The air of Yokohama port carried a bitter chill as Kazama arrived, a shadow among shadows. This time he had come prepared for war. Heavy black tactical clothing encased his body. Not the makeshift disguises of before but something purpose-built. Flame-resistant material that added bulk to his lean frame. Thick protective goggles shielded his eyes behind reinforced glass and an advanced mask concealed the lower half of his face, its filtration system humming softly with each breath. He looked less like a person and more like something that emerged from a fire.

  The meeting spot Kizuki had chosen was perfect for secrecy or perhaps an ambush. Shipping containers towered on either side like metal monoliths, creating a labyrinth of dark corridors where the port's floodlights couldn't reach.

  "Hiro! Is that you?" Kizuki's voice echoed between the containers, uncertain. He squinted through the dim light at the heavily geared figure approaching, one hand instinctively moving toward his waistband before relaxing again.

  "Yes," Kazama replied, deliberately pitching his voice lower, adding gravel to disguise its natural tone.

  "What the hell are you wearing?" Kizuki asked as he observed Kazama’s gear. "You look like you're about to walk into a furnace."

  "Protection equipment. There is a new job," Kazama said without any hesitation, keeping his answers minimal. The less he said, the less chance of slipping up.

  "Looks like fire protection gear. Heavy duty stuff too." Kizuki leaned closer, examining the thick material. "Why would you need all that?"

  How is he smart here and dumb on the phone? Kazama thought, suppressing a sigh of frustration. The same person who couldn't pick up obvious hints over text was now analyzing his equipment like a specialist.

  "The job involves... a lot of dust and it's underground," Kazama explained, adding just enough detail to sound convincing. "Confined spaces. Bad ventilation. You know how it is."

  "Oh, that kind of job."Kizuki nodded as understanding dawned on him. "Mining operations or tunnel work? That's good money. Real good money."

  Before Kazama could respond, footsteps approached from the left. A gang member emerged from between two containers. He was younger, in his early twenties, with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a baseball cap worn backwards.

  "Hey Kizuki! We are gonna go to that game tomorrow night, right? Are you coming?" The member's eyes briefly flickered to Kazama before returning to Kizuki.

  "I was thinking of skipping it and spending some quality time with my friend right here," Kizuki said warmly, gesturing toward Kazama.

  "Oh, who's this new guy?" The member's curiosity was piqued now. He pointed at Kazama, head tilting as he tried to peer past the goggles and mask. "Don't think I've seen him around before."

  "Oh, you don't know him?" Kizuki's grin widened mischievously. "I didn't recognize him at first either! Come on, take a guess. You know him, I promise."

  "Hahaha. Hmmm." The member scratched his chin. "Is it Yoshikawa Rejin?"

  "Try again!" Kizuki laughed, clearly enjoying this game more than he should.

  This could go wrong. But I should just play along, Kazama thought, forcing himself to remain perfectly still. His muscles tensed beneath the heavy clothing, ready to react if needed. Every second of this charade increased the risk but running now would only confirm suspicions.

  "Is it Hisashi the Hound?" The member snapped his fingers.

  "Hahahaha. That's funny but no!" Kizuki was almost bouncing with anticipation now.

  "Wait, wait. Shirai Takeru! It's gotta be Takeru. Probably trying to hide!" The member grinned at his own deduction.

  "No, bro! This is Hiro. Our Hiro!" Kizuki announced with unmistakable pride, clapping Kazama on the shoulder hard enough to rock him slightly forward.

  "What!" The member's entire demeanor changed in an instant. His expression shifted from playful to deadly serious. His hand moved slowly toward his back pocket. "Wait, what?"

  "That's right. I couldn't believe it either when I first saw him in all this gear," Kizuki said, oblivious to the sudden tension radiating from his companion. "Our boy's moving up in the world…."

  "You haven't heard?" The member cut him off, his voice dropping to something grave and urgent. He stepped closer, lowering his voice even though they were alone. "Kizuki, you haven't heard what's been going around?"

  "What? That Hiro is awesome?" Kizuki's smile faltered slightly, sensing something wrong but not understanding what. "What are you talking about?"

