Rain always seemed heavier in this part of the city, as if the sky knew exactly how much blood the streets had swallowed. It was a Tuesday evening — ordinary enough to be forgettable — and I was closing up the small bookstore I’d inherited from my mother.

I had the radio playing softly, a string of old jazz melodies wrapping the empty shop in a warm haze. My little sister, Rika, sat at the counter, chin in hand, sketching something in her worn notebook. She always drew in silence when she was anxious, though she’d never admit it.

“Almost done,” I called over, sliding the last stack of books onto the shelf. “You’ll be home in twenty minutes.”

Her pencil paused. “Kaito… did you see that car?”

I turned toward the window. A black sedan sat idling across the street, tinted windows reflecting the golden streetlamps. It wasn’t unusual in the city, but there was something wrong about the way it hadn’t moved for the last hour.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Close the shop. Leave. Now.

I frowned. “Spam,” I muttered, tucking the phone away — but then, the sound of tires screeching tore through the street.

Another car, a dark SUV, swerved and stopped right outside the store. The passenger door flew open. A man stepped out. Tall, broad-shouldered, black coat flaring in the wind. His dark hair was slicked back, his eyes cold steel even under the flicker of the lamplight.

And I knew that face.

“Renji…” I whispered.

Renji Saito. My father’s right hand. The shadow in every family photograph. The man who vanished from my life the night my father died, eleven years ago.

He didn’t knock. He pushed the shop door open with enough force for the bell to clang violently.

“Kaito,” he said, his deep voice slicing through the space like a blade. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Rika froze, her wide eyes darting between us. “Who—?”

The glass exploded before she could finish. Bullets tore through the front window, splintering wood, shattering shelves. I dove over the counter, pulling Rika down with me.

Renji was already moving — gun drawn, expression unshaken. He returned fire through the broken glass, each shot precise, deliberate.

“Go!” he barked, grabbing my arm and hauling me toward the back door.

I struggled against him. “What the hell is going on?!”

“You’re being hunted,” he growled. “And if you want your sister to live, you’ll listen to me.”

The cold certainty in his voice silenced me.

We crashed into the rain-soaked alley, where another man was waiting — younger, with sharp features and a scar across his jaw. He wore a long trench coat and carried a rifle slung across his back.

“Boss, they’re surrounding the block,” the man said. “We need to move.”

“Riku,” Renji addressed him, “cover the rear. No one touches them.”

Riku nodded once and disappeared back toward the street.

Renji’s grip on my arm didn’t loosen until we slid into the SUV. The driver, a woman with short, platinum hair and ice-blue eyes, glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

“This is him?” she asked.

“Yes,” Renji replied. “Drive.”

The SUV roared to life, weaving through narrow streets with impossible precision. I clutched Rika’s hand, heart hammering in my chest.

“Someone explain,” I demanded. “Who’s hunting us? Why now?”

Renji’s eyes met mine — unreadable, but intense enough to pin me in place.

“Because,” he said, “your father’s seat is empty. And every vulture in this city knows you’re the rightful heir.”

My stomach dropped. “I told you — I’m not part of that world.”

“You were born into it,” Renji replied flatly. “You don’t get to choose blood, Kaito.”

The woman driving — later I’d learn her name was Ayane — smirked faintly. “You really thought you could live out here, running a bookstore, like they’d forget? Cute.”

I bit back the retort burning on my tongue. Rika’s trembling hand in mine reminded me this wasn’t the moment for pride.

We didn’t stop until the city lights faded into the distance and the SUV turned down a secluded road, leading to a sprawling estate hidden behind iron gates. The rain had eased into a fine mist, clinging to the manicured hedges and marble statues.

Inside, the air was warm and scented faintly of sandalwood. The entrance hall gleamed with polished floors and a chandelier dripping with crystal.

“This is temporary,” Renji said, guiding us deeper inside. “Until we deal with the threat.”

“I’m not staying here,” I said sharply.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. “You almost died tonight. Your sister will die if you walk away.”

The weight of his words pinned me still.

Ayane appeared again, leaning casually against the doorframe. “We’ve got two days before the enemy makes their next move. Riku’s tracking their safehouses, but it won’t matter if you don’t take your place.”

I met Renji’s gaze, searching for something — maybe the boy I remembered from my father’s shadow, the one who never smiled but always stood a step behind us. Instead, I saw a man carved from steel and fire, and for a terrifying moment, I couldn’t tell if he was my salvation or my ruin.

Rika squeezed my hand. “Kaito… please.”

My voice was barely a whisper. “Fine. But I’m not one of you.”

Renji’s lips curved — not into a smile, but something sharper, hungrier.

“Not yet,” he said.

---

The rest of the night blurred — clothes laid out in the guest room, Rika tucked safely into bed, the muffled hum of voices in the hall. I stood by the window, watching rain streak down the glass, when I heard footsteps behind me.

Renji.

He stepped into the moonlight, shadows sliding over the sharp planes of his face. “I should’ve come for you sooner,” he murmured.

“Why didn’t you?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His jaw tightened. “Because I promised your father I’d keep you out of this life.” He paused, eyes darkening. “But I can’t protect you from the shadows anymore.”

