Chapter 3: Pincer Attack

Morning fog hung low, barely lifting as a thin layer of frost glittered on the cobblestone streets of Tokyo.

I gripped the warm Copper Coin in my palm, my fingertips turning white from the strain. Sōjirō’s retreating figure swayed like a violin string snapping in a harsh wind, fraying at any moment. I refused to look back, my gaze locked on the towering structure of the Machi-bugyōsho ahead. Today was the deadline the Syndicate had set. It was also the day Muneyūrō Fujiwara had summoned me to help identify bones from a cold case. Two forces crushed down on me at once, like boulders squeezing a narrow gap in a ship’s hull—one wrong move, and I’d sink along with a cargo boat loaded to the brim with secrets.

As I reached the gate of the Machi-bugyōsho, two Jōnin of the town magistrate wielding wooden staffs blocked my path. Their eyes were cold, scanning me like I was contraband smuggled across a border.

"Oonishi Seika, Chief Escort Leader." The guard’s voice was flat, stripped of any human warmth. "We have urgent matters here today. No time for chit-chat."

I straightened my collar and slid the Copper Coin into my sleeve. A faint, bitter smirk tugged at my lips. "My good man, the Syndicate’s suspension order isn't in effect yet. As the Chief Escort Leader, taking delivery is my duty. Investigating a case is justice. These two things don’t conflict."

The guard blinked, clearly unprepared for my stiff upper lip. Then, with a sly glint in his eyes, he stepped aside to clear the way. "Go on then. Lord Muneyūrō is waiting in the main hall. He said if you’re even a quarter-hour late, he’ll impound one of your escort agency’s ships."

I stepped into the main hall. Candles flickered in the stagnant air, mixing the smell of old blood with sharp lime dust. Muneyūrō Fujiwara sat behind a long table stacked with bones and scrolls. He wore his half-face Iron Mask, revealing only deep, well-like eyes. His long, slender fingers held a fragment of stained bone.

"Seika, you're just in time." Muneyūrō’s voice was raspy, like sandpaper dragging across wood. "Look at this."

I moved closer and focused on the bone fragment. It was part of a human scapula. The cut was clean—no natural fracture lines, just the jagged mark of a sharp blade.

"Relics from 'Kuroda,' the body from the shipwreck case last year." I frowned, studying the texture of the bone. "Lord Muneyūrō, these splinters are fresh. They haven't been soaking in the seabed for years. Someone has been handling these bones recently."

Muneyūrō nodded, the eyes behind the Iron Mask narrowing slightly. "What do you see?"

"Signs of 'repair.'" I reached out and gently touched the tiny indentations along the edge of the bone fragment. "This isn't natural decay. Someone is trying to piece the fragments back together. They’re hiding the markings carved into the original bone. If I’m not mistaken, those markings contain the list of missing survivors."

Muneyūrō fell silent for a moment before pulling a yellowed Silk Scroll from a drawer and slowly unrolling it. "Last night, we found this in the hidden layer of the shipwreck remains. But it’s covered in cinnabar, and the characters are blurred. You’re a restorer, and you carry the blood of the Oonishi family. Only you can decipher these hidden words without destroying the original."

My heart gave a sudden lurch. Shipwreck remains? That was the territory controlled by Kiyozūrō Ōnishi. Why would they bring evidence to the magistrate’s office? Unless they were purging disloyal old cronies, and Muneyūrō was the one left holding the bag.

"I need tools." I kept my voice steady. "And I need to know what kind of storm I’ll be facing after today."

Muneyūrō stood up, his tall shadow falling over me. "A storm? Your father was swallowed by the waves years ago. Now, you don’t need to predict the wind. You need to patch the ship." He paused, then added, "Also, the Syndicate is asking questions about you. They know you cracked that sulfur-paper document. If you walk out that door, I doubt the people following you will be friendly."

I turned toward the door, my steps unshaken. "Thanks for the warning. But if I stop, I’ll never reach the other shore."

