Prologue – The Sins of Father

The hallway smelled heavily of copper and burnt ozone.

A solitary man rose to his feet in the dim, flickering light of the corridor. His tailored suit was ruined, stained with the consequences of his profession. He stepped over the collateral damage, his heavy footsteps echoing against the marble floor, until he reached his true target: a man crawling desperately toward the elevator, leaving a streak of crimson in his wake.

"Final… Mission… Task Confirmed," the man muttered, his voice devoid of any emotion.

He didn't hesitate. With one fluid, practiced sweep of his blade, the target’s desperate crawl came to a permanent halt.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sudden, sharp vibration of a cell phone ringing from the dead man's coat pocket. The assassin knelt, his joints popping slightly, and retrieved the device. He pressed it to his ear.

"The blood money will be delivered to the designated drop point shortly, Mr. Kurogane," a distorted, buzzing voice echoed through the receiver. "Pleasure doing business."

Kurogane didn't reply. He crushed the phone under the heel of his leather shoe, leaving the shattered pieces beside the body. He let out a long, heavy sigh, the cold assassin melting away into something much more tired.

"I need a shower, and fast," Kurogane groaned aloud, a comical frown breaking his stoic expression. "If I smell like an abattoir, I’ll be late for my daughter’s birthday. And she will never let me live that down."

Next few days:

The Tokyo sun was blindingly bright, casting warm, golden rays across the bustling sidewalks. It was a perfect afternoon, a world away from the shadows Kurogane usually inhabited. Today, he was just a father.

"Papa, I want ice cream!" Sakura, a vibrant seven-year-old with boundless energy, tugged fiercely at his sleeve.

"Eh? But we just finished your birthday cake," Kurogane chuckled, trying to feign exhaustion. "Where do you put it all?"

Sakura clasped her hands together, jutting out her lower lip and widening her eyes. "Pretty please? With a cherry?"

Kurogane let out a dramatic groan, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine, fine. Just this once. Since you're officially a year older."

"Yay!" Sakura cheered, releasing his hand and practically skipping down the pavement. Her fast-paced walk quickly turned into a light jog.

"Hey, easy now! Don't run, or you’ll trip and hurt yourself," he called out, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Papa, hurry up! The ice cream shop is just around this corner!" she yelled back over her shoulder.

Kurogane slowed his pace just a fraction, taking a moment to simply watch her. She looked so profoundly happy, so completely untouched by the darkness of his world. I wish I could freeze time, he thought. I wish we could just stay exactly like this forever.

"Papa, I made it—!"

Sakura’s voice cut off abruptly. She had turned back to look at him from down the block, her bright smile faltering into a mask of pure confusion.

Kurogane had stopped walking. He was standing completely rigid. His eyes were wide with shock, staring down at his own chest. Protruding from his sternum, right through his coat, was the cold, jagged steel of a serrated blade.

"Papa?" Sakura whispered, the word barely escaping her throat. She took a hesitant step forward, her brow furrowing in worry.

Suddenly, a dark figure materialized from the blind spot behind Kurogane. With a sickening shhhhck, the unseen assailant violently yanked the blade out from Kurogane’s back.

"Gyah!" Kurogane gasped, blood spilling from his lips as his knees buckled.

"Papa!" Sakura screamed.

The cloaked assailant didn't linger. He melted instantly into the shadows of a nearby narrow alleyway, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.

Sakura ran. She pushed past the frozen pedestrians, her small legs carrying her as fast as they could until she slid onto the concrete beside him. The surrounding crowd finally registered the horror; screams erupted, and people began to scatter in a panic.

But Sakura only saw him. She knelt in the expanding pool of red.

"Papa! Papa, look at me!" she cried, her tiny hands shaking his massive, slumping shoulders. Her fingers were instantly slick with his blood.

"Sakura…" Kurogane choked, coughing up a terrifying amount of crimson. His trembling hand reached up, his rough fingers grazing her tear-stained cheek. "Listen to me… I need you to listen."

