The gates of Sakura High School stood exactly as Paulo remembered them, two pillars of weathered stone topped with iron cherry blossoms that had long since rusted into a bruised purple.
But everything else felt wrong.
The courtyard, once a riot of gossip and laughter, now parted like water around a shark.
Students were clustered in tight knots, whispering behind hands that could not quite hide their stares.
Paulo walked through the silence with his hands in the pockets of his cobalt hoodie, the drawstrings swaying like pendulums.
His red hair had grown longer in the hospital; the fringe now swept across the left side of his face, completely obscuring the black eyepatch.
The scar on his cheek peeked out beneath the strands like a red thread sewn into pale fabric.
Mizaki was a half-step to his right, her bubble-gum-pink ponytail bouncing with every precise click of her loafers.
She wore the uniform blazer open, the pink cherry-blossom pin on her lapel catching the morning sun like a warning flare.
Marina and Shizuka flanked them on the left, Marina's long blue hair tied with a navy ribbon, Shizuka's black ponytail severe as a blade.
They moved like a single organism: Mizaki the heart, Marina, and Shizuka the lungs, Paulo the cold, quiet brain.
No one spoke to them.
No one dared.
The rumours that had painted Paulo as a stalker, a predator, a monster, had died overnight.
Not faded.
Died.
The doctored photos Mizaki had used to crucify him were gone from every phone, every cloud drive, every dark corner of the school's gossip network.
In their place was a new truth, whispered with the reverence usually reserved for urban legends:
He took on three guys at once.
In his own house.
With a baton and his bare hands.
He saved the principal's daughter.
Took a knife for her.
The other guys?
They're gone.
Hospital.
Or worse.
Paulo didn't correct the stories.
He didn't need to.
The bruises on his knuckles, still yellow and purple, spoke louder than words.
They reached the shoe lockers.
Mizaki knelt to untie her outdoor shoes with the grace of someone performing a ritual.
Marina leaned against the wall, red eyes scanning the corridor like a sniper.
Shizuka opened Paulo's locker for him, his indoor shoes were already inside, laces tied in perfect bows.
Mizaki's doing.
Paulo slipped off his sneakers.
The left one had a faint brown stain on the toe. Dried blood. He hadn't noticed until now.
"You missed a spot," Shizuka said quietly, handing him a wet wipe from her blazer pocket.
He took it without thanks.
The wipe came away rust-coloured.
Somewhere down the hall, a bell rang.
First period. Students scattered like startled birds.
Paulo closed the locker, "Let's go."
They moved.
Class 2-B was on the second floor, corner room overlooking the athletics field.
Paulo's old desk, third row from the window, second from the back, was empty.
Someone had left a single cherry blossom petal on it.
A joke? A threat? He swept it to the floor with the back of his hand.
The teacher, a balding man named Mr. Yamada who'd once tried to fail Paulo for "excessive absences," froze in the doorway when he saw him.
The clipboard in his hand trembled.
"S-Satoshi-kun," he stammered, "Welcome back."
Paulo nodded once and took his seat.
Mizaki sat directly in front of him.
Marina and Shizuka took the two desks to his left.
The rest of the class filed in silently, eyes averted.
The lesson began. Something about the Meiji Restoration.
Paulo didn't listen.
He was cataloguing exits, sightlines, the way the sunlight hit the window at 9:17 am and created a blind spot in the corner.
Old habits.
New stakes.
***
At 9:42, the intercom crackled.
"Attention all students. Please welcome two new transfer students to Sakura High. Riku Satoshi and Nijako Satoshi, Class 2-B. They will be joining us effective immediately."
The name hit Paulo like a fist to the sternum.
Satoshi.
Mizaki's pen stopped moving.
Marina's red eyes narrowed.
Shizuka's fingers tightened around her pencil until it snapped.
The door slid open.
Riku entered first.
He was tall, six foot even, with the same fiery red hair as Paulo, but cut shorter, almost military.
His eyes were a colder blue, like winter sky over the sea.
