The rain fell steadily, drumming against the rooftops of Kyouten and pooling in the cracked asphalt below. The city's neon lights reflected off the wet streets, creating a kaleidoscope of color that flickered in the darkness. Kazuki moved through the city like a shadow, his steps purposeful and silent. He wasn't here to admire the scenery; he was here to ensure control—his control.
This was the first strike, a calculated move to destabilize a rival who had dared to test Kagezan's authority. Kazuki wasn't interested in diplomacy. His methods were cleaner, more decisive. A blade in the dark left no room for negotiation, only a clear message: Kyouten belonged to him.
He reached the mayor's office just before midnight. The building stood as a monument to wealth and influence, its polished marble facade glinting in the rain. Kazuki slipped past the guards with ease, their complacency a testament to how untouchable they thought their employer was.
Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of leather and wood polish. The mayor's private study was an opulent display of excess—a sprawling mahogany desk, shelves lined with antique books, and a crystal decanter of whiskey that sat untouched. Kazuki's sharp eyes took in everything, cataloging the space as a predator studies its prey.
The mayor looked up from his papers, his expression faltering as he met Kazuki's cold gaze. His advisors stood nearby, their faces pale and uncertain.
"Kazuki," the mayor stammered, forcing a smile. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
Kazuki's silence stretched, the weight of it pressing down on the room. He stepped closer, his movements measured, deliberate. The mayor shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his composure cracking under the pressure.
"You've been making deals in the Shadow District," Kazuki said finally, his voice low and precise. "Undermining Kagezan."
The mayor's smile faltered completely. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Kazuki's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "You're lying."
One of the advisors stepped forward, his voice trembling. "We… we didn't mean to overstep. It was a misunderstanding—nothing more."
Kazuki's gaze shifted to the man, his expression unreadable. "A misunderstanding?" he echoed softly. "Is that what you'll tell your rivals when they sense weakness? That it was all a misunderstanding?"
The advisor took a step back, his face ashen. Kazuki's presence was suffocating, a quiet dominance that left no room for argument.
The mayor's hand twitched toward the whiskey decanter, but he froze when Kazuki's knife glinted in the dim light. "You made a mistake," Kazuki said, his voice as sharp as the blade. "But I'm not here to kill you."
Relief flickered across the mayor's face, but it was short-lived. Kazuki stepped closer, his blade slicing through the air to rest just above the mayor's throat.
"Not tonight," Kazuki continued. "But your actions have consequences. This is your warning. Step out of line again, and I won't bother with a conversation."
The mayor nodded frantically, his breath shallow. "I… I understand."
Kazuki withdrew the blade, tucking it back into its sheath with a fluid motion. "Good," he said, turning to leave. He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder. "And clean up the mess in the Shadow District. I don't want to see your fingerprints on anything again."
Back at Kagezan's underground command center, Kazuki stood before a map of the city. His closest men flanked him, their trust absolute, their silence weighted with understanding.
"The target is a tactician with deep ties to our rivals. He's been gathering intelligence on our operations." Kazuki's finger traced a line across the map, ending at a fortified building. "Guards. Surveillance. Contingencies. None of it matters."
One of his men hesitated. "Kazuki-sama, do you really need to—"
"If I rely on others, mistakes happen." His voice cut like steel. "I end it myself."
The city's veins—alleys narrow and twisting—became Kazuki's hunting ground. His leather jacket rippled as he moved through shadows, the scent of rain and asphalt thick in the night. He was a whisper in the dark, a predator whose heartbeat was as measured as the ticking of a watch.
His footfalls were silent, his weight perfectly balanced. The creak of old metal, the shift of fabric from a window above—it all folded into his awareness.
He scaled the side of a building with fluid ease. His muscles coiled and released in perfect synchronization, hands gripping weathered stone. At the top, he leaped between rooftops, his body an extension of the night itself. He landed soundlessly, the soles of his boots kissing the tiles with reverence.
In the alley below, a guard glanced upward. Too late.
Kazuki's knife shimmered once before it sliced the man's throat. The guard's body jerked, but strong arms caught him, lowered him to the ground as though easing a child into sleep. Blood pooled silently.
Above, another guard scanned the darkness. Kazuki's figure loomed behind him, a blur of motion. His blow to the back of the man's neck was swift, precise—enough to kill without fury. The guard collapsed, eyes staring into nothing.
He moved on.
Another pair of guards patrolled the upper corridor. The first turned into Kazuki's path, eyes widening. His breath hitched—a mistake. Kazuki grabbed the man's face, driving a blade between his ribs. The point found the heart with perfect certainty. No sound, only a gurgle of life slipping away. He held the man's gaze until it dimmed.
The second guard spun, panic lacing his movements. Kazuki was faster. His blade arced smoothly, a ghost that sang no warning. The man fell before his scream could rise.
Efficiency. Precision. Death without excess.
The penthouse gleamed with polished lies—marble floors, glass walls, false security wrapped in decadence. Kazuki stepped inside, his steps silent as shadows sliding over stone.
The target, a wiry man with predatory eyes, sat behind a broad desk of mahogany. The shift of air warned him. He shot to his feet, hands fumbling for the weapon beneath his papers.
"'You don't understand,' the man stammered, his voice cracking. 'I know about the shipments. The alliances you're forging in the Shadow District. I can—' The blade silenced him before the truth could escape."
Kazuki's head tilted, his eyes devoid of mercy. His hand moved, swift and final. The blade found the man's heart as easily as wind finds open space.
The blade slid in as easily as a whispered lie, and Kazuki felt nothing. No triumph, no regret—only the fleeting stillness of a life extinguished.
"You knew the risks," he said quietly, though there was no one left to hear him.
The night embraced Kazuki as he stepped into its endless depths, the blood on his hands a lingering warmth. His leather jacket clung like a second skin, the city a restless beast beneath his feet.
But in his mind, there was only Hime—fragile, brilliant. Her presence lingered in his mind, a quiet warmth against the cold edges of his world. She was more than a distraction—she was a reminder of something he'd long since buried: the possibility of light.
If any harm ever came her way… if anyone dared…
"I'll bury them all."