Page 26 of Kotori

Kaito

The taste of her still on my tongue when Takeshi calls, interrupting my evening.

"Aniki." His voice carries weight. "The advisors want a meeting. Tonight. Hiroshi arranged it—something about succession planning and allied families."

I set down my cup. The old bastard has been working behind my back, using his decades of service to question my authority.

"What succession concerns need an emergency meeting?"

"Family stability. The daughters' futures. Marriage arrangements." Takeshi sounds as suspicious as I feel. "The senior advisors want a 'generational planning' discussion. Internal family only."

A trap. Hiroshi isn't calling a meeting—he's staged a tribunal. Using the old guard to confront me within family walls where he can speak freely about my "failings." His timing is perfect—just hours after I left her trembling in the fitting room.

"How many advisors?"

"Five. The core group." Takeshi pauses. "Aniki, this feels like…"

"A trap," I finish, rising. "The question is whether the old fox has overplayed his hand."

I dress quickly in a dark suit and arrive at the family conference room, a space built to intimidate with its history. I find them already assembled: five advisors in formal black, each reflecting decades of yakuza life.

My father's former wakagashira sits with the authority of someone who's forgotten he serves me, not my father. Their arrangement is deliberate—I'm meant to feel like a defendant, not the head of this family.

I enter to find them already assembled—five senior advisors in formal black, each man's posture reflecting decades of violence masked by ceremony.

My father's former wakagashira sits with the composed authority of someone who's forgotten he serves the son, not the father.

The arrangement is deliberate, calculated to make me feel like a defendant approaching judgment rather than the head of this family.

"Matsumoto-sama." Hiroshi's voice is polite, but his eyes reveal his intent. "Thank you for joining us."

I take my place at the head of the table, making it clear who leads despite their theatrics. "What's this about?" I ask directly.

"We have concerns," Hiroshi begins. "Four years since Akira's passing. Your daughters are growing up without proper maternal guidance."

Using my dead wife's name in this setting sends ice through my veins.

"Mizuki is eighteen," continues Sato, Hiroshi's ally. "Several families have inquired about marriage arrangements. Without a proper Japanese mother to guide her..."

They're using my daughter as leverage.

"My daughters are well cared for," I say, my voice steel. "Mizuki's education is excellent."

"Daichi's family has expressed concerns," Hiroshi says. "They worry about foreign influence on their potential bride. A Japanese household expects values, not Western independence."

I study the faces around the table. Most avoid my eyes—uncomfortable but unwilling to oppose Hiroshi. Old men who mistake nostalgia for wisdom.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" I ask.

"A Japanese wife for you. Better preparation for Mizuki's marriage to Daichi. An arrangement that strengthens clan bonds instead of weakening them."

"And who do you have in mind?" I ask.

"Ishida's daughter—well-educated, beautiful. Ito's niece—proven fertility, good lineage. Women who understand their role."

Women who would serve his agenda, not mine. Wives chosen for his political advantage, not my satisfaction.

"When did my personal life become committee business?" I ask.

The question lands hard. Hiroshi's mask slips.

"When your choices affect family stability," he says. "When foreign influence threatens our bloodline. When a leader's judgment becomes clouded by inappropriate attachments."

Inappropriate attachments. A direct challenge.

I smile. "Let's discuss what actually threatens our foundation." I stand, and the room shifts. Even Hiroshi's allies sense the change, the moment when politics becomes something more dangerous.

"Our family has survived sixteen generations through adaptation. We preserved honor while embracing change." My voice drops. "You claim I show weakness by making choices that serve my family's needs rather than your comfort."

I walk around the table, stopping behind each man in turn.

"Last month's territory dispute. You advised retreat. I stood firm and gained new territory and revenue."

I stop behind another advisor. "The cultural preservation projects you called 'worthless.' They've strengthened our reputation internationally."

I return to my seat. "My household arrangements strengthen our position. An American teacher gives my daughters advantages in a global world. Intelligence serves them better than blind adherence."

Hiroshi attempts one last stand. "Foreign influence—"

"Are you questioning my judgment?" The question cuts through his words. "Are you suggesting sixteen generations of Matsumoto leadership have culminated in a man too weak to manage his own household? Too foolish to know what serves his family?"

