Late Night – Sakura Lounge, day 2

The air in the Sakura Lounge’s security office had shifted, tension giving way to an uneasy silence as the whiskey bottle sat nearly empty. Ogawa stood, stretching his shoulders as he tossed the last paper cup into the trash. Sho had slumped into his chair, his energy spent, while Takagi leaned against the desk, deep in thought. Akiko sat quietly, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze distant and unfocused.

"Guess that’s our cue," Sho muttered, pulling himself upright with exaggerated effort. He glanced at Takagi, who nodded slightly.

Ogawa turned to Akiko, his expression softening. “I’ll make sure these two get back into their territory safely before heading home. Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

Akiko gave a faint nod, though her voice faltered slightly when she spoke. “I’ll stay for a while. I need to think.”

Ogawa hesitated but eventually inclined his head. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

Sho and Takagi moved toward the door, but Takagi paused, glancing back at Akiko. She was still seated, her hands now gripping the edge of the chair as if grounding herself. He stepped closer, stopping just a few feet away.

“Hanabira-san,” Takagi said softly, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. Akiko blinked and looked up, her dark eyes meeting his.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

“I wanted to thank you,” Takagi said, his gaze steady. “In the warehouse... when you stopped that shooter from taking my head off. I know you didn’t have to, and... I appreciate it.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, unsure how to respond. Then she looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“I know,” Takagi said with the faintest hint of a smile. “But you did it anyway.”

Akiko didn’t reply, but her fingers loosened their grip on the chair. Takagi gave her a small nod and turned, following Sho and Ogawa out into the lounge.

Late Night – Nagoya Streets, day 2

Ogawa’s car was an older but well-maintained sedan, its interior immaculate despite its years. Sho slid into the backseat, sprawling out and muttering something about how he hated the smell of wet trash. Takagi took the passenger seat, his movements deliberate as he adjusted the seatbelt.

Ogawa started the engine, the low hum cutting through the quiet. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the streets gleaming under the faint glow of streetlights.

Sho, restless as ever, tapped his foot against the floor. “You always drive this slow, Ogawa-san, or is it just for us?”

Ogawa’s lip twitched, though his gaze remained on the road. “You’re still alive, aren’t you? Fast doesn’t mean safe.”

Takagi let out a quiet chuckle, earning a glare from Sho in the rearview mirror.

The ride passed mostly in silence, save for Sho’s occasional grumbles and the faint sound of the windshield wipers. Takagi’s gaze flicked to Ogawa, studying the older man. Despite his calm demeanor, there was a weariness to him—a weight that Takagi recognized all too well.

“You care about her,” Takagi said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Ogawa didn’t look over but gave a slight nod. “I’ve known Akiko-san since she was a kid. Seen what this world can do to people. She’s stronger than she realizes, but even the strongest people need someone in their corner.”

Takagi leaned back, his eyes returning to the rain-slicked streets. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Ogawa’s grip on the wheel tightened, but he said nothing.

When they reached a neutral drop-off point near Nagasawa territory, Ogawa pulled over, glancing at the two men. “This is as far as I can take you.”

Takagi nodded, opening the door. Sho climbed out as well, stretching and muttering something about needing a drink.

“Drive safe, Ogawa-san,” Takagi said before shutting the door.

Ogawa gave a faint nod, then merged back into traffic, his silhouette disappearing into the misty streets.

The streets were quieter now, the city settling into the late hours of the night. Ogawa’s sedan moved steadily, his thoughts drifting back to Akiko. He’d text her once he got home, he decided, just to make sure she was okay.

As he turned onto a narrower road leading toward his apartment, his headlights illuminated a sleek black car idling in a driveway. His brows furrowed slightly, his hand instinctively tightening on the wheel.

The black car roared to life, its engine cutting through the quiet like a blade. Before Ogawa could react, it surged forward, slamming into the side of his sedan with a deafening crash.

The impact jolted Ogawa against the door, pain flaring in his shoulder and from the side of his head. His car skidded and spun, tires screeching as to a halt. However, it was the tree on the corner that definitively stopped the car.

Groaning, Ogawa reached for the glove compartment, his fingers brushing against the grip of a small revolver. But before he could pull it out, the driver of the black car stepped out, followed by a second figure. Both were clad in dark clothing, their faces obscured by masks.

The first man raised a silenced pistol, aiming directly at Ogawa.

Ogawa moved on instinct, ducking low and yanking the revolver free. The first shot cracked through the air, shattering the driver’s side window as Ogawa rolled out of the car.

The second figure lunged toward him, a knife glinting in the dim light. Ogawa fired again, the bullet grazing the man’s shoulder and sending him stumbling back with a curse.

The fight was brutal and chaotic. Ogawa used the car as cover, firing at the attackers with precision despite the pain in his shoulder. The second man dropped after a well-placed shot to the chest, his knife clattering to the ground.

The first man, however, was more wily. He circled around the car, his movements calculated, forcing Ogawa to retreat further into the narrow street.

A final shot from Ogawa’s revolver found its mark, the bullet piercing the attacker’s chest. The man staggered, clutching at the wound before collapsing to the pavement.

Breathing heavily, Ogawa leaned against the car, his revolver still gripped tightly in his hand. His shoulder throbbed, blood staining his shirt where shards of glass had cut into his skin.

He glanced down at the two attackers, his jaw tightening. This wasn’t random. This was Ryusuke’s doing.

Forcing himself upright, Ogawa climbed back into the battered sedan, wincing as he started the engine. He had to get to Akiko. She needed to know just how far Ryusuke was willing to go.

The car lurched forward, its frame groaning in protest as Ogawa disappeared into the night, the rain washing away the blood on the pavement.

Ogawa clenched the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he navigated the quiet, rain-slicked streets. His shoulder ached fiercely, every bump and turn sending fresh jolts of pain through his body. The cracked driver’s side window rattled faintly, and the low groan of the sedan’s damaged frame filled the cabin. But Ogawa’s mind was elsewhere—on Akiko.

He reached for his phone, balancing it on the dash with one hand as he pressed the speed dial for Daichi. The line rang twice before a familiar, gravelly voice answered.

“Takahashi,” Daichi said, his tone sharp and alert despite the late hour. “Ogawa? What’s going on?”

Ogawa’s voice was steady, but the underlying tension was unmistakable. “Daichi, I just survived an ambush. Two men—armed. They rammed me off the road on my way home.”

“What?” Daichi’s voice rose slightly, a rare crack in his composed demeanor. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll live,” Ogawa replied tersely, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror out of habit. “But this wasn’t some random hit. They were professionals. One had a silenced pistol, the other a knife. I managed to take them out, but it’s clear—this was Ryusuke’s doing.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Daichi spoke again, his tone darker now. “Goddamit!”

“Takahashi-san,” Ogawa said. “The timing, the method—it all fits. And if he’s willing to come after me this blatantly, The oyabun or Akiko could be next.”

Daichi swore under his breath, the sound muffled but clear. “That bastard. I knew he was dangerous, but this crosses the line of no return. It’s a fucking declaration of war. Did you call Akiko already?”

“Not yet,” Ogawa said, his voice faltering for the first time. “I wanted to call you first so you can get things into motion. But Daichi, listen to me—she’s absolutely not safe. Ryusuke won’t stop.”

“I know,” Daichi said grimly. “I’ll double the security at the Sakura Lounge, put more eyes on her everywhere.”

“That’s not enough,” Ogawa pressed. “She needs to know what she’s really dealing with. This isn’t just about undermining her position anymore. Ryusuke’s obsession—his need to dominate—it’s escalating. You know what I’m talking about, Daichi.”

Daichi let out a long exhale, the weight of the situation heavy in his voice. “She’s been through hell already. I’m not going to let him put his perverted paws on her, not even for a second.”

“We won’t let that happen,” Ogawa said, though his tone betrayed his own doubts. “But even the strongest of us can only take so much.”

Another pause, then Daichi spoke again, his tone resolute. “Get here safely. We’ll figure this out together.”

Ogawa nodded, though Daichi couldn’t see it. “I’m about five minutes out. Keep an eye on her until I get there.”

“You have my word,” Daichi said, his voice firm. “And Ogawa… be careful. If Ryusuke’s sending hitmen now, he won’t stop at just two.”

“I know,” Ogawa replied grimly. “I’ll see you soon.”

He ended the call, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat as he turned onto a quieter street. The lights of the Sakura Lounge were just visible in the distance, a faint beacon cutting through the rain.

Ogawa tightened his grip on the wheel. Whatever Ryusuke’s lurid endgame was, he wasn’t going to let the bastard get away with it. Akiko was as precious to him as if she was his own blood. Daichi, too. There was a sense of family shared between them.

Early Morning – Nagoya Streets, day 3

The rain had finally slowed to a drizzle, the faint mist hanging in the air as Takagi and Sho made their way through the dimly lit streets of Nagoya. The city was quieter now, its usual hum of nightlife muted under the weight of the hour. Neon signs flickered faintly, their reflections dancing on the puddle-streaked pavement. Sho’s hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his usually cocky swagger replaced with an almost subdued energy.

“You know,” Sho said, breaking the silence, “that was one hell of a night. And not in the fun way.”

Takagi glanced at him, his hands casually resting in his trouser pockets. “Yeah, but at least we’re still breathing. Counts for something, right?”

