Page 42 of Kotori

I move to stand over his motionless form, voice dropping to something that carries the weight of generational authority.

"Sato-san has received his final education," I announce to the room.

"The lesson should be clear to everyone present.

" I turn to address the room, my voice returning to conversational politeness.

"My late father believed in second chances.

In redemption through suffering. In the wisdom of mercy.

" I pause, letting the words settle like stones in still water.

"But mercy, like respect, must be earned.

And some men prove themselves incapable of learning.

The penalty for repeat betrayal is death.

The penalty for fabricating evidence to incite conflict between families is death.

The penalty for endangering my children with your political games is death.

Today's lesson was justice delayed, not mercy denied.

I trust the distinction is clear to everyone present. "

Nods around the room, frantic and immediate.

"Excellent. Takeshi will handle the cleanup. The rest of you will reflect on today's demonstration and share its lessons with anyone who might benefit from understanding the difference between first chances and final chances."

I bow slightly to the assembled advisors—respectful acknowledgment of their continued service, generous forgiveness for their temporary lapse in judgment. "Thank you for this enlightening afternoon. I look forward to our future discussions being far more harmonious."

The drive home takes twenty minutes through mountain roads painted in summer greens. Landscapes that have witnessed centuries of violence, power struggles resolved through steel and determination rather than committee discussion.

My hands remain steady on the wheel despite the blood under my fingernails. The metallic scent of correction lingers in my clothes like expensive cologne.

By the time I reach the compound, the sun is setting behind mountain peaks, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson.

Beautiful colors. Peaceful evening. The kind of tranquil scene that speaks of family harmony and proper values maintained.

The guards at the gate bow with the deep respect of men who understand exactly what their oyabun is capable of.

Word travels fast in our world—by morning, every crime family in Japan will know that Matsumoto authority remains absolute.

That questioning it carries consequences beyond political embarrassment.

I park in the private courtyard and sit for a moment, letting the engine cool while I review the afternoon's work. Perfect execution. Clear message. Lasting impression. The kind of education that shapes behavior for generations.

Sato-san is dead. Will never again test the boundaries of mercy, never again mistake second chances for weakness.

But more importantly, Hiroshi will never again mistake my patience for vulnerability.

The other advisors will remember today every time they consider testing my resolve.

Allied families will understand that Matsumoto leadership operates by its own rules.

Rules written in blood and enforced without hesitation.

My phone buzzes with a message from Takeshi: "Cleanup handled. Body disposal arranged. Message received by all witnesses."

Perfect. Clean resolution with maximum educational value and permanent consequences.

I check my appearance in the rearview mirror, ensuring no evidence of the afternoon's execution remains visible.

A small blood spatter on my collar—easily explained as a shaving accident.

Hair perfectly styled. The image of a successful businessman returning from cultural appreciation rather than delivering final justice.

The main house glows with warm light when I enter, architecture embracing me like a sanctuary.

Somewhere in the city, mortuary professionals work to make Sato-san's corpse disappear completely.

Here, family dinner waits with my daughters' laughter and carefully prepared food and the gentle rhythms of domestic harmony.

Two worlds. One man equally comfortable delivering death and receiving daughters' kisses.

I pause at the shrine to offer brief gratitude for the wisdom to understand when mercy has been exhausted and justice demands finality. My late father's spirit would understand. Some lessons can only be taught once, and some students never graduate.

Tonight I'll sit with my daughters and listen to their stories about lessons and friendships and small triumphs. Tomorrow morning I'll receive reports about how today's education has affected clan politics and territorial respect.

Both conversations will receive my complete attention and careful consideration.

Because that's what sixteen generations of leadership has taught me—strength and gentleness aren't opposites.

They're tools in the same arsenal, applied with equal precision depending on what the situation demands.

But whatever it requires, I'll be ready.

Calm, controlled, and absolutely certain about what serves my family's interests.

Just like my ancestors before me.

Just like my descendants will be after me.

Some heritage is worth preserving at any cost.