And all of them were Nyomi’s guards. Men I’d personally chosen to protect her.
All their throats had been slit so cleanly I could see the gleam of tendon and bone. That meant the cuts weren’t rushed. They were surgical, almost elegant. A killer’s signature, left with pride.
One of the men had his hands frozen mid-defense—fingers curled over his chest, mouth still open as if he’d been screaming when he died.
Another stared blankly at the ceiling, eyes wide, blood drying on his lashes. His expression was stuck somewhere between confusion and terror.
These five guys never had a chance.
Rage curled cold in my gut. Whoever did this hadn’t just killed, they’d sent a message.
I returned to the importance of the murderers’ staging.
In our world, a circle meant loyalty. Unity. Blood that never spilled outward.
Circles were the spine of our rituals.
The first sake cup passed fromoyabun(the boss) tokobun(the underling), the rim was smooth and round. It was a vow poured in silence, sealed by the rim’s perfect roundness. No corners. No end. Just a bond meant to loop back forever.
When a man failed us, he offered his cut-off finger in a dish shaped like the first round cup. A circle for loyalty and a finger for penance.
Our backs carried circles too. Dragons coiled in ink. Heads bowed. Tails tucked. Koi twisting upstream in an endless current.
The inked family crest, circular like a seal, pressed onto documents we never spoke of.
The ceremonial table where we sat knee-to-knee, shoulder-to-shoulder, always in a ring. No corners. No breaks.
Even theoath—the word itself starts with a circle. That soft, round "O" that opened the mouth, like it opened this violent life.
A blade was straight.
Death was final.
But loyalty?
Loyalty was round.
My father had taught us this.
Therefore, this wasn’t simply murder.
It was a message.
He was saying:The circle is broken.That Hiro and I were no longer part of the family he’d built.
Behind them—six of my own personal security that I’d ordered to escort them.
They were slaughtered.
I’d chosen and trained them. They’d sworn they would die for me, but it was never supposed to be like this. They didn’t die in battle. They were executed and then laid out like cattle.
This time it was no circle. My guards had died in extensive battle.
One had been gutted from groin to throat, his intestines spilled across the bamboo floor in a steaming coil, thick as rope and glistening like wet glass.
Another sat slumped against the greenhouse wall, the left side of his face missing. Completely torn and removed for no fucking reason, but a depraved man’s pleasure.
The third man had been flung against a wooden pillar. His neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. His mouth was open and each of his fingers were bent in a different direction.
