The office of Tachibana Masamune, head of the Orochi Eight Families.
Genji Raito, still clad in his black overcoat from the Executive Bureau, didn't even have time to change before pushing past a carved wooden screen. As he entered, he passed by several carefully framed ukiyo-e prints—some depicting the majestic snow-covered Mt. Fuji, others showcasing elegantly dressed geisha.
These Showa-era trinkets, oozing with the aesthetic of old men, left Raito feeling uninspired.
His gaze quickly swept past the decorations, landing on the massive hardwood desk in the office's work area. The polished surface gleamed like a mirror, and rows of documents were lined up in precise order—each representing the Orochi clan's control over countless yakuza organizations, power akin to a "Shadow Emperor."
Seated behind this desk, enveloped in a strict and old-fashioned aura, was the elder Tachibana Masamune himself—the man who wielded that terrifying power.
Despite his deep-set eyes and sharp nose that made him look like a foreigner, his pupils were unmistakably Japanese black. Masamune pursed his lips with a stern face, diligently poring over paperwork.
Raito had long known this image of him—serious and meticulous. It was this dedication and his tangible achievements that earned Masamune the support of the other family heads and his position as patriarch.
"You're back early. I'd expected someone your age to have more to talk about with Shirou," Masamune said without looking up.
Raito inwardly rolled his eyes. The older generation always thought that just pairing young people together would naturally yield harmony and understanding. But times had changed—today's youth formed their own niche circles, often speaking in completely different dialects of interests.
He dropped unceremoniously onto the dark leather couch across from the desk and went straight to the point.
"We did have a lot to talk about—too much, actually. Oyaji, the guy started chatting about god-level secrets. How am I supposed to keep a conversation going after that?"
Clack.
Masamune set down the papers. The fountain pen slipped from his fingers and rolled across the desk several times.
"What happened?"
Raito gave a concise summary of his entire meeting with Shirou, detailing his mannerisms, questions, and revelations.
"Isn't it weird? Top-level clan secrets being known by an outsider like Shirou—a mixed-blood with no direct ties to us?"
Masamune looked as surprised as Raito felt. "You said Shirou believes the Fierce Oni Gang is preparing to go to war with us for the divine remains?"
"Exactly. The Fierce Oni know about the god's secrets. They believe the path through Yomi—toward the god's remains—is the road to becoming a divine being. A true pure-blooded dragon. That's why they're so obsessed."
"Now, Shirou might have gotten his info from the Fierce Oni instead of us—but if he's one of them, why warn me, the Orochi clan's 'Emperor'?"
Masamune nodded slightly.
"Ever since our ancestor, the first Mikogami, we've been instructed to seal the road to Yomi. Divine power is not easily obtained—it's both a gift and a trap left by the gods."
"The fate of Susanoo is proof of that. We must not repeat his mistake or give the Fierce Oni any opportunity."
According to secret family records, Susanoo, youngest child of Izanagi, had once succumbed to temptation and fused with the Sacred Corpse. He underwent draconic transformation and became the "White King: Yamata no Orochi."
Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi were forced to sacrifice themselves, unleashing simulated kotodama like "Return to the Void" and "Shiva's Karma Dance." They entombed the ancient divine city Takamagahara—along with the White King—beneath the Pacific Ocean.
To this day, the city's location remains unknown. Though it should be detectable using deep-sea drones with sonar and cameras, the ocean is vast, and searching it is prohibitively expensive.
The Orochi families had no interest in spending fortunes on such searches—unlike the fervent Fierce Oni. In fact, not finding it had always been preferable.
"…But now things have changed. If the Fierce Oni really have a lead on Takamagahara, they might search the tomb of the gods before us."
Masamune's tone grew solemn. "We must probe their movements. We've been passive for too long. Aoiya might be our opening."
Raito sat up in disbelief. "You believe what Shirou said? Aren't his sources way too suspicious?"
"No matter how suspicious Shirou is, we can't bet on our enemies behaving themselves."
Masamune sighed. "And there's another possibility… Shirou might not be an outsider at all."
"What do you mean?"
"Shirou… could be a lost imperial bloodline of the Orochi Eight Families."
"What?!"
Masamune dropped a bombshell. "Raito, I've always said you're no weaker than Shirou. The reverse is also true. Someone who can slay dragons and gods must have bloodline on par with 'Emperors.'"
"Our background check on Shirou's family came back full of holes. If he was adopted and raised outside the clan… then everything makes sense. In fact, he might be just like you."
"…Just like me…" Raito muttered, stunned. Reality was turning surreal. Did he suddenly gain a sibling of equal rank?
"Yes. Too many coincidences. Not to mention—he and Erii both have red hair."
They both thought of the same girl—a redhead eternally confined to an ICU, gaming her days away: Uesugi Erii, the last blood of the Uesugi clan.
—
That night, in a hidden underground complex deep in the mountains.
"This is no coincidence!"
In the shadows of a cold, sterile corridor, a masked man snarled lowly to no one.
The facility was oppressive—no sunlight, the air thick with disinfectant and damp chill. Inside a dimly lit lab, glass separated two chambers. One held aging but functional equipment—monitors flashing and humming.
The other chamber contained massive, transparent tanks filled with glowing biomass fluid. Inside floated several clones, identical in form and features, suspended like specters.
Before one such tank stood the masked man.
He removed his mask—a nō mask of a white-faced court noble with red lips—and revealed the face of an old man.
A face identical to Tachibana Masamune!
"Over ten years! Why now of all times?! Why ruin my perfect setup?!"
This man's true name was Jung von Herzog.
Once a brilliant geneticist and occultist, he'd joined the "Land of the North" in pursuit of the Holy Grail. After the great war and his nation's fall, he was captured and sent to Black Swan Port in the Arctic to study dragons and hybrids.
But none of that mattered anymore.
What he remembered most from that time was in 1991, when a man named Bondarev arrived and revealed the truth about dragons—and that their research funding had been cut.
Bondarev offered him a way out: abandon the failed port, join him, and pursue godhood through dragonkind.
Herzog, hungry for truth and seduced by Bondarev's promise of divinity, agreed.
Together, they destroyed the lab and fled, taking with them three key experimental subjects: the young Raito, his sister Raiko, and a fetal Uesugi Erii.
But Bondarev later betrayed him, leaving Herzog gravely wounded.
Barely surviving, Herzog had his face altered and infiltrated Japan. He later tracked down and killed Bondarev, reclaiming the three experimental subjects, the research notes, and Bondarev's "White King Resurrection Program."
Thus began his double life as "Tachibana Masamune," climbing the Orochi hierarchy and unearthing its deepest secrets. He was now one step from reviving the White King and seizing godhood.
Everything was perfect… until now.
Herzog's fury faded into anxiety.
Shirou—red-haired, imperial-tier bloodline, mysterious dead foster father and unclear origins…
This was no coincidence. Shirou had to be one of Bondarev's experimental children.
Thinking back… when Bondarev had set sail near Japan, Herzog had intercepted and killed him, seizing all his assets.
The timing was too convenient—like Bondarev had offered himself up as a sacrificial pawn to deliver Herzog the ultimate prize.
Which meant there could only be one answer:
Bondarev—the cunning demon he killed—was back from hell.
(End of Chapter)
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