Cupcakes, Cars & Swords

Prologue

In the northern part of Japan, tucked away in the Akita Prefecture near Lake Tazawa-ko, night had fallen upon the small town Kakunodate. Cooling winds from the sea swept through the branches of the weeping cherry blossom trees associated with the samurai district, freeing several blossoms from their stems. The light pink flowers danced along the breeze, rushing past the perfectly preserved samurai mansions nestled among the great trees. Several of the mansions were used as tourist attractions opened to the public, while the rest served as homes to the descendents of the honorable samurai that once occupied the town.

Three dark figures, dressed head-to-toe in black, crept along the paved road that led to the ancestral homes, silent and swift as they ran among the shadows. In one perfect line the figures ran, rushing past home after home, nearing the end of the lane, leaving no evidence of their passing.

Like a silent monument to a lifetime past, the last home on the lane stood proud and firm against a backdrop of swaying weeping cherry blossom trees. Known to the Kakunodate residents as the House of Ichiro, the building was a reminder of the existence of noble and honorable men throughout the town's history.

It was at this home's main gate that the three figures paused, their dark eyes staring at the modest two story structure. A single lamp sat in the window of one of the upstairs rooms, its small flame burning brightly. Dark eyes watched as the shadow of an elderly man shuffled towards the lamp, bending down slightly, blowing the light out.

As if given a signal, the three figures leapt into action as darkness replaced light. As one, they jumped, landing noiselessly upon the wrought iron gates, gracefully perched as they continued to stare at the now darkened room. Without a word to one another, the three separated, each taking off in a different direction: one to the left, one to the right, and the last towards the front door.

They moved quickly, their motions fluid and graceful. Their feet never seemed to touch the gravel, as if carried by a strong wind that moved them up and around any obstacle that they might come upon. No sound save that of the rushing wind could be heard, not even when the feet of one of the figures touched down upon the tiled roof.

Unaware of his companions' whereabouts, the man upon the roof carefully made his way towards the edge of the roof and swung down to the nearest window. Holding onto the rain gutter with just one hand, he fumbled with the small window, his actions rewarded with a soft, yet audible click of the window latch unlocking.

In one fluid motion, the window pane slid up, allowing entrance to the black-clad man.

Slipping through the small opening, the figure entered the home, finding himself in the confines of a small bedroom. With just the moonlight as his guide, the man deftly made his way across the room, his padded feet silent on the hardwood floor. With just the slightest effort from his fingertips, he slid open the rice paper door and stepped out into the hallway.

He was immediately joined by his companions, both whom had entered through different means and areas of the home, just as stealthily and expertly as he. The latter two fell in rank behind the first, and they made their way towards the end of the hall, their footsteps in sync.

A single door stood at the end of the darkened hallway, pink cherry blossoms delicately painted on the rice paper framed by dark cherry wood, the illustration softly illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the windows inside the room. No movement was heard beyond the door, nothing alerting the three intruders to what may lay behind the entrance.

The front man reached out a gloved hand, his fingers finding the carved out groove used as a grip to slide the door open. With a slight flick of his wrist, he slid the heavy door along its track, his eyes immediately trained on the room beyond.

The room, like the rest of the house, was dark. Though there were many windows along the wall, only one remained uncovered by heavy drapes, allowing a small beam of moonlight to illuminate a small patch of room.

From what little they could see, the room was scarcely furnished, with just a large desk, standing lamp and matching chair tucked into a corner. Bookshelves with a few ancient tomes, as well as varying sizes of plates and vases stood against the bare wall next to the desk and lamp, while the other side of the room held an arrangement of potted plants.

The trio stepped further inside, abruptly stopping when the lamp suddenly clicked on.

"I thought I heard you," a voice from behind them announced, causing the three men to quickly turn around.

An elderly man stood in the doorway, his wizened face lined with age and experience. His hair, a snowy white, was pulled away from his face and held back by a single piece of braided twine, giving his uninvited guest full view of his amused smile.

"Ichiro," one of the men snarled, his eyes narrowing.

"To what do I owe this pleasure of your uninvited presence?" the elder asked, pleasantly. The same man scoffed.

"Where is it?" the leader cut in, his voice low and menacing. From behind him, his followers growled.

Ichiro Tatsuya, seemed nonplussed by such threatening actions. "I'm afraid I have no inclination of that which you speak," he answered, his smile growing. "Then again, I believe I have no obligation to answer such demands when you clearly have entered my home with no invitation."

More growls rumbled through the room. "I will ask again, old one," the leader said, taking a step forward; his cronies followed suit. "Where is it?"

"I cannot answer something I have no knowledge of, Dark One," came the answer.

An unholy screech erupted from below the mask that covered the lower half of the man's face. He took another step forward, his left hand shooting out to grab the elder around the neck, the other unsheathing the sword from its scabbard strapped to his back. The sharp tip of the katana blade lay against the old man's throat.

"I will kill you, foolish one!" the figure threatened, applying more pressure to the blade. The skin broke and few droplets of blood slid down the older man's throat, disappearing under the collar of his kimono.

"Tell us what we need to know!" added the other two.

Tatsuya remained silent, though the underlying meaning was not lost. He continued to smile, despite the immediate danger he appeared to be in.

"Last time, old man! Where is it?"

"What you seek will never be given by me," he answered.

His captor gave another high-pitched screech, his dark eyes suddenly glowing red. "Then your secrets will die with you!" he shouted. The blade pulled back, then just as quickly jabbed forward, plunging deep into the soft flesh of the elder's throat.

A strangled sound escaped the older man's lips, his eyes wide as he fell to his knees. The blade once again retracted, then sliced into the victim's chest, all the way to the hilt. Ichiro glanced down at the blade protruding from his upper torso, then back to his executioner. The smile returned to his face and he gave a strange gurgled chuckle.

Infuriated, his killer growled, then cruelly twisted the blade, severing the arteries pumping life's blood to the heart of the humble patriarch of the Ichiro clan. With the life slowly draining from his eyes, the elder slumped to the floor, his body hitting the hard floor with finality.

Over seven hundred miles away, Ichiro's great-granddaughter, Cho Misaki, awoke with a bloodcurdling scream.