The Kurozawa Assassin Bloodline

The meeting point was a private estate on the city's outskirts—a sprawling, walled-in compound with wrought iron gates and guards stationed at every corner. On seeing their masks, none of the guards stopped them. They knew who the Kurozawas were. 

They were led through polished stone halls into a vast room. In its center, the client sat in a leather chair, his face pale and drawn, dark circles etched beneath his bloodshot eyes. Behind him stood two men—muscle-bound bodyguards—but even they shrank beneath the weight of the masked Kurozawas.

In the middle of the room knelt a boy, bound and beaten, his head drooped low, blood crusting at the corner of his mouth. His hands trembled where they were tied behind his back.

The client didn't speak immediately. He simply looked at the two masked assassins, the weight of the moment heavy in the air.

Then, finally: "The court only gave him a year. He tortured my son and he only got a single–"The man sighed, calming down. He took a cigarette and lighted it, smoking it quickly. Reika remained still, her mask reflecting the soft glow of the room's chandeliers. None of them spoke. They never did on in person missions.

The man's hands tightened into fists. "This one is for justice." His voice cracked on the word, filled with something raw—pain, hatred, loss. "He murdered my son. A boy who never hurt anyone. I want his blood on the floor. I want him to know the pain he caused my son.."

Kenji's mask tilted slightly, acknowledging the request. The client let out a shaky breath, then stood, backing away toward the far wall, as though unwilling to witness what he'd asked for but unable to leave.

Reika stepped aside, her role clear. This was Kenji's kill. She watched as he drew a blade—ceremonial, curved, with a blackened hilt. It gleamed in the low light, sharp enough to cut through bone.

The bound boy groaned in horror but he was gagged. It wasn't as if that would deter Kenji. He crouched before him, the cracked grin of his mask reflecting in the boy's wide, terrified eyes.

Then the blade slid forward. Kenji made it slow and deliberate, torturing the boy so much that many guards could not remain in the room, and even Reika turned away at some point. Reika had to admit, he had a talent for it.

When it was done, Kenji stepped back, his chest rising and falling beneath the heavy robes. Blood speckled the mask's cracked grin, making it all the more grotesque.

Kenji bowed to the client to signify his departure. He bowed in return. "Cowards," Reika muttered under her breath, finally turning back to the scene. She moved past the body without sparing it a second glance, her shoes sticky against the blood-soaked floor. 

Kenji didn't reply. He simply sheathed the blade and followed her out, leaving the body behind—broken, butchered, and unrecognizable.

Outside, the cool night air wrapped around them, brushing against the bloodied masks. They made their way to the estate's garage, where their black, bulletproof car waited. Reika slid into the driver's seat, Kenji into the passenger's side.

The car started with a low hum, its engine purring like a beast beneath them. They pulled away from the estate without a word, the gates closing behind them as if nothing had happened within those walls.

The drive was tense. Even though they'd done this countless times, Reika's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror every few seconds, watching for any signs of a tail. Kenji remained silent, his gloved hands resting on his knees, blood still visible in the creases.

After several turns and backstreets, Reika spoke, her voice low beneath the hum of the engine. "You went too far this time."

Kenji didn't look at her. "It was necessary."

"Even so." Her jaw tightened. 

"Reika." His voice cut her off, sharper than she expected. "You would do worse if someone killed any of our children."

She didn't argue further. The conversation hung between them like a ghost as they pulled into a secluded garage on the city's outskirts—the safehouse for their vehicles. The metal shutters closed behind them with a heavy groan, sealing the car inside.

Reika killed the engine and sat back, letting out a breath.

Kenji finally moved, opening the door and stepping out. Without a word, they began wiping down the car—removing any traces. But they were not done. "Let's not risk it," Reika said, pulling out two black helmets from a side compartment. 

A motorbike was parked against the far wall—light, fast, and impossible to track. It did have a plate but the plate was linked to some address in Antarctica. It was their preferred way to vanish after high-profile jobs, especially ones that got messy. Kenji nodded. "Agreed." He made to sit on the bike. 

"Ah ah ah. I'm driving." Reika put on one of the helmets and handed one to him. He sighed and placed it on. For some reason, Reika really loved to drive them on their missions, especially if she didn't do much that day. 

She mounted the bike, helmets snapping into place with a metallic click. Reika gripped the handlebars as Kenji settled behind her, having to unfortunately hug her back like a gentleman in distress.

