“Hana-chan?”

Hanabi squirreled herself deeper under the blanket of her shikibuton, trying to hide from her father’s voice.

“Oh, Hana-chan…” Her father spoke in a soft, high voice, his Kansai-accent making his already gentle tone more bubbly. “Why do you always try to hide in your bed, silly girl? You’re not a kid anymore, you’re twelve; practically a woman…”

She didn’t answer him, curling up tighter, and holding her hands over her ears and squeezing her eyes shut.

A hand ran down the bulge in her bedding, stroking her arm tenderly for a few moments, but then the blanket was whipped off of her body. The light reached her tightening eyes, almost distracting her from the gentle touch to her wrist, then the sudden sting in her knuckles.

“Ita…” She whimpered, and her father’s rough hands closed around hers.

“You got into another fight.” He said in a sunken voice. Hanabi lifted her head to look up at her dad as he stared down at her in worry.

Iwata Hanaya was a rather odd looking man. He had a large, round head that was almost egg-shaped, with a big, constantly red nose between two small, beady eyes, and a big, silly pair of lips. His black hair was going grey in his mid-forties, but he always wore a short paper chef’s cap to hide most of it.

He dressed fairly plainly otherwise; when he wasn’t in his apron and sandals, he wore slacks and T-shirts, showing off that, despite his silly face, he was quite the specimen of a man with well-defined muscles and a bit of a gut.

Strange as he was, he was a caring man, and Hanabi dreaded to hear him say—

“Hana-chan, I’m not angry at you, I’m just disappointed.”

“No…” She squeaked in a tiny voice. Even at her young age she was showing the results of regular exercise and training; nowhere near how she'd look in six years, but she still drew curious stares.

“Your teacher called me.” Iwata said in a calm, yet firm voice. “You attacked that Kaworu Yoshi boy again.”

“He grabbed my bag and tried to run into the bathroom with it!” Hanabi whined, sitting up to stare at her knuckles, which were only just now beginning to heal over. “He made me chase him!”

“But did he make you hit him like you did?” Iwata asked, taking her hand and uncurling her fingers. “You must have hit him quite hard to hurt yourself like this.”

Hanabi pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Hana-chan, I taught you better than this.” Iwata touched her shoulders gently. “You must show restraint, you must—”

“But why?!” Hanabi suddenly interrupted. “We’re Hanaya, aren’t we?!” She stared down at her bloodied knuckles, feeling her anger flare as she remembered Yoshi-kun’s mocking face as he bolted with her bag. “You said we were warriors first; we can’t let people think they can get away with messing with us.”

“Of course we can.” Iwata answered flatly, his fingers digging into her shoulders.

“But—”

“No.” Iwata stopped her, frowning deeply. “How many times have I told you, Hanabi? The past is the past; we carry on our tradition as warriors out of respect and to protect ourselves. The Hanaya clan is more than warriors today.”

Hanabi curled her legs up and planted her chin in her knees, huffing and puffing softly. “Why even teach me how to fight if I’m not allowed to?”

“Because,” Iwata’s hands ran down her shoulders, over her arms, and squeezed her wrists, causing her to open her hands, revealing her palms, “someday you will be confronted with our clan’s sordid history.”

He sank his big nose into her hair, his arms crossing over her front before he continued. “I wish you could avoid this fate, my darling daughter, but the scars of our forefathers are still deep. We still carry their sins as far as others care; we will not live to see a day when the Hanaya will just be known as chefs.”

He drew her into a tight hug, and squeezed her close. “So I must teach you to fight so you can protect yourself from those who still wish to pay back the blood our ancestors spilled. But you…” He rested his chin on her head. “You cannot tempt them. You cannot justify their grudge; you must be better than they are. The Hanaya of old were rampaging oni, but the Hanaya of today must be calm, collected, and careful.”

Hanabi was silent in her father’s arms, staring at her hands. They were still soft compared to his, but her hands were the ones with blood on them; her father’s tough hands smelled of habanero peppers and dish cleaner.

“I just don’t understand why I have to let them insult me…”

“Insult you?” Iwata gave a soft chuckle. “My dear, you have to learn the difference between being teased and being insulted.” He let her go, and sat back to stroke her slumped shoulders. “Tomorrow, your school will punish you, but today, I will teach you to make my favorite chocolate candy.”

