Bloodlines in the Storm

In every family, shadows linger. Loyalty binds men together, but betrayal carves them apart. Within the walls of the Kashiwa estate, strength is measured not by smiles at the table, but by the blood spilled to keep it standing. The storm does not always come from outside… Sometimes, it grows quietly from the cracks within.

Chiba Prefecture

The Kashiwa Estate-Training Yard

As the mist settles from last night’s meeting, the first light of dawn cuts through the gaps between the oak trees, casting long shadows across the Kashiwa Estate. The air is cold, crisp, heavy with silence broken only by the distant call of crows.

In the courtyard, the Kazoku no Ichiin stand in formation, their breath visible in the morning chill. Wooden dummies line the yard like silent sentinels, scarred and splintered from countless drills. The steady rhythm of fists slamming against wood echoes through the grounds, a discipline passed from one generation to the next.

At the center of the yard, Kano Kashiwa moves like a storm. Bare-knuckled, shirt ripped open, sleeves rolled to the elbows, his arms wrapped in stained bandages from old fights. Every strike he throws crashes into the wooden dummies like a thunderclap, splinters flying with each blow.

Sweat rolls down his temples, but his grin is sharp, dangerous… The look of a man who finds truth only in violence. Each punch echoes across the courtyard, a rhythm of raw power that drowns out even the morning birds, but not the crows..

Kano Kashiwa

Elder Council of Kashiwa(Chōrō-kai)

Shateigashira-hosa of Sarutobi-Kai

The Adoptive Child of Kashiwa

Kano suddenly slammed his elbow into the dummy. The wood split with a sharp crack, shards scattering across the ground. One of the new bloods staggered back from the shock.

Kano turned his head, glaring at him in disbelief. He stomped forward, grabbed the recruit by the collar and yanked him close. His fist came up fast, ready to drive a straight right into the kid’s face, but he stopped halfway. With a grunt, he shoved him back and let go.

“We don’t need weak people like you here,” Kano said, his voice rough. “Go get an office job or something. We’ve got strict rules here. If you’re scared of an elbow that wasn’t even meant for you, then this place isn’t for you.”

He looked around, then grabbed another boy from the sideline and dragged him forward. Kano smirked, raising his fists, the scar on his knuckles showing.

“If you hesitate, you’re dead. If you bow to fear, you’re nothing.” His voice was sharp, pissed off. These new members were softer than he expected.

The boy’s arms shook as he tried to raise them, fists only halfway up. But Kano didn’t wait. He lunged in and smashed his forehead into the kid’s face. The crack of bone echoed across the yard as blood sprayed out, splattering on the stones.

“Come on, get up,” he said with a sneer. “I didn’t even hit you that hard. The oak doesn’t crack that easily.”

He grabbed the boy by the shoulder, flipped him onto his stomach, and lifted his boot, ready to stomp his head into the stones out of pure frustration. But before his foot came down, a strong hand yanked him back.

“That’s enough, Kano.”

It was Geonu. His jaw was tight, voice steady but firm. “He’s just a recruit, not an enemy. Keep your frustrations and anger for the right people.”

Geonu Kashiwa

Heir-Apparent of Kashiwa (Chakushi)

Shateigashira-hosa of Sarutobi-Kai

The Iron Branch of Kashiwa

He released his grip, stepping forward to face him.

Kano wiped the streak of blood running down his forehead and smirked, his grin wide and unhinged. “And when the enemy comes, Geonu? Will Shinohara give him time to learn?” His eyes burned with a darker fire, his tone mocking but dead serious underneath. “Better he bleeds here than out there.”

Before the argument can escalate, a sharp tap of a cane cuts through the air. Ryuu Kashiwa approaches, his gaze cold, his steps deliberate. He surveys the scene with quiet disappointment before speaking.

Ryuu Kashiwa

Elder Council of Kashiwa

The Rising Dragon of Kashiwa

“Strength without discipline,” Ryuu says, his voice low but edged with steel, “is suicide. And arrogance is the noose that hangs even the strongest warrior.” His cane strikes the stone a sharp clack that silences the courtyard.

Kano exhales through his nose, the smirk fading. Geonu lowers his gaze, swallowing words he doesn’t dare voice. The recruits straighten their backs, blood still dripping onto the stones, as if the ground itself has claimed its due.

