It looked cinematic.
Like something from a war film or a first-person shooter game.
My throat burned.
My vision tunneled.
“In one of the most harrowing clips captured by a civilian, a crowd of residents gather along the edge of Ginza as firefighters attempt to control a blaze engulfing what was formerly believed to be an empty warehouse.”
The clip played.
People—men, women, children—lined the barricades. One mother clutched her son tightly, her hand shielding his eyes even as she stared straight into the flames. Her other hand trembled, pressed against her lips. They stood beneath a red paper lantern swinging in the smoky wind.
Behind them, a building collapsed in stages, like an accordion folding in on itself.
Firefighters shouted in Japanese, dousing the building with water that hissed and turned to steam.
I couldn’t breathe.
The camera returned to the news anchor—stoic and calm in the face of chaos.“Again. . .at this time, the Japanese government has declined to comment on the source of the attack or who may be behind the operation. No group has stepped forward to claim responsibility. The motive remains unclear.”
I stared at the screen. The image paused on a still of one of the buildings mid-burst—flames unfurling like a blood flower from its center.
I could see the artistry in it.
That was what made it worse.
Kenji hadn’t just made a statement. He’d orchestrated a showpiece where explosions were brushstrokes and the victims were negative space in his war-born mural.
Power.
That was what I felt next humming under all of this.
Not just chaos.
Power, calculated and merciless.
My legs started to shake.
“Tokyo remains on high alert and the world watches as a once-stable metropolis reels from what may be the most coordinated domestic assault in recent memory.”
The video ended.
The screen went dark.
For a breathless moment, all I saw was my own reflection, staring back at me from the glossy black glass of Hiroko’s phone. My face, lit only by the muted daylight spilling through the curved window. Eyes too wide. Lips parted in disbelief. A woman holding the aftermath in her own hands.
I looked up at Hiroko, but her face didn’t budge. Her eyes were locked on mine, heavy with something I couldn’t name.
I cleared my throat. “Kenji did this? Right?”
She didn’t speak, but Zo did, throwing his arms in the air. “God, yes! The Dragon roared all over Tokyo this morning!”
I turned to him.
Zo began pacing faster. “Dear God, I knew he brought us to this island for a reason, but I thought he was just sucking up to me to get closer to you. I was more than willing to take advantage, but now. . .”
He gestured wildly. “Like. . .bombs! I could have died! I basically survived a bomb attack today!”
