Chapter 13.5: The Weight of a Silent Goodbye || Shizuka na Wakare no Omomi

  Kawamura-gumi HQ, Roppongi, Minato-ku → February 2017

  "To protect her, he could only walk away."

  Shunsuke sat in the silence of his room, the weight of his initiation job a physical pressure on his chest. He was eighteen years old but felt a thousand years older under the scrutiny of his family. In his mind, he could still hear the ghost of his brother Tsukasa’s mocking laugh, a sharp, cruel sound he'd known his entire life. Shunsuke can’t do it. He’ll come back in half an hour, begging to be spared. Or he’ll end up dead. The words were a venom he had carried for years, and they were never more present than when he stood on the precipice of a task his father and brother had deemed the ultimate test. This wasn't just a mission; it was a verdict on his worth. He drew in a long breath, forcing the memory away, and rose to his feet. His gaze flickered to his reflection in the mirror, searching the familiar, cold eyes staring back. If he completed this job, if he proved he was not the weak boy Tsukasa saw him as, maybe his father and brother would finally accept him. Maybe the pain of his past, the constant feeling of inadequacy, would finally stop. He wanted to be seen as more than just a placeholder for the son whom his father would never disown, no matter how much his actions showed otherwise.

  A firm knock rattled the door, startling him from his thoughts. He crossed the room and opened it to find Taiki standing there, his face a calm, steady presence that seemed to anchor the chaos in Shunsuke's mind.

  “Are you ready, Shunsuke?” Taiki’s voice carried a lingering warmth, a kindness that always felt out of place in this house. More than a godfather, he was the closest thing to a father Shunsuke had ever known—a silent confidant who understood the burdens he carried without ever speaking of them.

  Shunsuke nodded, determination hardening his features. His voice, when he spoke, was a low, steady rumble. “I’m ready, Satsuma-sama.”

  Taiki gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “I’ll drive you there. Your father wants the target eliminated—the Shimazu-gumi have interfered with our operations long enough.” His tone darkened as they stepped into the hallway, the formal pleasantries dropping away. “And it seems they’ve crossed other families as well, even the Nakashima-gumi.” The mention of that name caused a subtle jolt in Shunsuke, a sudden, cold awareness. “They’ve encroached on territory that isn't their own, and now they've made an enemy of everyone. If we don’t send a message first, a clear and bloody declaration, they will.” The words hung between them, a grim promise of the night to come, and the final piece of the puzzle fell into place for Shunsuke. This wasn't just about his family's honor; it was about their very survival in a world of rival gangs.

  Shunsuke followed a step behind, as was proper. Walking beside Taiki would have been a sign of disrespect, a presumption of equality that did not exist. He was a foot soldier, and Taiki, a high-ranking member of the Kawamura-gumi, was his commander. As they moved through the quiet streets, his mind was already a flurry of calculations, piecing together a plan from years of disciplined training. His fingers brushed against the tanto hidden beneath his clothes, a small, unconscious gesture to reassure himself it was still there. The familiar, cold steel was more than just a weapon; it was a physical tether to the man he had been trained to be.

  “Did Father give any instructions on how it should be done?” Shunsuke asked, his voice flat and cold, betraying none of the swirling emotions within him.

  Taiki shook his head, his face a mask of practiced indifference. “No. Only that nothing should trace back to the Kawamura-gumi. But that should go without saying.” He looked at Shunsuke, his gaze unusually direct. "You know the rules. Leave no evidence. Leave no witnesses. It's a clean slate. A ghost's work."

  Shunsuke nodded. It did. He had always understood the need for discretion, the silent violence that was the cornerstone of their world. He had no illusions about the life he was born into, but there were lines he had always believed existed, lines he would never have to cross.

  He hesitated, then asked quietly, "And if I find a prisoner? Someone who isn't a direct target?"

  Taiki glanced at him, a low chuckle escaping, a sound that held no humor, only the grim reality of their business. “Kill them. They’ve seen your face—unless we can use them as leverage. Then you bring them back here.”

  The words struck like a blade to his gut. The unspoken rule, the one he had always pretended didn't exist, was suddenly stated aloud. Shunsuke felt the nausea rise, bile burning at the back of his throat. Killing enemies, men who had signed their own death warrants by crossing his family, was one thing. Killing innocents, people who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time... his hand trembled before he forced it still. He had never been a killer. He had always been a warrior, a fighter, and a protector. But in the cold light of this mission, he was forced to confront the truth: a warrior’s first job was to kill.

  “I understand,” he said. His voice didn’t betray the shudder running through him, a single shiver of cold that had nothing to do with the chilly night air.

  ???????

  Shunsuke stood before the final door, his breath ragged, his knuckles bloodied. Every other man had been dealt with—this was the last. His hand hovered near the handle, but he froze.

  From inside, he heard it.

  Ragged breathing. Male. Grunting.

  A sound he knew too well.

  His stomach turned violently. He staggered back, bile rising in his throat, and vomited onto the floor. The noise clawed at his nerves, dredging up memories he’d buried deep. He wiped his mouth with the back of his glove, forcing himself upright, his body trembling with restrained fury.

