She leaned back against the shuttered storefront, the neon signs from across the street washing her in flickering pinks and greens. The scent of fried skewers drifted in from a nearby food stall, mixing with the faint metallic tang of the city’s rain-slicked pavement. Lu tilted her head up, letting the drizzle pepper her cheeks. Her hair, long, red, tied back and slightly damp, clung to her neck in strands.

Her fingers toyed with the golden key around her neck, the chain warm from where it had rested against her collarbone all day. It clinked softly when she shifted, the sound almost delicate, out of place for something that unlocked so much blood and history.

She hadn’t cried at the funeral, not that it could count as one, more a small ceremony Aoi helped with. Not her parents', not her cousins', not a single one could pull itself from her eyes. She didn’t even remember blinking. Maybe there was something wrong with her, or maybe she was ready to say goodbye.

Now, though, standing here under the buzzing sign of a convenience store with Hana tucked to sleep upstairs and Aoi in the back reordering the boxes, she felt a strange kind of stillness. Not peace. Just the absence of chaos for five whole minutes.

— I wonder if they’d laugh if they saw me now… working as a cashier instead of taking over the clan.

The thought made her snort. She rolled her neck, adjusted her pink varsity jacket, and cracked her knuckles one by one.

The rain had picked up. So had the foot traffic. Someone might need help finding noodles or fending off a hit squad, which became quite common as more hitmen started going after Sakamoto. Either way, Lu Shaotang was clocked in.