Tokyo's rain didn't fall it whispered. It slid down the marble columns of the Amagi Tower like cold fingers stroking polished flesh. Above, the penthouse shimmered with gold, silk, and secrets. And beneath the gleam of chandeliers, the city's most dangerous families pretended to play nice.
Riku Hanabira stood near the window, untouched by the crowd. His suit was perfectly tailored but unadorned no family crest, no tie. Just black. His eyes, the color of tarnished brass, watched the dance of power unfold like a game of shōgi with bloodied pieces.
He'd been gone five years. Tonight, they'd all remember his name.
"Riku."The voice came low and close. Feminine. Controlled.
He turned.
Aya Tsukino stood before him like winter wrapped in velvet. Her gown was deep sapphire, clinging to her like a second skin. Not a strand of her ink-black hair was out of place. Her eyes obsidian and sharp studied him the way a blade studies flesh.
"Still alive, I see," she said.
He smirked. "Were you hoping otherwise?"
She didn't smile. She never did at least not for free. "Hope? No. Hope is for the weak. I was expecting otherwise. You tend to leave corpses in your wake."
He stepped in, just close enough for her breath to mix with his. "Only when I'm bored."
She reached up slowly fingers brushing the lapel of his suit as if she might fix it. Instead, she grabbed the front, yanked him down, and kissed him.
It wasn't gentle.
It was hard, possessive, and for show. Around them, heads turned. Whispers buzzed.
When she pulled back, her expression hadn't changed. "Smile for the vultures, Riku. We're supposed to be engaged, remember?"
He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Kiss me like that again and I might start believing you want this."
She didn't flinch. "Kiss me again and I'll drive a knife through your ribs."
Their eyes locked for a moment too long two storms pretending they weren't circling the same sea before she turned and glided into the crowd.
Riku exhaled. He hadn't even noticed he was holding his breath.
The gala was all elegance on the surface violins, laughter, the clink of crystalline glasses but beneath it flowed a current of tension so thick it could be cut with a katana. Every major family had someone here. The Tsukino. The Kurogawa. Even whispers of Aoyama surveillance. And somewhere in the room, one of them had just placed a bounty on an heir.
His eyes scanned the crowd again. That was his job tonight: a bodyguard. Not for Aya. Not for the Tsukino.
For the bastard in the ivory tuxedo near the piano Ichiro Watanabe, a middle-tier family heir climbing ranks by selling rare fighters to the elite. The man didn't recognize Riku. He didn't need to. He just paid well.
Irony's a bitch, Riku thought. Once, he would've commanded this room.
Now, he worked its corners.
He moved closer to Ichiro, slipping through the guests like smoke. His hand brushed the inside of his coat the pistol was there, silent and comforting.
Then he saw it.
The reflection in a wine glass.
The glint of a silencer. A rooftop two buildings over.
Sniper.
Instinct kicked in. Riku dove.
The shot shattered the glass behind Ichiro's head, spraying crystal over startled elites. Screams erupted. Riku rolled forward, drawing his weapon, scanning the skyline through the rain.
Another shot closer this time.
A window blew open near the kitchen. Not a sniper. A diversion.
Someone inside.
Riku yanked Ichiro down behind a table as a figure in chef whites emerged from the crowd too fast, too direct. Knife raised. Not headed for Ichiro.
Headed for Aya.
"No."The word was out of Riku's mouth before thought caught up.
He moved. Fast. Gun up.
Two shots.
The would-be assassin dropped before he touched her.
Blood painted the white marble like cherry blossoms in a storm.
Aya stared at the body. Then at Riku.
"You…" she whispered. Not in shock in calculation.
"You saved me."
He reholstered his weapon slowly. "Don't make a big deal out of it."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"
He didn't answer.
She stepped closer. Too close. Again.
"Careful, Riku," she said softly, voice laced with quiet venom. "I might start believing you still care."
Before he could answer, her mother's voice rang out across the ballroom.
"Security! Lock the tower down. No one leaves."
And just like that, the gala turned into a gilded cage.
As the doors slammed shut and the elite families barked orders into phones, Riku slipped into a shadowed corridor, back to the kitchen where the assassin had come from.
Blood pooled on tile. And on the man's wrist a tattoo.
A red crescent with a dagger through it.
Riku's stomach turned cold.
He recognized that mark.
Dōjin.
Someone had just declared war on the entire rank system.
And someone inside this tower had helped them get in.
He checked the hall behind him.
Aya was gone.
So was Miki.
He didn't even know she'd arrived.
His fingers tightened on the grip of his gun.
The game has started.
And he was already behind.