The dark haired man looks up just as Riin slides into the passenger seat of his black Aston Martin, her black wedges clicking against the pavement as she gallops out of the front entrance of the expansive manor. He frowns as she puffs several breaths from running, her raven locks thick and fallen into her face as she shuts the door. She turns to him with a wide smile, her chest heaving.
“You walk awfully fast,” she says.
“Get out,” he commands, turning to start the engine.
“Wow, that’s rude,” she retorts, crossing her arms, stretching the pink sleeves of her cardigan over her palms. Riin ignores him as she pulls at the seat belt, wrapping it around herself. “If you’re this mean, no wonder girls go sleep with other guys.”
Jaejoong sighs, and turns to her with a light frown. “I am sorry. But there is something urgent I have to handle, and you should not be in the presence of someone like myself.”
“Well, wherever you are going, you can give me a ride,” Riin says, pulling her cell phone out of her jean pockets and checking the messages. “It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll be with you, and then I won’t heave to deal with Kamenashi following me around. It’s unbearably taxing to have some man you don’t know tag around twenty-four seven.”
“I told you not to call me that,” she says.
“Ojou…please…I have matters I must deal with,” he states plainly. “Go.”
“I’m going to go meet Yunho, so you can just drop me off. It’s in the city, we’re meeting at the Rising Sun, so the moment I’ll get out of the car, our people will be there to pick me up. I already sent a text to oppa,” she says, waving her phone about. “I don’t want to have anymore people following me. I’m tired. It won’t be out of your way.”
“Ojou…” he says threateningly, turning his sharp gaze on her. But she only smiles at him ambivalently.
“Just go. You’re just wasting time trying to argue with me, because I’m not getting out of this car,” she shoots back. “Don’t worry. I’ll be good. I swear. It’s just one ride, Jae ah…” Jaejoong sighs, but relents as he pulls out of the manor and into the busy
Riin watches the older man carefully as the car roars down through the highway, speeding fast and furious.
With her wide inquisitive eyes, Riin lingers on the lines of Jaejoong’s face—the shape of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the colour of his lips, the hues of his eyes. Some part of him reminded her still of that little boy she met one rainy night, but at the same time, she knew he wasn’t and would never again be that child. This wasn’t the Jaejoong she had grown up knowing. This Jaejoong, dressed in black, was created one dark night as Riin looked through a door and watched a tattooist carve the mark of the yakuza into his back.
“I’m sorry…about Tiffany…” she says softly, looking forward at the road.
“Why are you apologizing?” Jaejoong asks, genuinely surprised by her remark—Riin could tell, because not many things ever really surprised him.
“I feel like I should, I don’t know,” she answers. “I’m just…” She pauses. “Are you…okay with this whole thing?”
He pauses for a moment. “It is really no concern of mine. We never involved in any way,” he answers finally, and she knows he means it. And for some reason it made her sad to hear him say such words. “My only concern is the family and the situation with the Yoshio-kai. So you have nothing to worry about, ojou. I know what you are thinking…none of it affects me in any way…”
“And that makes me worried even more,” she says. “Jaejoong…I don’t see you a lot, so all I can do is assume based on what people are telling me…and I’m…I’m worried about you.”
“I know—you always worry about me,” the dark haired man articulates. “But you need not. You should take care of yourself first, not to get yourself into anymore trouble…”
“I can take care of myself just fine,” she placates. “But…are you angry? Upset with her?”
“No,” he states simply. “She is of no concern of mine. How she chooses to live her life is her decision.”
“I thought you said you were going to be good,” he remarks in an almost amused voice. “And being good means no talking.”
She laughs lightly. “I never said I was going to stay good…” she pauses. “I heard…from Yukie-unnie…about your mother. She said…one of the detectives wanted to meet with you, and I think you should go see him.”
Jaejoong is an unreadable book, made from strange metaphors and Braille, but Riin had known him long enough to pick up on the subtle little details. He tensed, for a fraction of a second, before returning to his stoic self, but does not respond to her words. “Jaejoong…” Riin says softly, “…why didn’t you tell me about it? We’re friends, aren’t we? You know you can trust me, but you never tell me anything, and I’m left guessing half the time. You can’t expect me not worry about you if I don’t know what’s happening.” She pauses. “We haven’t so much as spent so much as an hour together for four years…unless you count that thing with Tokiya.”
