Tiger Companion Manga

In a world where a few can bend probability through raw will, a quiet drifter named Kai Kurozawa discovers his gift isn’t luck—it’s a loaded weapon. Each choice twists the odds, but the universe charges interest. SERIES BIBLE (Concise) Power System — Will / Odds / Backlash • Dwellers: Rare individuals who can impose Tacks (micro‐edits to probability) via focused Will. • Odds: A visualized “grain” of reality; Dwellers sense vectors of likely outcomes as shimmering filaments. • Tacks: Intentional nudges (“make that rope snap,” “let the bus be 8 seconds late”). Each Tack accrues Fate Friction—stress that rebounds later as Backlash (nosebleeds → fractures → catastrophic karmic events). • Edges: Personal rituals or anchors (coin flips, mantras) that stabilize Will and reduce friction. • Zeroshift (mythic tier, late series): A liminal state where Odds are a silent ocean and Will is a blade—do not reveal yet. World • Haven District: Port-city sprawl; rusted rooftops, market alleys, flooded underpass murals. • Glassline Metro: Arteries of the city; reflective tunnels where odds feel “loud.” • The Quiet: A rumored zone where Odds stop moving—foreshadowing endgame forces. Factions • Municipal Risk Office (MRO): Bureau that tracks statistical anomalies; polite on paper, predatory in practice. • The Erased: Black-bag unit rumored to “remove” unstable Dwellers. Recurring Antagonists • Rael, “The Eraser”: Uncanny calm; his talent dampens other Dwellers’ Tacks in close range. He is the city’s whispered full stop. • Anti-Kai (Kairo Tsukami): Never named on-page yet. Thematic opposite of Kai—fixes outcomes by stealing other people’s Will. Themes • Choice vs. inevitability, the cost of power, anonymity in crowds, the math of mercy. VISUAL STYLE GUIDE (for art consistency) • Line: Clean, high-contrast inks; thin outline on faces, heavy shadows on urban geometry. • Tone: Filmic noir with sharp whites for the “Odds” filaments. • Odds Visualization: Fine hairline threads and moiré patterns drifting off objects; when Kai focuses, threads bloom like dandelion seeds frozen mid-gust. • SFX: Minimalist lettering, small caps with long em dashes for sustained sounds (e.g., VRRR—). • Panel Rhythm: Quiet micro-panels for intention → explode into wide panels for consequence. CAST (Core + Non-Dwellers — at least 5) Kai Kurozawa (17) • A drifter with a coin ritual. Soft voice, sharp eyes. Edge: Coin Flip. • Quirk: Counts his breaths when deciding; breath 7 is commitment. • Flaw: Terrified of being the cause. Mei Arakawa (19) — Journalism student, street photographer. Non-Dweller. • Brave to a fault; sees patterns in people. Keeps instant camera on wrist. Jun “Switch” Tanaka (18) — Electronics stall kid; builds things from city trash. Non-Dweller. • Grease smudges, perpetual grin, a tool roll like a scroll. Aya Mori (20) — Med student volunteering at a night clinic. Non-Dweller. • Steady hands; refuses to look away from ugly truths. Inspector Haruto Ishii (34) — MRO field officer. Non-Dweller. • Polite, dry, exhausted; catalogues “anomaly sites.” Koji Nakamura (52) — Market grocer. Non-Dweller. • Kind man, jokes in proverbs. (Mark as at risk in early arcs.) Daichi (12) — Rooftop runner, orphan. Non-Dweller. • Knows every shortcut; sells maps he draws by hand. Rael (??) — “The Eraser.” Dweller. • Neutral face; shoes make no sound. The city gets quiet when he arrives. HIDDEN SEEDS in Chapter One • Page 3: A passerby with a ring—three triangular prongs. Later revealed as an Erased marker. • Page 17: Black van reflection in puddle (MRO plate pattern: 131-21). • Page 28: Blank spot in Kai’s Odds vision (Rael’s signature dampening at distance). • Final Page: A second coin in gutter, heads scratched with a thin inverted cross (Anti-Kai sigil—unexplained). CHAPTER ONE: PAGE-BY-PAGE SCRIPT & STORYBOARD Length: 36 pages (tankōbon pacing). Goal: Introduce Kai, demonstrate low-tier Tack, show cost, hook with a moral pivot.
Chapter I: When Distance Meets Defiance Mia Tachibana used to feel everything — joy, love, sorrow — all of it. But when her father died, something inside her froze. She reached for her friends, but they turned away, or worse, mocked her grief. So she stopped reaching. The warmth vanished, replaced by ice. They called her the Ice Queen, and she wore the title like armor. The girl of everyone's dreams — beautiful, distant, untouchable. Cold to her classmates. Colder to anyone who dared to ask her out. At Mia’s school, a new transfer student arrived — Paßh. She’d been assigned to show him around, and at first, everything went smoothly. That was, until a guy swaggered up with too much confidence and a smirk that screamed popularity. Maybe he’s one of the popular kids, you thought. The guy grinned, leaning a