10:51 pm [Imperial Standard Time]
Kurogane Industrial Port
The air hung heavy over the docks, the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood still clinging to the warped wood. Flames from toppled lanterns flickered, casting jittering shadows over the still bodies sprawled among crates and containers. It was as if the port itself held its breath, waiting for the next movement.
A low hum grew from the horizon, drowned out by the distant echo of water lapping against the pier. Then, the faint roar of engines—too heavy, too mechanical to belong to anything civilian.
Armored vehicles rumbled across the docks, their headlights cutting through the darkness in sharp, linear beams. Doors hissed open, and out poured black-clad figures, each moving with a precision that betrayed extensive training and coordination. The local Imperial Police officers at the scene froze, unsure how to respond.
At the front, a single figure stepped forward, helmet visor glinting under the firelight. His movements were deliberate, measured, intimidating. This was an Imperial Agent—ranked Shogun-class, a high-ranking enforcer within the Emperor's modern army. His voice, amplified through a tactical comm system, carried over the dock.
"This is no longer a local matter," he said. "Stand down. This scene falls under Imperial jurisdiction. All units, maintain perimeter. We will investigate."
The police obeyed without hesitation, the tension in the air thickening.
The Agents split into formation and approached the building where the violence had occurred. Inside, the darkness was punctuated by small fires, illuminating a macabre gallery of death.
One by one, the Agents moved through the rooms, cataloging every detail. Limbs bent at impossible angles, faces frozen in silent screams, blood spattered in intricate arcs across walls and floors. Their formation maintained discipline, but the unease was visible—even among the coldest of these soldiers.
Finally, they reached the inner room—the place where the girl had been held.
The room was empty of its intended target. Only the body of the Inoue heir remained, slumped against the wall, grotesque in its stillness.
An Agent knelt beside the corpse, inspecting the precise dislocations of joints and muscle, the clean yet brutal marks across his body. He keyed his radio.
"Command, we've located the primary subject. Male, early twenties, heir of the Inoue clan. Death—methodical. Bladed strikes, precision disarms, zero collateral. Entire scene indicates deliberate restraint but overwhelming effectiveness. No known mercenary or local force could execute with such accuracy."
A pause. Static hissed over the line before the officer on the other end spoke, voice taut with recognition.
"Yoshima… it has to be them. There's no other explanation. Only the Yoshima clan employs this style. Nobody else. Confirmed. Take every precaution—the clan's operatives may still be nearby."
The Agent's helmet reflected the faint flames of the docks as he stood, voice calm but commanding:
"Understood. Full perimeter lockdown. Sweep for any remaining threats. This was not a local dispute. This is clan-level intervention."
Outside, the black vehicles shifted slightly, engines rumbling low, as if aware that the stage had now grown much larger.
____
Yoshima Headquarters, Phoenix Capital:
11:00 pm IST
The silence in the Yoshima headquarters was suddenly shattered by a thunderous crash. The reinforced doors splintered under the force of armored vehicles crashing through, black-clad figures spilling into the grand hall.
The sudden intrusion was shocking, enough to catch even the vigilant clan momentarily off guard.But the Yoshima operatives reacted instantly. Firearms rose, stances shifted, movements precise, fluid, and controlled.
Though they had not expected an attack, they responded as if the threat had been anticipated. Every wall, every corner, every shadow became a line of defense. Their confidence was unwavering.
The intruders paused just inside the shattered entrance, revealing themselves as Imperial Agents, their presence imposing, weapons gleaming. There was no hesitation, no questioning. Orders crackled over tactical radios, and the agents assumed their positions, a silent assertion of authority.
Between the crossfire of intent—the agents' weapons trained on the clan, and the clan's operatives matching each threat—footsteps echoed slowly through the room. Silence swallowed the hall; the sound of a single man walking could be heard as if amplified. The room itself seemed to acknowledge his authority.
He entered: the Imperial Minister himself, Rin Takeda. The Shogun-class enforcer walked with measured grace, radiating power and command. His presence alone reminded everyone that the Empire held the ultimate authority. He carried no weapons in hand, yet the weight of his will filled the room.
He paused in the center, eyes sweeping across the clan's leadership before settling on Kaede Yoshima.
"Kaede Yoshima," the Minister began, voice steady and chilling, "the Empire cannot ignore what has occurred. Your interference, however noble you may believe it to be, has provided us with justification. Justification to act, should we deem it necessary."
Kaede's posture did not waver. The clan's response was well calculated, a silent assertion that while they respected the Minister's presence, they were not intimidated.