Hanabi’s head twisted to face her father, whose calm grin betrayed no lie. “R-really?!”

“Yes, and you will offer Yoshi-kun a generous portion as an apology.”

Hanabi’s joy deflated, but she gave a small nod.

“You must learn humility… and if you do not learn it naturally, the universe will humble you painfully.”

Hanabi’s eyes opened slowly, a dim, red light causing her to squint as her vision began to clear.

Her head lulled back, thunking against the back of a cushioned surface behind her. The fog lifted from her thoughts, letting her remember…

She lurched forward with a gasp, but found herself stopped when her stomach pressed against the curved edge of a dinner table. She blinked, raising her hands to set on the flat surface; she wasn’t tied up, so that was a good start…

She was seated in a rather fancy, plush high-backed chair at the far end of a rectangular table that looked like it was made from a slab of smoothed obsidian. The dim light was coming from a crackling fireplace far to her left, set inside a wide, stone pillar with a chain ember screen hanging in front of it, casting the room in thin, spindly shadows.

The rest of the room surrounding the dinner table and the fireplace was raised by a series of three steps, made of a dark-stained marble. Across from the fireplace was a portrait that looked at least ten feet tall, and triple that width, depicting a series of figures marked with purple eyes in black clothing watching over fist-fights and explosions, holding their arm up above one particular fighter in each one. While the fights were shown to be exciting, each worthy of their own portrait, it was the purple-eyed men that dominated the artpiece.

There were a number of doors in and out of the exterior of the room, and the ceiling stretched high above her head, with a series of glass panes letting her see the dimming of the cloudy sky above.

Okay… nothing that looked especially dangerous. She kicked her feet, feeling no chains around her, and she made a move to stand, only for a hand to clamp down onto her shoulder and press her down into her seat before she could even make it halfway.

She instantly turned to grab the unseen figure’s wrist, but it lashed out and slammed her hand against the table’s surface, and Hanabi stared in shock at the white-suited, dark-skinned woman, her single black braid standing out amidst a bushel of white.

“Hanaya is awake.” Hanabi twisted her head to stare at the figure who seemingly materialized at her other side, and glanced between what appeared to be a set of twins, whose only distinguishing feature was the side they wore their black dreadlocks.

“H-hey, let me go!” She demanded, but the moment she raised her other hand in self-defense, a nauseating wave of sheer contempt made her freeze; the looks on their faces told her these women were more than capable of murder. “What do you want?!” She demanded.

Both women turned and walked away, walking just behind the chair, to her left and right, just out of sight unless she twisted around and looked.

“Is this about that stupid dinner with Lord Reffe?!”

“That, and much more.”

Hanabi twisted her head towards the source of the voice, and gave a groan of exasperation as a third dreadlocked woman pushed through a pair of swinging, kitchen-style doors and approached the table to… distribute a cloth dinner napkin in the seat of the chair at the far end of the table.

“I am Cerberus.” The woman said, offering the briefest bows of respect from the other side. “Retainer of Lord Reffe.”

Hanabi grit her teeth, but was wary of showing too much open hostility with her body language. “I had plans tonight.”

“Whatever plans you had will wait. Lord Reffe demands your presence.” Cerberus stated, and from her pocket she withdrew a small silver bell.

“This is bullshit!” Hanabi resisted the urge to slam her fists on the table. “I don’t care what you, Lord Reffe, or that crazy masked guy want from me, this is rude as hell!”

Cerberus didn’t respond, and rang the bell instead. The whole room exploded into a flurry of motion as doors opened. Suited servants in black masks and black suits moved with impeccable efficiency despite their speed.

Speechless, Hanabi could do little more than stare as a deep purple table cloth was pulled over the center of the table, a series of elaborate candelabras were set and lit before her eyes, and several plates and nearly a dozen pieces of cutlery were placed with machine-like precision at both ends of the table around..

“What, no formal dress?” She dryly asked one of the nearby triplets.

“That has been accounted for.”

Hanabi glanced down at herself, and nearly went white as she realized she was wearing a slender, sleeveless, form-fitting red dress that hung down around her shins.

“Oh my god, you motherfuckers changed me while I was asleep?!” She felt a white-hot ball of revulsion fill within her stomach as she swiftly tugged out the collar of her dress and stared down at… her tank top and bra underneath. “This is somehow weirder...” She mumbled, feeling for her pants underneath the dress skirt.

