**
V-sensei, you lie!
It's been over three months and you're not even back yet, how do you call yourself a teacher?
Hmm? Hmm? Hmmmmm?
**
Aaaaand, sent.
Tch. Why does she always do whatever she wants?
Uncle Tomo's been nagging me nonstop—it's seriously getting on my nerves. Can't she just come back already? Sure, she's a whole new level of strict with us, but at least she doesn't single me out all the time.
Ugh… I've been doing nothing but whining lately. Maybe I need to chill out.
I headed to the pool, took a long, relaxing swim for about an hour, then showered, and made my way back to the dorm. Just as I was about to enter my room, I spotted Sakura standing by the window in Ren's room.
Well, well. Looks like Yamachin's off the hook—for now. Though I bet he's going to be in a mood for a while… now that she's found a new bed to occupy.
Good luck, Ren. You're gonna need it.
**
"Morning, Ren! Sleep alright?" Ryosuke called out, his grin wide and merciless. "Or did some pesky mosquito keep you up all night, leaving you with those glorious under-eye shadows? Am I wrong? Am I right? Or somewhere deliciously in between?"
Ren groaned. "Never realized that you were this annoying in the morning. Tone it down, Ryosuke. My head's killing me." He slumped onto a school bench and leaned back, eyes drifting to the gray, heavy clouds overhead. "Looks like it's about to rain."
"Ehehehe, I am always like this," Ryosuke retorted with a dramatic spin. "And yes, it does look like it's about to raaaaain! Ahaha!"
Ren eyed him. "What's with you, seriously?"
"Nothing!" Ryosuke beamed. "Why?"
"Sakura crashed at my place last night."
"Ohhh? Did she now?" Ryosuke's grin twisted into something sly.
Ren frowned. "That face says this isn't her first time. She's done this to you too?"
"Nah. Never with me," Ryosuke shrugged. "She says my room's weird. There's a butler's quarter inside."
Ren blinked. "Dude, what? You've got a butler's quarter in your dorm room?"
"Yup. I get hungry at night sometimes, and I hate cleaning. Plus, my family does own this entire establishment, so…" He smirked. "I do what I want, Ren darling."
Just then, Yamada walked up to their usual meeting spot.
"Ohh, morning, Yamachin! Sleep well? Or did you toss and turn, dreaming about heartbreak?" Ryosuke teased, practically sparkling with mischief.
Ren yawned and waved. "Yo."
But Yamada's eyes locked on him. "Did she sleep at your place last night?"
Ren stiffened. Wait… how does he know? He played it cool. Or tried to.
"Ahh, how exciting!" Ryosuke sprang up like a rabbit on caffeine. "We've got the new boyfriend…" he sang, pointing dramatically at Ren, "and the ex-boyfriend right here!" He burst out laughing.
Yamada's fist slammed into Ryosuke's pretty face. "Freaking idiot."
"Nothing happened, alright?" Ren quickly raised his hands. "She came over for snacks, and we ended up just… talking. Pulled an all-nighter. That's it." A nervous chuckle escaped him. "Didn't know you two were a thing."
"We're not," Yamada snapped, then kicked Ryosuke's shin lightly. "This clown just talks like he's starring in some high school soap."
"Hey!" Ryosuke pouted dramatically.
Ren tilted his head. "Wait, what do you mean?"
"She never sleeps in her own room," Yamada muttered.
"OH?"
"She can't fall asleep alone. Even if there's people around, she stays on edge unless she feels Completely safe." He looked away. "She's always slept at my place while at school. When she's home, she sleeps in her nanny's room."
Ren blinked. "Nanny? Uh—never mind. Why though?"
Yamada lit a cigarette, the lighter's snap sharp in the heavy silence.
"We're the kids of the Big Four. And enemies don't just exist outside the clan." He exhaled smoke, his gaze fixed on the sky. "When Sakura was four, she was kidnapped. Something awful happened. No one talks about it, but it left a scar that never healed."
