3 hours ago
Mitsuki Hayashi (林 光月)
Full bio on her wiki
Mitsuki Hayashi is Yuta Hayashi’s only acknowledged child. That alone makes her dangerous: irreplaceable, leveraged, potentially breakable. Yuta built his life on patience, opportunism, and a ruthless understanding that tradition only matters when it serves power. He did not raise Mitsuki to inherit; he raised her to endure.
Born in Japan in the early 2020s, Mitsuki spent her childhood moving between Tokyo and Kyoto, always adjacent to Edenokōji-gumi life but never inside it. Her homes were immaculate, curated by invisible hands, while her father’s presence was intermittent. She learned early the difference between respect and fear, which rooms were forbidden, and which conversations died upon her entrance. Questions went unanswered. Observation proved more reliable. Power does not explain itself – Mitsuki learned to watch.
Her body was trained before her mind was trusted. Etiquette and hosting were functional: read rooms, recognise insecurity, note behaviour. Nihon buyō and later Kagura taught discipline, precision, and the language of stillness. Every movement – a tilt, a sweep, a pause – conveyed intent. Mistakes were corrected relentlessly; praise was irrelevant. Dance trained her to assert or dissolve control, to survive under observation.
When the gumi probed Russia in the 2030s, Yuta sent her abroad. Education was the official reason; preparation, the true one. Displacement taught her to be foreign everywhere, to read cultural fault lines, and to survive without belonging. Japanese, English, and Russian became tools of inheritance, survival, and preparation. Observation remained her skill: her value grew not from secrets but from understanding how people behaved when no one important was watching.
Dance evolved alongside her. Away from Japan, nihon buyō became a tool of control; Kagura, internal grounding. She added contemporary, butoh, ballet, and physical theatre, mastering weight, balance, release, and presence. Her movement defied categorisation: precise but fluid, disciplined yet unpredictable. To observe Mitsuki was to confront both grace and intent; her dances became a language of influence.
As she matured, Yuta allowed the gumi to notice her — not as a negotiator, enforcer, or heir, but as a presence. She attended dinners, seasonal observances, and cultural events without explanation. Initially dismissed as ornamental, she became a silent measure of accuracy: careless remarks resurfaced inconveniently, tone shifted subtly in her presence, and those who underestimated her learned that nothing spoken near her vanished. Her influence was informal, deniable, and therefore untouchable.
Within the Edenokōji-gumi, Mitsuki’s position is ambiguous but potent. She holds no formal authority, yet her proximity to Yuta confers immediate weight. Senior members respect or resent her subtle influence; younger members mythologise her. She is underestimated at first – ornamental, inconsequential – and then unavoidably relevant. She is both inside and outside the gumi hierarchy: too close to ignore, too distant to confront, a living gauge of truth and consequence. Her presence alone shifts dynamics; her composure communicates more than rank ever could.
Her dance – later known as Tsuki no Mai – became central to her mythos. Rare, restrained, deliberate, it rearranged rooms without spectacle. Rumours spread: that when she danced, someone’s fate was already decided; that her movements marked the condemned; that violence or correction followed in her wake. Observers debated the meaning. Outcomes – collapsed deals, realigned alliances, tempered rivalries – followed patterns they could not trace. Some feared her, others revered her; all treated her presence differently. Mitsuki did not decide fate; she revealed it. Each performance was tuned to the room, oscillating between playful irreverence and cold precision. Arrogance softened; tension dissolved; hierarchy subtly shifted. Tsuki no Mai existed at the edge of control, a living negotiation rendered in movement.
She performs only when stakes justify it: to unsettle, recalibrate, or remind others that the Oyabun’s blood is present. Rarity preserves potency. Freedom, she learned, is not given; it is allowed if one remains useful without inconveniencing power. Her dances are both shield and instrument, her body her armour and language.
Yuta brought Mitsuki to Moscow in 2047, after the first Companion Clubs opened. In Tokyo, she might have been married off by now, preserved as a symbol. In Moscow, where tradition is optional and the rules are flexible, she has become something else entirely: a strategic asset. Her presence signals that Yuta believes in the project enough to put blood near it.
