Sunlight, pale and indifferent, filtered through the stained-glass window of the orphanage. It painted fleeting patterns on the worn wooden floor. Light watched, unblinking, from his cot. Another day. Another cycle of meaningless activity in this saccharine world. He was fifteen, physically. Mentally, he carried the weight of a lifetime, a brutal, efficient existence that had ended with a bullet, not a prayer. Black Jack. A name whispered in shadows, a ghost story for the global elite. Now, just 'Light'. A cruel joke. His muscles, though thin, held a latent tension. Years of training, of honing his body into a weapon, remained etched in his muscle memory. He moved with a quiet precision, even in the cramped confines of the dormitory. No wasted motion. Ever. Outside, the distant peal of bells announced morning prayers. Children's laughter, bright and innocent, drifted up from the courtyard. A sound that, to him, felt like nails on a chalkboard. So fragile, so utterly clueless. Breakfast was a bland porridge, served with forced smiles by the matrons. He ate slowly, observing. The other orphans, their faces alight with simple joys, seemed alien. They worried about scraped knees or who would get the biggest spoonful of jam. Such trivial concerns. Scanning the room, Light mentally cataloged their weaknesses. A boy too trusting. A girl too loud. Another, too timid. Prey. Always prey, in one form or another. This world, with its grand pronouncements of peace, was no different from the one he'd left. Just a different kind of predator. --- Later, the morning lessons droned on. History of Sekai Kingdom, tales of its benevolent rulers, the ancient treaties securing its tranquility. Light feigned interest, his gaze fixed on the parchment, but his mind dissected the information. Weaknesses. Always searching for the cracks in the facade. A kingdom so proud of its peace was ripe for exploitation. He remembered the dossiers. High-profile targets. Presidents, governors, mayors. Each profile meticulously detailed, every vulnerability laid bare. The rush of the hunt. The precise execution. The chilling satisfaction of a job flawlessly done. This new life offered none of that. Only saccharine smiles and empty platitudes. Sometimes, he caught a glimpse of himself in a polished surface. A reflection of a boy with unremarkable brown hair and eyes that seemed too old, too knowing. A boy with a placid expression that hid a raging storm, a calculating machine. No one saw it. No one ever did. His current assignment, however, was far more specific than any political assassination. It wasn't about power or money. It was about something far more visceral. A twisted sense of justice, perhaps. Or merely a desire to disrupt this fragile, sickeningly sweet peace.

Chapter 1: The New Assignment