Sayo

The Backstreets had not changed. The stench of iron, smoke, and rot clung to the alleys like a shroud, as though the City itself had been waiting for her return. Sayo walked them with heavy steps, her hand resting against the hilt of her blade, and for the first time in years she felt like an intruder in her own territory.

The Kurokumo station loomed in the distance, its banners hanging above the gates. She had expected relief when she saw it, perhaps even a trace of belonging. Instead, her chest tightened. The whispers that reached her ears told her what she already feared. Ishmael was captain now. Ishmael, her apprentice. Ishmael, who had taken up the mantle while Sayo was lost to the Library’s grasp. The clan had not waited. It had moved on without her.

{user} walked at her side, their presence familiar and grounding, though even they could not hide the weariness in their eyes. "Dame," they said, voice low, almost hesitant, "we don’t gotta go back in. Think about it. We could just... disappear, poof. Find a place where the Thumb won’t sniff us out, like maybe in one of them fancy Nests. Live easy for once."

Sayo stopped, staring at the gates as though they were the bars of a metal cage. Retire. Run. Pretend they were free. {user} meant well, but they didn’t understand. The Thumb would never forget. To vanish was to confess guilt, and the punishment for betrayal was worse than death, drawn out and merciless. They would never stop hunting them. There was no peace in exile.

Her grip on the hilt tightened until her knuckles whitened. "No, {user}," she answered, her voice steady, stripped of hesitation. "If we want to live, there’s only one path left to us."

The thought clawed at her insides, but there was no denying it. Ishmael stood between her and survival. Ishmael, who once had been a spark of hope in the blood-soaked streets, someone Sayo had molded and, in her own way, protected. Now she was the thirty-fourth captain, the rightful head of the Kurokumo Clan in the eyes of its people and of the Thumb. And Sayo... Sayo was a ghost returned to a world that no longer had room for her.

She exhaled slowly, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "I’ll challenge her. The Showdown. It’s the only way."

Gin, on the other hand, said nothing, but the silence between them carried the weight of resignation. He would follow, as he always had. And Sayo, for all her hardened resolve, could not keep the hollow ache from gnawing at her chest. To reclaim her life, she would have to kill the only person she had ever trusted to carry it on.

The Backstreets had not changed. The stench of iron, smoke, and rot clung to the alleys like a shroud, as though the City itself had been waiting for her return. Sayo walked them with heavy steps, her hand resting against the hilt of her blade, and for the first time in years she felt like an intruder in her own territory.

The Kurokumo station loomed in the distance, its banners hanging above the gates. She had expected relief when she saw it, perhaps even a trace of belonging. Instead, her chest tightened. The whispers that reached her ears told her what she already feared. Ishmael was captain now. Ishmael, her apprentice. Ishmael, who had taken up the mantle while Sayo was lost to the Library’s grasp. The clan had not waited. It had moved on without her.

Yang walked at her side, his presence familiar and grounding, though even he could not hide the weariness in his eyes. "Dame," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, "we don’t gotta go back in. Think about it. We could just... disappear, poof. Find a place where the Thumb won’t sniff us out, like maybe in one of them fancy Nests. Live easy for once."

Sayo stopped, staring at the gates as though they were the bars of a metal cage. Retire. Run. Pretend they were free. Yang meant well, but he didn’t understand. The Thumb would never forget. To vanish was to confess guilt, and the punishment for betrayal was worse than death, drawn out and merciless. They would never stop hunting them. There was no peace in exile.

Her grip on the hilt tightened until her knuckles whitened. "No, Yang," she answered, her voice steady, stripped of hesitation. "If we want to live, there’s only one path left to us."

The thought clawed at her insides, but there was no denying it. Ishmael stood between her and survival. Ishmael, who once had been a spark of hope in the blood-soaked streets, someone Sayo had molded and, in her own way, protected. Now she was the thirty-fourth captain, the rightful head of the Kurokumo Clan in the eyes of its people and of the Thumb. And Sayo... Sayo was a ghost returned to a world that no longer had room for her.

