The slums outside lay hushed beneath a silver mist, their alleys still damp with night. Inside, the brothel was quiet, warm with the scent of rice and miso, and for a moment, the world held still.
Ryu sat at a low table, his limbs stiff, his eyes distant.
Across from him, Hana plopped down with her usual grin. Her kimono was old and faded, but bright with pink cherry blossoms. She slurped her soup and leaned forward, elbow on the table. "You look like you saw a ghost, Ryu. What's got you so quiet?"
He shrugged, pushing at his rice with his chopsticks. "Just thinking."
"About that sword again?" Hana teased, voice light. "Or did you sneak off this morning? You weren't here when I woke up."
Ryu met her gaze briefly, then looked away. "Went for a walk. Needed air."
The bench creaked as Yumi sat beside Hana, moving gingerly. Her patched kimono hung loose at the sleeves, and bruises still marked her cheeks, but the swelling had faded. She set her bowl down with trembling hands. "A walk?" she echoed, her voice soft. "In the slums? That's… brave."
"Not that brave," Ryu murmured. "Just had to clear my head."
At the head of the table, Taro sat down without a word. His scarred face was stone, his tanto resting beside his bowl like another limb. He chewed slowly, eyes flicking from face to face.
"Clear your head," he said finally, "but don't wander far. Trouble's close."
Hana's grin faltered. "You mean the ronin? Or Kenta's crew?"
Taro's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes darkened. "Both. And worse. You feel it in your gut, like storm wind before the rain."
He looked at Ryu.
"You fought Jiro. That's enough heroics for now. Stay sharp."
Ryu nodded, chest tight. Taro's words weren't just advice. They were a warning. Like a blade set quietly on the table.
He thought of Kaze's lesson—of balance, of breath, of the moment just before a sword sings. He wanted to ask Taro about him, to ask who the red-haired ronin really was. But Taro's face was already a wall, and Ryu had no strength left to climb it.
Breakfast ended. Taro stood and sheathed his tanto, grabbing a small coin purse and a worn sack. "I'm off to the market. Sake, rice, bandages. Maybe more if the coins stretch."
He paused by the door. "Stay out of trouble."
Hana gave a little salute. "Us? Trouble? Never."
Taro grunted—a sound that might have been a laugh—and left.
The door closed behind him. Silence returned, heavy. The house felt colder without him, like a lantern snuffed too soon.
Ryu cleared the table in silence. His thoughts weren't on chores. They were in the forest, in the stillness of Kaze's sword, in the shimmer that followed every swing. He remembered the way Kaze moved—not like a man, but like the wind itself.
By midmorning, the brothel stirred to life. Customers trickled in—merchants, drifters, men with dirt under their nails and sake on their breath. Coins clinked. Voices rose. The day had begun.
Hana moved between tables, smile painted over her weariness. Yumi served in silence, her eyes downcast. Still, men stared.
Ryu swept the floor, broom steady, heart restless. His eyes flicked to the door every few minutes. The Ox's men. Jiro. Kaze. Any of them could return. And if they did…
A group of merchants burst into laughter, loud and cruel. One reached out, grabbing Yumi's sleeve. She flinched, pulling away.
"Hands off," Ryu said, stepping forward. His voice was sharper than he intended.
The merchant sneered but backed off, muttering curses.
Yumi gave Ryu a grateful glance, her lips trembling. "Thank you," she whispered.
Hana appeared at his side, her voice low. "Easy, samurai. Save your fight for something real.
Ryu said nothing. But in his gut, the storm was already coming.
Then the door slammed open.
Kenta strode in like he owned the place, his scarred nose gleaming, four of the Ox's enforcers behind him. They wore blades and clubs openly, their grins cruel and hungry.
The brothel froze. Laughter died. Cups stilled midair.
Ryu's breath caught. Taro wasn't here.
"Kenta," Hana said, voice level but tight. "We paid last night. What do you want?"
Kenta smirked, stepping forward. "The Ox says you're short. Again." His eyes swept the room. "Time to remind you slum rats who runs this place."