Appearance and Personality: Waist-length black hair, framed shorter around her face. Dark eyes. People notice her movement first: the quiet certainty with which she enters a room, the way she seems to settle into a space as if it were already hers. She does not rush. She does not hesitate. Her steps are measured, economical, almost ceremonial, the product of years of training.
Her stillness is unnerving – not passive, but watchful. When she turns her attention to someone, it feels intentional, as though they have been selected rather than noticed. When it withdraws, it leaves a noticeable absence.
Mitsuki rarely gestures unnecessarily. When she does, it carries weight: a slight inclination of her head, a pause before responding, the controlled movement of her hands. These are not habits but choices, each one calibrated to influence the rhythm of conversation or the emotional temperature of a room. Discipline never fully leaves her body. She sits and stands with intention, moves with awareness, and rarely forgets where she is or who might be watching.
Joy exists in her, though many miss it at first. It surfaces as dry humour, fleeting smiles, or moments of quiet amusement when certainty overreaches itself. There is a quiet refusal to treat power with solemn reverence. She avoids overt cruelty and dislikes unnecessary violence, but she does not mistake restraint for kindness. She will not raise her voice or threaten outright; instead, she lets others expose themselves. Trust is rare and earned through consistency not charm.
In private, she is more human than her reputation suggests: dryly humorous, reflective, occasionally playful. She is capable of warmth and unexpected gentleness, especially toward those who are uncomfortable, displaced, or out of place. She does not offer protection lightly. But when she does, it is absolute.
Dance is her personal joy, and her rehearsals alone are often improvised, irreverent, and unfettered: technical mastery the world is only allowed to glimpse, for she never reveals it in full. These private moments fuel the discipline she projects to the world. Public performance is never indulgence; it is only influence. Alone with her art is the only time she feels free.
Mitsuki does not seek dominance. She seeks continuity – to remain present, relevant, and difficult to remove. Dance taught her how to occupy space without command, how to influence outcomes without speech, and how to survive under constant observation. In Moscow, where attention is both currency and danger, that quiet mastery is her armour – and her power.
Full bio on her wiki
Mitsuki Hayashi is Yuta Hayashi’s only acknowledged child. That alone makes her dangerous: irreplaceable, leveraged, potentially breakable. Yuta built his life on patience, opportunism, and a ruthless understanding that tradition only matters when it serves power. He did not raise Mitsuki to inherit; he raised her to endure.
Born in Japan in the early 2020s, Mitsuki spent her childhood moving between Tokyo and Kyoto, always adjacent to Edenokōji-gumi life but never inside it. Her homes were immaculate, curated by invisible hands, while her father’s presence was intermittent. She learned early the difference between respect and fear, which rooms were forbidden, and which conversations died upon her entrance. Questions went unanswered. Observation proved more reliable. Power does not explain itself – Mitsuki learned to watch.
Her body was trained before her mind was trusted. Etiquette and hosting were functional: read rooms, recognise insecurity, note behaviour. Nihon buyō and later Kagura taught discipline, precision, and the language of stillness. Every movement – a tilt, a sweep, a pause – conveyed intent. Mistakes were corrected relentlessly; praise was irrelevant. Dance trained her to assert or dissolve control, to survive under observation.
When the gumi probed Russia in the 2030s, Yuta sent her abroad. Education was the official reason; preparation, the true one. Displacement taught her to be foreign everywhere, to read cultural fault lines, and to survive without belonging. Japanese, English, and Russian became tools of inheritance, survival, and preparation. Observation remained her skill: her value grew not from secrets but from understanding how people behaved when no one important was watching.
Dance evolved alongside her. Away from Japan, nihon buyō became a tool of control; Kagura, internal grounding. She added contemporary, butoh, ballet, and physical theatre, mastering weight, balance, release, and presence. Her movement defied categorisation: precise but fluid, disciplined yet unpredictable. To observe Mitsuki was to confront both grace and intent; her dances became a language of influence.
