The blood once hunted now lives on—
carried by a body that can no longer run from its fate.
⛩️🏮⛩️
Kobe, Hyogo Prefecture — Kansai Region.
The rain fell like a grudge that refused to end. The night was dark, yet pale streaks of cloud stood out sharply against the sky. There was something in the air—something old, heavy, curse-laden. The heavens drew a gray curtain that slowly blackened, without light, without sound, save for the thunder that rattled the chest.
On the edge of Kobe, tucked between streets that were busy yet deliberately unremarkable, stood a small pavilion that served as one of the Kokuryu Clan's branch headquarters. From the outside, it looked like any ordinary house: low walls, a narrow garden, an unassuming gate. But anyone who stepped inside the grounds could feel it immediately—every corner watched, every silence alert, every breath measured by unseen eyes.
From the back window of the aging pavilion, a woman slowly forced herself upright. Her hair was soaked with sweat, her yukata stained with blood that had yet to dry. In her arms lay a newborn—red, fragile, barely given time to cry.
Aika.
Not a wife. Not an official concubine. Just a low-rank entertainer—too beautiful to discard, never important enough to protect. But tonight, she was nothing else but a mother. And the child in her arms was blood that should never have existed.
Aika's face was deathly pale. Her body trembled—not only from the agony of a birth endured without proper medical care, but from a fear that sank straight into her bones. Beside her, an old midwife stuffed blood-soaked towels into a bucket, then glanced nervously toward the door.
"Toki ya de…" she murmured. It's time.
The words sounded less like speech, more like a prayer.
A man was already waiting outside.
Kuroda Seigen.
He stood in the darkness of the rear courtyard, beyond a neglected bamboo garden. His black coat swallowed what little light there was, blending into rain and night alike. His eyes never left the narrow path leading back to the main building.
The door slid open.
Seigen stepped inside. His long coat and polished leather shoes made his presence heavy, deliberate. His face was rigid—stone carved into human shape. His gaze settled on the tiny bundle against Aika's chest, wrapped in a thin blanket that did little to shield it from the cold.
"Onna da…" Aika whispered. She's a girl.
"Ikiteru." She's alive.
Seigen did not answer.
He stared at the infant for a long moment, silent—too silent. Then he turned his eyes to the midwife.
"You know what you're supposed to say, don't you?"
His voice was cold enough to kill.
The midwife nodded rapidly, her body shaking.
"The baby was born deformed… didn't breathe… I've already prepared the death certificate. No one will question it."
Seigen opened his coat. Inside were thick cloth, a small pouch of forged documents, and cash. He took out a train ticket and a neatly typed address.
"Take the last train toward the eastern mountains tonight. Get off at a small station called Minamigawa. From there, take the bus to Shugitani Village." His tone was flat—unhurried, absolute.
"At the edge of that village is a small house I've prepared. From now on, your name is Aoyama Shizue. You were never in this house. You've never heard the name Kokuryu. If anyone asks, this child is your niece—not your daughter."
His voice lowered, and somehow grew sharper.
"Hide her with your life."
Aika clutched her baby tightly.
"Why are you doing this, Seigen-sama? If they find out—"
"I'm not doing this for you," Seigen said quietly.
"I'm doing it because this may be the only path left for the child."
He turned his face away.
"And because this child… may be carrying something."
Aika looked at him, questions burning in her eyes—but there was no time to ask. From somewhere down the corridor came footsteps—heavy, measured, cold. The kind that never arrived without death in tow.
Seigen swiftly took the baby from Aika's arms, wrapped her tighter—warmer—then placed her back into Aika's embrace. He pointed to a small door at the far end of the room.
"Go that way. Straight ahead, then right at the storehouse. There's a servant passage leading to the west gate."
Aika moved, unsteady. The pain from childbirth made her shake, but she bit her lip and swallowed it all. The child in her arms was her only reason to move forward—away from this house, away from the Oyabun, away from the fate of a woman without a name.
When the back door slid open, the rain struck like a slap from the sky. Seigen followed, his hat pulled low over his face. By the west gate, a young guard was already waiting.
Shibata Gendo.
His eyes widened when he saw the baby.
"Seigen-sama… this—"
"Quiet," Seigen hissed. "You didn't see anything tonight. Understood?"
Gendo swallowed hard.
"If anyone asks—"
"The baby was born deformed. Died at birth. No further investigation."
Gendo hesitated.
"And the Oyabun…?"
Seigen met his gaze without blinking.
"As long as you're prepared to swear—and to lose your life if necessary—there's nothing to worry about."
He leaned in slightly.
"Unless the shadow begins to move. If it does… we all disappear."
Gendo nodded slowly.
"Understood. I didn't see anything, Seigen-sama."
Seigen looked back at Aika one last time, then opened the small gate.
"Go. Before they realize the birthing room is empty."
Aika stepped into the darkness, holding her child as if she were clutching her final reason to live. She turned once, looking back at the great gates of the Kokuryu estate, now slowly swallowed by mist.
That place where she had once been a nameless shadow.
Now, she would become a ghost without an identity—hiding the most forbidden blood in the clan's history.
Seigen remained where he was, watching until she had gone far enough. When her footsteps finally faded, he turned to Shibata Gendo.
Gendo stared at the ground.
Nodded.
Said nothing.
⛩️🏮⛩️
In the main pavilion, a man stood behind a large pane of glass. His hair was neatly tied, his black robe fitting his tall, imposing frame like a second skin.
The Oyabun—Kuroda Masayori—had not slept that night.
As lightning struck once more, his eyes narrowed, fixed on the now-empty rear garden. He set down a cup of tea that had long gone cold and murmured to the air:
"Lies rot."
Moments later, he summoned his most trusted lieutenant—Uesugi Chikara.
"Order Hiiragi to uncover the truth," Masayori said flatly, without anger.
From beyond the wall, a dark figure bowed—then vanished into the night.
Tbc