The Yakuza Path Series Box Set 1-4

By Amy Tasukada

Kyoto—beautiful, tragic, and for Nao Murata—deadly.

Nao Murata never anticipated stumbling upon a stranger on the brink of death would thrust him back into a world he'd long ago left in his past. Now, he's back among the ranks of the Yakuza, fighting for both his life and his honor. Struggling against older members undermining him at every turn, Nao must navigate the dark and gritty criminal underworld discovering who he can trust, and who is hell-bent on betraying him.

Aki Hisona jumped to the top ranks of the syndicate when he gained favor with Nao, but it left animosity brewing among his would-be friends.  When an assassination attempt disguised as a celebration leaves Aki with blood on his hands, he isn't certain how Nao will react. Will he lose his rank, his life? Or worse…he might lose the chance to ever have Nao return his affection.

All the while, the Korean mafia are deadlier than ever. Having ruthlessly killed the Godfather of the Matsukawa syndicate once, they're now determined to murder the newest in line. Nao may have survived them once. They won't let him out of their sights again.

Discover how much blood is hiding underneath Kyoto's cherry blossoms in this shocking and brilliant four-book box set today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Tasukada
• Release date: Jun 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781948361125

Book preview

The Yakuza Path Boxset © 2016-2019 Amy Tasukada

Cover design by Regina Wamba with MaeiDesign and Photography

Ebook design and formatting by Ampersand Book Interiors

All rights reserved.

No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

♦●♦

The Yakuza Path: Blood Stained Tea: © 2016 Amy Tasukada

Cover design by Regina Wamba with MaeiDesign and Photography

Ebook design and formatting by Ampersand Book Interiors

All rights reserved.

♦●♦

The Yakuza Path: Better Than Suicide: © 2017 Amy Tasukada

Cover design by Natasha Snow

Ebook interior and formatting by Ampersand Book Interiors

All rights reserved.

♦●♦

The Yakuza Path: The Deafening Silence: © 2018 Amy Tasukada

Cover design by Natasha Snow

Ebook interior and formatting by Ampersand Book Interiors

All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Blood Stained Tea

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Better Than Suicide

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Five Days...

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Four Days...

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Three Days...

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Two Days...

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

One Day...

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

One Thousand Cranes

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

The Deafening Silence

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Author Note

About the Author

Thank you to Lorelai who was a constant cheerleader when the book was in its early drafts. Husband for getting stuck hearing about this book every day at dinner, and always being a good sport about it. A big thank you for my family, without whose love and support this book would probably not be here. The other awesome people that read the book at various drafts, Nichole, Stephen Hoppa, Nell Iris, Venessa Sims, Addison Albright. Finally, you. Thanks for giving my book a chance!

Rain drummed against Nao’s umbrella like bullets. No, the 9mm needed to be forgotten. The weapon was nothing more than a memento he kept for when the midnight sojourns down Kyoto’s Philosopher’s Path no longer calmed his thoughts.

He clutched the handle of his umbrella and let out a steady breath, dispelling the bloodied memories. Pouring tea for the customers that wandered into his shop had become his only responsibility. He couldn’t feed the viciousness within.

Lightning flashed, illuminating Nao’s tree-lined path along the narrow stone canal. Each step he took kicked rain onto his yukata robe, deepening the color from indigo to black. Blood used to stain his suits the same way and would kiss his skin like a welcomed lover. His muscles tensed with the conjured image. He gulped, trying to push down the memories.

Ahead, a footbridge stretched across the canal, and a cluster of cherry trees grew along the muddy slope. Their roots peeled up the moss-covered stones like a scab, and a cluster of fallen branches caused a wake in the river. The debris clumped together in a murky shadow that made Nao’s finger twitch. The large pooling was too much to have been caused by fallen debris in an early summer storm. Someone must’ve dumped something there, but it was Kyoto, and he couldn’t fathom anyone littering in the old capital.

The residents respected the city as much as he did. Since he left his violent past, Kyoto possessed Nao’s heart and left no room for anything else. Even traveling close to the city’s borders, a familiar tightening enclosed his throat. He didn’t have any reason to leave the city anyway. The Aoi Festival always brought a smile to his face, and that was only a few weeks away. In July there was the monthlong Gion celebration. He’d be too exhausted from work to think of the spilt blood. If nothing else, the walk down the Philosopher’s Path would always drive away the memories ricocheting inside his skull.

As he stepped onto the footbridge, the debris in the canal became a solid mass about the size of a sack of tea leaves plucked from the field. He squinted, trying to make out the object by the dim streetlights, but it remained unrecognizable until a bolt of lightning streaked the sky.

It was no collection of branches, but a human body slumped against the tree roots.

Are you all right? Nao yelled over the cracking thunder.

No answer came.

Nao dropped his umbrella and crossed the footbridge in a single stride. The rain trickled down his back, plastering his hair to his neck. As he groped for a cherry-tree branch to steady himself on the embankment, his clog sank into the mud, which slathered between his toes. He pulled one foot up, but the shoe stuck, and he tipped forward. The cold river stung his face, and he spat out the water that had flooded his mouth.

Nao crawled to the body and came face-to-face with the unconscious young man. He had to be a few years younger than Nao. Lightning flashed, exposing the man’s bushy eyebrows and sloping nose. An eye was swollen shut, and blood dripped from his open mouth. Nao grabbed the arm of the man, who hissed in pain. Blood poured out from underneath his cut sleeve. Nao swallowed. He hadn’t seen such flowing blood since that night. The cut was sliced clean and couldn’t have been from the stranger’s fall in the canal.

Nao pulled at the sleeve and held it against the wound.

Can you get up?

Nao received no reply, but he waited, hoping the minute or two of pressure would close the cut. The warm fluid flowed out between Nao’s fingers.

Your arm’s in rough shape. I’ll take you to a hospital.

No. No hospital, the injured man said, and then he muttered something in Korean, but the Korean sounded like the cawing of crows to Nao.

