Karasu sat cross-legged in his rocking chair, his finger drumming an impatient rhythm on the armrest. The balcony offered an unobstructed view of the kingdom sprawling below, but today even the sight of his domain felt stale. The gentle creak of the chair as it swayed punctuated the silence, grating on his nerves. Ichigo had summoned him here, but, as always, Ichigo was late. With a muttered curse, Karasu rose, his movements sharp and restless. He vaulted onto the stone railing of the balcony, the high wind tugging at his loose tunic. Perched there like a hawk, he scanned the horizon before leaping upward to catch the castle’s roof with both hands. He pulled himself up in one fluid motion, his balance faltering only for an instant as his boots scraped against the shingles.

  “There you are.” The voice was smooth, familiar, and just a touch amused. Karasu turned sharply, his sneer immediate as Ichigo sauntered toward him.

  “Does it amuse you to squander my time?” Karasu snapped, his words as sharp as the edge of a blade. He strode across the roof to meet him, each step punctuated with a simmering impatience. Ichigo tilted his face upward, letting the sunlight play over his pale, sand-colored hair.

  “Sakura will join us in a moment,” he replied, his voice calm, unbothered. Karasu exhaled heavily and dropped to the roof with a dramatic slump, propping his head on one hand.

  “How generous of you to wait until we’re all here,” he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Ichigo’s grin widened, his teeth flashing like a wolf’s. He sat beside Karasu with deliberate ease, his long robe pooling around him.

  “Why so angry, Karasu? You’re practically glowing with it.” Karasu rolled his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. He knew Ichigo’s games too well, the way he played the charming rogue, always seeking to disarm. But Karasu remembered the man behind the mask, the one Ichigo tried so hard to conceal. Petty? Perhaps. But he saw no reason to forget. A sudden voice interrupted their uneasy truce.

  “I’m here.” Sakura materialized with the ghostly silence of a shadow. Karasu flinched before catching himself, his sharp eyes darting to Ichigo with suspicion.

  “You told me we were meeting on the balcony,” he hissed, his accusation cutting like a dagger. Ichigo shrugged, feigning innocence.

  “Did I? A slip of the tongue, perhaps.” His expression shifted to mock contrition. “But no harm done.” Before Karasu could hurl another barb, Sakura stepped forward, tying her hair into a tight bun with practiced efficiency.

  “Why did you call us here, Ichigo?” she asked, her voice cool and pragmatic, as always. Ichigo rose to his full height, towering over them both like a tree that refused to bow to the wind. At six foot five, his presence was commanding, made all the more regal by the green robe that flowed just to his ankles—a mark of his station as an apprentice of the emperor. Any lower, and he would trespass into the sacred domain of the emperor himself. Such rules were trivial to some, but to Ichigo, they were the threads of tradition that bound their world together.

  “Truthfully, it’s nothing urgent,” Ichigo admitted, his tone suddenly lighter. “I just wanted to see how you both were faring. It feels like it’s been ages since we last sat together.” His gaze flicked to Karasu, then to Sakura, searching for some spark of camaraderie.

  “Precisely the way I prefer it,” Sakura said, her tone icy. “If you’re lonely, Ichigo, it doesn’t mean the rest of us need to indulge you.” Karasu almost nodded in agreement but stopped short, caught by a pang of guilt. Ichigo was insufferable at times, but beneath the arrogance, there was a man yearning for something—something Karasu couldn’t quite name.

  “Now, now,” Ichigo said with a laugh, throwing an arm around Sakura’s shoulders before she could pull away. “Don’t be so cold. Have you forgotten the hunts? The nights we camped under the stars, the mornings spent sparring until our bodies ached?” His words hung in the air, but neither Karasu nor Sakura answered. Karasu let himself sink back against the roof tiles, his earlier fire smoldering into weary resignation. Whatever this meeting was, it would bear no fruit.

  “Childish activities,” Sakura said sharply, one hand on her hip, the other pointed accusingly at Ichigo. Her gaze bore into him, disdainful and unwavering. “We did those when we were children. Should I remind you that we’ve outgrown such nonsense?” The way she looked at him now, it was as though he still wore the face of a five-year-old, too naive to grasp the obvious. Ichigo tilted his head, his lips quirking into a sheepish smile.

