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It was a brisk evening on a midsummer's Thursday around the outskirts of town. The moon was a quarter of the way full, but still it shone down on the square quite powerfully, illuminating the darkened sidewalks and townhouses and dousing it in a sickly sweet light. There was a soft breeze that would brush by, rustling leafy bushes as it darted past, but the place was otherwise silent, with only the occasional bark of a stray dog to render that statement false. Though the wind was light, it was strong enough to roll an empty can of cherry soda down the empty alley between two of the houses, allowing it to stop against a somewhat hidden door as if to ask permission to enter. The can got no answer. That was expected.
The interior was not as quiet as it was on the other side. Not even remotely. The room was filled with the sound of coins clinking, bells ringing, haughty and clamorous laughter, and men speaking to each other in unnecessarily loud voices just to make sure the other could make out his words. If that wasn't enough, music played loudly above it all, ultimately adding on to the already deafening atmosphere. The area was huge, but it reeked of cigar smoke and beer and none of the tattooed men at any of the tables seemed friendly. There was frequent yelling, and sometimes even a fight or two would break out. This was a nightly occurrence, but no one outside of those doors would know.
No one outside of those doors did know.
It was around 7 PM when a young suited man made his way down the aisles of the casino. His gaze was hard and intense, fixated on something and only that thing, and he looked and seemed bothered, as if something dangerous was on his mind. Flanked at his side but hanging slightly back was a young woman of about the same age as he, both looking to be in their early twenties, who donned a pair of heels and a nice black dress. On her back rested an embroidered bag long enough to conceal a weapon. By the look on her face it was obvious that she wasn't out for date night. She was dressed to kill. Neither of them spoke a word until they'd found what they were looking for.
The young man stopped before an older male, his posture straight and his frown permanent. His unfortunately recognizable voice was enough to send shockwaves down the man's spine and turn him around with no moment to spare. "Chiyo Tsukuda. Oh, how I have missed you."
The man spun to face him with a hint of distress in his eyes. "Y-You? You said I had another week."
"Yeah? Well, time's up. Turns out the Old Man wants it now. You'd better start coughin' it up before I gotta beat it outta ya."
"I told you, I don't have it! I was going to have it by the end of the week, I swear. You'll get your money, I-I just need time-"
"That ain't gonna fuckin' cut it this time, Tsukuda. You havin' a hard time understanding me or what? Clean the shit out of your goddamn ears and don't make me repeat myself. Old Man wants the cash. You owe us. I ain't leaving till you pay that fuckin' debt, and I'm not taking excuses back to my father. And trust me, I really don't think you want to deal with him. Do you?"
Chiyo Tsukuda shook his head. The young man making the threats eyed him up. "That's what I damn thought. You're gonna get me that fucking money before this place shuts down for the night. Understand me? Otherwise you're gonna be dealing with the sharp end of the blade, if you catch my drift."
The girl behind him still hadn't said a word, but her eyes gleamed intensely behind the frames of her glasses. Tsukuda got the memo fairly quickly.
The unnamed boy cocked his head toward the lot of gamblers off toward the corner of the room. "Better get going. You're wasting time."
The man took off in a hurry. The boy found it awfully amusing. He turned his attention toward the girl next to him. "Keep an eye on him. Let the guys know to man the doors. Can't believe Dad's still treating me like his fuckin' puppet. I'm no goddamn messenger pigeon."
The young woman bowed her head before she left to do as she was told. The boy she’d been flanking took a seat and glanced around. He watched as a man in probably his mid-sixties took a drag from his cigarette. They met eyes for a split second before the younger male forced his vision elsewhere. The older man hadn’t done the same.
“You that Kuzuryuu kid?” he asked a little too nonchalantly for the boy’s taste, especially given the circumstances of his presence tonight.
“Who’s askin’?”
The strange man chuckled and exhaled a huff of hot smoke. “Benjiro Yoshida,” he proclaimed. “Maybe you’ve heard of me.”
“Can’t say that I have, nor that I care.”
“I’d have expected that,” spoke Benjiro, his lips parted slightly as his fingers teased his cigarette, “if I’d have known your father was such a sore loser.”
“What’d you say?” the boy, whose last name was apparently Kuzuryuu, growled almost warningly, as if daring the man to push any further.
“So he didn’t tell you anything about me? Not at all? I gotta say, I’m disappointed in him, kid. Of course, it’s no wonder he wouldn’t have decided to tell anybody about the two of us, especially after he’d lost so badly.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about, old man.”
“‘Old Man’, huh? You kids these days haven’t got much respect for your elders, do you?” mocked Benjiro before taking a puff from his cigarette.
“I ain’t no kid. I’m twenty-three years old.”