Ryuu’s eyes linger on Shinzen’s heir.

“And you, Geonu. Control isn’t hesitation. If you can’t draw the line between restraint and weakness, you’ll never lead.”

Two recruits are missing from morning training.

Without a word, she pulls a small notebook from her sleeve, writes their names down in neat strokes, and tucks it back into the ledger she always carries. Nothing escapes her record… Not even silence.

The evening dawn settles over the estate, painting the sky in pale orange and deep violet. Inside the main hall, the Kashiwa Family gathers for dinner.

Saru moves quietly between them, serving food with her usual precision, every dish placed with care, every gesture exact.

At the head of the table sits Shinzen, calm and unreadable, the White Fox watching over his family. To his right is Tomohiro, posture straight, eyes sharp even in moments of stillness. On Shinzen’s left sits Geonu, tense and restless, shoulders tight as if the weight of the name presses harder on him than the meal before him.

Further down, Ryuu takes his seat with deliberate grace, cane resting against the table’s edge. Beside him, Kano slouches lazily in his chair, his bandaged arms resting carelessly on the table, a half-smirk tugging at his lips as if daring someone to break the silence.

Directly opposite Shinzen is an empty seat. In front of it rests a small sake cup and a single white chrysanthemum and a black rose. A place for the fallen, a reminder that the oak’s roots are fed as much by loss as by loyalty.

For a moment, the only sound is chopsticks against bowls. Then Tomohiro clears his throat. “Storm season,” he says. “Check the shutters before nightfall.”

Kano leans back on two legs of his chair, smirking. “Shutters don’t stop knives.”

Ryuu taps his cane sharply against the wood. “Neither does a loose tongue.”

Kano drops the chair back down with a thud. “Better a loose tongue than no teeth,” he mutters. Shinzen ignores the jab. He lifts the sake bottle and pours into the cup at the empty seat. Steam from the rice swirls upward, and the whole table goes still.

Geonu breaks the silence. His voice is low, but steady. “Give me something real, Father. Not ledgers. Not checklists. Let me handle the Ibaraki situation. Let me prove I can do more than watch from the side.”

Shinzen doesn’t answer right away. He swirls his tea, watching the ripples. Finally, he speaks. “Proving yourself isn’t a task, Geonu. It’s a habit.”

Geonu pushes his bowl away, eyes sharp. “Then let me build the habit.”

Kano laughs under his breath. “You’ll build a grave if you rush it.”

Geonu snaps, “Better than rotting in the shadow of-”

The sharp clack of Ryuu’s cane cuts through the air. “Enough. A leader who confuses speed with strength buries men he never even learned the names of.” Geonu clenches his jaw, swallowing back a retort. His hands curl into fists under the table.

Saru finally speaks, her voice calm but edged. “Two couriers didn’t report this morning. Ledgers don’t lie. They should’ve been back before dawn. The last route check was near the Kobe docks.”

Tomohiro leans forward. “That’s Shinohara territory.” Kano sets his cup down hard. “Say the word. I’ll drag whoever’s behind it into the street.”

Shinzen turns to Geonu, his gaze cold but steady. “At dawn, you’ll lead. Kano and three men will go with you. Bring them back breathing. If there’s a leak, we track it before we cut it.”

Geonu nods too quickly. “Understood.”

Ryuu’s eyes narrow at him. “Read their hands before you read their words. A knife man’s grip tells you if he’s bluffing. Fear cuts deeper than steel.” Kano cracks his knuckles and smirks. “Fear bleeds just the same.”

Tomohiro raises his cup, eyes on the empty seat. “For the ones who didn’t make it back.”

One by one, they raise theirs. Even Kano, smirk fading as the weight of the moment settles. Shinzen pours more sake into the empty cup, an offering to ghosts no one dares name aloud.

Then, a sharp beep breaks the silence. One, then another, until the whole table vibrates with the sound. Every pager lights up. Tomohiro picks his up first, scanning the message. His expression hardens. “Mandatory meeting. Kumicho wants all bloodlines at the office. Tonight.”

She laid the ledger flat between them. “Your signature doesn’t match. Last week was sloppy. This week is clean. Too clean. Who did you give the time window to?”

