The distant roar of the train echoed through the station as the doors slid open with a metallic hiss. Passengers shuffled in and out—faces blurred in the crowd, a blur of motion, routine, and daily monotony.
Among them stood a young man, distinct even in stillness. He had spiky black hair, a white button-up shirt beneath a sharp black blazer, matching black trousers, and sleek dark shades. As he adjusted his glasses with a tilt, the lenses briefly revealed piercing red eyes set against a backdrop of black sclera—eyes that didn't belong to a normal human.
Dragging a battered suitcase behind him, he stepped onto the platform and sighed.
'Man… what a treat. Japan—the land of overwork and Isekai. Shame this wasn't my spawn point when I got dropped into this world.'
He wasn't just another face in the crowd. He was different. A transmigrator. Or maybe a reincarnator—he'd stopped caring about the terminology.
Raised in an orphanage that doubled as a black-ops training facility, his childhood was a blur of hypnosis, psychological conditioning, and blood-soaked trials. It wasn't love or care that molded him. It was programming—an assassin factory churning out killers like products.
His name: **Shun Satsujin**.
When he first arrived in this world, he half-expected a cheat ability, a glowing HUD, maybe even a system voice in his head. But no such blessing came. Instead, he received something far more brutal—a handwritten notebook titled *"The Hercules Method."* A training regimen so intense, so inhuman, that it forged him into something far beyond his peers.
Now, he stood among the crowd, a wolf in a world full of sheep.
"...You're Shun, correct?"
A calm, almost disinterested voice broke his thoughts. Shun turned, eyes narrowing behind his shades.
Standing before him was a youthful woman of average height and a naturally sleepy expression. Her dark brown hair was unkempt, matching the tired look in her eyes. She wore a yellow long-sleeved shirt striped with red and white lines, a blue denim skirt, and white kitten heel pumps. A beige blazer topped off the mismatched ensemble.
She looked like someone who forgot she had a meeting—then remembered halfway through her morning coffee.
"That's right. I assume you're Miss Kawakami?" Shun greeted with a polite smile, his crimson gaze behind tinted shades scanning her with subtle precision.
*'She's even more stunning in person than she was in the game.'*
Despite being your typical otaku in his past life, Shun wasn't some basement-dwelling shut-in. He'd had girlfriends—plural. And while relationships for him had always danced on the edge of manipulation and desire, he made no excuses. Shun got what he wanted. That was simply his nature.
Miss Sadayo Kawakami—his soon-to-be caretaker and landlord—was one of those wants.
He'd chosen her listing specifically, a modest bed space offered in a quiet, traditional-modern Japanese home. Nothing fancy, but it had a charm to it… and so did she.
Her backstory seemed eerily similar to what he remembered from *Persona 5*. But there was no Shujin Academy here, no Phantom Thieves, no Metaverse. At least, none that he could find. Still, the parallels were too strong to ignore.
And Kawakami wasn't the only one.
Shun had already met a few individuals that shouldn't exist—characters ripped straight from fiction. He wouldn't spoil the surprise just yet. But Japan? It was full of unexpected "Easter eggs."
Meanwhile, Kawakami gave him a once-over, her sleepy eyes widening just slightly as she took in his height and athletic build. He looked far older than the average high schooler, more like a young professional with a mysterious air.
"Ah… yes, that's me," she replied, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Didn't expect you to be so tall."
Then, as if realizing they were still standing in the middle of a busy station, she motioned toward the parking lot.
"Anyway, let's not stay out here. Follow me—we can chat on the way."
Shun gave a casual nod and began rolling his suitcase beside him—until something in the air shifted.
A subtle sound. A flicker of movement. Something was off.
His body tensed, instincts kicking in. Without missing a beat, he smoothly stopped and bent down.
"Hold up," he said casually, "lemme tie my shoelace real quick."
Kawakami halted, glancing back with mild confusion, but didn't question it.
As she looked away, Shun's eyes flicked across the station. His gaze locked onto a shadow in the upper level—barely visible, but it was enough. A sniper? No... an observer, maybe. Either way, a threat.
In one fluid motion, Shun removed the aglet from his shoelace, his fingers working with practiced precision. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the tiny metal tip shot forward like a bullet—nearly invisible to the naked eye.
*Thunk.*
The figure slumped backward without a sound, dead before they could react. A perfect kill. No mess. No witnesses.
He stood up calmly, brushing imaginary dust off his knees.
To the average onlooker, it was just a guy tying his shoe.
*'Amateur hour. Someone leaked my location… I'll need to clean that trail later.'*
He resumed walking as if nothing had happened, stepping in beside Kawakami.
As they approached her car—a small, slightly scuffed compact sedan—Shun kept his senses sharp. The vehicle might've looked like nothing special, but appearances lied. Just like people.
He smirked to himself, dragging the suitcase along the curb.
"What? Were you expecting something fancy?" Kawakami teased with a smirk, patting the roof of her modest little car.
Shun glanced at the vehicle with an exaggerated squint, then raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I was hoping for a limo... maybe a chauffeur in a tux... but I guess this *does* have a certain *rustic charm*," he said, flashing a sly grin.
Kawakami scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Oh please, you're lucky I didn't make you take the bus."
"Touché," Shun replied smoothly, stepping closer and leaning just slightly into her space.
"Still, I'm surprised... I imagined you in something a little more sleek. Then again, you're already stylish enough. Wouldn't want the car stealing your spotlight."
