The hard drives whirred under dim, flickering lights, casting fractured shadows against the walls of the safehouse. Ryuji Tatsugami stood still, arms crossed, eyes like frozen glass as lines of decrypted files filled the monitor. Kaito sat beside him, face grim, fingers dancing over the keyboard.
"Almost through the last layer of encryption," Kaito muttered, sweat beading on his forehead. "Whoever set this up didn't want it ever seeing daylight."
The seconds dragged, the only sound the mechanical breathing of the machine working overtime. Then—an alert.
ACCESS GRANTED.
A new folder blinked into existence.
Ryuji leaned in.
It was labeled: Project Sanzou.
Kaito opened it, and what spilled onto the screen turned the air between them heavy and poisonous.
Hundreds of documents. Blueprints. Ledgers. Death certificates—many forged. Tactical maps with names Ryuji recognized from whispers in the underworld. An entire plan dating back years, meticulously coordinated.
Not just to dismantle the Tatsugami-gumi.
Not just to erase their name.
But to systematically hunt and eliminate all remaining bloodlines.
Kaito's voice cracked slightly. "They didn't just want you gone... they wanted to erase the possibility of you existing."
Photographs filled the screen—former Tatsugami allies dead in "accidents," distant relatives "disappearing." Ryuji spotted an old photo of himself, barely fifteen, circled in red, marked for "Termination: Priority Class."
A low sound escaped Ryuji's throat—not rage, not grief. Something colder. Deeper.
"They were afraid," Ryuji whispered. "Even then. Even before I knew who I was."
He leaned back, mind racing. The flames of the past were no longer behind him. They had never stopped burning. The enemy hadn't feared the Tatsugami legacy. They feared its survival.
"They failed," Kaito said, jaw tight. "You're still here."
"No," Ryuji corrected, voice sharper than a blade.
"I'm not just here. I'm awake."
He turned away from the screen, coat flaring behind him. A storm was gathering in his chest, something inevitable, merciless. He had allowed them the illusion of safety for too long.
Now, it was time to break their world apart.
---
Meanwhile:
High above the city, in a darkened suite lined with silk screens and blood-red lanterns, Reika Minazuki sipped tea without a hint of calm. The liquid trembled slightly in her porcelain cup, though her hand was steady. Her smile, however, was a ghost of itself.
Across from her stood Genzou Araragi—an iron tower of a man, arms thick with muscle, the faint edges of old scars and tattoos peeking from his collar. His presence bent the air around him like a gravitational force.
She placed her cup down with a gentle clink.
"The boy. Tatsugami's last ember... he has begun to stir flames. He broke into Mirai Media. He has the drives."
Genzou's nostrils flared, but he said nothing.
Reika rose to her feet, her plum kimono pooling like blood around her. "He thinks he is clever. Precise. That he can strike from the shadows and remain unseen."
Her eyes narrowed to slits.
"But I want him dragged into the open. I want Tokyo to see his corpse."
Genzou said nothing.
Reika turned toward a wall of monitors, where a map of the city glowed. She pointed to a district which is under Araragi-kai.
"We will stage an event. Something the boy cannot ignore. A demonstration... and a trap."
She turned back, her smile now something unholy.
"And when he comes, you will end him."
Genzou finally said. "It will be done."
As he turned to leave, Reika whispered almost sweetly, "Make it beautiful, Genzou. Let him understand that his story ends not with a roar... but with silence."
---
Elsewhere:
Under the dirty fluorescence of an underground garage, Ryuji slid a series of blueprints across a table toward Kaito. The Minazuki-Kai were hosting a private black-market auction within the next 24 hours—a gathering of the worst of the worst. Politicians. Yakuza. Corporate devils.
It wasn't just weapons or drugs being sold.
It was influence. Secrets. Chains for the future.
"This auction is Reika's jewel," Ryuji said. "She launders her power here. Blackmails half the city."
"And you want to hit it?" Kaito raised a brow. "Head-on?"
"No," Ryuji said, mouth curving into something almost like a smile. "I want to tear the mask off. Show Tokyo what she really is before the real war even starts."
Kaito exhaled, sitting back. "You'll be putting yourself right where they want you."
"I know."
Ryuji's eyes gleamed under the flickering light.
"But this time, I choose the battleground."
He moved to a corner of the room, where an array of weapons and gear were laid out. No reinforcements. No army.
Just him.
Kaito hesitated. "You sure you don't want backup?"
Ryuji strapped a dagger to his belt.
"They expect an army," he said. "They expect noise."
He pulled on a black jacket.
"I'm going in alone."
Kaito watched him, a strange expression crossing his face—half admiration, half dread.
"You're insane."
Ryuji checked the blades tucked inside his sleeves.
"Maybe," he said.
"But so were they... when they thought they could kill all of us."
He moved toward the exit, every step carrying the weight of purpose sharpened by blood and history.
"Stay near the extraction points. Keep the car running."
Kaito nodded, swallowing his protests.
"Good hunting, Ryuji."
Without another word, Ryuji disappeared into the night.
---
The highway stretched before him like a black artery under the bruised sky.
The auction was being held in an abandoned opera house outside the city—covert, heavily guarded, surrounded by decayed luxury. Perfect for criminals who thought themselves untouchable.
From atop an old rusted overpass, Ryuji crouched, wind tugging at his jacket. Below, luxury sedans and black SUVs snaked their way toward the hidden venue. Limousines gleamed under the moonlight. Shady chauffeurs opened doors for corrupt kings and queens draped in shadows.
Ryuji watched.
He could see the arrogance in every step they took. The belief that their sins were invisible. That their power was eternal.
He touched the hilt of the dagger strapped across his chest.
"Tonight," he whispered, the words a vow etched into the cold air,
"the masks come off."
The Black Vow burned hotter within him, no longer just a memory.
It was alive.
It was hungry.
And tonight, it would feast.
---