal. Peaceful, even.

  But Nao did not trust peace.

  In hell, he had faced monsters that possessed not only strength—but intellect. Strategists. Creatures that planned, that set traps, that waited. This strange calm, this visible order imposed by the Organization… it could all be part of something larger.

  The monsters had learned patience.

  The air, however, still carried a familiar scent.

  Fear.

  He could have gone straight to the Organization headquarters.

  But no.

  First, he had to see his family.

  For eight years, he had worn his house key around his neck, clinging to it whenever the loneliness threatened to hollow him out. A small piece of metal. A fragile symbol of hope.

  Now it was time to use it.

  ---

  The house stood in silence.

  Broken windows. Rotting curtains. Dust layered over everything like a burial shroud.

  Glass crunched beneath his boots.

  He inserted the key—the same key that had never left him in eight years—and turned it.

  The sound of the lock echoed through the dark house, unnaturally loud. Like something reverberating inside a cavern.

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  The house was empty.

  Dust had settled thick across the furniture. No footprints. No warmth. No life. No one had lived here for years.

  Nao froze.

  The breath trapped in his lungs refused to leave.

  The thoughts he had suppressed for eight years surged forward all at once.

  Could it be that… they…

  A shadow fell across the doorway.

  Nao turned sharply.

  Takumi.

  His old friend. The one who had fought beside him day and night.

  Nao smiled—or rather, something resembling a smile. The first in eight years.

  “Takumi. I’m glad you’re here. Where’s my family? Looks like they haven’t been around for a while.”

  Takumi didn’t answer.

  He stepped forward. The light that once lived in his eyes was gone.

  “You’re… not Nao.”

  Nao frowned. “What?”

  “Nao didn’t have eyes like that.” Takumi’s voice hardened. “So you’re… a monster.”

  The word monster hung heavily in the air.

  Fragments of hell flashed through Nao’s mind—creatures that wore human faces.

  Without realizing it, his tone turned colder.

  “Takumi. Answer my question. Where is my family?”

  Takumi let out a sharp whistle.

  Within seconds, dozens of figures poured out from alleyways and rooftops—Organization forces. They surrounded him in a tightening ring.

  Nao could fight.

  He could end this before most of them even realized he had moved.

  Eight years in hell had taught him what power truly meant.

  One of the soldiers instinctively stepped back. His knees trembled.

  They all felt it.

  This man was not normal.

  But Nao did not move.

  The last fragile piece of calm inside him crumbled.

  He looked at them with hollow, unreadable eyes.

  “Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “Is this really what you want? To make me your enemy? I came back ready to serve. I waited eight years to return.”

  Silence.

  Nao slowly extended his hands forward.

  “If that’s your answer… then I have nothing more to say. Take me.”

  They bound his wrists with specialized restraints—the same kind used to transport monsters.

  Nao flexed slightly.

  The chains rattled.

  A sharp metallic crack echoed—almost like something beginning to break.

  The guard standing closest to him went pale.

  Nao felt it clearly.

  He could snap them.

  He chose not to.

  A black hood was pulled over his head, and they forced him into a vehicle.

  But even before the hood covered his vision, Nao had already closed his eyes.

  Not because he couldn’t see—

  But because he didn’t want to.

  He didn’t want to see what had become of the city he had fought eight years to save.

  ---

  The sound of a heavy lock clanging shut told him where he was.

  An underground cage.

  A prison for monsters.

  From afar came low growls and distorted moans—each cell holding its own nightmare, each creature sealed within its personal darkness.

  The walls were damp. Cold water dripped from the ceiling in slow, rhythmic intervals. Each drop struck the concrete floor and shattered the silence.

  Nao sat on the freezing ground.

  He pulled the house key from around his neck.

  For eight years, it had been hope.

  Now he stared at it.

  A key without a home.

  Without a family.

  What value did it have?

  He studied the rusted metal for a long time.

  Then, as if arriving at an answer only he could understand, he placed it back around his neck.

  ---

  Two days passed.

  Darkness. Dripping water. Distant, inhuman sounds.

  Nao eventually lost count of the drops.

  Footsteps echoed down the corridor.

  Not distant this time.

  Close.

  They stopped in front of his cell.

  Takumi.

  Half his face was illuminated by the dim hallway light. His expression was colder than before.

  “Monster,” he said flatly, “why did you go into Nao’s house? Were you planning to eat his family too—like you did him?”

  Nao remained seated.

  Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet Takumi’s eyes—the same eyes that once looked at him as a friend.

  “Takumi,” he said calmly, “it doesn’t matter to me that you call me a monster out of ignorance. You don’t know where I was. You don’t know what I saw.”

  His voice lowered.

  “But I promise you this—I’ll make you regret it.”

  A pause.

  “Our friendship of many years… means nothing compared to the eight years I endured in hell.”

  Takumi stared at him for several long seconds. It looked as though he wanted to say something.

  He didn’t.

  He turned and walked away. His footsteps faded into the darkness.

  Silence returned.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Nao looked at the key.

  At the scar on his face.

  At the eight years of hell.

  At the family that had vanished.

  At the people who called him a monster.

  A drop of water fell from the ceiling and landed on his forehead.

  Cold.

  Like truth.

  And for the first time in eight years, a question formed in his mind—one that had nothing to do with survival.

  Are these people… truly worth saving?