Chapter 365: Velvet Briefing
The resort had many dining rooms, many lounges, many places designed for conversation that was meant to sound effortless.
This room was not one of those.
It was larger than it needed to be, built for meetings with people who carried weapons even when they swore they wouldn't use them. The table was wide enough to seat a small council. The chairs were heavy, carved wood with cushions that looked soft but still held a person upright. Lanterns hung from the ceiling beams, warm light poured down in steady pools, and the walls were decorated with quiet luxury: sea-themed carvings, polished stone, and a few tasteful paintings that made the place feel expensive without screaming about it.
It also had something else.
Ishidate felt it the moment he stepped in: a kind of stillness that didn't belong to architecture.
Not silence. Not emptiness.
Control.
The air felt managed—like the room had rules, and the rules did not belong to him.
He didn't show it.
He walked in like he owned the floor under his sandals.
Behind him came Kongō and Karenbana, their presence filling the doorway in two completely different ways: Kongō like a boulder rolling into a river, Karenbana like perfume and knives given a woman's shape. Several of their hired men trailed in after them—some loud, some bleary-eyed, some already half-drunk off the resort's generous hospitality.
A few were asleep at the table already, faces resting near untouched plates like they'd been knocked out by comfort.
Kongō stared at those ones with quiet approval.
Karenbana stared at them with mild disgust.
Ishidate stared at them like they were liabilities he'd chosen anyway.
He moved to the head of the table without making a show of it. He didn't need to. People shifted automatically—mercenaries and clan-followers alike, the ones awake straightening in their chairs, the ones half-aware sobering up a fraction when they realized their leader was standing.
He placed both hands on the table, leaned forward slightly, and let his gaze sweep the room. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Listen," Ishidate said.
The room settled.
Even the ones who'd been talking under their breath turned their attention toward him, because there was a certain tone Ishidate used that meant this is not an argument, this is instruction.
Kongō crossed his arms behind him, looming. Not threatening—just there, like a wall Ishidate could lean against if the room turned stupid.
Karenbana stood to Ishidate's side, one hip cocked, arms folded under her chest, face almost bored. But her eyes were bright. Alert. Watching who watched.
Ishidate spoke.
"We've accepted a contract," he began, and the immediate shift in posture around the room told him he'd started correctly. People liked certainty. Even if they didn't like his certainty, they liked the way it organized their fear.
"Not from the man who summoned us here," Ishidate continued. "From another party. A political figure in the Land of the Moon. The pay will be high. The danger will be higher."
Several men grinned at that.
A few frowned, as if someone had said "danger" too close to "responsibility."
Ishidate kept going.
"This mission is not a simple raid. It's not a smash-and-grab. It's not even a straightforward assassination. We will be playing a role."
A low murmur ran through the group.
"Acting?" one of the men muttered.
Ishidate's eyes snapped to him. The murmur died.
"You will do what you are told," Ishidate said evenly. "And you will do it convincingly."
He lifted a hand, fingers spread, cutting off questions before they could become a problem.
"You don't need to understand the whole structure yet. You need to understand what matters right now."
He counted on his fingers, crisp and exact.
"First: you will not provoke the resort staff. Not with jokes. Not with flirtation. Not with threats. Not with 'testing' them."
A few men shifted uncomfortably.
Ishidate's eyes hardened. "Yes. I mean it. They are trained. They are disciplined. And they are loyal to Malik."
He said the name plainly, like it was both a person and a warning.
"Second: you will not leave the island unless we leave together. You will not try to swim out. You will not try to sneak a boat. You will not do anything that forces me to waste energy cleaning up your stupidity."
That got a few nervous laughs.
Ishidate didn't laugh back.
"Third: you will enjoy what you've been given," he said, voice slightly softer. "Eat. Rest. Drink if you need it. Sleep if you can. Because in the afternoon, we begin training."
Now they leaned in.
"Training?" someone repeated.
"Yes," Ishidate said. "The contract requires a specific kind of performance. We will refine timing, coordination, and discipline. Some of you are out of practice." His gaze slid briefly to a man with wine on his breath and arrogance on his face. "Some of you never had practice to begin with."
A few people snorted.
Kongō's hand came down on the table with a single heavy thud, not violent, just emphatic.
The room shut up again.
Ishidate nodded once, satisfied.
"You will receive more details later," he said. "For now, the only information you get is what you need to keep from ruining our position before we've even stepped onto the real stage."
He straightened.
"That is all."
He held their eyes for a beat longer, ensuring the room felt the weight of what had been said.
Then he stepped back.