  “Fair,” he said with a reluctant nod. “But surely we could—” His eyes darted around the rooftop, searching for inspiration, and then he blurted out, “Go drinking?” He paired the suggestion with a weak grin, as though he knew how pitiful it sounded. The silence that followed was more damning than any insult. Sakura sighed, turned on her heel, and began walking away.

  “Wait, wait!” Ichigo called after her, grabbing her arm. She stopped but didn’t turn, her exasperation plain.

  “What’s your suggestion, Karasu?” she asked, tossing the words over her shoulder. Her tone was casual, but her eyes narrowed as she added, “It had better be better than whatever drivel he comes up with, or I’ll kill you myself.” Karasu rubbed his temples, feigning weariness.

  “I’d like to see you try,” he muttered, stretching his arms above his head. “Fine,” he said, blinking as though trying to clear his thoughts. “We could go camping. It’s not that bad, honestly.”

  “Camping,” Sakura repeated flatly, her voice heavy with disbelief. Karasu shrugged.

  “It’s been months since we’ve done anything that felt remotely meaningful. And who knows? Maybe it’ll be... enjoyable.” He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought gnawed at him: When did I last do something of consequence? He traced the thread of his idle existence backward, far beyond his own life, into the tangled roots of history. Thousands of years ago, the Empire of Zoros had been torn apart by a civil war, a conflict so savage it split the realm into three warring factions. Each faction was led by one of the great families, their ambitions locked in a stalemate of blood and pride. For centuries, their battles churned like a ceaseless tide, destroying much and gaining nothing. Desperate for peace, the three families devised a brutal solution: unity through blood. They forged a pact, binding their lineages by marriage. A son from one family would wed a daughter from another, and their children would intermarry with the third family, until the lines were irrevocably intertwined. Yet even this was not enough. When it came time to choose an emperor, the families faced a dilemma. Each house had two children, and no one could agree on who deserved the throne. So they turned to cruelty disguised as tradition. Three candidates—one from each house—were cast into the wilderness and commanded to survive.

  What followed was less a game than a trial by blood. The children were forced to fight, their innocence stripped away by hunger, fear, and violence. In the end, one emerged victorious: Taketsu Ankuro, the first emperor of the unified Zoros. He ruled with strength and cunning for fifty years, but his heart was not untouched by the barbarity of his ascent. When it came time to choose his successor, he broke tradition. Instead of forcing his apprentices to fight to the death, Taketsu chose the most capable among them and named him heir. His decision was controversial. Critics warned that the surviving apprentices might rebel, bitter over their exclusion. To prevent this, Taketsu divided power in a way that would endure for generations. One apprentice would become the Shadow Emperor, a figure equal in status to the emperor but tasked with defending the empire from external threats. Some Shadows vanished for decades, their exploits whispered of in legend, their sacrifices often unseen. The other apprentice would become the Shogun, the supreme commander of Zoros’s military forces. Though second to the emperor in rank, the Shogun wielded enormous influence, commanding armies that stretched across the vast empire. The balance of power was precarious, but it ensured stability—or so it was said.

  For centuries, Zoros had maintained its fragile unity, a delicate balance between its three great families. Yet thirty years ago, that balance was shattered. One of the prestigious families, the Hoshikawa, rose in rebellion, defying the old hierarchy. What followed was a war unlike any the empire had seen—a long and bloody conflict that drenched the land in sorrow. The Hoshikawa's ambitions were clear: they sought total domination, rejecting the centuries-old trinity of shared power. They would rule alone, with the emperor as nothing more than their puppet. The Hoshikawa’s methods were as ruthless as their vision. They emptied the coffers to hire mercenaries from every corner of the world—cutthroats, pirates, brigands. To them, loyalty was irrelevant. Only strength mattered. Their tactics were vile: children were slaughtered in their sleep, healers were butchered in their sanctuaries, and villages were left as ash and ruin. The war earned its grim title—the Years of Tears. In the end, Zoros united against the Hoshikawa under a single banner.

