February 8th, 2026
At Shigeyoshi residence - 7:30 AM
The morning sun rose slowly over the Shigeyoshi residence, painting the kitchen walls with a pale amber light. The faint hum of the refrigerator blended with the soft crackle of the coffee machine. Ray sat alone at the small dining table, a steaming cup of black coffee at his right hand, his laptop open before him.
Steam curled up into the air, disappearing in the stillness. Ray's eyes weren't on the coffee - they were fixed on the laptop screen.
His mind kept circling the same disturbing image: Sakura's nieces at the wedding, smiling, laughing… and each one wearing that necklace. The Matriarch's Promise. Even their mother, Sakura's sister, had worn it proudly.
It wasn't just jewelry. It was a mark. A sign of belonging. And belonging, in that world, meant chains you couldn't see but could feel tightening around your throat.
Ray's mind pressed the question like a blade against skin:
Does Sakura know? Does she know her own blood might be part of a violent cult? Or… is she keeping it from me and my father?
His jaw tightened. The cursor blinked on the search bar of his browser. He typed in keywords: churches in Tokyo. The pieces lined up. Angela - the cheating ex-girlfriend of Keito - had been attending a place that looked like a Catholic church… but it wasn't. The cross above the entrance was slightly crooked, its angles warped, as if mocking the faith it imitated.
Ray narrowed his eyes, studying the façade in the images. He didn't have all the answers yet, but his gut told him this wasn't just a church - it was another mask for the Matriarch's Promise.
He shut the laptop with a quiet click.
He stood, drained the rest of his coffee in a single swallow, and stepped outside to clear his mind. The cold air bit his face.
The porch was empty. The three Yakuza men who'd come earlier, demanding to know about his father, Shinjo Shigeyoshi, were gone. But Ray wasn't empty-handed.
He turned his wrist slightly, letting the early light glint off the pistol in his grip - a Beretta M9. Taken straight from one of those men's holsters during the tension earlier. The weight of it was reassuring.
In Japan, owning a firearm was as illegal as openly declaring war on the government. That made the pistol all the more valuable. It wasn't just a weapon - it was an advantage in a city where your enemies could strike from the shadows.
Sankai Private Medical - 8:36 AM
Sankai Private Medical towered against the Tokyo skyline like an immaculate white monolith. Its glass panels reflected the soft daylight, and the automatic doors opened with a sterile hiss as Ray stepped inside.
The lobby smelled faintly of disinfectant, with the undercurrent of something metallic - subtle, but it was there.
The sound of heels clicked on tile. Nurses in crisp uniforms moved about, heads down, focused on their tasks.
Ray headed for the elevator at the far end, his mind still turning over the Yakuza's words about his father's "unpaid debts."
As he reached the elevator, he caught it - a look.
One of the nurses was watching him. Not in a friendly way. Not even with the vague curiosity strangers sometimes have. No… her gaze was measured. Assessing. Like she was checking off boxes in her mind.
Ray ignored it. Years of experience taught him that not every stare meant danger - but every stare had to be filed away for later.
He stepped inside the elevator and pressed the button for the 8th floor. The same floor where his father was admitted. The doors began to close.
A hand darted in, stopping them. The same nurse from earlier stepped in, smiling faintly.
Ray's instincts sharpened.
Her smile didn't touch her eyes. Her posture was just a fraction too tense.
The elevator began to rise.
The first floor passed.
Ding.....
Then the second.
Ding...
The third floor...
Suddenly....
The nurse moved.
It was fast - too fast for a civilian. She pulled something from her pocket - a syringe, its needle glinting under the fluorescent light.
She lunged.
Ray twisted his torso, the needle passing inches from his neck.
Her left foot slammed down, pivoting her body into a sweeping strike. She was no ordinary nurse - her stance was balanced, her weight distribution tight, the kind of precision that came from training.
Ray caught her wrist, slammed it against the wall, but she drove her knee toward his ribs. He blocked with his forearm and shoved her back.
The syringe jabbed at him again - he leaned just far enough for it to miss, then threw an elbow toward her jaw. She ducked under it, spun, and drove a sidekick into his midsection.
Pain bloomed across his ribs, but Ray stayed standing.
Her other foot shot out and hit every button on the elevator panel in a rapid blur - flooding the display with glowing numbers. The elevator would stop at every floor, giving them privacy and her time to work.
She came in high with a mid-air kick.
Something small clattered to the floor. Ray's eyes flicked down for a split second - and there it was.
That damn necklace.
The Matriarch's Promise.
Ray's eyes snapped back to her face.
"What the hell do you want from me?" he demanded, voice low, controlled.
She smiled. And it was the smile of someone who wasn't afraid to die in that small metal box.
Then she spoke. Not in Japanese. Not in English. But in Latin. Her tone was smooth, almost reverent. The words felt heavy in the air, even though Ray didn't understand their meaning.
She lunged again.
Ray sidestepped, caught her by the wrist, and drove his knee up into her stomach. She grunted but didn't let go of the syringe.
"It's time to fulfill your destiny," she said in English now, her voice like a whisper laced with venom.
Destiny? The word echoed in Ray's head, stirring something between anger and confusion.
"You picked the wrong guy to preach to," he muttered.
She went for his throat - he blocked. She swept low for his legs - he jumped back. The elevator's walls rang with the impact of their strikes.
Finally, Ray caught her mid-kick, twisted, and slammed her into the corner. The syringe flew from her grip and skittered across the floor.
She snarled, going for his eyes with her fingers, but Ray headbutted her hard enough to send her reeling. He followed with a spinning elbow to her jaw.
Her knees buckled.
The doors slid open on the 25th floor.
Ray stepped out, breathing hard, his right hand still curled into a fist. He signaled to a nearby hospital staff member.
"There's an incident in the elevator," he said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding his veins.
Then - glass shattered.
The sharp, crystalline sound cut through the sterile hallway.
Ray spun.
The window beside the elevator was broken, shards glittering on the floor.
He looked into the elevator. It was empty.
The nurse was gone.
The quiet that followed wasn't peace. It was the silence of a predator stepping back into the shadows, waiting for the next strike.
Ray's hand brushed the Beretta hidden under his jacket. He was no stranger to enemies disappearing. But this wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.