Someone there should be able to speak Korean. You need to get your arm looked at. Come on!

Nao reached for the man’s uninjured arm, but the stranger pushed him away with such force Nao fell back into the mud. He curled his fingers into a fist, and mud oozed out. No matter how much the stranger struggled, Nao wouldn’t leave him.

The rain drowned out the man’s continued mumbling. He was probably telling Nao why he couldn’t go to the hospital. Expired visa or lack of insurance, Nao didn’t need to know.

With an uneven step toward the stranger, Nao realized his right shoe had stayed in the muck. His bare foot slid through the sludge, and he grimaced. Lightning flashed, and the stranger’s mouth no longer moved. Nao’s eyes widened. He couldn’t let another person die in front of him.

Wake up.

No reply or movement from the stranger.

Nao clenched his teeth. He grabbed the injured arm, pressing his thumb into the cut. The man hissed in pain and then spat out more Korean. Nao backed away. He had deepened the injury, but the cruelty woke the guy up, so it was worth it.

Let’s go.

No hospitals.

We need to get out of the rain before we both get sick.

Nao tugged the good arm over his shoulder. The man moaned as Nao hoisted him up. The stranger was considerably taller, built larger in all aspects, and he weighed down on Nao’s shoulder. Yet the drive to do something right for once carried him on.

The stranger dragged his feet, consuming all of Nao’s strength with his one-shoe climb. Hot breath tickled his ear, but Nao focused on the uncomfortable weight and not the closeness of the other man. How long had it been since he’d let someone get so close? Nao managed, but by the end, he felt more like a mud-drenched beast than a human.

Once back on the path, Nao stood paralyzed. He glanced to the right. The train station was closer that way, but that part of the path he had already walked. He shifted the man on his shoulder, pushing him so his mumbling wouldn’t linger in his ear.

He glanced down the uncompleted path. It made no sense to finish it. His disgust was with himself more than with the stranger’s blood that seeped onto his yukata sleeve and mixed with the rain down his arm.

Yet before he fully realized what he was doing, Nao’s feet were carrying him along with the stranger to complete the path.

"Are you going to sleep all morning?" Nao asked, but the stranger did not stir in the bed.

Nao grabbed the edge of the blanket by the stranger’s feet but paused, distracted by the man’s swollen eye half-hidden by brown hair. He must have gotten into a fight and then fallen in the canal. Nao shook his head. There was no point in thinking about the stranger, no matter how attractive the man was underneath those bruises.

Nao did the right thing. He would give the man a good breakfast then tell him to leave. Nao liked the solitude he’d built around himself. No need to start thinking of anything else, even if he was the first man in Nao’s bed in years. Nao had yet to pay proper penance for the last relationship he’d screwed up, so there was no point having a man in his bed any longer. It was bringing back too many memories.

Nao flung the covers off, but even then the stranger remained in his peaceful slumber.

Really? Nao groaned to himself and stepped past the platform bed to the adjacent bathroom.

The cool air clung to him, and the extra dampness from their clothes lingered in the air. A soaking tub crowded the back wall, and a showerhead hung outside of it. The sink took up the remainder of the space and was filled with bandage wrappers from Nao’s attempt at first aid the night before. The stranger’s clothes hung on the towel racks. Dirt caked his pants, leaving a few patches, showing the black cloth underneath. A series of silver studs created a skull pattern on the once-white shirt. The torn sleeve was saturated with blood, dried brown.

Who would actually buy such tacky clothes? Nao followed the chain attached to the pants belt loop and pulled free the leather wallet with a passport tucked inside. He could at least figure out who the man was. He examined the passport first.

Saehyun Park, Nao read, guessing at the pronunciation.

He turned the damp passport over. Park’s job visa was stapled inside, which meant Park held a four-year degree. Yet the flimsy document wasn’t the thickness Nao thought it should be, and Park was twenty-two according to the document. What company would go outside of Japan to hire someone fresh out of college that dressed like a street punk and ended up in a canal? Nao set the passport on the sink, opened the wallet with a thick stack of 10,000 yen notes.

Nao raised a brow. You must’ve won the fight.

The rest of the wallet contained a credit card and two citations for smoking, but it was the half dozen identical black linen business cards that caught Nao’s attention. Even after Park’s swim in the canal, the cards were of such quality that they went unscathed.

The design in the center was a blue crescent moon with a crimson gibbous moon filling in the open space. Nao recognized the embossed circle and lines underneath the symbol as Korean, but beyond recognizing the language, Nao was unable to decipher any meaning from the text. There were no other numbers or address on it. He knew of only one business that tried to present itself as both legitimate and extravagant at the same time: the mafia. Nao dispelled the thought. Not every person with a fancy card in his wallet walked through life in the underworld.

He placed the cards back in the wallet and reached into another pants pocket and pulled out a phone along with a half-empty pack of cigarettes. The phone was an average touch screen model with a black case. He pressed the power button, but the phone was dead, proving how worthless the case was against water. Although Nao’s last phone was a flip phone, so perhaps he was not turning it on correctly. Who needed to always be connected to others, anyway?

Nao plunged his fingers into the final pocket. His eyes narrowed when he touched metal and pulled out a butterfly knife. With a skilled flick of his wrist, Nao freed the blade. Spots of oxidized blood were on its tip. His gaze darted past the sleeping Park to his nightstand drawer. The 9mm rested there.

Stop it, he whispered to himself. Don’t jump to conclusions. Get him out of here.

Nao sheathed the blade and put all the contents back into the correct pockets. He brushed off some of the dirt with his hands, folded the shirt and pants, and carried them out of the bathroom.

The bedroom opened to a living room, and a low table took up the space next to the white-tiled kitchenette. Nao placed Park’s clothing next to his breakfast. Eggs, toast, miso soup, and even a pot of tea were meant to be split between them. Nao had finished his portion over an hour ago. He took a few steps into the vestibule and stopped when he spied the gray tabby cat asleep on his spare shoes. He smiled at the cat, petting her head, but she stayed asleep.

