Akihiro and kenji were catching up. They had just left the main building of the syndicate while other had left about an hour ago.
"Oi, Akihiro."
Kenji's voice carried through the cold morning air as they walked through the lit streets of Osaka. Unlike the Syndicate's towering steel fortresses, this place was something else entirely.
Kenji hadn't thought much when Akihiro said he was heading home. He figured the guy had a decent enough place—maybe a high-rise apartment or a quiet house somewhere in the Syndicate's zone (the syndicate's zone are the areas owned by the syndicate, every building and road there is connected and owned by the syndicate) . But this?
This was on a whole different level.
His steps slowed to a stop as his gaze lifted, taking in the immense wooden gate, reinforced with black iron, standing at least ten meters high. It was adorned with intricate gold engravings of dragons, celestial beasts, and calligraphy that exuded power. The mere sight of it sent a chill down his spine. Two guards, dressed in black and crimson, stood on either side, motionless like statues.
Kenji blinked, trying to process what he was looking at. "Yo."
Akihiro, standing a few steps ahead, turned back lazily, his hands in his yukata pockets. "What?"
Kenji gestured toward the massive estate. "The hell is this?!"
Akihiro glanced at the gates, then back at Kenji, his expression unreadable. "My house."
"Your house?" Kenji nearly choked. "No—no, this is a fucking palace! What the hell do you mean, 'my house'?"
Akihiro stretched his arms, yawning. "Yeah, yeah. It's not a big deal."
Kenji stared at him, then at the guards, then back at him. "So, wait. Are you, like… royalty or something?"
Akihiro scratched the back of his head, looking vaguely annoyed. "I guess? Doesn't mean shit to me, though." He waved a dismissive hand at the towering gates. "Staying here's suffocating as hell."
Kenji continued staring, his brain struggling to process the information.
Akihiro sighed. "Look, I gotta freshen up. I'll catch you later, yeah?"
Without waiting for an answer, he turned toward the entrance.
The moment he approached, the two elite guards, men who would cut down anyone who dared step out of line, immediately lowered their heads in a deep bow before reaching for the massive doors. The gates groaned open, revealing a world untouched by time.
Kenji took a step back, still baffled beyond belief.
But before he could say anything, Akihiro threw a lazy wave over his shoulder. "See ya, Kenji. Let's go get some street food later."
And with that, he disappeared behind the gates.
Kenji exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "What the actual fuck."
The estate's interior was as breathtaking as it was suffocating. Wooden walkways stretched for miles, connecting an endless array of traditional manor-style houses, each belonging to one of Kaito Takeda's many wives and children. The paper lanterns glowed softly, their golden light flickering against the koi-filled ponds and delicate stone pathways. It was a world of elegance and power, but also one of silent cruelty.
Inside, elegant wooden walkways stretched for miles, connecting numerous manor-style houses that belonged to the wives and children of the clan head. Each home was a masterpiece of Japanese architecture, with curved tile roofs, paper-screen sliding doors, and delicate carvings of mythical creatures along the eaves. Stone lanterns lined the pathways, their dim glow flickering beneath the vast canopy of ancient cherry blossom trees. Even in winter, the estate felt timeless, a place where the past reigned supreme.
As Akihiro walked through the pristine courtyard, the whispers started.
"He dares to return."
"The bastard thinks he belongs here."
"Filthy blood should know its place."
Akihiro smirked. These people never got tired of talking, huh?
He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with one of the older women sitting beneath a sakura tree. The moment their gazes met, his smirk widened, and he lifted a hand in a lazy wave.
"Yo. Wassup hag"
Her expression darkened. She hated that. Hated that he had the audacity to acknowledge her, to exist, to breathe the same air. Nonetheless insult her.
Akihiro stuffed his hands back into his yukata pockets and kept walking.
Nothing they said mattered.
Beyond the courtyards, the true heart of the estate revealed itself.
The central mansion, where the head of the clan resided, loomed like a temple of gods. It was unlike the other houses—its architecture was almost celestial, built with white stone and dark wooden beams, its roof adorned with golden dragons. At its center was the sacred chamber of Kaito Takeda, a place no one could enter freely.
