Chapter Text
Part I
Ryo looked up at the building with annoyance. Polished stone, tinted glass, discreet gold lettering. The new owner had spared no expense trying to make the place look respectable.
He would've much rather spent his night somewhere friendlier.
With a resigned sigh, he pushed open the heavy glass door, already counting the seconds until he could leave.
Once inside the lobby, he was greeted by a maître d’, or at least, someone dressed like one. The man’s scarred face and over-muscled frame strained against the seams of his too-tight suit, looking more like a bouncer than a butler.
Ryo smirked. No matter how polished the owner wanted the place to look, some foundations ran too deep to cover up.
Plunging his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket, Ryo fished out a small jade pendant.
He held it up silently, flashing it at the so-called butler, who gave a wordless nod in return. The muscular man pressed a discreet button beneath the reception desk.
Exactly fifteen seconds later, a lanky man appeared and bowed hastily, before leading Ryo toward the private rooms.
Ryo complied without a word. He hated places like this, wrapped in the illusion of luxury, but rotting underneath. A high-end cover masking gambling tables and whatever other filth hid behind polished marble and soft lighting.
After a short walk, Ryo was led to a private room flanked by two thick-necked men.
He glanced at the display. Ridiculous, but perfectly in character for the host.
The lanky man who'd guided him offered a quick bow before disappearing down the corridor, leaving Ryo alone with the two gorillas.
Without a word, they stepped aside as one of them unlocked the heavy door. Ryo eyed the reinforced frame beneath the polished wood. That was new.
“Welcome, Saeba-san,” a tight, low voice greeted as soon as Ryo stepped inside.
Ryo rolled his eyes in annoyance at the theatrics. He’d known Touma Kiryu back when the kid was still a teenager.
Who exactly was he trying to impress now?
Ryo didn’t respond. He simply strolled to the table, sat down without waiting for an invitation, and raised an eyebrow at his host.
He had only accepted Touma’s invitation out of respect for the man’s late father.
Touma Genzo had been one of the first people Ryo met after arriving in Shinjuku. Despite a tense beginning, the two had formed a quiet alliance, mutually neutral when it came to each other’s business.
Kiryu's only other call had come days after his father's death.
Genzo had spent decades ruthlessly carving his name from Hong Kong's underworld to Shinjuku. Time had softened his manner, but the past eventually caught up with him. One morning, in broad daylight, the jovial old man was executed. Retribution, at last, for sins long owed.
Touma Kiryu’s jaw tightened at the older man’s insolence.
With a flick of his hand, a waitress in a short silk qipao emerged from the shadows, carrying a porcelain flask painted in cobalt blue. While she set it down with two tiny cups, Ryo gave her lazy smile and a wink of thanks.
“Moutai,” Kiryu said smoothly, pouring without asking. “From my family’s cellar.”
Ryo eyed the clear liquid. Strong enough to strip paint, expensive enough to buy a small car…
He drank it in one smooth shot, not even flinching. Now he was ready to hear whatever the stiff little prince had to say.
Without a word, he poured himself another.
Kiryu couldn’t hide the contempt he felt for the man in front of him. Needing anything from Saeba infuriated him. Still, he was willing to swallow his pride.