The air in the basement was thick and cold, mixed with the smell of blood, despair, and a faint hint of decay. The flickering dim candlelight on the walls stretched and distorted the shadows of the two men nailed side-by-side on crosses, projecting them onto the mottled walls like suffering icons, yet filled with profanity and cruelty.
Kanjuro released his grip on Sayuri's hand and pointed at the two figures—on one side was Takasugi Toshihiko, covered in blood and at death's door, yet still using his last strength to glare at him; on the other was Matsumoto Kiyochika, whose eyes were hollow and numb, but who seemed to regain a faint glimmer of spirit after hearing his daughter's voice.
"Prove it to me." Kanjuro's voice echoed in the basement, calm without a single ripple, yet more oppressive than any roar. He produced a dagger from somewhere; it was ancient in design, its blade glinting with a ghostly cold light, and he held it out in front of Matsumoto Sayuri.
"Take it and kill them." His gaze locked onto Sayuri's pale face. "Kill this man who was once your fiancé; kill this man who was once your father. Use their blood to prove your 'feelings' for me, to prove that you have completely broken with the past and those nauseating worldly ties."
This command was like a thunderclap exploding in the basement!
"Kanjuro! You lunatic! You beast! You're not human!!" Takasugi Toshihiko roared with his last bit of strength, his voice hoarse and broken, filled with extreme anger and hatred. "If you have the guts, come at me! What kind of man forces a woman?! You have no humanity!!"
On the other side, Matsumoto Kiyochika's consciousness, which had been suppressed by Kanjuro's Mind Control, also seemed to struggle violently under the massive shock and the instinct of fatherly love. His cloudy eyes stared fixedly at Kanjuro, and a wheezing sound like a bellows came from his throat, full of pain and curses:
"Kanjuro... you... you have no shame! Deceiving my daughter... using her... you will get what's coming to you!!" He struggled to turn his gaze toward the stunned Matsumoto Sayuri, his voice carrying a bloody wail: "Sayuri! My daughter! Don't listen to him! Don't be fooled! He is a demon! He is destroying you! Wake up!!"
The voices of the two men—one angry as fire, the other sorrowful as ice—intertwined in the basement, battering Matsumoto Sayuri's eardrums and mind.
She stood there, her body trembling violently like a leaf in the wind. The cold touch of the dagger spread from her fingertips to her entire body, making her feel as if she had fallen into an ice cellar. On one side was her fiancé who had once given her warmth and planned a future with her; on the other was her father, related by blood, who had raised her... and on the final side was the demon who had pulled her back from the brink of life and death, given her a twisted "new life," and controlled all her joys and sorrows.
Kanjuro did not rush her; he just watched her quietly. His deep eyes were like two deep wells, reflecting her struggling, pained posture, as if he were enjoying a meticulously choreographed play.
Takasugi Toshihiko's curses and Matsumoto Kiyochika's pleas were like two whips, constantly lashing her fragile nerves. She looked at Takasugi Toshihiko's eyes full of hatred and resentment, and at her father's desperate and pained tears; her heart felt as if it were being squeezed tightly by an invisible hand, making it almost impossible to breathe.
Time seemed to freeze at this moment.
Finally, Matsumoto Sayuri snapped her eyes shut, and two lines of clear tears slid from the corners of her eyes. When she opened them again, the struggle and pain in her eyes had miraculously subsided, replaced by a heart-palpitating, deathly calm.
She tightened her grip on the dagger, her knuckles turning white from the force.
Slowly, step by step, she first walked toward Takasugi Toshihiko.
Takasugi Toshihiko watched her approach, watched the cold glint of the dagger in her hand, and the anger in his eyes was gradually replaced by an unbelievable sorrow and mockery. "Sayuri... you... are you really going to..."
He couldn't finish his sentence.
Matsumoto Sayuri's hand rose and the blade fell! Her movements were shockingly fast and decisively chilling!
The dagger pierced Takasugi Toshihiko's heart with precision!
Takasugi Toshihiko's body suddenly stiffened, his eyes bulging as he stared fixedly at Sayuri. His gaze was filled with ultimate despair and the stinging pain of betrayal. Then, his head slumped to the side, and his final breath came to an abrupt halt.
Matsumoto Sayuri pulled out the dagger. Warm blood splattered onto her pale face and white dress, yet she seemed completely oblivious. She turned around, her gaze shifting toward Matsumoto Kiyochika on the other side.
"No... no... Sayuri... I'm your father..." Matsumoto Kiyochika watched the blood splattered on his daughter's face and her hollow eyes. His final mental defense collapsed completely. Tears streamed down his face as he let out a desperate wail.
Sayuri's footsteps didn't falter for a second. She walked up to her father, looking at that face which had instantly aged and contorted, and seeing her own demon-like image reflected in those clouded eyes.
