The streets of Yokohama churned with rage, a tempest of angry voices rising against the weight of authority. Farmers, merchants, and hired ronin surged toward the magistrate's estate, their frustration mingling in a cacophony of demands. Banners waved like desperate arms pleading for attention, one reading, Justice for the Oppressed! The oppressive symbols of the Bakufu loomed overhead, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow hope whole.
Léopold weaved through the chaos, cloak pulled tight, shoulders hunched against the simmering fury around him. A foreigner in a crowd like this was both a beacon and a liability, and he moved carefully, calculating each step. The danger wasn't just in the mob; it was the men lurking at its edges, poised to strike.
He spotted them—figures clad in dark Western coats, too well-groomed, too composed, watching the crowd with predatory eyes.
Templars. Stirring the pot.
His heart sank at the sight. If they succeeded today, this protest wouldn't end in angry chants—it would end in blood.
"This crowd's a powder keg, ready to blow," Léopold muttered, urgency creeping into his voice as he navigated through the throng. He could feel the heat rising, the tension thickening the air, igniting sparks of anger and desperation among the masses.
Just as anxiety began to grip him, he caught sight of two familiar figures slicing through the crowd like blades—Kagerou Imaizumi, her movements fluid and purposeful, and Sekibanki, trailing slightly behind with an irritable scowl plastered on her face.
Kagerou approached him with a calm demeanor that contrasted sharply with the turmoil around them. "We saw them too," she said, her voice steady, as if she were discussing the weather. "They're at the edge of the crowd."
"You think they'll spark a riot?" Léopold asked, urgency edging his tone.
"They're not here for peace," she replied, her gaze piercing through the mass of bodies. "But we're not rushing in, not unless we have to."
Sekibanki crossed her arms, her crimson eyes scanning the mob with a mix of annoyance and disdain. "If those Templars want to drown in human stupidity, let them. What do we care?" She jerked her head toward a cluster of Bakufu guards standing like sentinels, swords drawn and vigilant. "They'll tear each other apart without our help."
Léopold frowned. "And if that's what the Templars are after? If they want chaos to distract the guards?"
Sekibanki scoffed. "Let me guess—you want us to risk our necks to save some fools?"
Kagerou shot her a sidelong glance but maintained her gentle tone. "We're not saving anyone. We're stopping the Templars from doing something worse."
Sekibanki rolled her eyes, but the tension was palpable in the air. Her face twisted into a smirk. "You mean I have to actually get my hands dirty? How quaint."
Léopold kept his voice low. "We can split up. Watch them. If they make a move, we stop them quietly. No mess, no heroics."
"Of course," Sekibanki muttered. "Wouldn't want to ruin your day with anything messy."
Kagerou gave him a faint nod, her eyes focused on the rooftops. "I'll take the high ground. Sekibanki, you're with me."
"Naturally," Sekibanki replied, the sarcasm dripping from her words.
Kagerou climbed the nearest building with practiced ease, her feet moving silently over the rooftops as she stalked the Templars below. A chill breeze tugged at her dark hair, but she remained calm, steady as the autumn sky. Below her, the protest swelled—waves of angry bodies colliding with guards, the clash of swords echoing faintly beneath the shouting.
Despite the roiling tension, Kagerou's heartbeat stayed slow, deliberate. Panic wouldn't help her. And even if she had to transform, she wouldn't let the bloodlust take her. She had learned long ago that control was paramount, especially now.
The two Templar agents split up, the taller one disappearing into the shadows of an alleyway. Kagerou followed, her sharp eyes catching the glint of a rifle barrel peeking from beneath his coat. They're not just here to talk, she thought. They're here to start something.
She crouched at the edge of the roof, peering down at the alley where the man had vanished. As she waited, she felt Sekibanki drift closer, her presence marked by the faint sound of movement.
"You smell that?" Sekibanki asked, her voice low, laced with her typical cynicism.
Kagerou sniffed the air, her senses keen. "Gunpowder."
"And idiots," Sekibanki added with a dry smirk. "Lots of them."
Kagerou allowed herself a small chuckle, though her attention never wavered from the street below. "You coming, or are you just going to float there making jokes?"
