Several days later, the fox village gathered beneath a gray sky.
The funeral was enormous.
Rows of white flowers covered the ground, their petals trembling in the cold breeze. Incense drifted through the air, mixing with the scent of pine and damp earth. At the center of the village, memorial tablets had been arranged for every fox girl Susanoo had killed that night.
There were too many of them.
Far too many.
Some had been young women who had barely begun their lives. Others had been mothers, daughters, sisters, and friends whose names would now be spoken in the past tense.
The village mourned as one.
No music played. No one dared laugh. Even the children seemed to understand that the world had become a little emptier.
Đào stood among the mourners, dressed in black.
She had come to offer her condolences to Haru and Hasuko, both of whom had lost people they loved. There were no words that could make such a loss bearable, but she had come anyway.
Sometimes, being present was all anyone could do.
Haru stood near one of the memorial tablets, her expression composed but her eyes swollen from crying. Hasuko remained beside her, accepting condolences from villagers who approached them one by one.
When Haru finally noticed Đào, she gave her a small nod.
"Thank you for coming."
Đào bowed her head.
"I'm sorry. I wish there were something I could say."
"There isn't." Haru's voice was quiet. "Not for something like this."
They stood together in silence.
For a while, Đào watched the villagers placing flowers before the memorial tablets. She thought about how quickly everything could change. A few days ago, people had been worrying about and the ordinary complications of life.
Now they were burying their dead.
Haru eventually turned toward her.
"Have you made up your mind yet?"
Đào glanced at her.
"About what?"
"Your future."
Đào sighed.
"That's a rather cruel question to ask at a funeral."
"Perhaps. But I don't think you're going to find an answer by avoiding it."
Haru's expression softened.
"I heard you were still considering Hollywood. Acting, auditions, the whole thing."
"I am."
"And your family?"
Đào looked away.
The Wang family name carried its own weight. Her father had built something substantial, something that had survived decades of competition and political maneuvering. There were people who expected Đào to step into his place one day, to inherit the family business and continue its legacy.
Others expected her to become something entirely different.
A famous actress. A public figure. Someone who could stand beneath the lights of Hollywood and make the world pay attention.
Both paths offered opportunities.
Both came with obligations.
And neither seemed to answer the question that had been bothering her for months.
"What if I don't want either?" Đào asked.
Haru studied her.
"Then don't choose either."
"It's not that simple."
"No. It never is."
Haru looked toward the memorial tablets.
"But life is too short to spend it becoming someone you don't want to be just because other people have already decided who you should become."
Đào swallowed.
She wanted to believe that.
She wanted to believe she could walk away from expectations without destroying everything her family had built.
But she still didn't know what she wanted badly enough to sacrifice the rest.
"I'll figure it out," she said eventually.
Haru nodded.
"That's all you can do."
A sudden chill passed through the crowd.
At first, Đào thought it was merely the wind.
Then the shadows near the entrance to the ceremonial grounds began to thicken.
Black smoke curled across the ground, spiraling upward in slow, unnatural tendrils. The mourners fell silent as two figures emerged from the darkness.
Amuro and Satoru.
They walked toward the gathering without hurry, their expressions solemn.
The villagers watched them warily.
The name Kamakiri had become increasingly difficult to ignore in recent days. Whatever the future held, the old balance of power was changing, and everyone with enough sense to recognize it was already trying to decide where they would stand.
Amuro stopped before Haru and Hasuko.
He inclined his head respectfully.
"Please accept the condolences of the Kamakiri family."
His voice carried across the silent gathering.
"We mourn those who have fallen, and we recognize the suffering your community has endured."
Haru's expression remained guarded.
"Your condolences are appreciated."
Amuro straightened.
"But I didn't come here merely to offer words."
He glanced toward Satoru, who stood beside him like a shadow given human form.
"The world is changing. The old rules no longer offer protection. If we continue to stand alone, more peoples will suffer the same fate."
He paused.
"The Kamakiri family intends to build a new alliance. One based on mutual protection, shared responsibility, and the recognition that no single one can face what is coming alone."
A murmur spread through the crowd.
Haru studied him carefully.
"And you believe we should trust the Kamakiri family?"
"No," Amuro replied.
The bluntness of the answer caught her off guard.