  A new emperor was chosen to lead them into battle, Saori. He turned despair into defiance, rallying the scattered remnants of the empire. The final battle was fought here, at the very edge of the world. The cliffs stretched endlessly, a sheer drop plunging hundreds of feet into the restless ocean below. Beyond the waters lay Frostheim, the Fjord families, a jagged expanse that seemed to reach toward infinity. It was here that Saori led Zoros to victory. The Hoshikawa forces were annihilated, their leaders humiliated in the most barbaric of fashions. Survivors were executed, and the remaining family members were dismembered and cast into the streets to starve, their cries for mercy met with silence. In the aftermath of this grim triumph, the empire faced another dilemma: the question of succession. Saori, now emperor, married the last surviving member of the royal line, Lady Miyuki, a fragile but gentle woman. Her health had always been delicate, but she bore him three children: two sons and a daughter. Sakura, the youngest, was her final gift to the world. When the winds carried the scent of cherry blossoms, Karasu would think of her—her soft smile, her quiet kindness. He missed her terribly, and he knew his siblings did too. Yet the peace that followed the Years of Tears came at a cost. The ancient traditions had been abolished; the next emperor would not be chosen through bloodshed. This should have been a relief to Karasu, but instead, it became his greatest burden. All his years of training, his sacrifices, his dreams of the throne—wasted. He knew, as did Sakura and Ichigo, that the decision had already been made. Ichigo would be emperor. They had learned this two years ago, overhearing Saori speaking with his advisors.

  “It’s clear,” Saori had said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “If it is not Ichigo, then there is no other candidate. My heir must be him. None else.” Those words had changed everything. Ichigo, once carefree, had grown stern and determined. His superiority in every field—swordsmanship, horsemanship, even diplomacy—became undeniable. For Karasu, it was a bitter pill to swallow. He had cared so deeply once, striving to prove himself worthy. But that day, something inside him broke. He abandoned his ambitions, embracing a life of idleness and indulgence. Sakura, enigmatic as ever, refused to speak of her own desires. Whenever the question of her future arose, she would deflect with a wry smile or a sharp remark. For Karasu, the weight of rejection became a strange freedom. The heir’s laws—no drinking, no whoring, no rest—no longer applied to him. While the people of Zoros reveled in their freedoms, Karasu had been bound by the expectations of the throne.

  No longer. His first rebellion was a trip to the southern provinces, to a brothel hidden among the winding streets. Disguised, he paid three Kachosen for a woman whose beauty struck him immediately. She led him to a private room, and though he had debated confessing his inexperience, shame kept him silent. When his clumsiness betrayed him, she said nothing, guiding him with surprising gentleness. That night lingered in his memory not for the act itself but for her quiet kindness. He had tried to find her again, though it was in vain. She was a ghost now, a fleeting moment in his descent into hedonism. Some women might have considered it an honor to bear the child of an heir, but Karasu hadn’t cared. His time as an aspiring emperor was over. For two years, he indulged in every pleasure denied to him before, while his siblings drifted further apart. Ichigo spent more time with Saori, absorbing the lessons of statecraft. Sakura’s whereabouts remained a mystery; she dodged Karasu’s questions with practiced ease. As for Karasu, he embraced his irrelevance, content to live in the shadow of a destiny that was never truly his.

  “Camping,” he repeated aloud, as though testing the word. “Maybe it’s not such a terrible idea after all.” Sakura scoffed, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.

  “So your grand solution is to play at survival, just like the children in those ancient stories? Spare me the sentiment.” Ichigo chuckled, a glimmer of amusement lighting his pale eyes. “Better that than the alternative,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer a fight to the death?” The tension lingered for a moment, and then Karasu let out a dry laugh. “If that’s the case, Ichigo, I’d start running.”

  "Very well," Sakura said, her tone clipped and dismissive. "Let’s go camping, then." Without waiting for a reply, she turned her back to them. A few paces away, she halted abruptly and glanced over her shoulder, irritation flashing in her eyes.