Sekibanki groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes as her head detached with a soft hiss of air. Floating above, she surveyed the scene, relishing her aerial perspective. "If I wanted to watch these morons from above, I could've stayed in bed. But no, here I am, dragged into your little crusade."
"Yes," Kagerou said firmly. "Because it needs doing."
Sekibanki's floating head glared down at the alley, annoyance etched on her features. "And I suppose this is where you swoop in, save the day, and I get to sit back and admire your heroics?"
"Something like that," Kagerou replied, her tone dry.
While Kagerou remained focused, Sekibanki floated back down, her head reattaching to her neck with a slight snap. She grimaced, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. "Templars are setting something up at the market," she muttered. "Didn't catch all the details, but it's bad."
Léopold appeared beside them, his breath coming in quick gasps. "Rifles," he confirmed, his eyes sharp with urgency. "They want to make it look like the guards fired first."
Kagerou's expression darkened, though she kept her voice calm. "Then we stop them."
Sekibanki crossed her arms, annoyance flashing across her face. "Always us cleaning up other people's messes. Humans, Templars—doesn't matter. It's always something."
"Would you rather sit back and do nothing?" Kagerou asked, her tone gentle but firm.
Sekibanki let out a long, exaggerated sigh, flicking a piece of hair over her shoulder. "Ugh. No."
The three of them moved as one—Kagerou leading with quiet confidence, Léopold tense but resolute, and Sekibanki trailing with a smirk and a glint of mischief in her eyes. They slipped through the crowd like shadows, unnoticed, even as chaos swirled around them.
As they neared the marketplace, Kagerou pointed to a cluster of barrels, where the Templar agent had begun gathering supplies. "We need to split them up," she whispered. "If they see us coming together, they might panic and fire."
Sekibanki nodded, the sharpness in her demeanor sharpening. "I'll take the one on the left. You two handle the other one. Just don't mess it up."
"Do you think we'll have time for your usual theatrics?" Léopold replied, eyebrow raised. "Let's keep this quick and quiet."
"Where's the fun in that?" Sekibanki shot back, but there was a hint of excitement in her voice, the thrill of impending action igniting a spark within her. She drifted back slightly, positioning herself for a clean approach.
Kagerou looked at Léopold. "Ready?"
"Always," he said, steeling himself.
They launched into action—Kagerou darting forward while Léopold stayed low, using the stalls and barrels for cover. As they moved, the crowd surged around them, oblivious to the looming danger.
Kagerou reached the first Templar agent first. He stood, unaware, fiddling with a rifle, clearly preparing for something ominous. She leaped forward, her movements fluid and quiet as she approached from behind, fingers poised to strike.
"Drop it," she hissed, her voice low and fierce.
The Templar turned, surprise flickering in his eyes before it morphed into fear. He opened his mouth to shout, but Kagerou was faster. She struck, a blur of motion, and within seconds, he was subdued, gasping for breath against the cold ground.
Meanwhile, Sekibanki was already slipping through the shadows, moving toward the other Templar. She grinned, the thrill of the chase filling her with energy. This was what she was made for—a chance to show her superiority, to flaunt her abilities.
She dropped her head again, the familiar weight lifting from her shoulders with a soft hiss, as if a valve had been released. Her floating head drifted low through the alley, weaving between crates and barrels like a mischievous specter. She took a moment to relish the feeling. The world always felt different when she detached—lighter, more fluid, like she was slipping out of the constraints of her body. It was exhilarating, if only for a moment.
From this vantage point, everything seemed smaller, more fragile. The clinking of metal, the tension in the air—it all reverberated through her senses like ripples across water. She could almost taste the fear and tension in the air, metallic on her tongue.
The Templar agent crouched ahead, unaware of his pursuer. He was focused on assembling his weapon, fingers working with calm precision, the rifle's parts clicking into place.
Perfect.
Sekibanki floated silently above him, her grin widening as she positioned herself for the scare. She leaned in close, her red eyes glowing faintly in the dark, just above the man's shoulder.
"Boo," she whispered, her voice dripping with mockery.
The man jolted violently, his rifle slipping from his hands and clattering to the ground. A half-choked yelp escaped him as he stumbled backward, clutching his chest as though he had seen a ghost—because, to him, he practically had.