  "That Hiro is dead."

  What the fuck? Kazama's mind reeled behind the mask, though his body remained perfectly motionless. But he started to tremble a bit after hearing that. The person he was impersonating was dead after all.

  "That's not possible!" Kizuki's voice cracked, rising in pitch. He grabbed the member's arm with both hands. "You're joking. That's a sick joke, man. Not funny."

  "Me and the boys were discussing this a few minutes ago. A message came from the other division. The official word came down the chain." The member's face showed genuine sympathy now.

  "No. No, I don't believe this. There's been a mistake…" Kizuki's hands were shaking now.

  "They said that Hiro messed up really badly. Like, really badly. And that a really high official stepped in personally and..." The member paused, choosing his words carefully. "Got him executed. Made an example of him."

  The words hung in the air like smoke. Kazama felt his blood run cold despite the heavy clothing. They killed him. They actually killed him. Executed. They killed him for burning the trucks and the shipment. And probably because he couldn't catch me. Is it my fault? Is he dead because of me? He probably had a family and….

  "I don't believe it." Kizuki spun toward Kazama, his eyes wide and desperate, searching for confirmation, for denial, for anything. "Hey Hiro! You gonna listen to all this shit? Come on, man, do something. Flick your fingers and show some flames like you always do. Prove him wrong. Please."

  The desperation in Kizuki's voice was painful to hear. This wasn't just a concern for a friend. This was grief starting to take root. He was not ready to accept the loss.

  Kazama moved slowly, deliberately. He reached into his pocket and produced a small piece of flash paper, holding it between his thumb and middle finger. He flicked his fingers together. A small arc of lightning sparked between his fingertips and the flash paper ignited instantly from the heat produced by the electric spark. Brilliant orange flames danced in the darkness, casting flickering shadows across the containers.

  "See? See?!" Kizuki grabbed the member's shoulder, shaking him. "Hiro is right here! He's with us! It's him!"

  "I'm sorry, Kizuki." The member's voice was gentle. "I know you two were close. Everyone knew. But the message was strong from the other division. It came from multiple sources. Their members were crying when they told us. Some of them are still mourning. I saw the messages myself." He looked directly at Kazama, his eyes narrowing. "Whoever this guy is, whatever his trick is... it's not him."

  "What! That's insane!" Kizuki's voice was nearly a shout now. "I chatted with him like last week! On my phone! That's after his apparent death!"

  "Could have been anyone with his phone. You know how it works." The member's hand moved to his back pocket now, pulling out a knife. "Hey! Whoever you are under that mask, take it off! Right now! We want to see what this is all about."

  "Yeah... yeah, Hiro." Kizuki's voice wavered, cracking between hope and dawning horror. "This is the only way. Just... just take it off and show us. Prove him wrong. Please."

  Kazama remained absolutely still. The flames from the flash paper had died out, leaving only a small curl of smoke rising from his fingers. Around them, the port seemed to hold its breath.

  Through his goggles, Kazama could see Kizuki's expression clearly. The desperate hope warring with grief, the trembling of his lips. This was someone who had lost a friend and didn't want to accept it. A glimpse of his own friends flashed across his face.

  "Come on!" The member's patience snapped. He raised his voice, aggressive now. "Take off the fucking mask!"

  Kazama met Kizuki's eyes through the goggles. For a moment, he considered telling the truth.

  "I am sorry," Kazama said quietly, the mask distorting his voice but not hiding the genuine regret in those three words.

  Then he moved.

  His hand shot to his pocket, withdrawing a prepared fireball with lycopodium powder carefully mixed and contained in flash paper wrapping. In one fluid motion, he hurled it directly at the member's chest.

  The fireball exploded on impact with a burst of orange flame and intense heat. The member shouted in pain and surprise. The force of the blast sent him staggering backward. His arms windmilled as he tried to keep his balance then his foot caught on uneven ground and he went down hard with his back hitting the concrete with a meaty thud. The knife clattered away across the ground.

