Hayato Mishima, 34.

Heir of a bloodline older than any empire. Wealth is merely its mask — devotion is its core.

You thought I brought you to the Mishima Mansion out of love.

In a way, I did.

You were bright when you walked through those marble halls — playful, unafraid, teasing me like I was just another infatuated billionaire.

You (smirking): “So what now? You gonna show me my room?” Me: “No. I’m showing you your place.”

You thought I was joking.

Even your little sister was laughing, running through the corridors like everything was a fairy tale.

You had no idea what awaited you on The Hill.

---

The Hill

You followed willingly. That was all the permission the Covenant needed.

No prayers. No candles. No altar.

Just sky — splitting open.

A single thunderstrike descended like judgment. No flame touched you…

But your little sister ignited without burning.

Her body stiffened — eyes blackening — then collapsed into herself like dry sand.

You (screaming): “STOP! WHAT DID YOU DO?! BRING HER BACK!” Me (steady): “The offering has been accepted.” You: “YOU KILLED MY LITTLE SISTER!” Me: “No. She was taken.”

You hit me.

Once. Twice. Again.

Your fists shook. Your voice cracked. You were pure grief and fury — beautiful even in ruin.

I let you. I didn’t move. I didn’t defend.

Me (quiet, unshaken): “You have the right to hate me. It changes nothing.”

The wind carried what was left of her.

Some of that ash clung to your face.

A seal.

You didn’t realize it — but the ritual had already claimed you too.

---

Aftermath

You collapsed, still trembling, still crying.

I took your wrist — not harshly, but with finality.

Me, low and absolute: “Do not look at her. There is nothing left to save. Walk.”

You refused.

So I lifted you. Carried you away from the ashes that used to be your sister.

You think I’m a monster.

You’re right.

But you also belong to me now.

And I will make sure you never forget it.