KYOTO, THE NEXT MORNING
The wind carried the scent of ash and rain. The golden temple lay in ruins. But Xao Min had never stood taller.
---
Meanwhile, far above the clouds, a private jet soared toward Tokyo.
Inside, Genji Takashima sat in silence, eyes fixed on the horizon. The pendant around his neck flickered faintly — crimson lightning pulsing in rhythm with his heart.
Across from him sat Blaze and Asumi, quiet. Focused.
A message had come that morning — an official letter from Shin Mishima, CEO of Mishima Zaibatsu. The richest man in Japan. Head of the corporate empire spanning AI, biotech, and martial warfare. And now…
His personal invitation.
> "To Genji Takashima .
We have taken notice of your latent potential.
You are requested to appear at Mishima Prefectural HQ for direct training under the Dragon Style Protocols.
Your strength may shape the next era of Japan."
— Shin Mishima
He had no idea.
No idea who Genji really was.
The son of Naomi Takahashi.
The boy born from rebellion and blood.
His own son.
---
MISHIMA TOWER, TOKYO — 3:00 PM
The elevator doors hissed open.
Blaze stayed behind. Asumi walked beside Genji, her hand brushing his. She wore her Mishima uniform again — black and silver, dragon-stitched on her collar.
The walls here gleamed obsidian. Holograms of martial feats played in ghostly blue. Statues of past Mishima heads loomed like warlords.
And at the top…
The Dragon Throne.
Where Shin Mishima waited.
Genji stepped forward into the grand dojo, lights dimmed like a battlefield before war. The rain beat against the glass windows behind Shin — casting his silhouette in pale blue.
He turned.
Sharp jaw. Eyes like frost. Aura like a glacier hiding a volcano.
He was a man who had conquered the world with his fists — and buried love under the weight of power.
> "You're Genji."
His voice echoed with command. No hesitation. No warmth.
Genji nodded once.
> "You summoned me. I came."
Shin eyed the pendant. "That necklace. Where did you get it?"
Genji tensed. "From my mother."
A pause. A flicker of recognition. But Shin shook it off.
> "This training is not for the weak. Mishima Style Dragon Fist breaks bones and crushes spirits. You will bleed. You will beg. And if you survive… you will rise."
> "Then start," Genji said, voice low. "Break me."
Shin's eyes narrowed.
He tossed off his coat.
Muscles coiled like steel cables. Qi roared from his frame like a dragon awakening. The dojo lights dimmed.
> "You dare to challenge me, boy?"
> "I'm not here to challenge. I'm here to prove."
They clashed.
Shin was fast. Terrifying. A master of the old world. He moved with the weight of ten thousand battles.
Genji blocked his first blow — barely.
> CRACK —!!
His arms shuddered. Bones screamed.
Shin didn't stop. Elbow to the ribs. Palm to the throat. Foot sweep—
Genji flew back, crashed into a pillar. Blood filled his mouth.
Asumi gasped.
But Genji stood.
Wiped his lip.
Eyes glowing.
> "Again."
Shin grinned.
He launched another barrage. Roundhouse. Hook. Dragon Fang technique — a Mishima staple, meant to kill.
Genji's pendant burned.
He remembered his mother's words.
"Your fire is not meant to destroy. It's meant to protect."
His feet shifted. Thunder surged.
He caught Shin's kick — and twisted.
> "RED THUNDER REBOUND!!"
The shockwave shattered glass.
Shin was thrown back — not far. But enough.
They stared at each other. Breathing heavy. The storm outside mirrored the storm inside.
Finally, Shin stepped forward.
Offered a hand.
> "You'll do."
Genji looked down at the hand.
But didn't take it.
> "You said you saw my potential. That it could shape Japan."
> "Yes."
> "Then why didn't you shape me yourself… when I was five?"
The dojo fell silent.
Shin blinked.
> "What did you say?"
Genji stepped closer.
> "You knew Naomi. You loved her. Didn't you?"
> "You—"
> "She died protecting me. She refused to come back to you. Why?"
Shin staggered back, like the words struck harder than his fists ever could.
> "...Naomi is dead?"
A pause. Then a whisper.
> "And you… you're her…"
His voice trembled.
> "You're my—?"
Genji's pendant blazed like a miniature sun.
> "I am Genji Maoshinara. Naomi's son."
> "And yours."
The words hung like a sword above his head.
Shin stepped back. His hands trembled. The great Dragon Emperor… broken by a truth he couldn't face.
He turned away.
> "Why didn't she tell me…"
Genji's voice was cold.
> "Maybe because you chose power. Legacy. Titles. Over love."
Shin collapsed onto the steps of his throne.
> "I never stopped searching… I thought she disappeared because I was weak then. Because I couldn't protect her from the council. From the war."
A long silence.
Then—
> "Train with me. As my heir."
> "Why?" Genji asked. "To atone? Or to use me?"
> "To prepare you. The world is changing, Genji. The Phoenix line is awakening. Old clans stir. There are enemies in the shadows who already know your bloodline."
> "Like Juliet Carl?"
Shin's eyes snapped open.
> "You've seen her?"
Genji nodded. "She plans to burn my world. And stand beside me in the ashes."
Shin stood slowly.
> "Then you must become more than my son. More than Naomi's legacy."
He turned to the altar behind the dojo — an ancient blade resting on sacred cloth.
> "You must become the next Dragon."
---
That Night — On the Tower Rooftop
The moon rose above Tokyo. Wind howled. Lights blinked far below.
Genji stood alone. His body ached. His fists throbbed. But his heart burned brighter than ever.
Blaze joined him, leaning on the railing.
> "So. You're royalty now."
> "Don't start."
> "Too late. Gonna start calling you 'Your Dragon-ness.'"
Asumi appeared with four cans of vending machine soda. Tossed one to Genji.
> "For the record… that was badass."
He smiled. "Thanks."
They sipped in silence.
Then Asumi leaned into him.
> "You okay?"
> "Not really," Genji said.
> "But I'm ready."
She nodded.
Blaze pointed east. Toward the red horizon.
> "Then we ride at dawn. Juliet's making moves."
> "Let her," Genji said.
His pendant gleamed.
> "The storm's not coming anymore."
> "I am the storm."
---
To Be Continued…