Meanwhile, within the Tanaka household, the current head, Mikazuki, had issued an unyielding order for every member to gather in the main hall, without exception.
All the men followed the order without hesitation and gathered in the main hall. A heavy silence hung in the air—no one dared to speak or question the sudden summons. No one, that is, except one. "My dear niece, what seems to be the matter?" came the calm voice of her uncle, the only one bold enough to break the stillness.
"Don't worry, Uncle. We're simply expecting a guest I'd like to have a little chat with," she replied with composed ease. Her eyes then shifted to Issai, who stood silently at her side. "The men you sent are taking their time," she remarked, her tone still calm but edged with subtle impatience.
"I apologize for the delay, Miss Mikazuki. Allow me to contact them and confirm if there's any issue," Issai offered, already reaching into his pocket for his phone. But he froze midway as Mikazuki's voice cut through the air, calm yet firm.
"No need," she said, her gaze unwavering. "While we wait, there's something I'd like to know."
Issai offered a small, respectful bow. "Yes, Miss Mikazuki. I'll answer as best I can—if it's within my knowledge."
But what he didn't expect was the cold press of a gun barrel against his forehead while he was bowing. His eyes widened slightly, the shift in atmosphere sharp and immediate.
A chilling voice followed, laced with murderous intent. "Who really are you?"
As her chilling words echoed through the hall, half the men in the room suddenly moved, drawing weapons and turning them against the others. The room, once united in silence, now split in two—the loyal and the exposed.
Mikazuki had been informed by Tsukuyo well in advance about the betrayal, complete with a list of names. She had come prepared, this time, the tables in this room had turned. The betrayers found themselves at the mercy of blades and barrels, their treachery laid bare.
Still, a question lingered in Mikazuki's mind—who had fed Tsukuyo such detailed intel? To know this much about the two family's inner workings, the informant had to possess considerable reach and influence. And what is their motive behind helping them.
But that could wait. Tsukuyo was safe for now, and answers would come later. For the moment, Mikazuki had traitors to deal with.
"D-Dear n-niece, what's the meaning of this?" her uncle stammered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as the cold edge of a katana rested against his neck.
Mikazuki turned to him with a calm yet piercing gaze. "You see, Uncle," she began, her voice steady and emotionless, "we've been informed that there are traitors within our family. And unfortunately for you… your name was on that list."
"Bullshit! Why would I ever betray my own family?!" he roared, his voice filled with outrage, as if the very accusation wounded him.
Mikazuki didn't flinch. She simply stared at him in silence, her eyes cold and unreadable. Then, she spoke—calm, controlled, and deadly.
"Then… shoot Issai."
Her words cut through the tension like a blade. "If anyone wishes to prove their innocence, kill Issai now."
It was a bold demand, one that tested more than loyalty. Yet, just as she had anticipated, not a single person on that list moved. Silence reigned once again, but this time it was louder than any outburst.
She had taken a gamble—but it only confirmed what she now knew for certain: the information Tsukuyo had provided was not just reliable, it was absolute.
Ignoring the stunned silence and the tension that clung to the air, Mikazuki calmly turned back to Issai.
"Now then, Issai, shall we continue?" she said, her tone as composed as ever.
She paused briefly, letting the weight of her next words settle.
"You Kawaguchis are quite bold, infiltrating our clan so fearlessly. To be honest, I didn't even notice… as expected, You're really excellent at what you do."
Issai's eyes widened in shock as Mikazuki's words cut through him like a cold blade. His cover had already been blown, his carefully laid plans exposed. His mind raced as he scanned the faces of the men in the room, searching for the one who had betrayed him. But no, if anyone had truly turned on him, they would have acted already—stepping forward to prove their loyalty by killing him.
Then, it struck him. The image of a man he had met only a few days ago flashed in his mind—a person who had given him an unsettling feeling from the very start. Whenever that guy looked at him, his eyes were as if he could see through his very soul, reading his thoughts, as if knowing the truth about him.
It couldn't be him. There was no way. Was it? The very person who was supposed to be brought here, the one who had raised his suspicions all along... Could it truly be him?
Whatever the truth may be, Issai knew one thing for certain—he had to break free from the barrel of Mikazuki's gun and stall for time. His father was already on the way, and all he needed was a moment—just long enough to tip the scales back in their favor.
Issai let out a low chuckle, a sound laced with defiance, as if the gun pressed to his forehead was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"It appears you already know everything, Miss Mikazuki," he said, his voice steady, almost amused.
Straightening his posture with fearless resolve, he continued, "You can kill me if you wish—right here, right now. But know this... you won't be leaving this place in time. The Kawaguchi clan is already on their way, with over seventy peoples."
It was, of course, a bluff. The true number of people his father was bringing was no more than 25. But that didn't matter. Issai's words were calculated to plant a seed of dread—just enough to unsettle them and fracture their focus.
He knew the fear of an overwhelming force could make even the most confident hesitate, and that hesitation was all he needed.
What he counted on most, however, was the hidden weapon of Mikazuki's uncle. A man who had been swayed by promises of money and power, turning half the Tanaka clan against their own. Issai knew that, beneath the folds of his kimono, the man always concealed an extra gun, equipped with a unique mechanism that allowed for a swift draw. It was a silent insurance policy—after all, that man was a coward who feared death the most in this room.