“Make way for Lord Reffe!” A male voice announced, and the servants walked up the steps, standing in an orderly, spaced out regiment overlooking the dinner table as a hunched figure wearing familiarly-shaped robes was guided into the room, flanked by a pair of porcelain-masked figures.

Hanabi tensed up; one had a grinning mask she recognized, worn over a dark, blood-red bodysuit with a pair of harlequin antennae arching over the top of his head like a pair of large ram’s horns. His black and red striped outfit had all the makings of a court jester with a sinister edge, not helped by a quick glance over his general figure telling Hanabi he had small blades hidden all over his body.

The other was wearing a dark, midnight blue instead of red over a shapely, feminine figure. Her porcelain mask was wearing a deeply-set frown, the eyeholes slanted angrily, though beady red lights still peered out through the darkness, and she had three, tricorn-like antennae as opposed to her male half’s two.

Between them, the black, white, and purple-dressed lord of the Reffe clan peered closely at Hanabi through his glasses, taking in her anger and discomfort.

“I take it, my dear,” the lord began in what might have been a sarcastic tone, “you aren’t satisfied with your predicament?”

Hanabi’s smoldering stare tried to burn him alive, drawing little more than an ashamed chuckle from the man. “I had plans.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” Lord Reffe said, straightening up. Hanabi took notice as two of the Cerberus walked down the length of the table, one unclasping the mantle of his dark, heavy robe, the other taking his headpiece and cane, while the third pulled out his chair for him to slip into his seat, planting his dinner napkin in his lap.

Without his obscuring clothing, Raimundo Reffe was a remarkably plain looking individual. He was an older, white man with hawkish features underneath his small spectacles, and short, thin black hair cut so close to his scalp that it emphasized his stiletto-point widow’s peak.

His dark gi looked more formal than practical, with a big, purple eye emblazoned over his chest, standing out more than the white stripes on his long sleeves.

He clapped his hands, and the Cerberus stepped back a respectable distance, allowing the servers to move forward and place a pair of plates in front of the both of them, bearing a small basket with three large slices of a deep, dark rye, with a distinct nutty scent and grainy crust.

“What do you take with your l’aperitif, mademoiselle?” Raimundo asked, signaling to one of the servers. “A vermouth cocktail, please; I’ll leave the specifics to the bartender.”

Hanabi stared in blatant suspicion as a server rolled a mobile bar up to his side to start mixing his drink, and Raimundo spread a reddish butter over a slice of bread.

“... The same for me.” Hanabi frowned, imitating the Reffe lord with her own bread.

Raimundo seemed mildly surprised with her choice, or perhaps her acceptance of food, and raised his pencil-thin eyebrows. “I suspect your compliance isn’t out of trust?”

Hanabi’s fists hit the table around her plate before she even took her first bite, rattling the dishware. “What the fuck am I supposed to do, Master Reffe?” She asked him, glaring again. His eyes widened a moment, taken aback by the question. “You have me dragged here by the ankles by these two chucklefucks,” she gestured to the pair of clown-dressed mercenaries, whose heads simultaneously tilted towards her, “and I’m surrounded by more muscle, more powers, and more weapons than I can possibly break my way out of.”

“That’s remarkably astute!” Raimundo smiled at her. “You would be shocked how many people risk their wellbeing against my personal court. Only one person got as far as my side of the table before being stopped: Jorge Brutus.”

Hanabi sighed. “Should I know that name?”

“He was only your first ever conquest here in America.” Raimundo steepled his fingers in front of his face. “The Bull of Ishtar, the Human Bulldozer, the Breaching Bull; since the day he could stand he put his body through remarkable physical conditioning to toughen himself, all to overcome a persistent childhood illness. He succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.”

“And he was also a major asshole.”

Raimundo laughed at that, tearing off a piece of his rye bread to dip into a small dipping cup full of honey, then paused to sip his drink. “Mm! Quite, quite so! He came to New Medeo City, and the wider fighting community had great faith that he would be nearly unstoppable. Then, his burnt and beaten body was pulled out of the ocean, and he was hospitalized, causing quite a bit of speculation.”

Hanabi bit into the bread in front of her, and was briefly taken aback by how fresh it was.

“Mmph, yeah, well, I’m still not interested.” The flavor settled on her tongue with the weight of a fine cut of steak, the sweetness and nuttiness intermingling and leaving her briefly distracted as she admired the sheer craftsmanship in the treat…

“Pardon?”

