The alley reeked of damp concrete and smoke. Neon spilled across the puddles, fractured light trembling under the weight of hurried footsteps. Aiko darted through the narrow passage, lungs burning, her hood falling back to reveal the pale shine of her scalp. Fear tightened her face as shadows closed in.
Behind her, a man's heavy boots slammed against the ground, closing the distance. A jagged tattoo snaked across his neck, marking him as Yakuza. His voice split the silence, raw and venomous.
"Get back here, you dirty little bitch!"
Aiko glanced over her shoulder, forcing a smirk to hide the tremor in her chest. "Now why would I willingly stop?"
The chase twisted around a corner—and the city cut away.
Fluorescent lights hummed above Kenzo's bed. The sterile air of the hospital felt heavier than the alley's darkness. He sat slouched on the edge of the examination table, his single seeing eye dulled, waiting for words he didn't want to hear.
"Listen, Kenzo…" The doctor's voice was gentle, too gentle. "Your illness is getting worse. I recommend you take a break from your work."
Kenzo laughed under his breath, bitter and tired. "No… no, I can't take a break again. I'd get fired. Doc, you have to understand me." His voice cracked, desperation clinging to every word.
The doctor sighed, folding her arms. "This is your only choice. If you don't, there's no way we can prevent this anymore. It's going to spread."
The words hollowed him out. Kenzo turned his face away, his jaw tight, shame pressing into his shoulders. Finally, he let the fight slip from his voice.
"…Alright, doc."
The hospital doors slid open with a sterile hiss. Kenzo stepped into the night, the air biting cold against his skin. He tilted his head back, staring at the blurred glow of the city sky.
"Ma… I'm sorry," he whispered, the words slipping out like a confession to no one.
Rain began to fall, thin drops at first, then sheets pouring down. It slicked across his face, running into the scarred curve of his blind eye. The neon lights melted in the puddles at his feet as he drifted into the street.
The city greeted him with its rot—drug addicts slumped under broken signs, sex workers calling out beneath umbrellas that sagged in the storm. The rain did nothing to wash Tokyo clean; it only sharpened the dirt.
Kenzo turned into a narrow alley, pulling his hood low. His hand shook as it slid into his pocket, fingers brushing against the small bottle he'd kept hidden. His chest tightened, anticipation and shame swirling in silence. The pills rattled faintly against the plastic.
Elsewhere in the storm, Aiko sprinted, her breaths cutting sharp against the rain. Her clothes clung and swayed, her movements carrying a strange, fleeting grace despite the terror etched into her face. She glanced over her shoulder—the dreadlocked man was still there, boots slamming against the flooded pavement, his shadow growing.
"Oh no…" he growled, spitting to the ground. His voice was cruelly certain. "Where you gonna run now? You're all outta luck."
A frying pan scraped against the alley wall with a harsh clang, sparks leaping from metal against stone. The sound cracked through the rain, a warning bell. The man grinned, fair skin stretched tight, baggy pants soaked dark.
Aiko rounded the corner—and slammed straight into someone.
The impact jolted the bottle from Kenzo's hand. Pills scattered across the wet ground, rolling like tiny white stars into the gutter. His eye widened in panic.
"No… no, no, no—" His voice broke as he dropped to his knees, clawing at the concrete. Rain mixed with dirt and desperation on his face.
Aiko staggered back, clutching her chest, startled by the stranger's wild expression. Kenzo didn't look at her—didn't even register she was there. His hands shook violently as he tried to scoop the soggy pills into his palm.
Then, with a crazed hunger, he raised them toward his mouth, eyes hollow, desperate to escape the storm inside his own body.
The Yakuza's breath steamed in the cold rain, his boots splashing through the alley puddles. He yanked at his belt, a cruel grin cutting through his dreadlocked face.
"Well, shit," he sneered, voice low and heavy. "Since you gave me so much trouble… how 'bout I take somethin' else?"
He stepped closer, the metallic buckle clinking, rain sliding down his fair skin.
Then—he stopped.
Kenzo stood between them, hunched in the neon wash, his eye wide and burning with a strange, fevered hunger. The scattered pills still clung to his palm, half dissolved by rain, his lips trembling as though he might swallow them all right there.
The Yakuza froze, confusion flickering across his scarred face. "Tch. Just another junkie…" His lip curled, disgust replacing hesitation. "Move."
His boot slammed forward.
Kenzo's body whipped back, crashing against the soaked brick wall. Blood splattered from his mouth, streaking the rain. He collapsed to the ground, coughing, clutching his ribs.
Aiko's heart clenched. She lurched a step forward—but froze. Fear rooted her to the spot, her mother's voice echoing in her mind.
The Yakuza turned back to her, eyes narrowing with cruel delight. "Now, hurry up, little bitch. Two things are all a man needs. Now bring it here."
"No!" Aiko's scream tore through the storm. "Never!"
Her hand pressed hard against her chest, right where the memory of her mother still lived. Tears blurred the neon, anger and grief boiling together.
"Oh?" His voice dripped poison. He tilted his head, dreadlocks sticking to his wet face. "Is it because of that other piece of trash? Your mom?"
Her breath hitched, body locking in place.
"We had a lot of fun with her," he whispered, leaning closer, teeth flashing. "Before she gave out. Too bad. I think I'll do the same with you—"
Something ignited in her.
Aiko's body moved before thought could catch up. She lunged forward, fist trembling, tears streaming down her face. For an instant, her punch carried every ounce of grief, rage, and love she'd buried.
But he caught it with one hand. Effortless.
Her knuckles pressed into his palm like a child's blow against steel. His grin widened as he twisted her wrist until she gasped, pain slicing up her arm. With a violent shove, he flung her back into the wet concrete.
Rain swallowed her cry.
Kenzo staggered, one arm braced against the wall, blood painting his lips. His legs trembled, every breath like glass in his chest. The Yakuza glanced at him, then smirked, dismissing him with a casual shrug.
"Well, that's a true man," the gangster said mockingly, laughter rattling low in his throat. "Knows when to walk away. Now give me and my lady some privacy."
He gripped Aiko by the wrist and yanked her forward, shoving her toward his chest. She thrashed, crying out, but his grip was iron. His free hand dragged his belt loose, the metallic snap echoing in the rain.
Aiko's face twisted in horror. "No—!"
The world blurred. Kenzo's vision swam, rain stinging his good eye, blood burning his throat. For a moment, he thought he'd collapse again—until something inside him snapped.
He lunged.
His fist tore through the downpour and connected square with the Yakuza's jaw.
The sound cracked through the alley like thunder.
The gangster's head snapped sideways, shock flashing across his face as he staggered back, releasing Aiko. For the first time, his grin faltered.
Kenzo stood hunched, soaked, half-blind, body wrecked—but his eye burned with something raw, unbroken.