The night was heavy with an unnatural stillness as Duc Huy Nguyen approached the dilapidated apartment building tucked away in one of Tokyo’s shadowy backstreets. The air smelled of rain-soaked concrete and something faintly metallic, an omen he couldn’t quite place. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood Duc frequented, but for the task at hand, he’d follow the trail wherever it led—even here.
The cracked staircase groaned beneath his weight as he ascended to the second floor. He checked the note in his pocket, scrawled with the address he’d obtained through a network of hushed whispers and reluctant informants. Room 207. He stopped before the door, its peeling paint and rusted handle reflecting a lifetime of neglect.
Duc rapped his knuckles firmly against the wood. The sound echoed down the empty hallway. He waited, his brow furrowing as seconds stretched into a minute. No answer. Another knock, louder this time.
Still nothing.
“Great,” Duc muttered under his breath, his annoyance growing. He leaned his ear against the door, straining to pick up any sound inside. Faintly, he heard what might have been movement—a muffled shift of fabric or maybe just the creak of the building settling. Then, the faintest flicker of light through the curtained window caught his attention.
Curiosity and unease wrestled in his gut as he moved to the side window, his boots crunching against loose gravel on the balcony. Peeking through the smoky glass, Duc froze.
Inside, Yume Kui Mei and Kazuo Oni lay sprawled on the floor, their limbs limp and lifeless like discarded marionettes. The flickering light came from incense sticks burning in a haphazard array around them, their thin plumes of smoke swirling like restless spirits. At first glance, it might have looked like some bizarre meditation ritual, but Duc’s gaze fell to the needles glinting near their hands.
His stomach dropped.
Duc: Shit.
He tried the door and found it unlocked. The hinges groaned as he pushed it open, stepping into the oppressive haze of the room. The smell hit him like a sledgehammer—bitter incense mixed with the acrid tang of sweat and something faintly chemical. His instincts screamed at him to leave, but the sight of Yume and Kazuo lying deathly still overrode his better judgment.
Duc: Yume! Kazuo!
His voice was sharp, cutting through the oppressive quiet, but neither stirred. He crossed the room in three quick strides, dropping to his knees beside them. Up close, the situation was worse. Their skin was pale, their breathing shallow, their arms slack with faint puncture marks around their veins.
Duc: Goddamn it. What the hell is this?
He yanked the syringe from Yume’s hand, tossing it aside before doing the same to Kazuo. His hands shook as he grabbed Yume’s shoulders, giving her a firm shake.
Duc: Yume, wake up! Come on!
Her head lolled to the side, her lips slightly parted as if asleep. Duc turned to Kazuo, gripping the man’s collar and shaking him harder.
Duc: Kazuo! Get up, damn it!
The oppressive quiet pressed against his ears, and a sharp pang of fear shot through his chest. Were they overdosing? His eyes darted around the room, searching for anything that could help. His gaze landed on a small plastic bottle sitting on the coffee table.
Narcan.
Relief flooded his system as he snatched it up, fumbling with the cap. He knelt beside Yume first, tilting her head back as he inserted the nozzle into her nostril. One sharp spray. He moved quickly to Kazuo, repeating the process. Then, he sat back, his breath ragged as he watched them for any sign of life.
For an agonizing moment, nothing happened. The incense continued to burn, its smoke curling in ghostly patterns around the room. Then, with a sudden gasp, Yume’s chest heaved, and her eyes flew open, wide and unfocused. A second later, Kazuo groaned, his body twitching as he slowly regained consciousness.
Relief washed over Duc, but it was short-lived. Yume’s dazed gaze locked onto him, and her expression twisted between confusion and anger.
Yume: What... what are you doing here?
Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but the edge of accusation was clear. Duc glared at her, his own frustration boiling over.
Duc: What am I doing here? Saving your damn lives! You were out cold with needles in your arms. Do you even realize how close you came to dying?
Kazuo stirred, his hand weakly reaching for his temple as he struggled to sit up. His voice was a low growl, still thick with grogginess.
Kazuo: We... didn’t need saving.
Duc stared at him, incredulous.
Duc: You’ve got to be kidding me. You call this fine? Look around, Kazuo! I find you two lying here like corpses, incense burning like it’s some kind of ritual, and you expect me to believe this is normal?
Yume pushed herself into a seated position, wincing as she did. Her gaze darted to Kazuo, then to the Narcan bottle in Duc’s hand. A flash of realization crossed her face, quickly masked by a scowl.
Yume: You shouldn’t have come in. You had no right.
Duc’s jaw tightened, and his patience was wearing thin.
Duc: No, right? You’re lucky I didn’t call an ambulance! What the hell is going on here, Yume? Don’t try to tell me this is nothing.
The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken truths. Yume and Kazuo exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. When Yume turned back to Duc, her expression was guarded.
Yume: We don’t owe you an explanation. Now tell us, why are you here?
Duc’s jaw tightened, and his patience was wearing thin.
Duc: No, right? You’re lucky I didn’t call an ambulance! What the hell is going on here, Yume? Don’t try to tell me this is nothing.
The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken truths. Yume and Kazuo exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Before either could respond, a faint creak echoed from the hallway.
The door swung open with a deliberate groan.
Takeshi Nakamura stepped inside, his suit immaculate and his polished shoes incongruous against the filthy floor. He moved with predatory ease, a chilling smile playing on his lips as he raised a gun, pointing it casually toward the trio.
Takeshi: My, my. Isn’t this cozy? Nguyen-san, you’ve been quite busy, haven’t you?
