Summer, 2014

"How's this thing work anyway?" Yosuke leaned on the wall of the gas station bathroom while looking down at Shu, who was occupied with the wiring of the ATM. It was the perfect spot for their little operation; no cameras, no windows for the attendant to look through, and no people walking past.

Shu, with two crossed wires in his hands and the card reader dangling from two more wires, didn't take his eyes off his handiwork. "Customers insert their card. My scanner recognizes it, records the card number, and sends it to my phone, all while being virtually unrecognizable to the naked eye."

"Yeah, I know that… But scientifically?"

"You wouldn't get it." Shu dropped the two wires, shoved them back into the ATM's innards, and took hold of the card reader. He straightened the wires that held it, then pushed the whole thing into its slot. The card reader clicked and stayed in place. "Test it out," Shu said, waving his hands at the machine.

Yosuke flashed his friend some disbelieving side-eye but obliged. He fumbled with his wallet and slipped his card out. Taking no time at all, he slid the card into the reader. It began the usual process of payment until Yosuke slid the card out. "That's enough, right?"

Shu already had his phone out awaiting the notification. He looked down. "Yep. Got it right here." He thrust the phone toward Yosuke's face.

"No shit…" Yosuke said as he read the exact details on his credit card. "What do we do now?"

Shu wipes his hands off on each other, standing up straight so he could admire his work from Yosuke's perspective, though a bit shorter. The height difference between them was a common point of contention. "We wait."

Gathering their gear and their misdirected moral compasses, Shu and Yosuke swiftly left the scene. They made their way across the street and past the sidewalk on the other side of the road. Everything after that sloped down until it reached the Samegawa floodplain, a perfect spot for the two to wait that was within transmitting range.

They eagerly slid onto both sides of a park bench, turning their heads to see if they were followed or if they needed to keep their voices down. Shu took out his phone and placed it on the table so that they would know as soon as someone used the ATM.

"Man, when this works…" Yosuke shook his head, chuckling at how simple his side of the deal was. Just for taking Shu under his wing and showing him that there was more to life than grades, he got a cut of Shu's earnings. Not only was he proud of Shu, he was proud of himself. He skipped the dumb shit that came with high school and made something of himself with nothing but his wits—maybe he did have a bright future ahead of him. "We gotta celebrate. Take a day trip to Okina, flash some cash for the ladies, see what it gets us."

Shu laughed. "Let me know how that goes."

"What? You're coming with."

"Showing off isn't really my thing. You know that by now."

Of course Yosuke knew—he wasn't stupid. All he wanted was for Shu to learn to appreciate the more immediate pleasures in life because those were the driving forces for Yosuke. He wanted to flaunt, he wanted people to notice, and, most importantly, he wanted certain people to care. Whether it was jealousy, amazement, or disdain, Yosuke just wanted his success to live in the collective consciousness of Inaba.

"Yeah, but…" Yosuke decided not to argue, especially on such a successful day. "Eh, fuck it. You'll learn. Not like Inaba gives us much to work for, ya know?"

"It's not so bad."

"Do you genuinely believe that?"

"Yes." Shu adjusted his glasses. "And if you don't, why don't you leave?"

Yosuke was capable of leaving. His time at Yasogami drew to a close, and he had enough money saved from scams and a little work at Junes to strike out on his own. However, Inaba clutched him tight like a hug from an unwelcome relative.

Plus, Saki Konishi lived in Inaba.

Yosuke's silence was the answer Shu expected, so he took the time to lecture his older friend. "At this point, you need to clear the air with her. Just do something at the very least. Confess."

"Nah." Yosuke told himself that his reason was that Saki already had a boyfriend, but he knew why he really couldn't. At Junes it always went the same way. His palms would sweat, his mouth would go dry, and his tongue died in his mouth. No matter how confident he tried to appear, he was still just the manager's son with nothing special about him.

"Then leave," Shu said.

Yosuke sighed. Shu was right—something had to be done, but if Yosuke never had the confidence—or the money—to get Saki's attention, Inaba wasn't worth living in.

"Eh, we'll see. I—"

The phone buzzed. Both of them flinched, then glanced down at the same time. Just as Yosuke's information had been sent earlier, a new credit card popped onto the phone screen. "Nice, nice…" Shu said. They paused, sitting in silence as they watched the phone rewrite the numbers over and over. Finally, he looked Yosuke in the eye. "What're you buying first?"

"Fireworks, then a watch."