She raised the dagger.
"I'm sorry... Father..." she murmured in a voice only the two of them could hear. Then, without hesitation, she drove the dagger into her father's heart!
Matsumoto Kiyochika's body convulsed violently. His eyes remained fixed on his daughter, filled with endless pain, confusion, and... a final trace of relief? Perhaps, for him, death was a release.
Sayuri let go, and the blood-stained dagger fell to the cold floor with a 'clatter'.
She turned around, the striking crimson on her face and dress resembling red plum blossoms blooming in the snow—ghastly and eerie. She looked at Kanjuro, her eyes hollow, her voice raspy yet calm:
"Now... are you satisfied?"
Kanjuro watched her. He watched as she personally severed all ties to her past and watched her fall completely into the dark abyss where he resided. The cold, controlling, and joyful smile on his face finally bloomed without reservation.
He stepped forward, reached out, and gently wiped the warm blood droplets from her cheek with his fingertips, his movements carrying a desecrating tenderness.
"Very good," he whispered, his voice full of satisfaction. "Congratulations, Sayuri. You... have graduated."
From this moment on, Matsumoto Sayuri was no longer that gentle music teacher, no longer anyone's daughter or fiancée. She was merely Kanjuro's creation, the most perfect proof of his dark laws, and the flower of despair in his eternal collection, watered with the blood of her closest kin and blooming entirely for him. The cool moonlight poured down like liquid silver, spilling onto the wide terrace of the Suzuki Family Mansion, dispelling some of the night's darkness but also veiling everything in an unreal haze. For once, Kanjuro was not indoors; instead, he stood side-by-side with Sayuri by the terrace railing, gazing out at the distant, sleeping city lights.
The night breeze was slightly cool, fluttering Sayuri's somewhat thin clothes and her skirt, which still bore traces of dark red. The blood on her face had been washed clean, restoring her paleness, but the dead, hollow look deep in her eyes was more eye-catching than any stain.
After a long silence, Sayuri spoke softly, her voice so ethereal it seemed it might scatter in the wind at any moment: "Brother Kanjuro... I gave everything I could give... betrayed everyone... even personally..." She paused, as if the word were too heavy, finally letting out a barely audible sigh, "...Now, are you satisfied?"
She didn't look at him, her gaze still fixed on the distance, as if asking Kanjuro, and yet as if asking herself.
Kanjuro turned his head, the moonlight outlining the handsome yet cold profile of his face. At this moment, the permanent blood-red and violence in his eyes quietly receded, rarely revealing a hint of near-'human' complexity and... fatigue? Perhaps even he hadn't noticed it.
"Satisfied?" He repeated the word, his tone no longer full of absolute control and mockery, but instead carrying a near-scrutinizing calm. "Perhaps. At least... you've made me believe a little that 'emotions' might not be entirely illusory."
He turned his head, his gaze falling on Sayuri's face, which appeared even paler under the moonlight.
"After all, when I first met you, I was just a slightly special, ordinary youth, and hadn't yet obtained the... arguably terrifying power of the dark bible." His voice carried a hint of distant reminiscence. "And you, falling in love with me back then, wasn't because of any supernatural power or physiological forced dependence, but simply because of... 'me'."
This confession almost admitted Sayuri's special status in his heart—she connected him to his 'human' past, before he was completely consumed by darkness. Her feelings occurred before he gained absolute power, and thus, in his distorted values, they appeared more 'pure' and 'real'.
Hearing this, Sayuri slowly turned her head to look at Kanjuro. There was no joy or excitement on her face, only a tragic calm that saw through everything. She slightly curled the corners of her mouth, revealing an extremely faint smile that seemed to have exhausted all her strength:
"Is that so... then, as long as you feel happy, Brother Kanjuro, that's enough."
Her requirements had sunk as low as the dust. She no longer begged for love or craved understanding; she only asked that his emotions be satisfied for a moment.
Kanjuro stared at her. Under the moonlight, her submissive yet strangely resilient posture seemed to touch a long-rusted string deep within him. He let out a rare, almost imperceptible sigh.
"Matsumoto Sayuri," he called her by her full name, his tone slightly more solemn, "you are one of the few women in my long... or rather, chaotic life that I can somewhat 'appreciate'."
His gaze seemed to pierce through time, seeing the young girl on campus whose heart raced and face flushed because of one of his wicked grins.
"After all, we... have known each other since we were children."
This sentence carried a hint of nostalgia, completely out of character for his usual image.
Having said that, he reached out—no longer with a rough tug, but with a posture of clear possessiveness that didn't lack strength—and pulled Sayuri's slender, cold body into his arms.
His embrace wasn't warm; it even carried a chill originating from the same source as his power, but it bore an unquestionable, final confirmation.