He wore the Sakura High uniform like it had been tailored in Savile Row: blazer buttoned, tie perfect, shoes polished to a mirror shine.
A faint scar ran through his left eyebrow, old, deliberate.
He scanned the room with the lazy confidence of someone who'd never lost a fight he cared about.
Behind him came Nijako.
She was smaller, five foot six, but moved like liquid mercury.
Her hair was the same red, but long and straight, falling to her waist in a sheet of flame.
Her eyes were green, not blue, and they locked onto Paulo the second she crossed the threshold.
She smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made you check for exits.
The teacher cleared his throat, "Please, introduce yourselves."
Riku spoke first, voice smooth as oiled steel, "Riku Satoshi. I transferred from Yokohama International. I like kendo and long walks on the beach."
A few nervous laughs, "Kidding. I don't like beaches. Sand gets everywhere."
Nijako's turn. Her voice was soft, almost childlike, "Nijako Satoshi. I was homeschooled. I like origami and watching people lie."
She tilted her head, "I'm very good at both."
The class was silent.
Mr. Yamada pointed to two empty desks in the back row, "Please, take your seats."
Riku moved first, choosing the desk directly behind Paulo.
Nijako took the one beside him.
As she passed, she brushed her fingers across the back of Paulo's neck, just a whisper of contact, gone before he could react.
Mizaki's head turned slowly.
Her violet eyes met Nijako's green ones. Neither blinked.
The lesson resumed. But no one was listening anymore.
At break, the classroom emptied in record time.
Students fled like the building was on fire. Only Paulo, Mizaki, Marina, Shizuka, Riku, and Nijako remained.
Riku leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, "Nice eyepatch, cousin. Very cyberpunk."
Paulo didn't turn around, "What are you doing here?"
"Family meeting," Nijako said cheerfully.
She was folding a piece of paper into a crane with terrifying precision, "Uncle Takeshi sends his regards. And a message."
Mizaki stood. "You don't get to—"
"Sit down, princess," Riku said without looking at her, "This is blood business."
Marina stepped forward. Shizuka cracked her knuckles.
Paulo raised a hand. They stopped.
He turned in his seat, "Talk."
Riku's smile didn't reach his eyes, "You've been a bad boy, Paulo. Letting civilians put hands on Satoshi blood. Losing an eye. Making the family look weak."
Nijako finished her crane and set it on Paulo's desk.
Its wings were razor-sharp, "But you also took out three problems with your own hands. Saved the principal's daughter. That bought you time. Not much. But some."
Paulo picked up the crane. The paper sliced his thumb. A bead of blood welled.
Riku continued, "Here's the deal. You're coming home. Tonight. Pack a bag. The family's moving you to the compound in Yokohama. Private tutors. Security. No more high school drama."
"No," Paulo said.
The word hung in the air like a blade.
Nijako giggled, "He said no. That's adorable."
Riku leaned forward, "You don't get to say no, Paulo. You're the heir. The spare, sure, but still blood. And blood doesn't get to play civilian when the wolves are at the door."
Paulo stood. The chair scraped back with a sound like a scream,
"I'm not going anywhere."
Riku's eyes flicked to Mizaki, who had moved to Paulo's side, "Because of her?"
"Because of me," Paulo said, "I'm done being a pawn. Yours. Theirs. Anyone's."
Nijako clapped slowly, "Oh, I like this version. The broken one's more fun."
Marina spoke for the first time, "You're on school grounds. You don't get to threaten him here."
Riku finally looked at her, "And you are?"
"Someone who'll break your kneecaps if you touch him," Marina said calmly.
Shizuka nodded. "Both of them."
Riku laughed. "You brought a girl gang. Cute."
Paulo stepped between them. "You want me? You'll have to drag me. And you won't like how that ends."
Nijako stood, smoothing her skirt. "We're not here to drag you, Paulo. We're here to deliver the invitation. And the warning."
She reached into her blazer and pulled out a small black envelope sealed with red wax.
The crest was a cherry blossom made of knives.
