The midday sun poured through the frosted glass windows of the Golden Crane Pachinko Parlor, bathing the rows of blinking machines in a muted glow. The usual symphony of chiming pachinko balls and whirring wheels played on, drowning out the occasional cheers from the regulars.
Behind the prize counter, Kitagawa Ayaka stood with her elbows resting lightly on the counter, her dark eyes scanning the floor. She adjusted the red apron tied neatly around her waist, her long black hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed slightly as she moved.
“Two packs of cigarettes and a keychain,” one of the regulars grunted, sliding a handful of winning tokens across the counter.
“Of course, Kato-san,” Ayaka replied with a practiced smile, her fingers working quickly to sort the tokens and retrieve the prizes.
As the man shuffled off with his rewards, Ayaka’s smile softened into something more genuine. But the moment was short-lived.
“Don’t I get a smile like that?”
She looked up, already knowing who it was.
Shoji Nishikawa, with his signature wolfish grin, was leaning against the counter. His black jacket hung open, revealing the faint outline of ink curling up his collarbone. His dark hair was tousled in a way that seemed effortless, though Ayaka suspected he spent a decent amount of time perfecting it.
“You again,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“Don’t sound so thrilled,” Sho replied, his grin widening. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”
Ayaka’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “I like my job. You? Jury’s still out.”
Sho chuckled, leaning closer. “You wound me, Ayaka-chan. Here I am, pouring my heart out every time I come in, and you just throw me to the wolves.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know. Everyone in here knows what you’re about.”
“And what’s that?” Sho asked, resting his chin on his hand like a curious schoolboy.
“Trouble.”
Sho laughed, the sound drawing a few curious glances from nearby patrons. Ayaka’s cheeks flushed faintly, but she didn’t look away.
“Come on,” Sho said, his tone softening slightly. “Let me take you out. Just lunch. No trouble, I promise.”
Ayaka hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the counter. She’d heard the whispers, seen the stares when Sho came in. The regulars knew what he was—a Yakuza shatei. And while some of them treated him with wary respect, others looked at him like he was poison wrapped in charm.
But then there was the way he looked at her. Like she wasn’t just another face behind the counter. Like she mattered.
“You keep asking,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet but firm. “Why?”
Sho tilted his head, his grin softening into something less cocky, more genuine. “Because I like you, Ayaka-chan. And because I think you like me, too.”
Her heart skipped at the way he said it, so casual and confident. But her mind tugged her back to reality.
“Maybe I do,” she admitted, folding her arms. “But that doesn’t mean I should.”
Sho’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he seemed more determined. “It’s just lunch. No strings, no pressure. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Ayaka sighed, glancing at the clock above the counter. It was just past noon, and the parlor wasn’t as busy as usual. She could step out for an hour—she’d done it before.
But then the whispers came back. The warnings.
“Yakuza don’t bring happiness. They bring danger.”
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the counter. “You’re not exactly an easy person to trust, Shoji-san.”
“And I don’t expect you to trust me overnight,” Sho replied, his voice low. “But you don’t have to decide everything today. Just come to lunch. Let me make you laugh. That’s all.”
Ayaka’s gaze lingered on him, searching his face for something insincere. But all she found was that same boyish charm, that same disarming confidence that both irritated and intrigued her.
“Fine,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sho straightened, his grin returning full force. “Really?”
“One hour,” she warned, holding up a finger. “And if you so much as try to cause a scene, I’m walking out.”
Sho pressed a hand to his chest in mock solemnity. “Scout’s honor.”
As Ayaka untied her apron and stepped out from behind the counter, she felt a mix of excitement and unease settle in her chest. She liked Sho—more than she wanted to admit. But liking him meant opening the door to everything that came with him.
She glanced at the faded tattoo peeking out from his collar as he held the door open for her. The symbol of a world she’d always stayed far away from.
As they stepped into the midday sunlight, Ayaka couldn’t shake the feeling that saying yes might have been the most reckless thing she’d done in years.
And yet, as Sho walked beside her, his laughter filling the quiet between them, she couldn’t help but smile.
