February 8th, 2026
Tokyo outskirts - 1:34 AM
Deep in the folds of midnight, beneath a sky that smothered the stars with thick, ominous clouds, a lavish, extravagant mansion sat isolated at the edge of Tokyo's outskirts. It was a place erased from public records, shielded by dense forestry, modern surveillance, and guards trained to kill in silence.
The mansion was a fortress masked in beauty - both ancient and modern, a secretive haven for the one who ruled from within.
Inside the mansion, Sakura Himura sat alone in her private quarters.
The room was dimly lit by crimson lanterns hanging from intricately carved beams. The air was heavy with the smell of incense and the weight of old blood.
The walls were lined with racks of ancient weaponry - katanas, kunai, shuriken, and customized firearms. Framed portraits of her ancestors watched silently from the shadows, as if bearing witness to her rule.
Sakura herself sat like a dark queen on a black leather chair draped in silken threads. Her long black hair flowed like a veil behind her.
Her expression was unreadable - emotionless, cold, yet regal. Her hands rested gently on the arms of her seat, but beneath them pulsed the deadly restraint of a woman capable of violence without flinching.
She wasn't waiting long.
The monitor to her left flickered on, revealing the live footage of several black vans stopping in front of the mansion gates.
Men in suits and coats emerged - powerful, influential men - her chosen associates. Some were former Yakuza, some heads of corporations, some ghosts who worked in the unseen corners of Japan's underground.
A voice crackled through the comm on her desk.
"Himura-sama, your associates are here."
She pressed the button, her voice low and laced with quiet menace.
"Let them in."
With a soft creak, she rose from her chair.
Her long dark brown hair swept behind her like a shadow as she moved through the hallway.
The camera followed her to the grand living room - walls painted black, gold inlay running along the crown moldings, a large, obsidian fireplace lit with slow-burning coals. She stood before a long, dark wooden table, hands clasped behind her back, waiting.
Outside the heavy double doors, muffled voices whispered and murmured.
Then silence.
The doors swung open.
One by one, the men entered the room. They bowed low as they saw her. Respectful. Fearful.
"Gentlemen," she began, her voice poised and glacial, "I'd like to discuss something… critical."
They quietly filed into their seats like students before an executioner.
Sakura didn't sit at first. She let the silence settle, let them feel the tension thicken like blood pooling on the floor.
Then, slowly, she sat at the head of the table, crossing one leg over the other with an air of effortless command.
"Takahashi-san," she began, "betrayed me. Not just dishonorably - but with utter cowardice. He accepted a bribe from an unknown group… a party that I believe threatens all of us."
"And Ray.." She whispered. Her face dark and determined.
The men looked at each other. No one spoke.
Her cold silver eyes scanned the table like a sword drawn.
"Well?" she asked. "Are you telling me that none of you knew?"
Still, nothing.
Until one man leaned forward. His voice was steady, his expression sharp and unreadable.
"I knew," he said, flatly. "But I warned him not to fuck with you."
The tension snapped in the air like a whip.
Sakura's eyes narrowed.
"Lionel Tachibana-san," she said coldly. "You knew… but you did not do enough to stop him."
Lionel's stare didn't break.
"As I said, Himura-sama, I warned him. Explicitly. What happened to him... he brought it upon himself. Surely, he knew the consequences clearly."
She scoffed - softly, but there was venom in it. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
"Then let me make something clear. To all of you."
They sat straight, like prey about to be sentenced.
"There is a new threat. A group. Of women."
Her voice slowed with precision.
"They are masked. Robed. Fluent in Latin. Their actions are not random. They could be moving in silence, in shadows, corrupting powerful men...my men including Takahashi."
That got their attention. The men shifted, glancing at one another.
Sakura scanned them again.
"If any of you are connected to these women... now would be the time to stand up."
Silence.
None moved. None spoke.
Their expressions told her everything - this was new to them.
Very well.
She stood with graceful finality, her robe cascading like liquid ink around her.
"Good. Then let me warn you... if I find out that any of you," she paused for emphasis, "accept a bribe from this group of women... your punishment will make Takahashi's fate look merciful."
Her tone was absolute. No emotion. Just truth.
Lionel spoke again, voice lower now. "Himura-sama... do you believe they're part of that....rumored cult? What's the name again?"
"Matri-"
"Matra-"
"Promise, something like that?"
"Matriarch's Promise." One associate answered clearly.
Sakura didn't answer immediately.
She turned her back to them, walking toward the tall glass doors that led to the moonlit veranda. Her reflection shimmered on the surface as she placed a hand on the glass.
"I believe they are older than we think," she said. "And far more dangerous than any of you are prepared for."
She turned her head slightly, enough to look over her shoulder.
"And I intend to eliminate them."
"But, Himura-sama, we still don't know their motives. They could be negotiated with-" One associate tried to reason.
But.
"Silence!" Sakura yelled at him. Shutting him off in an instant.
"Didn't I make myself clear? I will eliminate them." Sakura reiterated. Her face darkened and hostile.