The garage door slid open once more, revealing the city lights shimmering in the distance. With a flick of her wrist, the bike roared to life.

The motorbike tore through the city, weaving between late-night traffic like a needle stitching through silk. Reika pushed the speed higher than necessary, the hum of the engine reverberating in her bones. She relished this part—the freedom, the wind tearing past her, and the illusion that they weren't murderers in ceremonial robes just an hour ago.

Kenji clung to her back, his grip loose but steady, the perfect balance between caution and trust. Still, Reika could practically feel his judgment radiating through his helmet.

"You're going to get us pulled over." Kenji said. She didn't respond. He sighed and resigned himself to enjoying the ride.

They left the city's heart behind, gliding into the quieter outskirts. Empty warehouses, dirt lots, and forgotten roads stretched before them. The road here connected to their neighbourhood. It was long, but with kids, safety was first. 

Suddenly the low rumble of engines pierced the stillness behind them—three dark SUVs, their headlights flaring to life like predators in the night. Renji glanced at her side mirror.

Reika cursed under her breath. "We've got company."

Kenji craned his head back, eyes narrowing. "Who the hell—?"

The SUVs sped up, closing the distance. One swerved into another lane, attempting to flank them. The first shots rang out—sharp cracks that echoed into the emptiness. Bullets pinged off the road and concrete, too close for comfort.

Kenji, calm as ever, spoke over the wind, "They're shooting low. They want us alive."

"Oh, lucky us," Reika snapped, swerving hard as a bullet nearly grazed her tire.

She twisted the handlebars, taking a sharp turn onto a dirt road leading further into the industrial sprawl. Dust kicked up in their wake, but the SUVs followed effortlessly.

"They're persistent." Kenji's tone didn't waver, but Reika heard the edge creeping in.

The SUV on the left sped forward, trying to clip the bike. Reika gritted her teeth and jerked the handlebars, sending the bike into a skid that sliced just past the front bumper. She kicked the bike back upright, regaining control, but not before one of the pursuers rammed into the side of another, sending sparks flying.

Kenji then lowered his head to Reika's shoulder. "Let me drive." Reika didn't look too enthusiastic. Kenji didn't hesitate. "I'm calm under pressure." He kept his head there waiting for her to agree.

Another barrage of bullets rained down, one grazing the edge of her helmet.

Reika's hands tightened on the handlebars. "You saying I'm not calm?"

"You're a little...enthusiastic."

That did it.

"Fine. You drive."

Before Kenji could process her words, Reika sped even faster. "Change now." She quickly jumped, use her legs on the seat to propel herself up, twisting her body with precision towards the car behind.

Her boot connected hard with the SUV's hood, denting it. She used the momentum to push off the car's frame, flipping in the air before landing neatly on the back of the bike to grip Kenji's waist.

The move forced the driver to swerve violently, crashing into a rusted out street pole and halting its pursuit.

Kenji, now holding the handlebars, barely flinched. "Show-off."

Reika smirked under her helmet, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Well? Prove you're better."

Kenji didn't need more convincing. He revved the engine, gunning it forward as the remaining SUVs regrouped behind them.

With Reika now free to focus, she pulled a small sidearm from her jacket—compact but deadly—and fired a clean shot into the tire of the closest SUV. It burst, sending the vehicle spinning out of control and slamming into a chain-link fence.

"One more," she muttered.

Kenji swerved into an underpass, weaving between concrete pillars as bullets ricocheted around them. He handled the bike like it was an extension of himself—smooth, fast, and utterly controlled.

Reika took aim again, but the last SUV was relentless, swerving to dodge her shots.

Kenji spotted an opening. "Hold on."

Without warning, he turned the bike sharply, leading them toward a makeshift ramp—an old wooden pallet propped against a dumpster.

"Kenji, that's insane—"

"Hold on!"

The bike hit the ramp, soaring through the air over a gap in the road. They landed with a hard jolt on the other side, gravel kicking up beneath the tires.

The SUV wasn't as lucky. It hit the edge too fast, the front end tipping into the gap before crashing down with a metallic groan.

Silence.

Only the hum of their bike remained as they sped deeper into the outskirts, the city lights now distant and small behind them. They took off their helmets and the wind whooshed through their hair.

Reika let out a breath, resting her chin briefly on Kenji's shoulder. "Fine. You're better."

Kenji chuckled. "Told you."