The dark haired man sighs softly as they stop in front of a stop light. “Riin…things are not as simple as they used to be,” he explains softly. “I cannot tell you everything; that is expecting too much of me. There are responsibilities I must now live up to, things outside of myself which I must care for. I cannot expect to live the life I used to live. I have things, very important things, that I must do now. I have people who have expectations of me.” He turns to her for moment as the light turns green. “We are not children anymore, Riin ah…”
She smiles at him sadly as he turns; the car speeds down the streets of
“You know…” she says. “You never call me by my name anymore. You should. It’s not like us growing up means my name magically changed to ojou.” She grins as Jaejoong chuckles lightly. “I know…I know things have changed, but I don’t want us to change…”
“…we are not changing…” Jaejoong answers quietly.
“We are, and it scares me, because I miss my friend…” she says. “I miss…when you, me and oppa used to play hide and seek…I miss playing in the snow together…I miss going to summer festivals—I haven’t gone to one in years, you know? I feel…I’m afraid we’re losing all of that.” The raven haired girl stops and turns forward, unable to look at Jaejoong. “I miss when you called me Riin…I don’t like being just ojou. And I’m not. I’m not like Boa, or Ara. I’m not a Hayashi daughter, as much as I love appa, I’m not like them…and I don’t want you to treat me like that. I don’t…I don’t want you to see me as that.”
“I do not…”
“Then really, what am I to you?” she says, a tint of irritation in her voice. She sighs as the car pulls to a stop in front of the Rising Sun. The two sit in silence for moments. “Jaejoong…I’m worried about you, and I just…with everything happening, you can’t expect me not to worry about you.” She sighs helpless, and turns to him with a soft smile. “I care about you, Jaejoong, and so it makes me worried. And you’re right. We aren’t children anymore, and I’m not sure how to do anything for you if you won’t let me…”
But before Jaejoong could respond, Riin steps out of the car. She’s approached by several enforcers who guide her into the Rising Sun, leaving the dark haired man to ponder her words in silence.
“Don’t panic,” Changmin murmurs to himself standing in front of a screen door. “Don’t panic. Don’t panic.”
Changmin shrieks and jumps, turning to find his cousin Ikki staring at him in confusion and curiousity. Ikki is an impressively tall man, with warm eyes. He, Changmin found, looked little like his sister Yeonhee, who was light and fair. In fact, Changmin had always been told he looked somewhat similar to both Ikki and Sho, his Aunt Mariko’s eldest boys. “Ah, Min ah, you look a lot like Sho and Ikki. Probably because you are so much like their mother,” his father once said. “You and Mari are a lot a like, you know…you’re both wry and snarky and talk back. You could learn a lot from her.”
But the thing was, Changmin was absolutely terrified of his Aunt Mariko, and with good reason. In fact, Changmin was pretty sure everyone in the family was afraid of Hayashi Mariko.
“Aniki…” he exhales in relief. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, Kazuo,” Ikki smiles. “But what are you doing here? Are you looking for oka-sama?”
Changmin gulps and nods. “Y-Yeah…is…is Aunt Mariko here?”
“Yeah…but what are you doing here?” Ikki asks. “This is my office…”
“O-Oh…I didn’t know…” the dark haired boy admits. “I thought it’d be just like the branch house, but…it’s all really confusing, aniki…”
“Well, if you visited more you’d know it,” the older man jokes, leading his younger cousin down the hall with him. “C’mon. I’ll take you to okaa-sama. She should be finishing up a meeting with Uncle Ken.”
Obediently, the dark haired boy follows after his older cousin, taking in the vast
But Changmin would much rather be talking to his Uncle Takeshi than his Aunt Mariko.
Changmin had spoken very little to all the heads of the main house through the years, the only exception being at New Years and holidays, when formal greetings were enforced by his very traditional older sister. Changmin found his uncles all very fearsome, but Hayashi Mariko—the Matriarch of the Hayashi Clan—was something else entirely.
The oldest of the main family, she essentially ran the family side of the Hayashi-gumi, overseeing everyone that lived on the manor. She was easily the second most powerful of the family. Changmin’s father often called his cousin the Red Phoenix, an image that had become synonymous with the name Hayashi Mariko within the yakuza Underworld—“Because that’s what’s she’s like, Min ah,” his father Tsutomu would say, “strong, glorious, beautiful, fearsome, and undefeatable. That’s why the phoenix is her horimono There’s none like your Aunt Mari. She would have made a fine Kumicho.”