Stepping out of the Machi-bugyōsho, the afternoon sun was so bright it made my head spin. I sat down at a tea house around the corner. I sipped my tea, pretending to savor the flavor, but my ears were peeled, listening to every subtle sound. Sure enough, two men in black short jackets sat in the shadow of the corner. They weren’t looking at me, but their eyes trailed me like shadows.

Syndicate operatives.

I pulled the charred scrap of paper from my sleeve. The core information was destroyed, but the patterns left in the ash were as clear as a fingerprint. That was the special marker Kiyozūrō Ōnishi used to track his secret envoys. The only reason I was still alive wasn't luck—it was because I deliberately left a crack, making them think I’d only found a piece of the puzzle.

The real clue wasn't on the paper. It was in people’s memories.

I looked up at the antique shop across the street, the Fujiwara House. That was a Fujiwara family business, and it had been their base when they first waded into the dangerous waters of the underground world. To find the missing survivors, I had to infiltrate this place as a restorer. Kiyozūrō Ōnishi controlled the trade guild, but he was a perfectionist when it came to artifacts. He would allow me to touch the shipwreck relics he deemed "defective." Because to him, only flawless treasures were worth keeping in his vault.

I pushed the door open, the wind chime tinkling clearly. The shop smelled of sandalwood and aged timber. Kiyozūrō Ōnishi stood before a massive sand table, turning a Vermilion Seal in his hands. He was in his sixties, thin and pale, with eyes sharp as a hawk’s.

"Seika." He didn't even turn around, his voice soft, like silk. "You're thirty breaths late. In the jianghu, thirty breaths is long enough for a blade to jump out of its sheath."

"I bumped into Muneyūrō Fujiwara, so I was delayed." I walked slowly toward him, my eyes sweeping the complex ship chart on the sand table. "Mr. Kiyozūrō, I heard you’ve acquired a few new shipwreck relics? I’d like to take a look. I might be able to help the agency repair a few broken spots."

Kiyozūrō turned around, a meaningful smirk playing on his lips. "What do you want to see? The Copper Coins still caked in seabed mud, or the Iron Mask with the names carved into them?"

"Both." I met his eyes, unblinking. "Especially the names. They’re tied to the Oonishi family’s reputation and the Syndicate’s final verdict on this escort case. If I can restore them properly, it clears your name and helps you avoid the heat. That’s a relief for everyone involved."

Kiyozūrō narrowed his eyes, his gaze crawling over my skin as if trying to peel away my layers to find hidden wounds. "You’re good at accounting. But Seika, you’ve seemed a bit 'distracted' lately. Last night, I saw your shadow drifting near the Ghost Market for half an hour. I was watching from above."

My blood turned to ice. The Ghost Market. Sōjirō’s proposed escape route—Kiyozūrō had noticed it.

"Maybe I just got lost." I kept my face neutral, maintaining my usual cautious demeanor. "The Ghost Market is a maze. Even I get turned around often. Besides, Mr. Kiyozūrō, spending the night on the roof blowing the wind? You should watch out for catching a chill."

Kiyozūrō let out a light laugh, tossing the Vermilion Seal into the sand table with a sharp *clink*. "A chill? Heh. I think you’re cold in the heart. Seika, your father was the same way. He thought he could control everything, but in the end, not even his body was left. Do you want to follow him down that road? To die?"

His words slithered into my ears like a snake. I didn't flinch. Instead, I took a step forward, my foot creaking on the wooden floorboards.

"My father disappeared. He didn't go to die." I kept my voice low, meant only for us two. "Mr. Kiyozūrō, does that Vermilion Seal really prove he retired with his reputation intact? Or is that seal a bloody oath for silencing?"

The air went still. Kiyozūrō’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold scrutiny. He raised a hand and pointed to the door. "Take her to the storage room. Remember: look, don't touch. If I find the slightest hint of improper intent—or even one extra question—I’ll sink you and that ship together into Tokyo Bay. Never coming back up."