“In your tournament. I’m not joining.” She raised her eyes to meet his, annoyance bleeding off of her like a malignant breeze. “As I have said again, and again, and again, and again. As I told your recruiter guy the other day. I didn’t think you’d escalate to kidnapping and bribery this fast though…”

“Ah, right.” Raimundo clasped his hands, and the servant set Hanabi’s martini next to her plate. She took a quick sip, favoring the sweet burn across her tongue. “Well, it may please you to know that is not why I had you brought here; that job belongs to Rudolph and Rudolph alone. I have my own reasons for demanding your presence.”

“And what might that be?!” Hanabi demanded through a mouthful of apricot jam and bread.

Raimundo silently dabbed his lips with his napkin and contemplated his knife, still caked with the oily residue of butter. “Miss Hanaya, are you aware that you are worth approximately thirteen-million yen in Japan?”

Hanabi’s knife fell out of her hand and clattered on the table. She stared, her mouth half open in shock. “Wh-what?”

“You are worth triple that alive.”

“Excuse me?!” Hanabi stood up and slammed her hands on the table, though she didn’t even notice Cerberus holding her martini glass out of the way. “What the hell does that mean?!”

Raimundo didn’t answer immediately, and instead, reached beneath the table and held up a remote control. “Perhaps it would be more prudent to show you the consequences of your worth.”

He clicked a button, and a flat screen TV above the fireplace flickered on. Another click, and the screen changed from stand-by to a view of a street that Hanabi was all too familiar with.

The little street in Osaka, Japan was a place she had tread what must have been a million times since the day she could walk. She recognized the convenience store right next door, that she had grown up buying sweets, and later, ingredients from, she recognized the pothole that, to this day, hadn’t been filled and was a regular complaint by the delivery drivers that came by with ingredients.

But in the video, Kyowa street was not the peaceful little road she remembered.

Hanabi lurched out of her chair and stared at the burning wreckage of the Kyowa Best Eats restaurant; her restaurant, her home. The two story building had collapsed into a single level, the wood blackened and splintered all over the street, emergency service vehicles spraying it down with water, and loading wounded people into ambulances.

The picture shrank into the corner of the screen to show a woman Hanabi recognized: her father had her morning report on the TV all the time during kitchen prep.

{Terror hit the residents of Kyowa street today when, with little warning, around twenty people descended on the Kyowa Best Eats restaurant with violent intent.} She said in Japanese, subtitled in English. A new video from a security camera filled the screen, showing several vans pulling up to the restaurant, and masked figures sprinted out to shake, kick, and break down the door to the restaurant and surge inside. {The sounds of fighting alerted surrounding residents to the assault, but by the time the police arrived, the restaurant had already been set aflame, and its sole occupant, Hanaya Iwata, has been reported missing.}

“Dad…?!” Hanabi could barely breathe, her entire body tense as the reporter went on.

{Hanaya Iwata and his daughter, Hanaya Hanabi, were popular with their neighbors, and their restaurant was a beloved fixture on the eastside of Osaka. It was featured in a number of interviews by news outlets and bloggers alike promoting smaller-scale restaurants, and was well known for winning the Osakan Culinary Flaming Stomach award for seven years running.}

Hanabi’s head hung in front of her as she tried to process the information. No way… her home, her father…? This couldn’t have been real, she had seen them both a week or something ago! They… this had to be fake…

{If anyone has any information on where Hanaya Iwata has gone to, please contact—}

The report clicked off, and Raimundo set the remote back in its place under the table, before fixing his gaze back on Hanabi. “That happened barely two days ago. As for today…” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, and the pair of harlequins soundlessly approached from either side. The blue one, the female, wiggled her fingers, and in the blink of an eye produced a slate gray envelope, the seal already opened.

The lord gestured towards Hanabi, and the jesters approached in an eerie, almost mirror-like march, and the blue jester set the envelope in front of the guest of the evening.

Hanabi didn’t respond right away, still too stunned to acknowledge her surroundings, but then her hand suddenly lashed out and grabbed the letter. Another letter… the elder clans and their damn traditions.

She examined the wax seal that had kept the letter stuck, and swallowed dryly. “The Asai clan…?” She murmured, staring at the symbol of a flaring peacock.