He rested his chin gently on the top of her head, his voice low and clear, like a final brand seared into her soul:
"From today on, you are officially my, Kanjuro's... exclusive woman."
No longer a plaything, no longer a test subject, but an exclusive object endowed with a clear 'identity'. For Kanjuro, this was perhaps the highest form of 'recognition' and 'honor' he could bestow.
Matsumoto Sayuri leaned into his cold embrace, neither struggling nor responding. She closed her eyes, feeling the faint moonlight on her eyelids and listening to his steady but heartless heartbeat in her ear.
Tears silently slid down once more, but this time, even she couldn't tell if they were for everything she had lost, or for this distorted, final 'belonging' exchanged for countless blood and betrayals.
The moonlight remained cool, enveloping the embracing pair in a beautiful yet incredibly eerie tableau. She had finally achieved the 'being together' she had craved in her youth, but in a way that shattered everything and plunged her into the abyss. Meanwhile, Kanjuro, amidst endless darkness and chaos, seemed to have temporarily grasped an anchor of blood-stained warmth from the distant past. The bloody 'internal cleanup' of the Suzuki Family was no longer a secret. Although suppressed by immense power and fear and never appearing in the press, it was already an open, bone-chilling topic of conversation within certain circles in Tokyo. The name Kanjuro was like a plague, tightly linked with words like family extermination, control, and force majeure.
Among the surviving bloodline of the Suzuki Family, Suzuki Jirokichi—the Suzuki consultant famous for challenging Kaitou Kid and his love for adventure and collecting—was undoubtedly the one suffering the most intense torment. Anger, humiliation, and deep-seated family vendetta burned in his heart like poisonous flames day and night. His elder brother Shiro Suzuki had died 'accidentally,' and his sister-in-law Tomoko Suzuki, along with his nieces Ayako and Sonoko, had not only submitted to that demon but even seemed to do so willingly. This made him feel more angry and disgusted than death itself!
"Kanjuro... Kanjuro!!" Inside one of his secret safe houses, Suzuki Jirokichi slammed the whiskey glass in his hand onto the floor, glass shards and amber liquid splattering everywhere. His eyes were bloodshot, and his chest heaved violently with agitation. "If I don't avenge this, I, Suzuki Jirokichi, am not fit to be a member of the Suzuki Family!"
However, after the roar came deep powerlessness and fear. He was no fool; he knew clearly how terrifying Kanjuro was. The fates of those who tried to resist, or simply those Kanjuro found unpleasant, were laid out bloodily before him. The bodyguards and so-called 'experts' he had meticulously recruited and paid heavily for either refused outright or showed hesitation and eyes full of dread upon hearing the target was Kanjuro. The inhuman power Kanjuro had displayed (though details were vague, that sense of absolute crushing dominance had long been transmitted through various channels) was like an invisible boulder weighing him down until he couldn't breathe.
Directly confronting Kanjuro? That would be like an egg striking a stone—seeking one's own destruction.
Amidst this extreme resentment and unwillingness, a thought flashed in his mind like a ghost fire—the legendary treasure passed down through the Suzuki Family, 'the heart of the ocean'!
It was a massive blue sapphire, its color as enchanting as the deepest ocean. Not only was it priceless, but it was also rumored to possess some kind of mysterious power. It had always been kept in a secret collection deep within the Suzuki main Mansion—the very Mansion now occupied by Kanjuro—inside an extremely hidden vault.
"the heart of the ocean..." Suzuki Jirokichi muttered to himself, his eyes gleaming with complex light. That was the symbol of the Suzuki Family, the family's glory! It must not fall into the hands of that devil Kanjuro! Moreover, if he could reclaim 'the heart of the ocean', perhaps... perhaps he could find a glimmer of hope to oppose Kanjuro through its value or its legendary power? At the very least, he couldn't let the family's most important treasure become that man's trophy!
This thought reignited a spark of fighting spirit in him, but following it was even deeper fear. Breaking into Kanjuro's stronghold? Stealing something from under the nose of that demon who disregarded all rules?
He had secretly discussed this with a few absolutely loyal subordinates who also knew of Kanjuro's terror. Whenever a specific plan of action was mentioned, especially how to avoid or deal with Kanjuro, the room would always fall into a dead silence. His subordinates' faces would turn pale, their eyes dodging; that bone-deep fear couldn't be faked.
"Boss... it's not that we're afraid to die... but that Kanjuro... he's not human at all..."
"We don't even know what kind of abilities he has, how can we make a plan?"
"That Mansion is a dragon's den now. It's easy to get in, but to get out..."
---------------------------------
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! If the story has you hooked and you can't wait to see what happens next, you can unlock 30 chapters in advance over on my Patreon: patreon.com/TLHimejima1
Every bit of support means the world to me so if you're loving the ride, don't forget to drop a Power Stone and let me know.