Page 127 of Kotori
He rolls onto his back with obvious effort, eyes wide with pain and the growing understanding of his situation. Around us, the factory floor is painted red with the consequences of his ambition.
"You wanted to preserve tradition," I say, kneeling beside him with the katana balanced in my hands. "Honor above all else. The old ways that our ancestors died to protect."
His breathing is shallow, desperate. "Kaito, please."
"The old ways demand seppuku for betrayal this deep." I draw his tanto from its sheath, testing the edge before placing the blade's handle in his trembling hands, helping his fingers close around familiar steel. "Restore your honor. Die like a warrior instead of a dog."
For a moment, gratitude flickers in his eyes. The chance to choose his death, to reclaim dignity through ritual suicide. His hands shake as he positions the blade against his belly, point pressing through to skin.
This is what he understands. The ancient codes, the formal procedures, the way samurai have faced death for a thousand years. Honor preserved through steel and blood and final courage.
"For the family," he whispers, summoning strength from somewhere deep. His voice carries the weight of genuine conviction, the belief that his actions served some greater purpose.
"For the family," I agree, watching him prepare for the cut that will spill his life across industrial concrete.
He takes a breath, muscles tensing for the final stroke that will open his belly and release his spirit.
My katana takes his head in one clean stroke.
The tanto clatters to concrete, unused. Blood sprays in an arc across rusted machinery as his body crumples, twitching once before going still. His severed head rolls several feet beforecoming to rest against a steel support beam, eyes still wide with surprise.
"But you don't get to choose," I tell his corpse, wiping my grandfather's steel clean. "Even your death belongs to me."
The factory floor falls silent except for the ringing in my ears and the wet sounds of dying men. I stand over Hiroshi's headless body, feeling the weight of absolute victory and its terrible cost.
Seven men are dead, including one of mine. A loyal soldier who followed me into hell because I asked him to. His wife will wake up a widow, his unborn child fatherless. The mathematics of leadership written in blood and grief. But the threat to my family is ended. The political challenge to my authority lies scattered across broken concrete in pieces too small to ever threaten anyone again. The yakuza world will know by morning that the Matsumoto-kai is not to be tested.
"Boss?" Takeshi approaches, medical kit in hand. "We need to get you patched up."
I nod, letting him guide me to a concrete ledge where he can work. The adrenaline is fading now, leaving behind pain and exhaustion and the hollow ache of blood loss. Everything hurts. The shoulder wound, the kevlar impacts, cuts and bruises I don't remember receiving.
"How bad?" I ask as he cuts away my ruined jacket.
"Messy but manageable. The buckshot tore muscle but missed bone and major vessels. You'll need stitches and antibiotics, but hopefully no surgery." He cleans the wound with antiseptic, making me hiss through my teeth as the adrenaline starts wearing off. "Private doctor?"
"Call Yamada. He'll come to the house." My voice sounds strange, distant. "I need to see my family first."
Twenty minutes later, I'm stitched and bandaged enough to travel, my arm immobilized in a makeshift sling that restrictsmovement. The temporary repairs won't hold forever, but they'll get me home to the people who matter.
"The bodies?" I ask as we prepare to leave.
"Nagumo's handling cleanup. Factory fire. Electrical accident, investigation will find nothing useful." Takeshi helps me into the passenger seat, movements careful around my injuries. "What about Watanabe?"
"Full honors. Pension for his family, education fund for the child. Whatever his wife needs." The words taste bitter, but they're necessary. "He died protecting our honor."
"Hai, Aniki."
The factory behind us begins to burn as we drive away, evidence and bodies consumed by flames that will bring fire department attention. By then, we'll be long gone, leaving only questions with no answers.
As Takeshi's car pulls away from the industrial district now marked with violence, I close my eyes and think of moonlight on naked skin, of promises whispered against stone, of three daughters sleeping peacefully in their beds. Of Paige's face when she sees me return, wounded but alive.
I kept my word. I came home.
The cost was higher than expected. It always is. But some prices are worth paying when the alternative is losing everything that gives life meaning. The yakuza world will remember this night, remember that challenging the Matsumoto-kai means death without mercy or hesitation.
But more importantly, Paige will know that her king kept his promise. That love and loyalty and the willingness to kill for what matters most brought me back to her arms.
The thought sustains me as consciousness fades at the edges, darkness creeping in like an old friend. Pain and exhaustion drag me under, but I go willingly. When I wake up, it will beto see her face, to feel her hands on my skin, to hear her voice telling me I'm home.