"I'm here, Papa, I'm here! Somebody help!"

"No… look at me," he rasped, his vision already clouding. "I want you to be the end… of this bloodline. The violence stops with me. Please… don’t let your grief fool you into the dark. Grow up. Become… who you wanted to be. Be in the light."

The bleeding was catastrophic. Every word cost him a fraction of his remaining life.

"Papa… what are you talking about? What bloodline?" Sakura sobbed, shaking her head frantically.

"My beautiful daughter…" Kurogane smiled, a single tear cutting through the blood on his face. "I’m so sorry… that you had to see this."

His hand slipped from her cheek, hitting the concrete with a dull thud. The light vanished from his eyes. He was gone.

"Papa? Papa!"

The wailing sirens of an ambulance finally pierced the air, but it was too late.

"PAPA!!... PAPA!!" Sakura screamed, her voice cracking, drowning in a sorrow so deep it felt like it would swallow the entire city.

Few weeks later after her father’s death:

The rusted iron gates of the orphanage loomed ahead.

"This is where you live now, Sakura," the social worker said. Her voice was laced with a kind, yet heavy pity as she gestured toward the aging brick building.

Sakura simply nodded. She didn't speak. She slowly trailed behind the woman, her eyes vacant. Her mind was a broken record, endlessly looping the metallic sound of the blade being pulled from her father's chest.

Inside the main hall, groups of orphaned children clustered together, whispering fiercely about the new arrival.

"Who could it be?" "Is it a boy or a girl?" "I hope she’s not mean. The last kid was mean."

As Sakura stepped into the light of the hall, the whispers shifted.

"Gasp, it’s a girl!" "Another girl?" "She looks friendly... but sad."

The caretaker gently placed a hand on Sakura’s shoulder. "Okay, kids, settle down. This is Sakura. She is going to be your new family from now on. Let's all say hello and make her feel welcome."

Sakura stared at the sea of unfamiliar faces. "H-hello," she managed to whisper, giving a stiff nod.

"Hello Sakura!" the kids chorused back. "Welcome!" "Let’s be friends!"

Sakura blinked, slightly overwhelmed. She hadn't expected them to be so warm. Fighting through the numbness in her chest, she forced the corners of her mouth up into a small, fragile smile.

"Mm," she hummed in agreement.

Few months later after her father’s death:

Deep beneath the orphanage, in a forgotten, dust-choked basement room the staff never checked, a crowd of boys had formed a makeshift fighting ring.

The air was humid and tense. The boys cheered and hollered as two older kids traded sloppy punches. Finally, one of them stumbled and fell hard against the concrete.

"Alright, he's down! Who’s next?!"

The voice belonged to Moge. At ten years old, he was the oldest, the tallest, and the undisputed king of the orphanage's underground. He paced the center of the ring, a prideful smirk on his face. He wiped a streak of sweat from his forehead.

"No one?" Moge taunted, cracking his knuckles. "Are you all really that scared?"

From the back of the shadowed room, a pale, slender hand raised into the air.

"You there. Come forward," Moge commanded, squinting into the gloom.

The crowd parted. As the challenger stepped into the dim light of the overhead bulb, a collective gasp swept through the room.

"Wait. You?" Moge’s smirk vanished, replaced by utter bewilderment. "How did you even get down here? This is the boys' club. Get lost."

Sakura stared back at him. Her eyes were dead, devoid of the fear he was used to seeing. "Moge. Fight me."

The boys erupted into shocked murmurs. Sakura, the quiet girl who barely spoke, was challenging the strongest kid in the home.

"No can do," Moge scoffed, crossing his arms. "I don’t hit girls. Go play upstairs before you get hurt."

"If you win, I’ll do whatever you want," Sakura stated flatly. "I'll give you my dessert rations for a month."

Moge raised an eyebrow. "Huh... You’re weird. But fine. And if I lose?"

