Present Time: 2017
Ayame curled a strand of hair behind her ear as she cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, tracing the contours of the faded photograph with a fingertip. The edges were worn, but the image of two high school sweethearts was still vivid — her and Manjiro Sano, known to all as Mikey, their youthful smiles frozen in time. Her other hand worked diligently at the papers strewn across the desk, organizing the endless affairs of the Tokyo Manji Gang. The corners of her lips quirked up in a nostalgic smile as his voice, vibrant with the same rebellious spark from those days, filled her with familiarity.
"Everything's running smoothly," Ayame assured him, tracing the contours of their younger selves with a finger. "Just the usual updates. Oh, and I've got that meeting soon but don't worry about the meeting; it's routine." Ayame assured him, her voice laced with the confidence that came from leading alongside Mikey for so long.
His laughter crackled through the receiver, a joke about one of their more eccentric members setting the serious tone adrift for a moment. She laughed too, a light, airy sound that seemed at odds with the heavy responsibility they both shouldered.
"Always the joker," she mused, but the tone of Mikey's next words caught her off guard.
"Ayame, I'm serious now," he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that instantly sobered her. "I love you."
The vulnerability in his declaration sent warmth flooding through her chest. "I love you too, Mikey. So much," she responded softly, her thumb caressing the glass of the frame. "Come back home safely, okay?"
"Promise," he replied before the line went dead, and she was left holding onto the silence that followed.
As she placed the phone down, her attention snapped to the door opening with a soft click. The man who entered wore a familiar face, but his eyes held a cold determination that seemed foreign to her.
"About time you showed up," she started, folding her arms as she took a step forward.
"Let's talk business," the man started without preamble, his eyes scanning the room like he owned it. Ayame straightened, her stance firm, the strength of the Tokyo Manji Gang's leadership coursing through her veins.
"Things need to change, Ayame," he declared bluntly, his gaze never leaving hers.
"Is that so?" Ayame countered, her chin lifted defiantly. "And what do you propose?"
"I'm taking over the Tokyo Manji Gang," he announced, his voice unnervingly steady.
"Mikey's vision is what guides us," Ayame insisted, standing her ground.
"Your loyalty is commendable, but misguided," he countered with a dangerous edge.
Her brow furrowed; disbelief etched onto her features. "You can't be serious, Mikey has always had a vision for this gang," she stated, but the man cut her off with a scoff.
"Listen, His vision is old news. It's time for change. What do you say, Ayame? Be my wife instead, stand by my side."
The words struck her like icy darts, betrayal wrapped in an offer she could never accept. Her shock morphed into fierce resolve. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. 'Betray Mikey? Never.'
"I would rather die than betray Mikey," she declared, each word slicing through the tension.
"Very well," the man responded coldly. "Your wish... and Mikey will join you soon enough."
The report of a gun echoed through the room, a singular, devastating sound. Ayame staggered backward, her hand instinctively clutching at the blossoming red that stained her blouse. She collapsed to the floor, the world tilting violently as the man's footsteps retreated, each one a death knell.
Pain seared through her; every breath was a battle. Gasping for air, pain clouding her senses, Ayame dragged herself across the floor. The picture frame lay shattered beside her, glass fragments mingling with droplets of crimson. With trembling hands, she gathered the remnants of their past, holding it close to her heart. Tears blurred her vision as she gazed upon their young, smiling faces, immortalized in a moment untouched by the cruel present.
"Mikey..." she gasped, her vision blurring. Tears mingled with blood as she cradled the memory of their shared past, holding onto the image of the boy who had become her everything. Her husband's name was a whisper on her lips, a final declaration of love and fidelity, as darkness reached out to embrace her.
•• •••• •••• ••••
The roar of the city faded into a hush as Manjiro "Mikey" Sano's phone vibrated against his palm. He glanced at the caller ID—Draken—and felt a ripple of unease. Draken only called directly for matters that couldn't wait.
"Mikey… listen to me, we need you back here. Now." came Draken's voice, so taut with urgency it could snap. "There's been... an incident."
Every muscle in Mikey's body tensed, his heart pounding against his ribcage as though trying to escape the bad news it knew was coming. "What happened?" His voice was a whisper, a mere ghost of his usual commanding tone.
"It's Ayame," Draken said, and the words seemed to fracture the very air between them. "She's been murdered. In the penthouse."
The world tilted on its axis, the ambient noise around Mikey plunging into an abyss of silence. His hand tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening, yet no words formed in response. The image of Ayame, laughing and alive just hours ago, haunted him.