“The first amongst the clans destroyed and scattered at the order of Nobunaga, if I’m not mistaken.” Raimundo said. “I’ve been told that the Hanaya’s attack was so vicious that no amount of embellishment can capture the sheer brutality of the Hanaya’s success.”

Hanabi frowned, the letter shaking in her hand. “Yeah, but the remainder are a buncha successful traders and economists…” She opened the envelope and tugged out the folded letter inside. Her brow furrowed, however. “I can’t read French.”

The red harlequin held his hand out, and after a second’s hesitation, Hanabi passed it over to him. He gestured like he was clearing his throat, no sound coming out, before focusing up and staring at the paper.

“To Pietro and Juliette du Palais,” the blue harlequin, standing on the other side of Hanabi, her arms crossed behind her, her gaze focused solely on Hanabi as the male’s head turned like he was reading, “this message is reaching you with an urgent request. We are offering you forty-million yen for the recovery and return of Hanabi Hanaya of the Hanaya clan to the Asai Clan headquarters of Japan. If she regrettably refuses to return with you, we will pay out thirteen-million if what you bring of her is recognizable.”

Hanabi stared blankly at Juliette, her hand tightening into a fist, crushing a slice of bread into an unrecognizable ball. “Thirteen-million if I’m… recognizable.”

The blue jester gesticulated in a surprisingly downplayed manner, as if she was giving a calm and rational explanation for everything, but it was her male counterpart who spoke instead in a soothingly smooth French accent.

“We suspect we are not the only ones to have received such a letter today. As an auxiliary clan to the Reffe, we brought it to his lordship’s attention immediately, and on his order, brought you here.”

Hanabi took a slow and deep breath, and balled her hands into a fist in front of her face. She closed her eyes, thinking for a moment, not wanting to act out in the heat of the moment, and then looked up at Raimundo Reffe, who was being served a lightly seasoned tuna filet with various berries and garnishings.

She stood, silent and still until the waiter came by to serve her the same, and quick as a flash, she held the steak knife to the waiter’s throat, his eyes widened as he suddenly found himself held hostage.

The whole room was still, staring, watching, neither Cerberus nor the du Palais making a move to stop her.

Hanabi breathed hotly as her knuckles went white from clutching the knife handle so hard, the waiter’s breathing growing more erratic.

“If you brought me here to ship me back to Japan, forget it.”

Raimundo slowly cut his tuna steak and nibbled its edge before speaking. “Miss Hanaya, do you have any clue why the Asai might have a hit on you?”

Hanabi shook her head, her lips tightening. “No idea.”

“From my understanding, the Asai have a long-standing grudge towards the Hanaya for the loss of the bulk of their clan.”

“Yeah. There leader swore an eternal grudge with his dying breath; it became the Asai’s motto: ‘From sunrise to sunset, we’ll be there.’” Hanabi redoubled her grip on the waiter as he began to sweat.

“I see.” Raimundo took a bite of his tune and chewed slowly. “Hanabi, you really should let the poor boy go and try the tuna steak; it’s magnificent.”

Hanabi was sweating now, aware of the number of eyes and potential combatants around her, feeling like each hand around her might have a knife… “Are you going to try and turn me in?”

“No.” Raimundo answered immediately.

Hanabi blinked, but still didn’t let go. “Then why am I here? Why send the chucklefucks after me?!” She demanded, and Raimundo put his cutlery down to address her plainly. “Why scare the shit out of me like this?! My father’s missing! My home burned down!” She spat at him, gritting her teeth, feeling an age-old rage building up within her. “What the fuck do you want?!”

Raimundo was surprisingly calm against her rage, his tone soft and understanding. “Forty-million yen is quite the sum, but the Reffe clan is not a bounty hunting clan.” Raimundo explained, his eyes unwaveringly staring into her own. “Since the founding of the Reffe clan, our purpose has always been to mediate competition between the clans; unbiased, unbribable, bound by the honor of the competition. To this day we maintain that stance, even outside of our clan’s current duties.”

He cleared his throat before continuing. “This stance towards fairness extends even to situations like this; we have no grievances with the Hanaya, and the morality of the situation forces me to at least make you aware of your current endangerment.”

“So what am I to you, then?!” Hanabi demanded through grit teeth. “Screw your morality, it was one of your guys who approached me yesterday, this can’t be a coincidence!”

