The tranquility at Ryukyu's agency didn't last long. The next morning, after a control training session just as exhausting as the day before, the four of us were gathered in the main meeting room. The atmosphere, once relaxed and full of banter, was now tense and professional. On the large holographic screen, the updated case file was displayed, complete with autopsy reports and victim profiles.
"Alright, listen up," Ryukyu said, her calm voice cutting through the silence. "This case has been officially assigned to us as a high-priority case by the Police Department. The victims weren't common street thugs. They were the three main pillars of the underworld in this district: a Quirk-enhancing drug distributor, an illegal arms smuggler, and a human trafficker. These people were very slippery and well-protected. The police have been trying to build a case against them for years with no results."
She displayed the victims' photos one by one. Uraraka looked a little pale, while Tsuyu stared with an unreadable, grim expression. Even Nejire, usually so vibrant, was now silent, her big blue eyes fixed on the screen with sharp focus. This was the grim reality of hero work—sometimes, the most dangerous enemies weren't the ones rampaging in the streets, but those operating in the shadows.
I, on the other hand, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. I wasn't seeing the victims' faces. I was only seeing one thing, repeated in every autopsy report: a single, clean slash wound. My dragon's heart in my chest pulsed slowly, not with the anticipation of power, but with a terrifying recognition. The name "Akame" and the word "Murasame" echoed in my mind like a death knell.
My two worlds—my old life as a fiction spectator and my current life as a participant—were beginning to collide in the most dangerous way. Was it really her? Had she been reincarnated like me? Or, a more terrifying possibility, was this this world's version of her? A native with an equally deadly Quirk, a cursed sword that killed with a single scratch. I felt suffocated by the knowledge I couldn't share. I knew who the killer was, or at least, I knew what the killer was. But how could I say it?
"Your job as interns in this case is to provide support from the rear," Ryukyu continued, snapping me out of my reverie. "You will not engage in direct confrontation. Understood?"
We all nodded in unison.
"Good. Uraraka-san, Asui-san, I want you two to dig for data. The victims' backgrounds, their networks, their enemies. Look for a common thread, no matter how small. Nejire, you'll conduct aerial patrols over the areas known to be their bases of operation. Look for any unusual activity."
Then, her eyes landed on me. "Tatsumi-kun. With your analytical skills, I want you to do something different. I want you to study these crime scenes." She pointed to the screen. "Not physically, of course. But from every photo, every report, every location blueprint. Ignore the 'who.' Focus on the 'how' and the 'why.' Look for the pattern. The time of the attacks, the method of entry and exit, the type of location. I want a psychological profile of our killer."
It was the perfect task for me, and also the most torturous. I was given access to all the data, forcing me to stare deeper into Akame's handiwork.
We spent the rest of the day in the agency's main operations room. The room was filled with the sound of tapping keyboards and focused, murmured discussions. Uraraka and Tsuyu quickly proved their competence, diving into complex police databases with surprising efficiency. Nejire occasionally reported in via radio from her aerial patrol. I, on the other hand, just stared at the large screen in front of me, letting the information flow in.
With my cheated knowledge, finding the pattern was painfully easy. I just had to think like an assassin from Night Raid. Efficiency. Silence. No witnesses.
"The perpetrator strikes at night," I said after about an hour, making everyone turn their heads. "Specifically, between one and four in the morning, when security is at its weakest."
I pointed to a digital map. "The locations aren't a coincidence either. Each one is a place where the target was known to be alone or with only a single guard. A private office, a penthouse, a safe house. This perpetrator is actively avoiding unnecessary conflict. They're not a brawler. They're an assassin."
Ryukyu nodded from her desk, looking impressed. "Good analysis, Tatsumi-kun. Continue."
A few hours later, Ryukyu called me into her office for a private meeting. She looked at me, her golden eyes seeming to see right into my soul.
"You see something else, don't you, Tatsumi-kun?" she asked in a low voice. "Your analysis was too fast, too confident. It wasn't just deduction. You have a hunch about who or what we're facing."
My heart pounded. She was too sharp. I couldn't tell her the truth, but maybe I could give her a version of it, framed as a hypothesis. I decided to take the risk.
"This isn't just a common hitman, Ryukyu-san," I said carefully, choosing my words. "This is an anti-Quirk specialist."
Ryukyu's eyebrows raised slightly. "Explain."
"Look at the victims," I said, pointing to their profiles on a tablet. "The first victim, Kenta 'Diamond' Tanaka, had a steel skin Quirk. The second, 'Healer' Jiro, could regenerate minor wounds quickly. The third, Goro 'The Octopus', had eight super-strong arms. Their Quirks are vastly different, yet they all died the same way: a single slash."
I met her eyes. "That means the killer's weapon, or perhaps a Quirk fused with their weapon, has the ability to negate any form of defense. It ignores durability, it stops regeneration. It's an absolute attack. One strike, one kill. Anyone scratched by that blade will die. No exceptions."
I had just explained the curse of Murasame without ever saying its name. Silence filled the room as Ryukyu processed the implications of my words. Her usually calm face was now set in a very serious expression. A weapon or Quirk that could kill anyone with a single scratch was a national-level threat, on par with the Shie Hassaikai's Quirk-destroying bullets.
"That... is a very grim conclusion, Tatsumi-kun," she said finally. "But it fits all the available evidence." Her respect for me had clearly increased, but so had her concern. How could a first-year student arrive at such a dark and accurate conclusion?
That night, I couldn't sleep. My mind was filled with Akame's face, her sword, and all the tragedy of her story. Should I intervene? Could I change her fate in this world?
Far from the brightly lit agency, in the dark and windy port district, a lone figure sat on the edge of a rooftop of an old warehouse. The night wind blew through her long black hair. She wore a simple and practical black tactical outfit, and slung across her back was a long katana with a red scabbard. Her ruby-red eyes stared intently at the warehouse below, where her next target—a human trafficker—was conducting his meeting.
With a calm, mechanical motion, she took out a piece of dried meat from her pouch and began to chew on it slowly, her eyes never blinking, never leaving her target. She was the embodiment of patience and death. A predator waiting for the right moment to strike in the silence of the night.