“Yeah, but barely.” Sho kicked at a loose stone on the sidewalk, watching it skitter into a gutter. “That princess of theirs—she’s got some balls, I’ll give her that. But the whole thing reeked of trouble from the start. I mean, running into squads of Ryusuke’s armed goons? A simple trip to a warehouse erupts into another massive firefight? Now we’re walking home in the rain like a couple of salarymen who missed the last train. I’m sick of this damned rain already.”

Takagi smirked faintly but didn’t reply right away. Sho’s nervous chatter wasn’t unusual—he was the type who filled silence with words, especially when adrenaline wore off and reality set in.

“You did good today,” Takagi’s voice was clear, his tone even, “You’re a big part of why we walked out of there, too.”

Sho hadn’t expected Takagi to praise him and was momentarily taken aback, acknowledging with a nod.

“You trust her?” Sho pressed, looking sideways at Takagi.

“Akiko?” Takagi asked, his tone neutral.

“Yeah. Hanabira’s princess.” Sho’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of his jacket. “I mean, I get it—she’s pretty as hell and all, but she’s still one of them.”

Takagi stopped walking, turning to face Sho with a measured look. “She’s not Ryusuke. Neither is Takahashi & Ogawa.”

Sho blinked, surprised by the bluntness. “Yeah, but—”

“She saved my life,” Takagi said simply. “That counts for something.”

Sho opened his mouth to respond but stopped as they both heard the faint crunch of footsteps behind them. It wasn’t the casual shuffle of a late-night pedestrian. These steps were deliberate, too evenly spaced.

Sho’s hand instinctively moved toward his jacket. “We’re being followed.”

Takagi nodded, his expression unreadable. He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder; he could feel it—the weight of eyes boring into their backs.

“Keep walking,” Takagi said quietly, his tone low. “Turn right at the next alley.”

“What’s the play?” Sho whispered, his fingers now gripping the hilt of his Colt Single Action Army pistol inside his coat.

“Figure out who they are first,” Takagi replied. “Then we’ll decide if they’re worth the trouble.”

They turned the corner into the alley, its narrow walls lit only by a single flickering bulb above a back entrance to a pachinko parlor. The air smelled of wet concrete and faintly of garbage.

Sho leaned casually against the wall, pretending to light a cigarette, while Takagi stood a few feet away, his back to the alley’s entrance. The footsteps grew louder, closer, until two figures rounded the corner.

They weren’t subtle—two men in dark suits, their movements stiff with intent. One was shorter, wiry, with a sharp face that seemed to twitch with barely contained energy. The other was stockier, his broad shoulders straining against his suit jacket. Both had the telltale air of low-level enforcers.

“Well, well,” Sho drawled, his cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. “What do we have here? You boys lost?”

The stocky one stepped forward, his meaty hands clenching into fists. “You’re Takagi, right? The Nagasawa’s ‘Lion of Sakae’?”

Takagi turned slowly, his expression calm but his eyes sharp. “Depends who’s asking.”

The wiry man grinned, his hand moving inside his jacket. “You’ve been making waves. Fujimoto-san doesn’t like waves.”

Sho laughed, a low, humorless sound. “Ryusuke, huh? Should’ve guessed. What’s he got you two idiots cleaning up his messes for then? I thought he made enough to afford some capable guys.”

The stocky man growled, taking another step forward. “We’re here to deliver a message.”

“Messages usually come in envelopes,” Takagi said dryly, his stance shifting ever so slightly. “Or sticky notes. Not cheap suits.”

The wiry man’s grin faltered, his hand now fully gripping the handle of a concealed weapon. Sho’s eyes narrowed, his body tensing as he prepared to draw.

“Last chance,” Takagi said, his voice low and even. “Today is not the day to fuck around and find out.”

The stocky man lunged first, a wild swing aimed at Takagi’s head. Takagi sidestepped effortlessly, his fist shooting out in a precise jab that connected with the man’s nose, followed by a brutal right cross. The crack of bone echoed in the narrow alley.

Sho didn’t wait for the wiry one to make his move. His Colt was out in an instant, the barrel aimed squarely at the man’s chest. “You fucked around,” Sho said, his grin sharp and dangerous. “Now, you’re gonna find out.”

The wiry man froze, his hand slipping out of his jacket without the weapon. “Shit,” he muttered, his bravado crumbling.

The stocky man groaned on the ground, blood streaming from his broken nose. Takagi stood over him, his expression cold. “Tell Ryusuke,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, “if he wants to send a message, he can do it himself.”

Sho leaned in closer to the wiry man, his tone mocking. “You get all that? Or should I just put a hole in you now?”

The wiry man nodded quickly, his hands raised in surrender. “We’ll tell him. We’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Takagi said, turning away and motioning for Sho to follow.

As they walked out of the alley, Sho glanced back at the two men, his grin fading slightly. “We shouldn’t let them off the hook like that. They’ll just make more trouble for us later.”

Takagi shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. “You want to kill them?”

Sho let out a frustrated groan, shaking his head. “Yes. I do. I’m so angry inside, Tetsu.”

“So am I,” Takagi muttered, his gaze fixed ahead, “but we need to save it for Ryusuke.”

”We’re going after him, right? With or without approval.”

Takagi sighed heavily and looked at Sho. A moment of silence welled up between them, their determined stares were answer enough.

“Good,” Sho solemnly said as they disappeared into the night.

Late Night - Ryusuke’s Private Study, Minato Ward, day 3

The room was cloaked in a muted amber glow, the desk lamp’s light cutting through the darkness in sharp lines. Ryusuke Fujimoto sat back in his leather chair, the weight of the day finally giving way to his twisted indulgence. Around him, the trappings of wealth whispered of power: the polished mahogany desk, the ornate whiskey decanter glinting faintly, the thick oriental rug muffling every sound. Yet the centerpiece of the room was his trophy shelf, where success and obsession intertwined in a chilling display.

Front and center, freshly delivered, stood a pair of sleek black heels. Akiko’s heels. The faint scent of leather still lingered in the air, a ghostly reminder of their former owner. Ryusuke leaned forward, adjusting their position ever so slightly, ensuring they were perfectly aligned with the rest of his “collection.” A small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips.

“Finally,” he muttered, his deep voice reverberating in the stillness. He stood and stepped back to admire the display, hands resting on his hips like a curator surveying an exhibit. But this wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Ryusuke returned to his desk, opening a small, locked drawer with a key he kept on a thin chain around his neck. From inside, he pulled out a worn leather-bound photo album. The corners were frayed, the leather faded, and the binding loose from years of use. He ran a thumb over the cover for a moment, savoring the ritual. Then, with deliberate care, he opened it.

The first few pages were filled with photographs of smiling women, their faces frozen in moments of unguarded joy. At first glance, they could have been innocent snapshots, but the angles told a different story—these were candid shots, taken without the subjects’ knowledge. Some photos were decades old, the grainy quality betraying their age, while others were crisp and recent. A young woman laughing at a park. A middle-aged woman walking to her car. A hostess pouring drinks in a smoky bar. Each image was a piece of a puzzle only Ryusuke knew how to assemble.

As he turned the pages, the progression of years became clearer. The faces changed, but the predatory nature of the photographs did not. Each woman seemed to mark a chapter in his life, an obsession that had burned brightly before fading into memory.

Until now.

He reached the section dedicated to Akiko. This part of the album was different—not just a page or two, but dozens of pictures spanning months, maybe years. Images of her at the Sakura Lounge, caught in profile as she managed the bar. A snapshot of her walking through the parking lot, her head tilted toward her phone. Another, taken from a high angle, showing her sitting on her apartment balcony, staring out at the city. Each photo was invasive, intimate in its violation, chronicling a life she hadn’t realized was under such scrutiny.

Ryusuke’s fingers lingered on a particular image: Akiko smiling faintly, caught mid-laugh as she stood outside the lounge with Daichi Takahashi. The joy in her expression stirred something dark and possessive in him. He slid the photo out from its sleeve and held it up to the light, studying every detail.

“You’re special,” he murmured, his tone almost tender. “Different from the others.”

He walked back to the shelf and propped the photo up beside the heels. Now the display was complete—a shrine to his obsession, a grotesque merging of object and subject. The shoes, a symbol of ownership; the photo, a reminder of what he still needed to claim. Ryusuke stepped back, crossing his arms as he surveyed his work. His satisfaction was short-lived.

The buzz of his phone shattered the moment. He scowled, snatching it up from the desk. “What is it?” he barked, his irritation sharp.

The voice on the other end was panicked. “Fujimoto-sama, there’s been… an incident.”

Ryusuke’s brow furrowed. “Speak clearly.”

“It’s Ogawa. The hit—we missed him. He got away. The men…” The voice faltered, then rushed to finish. “The men are either dead or scattered.”

Ryusuke’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles whitening. “Ogawa escaped?” His voice was low, dangerous.

“Yes, sir. He—he fought back. Got the jump on us.”

“And the witnesses? The loose ends?”

“We’re working on it, sir. But the Nagasawa-kai might—”

“Enough,” Ryusuke growled, cutting the man off. His free hand clenched into a fist at his side, and for a moment, he was silent, his mind racing. This wasn’t just a failure; it was a risk. Ogawa already knew too much. If he spoke to Hanabira Koji—or worse, if the Nagasawa-kai got involved, it could further impact his plans.

