Night. A desolate road curved around the hillside.
The only light came from a bus rumbling through the night, its old frame creaking with every turn. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a dim, sterile glow over the half filled cabin.
Dalton stood near the back, one hand gripping the overhead rail, the other holding a phone to his ear. His tone was calm—too calm.
"Yes, sir. She slipped through our fingers for now... but we know exactly where she's heading."
His eyes narrowed, watching the road behind them fade as the bus hummed through the night. A beat passed while his superior spoke on the other end.
"Yeah... we're heading to the Yama District… Yeah. The monastery—that's where she is heading."
While Matilda leaned against a pole beside him, still wearing only his coat, arms crossed, eyes gazing out the window. She looked bored.
His expression darkened slightly as the voice on the other end continued.
"Wait… what?" he said quietly.
He glanced over at Matilda, voice lowered.
"She's been drafted? Into the Neroro list?
A long pause. His jaw clenched tighter.
"No. That won't be necessary," Dalton said, cutting the voice off calmly.
"We'll handle it. I'll get the job done." With that the phone was hung up on the other side.
The bus jerked slightly as it veered left, then slowed. The neon glow of a bus station flickered into view. The bus came to a halt with a soft hiss.
Dalton furrowed his brow and bent slightly, peering out the window. Something didn't look right.
Passengers began standing, gathering their bags.
Dalton stepped off the bus quickly as the passengers dispersed, catching up to the driver just as he was walking away to get some rest. Matilda followed.
"Hey. This isn't the Yama District."
The driver gave a small snort. "Yama? Nah, that's a whole different line. This is the Yamashiro local. You've come too far east."
Dalton blinked. "haaaaa??."
The driver shrugged. "If you're trying to get to Yama, the next bus that goes that route ain't till five in the morning. You'll have to wait."
He gave Dalton a short nod and turned to walk off, his footsteps echoing faintly as he disappeared into the dim station building.
Dalton didn't move. Neither did Matilda, Who was standing behind Dalton as he enquired.
They just stood there—two hitmen stuck miles from their mark, staring blankly into the cold silence of the night.
A gust of wind swept through the empty lot, Matilda's hair lifted slightly in the breeze. She glanced around.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
The neon letters overhead buzzed and flickered, casting pale light over cracked pavement and rusting benches.
Yamashiro Bus Station — 11:00 PM.
—--------------------------------------------------
Yama District – The Monastery– same time.
The mountains were quiet. Wind rustled through pine trees lining the stone path that coiled upward toward the monastery which sat on a hilltop. Moonlight bathed the old wooden structure.
A golden plaque above the gates read:"Sanctuary of Atonement"
Inside the temple's inner sanctum, the air was thick with incense smoke and candlelight. A massive wooden statue of the Buddha loomed at the back of the room, serene and unmoving. Before it, an old monk in simple robes knelt, placing incense sticks into a brass bowl. His back faced the woman standing behind him.
Rika knelt slowly onto the wooden floor, her head bowed in quiet reverence. Two old identical, white-haired twin monks stood on either side of the room's entrance — swords resting at their sides, hands folded in front of them.
The old monk finally spoke, voice soft.
"What business does the Mizukawa family have in this temple… after all these years?"
Rika hesitated — just a breath — before answering.
"Hiro sama is dead."
The unlit incense sticks snapped in the monk's hand.
"...What?" the monk whispered, slowly rising. When he turned, his face emerged from the incense smoke — lined by time and war, but his eyes remained sharp, unblinking.
"Who did this?" he asked, voice low and cold.
Rika's jaw tightened. "Nexus Corporation. They're after us. The cover's been blown. They know about Ayame."
The old monk's brow furrowed. "What do they even want now? They already have taken the authority from the boshins."
Rika looked up, her voice just above a whisper.
"She inherited the Boshin legacy."
That hit like a thunderclap.
The twin monks gasped in disbelief.
The old monk stared for a long moment. Then, slowly, Rika bowed. Lower. Then lower still. Her forehead touched the wooden floor.
"You're the only one who can help us," she said. "Please."
Yamashiro Bus Station — 11:12 PM
A low creak… creak… creak echoed through the nearly empty station.
A vending machine rattled once and dropped a can of grape soda with a hollow thunk. A pale hand reached down and retrieved it.
Creaking sound continued.
A man slurping noodles froze mid-bite, his chopsticks trembling, noodles dangling inches from his parted lips. His eyes were wide. Unblinking. Bewitched.
creak… creak… creak…
Outside the flickering glow of the food stand's sign, Matilda rode a child's coin-operated panda — hips rocking slowly, in a teasing rhythm, back and forth.
The coat she wore (Dalton's, still oversized) hung slightly off her shoulders, barely held together by a single fastened button high on her chest.
Dalton slumped onto a nearby bench, cracking open a can of grape soda. The fizz popped loud in the quiet air.
Matilda didn't look at him. She was lost in her thoughts, eyes zoned out looking at some point in the distance.
"Don't you think it's a little strange?" she said, still rocking, voice casual. "A yakuza's granddaughter… the last of the Boshin bloodline… hiding out in a monastery?"
Dalton exhaled sharply, took a slow sip."That monastery's not what you think," he replied.
"It's nothing less than a yakuza house. Founded by an ex- underworld lord turned monk after he got tired of the bloodshed. The kind of place Nero users and gang members go when they're done getting their hands dirty."
Matilda tilted her head. Her tone was thoughtful. "So a rehab center for people like us."
"Pretty much," Dalton muttered.
Yama district– monastery, around the same time.
A quiet room. Paper sliding doors half-closed. Crickets chirping outside.
Inside, a single desk lamp lit the aged hands of Monk, gliding across parchment with a calligraphy brush. The scent of ink and old wood hung thick in the air.
[Caption: URASHIMA — Founder Sanctuary of Atonement {Monastery}. Former Yakuza Boss | Nero ability: — | Status: Retired.]
Rika sat cross-legged before him, tension still riding her spine.
Urashima didn't look up as he spoke, voice low and measured, like someone who had buried many men and said prayers over each one.
"I still know people," he said. "Some favors, some debts — from the old days."
He set the brush down, eyes finally lifting to meet hers.
"There's a ship leaving Yokosuka port in three nights. A beat. "I can get you both on it."
Rika's eyes widened slightly.
"Out of the country?"
Urashima nodded once. "Somewhere Nexus has no influence."
She bowed her head, voice soft. "I… I can't thank you enough."
The old monk offered a weary smile.
"This is the least I can do for Hiro-san," he said. "I owe him more than I can ever repay."
In a different chamber deeper within the monastery, Ayame sat alone on a woven mat, wrapped in the long folds of her grandfather's coat. The fabric still smelled faintly of smoke and his sandalwood perfume. Her eyes stared blankly at the floor — not crying, just hollow.
But then…
Something pressed against her ribs — small, square. She reached into the inner pocket and pulled it free:
A tiny box, wrapped in a deep red ribbon.
There was a folded note tied beneath the bow.
In her grandfather's bold, slightly messy script, it read:
"A gift from Gramps ♡"
Tears welled quietly, spilling down her cheeks.
No sobs. No sound. Just a silent flood.