  "Are you two coming, or should I fetch your shoes for you?" Karasu and Ichigo exchanged a fleeting look, both shrugging off their unease. They hurried after her as she strode off the top of the castle easily. All of them did. With expert balance and skills beyond their years they descended with no stairs and no ladders. At the foot of the castle they entered into the palace nodding brusquely at the guards and headed purposefully toward the Emperor’s wing, their steps echoing along the marble halls. Soldiers flanked every corridor, their polished armor catching the light from the ornate chandeliers. Each guard offered a crisp salute. Ichigo returned it with a curt nod, but Karasu and Sakura marched past without acknowledgment, their minds elsewhere. “Where is he?” Sakura muttered as she flung open yet another door. Inside, two boys—Haruto and Ryuji, sons of the advisor Chiyo—looked up, startled. Their studies lay forgotten on the lacquered desk between them. The boys’ wide-eyed confusion did little to temper Sakura’s mood as she slammed the door shut without a word and descended a nearby staircase, her siblings trailing behind. They reached the imposing doors to the throne room, where Ichigo raised his fist to knock. Karasu, impatient as ever, pushed past him and shoved the doors open with both hands. The guards stationed inside stumbled back in surprise.

  “Apologies,” Karasu muttered, extending a hand to help one of them to his feet. The throne room sprawled before them, cavernous and austere. At its heart sat the throne itself, a masterpiece of ancient craftsmanship, etched with the characters of a language long dead. Maple trees flourished in each corner of the room, their crimson leaves casting a ruddy glow across the space. Above, the ceiling soared into a sharp triangle, its rafters carved with dragons that seemed to writhe in the flickering torchlight. Beyond the far end of the room, a balcony overlooked the endless expanse of ocean, its view unbroken save for the distant fjords. At the center of it all sat Emperor Saori, his posture stiff and his expression strained. Beside him stood Takao, a seasoned commander clad in the muted colors of the imperial army. Their conversation ceased as the three siblings entered, Saori’s weary eyes narrowing in silent rebuke.

  “What do you want?” the Emperor asked, skipping the customary formalities. Karasu lingered by the doorway, gesturing for Ichigo to step forward. With a resigned sigh, Ichigo obliged.

  “We wish to leave the palace grounds,” Ichigo began, his voice steady but cautious. “We want to go camping in the nearby forests.”

  “Absolutely not.” Saori’s reply was immediate, his tone as final as the sound of a slamming gate. Ichigo hesitated, words forming on his lips but never escaping. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sinking.

  “Why not?” Sakura demanded, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her frustration was palpable, her glare directed more at the Emperor’s stubbornness than at the denial itself.

  “I need Ichigo here with me,” Saori replied, his tone clipped. “And I will not risk letting the two of you wander beyond the palace walls to… indulge yourselves.” He waved a hand vaguely, his meaning clear. Sakura’s expression twisted in distaste.

  “I’m not some wanton woman,” she muttered under her breath, adding in an even softer whisper, “I know who I am.” Karasu glanced at his sister, noting the faint tension in her jaw. Unlike him, she had never embraced the hedonism their station afforded. To his knowledge, Sakura had never even lain with a man, much less indulged in the vices that had consumed him over the years.

  “We haven’t done this in a long time,” Karasu interjected, his tone casual but edged with irritation. “Why not let us go just this once?” Saori snorted, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back in his throne.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Your tone doesn’t inspire much confidence in your sincerity.” Karasu shrugged, unbothered by the rebuke.

  “What can I say? I’m not particularly good at begging.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “But we’re going. With or without your permission.” Saori’s brow furrowed, his fingers pressing into his temples as if warding off a headache. Ichigo shot his brother a sharp look, but Sakura’s lips twitched into the faintest smile.

  “If you defy me,” Saori warned, his voice low and deliberate, “there will be consequences.” Karasu stepped closer, his smirk widening.

  “And what would those consequences be? Will you hand me a broom and send me to clean the stables?”

  Saori’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly. “And what would you do if I did, young heir?”

  “I wouldn’t take it,” Karasu replied, his voice laced with defiance. Saori held his gaze for a long moment before turning to Takao, who inclined his head in acknowledgment and left the room without a word. The door closed behind the commander with an echo that seemed to reverberate through the vast hall.

