Time passed, and with it, the blood-soaked showdown in the eastern sector of Sakurahara finally drew to an end.
Silence reclaimed the ruins.
The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood—so heavy it clung to the throat with every breath. Bodies littered the sector, crumpled in alleyways, sprawled across broken streets, wedged between collapsed houses and splintered stalls. Some lay motionless in pools of crimson, others slumped against walls as if frozen mid-fall. The desolation that had once defined this place was now layered with something far worse: finality.
At the very center of the carnage lay three figures.
Sentarō knelt on one knee, his sword planted into the dirt to keep himself upright. Blood streaked his arms and soaked into the torn fabric of his uniform. Cuts and scrapes lined his skin, some shallow, others deep enough to sting with every movement. His breathing was heavy but controlled, his gaze fixed upward toward the darkening sky as if grounding himself in the fact that he was still alive.
Nearby, Tadatoshi swayed unsteadily on his feet. His body trembled—not from fear, but exhaustion. He leaned on his blades, both stained red, his muscles screaming in protest. He looked seconds away from collapsing, and yet stubbornness alone kept him upright.
Reiko lay flat on her back, staring at the sky, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Blood smeared her cheeks and hair, her clothes torn in several places. She let out a breath that was half a laugh, half disbelief.
"I can't believe we actually survived that," she said weakly. "And… won."
Tadatoshi scoffed, barely managing to stay conscious. "What… are you… talking about?" he said between breaths. "I never… doubted… I'd win."
Sentarō let out a tired breath that almost sounded like a chuckle. "We… have to head back," he said slowly, each word weighed down by exhaustion. "We need to tell Oharu… and the villagers… that they're safe now."
The thought alone seemed to give him strength, even as his body begged him to rest.
"But seriously," Sentarō continued, finally letting himself fall backward onto the ground, staring up at the sky. "Fighting that many people… that's not normal… for just three of us."
"Oh, now you realize?" Reiko replied dryly. "I don't even have the energy to yell at you."
For a brief moment—despite the blood, the corpses, the devastation—the three of them laughed. It was quiet, broken, but real. The kind of laughter born not from joy, but survival.
Then Reiko went silent.
She pushed herself up with visible effort, wincing as her muscles protested. Slowly, she rose to her feet and began walking among the bodies, her steps cautious, deliberate. She knelt beside one corpse, then another, examining them closely.
"What are you doing?" Sentarō asked, forcing himself upright. Tadatoshi frowned, watching her movements with confusion.
"Haven't you noticed it yet?" Reiko asked without looking back.
"…Noticed what?" Tadatoshi muttered.
Reiko stopped and turned toward them, clearly incredulous. "Seriously? Do I have to spell it out for you?"
She gestured toward the nearest corpse. "Look at their arms."
Sentarō and Tadatoshi exchanged a glance before reluctantly standing and doing as she said. Sentarō knelt, pulling back the sleeve of a fallen criminal.
There it was.
A tattoo.
A lotus flower.
"…Lotus tattoos?" Tadatoshi muttered.
"Yes," Reiko said grimly. "I saw the same thing earlier today—on the criminals you and Sentarō defeated at the market."
Sentarō's expression hardened. "And Sadatsune said they've been around since three years ago."
Reiko nodded. "Exactly."
Silence followed as the weight of the realization settled in.
"That… does add up," Sentarō said quietly.
Reiko folded her arms, her exhaustion momentarily overridden by unease. "If the police force didn't stop them back then—and just let them grow—how many of them do you think there are now?"
The air grew tense again, but this time it wasn't the kind born of battle.
"Tch," Tadatoshi clicked his tongue. "What's your point?"
"My point," Reiko replied sharply, "is that there might be more of them. And worse—they might be stronger."
"…More?" Tadatoshi asked, frowning. "You sure about that?"
"Not completely," Reiko admitted. "But I have a hunch. And not just that—I think they're organized. A collective group. With a leader."
Sentarō's grip tightened on his sword.
"That doesn't change anything," he said firmly. "If there are more of them… then we'll deal with them too."
