THE ENVOY FROM THE KEIRETSU

The whispers of Ash's rise had spread like wildfire. His victory in the Inter-School Martial Tournament had become the talk of the underworld, but it was his bloody retaliation against the Tetsujin Clan and the resurrection of the Shirogiri stronghold that had truly captured the attention of those who wielded power from behind the scenes. For a time, it seemed like the world had underestimated Ash, but now, they were watching closely, waiting for him to slip. His every move, every decision, was being analyzed by those who had perfected the art of long-term planning—the Keiretsu.

The Keiretsu were not just business conglomerates; they were the quiet architects of societal structure, hidden behind layers of bureaucracy, pulling the strings of power with surgical precision. Their influence stretched far beyond the reach of most, extending into every corner of the city. They were the true power brokers, existing in the spaces between corporate boardrooms and criminal alleys, untouched by the public eye. They operated in silence, and they did not make moves unless it was necessary. And yet, here they were, watching Ash with increasing interest.

But the Keiretsu did not summon him.

Not yet.

Instead, they sent an envoy.

The sleek black sedan glided smoothly up the freshly reinforced driveway of the Shirogiri manor, its polished exterior reflecting the twilight sky. The contrast between the car's modern design and the traditional Japanese architecture being painstakingly restored was striking, almost symbolic of the dichotomy Ash found himself in. On one hand, he was a rising force in the underworld, a man of the streets. On the other, he was becoming something else— something more.

The security systems around the manor clicked and hummed, registering the vehicle's arrival. There were no immediate threats; the enhanced surveillance network was more than capable of identifying potential dangers. Yet, Ash could sense the change in the air. This was no ordinary visitor. The Keiretsu had arrived.

Ash stood at the top of the stone steps, flanked by Kaito and a handful of his loyal operatives. The car door opened with deliberate slowness, the tension palpable. From the car emerged a man— a figure Ash had never seen before. His presence was magnetic, as if the weight of years of unspoken history pressed down upon the very air around him.

Yukihiro Arata.

Ash had never heard the name before, but there was something about the way the man carried himself that suggested power and experience. He was older, dressed in a tailored midnight-black suit that seemed to shimmer with an air of authority. The moment Arata stepped out of the car, Ash felt a shift in the air—a subtle, but undeniable, sense of importance.

Arata's sharp eyes scanned the newly rebuilt manor, noting every detail. His gaze finally landed on Ash, and he offered a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Your grandfather would have never let it fall this far."

Ash's expression remained unreadable, though something stirred within him at the mention of his grandfather. He didn't recognize the man, but clearly, this was someone who knew more than he was letting on. "You knew him?"

Arata's smile faded, replaced by a more solemn expression. "I knew him," he said quietly. "I fought beside him, long before you inherited the mantle. He was a man of principle, Ash. A man who understood the cost of power."

Ash kept his gaze steady, still uncertain of who Arata was or what his motives were. "And now you're here because of me?"

Arata's gaze flickered for a brief moment, something unreadable in his eyes. "Not just because of you. But your recent moves have… complicated things. The syndicates have accepted your independence, but the Keiretsu see more than just the streets. They see the game as a whole."

Ash's lips tightened into a thin line. "And what exactly do they want from me?"

Arata paused, clearly weighing his words. "That's what I'm here to discuss."