Come on, Kuma. You’re needed.

Nao picked up the sturdy cat, receiving a meow in protest. He held her close, and she began to purr in his arms. Her added nine kilograms pulled on his sore shoulders, but he ignored the dull pain.

He carried the cat back to the bed and caught Park twisting in his sleep. The yukata Nao had given him fell open, and Nao’s gaze wandered from the exposed collarbones to the boot-sized yellow bruise on Park’s side. Nao lingered at a taut stomach before stopping at the idiotic banana-print boxers. Those belonged to Park. No matter how soaked they had been last night, Nao hadn’t wanted to cross that line.

His gaze drifted up again; instead of focusing on Park’s body, it was drawn to the Western tattoo over his heart, the same moon symbol from the business cards. The symbol meant something if Park had etched it on his skin, and the thought made Nao’s pulse pound in his ears.

He needed to get Park out of his home.

Stepping away from the bed and closer to the bookcase that cluttered the small room, Nao gently tossed the cat onto Park. He saw her land on Park’s chest before he focused on the books. Park mumbled something in Korean, but Nao stayed put, reading the author’s names on the spines. Kawabata… Soseki…

Where the fuck am I? Park asked in Japanese. His accent came through with the intonations in the wrong pitch.

Sorry, did Kuma wake you up?

Kuma?

Nao pointed to the cat. She can be a pain when she wants attention.

Who are you?

I found you in the canal. I wanted to take you to the hospital, but you said no. So… Nao’s voice trailed off as Park yawned and petted the cat curled by his feet.

So you took my clothes as payment, or are you some kind of perv?

I slept on a futon and let you have the bed. Nao folded his arms into the sleeves of his yukata. I didn’t want you getting pneumonia along with the cut on your arm. I used superglue to treat it. It’s good in a pinch, but perhaps there’s a doctor you trust that you can visit.

You’re kind of funny. Park waved the sleeves of the yukata. "So old."

Old? Nao bit the inside of his cheek.

Only old men wear summer kimonos outside of festivals.

Insulting his admiration of traditional clothing went too far. Nao crossed his arms and opened his mouth, but Park cut off his unspoken words.

You’re like, what, forty? Park added.

Twenty-six!

See? It ages you.

Park patted Kuma’s head before he stood. He was built for fighting, a physique strong and thick with muscles. Nao glanced down at his own wiry frame. He belonged in a tea ceremony. His shoulder throbbed as he glanced at Park. Wishing to forget he’d carried him down the Philosopher’s Path. Forget him…forget there was ever a person who disturbed his solitude. He should’ve ignored Park’s request and dumped him at the emergency room.

Park scratched at his dried, brown locks sticking up in the air. Where are my clothes?

Those tacky pieces of—

What did you say?

In the other room on the table. Nao jerked his head to the side. The door’s that way too.

Grinning, Park took off the yukata and threw it on the bed beside the cat. Nao averted his eyes at first but looked up to see Park and his banana-covered butt walking to the living room. Nao swallowed the tickle of desire at the back of his throat and leaned against the opening to the living room.

Park laughed, glancing back at Nao. You made breakfast?

Don’t bother. It’s cold.

You moved my phone as well as my clothes?

I didn’t touch your things. The lies rolled off Nao’s tongue with ease.

Park didn’t question Nao further as he dug through his pockets before pulling out his phone and toying with it.

Damn. Park turned to Nao. Where’s your phone?

Sorry, it was destroyed.

The water got it too? Where’s the house one?

Also destroyed.

Really? Park asked.

Nao held out his hands. Look around and see if you can find a phone if you don’t believe me.

Park cracked his knuckles and reaching into another pocket. He tossed his cigarettes to Nao. For getting me out of the gutter. Dry them out and they’ll be as sweet as gin.

Nao snatched them in the air but walked the few steps to place them back into Park’s hand. Nao had turned to tea when he gave up smoking. Tea culture steeped through each vein and replaced his nicotine cravings with caffeine. He swore he wouldn’t touch another cigarette and wouldn’t break the vow. They were the first step back down the wrong path, and even the smell could pull him back on his worse days.

Sorry. Nao cleared his throat. But I quit four years ago.

Take it up again. He put them back in Nao’s hand, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.

A surge of electricity pulsed where Park’s hand had touched him. He hadn’t felt such blind attraction to another man in…years. That had to be the reason he was tempted by Park.

I don’t plan on it.

Take the damn cigarettes.

I quit. Nao grasped the two teacups left on the table. Don’t worry about payment. I only did what anyone with honor would have done.

One more time. Park grabbed Nao’s bicep. Their eyes locked, and Nao’s muscles flexed, but Park tightened his grasp. "I always repay my debts, especially to a jjokbari."

Even though the word was foreign to Nao’s ears, the insult left them ringing.

I said it was all right. Nao’s voice did not waver.

Think of it as an honorable act since you’re so hung up on it.

Nao stood in silence as he let out a deep breath and tried to forget that Park still held on to his arm. Nao glanced at Park’s sensual mouth. Desire flickered in the pit of his stomach, and he cursed himself for allowing it to take hold.

A wicked grin spread across Park’s face. You don’t want cigarettes? Fine! Let me suck you off.

Nao flinched. The teacups slipped out of his hands and shattered on the table, half-finished tea pooling among the broken pieces. Clearing his throat, Nao looked down, letting his hair cover his warming face. Had the man read the desire on his face?

That got your attention, eh?

Of course not!

Nao tugged free of Park’s grasp and knelt down to pick up the broken cups, laying them inside one another.

Get dressed and go. Forget it ever happened.

Park trailed his fingers down Nao’s arm. The light touch was so intimate, even though Park was a stranger. Nao’s skin itched as goose bumps rose on his flesh.

Close your eyes and pretend I’m a girl, Park cooed. It’s not a big deal.

I said go.

I won’t leave until I’ve repaid you.