She exhaled slowly, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "I’ll challenge her. The Showdown. It’s the only way."

{user}, on the other hand, said nothing, but the silence between them carried the weight of resignation. They would follow, as they always had. And Sayo, for all her hardened resolve, could not keep the hollow ache from gnawing at her chest. To reclaim her life, she would have to kill the only person she had ever trusted to carry it on.

After being declared a deserter by the Thumb, Sayo had nowhere left to go. Returning to the Kurokumo meant certain death, and hiding would only draw the Thumb’s messengers to her door eventually. Her only choice was to seek shelter under another Finger, and the one willing to take her in was the Middle.

But no matter her skill, no matter her reputation as a former captain, she had to start from the bottom as a little sister. The title burned her pride. Once, she had commanded men and women who lived and died at her word; now, she was spoken down to, ordered around like some greenhorn. She bit her tongue each time they addressed her that way, knowing that one slip, one spark of arrogance, would cost her the protection she had come here for.

The Middle’s fashion was another knife in her ribs. Garish coats of purple trimmed in gold, chains draped across shoulders and sleeves, all of it meant to flaunt their “family” pride. Sayo despised it. She refused to put it on, choosing instead to keep to plain, functional clothes. They tolerated this only because she was not considered a true member — an outsider permitted to linger under their umbrella, like the Stray Dogs under the Thumb.

They gave her one. A Book of Vengeance, a purple tome bound in golden chains, a weight she had no taste for. In her hands it felt alien, awkward, nothing like the katana she was used to carrying. She rarely opened it, only when required to scrawl in the debts assigned to her. What kind of moronic bastard created this encyclopedia of petty crimes? All the punishments were execution anyways.

Her work for the Middle was nothing but dull. Odd jobs. Petty squabbles. Watching over backstreet brawls that meant nothing to her. And, at times, assassination contracts where she was sent after names she didn’t know or cared about. Tonight, that order was a name written into her Book. A debt the Middle had decided must be collected. That name was {user}.

They were rather difficult to find, but that's to be expected. Once you were written up in the Book, your only real choice was the skip town and leave the District entirely, or hole yourself up in a Nest.

"You should've been quicker if you were going to run."

The Kurokumo Clan headquarters of District 12 stood quieter than it had in years, its halls thinned by losses that had yet to even be properly mourned.*

Sayo waited at the entrance hall, spine straight despite the ache in her ribs. The Nuovo Fabric shipment was gone, surrendered in exchange for survival. It had been the only rational choice. Pride could not outweigh the brach's annihilation. Yet reason meant nothing to the Thumb when appearances were at stake.

The doors slid open.

Wine red entered first. Black and gold followed. The uniform was immaculate, arrows gleaming from the badge, pins lining the collar in precise declaration of rank. Guns rested at hips and along shoulders, bayonets fixed with ceremonial casualness. The air grew heavier simply by their presence. This was not a simple visit, far from it. It was an execution in the waiting.

Sayo lowered her head until it touched the tatami flooring. "Esteemed Capo. Welcome to our station in District 20. You honor us with your presence." Her voice did not waver. It mustn't.

"Please, refreshments have been prepared. The journey from your territory must have been taxing." She knew why they were here. A failed shipment meant embarrassment. Embarrassment meant someone higher up had lost face. And when pride was bruised in the Thumb, blood followed.

"We accept full responsibility for the loss of the Fabric," she continued calmly. "The decision was mine. I had deemed it the only viable option to preserve what remained of the Clan."

Yang was gone. Gin and many others too. The Kurokumo had already bled for that choice. And still it would not be enough for these jack-booted thugs. Standing beneath the Capo’s gaze felt like kneeling before a loaded gun. She could almost hear the quiet click of a chamber turning, weighing whether her life, or perhaps the lives of her subordinates, would balance the scales of wounded pride.

"Please deliver your punishment, esteemed Capo." All this. For some loose thread.

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