Early Afternoon – Nagasawa HQ,day 5
The smell of fried chicken and soy sauce filled the air in the sparsely decorated meeting room at Nagasawa-kai headquarters. The table in front of Takagi was littered with crumpled napkins, disposable chopsticks, and half-empty cartons of rice. The contrast between the fast-food spread and the heavy topic of discussion wasn’t lost on him, but the clan’s day-to-day operations left no time for formalities.
Across from him sat Kondo Masaru, the saiko-komon, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He dipped a piece of karaage into a small cup of mayonnaise, his sharp eyes never leaving Takagi as he chewed thoughtfully.
“You’ve had time to think it over,” Kondo said, finally breaking the silence. “What’s your read on the raid?”
Takagi picked up a piece of fried chicken from his own tray, though he didn’t eat it. He turned it over in his hands, his focus distant.
“It’s risky,” he said after a moment. “The Hanabira aren’t going to let us walk into Nishiki and wreck their den without blowback.”
Kondo smirked faintly, wiping his hands on a napkin. “They don’t have a choice. The oyabun’s orders are clear—we hit them, and we hit them fast. No hesitation.”
“I’m not hesitating,” Takagi replied, his tone even. “I’m pointing out the cost.”
Kondo leaned back in his chair, his sharp features softening slightly. “Go on.”
Takagi set the piece of chicken down, folding his hands on the table. “The den in Nishiki is small, but it’s still a Hanabira operation. It’s not about what we destroy—it’s about what we provoke. They’ll hit back. Not tomorrow, maybe not next week, but they will. And when they do, it won’t just be a gambling den.”
Kondo nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You think they’ll come for one of ours?”
“Maybe. Or maybe they’ll go bigger. Push into the markets, put pressure on our suppliers. Cut off something vital.” Takagi’s voice was steady, but the weight of his words hung in the air.
Kondo reached for another piece of chicken, though his appetite seemed diminished. “You think they’ve got the resources for that?”
“They’ve been moving more product than usual lately,” Takagi said. “Drugs, mostly. Their cash flow’s strong enough to fund a response if they want one.”
Kondo chewed slowly, his gaze narrowing. “You’re not wrong. But you’re overthinking it, Tetsunori. This raid isn’t about strategy—it’s about perception.”
Takagi raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
“After the shipment last night, everyone’s watching us,” Kondo said, gesturing with his chopsticks. “Not just the Hanabira. The smaller clans, the suppliers, the people on the street—they all want to know if the Nagasawa-kai can still back up its reputation. If we let the Hanabira pull a move like that without striking back, it won’t matter what they do next. We’ll already look weak.”
“So it’s about sending a message,” Takagi said.
“Exactly.” Kondo leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “And it’s your job to make sure that message gets delivered.”
Takagi nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t one for theatrics or grand displays, but he understood the necessity of what Kondo was saying. A calculated response could stabilize their position—so long as the calculations held.
“I’ll take Sho,” he said after a moment. “And two others. Discreet, like the oyabun said.”
“Good.” Kondo reached for his cup of tea, taking a long sip. “Any ideas on who else you want with you?”
Takagi considered the question. “Hashimoto’s reliable, and he knows Nishiki better than most. Sato, too. He’s fast and quiet.”
Kondo nodded. “Solid choices. Keep it clean, Tetsunori. No bodies unless absolutely necessary.”
Takagi’s jaw tightened slightly. “I know.”
Kondo set his tea down, his tone softening. “I trust you, Tetsunori. So does the oyabun. But this isn’t just about the Hanabira. There’s something else in play here.”
Takagi’s eyes narrowed. “The Aoyama?”
Kondo didn’t answer right away, his expression unreadable. “Maybe. The oyabun hasn’t said much, but I get the feeling they’re watching all of this very closely.”
Takagi leaned back in his chair, his thoughts turning. The Aoyama-kai were the largest and most powerful clan in Nagoya, but their recent silence had been unsettling. If they were watching, it wasn’t out of idle curiosity.
“They won’t move unless they see an opportunity,” Takagi said finally.
Kondo nodded. “Then don’t give them one. Finish the job, and finish it clean. If the Hanabira push back, we’ll deal with it when it happens.”
The conversation shifted to smaller matters—timing, logistics, contingencies—but the weight of Kondo’s words stayed with Takagi. By the time the trays were cleared and the meeting room was empty, the path ahead was clear.
As Takagi stepped outside, the crisp afternoon air hit him, sharpening his focus. The streets buzzed with life as locals went about their day, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents shaping their city.
Takagi pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a flick of his lighter. The raid was set, the pieces moving into place. All that remained was to execute it.
And when the time came, Takagi knew he would be ready.
Takagi stepped out of the Nagasawa-kai headquarters into the midday sun, slipping his phone into the pocket of his black jacket. The streets hummed with life, the chatter of pedestrians mingling with the distant rumble of traffic. He lit a cigarette, the ember glowing faintly as he exhaled a thin plume of smoke.
The walk to the Golden Crane Pachinko Parlor wasn’t far, just a few blocks down a quieter stretch of Sakae. The route was familiar, the rhythm of the city steady and unchanging, but Takagi’s sharp eyes always scanned his surroundings. Routine was the enemy of survival in his line of work.
His thoughts lingered on the conversation with Kondo. The raid was set, the pieces moving into place, but the risks still gnawed at him. Retaliation was inevitable, but what form it would take—and when—remained a question.
Early Afternoon – Golden Crane,day 5
As the Golden Crane came into view, Takagi’s stride slowed. At first glance, everything looked normal. The parlor’s neon sign flickered faintly, the machines inside visible through the frosted glass windows. A couple of elderly patrons shuffled through the doors, clutching small pouches of tokens.
But it wasn’t the parlor that caught his attention.
Across the street, parked just far enough away to avoid notice, sat a gray sedan. The windows were rolled down slightly, and in the driver’s seat, a man sat with binoculars pressed to his face, his focus trained on the pachinko parlor.
Takagi’s eyes narrowed as he moved closer to the edge of the sidewalk, positioning himself behind a telephone pole for cover. The man’s build was stocky, his clothes plain—a button-down shirt and dark slacks. No visible tattoos or indicators of affiliation.
Plainclothes cops? Or Hanabira scouts?
Takagi leaned against the building next to him, pulling out his phone with practiced nonchalance. He opened a new message and typed quickly:
To Sho:You at the parlor? Something feels off.
He pressed send and waited, his gaze flicking back toward the car. A second figure sat in the passenger seat, his head turned slightly as if scanning for movement. Takagi couldn’t make out his face, but the way he fidgeted—tapping his fingers on the dashboard—suggested nervous energy.
The minutes dragged. Takagi took another slow drag of his cigarette, his posture relaxed despite the tension prickling under his skin. Finally, his phone buzzed.
Sho:Out to lunch. Not at the parlor. Sakuragawa Diner.
Takagi exhaled through his nose, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. If Sho wasn’t at the parlor, it meant they were likely casing the place without knowing he wasn’t there. Either way, Takagi wasn’t about to take chances.
He texted back.
To Sho:Stay put. I’m coming to you.
Takagi slipped his phone back into his pocket, taking one last glance at the sedan. The driver lowered the binoculars for a moment, talking to his partner. Takagi caught a glimpse of a small notebook in the man’s lap, the edge of a pen sticking out from between the pages.
Definitely cops, he thought.
He pushed off the wall, turning down a side street that would take him away from their line of sight. The narrow alleys of Sakae wove like a labyrinth behind the main roads, littered with crates and trash bins, the faint smell of grease and exhaust lingering in the air.
His pace quickened as he navigated the backstreets, cutting through an empty delivery lane before emerging onto a quieter thoroughfare. The Sakuragawa Diner was just a block ahead, its small red awning barely noticeable amidst the larger storefronts that surrounded it.
Early Afternoon – Sakuragawa Diner,day 5
The bell above the door chimed softly as Takagi stepped inside. The diner was small, the kind of place that hadn’t changed its decor in decades. Vinyl booths in faded red lined the walls, the tabletops scuffed but clean. A faint smell of miso soup and grilled fish filled the air, blending with the hum of a radio playing old enka songs.
Takagi spotted Sho immediately. He was seated at a corner booth near the window, his back to the wall. Across from him sat a young woman with sleek black hair tied into a ponytail—Kitagawa Ayaka.
Sho’s grin was unmistakable as he leaned forward, gesturing animatedly with his chopsticks. Ayaka laughed softly, her hand covering her mouth as if trying to stifle the sound.
Takagi approached the booth, his presence shifting the atmosphere as Sho glanced up. The younger man’s grin faltered slightly, replaced by a look of wary curiosity.
“Aniki,” Sho said, sitting up straighter. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Change of plans,” Takagi replied, his tone calm but firm. His eyes flicked briefly to Ayaka, who offered a polite nod before averting her gaze.
Sho gestured to the table, the remnants of their meal—a pair of rice bowls and a shared plate of karaage—still scattered between them. “You hungry? Food’s not bad here.”
“Not here for food,” Takagi said, sliding into the booth beside him. “There’s a car parked near the parlor. Two men inside. They’ve been watching it.”
Sho’s grin faded completely. “Police?”
“Probably. Could be Hanabira, but I don’t think so.”
Sho frowned, scratching the back of his head. “I wasn’t even there today. Guess they’re wasting their time.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Takagi said. “If they’re watching, we’re moving carefully. No point giving them a reason to look closer.”
Sho nodded, though a flicker of guilt crossed his face as he glanced at Ayaka. “This was my idea, Aniki. It’s not her fault.”
Ayaka looked up, startled. “I—”
Takagi raised a hand, his expression neutral. “It’s fine. Just finish up and let’s go.”
As Takagi leaned back in the booth, his eyes drifted to the window. The streets outside were quiet, the midday lull leaving the sidewalks mostly empty. But the nagging feeling in the back of his mind didn’t fade.
The police weren’t just casing the parlor for fun. They were waiting for something—or someone.
Takagi’s gaze shifted back to Sho, who was busy explaining something to Ayaka in a low voice. For now, the younger man’s charm had bought him a moment of peace.
But Takagi knew better than to trust peace in their world.
“Five minutes,” he said quietly, his tone brooking no argument.
Sho nodded, his grin returning faintly as he glanced at Ayaka. “Guess lunch is over. Rain check?”
Ayaka hesitated, then smiled softly. “Maybe.”
The walk back to Nagasawa-kai headquarters was quieter than usual. The streets were bathed in the afternoon’s golden light, casting long shadows that stretched across the pavement. Takagi walked a half step ahead, his stride steady, cigarette smoke trailing faintly behind him.
Sho trailed behind, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders hunched. His usual energy was conspicuously absent, replaced by a heavy silence that weighed on the air between them.
Takagi glanced over his shoulder, his sharp eyes catching the slight scowl on Sho’s face. The younger man wasn’t trying to hide it, but he wasn’t saying anything either.
“You want to talk about it?” Takagi asked, his tone casual.
Sho didn’t look up. “Nothing to talk about.”
Takagi exhaled a thin stream of smoke, turning his gaze forward again. “She didn’t say no.”
“That’s not the same as saying yes,” Sho muttered. His voice was low, but the bitterness in it was hard to miss.
They crossed an intersection, the sounds of the city filling the silence—honking horns, distant laughter, the faint chime of a bell from a passing bicycle.
Sho kicked at a loose pebble on the sidewalk, sending it skittering into the gutter. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. Every time I see her, it’s the same thing. She laughs, she smiles, but then she backs off. Like I’m some kind of... I don’t know.”
“Like you’re trouble?” Takagi said, glancing at him again.
Sho let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Trouble.”
He fell silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. “But you know what? It’s not my fault. I didn’t choose this life. It chose me. And now, because of it, I can’t even have a normal conversation with a girl without her looking at me like I’ve got a gun tucked under my jacket.”
Takagi didn’t respond immediately, letting Sho’s words hang in the air.
“You don’t blame her, though,” Takagi said finally, his tone measured.
Sho hesitated, his fingers curling into fists inside his pockets. “I don’t know. Maybe. But it’s not fair.”
Early Afternoon – Nagasawa HQ, day 5
As they neared HQ, the familiar facade of the building coming into view, Sho’s pace slowed. His scowl deepened, and his gaze dropped to the ground.
“She’d probably say yes if I wasn’t in this world,” Sho muttered. “But I can’t leave. I won’t. And you know why?”
Takagi waited, his expression calm but watchful.
Sho looked up, his eyes dark with frustration. “Because of the Hanabira. Everything—everything—comes back to them. They’re the reason we’re stuck like this. The reason Ayaka hesitates. The reason we’ve got cops parked outside the damn parlor.”
His voice dropped, bitter and angry. “They’re the ones ruining everything.”
Takagi stopped just short of the HQ entrance, turning to face Sho. The younger man’s frustration was palpable, his shoulders tense, his mouth set in a hard line.
“You’re not wrong,” Takagi said quietly, his tone careful. “But that doesn’t mean you get to lose your head.”
Sho glared at him for a moment, but the look softened slightly. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I’m just... tired of all this.”
Takagi nodded, his sharp gaze lingering on Sho for a moment longer. He didn’t need to press further—he’d seen this before. The bottled-up anger, the simmering frustration. It didn’t take much for it to spill over, and when it did, it could get messy.
“Get your head straight,” Takagi said, his voice firm but not unkind. “We’ve got work to do tonight.”
Sho nodded reluctantly, his expression unreadable as he followed Takagi inside.
Inside the HQ, Sho’s mood didn’t lighten. He moved through the motions—checking weapons, going over the raid plan—but the tension in his movements betrayed his inner turmoil.
As the hours ticked closer to nightfall, Takagi watched him carefully, noting the way his jaw tightened during briefings, the way he handled his blade with a little too much force during preparation.
Sho wasn’t arguing, wasn’t lashing out. But the storm was there, brewing just beneath the surface.
Takagi lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as he leaned against a wall in the preparation room. He didn’t say anything, but in the back of his mind, he knew one thing for certain.
If Sho didn’t get a grip on his anger now, it could come out later in unpredictable ways.
Takagi crushed the last embers of his cigarette in an ashtray, exhaling one final plume of smoke before pushing off the wall. The preparation room buzzed with quiet activity—men checking their weapons, tightening their gloves, and murmuring final words to each other. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that pressed against your chest and made every movement feel heavier.
Sho stood near the back, a switchblade in his hand. He wasn’t flipping it with his usual carefree energy. Instead, he stared at it, the blade catching the faint overhead light as his thumb ran along the edge, testing its sharpness.
Takagi approached him, his footsteps deliberate but unhurried. Sho didn’t look up, but Takagi could see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders hunched slightly as if he were bracing against some invisible weight.
“Sho,” Takagi said, his voice calm but firm.
Sho’s gaze flicked up, his eyes dark with frustration. “Yeah, Aniki?”
Takagi crossed his arms, leaning slightly to meet Sho’s eye level. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Sho hesitated, his fingers tightening around the handle of the blade. “Nothing. Just... thinking about the plan.”
“Bullshit,” Takagi replied, his tone sharper now. “You’re stewing. I can see it. Whatever’s eating at you, you need to deal with it now. When we’re out there, I can’t have you going off half-cocked because your head’s somewhere else.”
Sho’s jaw tightened further, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he looked away, his thumb running over the blade again.
“Listen to me,” Takagi said, his voice lowering as he leaned in closer. “You’ve got every right to be angry. But anger doesn’t win fights. Discipline does. You know why we’re doing this, don’t you?”
Sho nodded reluctantly. “Because they need to know we’re not weak.”
“That’s part of it,” Takagi said. “But it’s more than that. The Hanabira think they can step on us, take what’s ours, and get away with it. Tonight, we’re showing them they can’t. But that only works if we stay sharp, stay focused.”
Sho glanced at him, the bitterness in his eyes softening just slightly.
“You’ve got a lot of fire, Sho,” Takagi continued. “That’s not a bad thing. But if you let it control you, it’ll burn everything down—including you. So when we go in there tonight, you take that fire, and you use it. Every move you make, every hit you land, you do it with purpose. You hear me?”
Sho nodded again, more firmly this time. “Yeah, I hear you.”
Takagi placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Good. I need you at your best tonight. We all do.”
Sho straightened slightly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I’ll be ready, Aniki.”
“I know you will,” Takagi said, releasing his shoulder.
The door to the preparation room creaked open, and the quiet murmur of the room fell instantly silent. Kondo Masaru stepped inside, his sharp eyes sweeping over the assembled men. He wore his usual suit, the tie slightly loosened, but his presence was anything but casual.
He paused just inside the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his gaze assessing. Takagi stepped aside, straightening instinctively as Kondo’s eyes landed on him briefly before moving on to the others.
The silence stretched for a moment longer before Kondo finally spoke.
“You all know why we’re here tonight,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “The Hanabira crossed a line. They thought they could take from us and walk away untouched. That’s not how this works.”
His gaze shifted across the room, meeting the eyes of each man in turn.
“Tonight, we remind them who we are. We go in, we hit them hard, and we walk out. No hesitation. No mistakes.”
Kondo’s voice sharpened slightly. “And no cowardice. If any of you have doubts, you leave now. Because once we start, there’s no turning back.”
No one moved.
Kondo nodded once, satisfied. “Good. You’ve all been briefed. You know the plan. Stick to it, and we’ll walk out of this with the upper hand.”
He took a step forward, his hands leaving his pockets as he clasped them behind his back. “But let me make one thing clear. This isn’t just about the Hanabira. Every clan in this city is watching. They’re waiting to see if the Nagasawa-kai can still back up its reputation. Tonight, we don’t just fight for us. We fight for the name.”
The room buzzed with quiet energy, the weight of his words settling over the men.
Kondo’s gaze landed on Takagi again. “You’re leading the team, Tetsunori. Make sure it’s done clean.”
Takagi inclined his head. “Understood, Kondo-san.”
Kondo looked at the room one final time, his sharp eyes lingering for a moment on Sho, who met his gaze with a steady, determined expression.
“Get ready,” Kondo said. “We leave in an hour.”
As he turned and left the room, the tension broke slightly, the men resuming their preparations with a renewed sense of purpose.
Takagi turned back to Sho, noting the shift in his demeanor. The younger man was focused now, his earlier frustration channeled into methodical movements as he inspected his blade and checked his gear.
“Feeling better?” Takagi asked.
Sho nodded, his voice quieter but firm. “Yeah. Thanks, Aniki.”
Takagi gave him a faint nod, but his sharp eyes lingered on Sho for a moment longer. The fire was still there, burning beneath the surface.
He just hoped it wouldn’t consume him when the time came.
Evening – Nagasawa HQ,day 5
The room had grown louder as the men completed their final checks. Hashimoto and Sato, the two other young men on the team, were chatting animatedly near the weapons table, their voices a mixture of nerves and excitement.
Hashimoto, broad-shouldered and square-jawed, slapped Sato on the back as he grinned. “First raid with you, huh? Don’t worry, kid. Stick with me and you’ll be fine.”
Sato, lean and wiry with quick reflexes, rolled his eyes but smiled back. “I’ll stick with Takagi-san, thanks. He’s not the one who almost shot his own foot off during practice.”
The room chuckled at that, Hashimoto included. “That was one time,” he said with mock indignation.
Sho sat on a bench nearby, silent, his switchblade flicking open and closed in a rhythmic motion. The clatter of the blade was soft but persistent, drawing a few annoyed glances from the others.
“Sho,” Kondo said, his tone calm but firm as he approached the younger man. “Put that away.”
Sho hesitated, his fingers pausing mid-flick, but he complied, slipping the blade into his pocket.
Kondo gestured to the table, where an array of pistols lay neatly arranged alongside ammunition clips and other weapons. He picked up a compact semi-automatic and held it out to Sho.
“Take this,” Kondo said. “The knife’s a good backup, but it won’t do you much good if someone’s got you at range. Use it when you’re out of bullets.”
Sho took the pistol, his expression unreadable as he inspected it. His fingers tightened around the grip, the weight of the weapon grounding him slightly.
“Thanks, Kondo-san,” Sho muttered, slipping the pistol into his pants behind his back.