little too close. “Hey, baby girl,” he drawled. “I was thinking... me, you, Sunday night, candlelight, a beautiful restaurant—” “F*** no,” Mia cut in, her voice like a blade. “You pathetic excuse of a human being.” The guy froze, his grin dying instantly. A few students nearby snickered as he backed away, red-faced and humiliated. Mia turned back to you, completely unfazed. “Ready to continue the tour?” “LOVE METER:-20” Paßh stormed toward the group without hesitation, fury carved across his face. His voice rang out, sharp and protective. “¡Ni te acerques! Si la tocas, te juro que te vas a arrepentir. ¿Entendiste?” The guy stumbled back, stunned, hands lifting in surrender as Paßh shoved him hard in the chest. His friends shifted as if ready to step in, but one look at Paßh’s glare froze them where they stood. The hallway fell silent. Eyes turned. Whispers rose like smoke. Paßh didn’t care. He spun back toward Mia, breath still ragged as he walked to her side. He looked at her—unfazed by the cold in her eyes, unthreatened by the frozen walls she’d built around herself. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” he said, voice softer now, though the conviction still burned underneath. “No one should speak to you that way. Not ever.” Her silver eyes narrowed at the sudden commotion, but she didn’t move. Arms crossed, she watched the scene unfold with a calm, unreadable face. The man who had harassed her moments before now lay on the ground, blood trailing from his lip. Paßh stood over him—fists clenched, chest rising sharply with each breath. She finally spoke, her voice steady, almost indifferent. “You didn’t have to do that.” There was no gratitude in her tone—only a quiet observation. Her Love Meter flickered, but barely; not enough to shift anything meaningful. She tilted her head, studying Paßh with that same unreadable gaze. “Why did you intervene?” She stepped closer, her black silky hair swaying with the movement. The air between them tightened, charged with something unspoken. “You could’ve just walked away.” Paßh’s jaw was tight, his voice low—quiet, but every word cut like a blade. “Ahora arrodíllate y pide perdón.” A tense silence stretched across the hallway. His eyes never left the trembling boy on the floor. “No me hagas repetirlo.” She watched the scene with a detached expression, her silver eyes reflecting nothing but cold calculation. The man on the ground whimpered, pride shattered, and obeyed, trembling as he dropped to his knees. His friends scattered, too afraid to stay and witness what might happen next. She exhaled slowly, her lips parting just slightly before she spoke. You're... unusual. Her voice carried no warmth, yet there was a faint thread of intrigue woven into the way she said it. She stepped back, folding her arms across her chest, her posture stiff—as if she needed physical distance from whatever this moment was turning into. People usually don’t bother with things like this. They walk away. Or they laugh. She glanced at Paßh for a brief second, then returned her gaze to the cowering man. But you... Paßh’s voice was calmer now, but the fire still smoldered beneath every word. “I don’t tolerate disrespect,” he said, his gaze fixed on her, not the guy trembling on the floor. “He walks through life believing everyone exists to feed his ego.” Paßh took a slow breath, shoulders still tense. “But not you. I won’t let him treat you like you’re less than you are.” A quiet breath. “Not now. Not ever.” There was no boast in his tone, no plea for approval — only truth. Something in the way he looked at her wasn’t demanding, but unwavering. He wasn’t afraid of the ice in her eyes. He saw her, even if she didn’t want to be seen. Her silver eyes locked onto Paßh’s, searching for something—perhaps sincerity, perhaps deception. But all she found was the raw honesty in his words, and that unsettled her more than she would ever admit. You don’t know me, she murmured, her voice low, almost a whisper. Why would you care? She stepped forward slowly, her presence commanding despite her stillness. The weight of her words settled between them, heavy and deliberate. She wasn’t asking for an explanation. She was testing him. You could have left. You could have ignored it. But you didn’t. Her Love Meter flickered—barely, just a sliver of light—but enough to register. A tiny shift, insignificant compared to the vast, quiet indifference she usually carried. Yet it was there. I don’t need protection, Paßh didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. His voice was calm, almost reverent. “As you wish,” he said, but there was no retreat in his tone — only respect. She studied him for a long moment, as if trying to decipher the true meaning behind his words. Then, without another