But, of course, as the boy learned later on through the years, his father’s version of his Aunt only scratched the surface of the Red Phoenix of the Hayashi-gumi.
She was a quiet woman, not petite or very tall, with eyes made of black iron and a calm, yet strong voice that sounded like a heavy temple bell. Changmin has never seen her really smile or cry or portray any emotion, really. Her eyes were particularly terrifying, as if she could pierce one’s soul with a look. She was far more conservative than either of her brothers, and infamous for her violent methods of punishment and adherence to yakuza traditions. There was a story about her that his cousin Yunho liked to tell about their aunt.
“There was a man working in the family, a shatei named Yonizuka Toshio. He had brutally raped one of the girls that worked in the brothels. It was the first time something like this had ever happened—back then, Aunt Mariko had sole power over the brothels of the family…I know Boa handles things now, but I’m pretty sure Aunt Mariko still controls everything,” Yunho explained. “But anyways…so Yonizuka raped one of the girls that worked for Aunt Mariko…totally ruined her, broke her inside and out…Aunt Mariko found out, and of course he had to be punished. An example had to be set, to make sure no one did something like this again…do you know what she did?”
“No…” Changmin, age twelve and a half at the time, asked innocently. “What did she do? Did she kill him?”
Yunho had smirked darkly, and replied, “Oh nothing as kind as that. No…she really punished him—it’s kind of her job in the family now…well, I didn’t see it for myself, but this is what Seiji-nii told me…she had him nailed to the floor by his tongue and hands and feet. Then, she had his gentiles flogged till his balls fell off. Finally, as a last act of embarrassment, she had his thumbs cut off and the word ‘rapist’ branded across his forehead…and then she sent him on his way…no one knows what happened to him after that…and no one has dared to disrespect Aunt Mariko in any way.”
It Hayashi Takeshi was the grand puppet master, his sister was the executioner—unflinching, merciless, and absolutely terrifying. And following his cousin Ikki down the hall, towards his Aunt, Changmin could not help but shiver in fear and memory at Yunho’s story.
“Here we are,” Ikki says with a smile. “She’s meeting with Uncle Ken just down the hall. I have to go meet Sho-nii for something…will be okay? You’re pale as a ghost, Kazuo…”
Changmin gulped. “I’m okay…” he squeaks. “I-I-I’ll be fine, nii-san…”
Ikki chuckles and shakes his hand, patting the younger man on the shoulder. “My mom isn’t that scary,” he says as he departs, leaving Changmin alone.
“Yeah, she’s your mom, obviously you don’t think she’s a dragon lady,” the boy remarks to himself. He sighs tiredly as he approaches the door. “Well, it’s now or never, Changmin. Just do it. She’s your aunt. She won’t kill you…” He pauses before the screen door and clears his throat.
“You may enter,” came a low, female voice, making the dark haired boy jump. Nervously, he slides open the screen door to find his Aunt, her hair tied up in a loose, formal bun. She was dressed in a black tomesode, decorating at the bottom with silver flowers. She was the picture of an
“I-uh-well-that is…” he stutters. “My-My-My oyaji…told me…to come…and speak to you about…about…well, he gave me a letter to give to you…” He fumbles from his pocket a crinkly letter and shakingly hands it to his aunt. “Sorry…it’s so crinkled…”
Mariko smoothes it in her hands and opens it gingerly. Her eyes pass over the words of the letter Tsutomu had written her. She gives no reaction, but Changmin notices her brows raising. “It appears my brother wishes to have you sit in the seat of the saiko-komon in the next meeting…and listen for him…” she says, looking up at the boy. “How do you feel about this, Changmin?”
“Well-Well…I…well…it was father’s idea…” he admits.
“If you do not wish to do this, tell your father so, Changmin,” she says firmly. “You are far too young to be involved in matters of the clan, anyways…I do not know what Tsutomu was thinking…the cancer must have really deteriorated his brain…”
Changmin frowns, feeling a twinge of irritation at her words. “Father’s not delusional,” he says, finding a strange surge of defiance. “He wants me to listen for him, that’s all. I’m being his ears, and who could possibly be better at that than his son? I mean…everyone in the family is treating him like he’s already dead, but he isn’t, and there’s nothing this family needs more right now than my father’s brain, and I assure you, it works just fine.”