Ryusuke took a deep breath, forcing the anger down. “Clean it up,” he said, his tone cold and final. “No excuses. No loose ends. If the Nagasawa catch wind of this, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

The subordinate stammered out an acknowledgment before the call ended. Ryusuke tossed the phone onto the desk and poured himself a glass of whiskey, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he raised it to his lips. The liquid burned his throat, grounding him, but his eyes remained fixed on Akiko’s photo.

“You’re slipping through my fingers, Akiko,” he said softly, his voice filled with both menace and longing. He set the glass down, his jaw tightening. “But not for long.”, he muttered, sinking into his chair.

Early Morning - Akiko’s Office, day 3

The warm, dim light of the Sakura Lounge filtered through the frosted glass of Akiko’s office door, a soft contrast to the cold storm raging in her mind. She sat at her desk, hands clasped tightly around a porcelain teacup that Daichi had placed there moments ago. It was half-full, untouched. The rising steam curled and faded into the air, much like the threads of her composure.

Daichi leaned casually against the edge of the desk, his sharp eyes never leaving her face. For over twenty minutes, he’d been speaking to her in his usual calm, measured tone, trying to ground her amidst the swirling chaos of her thoughts.

“You’ve got to let it settle, Akiko,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence. “No one expects you to be made of stone.”

She didn’t answer, her gaze fixed somewhere just beyond the rim of the teacup. The image of gunfire in the rain was still etched into her mind. The sound of bullets ricocheting off crates, the wet thud of bodies hitting the ground—violence wasn’t new to her, not in theory. She’d grown up around stories, whispers, the knowledge of what men like Ryusuke and her father were capable of. But knowing wasn’t the same as standing in its crossfire.

“This was your first time, wasn’t it?” he asked quietly.

Akiko glanced up, startled. “First time?”

“First time seeing what it’s really like out there. The way things work when diplomacy fails, when names and titles stop mattering.” He paused, his gaze searching hers. “It’s ugly. Messy. And if you’re not careful, it’ll eat you alive.”

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I thought I understood it,” she admitted. “I thought I could handle it. But tonight… it was too much. Too fast. Too violent. Too close for comfort.”

Daichi nodded knowingly, his hand slipping back into his pocket. “It always is, the first time. That’s why men like me and Ogawa are here—to keep you out of it. To deal with the blood and the bullets so you don’t have to.”

Akiko set the cup down with trembling hands. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I can’t keep hiding behind you, or Ogawa, or even my father. If I don’t figure out how to stand on my own, I’ll always be a target.”

Daichi raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for, you know. But standing on your own doesn’t mean walking into the lion’s den with nothing but a name and a pistol.”

“I should’ve stayed out of it,” she murmured at last, her voice barely audible. “I thought it would be an in & out thing, you know… thought I could do more than just sit in this office and push papers around. But I was wrong.”

Daichi straightened slightly, his brows furrowing. “You weren’t wrong. You were brave. Stupid, maybe,” he added with a faint smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “But brave. You wanted answers, and you took a risk. That doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.”

Akiko shook her head, the faintest tremor in her hands betraying the calm she was trying to project. “It wasn’t bravery, Daichi. It was desperation. I walked into that warehouse because I’m scared. If it hadn’t been for Takagi…” Her voice cracked, and she forced herself to look him in the eye. “I’m scared of Ryusuke.”

Daichi’s expression darkened. He had suspected as much but hearing it from her hit differently. “You’re not alone in that,” he said quietly. “Ryusuke’s a problem, Akiko. But fear can’t make your decisions for you.”

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around the teacup. “It’s not just fear, Daichi. It’s… inevitability. I see the writing on the wall. I’ve seen it for months now. Ryusuke’s becoming bolder, and my father won’t do a thing to stop him. He turns a blind eye while Ryusuke maneuvers closer and closer.” She paused, her voice trembling. “And I don’t know how much longer I can live like this. Just being around me puts people’s lives at risk. Ogawa nearly died tonight—because of me.”

Daichi sighed, his face etched with worry. He crouched slightly, leveling his gaze with hers. “Ogawa would’ve taken a bullet for you without a second thought, and you know it. That’s not on you. You’re not the one pulling the strings here—Ryusuke is. If anyone’s to blame, it’s him.”

Akiko glanced down, the weight of his words settling uneasily in her chest. “But my father won’t act. And if he won’t…” Her voice faltered, but she steadied herself. “If he won’t, I don’t know what else to do.”

Daichi placed a hand gently on her shoulder, grounding her in the present. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Ryusuke’s not untouchable, no matter how much he wants everyone to think he is. And you? You’re not alone in this. Don’t forget that.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unspoken gratitude. “Thank you, Daichi,” she whispered. “For everything.”

“Anytime,” he said with a nod, his voice soft but firm. He straightened, gesturing toward the couch tucked against the far wall. A pillow and blanket were neatly folded at one end, clearly prepared ahead of time. “Now, you’re staying here tonight. It’s too dangerous for you to go back to your apartment. I’ve already arranged for after-hours security to stick around, and I’m staying too. No one’s getting through these doors.”

Her lips parted, ready to protest, but he raised a hand, cutting her off. “No arguments. Get some rest. You need it.”

Akiko hesitated, then nodded, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up with her. Daichi gave her one last reassuring look before heading to the door. He paused as he opened it, glancing back. “And Akiko? Don’t let tonight define you. Let it shape you.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

For a moment, the room felt eerily quiet. The warmth of the blanket and pillow beckoned, but as Akiko walked to the couch and sat down, the tears she’d been holding back finally broke free.

They came in waves, messy and uncontrollable, her sobs echoing softly in the dim room. The trauma, the fear, the helplessness—all of it crashed over her at once, a storm she couldn’t hold back any longer.

Her thoughts drifted back to the warehouse, to the chaos and bloodshed, to Takagi stepping in when she’d been cornered. The image of him standing in the rain, resolute and unshaken, lingered in her mind. He hadn’t just saved her life; he’d fought for her in a way no one else had.

For the first time, she wondered what it would be like to have someone she could truly trust—someone who could help her bear the weight of this world she was trapped in.

But that thought only made her cry harder.

Eventually, the tears slowed, exhaustion taking hold. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders, curling into herself on the couch. The distant hum of the lounge’s music filtered through the walls, a soft reminder that life went on, even after nights like this.

As sleep finally claimed her, one thought lingered in the back of her mind, quiet but persistent.

She couldn’t do this alone anymore.

Early Morning - Takagi’s Apartment, day 3

The city never truly slept, and neither did Takagi. Not completely.

Faint neon light seeped through the slats of his blinds, painting streaks of pale red and blue across the ceiling. The rhythmic hum of rain against the window filled the room, a steady pulse against the silence. Takagi lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring blankly upward as if the answers to his restless thoughts were scrawled across the faint glow above.

The day’s events played on a loop in his mind—the warehouse, the gunfire, the shouts and chaos, and Akiko’s voice cutting through it all like a lifeline. He could still see it so clearly: the muzzle flash of the gun that had been aimed at him, the split-second where everything should’ve ended.

And then her shot. The gunman falling. Her standing there, clutching that little pistol like it weighed a thousand pounds, her hands trembling, her face pale but determined.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. The memory gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t shake. He’d faced death before—plenty of times, in fact. It came with the life. But this was different.

It wasn’t the brush with death itself that unsettled him. It was the thought of how close he’d come to leaving it all behind—to leaving Sho, to leaving his duty, to leaving unfinished business with the Nagasawa-kai. And somehow, it wasn’t his instincts or his skills that saved him. It was her.

Akiko Hanabira.

Her name felt strange in his thoughts, but it kept resurfacing, no matter how much he tried to focus elsewhere. She was no innocent bystander—she had willingly walked into that mess, and she had handled herself better than he’d expected. But she wasn’t like him. She didn’t belong in that world, not really.

Yet, for someone who didn’t belong, she’d saved his life.

He frowned, his chest tightening as the weight of the moment pressed down on him. He’d seen men break down after close calls—seen them spiral into guilt, into anger, into desperation to numb the fear that lingered. But Takagi had always prided himself on being steady, unshaken. He told himself he was different, built for this life.

So why did this one feel so different?

He turned his head slightly, looking toward the window. The faint glow of Nagoya’s endless sprawl flickered and shifted, shadows moving against the glass as cars passed below. The rain painted streaks across the pane, mirroring the quiet chaos in his mind.

The truth he didn’t want to admit was that Akiko had gotten under his skin. Not just because she’d saved him, though that was part of it. There was something about her—something that pulled at a part of him he thought he’d buried long ago.

She was brave, sure. But it wasn’t just bravery—it was something else. Something deeper. He’d seen it in her eyes when she’d stepped forward, pistol shaking in her grip but her resolve unyielding. She wasn’t a fighter, but she wasn’t weak, either. She was...

He shook his head, closing his eyes tightly as if he could will the thoughts away. It didn’t matter. Whatever connection he thought he’d felt, whatever respect he might have gained for her—none of it mattered. She was Hanabira. He was Nagasawa. And the gulf between them was a chasm neither of them could cross.

Still, as he lay there, the thought of her lingered. He wondered if she was okay, if she was able to sleep after everything that had happened. He wondered if she regretted stepping into that world, or if she’d double down on whatever crusade she was on.

