SOSHIKI HQ
The time was five minutes past midnight.
All the Higher-ups had assembled at the Sacred Field near headquarters—including the new replacements for the sixteen V had exterminated that very morning. Three of the four Elders stood on an elevated platform, their faces obscured behind ceremonial veils. Guardians ringed the perimeter for security, their stances rigid and eyes watchful. At the center, on the execution deck, stood V—her back straight, shoulders squared, a revolver drawn seamlessly from her Body Ink. Her expression was glacial, her ruby eyes devoid of emotion.
Moments later, a black car pulled up. One of the Men in Black opened the rear door, escorting Tomo and Matsumoto Hirota into the Sacred Field.
The atmosphere shifted the instant they stepped onto the grounds—thick with tension, laced with something almost spectral.
"Blimey…" Matsumoto Hirota exhaled sharply. "She's not in a good mood, is she?"
"What the fuck did you expect?" Tomo replied coldly, eyes locked on V's distant figure. Sorrow and fury warred across his face, his voice a taut wire of restrained emotion. "That she'd welcome you with open arms before putting a bullet through your head?" He let out a bitter laugh. "I respected you with everything I had, Matsumoto-sama… but if it weren't for her, I'd crush your fucking skull down to your soul for hurting her."
They continued walking slowly, every eye fixed on them—except for V's. Her gaze remained unfocused, vacant.
"How could you do this to her?" Tomo's fists clenched at his sides. "You. Of all people…"
Matsumoto Hirota said nothing. He was painfully aware of the cost of his actions, fully understanding what they had led to. A memory surged forward—unbidden—dragging him back to the night it all began. The night a child he had once cherished like a granddaughter was remade into something monstrous.
V had never been the same since.
That girl, that fragile child, had died that night in all but name. And the one standing before them now—the one wielding death in her hand with eyes like a void—was what remained.
Matsumoto closed his eyes, letting the memory wash over him before his mind drifted back even further—to the day he first met her.
She had been only five.
How fast time flies.
Matsumoto's Flashback:
"Oy, brat! It's three a.m.!"
I barked as I unlocked and slid open the Izakaya's door. As pissed as I was, my irritation evaporated the second I saw the state he was in.
The kid was drenched in blood—head to toe. His face was carved with sheer exhaustion, his steps slow and heavy. Muscles tensed beneath his bloodstained shirt with every move he made.
"Should I ask what happe—" I cut myself off as my eyes landed on the little girl holding his hand. Then I saw them—two Demons standing just outside my establishment. I felt a twitch in my brow.
"You wanna explain what the hell is going on, or should I take out those two fuckers first? Did they attack you? And who the hell is the girl? Don't tell me you've developed a loli complex... seriously, Kai?"
"For fuck's sake! Keep your voice down, Oyaji. Don't be a headache." Kai muttered as he gently lifted the girl and placed her on a seat, settling himself at the ramen counter. "Let those two rest outside for now. We just played around a bit. And say hi to my little sister—I just snatched her from my dear loving family. They'd been hiding her existence until today."
Little sister?
"LITTLE SISTER?"
My eyes shot wide open.
**
Now that I really looked at her, the resemblance was there—only faint. She shared some features with him, sure, but the differences were just as striking. Her black hair. Those ruby red eyes. No visible Body Ink on her exposed skin either. Could she really be a Deveraux?
That clan has always been a mystery—tight-knit, reclusive, and proud. They rarely mingled with others, except for this blond dumbass in front of me. But when it came to Deveraux traits, there were unmistakable hallmarks: platinum blond hair, icy blue eyes, unnatural height, and those absurd, intricate tattoos etched into their skin.
She had none of that. Not even a trace.
"Here we go! All set. Do you like ramen, little girl?" I smiled warmly as I set down two steaming bowls of Kuro Ramen in front of the siblings. "This black ramen's your brother's favorite. Go ahead, don't be shy. Enjoy it. I made it myself."
"Oyaji, quit smiling like that. It's creepy." Kai grumbled.
Dropping the smile, I rolled my eyes. "Hey, I'm just trying to be nice here—"
"Shut up already."
**
Minutes passed.
Neither of them touched the ramen.
I crossed my arms over my chest. The longer I watched, the more irritated I became.
She looked terrible—fragile, malnourished. Her posture was stiff, her expression wary. Black hair tangled in messy strands, skin pale like porcelain, with dark bruises trailing down her neck and arms. Just the sight of it made my blood boil. Who the hell could hurt a kid like that?
"Kai…" I called out softly.
He shot me a glance—a hard one. The message was clear: stay out of it.
So I did.
For a time.
But eventually, I couldn't help myself.
"The noodles are getting cold. Want me to replace them?" I asked, eyes locked with his ice-blue ones, daring him.
I half-expected him to lose it—to explode, yell, lash out.