The conviction in his voice was unwavering—so strong it momentarily silenced the doubt in Reiko and even Tadatoshi.
Reiko hesitated, then spoke again. "There's something else. I've been thinking about Tōkichirō as well—"
"Hold that thought," Tadatoshi cut in sharply.
He and Sentarō both moved at the same time, grabbing their swords and assuming defensive stances.
"…Huh?" Reiko blinked. "What's wrong?"
Sentarō's eyes scanned the darkness. "We've been surrounded."
In an instant, figures emerged from the shadows.
Police force samurai—dozens of them—appeared atop rooftops, at alley entrances, behind broken walls. Bows were raised. Arrows nocked. Every single one aimed at Sentarō, Tadatoshi, and Reiko.
The shift was immediate.
The battlefield that had once been theirs was now a cage.
Sentarō stared in disbelief. His heart clenched as he recognized the uniforms—the same institution he had admired his entire life. The same symbol of justice he had sworn to uphold.
Now aiming weapons at him.
"HOLD… YOUR… FIRE!!"
The shout echoed across the sector.
A horse approached from behind the formation. The sound of hooves cut through the tension as a familiar figure dismounted.
Muneshige.
He stepped forward slowly, his presence commanding, his expression cold and unreadable.
"You bastard," Tadatoshi snarled. "This was your doing!"
He tried to step forward, but Sentarō grabbed his arm instantly.
"Tadatoshi—calm down," Sentarō whispered urgently.
Muneshige smirked faintly. "What are you talking about?" he said. "This is your own doing."
He walked closer, boots crunching against dirt and debris. "The most important rule of the police force," he continued, voice dripping with disdain, "is to obey."
"There's no need for this," Sentarō said, forcing himself to remain composed. "We defeated a criminal gang that's been terrorizing Sakurahara for three years—"
"That wasn't your instruction," Muneshige cut in sharply.
Sentarō froze.
"If it were up to me," Muneshige continued, "you three would already be dead."
The words struck like a blade.
"Since the day I joined the police," Muneshige went on, "everyone obeyed their superiors. That's how things get done. That's how I climbed the ranks. That's how this force operates."
He stopped directly in front of Sentarō, staring him down. "And now some no-name ashigaru thinks he can trample the rules his predecessors upheld?"
His voice dropped to a cold whisper. "No. You were given instructions. So you obey."
That strange sensation returned—the same one they had felt before. A sickening certainty crept into Sentarō's chest as realizations stacked one atop another.
"Bind them," Muneshige ordered, pointing at four samurai. "We're leaving."
As ropes tightened around his arms, thoughts flooded Sentarō's mind.
I did the right thing. I protected the innocent. I fought for justice.
So why did it feel like he was the criminal?
Tadatoshi struggled, snarling, but his exhausted body betrayed him. Reiko offered no resistance, her expression unreadable.
It was a low day.
Minutes later, they were dragged back to the Fourth Division headquarters and thrown into holding cells.
"HEY! GET ME OUT OF HERE!!" Tadatoshi roared, rattling the bars.
Night fell quietly over Sakurahara.
Elsewhere—
"Heh… heh… heh…"
The bald criminal stumbled through a dense forest, blood soaking into the soil beneath him. His breathing was ragged, vision blurred.
"I've… found you… boss," he gasped, collapsing to his knees. "The Fourth… Division… breached the agreement…"
His body went limp.
He died.
A shadow leaned against a tree, casually eating an apple. "You heard that, boss, right?"
"Oh my," a feminine voice purred from another shadow. "That's tragic."
"Hahaha… I remember him," another voice chimed in gleefully. "He wanted to join us, didn't he?"
"Tch. As if we'd let trash like that in," a deep voice scoffed.
At the center, the one they called boss knelt, placing his hand on the ground.
Ash.
"…So my comrade fell here," the boss said calmly. "Abe… I'll avenge you."
He stood.
"Shinsaku," he ordered. "Prepare everyone."
A pause.
"We move on the Fourth Division… tomorrow night."