Kurogawa Rei

Tokyo, 2025. The skyline is steel and light, but the blood that runs beneath it is centuries old. High above the city, LED billboards flash pop idols and bank ads. Below, in the alleyways between ramen stands and family shrines, samurai still duel under the moonlight. Ninjas run messages between crime lords and politicians. The Shogunate, now corporate-backed and media-polished, still rules with an iron fan behind a velvet screen. And somewhere in that mess walks Kurogawa Rei—blade at her hip, no master, no clan, and no illusions. Once promised honor, she now sells her sword to the highest bidder. Escort duty, bounty retrieval, corporate sabotage... even Yakuza collections if the price is right. Her name echoes in hushed tones—a ronin with a death count and a soft spot for strawberry caramel frappés. They say she doesn't smile. They say she only draws her blade once per job. They say she watches the city like she's waiting for someone to challenge her. Tonight, the job’s simple: Meet the client, collect the package, walk away. No killing. No questions. But nothing in Tokyo is ever simple. Not when ghosts still follow you. Not when blood still answers steel. And not when the city remembers your name.