“It may sound strange, but I assure you, it is.” Raimundo said, trying to keep as calm as possible, though it did raise with a hint of smugness. “That it might loosely benefit us is entirely another matter. The only reason I wanted you here was to make you aware of what was going on.”

“And you thought kidnapping me was the way to go?!”

“Well, you weren’t here by five-thirty, I had to do something.”

Hanabi slowly pulled her arm from the waiter, who scampered out of her grasp. She could only stare at Raimundo in angered disbelief, every impulse in her body telling her to fight and escape, but if he was being honest with her, he wasn’t the enemy, and attacking would only make things worse.

“So how does this help you?” She asked, forcing her hand to put the steak knife down, forcing her ass into the chair, forcing her mouth to not spit fire across the table. “If you aren’t interested in the bounty, what does this do for you?”

Raimundo bowed his head at that, smiling, but with a hint of embarrassment in his expression. “It makes one of our clan’s functions more appealing to you: contestants in a Reffe-organized competition are under our protection from outside forces.”

Hanabi’s expression turned harder, and she went silent.

Of course.

She dug her fork into the tuna steak and took a bite, her expression sour, her tongue ambivalent to its taste, barely acknowledging its delectability or the complexity of its otherwise simple dressing.

“So you’re not going to offer to help find my father or anything like that?” Hanabi asked, her throat and voice both feeling thick with worry. “You have all these cameras, couldn’t you…?”

“It would be possible if we were in Japan, yes,” Raimundo answered, “but not from here. Unfortunately, we aren’t detectives either, and I would hope you understand that I am not keen to send people looking for a man with such a sterling combat reputation.”

Hanabi breathed out, any sense of hope escaping her; did she go home to find her father? Drop everything and go home? Potentially walk straight into the hornet’s nest?

… Should she bother? Her father did have a reputation as a warrior, but if the Asai clan was throwing its weight around…

She lifted her head to glare at Raimundo once more, and signaled to the man behind the mobile bar. “Another martini please, and a dish of sake.”

The bartender moved to comply, reaching down for a bottle at the bottom of the shelf, only for Raimundo to raise a hand, shake his head, and point upwards. The bartender reached deeper and pulled out a smaller clay jug with kanji written on it. Hanabi soon had her sake and her martini glass refilled, and she sipped both with a slow, contemplative tongue.

Hanabi did her best to keep an even tone as she spoke, but she couldn’t keep all of the venom down. “You went to all this trouble just to try and pull me in…”

“Of course not.” Raimundo’s smile was on the soft side of smug, and she desperately wanted to cave his face in. “I merely wanted to invite you to dinner. Now, we may eat in silence, if you so choose, but as a culinarian, I beg of you to enjoy the fruits of my chefs’ labors!”

The fish on the plate, by now, was mocking her, all lemony and spiced as her thoughts raced with possibilities…

She picked up her fork and dug it in to take a bite, letting the flavors push away the fog of worry flowing through her thoughts. Did her dad have a cellphone? She actually didn’t know; he mostly used the restaurant phone for business, but… maybe?

What would her father’s advice be to her right now? What did he always say when she was panicking?

‘Slow down, and focus on the first step.’

So what was her first step? She wanted her father found, but doing it herself was a difficult task; ‘don’t run flailing into the ocean; find a boat and sail.’

… wait, the Asai clan.

She paused mid-bite and leaned back as her plate was taken away, and a plate of heavy, dripping braised beef was set in front of her. A spoon cut straight through the soft, moist chuck beef, the red wine the beef had braised in weeping out of the cut, and she spooned up a chunk of mushroom with it.

The meat was crushed between her molars, coming apart as easily as cotton candy but splashing her tongue with the weighty taste of beef, with sour notes of the red wine intermingling to provide a sensory slug straight to the mouth that took what remained of the tuna steak’s taste and threw it aside.

Braised beef was a comfort food; it was packed with calories and made no effort to pretend it was anything more than a heap of satisfaction on a plate, but that was what Hanabi needed right now, something that slurred her thoughts and made her think slowly.

Who did she know in the Asai clan? She had a classmate in her youth that she’d feuded with until they parted ways around middleschool time, but there was somebody else…

She reached for her martini and paused as she stared at the tall, pretty glass.

Aunt Shisui.

The heavy beef flavor brought her back to sitting across the table from a smartly-suited woman with sharp facial features, but a kind smile. She would forever associate the smell of beef bulgogi with math homework, she and Aunt Shisui taking bites of the meat as she taught her multiplication.