The boy shook his head. “I didn’t. I swear.” Saru’s eyes stayed on him, calm but cutting. “Try again.” He swallowed. His voice cracked. “A friend. From Inazawa. He said it was just a favor.”

Silence.

Saru leaned back. “A favor costs lives. You understand that?”

The boy’s lips trembled. “I… I didn’t think it mattered.” Saru raised a hand. The two guards stepped forward. One placed a tanto blade on the tatami in front of him.

The clerk stared at it, face draining of color. “No… please…”

“Proceed.,” Saru said quietly.

The boy’s hands shook as he pressed his finger against the floor. The blade came down. The snap of bone and wet thud filled the room. His cry split the silence, echoing off the walls. Blood dotted the tatami. The severed finger lay on the tray.

Saru didn’t flinch. She stood, opening the clerk’s drawer. Inside: a burner phone, a folder of shipment files, and a small note with a scrawled time and place. Ibaraki. Dawn. She took them all and slid the ledger shut. “Escort him out,” she told the guards. “Patch the hand. Leave the finger. Let him remember what betrayal costs.” The guards bowed.

Saru handed the ledger to the nearest one. “Get this to Shinzen. Now. Prepare the car.” She followed them out of the office into the cold night air. The black sedan idled in the driveway, headlights cutting through the mist.

The guards opened the door. Saru slid into the back seat, placing the ledger, phone, and files neatly on her lap. She glanced once at the estate behind her before the car door shut. The engine rumbled, and the sedan rolled down the long drive. Not a word was spoken inside. Only the sound of tires on gravel.

A few hours before midnight.

Okayama-Ikka Headquarters

The Okayama-Ikka headquarters was quiet. Heavy. The atmosphere was dense and not even the breathing in the room was audible.

At the far end of the long tatami hall sat Daigo Toriyama, Kumichō of Okayama-Ikka. Alone at the head, cigarette burning between his fingers. Smoke curled to the ceiling, but no one dared move until he spoke.

Daigo Toriyama

Kumichō of Okayama-Ikka

Patriach of the Toriyama Family

In front of him, the bloodlines sat in order.

Lauren Yosuzumi of the Yosuzumi. Calm, intelligent. A pen in her hand, notebook closed, mind always turning.
Ryugen Tenkai of the Tenkai. Broad shoulders, arms folded. A hothead with a history, his reputation louder than most men’s voices.
Kyoso Kuchiki of the Kuchiki. Quiet, older, eyes like a hawk waiting for prey to stumble.Ken Narukami of the Narukami, sitting with the weight of his men on his back.

And the Kashiwa Family — Shinzen Kashiwa, Tomohiro Kashiwa, and Geonu Kashiwa.

Daigo’s eyes swept the table. Finally, he spoke. “Numbers are falling. Not from war. From inside. Too many men are defecting to Shinohara. This cannot continue.”

The words hung in the air like a blade.

Mako Tsukimura leaned back, smile widening. “Maybe your roots aren’t as deep as you think, Kumicho. Men don’t walk away from loyalty unless they see something better.”

Tomohiro Kashiwa adjusted his sleeve, calm as stone. “Or unless they’re tricked. Defection isn’t strength. It’s betrayal dressed up as choice.”

Mako’s laugh was light, but mocking. She covered her mouth with her sleeve. “Betrayal, choice… call it what you want, Tomohiro. What matters is numbers. And your family seems to be losing them.”

Ken Narukami slammed his palm on the table, eyes burning. “Enough games, Tsukimura. This isn’t a place for your teasing.”

Lauren Yosuzumi cut in smoothly, tapping her pen against the closed notebook. “Containment is still the smarter play. If we drag this into open war, we’ll burn half of Okayama with it.”

Ryugen Tenkai’s Mat scraped loudly across the tatami as he leaned forward, fists clenched. “Containment? We’ve tried that. Containment is a weakness. Cut Shinohara down and end this before it spreads.”

Kyoso Kuchiki’s voice was low, almost a growl. “Better to drown in blood than rot from the inside.”

The voices rose. Accusations thrown. The table shook from fists slamming down. Ryugen Tenkai suddenly stood, pointing across the hall at Tomohiro Kashiwa. “Your family’s to blame for this weakness! You let them slip, and now we all pay for it!”

Geonu Kashiwa shot up in his seat, face red. “Say that again!”