There was something in his voice — a confession, a warning, maybe both. And even though I hated the world he came from, my pulse betrayed me, quickening under the weight of his gaze.

That was the moment I realized — this man would burn the city to the ground for me. And that terrified me more than the bullets.

---

The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, but the scent of it lingered in the air when I woke. For a disorienting moment, I thought I was in my own apartment — until my eyes adjusted to the high ceiling, the velvet curtains, and the antique chandelier casting shards of light across the polished floor.

The mansion.

The events of last night came rushing back — the gunfire, Renji’s cold grip on my arm, the frantic ride through darkened streets. My chest tightened. I sat up slowly, running a hand through my hair, trying to push back the memories threatening to surface.

But it was no use.

---

I was eight the night my world burned.

The house was warm, filled with the low hum of conversation from my parents’ study. My father was away more often than not, but when he was home, his presence filled every room. My mother — gentle, patient — always made sure Rika and I were in bed before his meetings began.

That night, I had crept downstairs for a glass of water. I was halfway to the kitchen when the front door exploded inward. Men in black coats, masks covering their faces, stormed inside.

My mother’s voice — sharp, urgent — cut through the chaos. “Kaito! Hide!”

I froze. One of the men shoved her to the ground. Another grabbed me, but she lunged, striking him with a fire poker. He turned, raised his gun—

The shot echoed so loud it hollowed out the air.

I remember the way she looked at me — not with fear, but with something almost peaceful, as if telling me without words: It’s alright, you’ll live. And then she was gone, her body crumpled on the carpet.

Renji appeared moments later, gun in hand, his coat soaked in blood that wasn’t his. He tore me from the man’s grasp and dragged me toward the back door. But I fought him, screaming for my mother. He didn’t say a word. Just kept running, even as more shots rang out behind us.

I never saw my father again. They told me he died weeks later, but no one explained why or how. The only thing I knew was this: every face in that world was painted in blood.

And I swore I’d never be part of it.

---

“Kaito?”

The voice snapped me out of the memory.

A woman stood in the doorway, carrying a tray with breakfast. She was in her mid-thirties, with warm brown skin and a cascade of black curls pulled into a low bun. Her eyes were sharp but kind, her steps measured.

“I’m Hana,” she said, setting the tray on the side table. “Housekeeper here. Renji said you might not be in the mood to eat, but you should try. You’ll need your strength.”

“I’m not staying,” I muttered.

Her lips twitched. “That’s what you think.”

Before I could respond, she turned toward the hall. “You’ve got visitors, by the way. Your friends.”

I frowned. “My—? How do you—?”

But she was already gone.

A moment later, two familiar figures burst into the room.

“Kaito!”

Jun, my oldest friend, was all windblown hair and frantic energy, nearly knocking me over as he pulled me into a hug. He smelled faintly of engine grease — a reminder of his family’s auto shop where we’d spent countless afternoons tinkering with old motorcycles.

Behind him was Mei, tall and graceful, her sleek black bob framing a face that could freeze or melt anyone depending on her mood. Today, her eyes were blazing.

“What the hell happened?” she demanded. “We went to your place and there was police tape—”

Jun cut in. “And Rika’s at the hospital? We saw her there—”

“She’s fine,” I said quickly. “Shaken, but fine. Renji brought us here.”

Jun’s brow furrowed. “Renji? As in—”

“Yes. That Renji.”

Mei crossed her arms. “So it’s true. You’re—”

“Don’t say it.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “I’m not part of them.”

Jun exchanged a glance with Mei but didn’t press further.

The door opened again. Renji stepped in, his presence filling the room without effort. “Good. You’re awake.” His eyes flicked briefly to Jun and Mei, assessing them like a threat. “Friends?”

“They’re staying,” I said flatly.

He didn’t argue, but something in his gaze made it clear he didn’t approve.

“I need to speak with you privately,” he said.

“I don’t—”

“It’s about the men who attacked you.” His tone left no room for debate.

Jun started to rise, but I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Renji led me down a long corridor lined with oil paintings and locked doors, stopping in what looked like a private study.

“They were from the Moriyama syndicate,” he said without preamble. “Your father’s enemies. They believe killing you will keep the Kuroda throne vacant.”

“I told you, I don’t want it,” I snapped.

“And I told you,” he replied, stepping closer, “want has nothing to do with it. The second your father’s blood stopped flowing, you became a target. The only way to stop them is to take control.”

I laughed bitterly. “You want me to become the thing I hate.”

For a moment, his expression softened — barely. “I want you to survive.”

His words stirred something dangerous in me — the same feeling from last night, that mix of dread and heat whenever his eyes locked on mine.

I looked away. “And if I refuse?”

He didn’t answer. Just placed a folder on the desk and slid it toward me. Inside were photos — my apartment, the bookstore, Jun’s garage, Mei’s dance studio. All taken from a distance.

My throat tightened. “You’re saying they’ll go after them, too.”

“I’m saying they already are,” he said. “You can keep pretending you’re not part of this. Or you can fight back.”

---

Back in the guest room, Jun and Mei were sitting cross-legged on the floor, arguing over something in low voices.