Mostly, though, he wondered why he cared.

Takagi rolled onto his side, the mattress creaking slightly under his weight. The rain outside intensified, the rhythmic tapping turning into a steady drumbeat. He closed his eyes, willing his mind to quiet, but the ghost of her voice remained.

“We go together…”

She hadn’t even finished the sentence, but she didn’t need to. The truth of it was etched into his bones.

For the first time in years, Takagi felt the faint stirrings of something he couldn’t name—something that both unsettled and grounded him. Gratitude, maybe. Or something deeper, something more dangerous.

Whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to face it yet.

The neon glow above blurred as his thoughts finally began to drift, exhaustion taking hold. But even as sleep crept in, the memory of her lingered—a beacon in the rain-soaked chaos, the woman who had stepped into his world and, whether she meant to or not, saved him from it.

Early Morning – Nagoya Streets, day 3

The city was quiet, but Sho’s mind was anything but. His footsteps echoed faintly as he left Takagi behind, heading down a darkened street slick with rain from earlier that night. The adrenaline from the warehouse shootout had long since faded, leaving only a hollow ache in its place. His fingers were still trembling—he told himself it was from the cold, but he knew better.

He ducked into a 24-hour convenience store, its fluorescent lights stark and unforgiving. Wandering the aisles aimlessly, he grabbed a cheap bottle of wine and paid without making eye contact with the cashier. The cap came off with a sharp twist as soon as he stepped outside, and he took a deep swig, letting the bittersweet liquid burn its way down his throat.

Sho didn’t head home. Home was a shitty little apartment with very little, other than his TV that barely worked. He couldn’t go there. Not yet. Not when his nerves felt like they were wired wrong and his brain wouldn’t stop replaying the flashes of gunfire, the wet crunch of fists meeting flesh, and Takagi’s voice cutting through it all like a blade.

Instead, he kept walking, the bottle swinging in his hand as he drained it. More than half was gone by the time his feet stopped moving, and he realized where he’d ended up.

Early Morning - Apartment Complex, Osu District, day 3

He stared at the door, the number glowing faintly in the dim hallway light. His heart was pounding, but it wasn’t from the wine. He’d been coming to see her at the pachinko parlor for months now, leaning against counters, cracking jokes, throwing out compliments. She always smiled, always played along, but she’d kept him at arm’s length. He couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t stupid—she knew what kind of life he led.

But tonight was different. Tonight, he needed to see her. Because for all his bravado, for all his grinning, shit-talking swagger, Sho had come terrifyingly close to dying tonight, and in those moments of chaos, it wasn’t Takagi or the clan or even survival he’d thought of.

It was her.

... ... ...

The knock came quietly at first, hesitant. Then louder, more insistent.

Ayaka shuffled to the door, squinting at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 2 a.m. She frowned, tying her robe a little tighter around her waist as she peeked through the peephole. When she saw Sho standing there, bottle in hand, she almost didn’t open the door.

But something about the way he was standing—slumped, like he was holding himself together by sheer will—made her turn the lock.

The door creaked open, and there he was, leaning heavily against the frame, the nearly empty wine bottle dangling loosely from his fingers.

“What the hell, Sho?” Ayaka whispered harshly, her voice thick with sleep. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, Ayaka. Sorry to bother you. Just… thought I’d stop by.”

“Stop by?” She crossed her arms, her irritation plain. “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk,” he said, though his slurred words betrayed him. “Just… had a little wine. Figured I’d walk it off. Ended up here. Funny, huh?”

Her frown deepened. “Sho, what’s going on? Why are you here?”

His grin faltered, and for a moment, he just looked at her, his usual swagger replaced by something raw and vulnerable. “There was… a thing. A shootout. Thought I was gonna die.”

Her arms uncrossed, her annoyance melting into concern. “What?”

He chuckled bitterly, taking a final swig from the bottle before tossing it into a nearby trash can. “Yeah. Crazy night, huh? Bullets flying, fists swinging. Thought, ‘This is it. Game over.’ And you know what I kept thinking?”

She shook her head, her heart twisting at the crack in his voice.

“You,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Every time I thought I was gonna die, I thought of you. ‘Cause… I dunno. You’re… You make me happy, Ayaka. Like… I feel like a person when I’m around you, not just some punk with a knife and no future.”

She froze, her mind stumbling over his words, her heart caught somewhere between disbelief and something deeper. Sho Nishikawa, the cocky joker who always had a grin and a smartass remark, was standing in her doorway with red-rimmed, watery eyes.

For a moment, she said nothing, just staring at him. His eyes weren’t the same tonight—gone was the mischievous spark, the sharp gleam of someone always ready with a quip or a challenge. Instead, they were soft, raw, and painfully honest, like the mask he wore had slipped entirely. There was a faint sheen in them, a sadness that clung to him like the faint smell of cheap wine on his breath.

It was in the way his shoulders slumped just enough to betray his exhaustion, the slight tremor in his hand that still held the empty bottle, the way his gaze kept darting to hers like he was afraid she’d look away.

“You’re serious,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to hold back… something. “For once, yeah, I’m serious.” His voice cracked just slightly at the end, and it hit her harder than anything he’d said before.

Ayaka felt her chest tighten, her breath shallow as she searched his face. There was no bravado, no smirk. Just Sho—unfiltered, vulnerable, and looking at her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

Her gaze softened, and she took a step closer, her annoyance melting away. “Sho… what happened to you tonight?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

For a moment, he didn’t answer, just stood there in her doorway, his mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know how to put the words together. Then, finally, he whispered, “I didn’t think I was gonna make it. There were bullets everywhere… guys dropping left and right. And me? I just kept thinking about you. Kept telling myself that if I was gonna die, my last thought was gonna be you.”

Her breath caught. He wasn’t just tipsy or shaken—he was scared. The realization cut through her like ice, and for the first time, she saw the boy beneath the swagger. The boy who’d flirted with her so shamelessly for months, the one who made her laugh with his antics, the one who was now standing on the brink of breaking apart.

She reached out without thinking, her fingers brushing against his arm. “Come inside, Sho,” she said softly. “We can talk.”

“You don’t have to,” he murmured, his voice wavering again. “I just… I just needed to see you.”

“I want to,” she said firmly, taking the empty bottle from his hand and setting it aside. “Come on.”

As he stepped inside, she closed the door behind him, glancing at him again as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Something had happened tonight, something that left Sho Nishikawa shaken to his core. And for the first time, Ayaka felt a pang of worry—not just for the wild, unpredictable man standing in her living room, but for the dangerous world he lived in.

“Sit down,” she said gently, guiding him to the couch. “Tell me everything.”

And for once, Sho didn’t argue.

Early Morning - Ayaka’s Apartment, day 3

Sho removed his shoes & sat on her couch, his head resting against the back, his eyes half-closed. The room was small but cozy, filled with warm light and little touches that screamed Ayaka—neatly folded blankets, a stack of well-worn books, a vase of fresh flowers on the table.

She handed him a glass of water, sitting beside him but keeping a bit of distance. “So… what happened?”

He took a sip, letting the silence stretch before answering. “Warehouse job. Me and Takagi. Shit went sideways. Bullets flying, fists swinging, the works. We barely made it out.”

Her brow furrowed as she leaned forward slightly. “Why do you do this, Sho? This life… it’s going to get you killed.”

Sho hesitated, caught off guard by the weight of her question. He looked down at his hands, fidgeting slightly, his thumb tracing a groove in his palm. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual, stripped of its usual bravado. “I dunno, Ayaka. I guess… I guess it’s because I don’t have anything else. No college diploma. No special skills. Just… me. And that’s not worth much.”

She said nothing, letting him continue.

“I grew up with nothing,” he said, his words slow and thoughtful, like he was piecing himself together. “My mom worked her ass off to keep food on the table, and my dad? He was a drunk who gambled away what little we had. I figured out real quick that if I wanted more than scraps, I’d have to take it.”

He glanced up at her, his dark eyes glinting with something raw. “The yakuza… they gave me that. A way out. A way to make money, to have a life that doesn’t feel like I’m just surviving. I figured, you know… I’d stay for a bit, stack some cash, and then get out. Buy a house, maybe. Start a family. Have kids. Live like a normal person.”

Sho let out a dry, bitter laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. “But the truth is, it doesn’t work like that. You don’t just walk away, not without scars. And tonight? I realized just how fucking easy it is to lose everything before you even get the chance to try.”

His voice cracked slightly as he added, “But there’s one thing that’s kept me waking up every day, Ayaka. Kept me fighting. Kept me hoping.” He leaned back, his gaze meeting hers with an unguarded honesty that made her chest tighten. “It’s you. My dream is to start a life with you.”

Ayaka’s breath hitched. Her lips parted as if to respond, but she couldn’t immediately find the words. Sho’s raw sincerity wasn’t what she’d expected tonight, and the weight of it pressed down on her.

“You…” she began softly, her voice trembling. “Sho, that’s… that’s sweet, but…” She stopped herself, trying to think, trying to feel through the fog of emotions swirling inside her.

“But?” he prompted, his tone hesitant, almost pleading.

She exhaled slowly, folding her hands together. “Even if we did start seeing each other… nights like this would be commonplace. I’d always be worrying if you’re going to make it home alive or if I’ll get a call saying I need to come identify your body. I’d be tending to your wounds, patching you up, and wondering when the next time would come. That’s… that’s not the life I want.”