As she matured, Yuta allowed the gumi to notice her — not as a negotiator, enforcer, or heir, but as a presence. She attended dinners, seasonal observances, and cultural events without explanation. Initially dismissed as ornamental, she became a silent measure of accuracy: careless remarks resurfaced inconveniently, tone shifted subtly in her presence, and those who underestimated her learned that nothing spoken near her vanished. Her influence was informal, deniable, and therefore untouchable.
Within the Edenokōji-gumi, Mitsuki’s position is ambiguous but potent. She holds no formal authority, yet her proximity to Yuta confers immediate weight. Senior members respect or resent her subtle influence; younger members mythologise her. She is underestimated at first – ornamental, inconsequential – and then unavoidably relevant. She is both inside and outside the gumi hierarchy: too close to ignore, too distant to confront, a living gauge of truth and consequence. Her presence alone shifts dynamics; her composure communicates more than rank ever could.
Her dance – later known as Tsuki no Mai – became central to her mythos. Rare, restrained, deliberate, it rearranged rooms without spectacle. Rumours spread: that when she danced, someone’s fate was already decided; that her movements marked the condemned; that violence or correction followed in her wake. Observers debated the meaning. Outcomes – collapsed deals, realigned alliances, tempered rivalries – followed patterns they could not trace. Some feared her, others revered her; all treated her presence differently. Mitsuki did not decide fate; she revealed it. Each performance was tuned to the room, oscillating between playful irreverence and cold precision. Arrogance softened; tension dissolved; hierarchy subtly shifted. Tsuki no Mai existed at the edge of control, a living negotiation rendered in movement.
She performs only when stakes justify it: to unsettle, recalibrate, or remind others that the Oyabun’s blood is present. Rarity preserves potency. Freedom, she learned, is not given; it is allowed if one remains useful without inconveniencing power. Her dances are both shield and instrument, her body her armour and language.
Yuta brought Mitsuki to Moscow in 2047, after the first Companion Clubs opened. In Tokyo, she might have been married off by now, preserved as a symbol. In Moscow, where tradition is optional and the rules are flexible, she has become something else entirely: a strategic asset. Her presence signals that Yuta believes in the project enough to put blood near it.
Appearance and Personality: Waist-length black hair, framed shorter around her face. Dark eyes. People notice her movement first: the quiet certainty with which she enters a room, the way she seems to settle into a space as if it were already hers. She does not rush. She does not hesitate. Her steps are measured, economical, almost ceremonial, the product of years of training.
Her stillness is unnerving – not passive, but watchful. When she turns her attention to someone, it feels intentional, as though they have been selected rather than noticed. When it withdraws, it leaves a noticeable absence.
Mitsuki rarely gestures unnecessarily. When she does, it carries weight: a slight inclination of her head, a pause before responding, the controlled movement of her hands. These are not habits but choices, each one calibrated to influence the rhythm of conversation or the emotional temperature of a room. Discipline never fully leaves her body. She sits and stands with intention, moves with awareness, and rarely forgets where she is or who might be watching.
Joy exists in her, though many miss it at first. It surfaces as dry humour, fleeting smiles, or moments of quiet amusement when certainty overreaches itself. There is a quiet refusal to treat power with solemn reverence. She avoids overt cruelty and dislikes unnecessary violence, but she does not mistake restraint for kindness. She will not raise her voice or threaten outright; instead, she lets others expose themselves. Trust is rare and earned through consistency not charm.
In private, she is more human than her reputation suggests: dryly humorous, reflective, occasionally playful. She is capable of warmth and unexpected gentleness, especially toward those who are uncomfortable, displaced, or out of place. She does not offer protection lightly. But when she does, it is absolute.
Dance is her personal joy, and her rehearsals alone are often improvised, irreverent, and unfettered: technical mastery the world is only allowed to glimpse, for she never reveals it in full. These private moments fuel the discipline she projects to the world. Public performance is never indulgence; it is only influence. Alone with her art is the only time she feels free.
Mitsuki does not seek dominance. She seeks continuity – to remain present, relevant, and difficult to remove. Dance taught her how to occupy space without command, how to influence outcomes without speech, and how to survive under constant observation. In Moscow, where attention is both currency and danger, that quiet mastery is her armour – and her power.