Shu nodded. "Interesting. I'm at a toss-up between two books I want, or—"

Yosuke grabbed the phone and stood up. "No fucking way you're wasting someone else's hard-earned yen on books."


Fall, 2014

"Yosuke, help me with these boxes, would you?"

Yosuke brushed past Saki Konishi, taking hold of the ladder and ascending. He reached the top and grabbed the cardboard boxes from the top shelf, gently lowering them to his side so Saki could take them to the ground. It was a wordless exchange, but it was Yosuke's favorite part of his shift.

June's storage rooms were cramped and stuffy. They were the afterthought of the business, which is why they were Yosuke's charge and why he hated his job. Any other shift would be skipped and forgotten in favor of a day of scrounging with Shu.

Today, though, was a shift with Saki-senpai.

Not that Yosuke would do more than give her basic orders for maintenance. She already had a partner, and the thought of being verbally reminded of that after saying something unrelated to work was agony.

Plus, what was there to say? Yosuke had nothing on his mind except Saki. Assumably, Saki did not want to obsess over Saki, so that was out. Perhaps Yasogami's basketball team was of interest?

It didn't matter; the courage wasn't there.

Ideally, she would speak first. Saki would notice his fancy gray watch or how he ditched half the Junes uniform for comfortable clothes. Then, without any steps in between, she would leave her boyfriend and run away from Inaba with Yosuke in his brand-new car, of course.

"Yosuke? You alright?" He looked down the ladder to see Saki narrow-eyed and wanting for the last box. "One left. Why don't we finish this and have a break?"

The first of many breaks. It was easy work, easy enough to not find it worth doing and unimportant if skipped. Why they needed two people for the job was lost on Yosuke—maybe Kento wanted him to make a friend.

"Okay." He dropped the last box into her arms then descended from the ladder, jumping off the last notch and onto the storage room's stone floor. The Junes jingle thinly played from the other side of the thick walls.

By the time Yosuke relaxed against the wall with his phone out, Saki had moved all the boxes out of the storage room. With nothing to do for the next half hour, they hid in the storage room from lingering tasks with yet-to-be-chosen workers.

"Hey, did you do the Morooka homework?" Saki blurted from across the storage room. She sat in the corner, her phone out because Yosuke was a wreck that couldn't be normal if he tried, with her knees bent and eyes bored by everything in sight. "I've been procrastinating my—"

"Yes!"

"...You did it?"

Yosuke relaxed. Jumping at the opportunity would scare it away. "Yeah, I can send it to you."

Saki smiled. "Thanks." She went back to her phone, typing some message to some person. Yosuke stayed on her, trapped in the surreal moment of interacting with his crush. The extended gaze brought thoughts of something besides success.

On the corner of Saki's right cheek, a place normally hidden behind her long wavy hair, was a deep purple stain on her skin that couldn't be a birthmark.

Yosuke assumed the worst.

"Saki-senpai, are you—"

"Um, Yosuke… Do you need the honorific? It's kind of weird for a boss to call their worker 'senpai'."

"I'm just trying to be respectful."

"Don't worry about it. We work together enough for a first-name basis, don't you think?"

"U-uh…"

Saki, mildly annoyed, teased Yosuke with a smile at his expense. "And we work together enough to not be so awkward. What's your deal?" The attention made him want to die.

"There's something on y-your…" He trailed off, but his instincts did the rest. Yosuke touched his hand to the part of his face where Saki's bruise was and immediately knew that he should have died before mentioning it. She looked down, her eyes watered, and it was his fault.

Was it? He didn't give her the bruise, nor did he make her feel bad about having the bruise. Whatever emotion she tied to it was not her fault, either—the one who gave her that bruise was to blame, and Yosuke knew where to find him.

He planned on doing much more for Saki than sending her homework answers.


Spring, 2016

Yosuke's days started with cold sweat and light peeking through a window that he couldn't remember as his own. He scanned his surroundings—it was his apartment, but not his room. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up straight, Yosuke realized he never even made it off the couch.

"Sleep well?" Kou, one of Yosuke's roommates, walked around the couch and sat down in one of the free chairs. Despite how disheveled Yosuke must've looked, Kou's eyes had no disgust.

Yosuke rubbed his eyes and sat up. "I can't tell."

"Shouldn't matter. A little coffee and a shower will do you good." Kou looked toward the window. "I found that address you wanted. The poker game. They're playing through the weekend."

