Himari watched in horrified awe from the porch as her big brother was thrown around the yard like a ragdoll. She couldn't do a single thing to rescue him. When it came to Akira, Himari knew better than to intervene.
"You call it a 'love language'?" Akira growled, cracking her knuckles. "I call it a death sentence."
Akira launched a lightning-fast jab toward his face. Hayato ducked just in time, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I am deeply sorry, milady! That wasn't me speaking—that was my traitorous tongue!"
Before he could pull back, Akira's left hook connected squarely with his right cheek, sending him flying across the grass.
His back slammed hard against the stone garden wall. He looked up, wincing, as Akira loomed over him with an icy glare.
"I still have plenty of leftover anger from earlier," Akira warned, her voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "My father was present on the shoreline, so I held back. But now... who is going to save you?"
"Milady, why don't we sit down and talk this over like reasonable adults?" Hayato wheezed, rubbing his jaw.
"Talk? What is there to talk about?"
"We could grab a cup of coffee, find a quiet café, and discuss my survival options," Hayato suggested smoothly.
He's getting the absolute life beaten out of him and he's STILL trying to ask her out on a date, Shameless as ever. Himari thought, burying her face in her hands.
Hayato offered his most charming smile. "So, what do you think, milady?"
"I have a much better idea," Akira said coldly.
"Oh?"
"Beating the complete crap out of you."
Akira swung her fist, but Hayato scrambled to his feet and bolted. Akira gave chase without missing a beat, her boots pounding heavily against the courtyard cobbles.
The two tore through the entire Yamamoto estate.
Shisui, casually walking down a tree-lined path toward his quarters, paused as Hayato sprinted past him, screaming for his life, with Akira behind him.
Shisui let out an exhausted sigh. "Akira has completely lost her mind hanging around that clown. Last time I checked, he got beating from a maid." Smirking to himself, Shisui shook his head and kept walking.
Eventually, Hayato's stamina gave out. Unable to run another step, he dragged himself to a secluded wooden bench on the edge of the estate grounds. He looked up and down the narrow street—it was completely deserted.
He slumped back, letting out a long, ragged sigh of relief.
Suddenly, a heavy hand rested on his shoulder. Without turning around, Hayato casually brushed it off.
"Get off me, dude. I'm literally dying here," Hayato grunted, catching his breath.
"Were you going somewhere?" a voice asked softly.
"Nah, just running for my life," Hayato panted, staring straight ahead. "I pissed off a shockingly beautiful lady. She was chasing me like a demon, but I finally lost her. Man, she was about to—"
"Are you absolutely sure you lost her?"
Hayato froze. Slowly, he turned his head to his right. Akira was sitting right beside him on the bench, leaning in with a pleasant, terrifying smile.
BAM!
Her fist collided with his face, knocking him flat onto the dirt. Without a word, Akira stood up, dusted off her uniform, and walked away.
Hayato sat up slowly, touching his swelling lip. Damn... now THAT was a punch.
A few days passed in a blur.
Deep inside the main estate dojo, the crisp ring of wooden swords echoed through the hall. Akira was locked in a fierce sparring match against her opponent—her father, the Supreme Commander.
Akira held her training katana with a white-knuckled, two-handed grip, her eyes blazing with focus. Her father, by contrast, kept his dominant right-hand casually tucked behind his back, wielding his wooden blade with effortless grace.
"Begin," the Commander ordered softly.
Akira lunged forward, executing a relentless flurry of strikes. The Commander parried every single blow without shifting his footing, deflecting her blade with minimal effort. With each failed attempt, Akira grew more aggressive, her strikes turning heavy and chaotic. Her father's face remained entirely unreadable.
Then, he made a single move.
A sudden, blinding movement of his wrist sent Akira's wooden sword flying across the room, clattering against the hardwood floor. Before she could even draw a breath, the tip of her father's blade was resting a fraction of an inch from her throat.
"My child," the Commander said, his voice calm and firm. "Never allow your aggressive side to take charge. Keep a clear mind. In a real battle, losing your composure is fatal."
Akira lowered her head respectfully. "Understood, Father."
"Keep practicing, and stay sharp," the Commander instructed, lowering his weapon. "Many of our finest warriors have been dispatched on missions away from the estate."
"I will," Akira replied, giving a sharp nod.
As the Commander stepped out of the dojo and into the morning air, his mind turned to the hidden preparations underway. All the non-combatants—the children, the elderly, the women—have been safely evacuated to the secondary estate under heavy guard. So, the battlefield, here could be clear.
He paused, looking back toward the dojo where Akira was practicing. I considered sending you with them, Akira... but I need to see firsthand how strong you have you become.
Turning toward the Family Head's private quarters, the Commander walked down the quiet corridors, gazing up at the gray sky. A long-buried memory surfaced in his mind—the silhouette of a man handing him a masterwork katana years ago.
A faint, bitter smirk touched the Commander's lips. Hideki... you son of a bitch.
Moments later, the Commander stood outside the heavy wooden doors of the Family Head's isolation chamber. He raised his hand and knocked twice.
"Enter," a deep, raspy voice called out from within.
The Commander slid the door open and stepped inside.
Meanwhile, on the outer grounds of the estate, Hayato stepped out of his house, stretching his arms over his head.
"Good morning, big guy. It's morning and the sky is grey?" Hayato called out cheerfully, walking past a reinforced enclosure where a massive, quiet leopard lounged in the shade.
He rubbed his stomach as it gave a loud rumble. "Man, I am in the mood for some fresh sushi today."
As he walked through the courtyard, he paused, noticing an eerie silence hanging over the area. Not a single guard was on patrol. Not even the maids were sweeping the stone paths.
"Where the hell is everybody?" Hayato muttered, scratching his neck. "Whatever. Sushi first, questions later."
He headed down the road to his favorite street-side restaurant. Slipping through the entrance, he pushed open the sliding wooden door—and froze dead in his tracks.
The small dining hall was packed to capacity. Every single seat was taken by silent, muscular men... all wearing deep black hoods pulled low over their faces.
The heavy scent of tension filled the air.
Something isn't right here, Hayato thought, as a dozen hooded heads slowly turned toward the door. Are these guys...