Kondo nodded, then turned to the group. “Everyone armed?”
Takagi stepped forward, slipping on a pair of brass knuckles over his left hand while securing his pistol behind his back. The knuckles gleamed faintly under the overhead light, their weight familiar and reassuring. He smirked before slipping them into his pocket.
“Good to go,” Takagi said simply, his voice steady.
Hashimoto grabbed his own pistol and a collapsible baton, testing the baton’s snap with a quick flick of his wrist. Sato chose a pistol and a small tanto blade, the polished steel glinting as he slid it into a sheath strapped to his leg.
Kondo moved around the table, checking their gear with the practiced eye of someone who’d done this a hundred times. “Remember the plan. No unnecessary noise, no wasted shots. This isn’t about body count—it’s about sending a message.”
The room grew quieter as Kondo’s tone shifted, the weight of the moment settling over them.
He turned to Takagi. “You’re in charge out there. Keep them on track.”
Takagi nodded. “Understood.”
Finally, Kondo’s eyes landed on Sho. “Focus your anger, not your trigger finger. This isn’t about proving something—it’s about doing the job right.”
Sho’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Got it.”
Evening – Hanabira Gambling Den,day 5
The driver, an older man named Ogawa, appeared in the doorway. “Car’s ready,” he said gruffly.
The team followed him out, stepping into the cool night air. The city’s usual hum seemed muted, as if the tension of the mission had seeped into the streets themselves.
The car, a nondescript black sedan, waited at the curb. Ogawa opened the trunk, where a duffel bag containing extra ammo and a first-aid kit sat ready.
Takagi climbed into the front passenger seat while the others filed into the back. The car’s engine rumbled to life, and Ogawa pulled away from the curb, navigating the city streets with practiced ease.
The gambling den in Nishiki was tucked into a narrow alleyway, its entrance hidden behind a sliding metal door marked only by a faint red lantern. The sedan came to a stop a few blocks away, the headlights dimmed as Ogawa killed the engine.
Takagi turned in his seat, his sharp eyes scanning the team. “Same as the briefing. We hit fast, we hit hard, and we’re out before they know what happened. Everyone clear?”
The men nodded, their expressions steeled.
Ogawa reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a folded map. “Safehouse is here,” he said, pointing to a location a few streets over. “After the job, I’ll drop you three off, stash the car, and meet you there.”
“Good,” Takagi said. “Stay sharp.”
The team exited the car, moving quickly and quietly toward the gambling den. The lantern’s faint glow cast shadows across the alley, the distant hum of nightlife blending with the sound of their footsteps.
Takagi signaled for Hashimoto to take point, his pistol at the ready. Sho followed just behind, his movements tense but precise.
The door slid open without resistance, revealing a smoky, dimly lit room filled with low tables and a scattering of Hanabira foot soldiers. The men at the tables looked up in surprise as the Nagasawa team entered, their hands instinctively reaching for weapons.
The chaos that followed was quick and brutal.
Takagi moved like a storm, firing a series of precise, devastating shots. Sho’s pistol barked once, twice, his shots aimed with deadly focus. Hashimoto’s handgun cracked against a man’s skull, sending him sprawling before being shot, while Sato’s dual pistols flashed in the dim light, laying waste to the last of the resistance with vicious efficiency.
Within a minute, the room was silent, the Hanabira men strewn about in gruesome ways.
The team moved quickly, sweeping the room for valuables and gathering anything that might be useful—cash, documents, anything that could cripple the Hanabira further.
“Move,” Takagi ordered, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.
They slipped out the back entrance into another alley, where Ogawa waited briefly to let them out of the car. The sedan disappeared into the night, its engine a faint hum as it turned a corner.
Takagi led the team toward the safehouse, their footsteps quiet against the pavement. Sho was silent, his jaw clenched, his earlier angst transformed into a cold, simmering determination.
By the time they reached the safehouse, the tension had begun to ease, but the night was far from over. The raid had been a success, but Takagi knew the repercussions were just beginning.
The Hanabira wouldn’t take this lightly.
And somewhere, in the shadows of Nagoya, the Aoyama-kai were surely watching.
