The Woman in the Crimson Mist

Tokyo pulsed with energy, a living, breathing entity of neon lights and unspoken power.

In the heart of Shinjuku, where the elite and the damned walked the same streets, Renjiro Takeda adjusted the cuffs of his black suit as he stepped out of his sleek black Lexus. The rhythmic hum of city life surrounded him—the chatter of businessmen, the laughter of intoxicated lovers, and the low, almost imperceptible undercurrent of danger that came with being who he was.

A Yakuza lieutenant didn’t stroll through Tokyo’s streets unnoticed, but tonight, he wasn’t here to make a statement. It was supposed to be a quiet night.

Except, the moment he stepped onto the pavement, something felt… wrong.

The Mist That Shouldn’t Exist

As Renjiro walked toward Kurogane Lounge, a high-end bar favored by Tokyo’s underground elite, a strange mist began curling around his feet. At first, he ignored it. After all, it wasn’t unusual for the city’s humidity to cling to the streets.

But this mist was different.

It wasn’t the usual grayish-white haze of city pollution—it was crimson, tinged with an almost unearthly glow. It rolled in thick, moving against the wind, seeping into the alleyways and swallowing the pavement behind him.

The scent of cherry blossoms filled the air—an odd contrast against the whiskey and cigarettes that usually defined this part of town.

Renjiro’s sharp eyes flicked across the street, searching for anything—anyone—out of place. His instincts screamed at him, honed by years of surviving in a world where hesitation meant death.

And then, he saw her.

The Woman in Red

Beneath the warm glow of a red paper lantern stood a woman, her presence so still, so unnaturally composed, that it sent a whisper of unease through him.

She was dressed in a flowing crimson kimono, her long black hair cascading down her back, strands swaying despite the air being deathly still. The soft silk of her robe shimmered under the lantern light, patterns of golden peonies and koi fish barely visible on the fabric.

For a moment, Renjiro wondered if she was an illusion—a trick of the mind bRought on by the city’s chaos.

But then, she turned.

And her eyes met his.

Dark, deep, and unreadable, they locked onto him like a silent question.

She wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t looking away.

That alone made her unusual.

Women like her—beautiful, delicate—either ran from men like him or tried to charm their way into his world. But she did neither. She simply… stared.

It unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain.

Renjiro wasn’t a man to strike up idle conversation with strangers, especially ones that radiated an energy he couldn’t place, but tonight, something felt different.

And Renjiro Takeda always trusted his instincts.

“Are you lost?” His voice was calm, measured.

A slow, almost knowing smile curved her lips.

“That depends,” she murmured. “Do you believe in fate?”

A Moment That Should Have Been Impossible

Her voice was like wind through temple bells, soft yet carrying a weight beyond her years.

Renjiro frowned. A strange choice of words for a chance encounter.

“I don’t believe in things I can’t control,” he replied evenly.

Her expression didn’t change, but something in her gaze shifted—a flicker of something old, something knowing.

“Then you must live a very predictable life, Takeda-san.”

Renjiro stiffened.

He hadn’t given her his name.

His pulse slowed, instincts sharpening. Had he met her before? Was she sent by someone?

The Yakuza world was full of spies, informants, and people who knew too much for their own good.

And yet… she didn’t feel like a threat.

Before he could say another word, a gust of wind rushed through the alley, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms.

And just like that—she was gone.

The Empty Alleyway

Renjiro blinked.

One moment she had been standing there, red silk glowing beneath the lantern’s light. The next—nothing but mist remained.

He took a slow, cautious step forward. His hand twitched toward the handle of his knife, an old habit when something felt off.

The alleyway was silent, save for the distant hum of Tokyo’s nightlife. No footprints. No shifting fabric. No sign of movement.

Just the lingering scent of cherry blossoms in a place they didn’t belong.

A slow chill curled down his spine.

He had met countless women in his life—some dangerous, some forgettable.

But this one?

She wasn’t going to be forgotten.

A Name in the Wind

When Renjiro finally reached Kurogane Lounge, he was quieter than usual. The usual greetings from his men barely registered. The lingering feeling of that woman’s presence clung to him.

He barely touched his drink as conversations about rival clans and underground dealings buzzed around him. His mind replayed the moment over and over.

Who was she?

How had she known his name?

And why—why did he feel like he had met her before?

As the night stretched on, and the neon lights outside flickered like distant stars, only one thought remained in his mind.

Her voice.

Soft. Familiar. Almost… otherworldly.

“Do you believe in fate?”

Renjiro Takeda never believed in fate.

But tonight, for the first time in his life—he wasn’t so sure.

End of Episode 1

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