8.0 Saitama

The city of Saitama shimmered with elegance and innovation, its skyline a testament to human ingenuity. But the team wasn't here for sightseeing.

The mission came first.

They had set up camp on the rooftop of an eleven-story building, directly opposite the hotel where their target was staying.

Toyoko INN Urawa Misono Eki-Higashi [東横INN浦和美園駅東口].

A four-star establishment within walking distance of Urawamisono Station. From their vantage point, they could see the main road splitting in two—one lane drawing traffic away, the other leading vehicles directly toward the hotel. It was a perfect setup. They had the high ground, clear sightlines, and most importantly, an escape plan.

Delta lay prone at the edge of the rooftop, his heavy sniper rifle pressed against his shoulder. He was their eyes.

Gamma sat cross-legged beside an array of screens, fingers darting across her laptop's keyboard as she monitored their target's approach through satellite feeds and hacked CCTV cameras.

Beta was on perimeter duty, patrolling the rooftop in silent loops, scanning for traps or signs of unwanted company.

Mirai lay within their camouflaged tent, her arms folded beneath her head, eyes closed but ears razor-sharp.

"Gamma?" she called.

"I've got eyes on Tango. ETA: seven minutes." Gamma's fingers didn't pause, her voice calm, focused.

"About time," Beta scoffed, landing beside her in a crouch. "Still, what's an American tourist doing all the way out here? Shouldn't their tour be in Kyoto or Tokyo—"

"Or even Osaka," Delta interjected, not turning from his scope.

Beta and Gamma exchanged amused glances.

"What? Osaka's a nice city," Delta muttered in defense.

"We didn't say anything," Beta teased, settling beside Gamma.

"And who said she was a tourist? Could be a business trip," Gamma remarked. "Finding out why she's here is the mission."

"More like assessing her threat level and eliminating her," Beta corrected bluntly.

Gamma shot him a sidelong look.

"What?"

"Shut up," she snapped, eyes glued to her screen. "Delta, you should be—"

"I see them," Delta interrupted. "Two lead patrol cars. A black Ford SUV, a black Lincoln Nautilus, and two trailing patrol cars. All tinted. All bulletproof—except the police vehicles."

The team gathered at the rooftop's edge, eyes fixed on the approaching convoy.

Mirai stretched her neck, a series of sharp cracks punctuating the air. With a tap behind her ear, her ninja suit tightened around her body, activating stealth mode. The others followed suit.

They stood clad in black, their suits lined with utility straps, gadget belts, and concealed knives that blended seamlessly into the fabric. Only their faces remained uncovered—for now.

Delta rose from his crouch and pressed a beacon-like device into the rooftop. Instantly, a web of green laser-like beams spread outward, scanning their entire camp. Within seconds, their equipment—tent, footprints, even stray fibers—dissolved into nothing. The beacon self-destructed. No trace left behind.

The golden hues of sunset cast long shadows across their figures.

"Camouflage," Mirai ordered softly.

They obeyed.

Their suits flickered, bending light around them until they were semi-invisible, invisible to those below or across the street.

The first police cars rolled into view, followed by the black Ford SUV and Lincoln Nautilus. They came to a halt at the hotel entrance.

And then the emblem on the black vehicles became clear.

The Fujiwara Clan.

Saitama was their turf, and intel suggested they were in close ties with the Taira Clan.

The Spider Lily squad remained motionless, watching. Predators poised above their prey.

The police disembarked first—some directing traffic, others forming a perimeter.

Then, the doors of the Lincoln Nautilus opened in eerie synchrony. Four figures emerged. Three women. One man.

By their posture alone, they were high-ranking shinobi—Jōnin of the Fujiwara Clan.

Mirai's gaze shifted to the black SUV's passenger doors. Suits. And then—her. Their target?

"Confirmation," Mirai murmured.

Gamma's fingers danced across her wrist screen. "Tango on sight."

"Alpha— That squad looks familiar…" Beta muttered, eyes narrowing on the lone male Jōnin.

Mirai's voice was like steel. "Do not let your guard down. They may have mastered advanced Ninjutsu."

"Roger that."

Mirai exhaled slowly, unfolding her arms. Her fingers clenched into fists.

"Execute." And then—she fell.

Like an arrow, she dove from the rooftop, arms crossed over her chest, legs together and firm in descent.

The wind roared past her ears. Her eyes locked onto the target—

And then—four pairs of eyes locked onto her.

A warning flared in her mind. Did they sense me? The suit should be masking me—

No time for doubt. The ground was rushing toward her.

Mirai flicked her wrist. Twin blades gleamed in the dying sunlight.

She drove one sword into the concrete below, the other she hurled skyward.

Gas vents on her belt ignited.

With a sharp twist mid-air, she redirected her momentum, flipping onto the hilt of her embedded sword. Her other blade landing perfectly in her open palm.

"Beta—" Mirai began, but he already knew what she wanted.

A rope coiled around her waist, and before she could finish saying his name, her body was yanked into flight.

From below, bystanders caught glimpses of a blade pinned into the walkway and another seemingly floating midair, tethered by an invisible force. Was it a trick? A ghostly illusion? No one had time to decide.

And suddenly, the ghostly sword moved—

Mirai shot toward the black-tinted SUV like a missile. As Beta launched her, she clamped her feet around the hilt of her sword, flicking it forward with a sharp knee bend. The blade arced past her back, her free hand snapping up to catch it midair as she streaked toward her target.

She straightened her body horizontally, slicing cleanly through the wind. Beta's hold on the rope released, sending her into a controlled freefall. She darted through the open window of a moving car, flipping at the last second to avoid impaling a civilian. The entire sequence—an impossible blur of steel and motion—was over before anyone could react.

Glass shattered. Bulletproof windows cracked like brittle ice. Mirai's blades struck first, splitting two skulls open in a spray of crimson before she fully breached the SUV. Her sword followed through, whistling toward the target's throat.

Then—impact.

A sharp clash of steel stopped her blade inches from its mark. Midair, Mirai twisted, absorbing the force of the parry before landing with feline grace. She barely had time to breathe before her gaze locked onto the figure standing between her and the target.

The male Fujiwara Jōnin.

He had moved with unnatural speed, closing the distance effortlessly. His sword was steady, his grip unshaken. He had intercepted her high-speed slash as if it were nothing.

Mirai exhaled, nodding slightly. "You're good." Her voice carried a dangerous undertone.

"And so are you," he replied, his own tone calm—amused, even.

With a flick of his wrist, he deflected a sniper bullet midair, redirecting it harmlessly away from Elizabeth Thornton's skull. His other arm clamped around the American, holding her protectively—possessively, almost. He glanced over his shoulder toward the rooftop where Mirai's team was stationed, though he couldn't see the shooter.

Beta and Gamma were already engaged, locked in combat with the Jōnin's squad.

"This is exciting," the Fujiwara warrior mused, his smirk barely visible.

Mirai didn't waste time on words. Her blade spun, a silver blur in the air, arcing toward both his neck and the target's in a single, seamless strike meant to sever them in one motion.

A flash.

Steel met steel.

A shower of sparks erupted between them.