  "What the..." Kizuki stumbled backward. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, unable to process what he had just witnessed.

  Kazama didn't give him time to recover. He closed the distance in two quick steps and threw a jab directly at Kizuki's nose. The punch connected with a solid crack. Kizuki's head snapped back, his hands flying to his face reflexively. Blood began streaming between his fingers.

  "Hiro?" The word came out muffled, confused, betrayed. Then Kizuki's legs gave out and he dropped to the ground, sitting hard on the concrete still clutching his bleeding nose.

  The commotion had attracted attention. Kazama heard it immediately.

  "Hey, what's going on over there?" A voice called from somewhere between the containers to the left.

  "Who is that guy?" Another voice, more distant from the right.

  "Is that Kizuki on the ground?" A third voice with running footsteps approaching.

  "Hey, let's jump him!" The cry went up and suddenly the port came alive with movement.

  They're all coming together. Nice strategy, but I am well prepared, Kazama thought, his tactical mind automatically assessing the situation. Multiple attackers from different angles, trying to overwhelm him with numbers. Classic gang tactics.

  But he had planned for this.

  Kazama reached into his equipment vest and withdrew three metal balls, each about the size of a marble, each carefully wrapped in flash paper. He had prepared these specifically for crowd control, understanding that fighting multiple opponents required tools more than technique.

  He threw the metal balls in different directions, each one sailing through the air in a perfect arc. As they flew, Kazama triggered his electrical discharge trick, the static electricity traveling from his hands through the conductive metal balls. The current generated instant heat, which ignited the flash paper wrapping mid-flight.

  The effect was immediate.

  Three brilliant flashes of white-hot light erupted simultaneously accompanied by sharp cracking sounds like miniature thunder. The chemical compounds in the flash paper created blinding light, smoke and spreading fingers of flame that seemed to multiply across the ground where the balls landed.

  It was chaos engineered into a weapon.

  "Ahhh! My eyes!" someone screamed, hands flying to their face.

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  "I can't see! I can't fucking see!" Another voice, panicked.

  "Hiro's ghost is here to haunt us!" Kizuki's voice rose above the confusion, raw with terror and grief. "His ghost came back for revenge!"

  Perfect, Kazama thought. Let them think that. Fear is just as effective as fire.

  With all the flash bang effects creating a perfect storm of smoke, flames and confusion, Kazama burst into motion. He didn't fight like Hiro with all wild aggression and overwhelming offense. He fought like himself: precise, efficient, exploiting every opening.

  A gang member emerged from the smoke to his left, disoriented but determined. Kazama closed the distance instantly, building momentum with each step. At the last second, he leaped, driving his knee upward with all his weight behind it. The running knee strike caught the man square in the ribs, driving the air from his lungs with a whoosh. The member's eyes went wide then rolled back as he crumpled.

  Before the first man hit the ground, Kazama had already pivoted to his next target. Another member was rubbing his eyes, trying to clear the spots from his vision. Kazama moved behind him silently and delivered a precise knife-hand strike to the side of his neck. The man dropped instantly, unconscious before he understood what had happened.

  A third attacker came in swinging wildly, a metal pipe in his hands. Kazama saw it coming, timed it perfectly and ducked under the swing. Using the man's momentum against him, Kazama rose up with a devastating running elbow that caught him on the forehead. The pipe rang like a bell as it hit the concrete, followed immediately by its wielder.

  The smoke was starting to clear now and Kazama could see more members gathering, at least eight or nine of them forming a rough circle around the combat zone. Their initial shock was wearing off, replaced by anger and coordinated intent.

  Through the haze, Kazama spotted Kizuki scrambling for something on the ground. His gun. The weapon had fallen from his holster during the earlier punch. Kizuki's fingers closed around the grip, his face a mask of blood and tears and determination.

  Kazama reacted instantly. He grabbed another lycopodium powder fireball and hurled it with perfect accuracy. The projectile struck Kizuki's gun hand just as he was bringing the weapon up. Fire exploded across his fingers and palm and Kizuki's scream was primal. The gun clattered to the ground and Kizuki cradled his burned hand against his chest, rocking back and forth.