But he didn't.
Instead, he reached for the chopsticks, then slowly began slurping the ramen.
"Mmm. Tastes good," he said.
He kept saying it, over and over again, each slurp followed by a glance at the little girl beside him. And—by some small miracle—her lips tugged upward into the faintest of smiles.
Her fingers, until now clenched tightly in her lap, slowly reached out toward the counter. She touched the chopsticks with a trembling hand. Then, after a hesitant pause, leaned forward toward the bowl.
Her jeweled red eyes shimmered under the lights—flickering with cautious curiosity. Then she slurped her first bite.
Kai watched her with wide eyes, his chest rising with visible relief. It was as though a massive weight had finally fallen from his shoulders.
He glanced over at me, mouthing a quiet thank you.
And in that moment, for the first time in my life, I saw the man I had always thought of as my own son—shed tears.
**
Whispers rippled through the gathered crowd as the two made their way past.
Among them stood the principal of Soshiki Academy, his presence unmistakable, with his secretary positioned just behind him. Though most of her severe injuries had been healed, faint bruises still lingered on her face—a quiet testament to the recent attempt on her life.
V had been right all along.
The sixteen former Higher-ups had, in desperation, hired elite assassins to eliminate Secretary Saiaka. They believed she was delving too deep into the trail of corruption they'd left behind—and, more dangerously, that she was a close aide of V.
The latter made it personal.
Their hatred for her ran that deep.
But the truth was far more complicated than their assumptions.
The night air was cool, almost unnaturally so, under the full moon's solemn glow. It mirrored the night Kai Deveraux had died—right here, on this very spot where V now stood.
Her heart began to race as the memory clawed its way to the surface. That night had never left her. But even as the past threatened to unravel her, she remained still—composed, resolute, her tears locked behind an iron will.
Until she saw him.
Matsumoto Hirota was walking toward the stage, and the moment her eyes found his, something inside her cracked.
Tears welled up without permission.
He was, after all, had been a grandfather figure to her.
**
"Oyaji…" Kai paused, his voice softer than usual, but his gaze flicked gently to the little girl beside him. "Vivienne Ale Deveraux. I'm registering her name at the Civil Office tomorrow. I'm taking full custody. Taka's handling it as my attorney."
"I see," I replied, nodding slowly. "Ale… after your mother, huh?" My brow arched. "And that brat Taka—fuckin' hell, he's never lost a damn case, has he?"
"Yes. And yes."
Ale Deveraux. Roth's second wife. Officially, she'd died of cancer. Quietly. Neatly. Just another buried chapter in a filthy book. So how the hell had no one in Soshiki known about this girl? His kid—flesh and blood of the most hated bastard in the entire goddamn organization?
"Vivienne…" I turned my attention to the child. "That's a beautiful name. Did your brother tell you what it means?"
Silence.
She didn't answer. Just stared. Small. Fragile. Still.
I've never had kids. Never wanted any, if I'm being honest. I didn't know how to talk to this little thing, didn't know the right words or how to soften my voice like the good folks do. But something in my chest told me to keep trying.
Something old. Maybe something broken. Maybe something left behind long ago.
And I would keep trying. I'd succeed, eventually.
And I'd learn the truth—the kind that makes your stomach turn and your fists clench. The kind that changes you.
But that was later.
Right then, in that quiet, aching moment, out of anger, grief, instinct—hell, I don't even know what it was—I made a silent vow… I'll look after you, kid. Whatever it takes.
"Vivienne means Alive," I told her gently. "And you, little one… you're gonna live up to that name."
Her ruby-red eyes glimmered—just a flicker.
But enough.
She heard me.
Matsumoto Hirota's younger days:
I was born into a strict Soshiki family—where discipline wasn't just expected, it was law. From the age of five, every child was trained in combat. That was the way. That was our tradition. Of course, all Soshiki clans raised their children this way, sharpening blades and spirits before they even learned how to read properly.
But the intensity of our training… it forged something different in me. Something cold. Something unshakable. I became a warrior without fear, molded by endless drills, bruises, and commands. Many of us did. And many of those children I grew up with would later become leaders within the Soshiki.
Not all of them lived to see it.
I lost comrades—too many to count—during what history would later call The Great War. While the rest of the world fought its own battles, we fought one in the shadows—to protect the very world that never knew we existed.
Back then, I started questioning everything. The mission. The cause. The damn purpose behind all that bloodshed. If it wasn't this reason, it was another. Always another bullshit excuse. War after war, century after century… What were we really doing? Were we protecting humanity? Or were we just fighting for the pride of being Soshiki?
Did it even matter?
But I was a soldier. Born into this path, and I chose to walk it, no matter how fucked up it got.
Years passed. I made mistakes. I buried more friends. I survived. Eventually, I rose to the rank of General. Fresh recruits poured into the battlefield—young, eager, and blind to the truths I had come to know.
