---
Lagos was choking him.
Goro Nakamura stepped out of the Murtala Muhammed International Airport terminal and immediately felt the weight of the city settle on his shoulders like a wet blanket. The heat was thick, wet, alive. It carried the smell of petrol fumes,and street food.
He was a long way from Tokyo.
The car was waiting. A black Toyota with tinted windows and a driver who didn't speak English. Goro gave him the address in halting Yoruba he'd practiced on the flight, and the driver nodded without interest. They pulled into the chaos of Lagos traffic, horns blaring, okadas weaving between lanes, vendors pressing phone chargers and bottled water against the windows.
Goro checked the blade hidden beneath his jacket. The airport security had been laughable. A bribe here, a distracted guard there. Nigeria was not Japan. Order was not the default state. Violence wore a different face in this country.
He thought of his daughters. Yui was twelve, her school play next week. She was playing a tree, had practiced her lines for three weeks. Emi was seven, still afraid of the dark, still climbing into her bed on thunderstorm nights. He had promised to be home for the play. He intended to keep that promise.
One job. One old woman. One orphanage. Then home.
---
The orphanage was called St. Mercy.
It sat in Ajegunle, a district that didn't appear on most tourist maps, a warren of narrow streets, open drains, and buildings stacked against each other like they were holding each other up. The car stopped at the end of a dirt road. Goro stepped out, adjusted his jacket, and walked the remaining distance alone.
The gate was iron, rusted, hanging slightly off its hinges. Beyond it, a courtyard with a dying mango tree and a statue of the Virgin Mary with one arm missing. Children's voices from somewhere inside. Laughter.
Goro pushed the gate open.
The woman who met him was small, dark skinned, wrapped in a simple black and white. Her eyes were old but not tired. She had the look of someone who had seen men like Goro before and decided they were not worth her fear anymore.
"You're not welcome here," Sister Clara said.
"I'm not here to talk." Goro sighed and moved his hand moved toward his blade. He wanted to end things quickly but it seems this woman caught up on the situation.
The phone rang.
It was a sound so ordinary, so out of place, that Goro stopped. Sister Clara didn't flinch. She reached in and pulled out a cheap burner phone. She answered it, listened for a moment, then held it out to Goro.
"For you."
He took the phone. Pressed it to his ear.
The voice on the other end was female. Japanese. Cold.
"Goro Nakamura."
"Who is this?"
"...."
Goro's jaw tightened. "The Empire."
"The orphanage is under the Immortal's protection. Any harm to anyone it's residence, will be answered immediately. You will leave this country within the hour. You will not return. If you do, the Immortal will consider it an act of war."
"And Damilola Olamide?"
"The Empire's protection does not extend to him, so your hunt continues."
Goro stood in the dust, the phone pressed to his ear, the African sun burning the back of his neck. He could kill the nun. He could burn the building. He could complete his mission and be on a plane before anyone stopped him.
But then his family would pay instead. He knows how the empire works.
"You have thirty seconds to start walking," the voice said.
Goro handed the phone back to Sister Clara. She took it without expression.
He turned and walked away.
---
The flight back to Tokyo was seven hours of silence.
Goro sat in business class, staring at the clouds, replaying the phone call. The voice had not threatened him directly. It hadn't needed to. The Empire did not make idle threats. Everyone in the underworld knew that.
When the plane touched down at Narita, he had already composed his report.
Kaguya received him in her private quarters, the photograph of Kenshiro watching from the wall. She listened without interruption, her face a mask of controlled stillness. When he finished, she was quiet for a long time.
"So the orphanage is under the Empire's protection now."
"Yes, Grand Oyabun."
"Well played Akane Kurosawa." Kaguya stood. Walked to the window. The lights of Shinjuku glittered below, a city that had belonged to Kenshiro and now belonged to her.
"The Empire has drawn its line. We will not cross it." She turned. "But Damilola Olamide still breathes. And as long as he breathes, Kenshiro's judgment hangs over me."
"Your orders?"
Kaguya smiled. It was not a warm expression.
"We don't need to kill him to destroy him. We just need to make him too expensive to keep."
Goro understood. "Economic pressure. These will cause a lot of conflict. Black Dragon is a subdiary group of the Empire."
"..." Kaguya paused. "Kenshiro did not knee to the Empire and neither will I. Besides, Black Dragon isn't a fan of the Empire... no one is." Kaguya eyes hardened.
She walked back to Kenshiro's photograph and placed her hand on the frame.
"We will not kill the wolf. We will starve him. And when Black Dragon throws him out, when he has no allies, no shelter, no future... then it will be finished. But first, let's see how far the Dragon wants to go for that outsider."
Goro bowed. "Hai."
He left her alone with the photograph and the silence.
Kaguya looked at Kenshiro's face, his knowing smile, and whispered. "Is this what you wanted? To see what I would become?" Kaguya caressed the frame. "I'll prove you wrong... surely."