Flanked by two massive guards, I was led down to the underground warehouse. It was damp and freezing, piled high with debris pulled from the ocean floor. Using the dim light, I quickly scanned the area. On a shelf in the corner, I saw it: a box covered by a black cloth. The corners of the box bulged slightly, shaped like a broken ship keel.

Just as my fingertips were about to touch the black cloth, a withered hand reached out of the shadows and clamped down on my wrist.

"Take your hand off," a low voice said, thick with suppressed anger.

I turned and my pupils shrank. It was Masumi Ono. He wore tattered scholar robes, his hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot like he hadn't slept in days. Why was he here? This university lecturer specializing in Antique Seals and maritime history should have been hunched over texts in the library, not lurking in Kiyozūrō Ōnishi’s private warehouse.

"Mr. Ono?" I managed to get the words out, my voice trembling in shock.

Masumi didn't let go; he pulled me closer instead, his breathing rapid and agitated. "Keep quiet! Kiyozūrō is upstairs. He’s monitoring everything down here." He lowered his voice, a mad glint in his eyes. "Seika, I’ve been looking for three years. That shipwreck wasn't smuggling cargo. It was the 'Vein of the Empire' carrying secret imperial edicts. Your father... he wasn't a traitor. He was a guardian."

My heartbeat skipped a beat. Secret edicts? The Imperial Court? In a world where the jianghu and the government coexisted, that was the biggest secret of all.

"Where’s the proof?" I asked, my voice cracking.

Masumi pointed to my wrist, then to the black-box. "The proof is in that box. But Kiyozūrō knows what I’m looking for. He left it there specifically to spring you. He’s holding two cards: your escort agency status, and the partial scrolls in my hand. He wants to force me to hand over the scrolls, or have you destroy every trace of the relics."

"He’s threatening you?"

"No, he’s giving me an ultimatum." Masumi offered a bitter smile, his gaze unshakable. "He said if I don't hand over the scrolls tonight, he’ll burn it all down. This collection hall and every artifact inside will turn to ash. He calls it 'cleaning up,' giving history a fresh start. But I can’t accept that. Once artifacts leave their site, they’re just empty shells. Wood without roots, no matter how pretty, is just rotten timber."

I thought of my father’s face. He was a man who held onto his roots with a death grip.

"Kiyozūrō won’t let you have your way." I analyzed it coldly. "If he starts a fire, the evidence is gone, and you won't survive. He wants destruction, not preservation."

"That’s exactly what makes it dangerous." Masumi shoved me away, backing up two steps as he pulled a fragment from his robe. "Look at this. I dug this out of the ruins yesterday. It’s not a cargo list. It’s coordinates. Coordinates deliberately erased, yet deliberately left behind. Seika, this is a trap. And it’s a way out."

I took the rough Stone Shard. The carved marks were uneven, looking like some ancient unit of measurement, or an abbreviated waterway map. A chill ran down my spine. If these were coordinates, where did they lead?

Footsteps echoed from outside the door. Heavy, slow. Kiyozūrō Ōnishi was here. Each step felt like it was stomping directly on my nerves.

"Seika, come out." His voice came through the crack in the door, lazy, like a cat playing with a mouse. "I didn't think that bookish old rat would dare move his den onto my turf. How interesting. But the game is over now."

The door swung open. Kiyozūrō stood in the doorway, backlit by the light, looking like a statue of a demon god. He looked at Masumi, then at me, and finally his gaze settled on the Stone Shard.

"Give me the Stone Shard." His tone left no room for argument.

Masumi clutched his chest, his body trembling slightly, but his eyes didn't waver. "Kiyozūrō, would you dare strike? You destroy that, and you destroy the legend you rely on to survive. The Oonishi family isn't a band of bandits. We are guardians. Did you forget?"

I was going to take this Stone Shard, and Masumi, and I was going to walk out alive to face the truth that had been buried for twenty years. Even if the price was losing my last sanctuary, the final thread connecting me to the Oonishi family’s innocence.