Gunzo

Heir to a brutal Yakuza clan long thought erased, Ryuji walks the school halls like a ghost—quiet, cold, untouchable. In the underworld, they whisper his name: The Black Vow—a living curse, bound to a promise written in blood.
His target? The syndicate that slaughtered his kin.
His obstacle? Their daughter… the only one who’s ever seen through his silence.

The Boy Of Promise

The rain came soft that night—like whispers tapping against the paper windows of the Tsujihara estate.

A mansion nestled deep within Kyoto's forgotten alleys, veiled behind shrines and twisted cherry trees, it was a place where silence held dominion. Inside, the corridors were dimly lit by flickering lanterns. The air was perfumed by incense, but it couldn't quite mask the deeper scent beneath—ink, old blood, and secrets.

Shigure Tsujihara stood in his study, half-draped in shadows. The faint light from the lantern painted sharp angles across his face—an elegant, hollow face, pale and sculpted, eyes unreadable like black glass.

He didn't blink as he watched the rain.

Behind him, kneeling in absolute silence, were three figures—agents of his inner circle. Black suits, black gloves, black eyes. Each was trained in espionage, extortion, and silent execution. Shigure spoke, and they listened—not with ears, but with breath.

"The boy's name… is Ryuji Tatsugami," Shigure said, his voice so low it felt like silk brushing steel. "And our Oyabun wants him erased from the edges first—like smoke."

He closed the folder in his hand. Inside were blurry photos from rooftop fights, fragments of shredded school reports, and security camera stills of a boy with sharp eyes and blood on his knuckles.

"Begin with his edges. Friends. Allies. Anyone who shields him. We weaken the walls before we knock on the door."

The agents bowed and vanished like mist.

Shigure turned away from the window and faced the shrine in the corner of the room. There were no pictures—only five old candles burning low and a single katana, its blade sheathed in black lacquer.

"Father," he whispered, "your son still walks the path you carved with shadows."

The Tsujihara family was unlike the other Vassals. Where the Araragi-kai roared with brutality, and the Kagutsuchi moved like fire, the Tsujihara-gumi thrived on silence. They were the hidden wire between wars, the blade in the sleeve. In the old days, they were called "The Black Veil." Spies, poisoners, and ghosts.

Shigure had inherited the title young. When his father had died mysteriously in a backroom deal gone wrong, many believed the son wouldn't last a month. But Shigure didn't fight his enemies—he outlasted them. Within two years, every man who had doubted him was either disgraced, missing, or buried in forgotten soil.

He stepped through the sliding door into the hall, passing a group of kneeling subordinates who bowed without daring to look up. His pale hand brushed across a hanging scroll. On it, calligraphy read:

"影を見せずして影となれ"

As he walked, voices emerged in the distance—muffled reports from a surveillance division.

"—Spotted near northern rooftops with unknown companion—"

"—Rumors of his fighting style match that of the old Oni-Kenpo—"

"—One ally identified. Kaito. No registered address—"

The name stilled Shigure's steps for a heartbeat. Tatsugami-gumi…

"Curious," he murmured. He turned to a subordinate, his tone still calm, almost bored. "Send word to the boys near Sakuragi High. I want full surveillance. If a single rat whispers Tatsugami, I want to know before the breath leaves his lips."

Back in the quiet of his personal chamber, Shigure sat alone. He drew the black blade from the shrine—slowly, respectfully. The steel reflected the candlelight like moonlight off still water.

His voice barely stirred the air, but the intent behind it carried weight.

"Let's see what kind of ghost you are."

Chapter Twenty-one: The Silent Thread