Chapter 219: The Groom Who Crashed the Wedding
The night air over Tokyo was thick with incense and rain, smoke and memory. Logan crouched on the tiled ridge of the Yashida estate, a cigarette smoldering between his teeth, the ember glow hidden by the fog. Below, the mansion was dressed in silks and lanterns, perfumed with cherry blossoms and false promises. Tonight was the wedding of Mariko Yashida. His Mariko.
Not that he'd been invited.
"Hell of a joke," he muttered, exhaling. "Groom's missin', bub. Wedding can't start without me."
He shifted, every joint whispering like oiled leather. His tiger-born stealth ability flared; his body heat folded inward, scent tucked in tight, even the hum of his blood swallowed down. To the guards patrolling below, he was a shadow that chose when to exist.
Fifteen of 'em, he counted. His nose picked out sweat, oiled steel, rice wine. His ears caught the soft click of sandals on stone, the inhale before an arrow was nocked. Ninjas. The Hand. He almost chuckled. "May as well roll out the welcome mat."
Step by step, silent as frost, he crawled over the lacquered roof beams until he perched above the grand hall. Music drifted upward — shamisen strings, soft voices. The priest's cadence. Mariko's voice… lower than usual. Trembling.
That was enough.
With a growl building in his chest, Logan popped his claws — SNIKT — and drove them into the roof. Tile shattered, wood screamed. He dropped through in a rain of plaster and smoke, landing in the center aisle, crouched like a wolf.
He stood slow, lit by the lanterns, smoke curling around his shoulders. "How the hell can the weddin' start without the groom?"
Gasps, shouts. A hundred shadows burst from the walls, sliding doors, rafters. Ninjas in black, blades glinting, arrows loosed.
Logan's eyes went cold.
He moved before thought. Bullet-time reflexes stretched the world into syrup. Arrows hung in the air like lazy bees; shurikens spun like carnival toys. He slipped between them, shoulders twisting, head ducking, letting steel kiss him shallow where it had to. Each cut was shallow, healing even as it opened.
And then the claws worked. Silver arcs, blood-slick gleams. Throats opened mid-scream. Limbs fell before bodies hit tatami.
The hall became a slaughterhouse.
"Stop!"
Shingen Yashida stepped forward, robes pristine, a katana gleaming in his hands. His face was carved from arrogance.
"Fight me like a man, Wolverine. A duel. Sword against sword."
Logan grinned, feral and tired. "Couldn't ask for more."
Shingen tossed him a blade. Logan caught it, twirled it once — then slid it back in the sheath and held it bare.
"I won't cut you. Won't risk makin' Mariko cry."
Shingen's eyes narrowed. Then steel sang as they clashed.
At first it was even. Logan's instincts against Shingen's polished technique, sheath against katana. Sparks snapped in the air, blades ringing in tempo with the shamisen player who'd fled but left his strings humming.
But Logan was a brawler dressed up in samurai clothes. His reflexes sharpened, footwork tighter. He started pressing Shingen back.
That's when the old man cheated. A kick to the gut — steel toes driving into Logan's stomach. Hands, knees, even a headbutt — every dirty trick in the book.
Logan staggered back, coughing blood. "Heh. Wanted a noble duel… Guess that was my mistake."
His vision slowed. Bullet-time surged. Every twitch of Shingen's wrist, every tightening tendon, became a map to his defeat. Logan stepped inside the swing, slapped the katana wide, and pressed the sheath against Shingen's throat.
"You lost, bub."
Shingen's face twisted — not in fear, but rage. He barked a command.
From every angle, thirty poisoned shurikens sang through the air.
But Logan's ears had already mapped them. His hearing sphere lit up trajectories like fireflies in the dark. His claws snapped out with a hiss. He angled the sheath just so — metal ringing like a gong as he deflected each blade back at its sender.
Screams. The ninjas fell twitching, their own poison blooming purple on their skin.
The hall was silent, save for Shingen's ragged breath.
Then another voice broke the silence.
"Enough."
Logan turned. Flames framed the doorway. Sunfire stepped in, his armor gleaming, his eyes molten with controlled fury.
"You disgrace two thousand years of heritage, Shingen," Sunfire said, voice cutting like a blade. "Creating the Hand, allying with criminals. You are unfit."
Shingen snarled, but Logan cut in, voice dripping with venom.
"Save yer speeches, bub. I already took care of the dowry."
He jerked a thumb toward the night outside. "Hand headquarters? Rubble. Evidence of every crime? Gift-wrapped for Sunfire. You're finished."
Shingen's face purpled. He spat at Logan, but his words faltered as Sunfire turned away. "You're dethroned. The Yashida name won't be dragged through your filth."
Logan didn't wait. He strode down the aisle, past corpses and broken tatami, straight to the groom. The poor bastard shrank back, eyes wide. Logan grabbed him by the collar and smashed a fist into his face.
"That's for makin' Mari's eyes black from cryin'." He threw another punch, swelling the man's other eye shut. "Next time, think twice 'fore stealin' another man's prey."
He tossed the groom aside like garbage.
Then he stopped.
Mariko stood there. Still turned away from him. Shoulders rigid.
Logan's voice softened, just a hair. "Mari. You still givin' me your back, even now?"
Her hands trembled at her sides.
"You always preached honor. Duty. But you took my heart, and when it mattered, you tossed me out like I was nothin'. Where's the honor in that?"
Her chin dipped. "I am bound by my family's honor before my own." Her voice cracked.
Logan's jaw clenched. "And what about mine? You'll just throw me away? Like the garbage I am?"
Silence.
Then — her head snapped up. Tears streaming. Her voice raw. "You are not trash!"
The hall, ruined as it was, felt smaller suddenly. Logan stepped closer, every scar and flaw on his face bared. He reached out, calloused fingers brushing her cheek, wiping the tears away.
"Then prove it, Mari. Marry me."
Her breath hitched. She stared up at him, dazed, drowning in her own tears. Her lips moved, no words coming. Then finally — a sound. A broken, soft hum, swallowed by her sobs.
Logan pulled her in, crushed her against his chest. Her tears soaked his shirt, his claws slid back into their sheath with a final SNIKT.
The two of them stood there, in a hall of blood and ruin, clinging to each other like the world couldn't pry them apart.
And for the first time in weeks, Logan allowed himself a real breath.