  “For once, I ask that you listen to me,” Saori said, his voice subdued, his usual command softened into something almost imploring. The change in tone gave Karasu pause, though he would never admit it aloud. Saori reached into his robes and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He studied it for a moment, his face unreadable, before shrugging. “Actually,” he said, glancing up at them, “go. Leave. I can manage without Ichigo for a time.” His nod toward the door carried none of the warmth of permission, only resignation. The three siblings exchanged hesitant looks, unsure if they had just won a victory or walked into a trap. It was Sakura who moved first, spinning on her heel and striding toward the door without so much as a bow. Karasu followed suit, his expression one of indifference. Ichigo lingered, offering a respectful bow before turning to leave. The soldiers at the great doors swung them open with practiced precision, then closed them as soon as the trio had passed through. Outside in the corridor, Karasu’s composure cracked. With a frustrated snarl, he drove his fist into the stone wall, the sharp sound echoing in the still air.

  “He’ll be the one to bring back the trials,” Sakura said dryly, her words light but enough to draw a smirk from Karasu, his anger tempered by her wit. Ichigo, however, was far from amused.

  “You didn’t have to be so harsh on him,” Ichigo said, his glare fixed on Karasu. Karasu shrugged, entirely unbothered.

  “He didn’t have to think he’s some grand ruler or leader,” he retorted, the edge of disdain in his voice making his logic feel perfectly justified.

  “He’s still your father,” Ichigo shot back, his voice tight. “And mine, for that matter.” He turned to Sakura, his gaze hardening. “Yours as well.” Sakura scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive.

  “He called me a whore, and you expect me to treat him like a father? Much less my ruler?” Ichigo bristled.

  “He called you no such thing!” he snapped, raising his hands in exasperation. “He was probably talking about Karasu. No one even knows what you do when you leave this place,” he spat, rare anger cracking through his usually composed demeanor. “Why did we even ask for permission if you just run off all the time anyway?”

  “It’s because you would be with us,” Karasu said coldly, his tone cutting through the tension. “They hardly notice if Sakura or I slip away, but you? We wouldn’t last until midday with you missing.”

  “I doubt that,” Ichigo said, his voice firm, though uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Sakura laughed, the sound bitter and sharp.

  “Three nights ago, I came back from a two-week trip,” she said, throwing her arms in the air. “Two weeks! Even you didn’t notice. And you expect him”—she jabbed a finger toward the throne room doors—“to notice my absence?” Ichigo opened his mouth, ready to counter, but no words came. He faltered, his lips pressing into a thin line.

  “He’s just a busy man,” he said at last, though his voice lacked conviction. Sakura turned away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, dismissing his defense.

  “You know,” Karasu muttered, mostly to himself, “he’s just sitting in there all alone.”

  “He thinks,” Ichigo replied, his tone defensive. “He does this often. He’s a busy man,” he repeated, glaring at Sakura as though daring her to refute him. But Sakura said nothing. She stood with her back to him, her silence louder than any retort. For a moment, they stood in uneasy quiet, each left to their own thoughts. He looked at his siblings, and a flicker of pity stirred within him. They were still his blood, his family. Arguments like this, bitter as they were, would not break them. They had endured too much together to be undone by a single spat.

  “Why don’t we go drinking?” Karasu said, breaking the silence. His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was a spark of genuine hope behind the jest. Ichigo narrowed his eyes, unsure if he was serious, before a reluctant smile crept onto his face. Sakura shrugged, her expression still sour, but she gave a faint nod. With their newfound freedom, they left the palace through the grand front gates. The stone path stretched out before them, flanked by lines of sakura trees. Petals drifted lazily to the ground, carpeting the road in a soft pink that almost looked like snow. They walked in silence, the tension between them gradually softening in the quiet beauty of the evening. Karasu allowed himself a rare moment of peace, content simply to be in their company. But his mood soured when realization struck.

  “We forgot extra clothes,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. Sakura and Ichigo exchanged weary looks, both arriving at the same conclusion. Their identities, stark and unguarded, would be on full display.

  “Should we go back?” Ichigo asked hesitantly, his uncertainty etched into every word. Sakura shook her head and pushed him forward, her tone as firm as her grip.