Mariko stares at the Changmin, whose eyes widen in shock at his verbal vomit, gulping nervously. “B-But if I get to sit in on the next meeting is completely up to you, Aunt Mariko…that’s what father said…it’s your choice…so…I mean, you did say I was too young…and…”
And then, to his surprise, his aunt smiles. “Stop stuttering as if you are afraid of me, Changmin,” she says kindly. “I don’t know what stories you’ve been hearing, but I am your aunt, and so you have no reason to fear me…and as for this situation with your father…” She sighs, looking at the letter. “I will have to persuade the members of the council, because you so young and so…not part of this world, but if you wish to be your father’s ears, like a good son, I will do my best to appease his wishes…”
“T-Thanks, Aunt Mariko…” Changmin says.
“Come…let us go see that daughter of mine, shall we?” says the elderly woman. “Yuhi would enjoy the company. She has seemed awfully lonely lately.”
“S-Sure…” he stutters, following her out of the room. “Um…Aunt…Aunt Mariko?”
The woman turns to her with a curious grin—a private smile—something peculiar that did not seem like it belonged on her face. It was the same smile his father shared.
“What do you think, Changmin?”
And with those words, he was sure all of it was true.
Jaejoong has had many jobs over the years, but nearly all of them have ended the same way, with a man dead on the floor, the blood pouring out of him like a river. His education in the world of the yakuza, as he liked to think of it, began the moment he saw the steel black eyes—so much like his own—of Hayashi Takeshi, but he did not make his bones till he was fifteen. For as long as he remembers, he had been taught the ways of the bushido, trained for combat like a samurai, loyal only to the master who saved him from Hell.
Jaejoong thinks he would never forget that first man he killed at the age of fifteen; he would never forget the look of his eyes as he died in his hands. He had been a lieutenant that was a rat for the cops, telling the police of the family’s various operations. Jaejoong had been instructed to dispose of him, by any means, and make sure he disappeared and did not come back. Young Jaejoong, with his black hair and dark eyes, remembering the words of his mentors, planned everything meticulously.
His first time was a lot sloppier than he had anticipated, and because it was his first time, he did not expect there to be so much blood. He did not expect the body to be so heavy. All these things he remembered and helped improve his next job. He improved quickly and skillfully, and he had made his master proud. (The lieutenant was never seen again.)
The kill had given Jaejoong a rush, a thrill, which awakened some dark part of his soul that he has always kept locked. Even as a child, Jaejoong always knew he wasn’t like other people—that there was something about himself that was dangerous, something that sought, by nature, power. It was primal, and it was ugly, but as Hayashi Takeshi once told him, “That is what you are, Jaejoong, do not deny yourself. There is chaos in all of us, and it is the source of our power and our doom. Do not let it be your doom, but let it be your strength. The thing which makes you far more than a mere mortal.”
And Jaejoong never has—and he thinks all those years of education has made him what he is now: a ghostly thing that stalked the streets of
He was an invisible man in a kingdom of millions.
Jaejoong has had a variety of tasks over the years, being called upon by many for his unique set of skills.
But today, it was different—he knew it, because he was distracted; something about today was off. He could not stop thinking about Riin or her words, and it was stirring something inside of him; made the vast ocean waters within turbulent and unsettled. “Never feel when you kill, that must always be instinct,” Hayashi Tsutomu had once told him. “You must not be a man when you take another’s life. In that moment, you must be a weapon, a sharp precise blade that delivers a swift blow. In that moment, you must reject all that makes you alive.”
Jaejoong exhales a small sigh as he makes his way through the dark halls of a dingy little brothel. The air was filled with the stench of blood and sweat and urine. He blends into the shadows of the walls like a chameleon; no one notices him, and he passes the people by like a pale apparition. Revolting lust-filled noises echoed from the rooms he passed, but he ignores them all—that is not his concern. The object of his desire was a fifty-four year old man named Onizuka Fujimaru, who in a few more moments would be dead.
A small voice stops Jaejoong. He feels a hand at his foot, holding onto him. He turns to see a woman with dark oily hair, bruised eyes, and bloodied lips, limp on the floor as she clings to his leg. She’s a prostitute, her skin dark—Jaejoong guessed she was Thai. There are tears in her wide brown eyes as she stares at him, her body trembling as she begs, “Help…”
As he stares at her, the colour of her brown eyes, there is a flash in his mind—a sharp, sudden echo of the colour of his mother’s eyes, of Riin’s eyes. And he knew, abruptly, his illusion was broken.
“Crap,” he curses, spinning around just fast enough to see Onizuka Fujimaru, a large beastly man who stood nearly seven feet tall moving towards him like lightening. He grabs Jaejoong by the throat, who struggles before Onizuka hurls him into the wall. Jaejoong grunts as he hits the wall, falling hard onto the ground, tasting copper inside his mouth. He tries to move, but Onizuka is too fast, bringing his hands together into a fish, smashing Jaejoong against his back.
The pain is booming, as if a hammer had just attacked his body. Before Onizuka brings down his hammer hands again, Jaejoong swings his leg, knocking Onizuka onto his back. Jaejoong rises weakly, his back slumped against the wall as he pulls out his gun. But before he could shoot, Onizuka knocks the gun out of his hands, wrapping his large fat fists around Jaejoong’s neck like a python’s grip, lifting him up into the air.
Jaejoong could feel his body constrict; he readies his fist, and rapidly punches Onizuka several times in the gut. But the fat man just smirks greasily, unmoved. Jaejoong readies his hands again, his middle and forefinger extended, and plunges them into Onizuka’s eyes. The man screams as he falls on his back, clutching his eyes. Jaejoong leans against the wall as he gasps for breath, his hand trembling against his throat.
But he has little time to waste; Onizuka rises again, his eyes visibly red, cursing wildly, and charges at Jaejoong. But the other man is smaller, faster. He ducks away from Onizuka’s hands, his body moving instinctually from the years of aikido and jujustu, striking hard at the fat man’s face with his fists. Jaejoong beats back Onizuka with all the force in his body, and each hit sends the fat man stumbling backwards, his face bloodied, until Jaejoong delivers a final blow, striking Onizuka in the throat with his foot, breaking the fat man’s windpipe.
Onizuka falls to the ground hard, choking before he stops moving all together. Jaejoong heaves deep breathes as he stares at the fat man, his hair tainted with sweat and falling into his eyes, hands trembling and bloody and raw as if he has punched a wall. He moves to pick up his gun, noticing in this moment the scared prostitute crying in the corner, looking at him as if he were a monster.
Jaejoong breathes heavily as he walks past the fallen body of Onizuka Fujimaru, unlocking the safety of the gun. He knew that a dozen men were waiting for him outside.
He sighs. This was not a good day.
Jiyong rushes down a concrete hallway of the Hayashi’s underground bunker, Seungri barely able to keep up with him. At the end of the hall, with a roll of shatei lined up against the gray walls by a door, Jiyong spots Koki and Sungmin chatting about nervously. “Is it true?” he asks, his voice anxious, eyes wide. “Is it true? About Hyunjoong?” Sungmin makes a face. Jiyong runs a hand through his hair and curses as Seungri stands behind him, looking around curiously. “Jesus fuck, what the hell was the guy thinking…”
“I dunno, but it’s not looking good,” Koki remarks as he crosses his arms. “Teru-sama is way pissed. I mean seriously pissed. Like he’s gonna probably cut someone’s eye out and eat it kind of pissed. He left things to Seunghyun, Hankyung and Kangin right now. He wants Hyunjoong alive though, so he can deal with him…it’s not pretty…Hankyung-nii’s here to keep Seunghyun from completely wailing on Hyunjoong.”
“So what the fuck are you guys doing here? I’d expected just TOP’s guys here…I only just heard it from Kangin-hyung…” Jiyong asks curiously. “Who’d you guys hear it from?”
“Leeteuk dropped it down the grapevine, so I heard it from him,” Sungmin grits his teeth and bits his nails. “Man, he said Boa is so crazy bat-shit angry right now. You heard what she did to Tiff?” He shakes his head. “I mean, the two of them probably knew it was coming, but still. That was all kinds of harsh and pissy.”
“But c’mon, it’s not just screwing over one of the working girls…that’s the oyabun’s fucking baby daughter, what’ja expect, Min-chan?” Koki asks in amusement. “I’m fucking surprised the oyabun hasn’t made an example of him yet. Heard any word from up top?”
“Dunno. Boa went and dealt with this personally. She met with the oyabun,” Sungmin says. “God knows what went on. Man, they are so gonna fuck Hyunjoong over. Dammit, what a fucking douche. God, I have no idea what the hell he was thinking…”
“God only knows…” Jiyong says.
“What are you girls yapping about?” came a sharp voice.
Jiyong turns to see an unhappy Heechul, his mouth chewing on a cigarette, a few men behind him. He blows the smoke into Jiyong’s face before throwing it on the ground careless. “So, what’s the news, ladies? Did y’all come and see the spectacle that Seunghyun’s making of Hyunjoong?”
