Tsubaki Heights – 3:27 A.M.
Outside, porch lights flickered on one by one as people stirred as evening approach. A van screeched to a halt in the middle of the street. Its rear doors burst open, and something was dumped onto the pavement with a thud. Then the vehicle sped off , tires screeching as it disappeared down the hill.
At first, no one moved. Then a scream pierced the air.
People emerged from their shops, eyes wide with panic. A few passersby scrambled to call the police. A bent old shopkeeper across the road didn't flinch—he simply sighed, murmuring under his breath, "It was bound to happen..."
Then, the body stirred.
Someone gasped. Another dropped their phone. The figure groaned, pushed itself up on shaky arms, and looked around with unfocused eyes. Gasps turned to shrieks as people caught a clear glimpse of his face.
There was a hole in his forehead.
A woman fainted. A man stumbled back into his gate. Others just stared, frozen between horror and disbelief.
The man—Jin—blinked, registering their fear. Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and approached the nearest man who hadn't fled.
"Could you wrap this around my head?" Jin's voice was calm.
The man nodded absently, as if in a trance, and tied the cloth like a bandana around Jin's temple, covering the ghastly wound.
"Thanks," Jin said, adjusting it slightly.
"Y-you should go to a hospital," the man stammered.
Jin gave a wave as he move away. "I will."
No one dared stop him. They simply watched, frozen, as the dead man walked away.
Jin made his way back to the alley near his apartment—or what used to be his apartment. The fire had reduced everything to ash. But he had planned ahead.
Hidden beneath a bush, right where he'd left it, was a black school bag. He unzipped it and quickly checked the contents.
Photo of his mother and himself – intact.
Identification papers – still there.
A bundle of cash and an ATM card – untouched.
He zipped the bag shut and turned.
A middle-aged woman walking her dog paused nearby. "Ara… aren't you Jun Kazama's boy?"
Jin blinked. "Yes, ma'am."
"I heard your flat caught fire. Are you alright?"
"Yes. Just taking care of a few things. Please excuse me."
Before she could ask anything else, Jin turned and left. No time for pleasantries. No time for anything.
Twenty Minutes Later – Clinic
The waiting area was cramped, lined with chairs filled by people who clearly couldn't afford private hospitals. Jin walked past them all, straight to the reception desk.
A woman sat reading a fashion magazine, barely glancing up.
"I need to see the doctor. Now," Jin said flatly.
She nodded toward the line. "So do the rest of them. Take a seat."
Jin reached into his bag, pulled out a wad of cash, and dropped it in front of her. "All yours. Just get him. Now."
That got her attention.
She stood, disappeared through the back door, and returned moments later with a man in a lab coat.
"Whatever it is, wait five minutes," the doctor grunted without looking directly at him.
Five minutes later, Jin was called in. He sat across from Dr. House—an unshaven man with sleepy eyes and fingers stained yellow from too many cigarettes.
Jin dropped another bundle of notes on the desk. "You've got thirty minutes to fix me."
House raised an eyebrow. "Well, someone's in a hurry to pay their medical fees."
He circled Jin, eyeing him clinically.
"Arm's broken. Eye's contracted. Muscle tone's off. Breathing's irregular.... And you're having a panic attack that you are supperssing."
Jin pulled off the bandana.
House wide eyes blinked. "Well… that's new. No blood?"
"The bullet's still inside," Jin replied, voice flat.
House leaned in, intrigued. "Muscle rigidity around the wound. No active bleeding. This shouldn't be possible."
"You can admire it later. Just take it out."
House nodded. "On the bed."
Jin sit still as House examined the wound with a flashlight.
"Anesthetic? Allergies?"
"No. And no."
"Lucky you."
The procedure was swift, the room silent except for the clink of tools and Jin's steady breathing. House worked fast, hands trained and confident. In less than thirty minutes, his forehead and arm bandaged.
House leaned back. "Well, your head's fine—somehow. But your arm's a mess. I aligned it based on feel. You should get an X-ray. Come back if you want."
"Thanks."
"You can have your panic attack now."
Jin gave him a tired look. But before he could speak, shouting erupted outside—rough voices, heavy boots. Trouble.
Jin stood quickly, grabbing his bag. "Back door?"
House pointed with his chin. "That way. Through the alley."
Jin slipped through the exit into a narrow passageway, lit by a single flickering bulb.
As he turned the corner, he spotted two men standing at the end of the alley, backs turned, eyes on the clinic entrance. A car idled next to them.
He didn't hesitate.
Jin moved in silence—one swift blow to the back of head with some hardening dropped the first. The second turned just as Jin's kick crushed his knee, followed by a square punch to the jaw. Both men crumpled before they could make a sound.
Jin rifled through their pockets, found a set of keys, and climbed into the car.
The engine roared as Jin vanished into the sleeping city.
A second later, more thugs spilled out of the alley just in time to see the car tear off down the road, leaving their unconscious comrades on sidewalk behind it.