“We’ll face it together,” he said.
The restaurant was still standing, but just barely. A weathered FOR SALE sign hung from two rusted poles. Looked like it had been there for years. As far as we knew, no one had touched this place since the fire.
“Think anyone’s even looked at buying it?” I asked.
Jiro shrugged. “People know the Sakamotos died here, burned alive. Not exactly a huge selling point.” He gestured toward the ruins. “Comes with a pool, a walk-in closet, and the ashy remains of a disgraced dynasty.” His voice turned mock salesy. “Perfect for the buyer who enjoys ambiance.”
We stepped up to the windows and peered inside. The white floors and sleek furniture were long gone. Through the dust-caked glass I made out overturned chairs and broken tables in the shadows. A heavy chain bound the front handles, secured with a rusted padlock. I drew in a slow breath and let it out.
Jiro tugged on it. “Yeah. No way in.”
But the restaurant wasn’t why we’d come.
We walked around the back. Behind the building was the real target—the Sakamoto compound.
Last time I was here, tall concrete walls topped with barbed wire surrounded the compound. Now most of them had crumbled, only a few cracked sections still standing. Nothing separated us from the place that had nearly destroyed us—except hesitation.
“Doesn’t look like much is left,” Jiro said.
“From here it doesn’t.” I started walking.
“Akiko, wait. We can’t go in there.”
I kept walking. “Who’s stopping us?”
The small bridge that once spanned the koi-filled moat was gone, destroyed by fire. The moat itself was dry now, just dirt and dead leaves as we stepped across.
Beyond it, the compound had been erased. Every structure except the temple in the far corner had been burned to the ground. Charred beams jutted up like broken bones, while most of the land was overrun with weeds, waist high in places. The flowering cherry trees were nothing but stumps.
I scanned the grounds, and a flood of memories came back. Where the dorms had once stood, only a cracked concrete slab remained. I could still smell the disinfectant from the communal showers, stinging my nose as if I were back on my knees, scrubbing.
“Feels like yesterday,” Jiro murmured.
I drifted away from Jiro as he wandered toward what was left of the training kitchen. My feet carried me in the opposite direction, toward the center of the compound, where the two-story mansion once stood.
It had dominated the grounds: six tall columns, a wide marble staircase, windows stretching from floor to ceiling. And at the top, Reina, watching like a queen behind the glass.
Even now, the vision came back—the white façade, the grand oak doors, the shadow in the upper window, eyes locked on me. A chill ran up my arms.
All that remain now was a large pit filled with weeds. From a distance, it looked peaceful, but standing at its edge made my gut twist.
I looked down into what had been the basement, the place of the final challenge. I could picture the flames licking the walls, smoke filling my lungs, the heat pressing against my skin. The explosion and that force slamming into me, sending me tumbling across the foyer.
I blinked, and the illusion vanished.
I turned to leave, but something on the ground caught my eye.
A flash of red, half buried near the edge of the pit.
I knelt and brushed the dirt away. A brooch—bent, rusted, but still recognizable. My breath hitched.
It was Reina’s.
A jeweled chef’s knife, crusted with diamonds and red rubies meant to resemble blood. She’d worn it on her coat the day of the first challenge. Without thinking, I just slipped it into my pocket.
Jiro appeared beside me. “You okay?”
I stood up. “I’m fine. This place makes me nauseous.”