Kaito was a man of unparalleled power, a figure who mastered the Inverted Eye—the technique that had driven countless others into insanity. He was rarely seen. Even his three wives only met him on nights chosen for procreation, nights where bloodline purity was maintained.
To Akihiro, he was less than a ghost.
His father never called for him. Never spoke his name. Sometimes, he doubted Kaito even remembered he existed.
"Old bastard."
He didn't stop to look at the sacred chamber. He never did.
Instead, he made his way toward the one place where he could breathe.
The ofuro, the traditional bathhouse, was located in the quieter section of the estate, surrounded by towering bamboo trees and small cascading waterfalls that filled the air with the soft sound of running water. It was a place meant for peace.
Not that Akihiro ever got much of that.
The moment he slid open the wooden door, the familiar sight of his elder brother, Hiroshi, already submerged in the hot water greeted him.
"Oh akihiro," Hiroshi muttered, leaning against the smooth stone edge of the bath. His black hair was slicked back from the steam, and his usual sharp, disciplined aura was slightly softened.
Akihiro grinned. "Didn't know you were waiting for me."
Hiroshi sighed, rubbing his temple. "I wasn't."
Akihiro shrugged off his yukata, stepping into the water with a content sigh as the heat enveloped him. The tension in his muscles eased instantly.
"Man," he muttered, stretching his arms behind his head, "I should just live in here. Maybe build myself a little raft and float around all day."
Hiroshi gave him a look. "You'd drown in your sleep."
Akihiro smirked. "Wouldn't that be a shame."
A splash of hot water hit his face before he could react.
"Oi!" Akihiro wiped his face, glaring at Hiroshi, who looked completely unbothered.
"Oops," Hiroshi said flatly.
Akihiro narrowed his eyes. Oh, so that's how it was?
Without hesitation, he scooped up water with both hands and hurled it straight at Hiroshi.
The splash hit its mark, drenching his brother's face and hair.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, Hiroshi turned to him slowly, blinking through wet strands of hair. "…You little shit."
Akihiro grinned.
A second later, water flew in every direction as the brothers launched into a full-fledged splash war.
By the time they finally called a truce, both were soaked, their hair sticking to their faces, steam rising around them.
Akihiro let out a breath, his grin softening. "…Hey, Hiroshi."
Hiroshi, resting his arms on the edge of the bath, hummed in acknowledgment.
"…this is one of the few times that life feels worth living"
Hiroshi didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on the ceiling, where intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes loomed above them.
Finally, he exhaled. "…Yeah."
And for the first time that morning, the estate felt just a little less suffocating.
Sliding open the door to his chamber, Akihiro immediately noticed something unusual. A small figure was curled up on his futon, shoulders trembling. Soft, muffled sniffling filled the otherwise quiet room.
Akihiro raised an eyebrow, shutting the door behind him. "Oi, Kaito Jr.," he called out in a lazy tone, striding toward the futon. "What the hell are you doing in my bed? You plan on moving in or something?"
The little boy on his bed flinched slightly at the voice but didn't look up right away. He was no older than six, with jet-black hair that fell in messy waves over his tear-streaked face. His black eyes, inherited from the Takeda bloodline, were glossy with fresh tears as he rubbed at them with small, chubby fists. He wore a finely embroidered yukata, the fabric expensive but slightly wrinkled from lying on Akihiro's bed.
This was Reiji Takeda—the youngest child in the entire household, the only other person besides Hiroshi that Akihiro had an actual connection with.
Well, him and—
Akihiro exhaled through his nose, shaking the thought away.
"What's with the waterworks, huh? Got rejected by your first crush?" he teased, sitting down beside the boy and leaning back on his hands.
Reiji sniffled and shot him a tiny glare. "No…" His voice was small and wobbly. "I fell in the garden… I hurt my knee…*"
Akihiro glanced down and saw a tiny scrape on the boy's leg. It wasn't even bleeding. His lips twitched. "Oh no, you're done for. They will probably have to cut of the leg"
"Wha—?!" Reiji's teary eyes widened in alarm.