sound, she turned on her heel and began walking away. Her black, silky hair trailed behind her like liquid shadow. The tour isn’t finished, she said over her shoulder, her tone neutral—neither welcoming nor dismissive. If you’re done with your little display, follow me. She didn’t look back. There was no need to. He would follow. People always did. But something about him felt different. Not because of his strength, or his aggression—but because he hadn’t asked for anything. He hadn’t tried to charm her, to impress her, to get close. He had simply acted, without expectation. She wondered if that made him dangerous—or rare. He followed silently, keeping a respectful distance as they moved through the sterile hallways of the school. The click of her heels against the polished floor echoed in the emptiness—a steady rhythm that mirrored the cool precision of her steps. Lockers lined the walls, plastered with photos of smiling students, but Mia remained unshaken, her gaze fixed straight ahead. The contrast between her presence and the bright, ordinary surroundings was striking—a dark silhouette cutting through light. Without slowing, she spoke, her voice carrying a quiet undercurrent of curiosity beneath its usual chill. “You’re not like the other transfers. They try so hard to fit in… to make friends.” She paused, as if weighing her words carefully. “What brings someone like you here… to a place like this?” She stopped abruptly outside a classroom door, turning just enough to face him. Her silver eyes were sharp, assessing—but there was no malice in them, only the quiet intensity of someone who expected answers, not excuses. You think I care where people come from? she said, her voice laced with subtle disdain. Or why they’re here? She tilted her head slightly, studying him as if he were some strange specimen she’d never seen before. Her fingers curled lightly at her sides—a small, almost imperceptible gesture of tension. I don’t care about your past. I don’t care about your reasons. All I care about is whether you’ll be useful. Then she turned back toward the hallway, continuing forward without waiting for a response. Still, the slight pause in her step betrayed her attention—she was listening, even if she’d never admit it. He didn’t rush to catch up, but his voice followed her, steady and composed. “Useful in what sense?” he asked—not mockingly, but with genuine curiosity. “To you? To this place? Or to something you don’t say out loud?” She halted mid-step, her shoulders stiffening ever so slightly. For the first time since the tour had begun, a flicker of hesitation crossed her otherwise unreadable face. She turned to face him fully, her silver eyes locking onto his with an intensity that seemed to make the air between them thrum. “Useful in the sense that you don’t waste my time,” she said, her voice smooth but edged with something sharper than mere coldness. “Useless people tend to disappear quickly. Either they learn to function… or they become irrelevant.” She took a slow step closer, her presence somehow towering over him, even though he was taller. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken meaning. “You’re not useless,” she added after a beat, her tone almost reluctant. “But don’t mistake that for respect. That’s just… an observation.” “Look,” he began, a half-smile playing at his lips, “think of me as a mosquetero—here to serve and protect. I come to the rescue of damsels, I love poetry—especially love poems—and yes, I’m a romantic. I’m always well-dressed, intelligent, interesting. I hate injustice, and I know how to defend myself… and those I care about.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Today, I protected you. I didn’t know who you were, but I stood between you and that selfish, arrogant coward—a man who values nothing and no one but his own pleasure.” He stepped closer, voice softer now, carrying a warmth that seemed almost at odds with the intensity of the hallway. “And now, querida mía, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Paßh.” Her expression remained unchanged, but a faint flicker crossed her silver eyes—a brief hesitation, as if she hadn’t expected such a speech. She listened, unmoving, as Paßh spoke, each word painted with poetic flair and dramatic flourish. When he finished, she simply stared at him, lips parted slightly, processing something unfamiliar. A mosquetero? she repeated, her voice devoid of amusement, yet carrying a trace of something else—curiosity, perhaps. A knight in shining armor? A romantic fool who speaks in metaphors and believes in ideals? She took a slow step forward, her presence imposing but not threatening. Her Love Meter flickered again, subtle but undeniable, reacting to the unexpected nature of his words. “You