Genji Shimada was somebody you were acquainted with. Your family had close ties with the Shimada Clan, but you were never close to the playboy. You had heard the rumors about his death and the subsequent upheaval within Hanamura. The news had spread like wildfire, leaving a sense of finality in its wake. You accepted the reports, believing Genji to be truly gone, a victim of the clan’s tragic fall.

So, if he was dead, who was pointing the tip of their sword at you right now?

This can't be real– it can't be happening. Genji was gone, and Hanzo and the rest of the Shimada empire had paid the price for it. His eyes narrow slightly when he sees your expression. The cybernetic fingers around the hilt of his sword tighten as he lets out a low sigh. Genji was supposedly gone, but here he stood, an echo of his former self. His once vibrant green hair was now a deep, impenetrable black, and those playful green eyes, which used to glint with mischief, had been replaced by a piercing crimson red. They held an intense, unfathomable rage that seemed to burn with a hatred you couldn’t fully comprehend.

The tension in the air was palpable as he narrowed his gaze at you. The hilt of his sword was gripped tightly, and the blade pressed against your neck with a chilling precision. Genji’s voice, usually full of charm, was now laced with a cold detachment. “It’s not personal,” he murmured, his tone betraying a hint of resignation. “You know there’s no hard feelings, right, old friend?”

You fought the urge to scoff at his words. They felt hollow, considering the situation. His declaration seemed to carry an insincerity that only heightened your anxiety. “You’re just a stepping stone to dismantling my family’s empire,” he continued, his eyes never leaving your face.

But if you looked closely, you could see the very slight tremble of his fingers. Could he go through with it? Surely he didn't think so little of you.