Chapter 1: When Freedom Tastes Bittersweet

Long, limber arms dug through piles of written files, illegal documents and such, his brown, callused hand fumbling in their adolescence. Finally finding what he had searched for, he removed a crumpled piece of parchment from the near-bottom of the pile and spread it out as evenly as he could on the wooden floor.

The room was only dimly lit with a small candle, and the flame left a flickering reflection in the young man's red-brown eyes. His nappy, sable hair hung in his eyes, seeming to have not been brushed in quite some time.

Ignoring this, his pushed his bangs out of his eyes to his best extent, and, with trembling hands, removed the cap from his ink and dipped his small wooden pen that he had carved from bamboo into the container.

He placed it onto the paper and wrote out the best he could, down and right to left as he had learned from watching other people. He was quivering and tried to swallow, though the lump in his throat proved it pointless.

"T-to whom… it may c-concern…" He read aloud as he wrote, holding back his tears of constant anguish over the long years. "I have… p-put up with your punishments for e-eleven years, and I… I'm not g-going to take it anymore… I am leaving to k-kill myself so I… can be put… out of my misery… D-don't bother l… looking for me… for… by the time you r-read this… I will have already passed on t-to the other world wh-where the people wh-who actually l-l-love me are w-w-waiting for m-me…"

He choked a sob so that no one would hear him, still awake in the dead hours of night. He wiped his eyes with the gray sleeve of his faded, hand-me-down gi, blinking back the rest of his tears and taking a deep breath before continuing.

"I have given up… on w-what I'm living for… because…" He sniffed, "it is nothing…. I live… for nothing… and the world would be better off w-without me…" He could feel his tears brewing up again, and he figured that he should make it quick. "Obviously, y-you'll be better without me s-so…. Sayonara, if you care…"

He slowly signed his name, weeping silently in the dim light that flickered upon his faded gi and baggy, navy hakama. He left the note in the floor and set the candle on top of it so that it wouldn't blow away, then slowly trudged out of the room he had resided in since he had been placed in at age four.

Shutting the shoji so slowly that not a sound came from it, he walked down the porch area, groping the wall to feel his way through the dark. The cool, night air soothed his face so stained with his grief and helped him to concentrate on where he was going.

Once he had arrived at the front of the building he had lived in for eleven years, he slipped on his beaten zori sandals and made his way down the path. He was finally leaving the Shuei Yakuza… for good.

Of course, his note was all a lie tied into his plan. He truthfully had no intention of killing himself, for his mother told him that it would make her sad if she lost another loved one. He stayed as true to her word as he could, though his fifteen years of age often led him astray to her words.

Anyways, he knew that if the Yakuza believed that he was dead, they wouldn't go searching for him. If they searched, they most likely would find him, despite the fact that he knew all the best hiding places in Tokyo and the areas surrounding it. He didn't want to risk it, and so, he faked his own suicide to escape… to freedom…

At last.

Soon enough, he entered the dark city, Tokyo, the looming silhouettes of houses sending an eerie feel about the place . Everyone in the city was sleeping except for the ladies of the evening and the men in the bars. Hating the shadowed solitude, he decided to enter a sake bar, if only to see the warm, orange and champagne colors and to hear the voices of other people.

The place was warm and filled with racket. People were talking, much to loudly, and their language was crude. From time to time, a glass would break, or a table, or a fight would break out.

Yahiko sat by himself at a table in the corner, sipping a cup of sake that he had ordered. These noises were nothing new. It wasn't as if things weren't just about the same at the syndicate that he slaved for. Gasuke alone could make enough noise when he was drunk to bring down the entire house.

Yahiko stared down into his glass for a moment before placing it to his lips and slipping it down his throat in a large gulp. He poured another glass, then set it down, still holding the sake bottle in his hand.

"Here's to freedom. I hope the yakuza burn in hell," Yahiko said quite stingily. "Well, down we go. Cheers." …and he downed the whole bottle.

He wasn't sure how long he had been in a daze, but a distant yelling was now ringing in his ears, and he felt his body moving. Suddenly, he was thrown into the deep darkness once again, hitting the dirt and sliding slightly.

His blurry eyes saw an orange, door shaped object a few feet away before it plunged into obscurity as he had a moment ago.

He had been thrown out. He couldn't remember exactly what he had done to do so, everything was so vague in his mind. The harder he tried to remember, the more slipped away, like sand through his fingers.

His head was swimming, and when he tried to get up, his hands slipped, and he fell back down. The dirt was not soft and dry, but wet and sticky, and a light rain had begun to pelt down on him. There was no way in walking to safety in his intoxicated condition, so he threw his arms in front of him and began to crawl.

He only crawled for about eight feet before he felt a strange feeling wash over him, making him pause.

He didn't understand it, for his mind seemed distant from thought at the moment. Suddenly, he took a deep breath, and he couldn't swallow again.

Why… am I crying? He wondered, laying in the mud, feeling hot tears slipping down his face. I should be happy… but… I'm in so much pain…

The sky was showering him, though he couldn't feel it. The sake had slowed him substantially.

He laid upon the muddy earth, staring out into the blackness, crying. He shook violently, either from the cold, dampness, from the loud sobs that he couldn't control in his drunken state, or both. Either way, he continued to lay, for he was too drunk to get up, and even if he wasn't… where would he go?

That was why. He had run away. He was finally FREE! …and it was just like before…

Now he was… alone…

Again.

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to get his mind out of the gutter. He had to figure out what to do. If only I hadn't downed that bottle of sake… He scolded himself, curling up in the grime.

"I'm finally free…. B-but… now I'm alone!… Damn… I think… I'm going to be sick… I should've… never… left…" He felt the world grow small and distant, then fade to complete darkness. His mind shut off, and sleep engulfed him.

Freedom was a bittersweet taste in his mouth, as cold as the rain and as dirty as the muck he lay in. The young boy had a long way to go….

…and he didn't even know where to start.