Kongō stepped forward instead, scratching his jaw like a man trying to find the right words inside a head built mostly for punching.
"Uh," Kongō began, and several men relaxed immediately because Kongō's voice meant the lecture was over.
He glanced around, then gave them a big, uncomplicated grin.
"Look," he said, "I know some of you don't like being told what to do. I get it. But this place? This isn't an inn. And Malik isn't some merchant we can bully for a better deal."
He pointed vaguely upward, as if Malik's influence lived in the ceiling.
"That man paid us obscene money just to show up. He's feeding us like we're kings. If he wanted us dead, we'd already be dead. So take the gift like a smart person, yeah?"
A few men chuckled.
Kongō's grin widened. "Eat. Rest. Don't start fights. In the afternoon, you train. If you're hungover, that's your problem. Because I'm still gonna make you run."
Groans erupted immediately.
Kongō laughed. "Good. Stay mad. It'll keep you awake."
Then Karenbana stepped forward, and the room changed again, because Karenbana didn't have Kongō's friendliness.
She had sharpness dressed in perfume.
She rested a hand lightly on the table, nails clicking once.
"Listen," Karenbana said, voice sweet and dangerous. "If you embarrass us in front of Malik's people, I'll personally make you regret having a mouth."
A few men laughed nervously.
She smiled, eyes glittering. "I'm not joking."
Silence.
Then, like a queen granting mercy, she waved her hand dismissively.
"Now," she added, voice smoothing out again, "go back to eating and drinking and relaxing. Enjoy the luxury while it's here. Because once we step into the Moon Kingdom's waters, you'll wish you'd eaten twice as much."
That got cheers.
Not enthusiastic ones—more like relief cheers. The kind people made when the threat had passed and the food was still warm.
Plates clinked. Conversation returned. Someone poured more drink. Laughter rose.
And just like that, the room became a dining hall again instead of a command tent.
The moment the noise swelled, Ishidate turned and gestured subtly.
Kongō followed.
Karenbana followed too, already drifting toward the side door that led into a smaller, private annex attached to the meeting room.
Three leaders. One private conversation.
The annex was softer: a smaller table, a window that looked out over the sea, cushioned seats, and a faint breeze carrying salt through a vent in the wall. It felt less like a place for commands and more like a place to breathe.
Karenbana practically floated to the nearest chair and dropped into it like she was claiming territory.
"Mine," she announced immediately.
Kongō blinked. "What's mine?"
"My room," Karenbana said, smug as a cat in sunlight. "I finally have my own room. Alone. No bunking. No sharing. No snoring. No idiots leaving muddy sandals in my space."
Ishidate sat with measured calm, posture perfect.
"That mattered to you more than anything else today," he observed.
Karenbana pointed at him. "Yes. Because I deserve peace. And I deserve privacy. And I deserve to sleep without hearing Kongō breathe like a dying ox."
Kongō gasped dramatically, hand to his chest. "That's cruel."
"It's accurate," she replied.
Kongō leaned forward, grin turning sly. "So… you got your own room. You got your own drink. You got your own little private conversation with the pretty magic man…"
Karenbana's eyes narrowed.
Kongō's grin widened.
"Ohhhh," he said slowly, savoring every syllable, "you like him."
Karenbana picked up a fruit from the plate and threw it at his head.
Kongō caught it and popped it into his mouth, chewing happily.
"I like a lot of things," Karenbana snapped. "Don't start."
"Too late," Kongō said, still chewing. "I'm started. I'm fully started."
Ishidate sighed like a man enduring children.
"Kongō," Ishidate warned, voice sharp.
Kongō raised both hands. "Fine, fine. Serious talk. But I'm just saying—she was gone a long time."
Karenbana lifted her chin. "Because he wanted to talk."
Kongō's eyebrows waggled.
Karenbana glared harder. "Talk. And show me the resort. And offer me a massage like some kind of romance novel demon prince."
Kongō choked laughing.
Ishidate's eyes flicked to her. "He offered you a massage."
Karenbana's cheeks warmed, but she refused to look embarrassed about it.
"He did," she said stiffly. "Professionally."
Kongō made a noise of disbelief.
"Shut up," Karenbana snapped.
Ishidate leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers. "What did you learn," he asked, "that matters."
Karenbana's expression shifted. Not fully serious—she was never fully serious—but the glitter in her eyes turned sharper.
"He's honest," she said.
Kongō snorted. "Everyone's honest when they want something."
Karenbana shot him a look. "No. He's honest even when it makes him look… vulnerable."
Ishidate's brow twitched faintly. "Explain."