"Midnight," she said. "Tokyo Bridge. Come alone. Or don't come at all. But if you don't…" She glanced at Mizaki. "Pretty things break easily."
Mizaki's hand shot out, grabbing Nijako's wrist. "Touch me and I'll—"
Nijako twisted free with a dancer's grace and pressed something cold into Mizaki's palm. A origami shuriken, edges glinting. "Careful, princess. Paper cuts are a bitch."
Riku was already at the door. "Midnight, Paulo. Don't make us come find you."
They left. The door slid shut with a soft click.
Silence.
Mizaki opened her hand.
The shuriken was real, folded from razor-thin steel.
A drop of blood welled where it had nicked her skin.
Paulo took it from her gently, "You okay?"
She nodded, but her eyes were wide. "They're your family?"
"Cousins," he said. "Second cousins. Enforcers."
Marina picked up the black envelope. "You're not going."
"I have to."
Shizuka spoke quietly, "It's a trap."
"Maybe," Paulo said, "But it's also a door. And I'm tired of knocking."
Mizaki looked at him, really looked.
The scar. The eyepatch.
The blood on his thumb.
"You're not going alone," she said.
He started to argue. She cut him off.
"I said you're mine. That means where you go, I go. End of discussion."
Marina and Shizuka exchanged a glance. Then nodded.
Paulo exhaled. "Fine. But we do it my way."
He opened the envelope. Inside was a single card. Black ink on white stock.
Tokyo Bridge. Midnight. Come unarmed. Or don't come at all.
Below it, in smaller script:
P.S. Bring the girl. We want to meet her.
Paulo folded the card and slipped it into his pocket.
The bell rang. Next period.
But no one moved.
Outside, the cherry blossoms were gone.
The branches were bare.
Reaching toward a sky that had forgotten how to be kind.
Paulo looked at his reflection in the window, red hair, black eyepatch, scar like a lightning strike.
He didn't recognize the boy staring back.
But he was starting to like him.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of whispers and sideways glances.
Paulo didn't go to the cafeteria.
Mizaki had packed bento, tamagoyaki, salmon, rice shaped like cherry blossoms.
They ate on the rooftop, the four of them in a tight circle, the city sprawling below like a circuit board.
Marina broke the silence. "What's the plan?"
Paulo chewed slowly. "We scout the bridge at dusk. Find the sightlines. The exits. The blind spots."
Shizuka nodded. "I'll bring the drone. Thermal imaging."
Mizaki traced the cut on her palm. "And if it's a trap?"
"Then we spring it," Paulo said. "On our terms."
Marina's red eyes glinted. "I'll bring the tranqs. Horse-grade. One dart and they're down for twelve hours."
Paulo almost smiled. "You have horse tranquilizers?"
"My dad's a vet," she said. "Don't ask."
The sun dipped lower, painting the rooftops gold.
At 6:00 pm, they left school separately.
Paulo first, hoodie up.
Mizaki ten minutes later with Marina.
Shizuka last, blending into the crowd.
They met at Luminos Café, a tiny place two blocks from the bridge.
The owner, an old woman with a face like a dried persimmon, knew better than to ask questions when Paulo slid a thousand-yen note across the counter for four coffees and a corner booth.
Paulo spread a hand-drawn map on the table.
The bridge.
The river.
The warehouses on either side. The footpaths.
The blind curves.
"Riku's arrogant," he said. "He'll want an audience. Nijako's the wildcard. She'll have contingencies."
Mizaki tapped the map. "Here. The maintenance hatch under the east side. Leads to the service tunnel. We can flank them."
Marina nodded. "I'll take the roof of the warehouse. Sniper perch. Drone feed to Shizuka's phone."
Shizuka cracked her knuckles. "I'll be in the tunnel. If they run, I cut them off."
Paulo looked at Mizaki. "You're with me. On the bridge. Center span. Where they'll expect me."
She met his gaze. "And if they try to take you?"
He touched the baton in his pocket. "Then we remind them why the Satoshi family doesn't lose twice."