The tea house felt smaller in the hours before dawn.

  Kenji sat across from Yamamoto, the table between them littered with photographs and letters and the debris of a lifetime. The old man looked tired, drained, but there was something else in his eyes now. Relief, maybe. Or hope.

  "You said there were secrets," Kenji said quietly. "About our family. About who we really are."

  Yamamoto nodded slowly. "There are. Things I should have told your mother. Things I should have told you." He paused, gathering himself. "Our family—the Yamamoto family—we weren't always in import and export."

  "What were you?"

  The old man met his eyes. "We were killers. For generations. Not like your father's organization—we were quieter, more discreet. We worked for governments, for corporations, for anyone who needed problems to disappear."

  Kenji felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Assassins."

  "Yes." Yamamoto didn't flinch. "The best in Japan. Trained from birth, passed down through generations. Your mother knew. She hated it. It's one reason she ran."

  "And you?"

  "I was the last. The end of the line." Yamamoto looked at his hands—old hands, but still steady. "I've killed more men than I can count. For causes I believed in, for causes I didn't. For money. For duty. For survival."

  Kenji was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because you need to know. Because there are people—enemies I made, debts I never paid—who will come looking. And when they do, they won't care that I'm old. They won't care that you're innocent." Yamamoto leaned forward. "They'll come for you. For Hana. For everyone connected to me."

  "And you waited until now to tell me?"

  "I was a coward." The old man's voice cracked. "I thought if I stayed hidden, if I never contacted you, they'd forget. They'd move on. But they didn't. They've been watching. Waiting. And now—" He stopped.

  "Now what?"

  "Now they know about you. About Hana." Yamamoto's eyes were wet. "I'm so sorry, Kenji. I've put you both in danger."

  Kenji stood abruptly, walked to the window. Outside, the first light of dawn was touching the rooftops of Kyokai-machi.

  "Who are they?"

  "A family. The Kuroda. Rivals from decades ago. I killed their patriarch in a war we fought when your mother was a child." Yamamoto's voice was heavy with memory. "They've been waiting for revenge ever since. Three generations, nursing their hatred."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "And now they see their chance."

  "Yes." Yamamoto stood, moved to stand beside Kenji. "They're patient. Cunning. And they know everything about me. About my techniques, my methods, my weaknesses." He paused. "They'll use that against you."

  Kenji looked at the old man. At the stranger who shared his blood. At the grandfather who'd brought a storm to his door.

  "What do I do?"

  Yamamoto met his eyes. "You fight. You protect your family. The same thing I should have done forty years ago." He reached into his kimono, pulled out a small leather-bound book. "This belonged to your great-great-grandfather. It contains everything—techniques, strategies, the accumulated knowledge of generations. I was going to let it die with me. But now—" He held it out. "Now it's yours."

  Kenji stared at the book. At the weight of history in those pages. "I don't know if I want this."

  "I know." Yamamoto pressed it into his hands. "But you may need it. And when the time comes—" He smiled sadly. "—you'll know what to do."

  ---

  Kenji walked home through the dawn, the book heavy in his pocket.

  The streets were waking around him. Shopkeepers opening their doors. Children heading to school. Old women sweeping their porches. Normal life, continuing as if nothing had changed.

  But everything had changed.

  At the shop, Hana was already at work, arranging mochi in the window. She looked up as he entered, concern flickering in her eyes.

  "Tou-san? You were out all night."

  "I know." He sat heavily at the counter. "We need to talk."

  She came to sit beside him. "What happened?"

  Kenji told her. Everything. About Yamamoto's past, about the Kuroda family, about the danger that was coming. He didn't soften it. Didn't hide. She deserved the truth.

  When he finished, Hana was quiet for a long moment.

  "So we have enemies we've never met," she said slowly. "Enemies who've been waiting decades to hurt our family."

  "Yes."

  "And they're coming here."

  "Soon. I don't know when, but soon."

  Hana nodded slowly. Then she did something that surprised him. She smiled.

  "Good."

  Kenji blinked. "Good?"

  "Tou-san, we've faced worse. Ivan Fargo. Dmitri Volkov. Half the criminals in New-Edo." She took his hand. "We survived because we're strong. Because we're family. Because we fight together." She squeezed his fingers. "This is no different."

  He looked at his daughter. At the woman she'd become. At the strength in her eyes.

  "You're not afraid?"

  "Of course I'm afraid." Her voice was steady. "But I'm more angry. Angry that after everything, after all we've been through, someone else thinks they can take from us." She stood. "So let them come. We'll be ready."

  Kenji felt something swell in his chest. Pride. Love. Awe.

  "Okay," he said quietly. "Then we prepare."

  ---

  That afternoon, Kenji called the old crew.

  They gathered in the garden—Takeshi, Hiroshi, Kenzo, the others. Men who'd retired, who'd built new lives, who'd thought they were done with violence.

  Kenji told them everything. About Yamamoto, about the Kuroda, about the threat that was coming.

  When he finished, the garden was silent.

  Then Takeshi spoke. "How many?"

  "I don't know yet. But enough to be dangerous."

  "And when?"

  "Soon. Maybe days, maybe weeks. But soon."

  Takeshi nodded slowly. He looked at the others, then back at Kenji. "Then we get ready. We watch. We wait." He gripped his iron cane. "And if they come—" He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "—we remind them why they should have stayed in the past."

  The others nodded. One by one, they spoke their agreement.

  Kenji looked at these men—his brothers, his family, his past. Men who'd followed him through war and peace and back again.

  "Thank you," he said quietly. "All of you."

  Hiroshi shrugged. "What else are we going to do? Play with our grandchildren?" He grinned. "This is more fun."

  Laughter broke the tension. For a moment, they were young again. For a moment, the danger didn't matter.

  But beneath the laughter, they all knew the truth.

  Something was coming.

  And when it arrived, nothing would ever be the same.

  ---

  END OF CHAPTER 6