The warehouse interior was a cavern of steel beams and flickering lights, the training mats still stained with sweat and blood from the night before, and in the centre stood a metal chair bolted to the floor, a relic from interrogations past.
Riku was strapped in first, his head lolling as the gag was removed, and he spat blood at Takeshi's shoes, earning a backhand that snapped his head sideways.
Nijako fought harder, her green eyes wild, but the enforcers were professionals, and soon she was bound beside her brother, her broken nose swollen to twice its size, her threats reduced to whimpers.
Sara circled them slowly, her boots clicking on the concrete, and she said, "You disobeyed a direct order. You threatened the heir. You endangered the family's future."
Her voice was calm, almost conversational, but Paulo felt the chill of it in his bones, the same tone she used when correcting his stance during training, only now it promised pain.
Takeshi lit another cigarette, the flare of the lighter illuminating the scar that ran from his eye to his mouth, and he said, "The old punishment for treason is death. But the kid here—" he nodded at Paulo, "seems to think mercy's worth something."
Paulo stepped into the light, the ring heavy on his finger, and he looked at Riku and Nijako, saw the family in their faces, the red hair, the shape of their jaws, and he felt the weight of what came next.
"They live," he said, the words tasting like ash, "But they leave. Japan. Tonight. No contact. No return. Ever."
Nijako laughed, a wet, broken sound, and she said, "You cannot banish us, cousin. We are blood."
Paulo leaned in close, close enough to smell the blood on her breath, and he said, "Blood doesn't get to choose when it stops flowing."
Sara's hand found his shoulder again, pride in her eyes, and Takeshi nodded once, the decision made.
The enforcers moved, cutting the zip ties only to replace them with cuffs, and Riku and Nijako were dragged toward the waiting van, Riku's and Nijako's curses echoing off the rafters until the doors slammed shut and the engine roared to life.
Paulo watched them go, the ring a cold weight against his skin, and he felt the shift inside him, the moment when mercy became power, when the boy who had been drowned became the man who decided who sank.
Rin, Shin, and Alexis stood in a loose triangle, their breathing heavy, their eyes fixed on Paulo with a mixture of hope and dread, and Takeshi turned to them, cigarette dangling from his lips.
"You three," he said, "you have got stones, I will give you that. But stones sink unless they are part of something bigger."
Sara stepped forward, her trench coat swirling, and she studied each of them in turn, Rin's scarred face, Shin's limp, Alexis's trembling hands, and she said, "You want absolution? Earn it. Protect the heir. Prove your loyalty is not just guilt."
Rin nodded first, golden eyes steady, and he said, "We're in." Shin grunted agreement, leaning on his cane, and Alexis looked at Paulo, red eyes pleading, and whispered, "Let me make it right."
Paulo felt the weight of their gazes, the weight of the ring, the weight of the blood on the pavement outside his house, and he nodded once, the decision settling into his bones like a second skeleton.
Takeshi clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him, and he said, "Welcome to the family, boys. Training starts now."
The warehouse lights flickered, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts, and Paulo looked at his new allies, his former betrayers, his unexpected saviours, and he felt the circle close, the debts paid in bruises and blood, the cherry blossoms outside falling like a promise of spring that would be anything but gentle.
The night stretched ahead, full of lessons and pain and the slow forging of something that might one day be trust, and Paulo Satoshi, one-eyed heir of the Satoshi clan, walked into it with his baton in hand and his mother at his side, the ring on his finger glinting like a star that had finally found its place in the dark.