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.
First panel: a murder. Just enough to set the tone.
We quickly learn about his daily life: hitman, but broke as hell. His apartment's a mess, hes using oil filter as supressor, lives in chaos and exhaustion. He's no hero. Just a guy who kills to get by—and dreams of killing his father. Not for justice. For cash. Maybe pride, too.
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's a bit non chalant you could say.
Next to his door, someone strange. A young guy, looking a bit older, 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 can die in peace."
She refuses, of course.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs.
— "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 a real weirdo, huh."
He lifts him, not 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.