3.0 False Identity

Lying was effortless; killing was even easier. To be a shinobi, one had to be one in spirit, soul, and body—otherwise, emotions would take hold and become a fatal weakness. Mirai knew this well. She was prepared to play the fool for as long as it took for her squad to pinpoint her location and return for her—if they remembered at all.

A week and a few days had passed, and many of the injured residents had already made their way back home, their medical expenses, food, and clothing all taken care of. If she were anything more than a tool, she might have seen this turn of events as an unforeseen blessing wrapped in a ruthless disguise.

Each morning, Mirai followed the same running route around the vast estate, building endurance and maintaining her conditioning. Though her body had yet to fully recover, the pain dulled over time. Her pale skin gleamed in the morning light, an ethereal contrast against the mansion's lush greenery.

Ise Heishi, the young lord of the keep, had developed an undeniable habit—his gaze lingered on Mirai whenever she passed. His eyes trailed the sway of her hips, the bounce of her breasts, the sheen of sweat glistening along her skin. The way her body moved was mesmerizing, and he was helpless against his own desires.

On a fateful morning, as she was about to complete a lap, Ise raised a hand, signaling for her attention.

Mirai slowed to a stop, her track clothes clinging to her damp skin. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She had infiltrated enemy territory, and now, she had captured the eye of the Heir to the Taira Clan—the son of her father's sworn enemy.

"My Lord," she greeted smoothly, her breath steady despite the run. Her chest rose and fell, the motion not lost on Ise as she stood before him.

"Miss Mirai, isn't it?" His gaze roamed her frame, his voice thick with interest.

"Yes, my Lord. How did you know?" she asked, her tone submissive, her body language inviting. The slight arch of her back, the curve of her waist—every movement deliberate.

"How could I not? You grace me with your beauty every morning," he replied with a smirk, his eyes briefly flickering to the delicate V-line just below her waist.

She let out a soft chuckle. "You flatter me, my Lord."

"Come with me to my chambers," he commanded smoothly, rising to his feet.

She tilted her head, feigning hesitation. "I'm quite sweaty..."

"Nonsense. Come along," he interjected, leaving no room for refusal.

With no choice but to follow, Mirai walked beside him, flanked by five armed guards—three ahead, two behind. They moved through the vast estate, the path leading to the main house, a place where no ordinary visitor was ever permitted to enter. It was clear what Ise wanted, but despite the lust simmering beneath his gaze, their conversation remained surprisingly tame. He asked about her past, where she was born, if she had ever left Japan, the fate of her parents—mundane questions that gave away nothing of real significance.

At last, they arrived at the front entrance of the grand house, a place few were privileged to see.

"Are you certain I should enter, my Lord?" she asked, feigning uncertainty.

"Why not? We are friends, after all." His voice was calm, assured, as he slipped off his shoes at the threshold.

She mirrored his actions, following his lead as they stepped inside. The house was modern, lavish, far more comfortable than the accommodations provided to the victims of the recent incident. At the far end of the hallway, the doors slid open to reveal a striking painting—her, in motion, captured mid-jog. Every detail was painstakingly rendered, every curve, every shadow, drawn to near perfection.

Ise picked up a brush, adding a final stroke to the part of the painting that had captivated his attention earlier. "I hope you like it," he murmured.

Mirai approached slowly, her fingers grazing the edge of the canvas. "Of course... it's beautifully done." A sly smirk ghosted her lips as she murmured under her breath, "And here I thought you just wanted to fuck me."

"What was that?" Ise's head turned sharply, his brows raising.

She lifted her gaze, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, nothing. I just said it looks exactly like me."

He studied her carefully. "So... that's why you think I stare?"

Mirai chuckled, her voice sultry, teasing. "Oh, my Lord, I could feel your eyes digging through my clothes."

Ise averted his gaze momentarily, running a hand through his hair. "I was merely studying the details," he defended, though his voice held no real conviction.

"Mmm." She let the sound linger, stepping closer, her presence intoxicating. "Is that all?"

"What?" he scoffed lightly, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"It's just... you don't seem like the type to stop at staring," she teased, her voice a delicate purr.

Ise exhaled, his restraint hanging by a thread. "I wouldn't say you aren't enticing, but I would never do such a thing without consent."

She watched him carefully, noting the internal battle raging within him. Her mission was clear—seduce and eliminate. And yet, something in his gaze, in the tension between them, made her pause.

Her fingers drifted away from the concealed knife at her side.

For the first time, Mirai was improvising. And perhaps, for the first time, she wanted to.