He turned his gaze on Ren—cool, quiet, but fierce. "So if she shows up at your place at night, let her be. Just don't pull anything. No jokes. No bullshit. Got it?"
Ren narrowed his eyes. "Oi, who the hell do you think I am?"
"It's just an FYI," Ryosuke said, standing up now, his cheerful mask gone. "But Yamachin meant every word."
A tense silence followed.
"And," Ryosuke added quietly, his voice low and dead serious, "if anyone ever lays a finger on her again, my entire clan will crush their soul until there's nothing left."
His smile was gone. And his eyes had never been darker.
**
Being born into the Minamoto clan probably looked like hitting the genetic jackpot—at least to outsiders. And by outsiders, I mean anyone who is not part of the Big Four of Soshiki.
As for me? I couldn't give less of a shit about lineage.
Sure, I was born into privilege. An elite clan name, ancient bloodline, inherited honor—all that shiny garbage. But I embraced it. Still, if I'd been born into some no-name family scraping by, I'd still be grateful. Maybe with a different outlook, sure. But life? Life's what you make it.
My uncle, though? He saw it more like a goddamn curse.
Grandfather once told me he left home soon after my father had died.
I've got no memory of either of my parents. Father died mysteriously—and not a single soul in the family, or this damn world, ever dared to tell me how. Mother passed away right after I was born.
So yeah, Grandfather raised me.
There was another uncle—Minamoto Toma. Grandfather's third and youngest son. I used to look up to him like a god. Sadly, he died too. Also in some hush-hush, swept-under-the-rug kind of way. I was four. He was nineteen.
But the man who truly left a mark on me?
Uncle Tomo.
I met him when I was thirteen, in the library of our Tokyo flat. He'd flown in from Milan for some long-overdue reconciliation with Grandfather. And with him was V-sensei. I met them both for the first time that day.
I still remember the way my eyes lit up.
Standing before me was a tall, sharp-looking man—the spitting image of my father and uncle Toma, only… sharper. More refined. Classier.
He carried himself with the grace of someone who didn't need to prove anything. Impeccable black tux. Shoulders broad. Posture crisp. Polished to the point of arrogance.
In that moment, I thought—"I wanna be that guy when I grow up."
Then there was the woman beside him. She was just as tall with those signature red-soled heels and a black dress that fit like a glove. Her long, raven-black hair couldn't quite hide the ink on her body—a revolver tattoo on her thigh, wrapped in lace like a garter; a serpent coiled around a blade on her back; a beast that owned her right arm. Rumors whispered about a clan whose tattoos held power. She was living proof.
That woman? Turned out to be Uncle Tomo's woman. And my future mentor. A surviving Deveraux—the only one left.
My jaw damn near hit the floor.
She was beautiful. Like, anime-pretty-Onee-san levels of pretty.
Grandfather was always sharp in his three-piece suits, all cold elegance and tightly wound propriety. I guess that's where Uncle Tomo got it from—always formal, always composed. But standing there, seeing them—they looked like supervillains who'd strolled off the pages of a manga. Gorgeous. Dangerous. Legendary.
Naturally, I lost my mind.
So, what did thirteen-year-old me do?
I grabbed the katana Grandfather gave me for my birthday and charged straight at them.
Yep. I actually did that.
They dodged, obviously. I slipped, ate the floor.
Hardwood mahogany never tasted so humbling.
But worth it?
Hell yes.
Because they laughed. Really laughed. Not just polite chuckles or cold smirks—but genuine, from-the-gut laughter. It was the first time I saw it—and the last. Never again would they offer their joy so freely, let alone to me.
Where Uncle Toma had been gentle and warm, with that signature Soshiki Academy uniform he always wore, Uncle Tomo was the opposite. Calculated. Cold. Always in a tux. The man was a walking freezer—cold eyes, cold words, cold everything.
And yet.
Despite all that?
I adored him. Then. And now.