“Kind of,” Sungmin admits almost cheerily. “What’s hyung doing here?”
“Gonna talk over some stuff with Hankyung and Kangin and Seunghyun…” he says as he pulls a lollipop out of his pocket and shoves it into his mouth. “Is it bad? What’s he doing?”
“We dunno, aniki,” Koki replies. “They’ve been in there for a while now. But the door’s been closed, so…”
Heechul sighs and rolls his eyes. “God, you pansies.” He walks over to the metal door and bangs on it hard. “Open Sesame the fucking door! It’s the Almighty Heenim!”
Slowly, the heavy metal door swings open, revealing the face of a curious Kangin. Standing far off in the left corner of the isolated room was Hankyung, arms crossed over his chest nonchalantly as he leaned against the wall. In the center, however, stood a bloodied and beaten Hyunjoong, his head hanging, face so bruised and covered with blood that it was completely unrecognizable. His arms were tied behind his back and he strapped to a chair. There were cuts all across his body, with a few fingers tossed carelessly on the floor in a pool of blood. Before him looms Seunghyun, dressed in black, his dark hair falling into his murderous eyes. He heaves deep breaths, his hands adorned with brass knuckles, covered in blood.
Heechul tisks lightly as he enters the room, toying the lollipop in his mouth as he cross his arms. Seunghyun turns to him with a low growl of acknowledge as Hankyung raises a hand in short wave. Heechul stalks up to the other man, with Kangin joining them as Seunghyun returns to the task at hand.
“You fucking idiot!” he roars as slams his fist across Hyunjoong’s face. “I mean, seriously, we are talking about fucking Ara not some whore!”
“Although Ara is a little bit of a little slut,” Heechul quips quietly to Hankyung, who chuckles in spite of himself. “Seriously, that girl gets around…”
“Don’t let Boa hear you say that. Nee-san is on the war path,” Kangin says.
“Is that why you’re here?” Heechul asks, popping his candy at Kangin as the sickening sound of blood and flesh and metal echo through the concrete room. “I mean, I get Han-chan, so I assume Boa sent you?”
Kangin nods. “She asked, I agreed. Simple. She wants to make sure Seunghyun doesn’t go easy on the guy, but…as you can tell…Seunghyun has kind of lost it…” He scratches the back of his head as the three men turn to see Seunghyun attacking Hyunjoong viciously. “Hyung told him Hyunjoong’s probably already unconscious, but he hasn’t listened. But man, he really lost face. This probably is just as bad as with Ryo.” Kangin turns back to the fair haired man. “So whatcha doing here, Heechul? Having fun? Bored?”
“Nope. I came here about our little friend named Junsu,” he grins. “He should have just about made his move.”
Hankyung chuckles as he turns to him. “You just sent a lamb to pack of cannibalistic wolves. Nice going. But c’mon, I can’t believe you are still going with this plan. Do you really think Lee Hom is that dumb?”
“Oh yeah, I do. That boy is not bright. He won’t tell. I’ve got a man in his ranks giving Junsu some backing, so it’ll be okay.”
“What if Junsu gets found out? Do you really want a dead kid on your hands?” Hankyung reprimands lightly.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got my ass covered. I’ll look after him,” Heechul smiles. “It’ll be good. That kid’s not that different from his brother. If that Junho prick has the balls to rip us off, little Junsu has the balls to play. He’ll be fine. I’ve taught him well.”
“What do you mean you taught him well?” Hankyung asks, eyes narrowing.
“Just this and that,” the dark haired man replies. “I wasn’t gonna send him in with his dick in his hands. How shitty of a human being do you think I am?”
“Pretty shitty,” Hankyung grins.
“Fuck you!” Heechul laughs. “But seriously, don’t worry. I’ll be taking good care of that kid. Just think about it; the last guy I had under my graciously beautiful wing was Jiyong, and look how well he turned out. Don’t worry, Kyungie…Your Chullie’s got it covered,” he says, swinging an affectionate arm across the taller man’s shoulders.
“I hope so…” Hankyung says as the three men turn back to Seunghyun as he continues his assault on Hyunjoong. He sighs. “You think I should tell him to stop?”
The three pause and look at each other before cracking into wide grins. “Nah.”
1) Tattoos mark the yakuza and represent their entry. They are called horimono.
2) Tomesode: Japanese traditional wear for women.
3) Katana: Japanese word for "sword"