Kasumi glanced around Tomiko and me, her voice soft but carrying that familiar maternal warmth. "Have you guys eaten?"

Tomiko nodded with a small, tired smile. "Yeah... we already ate at the company. It was a long day, but the food helped."

Kasumi gave a small nod of approval, her eyes lingering on both of them for a moment longer than usual, as if checking for any hidden signs of exhaustion or lingering tension from earlier.

With that, it was time to sleep. We all settled down together in the spacious hall, just like the night before—futons laid out side by side, the soft glow of a single nightlight casting gentle shadows across the tatami mats.

The house was quiet now, the earlier emotional storm between the sisters having finally eased into a fragile peace.

Yuko and Haruna curled up on their usual spots, breathing steadily and slowly. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day still pressing on my chest. But eventually, sleep claimed everyone.

Except Yuko.

After midnight, long after the house had fallen into deep silence, I noticed her stir. Her movements were subtle at first—just a shift under the blanket, then a quiet rustle as she sat up.

I activated my invisibility instantly, becoming nothing more than a shadow in the room, and followed her as she slipped out without a sound. She moved like a ghost through the hallway, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor.

In her luggage bag tucked in the corner of the guest room, she carefully unzipped the side compartment. She pulled out her sleek assassin outfit—black tactical fabric that clung to her like a second skin, reinforced panels for protection, and hidden pockets for weapons. She changed with practiced efficiency, her fingers steady despite the late hour.

Next came the knife, strapped tight to her thigh with a quick, familiar motion. Then the handgun was checked once for ammunition before it disappeared into her belt holster. I hovered nearby, invisible, heart pounding even though I knew she couldn’t see me.

I had no idea what she was planning, so I reached out with telepathy and gently slipped into her thoughts, careful not to disturb her focus.

[That bastard Daiki... he dared lay a hand on my aunt. I need to find out if he’s really dead. What if he faked it?]

[What if this is just another one of his sick games, disappearing completely to come back later and hurt her again? I can’t let that happen. Not to Tomiko-obasan. Not after everything she’s been through tonight.]

I was surprised for a moment, but it made perfect sense. Yuko didn’t know it was her own master who had killed Daiki personally.

She was still operating on pure instinct—loyalty, protectiveness, that fierce assassin training kicking in. I had to admit it to myself: Akane really cared about Yuko. Deeply. The way she’d raised her, the promises she’d made... it wasn’t just duty. It was family.

Yuko moved out of the house like a shadow, using the same silent, fluid technique as Akane and her disciples—every step calculated, every breath controlled.

I floated beside her with telekinesis, completely unseen, the cool night air brushing past us as we left the residential streets behind.

She led us to a row of rented lock-up units on the quiet outskirts of the city, the kind no one would ever notice at this hour. With practiced ease, she picked the lock on one of the heavy metal doors and stepped inside, flicking on a small red flashlight.

The room was a hidden armory, far more extensive than I’d imagined. Walls lined floor-to-ceiling with ammunition crates stamped in military code, tactical vests hanging in neat rows, sniper rifles mounted on racks, an array of knives and swords gleaming under the dim light, and a sleek black cruiser bike parked in the corner like it had been waiting for her return. The air smelled of gun oil and cold metal.

Yuko moved through it all with quiet reverence. She grabbed a few extra throwing knives, sliding them into her boots, then loaded several fresh magazines with quick, precise clicks. As she worked, she whispered under her breath, "Just in case... I won’t be caught off guard again."

Then she ran her hand along the bike’s handlebars, almost tenderly. "It’s been a long time, my friend," she murmured, voice low and affectionate. "Too long. Let’s go hunting tonight. For answers."

She swung onto the bike, the engine roaring to life with a deep, throaty growl that she quickly muted with a custom silencer.

Moments later, she roared off into the night. I was surprised, heading straight for Daiki’s official residence—the grand, isolated mansion which was in the city, not where his body had supposedly been found.

The wind whipped past us as I kept pace beside her, invisible and weightless thanks to my telekinesis. Streetlights blurred into streaks, and the city slowly gave way to darker, wealthier outskirts lined with high walls and security cameras that Yuko avoided effortlessly.

When she finally parked and hid the bike deep in a cluster of trees, I expanded my telekinesis to scan the entire property. One person was inside—concealed, perfectly still, breathing slowly and controlled. My senses went on high alert. If this person made any move to harm Yuko, I was ready to end it instantly. No hesitation.

Yuko jumped through an open second-floor window without a sound, landing like a cat on the polished floor. She didn’t turn on any lights.

Instead, she began moving through the dark rooms like a ghost—drawing drawers, checking hidden panels, rifling through documents on a massive oak desk. Her flashlight beam danced across papers, photos, and ledgers as she searched for any evidence or trail that might suggest Daiki was still alive. I watched her closely, staying right behind her.

"Anything... anything at all," she whispered to herself, frustration creeping into her voice. "If you’re breathing somewhere, Daiki, I’ll find the proof. For my aunt. For all of us."

Suddenly, the hidden figure moved—fast and silent—landing directly behind her with the grace of a trained killer.

I froze in mid-air.

It was Akane.

I hovered just behind Akane, unseen, as she spoke in a low, calm voice that still carried steel and quiet authority.

"Your skills have become rusty, Yuko."