Ryugen smirked, his voice thunderous. “You heard me. Kashiwa’s cracks are the reason men are leaving. You call yourselves roots? You’re rot.”

Mats ruffling. Hands twitched toward blades hidden under suits. The air in the hall turned sharp, heavy, ready to explode.

Tomohiro Kashiwa slowly stood, raising his hand slightly toward Geonu without even looking at him. His voice was calm, unshaken. “Ryugen, anger makes a poor ally. If we fight among ourselves, Shinohara wins without raising a hand.”

Ryugen’s nostrils flared. He slammed his fist into the table, splintering wood. “Spare me your calm words, Tomohiro! Calm doesn’t win wars. Blood does!”

Shinzen Kashiwa finally spoke, voice quiet but cutting through the noise. “Blood spilled without thought is wasted. And wasted blood weakens us all.”

The room fell silent for a heartbeat, then Daigo Toriyama’s fist crashed down on the table. The sound echoed like thunder.

“Enough.”

All heads lowered. Even Ryugen froze.

Daigo’s glare swept the table, his voice iron. “I will not watch the oak tear itself apart over words. You will sit. You will listen.”

Smoke curled upward from the ashtray beside him. He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing.

He turned first to Mako Tsukimura. “You laugh too much for a woman losing men.” Her smile faltered for just a second before she leaned in, teasing. “Men always return to me, Kumicho. I don’t chase them. They chase me.”

Daigo’s eyes hardened. “And if they don’t?” Mako’s smile slipped further. She didn’t answer.

His gaze shifted to Lauren Yosuzumi. “Containment. You always speak of it. Tell me why it won’t fail again.”

Lauren straightened her glasses, tapping the pen in her hand once against the closed notebook. “Because Shinohara thrives on reaction. If we hold firm and starve them of chaos, their numbers won’t matter. They’ll choke on silence.”

Daigo stared at her for a long moment. “Silence doesn’t choke wolves. It feeds them.”

Next his eyes moved to Ryugen Tenkai. “And you. Always shouting for blood.” Ryugen smirked, fists clenched on the table. “Because blood works. War makes men choose sides fast. No whispers. No betrayal. Just winners and losers.”

Daigo’s voice sharpened. “And what happens when war spreads into Hyogo? Into Kyoto? When your fire burns beyond control?”

Ryugen leaned forward, meeting his gaze. “Then we burn hotter.”

Daigo’s hand twitched, but he said nothing. Smoke rose higher from the cigarette in his ashtray. His stare fell on Kyoso Kuchiki, who hadn’t moved once. “And you, Kyoso. You’ve been silent.”

Kyoso lifted his head slowly, eyes dark. “Silence listens. Silence waits. But if you want my words, Kumicho… better to drown in blood than rot from the inside.”

The hall went still.

Daigo turned to Ken Narukami. “You want containment. You want order. Tell me why your house still bleeds men.”

Ken bowed his head slightly, his voice low but firm. “Because no matter how strong we hold, there will always be rats who run. I don’t deny the truth. But I will deny Shinohara the chance to build from our scraps.”

Daigo studied him. Then his eyes slid to the end of the table.

The Kashiwa Family.

His gaze fixed on Shinzen first. “And you. The White Fox. What does your calm smile mean when your men are slipping into the night?” Shinzen lifted his head, eyes cold, voice steady. “It means I already know how to hunt them.”

Daigo’s eyes narrowed. “Words.”

Shinzen didn’t flinch. “A fox doesn’t bare fangs unless it intends to kill. And I intend to kill.”

The silence after was sharp.

Daigo leaned back slowly, dragging on his cigarette. Smoke curled above him, twisting in the lamplight. “You have seventy-two hours,” he said finally. “Kashiwa will investigate. Kashiwa will neutralize the defectors. If you fail…” He looked down the hall, meeting every eye one by one. “I will uproot the oak myself.”

No one moved… The only sound was the faint crackle of the cigarette as Daigo ground it out.

Even Later That Night

Kobe Docks

The air at the docks was thick with salt and rust. Waves crashed against the walls, spraying mist that clung to the cold night air. Ships loomed in the distance, their hulls black silhouettes under the moon. Above them, cranes stood frozen, like iron titans waiting for war.

