08:00 AM (One week post-surgery)
Back Terrace of Ren's Private Residence
For the first time in a week, Rion managed to walk out of his room without assistance. Every step felt as if he were being pulled by barbed wire inside his abdomen, yet that pain was the only thing convincing him he was still alive.
He stood on the terrace overlooking the distant harbor. From this height, Ironport looked like a breathing pile of scrap metal. Rion took a deep breath, but the salty scent of the sea only reminded him of the smell of blood on the docks that night.
"You should still be in bed," a voice snapped him out of his reverie.
Ren stood by the glass door, wearing a white silk robe that contrasted with the gray morning. In her hands was a morning newspaper and a digital tablet that continuously displayed streams of data.
"I can't keep lying down as if I'm already dead, Ren," Rion replied without turning around. "The smell of antiseptic in there is starting to choke me."
Ren walked closer, standing beside Rion. She stared at the same view—a city full of ambition and rot. "The outside world has started moving, Rion. The news has already reached my ears. In Osaka, they are celebrating your clan's throne succession. Your name... has been erased from their history."
Rion clenched his hands on the balcony railing until his knuckles turned white. "Erased? After everything I gave to that clan?"
"Loyalty is a currency that depreciates the fastest," Ren replied coldly. "Now you are a nobody here. And in Ironport, being a 'nobody' can be very dangerous—or perhaps, your greatest opportunity."
Rion turned, looking at Ren with a gaze that was sharp yet full of hurt. "You saved me, fed me, cared for me with the best doctor... What is the price, Ren? I know you didn't do this because of our childhood memories."
Ren went silent for a moment. She swirled her coffee glass, which was still emitting steam. "The price is that you must stop being a pathetic Yakuza. I don't need a fugitive haunted by his past. I need a partner who can see what the brutes in this city cannot."
Right then, **Gin** appeared from inside the house. He carried an unmarked black envelope and handed it to Ren with a vigilant look.
"A guest?" Rion asked, noticing the tension in Gin's face.
"Not a guest," Gin answered shortly. "Just a message from the docks."
Ren opened the envelope, scanned it briefly, and then handed it to Rion. Inside was a photograph: a gold Yakuza coin placed on top of a stack of cargo at Pier 12—the very place where Rion was found.
"They've landed," Rion whispered. His voice was low and menacing.
"They are looking for a ghost," Ren countered while looking Rion in the eye. "Now the question is, will that ghost run again, or will he start building his own empire here?"
Rion crushed the photo in his grip. The pain in his stomach seemed to vanish, replaced by an adrenaline he hadn't felt in a long time. For the first time, he no longer saw himself as a victim of betrayal. He saw himself as the beginning of something new.
"I need proper clothes," Rion said, his voice now regaining its cold authority. "And I need to know more about this city. Not from this window, but from its streets."
Ren offered a faint smile—the kind that signaled her investment was starting to yield results. "Prepare yourself, Rion. Tonight, you will see the real Ironport."