Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 66993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
I watched it in silence.
Even after all these years, I still didn’t feel like this city belonged to me.
Not fully.
Not honestly.
I was never meant for this life.
The throne was never supposed to be mine.
My father—the man they still called The Fox—hadn’t named me heir. He never bred me for this empire. That burden belonged to my brother, Ōkami-no-Ken.
Jobon.
The Wolf.
The sword who never hesitated.
The man who could smile in battle and still make you believe peace was possible.
It had always been meant for my older brother, Jobon.
He was the chosen one.
The firstborn.
Our father molded him for it. Spent exorbitant hours with him in strategy sessions and lessons on discipline, history, and power.
While they trained, plotted, and crushed underworld rivals, I stayed close to my mother.
She was soft-spoken, artistic. She smelled of jasmine tea and silk powder. She taught me how to hold my breath and listen to the wind. How to speak gently, even in a world full of blades. How to taste lines of poetry with my mind, instead of simply reading them.
My father hated it.
When Jobon began managing sections of Tokyo—his own slice of the empire carved by blood—my father yanked me from my mother’s peace. Made me stand by his side. Shadow his movements. Watch executions. Learn betrayal like it was mathematics.
He claimed it was to prepare me.
But I wasn’t naïve.
He missed Jobon being at his side, and I was a poor imitation.
He once told me, coldly, “Your mother softened you too much. I will harden you back into something useful.”
Still, I wasn’t meant to wear the crown.
So, I poured everything into sakkā. Americans called the game soccer. The rest of the world said football.
And I was damned good. Speed. Precision. Control. I thrived in stadiums lit by glory, not gunfire. I earned a spot in the pros. Made it to the fucking Olympics.
My mother and brothers were there for every game, cheering, crying, and lifting signs in the stands with my number painted in gold.
They brought me homemade meals, gifts wrapped in lucky charms.
And my father?
He never came. Too busy conquering new districts, swallowing Tokyo whole, shoving his name into spaces it was never invited.
I stopped expecting him.
Stopped hoping.
My Rolls-Royce passed the massive white arc of Ajinomoto Stadium. Its lights still glowed.
That place would always be sacred to me. Not because I’d played there during my pro years, but because of Jobon.
He’d rented out the entire damned stadium for my twenty-seventh birthday. The whole thing. The field, the luxury boxes, even the Jumbotron. It wasn’t just a party. It was a coronation—one I hadn’t earned yet he gave it to me anyway.
All my friends were there. Old teammates from the Olympics. Childhood schoolmates. My coaches. Their families. Even Hiro showed up with his friends that would one day be my Claws. His whole quiet, deadly squad lurked near the sidelines in tailored suits and sunglasses, holding bento boxes and sake like they hadn’t broken bones that morning.
And in the center of the stadium, in twenty-foot neon lights, my name lit up the sky.
KENJI SATO — THE DRAGON RISES.
The dragon had always been Jobon’s nickname for me since I carried that damn fantasy book around with me everywhere.
Regardless, I remember standing on the turf that night of my birthday, stunned. A little drunk. My mother was crying beside me with a silk handkerchief clutched to her lips.
Jobon had just grinned and slapped me on the back, “You’ve made the whole country proud, little brother. This is my gift. Now, go enjoy your kingdom.”
Even now, I had no idea how many strings Jobon had to pull to make it happen.
Renting Ajinomoto Stadium wasn’t something one could do with just money. The person needed leverage. Connections. Probably had to twist a few arms. Call in a few debts.
But that was Jobon. He’d move heaven and hell just to put a spotlight on someone he loved.
And that night?
He gave me the stars.
I wonder what it cost him. Not just in yen. But in favors. In reputation. In risk.
But he’d never told me. He just stood there, in the middle of that field, smiling like it was nothing. Like I was everything.
I miss you, Jobon. You’re the one that should be running Japan now. Our empire would be safer.
Of course, my father wasn’t at my birthday party. He was out flying too close to the sun. The next day after my birthday, he started a war in Japan. His ego couldn’t be contained within the borders of what we already controlled. He wanted it all. So, he took more criminal territories: Osaka, Nagoya, Fukuoka. Entire black markets were bent under our family crest.
It pissed off the wrong enemies.
The Kurokiba Clan—once a mythic group that ruled Japan’s underground before us—struck back. My father and Jobon beat them.
It was the clan’s final desperate blow before they fled the country to rot in exile that changed my family and my life forever.