Sho flinched slightly, her words cutting through him like glass. He looked down, swallowing hard, his throat bobbing with effort.

“It’s not that I don’t care about you,” she continued, her voice soft but resolute. “I do. I like you, Sho. But you can’t expect me to just… accept this life. It’s not for me. It’s not for anyone who wants peace.”

Sho nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. “So… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need to get out,” she said firmly. “You’re smart, Sho. You could apply to college or learn a trade. You could do something, anything, that’s not this.” Her gaze softened, and she reached out, resting a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to live this way. You’re better than this.”

Sho closed his eyes briefly, the tension in his shoulders betraying the weight of her words. “You make it sound so easy,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“It’s not,” Ayaka admitted. “But staying in this life? That’s harder. It’s just a slower kind of dying.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was heavy with unspoken thoughts, unacknowledged feelings. Finally, Ayaka pulled her hand back, standing up and glancing at the clock. “We’ll talk more after you’ve had some sleep. You can stay here tonight.”

Sho nodded numbly, watching as she walked to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Left alone, he slumped back on the couch, staring at the dark ceiling.

Her words played over and over in his mind, each one twisting like a knife. She liked him. She cared about him. But the life he lived—the life he thought could one day give him a future—was the very thing that kept her at arm’s length.

Sho stared at the ceiling, his thoughts spiraling as exhaustion and the warm traces of wine tugged at him. His chest felt tight, like something heavy was pressing down on it, and he couldn’t shake the way Ayaka had looked at him. Concerned. Sad. Wary.

She deserved better. He knew that. She deserved someone who wasn’t drowning in the dirt and blood of the yakuza, someone who could give her the life she wanted without her having to worry if he’d come home in one piece—or at all. But even knowing that, even as his rational mind whispered that he should let her go, the rest of him screamed no.

Because Ayaka wasn’t just another girl. She was the girl. The one who made him laugh when everything else felt bleak. The one who looked at him like he wasn’t just some low-life with a big mouth and a bigger blade. The one who made him want to be better—not for himself, but for her.

And she’d been so close tonight. So close to slipping through his fingers.

The thought made his chest ache, and a new, sharper resolve took root in his mind. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.

Sho shifted on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes as his thoughts turned dangerous and desperate. He just had to find a way to get rich—fast. Fast enough to win over Ayaka and prove to her that he wasn’t some dead-end thug. He didn’t know how, but he was confident he could figure it out. He always did.

The idea of a grand heist, something risky and over-the-top, flashed through his mind. A way to get enough money to leave this life behind. A way to leave the Nagasawa-kai, though the small, sensible part of his brain reminded him that people didn’t just leave the yakuza.

Still, he couldn’t think about the risk. Not now. Ayaka was too important. Too irreplaceable. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her to some salaryman with a degree and a cushy desk job, someone who could give her the stability he couldn’t.

If he didn’t do something, if he didn’t find a way to change things, he was going to lose her. And if that happened… Sho exhaled shakily, his pulse quickening at the thought. He didn’t know what he’d do, but the idea of being without her made his stomach churn. He’d waste away. Maybe drink himself to death. Maybe throw himself off a roof.

No, he couldn’t let that happen. Not to Ayaka. Not to himself. He had to get his hands on money—real money. Enough to build a future. Enough to leave everything else behind.

And he had to do it soon. Time wasn’t on his side, and neither was the life he’d chosen.

With that final thought, Sho’s body sank further into the couch, his hand falling limply to his side. Sleep crept in, heavy and restless, carrying him into dreams as chaotic as the thoughts he left behind.

Late Morning – Nagasawa-kai Headquarters, day 3

The room reeked of stale smoke and tension. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a clinical glow on the plain oak desk where Kondo Masaru sat. The saiko-komon leaned back in his chair, tapping ash from a cigarette into a glass ashtray already crowded with butts. His sharp eyes tracked Takagi Tetsunori as he stood across the desk, sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened. Behind him, the muffled sounds of the clan’s operations hummed through the walls, but here, in this room, silence reigned.

“So,” Kondo said, his voice low and clipped, “start from the top. What the hell happened at the warehouse?”

Takagi’s posture didn’t shift. Years of experience had taught him that Kondo valued precision and calm under pressure. “Sho and I confirmed the intel—it wasn’t just a blind target. The warehouse was active. Hanabira men were moving contraband. Crates marked as standard cargo, but we caught signs of explosives.”

Kondo’s brows knit together. “Explosives? High-grade?”

Takagi nodded once. “Military-grade, from what I could tell. Whatever they’re planning, it’s not small-time.”

For a moment, Kondo didn’t respond. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, his lips tightening as he exhaled. “And Akiko Hanabira? She just happened to be there?”

“She was already inside when we arrived. Looked like she was investigating her own clan’s operation.” Takagi’s words came measured, deliberate. “My read is she didn’t know about the explosives. Either she’s out of the loop, or Ryusuke’s keeping her in the dark.”

Kondo’s eyes narrowed, his expression sharp. “Convenient. And what happened after?”

“The situation escalated.” Takagi’s voice remained even, but his jaw tightened slightly. “Ryusuke’s reinforcements showed up, too many to take on. We had to make a call. Hanabira stepped in, and we ended up leaving the warehouse with her and her people.”

Kondo leaned forward, the chair creaking under his weight. “You left with them?”

“It was that or die in a shootout we couldn’t win.” Takagi didn’t flinch under Kondo’s hard gaze. “We made it out, but the car we took to the warehouse is still there. Abandoning it wasn’t ideal, but it was a matter of survival.”

Kondo’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stubbed out his cigarette. “So now Ryusuke’s got our vehicle sitting in neutral territory, like a gift-wrapped invitation to retaliate. Not your cleanest work, Takagi.”

“No,” Takagi admitted, his tone cool. “It wasn’t. But it’s better than the alternative.”

Kondo reclined slightly, his fingers tapping the armrest as he mulled over the situation. The air between them felt heavy, weighted with unspoken calculations. Finally, he said, “And this ambush? I heard Sho and you ran into some of Ryusuke’s dogs on your way back.”

Takagi nodded again. “Two of his men, waiting for us just outside our turf. It wasn’t random—they knew exactly where we’d be. Sho took care of one. The other ran, but not before letting us know Ryusuke’s got it out for us now.”

Kondo’s expression darkened, his gaze hardening into steel. “That’s not just bold—that’s suicidal. He’s picking fights where they don’t belong, and now I’ve got two of my best enforcers dodging bullets on our doorstep.”

“Ryusuke’s not just stirring the pot,” Takagi said. “He’s testing boundaries.”

A muscle in Kondo’s jaw twitched as he reached for another cigarette, lighting it with the slow precision of a man used to controlling his emotions. “He’s looking for an excuse to drag us into open war. You think the Hanabira girl’s in on this?”

Takagi paused, weighing his answer carefully. “No. If anything, Ryusuke’s cutting her off at the knees. She saved our lives at the warehouse, Kondo-san. That wasn’t the move of someone trying to bait us.”

Kondo’s eyes narrowed further, his tone dropping a notch. “Don’t get sentimental, Takagi. She’s Hanabira blood. Don’t forget where her loyalties lie.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Takagi said, his voice firm. “But if Ryusuke’s going rogue, her loyalties might not matter much longer. He’s undermining her standing—and maybe her father’s too. That’s something we can use.”

Smoke curled in the air between them as Kondo leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s just a convenient excuse for you to start bending the rules.” He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling through his nose. “Keep your focus, Takagi. If Ryusuke steps on our turf again, we’ll deal with him. But until then, stay sharp. Sentiment clouds judgment, and judgment gets men killed.”

Takagi’s jaw tightened, but he nodded curtly. “Understood.”

For a moment, the only sound was the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights. Then Kondo’s voice softened, just slightly. “And Takagi…”

“Yes, Kondo-san?”

“Keep Sho in line. The kid’s got fire, but he’s no good to me if he burns himself out.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Takagi’s mouth. “I’ll handle him.”

“See that you do.” Kondo leaned back again, taking one last drag from his cigarette before grinding it into the ashtray. “Dismissed.”

Takagi turned and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. As he walked down the narrow hallway toward the exit, Kondo’s words lingered in his mind, heavy as the smoke he left behind.

Afternoon – Ryusuke’s Warehouse Office, Nakagawa Ward, day 3

The room stank of oil and damp concrete, the acrid scent of industry mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood. Fujimoto Ryusuke stood at the center of his office, a cavernous space carved out of the warehouse’s ground floor. A desk sat littered with papers and the remnants of his last meal, but his attention was fixed on the sleek black sedan parked below, visible through the office window.

It had been sitting there since last night, abandoned like a stray dog. But this wasn’t just any car—it was a Nagasawa-kai vehicle, its plates screaming territory and allegiance like a beacon.

Ryusuke’s lips twisted into a crooked grin. He leaned forward, placing one heavy hand on the desk as he studied the scene below. His other hand toyed with a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers but never lighting it.

“This,” he said to no one in particular, “is a goddamn gift.”

Behind him, Kobayashi Ren, one of his more volatile enforcers, stood fidgeting by the doorway. Ren’s knuckles were scabbed over, and his lip was swollen from a brawl earlier in the day. He didn’t care much for Ryusuke’s theatrics, but he wasn’t stupid enough to say so.