"Nothing," Sakura replied. "There are no consequences for you if you lose."

Moge clicked his tongue, annoyed by her defiance. "Tsk. Trying to look tough, huh? Fine. But don't go crying to the caretakers when I bruise you. Let’s do this."

The boys formed a tight circle.

Moge didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, leading with a swift, testing jab. Sakura tried to dodge, her instincts flaring, but she was too slow. The fist grazed her cheek, sending her stumbling backward. She wasn't a trained fighter, but something dark and stubborn burned in her chest. She refused to quit.

"I warned you," Moge sighed. "Stay down."

Sakura touched her bruised cheek, feeling the stinging heat. "One more."

She planted her feet.

"Ugh... just quit already, you're embarrassing yourself." Moge threw a much harder cross punch. Sakura managed to slip under it. Sensing an opening, she launched her small fist directly at his chest.

It connected, but with zero power. Moge didn't even flinch. He looked down at her fist against his shirt, utterly confused.

Before Sakura could pull back, Moge grabbed her wrist. With a swift sweep of his leg, he took her to the ground, pinning her arms and legs in a tight lock.

"Iyaa—!" Sakura gasped, the wind knocked out of her as the cold concrete bit into her back. The pressure on her joints was painful.

Moge held her there for three seconds before slowly releasing his grip and standing up. The room was dead silent.

"You lost. It's over," Moge declared, turning his back on her.

Sakura remained on the floor, kneeling. Her bangs shadowed her eyes. She looked completely frozen.

"No…" she whispered, her voice trembling but hard. "One more."

The boys on the sidelines shifted uncomfortably. "Sakura, just give up already!" "He's gonna really hurt you! This isn’t for you!"

Sakura ignored them. She slowly pushed herself off the ground and turned to face Moge’s back.

"One… more," she repeated, louder this time. When she raised her head, her expression had shifted. The numbness was gone, replaced by a terrifying, burning determination.

"Let me get one more chance."

Moge spun around, genuinely angry now. "Tsk… I said it’s over, you crazy—"

He never finished the sentence.

Sakura had closed the distance with terrifying speed. She didn't throw a wild punch. Instead, she stepped inside his guard, twisted her hips, and drove her fist upward into his solar plexus with everything she had.

"Gyah!" All the air evacuated Moge's lungs in a violent rush. His eyes bulged. He staggered backward, clutching his stomach, his face draining of color.

"What?!" a boy yelled. "What just happened?!"

Moge wheezed, trying to regain his breath, but Sakura didn't stop. The adrenaline had taken over. She lunged at him again, her eyes wild.

"Ugh, I said enough!" Panic flashing in his eyes, Moge blindly swung a heavy backhand.

Sakura had let her guard down. The back of his fist slammed into the side of her head. She was thrown sideways, crashing heavily against the brick wall and sliding down to the floor.

"Huff... huff... huff..." Moge leaned heavily against a wooden pillar, holding his gut. "What the heck, Sakura… what is wrong with you?"

Against the wall, Sakura’s fingers twitched. Slowly, shakily, she pushed herself up the brickwork. A thin trickle of blood ran from her lip.

Moge stared at her, genuine fear creeping into his voice. "Hey… I said stop it. Stay down."

"O-one…. More.." she gasped, raising her bruised fists.

Moge took a step back, holding his hands up. "No… I'm done. I surrender. You win, okay? Just stay away from me."

Without looking back, Moge pushed through the crowd of frozen boys and practically sprinted up the basement stairs.

As the adrenaline began to fade, the reality of the pain set in. Sakura stood victorious, but alone. She began to cry silently, tightly clutching her raw, bruised knuckles.

Upstairs, Moge burst into his room and slammed the door.

"Dammit. What’s wrong with her? She's like a monster," he muttered, throwing himself onto his bed.

As his back hit the mattress, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through his abdomen. "Ouch."

He pulled up his shirt and looked down. Right below his ribcage, an angry, deep purple bruise was already forming in the exact shape of a small fist. He stared at it in horror.

