Page 38 of Kotori

Kaito

The compound gates swing open as we return from Tanabata, revealing four black SUVs arranged in precise formation.

Men in dark suits stand with the disciplined stillness that speaks of concealed weapons and purpose.

Ishida family enforcers. Not street thugs, but trained killers who move with the specific precision of men who understand death intimately.

"Stay in the car," I tell my daughters, voice dropping to the quiet command that demands instant obedience. Paige stiffens beside Mizuki, her fingers instinctively seeking Aya's hand.

The perfect Tanabata night shatters. It's gone in an instant, replaced by the stark reality of my world. A reality I've deliberately kept hidden from my daughters, even as it shadows every moment of our lives.

Takeshi appears beside my door as I step out, his presence a certainty amidst uncertainty.

"Aniki. They arrived ten minutes ago. Demanded an immediate audience."

"And you allowed them through the gates?" My voice remains neutral, but Takeshi hears the blade beneath the silk.

"Hiroshi-san authorized their entry," he answers, gaze steady. "Said it was a matter of mutual interest that couldn't wait until morning."

Interesting. Hiroshi making executive decisions about compound access without consultation. Another piece in a pattern forming these past weeks.

The Ishida family has been our primary rival for generations and their presence here, unannounced, authorized by my senior advisor rather than myself, carries specific meanings. A move in a game I didn't realize had begun.

I approach their delegation with measured steps, sixteen generations of authority settling across my shoulders like armor. Loving father vanishes, replaced by the oyabun who commands men with a glance and orders deaths with a nod.

"Ishida-san," I greet their leader with a bow calibrated to the millimeter—respectful enough to avoid insult, shallow enough to establish dominance.

"What brings you to my home at this hour?

I would have thought you'd be enjoying the festival with your wife and children.

.. assuming they still tolerate your company. "

Ishida Noboru steps forward. Younger than me by a decade, but carrying himself with the entitlement of inheritance rather than the confidence of blood-earned authority.

"Matsumoto-san," he returns the greeting with precisely matching depth. "Forgive the intrusion. We would have preferred formal channels, but certain information came to our attention that couldn't wait for traditional protocols."

Behind me, car doors open. Without turning, I raise one hand—a signal that freezes everything. I sense Paige watching, seeing for the first time the absolute control I wield over everything in my domain.

"Takeshi, escort my family inside. The west wing." I don't look back, keeping my focus entirely on the threat before me. "Hayashi will ensure their comfort."

"Hai, Aniki." Takeshi's footsteps retreat, followed by the whispered sounds of my daughters and their teacher being moved to safety.

"Shall we discuss this matter in my office?" I suggest to Ishida, gesturing toward the main house.

"I think here is appropriate," he counters, glancing meaningfully at my senior advisors who have appeared at the courtyard's edge. Hiroshi, Sato, and Yamada stand in formal wear, as if they'd anticipated this delegation. "What we have to discuss concerns everyone present."

The pieces align in my mind. Not an attack. Something more insidious. A political move with my advisors as co-conspirators.

"Very well." I gesture to the stone benches surrounding the courtyard's central fountain. "Please."

We settle into the negotiation postures that have defined yakuza diplomacy for generations—formal, polite, with violence beneath every syllable.

"We received an interesting visitor yesterday evening," Ishida begins, accepting tea from a servant. "One of your advisors expressed concerns about, shall we say, changing leadership philosophies within the Matsumoto family."

My expression reveals nothing, but inside, calculations race through my mind. One of my advisors. Approaching our oldest rivals. About my leadership.

"How thoughtful," I respond, sipping my tea with deliberate calm. "And which advisor felt that Ishida family counsel would benefit our internal matters?"

Ishida's eyes flick briefly toward the assembled elders. "That's not important at the moment. What matters is the substance of the concern."

"Which is?"

"That the Matsumoto family is moving away from traditional values that have maintained peace between our organizations. That certain foreign influences have begun to affect decision-making. That established protocols regarding territory and business operations might soon be disregarded."

