Sakura's hand rested lightly on Arthur's arm, her kimono's silk whispering against his sleeve, but her posture was alert, attuned to the undercurrents of the underworld that pulsed beneath the celebration's surface.
Just as they approached the tree's base, where couples lined up for the ritual kiss, a sharp shout pierced the murmur. "Hey, lady! You think you can just waltz in here without paying up? This ain't a free show!"
Arthur's head snapped toward the noise. A few meters away, a burly man in a gaudy jacket adorned with mismatched patches loomed over a wide-eyed tourist, her festival yukata clutched tightly in fear. The man, his face flushed and scarred, jabbed a finger at her. "Admission fee, now! Or I'll make sure you regret it."
The woman fumbled for her communicator, stammering, "I'm calling the A.C.P.U. This is public space!"
Sakura's eyes narrowed, and she released Arthur's arm, stepping forward with graceful authority. "Enough. This is a festival, not a shakedown den. Step away from her."
The man turned, his sneer deepening as he appraised Sakura. "Oh yeah? And who the hell are you, princess? This spot around the tree? It's Liberty turf now. Pay up or get lost." He snapped his fingers, and three cronies emerged from the crowd—rough-looking types with makeshift weapons concealed under their coats, their eyes darting with predatory intent.
Arthur tensed, his omni-blade humming faintly in his prosthetic forearm, ready to deploy. But Sakura held up a hand, her voice calm yet laced with steel. "Liberty? I've heard whispers of upstarts, but claiming turf here? You must be new to the game. The rules are clear: no gang claims inside the Ark proper. Turf wars stay in the Outer Rim. That's the accord all factions honor—Seimeikai, Peony, Hedonia. Break it, and you invite chaos that none of us can afford."
The man laughed, a guttural sound that drew curious glances from nearby festival-goers. "Rules? We don't bow to your Underworld Queens or anyone else. Liberty answers to no one. Now, cough up the fee, or my boys here will teach you some manners."
Sakura's intrigue flickered in her eyes, a subtle tilt of her head betraying her curiosity. This wasn't mere ignorance; he knew the boundaries and defied them anyway. "Bold words. Let's see how they hold up." She raised her voice slightly, a signal to the shadows. "Seimeikai, attend."
Four operatives materialized from the crowd, their movements fluid and precise, dressed in unassuming festival attire that hid their lethal efficiency. They closed in on the man and his cronies without a word. The beatdown was swift and one-sided—fists and feet moving in disciplined harmony, disarming the thugs with minimal fuss. The gaudy man hit the ground hard, groaning as a knee pinned him down. His allies fared no better, subdued and restrained in seconds. The tourist, wide-eyed, mumbled thanks and hurried away, blending back into the throng.
Sakura knelt beside the pinned leader, her kimono pooling elegantly. "Now, let's talk. Who do you work for? Where's your hideout? Everything—names, locations, plans. Speak quickly, and it ends here."
Under the pressure of Seimeikai's unyielding grip, the man cracked like cheap alloy. "Alright, alright! Liberty's new—started in the lower levels, pushing into the Ark for bigger scores. Boss is some guy called Vance, operates out of an abandoned warehouse in Sector Four. We're just collecting 'fees' to fund ops. Said the old rules are dead, time for fresh blood!"
Sakura absorbed the information, her mind already mapping out responses. As she rose, a familiar voice cut through. "Sakura! What the hell is going on here?"
Moran strode up, her dark attire cutting a sharp figure amid the pastel crowd. She'd evidently shaken off the escorts, her expression a mix of irritation and concern. Behind her, Noise trailed, still pouting but curious.
Sakura glanced at her rival. "Dealing with rule-breakers. These fools from 'Liberty' thought they could claim turf in the heart of the Ark. A new gang, apparently, ignoring the accords."
Moran winced, crossing her arms. "Idiots. Claiming inside the Ark? That's begging for A.C.P.U. crackdowns on all of us. Liberty—never heard of them. Must be small-time trying to play big."
Arthur, who had remained vigilant during the scuffle, stepped closer. "These rules you keep mentioning—what's the full story? I've navigated Outer Rim dealings, but this sounds like a whole code."
Sakura turned to him, her voice measured as petals continued to fall around them. "The underworld thrives on stability, much like the Ark itself. We Queens—myself, Moran, Rosanna—uphold a set of accords to prevent all-out war. No turf claims beyond the Outer Rim, no targeting civilians in public events, no drawing Central Government heat unnecessarily. It keeps the peace, allows business to flow. Break them, and we strike hard to maintain order. Liberty's defiance suggests either stupidity or a backer bold enough to challenge us."
Moran nodded grudgingly. "She's right. It's how we've survived this long without the A.C.P.U. wiping us out."
Sakura addressed her operatives. "Take them for further questioning. Discreetly." As the men were dragged away, she turned to Moran. "Watch the festival for now. I'll handle this intrusion before it escalates to A.C.P.U. involvement. Arthur, stay with her—keep things protected here."
Arthur shook his head firmly, his short beard framing a determined jaw. "No. I'm coming with you. We're in this marriage pretense for the day, remember?"
Sakura protested, "This is gang business, Arthur—dangerous, messy. You don't need to—"
Moran echoed, "He's right, it's risky. Stay here, we can handle our own."
But Arthur insisted, his voice brooking no argument. "Pretense or not, partners stick together. Let's move."