  “We’ve already come this far. If we turn back now, we won’t get another chance like this for years.” Her voice carried a rare strain, the weight of a truth they all silently recognized. Ichigo murmured in reluctant agreement, and the trio pressed onward. They soon reached Kanzai, the capital of Zoros. The city sprawled before them, dazzling and teeming with life. Lanterns glimmered on every corner, the air rich with the tantalizing scent of spiced meats and sweet pastries. Kanzai was a place of indulgence, offering the finest food and drink one could dream of. But for Karasu, its allure lay not in the vibrant streets above but in the shadowy world below.

  “Follow me,” Karasu said brusquely, leading them down a quiet alley at the edge of the city. This early in their journey, there were few prying eyes, but caution still guided his every step. The narrow lane was unassuming, marked only by the faint aroma of roasting duck wafting from a nearby restaurant. Behind it, a set of stairs descended into the shadows.

  “Where are you taking us?” Ichigo’s voice betrayed a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and unease. Karasu ignored him, his focus fixed on the path ahead. The descent deepened, the once sparse alleyways growing busier, the faces in the crowd sharper and hungrier. The weight of their stares pressed on them. Karasu slowed his pace, turning to his siblings.

  “Stick together,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “Don’t get separated. You don’t know what these men are capable of.” Sakura and Ichigo exchanged uneasy glances but moved closer to him. They continued, Karasu keeping his head down, his eyes never lingering on anyone for too long. These faces were not strangers to him, nor he to them. The only comfort lay in their ignorance of who he truly was. A man leapt into their path, his grin as crooked as the tooth protruding from it. He held out a bag that glittered with stolen stones and powders, jingling it enticingly.

  “For a shekel?” the man asked, his voice a syrupy drawl.

  “Wrong place, wrong time. Not interested,” Karasu said curtly, brushing past him. The man grumbled, and Ichigo cast a glance back over his shoulder. “Eyes forward,” Karasu barked, his tone sharp enough to halt Ichigo’s curiosity. In these dim alleyways, every misstep could be fatal. Darkness enveloped them, the sparse moonlight failing to penetrate the depths. Only the occasional glint of eyes—cold, watchful, unblinking—marked the presence of men lurking in the shadows. The oppressive quiet was shattered by a woman’s scream. Karasu tensed, his heart sinking as he glanced at his siblings. Both Sakura and Ichigo were visibly disturbed, their heads swiveling to pinpoint the source of the sound. The cries grew louder as they descended. The scene revealed itself like a nightmare laid bare: a woman, pinned against the wall, her assailant’s knife glinting at her throat as he ravaged her without mercy. Her desperate pleas fell into the void, ignored or unheard by the man above her.

  “Don’t interact,” Karasu hissed under his breath, his words coming fast and urgent. “Don’t interact. Don’t—” But Ichigo ignored him. Before Karasu could stop him, Ichigo had seized the man by his collar and slammed him into the wall with a force that echoed down the narrow alley. Karasu felt an involuntary flicker of pride at the sheer strength in the act but shoved the thought aside. “Ichigo, let him go,” he said hurriedly, his eyes darting around. The confines of the alley could quickly turn into a death trap. Even a pair of desperate men could spell disaster here.

  “Why would he do that?” Sakura interjected, her voice sharp with disgust as she moved to help the woman to her feet. She stood protectively in front of the trembling figure, shielding her from view. Ichigo’s grip didn’t loosen, and Karasu’s stomach twisted. If they weren’t careful, they wouldn’t make it out of this alley alive.

  "Hey, let me go!" the man howled, his kicks and punches weak, desperate swipes against Ichigo’s unyielding grip. His knife slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground, and for a moment, he seemed dazed. But then, as if possessed by a sudden madness, he screamed—a high, unhinged shriek that melted into maniacal laughter, his eyes wide with unhinged glee. The girl, terrified, bolted from the scene, throwing a grateful shout over her shoulder as she fled. Sakura’s eyes were icy with fury. Without a word, she seized the man by the shoulders, shoved him to the ground, and placed a firm foot on his face, grinding it into the dirt.

  "Is this the kind of company you keep, Karasu?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. Karasu didn’t respond, his gaze flickering nervously about the alley. His senses were on high alert—he couldn’t afford to linger in this place. There was no sign of anyone watching them, but the danger never slept here.