"What the heck… did she really do this?"

Three years later after her father’s death:

A sleek, black luxury sedan pulled up to the dirt driveway of the orphanage. A man in a sharp, expensive, midnight-blue suit stepped out, adjusting his cuffs.

"This is the place, right?" he asked, not looking back.

"Yes, sir," his driver replied, closing the car door.

The commotion drew out the head caretaker, who wiped her hands on her apron as she approached the imposing figure.

"Hello there," she said nervously, eyeing his expensive attire. "Is there something you need?"

The man smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "We are looking for a girl. Her name is Sakura Kurogane."

A few minutes later, the caretaker led the man to the backyard. Sakura, now ten years old and noticeably taller, was sitting on a bench. The softness of her youth had completely hardened. Her eyes were sharp and observant.

"Here you go, Kiyane," Sakura said softly, handing a small juice box to a younger, sniffling toddler.

"Thank you, Sakura!" the little girl beamed.

"Sakura!" the caretaker called out. "Come here for just a second, dear."

Sakura turned, her gaze instantly locking onto the man in the suit. She patted Kiyane’s head and walked over, her posture guarded.

"What is it?" she asked coldly.

The man in the suit smiled, bowing slightly. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Sakura."

"Who are you?"

"Well… you could call me an old acquaintance of your father," the man replied smoothly. "And before he passed, he left something very important for you. But to give it to you, we must take you to a secure location."

Three Days Later

The heavy metal doors of an abandoned dockside warehouse groaned open.

"Here we are," the suited man announced, his voice echoing in the cavernous, empty space.

Sakura stood with her hands in her jacket pockets, looking around unimpressed. "It's cold. What did my father leave me?"

"Your future," the man said simply. He snapped his fingers.

From the shadows, a burly enforcer appeared, dragging a massive, heavy iron lockbox across the concrete floor. He hauled it to the center of the room, right in front of Sakura.

"Open it," the suited man ordered.

The enforcer nodded, wedged a crowbar under the thick latches, and broke the locks with a loud SNAP. He threw the lid back.

Inside the box, stacked perfectly to the brim, were thick, banded bricks of cash. Billions of yen.

"Oh my," the suited man whispered, his eyes gleaming slightly at the sight of the fortune.

Sakura stared down at the fortune. "What is all this?"

"This is the blood money," the man explained, his tone serious. "The accumulated wealth of your father's lifetime of... specialized work. It belongs to you now." He crossed his arms and looked down at the ten-year-old girl. "So? What would you like to do about this?"

He waited, expecting her to be awestruck. He expected her to ask for a house, or clothes, or a new life.

Sakura looked at the money. She didn't see paper. She saw the blade sliding into her father's chest. She smelled the iron of his blood on the Tokyo pavement.

"Burn it," she said. Her voice was completely hollow.

The man blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said, burn it. Every last bill."

Within an hour, the warehouse was blazing. They had dragged the box to the center of the room, doused it in gasoline, and dropped a match. The fire roared, the heat washing over Sakura's face as millions of yen turned to black ash. The flames licked the ceiling, ensuring the entire building would soon come down.

Standing safely outside in the cool night air, the man in the suit watched the warehouse burn, a wide, genuine smirk spreading across his face.

He remembered the night Kurogane had come to him, years ago. Flashback: "If anything happens to me," Kurogane had said, staring at the very same box. "Burn all this cash. Don't let her touch it."

"Geez," the man muttered, shaking his head. "You two really are exactly alike."

He turned to the young girl staring into the inferno.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Fincer Cuttingham. But you can call me Fin for short."

Sakura finally tore her eyes away from the fire and looked up at him. The little girl who cried on the pavement was dead. The fire reflected in her dark eyes.

"Fin," Sakura said, her voice laced with ice. "Help me get revenge on whoever killed my father."

Fin grinned, a predator finding his new apex partner.

"As you wish, Ms. Sakura."