The Crimson Eagle war began to draw to a close. A week after taking their accountant, the various Divisions used the Seventh Divisions intelligence to ruthlessly crack down on every supporter and revenue stream the Crimson Eagles had. Auditing their paperwork revealed their weak links.

All of the doubt I had about the paper trail vanished. Kayson had been right. The Crimson Eagles still put up a fight, but plagued by attacks on their business and surprise ambushes, they were on the decline.

For our part, we played it easy. We wrecked a couple of shops and bars and even burned down a karaoke place owned by the bastards.

Our Viceroy was relentless, tearing into the enemy and treating us like soldiers. Sure, the Seven Division pushed the front lines, but Captain Atkins kept us from obviously dangerous assignments. Letting us pursue more valuable targets, under the guidance of Kayson, we delivered. For once, the Seventh Division was no longer the worst. Our Captain leveraged this new power to argue against Tristan.

Additionally, she had Kayson look into some odd financial trails in the Crimson Eagle records. But his block of supporters was adamant in their support of Tristan.

Just as thrilled that the Brass Kings were about the Seventh Division, the Fourth was gaining a similar level of popularity. Tristan seemed to be able to pump out pills, pay personal visits to other captains, and offer them bribes of gifts and payments. They were trying to push down our rising star. The savvier of them realized if the Seventh Division weren’t the worst, they might be the ones next in that spot.

The Viceroy presented a neutral stance and claimed to weigh all the captains equally. But more captains were in Tristan’s camp than ours. So, there wasn’t much to be done. The woman only really cared about crushing the Crimson Eagles and then ousting them from New Valentine.

There was no longer a place for them in the city.

Kayson made sure to keep us updated about the internal politics of the gang. As always the man was obsessed about them and was unhappy to inform us that Tristan was once more vocally demanding me to pay for my role in the former Fourth Division Captain’s death. As if he wasn’t the one who shoved a knife in the guy’s back. Worse. He had the growing support of his supplicant captains.

With all those things in the background, I tried to keep my focus on his tangible threat. Maybe it was just a distraction. Or the way he was going to go after me. One thing I knew for sure is that the asshole kept his vows. Tristan never made empty promises. For now, watch over my shoulder but try to keep my issues away from my friends. I didn’t want to worry them, and I was stronger now. Strong enough to deal with the problem on my own.

Romeo pulled me further into training. He tested my flexibility and control with my Manifested Soul and trained me to endure Soul damage by ruthlessly destroying my crows. But there were only a few days until he left on business.

Things were going wrong with our intelligence—twice we barely avoided a situation turning into an ambush. As the Crimson Eagles grew desperate, the leaks they received only grew more severe.

Until eventually, they defeated a Seventh Division squad. Not just beat, but the bastards left their bodies floating in the bay. The Crimson Eagles turned deadly. With their gang on the verge of death, their mole supplying them with info let them hit harder. They wanted those hits to count. They hoped it’d get us to back off if they hurt us bad enough.

With the war turning much darker, it was ironic that the Himawari Lantern Festival was turning the corner. Kayson pushed us to attend and refused to participate himself. Telling us all it was good for morale and team-building—a chance to set our minds right.

It was a pure night of drinking, fireworks, and even a couple of traditional-style sect tournaments throughout New Valentine. All of it one grand celebration to the Immortal of Light, patriarch of the Himawari Sect. As a gesture of respect, they went to great lengths to host the festival in their city. Important sect members and other big-wigs in New Valentine flocked to New Valentine this time of year. Bound to an unspoken agreement to avoid trouble for the day of the festival. Even the street gangs and the Segreto bowed their heads.

Anyone dumb enough to break the truce invited the sects to sudden and violent action; the ruling class of cultivators did not tolerate disrespect.

The most surprising thing was that Kayson sent an outfit to my house. Along with a terse text message telling me to wear it when we went out, per the festival’s traditions. I hadn’t gone to any of these things for a few years now, and personally couldn’t have given less of a shit about observing ancient stuffy rules.

When I messaged him as much, Kayson called and chewed me out. If I refused, Suzaki would tell him. And then, as punishment, I’d run a lap in the New Valentine sewers.

Ridiculous.

It wasn’t worth pissing him off; he was a good guy.

I opened the package and took in the Kimono with a sigh. Lately, everything had been about fighting and danger. Romeo was bashing my spirit in, but now he was gone. Maybe it was fine to take a night off. Kayson had a point. This was finally the chance to take a little bit of room to breathe.

After this, I’d let Tristan’s threat weigh me down again. We were still days away from the deadline.

I wasn’t about to leave the Brass Kings. I knew where I belonged now. The Seventh Division was my home—this squad was my family.

In front of a mirror, I fretted with the gifted kimono. I was feeling a bit like a fool. Not of a complete traditional make—the top was cut short, to sit over a pair of trousers in a checkered pattern and styled like a proper hakama—outfits from the Himawari Sect’s homeland. Barely seen aside from occasions like these, I’d never put one on before. I even looked up a video to make sure it was on right—but sitting in front of the mirror?

I had to admit I looked damn good.

— ♤ - ♥ - ♧ - ♦ —

My friends arrived after me at the Lantern District. They also wore the same kimonos as forced on us by a lieutenant whose face didn’t show. The only one of us not a bit uncomfortable with the clothing was Suzaki. Other than that, it was a fine morning.

I tried not to laugh at the hulking figure of Bruno—his alabaster skin and overgrown frame pushed the limits of the red cloth of his outfit. Eve wore a pleasant white garb patterned with red flowers. Despite the scowl on her face, I had to admit that she outdid me in appearance with her hair pulled up and that outfit. It was strange to see her outside of the normal baggy getups, and she was wearing makeup.