Aunt Shisui was a high-ranking member of the Asai clan before marrying her husband, uncle Sarutobi Jo. Hanabi didn’t know all the details, but she came to befriend her father after he’d been hired as her bodyguard during a perilous meeting between the Japanese and Chinese elder clans.

Since then, she’d used her influence to declare her father’s restaurant and family protected… but why would they start ignoring that? Did Aunt Shisui pull her protection back…?

Hanabi breathed hotly through her nose after swallowing, taking another bite to melt over her tongue.

The only way to find out was to ask people… she had a phone now, hopefully still on her person; she could call her aunt to ask! She would just… need her phone number. Which was written in the address book back home. Which was burnt down.

… maybe she could find a public number?

Okay… when she could, she’d go to a library or someplace with a computer; maybe Ai Li had one? There she could find the company her aunt worked for and hopefully get a number.

Hopefully she’d get an answer, hopefully it was just a misunderstanding, and hopefully her father would be found.

“Done.” Hanabi pushed the empty dish out ahead of her and stood.

“Ah, a quick eater!” Raimundo chuckled, looking up from his own partially eaten dish. “And?”

“I need a computer and hopefully I’ll be able to get some information.” She answered, her brow scrunched together in thought. “It’s not much, but it’s a start. I can come up with my next step depending on what I get.”

Raimundo nodded, scooping up another bite of his beef. “I’m glad to hear it, but I was asking what you thought of your dinner.”

“Delicious, but I have way too much to do right now. I need to go, ASAP, and I need your chef’s recipe.”

“Consider it done. However, one more round with dessert, and then I’ll allow your leave.” Raimundo grinned, causing Hanabi to deflate.

She sat, heavily, and grunted, arms crossed over her bust.

Stubborn old goats…

The dessert had been a particularly moist, spongey slice of black forest cake served with a side of vanilla bean ice cream that had, if Lord Reffe’s bragging was correct, had been made in house. The taste had more than stood up to the claim.

Hanabi had her head in her hands and her eyes closed. She hoped Mr. Goro would be understanding of this, assuming he even believed her; the old battleaxe would probably think she was lying… she would have to have a more mundane excuse on hand.

She breathed deep, let it out, then screamed when her dress was suddenly whipped off her body. She glared up at Cerberus, who was quickly folding the dress with an impassive stare.

“Warn me next time!” She commanded, but Cerberus didn’t even look at her, walking away to put the dress elsewhere.

Raimundo, with his mantle, headdress, and cane, approached, Cerberus at each side, and Pietro and Juliette behind him.

With a deep breath and a satisfied sigh, Raimundo said, “I sincerely hope that you do well with the information I have given you. The elder clans may have their feuds, but ki masters and enlightened alike must thrive.”

Hanabi simply stared at him, taking a deep breath before extending her hand towards him.

He eyed her hand for a moment, and Cerberus’ shoulders tensed up, their postures showing more warning than a cornered tiger. Despite his bodyguards’ threats, Raimundo took her hand, and she gave him a small shake.

“Thank you for dinner.” She said in a very even voice, unblinking, not letting go of his hand even when they finished shaking. “But if this is a stunt, or a trick, or a joke, or if you decide to make an enemy of me…” She breathed in deeply, and gently squeezed his hand in warning, though he didn’t pull away, “you will never be a customer of mine. You will never be allowed at my table, and you will never be my friend.”

Raimundo met her gaze, squeezing her hand back, then nodded. “So young, and yet so much gravitas. I really admire the fires of youth. I would be wounded to earn your hatred, miss Hanaya, so I will keep your warning in mind.”

The two let go of one another, and Hanabi backed away a step, shuddering as the weight of her new knowledge hung over her shoulders.

“There is a limousine parked up front.” Raimundo told her. “The du Palais will escort you back and ensure your safe return to Master Ohno’s. You need not worry that they’ll turn on you.”

That didn’t make Hanabi any less wary as they moved to her sides soundlessly, offering small nods, and so much exaggeration in their short bows that it honestly looked exhausting.

“Good night, miss Hanaya, and good luck.”

“Good night, Master Reffe.” Hanabi responded with little love in her voice, and turned away, the two harlequins walking with her to the elevators.

Rest first… then she had a busy day tomorrow.