Akihiro chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. "I'm kidding, dumbass. You'll live." He grabbed a nearby cloth, wet from his bath earlier, and gently wiped at Reiji's knee before patting it like a doctor sealing a wound. "There. You've been healed by the great Akihiro."
Reiji hiccupped but let out a small, watery laugh.
Akihiro leaned over, grabbing his wallet from the nightstand. He pulled out 50,000 yen—a ridiculous amount of money for a six-year-old—but money was a luxury a Takeda could easily afford plus the syndicate paid them well, he held it out. "Here. Buy yourself some sweets or something."
Reiji's eyes widened. "W-What? I can't take that! My mom will—"
"Exactly." Akihiro smirked, tapping the money against the boy's forehead. "That's why this is our little secret. If that hag finds out, she'll throw a fit. So don't get caught, alright?"
Reiji hesitated before slowly taking the money, looking at it as if he had just been handed a sacred treasure.
As he tucked the money into his pocket, his gaze wandered around Akihiro's room—and then stopped, his tiny face twisting in confusion.
"Um… why do you have a poster of a lady on your wall?"
Akihiro followed his gaze and smirked. The life-sized poster of the one and only Aika Katsuragi, the biggest superstar in the underground and the surface world, was pinned above his bed. She was mid-performance, wearing a glittering outfit, hair wild and eyes fierce with confidence. She was a legend, a goddess, a queen—and sexy as hell.
Akihiro grinned, crossing his arms. "Because, kid, that's Aika Katsuragi. Absolute perfection. A national treasure." He sighed dramatically, looking at the poster with admiration. "She's so damn sexy, isn't she?"
Reiji blinked. "Sexy?"
Akihiro chuckled, leaning down to whisper like he was about to share the secrets of the universe. "You'll understand one day, kid."
Reiji just tilted his head, clearly confused.
Before he could ask more, a sharp voice echoed from outside. "Reiji!"
The boy flinched, instinctively clutching the money in his pocket. Akihiro sighed, nodding toward the door. "Better go before she starts sending search parties."
Reiji hesitated for a moment, then suddenly threw his arms around Akihiro in a quick, tight hug. "Thanks, Aki!"
Akihiro blinked, momentarily surprised, before patting the kid's head with an easy smirk. "Whatever, I only gave you so you would stop crying and leave my room."
Reiji giggled and bolted out of the room, his small feet padding against the wooden floors.
As soon as the door slid shut behind him, Akihiro let out a deep breath and flopped back onto his futon.
Aika Katsuragi's poster loomed above him, her sharp eyes and confident smirk seeming to mock him.
"Tch. You wouldn't last a day in this damn house, princess."
His gaze wandered slightly to the nightstand. Beside his wallet and a few scattered trinkets, there was a neatly folded cloth—one that belonged to Mikasa.
Mikasa Fujiwara.
The third and last person in this house who actually spoke to him like a normal damn human being.
She wasn't from the Takeda bloodline, just a maid who had somehow survived long enough to learn exactly how things worked in this house. She was beautiful in an effortless way, with long dark hair that she always kept tied back and sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to see through bullshit.
And unlike the others, she never looked at him like a threat. Or a disgrace.
Just another person. Although she was annoying and he didn't like having her around, she was persistent.
Akihiro scoffed to himself. "She'd better come take her clothes before I throw em in the trash"
He glanced at his bedside locker and picked up a small framed picture of he and his mom when he was a little boy. The only memory he had of her. If not for this picture he wouldn't remember her face.
His mother. The woman who had died because she wasn't Takeda. The woman who had been deemed an abomination for carrying the child of the clan head despite not sharing their blood. The only woman who had ever loved him. And the other wives made sure to mock him when they broke the news to him when he was only eight years old.
She had been erased from history. No portraits. No grave. No name spoken aloud.
A Takeda who was not a Takeda was not permitted to exist.