The Asashi estate stood under full guard that evening. The chill in the wind carried no scent of peace, only the tension of unspoken violence which could happen any moment.
At the outer courtyard, a line of women in traditional Japanese clothing stood side by side. Their faces were calm, disciplined, and coldly proud. Each wore the Asashi family crest, a rising moon above three ripples, stitched in gold on their sleeves. Their posture was perfect, their eyes sharp. The loyalty of generations hardened into silence.
Facing them was another group of armed women dressed in combat uniforms with firearms bearing a single symbol: a fisted hand painted white over the heart.
Their guns gleamed faintly under the estate lanterns, yet their eyes did not burn with the same steadiness. Some shifted uncomfortably. Others looked disgusted, as if the very air around them tasted of betrayal.
Between the two groups stretched an invisible border of distrust.
The Asashi women guarded their home.
