Shadow Menace: I Live Among Mortals, I Kill Among Gods

"I'm not the hero. I'm the guy the hero calls when things need to get ethically questionable."

There I was…

Walking through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo…

A shadow among the sheep. A legend with a seven-day Netflix backlog.

The civilians passed me without knowing.

Unaware. Ignorant. Blissful.

"If only they knew…" I whispered to absolutely no one.

Kaito, former NEET, current God Slayer, and full-time vibe curator.

Tonight, I wasn't here to save the world.

I was here to cause mild discomfort to any cursed soul dumb enough to show its ghostly face.

My coat flapped in the wind dramatically—despite the total lack of wind. My earphones played "Nine Thou" at full volume, which made everything I did feel at least 75% more illegal.

"This is it," I muttered, staring at a vending machine. "The point of no return."

I pressed the button for a cola. It got stuck.

Tch. Fate resists me once again.

A schoolgirl walked past, glanced at me, and picked up the cola for me.

I accepted it in silence, then turned away like a dark protagonist whose backstory involved 300 years of betrayal and lactose intolerance.

Another mortal... saved. My job here is done.

Then I felt it.

A cursed aura in an alley.

My blades appeared with a flick of the wrist—pure ethereal edge.

"Time to introduce you to post-modern slicing techniques," I told the cursed spirit. "Trademark pending."

Two steps. Blink. Slash. Poof.

The alley was empty again. Except me.

Standing on a dumpster. In a dramatic pose.

Because why not.

The world fears what it does not understand…

…and I don't understand taxes. So I guess we're even.

I continued walking through Tokyo like a man with a mission.

A man with no fear, no plan, and too much caffeine.

Because I wasn't the hero this city needed.

I was the random side character who refuses to die.

I was mid-stride, half-biting into a convenience store rice ball, when destiny struck again.

Not in the form of a god.

Not a cursed soul.

But…

A lost high school boy.

Crying. In the middle of a side street. Holding a soggy map printed in Comic Sans.

"This must be it," I whispered to the clouds. "The moment I was born for."

I strutted toward him, aura flaring even though nobody could see it but me.

"Yo," I said, flipping my jacket back like a cape. "Lost in the labyrinth of society, huh?"

The kid blinked up at me. "U-Uh… I just can't find my cram school…"

"Cram school…" I repeated, placing a hand dramatically over my heart. "A building where young warriors go to sharpen their minds… in preparation for battles that can't be fought with fists, but with formulas…"

The boy looked more confused than relieved.

"Worry not, small traveler of the academic realm," I declared, now crouching beside him like some overly serious detective in a supernatural murder mystery. "I once, too, was bound by the chains of GPAs."

"Really?"

"No."

But I was bound by something far worse—Wi-Fi bills.

I stood suddenly, pointing to the east. "There. Third right after the takoyaki stand, then left by the vending machine that only sells grape soda. That's where your path continues."

"Th-Thank you!"

He bowed and ran off.

I placed my hands in my coat pockets, watching him vanish into the shadows of fluorescent Tokyo.

"Another soul… rescued."

Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear jackets with questionable fashion choices and bloodstains that are totally not ketchup.

Then I turned slowly to the moon.

"Another mission complete," I said. "And once again, I leave without asking for thanks… like the background character who steals the scene in Episode 10."

A couple across the street was watching me, whispering something about calling the police.

I vanished around the corner using Blink Step.

Because that's what legends do.

Some say heroes celebrate by raising their swords under starlight, surrounded by cheering crowds.

Me?

I celebrate by drinking canned beer with my sword-wielding murder coworker in a bunker lit by flickering LEDs and divine regret.

Eve cracked open a cold one and tossed it to me across the room. I caught it with one hand like I was catching a spirit bomb of social pressure.

"Didn't think you were the drinking type," she said.

I popped the can open with unnecessary flair. "When you've killed a god, paying rent and liver damage feel like equal threats."

We clinked cans.

"Cheers to not dying," I said.

Eve sipped. "And to not having to clean up your corpse. Again."

I smirked. "That makes two of us."

We sat there on opposite sides of the ratty old couch, sipping beer like two survivors of an anime where everyone else died in Episode 1 but somehow we kept showing up in the opening credits.

"This feels weirdly domestic," I said.

"Like we just clocked out from our 9-to-5 job at the Divine Slayer Corp. You handle HR, and I work in... accidental property destruction."

Eve raised an eyebrow. "I'm not HR."

"You keep stopping me from committing homicide. That's technically human resources."

She chuckled, just a little. Progress.

I laid my head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling like it held the meaning of life in flickering water stains.

"You ever think this is just a big cosmic sitcom?"

"All the time."

I held up my can. "To the war gods, the demon generals, the resurrected ex-boyfriends with forbidden magic... may they all have therapy someday."

Eve clinked again. "And to you, the God Slayer who still doesn't know how to fold laundry."

"That was a divine choice."

"No, that was you trying to fold a hoodie into a sword sheath."

"It worked… emotionally."

The two of us drank, joked, and sat in silence as Tokyo buzzed miles above us. No battle tonight. Just two semi-functioning disasters on a couch, playing pretend at being normal.

And for once, that was enough.

"Eve," I muttered, half-drunk. "If we die tomorrow…"

"You'll probably die by your own hand."

"Exactly. So drink faster."

I didn't save the world today.

I didn't break any rules. Or maybe I broke all of them.

But for once, I got to walk the streets like a shadow with headphones, slaying curses like a bored office worker finishing emails late on a Friday night.

And that beer with Eve?

It wasn't camaraderie.

It was two war-weary lunatics pretending life had a pause button.