A/N: Helloooo! Some warnings for this : Blood, violence, swearing, implied murder.

In this chapter, we shift into what is happening with Rein that same day Akito got the job rejection. He has done something that could be very bad. But he had a very good reason (which will eventually be revealed hehe)

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(Yopparai Hana: Drunken Flower, Oyabun: Lord/boss, Uruse na: Shut up, Gae Sekiyah: (Korean) Bastard)

It’s the final year of Law school and I was being escorted like a prisoner into our club, The Yopparai Hana. My steps feel restricted by the two men in front of me and Michi bumping into my back. A sticky mess of blood and rain plaster my shirt to my skin, and it makes the Irezumi burn. I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.

The guard at the entrance lets us in, concern creasing his brow, probably wondering how I was upright. I didn’t know either, because I felt a slight nudge away from death. It amazed me yet again when the long line of patrons at the entrance didn't immediately disperse at the sight of us. They watched me as I went in, a sick curiosity in their eyes. Why did they come here week after week? They were all good, innocent people, they had other more important things to do with their lives.

There were even more people inside, unsurprisingly, all undulating in the sweaty mix of drugs, alcohol and thumping bass. They parted to make room for us, possibly sensing the restlessness radiating off Michi. I feel it too, snaking along my spine.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Michi’s voice was loud enough to be heard over the deafening music. One of the men escorting us had been shoving him forward repeatedly. The guy was now pressed up against a wall with a sheathed Katana at his throat.

Michi, whose real name no one knew, looked absolutely terrifying with his neon green hair glowing against his ghoul pale skin. The man, obviously new, lacked the sense to listen to the others’ warnings. He made some poor attempt at apologizing, muscles in his neck bulging against the crushing force at his throat. The others wouldn’t aid him, they respected us too much.

“Uruse Na Gae Sekiyah!”

The man would not understand. Michi had the habit of mixing his native Korean with Japanese, especially when he was as frustrated as this. I had half a mind to leave him here, but the Yakuza were trying to clean up their image and going by the gleam in his eye, he would not give the makeover much thought.

“Michi-San…” I said, warning, and his shoulders twitched. That was the second time I had stopped him today. I usually gave him free reign, so he was not used to being restricted. But the only thing that surpassed his blood lust was his loyalty to me, and he would readily drown himself in acid if I asked him to. He eased the pressure on the boy’s neck and patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry Rein-nim, I was just playing…just playing,” He brought his face close to the man’s, smiling in that bone chilling way of his, “don’t touch me again, got it?” The man bowed a million times and moved to the back of the group.

“Yah! Lots of pretty girls in the club today, Rein-Nim,” Michi was making conversation like we hadn’t just murdered my…the second most important member of the Yakuza hierarchy. Strangely, I didn’t feel any different either. Detachment? Perhaps. Was it going to hit me later? I hoped not, the bastard didn’t deserve it. 

We passed through the area with tables and made our way up the stairs to the next level. The air choked on cigarette smoke, the seats filled with the most stereotypically gangster individuals on the planet, complete with heavy chains on their necks and those flowery silk shirts that I despised.

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings, Rein-nim, about a dozen of them threw themselves at you. You completely missed it!”

The guards at the entrance to the Oyabun’s private booth bow low, and I gave them a nod. The lights in the club took on a decidedly sinister tone, flashing red instead of the blue they were moments ago, the ear-splitting beat transformed into a muted booming.

I didn’t lift my head as I walked in, keeping my eyes averted from the Oyabun’s, and kneeled a respectable distance away,  as did Michi. The entertainers from the club are still with her, but she was not engaged with them. One had a knife buried to the hilt in his thigh. 

I had to suppress a wave of nausea. She was upset. 

“Oyabun.”

She said nothing, and all I heard was the hiss of cigarette smoke blown through her lips. “Rein,” She said, finally, “who are you?”

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, “Yamakichi Rein, adopted son of the fifth Oyabun and future Heir of the Yamakichi Gumi.” 

The couch creaked as the Oyabun rose. The staccato of her wooden slippers getting closer till her feet stopped just in front of me. A violent flinch shook through me when she placed the edge of her Katana on my head.

“And what were you before I picked you up from the streets?” She tapped the flat of her blade on the side of my head “hmmm?” I looked up at her, a mistake. 

She slapped the blade against my cheek, hard, it whipped my head to the side, all I heard was ringing. Warm blood dripped down my chin to fall on my already scarlet white shirt. “Ungrateful cur,” she said, grabbing my chin to examine the damage calmly, “I don’t want to ruin your face, so answer me.”

My breath came in shudders, but for some reason, I didn’t respond, I couldn’t. I did what I had to do to survive, that part of my life was over, and to the current me, it never existed. She laughed, smoky and ruff, “You’re too ashamed to say it, aren’t you?” She gestured in a wide circle, “They all know what you did.”

I still didn’t answer, and a sudden crushing force at the back of my head brought the floor rushing up to meet my face, the world tilting and swaying under me, “Without me you are nothing.  I gave you a life! I made you! And this…This is how you repay me?” 

Her foot crushed my head into the ground, and I could hardly see through the blood trickling into my eye, “You will pay for this.” 

She pulled me up by my hair and flung me against a low table in the center of the room. A man brought her a silver handled, shimmering blade, a Tanto knife, and she threw it on the table in front of me, a piece of silk cloth already waiting next to it.

I knew what was to come.