The silence is absolute. In yakuza culture, questioning an oyabun's judgment isn't politics. It's treason.

"Because if that's your position," I continue, "perhaps we should discuss your future with this family. A man who uses my dead wife's memory as a weapon. Someone who mistakes my patience for weakness."

Hiroshi's hands shake slightly. He finally understands that his trap has become his execution. "Of course not, Matsumoto-sama," he says, subdued. "I merely expressed concern."

"Concern noted. And dismissed." I stand, ending the meeting. "My household serves my family's needs. My daughters thrive. My choices reflect strength—the confidence to choose quality over convention."

One by one, they leave, bowing with relief. None want to witness what happens next with Hiroshi.

When the door closes, I face the old man who tried to manipulate me.

"Hiroshi. You've served this family for forty years. That deserves respect, retirement rather than disgrace."

His eyes widen as he realizes how close to the edge he's come.

"But if you ever use my wife's memory against me again, if you question my authority over my household..." I step closer. "We'll see if forty years of service outweighs one moment of disrespect." I straighten my jacket. "Goodnight, Hiroshi-san."

The walk back to my quarters feels like victory. Political warfare fought without violence, authority reinforced through strength, my claim on her validated by the very men who tried to break it.

Now comes my reward.

I change into a dark blue yukata and slide open the screen to my private outdoor onsen.

Steam rises from the natural hot spring, nestled among stones and bamboo.

Moonlight filters through the trees, casting patterns on the water.

Lanterns glow along the path, illuminating wooden buckets and bathing stools.

The mountain air carries the scent of cedar and mineral water. This hidden sanctuary, built into the mountainside and connected to my quarters, is where only the privileged are allowed.

Tonight, she'll understand exactly what it means to belong to me.

I send a message to Hayashi: "Send Williams-san to my quarters immediately."

I settle on a smooth rock at the pool's edge, letting the yukata fall open.

The contrast of cool night air and rising steam makes my skin prickle.

My cock hardens with anticipation, already thick and ready to claim what's mine.

yukata and slide open the screen to my private outdoor onsen.

Steam rises from the natural hot spring, nestled among smooth stones and bamboo.

Moonlight filters through the trees, casting silver patterns on the water's surface.

Lanterns glow softly along the path, illuminating the wooden buckets and bathing stools.

The mountain air carries the scent of cedar and mineral water. This hidden sanctuary, built into the mountainside and connected directly to my quarters, is where only the most privileged are allowed.

Tonight, she'll understand exactly what it means to belong to me.

I send a message to Hayashi: Send Williams-san to my quarters immediately.

I settle on a smooth rock at the pool's edge, letting the yukata fall open. The contrast of cool night air and rising steam makes my skin prickle. My cock hardens with anticipation of what's coming.

Footsteps approach on the wooden walkway—uncertain, hesitant.

"Matsumoto-sama?" Her voice carries confusion. "Hayashi-san said you requested me?"

"Out here," I call from the onsen. "Come."

She slides the door open, stepping tentatively onto the wooden deck. Her breath catches visibly at the sight of the steaming waters, the secluded garden setting, the night sky above. And me, waiting with undisguised hunger in my eyes.

She wears a simple white cotton nightgown that barely reaches mid-thigh, clearly grabbed in haste. The thin fabric clings to her curves, outlining her full breasts and the peaks of her nipples. Each step she takes reveals the shadow between her thighs, confirming she wears nothing underneath.

"I don't understand," she says, hugging herself as goosebumps rise on her skin. "It's nearly midnight."

I stand, water droplets sliding down my chest as the yukata hangs completely open, revealing my arousal. "You're here because I want you here. Under the night sky, where I can take what belongs to me."

"I was asleep," she says, a hint of defiance in her voice despite the way her eyes keep dropping to my exposed body. "You couldn't wait until morning?"

"You think I care about your sleep when I want you?" I move closer, letting her see exactly what she does to me. "You're here because I summoned you. That's all the fucking reason needed."

The nightgown has become almost transparent in the steam, revealing every curve. When my eyes travel down her body, she shivers.

"You knew this was coming," I say, reaching for the thin straps of her nightgown. "Ever since I tasted those lips this morning."