  "Spread out! Surround him!" Someone was taking charge now, organizing the chaos. "Don't bunch up. He's using that against us!"

  The gang members moved with more discipline now, creating a perimeter. Some produced weapons like batons, knives, one even had a chain. They were learning, adapting, which made them more dangerous.

  Kazama kept moving, never staying in one place for more than a second. He threw fireballs strategically, not trying to hit anyone but creating walls of flame that forced them to keep their distance. Each explosion bought him a few more seconds, pushed them back a few more feet.

  But there were too many and they were getting bolder.

  I need to break this siege, Kazama thought, scanning for any weakness in their formation. Find the opening and…

  Then he saw him.

  One gang member wasn't keeping his distance. While the others maintained a cautious perimeter, this man walked straight through a patch of still-burning flash paper without even flinching. He was massive. At least 6'2", probably close to 220 pounds of muscle. His skin was several shades darker than the other Japanese members and his features suggested Brazilian heritage. He moved with the confidence of someone who had been in real fights, not just street brawls.

  The man locked eyes with Kazama and a slow smile spread across his face.

  "Yeah, get him Rico!" The gang members shouted from their safer positions, their voices carrying both encouragement and relief that someone else was taking point. "Fuck him up!"

  "Show this ghost what's real!" another voice added.

  He is different, Kazama observed. He's not Japanese and more importantly, he's not afraid of the flames. That changes everything. I need to deal with him in a different way….

  Rico stopped about ten feet away, settling into a fighting stance that showed formal training.

  "You are morto (dead)," Rico said, his Portuguese accent thick but his voice calm. The way he said it carried the weight of someone stating a simple fact rather than making a threat.

  Kazama didn't respond verbally. He attacked.

  He launched a straight punch aimed at Rico's jaw, putting his shoulder into it for maximum power. Rico's reaction was almost casual. He simply raised his forearm and Kazama's fist struck solid muscle. It was like punching a brick wall wrapped in skin.

  Without pause, Kazama immediately followed up with a dropkick, both feet leaving the ground as he threw his entire body weight behind the strike. Rico saw it coming and crossed his forearms in an X-block to absorb the impact. Kazama's boots connected solidly with Rico's crossed arms and the big man actually slid backward several feet from the force, his shoes scraping concrete.

  But that was all. Rico didn't fall, didn't even look particularly bothered. He just stopped his backward momentum, lowered his arms and smiled wider.

  This guy is tough, Kazama thought, his mind racing through options. Much tougher than anyone I've fought recently. This is a problem.

  The other gang members, emboldened by Rico's presence, started closing in again. They sensed blood in the water now, saw their opening.

  One came from Kazama's left, swinging a wooden baton in a wide arc aimed at his skull. Kazama saw the attack from his peripheral vision and twisted. The momentum of the missed swing left the attacker open, and Kazama didn't waste the opportunity. He stepped into the man's guard and drove an elbow into his jaw, feeling the impact jar through his arm. Before the first attacker could even begin to fall, Kazama had pivoted to his right where another member was launching a knee strike at his ribs.

  Kazama caught the incoming knee with his forearm, absorbing the impact with proper technique, then immediately countered with his own knee to the man's midsection. The attacker's breath exploded out in a pained gasp. Kazama followed up instantly with a running single-leg dropkick, a move he picked up from Haruto. The attacker went down hard.

  "I am impressed," Rico said, his voice carrying genuine appreciation. He wasn't even moving yet, just watching with patient interest. That slight smile never left his face.

  Hand to hand doesn't work on him, Kazama analyzed rapidly. He has a much larger build than me. Probably hundred pounds heavier, longer reach, trained striking. I can't win in a pure boxing match. I guess fire is the only option against him.

  Kazama grabbed a metal ball wrapped in flash paper and coated with lycopodium mixture.

  This is for you, Hiro, Kazama thought, a moment of genuine respect for the dead man whose identity he had stolen.

  "FLAME FIST!" Kazama shouted, charging forward with everything he had.