The bike finally slowed to a stop behind an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts. Dust swirled around them in the dim glow of a flickering streetlight. Kenji killed the engine, and for a few seconds, the only sound was their heavy breathing and the faint hum of insects.

Reika was off the bike first. Her sharp eyes were already scanning the area.

"Check the bike," she ordered.

"I was already going to." He crouched by the motorbike, gloved hands moving swiftly over the frame. They'd done this routine countless times before.

"They were on us too fast," Reika muttered, pacing. "No way they found us by accident."

Kenji ran a small device over the chassis—its scanner flashing blue. "No trackers," Kenji said grimly.

Reika's jaw tensed. "How?" Her stomach twisted. Someone had been close enough to wait for them—close enough to know their routines. "They knew the bike. We ditch it."

Kenji nodded. "Agreed."

They moved quickly. No point in taking risks. Kenji wiped down the bike, ensuring no prints remained, while Reika swept the surrounding area for any surveillance. Satisfied, they wheeled the bike into the shadows, leaving it parked against a pile of discarded crates.

"Now what?" Kenji asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Reika pointed to a narrow alleyway cutting through the industrial sprawl. "I think this town's got a train line. Let's take the train back and just use public transport."

The town was a few kilometers away—close enough to run, far enough that the tension in their muscles would burn by the time they arrived. But they had had worse.

As they sprinted through the outskirts, the streets gradually shifted from industrial sprawl to a sleepy little town. Empty sidewalks, flickering streetlights, and the occasional shop with a "CLOSED" sign hanging lopsided in the window.

Reika skidded to a stop in front of a dingy convenience store, her eyes catching a few plastic bags filled with donated clothes sitting by the entrance. "Perfect."

She rifled through the bags, pulling out a decent-looking hoodie and some worn jeans. "We can't get on a train looking like we just came from a mafia shootout."

Kenji snorted. "Because this screams 'innocent commuter,'" he said, gesturing to their black athletic clothes.

"Shut up and change."

Reika grabbed a long coat and ducked behind a half-broken vending machine, peeling off her jacket. She paused mid-change, side-eyeing Kenji, who was not-so-subtly watching her. He wasn't even bothering to pretend like he was changing..

"Really?" she deadpanned.

Kenji grinned, unashamed. "I'm just making sure you don't accidentally flash the town."

She lobbed a shoe at his head. He dodged it, but barely. "You're the worst."

He chuckled and started pulling off his own clothes. "Can you blame me? I rarely get to see you change without the threat of being stabbed."

She peered out from behind the vending machine just in time to catch him attempting to shimmy out of his pants... while still wearing his boots. He was halfway tangled when she raised a disappointed eyebrow..

"Really? After all these years, you still haven't figured out that you have to take off your shoes first?" Kenji did this so much, Reika thought it would be best to just give him loose pants on missions.

Kenji glared at her, now hopping on one foot, nearly falling over. "It's a tactical decision."

"Yeah, you look super tactical right now." She looked at him, pretending to be disappointed, then immediately he looked away, she also leered at him.

With one final aggressive hop, he yanked the pants free and dramatically threw them into the donation pile. "There. Happy?"

She rolled her eyes but tossed him a hoodie. "You're lucky you're cute."

As Reika zipped up her new jacket, Kenji whistled low, giving her a once-over. "You know, for dumpster clothes, you pull it off."

She flashed him a sweet smile—right before smacking the back of his head. Thwack.

"Idiot."

Kenji winced, rubbing his head. "You're abusive, you know that?"

She slung her bag over her shoulder, already walking away. "And yet, here you are."

He grinned, jogging to catch up. They melted into the quiet streets, looking almost like a normal couple now—just two tired commuters on their way to catch a late train.

A late-night train sat waiting on the platform in the station, its windows empty, save for a few scattered passengers.

Reika and Kenji didn't speak as they slipped inside, settling into seats at the very back. The train doors slid shut with a hollow clang, and a low rumble vibrated through the metal floor as they began moving.

Only when the small city lights grew distant did Reika finally relax—if only slightly.

She glanced sideways at Kenji, who sat staring out the window, his expression unreadable. "You think they'll find the bike?"

Kenji shrugged. "Maybe. But by the time they do, we'll be ghosts."

Reika exhaled sharply, the weight of the night settling on her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the cool glass, eyes flickering up to the dim ceiling lights. The train rumbled on through the darkness, carrying them closer to home.