Hayama's frustration reached a boiling point as he slammed his fist onto the polished surface of his desk, the sound reverberating through the spacious room like a crack of thunder. The walls, once a testament to his accomplishments and accolades, now seemed to close in around him, their ornate decorations and gleaming trophies a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned inside.

"What is taking so long?" he thundered, his voice bouncing off the walls as he glared at his subordinate. "I demand results, not excuses! My son is missing, and every passing day is an eternity. I won't tolerate any further delays!"

The room fell silent, the only sound the heavy, labored breathing that escaped Hayama's lips. The weight of his son's disappearance hung over him like a specter, a constant reminder of the stakes. If anything were to happen to him, it would be a failure that Hayama could not accept, a blow from which he might never recover.

His subordinate flinched at the sharpness in Hayama's tone, his eyes darting downward as he bowed his head in a gesture of respect. "We're doing everything in our power, sir," he began, his voice laced with a mixture of fear and deference. "Our teams are scouring the city, searching every possible location, and we've been following up on leads, but—"

Hayama's interruption was swift, his voice slicing through the air like a knife. "Have you even attempted to locate Yuuki's phone?" he demanded, his words dripping with authority and expectation. His eyes narrowed, boring into his subordinate as he awaited a response, his patience worn thinner than the silk threads that bound his expensive suit. The air was heavy with tension, the unspoken understanding that failure would not be tolerated hanging over them like a guillotine's blade, waiting to drop.

“Yes, sir,” the subordinate replied hastily. “We did manage to track it down. The phone was found in the bushes near Aihara Park.”

Hayama felt a surge of anger mix with dread at hearing that. The implications of Yuuki’s phone being discarded in such a manner sent a chill through him. “Aihara Park? How long has it been there? Can you trace his last movements?”

There was a brief pause before the subordinate responded, “We’re still working on it. The signal was weak, but it indicates he was there recently. Our teams are canvassing the area for any signs of him.”

“Get back to me immediately if you find anything!” Hayama barked, the urgency in his voice rising. “I want every resource devoted to this. I will not sit idly by while my son is out there, possibly in danger.”

“Understood, sir. We’ll escalate the search at once,” the subordinate assured him, valiant yet visibly shaken. “I’ll also coordinate with the tracking team to see if they can piece together any leads from the location.”

As Hayama dismissed the subordinate with a curt wave, the reality of his situation settled heavily on his shoulders. The decision to retire had felt like a step toward a quieter life, but now it seemed like the past was clawing its way back, demanding his attention.

As Hayama stood alone, a surge of frustration coursing through him, his thoughts unexpectedly spiraled into a haunting flashback. Memories of the past intertwined with the shadows of the business dealings that his father had orchestrated. An underworld filled with darkness and danger that had forever haunted their family name.

Masamune had been the puppeteer behind the scenes of the Hiroshi legal organization, orchestrating a web of illegal activities that thrived on the vulnerabilities of others. The organization was notorious for its involvement in trafficking rings that preyed on innocent lives, women and men alike who were lured into a cycle of exploitation, stripped of their dignity and freedom. Alongside this, the organization operated as a ruthless loan shark, offering desperate individuals financial lifelines drenched in hidden chains of debt that suffocated any chance of escape. Masamune had not only mastered the art of manipulation within the shadows but had also forged strategic alliances with those in power. He had cultivated relationships with corrupt politicians and high-ranking police officials, ensuring that his illegal activities remained safely shrouded from scrutiny.

These connections had facilitated a facade of legitimacy for the Hiroshi organization, allowing Masamune to conduct his business under the guise of respectability. With the police on his payroll, he could easily evade investigations, silencing any dissent that threatened the empire he had built. They turned a blind eye to his trafficking rings and usurious lending practices, keeping the organization's darker dealings hidden in the murky depths of the underworld.

This web of influence extended far beyond mere self-preservation; Masamune used his connections to manipulate local elections, placing allies in positions of power that would further legitimize his operations. He hosted lavish gatherings, enchanting key figures with charm, alcohol, and promises of wealth, all while quietly cementing his control over the political landscape.

“Remember who your friends are, Hayama,” Masamune would often say, a knowing glint in his eye. “Power is not just about brute force; it’s about understanding the game and positioning yourself carefully. Our operations thrive on the ignorance of those who should be bringing us to justice.”

Hayama felt a wave of resentment as he recalled those words. He had dreaded becoming ensnared in that intricate web of deceit and manipulation. It was a game he had no interest in playing, a life of moral ambiguity that ran counter to everything he wanted to impart to his family.