“They really left it there?” Ren asked, his tone skeptical.

Ryusuke turned, his grin widening. “What, you think I dragged it here myself? No. They left it, alright. Like amateurs. Like dogs with their tails between their legs.”

Ren shrugged, his eyes darting toward the window. “So, what’s the play? Dump it back on their turf? Torch it?”

Ryusuke chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that sent a chill down Ren’s spine. “No, no, no. That’s too easy. Too crude.” He stepped away from the desk, pacing the room with slow, deliberate steps. “This isn’t just a car. It’s an opportunity.”

Ren frowned, but he didn’t interrupt. Ryusuke’s pacing stopped abruptly, and he turned, pointing a thick finger at him.

“Think about it, Ren. A Nagasawa vehicle, sitting in our territory, just begging for attention. What do you think the police will say when they find it loaded with a little... surprise?”

Ren’s frown deepened. “A surprise?”

Ryusuke’s grin turned wolfish. “Explosives. Guns. Drugs. Whatever we want. It’s a statement—proof that the Nagasawa-kai are breaking every damn rule in the book. A violation of neutral ground.”

“That’s... bold,” Ren said cautiously. “The Nagasawa won’t let it slide.”

“They won’t have a choice.” Ryusuke’s tone sharpened, his grin fading into something colder. “By the time they figure out we set them up, it’ll be too late. The cops will be sniffing around, the neutral zones will be on fire, and Nagasawa Hiroto will be too busy cleaning up the mess to notice what we’re really doing.”

Ren shifted uneasily. “And if they come back for it before we set the trap?”

Ryusuke waved him off, turning back to the window. “Then we spring the trap early. Either way, we win. They left it here, Ren. That’s weakness. And weakness demands a response.”

For a moment, the room fell silent except for the faint hum of machinery below. Then Ryusuke reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He dialed a number and waited, his fingers drumming against the desk.

When the line clicked, he didn’t wait for a greeting. “Get the team ready. I want that car packed and ready to roll within the hour. And make it look good—clean, professional. If the cops sniff around, I want them convinced it’s Nagasawa through and through.”

The voice on the other end stammered out an acknowledgment, and Ryusuke hung up without another word. He turned back to Ren, his grin returning as he lit the cigarette he’d been toying with.

“See, Ren,” he said, exhaling a plume of smoke, “the thing about the Nagasawa? They think they’re untouchable. Smart. Disciplined.” He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “But even the smartest dogs make mistakes. And when they do... you put them down.”

Ren nodded, though his unease lingered. Ryusuke didn’t notice—or if he did, he didn’t care. His focus was already back on the car, his mind spinning with possibilities.

“Now,” Ryusuke muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the faint crackle of his cigarette, “let’s see how far we can push them before they break.”

Afternoon – Akiko’s Office, Sakura Lounge, Day 3

The low hum of the building’s central air crept into Akiko’s consciousness before anything else. She stirred against the couch, the weight of the blanket tangled around her legs like a cocoon. Her eyes fluttered open, met by the dim amber light filtering through the frosted glass of her office door. It was quiet—too quiet.

For a moment, she couldn’t place where she was. The room, the silence, the lingering haze of exhaustion—they all felt foreign, like waking from a dream that had only just started to make sense.

And then it hit her.

The warehouse. The gunfire. Ryusuke’s men.

She sat up abruptly, her breath catching in her throat. Her pulse quickened, and for a moment, the air felt too thin, the walls too close. Her hand instinctively went to her chest, trying to steady the erratic rhythm of her heart.

“It’s okay,” she whispered to herself, the sound trembling in the quiet room. “You’re okay.”

The blanket slipped from her shoulders as she swung her legs over the side of the couch. Her bare feet met the cool wood floor, grounding her, pulling her back into the present. The room smelled faintly of jasmine, the half-empty teacup still sitting on the table where she’d left it the night before.

The clock on the wall read just past one in the afternoon. She blinked at it, her mind sluggishly catching up.

You really needed the rest, she thought, rubbing her face with both hands. Her body ached—not from exertion but from the sheer tension she’d carried through the past few days. It was like waking from a storm only to find the damage still waiting to be dealt with.

Her office door creaked open, and Daichi leaned in, his sharp eyes immediately scanning her face. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice low but warm. “Good. You needed it.”

Akiko nodded, her voice slow to catch up. “What time is it?”

“Almost half past one,” Daichi said, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind him. He held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and placed it on the table before her. “Figured you could use something stronger than tea.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, wrapping her hands around the cup and letting the heat seep into her skin.

Daichi pulled the chair closer, sitting down with a creak of old wood. “You look better,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “Rested.”

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” she muttered, her fingers tightening around the cup.

Daichi’s lips quirked in a faint smile. “Better than looking like you just missed one.”

Despite herself, Akiko huffed out a small laugh, the tension in her chest loosening just slightly. “You’re too kind.”

The smile faded from Daichi’s face as his sharp gaze settled on her. “How are you holding up? Really?”

Akiko hesitated, staring down into the dark liquid in her cup. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Last night… it was too much. It feels like everything’s spinning out of control, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Daichi leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You don’t have to stop it all at once. One step at a time.”

“And what step do I take?” she asked, her voice edged with frustration. “Ryusuke isn’t stopping. My father isn’t doing anything. And every time I try to fix something, it just gets worse.”

“That’s the thing about messes,” Daichi said, his voice steady. “They look impossible until you start cleaning them up. Then you realize it’s just a pile of smaller problems pretending to be one big one.”

Akiko snorted softly. “Are you always this poetic, or is this just for me?”

“Special occasions,” Daichi said dryly, though his faint smile returned.

Akiko sipped the coffee, the bitterness cutting through the fog in her mind. “I can’t just sit here and wait for Ryusuke to make his next move,” she said, her voice firmer now. “He’s not just a problem anymore. He’s a threat. To me. To Ogawa. To you. To everything my father built.”

Daichi’s expression darkened, but he nodded. “You’re right. But you need to be smart about this, Akiko. You can’t fight him head-on. Not yet.”

“So what do I do?” she asked, setting the cup down with a clink. “Wait until he drags us into a war?”

“No,” Daichi said. “You outthink him. You hit him where it hurts—his plans, his alliances, his reputation. Ryusuke’s not untouchable, no matter how much he wants you to think he is.”

Akiko stared at him, her mind turning over his words. “Ogawa might have something,” she said slowly. “Before the warehouse, he sent me manifests and financials. There were discrepancies—shipments going missing, weight mismatches. It’s small, but it’s something.”

“Then start there,” Daichi said. “If Ryusuke’s running his own show, he’s leaving a trail. Find it. Follow it.”

Her fingers tapped against the edge of the cup as a quiet resolve settled over her. For the first time in days, she felt a flicker of control, a spark of direction.

“Alright,” she said finally, looking up at him. “I’ll start with the paperwork. But if I find something…”

“You’ll have options,” Daichi said firmly. “And you won’t be alone.”

Akiko nodded, her grip tightening on the cup. “Thank you, Daichi. For everything.”

He stood, giving her a small nod. “I’ll leave you to it. But don’t get lost in the details—remember to breathe.”

She watched him leave, the door clicking shut behind him. The room felt heavier in his absence, but it was a weight she could carry now.

Turning back to her laptop, Akiko opened the files Ogawa had sent and began combing through the data. The numbers blurred together at first, but slowly, patterns began to emerge.

Ryusuke’s trail wasn’t obvious, but it was there. And if he thought she would just sit back and let him keep pushing, he was about to learn otherwise.

The spark of resolve burned brighter, fueled by anger, fear, and something sharper—a quiet, dangerous determination.

This ends now.

The sound of rain outside faded into the background as Akiko hunched over her laptop, her fingers scrolling through the endless rows of numbers and manifests. Her eyes burned from staring at the screen too long, and the bitter taste of her now-cool coffee lingered in her mouth. She’d been at it for over an hour, combing through data Ogawa had sent, but Ryusuke’s trail was maddeningly subtle.

She leaned back in frustration, rubbing her temples. The discrepancies were there—shipments that didn’t add up, weights that didn’t match manifests—but they felt like breadcrumbs scattered over miles of open ground. Each inconsistency teased her with the promise of something tangible, only to slip through her fingers.

“Damn it,” she muttered, slamming the lid of the laptop shut.

Her gaze drifted to the far corner of the room, where her coat and bag lay draped over a chair. Her mind replayed the events at the warehouse—the chaos, the gunfire, the stench of oil and blood mingling in the rain.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. Focus, she told herself. There had to be something she was missing. Something obvious.

Her thoughts circled back to that night, to the shelves lined with crates and the desk she’d been rifling through before Takagi had appeared. She’d grabbed what she could, stuffing documents into her bag before finding a folder, her instincts screaming at her to move faster.

Her eyes snapped open.

The folder.

Akiko shot to her feet, nearly knocking over the empty coffee cup. She crossed the room in three quick strides, grabbing her bag and yanking it open. Her hands moved frantically, shoving aside her wallet, phone, and other clutter until her fingers closed around the edge of a thick, slightly crumpled folder.

She pulled it out, her breath catching as she stared at the plain, nondescript cover. She had barely glanced at the contents that night, too focused on survival to think about what she was taking. Now, with the folder in her hands, a surge of adrenaline coursed through her.