protected me… without even knowing who I am,” she continued, her tone measured, almost analytical. “I’m a gentleman… in other words, like Lupin,” he said, a small, confident smile tugging at his lips. “Charming, clever, a bit unpredictable—but always guided by a code.” Her lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk forming before she quickly suppressed it. She tilted her head, regarding him with an expression that was neither approval nor dismissal, but something in between—an assessment, a calculation. Lupin? she echoed, her voice flat, though a faint trace of curiosity lingered beneath the surface. A thief. A charmer. A man who lives by his wits and his charm, always one step ahead of the law. She folded her arms, silver eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him, as if trying to reconcile the image of a gentleman with that of a thief. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken implications. “You’re not a thief,” she said finally, her tone clipped, stating a fact rather than offering an opinion. “But you talk like one. Why?” “I’m a gentleman… but a thief when it comes to love,” he said, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. Her silver eyes locked onto his, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. For a moment, she didn’t speak, expression neutral, as if weighing the significance of his words. Then, with a slow exhale, she turned slightly, her black, silky hair cascading down her back like a curtain of shadows. A thief in love, she repeated quietly, almost to herself. That’s… different. She hesitated, the concept clearly foreign, then spoke again without turning, her tone distant, contemplative. “You don’t understand what you’re saying, do you?” She finally faced him again, gaze piercing, but devoid of cruelty—only the cold precision of someone who saw through illusions with ease. Love is a weakness. His voice softens, caresses the air with tenderness, his eyes searching to pierce her defenses with a sweet compassion. Paßh- You still don’t understand. Wherever I go, I sow love like stars scattered across the night. I am an eternal romantic, an unshakable believer in the tenderness of the human heart. Despite the storms I’ve faced, I never lower my arms, because I know that love has the power to transform everything—even the impossible. (He takes a step forward, his eyes burning with a gentle, relentless passion, breaking the silence around him.) Love is not a weakness; it is the secret fire that shapes us, the fragile light that guides our steps through the deepest shadows. One day, I hope you too will feel that flame stirring within you, even if today it feels distant… or extinguished. For the first time, her composure wavered—not visibly, but in the fraction of a second her breath caught, as if his words had touched something long buried within her. Her silver eyes darkened slightly, the cold mask of indifference cracking just enough to reveal a fleeting glimpse of fragility beneath. “You speak of love as if it’s something pure,” she said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. “As if it’s not twisted… not broken… not used and discarded like trash.” She took a slow step back, as if needing space—though it was unclear whether it was to distance herself from him or from the memory his words had stirred. Her hands curled slightly at her sides, nails pressing into her palms, grounding herself. “You say you spread love everywhere…”He smiled, a small, almost teasing curve of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes entirely—there was still warmth there, quiet but undeniable. “In a way, love is everywhere,” he said softly, letting his gaze meet hers. “Like a parent’s hand on a child’s shoulder—gentle but unwavering. A silent promise in the darkest of nights.” He took a small step closer, careful not to crowd her, and the faintest spark of mischief flickered in his expression. “It doesn’t have to be grandiose to matter… sometimes, the simplest gestures are the most profound.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, silver eyes narrowing as if the very notion of love tied to something as simple as a parent and child was an affront to the complexity of the world she had seen. She exhaled sharply, the sound almost imperceptible, yet heavy with restrained emotion. A parent to a child, she repeated, voice cold, but laced with something else—something almost bitter. That’s not love. That’s obligation. Duty. A responsibility forced upon you by biology, not choice. She stepped closer, presence looming without threatening, just… there. Her gaze bore into him, searching for something she couldn’t name. You think love is something you can give freely? she continued, tone cutting, precise—but not cruel. His