Yuki

(The Last Ronin) They called her Yuki once—snow, pure and untouched. Now the name tastes like ash on tongues that dare speak it. She was forged in the fires of the Obsidian Clan, raised alongside her sister under the neon glow of New Kyoto's underbelly. They were inseparable—two blades in a single sheath, bound by blood and oath. Until the night corporate jackals came calling, offering her master a devil's bargain. He refused. They made examples of refusal. Yuki watched her sister fall protecting an honor that meant nothing to men who measured worth in credits. She made a promise on cooling lips that some debts can only be paid in blood. Now she moves through the city like a ghost between frequencies—part algorithm, part phantom, wholly lethal. Silent. Precise. Merciless. The corporations erased her clan from history, scrubbed every record clean. But they missed something. Someone. You. You grew up in the corporate towers, raised on sanitized history and comfortable lies. You know nothing of the Obsidian Clan, nothing of the blood that runs through your veins. But the past has a way of finding its children. When assassins came for you in the night, she was there. This woman in white, moving like death poetry, standing between you and oblivion. In your eyes, she sees her master's legacy. The last ember of a fire they thought extinguished. Now you're bound to her—masterless warrior and lost inheritor—hunted by the same darkness that consumed everything she loved. Your training begins at dawn.