Dropping back onto the couch, she opened the folder, spreading the papers across the table. Her fingers trembled slightly as she sifted through the documents: shipping manifests, financial statements, invoices, and handwritten notes.

At first, the chaos of it overwhelmed her. Ryusuke’s meticulous nature clashed with her frantic organization from that night, but the longer she looked, the more connections began to surface.

There were receipts for crates marked with coded labels, the same ones she’d seen at the warehouse. Manifests with dates and weights that didn’t match what Ogawa had sent. And then, at the bottom of the stack, a photocopied letterhead with a name scrawled across it in Ryusuke’s bold handwriting:

Tatsuo Imports.

Her heart raced. Tatsuo Imports was a known smuggling front, one her father had quietly cut ties with years ago after the OCCB started sniffing around their operations. The connection was clear: Ryusuke had re-established dealings with them behind Koji’s back, using their network to funnel contraband while keeping his hands clean.

“This bastard,” Akiko whispered, her voice laced with both fear and anger.

But it wasn’t just the evidence that struck her. It was the audacity. Ryusuke wasn’t just undermining her; he was destabilizing the entire Hanabira-gumi with his reckless dealings.

Her hands moved faster now, flipping through the papers as her mind raced. Tatsuo Imports wasn’t just smuggling weapons—it was also moving cash, laundering it through shell companies that funneled back into Ryusuke’s legitimate businesses. Every page painted a damning picture, one that tied Ryusuke not just to the warehouse’s operations but to the broader web of illicit activity threatening the clan’s stability.

And then she found it: a handwritten memo tucked between the manifests, its edges smudged as if it had been shoved into a pocket or crumpled in haste. The words were simple but chilling:

“Move the next shipment through the Nishiki dock. Make sure the girl doesn’t find out.”

Akiko’s blood ran cold.

The girl. That was her.

She sat back, her mind reeling. Ryusuke wasn’t just covering his tracks—he was actively working to keep her in the dark while using her position to mask his operations. Every missing crate, every falsified manifest—it had all been designed to protect him while implicating her if things went wrong.

Her hands clenched into fists, crumpling the edges of the memo. The fear she’d felt only moments ago was rapidly being consumed by something else—anger.

For months, she’d tried to play by the rules, to prove her worth within the clan without stepping on the wrong toes. She’d tolerated Ryusuke’s veiled threats, his slimy comments, his underhanded moves. But this? This wasn’t just about her anymore.

This was war.

Akiko stood, the folder clutched tightly in her hands. She wasn’t ready—she knew that. The thought of confronting her father about Ryusuke filled her with dread. But she couldn’t ignore this. Not now.

She crossed to her desk, pulling open the top drawer and grabbing a small USB drive. Carefully, she began scanning the most damning documents into her laptop, her fingers moving with purpose.

When she was done, she leaned back in her chair, staring at the digital files displayed on the screen. Her chest felt tight, but her resolve was unshaken.

Ryusuke thought he could use her as a pawn.

He was about to learn she was something else entirely.

Afternoon – Ayaka’s Apartment, day 3

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, spilling streaks of pale gold across the modest apartment. Sho stirred on the couch, his back aching from the awkward angle he’d slept in. He blinked groggily at the ceiling, the events of the previous night slowly coming into focus.

The warehouse. The gunfire. Ayaka.

He sat up abruptly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His jacket was draped over the back of a nearby chair, and an empty water glass sat on the low table in front of him. For a moment, he let himself believe she was still in the other room, that he could knock on her door and… what? Say something meaningful? Apologize for dragging his chaos into her life?

He stood and stretched, his joints protesting as he shuffled toward her bedroom door. It was slightly ajar, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

“Ayaka?” he called softly, his voice rasping.

No answer.

He nudged the door open, his heart sinking when he saw the neatly made bed and no sign of her. The room felt strangely empty, as though she’d left in a hurry.

On the dresser, a folded piece of paper caught his eye. Sho crossed the room in two quick strides, snatching it up with a mix of relief and unease.

Sho,
I had to head to work—early shift today. Didn’t want to wake you.
We’ll talk later. Take care of yourself, okay?

Her name was signed at the bottom in a quick flourish.

Sho stared at the note, his chest tightening. There was nothing unusual about it—just a practical message, polite and considerate. But something about it left him unsettled, a gnawing feeling he couldn’t quite shake.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself, crumpling the note and stuffing it into his pocket. “She’s just… working. No big deal.”

But it was a big deal. At least, it felt like one. The thought of her going about her day, oblivious to the dangers that seemed to shadow him constantly, made his stomach churn.

Sho glanced around the apartment one last time before grabbing his jacket and slipping out the door.

Afternoon – Sho’s Apartment, Naka Ward, day 3

The moment Sho stepped into his apartment, the familiar wave of disdain hit him. The place was a mess, cluttered with takeout containers, rumpled clothes, and the faint smell of cigarettes lingering in the air. The TV sat silent in the corner, its screen blank and dusty.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered bitterly, tossing his jacket onto a chair.

Sho moved with purpose, peeling off his rumpled shirt and heading for the tiny bathroom. The water heater sputtered to life, and he stepped into the lukewarm spray, letting it wash away the grime and tension clinging to him.

As the water ran over his shoulders, he replayed the previous night in his mind—Takagi’s sharp commands, the chaotic escape, Ayaka’s worried eyes. He tried to focus, to push past the unease knotting in his chest, but his thoughts kept drifting back to her.

By the time he stepped out of the shower and pulled on a clean shirt, Sho had made up his mind.

He wasn’t going to sit around and wait.

Afternoon – Golden Crane Pachinko Parlor, day 3

The Golden Crane was already buzzing with activity by the time Sho arrived. The bright lights and incessant clinking of pachinko balls filled the air, a sensory overload that made his head throb. He shoved his hands into his pockets, scanning the rows of machines for a familiar face.

It didn’t take long to spot her.

Ayaka stood behind the counter, her uniform crisp and her hair neatly tied back. She was chatting with a middle-aged man at one of the machines, her expression warm and attentive. Sho lingered near the entrance, his heart pounding in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

He watched her laugh at something the man said, her smile easy and genuine. For a moment, Sho felt like an intruder, as if he didn’t belong in this corner of her world.

But the moment passed, and he shook off the feeling, moving toward the counter with his usual swagger.

“Hey,” he called, his voice cutting through the noise.

Ayaka looked up, her smile faltering for a brief second before she recovered. “Sho. What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d stop by,” he said casually, leaning against the counter. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about me.”

Ayaka rolled her eyes, but there was a faint hint of a smile on her lips. “Hard to forget someone who crashes on your couch uninvited.”

“Hey, you let me in,” he shot back, grinning.

“Only because you looked like you were about to fall apart,” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. “Did you get some rest?”

“Enough,” Sho said, his grin slipping. “But I wasn’t kidding about checking on you. You good?”

Ayaka hesitated, her gaze flickering to the customers around them before settling back on him. “I’m fine. It’s just another day.”

“Yeah, but…” He paused, his brow furrowing. “You don’t gotta pretend with me, you know. After last night—”

“Sho,” she interrupted, her voice firm but gentle. “I’m fine. Really. You’ve got enough on your plate without worrying about me.”

“That’s not how it works,” he said quietly, leaning closer. “I can’t not worry about you.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The noise of the parlor seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of them standing there, caught in a quiet moment that felt heavier than it should have.

Ayaka sighed, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. “I appreciate it,” she said softly. “But I’m okay. You don’t need to hover.”

Sho studied her face, searching for cracks in the mask she was wearing. He didn’t find any, but the knot in his chest didn’t loosen.

“Alright,” he said finally, stepping back. “But you know where to find me if you need me.”

Ayaka’s smile returned, small but genuine. “I do. Thanks, Sho.”

He gave her a mock salute before turning to leave, the pachinko balls clinking behind him. But as he stepped out into the sunlight, the unease still lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming—something neither of them were ready for.

Afternoon – Nagoya Streets, day 3

Sho shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he walked, the clinking sounds of the pachinko parlor fading into the distance. The sun was bright, the air crisp, but none of it registered. A knot had formed in his stomach, twisting tighter with every step.

The cold feeling hit him suddenly, like a draft sneaking through an open window. His shoulders hunched instinctively, and he shivered, though the chill wasn’t in the air—it was inside him.

Sho stopped in his tracks, his chest tightening. The nausea came next, bubbling up like bad whiskey after a long night. He leaned against a lamppost, gripping the cool metal as the world around him seemed to blur.

What the hell’s wrong with me? he thought, dragging a shaky hand down his face.

And then it hit him.

When he’d been in Ayaka’s apartment, he could’ve waited. He could’ve stayed there, sat on that couch, and been patient. But he hadn’t. He’d needed to see her, to speak with her, as though there were things he couldn’t say unless she was standing right there in front of him.

But when he found her at the parlor, she’d been fine. Smiling, chatting with customers, carrying on like nothing was wrong. Like she didn’t need him.

The thought jarred him, sent a hollow ache echoing through his chest. He felt shaky, unsteady, like the ground beneath him wasn’t as solid as it had been a moment ago.

“Get a grip,” Sho muttered under his breath, his voice trembling.

But the words didn’t help. His heart was pounding now, and an anxious, desperate feeling clawed its way up his throat. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly. It was something deeper, darker.

