Chapter 2: The Godfather's Shadow

The muggy dampness of the rainy night seeped through the gaps in the wooden window, condensing into tiny beads of water on the old ledger sitting on Sawa Matsuei's desk. The porcelain shard etched with the "Source Flow" rune was wrapped layer upon layer in oil paper, tucked snugly against his ribs beneath his clothes. Even through the fabric, he could still feel that cold touch, like an old wound that refused to heal. Outside, Musashi Ono’s silhouette had already vanished into Osaka’s rainy curtain, leaving behind only the wet, whispering sound of the wind. Sawa didn’t immediately blow out the lamp. Instead, he picked up his cold tea cup, his fingertips tracing the rough texture of the coarse pottery. He was calculating his next move when he heard a very soft knock at the threshold.

It wasn’t the polite tap of a customer, but a heavier, more steady sound. Sawa’s brow furrowed, and his hand instinctively went to the short knife under the table. The silence held for a moment before the door hinge groaned with a dull, rusty squeak. A figure holding an umbrella stepped inside, rain dripping from the canopy to form a small puddle on the wooden floor. The visitor removed his straw hat, revealing a face weathered by time but still radiating a kind, gentle warmth.

"Sawa, it’s been a long time since I crossed this threshold," Sakei Horie said, folding up his oil-paper umbrella. His voice was deep and resonant like a bell, though there was a faint rasp he couldn't quite hide. The maritime magnate showed no arrogance from their shared history; instead, he looked around the shop’s dilapidated surroundings with the concern of an ordinary elder. "I heard you’ve been on edge lately. Even your shop work is slipping. If business is too tough, feel free to have one of my men run it for you."

Sawa relaxed his grip on the knife and a bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He scoffed inwardly; this godfather had timed his visit perfectly, as if he already knew exactly how tight the noose was around Sawa’s neck. Sakei Horie wasn’t just his adoptive father; he was the unseen hand behind the destruction of the Black Tiger Escort Agency, the only major player who had profited enormously from the chaos without ever having a drop of blood on his hands.

"Put your mind at ease, Godfather. The Matsuei line may have fallen, but our backbone is still stiff," Sawa said, his tone icy. He didn't even stand up to bow. "If you're just here to offer condolences, spare us both the trouble. There's not much decent tea here to serve guests."

Sakei wasn't offended. In fact, he sat down across from Sawa, moving with the easy grace of a man in his own great estate. His gaze swept over the broken antiques, a flash of shrewd calculation glinting in his eyes. "I'm not here to discuss business, and I'm not here to comfort you. I'm here to talk about your safety. Osaka hasn't been quiet lately. Kiyoshiro Fujihara, a constable at the Machibugyojo, told me in private that someone has been asking questions about your whereabouts."

Sawa felt a chill run down his spine. Kiyoshiro Fujihara? That old friend who was constantly torn between the law and personal loyalty? Was he leaking info to Sakei, or was Sakei just leveraging their old connection?

"So, Godfather is saying I'm in danger?" Sawa probed, his fingers drumming unconsciously on the tabletop.

"The waters of Osaka belong to my Horie family," Sakei leaned forward, lowering his voice with an authority that brooked no argument. "But I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for my reputation. If someone starts messing with people under my protection, it will ruin my standing as a 'fair' man. So, you need my shield. In exchange, I want that item in your possession."

Sawa’s pupils dilated, but his face remained a mask. "You jest, Godfather. I’m broke. What item could I possibly have?"

"Don't play dumb." Sakei pulled a scroll of parchment from his sleeve. It was the Black Tiger Escort Agency’s final asset list. "I know what you found. The clues your father left behind were more than just 'White Moonlight.' That debt has been sitting on my conscience, and mine too. All you have to do is hand over that porcelain shard and that unsolved old letter, and I’ll let you finish your final escort run in Osaka safely."

Sawa stared at the parchment, his mind in turmoil. He had thought he was the hunter, but now he realized he was still trapped in this massive web.

"And if I refuse?" Sawa asked. His own voice surprised him with how calm it sounded.