Foreign influences. The American teacher. An easy target for traditionalists who fear change. I keep my expression neutral, interested, as if discussing weather patterns rather than thinly veiled accusations.

"Fascinating interpretation," I say, setting down my cup. "And did this advisor offer evidence of these concerns, or merely speculation based on personal disappointment?"

From the corner of my eye, I notice Hiroshi shifting his weight. Sato remains motionless, his weathered face set in practiced neutrality. But Yamada's eyes drop briefly to the ground—a momentary tell that confirms my suspicions.

"He provided specific examples," Ishida continues.

"Changes to security protocols. Reassignment of key personnel.

Modifications to distribution channels that have been established for decades.

" He pauses, his next words delivered with the careful precision of a man setting a trap.

"But most concerning was the information about your involvement in the death of my cousin three years ago. "

The accusation hangs in the air like a drawn blade. I feel Hiroshi's sudden tension, see Sato's almost imperceptible flinch.

I take another sip of tea, movements deliberately unhurried. "An interesting claim. Especially since your cousin died in a territorial dispute with the Tanaka family in Osaka."

"That was the official story," Ishida agrees. "But your advisor provided compelling evidence suggesting Matsumoto involvement. Photos. Communications. Financial transfers that trace back to shell companies controlled by your organization."

Evidence that doesn't exist. Evidence that couldn't exist, because while I've orchestrated many deaths, Ishida's cousin wasn't among them. But someone wants him to believe otherwise. Someone with access to our records, our communications, our financial systems.

Someone willing to fabricate evidence precise enough to convince our oldest rivals that we violated fundamental territorial agreements and lied about it for years.

"Your advisor seems remarkably well-informed," I observe, studying Ishida's face for tells. "Almost suspiciously so."

"The information was compelling enough to warrant this conversation," Ishida responds. "If true, it represents a breach of the agreements our families have maintained for decades."

"And if false, it represents something far more dangerous." I set down my tea cup, straightening slightly. "A deliberate attempt to ignite conflict between our families. The kind of manipulation that benefits neither of us."

Ishida's eyes narrow slightly. He hadn't considered this angle—that he might be a pawn rather than a player.

"Your advisor," I continue, voice dropping to ensure only those present can hear, "did he perhaps suggest that now would be an opportune time to apply pressure to the Matsumoto family?

To reconsider territorial boundaries established after your father's unfortunate miscalculation fifteen years ago? "

Sato coughs uncomfortably. Hiroshi remains utterly still. Both remember the bloodshed that followed Ishida's father's last attempt to expand their territory at our expense.

Ishida's expression hardens. "He suggested that changing leadership dynamics might create opportunities for renegotiation, yes."

"How convenient," I smile thinly. "And did he happen to mention what he stood to gain from such renegotiations?"

Silence stretches between us as Ishida processes the implications. He's being used. He's being offered fabricated evidence to encourage him to do someone else's dirty work. The question is whether his pride will allow him to acknowledge the manipulation.

"The documentation seemed authentic," he finally says, a noticeable retreat from his earlier certainty.

"I'm sure it did. Forgeries usually do, when created by someone with insider access." I gesture casually toward my assembled advisors. "Which is why I'll be conducting a thorough investigation into their origins. I suspect we'll discover fascinating things about loyalty and ambition."

Hiroshi steps forward, his face a careful mask of concern. "Kaito-kun, perhaps we should discuss this privately before—"

"Before what, Hiroshi-san?" I interrupt, voice pleasant but eyes cold. "Before I discover exactly who has been fabricating evidence to destabilize alliances that have kept peace for fifteen years? Before I identify who has been using rival families as pawns in internal power plays?"

The courtyard falls silent, tension crackling through the night air.

Ishida studies me carefully, recalculating his position now that he understands he may have been manipulated. "If what you say is true, Matsumoto-san, it seems you have internal matters requiring attention."

"Indeed." I rise, signaling the meeting's conclusion. "And you have careful consideration to give to the reliability of your sources. It would be... unfortunate... if misunderstandings led to unnecessary conflict."

He inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the warning beneath my words. "Verification is always prudent before action."