Yosuke eyed Kou, who was unable to do the same for Yosuke, almost like he didn't support what Yosuke wanted to do with that information. It wouldn't change Yosuke's mind or his actions, and it definitely wouldn't help Shu rest easily. All Kou's doubt would do is make Yosuke want to prove him wrong, to go to that poker game, kick down the door, and show the Second Kaneshiro how the Aka Ikka acted in the face of war.

However, Yosuke couldn't say any of that to Kou. He could give him positive reinforcement, though. "Good work, as always." Yosuke took his job as leader of his mini-crew quite seriously. Kou, Shu, and Daisuke (the third roommate) all respected him for it. To continue that standard, Yosuke couldn't let the death of someone who looked up to him slide. He needed to show that he wasn't a pushover and that the Aka Ikka weren't to be trifled with.

Sakamoto and the boss weren't the unchallengeable deities they pretended to be. The boss may have had some presence to him, sure, but Sakamoto was a total joke—just another condescending bastard who didn't trust Yosuke as much as he should've.

Yosuke got off the couch, discarding the blanket that someone must've laid over him. He nearly tripped over the empty liquor bottle on the floor as he made his exit from the living room. Embracing privacy, Yosuke entered his room. He didn't care enough to flip the light switch as he walked past; he wouldn't be in there long. Finally, he reached his final destination: his dresser.

Opening the top drawer, Yosuke swiped his clean underwear out of the way so he could look at his prized possession, one of the first things he bought when he arrived in Tokyo: an old black handgun, obtained through a Shinjuku contact passed to him by another Aka Ikka member. He had never used it, never even put his finger on the trigger, but owning it was more than enough of a confidence boost for Yosuke to continue to reject the world's expectations of him.

He drew the gun and closed the drawer.


The gun tucked beneath his shirt made Yosuke feel powerful, though not as powerful as the feeling he got from marching down the drab hallway of the apartment complex with Kou and Daisuke at his side. They passed an elderly woman locking the door to her home. She turned to see the trio approaching, canceled her plans for the day, and rushed the key back into the lock. As soon as she could, she slammed the door shut and hid inside.

She must've known that yakuza down the hall only brought more bōryokudan.

That walk to their destination was everything Yosuke ever dreamed of. The old woman didn't show her fear—she showed her respect. She knew that Yosuke was someone who accomplished things, who didn't allow bad things to happen to him, and who didn't tolerate mistakes. Walking down that hall was the start of Yosuke Hanamura's gradual rise to Tokyo's peak.

Important people sat in the apartment at the end of the hall. From Yosuke's info, they were playing poker. It was a weekly excursion that involved enough money for it to be a significant event with major players from the Second Kaneshiro. Yosuke hoped they were the right people to show that he didn't fuck around when it came to his friends getting killed.

His gun slowed down his step. Not only did it give him an awkward limp from its position, but knowing what he was about to do spawned mixed feelings. Yosuke loved the power that he carried and he hated the inherent nervousness that came with humanity. Murder was no easy task.

To block it out, Yosuke mentally repeated the apartment's number as a mantra. It stilled his hands and kept them dry.

"Dontcha think we shoulda brought more than one gun?" Kou asked too loudly. Yosuke halted, spun around, and slapped his crew member in the face, stunning him with wide eyes and a reddened cheek.

"Think of where you are before you open your mouth." Teaching respect to someone else—that was what an oyabun did. "And no, I don't we should've, because one is more than enough as long as you can act. Just keep your hand tucked like you're ready to shoot."

"Whatever you say…"

Was that doubt? Yosuke didn't know, nor did he know what to do if it was. He didn't have an inspiring speech in his back pocket or reassurances of wealth. After all, it was a mission strictly for getting revenge and proving that they could be taken seriously.

Yosuke turned around and took the last few steps to the door at the end of the hall. Bold white numbers confirmed that his mantra was real and that Yosuke had the right place. Yosuke pressed his ear to the door, hearing laughter and yelling; five, maybe six men were near the door. He took a moment to get a nod from each of his companions.

A thought occurred to Yosuke: once the deed was done, how would they escape? Run down the hall and sprint down the sidewalk to where they parked their car? An oyabun thought these things through ahead of time.

Yosuke looked at Kou because he'd shown his nerves more than Daisuke. "Go get the car and bring it around front. Keep the engine going." Kou closed his eyes and muttered silent words, likely thanking unseen forces for keeping him out of that apartment. Without voicing his agreement, he scurried down the hall back to the elevator.