  His reinforced glove held the ignited mixture perfectly, flames trailing behind his fist like a comet's tail. The fire blazed brilliant orange and white, hot enough to make the air shimmer. The chemical reaction was perfect, the heat intense but contained by his protective equipment. To the watching gang members, it looked like Kazama's entire fist had become living fire.

  He closed the distance with impressive speed, his flaming punch driving toward Rico's face with all his momentum behind it.

  Rico's smile widened into something almost delighted.

  The big man's hand shot out with startling speed and caught Kazama's flaming fist mid-strike. His massive hand completely engulfed Kazama's, stopping the punch cold like he had grabbed a baseball out of the air. The flames died around Rico's fingers and Kazama realized with growing horror that he couldn't move his fist forward even an inch. More concerningly, he couldn't pull it back either. Rico's grip was absolute.

  Kazama watched in shock as Rico's entire forearm began to transform. The skin didn't just harden. The texture shifted from flesh to something rough and gray, like granite given life. The transformation spread rapidly up from his hand, the rock-like substance consuming his forearm, his bicep, flowing across his shoulder. Within seconds, Rico's entire right arm looked like it had been carved from solid stone.

  An ability, Kazama's mind supplied with sinking dread. He has an actual superpower ability. Rock-hard exoskeleton. Of course he does.

  Rico's eyes glittered with amusement as he used his stone-like arm to yank Kazama forward with inhuman strength, pulling him completely off balance. Kazama stumbled forward, unable to resist the force and saw Rico's other arm, still flesh but massive and powerful, cock back for a devastating swing.

  The punch came like a freight train, aimed directly at Kazama's head with enough force to potentially kill. At the last possible instant, Kazama ducked, feeling the rush of air as Rico's fist passed over his head. The momentum of the missed punch caused Rico to grunt slightly.

  Still held by his trapped fist, Kazama worked with the situation rather than against it. He used Rico's grip as an anchor point and drove his knee upward with vicious intent, aiming for the small of Rico's back where the transformation hadn't spread. His knee connected solidly with the ribs and Kazama felt the impact jar through his leg. Rico barely grunted.

  Kazama immediately transitioned, releasing his attempt to free his fist and instead wrapping his free arm around Rico's thick neck from behind, trying to lock in a rear naked choke. His forearm pressed against Rico’s neck tighter every second in an attempt to put him to sleep.

  Rico simply performed an arm throw with such casual power that it was almost insulting. He bent forward at the waist, used Kazama's own momentum and position against him and sent him flying.

  Kazama sailed through the air. Years of training kicked in automatically as he tucked, rotated and managed to get his feet under him. He landed in a crouch, his legs absorbing the impact and his hands touching the concrete for balance. But the landing jarred his entire body, sending shock waves through his knees and ankles.

  Rico didn't give him even a moment to recover. The big man had already committed to his next attack with arms crossed over his chest, his entire upper body now transformed into that stone-like substance. He charged forward like a battering ram building momentum with frightening speed for someone his size.

  Kazama's reflexes saved his life. He threw himself to the side at the last possible second, rolling across the concrete. Rico's momentum was too great to stop as he crashed straight into a nearby warehouse's metal shutter door with a deafening impact that echoed across the entire port.

  The metal door stood no chance. It crumpled like aluminum foil. Rico disappeared through the hole he had created, crashing into the darkness inside the warehouse.

  This is a huge problem, Kazama thought. Not only is he incredibly strong and I don't have a direct counter, but I can't even use electricity because rocks are poor conductors. Can't generate flames hot enough to melt through actual rock either. That would take sustained heat of over 1200 degrees Celsius and my lycopodium mixtures only hit maybe 300 degrees maximum. If I attempt anything above 500 degrees, it would burn through my gear…. Maybe Hiro could do it….

  The reality of Hiro's death hit him again. They killed him. He was a bad guy, yes. He screwed up, apparently badly. But I didn't think they would just... execute him. Like he was disposable.

  The thought chilled Kazama more than anything else that night. If they could do that to Hiro, someone with a unique ability and skills... What would they do to me?

