[ Tokyo, Japan ]
The car sliced through Tokyo's neon-lit veins like a whisper in the dark. Daisy leaned against the window, watching the city pulse with nighttime energy. Skyscrapers shimmered, lighting danced, and humans swarmed like fireflies with too many deadlines and not enough sleep.
Beneath that electric glamour? Rot.
On every corner, gangsters strutted around with open shirts and inked pride, parading their tattoos like peacocks at a yakuza fashion show. Ordinary folks took wide steps around them. The cops? Practiced ignorance like it was an Olympic sport.
The government's grip was slipping. Hydra's claws were tightening. Lucky ones got absorbed into organized crime and learned to grin with a blade in hand. The unlucky ones were vacuumed into Hydra's recruitment funnels, brainwashed, and spat out as disposable shock troops.
And who was partially to blame for this mess? The Yashida family. Their fall had pulled half the country's economy with them. Corruption seeped in like a virus.
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[ Yashida Mansion, Tokyo, Japan ]
The car finally rolled to a stop in front of a grand manor that looked like it had been airlifted from a samurai epic and dropped into the modern day. Standing at the entrance, hands folded over his stomach like a funeral director ready for business, was a middle-aged man in a tailored suit.
Shingen Yashida.
Daisy raised an eyebrow. Him greeting her in person? That was new. Clearly, SHIELD's backing still carried weight. Certainly a better welcome than Wolverine had gotten. She slid out of the car with a graceful nod, offered a polite Japanese greeting, and handed over a small, ribboned box.
Gifts were sacred here. Turn up empty-handed and you might as well spit on the tatami. And no, a bag of snacks didn't count.
She'd done her homework. Shingen was a sword aficionado—his collection could give certain museums an inferiority complex. But Daisy wasn't here to challenge him to a duel, so a katana was out. Instead, she brought a handwritten scroll by Kaikawa Shoki, a Rinzai monk from the Sengoku era. The guy was a big deal—advisor to Takeda Shingen. Between the spiritual value, the historical connection, and the shared name? A solid triple threat.
Shingen accepted it with minimal emotion, but his eyes lingered half a second longer than usual. Success.
The manor sprawled across the border between Tokyo's Koto and Edogawa districts, its back kissed by Tokyo Bay. The sound of waves whispered against the silence, calm and unthreatening.
Too calm.
Perfect place for a vacation. Or a massacre. Out here, no one would hear you scream. Daisy filed that away. Always good to know where to stage a clean extraction—or a body dump.
Though her visit was official, she wasn't some global dignitary. Shingen's cold demeanor made it clear he hadn't invited her out of warmth. More likely, political obligation. Daisy's instincts told her he wasn't just narrow-minded—he was the kind of man who kept grudges preserved in salt.
Inside, tea was served with the usual elegance. A servant whispered something to Shingen, just low enough to be missed—unless you had hypersensitive vibration perception, of course. Daisy did. She felt the frequency shift in his body, like someone changing the radio station in his chest. His tone warmed by half a degree.
Adamantium came up—briefly. Apparently, the Yashida family had tons of it stashed away, and offering SHIELD a few kilos was pocket change.
Daisy clenched her jaw, smile intact. Nick Fury had played her. Again.
The adamantium wasn't being sold. It was being gifted. With free shipping.
SHIELD's ledger wouldn't lose a cent, but Nicky would still cook up an invoice that could bankrupt Stark Industries. Then he'd funnel the difference into some shady side op or his next custom eyepatch. And worst of all? He conned her into doing the legwork, earning brownie points with Professor X on the side.
Nicky, you magnificent devil.
Still, Daisy wasn't here just for the alloy. She had her own reasons. The Yashida family had been researching cell regeneration for fifty years. She wanted to see what they had discovered—and what they might've hidden.
"Please stay overnight so we can properly host our esteemed guest," Shingen said after the meeting wrapped.
Daisy offered a token refusal. Twice. It didn't work. Clearly, polite disinterest wasn't going to cut it tonight.
She relented.
With a snap of his fingers, the doors opened and in walked a young woman in a white dress, all soft grace and subtle poise.
"Mariko, entertain Miss Johnson for me," Shingen ordered. Then he nodded curtly and left.
Mariko bowed. "Miss Johnson, please follow me."
The walk from the reception room to the guest quarters was a silent parade of quiet elegance. Women in kimonos shuffled efficiently in soft steps, whispering like ghosts through the halls. Daisy and Mariko stood out—Western clothes, modern silhouettes. Out of sync with the atmosphere, but Daisy didn't mind.
"You speak excellent Japanese," Mariko commented, genuinely impressed. "Are you here on vacation?"
Daisy gave a practiced smile. "I have a few friends in Japan. Taking a break from work, so I thought I'd drop by."
Mariko blinked. Your friends live here?
But she didn't press. Smart girl. She pivoted instead. "Miss Johnson must come from a very distinguished family. Are you visiting my grandfather tomorrow?"
Daisy's brain did a full stop.
Grandfather?
Ah. The old fossil.
She smiled politely. "I'm here to visit Mr. Shingen only. No need to disturb the elder."
She had no desire to meet the old war criminal still rotting at the top of this family tree. From what she'd heard, he was arrogant, ruthless, and the kind of traditionalist who believed women belonged in silence and silk. If anyone expected Daisy to wear a kimono and bow to a relic? They were in for a disappointment.
Besides, Shingen hadn't even mentioned his father—like the man was already a ghost. That kind of omission said everything. Daisy wasn't getting involved in a family feud unless she could profit from it.
Mariko either understood or chose not to poke further. She simply led Daisy to the guest room—a spacious suite with its own private bath. Technically it was called a "guest room," but it was more like a hotel suite disguised as a Zen retreat.
Daisy appreciated the amenities. She stepped into the furo for a quick rinse, then sprawled out on the tatami. Her body relaxed, but her mind spun.
Tokyo was crawling with secrets. Hydra was festering under the floorboards. And somewhere in this picturesque manor was a decades-old experiment that might change everything.
But for now?
Sleep first. Schemes later.
To be continued...
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[ POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS ]