"He'll be out in a few months."
"…"
Inside a dim, nearly empty bar, two men sat at the counter. The bartender stood rigid behind it, unease written all over his face as his eyes kept drifting toward one of them. Two vacant stools separated the pair.
One was a massive, powerfully built man in a purple coat, his face carved with scars
The other was lean but muscular, his most striking feature was his blonde pompadour. His left arm rested in a cast.
They were Chiharu Shiba and Hanayama Kaoru.
"Is that so?" Hanayama tapped the counter once. The bartender flinched and hurried to pour him a drink.
Shiba watched for a moment, then did the same.
They lifted their glasses, clinked them together, and drained them in a single shot.
"Boss… why don't I just go in there and take him out?" Shiba asked.
It wasn't the first time that thought had crossed his mind.
Hanayama knew it too.
Either of them could walk into any prison in Japan, crush everyone in their path, and walk out untouched. They had the strength. They had the influence.
So why didn't they?
Why wait for him to be released just to settle things properly?
That question lingered.
Hanayama didn't even glance his way.
Yang was a man he didn't want to remember.
His name had slipped from his mind during the chaos of the Maximum Tournament—but what Yang had done hadn't faded at all
Hanayama tapped the counter again, his other hand slipping inside his coat.
He pulled something out and laid it down.
It was a photograph.
Shiba looked at the photo his eyes widened in shock
_____________
A year and six months ago
"Tanaka!!! You dumb bitch!!"
"What?!"
"How many times do I have to tell you—Western clothes are not appropriate here!"
"But, booooss—!"
A man in a sharp black suit was shouting at the top of his lungs. In front of him sat a slightly obese man on the floor, his face twisted in pain as he clutched his cheek.
"I dress like this all the time, so why are you mad now?!"
"You moron!"
The man in black grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward the door.
"Today is the fifth anniversary of our ancestor!"
He hurled Tanaka outside the room.
"Go change your clothes and come back!"
"Aggh—but boss, you don't have to be violen—"
"Hurry!!!"
Tanaka scrambled to his feet at once—only to freeze.
Standing right behind him was a giant of a man, towering silently, dressed in traditional Japanese attire.
A kimono.
To be precise… an oversized one.
It was Kaoru Hanayama
The head of the family.
"B–boss!!" Tanaka bowed into a full ninety-degree angle, his entire body trembling.
"Who's making all that noise?" Kaoru asked calmly.
"I–it was Big Br—"
Before he could finish, Kaoru stepped into the room.
What followed could only be described as the sound of chickens crying out before slaughter.
________________
Now everyone stood outside in a single line, waiting.
They were all dressed in traditional kimonos; some had bandages wrapped around their faces, still bearing the marks of Hanayama's earlier beating.
Hanayama stood at the center.
Then, the ones they had been waiting for arrived.
A dark limousine rolled in, followed closely by another black car.
The doors of the limousine were opened by Hanayama's men, and from the back seat stepped out two elderly men.
The second-generation head of the Shimizu Clan—Shimizu Jirocho.
A short, elderly man with cropped hair, a half-circular scar running from his forehead down to his chin, marking his face like a signature.
From the opposite side, another old man stepped forward.
Hanayama men bowed slightly as Hanayama himself wore a gentle smile and walked toward him.
The old man mirrored the gesture, closing the distance without hesitation.
Hanayama lowered his body and wrapped his arms around him in a firm embrace.
This man was Akita Tarou, the fifth-generation head of the Tarou Clan—
and Hanayama's maternal grandfather
"Ah, my boy… look at how much you've grown," the old man laughed, patting his back. "Just a few years ago, you barely reached my height."
Hanayama let out a low chuckle. "I haven't even hit puberty yet."
Akita's eyes widened in disbelief. "Seriously?"
Hanayama shook his head, a calm smile resting on his face, then placed a palm on Akita's back and guided him inside.
But Akita grabbed his shoulder.
"Wait… he's not coming?"
Hanayama knew exactly who the "he" referred to—his grandfather's meaning was clear.
"No."
Hanayama had gone to his residence once, personally inviting him, only to be met with insults and curses.
"I see…" Akita sighed as he walked inside. "Losing both his parents really changed that boy, huh."
______________________
The old man, Akita, pulled a photograph from within his kimono. He studied it for a moment, sighed, then handed it to Hanayama.
Now that everyone had paid their respects to the former leaders, only Akita and Hanayama remained before the grave of Keizo Hanayama—Kaoru's father.
The photograph showed the little him, his father, his mother, and his gramma and another child with long hair. A girl? A boy?
His father was holding him, while his mother and grandmother smiled warmly at the camera.
"It took a long time to get you to stop crying," Akita said softly. "You only calmed down after that boy, Yang, was brought to your side. You two were truly inseparable "
Hanayama kept staring at the photograph before
He handed it back to Akita, but the old man raised a hand.
"Keep it. I won't be needing it much longer."
"Old man…" Kaoru frowned.
Akita chuckled softly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to sour the mood. Just an old man rambling, that's all."
He pulled out a cigarette case, slid one between his lips, then glanced at Kaoru.
"How about we go fishing again next week?"
Kaoru sighed, then smiled. He flicked his lighter and lit Akita's cigarette.
Both of them turned their heads as a man in a suit approached.
It was an Akita guard.
He had short, spiky hair, and his face was crisscrossed with scars.
His name was garuda
Garuda had been with Akita since the very beginning—back when the Tarou gang was formed, the same group that later helped lay the foundation for the Hanayama family.
He bowed slightly toward Hanayama.
"It's good to see you again, young Hanayama."
"You as well, Garuda," Hanayama replied calmly. "How's your daughter?"
Garuda smiled faintly. "She won't be fine for long, young master. I'll die soon, and there'll be no one left to protect her. So what do you sa—"
"I'll pass."
Hanayama raised his hand, cutting him off without hesitation.
"Oh, is that so? How unfortunate," Garuda said sadly.
"Huff…" Akita exhaled. "No good, Garuda. Hanayama is still in his teens, and your daughter is already in her late twenties."
"What's wrong with that?" Garuda shrugged.
"Huh? Huff ..Nevermind whats the matter"
Garuda stepped closer and whispered something into Akita's ear. The act annoyed Hanayama slightly, though he didn't dwell on it.
As Garuda pulled away, worry surfaced on Akita's face, but he did his best to appear nonchalant in front of Hanayama.
Garuda did the same, masking it by teasing Hanayama as he had earlier.
If he had simply walked in, greeted them, and then whispered something into Akita's ear, it would have undoubtedly made Kaoru suspicious.
"It seems my visit will have to be cut short today," Akita said, shaking Kaoru hand before heading out. "When I'm back, we're going for a drink. And yeah, we're bringing that brat with us."
Kaoru followed them all the way to the car.
Garuda opened the rear door for Akita, but Akita didn't get in. He paused, his gaze met Kaoru standing by the gate.
"Tell Jir—"
In the blink of an eye—
A sharp metallic screech cut through the air, followed by a wet, violent splash that struck Hanayama's ears.
Garuda and Akita vanished from Kaoru's sight.
Something warm and viscous splattered across his face.
Then, as if the world itself had decided to mute every sound, everything went silent.
Kaoru slowly shifted his gaze.
A black suv car sat motionless in the middle of the road.
The driver was frantically trying to move it, but it wouldn't budge.
Something was lodged beneath it.
Two bodies.
" ------------------------ "
__________________________
Hanayama had already left the bar, leaving Chiharu behind who was now drinking straight from the bottle.
"I'm sorry, boss," he muttered to himself.
"But I'll have to take matters into my own hands."
' If someone has to live with a decision like this ' he thought ' let it be me '
Chiharu stood, the sudden motion making the bartender flinch.
He removed his lapel pin and set it on the counter before leaving the bar—
the pin that signified his affiliation with Hanayama.
Yang.
The name tore through his mind.
Veins bulged along his temples as he bit down on his lip until blood welled. Tears spilled freely, blurring his vision.
Yang.
Yang…
The voice in his head grew louder, sharper—until it finally burst out of him.
"YAAAAAAAAANG!"
The roar shattered every glass within reach. Birds exploded from their perches. Car alarms shrieked to life. Somewhere, people felt a sudden chill crawl down their spines, with no idea why.
That scream carried a pitiless, bottomless hatred—
all of it meant for Yang.
Yang, who was absent-mindedly scratching his butt while reading the sambo book, muttered
"Hmm? You called?"
He looked up toward the top bunk and saw Ryu sleeping like a baby.
Yang scanned the room, blinking once.
Twice .
Thrice
Frice
"Hmm…"
Guess it's time to sleep.