  But right now, I can't worry about that, Kazama forced himself to focus.

  Movement from his left. A gang member had decided to be opportunistic. While Kazama was distracted by the Rico-sized hole in the warehouse, the member rushed in with his baton raised high, bringing it down in an overhead strike aimed at Kazama's skull.

  Kazama raised his left forearm to intercept the member's attacking arm, blocking the strike before the baton could build full momentum. In the same motion, his right hand grabbed a pinch of flash powder from his vest pocket. He threw it directly into the man's eyes.

  The member screamed as the flash powder ignited in his face and heat overwhelmed his vision. He stumbled backward.

  Kazama didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and drove a straight punch into the man's face. The member's head snapped back and he dropped like a puppet with cut strings, unconscious before he hit the ground.

  I can't keep this up, Kazama realized, his breathing coming heavier now. The heavy protective clothing was taking its toll, trapping heat, making every movement require more effort. I've been fighting for what, ten minutes? Twelve? Feels like an hour. I've got maybe seven or eight people still standing, plus that rock guy who's definitely not done.

  He slowly backed away, his eyes constantly moving, scanning for escape routes. The containers created corridors but they also created dead ends. Getting trapped between metal walls with these numbers would be fatal.

  The sharp crack of a gunshot split the air.

  The bullet struck the concrete inches from Kazama's feet. Kazama froze, his eyes immediately tracking to the source.

  Kizuki stood fifteen feet away, his pistol held in both hands despite the burn damage on his right palm. Blood still streamed from his broken nose, mixing with tears on his face.

  "Hiro!" Kizuki's voice cracked, raw with emotion. "Tell me it's a lie. Please. Please tell me it's all bullshit."

  Kazama remained silent, perfectly still.

  "Tell me you're alive." Kizuki's hands were shaking harder now, the gun bobbing up and down. "We're best friends, man. We've been through so much together. You can't do this to me. You can't be dead. You can't be... whoever this is."

  The words "best friends" triggered a flash of memory in Kazama's mind once again. Kurogane's booming laugh as he attempted a ridiculously high note. Haruto's sarcastic commentary on everyone's song choices. Takemi's genuine smile as she watched her friends enjoy themselves. The warmth of that afternoon, the feeling of belonging to something.

  Friends, huh…., Kazama thought.

  "Take off your mask." Kizuki's voice dropped to something between a plea and a demand, thick with unshed tears. "Take it off and prove us all wrong. Show me your face. Show me that you're really Hiro. That you're really alive. Please. I'm begging you."

  The other gang members had stopped advancing during the standoff, creating a loose circle around both of them. Their weapons were still drawn but they were watching this moment with a strange kind of respect. Even criminals understood grief, understood betrayal.

  Rico had recovered from his crash into the warehouse. Kazama heard him before he saw him. The heavy footsteps. The massive figure emerged from the hole in the shutter door, his rock-like transformation slowly receding, returning his body to normal flesh. Dust and debris clung to his clothes. He rolled his neck with a series of pops, testing for injury and finding none. His eyes found Kazama immediately and that predatory smile returned.

  Kizuki's finger moved to the trigger.

  ************************************************************************************************************************

  Meanwhile half a mile away on a yacht moored at the port's eastern docks, a man in an expensive tailored suit stood on the deck looking at the empty sea.

  Can't believe they made me pull bodyguard duty for this foreign wedding on a boat, the man thought bitterly. It wasn't even considered high-risk this morning. Just some businessman's daughter marrying some other businessman's son.

  The Hero organization these days, he continued his internal rant, his jaw clenching. One hint of legal trouble, one whisper of police attention and they fold so easily. No spine. No principles. Just whatever keeps the money flowing and the heat off.

  And now I have to deal with…..

  A sound cut through his thoughts.

  Was that a gunshot?

  The bodyguard's head snapped toward the source, his entire posture changing from bored complaint to alert readiness. His eyes narrowed, focusing on a section of the port about half a mile away. Even from this distance, he could see flashes of light.

  The bodyguard was Kujou Tanaka.