Naoya,20 years old man, not too tall, nice black costume on, white short hair and piercing black eyes. A duffel bag slung over his shoulder, shoes covered in dust. He walks out of a rundown building, gloves still wet… with blood.
He just got out of a murder. He is calm, small smile on his face.
Naoya is a hitman, but a broke Hitman. His apartment's a mess, hes using oil filter as supressor for his murders, lives in chaos and exhaustion. He's no hero. Just a guy who kills to get by—and dreams of killing his father.
He knows only a little about this one, His father is an extremely wealthy man that had mutliple wives, including Naoya's mother. The rich man dropped his wife and his child, then ordered a hitman to kill Naoya and his mother.
Coming back from a job, still in his suit, gear bag in hand, he's on the phone.
— "You bailed on me again? For real?"
The guy on the line ditched him for a job interview.
— "Whatever, you owe me a favor." He hangs up, no fuss.
Passing a grumpy neighbor:
— "You still got bags piling up outside your door lil man."
— "Not a big deal, I'm dead tired." Naoya tries to stay polite.
The neighbor chuckles.
— "You might wanna check. Pretty sure a bum was digging through 'em."
Naoya climbs the stairs, annoyed. In front of his door, the bags… untouched.
— "Lying asshole."
Dry. Cold. He plays nice, but deep down, he cant stand anyone for shit, he is a bit non chalant you could say.
Next to his door, someone strange. A young guy, looking a bit older than him, curled up, lost-looking, clutching a rag like a kid with a comfort blanket.
Naoya doesn't even glance at him. Fumbles for his keys. Struggles. Then—a sound: the guy coughs up blood.
Naoya turns, sneers. silently he kept staring at him, sighed and heads back down to get the landlady. An old lady, sweet but greedy.
— "Can I stick him in the storage closet? I'll give him something to sleep. He seems in the need."
She refuses, she would not a stranger living in the appartment for free.
Smiling a little bit more, even exaggerating.
— "I'll slide a bill in with the rent."
She gives in with a large grin.
As Naoya walked upstairs, he was blabering some diss on the old lady, complaning that money ruled the worled. He then returned to the weird guy. The guy mumbles:
— "The Kyoto pact… May 5th, 1781… it all failed…"
— "You're really,special ahah."
He lifts him, gently. The strange guy didnt resist.
Naoya and the so told weirdo were side by side. Strangers. A future duo, even if nothing hints at it yet.
Naoya drops him in the closet. Tosses down an old futon.
— "Here. Might feel like home. I don't know much about History to be honnest."
He crouched and left a crumpled 5,000 yen bill.
Naoya went back home, throwing himself on the couch, thinking about the money he was gonna lose because of that. No big deal, he just had to work a little harder, he would accept weirder contracts by now.