Later that night, Ash and Kaito stood in the manor''s courtyard, the distant hum of the city filling the silence between them. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a cold, pale light across the ancient stone walls that now surrounded the Shirogiri manor. The Keiretsu envoy had left, but the weight of his presence still lingered like a shadow in the air.


    Ash leaned against one of the wooden pillars, his back straight, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. The cool night air brushed against his skin, stirring the faint scent of cedarwood from the manor''s carefully tended garden. His mind was racing, parsing through everything Arata had said—and everything he hadn''t.


    "Alright, Kaito. Talk. Who is Arata, really? And why do you look like you''d rather put a bullet in his head than shake his hand?"


    Kaito exhaled sharply, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze was distant, the weight of the question clearly pulling him back into memories long buried. The night seemed to grow heavier around them as Kaito''s mind wandered. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured, as if he had been waiting years to reveal this.


    "He was once a friend of the Shirogiri. Back when your grandfather led the clan, Arata fought alongside us. He was sharp, ruthless when he needed to be. He had our back. But when the clan fell, he didn''t stay. He left us behind. Built his name elsewhere—with the Keiretsu."


    Ash watched Kaito, sensing the raw bitterness in his words.


    "So, what, he just walked away?" he asked, his frown deepening.


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    Kaito''s jaw tightened as he turned his gaze to the stars, his voice cold with contempt.


    "Not just walked away. He turned his back on everything we stood for, erased all his ties to the Shirogiri. He was no longer a warrior—he became a corporate man. A cold, calculating machine. He climbed that ladder like a man possessed, rebranding himself as something more than a street-born warrior. And now... he''s back. Acting like he''s doing us a favor."


    Ash let the words sink in, his fingers idly tapping against the wooden railing. His eyes were hard, focused. "So, he''s a traitor."


    Kaito shook his head slowly, his tone laced with disdain. "No. He''s worse. A survivor. He saw where the power was shifting, and he made sure he was on the winning side. The Shirogiri fell, and he adapted. And now, he''s here, pretending like we should be grateful for whatever crumbs he''s willing to toss our way. He thinks we''re still those same, na?ve warriors he once knew. He has no idea what''s really at stake now."


    Ash turned his gaze to the dark horizon, his mind already spinning a thousand scenarios. He spoke quietly, but with a hardened edge. "Then we treat him like what he is—a tool."


    Kaito raised an eyebrow, looking at him with skepticism. "You trust him?"


    Ash''s lips curved into a slight, knowing smirk. "Not even a little. But that doesn''t mean we can''t use him. If the Keiretsu want to test me, I''ll play their game—for now. But Arata''s playing his own game too. And I intend to find out what he really wants."


    Kaito scoffed, his voice dripping with cynicism. "Arata always has an angle. He wouldn''t have come here unless he saw something to gain. Be careful. The Keiretsu don''t play fair, and neither does he."


    Ash''s gaze hardened, the sharp glint in his eyes betraying no doubt. "I never do anything else."


    The night stretched on, the weight of old grudges and new ambitions hanging in the air, thick like smoke. Every word, every glance, was part of the game they were now playing—a game where the stakes were higher than either of them had anticipated. Arata was just the first player. The rest would soon follow. Ash wasn''t planning to lose.