"Then I have no choice but to hand you over to the authorities, or to those nameless shadows." Sakei stood up slowly, straightening his robes. "Sawa, your father and I were close friends. But the dead can’t negotiate. And if a living man drags another living man down with him, that’s a sin."

Sawa was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Deal. But I have a condition. For the next while, I need access to your study. My father hand-drafted sea charts there. I need to verify the shipping routes."

Sakei’s eyes flickered with surprise, then a satisfied smile spread across his face. "Easy enough. You’re a friend's son, after all. You can come and go as you please."

The next morning, the rain had eased. Sawa followed Sakei in a sedan chair, weaving through Osaka’s narrow earthen-walled streets until they reached the Horie estate. The residence was secluded, with high walls and a courtyard where the stones were uneven, each one covered in the moss of passing years. Sakei didn’t bring entourage; he simply led Sawa to a study on the east side of the second floor.

The air in the study was thick with fragrance, a mix of aged ink and agarwood. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with rare texts and maps. Sawa’s gaze swept quickly, looking casual but actually hunting for records of dealings between the Black Tiger Escort Agency and the Horie family.

"Sit. Tea." Sakei ordered an attendant, then leaned against the window, gazing at an old plum tree in the courtyard. He seemed to deliberately leave Sawa alone with the mountain of paper.

Sawa didn’t move. He went straight to the shelves and pulled out a few ledgers on southern trade, flipping through them rapidly. The sound of pages turning was sharp in the silent room.

"Horie accounts have always been rigorous," Sawa said suddenly, not turning around to look at Sakei.

"Rigor is for survival," Sakei replied indifferently. "In these chaotic times, only those with clear books live long."

"What about this page?" Sawa pulled out a yellowed old ledger, flipped to a specific page, and stopped his finger on a line of ink. "This is a record from ten years ago. The Black Tiger Escort Agency’s last northern escort mission. The cargo was 'White Moonlight.' When the agency was destroyed, standard procedure dictates the cargo value should be written off as loss or booked as residual value. But this entry? It’s recorded as 'Full Price Payment.'"

Sakei’s expression shifted slightly before settling back into calm. "You’re saying I bought that cargo?"

"No. You 'paid' for it." Sawa turned, his gaze sharp as a blade. "This means the cargo wasn’t totally destroyed. Or rather, a portion of it was bought by someone else at a premium. And the buyer’s name has been scratched out."

Sakei stepped closer, his large figure casting a shadow over Sawa. "You think you’ll find out anything? Sawa, you can’t read hearts. The water from that era is too deep. Your appraising tricks won’t uncover the truth."

"But the books don’t lie." Sawa held up the page for Sakei to see. "Look here. The signatory for this payment isn’t you, and it isn’t another executive. The signature column just has one surname."

Sakei squinted, leaning in. The signature was scrawled, reeking of the martial world rather than a merchant’s neatness.

"It’s 'Fujihara'," Sawa said softly, his voice echoing in the study. "Fujihara. It’s Kiyoshiro Fujihara."

Sakei stumbled back, knocking over a chair. He stared at Sawa in disbelief, the gentle mask shattering to reveal shock and fear. "Impossible. Kiyoshiro works for the Machibugyojo. He severed all ties with the escort business long ago. He was only responsible for official arrests; he had nothing to do with trade!"

"Exactly because he had nothing to do with trade, this 'Full Price Payment' is so anomalous." Sawa analyzed calmly, pointing to a marginal note on the paper's edge. "Look at this note: 'Delivered on behalf of a friend.' Who is Kiyoshiro’s friend? The only person who could allow him to sign off on a massive payment is one individual—our Black Tiger Escort Agency’s former head, my father."

Sakei’s face went pale. He realized this ledger recorded a massive secret: the agency’s downfall wasn’t just a robbery; it was a premeditated transaction. Kiyoshiro Fujihara, that seemingly upright friend, was the key link in this deal.

"You’re mistaken." Sakei forced himself to steady his voice, though it trembled. "Kiyoshiro... he had his own hardships."