Geonu Kashiwa moved first, leading the crew down a narrow path between stacks of rusted shipping containers. His steps were steady, eyes sharp, every sense on edge. Kano followed close behind, shoulders rolling with restless energy. His fists were wrapped in fresh bandages, knuckles itching for blood. He flexed them as if already imagining the trophies he’d take tonight.

Three recruits trailed from the rear, their nerves laid bare in every twitch, every glance at the shadows stretching long across the metal walls. One clutched the strap of his jacket too tight. Another’s breath came fast. The youngest looked ready to bolt.

The trap had sprung.

At the same time,

Somewhere in the Okayama outskirts.

The shrine courtyard was empty, but it carried the weight of memory. Stone lanterns leaned with age, their moss-darkened bases glistening with rain. The steps leading up to the shrine were cracked, weeds crawling through their fractures like veins. It was a place long abandoned by prayer now claimed by silence.

Rain fell in thin needles, hissing softly as it struck stone. Water trickled down the broken tiles of the roof and ran in small streams across the courtyard, gathering in shallow pools that reflected the lantern light. The air smelled of wet cedar, old incense, and ash.

Seijiro Asakura stood in the center, a black coat draped across his shoulders. He let the rain soak him, hair plastered against his forehead, droplets running down the sharp lines of his face. His hands were clasped calmly behind his back. His eyes never wavered from the treeline beyond the shrine walls, as though he could see something the others could not.

Seijiro Asakura

Kumichō of Shinohara-Ikka

The Bloody Lotus of Shinohara

Around him, his officers waited in silence.

The Inazawa lieutenant leaned lazily against a pillar, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. The ember hissed when rain touched it, but he didn’t care.

The Kamikodan handler stood stiff with discipline, clutching a folder against his chest — inside, a ledger thick with names, every line written in betrayal.

The Karoshi captain crouched at the steps, dragging a cloth over his blade, polishing steel that hadn’t drawn blood tonight, but would tomorrow.

Behind them stood two shadows that carried more weight than the rest.

The Kagemaru Family

Kyosuke Kagemaru leaned against a lantern post, arms crossed, lips curved into a smirk that refused to fade even as the rain soaked him through. His eyes glimmered with arrogance, the same age as Geonu, but crueler, hungrier, a rival who relished the chance to crush him.

Beside him, Shinzen Kagemaru was still as stone. His hair tied back, his face unreadable. He carried no smirk, no arrogance, only cold calculation. His presence was a mirror of Shinzen Kashiwa himself, but darker, twisted. Where the White Fox waited with patience, Shinzen Kagemaru embodied a predator who had no need for patience at all.

Seijiro finally spoke. His voice was calm, quiet, but each word cut sharper than the rain.

“They call themselves roots.”

The officers said nothing. The rain filled the silence.

“Roots rot in silence.”

The Kamikodan handler stepped forward, bowing slightly as he opened the folder. His voice was low, reverent, almost fearful. “The names you requested. Men from Okayama. Disgruntled. Hungry. Bought and paid for.”

Seijiro gave a single nod.

The Karoshi captain rose to his feet, slipping the cloth away. “Cleanup crews are already moving. Anyone who hesitates, anyone who doubts, anyone who looks back they vanish.” Seijiro turned his head slightly, and his gaze fell upon the Kagemaru brothers. “And you two?”

Kyosuke smirked wider, tapping his knuckles against the stone. “Geonu Kashiwa thinks he’s an heir. He thinks he’s ready to lead. I’ll put him on his knees. Show him he’s nothing but a weak branch waiting to snap.”

Shinzen Kagemaru finally broke his silence, voice measured, cold. “The White Fox hides his fangs behind calm words. But when he bares them… it will not be Seijiro who meets them. It will be me.”

Seijiro let a faint smile curl across his lips, his eyes never leaving the treeline. Rain poured down his face like a veil. “If the oak stands…” His hand closed the folder with a snap. “…then we cut the soil.”

A figure stepped forward from the shadows of the shrine, holding a sealed envelope. It was thick, stamped with the crest of Okayama-Ikka. Seijiro took it with deliberate calm, the wax seal catching the lantern light. “Even the strongest roots rot quickest when the disease grows from within.”

He slipped the envelope into his coat.

The shrine went silent again. The only sound was the endless rain.