August 9th, 2025
At Kawasaki residence - Tokyo - 5:56 AM
The Kawasaki mansion stood in dignified silence beneath a heavy early morning sky. The long driveway glistened from an earlier drizzle, its rain-slick stones reflecting faint light from the overcast heavens.
Inside, the air was still - save for the muted rustle of garments and the dull thud of drawers sliding shut.
In the master bedroom, Lionel Kawasaki moved with slow, deliberate motions. A half-zipped suitcase lay on the bed, the fine Italian leather gaping open to reveal neatly folded shirts, pressed suits, and rows of carefully rolled ties.
On the dresser, two slim stacks of yen and a smaller pile of crisp U.S. dollars lay ready, held in place by a silver money clip engraved with the Kawasaki family crest.
He reached into his wardrobe, withdrawing a tailored charcoal jacket. The subtle scent of cedarwood cologne lingered in the air - a fragrance that had followed him for decades, both in boardrooms and on darker errands.
Behind him, Koharu stood with arms folded, the weight of her disapproval pressing into the room like a storm about to break.
"You're really doing this?" she demanded, her voice sharp but restrained, as if trying not to shatter the fragile calm.
Lionel didn't turn. "I am."
Her heels clicked across the polished floor as she came closer, her tone shifting from incredulous to outright furious. "United States? What business could you possibly have there? This isn't a corporate trip, and yet you expect to use the company jet? For personal reasons? No."
Lionel continued folding clothes, sliding another suit into place. "I'll be back soon enough."
"That's not the point!" Koharu snapped. "You're abusing company resources. If this is so personal, buy a ticket like everyone else. Use the airport. Sit in first class, drink your whiskey, and leave our fleet alone."
Lionel finally stopped. His hands rested on the edge of the suitcase, knuckles whitening slightly. Slowly, he turned toward her. His expression was unreadable - calm, but with a certain coldness that made Koharu instinctively stiffen.
"You don't know anything," he said quietly.
Koharu frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm doing this for our son. For Leo." The words were delivered with such composure that they didn't sound like an explanation but rather a final decree.
Koharu's brow knit tighter. "For Leo? Since when does flying halfway across the world help our son? What aren't you telling me, Lionel?"
The low chime of a phone broke the tension. Lionel's hand slipped into his pocket, and he glanced at the screen. Without another word to his wife, he answered.
"Yes?" His tone was clipped, businesslike.
On the other end, a deep male voice spoke. "Sir, the jet is prepped and waiting at Haneda. Crew's ready for immediate departure."
Lionel gave a small nod to himself, though the caller couldn't see it. "Understood." He ended the call without so much as a goodbye.
He zipped the suitcase shut, the metallic sound slicing through the air. Lifting it with one hand, he moved toward the door.
"Lionel -" Koharu began, but he didn't stop.
"Don't wait up," he said flatly as he passed her.
She stood rooted in place, fingers pressing against her temple, exhaling slowly through her nose. A shake of the head followed, equal parts frustration and resignation.
Outside, the gravel crunched beneath Lionel's polished shoes as he approached the waiting sedan. The black paint gleamed like a pool of ink, the tinted windows offering no hint of the interior.
As the chauffeur opened the rear door, a slim figure emerged from the opposite side of the car - Kira. Dressed in a fitted black coat, her dark hair framed a face sharpened by determination.
"You're coming?" Lionel asked, a faint note of disapproval in his otherwise even tone.
Kira offered a thin smirk. "Of course. Did you think I'd let you have all the fun?"
Lionel's gaze hardened. "You shouldn't come with me. I'm much better at handling things alone."
She scoffed. "And you don't even know an inch about Everhart. I do."
A beat of silence. Then Lionel gave the faintest nod. "Fair point."
He slid into the back seat, placing his suitcase beside him. From inside his coat, he withdrew his glock, the matte finish absorbing the dim light. He checked the slide with practiced ease, the click echoing faintly in the confined space.
"We'll do it my way," he said, his voice low, almost a growl. "And when it's over, that Everhart bastard will never see Ruth again."
The weight of his words lingered like a loaded gun on the table.
Kira's eyes glinted with a dangerous satisfaction. "I'll make sure of it."
Outside, the driver glanced in the rearview mirror, waiting for the signal. Lionel met his gaze.
"Drive."
The engine rumbled to life, the car gliding away from the mansion gates. The Kawasaki crest on the ironwork faded in the distance, swallowed by the gray afternoon mist.
Neither Lionel nor Kira spoke as the city streets began to blur past. But in the silence, the intent was clear. This wasn't a simple trip to America. This was a hunt.
And the prey had no idea the predators were already on their way.
