Night fell like a curtain of ash over the ruined city of Kagawa. Smoke still rose from the earlier skirmishes—embers glowing faintly beneath collapsed structures. But amidst the ruins, hidden beneath the facade of rubble and silence, Nam's plan was beginning to unfold.
Lan crouched inside an old communications bunker, eyes fixed on the holographic display. Each blinking dot represented a piece of false information now circulating through Hiroshi's and Taro's networks.
"They're buying it," she murmured. "Intercept confirms Hiroshi passed the intel—exactly as we planted it."
Nam stood behind her, arms folded, silent. The trap was working. Taro would soon move on targets that no longer existed.
But Nam knew better than to celebrate early.
"Begin Phase Two," he said.
Miles away, in the fortified stronghold of Takamura Ridge, Hiroshi sat in the war room—completely unaware that he was already dancing on a battlefield designed by someone else.
Taro had just sent a message:
"Your intel checks out. My forces are mobilizing. You'll have your land."
Hiroshi smiled faintly. He thought himself a master strategist—playing two sides to secure his dominance.
He never saw the flames crawling behind his back.
Meanwhile, Shun, still under Nam's protection, finally awoke.
His injuries were worse than they looked. Burns along his ribs, broken shoulder, multiple contusions—but he was alive. And angry.
Lan entered the infirmary with a nod.
"You're lucky," she said. "They wanted you dead."
Shun sat up, gritting his teeth. "I don't die that easily. Where's Hiroshi?"
Nam appeared in the doorway. "Helping Taro dig his own grave."
Shun's eyes flared with recognition. "Then let me help bury them."
At dawn, the real strike began.
Nam's elite division—led by Lan and reinforced with Kaito's inside intel—descended on a hidden arms cache Taro had built near Mount Iwaya. It was supposed to be guarded, heavily reinforced.
Instead, it was abandoned. Empty.
A trap.
Lan's heart sank. "Something's wrong. This isn't like Taro."
Before she could retreat, explosions erupted on the ridgelines.
Hiroshi's crest flew high on banners—his own forces surrounding them.
He hadn't bought the lie.
He had twisted it.