"Do you understand?"
All of them nodded frantically. Even Lionel Tachibana.
Then she gracefully walked out.
The doors closed behind her.
The camera lingered on the silent room. The men were still seated, visibly shaken, no longer murmuring, no longer bold.
The Queen had spoken.
And her word was law.
Shigeyoshi residence - 7:23 AM
Morning rose, pale and gray, the sun filtered through a curtain of low-hanging clouds.
The Shigeyoshi residence was calm, nestled in the quiet suburbs of Tokyo - a temporary sense of peace hanging in the air like a breath held too long.
Inside the modern kitchen of the house, the scent of freshly brewed black coffee lingered in the air. Ray sat at the table, a steaming mug at his side, and his laptop open in front of him. His face was calm, but behind his still eyes, his mind was racing.
He wasn't thinking about breakfast.
His thoughts were fixed on the wedding invitation last night - Sakura's nieces, beautiful, innocent on the surface, had all worn the same necklace: The Matriarch's Promise.
Even their mother - Sakura's own sister - had worn it.
Ray took another sip of his coffee, bitter and strong, staring at the screen without truly seeing it.
Does Sakura know?
The idea twisted something inside his chest. He knew the necklace wasn't just for show. It was the same one he had seen on other cult members - those women who whispered in Latin, who moved like shadows behind curtains, orchestrating madness.
He began to type.
"Churches in Tokyo"
It didn't take long. The church she had attended was registered, but its online presence was strange.
It operated like a Catholic institution, with Sunday services, sacraments, and community outreach. But Ray knew better. The rituals described on their page were twisted imitations of faith.
And the photos.
Ray clicked on one from the Easter celebration. Standing in the background, barely noticeable, were women in ceremonial robes... and around their necks, the same necklace.
They hide in plain sight.
Ray leaned forward, inspecting the church's outer design, trying to memorize the stained-glass windows and layout.
Then -
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
He froze.
It was early. No one was expected.
His instincts kicked in.
Ray stood, closing the laptop gently, and walked toward the front door with the silence and awareness of a man who had seen too much.
He opened it -
And was immediately met with danger.
Three men stood on the porch. All of them tattooed. Their expressions cold. Their bodies tense beneath black suits and open-collar shirts.
Beneath their coats, Ray could see the unmistakable bulge of holstered pistols - subtle, but sloppy enough for him to notice.
Yakuza.
The middle one stepped forward with a thin smile, scar on his chin, toothpick in his mouth.
Ray didn't flinch. But his feet subtly adjusted into a ready stance, weight centered, hands loose at his sides.
He didn't need weapons.
His body was the weapon.
The man spoke.
"Is a guy named Shinjo Shigeyoshi here?"
Ray's eyes narrowed.
What's their business with his father?
Ray's voice was calm. Cold.
"What do you want with him?"
The man grinned wider, nodding to the others.
"Relax, kid. Just some old debts to collect. Shouldn't take long."
Ray stepped forward slightly, his body shielding the entrance.
"What debts?"
The second man chuckled. The third rested his hand near his side - too close to the pistol.
The scarred one spoke again.
"That man owes some serious yen. Gambling, protection, stupid shit. We gave him time. He ran. Now we came looking."
Ray's voice dropped. "He doesn't live here."
"Oh, but this place? It's in the Shigeyoshi name. Which means you, son, are responsible."
Ray's knuckles tightened.
"Take one more step toward my house," Ray said, eyes now dark and focused, "and I'll break every bone in your body before your gun even clears the holster."
A tense silence.
The Yakuza's smile faded.
Then -
He reached.
Too slow.
Ray moved.
CRACK.
Ray slammed his palm into the man's wrist, snapping it sideways with a sickening crunch. The pistol dropped to the ground.
The second man reached for his weapon.
Ray's elbow struck him across the temple - once, then again. Blood sprayed across the porch as the man collapsed against the railing, dazed.
The third man pulled his gun.
Ray ducked under the barrel and drove a devastating kick into his shin, followed by a punch to the throat. The man gagged and fell to his knees.
In six seconds, it was over.
Three men down.
Panting, one tried to crawl toward the fallen gun. Ray stepped on his hand and twisted his heel.
"I don't care what my father did," Ray said. "But if you come here again, armed and hostile... you'll leave in body bags."
He crouched beside the scarred leader, dragging him by the collar and whispering into his ear.
"Tell your boss this isn't his game anymore. If he wants my father... tell him to come to me."
Ray released him, shoving him back down.
"Now get off my porch."
The Yakuza crawled to their feet, limping and wheezing, dragging one another as they stumbled back toward a beat-up black sedan parked down the street.
Ray watched them go, his chest rising and falling.
Then he shut the door.
Locked it.
And turned around.
Back in the kitchen, the coffee had gone cold.
But Ray didn't care.
He stood there in the middle of the living room, fists clenched, breathing in silence.
His past wasn't just chasing him anymore.
It had arrived at his front door.
And worse - he still had questions that only his father could answer.