At the Uesugi ancestral manor, a celebration is being held in honor of its venerable leader's recent business acquisition.
Representatives from all the major clans and shoe-kissing lesser nobles alike have gathered in the main courtyard to pay respects: A who's who of Japan's most prominent billionaire businessmen, their wives and their families, dressed in elegant tuxedos and glittering white gowns, dancing in gliding rhythmic steps across the lavish gold-painted room or hanging along the sides, tasting the offerings at the refreshment and buffet tables, taking advantage of the opportunity to catch up and smooth over tensions with old acquaintances.
Because everyone who's gathered here…already knows each other. The circle comprising the city's topmost elite is exceedingly small, and new faces seldom stay around for long—with only the great families enduring for all time. So it has been since the days of old, centuries ago, during the age of the samurai.
Kenshin Uesugi—the man of the hour—stands alone on the upstairs balcony, overlooking the festivities. His long, silklike strands of snow white hair, trailing in the night breeze, and pure white tuxedo stand out starkly against the enshrouding darkness. Within his soft blue eyes, exists an unflinching gaze of deep contemplation: There is much weighing on his mind on this night, as with any other. Plagued, as it were, by an unenviable condition which he has found to be common among those who strive for the highest echelons of society—that being LONELINESS—a burden which never lessens no matter the growth of your enterprise…or number of fine parties you host.
He hears the doors open behind him, but doesn't look up, as he senses a familiar presence looming…
As expected, he thinks: like a mangy wolf prowling for scraps.
"I'm guessing you needed to step out for a moment as well," he says, putting on a faint smile as he turns his head to glance at the dark-haired man, standing with their hands in their pockets beside him. "Or maybe you have something else in mind." He stands upright, clapping the dark haired man on the shoulder. Or could it be that Norio Takeda is going to bloody his hands by doing his own dirty work, for once…?" He pauses, adjusting his sky blue tie with a self-impressed smirk. "Since he can no longer call himself the richest CEO in Japan."
"I would never," Takeda, the blackhaired man—head of the major clan of the same name—replies with an amused smirk, casually retrieving a box of cigarettes from his breast pocket as he does so. "Blood is so very hard to wash out."
Kenshin glares at him. "A man with so many bad habits shouldn't still be alive…enjoying half the amount of success as you do."
Takeda chuckles. "You sound like my mother. You're both relics of the past."
"You should've listened to her more, then maybe there would still be people in this world you can call 'friend.'"
"I play my own game, according to my own rules. You play yours. That's how it is."
"You're too selfish!" Kenshin turns to him sharply, with a look or raw bitterness. "You only act according to your own desires—never taking into account what your actions could mean to the five families as a whole!"
Takeda shrugged. The first cigarette was lit, between his lips.
"Tell me, why is it that I still tolerate you? I mean, if you're going to continue opposing us at every turn—"
"You're being overly dramatic, White Feather Prince."
Kenshin raises his voice, so that he's nearly shouting: "Am I? Is that what you think?!"
Even as Kenshin leans forward, breathing down Takeda's neck…he still remains calm. Unshaken. "I don't oppose the five at 'every turn,' as you say," he says. Then adds, his voice darkening as he does: "Never when it really counts."
Kenshin nods to himself, slowly turning away with his hands on his sides. "Hmm."
Takeda knows they're scared: Kenshin wouldn't have called on him if it wasn't so. Because in the end, though their values differed greatly, they only had each other to depend on.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
"So…what's your plan for tonight?" Kenshin quietly asks. "You didn't bring any men."
Takeda flicked the butt of his cigarette off the edge of the balcony, grinning with a sly confidence that spelt fortune for his allies…and DEATH to his enemies.
"I don't need any men for this job. Not when I've got better."
…
Meanwhile, back in the grand courtyard, the presence of an unknown—a young lady, garbed in a flowing red sequined dress—is causing quite the stir.
She is not a familiar face to anyone in attendance. Treading with a powerful swagger, which meshes strangely with her graceful dress and features, her long, dark hair tied in a clean bun, with a flower-adorned comb and protruding pins—in the traditional style—tiny strands flowing loosely down the front and sides of a smooth, freckled face. Brown eyes, brimming with a sort of…restless, relentless vigour. Noticeably strong, well-built shoulders that served as an exotic compliment to her otherwise thin, petite build.