The teasing lilt in his voice hit its mark. Kawakami's cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she quickly turned away, mentally cursing herself.
'Get a grip, Sadayo. He's younger than you... and could be your student! Pull it together!'
"Ahem—get in already!" she barked a bit too sharply, trying to cover her flustered state.
"We've got a long drive ahead of us."
Shun chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying her reaction.
"As you wish, Miss Kawakami."
With a quiet *vrrr*, the engine purred to life, and Kawakami eased the car out of the station. The neon cityscape gave way to quieter streets lit by soft lamps and scattered vending machines, the night air still and calm.
Shun sat in the passenger seat, leaning back with one arm draped casually over his suitcase. His crimson eyes scanned the passing scenery, but his attention wasn't really on the outside world—it was on the woman beside him.
Kawakami cleared her throat, trying to maintain a professional tone.
"Since I'm your caretaker now, we need to lay down some ground rules."
Shun turned to her with a slight smirk. "Rules, huh? Sounds serious already."
"I *am* serious," she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "First—don't be a slob. Clean up after yourself. I'm not your maid."
"Of course not," he replied smoothly. "But if you ever *want* to cosplay as one, I won't complain."
Kawakami nearly swerved the wheel, face tinged pink. "H-Hey! Not funny."
"Just testing the waters," Shun chuckled. "Please, continue."
"Second, my house isn't a dojo. Don't go breaking anything," she added, side-eyeing him with a half-smile.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Shun replied smoothly.
"Though if anything breaks, I'll replace it personally—with interest."
She sighed but smiled despite herself.
"Lastly, if you're going out with friends or… whatever, let me know. I don't want to wake up to find you missing."
Shun leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just a little.
"Of course. I'll let you know where I go, when I go… and maybe even *who* I go with. After all..." he paused, eyes locking with hers,
"...if you're my caretaker, I should take care of you too, right?"
The air grew thick for a moment. Kawakami's hands tightened on the steering wheel as a blush bloomed across her cheeks.
'Is it just me… or is it hot in here? Dammit, he's too smooth. Am I this desperate or is he just too damn handsome?'
She coughed, averting her gaze.
"W-Well, just behave. That's all I ask."
"No promises," Shun said, leaning back with a smug grin.
"But I'll try... for you."
Kawakami grumbled under her breath, her fingers tightening slightly on the wheel.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" she muttered, clearly irritated—not at him, but at herself.
'Why does this kind of flirting actually make me feel… happy?'
Shun smirked slightly, sensing the internal conflict. He leaned his cheek against his knuckles, watching her with idle curiosity—or at least, what looked like it.
"So, Miss Kawakami... what's your job like?" he asked, the question innocent enough, but his tone laced with a quiet curiosity.
She blinked, caught off guard by the change in subject.
"I'm a teacher at Shuchi'in Academy. " she replied, trying to keep the conversation neutral.
Shun's eyes lit up just enough—not too much.
"Really now? That's where I'm enrolled, right?"
"That's right. Starting on monday." she confirmed.
"That's interesting. What's it like, teaching at such a prestigious place? Must be a lot of pressure."
Kawakami sighed, the weight of her responsibilities evident in her tone.
"It's not easy, but... I enjoy it. It's rewarding in its own way, even if the students can be a handful sometimes."
Shun nodded thoughtfully.
"I can imagine. You must get attached to some of them, huh?"
Her expression softened for a moment before she quickly masked it with a neutral smile.
"I do... more than I should, sometimes."
Shun's gaze shifted to her, a hint of intent flickering behind his casual demeanor.
"I've heard... one of your students died recently. That must've been tough."
Kawakami's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and her eyes flickered briefly to the rearview mirror, avoiding his gaze.
"It... was. He was a good kid. A lot of potential. It's... hard not to blame myself, you know?"
There it was. The crack. The guilt she couldn't bury, no matter how hard she tried.
Shun's voice was soft, almost too gentle.
"I'm sure you did everything you could. People like you... they care too much, sometimes. It's not your fault."
Her breath caught in her throat. She didn't know why, but hearing those words from him—someone she barely knew—felt strangely comforting. She was used to the judgment and whispers. To have someone understand...
"Yeah... maybe," she murmured, her voice tinged with vulnerability.
Shun's lips curled into a slight, knowing smile.
'It's so easy to chip away at someone's defenses when they feel cornered…' he thought, turning his attention back to her.
"You know," Shun continued, his tone shifting to something lighter.
"it's rare to find someone who takes their job so seriously. You're not just a teacher, you're... someone who makes a difference. That's... pretty admirable."
Kawakami's heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't suppress the small blush that spread across her face.
'What is he doing to me?' she wondered, mentally chastising herself for reacting to him like this.
Her hand subconsciously tightened on the wheel as they neared a stoplight.
"Thanks, but you don't know me that well. Maybe it's just... part of the job."
Shun leaned forward just slightly, his voice low and sincere.
"Maybe, but I think... you care more than you let on."
The words hit harder than he intended, and he saw the flicker of something—something more than just guilt—in her eyes. He knew he'd planted the seed. A small one, but enough for it to take root and grow.
'If I had the social link, I'd already be at level five with her…' he thought, knowing just how much closer he'd gotten to her in this short conversation.
The drive continued in comfortable silence, but the tension between them shifted. Kawakami had unknowingly taken the first step down a path she wasn't quite ready for—but Shun had already set the course.