One of them stood out.
A boy—only thirteen.
And just two years later, in 1988, that same boy—Kai Deveraux—would do what no warrior before him could.
He ended the centuries-long war between the Soshiki and the Spectres. Something even I, in all my years, could never dream of achieving.
He was a monster in battle. Brutal. Efficient. Respected. Feared.
After the war, I walked away. I was in my late sixties and had no desire left for blood or medals. I opened a humble Izakaya Ramen shop. Nothing fancy, just enough. But in that quiet place, as I stirred broth and listened to laughter echo off wooden walls, I found a strange kind of peace.
Kai and his friends—those damn kids—kept coming by. They never failed to visit. And every time they slurped down my ramen with grins and tired eyes, I felt something I never expected after all that war.
Pride.
They were living. Really living.
These kids, who should've been born into graves like the rest of us, were carving out something new. Something bright.
And that made me happy.
**
A month later after that night when he brought his little sister, I received a call from Kai, he and Vivienne were settling in well in New York. But after a year, I received another call where he'd asked me to be a mentor for his younger sister. Things had happened in there, but I was a man with a few words despite of my occasional stupid yapping, and so did Kai. There was no question from me, and there was no other explanation from him either.
And I would visit them twice a year, teaching Vivienne with Shogi and some tactical lessons from my years on the battlefield. She loved my stories about the war, her face lit up with joy on each visit I'd made.
She would also be receiving many, many combat lessons from Kai himself and from his friends. His loyal friends who would always make my Izakaya as their base camp for their morons' meetings.
Time moved on, and though it pains me to even remember… things did happen.
And gods, it hurts.
Yet despite the pain—despite everything she's endured—she stands tall. Unshaken. Majestic. Just like the day I watched her brother end the Great War.
That same fire burns in her eyes. That same unyielding strength carved into every line of her face. Regal. Untouchable.
And me? I'm standing here, watching her… with a heart full of something I can't contain.
Pride. Overwhelming, bone-deep pride.
**
Tomo escorted Matsumoto Hirota to the execution stage, where V was already waiting.
Silence swept across the field. The whispers died.
A representative of the Chinen clan stepped forward, voice steady but strained as he read aloud the crimes committed by the former General. His words echoed over the crowd, sharp and damning.
But as the sentence closed, his tone cracked—breaking into something raw, something human.
"Thank you for your service to the Soshiki! Despite what you've done… you were—and still are—our great General Matsumoto-sama!"
His voice trembled. Then he bowed deeply, tears spilling freely. One by one, the crowd followed. Warriors, students, comrades… all who had once fought beside him.
Kai Deveraux may have ended the war, but it was Matsumoto Hirota who led them through it.
And for the first time in decades, tears rolled down the old General's weathered cheeks. "Vivienne…" he whispered. "Thank you."
Vivienne's grip on the revolver shook. "How could you do this to me…" she rasped, throat tight, the weight of the world pressed against her chest.
"Forgive my selfishness, Vivienne," he said, offering a small, broken smile. "Bury me beside your brother, won't you? He was my only son… my dumbass warrior…"
Vivienne stood straight, fighting the scream clawing its way up her throat. Her heart fractured under the burden. Her duty to the Soshiki had never cut so deep.
"Mm." It was all she could manage—a soft nod, barely more than a breath.
The air held its breath.
At twelve-fifteen, beneath the silver gaze of the moon, Vivienne raised the revolver.
And pointed it at the man she once called family.
**
"Matsumoto-jiji! Wanna hear the story of my first subway ride in New York?"
"Oh? This sounds promising. Hit me!"
"So… my dearest brother over here—" she side-eyed the air dramatically, "—called me every five minutes. I kid you not. I'd get to Station A and he's like, 'Where are you now?' Then Station B—'Why aren't you there yet??' Then Station C— 'What took you so long?! Answer me, damn it!'"
"Bwahaha!"
"I KNOW, RIGHT?! Then when I finally reached the destination, he calls… AGAIN, and I just snapped!"
"Oh boy, I have to hear this."
"I said, 'What the fuck, Kai, I'm thirteen! Quit calling me!'" She cackled. "That F-bomb almost cost me a YEAR of allowance! My brother was so dramatic!"
"Pfft! He wouldn't dare!"
"He did! I got a full-blown lecture, had to wash dishes for a month, but hey—I made Uncle Taka sneak me some cash. So joke's on Kai!"
Laughter roared between us.
Loud. Shameless. Echoing through the shop where they devoured my Kuro Ramen like it was holy.
I watched them grow. I watched them shine.
And despite everything—the war, the pain, the losses—I lived long enough to laugh with them.
I was happy.
**
At twenty past midnight, Vivienne Ale Deveraux pulled the trigger.