“Ya uh, look good with the makeup and… all that,” I blurted out, earning a withering gaze.

“I can wear what I want. When I want.”

I coughed, looking at the rest of the empty lot we’d parked our bikes in. Sure wasn’t about to argue with that or try for a smart-ass remark. She sure didn’t seem like wearing the kimono was her choice. But I dropped it. Today we were going to kick back and relax together, and it wasn’t worth getting her too riled up this early. She deserved a nice day too.

With compliments exchanged, we roamed off into the Lantern District as a group, a bit too much like tourists.

That and me keeping a wary eye on Bruno. The last time we went here, he pulled us into a fight with a sect, and I wasn’t looking for a repeat. Every time we passed a tea shop, I jerked my eyes over to him. But he minded himself. This auspicious occasion wouldn’t result in a bloody battle. So far.

Kayson was sure to tell me multiple times that we had to have reverence for the Immortals. Who knows how much he drilled that into the big guy.

I didn’t quite get it. Sure, they were walking disasters. They could throw my face through a mountain and would outlive my entire family line, blah, blah. Most of them were just crotchety old fucks out of their place in time.

Eve pulled us to a stop as she bought some candy from a stall, and I scowled, hands shoved in my pockets. Leaning in and looking at a purple lantern hung from a string. I’d care more about Immortals if they actually fucking did something. The last fight I’d heard about was almost sixty years ago when the Immortal of Light took down a Possessed.

Those were dangerous. It happened from time to time when a Soul and Body rejected one another when someone broke their dao—a risk for any cultivator. If you lost yourself, the Soul would take over and drive you to pursue your path without any restraints. The Possessed were not only dangerous from the additional power—but their utter lack humanity. They were capable of things even the darkest of human wouldn’t consider.

After a bit more wandering, Suzaki talked us into taking a breather and eating at a restaurant. My supply of spirit chips would dwindle, but Kayson was paying us decently lately. I leaned back in a wicker chair as a waitress picked up our orders. I dug in my kimono sleeve, pulling out a pack of smokes. I lifted an eyebrow at Bruno.

The big guy chuckled and held a finger out—the tip bursting into a small spout of flame to light my death stick.

I took a look at the rest of the restaurant, taking in the fine wooden tables with engraved edges. This place had food generally out of my price range—but today, I cut back, ordering a bowl of soba and sushi. Maybe it was being well dressed, but I decided to treat myself.

“Ya know, maybe I see why rich people like this sorta life,” I offered my cigarettes to the rest of the table. Everyone but Suzaki took me up on the offer.

“They aren’t observant.” Eve shook her head, pulling out a couple of pieces of jewelry. Taking a closer look at the table. “If we hit it big, and I get lazy enough not to check my things, one of you needs to slap some sense into me.” She sighed. “Know where I always wanted to nick something from?”

I took a long look at the jewels on the table. I hadn’t noticed her pocket anything. Too fucking good with those sticky hands of hers. “Naw, what?” I asked, knowing it was too late to tell her to return them. I’d have to keep a closer eye.

“A museum.” Her eyes never lit up as much as they did when she talked about stealing. I don’t even think she sold half the shit she stole. I smoked in silence, letting her proposed heist hang in the air.

“Why? You make no sense! Why take? Earn anything you want through a glorious battle—as they say, to the victor go the spoils.” Bruno slammed a hand on the table, shaking our glasses of water.

“Y-you have problems,” Suzaki said to her, shrinking beneath her gaze.

“You can go fuck yourself.” Eve shot back, taking a long drag.

I chuckled to myself and shook my head. Stomaching rumbling. When was that soba going to get here? I looked around, trying to flag down the waitress. Instead, I saw a group of five enter the joint. Wearing the ridiculous seafoam green robes of the Getsu sect. They were led by none other than Yang Pengfi. The same bastard Bruno beat up. His eyes darted to our table, taking in Bruno.

His young master had spotted us.

“The fuck!? Bruno!? Did ya set this up!?” I whispered frantically as Yang issued commands to his companions. Bruno tilted his head and looked in the direction I frantically pointed in. His eyes went wide then he grinned ear to ear.

“Of course not! How glorious the heavens do shine upon us today! I feared there would be no blood spilled, but here we are. A gift! Hahahaha!” He started to stand.

Eve shoved him down, putting her smoke out on the fancy table. “Fucking idiots.” Suzaki shivered, and I tensed. We weren’t supposed to start fights today. Let alone in the goddamn Lantern District. Especially not with a fucking Sect. Yang stalked to our table, and his Sect members fanned outward through the restaurant—one remained by the door to block us in.

“Behold, fools! I, Yang Pengfi, grandson of the great Cheng Pengfi, have at long last tracked—“ Yeah, I didn’t wait for him to finish. Me and Eve crossed gazes. Shared a look of understanding. I grabbed a glass filled with water off the table and threw it at Yang’s face a second later.

He got drenched in water, but the glass didn’t break. I could’ve thrown it harder. I jumped out of my chair. “Run for it!” My Southside instincts came out. It’d be far better to get out of there than stick around. I made it halfway to the door before a blow to my side sent me crashing through a table. Wooden spewed everywhere as the force of the hit kept me flying into a wall.

My head smacked against brick, and I lost track of myself.

The last thing I recalled was seeing a man in seafoam green toss me over a shoulder, then into a car. Then he bashed my face in again. Leaving me with blissful darkness.