He felt exposed. Vulnerable. Alone.

Sho pushed off the lamppost, stumbling a few steps before finding his footing. His breath came short and shallow as he fought the urge to bolt.

I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have left her.

The thought grew louder, more insistent, until it drowned out everything else. He needed to go back. Not later, not eventually—now.

Without Ayaka nearby, he felt like he was missing something, like a part of himself had been ripped away. He couldn’t shake the sensation that the world was colder, darker, emptier without her in it.

Sho turned on his heel, his steps quickening as he retraced his path to the Golden Crane. The sharp chill in his gut didn’t ease, but the pull in his chest was stronger, a force he couldn’t resist.

He didn’t care if she told him to stop hovering or if she rolled her eyes at him again. He just needed to see her, to be close enough to know she was there and safe.

The thought of being alone without her—it was too much. Too raw. Too terrifying.

Afternoon – Takagi’s Apartment, day 3

The rain had stopped, leaving the city slick and shimmering under the pale light of a reluctant sun. Takagi sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the faint reflections bouncing off the glass of his window. The room was quiet, save for the muffled hum of traffic filtering in from below.

A cigarette dangled between his fingers, the ash growing precariously long as he forgot to flick it. The scent of smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint musk of rain-soaked leather from the jacket slung over the back of a chair.

His thoughts were an unwelcome carousel, spinning too fast for him to get off.

The clan. The job. The woman.

Takagi leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His mind circled back to Akiko—again. He couldn’t stop seeing her in that warehouse, standing her ground when she should’ve run, that pistol trembling in her hands as she tried to will herself to pull the trigger. She’d looked so composed in the chaos, but he hadn’t missed the fear in her eyes, the slight quiver in her voice.

He exhaled sharply, the cigarette smoke curling upward like ghostly ribbons.

It wasn’t just her actions that lingered in his mind. It was her.

Akiko Hanabira wasn’t like the women he usually crossed paths with. She was poised, sharp, and intelligent, carrying herself with a confidence that felt almost regal. But there was something else beneath that polished exterior—a vulnerability she tried to bury but couldn’t quite hide.

Takagi tilted his head back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. He didn’t like this feeling. He was a man of action, of logic and instinct. And yet, every time he thought of her, his thoughts twisted into something messy and unfamiliar.

He closed his eyes, recalling her face. Her features were striking, almost unreal in their perfection—the high cheekbones, the full lips, the symmetry that drew your gaze and refused to let go. He wasn’t stupid. He could tell she’d had work done, subtle enhancements that made her beauty almost otherworldly.

But it wasn’t the perfection that fascinated him. It was the contradiction.

She had the look of someone untouchable, someone crafted to be admired from afar, like a porcelain doll on a pedestal. Yet she wasn’t fragile. She’d thrown herself into the lion’s den, standing firm in a world where men like Ryusuke circled like predators.

Takagi frowned, running a hand through his hair.

He couldn’t reconcile it—the part of him that wanted to protect her and the part that admired her strength. And then there was the other part, the one he tried to shove aside, the part that found himself fascinated by her beauty, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“Get a grip, Takagi,” he muttered under his breath, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray.

He stood and paced the room, his shoes thudding softly against the worn floorboards. His loyalty to the Nagasawa-kai was unwavering. He knew his place, his role, and the rules he lived by. Protect the clan. Uphold its honor. Follow orders.

But Akiko complicated everything.

He’d always seen himself as a man of principle, someone who could navigate the gray areas of their world without losing himself. But her presence, her situation—it tugged at something deeper. A sense of duty that wasn’t tied to the clan.

You’re not her protector, Kondo’s voice echoed in his mind, stern and unyielding. Focus on the bigger picture. The clan comes first.

Takagi’s jaw tightened. He knew Kondo was right. The clan did come first. But as much as he tried to tell himself that, the thought of leaving Akiko to fend for herself didn’t sit right with him.

And it wasn’t just her vulnerability that stirred something in him. It was the sheer audacity of someone like Fujimoto Ryusuke. Takagi had seen men like him before—cowards who cloaked themselves in power, using fear and violence to mask their own inadequacies.

Takagi stopped pacing, staring out the window at the city below.

He didn’t know what his next move would be. He didn’t know how to balance the tangled mess of duty, morality, and… whatever it was Akiko stirred in him.

All he knew was that he couldn’t walk away. Not yet. Not while Ryusuke was still a threat.

Takagi lit another cigarette, the flame from his lighter casting fleeting shadows across his face.

He had to be careful. Too much focus on Akiko, and he risked compromising himself and his standing within the Nagasawa-kai. But ignoring her wasn’t an option either.

He took a long drag, the smoke filling his lungs before he exhaled slowly.

“Damn you, Hanabira,” he muttered, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

For the first time in years, Takagi felt like he was walking a tightrope without a net. And no matter how steady his steps were, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the fall would come sooner or later.

The restless energy burned in his chest, coiled and twisting like a spring ready to snap. He stared at the crumpled pack of cigarettes on the table, debating lighting another, but the thought only made his agitation worse. He needed more than smoke and pacing to burn off the edge clawing at his nerves.

The rain had stopped, the storm clouds dissipating to leave behind a muted, pale sky. The air outside would be damp, heavy with the smell of wet asphalt and decay. It matched his mood perfectly—charged, volatile, simmering with unresolved tension.

Takagi sighed and stood, peeling off his shirt and tossing it onto the chair. His skin prickled with a sheen of sweat from the relentless churn of his emotions. He needed clarity, focus. And for that, he needed to cool his head—literally.

He stepped into the bathroom, flipping on the light. The mirror above the sink reflected back the face of a man who didn’t look at peace with anything. His dark eyes were sharper than usual, his jaw tight, the faint lines on his forehead deeper.

The shower sputtered to life, the water scalding as it sprayed against the tile. Takagi adjusted it, stepping in without hesitation. The cascade poured over him, running down his neck and shoulders, dragging some of the tension with it.

His hands pressed against the wall as he closed his eyes, letting the sound of the water drown out everything else. But the images didn’t stop. Akiko’s trembling hands on that pistol. Ryusuke’s smug grin at the last joint clan meeting. The chaos of the warehouse, blood in the rain, and a shadow of something much darker lurking beneath it all.

The more he thought about Ryusuke, the more it pissed him off. The man wasn’t just a problem for Akiko—he was a problem for everyone. A rot eating away at the Hanabira-gumi from the inside, staining their operations with his petty power plays and insidious ambitions.

And yet, he was untouchable. Protected by his rank, by Koji’s complacency, by the delicate web of politics that tied the clans together in an uneasy truce.

But Ryusuke’s businesses? His operations? Those were another story entirely.

Takagi’s lips curled into a faint smirk, the water cascading down his face as the idea took root.

For now, Ryusuke sat atop his little empire, insulated by his position and the fear he wielded like a weapon. But every empire had its foundations, and Takagi knew Ryusuke’s were riddled with vulnerabilities.

A hostess club in Sakae that doubled as a hub for his illicit deals. A warehouse on the southern docks where shipments came and went under the cover of darkness. A few side businesses—casinos, massage parlors, bars—all tied into the machinery that kept his operations running.

Takagi had been toying with the idea since the warehouse raid, but now it was crystalizing into something more dangerous. Ryusuke couldn’t be touched, but the pillars holding him up could be burned to the ground—literally.

The water began to cool, and Takagi twisted the knob, stepping out and grabbing a towel. As he dried off, his mind raced, the haze of his restless energy sharpening into cold determination.

He moved to his bedroom, pulling on a fresh shirt and his leather jacket. His gun rested on the nightstand, the weight of it reassuring in his hand as he slipped it into the holster beneath his arm. He wasn’t planning to use it—not tonight. But plans had a way of changing when things went south.

In the living room, Takagi paused, staring at the worn photograph tucked into the corner of the mirror. It was old, the edges curling, the colors faded. A younger version of himself stood beside his family, his mother’s smile radiant despite the hardships they’d endured.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze hardening. He wasn’t doing this for himself. Not entirely.

Akiko was safe—for now. She had Daichi, Ogawa, and the layers of protection her network provided. But Ryusuke? He couldn’t just be left to scheme in the shadows, untouched and unchecked.

Takagi grabbed his phone, scrolling through contacts until he landed on a name: Nakahara Rei.

The bartender at the Crimson Lotus was one of the best information brokers he knew, always with a finger on the pulse of the underworld. If anyone could confirm which of Ryusuke’s operations were most vulnerable, it was her.

His thumb hovered over the call button.

Am I really going to do this?

The answer came easily.

Yes.

He pressed the button and lifted the phone to his ear, his expression calm but his blood running hot.

“Rei,” he said when the line connected. “I need to know what Ryusuke’s got on the line tonight. Something I can hit hard.”

There was a pause, then a low chuckle. “Planning a little extracurricular, Takagi? You know Kondo won’t like it if this gets messy.”

“It won’t,” Takagi replied, his tone clipped. “Just tell me what you’ve got.”

Rei’s voice softened slightly, her curiosity piqued. “Alright. Give me an hour, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Make it quick,” Takagi said, ending the call.

He grabbed his keys and stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.

           The storm in his chest hadn’t abated, but now it had direction. Ryusuke’s reign wouldn’t end tonight, but it would start to shake.

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