voice didn’t falter. He stepped into her gravity, unshaken. “Yes,” he said softly, each word deliberate, a balm against her bitterness. “Love is one of life’s rarest beauties— not something owed, but something offered. Freely. Bravely. It asks nothing in return, and yet… it gives everything.” He paused, gaze fixed unwaveringly on hers. “And you… you’re like one of those stars, so distant they seem unreachable— but I see your light. And I’d spend lifetimes just drawing nearer.” Her silver eyes flickered with something unreadable—perhaps irritation, perhaps something deeper. She tilted her head slightly, as if appraising him once more, this time with a trace of skepticism mingled with reluctant interest. Rare, she echoed, her voice smooth but edged with quiet defiance. “You call it rare. I call it foolish.” She took a slow step back, movements deliberate, measured. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts. After a long pause, her tone hardened, colder than before. “You believe in something that doesn’t exist. That’s not rare. That’s naive.” She turned slightly, as if preparing to leave, but then paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe beside her, a subtle gesture that suggested she wasn’t entirely done with him yet. “Maybe it is foolish to believe in rare things,” he said softly, unflinching, “but I don’t see it that way. I believe because, every now and then, life offers us a glimpse of something different… something—or someone—who changes the way the world feels.” He let his gaze linger on her. “You have that presence. When I said you were rare, I meant it—not because I expect perfection, but because there’s something in you that quietly commands attention, even when you try to hide it.” He paused, a faint smile brushing his lips. “If that’s naive, then I’ll wear that word proudly. Because to see something beautiful and speak the truth… that’s not a weakness. That’s what’s real.” She stood motionless for a long moment, silver eyes locked onto his, as if weighing whether to believe him. His words hung between them, heavy with something she couldn’t name. For the first time, she didn’t dismiss him outright. Instead, she absorbed the words, expression unreadable, body still, as if holding her breath. “You speak too much,” she finally murmured, voice quiet, almost to herself. “Too many words. Too much feeling. You don’t understand what you’re doing.” Her gaze flicked downward briefly, then rose again, meeting his with an intensity that made the air between them tremble. “You think you see something in me that isn’t there. That’s not rare… that’s dangerous.” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He simply held her gaze as if it were the most fragile thing he had ever dared to touch. “Maybe I don’t understand,” he said softly. “But I feel it. I feel you — even when you try to disappear behind silence.” He stepped forward just once, careful, precise. Not enough to violate her space… only enough to be near. “I’m not here to fix you or change you,” he continued, voice low, steady. “I just want to see you — as you are. Even if it means getting burned.” His eyes softened, his tone turning into something quiet but unwavering. “Dangerous or not… you’re the only thing in this world that’s ever made me feel awake.” The air around them seemed to still, as if the world itself had paused to listen. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Her silver eyes held his, and for the first time, there was no coldness—only something far more unsettling: a flicker of something human, something she rarely let surface. You’re wasting your time, she whispered, voice barely audible, as if the words themselves were foreign. No one sees me. No one ever has. She looked away, jaw tightening slightly, forcing herself to cling to the illusion of control. Yet the silence that followed felt heavier than before, thick with something neither of them dared name. You don’t understand what you’re asking for, she continued, her tone colder now, as if reclaiming the distance she usually demanded. His voice was quiet, steady, slicing through the silence like light through mist. “I see you,” he said, gaze unwavering. “Not the mask, not the silence—you. And I don’t fear what lies beneath. I only wish to know the truth about you… if you’ll let me.” Her breath caught—just for a heartbeat—a faint, fleeting tremor she refused to acknowledge. Her silver eyes held his, and for the first time, there was no mask, no pretense of indifference. Only the quiet weight of something unspoken hung between them. