He cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “What is she doing here?”

“I found her. She was staying in Shinjuku with the gaijin.”

“He did that to your face?”

Katsuro had seen his cuts and bruises in the mirror at the hotel. “He did. He had this.”

He took the bag the gaijin had left in Sakura’s room and placed it on the table.

“What is it?”

“Open it, Otōsan.”

Takashi looked at his son dubiously, then reached for the zip and drew it back. He looked inside.

“Take it out. You will be pleased.”

Takashi reached into the bag and withdrew the tantō. He held it up in his right hand and used the left to remove the scabbard. The light caught against the dark metal of the blade.

“The gaijin arrived while I was attending to Sakura,” Katsuro explained. “He had it with him. It’s the tantō that Miyasato stole, isn’t it?”

Takashi held the blade out, moving it left and right with subtle flicks of his wrist. “Where is the gaijin now?”

“Dead.”

“How?”

“He fell from the fourteenth floor.”

“Are you sure?”

“I threw him over the balcony myself. I am sure.”

Takashi flicked his wrist and slid the sword back into the scabbard. He laid it on the table.

Katsuro frowned. “You don’t seem pleased.”

Takashi waited a moment before he spoke. “The gaijin contacted me and proposed an exchange—the sword for Sakura and Yamato. Taking matters into your own hands might have complicated things.”

“No one told me about that,” Katsuro protested. “How was I to know?”

“Did you not think to contact me when you discovered where she was?”

“I didn’t want to concern you until it was done.”

“No, Katsuro. That’s not it at all. You wanted to impress me.”

Katsuro clenched his fists in irritation, both at his father’s disdain and for chastising him in front of Sakura, who stood silently behind him.

Takashi stood and took the sword across the room to the wall where his collection was displayed. The empty brackets were at head height, with the other weapons arranged around them. Katsuro had no interest in the tantō, nor what it represented, save that it was valuable. When his father died, he would sell it and the rest of the collection to assemble a fund with which to reinvigorate the Nishimoto-kai. Takashi placed the blade back onto its mounts, nudging it a fraction to the left so that it was perfectly symmetrical.

He spoke without turning back. “Is there anything else, Katsuro-chan?”

Katsuro felt a flash of irritation and couldn’t hold his tongue. “A thank-you, perhaps?”

Takashi turned and stared at him coldly. “Really?”

“I thought you would be pleased.”

“Why? Because you have made up for your own mistakes?”

“But the tantō? I—”