"I believe trust must be earned. Today, I am asking for the opportunity to earn it."
He looked toward the memorial tablets.
"We cannot bring back the dead. But we can make certain their deaths were not followed by the same tragedy happening again and again."
For a long moment, Haru said nothing.
Then she turned toward Hasuko.
Their eyes met.
Neither woman needed to speak aloud to understand what the other was thinking.
The village needed protection.
The world was becoming dangerous in ways none of them fully understood.
And if the Kamakiri family was genuinely willing to build something new, then perhaps it was time to consider an alliance that would have seemed impossible only a few weeks earlier.
Haru faced Amuro again.
"We will listen to your proposal."
It wasn't an agreement.
Not yet.
But it was a beginning.
Amuro bowed.
"That is all I ask."
Behind him, Satoru remained silent, his eyes moving across the gathering.
The black smoke slowly dissipated.
And beneath the gray sky, as the fox village continued to mourn its dead, the first fragile foundations of a new alliance began to take shape.
The headquarters of the Kamakiri Corporation stood at the heart of a sprawling business district, its glass facade reflecting the pale afternoon sky.
Inside, the corridors were quiet.
Too quiet.
Employees lowered their voices as a middle-aged man walked through the building with a little girl beside him.
Vũ Cường, head of the Asian Association, had arrived without a formal announcement. He had brought no delegation, no entourage of advisors, and no visible security team.
Only his daughter.
Vũ Hồng Trà walked beside him, her small hands folded neatly in front of her.
She was a beautiful child, at least by the standards of people who liked to comment on such things. Her hair was carefully arranged, her clothes immaculate, and her posture almost unnaturally straight.
But there was nothing childish in her eyes.
They were cold and empty, stripped of the curiosity and spontaneity one might have expected from a girl her age.
She looked at the world as though she had already learned that protesting only made things worse.
As though she had been forced to endure so much that she no longer believed resistance would change anything.
Vũ Cường glanced down at her.
"Remember what I told you."
"Yes, Father."
"Don't speak unless you're spoken to."
"Yes, Father."
"And don't embarrass me."
"I won't."
Her voice was perfectly calm.
Cường looked away, satisfied.
They reached the executive floor.
A secretary rose from her desk when she saw him approaching.
"Mr. Vũ. We weren't informed that you would be visiting."
"Then inform them now."
The woman hesitated.
Cường's expression hardened.
"Do you intend to keep me waiting?"
"No, sir. Of course not."
She hurried to make the necessary arrangements.
A few minutes later, the doors to the executive office opened.
Hiroshi, vice President of the Kamakiri, stood behind a broad desk. He was a man who had grown accustomed to being obeyed, and his expression suggested that the interruption had already exhausted his patience.
"Mr. Vũ," he said. "This is unexpected."
"Vice Chairman Hiroshi."
Cường bowed deeply.
Hiroshi's gaze shifted to the little girl.
"And who is this?"
"My daughter, Vũ Hồng Trà."
"I see."
Hiroshi gestured toward the chairs.
"Please. Sit."
Cường sat immediately. Trà remained standing until her father motioned for her to take the seat beside him.
But neither guest had come to negotiate with Hiroshi alone.
At the far end of the office, a large screen concealed a private chamber. Beyond it sat a woman whose presence could be felt even without seeing her face.
Kamakiri Mina.
President of the Kamakiri Corporation. The real woman of the family. Hiroshi's cousin.
Within the family and the circles that surrounded it, few people dared to address her by her personal name. To do so would have been considered presumptuous, perhaps even insulting.
She was simply Madam Kamakiri.
And even Hiroshi, despite his position, knew better than to forget the distinction between his authority and hers.
Cường rose from his chair and bowed toward the screen.
"Madam Kamakiri. Thank you for granting me this audience."
A woman's voice emerged from behind the screen.
"Mr. Vũ. You have traveled a considerable distance to see us. I assume you have something important to discuss."
"Indeed."
Cường's hands trembled slightly.
Not from fear alone.
He was a man who had spent years maneuvering through the political landscape of Asia, building alliances, exploiting rivalries, and placing himself wherever the balance of power seemed most favorable.
But the world was changing too quickly now.
And for once, he was no longer certain that he could control the outcome.