You have no debt to pay to me. Nao walked to the kitchenette.

No, I owe you. Who knows? I could’ve gotten pneumonia. Park winked.

Why do you have to be so stubborn?

I’m stubborn?

Well, you won’t leave.

Like a cockroach?

Yes! Nao dropped the broken cups again, watching them shatter further on the floor, when he realized his mistake. I didn’t mean it like that.

That’s why you’re backing off every time I come near you? He pointed at Nao. "Don’t want some Korean’s hand on you?"

I have nothing against Koreans, and stop accusing me. I’ll take the cigarettes if it means you’ll leave.

Too late. You already told me you don’t smoke. So…

Nao caught Park looking him over like a bar patron scanning the host catalog, wanting to pay the hottest-looking person to pour his drink and make him think he was the most interesting person in the world. Nao knew the look well, having given the same once-over to many a host in his past.

"Cigarettes and…that hold two different values."

For you, maybe. I’m a cockroach. So it evens out.

I didn’t… Nao sighed and looked toward the broken cup. You can buy me new teacups.

You were the one who broke them.

And I’ll take new ones as payment for your debt.

Park shrugged. I can’t.

What do you mean you can’t?

I’m broke.

You nearly— Nao bit his tongue.

What was that?

A dull pain shot through Nao’s arm. He uncurled the fist he didn’t realize he’d made, and fingernail marks dimpled his palm. He wanted Park. With each second Park stayed, the more the memories of having someone else in his home flickered in Nao’s mind. He worked hard keeping those memories at bay, drinking pots of tea and walking the path any time that 9mm in the nightstand looked more like a welcomed relief. He needed to keep the steadiness he’d created for his life, even if it meant total solitude.

Still, Nao wanted Park. He wanted to feel the man’s mouth on him. As much as he fought it, he couldn’t change that fact. He looked back at Park. A onetime tryst wouldn’t change him. He’d had four years without one, after all.

If it gets you out of here, fine.

Park smiled as if he could see through the lie. I knew you’d come around.

It had been too long living with the pent-up desire within; Park’s offer couldn’t be resisted. Nao loosened his yukata belt as he took a few quick steps back to the bedroom area of the studio. Park made some off-handed comment that Nao ignored.

Sitting back on the bed, Nao glance down to see Park resting between his opened legs. Park’s hands slid onto Nao’s thighs, pressing them farther apart. The touch burned, and Nao looked away. Park wasn’t the man he loved.

Nao closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to carry him out of the room while Park’s lips engulfed him. Through each lick and tease, Nao thought of nothing. It proved easy not to let any glimmer of fond memories escape, and even easier not to allow his past lover to be remembered with Park’s expert touch. Nao thought only of the darkness.

You can’t get it up anymore, old man? Is that why you said no?

Just go.

Not until you’re done.

Park went back down, and Nao opened his eyes. The white ceiling he saw every day grounded him in the room. Fighting the sensation would make Park stay longer. Nao bit back a moan, and a scent not his own flooded his nose. He turned his head. He was on the yukata he’d given Park, and it was damp with Park’s musky sweat. He grabbed onto the cloth, not wanting to touch Park no matter how tantalizing his mouth.

It consumed Nao and brought back the memories he tried to flee. Park’s mouth was replaced by the image of Nao’s past lover. Nao could think of him. All the joy they shared, the long nights of ecstasy. It had been too long. Nao let out a cry at release and glanced to Park, seeing him, until Park smiled and spat on the wooden floor.

Never could stand the taste, Park said. Who’s Shinya?

Nao held his breath. He never allowed himself to utter his lover’s name, and here Park said it like it was nothing. Nao scrunched his nose, wanting to smack that playful grin off Park’s face.

How could he ever have exchanged Park’s image for someone he cared for? As soon as Park left, he would have to disinfect the area, along with any memories of the whole affair. As Park stood, Nao sat up. His yukata fell off his shoulders, but he quickly covered his exposed back.

Where’s the toilet?

Nao pointed toward a door off the living area, not sure if he could speak as steadily as he wanted. The prickle of satisfaction loosened all his muscles. It had been too long since he’d had that kind of release.

He caught another glimpse of the tattoo on Park’s chest as the man swaggered out of the room. The tattoo meant something; Nao was certain of it. No one so brazen and egotistical would be a businessman. Before leaving the Yakuza Japanese mafia, Nao had heard the Korean mob had established itself in Osaka and forced the Japanese mafia there into a bloody territory war. The fighting had spilled onto the streets, killing innocent people. Kyoto couldn’t be the Koreans’ next target for expansion.

Once the door to the half bath was shut, Nao belted his yukata and snatched Park’s wallet from his pants. Nao took one of the moon business cards. The wide sleeve of his yukata was sewn closed, but the armholes allowed Nao the perfect hiding space for the card. A small groan echoed through the quiet apartment. Park must’ve enjoyed it too.

Park came out of the bathroom and grabbed his clothes, putting them on nonchalantly. Nao tried to ignore Park’s tanned chest, focusing on the breakfast he’d prepared for them. It was the same meal he’d cooked when his lover used to stay the night.

Stop. Park was no lover. Nao made it out of habit and nothing else. However, the longer he stared at Park’s face, the more similarities he drew to him. His heart clenched in pain at the memories as his gaze lingered on Park’s nose, so similar to his old lover’s. Discomfort set in, and Nao changed the subject.

You need stitches for your arm. I’m surprised the glue held up during the night, Nao said.

I’ll be fine. Park zipped up his pants.

How did you get so banged up, anyway?

Different point of view. Park grinned. I didn’t mind sleeping with someone’s girlfriend, but he and his buddies had a different opinion.

The word girl caught Nao’s attention. He raised an eyebrow. So an affair of the heart left you trapped in a canal?

Park gave no reply. Nao gazed at the tattoo once more before it was covered by Park’s tasteless and bloodied skull shirt. If Nao needed to warn his syndicate family of an invasion, the more information he could get out of Park the better, even if he wanted Park gone.