Before he could recover, Sekibanki's body lunged from the shadows, her arms wrapping around the man's legs. In one swift motion, she tackled him to the ground, pinning him under her weight. Her head floated closer, hovering just out of his reach as if to taunt him further.
"You were going to start a riot, weren't you?" she said, her grin widening with amusement. "Too bad for you. Now you've got me instead."
The Templar struggled, kicking wildly beneath her grip. "Get off me, you freak!"
"Freak? How rude." Sekibanki's floating head tilted slightly, her tone laced with mock disappointment. "You'd think a Templar would be more polite. Or smarter."
The man tried to wriggle free, but Sekibanki's hold was relentless, her grip far stronger than he had expected. "Stay still, will you?" she muttered. "You're making this harder than it needs to be."
With a final grunt of effort, she wrestled him into submission, pressing his face into the dirt. Her detached head drifted closer, inspecting his discarded rifle. "Humans always make things more complicated than necessary," she said, sneering. "You don't even know how to properly cause chaos."
A muffled protest escaped the Templar's lips, and Sekibanki leaned closer, her breath hot against his ear. "If you're going to start a riot, at least do it right. You'd be surprised how easy it is to stir up trouble with a little finesse."
As she toyed with him, Léopold was a world away, perched on a narrow ledge above the street. The moonlight painted the rooftops in silvery light, casting long shadows that cloaked his movements. He took a moment to survey the chaos below, the flickering torches illuminating the faces of the angry crowd. Tension hung in the air like the promise of a storm, electric and crackling.
From his vantage point, Léopold spotted another Templar making his way through the shadows, weaving through the throng of protesters. This one was taller, with a heavy-set build that spoke of strength rather than stealth. Léopold's pulse quickened, instincts sharpening as he flicked out his hidden blade, the metal glinting menacingly in the dim light.
He leapt from the ledge, landing silently on a lower rooftop. He crept along the edge, the shouts of the crowd muffled beneath the rhythm of his heartbeat. The Templar remained unaware of the hunter in the dark, focused instead on barking orders at the guards nearby.
As he closed the distance, he could see the man more clearly now, a scowl twisting his features as he gestured toward the mob. Léopold could see the glint of metal in the man's hand—an order to escalate, to unleash violence upon the crowd. He couldn't allow that to happen.
In a sudden surge of speed, Léopold lunged forward, landing behind the Templar in a silent blur. The man stiffened, sensing a presence, but it was too late. With a swift motion, Léopold pressed the blade against the Templar's throat, the cold metal biting into flesh.
The Templar froze, every muscle in his body going rigid as Léopold leaned in closer. "It's over," Léopold hissed. "One move, and your throat opens like a butcher's prize."
The man grunted, his jaw tightening as he stared straight ahead. "Go ahead, Assassin," he muttered, breathing heavily. "You've already lost."
Léopold applied more pressure, the blade drawing a thin line of blood, red against pale skin. "You think you have time to gloat?" Léopold whispered coldly. "You won't get a second chance."
The Templar's eyes locked with his, a strange glint of satisfaction flickering there. "Not me," the man rasped, lips curling into a twisted grin.
Before Léopold could question the meaning behind the smile—BANG!
The sharp crack of a rifle shot split the night, reverberating through the streets like a whip's snap. Léopold instinctively jerked his head toward the sound, the metallic scent of gunpowder hitting the air a heartbeat later.
He turned his attention, seeing another Templar—the foreign advisor he had encountered before—several rooftops away, firing a revolver straight into the air. The gunshot echoed like a death knell, and the advisor's smirk was infuriatingly confident.
"Looks like you're a little late, Assassin," the foreigner called, his voice mocking as he lifted the revolver again, his aim steady. "Time's up."
Léopold felt his blood run cold. The Templars had planned this from the beginning. This was no simple reconnaissance mission; it was a trap, and he had walked right into it. He didn't have time to dwell on the implications; he had to act. The Templar beneath him was still gurgling in agony, but Léopold had no time to finish the job.
With a fierce shove, he forced the Templar away and sprinted to the edge of the rooftop, adrenaline surging through his veins.