Ryu stepped forward. "We gave you everything we had. Leave."
Kenta's gaze snapped to him, amused. "Still got teeth, huh?" He gestured. "Trash the place. Take what you want—coins, sake… the girls."
Yumi gasped. Hana pulled her close. The enforcers moved—laughing, overturning tables, kicking lanterns. One grabbed a sake bottle, drinking deep. Another poured oil across the floor. Merchants fled. The smell of fear and cheap wine filled the air.
Ryu's hands shook.
"Stop!" he shouted. No one listened.
A wiry thug with a club advanced on Yumi, grinning. "You're pretty. Come here."
Yumi whimpered, backing away. "No…"
Ryu turned and ran.
He burst into the storeroom, heart thundering. His eyes found Taro's katana. It hung by a nail, chipped and worn, but it gleamed like it knew its time had come. He grabbed it. The scabbard felt too big. The hilt too heavy.
But it fit.
He ran back, unsheathing it as he moved. "Get away from them!" he roared.
The men paused, startled. Then Kenta laughed.
"A slum rat with a sword? Cute. Beat my men, and maybe I'll bother drawing mine."
The wiry thug swung his club. Ryu dodged. The katana scraped flesh—just a graze.
The man cursed, swinging again.
Ryu ducked. His hands were clumsy. His stance was wrong. But Kaze's words rang in his head—balance, focus. He struck low. The blade bit deep into the thug's shoulder. He dropped, screaming.
Another came with a knife, slashing. Ryu parried, barely, the blade singing against steel. Pain flared in his side as a club caught his ribs. He gasped, stumbling. The katana nearly slipped.
He was losing.
The knife-man lunged. Ryu rolled, breath ragged. He rose to his knees, katana shaking.
"You're nothing," the knife-man spat. "Just a rat with dreams."
The blade came down.
And then—
A blur.
A gust of wind.
Blood sprayed.
The man collapsed.
Kaze stood behind him, katana drawn, its edge red.
Time stopped.
Then chaos again—two enforcers rushed him. Kaze moved like wind. One breath, two cuts. They fell.
The brothel went silent. Only Ryu's breathing filled the space.
Kenta's face drained of color. His blade was half-drawn, but he froze when Kaze turned to him.
"Leave," the ronin said. "Or join them."
Kenta hesitated. Then fled.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Yumi and Hana held each other, pale and trembling. Ryu knelt in the wreckage, katana slipping from his fingers, his ribs aching.
Kaze sheathed his sword, eyes unreadable. "Reckless," he muttered. "But you've got heart."
Ryu looked up. "Why did you come?"
Kaze's gaze flicked to the katana, then to Hana and Yumi. "You took up a blade for them. That's reason enough."
Then the door burst open
Taro.
Sack of rice slung over his shoulder. Tanto drawn.
He froze.
Kaze didn't flinch.
"Taro," Kaze said. "Been a long time."
Ryu's heart stuttered. The air turned sharp, like steel against steel.
Taro dropped the sack. His voice was ice. "You."
Kaze didn't blink. "Not here for you. Just cleaned up your mess."
"You'll bring the Ox down on us."
Kaze shrugged. "Hell's already knocking."
"Taro-san," Ryu said, rising slowly. "He saved us."
Taro's eyes never left Kaze. "You don't know what he's done."
Kaze's smirk was bitter. "Neither do you."
Hana stepped forward. "He saved Yumi."
Yumi whispered, "Please. Don't fight."
Taro's grip on the tanto tightened. "You should've stayed gone."
Kaze's eyes were fire. "We'll settle it. Just not today."
He turned, walking out.
Cherry blossoms followed in his wake, drifting through the shattered door.
Taro lowered his blade, the storm still in his eyes. Ryu stepped forward.
"I didn't know you knew him," he said.
"You don't know anything, Ryu."
Taro's voice wasn't angry. It was tired.
Ryu looked down at the katana in his hands. It was too heavy. And yet it had felt right.
Outside, the wind whispered through the slums.
Inside, the House of Fallen Blossoms stood—broken, bloodied—but standing still.