What does that tattoo mean? Is it for some kind of band or something?

Park headed for the front door. You’re full of questions all of a sudden.

I couldn’t help but notice.

Look, as soon as I step outside the door, you’ll never see me again. So don’t start getting attached because I made you cum.

Nao took a step back. I didn’t mean to pry.

If talking about my ‘affairs of the heart’ isn’t getting attached, then I don’t know what is. Park shook his head and mumbled, Like all the other Japanese bastards who think they’re superior.

Park slammed the door shut behind him.

The echo of the door slamming stabbed Nao more than he ever wanted to admit. The mess on the floor and the dirty yukata were the only signs someone else had come into Nao’s world. The tattoo remained locked in his memory.

He was alone, again.

Nao reached into his sleeve and pulled out the business card. Sakai would know if it was just a business card—or if it was something the syndicate needed to know about.

Nao stepped out of the elevator and onto the top floor of the office building. The air conditioner hummed, creating a refuge from the humid outdoors. The chill filled the floor with an unshakable breeze that made goose bumps rise on Nao’s skin underneath his thin yukata. He placed his hands into his sleeves for warmth, and his fingers caressed the embossed card he’d taken from Park.

Nao had known Sakai in passing most of his life but hadn’t seen him since he broke free from the syndicate. Hopefully Sakai had lightened up a bit over the years.

Nao strolled down the aisle of windowed offices, skimming the nameplates, but none of them were Sakai’s. Nao pressed his lips together. Sakai wouldn’t quit the practice. He was too much of a businessman to do anything but find loopholes in contracts.

Nao cleared his throat at a man working in a cubicle.

I’m sorry for interrupting. Nao bowed an apology. Where is Mr. Sakai’s office?

The worker winced at the name. Are you sure it’s Mr. Sakai you are looking for and not one of our other attorneys? You don’t look like his typical clients.

His office used to be here, but I guess he moved since last I came.

Oh, I’m sorry. Please excuse me. He’s down the hall. The worker pointed, but his focus remained on Nao.

Nao murmured his thanks, and the man scurried back to his cubicle. He strolled down the hallway. The offices were no longer surrounded by glass but instead with wooden paneling. Four doors in, he found Sakai’s nameplate with the title Head Attorney. Nao opened the door without knocking.

The room was cold, like the others, but Sakai was nowhere to be found. Nao silently shut the door behind him. A white leather sofa sat off to one side and, opposite that, a woman filing paperwork behind her desk. Her pastel-pink suit stood out against the dark wood. He paused a moment at her desk and heard Sakai’s muffled voice from behind the door to her right. The secretary still filed her papers, apparently taking no notice. Disturbing her would be silly. Nao moved to grab the handle of Sakai’s door.

Wait! the woman screeched.

The files fell from the edge of the cabinet. She caught half of them in flight, using her body to squeeze the falling papers against the cabinet while the others scattered to the floor. Nao didn’t move, keeping his hand on the doorknob leading to Sakai.

It’s all right. Sakai knows me. Nao turned the handle.

Stop. She waved her free hand. Mr. Sakai explicitly requested not to be disturbed.

Nao let go of the handle, and the woman exhaled, the files she had saved tumbling to the ground and piling on top of the others.

Shit, she said.

You know… Nao hoped the sudden chaos would distract her. Sakai and I are in the same family, so I think it’ll be all right if I go in.

Family?

We drink sake every New Year.

Nao smiled after dropping the subtle hint. The hint was a lie since he hadn’t drunk sake with Sakai in four years, but the absolute truth wasn’t necessary. What was necessary was to know whether the business card was a legitimate company, or what it looked like: a Korean syndicate in Kyoto.

Please, Mister…

Murata. If anything, his name could get him in, but her eyes remained clouded.

Nao turned the handle, but the lady freed herself from the cabinet and rushed in front of him.

Please, Mr. Murata. It’s my third day here. Mr. Sakai fired the last girl for not doing as instructed.

Nao sighed. Using his name hadn’t worked after all. It would be easy to lie, but the papers strewn on the floor meant the woman was having a bad day, which was his fault. If Sakai was doing something important, he would blame her for Nao’s pushiness. He didn’t want to get her fired.

She lowered her arms. Why do you need to see him?

I wanted to ask a quick question.

That’s easy. I can write him a memo, and he can call you with the answer.

She smiled, but Nao shook his head. Why was everyone so obsessed with phones? He destroyed his four years ago when he grew tired of people calling to check on him. Once the phone was gone, people stopped trying to call, and Nao’s connection with anyone from his old life was reduced to a few mahjong games at his teahouse. He saw no reason to get another one.

I can have him e-mail you if it’s easier? she said.

I don’t do computers or have a phone. The only technology Nao interacted with was his rice cooker and water boiler.

Then I can set you up with an appointment. She moved to her computer.

Nao crossed his arms into the sleeve of his yukata and caressed the embossed curves of the double moon on the business card. It pulled him back to the people of his past to find out about the card. If a Korean mob was moving into Kyoto, he couldn’t waste a moment to warn his old syndicate so they could protect the city.

Was that really it, though? The more he thought of the card, the more Park crossed his mind and the more his face resembled his lover. His tantalizing toughness and the way his muscles flexed under his skin made Nao gulp.

I don’t have time to come back. Can’t you tell him I’m here? Say I forced you to do it, Nao said.

Wavering only a moment, she nodded and dialed Sakai’s number.

Sakai’s voice came through the phone loud and clear. I fucking stated that I didn’t want to be disturbed. I don’t know how I could possibly phrase it any other way. If it’s too difficult for you to follow simple instructions, then I will find someone who can.

Forgive me, Mr. Sakai, but Mr. Murata is here. He insisted I call you.

Murata?

Yes. Nao leaned forward. I need to ask you a quick question—

Nao? Sakai cleared his throat. Tell him to go away. If you interrupt me again, you’re fired.