Why?
Because that cold, uptight bastard loved me in his own twisted way. And it's thanks to him that I'm a goddamn Soshiki fighter today.
**
Ryosuke swung his katana, slicing through two assassins in a single breath.
**
The mission was simple on paper: escort Ikari Kentaro—exiled former Higher-up of the Ikari clan—from Narita Airport back to the Ikari estate in Koka City. In reality? Fucking chaos waiting to happen.
Kentaro wasn't just some wrinkled old man in retirement. No, this bastard had been expelled from the country for a crime so deep the Soshiki still had scars. The only reason he was back was because a desperate committee in the Ikari clan had summoned him—Ikari Muji's own goddamn brother. That made him family to Sakura. And that made it our problem.
Four rookie Soshiki Academy students got slapped with the job of guarding his brittle ass across the country. Us.
Everything was going fine—until the ambush hit like a fucking truck.
It started with two shadowy figures lunging from behind a vending machine at the rest stop. Ryosuke reacted first, slicing clean through the first assassin's neck with a single horizontal stroke. His katana sang with blood. The second tried to dodge, but Ryosuke's blade spun mid-air like a silver blur, clipping the guy's hamstring. One down. One crawling.
Then came eight more.
They emerged from the trees like ghosts—black-clad, faceless, faster than hell. Their presence was like static in the air. Oppressive. Wrong. Their aura screamed unregulated clans.
One of them landed with a thud on the hood of the van and sneered. Mid-twenties, jagged grin, wild eyes. "You kids out here for recess?"
Ryosuke grinned back. "We play hard, old man."
"Oh, we don't play," the assassin growled, flipping a pouch off his belt. Shuriken—no, fiery shuriken—came raining down like meteorites.
"FUCK!" Ryosuke blocked three with a flurry of his blade, parrying the sparks into the air. The fourth clipped his shoulder.
Yamada launched himself into the air, spinning into a clean roundhouse that slammed into an attacker's jaw, cracking bone. Another lunged from behind—Yamada ducked, twisted, and delivered a vicious elbow into the guy's gut. "They're coordinated! Watch the flanks!"
"I'm watching, I'm watching—fuck me!" Ryosuke barely blocked a kunai that whistled past his ear. "You doing alright there, Yamachin? You look like shit already!"
"You always underestimate them, bonehead. Look closely!" Yamada yelled, throwing a series of precision punches that landed like gunfire.
That's when they saw it.
Thin, glittering lines. Threads—almost invisible. Spanning between trees. Around arms. Legs. Wrists. Like a spider's playground. A marionette's web.
"Shit," Yamada breathed, eyes narrowing. "We've got a Puppeteer."
Ryosuke cursed. "Ninja freakshow. Interesting!"
"It's not iNtErEsTiNg, you dumb fuck!" Yamada snapped.
"Oh hell yeah." Ryosuke grinned, crazed. "This is where the fun begins!"
Meanwhile, Ren and Sakura were still guarding Kentaro—until they weren't.
Ryosuke turned just in time to see Sakura's kunai clatter to the ground. Ren was gone. The old man? Gone.
"Sakura?" He called out, voice tightening.
Silence.
"REN?!" His eyes darted across the battleground, heart thundering. "SHIT, YAMACHIN! THEY'RE FUCKING GONE!"
The Puppeteer had moved while they were distracted. No sound. No trace. A perfect extraction under their goddamn noses.
"Fuck!" Yamada hissed. "We've been baited!"
Another wave of enemies dropped in—these were faster, enhanced. Augments. One guy spun through the air like a drill, flames spiraling from his fists. Ryosuke barely dodged before the ground behind him exploded into shrapnel.
"We split," Ryosuke growled, gripping his katana tight. "You take left. I'll clean right. Then we find Sakura. And I swear, we're gutting whoever's behind this."
Yamada cracked his knuckles, blood dripping from his temple.
"Let's paint the trees red."