KENJI

The black of my suit felt like a second skin, soaked with the fine, misting rain that had fallen on my father’s grave.

The scent of damp earth and funeral flowers clung to the air, but in my study, it was already being replaced by the familiar smell of old wood and ambition.

I poured a finger of whiskey, the glass cold in my hand. Renji’s final words echoed, a ghost in the silence. Lead with honor. Legitimize the empire.

A dry, humorless sound escaped me. Honor. A quaint ...