  "I think we should leave," Ichigo said, his expression dark, matching Sakura’s disgust. Karasu sighed, a long, frustrated exhale.

  “It’s just a little further. This isn't a common occurrence, I assure you." He tried to make his words sound convincing, but both of them remained unmoved. “If we stay here too long, we risk attracting unwanted attention,” he added, lowering his voice. “It's not as if I enjoy leaving the women here, but the longer we stay, the greater the risk.” Ichigo and Sakura exchanged a glance, their faces tight with the weight of their unspoken agreement. Karasu held his breath, hoping they’d relent. Ichigo gave a curt nod, finally breaking the tension. Karasu could feel the relief surge in him. Ichigo delivered a final, contemptuous kick to the man’s ribs, knocking him unconscious, and then continued down the darkened path. They descended deeper into the city’s underbelly, where the streets grew narrower and the shadows stretched longer, clinging to the walls like living things. At last, they arrived at the darkest, most cramped alleyway in all of Kanzai. So narrow that they had to squeeze through, but it opened up to a door. Karasu pushed it open with a grunt, revealing the place he had called home for so long. Inside, women in various states of undress moved about, some serving food, others carrying drinks. The air was thick with the clink of coins and the low murmur of men’s laughter. As Karasu entered, several men greeted him, raising their cups in cheer, their eyes alight with recognition. Karasu nodded but didn’t return their enthusiasm. Sakura's face contorted in disgust as she surveyed the scene. Without a word, she slapped Karasu across the face, her fury palpable in the sting of her hand.

  "This is where you brought us?" Her voice was a cold, seething fury. Karasu's hand shot out, grabbing her arms and pulling her toward him. He pressed their foreheads together with a force that left no room for protest.

  "Yes," he said quietly, his voice hard and unyielding. "And since we’re here, we won’t leave without a drink—and a tip for the establishment." Sakura jerked away from him, rubbing her wrists where his grip had been too tight. Her eyes burned with anger, but Karasu ignored it, turning toward Ichigo. Ichigo didn’t speak, but the disappointment in his gaze was enough. Karasu met it with a rueful sigh, leading them through the room without a word. A short distance ahead, a low table stood with an intricate bell placed on it. Karasu picked it up, swinging it with a deft hand. The tone was unique, distinct from the usual sounds in the city. He set it down with a smirk, and within moments, a man entered—Ryouma Kato, the brothel’s owner.

  “My most esteemed guest!” Ryouma’s voice boomed with a warm, boisterous greeting. Karasu rose and embraced the man, clapping him on the back. “How are you, my friend?” Ryouma asked, his grin wide and welcoming.

  “I am well,” Karasu answered, his voice warm but distracted. He gestured to Ichigo and Sakura, who hadn’t bothered to rise. “And I have brought my siblings along.” Ryouma’s smile only widened as he crouched before them, unbothered by Sakura’s cold, dismissive turn or Ichigo’s muttered response.

  “Of course, I’m so pleased to have you two here!” Ryouma’s voice was effusive, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. Karasu rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

  “How about you fetch us some of your finest sake, Ryouma?” The brothel owner’s eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark.

  “Would you like anything else?” he asked, rubbing his hands together as though he were about to make a grand offering. His fingers gleamed with rings, each a mark of the man's opulence. “Perhaps some entertainment?” Sakura didn’t even look at him, her voice flat and dismissive.

  “We’re good, thanks.” Ryouma inclined his head, his smile unwavering.

  “Of course. Your sake will be here shortly.” With a final bow, Ryouma exited, and Karasu let out a deep, relieved breath. Ichigo broke the silence with a simple question.

  “How long do we plan on staying here?” Karasu shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a hint of tension in his movements.

  “Instead of worrying about the end, why don’t we just enjoy ourselves for a moment?” His words carried the indifference of someone used to this life, but Ichigo only turned away, a hint of bitterness in his gaze. Karasu couldn’t help but roll his eyes in exasperation. “You know, nothing could ever please the three of us.”