Hayama shuddered at the memory of his father’s cold, calculated demeanor, always lurking in the shadows, demanding obedience and compliance. Masamune had an iron grip on his family, wielding threats as if they were currency. His power derived from the fear he instilled. When Hayama refused to align himself with the darker aspects of the family business, refusing to run the operations under the pretense of honor and respectability, his father's wrath became a suffocating cloud.

If Hayama didn’t comply with Masamune’s demands, the threat was always present. “You will run this business, and if you defy me, I will make your life hell. Aiko—your beloved wife—will pay the price,” his father had warned, a sinister smile stretching across his mouth, eyes devoid of compassion. Hayama had felt the creeping dread settle in his heart at the mention of Aiko’s name—his love, the light in his otherwise dark world. The thought of losing her was unbearable.

“The business must survive, Hayama,” Masamune insisted, coldly justifying the heinous dealings. “By using Hiroshi’s name, we will shield ourselves from scrutiny. It’s the only way to ensure the grandeur of our legacy. Do not test me, my patience wears thin.”

The crushing weight of Masamune's threats had backed Hayama into a desperate corner, leaving him feeling helpless and trapped. With no escape from his father's twisted expectations, he was forced to confront the unbearable reality of perpetuating a cycle of abuse and exploitation that had haunted their family for so long. The thought of continuing this dark legacy was suffocating, and the danger it posed not only to himself but also to the woman he loved, Aiko, was a constant and terrifying presence.

As the painful memories of that oppressive period threatened to consume him, Hayama steeled himself, his resolve hardening into an unyielding determination. He had made a solemn vow to shatter the chains of his family's sordid past, to forge a new path that would spare his son, Yuuki, from the same devastating fate that had befallen him. With unwavering conviction, Hayama was determined to create a different future, one where honor and respect would triumph over terror and control. He would ensure that Yuuki's life would be free from the shadows of their family's dark legacy, and that he would grow up with a sense of purpose and integrity, unencumbered by the burdens of the past.

With a deep breath, he reached for his phone and dialed a familiar number, one that he hadn't called in years. The line rang, and memories began to flicker in his mind, memories of a time when he had believed he could leave the past behind. But now, the connections he had once abhorred might hold the key to finding his son.

A gruff voice answered on the other end, laced with a familiarity that transported Hayama back to a different era. "Hello?" the voice said.

"Kenta," Hayama replied, the name rolling off his tongue like an old cadence, one that he had thought he'd never use again. "It's been a while."

Kenta's response was laced with a mix of surprise and wariness. "Hayama! Thought you were done with all this," he chuckled, but the edge in his voice betrayed a hint of concern. "What's going on?"

Hayama took a moment to collect his thoughts, recalling the careful strategy he would need to unfold. "I need your help, Kenta," he said, his voice low and urgent. "It's about Yuuki, my son. He's missing."

The line went silent, the gravity of the situation sinking in on the other end. "What's going on?" Kenta asked, his voice low and serious. "I mean, how long has he been missing?"

Hayama's response was laced with a mix of frustration and desperation. "It's been weeks. I've instructed my men to look for him, he last seen near Aihara park."

Kenta's next question was predictable. "Did you lodge a police report?"

Hayama's response was immediate, his voice firm. "You know I couldn't do that, Kenta. If it went public, it would only put my son in greater danger."

Kenta's tone turned thoughtful. "Do you think it's possible that one of your old enemies is behind this?"

Hayama's hesitation was brief, his mind racing with the possibilities. "I don't know, that's why I'm reaching out to you for help. I'll send you a picture of Yuuki, but please, don't link him to me in your search. I need this to be discreet."

Kenta sighed, the weight of the request evident. “You know that circles like ours can get messy. If I put out feelers, it’ll draw attention, and you might not like what comes back.”

“I know,” Hayama said, frustration creeping in. “But please just do what you can do. I need to find him before something happens. Please leverage your contacts, I know your boys still keep their ears to the ground.”

“Alright,” Kenta said, resolve echoing in his voice. “I’ll see what I can dig up. But you owe me, Hayama. When this is all over, we need to have a serious talk about your return to this world.”

“Understood,” Hayama replied, ready to meet Kenta’s concerns with the seriousness they warranted. “Just keep it quiet. We can’t let anyone else know what’s at stake.”

Kenta's response was reassuring. "Okay, I’ll try my best." The line went silent, and for a moment, Hayama wondered if he had made a mistake by reaching out to his old acquaintance. But as he waited for Kenta to respond, he knew that he had to try every avenue, no matter how risky, to find his son and bring him home safely. Reaching out to Kenta was a crucial step, he was one of the few who could maneuver through the intricate networks that connected their pasts. If anyone had a chance to uncover the truth, it would be him.