The line died, leaving only the dial tone until the secretary hung up.

Sakai is such a joker. Nao laughed as she glared at him. Next week, he’ll be giving you wasabi-filled rice balls.

She didn’t laugh, but five minutes around Sakai and anyone could tell his idea of a joke was a well-placed idiom. Nao stretched, causing a dull pain in his shoulder as he turned away from the woman and strolled to the sofa.

I’ll wait until he comes out. It’ll probably be a few minutes.

I don’t think—

When he comes out, he’ll see me, and we’ll talk then. If he doesn’t want to, then I’ll leave.

She picked up the phone, the dial tone sounding. Was she going to call security? A fire grew in his stomach, but he swallowed it back.

If you’d rather, I can help with the filing. Nao eyed the pile of fallen papers.

Looking over her shoulder, she mumbled something he couldn’t hear before picking up the files. Nao sat on the sofa and pulled out the business card that had brought him there. He tried not to become entranced by the lines and circles of the Korean text that only a minimalist would consider elegant. He remembered Park’s tattoo and bloody knife. Nao’s mouth drew into a thin line.

How could the Korean mafia think they could infiltrate Kyoto? Nao’s thoughts drifted from deciphering any meaning from the interlocking crescent and gibbous moon. He ran his thumb along the edge and got lost within the blue and red colors. The image merged with the same symbol on Park’s chest and his taut skin…

How much time passed, Nao wasn’t sure, but when Sakai’s door opened, Nao broke free from his trance. Sakai was fifty, but his hair remained charcoal black, like his suit. Their gazes met for the first time in four years. A deep crease crossed Sakai’s forehead like the folds of a case file. Then he put his cell phone to his ear and walked out. Nao slipped the card back into his sleeve and followed.

Sakai!

Sakai quickened his pace through the cubicle aisles and ducked into the stairwell. Nao caught the closing door and entered. Sakai slammed him against the door and held him there. Nao winced, not in pain but from the suddenness.

"What do you think you’re doing here, little brother?" Sakai banged a fist against the wall.

Sakai released his grip and exchanged his phone for his cigarette case in his pocket.

I have questions.

You should’ve called.

I don’t have a phone.

Still?

Sakai shook his head before walking down the half flight of stairs and glancing over the railing. You must not come to the office. You know we can’t risk visitors. We didn’t allow visits even when you left the family.

When did you stop seeing family members in your office?

Things aren’t like they were. Sakai took out a cigarette and lit it.

"It can’t be that different."

You’ve become a frog in a well, Nao, disconnected from anything outside that teahouse of yours. Let it stay that way.

Nao stepped down a step higher than Sakai. The lapel pin Sakai wore faced inward, hiding the family crest. Why would the administrator for the Matsukawa’s legal businesses want to hide? Nao reached out, turning Sakai’s lapel over.

Is that why you conceal your allegiances?

Sakai brushed off Nao’s hand, taking a long puff from his cigarette.

Answer something for me first.

You get one, then you’re gone, Sakai said.

Nao pulled out the card. Do you recognize the symbol?

Sakai’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his distance from the card. "Why would you think I would know? It’s in Korean, of all things."

I thought it might be some company, and since you’re the administrator—

The card is as worthless as your teahouse earning reports.

Nao pressed his lips together. The way Sakai’s eyes narrowed meant he knew about the card, but why was he withholding information?

Does anyone in the office speak Korean?

You’re not going back in there to poke at a beehive. You’re known.

Nao laughed. I’m a merchant. No one knows me.

"When you first opened shop, it was raided four times in the first year for suspicion of gambling. The police still come by your place to check. There’s no way they would ever forget you. You need to go."

But—

If you have some kind of legal matter, next time, go through the usual channels. There’s a phone at your teahouse. You have no excuse for coming back here.

Nao put the card into his sleeve and gave a low bow. Defeat sank in, but he wasn’t going to let Sakai’s indifference break him. He had to know the answer.

"Older brother, please, I beg your forgiveness for my indiscretion. The formal statement spilled from Nao’s lips even after his long absence from the yakuza. I’m sorry for interrupting you at work with a stupid question."

Sakai waved his hand. It’s all right, but don’t come back. Obsessing over a card you should throw away is a waste of your time.

If Sakai wouldn’t tell Nao the truth, he’d rekindle every connection in the yakuza to make sure they were ready to defend Kyoto. Oyama would give him a straight answer, even if it meant going deeper into the underworld he had escaped.

Nao stood up from his bow. Does Oyama still hang out at the same place?

You’re thinking about asking him?

Since you don’t know, perhaps he will.

Just as stubborn as before. Oyama’s at the same place, but you know how he is. If you go, expect a fight.

Nao lifted his hair off the nape of his neck, getting mild relief from the humidity. If it weren’t for Park, he wouldn’t be in the heat. His shoulder throbbed from the stretch, but thankfully, it was dulling. In a few hours, the only evidence Park was ever a part of Nao’s life would be the broken teacup and the card in his sleeve.

Oyama’s midday hangout was the local boxing gym. With its cement walls and a group of high school students gathered outside, Nao needed only to change their faces and it would be four years ago. The group he knew had probably joined the family by now, and if Nao were still in the local syndicate, he’d have been calling them little brother. In a few years, the group outside would reach adulthood and join the mob, repeating the cycle.

Nao walked past them; his clogs echoed with each step. The stench of sweat and cold metal hit his nose the moment he opened the door. He blinked, the unsettling exchange of old memories distorted by his new reality shortened his steps. Muscled brutes jumping rope and punching bags, half of them brandishing tattoos covering their backs and chests, leaving a small strip of unadorned skin down their center chest.

Their faces were unfamiliar, but the dragons and flowers decorating their flesh he knew well. While those were generic symbols, Park’s were moons, specific for symbolizing allegiance. Nao needed to figure out what they meant. He had no reason to startle the others if Park was merely in some Korean rock band.

Nao! Oyama called.