All in all…she is a walking spectacle of contradictions. Albeit one which somehow managed to unite together into a creature that could appear…quite unmistakably lovely, when it tried to be—disguising the true danger that always lurked just beneath the surface; a rose hiding its flesh-carving thorns under its beautiful petals.
What is her name? The curious lords and ladies all wondered. And what of her husband, or lover? A single woman was virtually unheard of in these gatherings of the five families.
Yukari Hanzo…is not naive to the fact that she stands out from the crowd. As a matter of fact, it is part of her ruse: As it is her belief that for one to "hide in plain sight," particularly in social events of this nature, it sometimes helps to stand out…to draw in company…to allow wandering eyes to nestle upon your enticingly low-hanging, widely flattering décolletage, for example. Until prompting, with any luck—
"Good evening," one comely young bachelor says as he draws to her with a glowing smile; the first to emerge out of the swarm of Yukari's silent admirers, as she's stopping for a glass of punch.
She turns to him, forcing an uneasy smile in reply. Her cheeks large and protruding—
She spits out her entire mouthful of drink!
"W-woah!" The young man exclaims, startled, as he is only fast enough to jump back slightly and watch it spray all over his fine black vest and white shirt.
"Oh, FUCK! I'm sorry!" Yukari gasps, eyes wide. "You scared the SHIT out of me!"
She hurriedly plucks a napkin from the refreshment table nearby, smearing her wrist across a plate of hors d'oeuvres in the process, then proceeding to furiously dab it against the increasingly flustered-looking bachelor's stained finery.
He gives a halfhearted smile. "N-no, then...it is I who should be apologising to YOU, milady."
At once, Yukari stops at her task, tilting her head, staring at him blankly for a moment.
"What's with that look?" he asks timidly. "Was it something I said?"
"Milady…?" she repeats the offending phrase; squinting, frowning—openly cringing, with sheer incredulity and disdain. Setting the napkin aside after that, she slowly retreats from the poor, bewildered young swain.
Forget about blending in, she thinks. These are NOT my people!
Just then, while she is absconding from the scene of the crime…she stops.
What's that? Something isn't right. There is a sudden, unnatural break in the droning hum of the room full of chattering socialites…like something far greater than her drink-spilling incident just now was taking place, seizing everyone's attention from their idle schmoozing. Yukari quickly looks around, and notices everyone turning their gazes forward: in the way of the interior verandah, where a decorated sliding door connects to the main part of the house.
Kenshin, still watching from his heavenly perch, immediately bristles. "What's going on?"
Takeda doesn't react. "Old friend…it looks like the show is about to begin."
A monstrous figure stands upon the verandah like it were his stage, an exceptional sight to behold: His face and arms dyed a ghostly pale white and his eyes lined in bold strips of red with thick, charcoal-black eyebrows—imparting a fierce, eternally scowling visage—in the style of kabuki theatre actors. Incredibly tall, like an oni behemoth of legend he looms above the crowd of partygoers, theatrically posed with his arms extended outward above his head, as if to embrace the whole entirety of his "audience." His bared, bronze-tanned chest lay fully exposed through his open, flowing pink furisode draped across his broad, powerful shoulders: patterned in gorgeous imagery of waterfalls, lilies and cherry blossom trees, and gold-scaled fish.
All around Yukari, there are gasps of awe from the majority of partygoers who presume this bizarre entity to simply be the night's entertainment…but the mood quickly shifts, as some individuals scattered among their masses don theatre masks—outing themselves as agents of the man on the verandah—and briskly set about taking hostages in one perfectly coordinated sweep.
There are screams and cries of confusion. Pleadings for mercy.
But Yukari, undaunted by the unfolding chaos, remains focused on the leader: her gaze narrowing with fiery intent.
Finally shows himself…the ugly bastard.
She watches as he clings to a mandala necklace draped from his thick—almost horse-like—neck, further inflating as he then draws in a long breath before erupting forth in one grandiose, booming declaration, sending shockwaves of terror all throughout the main courtyard:
"FIVE FAMILIES, HEAR ME:
"YOUR TIME OF DIVINE RECKONING HAS FINALLY COME!"