"Hardships aren’t an excuse for falsifying accounts." Sawa closed the ledger and placed it back on the shelf with measured ease. "Godfather Sakei, this book proves that the massacre wasn’t revenge. It was a takeover. Someone wanted to swallow the Black Tiger Escort Agency’s entire assets, including 'White Moonlight.' And Kiyoshiro became the white glove that signed off on it."

Sakei was silent for a long time. The wind outside seemed to pick up. He looked at Sawa, his gaze complex—a mix of respect for the junior’s insight and frustration at being exposed.

"Since you’ve figured it out, then say it. What do you want?" Sakei asked. There was less pretense in his voice now, more exhaustion.

"I want the truth." Sawa looked him dead in the eyes. "I want to know where 'White Moonlight' is now. And I want to know where my father actually went."

Sakei let out a bitter laugh and pulled a black token from his robe, tossing it to Sawa. "Take this. It’s the key to my private vault. The answers you’re looking for are there. But Sawa, the more you know, the faster you die. Are you sure you want to continue?"

Sawa caught the token. The cold metal seeped through his palm. He knew that from the moment he accepted this key, there was no turning back.

"My father used to say that at the end of the escort road, there’s always an echo," Sawa said, pocketing the token and turning toward the door. "I’m not afraid of dying. I’m only afraid the truth will be buried."

Sakei watched his back, sighing softly. "You and he... cut from the same cloth. Stubborn, and dangerous."

Sawa left the study and returned to his temporary quarters. He didn’t rush to the vault. Instead, he sat by the window, chewing over what he’d just found. Kiyoshiro Fujihara. That name felt like a dull knife cutting into his heart. His best friend, a participant in that conspiracy? No, maybe not just a participant. Maybe a beneficiary.

Soft footsteps approached from outside. Sawa looked up to see Xue Xiaohori standing in the doorway, holding a bowl of hot soup. She wore plain clothes, her face beautiful and clear, but her eyes held deep worry.

"Father wants to see you," Xue said quietly, handing over the bowl. "He says some things can’t be understood just by looking. You have to listen."

Sawa took the bowl, his fingertips slightly burned. Looking at Xue, a complex emotion swelled in his chest. Caught between her father and Sawa, what kind of torture was this young girl enduring?

"Xue," Sawa asked slowly, "do you know... in that escort team back then, besides my father, who else survived?"

Xue lowered her head. Tears welled in her eyes but didn’t fall. "I know one person." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Musashi Ono. He... he’s been waiting for this day."

Sawa’s heart jolted. Musashi Ono? The senior instructor who had stood in the rain? Was he a survivor from that era, too?

"Take me to him." Sawa stood up, setting the soup bowl down.

Xue hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Follow me. But remember, don’t mention your father’s name until you’ve seen him. To him, that name is a heavier chain than hate."

The two walked along a winding corridor, passing through patches of bamboo grove. The leaves rustled in the wind, like low whispers. Soon, they arrived at a hidden kendo hall.

Inside, Musashi Ono was practicing swordsmanship alone. His techniques were fierce, each move carrying a tone of resolve, as if fighting unseen enemies. When he saw them enter, he didn’t stop. The sword tip sliced through the air with a sharp whistle.

"Sawa." Musashi finally sheathed his sword, breathing hard, sweat rolling down his cheeks. "You’re earlier than I expected."

"Because the bills don’t lie." Sawa stepped forward, staring him down. "Musashi, in that battle back then, you saw the whole picture, didn’t you?"

Musashi was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I saw your father entrust the last secret letter to Kiyoshiro Fujihara. Then Kiyoshiro turned around and met up with people from the Horie family. That letter hasn’t been found since."

"And if that letter is still in Kiyoshiro’s hands?" Sawa pressed.

Sawa walked out of the kendo hall. The sun was setting in the west, stretching the shadow of Osaka Castle long across the ground. He gripped the black token in his palm. Though his mind was full of doubts, his steps didn’t slow. The storm was coming, and there was no turning back for him now.