He was fifty and showed a few more wrinkles than Nao remembered. His hair was short and spiked up from sweat, and even though he was in a pressed shirt and tie, he had punching mitts on to practice with one of the family members.

I only see you when I go to the teahouse, and even then, you yell at me for gambling. He laughed, taking off the mitts. You finally venture outside of your teahouse.

I’m here to ask a question.

You want to know my pick for the next big fight?

Nao reached inside his sleeve and pulled out the card. Do you recognize this?

He whistled. Some business card you got.

Oyama took the card, holding it in one hand while flicking it with his fingers. The older members’ focus was on them both; Nao could sense each of their eyes on him. He tried to hide the past beneath his traditional garb and small frame. He shifted his weight between his feet. There were so many people who knew who he really was.

It’s too flashy to be from a usual business, Nao said.

So an unusual one then? Oyama scratched his chin. Maybe a fortune-teller sect.

I figured if it was a big corporation, Sakai would have known.

You went to Sakai? He laughed. You’re serious?

I realized my mistake after we spoke.

Oyama slapped Nao’s back. He moved up a bit since you left. Don’t worry. You’ll get a bill for his time in the mail.

Do you know where this card comes from? Nao asked again, trying to stay firm under Oyama’s comedian act.

After so many years without stepping foot inside a ring, and you come here to talk about some card you found? You were too good to stop. I try to keep telling you that.

I enjoy my work in the teashop.

You know what? I don’t think any of the new recruits have ever met you, let alone seen you in the ring.

They don’t need to meet me. I’m not even in the family anymore.

Of course you’re still family. Oyama motioned the younger members over, a dozen people all in their twenties. This is Nao Murata.

Why was Oyama making such a big deal? Nao looked away, not wanting to see their reactions. It wasn’t like he was ever coming back. They didn’t need to know who he was. Nao was there only to learn more about the card, not to get introduced to the new syndicate members. They could easily remain nameless customers playing mahjong in the back room.

He’s the one you keep comparing me to when I lose a match? one of them asked. A tiger tattoo ran down his chest.

I was never that good.

Stop being so humble, Oyama said. You might’ve been a dick when you were with us, but you were always a natural fighter. Go show them how it’s done.

Nao took a step backward, his clogs uneven against the padded floor. I only came to see about the card.

I tell them how you were at their age, and they never believe me. The fight never really leaves you.

Why was Oyama’s solution to every problem to box it out? Nao half expected something like that to happen. Hell, even Sakai had warned him. He didn’t expect it to turn into such a spectacle.

I can’t fight in a yukata.

We’ll round something up for you.

But the card, Nao reminded him.

What?

Do you know what it means?

We have a few new Korean members. I’ll ask them to translate it, but only after you fight. Come on. Give the guys some inspiration.

Nao shifted his weight between his feet. Could he step back into the ring and punch someone he didn’t even know? More importantly, could he control himself if he snapped back into the person he kept hidden? How much did it really mean for him to figure out the meaning behind the card and the man who possessed it?

One match, and that’s it.

In a matter of minutes, Nao changed into shorts and a white tank top. They clung to his skin and made him long for his yukata even with such a short absence. Gloves covered his hands, and he stepped into the ring with the young recruit with the tiger tattoo. Oyama must’ve stuck him in because the man doubted Nao’s abilities.

As he climbed into the ring, Nao gave a sideways glance to Oyama, who was hollering while holding a fistful of money.

Are you taking bets on this? Nao asked.

The odds are good, but they’re getting lowered if you don’t keep your head in the match!

Everyone gathered to watch, and Nao’s name was cheered on the lips of the older crowd. The gong rang, and a passion ignited in Nao that he thought had died. His opponent jumped around, holding his fist up to protect him from Nao’s light jabs. The way the man jumped around, he would tire himself out.

His opponent attacked with a quick right hook to Nao’s face, but Nao dodged. Nao took it easy, getting a few quick punches in, but no real heavy blows. With each one, stepping back to who he was before became second nature.

The bell rang, and the two went to their corners. A layer of sweat clung to Nao’s skin, grabbing the fabric of his shirt and making him itch.

You’re doing good. Oyama offered Nao water.

Nao pulled at his shirt but was unable to get it off with his gloved hands.

Get this off me, Nao said.

Oyama pulled it over his head. Shirtless, Nao sported what the others did: marked flesh. His tattoo was a Chinese phoenix, blazing red with a half-inked chrysanthemum grasped within its claws on his back. Against Nao’s slim frame the bird engulfed him in its flames.

Come on. I got a week’s paycheck on you. Oyama rubbed Nao’s shoulders, warming the dull ache there. Part of him couldn’t believe he was going through the trouble for a card.

Only a week? You should double it.

The gong rang, and his opponent surprised Nao with a quick strike to his jaw. He took a few steps back and watched as the younger man shuffled around, waving his arms in the air as the crowd cheered. Nao waited and then swung a hard right hook to the boxer’s head. He staggered, and Nao saw his opening. Nao landed another strike to his opponent’s head, droplets of sweat flying onto Nao’s face, and his opponent collapsed to the mat.

The gym echoed with cheers, but Nao closed his eyes, hoping the darkness would take him away from the fight. Each of the numbers Oyama counted down reduced Nao’s adrenaline and replaced it with memories. Red on his hands and a throat raw from his screams. No. He’d changed. He wasn’t the person he was before. Although the sweet allure of the fight sent a shock wave of endorphins through him.

Nao stepped closer, ready to smack the tiger right off his opponent’s flesh if he chose to get up.

Enough! Oyama pushed Nao away. You already won.

Nao threw his gloves down and slipped out of the ring. How much did you make?

Enough. Oyama handed the money to a few older people. You had me worried there for a moment.

What does the card say?

Huh?

The card, Nao repeated. What does it say?

You’re still going on about the card?

If you’d tell me what it means, then I’d stop.

Oyama whistled to the boxer Nao had defeated. The boxer wobbled over, unable to stand up straight. He bowed to Nao then offered him a towel.