"The plan to establish a new world order has begun," he said.
Hiroshi leaned back in his chair.
"Has it?"
"The signs are unmistakable. The epidemics, the political instability, the civil conflicts spreading across multiple regions..."
Cường paused.
"And the displacement of entire nations."
The office fell silent.
Even Hiroshi's expression changed.
The movement of nations was not a metaphor. It was one of the most terrifying possibilities whispered about in the hidden corridors of power—a phenomenon that would shatter borders, disrupt economies, and render generations of political agreements meaningless.
If countries could be displaced, then geography itself would cease to be a reliable foundation for civilization.
The consequences would be unimaginable.
Cường lowered his head.
"Everything is proceeding according to plan. The epidemics will destabilize governments. Civil conflicts will weaken existing institutions. And when the nations themselves begin to move, the old international order will collapse under its own weight."
He looked toward the screen.
"No one can stop what is coming."
Hiroshi studied him.
"You sound remarkably confident for someone who has come here asking for an audience."
Cường's expression tightened.
He knew that tone.
Hiroshi was not impressed.
Worse, he was waiting for Cường to reveal why he had come.
Cường swallowed.
"The Asian Association must prepare for the new political landscape. The existing institutions will not survive in their current form. When the old order collapses, someone will have to help establish the new one."
"And you believe that someone should be you?" Hiroshi asked.
"I believe I can be useful."
"Useful how?"
Cường's face paled.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he stepped away from his chair and fell to his knees.
Trà remained perfectly still beside him.
"Madam Kamakiri," he said, bowing until his forehead nearly touched the floor. "I humbly ask the Kamakiri family to grant me an opportunity to serve within the new political alliance of Asia."
Hiroshi stared at him.
"You're asking us to give you a position before the new order has even been established?"
"I am asking for the opportunity to prove my loyalty."
"Everyone claims to be loyal when they need something."
Cường kept his head lowered.
"Then allow me to offer something more substantial than words."
Hiroshi's eyes narrowed.
"What do you have to offer?"
Cường lifted his head.
"My daughter."
For several seconds, no one moved.
Hiroshi looked from the kneeling man to the little girl beside him.
Then he let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"Your daughter?"
"Yes."
"You came to the Kamakiri headquarters to offer us a child?"
Cường's face reddened.
"I understand how unusual this may sound, but my daughter is—"
"Stop."
Hiroshi raised a hand.
"The Kamakiri family does not lack children, Mr. Vũ. We have no shortage of heirs, relatives, or young people whose futures must be considered. What exactly do you imagine we would do with yours?"
Cường's jaw tightened.
He had anticipated resistance, but he had hoped the gesture itself would be enough to demonstrate his sincerity.
Apparently, it wasn't.
He needed something more persuasive.
Something that would make the Kamakiri family see his daughter not as an unwanted burden, but as an investment.
His gaze flickered toward Hiroshi.
Then, slowly, an idea came to him.
"Perhaps," he said carefully, "there is another way she could be of service."
Hiroshi's expression grew colder.
"Go on."
Cường bowed his head.
"When your son is born, perhaps he could be betrothed to my daughter."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Hiroshi stared at him.
For one brief moment, it seemed as though he hadn't understood the words.
Then his palm slammed against the desk.
The sound cracked through the office.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Trà didn't flinch.
Cường went rigid.
Hiroshi rose from his chair, his expression blazing with anger.
"You're standing in my office, offering me a child I never asked for, and now you're proposing a marriage alliance involving my unborn son?"
He leaned forward.
"Do you think my family is some kind of marketplace where you can trade children for political influence?"
"No, Vice Chairman. I merely thought—"
"You thought what? That because my son hasn't been born yet, you can casually decide who he'll marry?"
Hiroshi's voice rose.
"How dare you bring my unborn child into your political schemes?"
Cường bowed so low that his forehead touched the floor.
"My apologies. I spoke out of turn."
"Out of turn? You have no idea what you've done."
A soft voice interrupted him.
"Hiroshi."
He stopped.
The voice had come from behind the screen.
Mina had spoken only once, but it was enough.
Hiroshi straightened.
For a moment, his anger remained visible in the tension of his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw.
Then he lowered his head.
"Madam Kamakiri."
