SURVIVING THE GAME

The attempt on Daigo Sumeragi's life came with an alarming swiftness. Too swiftly.

It was during a private Keiretsu gathering, a venue known for its opulence and meant for high-level negotiations between the most powerful players in the underworld. The gathering, an oasis of luxury with its gold-accented walls and soft ambient lighting, was supposed to be a place of business. But it became the site of chaos. A group of masked operatives infiltrated the venue's sophisticated security systems with ruthless efficiency. They struck without warning, their coordinated assault intended to take Daigo down in a single, decisive blow.

But Daigo was prepared.

The first shot rang out, cutting through the room with deadly precision. Instantly, his security forces mobilized. The elegant meeting space transformed into a battlefield, with gunfire echoing off the marble floors and screams filling the air. Kenshiko, ever the strategist, had predicted the strike window with near-perfect accuracy. Thanks to her, Daigo's extensive preparation ensured he wasn't caught off guard. His men fought back with ferocity, and within minutes, the assailants were either neutralized or forced to retreat into the shadows from which they'd come.

When the dust settled, Daigo's survival was undeniable. His quick thinking and foresight had won the day—he had been ready, and his enemies had underestimated him.

Hours later, in a secure, undisclosed location, Daigo sat across from Ash once again. The difference this time was palpable. The usual smirk that always seemed to play on Daigo's lips was gone. His face was colder, more calculating, his eyes betraying no amusement, only the raw recognition of what had just transpired. He was no longer the untouchable heir—now, he was a man who owed his life to the warning of a man he didn't yet fully understand.

"You were right," Daigo admitted, his voice low and flat, still carrying the residual tension of the near-assassination. "And now I want to know why you really warned me."

Ash met Daigo's gaze, unflinching. His face was a mask, betraying nothing. "Because I needed you to see that I'm not just another player in this game. I dictate the board."

Daigo exhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling as the weight of survival pressed down on him. There was no room for pretense now; Ash had shown him the depth of his reach and influence. He had no choice but to acknowledge the reality—Ash was someone to be reckoned with, and now, Ash controlled the narrative.

"You have my attention," Daigo said after a pause, his voice deliberate. "Now what do you want?"

Ash leaned forward slightly, his posture calm but assertive. His words were carefully measured, each one laden with intent. "We talk about what comes next. And this time, I set the terms."

Daigo studied him carefully. His lips pressed into a thin line as he waited for the inevitable next move.

Ash's voice was steady, every syllable deliberate. "First, you continue playing your game with the other clans. I won't interfere. Your rivals, your alliances—that's still yours to handle. That's your world, Daigo. I'm not here to control it. Not yet."

Daigo gave a slow, deliberate nod, processing the first condition. It wasn't a power grab—it was a tactical move, one that kept him in control of his own empire.

"Second," Ash continued, his tone unwavering, "if you ever find yourself in a position you can't control, you come to me. No posturing. No politics. You ask for my help, no questions asked."

Daigo's eyes narrowed. His mind raced. The offer was simple but ominous. What kind of leverage would Ash demand when the time came?

"And in return?" Daigo asked, his voice laced with the quiet challenge of a man who knew he was cornered, but wasn't ready to admit defeat.

A faint smirk tugged at Ash's lips, but it was more a sign of amusement than triumph. "Third, you owe me a debt. I saved your life, and someday, I'll collect. You won't know when, and you won't know what I'll ask for. But when I do, you will pay. No excuses."

Silence descended between them. Daigo's fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair, the rhythmic sound filling the air. He didn't immediately respond. Instead, he leaned back, his thoughts spinning. The terms were clear—Ash was not asking for control, not yet. But the debt, that was the hook. And it was a dangerous one.

Finally, Daigo broke the silence with a dry chuckle, his eyes glinting with an unreadable mix of respect and wariness. "You're ruthless, Shirogiri."

Ash didn't blink. His gaze remained steady, unwavering. "And you're still alive because of it."

Daigo exhaled through his nose, a low, almost amused sound. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Fine. I'll agree to your terms. But let's get one thing clear—you may dictate the board, but I'm still in the game. Don't think I'll just fold when the time comes."

Ash stood, a satisfied glint in his eyes as he took in Daigo's words. "I wouldn't respect you if you did."

With that, Ash turned and walked away, leaving Daigo to contemplate the weight of their conversation. The power shift had been swift, calculated, and undeniable. The game no longer belonged solely to Daigo—Ash had carved out his space on the board.

But Daigo was no fool. The game was far from over. And for the first time in years, he found himself facing an opponent who didn't play by the rules.

As the door clicked shut behind Ash, Daigo sat in the quiet of the room, the realization settling like a stone in his chest. The game had changed.

And Ash? Ash was no longer just a player.

He was the one pulling the strings.