The room froze. Yume’s breath hitched, her gaze darting to the gun in Takeshi’s hand. Kazuo’s lips curled into a snarl, but his body was still sluggish, betraying his earlier bravado. Duc instinctively stepped between them and Takeshi, his hands raising slightly—not in surrender, but in a calculated attempt to de-escalate the situation.
Duc: Takeshi Nakamura. To what do we owe the pleasure?
Takeshi’s smile widened, his dark eyes glinting with malice as he took a deliberate step forward. The gun stayed steady, aimed directly at Duc’s chest.
Takeshi: Pleasure? Oh no, Nguyen-san. This is strictly business. You see, Yamamoto-sama doesn’t appreciate when his enemies start playing recruiter. Especially not in his city.
Duc’s jaw clenched, but his tone remained calm.
Duc: I’m here for a conversation, not a conspiracy. If Yamamoto-sama thinks otherwise, he’s mistaken.
Takeshi chuckled, a low, menacing sound that echoed off the cracked walls.
Takeshi: Oh, I’m sure. You’re always so good with your words, Nguyen. Always trying to rally the troops, stir the pot. But you see, Yamamoto doesn’t need to hear what you say. He’s more interested in what you do. And right now, what you’re doing… well, it’s not looking very smart.
He leveled the gun at Duc’s face, his finger grazing the trigger. For a moment, the tension was unbearable, the silence in the room suffocating. Then Takeshi’s hand shifted, and the gun fired. The deafening crack shattered the air, and Yume screamed as the bullet struck the wall inches from Duc’s head. Takeshi laughed, his shoulders shaking with the sound, as if the whole thing were a grand joke.
Takeshi: Relax! If I wanted you dead, Nguyen, you wouldn’t even know it was coming. No, no, I’m just here to remind you—and your little friends here—that this is a dangerous game you’re playing. You think you can unite these rejects and challenge Yamamoto-sama? Challenge Tanaka? You’re delusional.
Kazuo growled, his fists balling despite the tremors in his arms.
Kazuo: You think you can scare us into submission? You don’t know who you’re messing with.
Takeshi turned his gaze to Kazuo, his expression cooling into something more predatory.
Takeshi: Oh, I know exactly who I’m messing with. Yume Kui Mei, the lost dreamer who can’t outrun her demons. Kazuo Oni, the brute who thinks his fists can solve problems his brain can’t even comprehend. And you—Nguyen, the so-called Ruthless Dragon, clinging to scraps of glory long since faded.
His voice dropped, taking on an edge of venom.
Takeshi: You’re all broken. And Yamamoto-sama doesn’t lose sleep over broken things.
He raised the gun again, firing twice in rapid succession. The shots were deafening, but the bullets tore harmlessly into the wall behind them. Takeshi grinned, his teeth flashing like a predator toying with its prey.
Takeshi: But if you insist on pushing your luck, well... next time, the bullets won’t miss.
Duc stepped forward, his voice calm but steely.
Duc: You’ve made your point. But you tell Yamamoto and Tanaka this: threats only work on people with something to lose. We’ve already been discarded, broken, and left for dead. What else can they take from us?
Takeshi’s grin faltered for a moment before returning, colder this time.
Takeshi: You’re bold, Nguyen. I’ll give you that. But boldness without power? It’s suicide. Enjoy your little rebellion while it lasts.
He tucked the gun into his jacket and turned to leave, pausing at the doorway to glance back at them.
Takeshi: Oh, and one last thing. If by some miracle you lot manage to win the Ronin Rumble, I’ll be back. And next time? It won’t just be me.
With that, he disappeared into the hallway, his footsteps echoing down the stairwell until they faded into silence. The room was still for several moments, the tension hanging like a storm cloud. Yume’s hands trembled as she reached for a discarded blanket, wrapping it around herself like armor. Kazuo leaned heavily against the wall, his breathing ragged but his eyes burning with fury.
Kazuo: That bastard. That is what we’re up against?
Duc turned to face them, his expression grave.
Duc: That’s just the beginning. If you think Yamamoto and Tanaka will stop at threats, you’re kidding yourselves. They’ll come after anyone who dares to stand against them.
Yume’s gaze flickered between Duc and the door, her voice unsteady but defiant.
Yume: And what about us? You came here to recruit us, right? To drag us into this mess?
Duc stepped closer, lowering his voice.
Duc: I came here because I know what Tanaka and Yamamoto took from you. They left you for dead, just like they did me. But we can turn the tables. Together, we can make them pay.
Kazuo pushed off the wall, his fists tightening.
Kazuo: If we say no, what then? You leave us to rot while you play hero?
Duc met his gaze evenly.
Duc: No. I’ll walk away. But if you’re tired of being hunted, tired of being treated like trash, you’ll know where to find me. Midnight. Graffiti Alley.
Kazuo and Yume exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Kazuo let out a low growl, nodding.
Kazuo: Fine. We’ll be there. But don’t get cocky, Nguyen. Next time, make sure you’re not being followed. You bring Yamamoto’s thugs to us again, and it’s your head on the line.
Duc nodded, relief flickering in his eyes.
Duc: Understood.
He turned to leave, pausing at the door to glance back at them.
Duc: And one more thing. Whatever’s going on here—whatever you’re fighting—I can’t fix it for you. But I’ve got your back when it counts. Don’t forget that.
Without waiting for a response, he stepped into the hallway, the door creaking shut behind him. Inside, Yume and Kazuo sat silently, the flickering incense casting long shadows across the room. The fight ahead felt insurmountable, but for the first time in a long time, they weren’t facing it alone.