02:44 AM
Pier 12, Ironport Downstream Sector
The Ironport lighthouse swept across the pier every ten seconds, casting pale flashes of light upon puddles of oil and rust. **Rion** collapsed behind a stack of rain-soaked wooden pallets. His right hand trembled violently, pressing against a gaping wound in his abdomen that continued to vomit deep crimson onto the gray concrete.
Every breath felt like shards of glass cutting through his lungs. He could hear the distant drone of ship engines, but in his ears, the sound merged with the slowing rhythm of his own heartbeat. To him, Ironport was meant to be a hiding place, not a grave.
Click.
The footsteps were soft, yet distinct over the hiss of the rain. Rion tried to reach for his dagger, but his fingers had lost all strength. A shadow fell over him—the silhouette of a woman in a long, billowing coat, standing calmly in the storm as if the rain dared not touch her.
Rion looked up with blurred vision. The lighthouse beam swept across Ren's face, revealing a cold gaze that remained unchanged from ten years ago.
"You've come to the wrong city to die, Rion," Ren's voice was crystal clear, cutting through the roar of the waves.
Rion coughed, blood seeping from the corners of his lips. "Ren... are you... still breathing in this hell?"
Ren knelt beside him. Her gloved fingers touched the wound on Rion's stomach with precise pressure. Rion winced, the pain searing through to the marrow of his bones.
"Only a fool lets himself be stabbed this deep," she whispered softly.
"The blood... this blood isn't just mine..." Rion muttered incoherently. His vision began to swim. The black night sky of Ironport abruptly faded, replaced by the blinding golden light of the past.
OSAKA, ONE MONTH AGO
The scent of incense filled the vast tatami room. At the far end, the **Oyabun** sat with a straight back, though his breathing sounded heavy. Beside him, his son—a young man with eyes full of rotten ambition—smiled thinly.
Rion knelt at the very front, his head bowed low. He had given everything to this clan. Ten years of blood, sweat, and absolute loyalty.
"Rion," the Oyabun's gravelly voice broke the silence. "You are the finest blade I have ever possessed. But a blade... cannot lead a family."
Rion felt a dark premonition crawl up his spine.
"Today, I pass the leadership of the clan to my son," the Oyabun continued. "And as his first act... he wishes to ensure no old blades can strike him from behind."
Rion looked up just as the son gave a slight signal with his hand. In an instant, the room was no longer a place of honor, but a death trap. The daggers that were supposed to guard his back were now poised to tear through his gut.
"Forgive me, Rion-san," the son whispered with a sickening tone. "This is merely a matter of efficiency."
REN'S PRIVATE RESIDENCE - PRESENT
Rion jolted awake. His breath came in gasps, cold sweat drenching his body. The first thing he felt wasn't anger, but a sharp, stabbing sting in his abdomen.
He was in a strange room. Minimalist, silent, with heavy gray curtains tightly drawn over the windows. The pungent scent of antiseptics and medication filled his nostrils.
Beside his bed, an old man with small spectacles and a medical bag was packing his equipment. Dr. Suizen.
"Don't move too much," Dr. Suizen said without looking up. "The stitching is deep. A little more, and your intestines would have been fish food at the docks."
Rion tried to speak, but his throat felt like a desert. "Where... is this?"
"A safe place, for now," another voice answered from the dim corner of the room.
Ren stood there, without her coat, wearing only a fitted black shirt. She held no weapon, only a glass of water which she offered to Rion.
"Dr. Suizen has done his part. Now it's your turn to stay alive," Ren said flatly.
Rion took the glass with a hand that was still weak. He stared at the bandages on his stomach, then at Ren. The memory of Osaka still felt so real, like a wound that had just occurred. The betrayal still burned hot in his chest.
"They think I'm dead," Rion murmured, his voice hoarse.
"Perhaps it's better if they keep thinking that," Ren replied shortly. She didn't ask what happened, nor did she offer further help. She simply stood there, a silent witness to Rion's ruin.
Rion closed his eyes, feeling the pulse in his wound. In this foreign room, in this rotten city of Ironport, he realized one thing: The life he once knew had ended on that tatami floor in Osaka. What remained now was a man who refused to stay dead.