The moment an opening presented itself, Mikazuki's uncle acted without hesitation. In a flash, he drew the concealed weapon from his sleeve and fired, taking down the man who had been holding him at swordpoint.
The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the hall, and instinctively, every head turned toward the source—including Mikazuki's.
Issai seized the opportunity. In one swift motion, he twisted her wrist, forcing the gun from her grip, and immediately reached for the weapon concealed at his waist.
Clicking her tongue, Mikazuki reacted with razor-sharp instinct. She flipped the chair she was sitting on to create a brief cover, and dove for her fallen gun, fingers brushing against the cold metal as chaos erupted around them.
The brief disturbance was all it took. The traitors, sensing the shift in momentum, seized the moment to break free. Chaos erupted as gunfire rang out from all directions. In a desperate scramble, many dove through the thin wooden walls of the hall, shattering them as they fled into the garden outside.
Mikazuki, now armed once more, didn't waste a second. She picked up her gun, turned on her heel, and delivered a sharp kick to the wall behind her, breaking through and slipping out into the open air.
Everyone present knew the truth—the main hall offered no real cover. In a shootout, survival there was a gamble none were willing to take. Killing was no longer the priority; escaping to better ground was.
The true battleground had shifted. Now, it would be settled in the wide garden—an open space littered with stone lanterns, trees, and hedges. Plenty of places to hide. Plenty of chances to strike.
Gunshots echoed through the garden, clashing steel rang out, and bodies dropped one after another. Once-familiar faces now stood on opposite sides, comrades turned enemies—one faction fighting for loyalty, the other was the faction of traitors.
Blades cut through the air with ruthless precision, and bullets flew without mercy. Those once bound by brotherhood now spilled each other's blood, all for the promise of wealth and the allure of power.
But amid the chaos, Issai watched with cold certainty in his eyes. To him, the outcome of this clash no longer mattered. No matter which side wins, it will be his victory. This exchange—this violent storm—was nothing more than a means to an end. It was buying him time.
Time for his father to arrive.
And once he do… the garden would no longer be a battlefield. It would be the stage of Issai's perfect victory.
The battle raged on for several minutes—gunfire, steel, and screams blending into a cacophony of chaos. Men began to fall, some crippled by grave injuries, few outright died. The garden, once serene, had become a blood-soaked arena of betrayal and resolve.
Amid it all, Issai crouched behind a stone, catching his breath, eyes sharp and alert. Yet, despite the storm around him, a different kind of tension was gnawing at him.
"What's taking him so long?"
The thought echoed in his mind, over and over. His father was supposed to be here by now. But every second that passed without them chipped away at his confidence and fed the unease growing in his chest.
Something wasn't right.
*Screech.*
A sharp, eerie sound sliced through the chaos like a blade across silence, that resembled two pieces of metals dragged against concrete.
It was subtle at first, almost swallowed by the fading echoes of battle, but unmistakable.
*Screech… Screech…*
Everyone present in that garden froze instinctively. Eyes turned, breath held. The sound grew louder, closer—drawing nearer with every step until it stopped just beyond the main gate.
A heavy silence settled over the garden, thick with tension.
*BAM!*
A thunderous strike slammed against the main gate, shaking it on its hinges. The wooden frame groaned under the force, but held.
*BAM!... BAM!... BAM!*
Each impact grew heavier, more violent—like a monster knocking with impatience. The ground seemed to tremble with every blow, and the once-proud gate creaked as if crying out in protest.
Then—*CRACK!*
With a final, bone-rattling hit, the gate burst open wide.
As the main gate swung open with a resounding creak, a lone silhouette emerged, framed by the pale moonlight.
The figure stood tall, showing sign of utter exhaustion. draped entirely in black—from head to toe. Their face was concealed beneath a sleek, full-face mask, offering no hint of identity. But what stole everyone's breath were the eyes—crimson red, glowing like embers beneath the dark veil, sharp and unyielding.
In each hand, they gripped a long katana, the blades slick with fresh blood. Their entire body was splattered in crimson, a grim testament to the path they'd carved to get here. Small cuts marked their outfit—enough to show they'd faced resistance but they doesn't seems fatal enough, which only indicate that those blood in their body wasn't their own, at least not all of it.
The figure didn't pause.
With the same unnerving calm, they stepped through the opened gate and into the garden, the twin katanas scraping against the stone path with every deliberate step. *Screech… screech…* The sound was like nails on the nerves, heightening the dread that clung to the air.
Issai's breath caught.
The reinforcements he was expecting didn't come, no sign of his father either. Just this one—this thing—drenched in blood and silence.
His eyes narrowed as a cold realization slithered down his spine.
Something happened to them.
And judging by the timing, the blood, and the terrifying aura pressing down on the garden like a stormcloud— This person… must've been the reason.
In that moment, Issai found himself caught in the most perilous situation of his life. His mind raced, but his body couldn't remain still. Desperation clawed at him, and without thinking, he leaned out from behind the rock, half of his body exposed as he shouted toward the newcomer, "Who the hell are you?!"
The figure in black didn't halted but slowly raised their head, their crimson eyes locking onto his. The gaze was fierce, cold—like a predator sizing up its prey.
With a voice that rasped like gravel scraping against stone, they answered, "Someone you should fear."