  "Actually, that’s just you," Sakura replied, her tone laced with rueful humor. "You’re the only one with tastes like this." A soft knock echoed through the room, followed by the creak of the door as it swung open. The woman entered, a bottle of sake in one hand, three glasses in the other. She wore little more than a cloth wrapped around her waist, the rest of her body bare, save for the faint traces of glittering jewels that adorned her. Karasu assumed Ryouma had refrained from delivering it himself, likely to avoid any further discomfort in front of Ichigo and Sakura. The girl moved with a sway in her hips as she set the glasses down, her laughter a lilting melody as she poured a bit of sake into her own mouth. She leaned forward, allowing Karasu to drink from her lips, the amber liquid flowing between them with practiced ease. Karasu swallowed, savoring the taste before gesturing to Ichigo.

  “I promise you, it’s good,” he said with a sly grin, his eyes glinting. “The servants here are very clean.” Ichigo looked at Sakura, whose face remained an impassive mask. After a long moment, Ichigo reluctantly took a sip from the girl’s hands, his eyes narrowing as the burn of the alcohol hit him. He winced, and when she turned to offer the same to Sakura, the girl’s hand was swiftly batted away. The sake spilled, a small pool of it spreading across the floor. The woman blinked in surprise, her smile faltering for a moment before she masked her embarrassment with practiced grace. Ichigo suddenly coughed violently, his cheeks flushed with a mixture of heat and shame. Karasu glanced at him, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise.

  “Is something wrong with the sake?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern. Ichigo shook his head, his face burning.

  “It’s just a bit... hard,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from the unexpected strength of the drink. Karasu, understanding the situation instantly, nodded. The boy had likely never drunk more than a sip of liquor in his life, and it was clear the sake was too much for him. The woman smiled slyly, undeterred.

  “Would you like another?” When Karasu nodded, she took another sip from the bottle, her eyes flickering with mischief. Without a word, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, pouring the sake into his mouth as they kissed. Sakura had seen enough. With a swift, forceful motion, she kicked Karasu to the ground. The girl yelped, her eyes wide with fear, and quickly fled the room, leaving Karasu and the siblings in silence.

  “Enough,” Sakura’s voice was sharp, cold. She grabbed Karasu’s arm with an iron grip, lifting him as though he were no more than a misbehaving child.

  “We’re leaving.” Karasu shoved against her, frustration welling up inside him, but her strength was unyielding. His protests were met with no response as she dragged him down the hall, humiliated before the entire brothel. His mind churned with rage, but he couldn’t defy her, not here, not now. He could feel the heat of embarrassment creep up his neck as he realized how quickly word would spread about his little display. Ichigo, to Karasu’s growing resentment, looked almost satisfied with how things had unfolded. Sakura’s eyes were fiery with anger as she marched him up the stairs, her grip still unrelenting. When they reached a level where Karasu could no longer suppress his anger, he spun on her, shoving her away with force.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” His voice cracked with fury, the words spilling out in a torrent. Sakura responded with equal force, shoving him back. Her expression was as hard as stone.

  “I’m saving you from that… that degeneracy, you fool!” she snapped. “You should be thanking me for pulling your miserable ass out of there.” She seized his ear, yanking it with surprising strength, and for a brief moment, Karasu felt small, like a child once again. The image of his mother pulling his ear in reprimand flashed through his mind.

  “I think what she did was good,” Ichigo spoke up, his voice calm and measured. He nodded toward Sakura, admiration in his gaze. “I don’t know if I would’ve done it, but what she did was right.” Karasu’s expression darkened, and he hissed through clenched teeth, his ear still burning from Sakura’s grip.

  “No one asked you.” She shoved him again, her disgust evident.

  “You’re never going back there, do you hear me?” she spat. “I can’t believe my own brother, an heir, letting his life rot away in a place like that.” Karasu remained silent, his jaw set in stubborn defiance. He stormed ahead, eager to distance himself from his sister and her self-righteous anger. But as he walked, he realized something—something that froze the blood in his veins. He could no longer hear their footsteps. His heart thudded painfully as he spun around, panic creeping into his chest. His eyes widened in horror when he saw the empty corridor. They were gone.

  what after this..//

  the horror they saw before death..//

  its time to move on, Saori..///