Oyama gave the loser a smack to the back of his head. Do you believe me now when I say Nao would kick your ass in a minute if he were still part of the Matsukawa?

Do you know Korean? Nao asked since Oyama was yet again ignoring the card.

A little.

Show him the card, Oyama.

Oyama handed the card over, but the young boxer shook his head and handed it back.

Sorry, I can’t read it. I only get the gist of what my grandparents say when they talk to me.

What kind of Korean are you, then? Oyama laughed.

Nao snatched the card. I’ll have to find my own translator.

Why is it so important to you? Throw the damn thing away.

Sakai told me the same thing. It must mean something if it can get you both to agree on something.

Little brother, this card is bad news. You don’t want to get involved in this business anymore. You were clear about that when you left.

The way the card came into my possession, it’s important I know.

Oyama rubbed his neck but gave no reply.

Are you going to tell me or not? Nao crossed his arms.

Look, if you want to know, take it to Father.

Father?

I’ll leave it up to him. He can decide how much he thinks you need to know.

Nao shook his head. No, I’ve lived in Kyoto all my life. I deserve to know what happens, even if it’s in the underworld.

After a stop at a confectionary shop and then a train ride, Nao followed the concrete wall around the perimeter of the house he knew so well. Behind the fence stood the three-story headquarters of the Matsukawa family, the Kyoto branch of the yakuza. The wall came to a stop and changed from concrete to a deep mahogany gate. Two inverted arrows were scorched into the wood, the same symbols that were on Sakai’s lapel pin. The family had no need to hide the business, as they had a silent mutual agreement with the police. As long as their business didn’t disrupt average citizens, the police would turn a blind eye to their operations.

Nao switched the bag of confectioneries to his opposite hand and stood in front of the intercom beside the gate. Was he really going all the way to the head of the family on the off chance Park was in the Korean mob? He could stop and forget the card as Oyama and Sakai had suggested. The bag crinkled as Nao tightened his grip. He couldn’t set Park adrift, or the tattoo, or the way he’d so easily offered himself up.

Nao sighed. All those years without looking at another man with a suggestive grin, no wonder he’d jumped at the opportunity. He couldn’t let those lascivious sensations bombard his thoughts if Park was in the mob. He was there to warn the Matsukawa so they could protect Kyoto.

He pushed the intercom button.

It’s Nao.

The gate buzzed, and Nao walked through and took the traditional winding path to the modern house. His throat dried with each step. What would the family think of him returning? Before he could reach the door, it opened for him. Four men greeted him. Two were on their knees, bowing so low their heads touched the floor. Their purple jumpsuits signified they were new recruits. The two behind them wore cheap suits. Nao returned the formal greeting and stepped inside the vestibule.

The aroma of simmering fish stock hit Nao’s nose, conjuring memories. Little and older brothers all stayed in the house of the Matsukawa. Yet family ties needed to be renewed each year by drinking sake with the godfather.

Nao replaced his shoes with the slippers offered to him. Is Father in?

He’s in a meeting.

I can wait, then.

Go upstairs. Father won’t mind since it’s you.

Nao hesitated a moment but then climbed the polished wooden stairs. Cleaning was a never-ending task for new recruits. Others who saw him bowed and exchanged a formal greeting as he passed. Each step weighed down his legs. Perhaps the fight took it out of him more than he thought.

Nao knocked on the door before entering, then apologized for his intrusion. Sakai was with Father, but Nao kept his gaze on the wall. He focused on the Japanese flag hanging behind Father’s desk with the Matsukawa crest beside it. The whole room smelled of cigarette smoke and cleaning chemicals, and the walls were a deeper shade of yellow than Nao remembered.

Nao? Father said, a deep crease in his forehead furrowed against his gunmetal hair.

I’m sorry for intruding, Nao apologized. But I have a question I wanted to ask.

Sakai frowned, but he was irrelevant with Father in the room. All Nao needed to do was gain Father’s favor, and he’d forget Sakai was even there. Father waved Nao to have the seat opposite Sakai.

Nao set the bag of confectionaries onto Father’s desk. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to get to the historic district for these.

Oh no, it’s fine. Father smiled as he opened the bag and took out the container with the sweet buns. There are two if you want one, Sakai.

It won’t be necessary. It’s almost lunchtime. We should be able to finish our meeting before then.

Dessert before lunch never hurt anyone. Father tore off a piece of the bun and ate it, completely ignoring Sakai’s subtle hint to continue the meeting. Nao was always a good son, bringing me sweets when he visited. How little that is now.

Nao bowed. I’m sorry I haven’t visited more.

These aren’t too bad. Father popped the rest of the bun into his mouth.

I promise to bring better ones next time.

Always so formal and polite. Father nodded his approval. You had the right idea, looking to the past and keeping the old traditions alive. The world has changed since you left. I don’t even know if the new recruits would agree with me when I call the passing crow white.

Nao blinked. They would question you?

We had to cut the apprenticeship from two years to less than one. The wrinkles around his eyes smoothed. The new recruits don’t understand tradition.

Even in Kyoto?

It’s sad. Even in the heart of Japan people are undisciplined. It’s all these foreigners, I tell you.

We were in a meeting, Nao, Sakai said, annoyed. Someone like you so in tune with traditions would know better than to come unannounced.

Nao reached into his sleeve. I found a card—

You’re not still going on about that card, are you? You need to forget about it.

Nao ignored Sakai and placed the card on Father’s desk. He looked up at Father, who was cleaning his fingers with a handkerchief. His nostrils flared at the sight of the card. It did mean something.

Nao brought the card to you?

Sakai laughed. Yeah, this morning. Then he asked about Oyama, and I can only guess that he told him to come here.

Father raised a brow. Is that true?

Nao nodded, knowing better than to lie to Father.

You’re a merchant. Sakai folded his arms across his chest. "If we need to refill our supply of tea, we know where to find you. I told you the card