His voice was calm, well composed, but every word bore weight.
"Interesting timing," he said, letting the phrase hang in the air.
The Minister continued, deliberately slow, each word cutting through the tension:
"The peace you claim to uphold… the territories you protect… your influence has grown beyond the bounds of tolerance. The people trust you, perhaps too much. And now, because of actions such as this… the Empire has a cause, a motive, to intervene."
The air in the hall was taut, every member aware that this was more than a confrontation. Every gesture, every unspoken message carried weight. Kaede knew the eyes of the Empire were watching, but outwardly, nothing betrayed any recognition of maneuvering or manipulation.
The Shogun's gaze lingered. "We are not here merely to observe. We are here to remind you… that the Empire ultimately controls the order. Every action, every decision, carries consequences."
The standoff remained, silent and charged. The Yoshima clan held their ground, weapons ready, yet disciplined. The Imperial Agents mirrored their caution, poised but restrained. And in the center of it all, the Shogun-class Minister was the embodiment of authority, a dark calm in a room heavy with unspoken tension.
The Imperial Minister stepped closer to Kaede Yoshima, closing the distance until only a breath separated them. His voice dropped, calm and controlled.
"This is not really for you."
He turned toward the towering windows overlooking Phoenix Capital. For a brief moment, the city lay still—then the night fractured. Explosions rippled across the mainland, distant but unmistakable, fire blooming against the dark horizon.
The Imperial Minister stiffened—. His expression did not change.
Kaede followed his gaze. His breath slowed. His eyes sharpened.
"…Hayashi," he said.
The Imperial Minister inclined his head slightly. "Correct."
Kaede's hands clenched. His voice remained steady, but something dangerous bled through it.
"You planned this."
The Minister leaned in again, quieter now. "Now you see the shape of it. And next—your son."
Kaede turned to him fully.
"If you touch Ichiro," he said, each word deliberate, "this ends in blood. Yours. Mine. Everyone's."
The Imperial Minister studied him, curious rather than threatened.
"You speak with certainty."
"I don't bluff."
A beat passed.
The Imperial Minister exhaled lightly. "There is no scenario where he survives."
Kaede did not look away. "We are all allowed our delusions."
The Minister's eyes narrowed, not offended—interested.
"But," the Imperial Minister continued, "if he survives what I have already set in motion… then perhaps he earns the right to remain alive. At least for now."
Kaede said nothing.
Then, cold and final: "If my son makes it out of this night alive—nothing he does matters. No arrest. No trial. He walks free."
Silence stretched.
The Imperial Minister considered this. Slowly, a thin smile formed.
"Interesting."
He straightened, eyes returning to the burning mainland.
"If Ichiro Yoshima survives the night," the Minister said, "the Empire will not touch him. Not today. Not for what happens here."
Kaede did not thank him.
The Minister went on, voice level. "As for the girl—whoever holds her by dawn is the strongest. That will decide everything."
His gaze slid back to Kaede.
"And it will not be you."
Silence filled the hall again, heavier than before.
Kaede's reply was barely above a whisper.
"Then you don't know my son."
The Imperial Minister turned away, already done with the exchange.
"We will," he said. "By morning."
As the Imperial Minister turned to leave, he raised a single hand.
The Imperial Agents responded immediately. Weapons lowered. Fingers eased from triggers. The tension that had stretched the room to its breaking point loosened—not into relief, but into wary stillness.
They were leaving.
One of the Agents hesitated, stepping closer to the Minister. His voice was kept low, respectful.
"Sir… are we not detaining them?"
The Imperial Minister stopped. He did not turn at first.
Then a soft chuckle escaped him—quiet, almost amused.
"Detain them?" he said. "As if you had the chance."
He finally glanced back, eyes sweeping over the Yoshima operatives still standing, weapons steady, unbroken.
"The fact that you are all still breathing," he continued calmly, "is a courtesy extended by Kaede Yoshima. One we would be wise not to misunderstand."
The Agent stiffened. "Yes, sir."
"We have accomplished what we came for," the Minister added. "And there are… larger fish in motion."
He resumed walking, then paused once more—this time addressing Kaede directly, his tone formal.
"Kaede Yoshima," he said, "please extend my regards to your wife. Inform her that the Empire wishes her continued good health."
A deliberate beat.
"I trust she is well."
Kaede did not respond.
The Imperial Minister did not wait for one.
The Agents followed him out, boots crunching over broken glass as they withdrew, leaving the Yoshima headquarters standing—intact, armed, and very much unbowed.
The doors closed.
And only then did the weight of what had just transpired truly settle.