FLASHBACK – EXT. SHINJUKU ROOFTOP – TOKYO – FOUR YEARS EARLIER – NIGHT
Rain lashes neon glass. A teenage Riku kneels among fallen gang members, knuckles bleeding, breath ragged, city lights shimmering in every raindrop.
Narration: Born the second son of a Yakuza lieutenant, Riku learned early that pain was a language—one his father spoke fluently.
A door creaks open. Taro Tsukiyama, immaculate in a white suit, steps into the rain, umbrella snapping in the wind.
Taro: Father says you fight too well. You're supposed to survive... not win.
Riku: Then I guess I failed.
They clash—brother against brother—steel on wet concrete. Blades spark. The rooftop becomes a blur of rain and lightning. Riku wins, standing over Taro, chest heaving. Taro only smiles, cold and small, and walks away without a word.
FLASHBACK – INT. UNDERGROUND FIGHT CLUB – TWO YEARS EARLIER – NIGHT
Metal bars sweat with humidity. A cage glows beneath flickering bulbs. Riku moves like a phantom, every strike calculated, every dodge a whisper. The crowd chants his name in a frenzy of yen and violence.
Between matches, a girl slides a bottle of water through the bars. Her eyes are soft, a quiet contrast to the roar around them.
Aya: (gentle) Do you ever fight for yourself?
Riku: I fight so no one owns me.
Narration: Her name was Aya. For a brief season, she made the violence bearable. With her, the bruises almost felt like proof of life instead of chains.
Weeks later—an empty seat, a blood-stained scarf on a chair. Aya is gone. Riku tears through alleyways and backroom dens for days, but finds only silence.
FLASHBACK – EXT. RAIN-SOAKED DOCKS – ONE YEAR EARLIER – NIGHT
Lightning splits the harbor. Cargo cranes groan like dying animals. Riku stands over his father's lieutenant, blade dripping seawater.
Lieutenant: (coughing) Kill me and you're free... but freedom means nothing without chains to break.
Riku lowers the sword. The rain washes blood from the steel.
Narration: That night he burned the Tsukiyama crest and vanished into the storm. Strength became his prayer. Freedom, his only god. He swore never again to fight for another man's pride or profit.
For months he drifted through Japan—sleeping in train stations, earning money in anonymous street bouts. Every victory bought another day of nameless freedom, but every night the ghost of Aya whispered through the rain.
RETURN TO HELL – BROKEN PASS – NIGHT
The memories fade. Riku opens his eyes. The ash storm hums beyond the walls, carrying the faint wail of distant demons.
Arven: (quiet) You fight like someone who's already died.
Riku gives a crooked grin, shoulders loosening as if the confession itself is a weapon set down.
Riku: Maybe I did. Or maybe I'm just good at pretending the world can't kill me twice.
Narration: The boy who fled the cages of Tokyo now walks the killing fields of Hell—each swing of his blade a declaration of the freedom he refuses to surrender. Whatever waits in the next battle, it will face a man who has already broken every chain the world could forge.
To be continued...