"Mikey? You there, man?" Draken's voice prodded, pulling him back from the precipice of shock.
"We spoke... earlier," Mikey managed to ground out, his voice a hollow echo of itself, tinged with disbelief. "Can't be... Who..." Mikey's voice finally broke through the thick fog of shock, hoarse and distant. "Any leads?"
"Kisaki," Draken spat out the name like venom. "It reeks of his style. And you know how he felt about her—It has to be. He's had it out for you two since—"
"Keep digging." Mikey's command was razor-sharp, every syllable a promise of retribution. "I'm on my way."
"Be careful, Mikey. This is bigger than—"
"ASAP, Draken." The call ended with a click, leaving Mikey alone with the echo of his wife's last whispered declaration of love, now a haunting lament in the hollows of his mind.
•• •••• •••• ••••
The penthouse door creaked open, a haunting reminder of a life shared and now shattered. Mikey's gaze fell upon the bloodstain, a macabre echo of Ayame's laughter, her warmth, her defiance. He knelt, fingers grazing the darkened carpet, each fiber a testament to the violence that had invaded their sanctuary.
Scattered shards of glass drew his attention next—the remnants of a picture frame that had once held their high school memories. He cradled the broken pieces, the edges sharp against his skin, as if trying to hold onto the fragments of a past that had been brutally ripped away.
Draken stepped into the room, his presence a silent pillar of strength amidst the chaos.
"Everyone's gathering tonight," Draken's voice cut through the haze of grief. "We'll find who did this, Mikey."
"Her last touch," Mikey murmured, staring at the photo in his bloodied hand. "They said this was the last thing she held."
"Who would dare..." His voice rose, a crescendo of fury and disbelief. "Who would dare to touch her, knowing she was mine?"
Before Draken could respond, a knock interrupted them. Chifuyu's head peeked in, his expression somber. "Boss, everyone's here. They're waiting to start."
"Let's begin," Mikey replied, his voice devoid of warmth. With each step towards the meeting room, his resolve hardened like steel. Tonight, the Tokyo Manji Gang would set in motion the wheels of vengeance.
The heavy door to the penthouse meeting room swung open with a gravitas that matched the mood within. Draken's silhouette filled the frame, imposing and resolute, with Mikey, a storm of grief and fury, trailing just behind him. Their entrance quelled the murmurs around the table where the bosses of Toman had been gathered, their voices previously abuzz with speculation.
Mikey's gaze swept over the familiar faces before it landed on Kisaki, whose eyes widened for a fraction of a second, an unreadable expression fleeting across his features. "What's with the surprised look, Kisaki?" Mikey's voice was deceptively calm, a dangerous undertone lurking beneath the surface.
"Nothing," Kisaki managed, his voice betraying none of the shock that had flickered in his eye's moments earlier.
They took their seats, the weight of expectation pressing down upon the room like a physical force. Mikey's hands came down hard on the polished wood of the desk, the sound echoing off the walls, mirroring the silent scream building in his chest. The impact left his knuckles white, a stark contrast against the dark mahogany.
"I'm pretty sure everyone knows by now that my wife Ayame was murdered earlier this morning in our home." His eyes were flinty, daring anyone to meet them, demanding truth from a sea of averted gazes.
"Does anyone here know who did it?" The question hung heavy in the air, unanswered.
Gasps of shock and disbelief filled the room. Mikey scanned the faces of each boss, searching for any sign of guilt or knowledge. When no one spoke up, he spoke with deadly determination.
"Fine," Mikey's voice grew even colder, if possible. "I've got people on it. And when I find out who's responsible..." His fists clenched tighter, the broken edges of the picture frame biting into his skin, drawing blood that mingled with the remnants of Ayame's. "...I'll kill them myself."
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor with an aggression that mirrored his statement. "A reward for whoever brings me the bastard's head, alive" he declared, eyes sweeping across the faces once more, an unspoken challenge lingering between the words.
Without waiting for a response, he dismissed them with a flick of his wrist, the gesture dismissive and final. The bosses rose, unease etched into their movements as they filed out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
Draken moved closer to Mikey, placing a hand on his shoulder—a silent pillar amidst the tempest of Mikey's emotions. Mikey's façade cracked then, just a little, allowing a single, silent tear to escape. It carved a path through the grime of the day, unchecked in its descent.
In his hands, the shattered picture frame held the smiling faces of two high school kids frozen in time—their joy now adjacent with the harsh reality of their present. As the last of the footsteps faded away, a whisper broke free from Mikey's lips, a name wrapped in love and loss: "Ayame."