When they saw my face, their expressions shifted from irritation to worry.

“What did he say?” Mei asked.

I sank onto the bed. “That this isn’t over.”

And deep down, I knew he was right.

---

The mansion had a way of swallowing sound.

Even with Jun’s restless pacing, Mei’s pointed questions, and the distant hum of conversation in the halls, the place felt… muted. Like every word spoken here was measured, weighed, and filed away for later.

I’d been trying to distract myself with the breakfast Hana left — miso soup, grilled fish, and rice — but my appetite was gone. Jun sat opposite me at the small table, glaring at his untouched plate. Mei leaned against the wall, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the door like she expected it to open any second.

“This place is creepy,” Jun muttered. “Like some rich villain’s lair in a drama.”

Mei’s eyes flicked toward me. “You sure he’s not?”

Before I could answer, the door opened, and Renji stepped in. Behind him came Riku — the scar-jawed rifleman from last night — and Ayane, her platinum hair glinting under the morning light.

“Breakfast is over,” Renji said, his voice clipped. “We have a meeting.”

Jun scowled. “Meeting for what? He’s not—”

“Jun,” I warned, but Renji’s gaze had already pinned him in place.

Riku closed the door, leaning against it with an ease that made the room feel smaller. Ayane crossed to the window, peering outside like she was checking for snipers.

Renji spoke directly to me. “The Moriyama syndicate has been moving fast. They’ve already hit three of our businesses in the last twelve hours. If they take more, the smaller crews will start switching allegiance. That ends with your death.”

“I’m not your boss,” I said.

“Not yet,” he corrected. “But your name still carries weight. I need you at the table when we meet with the other families tonight. Show them you’re not hiding.”

Jun’s chair screeched against the floor as he stood. “You can’t drag him into this!”

Riku’s voice was calm but edged. “He’s already in it, whether he likes it or not.”

Ayane glanced over her shoulder. “And if he keeps pretending he’s not, he’ll get all of us killed. Including you, grease-boy.”

Jun’s fists clenched, but Mei stepped between them. “Enough. We’re all on edge. Fighting each other isn’t going to help.”

I looked at Renji. “What exactly are you expecting me to do? Shake hands? Pretend I care about running a crime family?”

“I expect you to survive,” he said simply. “And for that, they need to see you’re worth protecting.”

---

The rest of the morning was a blur of preparations. Hana found me a tailored black suit that fit better than I wanted to admit. She adjusted the cuffs, stepping back to look me over with a faint nod.

“You look like him,” she murmured.

I didn’t have to ask who she meant.

Mei refused to leave my side, trailing me through the halls as I tried to memorize the layout. We passed an open room where two men were cleaning and reassembling firearms. Another door revealed a map table scattered with marked locations, stacks of cash, and unlit cigars.

“This is insane,” Mei whispered. “It’s like walking into a movie set.”

But the thing about movie sets is they’re fake. This wasn’t.

---

By evening, the main hall was filled with people — some in sharp suits, others in street clothes with the restless energy of men who carried knives in their boots. A long table stretched across the center, its polished surface reflecting the golden light from the chandeliers.

Renji took the head seat. I was placed to his right, an unspoken message to everyone present.

The introductions were a blur of names and nods — old allies of my father, wary lieutenants from smaller crews, a few people I recognized only from whispers in my childhood.

The tension in the room was thick enough to taste.

Renji wasted no time. “The Moriyama think our heir is unprotected. They’re wrong. Kaito will be assuming his father’s seat for the duration of this conflict.”

A ripple of murmurs passed down the table. My pulse spiked, but I kept my face neutral.

One man — heavyset, with gold rings on every finger — leaned forward. “With respect, Saito, he’s untested. We’ve bled for this family. Why should we follow a boy who’s never—”

Renji’s hand came down on the table, sharp enough to silence him. “Because he’s a Kuroda. And because anyone who doubts that can walk out now and see how long they last alone.”

The man shut his mouth.

I glanced at Jun and Mei, standing near the wall. Jun’s expression was all nerves, but Mei… Mei was studying the room like she was mapping exits.

Renji’s gaze met mine briefly, and I understood — this wasn’t just about showing strength. It was about making them believe.

The meeting ended without blood, which I took as a small miracle. But as the guests filed out, Riku stepped up beside Renji, murmuring something low in his ear. Renji’s expression hardened.

“What is it?” I asked.

He didn’t sugarcoat it. “Moriyama hit one of our safehouses an hour ago. And they took someone.”

My stomach dropped. “Who?”

He hesitated — just long enough for my pulse to spike.

“Jun’s cousin,” Riku said. “The one who works at the garage.”

Jun’s face went pale. “Taro?!”

Renji looked at me. “This is your choice, Kaito. We can strike back tonight, but it will mean stepping onto the board. No hiding. No walking away.”

The room felt suddenly too small, the air too heavy.

My mother’s face flashed in my mind — the way she’d stood between me and the gunman. I thought of Taro, probably tied to a chair somewhere, wondering if help was coming.

When I finally spoke, my voice was steady.

“Tell me where we’re going.”

Renji’s lips curved in something that was almost approval. “Good.”

---