Only Daisuke and Yosuke remained at the apartment door. Judging by how well he could hear, Yosuke knew the door to be thin. The lock and doorknob were cheap, too, judging by how its hinges bore about an inch of separation from the actual wood. One well-done kick would do it.

Daisuke put a firm arm in front of Yosuke's chest, stopping him from going forward. "Yosuke… You sure about this? I mean, this is kinda above our pay grade." To Yosuke, it sounded like Daisuke couldn't admit his fear, trying to place pressure on Yosuke to back out. He wouldn't—oyabuns led their men, no matter how fearful any of them were, through the storm and to the other side.

"'Course I'm sure. I walked out my door and drove here, right? I've got something worth doing, right?"

Daisuke looked down. "Okay." Yosuke knew more delay would create doubt in Daisuke's head, maybe even his own.

"On three…" Yosuke and Daisuke backed away from the door, bracing their knees and balancing their weight. "One, two, three!" Yosuke kicked the door near its hinges, likely not contributing much to the overall result, but it didn't matter. Daisuke's well-placed strike just left of the doorknob sent it swinging and there was no time to watch.

Yosuke drew his gun and hurried in. "Hands where I can see them!" he yelled before he could even see his victims. The door opened to a corner with a shelf for guests' shoes, forcing Yosuke to sharply around that corner to accomplish anything. Before he did, before he even pointed that damned gun at someone, he knew that the corner was his undoing.

"Go ahead and try it," a man bellowed back, just as Yosuke turned and saw a round table lined with people, cards, and cash. All of the men, bar one, kept their hands flat on the table, clutching their money and their decks (faces down, of course). The exception stood on the other side of the table, pistol pointed at Yosuke. "I hope you picked this apartment out of a hat, because if you chose to rob us… You're in for a bad day."

"Damn right I chose you, you bastards." Yosuke didn't validate the man's weapon as a threat—he knew it wouldn't escalate into violence so long as he kept his gun aimed and Daisuke kept his hand in the perfect position. He heard his companion shuffling in behind him. "And this ain't a robbery."

If it was, they would have worn masks. Yosuke didn't plan on any of them remembering his face.

The men at the table were dead silent. They varied in their ages and appearances, a cast of characters from the least specific police line-up of all time. Some fat, some thin, some old, some young, some bearded, some as fresh as Yosuke. The standing man—their one remaining defense from Yosuke—was old, bald, and disgusting. He even dressed differently from them, casting aside their suits for a navy blue yukata robe. His face and scalp sagged, so much so that it must've been impossible for him to smile.

"Not a robbery? There's a gun pointed at you!"

Yosuke stopped his advance a few feet away from the table. The men looked up at him, not showing him what they thought. They were playing poker, after all. "And you'll put it down or else you're the first one to go."

"I don't think you have it in you," the bald man said. A man at the table sniggered, prompting Yosuke to send a silencing glance in his direction.

"That ain't—"

"Where ya from, kid? Countryside?" The bald man waved his gun as he spoke, flicking it along with his overly-enunciated consonants. "You're doing a shit job at hiding that accent."

"What's it matter?"

"No killers come from the countryside. And your buddy—is he a friend from back home?" Yosuke didn't dare look at Daisuke. He hoped his friend wasn't blowing their cover, but he didn't have faith. The bald man's confidence was rising alongside the tension and Yosuke needed to act. "He doesn't look cut o—"

"Shut up! Open your mouth again and you're fucking dead!"

"Your hick hand is shaking, country boy," the bald man growled. "You're too nervous to do anything with that trigger. Why not calm down, have a conversation, and remember why you came here?"

"I'm not fucking ar—"

"I'll ask you again—where ya from?"

Yosuke scrunched his face up. "Inaba." He would've made a great ventriloquist in another life with how he forced the word through unmoving muscles.

"Inaba… Town was never up to my standard. Everyone's too poor to rob, there ain't a decent bar within five miles, and the girls… They're innocent, sure…" He grinned as he trashed Yosuke's home, giving himself the confidence to steady his gun and indirectly shake Yosuke's. "But they got no fight in 'em. Gotta have a few scratches for some fun, amirite?"

The bald man dared Yosuke to pull the trigger when he took his eyes off him to check the reactions of his friends, who swelled with lecherous laughter. The floor beneath Yosuke shook from the fat one's bellows and his eyes raced between the thin, rapid jeer of a skinny one and the bald man's cocky grin.

