The car cut through downtown Tokyo as night fell, and the city came alive around them.
Through the window, Daisy watched the streets fill — people pouring out of offices, crowding the sidewalks, diving into the rhythm of a night that existed to help them forget the day. On the surface, nothing but light and motion and energy.
Below it, other currents moved.
Yakuza members moved through the city's arteries, collars open enough to hint at tattoo work, acting like they owned every square meter of ground they crossed. Ordinary people flowed around them without eye contact. The police saw it and didn't intervene.
Government authority in retreat. Criminal organizations filling the vacuum. Regular citizens with no recourse, no protection, and few options — the lucky ones eventually joined the same organizations they'd spent years resenting. The unlucky ones got recruited by HYDRA, conditioned, and turned into disposable soldiers.
The Yashida family's influence over this country ran too deep. Its decline was already sending shockwaves through the national economy, and the social problems were only accumulating.
The car stopped in front of a compound that seemed to swallow the surrounding landscape whole.
Daisy stepped out and found a middle-aged man waiting at the gate.
His face was hard and watchful. Suit pressed, hands clasped at his stomach, posture rigid. Shingen Yashida in person. She hadn't expected him to come out to the gate himself — this was the advantage of arriving under SHIELD's name. Whatever he thought of her personally, the organization commanded a certain deference. Her reception was already considerably warmer than Logan's would be.
The Yashida compound sat on the outskirts of the city, in the borderland between Koto Ward and Edogawa Ward — a location chosen for space and privacy. The estate backed up against Tokyo Bay. Standing at the front gate, she could already hear the faint rhythm of waves. A fine place to rest and recover, or to spend a holiday.
Also, she noted privately, an excellent location for a massacre. If enemies came to the door out here, you could shout yourself hoarse and nobody would come.
She wasn't anyone important in this meeting — not really. And Shingen Yashida, whatever his actual power in the family, was still the one who had agreed to see her. The tension in his face told her he was a man who kept track of every slight.
Daisy was deliberate about it. She stepped forward, gave a small, respectful nod, greeted him in Japanese, and then extended a gift box she'd brought specifically for him.
In Japan, the protocol was non-negotiable. Arriving at someone's home for the first time without a gift was worse than arriving late. And given who she was dealing with — a clan head, even a diminished one — a box of sweets would have been an insult.
She'd thought carefully.
Shingen Yashida was known to appreciate fine blades. SHIELD's collection included several notable pieces. But presenting swords at an opening visit carried the wrong connotation — too confrontational, more challenge than courtesy. She'd compromised.
What she'd chosen was a scroll: a hand-copied sutra from the Rinzai Zen master Kaisen Jōki, dating to the Sengoku period. Kaisen had been appointed head abbot of Erin-ji by Takeda Shingen — the legendary warlord — and Takeda's armies were known for the famous Fūrinkazan battle standard.
The name resonance was deliberate. Takeda Shingen, Yashida Shingen. A shared kanji, a harmonious pairing. Auspicious, in the way that mattered here.
Buddhism in Japan wasn't casual, and a sutra couldn't go wrong.
Shingen Yashida led her through the main gate. A servant appeared with tea. Moments later, one of his aides leaned in and murmured something close to his ear. Daisy felt the shift in his vibrational frequency — subtle, barely registering — but his posture toward her warmed by a measurable degree.
The Adamantium was handled quickly. It had already been arranged; there was no reason to revisit it. The Yashida stockpile was substantial, measured in tons. Providing a few pounds to SHIELD cost them nothing worth counting.
She did the arithmetic internally and cursed Fury in her head. SHIELD paid nothing. The Yashidas were giving it as a gift — including shipping. Fury would report the cost to accounting as some astronomical figure, and the difference would quietly slip into his own pocket. He'd also maneuvered her into this mission for free, and banked a personal favor from Professor X in the process.
She could feel herself being played on every side, and there was nothing to be done about it. The bald man operated like a black hole — everything went in, nothing came out except more leverage.
At least she had her own objectives.
She wanted a look at whatever research the Yashidas had built over fifty years of studying cellular regeneration. What had that obsession actually produced?
"Please stay the night," Shingen said, as she made her first move toward a polite exit after wrapping up the business. "Let us offer proper hospitality."
She demurred once. He pressed. She demurred again. He pressed again. She gave in.
He clapped softly. The door opened.
A young woman entered — dressed in white, bright-eyed, composed. Mariko Yashida.
"Mariko. See to Miss Johnson's comfort." He gave Daisy a brief nod. "I have other matters to attend to. Please excuse me."
Daisy returned the courtesy and watched him leave.
"Miss Johnson, please follow me." Mariko — a small, delicate presence — led her toward the guest quarters.
The walk took them through corridors where most of the women they passed wore kimono, moving in quick, quiet steps, attending to their various tasks in near silence. Daisy and Mariko's Western clothing stood out against all of it.
"Miss Johnson speaks Japanese beautifully," Mariko offered. "Have you come to Japan as a tourist?"
Daisy had done her reading on Mariko Yashida. Online commentary in her previous life had been harsh toward her — gold-digger, schemer, the woman who'd maneuvered Wolverine into fighting for her and then taken everything. But looking at the actual situation, she wasn't convinced.
The Yashida Corporation was a wreck. Whoever inherited its control was inheriting a sinkhole — billions in the red, internal financing in collapse, HYDRA feeding on it from the inside, and a dozen major Japanese financial conglomerates already circling like vultures. That wasn't a prize someone schemed to win. That was a trap.
Mariko didn't strike her as the kind of person who would sacrifice everything for ambition. She seemed more like someone caught in a situation not of her choosing.
Don't judge prematurely, Daisy told herself. Loyal or not, she'd have to watch and see.
She answered easily: "Yes, I have a few friends here in Japan. School's out, so I thought I'd come visit."
Mariko blinked, clearly computing how a social visit to friends had led to arriving as a guest in her family's compound. But she didn't press. She redirected instead.
"You must come from a remarkable background, Miss Johnson. Will you be calling on our grandfather tomorrow?"
Daisy considered briefly. "Procedure is probably quite involved for that. I came to see Mr. Shingen, so I wouldn't want to disturb the elder gentleman."
The old patriarch and the war he'd participated in were things she had no interest in engaging with directly. Whatever was true of Shingen or Mariko — they had no part in those events. Conversation was fine. But the old man himself was another matter. Morally, historically, and personally, she had no goodwill to offer him. Beyond that, she'd heard he was deeply traditional — the kind of man who expected women to know their place. Put on a kimono to meet him?
Not in this lifetime.
Her half hour with Shingen had told her something, too. Not once had he mentioned his father — the old man might as well not have existed. The fracture between them wasn't hidden. She had no intention of walking into the middle of someone else's family warfare. Using Shingen as a shield was the easier path.
Whether Mariko could read all of that beneath the surface or not, she gave no sign either way. She delivered Daisy to the guest quarters with quiet efficiency.
The room was more than a room. There was a sleeping area, and there was an ofuro — the traditional soaking bath, already prepared.
Daisy washed quickly, then lay down on the tatami and let the day drain out of her.
She was asleep before she'd finished thinking.