The Kawasaki mansion's black luxury sedan rolled through the quiet morning streets of Tokyo's outskirts, headlights cutting sharp lines through the night mist.
Inside, Lionel Kawasaki sat in silence, his jaw set like stone, the faint gleam of the pistol he'd packed earlier reflecting in the dim cabin light.
Beside him, Kira leaned into her seat, her lips curved into a smile that belonged more to a predator than a passenger.
The long drive to the private airport was nearly wordless. Even the driver seemed to feel the weight of the night - no small talk, no glances in the rearview mirror.
Only the steady hum of the engine filled the space between Lionel and his daughter-in-law.
When the sedan finally slowed, the looming shape of the private airport's hangar rose before them, its massive sliding doors open just enough for a shadowy light to spill across the tarmac.
The company's jet, polished to a mirror sheen, sat like a sleek bird waiting for flight. Its engines were still cold, but the crew was nearby, silently waiting for orders.
The sedan eased to a stop at the front of the hangar's garage. Lionel stepped out first, his black overcoat brushing against his knees, his polished shoes tapping against the concrete.
Kira followed, her heels sharp against the ground, the night breeze catching strands of her dark hair.
And then they saw them - six figures standing in a loose formation near the edge of the hangar's shadow, not speaking, not moving, simply watching.
Even at a distance, their posture was wrong - too stiff, too deliberate, as if they were carved out of the air itself.
One of them stepped forward slightly, the faint light catching his face. It was Daigo.
The bruises from Ian's fury still marred his skin, ugly shades of purple and yellow across his cheekbone and jaw. His lip was split, a scar pulling faintly at the corner of his mouth. Yet, his eyes… his eyes burned with a twisted satisfaction, as though every throb of pain was a reminder of the debt he would one day repay in blood.
Lionel didn't break stride as he walked toward them. His presence carried a quiet authority that made the six straighten instinctively, but there was no warmth in his gaze - only appraisal, cold and clinical. His eyes moved from one to the next before settling on a lone figure at the far right.
She was smaller than the others, dressed in black jeans and a hooded jacket, the hood pulled low. A black mask covered the lower half of her face, leaving only her sharp, watchful eyes visible. Lionel stopped in front of her, his tone flat.
"So," he said, his voice cutting through the silence, "you followed him?"
The woman shook her head once. "No, Kawasaki-sama."
The air seemed to tighten. Lionel's eyes narrowed, and the pause he let hang between them was deliberate.
"Then," he said slowly, "why are you standing in front of me?"
She didn't flinch. "Because I found something better than a trail."
Lionel's stare sharpened. He waited.
The woman's voice was calm when she continued. "I asked questions here. Around the airport. Turns out that Everhart guy flew to the United States a few days ago."
"And?"
Her eyes gleamed faintly in the shadow of her hood. "Destination was South Carolina. And he wasn't alone. He traveled with a Caucasian woman. Brown hair. Foreign. She didn't look like business."
A muscle worked in Lionel's jaw. "South Carolina," he repeated under his breath, as if tasting the name for the first time.
The woman didn't move.
"Alright, listen up." Lionel started.
Lionel turned, facing the entire group now. "If anyone finds out whether he has family there… you will be rewarded."
His voice was measured, but the edge in it cut deep enough to leave a chill in the hangar.
"And if anyone brings Everhart to me -" Lionel's gaze swept over each of them, lingering just long enough to make them look away, "-you will be greatly rewarded."
A tall man in the back stepped forward slightly. His face was striking, but the darkness in his expression stripped away any hint of charm. "And what if he has family there?" he asked.
Lionel's head turned slowly toward him. The hangar's overhead lights caught the glint in his eyes. "Kill them all."
The words were spoken softly, but there was no mistaking them for anything other than a death sentence.
"Understood," the man replied, his voice low.
The five bowed in unison - except for Daigo.
Daigo's smirk split across his bruised face like a wound reopening.
There was a perverse joy in his eyes, the kind that came from picturing blood running warm across his hands. Kira's own smile matched his, though hers was something colder, sharper - a smile that promised not mercy, but utter destruction.
The night air seemed heavier now. Somewhere in the distance, the low hum of the jet's generators rumbled, a reminder of the journey ahead.
Lionel turned without another word, his coat brushing against his legs as he walked toward the steps of the aircraft.
Behind him, Kira glanced at the six killers one last time before following, her heels clicking in measured rhythm against the tarmac. Her eyes met Daigo's for a brief second, and an unspoken understanding passed between them: there would be blood before this was over.
The hangar doors began to close as all of them boarded the jet. The sound of the metal grinding shut drowned out everything else, sealing away the promise of what was to come.
Far above the runway, the night sky stretched endless and black - a fitting canvas for the darkness they were about to unleash.