Why couldn't he shoot? Talking to them only strengthened his hatred, yet he stood there letting the sweat soak through his clothes. "You're disgusting. All of you. No one's gonna miss you," Yosuke stammered.

Their laughter increased. "Miss us? Nobody needs to miss us! By then, we'll have had our fun and made our money. Legacy ain't something to worry about. And kid, you gotta stop with the intimidation. We know you're not pulling that trigger, so quit the fucking sass, or—"

"Shut up!"

"Interrupt me again with that bitchy accent and I'll…" The bald man paused, going so far as to taunt Yosuke by taking his trained gun off its target. He pointed it at the ceiling and followed it with his eyes, considering his options. "I'll introduce mysel—"

"Last chance to—"

Yosuke's ear rang with a bang, but he knew he didn't pull the trigger. He thought death took him when he closed his eyes and high-pitched ringing overloaded his senses, but waiting a few seconds and opening his vision said otherwise. His heart still beat, his legs still ached, and his hands still shook, not with the weight of the gun, but with the lack of weight.

He had dropped it when the bald man shot straight past his head and into the wall.

"On the floor right fucking now." The bald man walked with fire around the table and toward the nook where Yosuke and Daisuke stood their ground. Yosuke eyed the gun on the floor, but it had to stay there. He knew what fate reaching would bring him. "C'mon, on your knees. Hands behind your head. Move it!"

Yosuke performed the latter before the former, sinking to his knees with his already-unarmed hands behind his head. It was more humiliating than terrifying—what did Daisuke think? Yosuke couldn't even look back at him. He aimed to become something more that day and how did it turn out?

With a dropped gun and a lost advantage.

"Now…" The bald man stopped a foot in front of Yosuke and Daisuke. He stepped on the gun and slid it toward the table of poker players. The thin one hollered when he picked it up, waving it from person to person while simplifying his facial expressions to those of a country kid who didn't know how to kill. Yosuke couldn't take the shame and locked his eyes on the ground. "Let's get these introductions done, hm?"

"Daisuke," he whispered.

"Y-Yosuke."

"Nice to meet both of you. I'm Mutatsu, saiko-komon of the Second Kaneshiro. You affiliated?"

It was time to be careful. Yosuke knew of the truce because he had planned on violating it. Now that his plan was dead, he could at least salvage things for his brothers.

"No."

"He's lying, 'Tatsu!" one of the men called from the table. "Spotted him going into the Nine a few weeks ago!" Yosuke didn't worry about the implications of home turf surveillance because he was preoccupied with being caught in a lie.

"Aka Ikka… Huh. Awfully daring for our favorite sewer dwellers, I'll say. Truce-breaking sewer dwellers as of now." Mutatsu stopped pointing his gun and brought it closer to his body to rub the barrel with his free hand. Yosuke watched the weapon the entire time because everything else reminded him of his failure. Daisuke's shaking whimpers from his right weren't helping. "Whose idea was this? You know, the whole 'break up a poker game and kill everyone' thing. You?" The gun pointed at Daisuke, who shook his head hard enough to fling tears onto Yosuke. Promptly, Mutatsu turned to the only other option. "You, Yosuke of Inaba?"

If he had to take the blame… So be it. He brought Daisuke in, he led them through that door, he failed. If his punishment was death, he would face it instead of letting Daisuke get killed on his behalf. He could die with bravery on his mind, not cowardice or the sound of his gun dropping onto the wooden floor.

"Yeah, all me. Every last—"

"Good to know." Mutatsu didn't need many words to point the gun back at Daisuke and blow his brains all over the floor. Just as quickly, the gun was back in Yosuke's face, stopping him from screaming or begging for untimely mercy. "Don't fucking cry, just listen. The truce? That shit is over. You came here to kill."

"Th-the clan wasn't—I mean, I acted on my own!"

"And that's why you're kneeling in a shitty apartment, a little bit of brain in your hair, and taking orders from me. You're gonna live to make up for this, and if you don't listen… Take a look at Daisuke." The gun backed off and Yosuke finally looked right to see Daisuke slumped backward, his knees bent in an uncomfortable stretch. His head laid on a pillow of red slashed with pink, a ring of white illuminating the borders of the puddle.

Some leader Yosuke was.

"Got him memorized? Good." The gun pressed forward and commanded Yosuke's attention and unblinking stare once more. "You're mine, Yosuke, and we're gonna celebrate the end of the truce accordingly. I've got big plans for you."