Karenbana swirled the ice in her drink, watching it spin.
"He told me about his love life," she said, voice casual like it didn't matter even though it clearly did. "Two wives. Two children on the way. More fiancées."
Kongō whistled. "I told you. Weird."
"Charismatic," Karenbana corrected instantly, then caught herself and scowled.
Ishidate's gaze sharpened. "And you were not bothered."
Karenbana shrugged. "Why would I be? I'm not a fragile person. If anything, it means he's desirable. Women don't attach themselves to men who can't hold them."
Kongō nodded thoughtfully. "True."
Karenbana continued, a little faster now, words tumbling because she'd clearly been holding them in.
"He talked about love like it's… the only thing he's greedy for. Not money. Not power. Love. Connection." She scoffed, but the scoff was thin. "It's ridiculous."
Kongō tilted his head. "But you liked it."
Karenbana glared. "I liked that he looked at me and didn't do the thing."
Ishidate's eyes narrowed. "What thing."
"You know," Karenbana snapped, gesturing vaguely at her own body, her wig, her face. "The look. The assumption. The 'cute little girl' nonsense. He didn't do that. Not for a second."
Kongō's grin softened. "That's good."
"It's dangerous," Ishidate corrected. "Because it makes you comfortable."
Karenbana's eyes flashed. "I'm always dangerous."
"You're emotionally reactive," Ishidate said flatly. "That can be used against you."
Karenbana leaned forward, pointing at him. "And you're emotionally constipated. That can be used against you too."
Kongō laughed too loud and then immediately shut up when Ishidate's glare hit him.
Karenbana leaned back again, exhaling.
"I didn't promise him anything," she said, almost defensively. "I flirted. Of course I did. I'm me. But… he didn't push. He didn't rush. He just… kept being consistent."
Ishidate's fingers tapped together once. "So he's building trust."
"Yes," Karenbana said. "And I hate that it works."
Kongō leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity. "Did you kiss him?"
Karenbana threw another fruit at him.
Kongō caught it again. "No kiss. Got it."
Karenbana hissed, "Not because I didn't want to."
Kongō's grin went feral. "OHHHH."
Ishidate pinched the bridge of his nose. "Enough."
Karenbana rolled her eyes but forced herself back on track.
"He offered me comfort," she said. "Luxury. A role. A place in the Moon Kingdom's future. He talked about it like… like we could build something real there."
Kongō's expression shifted. Hope again, plain on his face. "He really means it?"
Karenbana looked toward the window, watching the sea glint through the glass.
"I think he does," she said quietly. "I don't think he needs to lie. That's what's scary."
Ishidate nodded once. "People who don't need to lie are the most dangerous."
Karenbana pointed at him like she'd been waiting for that. "Exactly."
Kongō scratched his head. "So what do we do?"
Ishidate's gaze hardened. "We proceed. We accept. We train. We stay alert. We take advantage of the sanctuary without forgetting it's still his sanctuary."
Karenbana smirked. "And we make sure you don't insult his staff again with that murder-look you give everyone."
Ishidate's jaw tightened. "I did not insult them."
"You stared at them like you were measuring their throats," Karenbana said sweetly. "That's your love language."
Kongō laughed.
Ishidate ignored them, eyes drifting to the door, mind already calculating afternoon drills, cohesion, discipline, and the long road ahead.
Karenbana, meanwhile, leaned back in her chair, smiling to herself like she'd swallowed something warm.
"Also," she added, suddenly smug again, "my room is huge."
Kongō snorted. "And you're going to sleep like a queen."
"Correct," Karenbana said. "And no one will touch my pillows."
Kongō's grin turned teasing again. "Except Malik."
Karenbana's drink nearly went up her nose.
Ishidate stood.
"We train this afternoon," he said, tone final. "Try not to embarrass our clan before then."
Karenbana waved him off like a cat dismissing a servant. "Yes, father."
Kongō stood too, still grinning. "I'm just happy. Good food, warm beds, a plan, and Karenbana's got a crush."
"I do not—"
Kongō clapped her on the shoulder gently, big hand careful not to crush her. "You do."
Karenbana stared at him, then huffed, then muttered, "Maybe."
Kongō's grin widened like sunrise.
Ishidate walked out first, already thinking about logistics and discipline.
Kongō followed, still amused.
Karenbana lingered a moment longer in the annex, staring out at the sea with her drink in hand, her lips pressed together as if she was holding back a smile.
Then she whispered, mostly to herself, "Ridiculous man."
And this time, the words didn't sound like an insult.
They sounded like affection.