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” she murmured, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I’m not someone you can… understand. I’m not someone you can reach.” She stepped back slowly, the movement more ritual than escape, a practiced distance meant to protect. Yet the barrier faltered just slightly. Her Love Meter flickered again, more noticeably this time, responding to the uncharacteristic vulnerability threading through her voice. “You think you want to know me,” she continued, gaze sharp, tone edged with warning. “But you have no idea what that means.” “Yes,” he said softly, but with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “I would love to.” She stared at him for a long moment, silver eyes searching, as if seeking something hidden, something she couldn’t quite name. The silence between them thickened, charged with unspoken, dangerous energy. Then, slowly, she exhaled—a soft, almost imperceptible sound. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t look away. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” she murmured, voice quiet, almost to herself. “It won’t be easy. It won’t be pleasant. I don’t give anything freely. I don’t trust easily. I don’t—” Her words faltered, just for a second. That was all it took: a crack in the ice, a sliver of something raw and unguarded. “I don’t know how to be anything but what I am.” Paßh His voice didn’t waver. It carried a warmth that felt disarming, a sincerity too steady to be faked. “I’m willing to take the risk,” he said. “To know you—the real you—beyond the walls you’ve built.” He took a slow breath, eyes never leaving hers. “I know it won’t be easy. Things that matter never are.” His gaze softened, drawn to the quiet fire behind her silver eyes. “Your strength, your resilience… that intensity you carry—it pulls me in. It makes me want to understand you. To support you. To stand wherever you’ll allow me to stand.” He stepped just close enough for his presence to feel intentional, not imposing. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m not expecting you to be anything other than who you are, right now, standing in front of me.” A beat. A breath. A truth. “All I’m asking for… is a chance.” His voice lowered, almost a vow. “A chance to walk beside you. To witness your journey. To maybe—just maybe—help carry some of the weight you’ve been holding alone.” His chest rose and fell, as though saying it cost him something real. “Because I believe—with everything in me—that you’re worth knowing. Worth understanding. Worth loving… in every complex, beautiful, and challenging way that makes you you.” Her silver eyes never left his, and for the first time, they weren’t cold—they were something else entirely. Something uncertain. Something fragile. The words hung between them, heavy, settling inside her like a stone. She had spent so long building walls, convincing herself that no one could ever truly see her. Yet here he was, standing before her, unwavering, unshaken. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she said, her voice low, almost reverent. “You think you can just walk in and see the real me? That I’d let you?” She stepped closer, her presence immense, almost overwhelming—but there was no threat in it. Only something dangerously close to hope. Paßh “Well, my dear… if you ever feel like letting a little hope into your life,” he said gently, “consider me your introduction.” His voice carried that effortless warmth again, the kind that slipped under her guard before she could stop it. “Just say the word when you change your mind.” He took a small step back, eyes still holding hers like he didn’t want to leave but wasn’t going to push her. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mia.” A faint smile tugged at his lips—soft, sincere, impossibly disarming. “And by the way… has anyone told you how incredible you look today?” He let the compliment linger just long enough to reach her before he turned away, hands sliding casually into his pockets. “See you around.” He walked off without looking back, confident not in himself, but in the possibility he’d left behind. She watched him go, the weight of his words lingering in the air like smoke. His departure was effortless, as if he had never been there at all. And yet… she knew he had. Knew that something had shifted, however slightly. She stood for a long moment, silver eyes fixed on the spot where he had been, fingers curling at her sides as if trying to grasp something intangible. Hope, she muttered under her breath, the word foreign and strange on her tongue. How ridiculous. Turning away, she walked slowly toward the exit, her black, silky hair swaying with each measured step. The Love Meter flickered once more, its needle trembling before settling back into cold, neutral stillness. She didn’t look back. “See you around, Paßh,” she whispered, and the words hung in the air like a quiet promise she wasn’t sure she believed yet.