"Sit down."
He obeyed.
Mina's voice remained calm.
"You're allowing your emotions to interfere with the discussion."
Hiroshi pressed his lips together.
"With respect, cousin, the man has just proposed a betrothal between his daughter and my unborn son."
"I'm aware."
"Then surely you understand—"
"I said I am aware."
The words were quiet.
They were also final.
Hiroshi fell silent.
Behind the screen, Mina remained unseen. The faint outline of her figure was barely discernible through the heavy curtain.
She had listened to the entire conversation without interruption.
Now, for the first time, she turned her attention directly toward the little girl.
"Vũ Hồng Trà."
The child lifted her head.
"Yes, Madam Kamakiri."
"Come forward."
Trà stood.
She walked toward the screen with small, measured steps, stopping at the distance her father had taught her to maintain when addressing someone of superior status.
Mina studied her through the curtain.
The girl didn't fidget. She didn't look around the room. She didn't ask why she had been brought here.
She simply stood and waited.
A child who had already learned to make herself as unobtrusive as possible.
Interesting.
"Do you understand why your father brought you here?" Mina asked.
Trà answered without hesitation.
"To secure his position in the new political order."
Cường's head snapped up.
He hadn't expected her to answer so directly.
Mina, however, seemed almost amused.
"And what do you think of that?"
Trà lowered her eyes.
"My opinion is irrelevant."
"Is it?"
"Yes, Madam Kamakiri."
The room grew quiet again.
Mina leaned back behind the curtain.
A child who knew her own worth had not yet been established.
A child who had been taught that her wishes did not matter.
And a father willing to use his daughter as a bargaining chip in exchange for political power.
There were many ways to use such a person.
Some were crude.
Others were considerably more effective.
"Very well," Mina said at last.
Cường lifted his head, hope flickering across his face.
"Madam?"
"I will consider your request."
He bowed so quickly that he nearly lost his balance.
"Thank you! Thank you, Madam Kamakiri. I swear that I will serve the alliance with absolute loyalty."
"Don't thank me yet."
Cường froze.
Mina continued in the same measured tone.
"I have no interest in promising you a position merely because you have brought your daughter to my office. Nor am I making any commitment regarding my nephew's future."
Hiroshi's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.
"But," Mina added, "the girl may prove useful."
Trà stood motionless.
Mina's voice softened, though not with kindness.
"We will find a place for her if the need arises."
Cường bowed again.
"Of course. Whatever the Kamakiri family requires."
"Good."
The conversation was over.
Or so Cường thought.
As he hurried to gather his belongings, Mina spoke once more.
"Mr. Vũ."
He stopped immediately.
"Yes, Madam?"
"Remember something. A new world order is not built by those who beg for a place in it. It is built by those who understand what the world will need when everything else has fallen apart."
Cường swallowed.
"I understand."
"Do you?"
He couldn't answer.
Mina let the silence linger for another moment.
Then she dismissed him.
The doors closed behind Vũ Cường and his daughter.
For several seconds, Hiroshi remained seated, staring at the empty space where the man had knelt.
Finally, he exhaled.
"That was disgusting."
"Was it?" Mina asked.
Hiroshi turned toward the screen.
"He offered his own daughter to secure a political position."
"People have offered far worse for far less."
"That doesn't make it acceptable."
"No," Mina agreed. "It doesn't."
Her voice carried no obvious emotion.
Outside the building, the last light of the afternoon faded behind the skyline.
The streets below grew darker.
A black cat appeared in the narrow alley beneath the headquarters, slipping between two discarded crates. It stopped beneath a streetlamp and lifted its head toward the towering building.
For a moment, its eyes gleamed in the darkness.
Then it opened its mouth and let out a long, eerie cry.
The sound echoed through the empty alley.
Above it, the windows of the Kamakiri headquarters reflected the night sky, dark and impenetrable.
And somewhere behind those walls, decisions were being made that would shape the lives of children who had never been given the chance to choose their own destinies.
Nhi, sleeping peacefully in the arms of the women who had agreed to protect her.
And Vũ Hồng Trà, standing beside a father who had just offered her future to the most powerful family in Asia.
Two girls.
Two very different beginnings.
And a world that was only just starting to reveal what it intended to do with them.