Thread One: The Counterstrike
The attack hadn't bruised Ryuji's body—but it had stirred something beneath the surface.
Something ancient.
That night, he changed out of his school uniform and into something darker. A black jacket. Gloves. A blade tucked into his belt—not for use, but for tradition.
He moved through the city like mist.
At midnight, a quiet dojo on the edge of Tokyo was silent—until the front door shattered inward.
The three men who had attacked him earlier that day were there, bandaged and shaken. And behind them, a man known as Saburō the Jackal, a mid-level Kurohane enforcer with a reputation for brutal interrogations.
Ryuji walked in alone.
Saburō sneered. "You're either insane or stupid, showing up here—"
He didn't finish.
In a blur, Ryuji crossed the room. One kick crushed Saburō's knee backward. Another drove him through the sliding door. Wood splintered. Bone cracked.
Ryuji leaned in close, whispering into Saburō's ear:
"Tell your masters… the Tatsugami-gumi doesn't die quietly."
He left the mark of his clan carved into the floor—a dragon wrapped in crimson lotus petals—and walked into the dark.
By morning, every underworld phone line was buzzing.
The Black Vow had retaliated.
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Thread Two: Aika Faces the Supreme
At the same time, in the high-rise office of the Kurohane estate, Aika stood before her father—Masanori Kurohane, the undisputed head of the syndicate. His presence was calm, regal, and suffocating. Like a god who deigned to sit in a mortal throne. The man who was previously shown in dark
"Why did you call for an attack?" she demanded.
He didn't look up from his desk, leisurely pouring himself a glass of aged whiskey.
"I didn't. The council acted without my order," he said flatly. "Though I didn't stop them either."
"Because of Ryuji," she spat, unable to hold back the bitterness in her voice.
His eyes flicked up at the name. Cold. Calculating. Predatory.
"I warned you, Aika," he said, voice as sharp as a blade. "That boy is nothing more than an inconvenience. A small flame that thinks it can scorch a mountain."
Aika's eyes narrowed. "You know who he is, don't you?"
He leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with amusement. "Of course. I've known from the moment he set foot in this city. A boy trying to carve his name with a butcher's knife, unaware that he's playing in the shadow of a far greater storm."
Aika's frustration bubbled up. "Then why let him near me?"
Masanori rose slowly, the movement controlled, deliberate, like a lion observing his prey. He walked toward the window, his voice dripping with disdain.
"You think he is dangerous?" He let out a soft chuckle. "He's a mere child. You underestimate how easily a single match can be snuffed out."
Aika's heart skipped. "Then why not end it?"
"Because," he said, turning back to her, "if I extinguish his flame too soon, he becomes a martyr. His death would stir the very thing I've spent years building my empire to suppress—chaos."
His cold gaze fixed on her. "He is a tool. A pawn. And every pawn has its use before it's discarded."
"But he's more than that," Aika argued, feeling a sting of doubt.
Masanori's gaze hardened. "He's a mistake. But I've been cleaning up mistakes for decades. And he will be no different."
He walked toward her, his presence overwhelming. "You think he can challenge me, Aika? A boy with nothing but rage in his veins? He is a spark. And I... am the storm."
Aika's voice trembled. "You really believe you're untouchable?"
Masanori smiled faintly, a dark, calculating grin. "Untouchable? No. But I've learned something in all my years, Aika. The key to survival is knowing who you touch—and who you allow to touch you."
He stepped closer. "Ryuji Tatsugami doesn't understand that yet. He will."
Aika's gaze faltered. "And what happens if he doesn't?"
"Then," Masanori said, his voice lowering, "he'll be nothing more than a footnote in history. A whisper drowned by the tide of the Kurohane legacy."
Aika's breath caught. "You're using me to keep him close."
"I'm using you to keep him alive," he corrected her. "Only for as long as he is useful."
Aika's hand clenched at her side. "You'll kill him."
"If he's foolish enough to stand in my way," Masanori said with chilling finality, "then yes. I will."