  He didn’t hesitate again.

  With a sharp kick, the door burst open.

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  The scene inside hit him like a blade to the chest. A man hunched over the bed, startled mid-motion. And on the mattress—a girl. Unconscious. Barely covered. Her limbs limp, her body bruised.

  Shunsuke didn’t think. He didn’t calculate.

  He drew his gun and fired.

  The man dropped instantly, a lifeless heap on the floor.

  Shunsuke stood there, chest heaving, the silence deafening. He hadn’t planned to kill him. But the moment he saw her—saw what had been done, what was about to be done—his body moved before his mind could catch up.

  He wore gloves. No fingerprints. No trace.

  But the rage? That would never wash off.

  Shunsuke stepped toward her slowly, his breath shallow, his pulse thundering in his ears. She was unconscious—barely breathing, her body limp and bruised. He crouched beside her, scanning for surface wounds, careful not to touch anything that might violate her further. His hands trembled, but he forced them steady. She had already been hurt. He wouldn’t add to it.

  He shrugged off his jacket, then unbuttoned his white shirt, the fabric whispering against his skin as he peeled it away. Bare-chested now, he moved with quiet reverence, dressing her in the shirt first—gentle, deliberate, shielding her with each motion. Then he wrapped his jacket around her, cocooning her in warmth and dignity.

  Taiki’s words echoed in his mind like a curse: If you find prisoners, you kill them.

  Shunsuke stared at her face, his heart hammering against his ribs. She was young. Innocent. Not a threat. Not leverage. Just a girl who had been caught in the crossfire of monsters.

  He couldn’t do it.

  He wouldn’t.

  Stepping over the dead man’s body, he rifled through the drawers, searching for anything—papers, IDs, a name. Something to tell him who she was. But even without it, he had already decided.

  He would bring her home.

  He didn’t care what it cost him. Orders be damned.

  He would not kill an innocent girl.

  Not after this

  Shunsuke rifled through the drawers, his back to her, searching for anything—papers, a name, a clue. There had to be something.

  Then he heard it.

  A sound so soft it barely registered.

  “Please… help me.”

  Her voice was fractured, barely a whisper. Shunsuke froze, his hand still inside the drawer. He didn’t turn.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, careful, quiet.

  “I’m… from the Nakashima-gumi,” she breathed, her voice fading. She was slipping again, consciousness unraveling. Her gaze clung to the outline of his back, the ink etched into his skin.

  “A dragon…” she murmured.

  Then silence.

  Shunsuke stood frozen. Nakashima. She was from the enemy. His father would want her dragged back to the Kawamura-gumi—another pawn, another piece of leverage. And Tsukasa… Tsukasa would do to her what that monster had tried to.

  He couldn’t stomach it.

  He turned, scooped her into his arms, careful to keep her covered, stabilizing her limp body as best he could. Her weight was light, but the decision was heavy.

  He walked out of the Shimazu-gumi HQ, the air colder now, the silence louder.

  Taiki was leaning against the car, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

  “Who is she?” he asked, voice cold. “Didn’t I tell you to kill every prisoner you find?”

  Shunsuke didn’t flinch. He met Taiki’s gaze head-on.

  “She’s from the Nakashima-gumi,” he said. “And no—I won’t kill her. I’m bringing her home.”

  Taiki’s eyes narrowed. “You know what your father will do.”

  “I do,” Shunsuke said, voice steady. “And if he punishes me, then so be it. I don’t kill innocent people. And I sure as hell won’t hand her over to my brother.”

  Taiki stared at him for a long moment. Then, without a word, he opened the car door.

  Shunsuke climbed in, the girl cradled against his chest, her breath shallow, her body wrapped in his jacket.

  He didn’t know her name.

  But he knew he’d already chosen her.

  Shunsuke gently laid her down on the backseat, adjusting her limbs with care so she wouldn’t slip. Then he slid in beside her, her head resting on his lap. He steadied her with one hand, the other trembling slightly—not from cold, but from everything he’d just seen. The jacket around her shoulders had slipped, so he readjusted it, tucking it in with quiet reverence.

  Taiki pulled out his phone and dialed.

  Shunsuke’s breath caught. For a moment, he feared betrayal—that Taiki would call Shohei, report him, and undo everything.

  But then he heard the voice on the other end.

  “Nakashima.”

  Shunsuke’s eyes widened. Taiki hadn’t called his father. He’d called Yuu Nakashima—the oyabun of the Nakashima-gumi.

  “One of my men found a girl,” Taiki said, his voice low but not cold. “She claims she’s from your family. Let me guess… not older than seventeen.”

  There was a long silence. Then Yuu’s voice returned, tinged with relief—but also something sharper. Suspicion. Grief. Hope.

  “What does the Kawamura-gumi want?”

  Taiki glanced at Shunsuke, then spoke with quiet finality. “Nothing. Shunsuke Kawamura, youngest son of Shohei Kawamura, will escort her to a location of your choosing.”

  Shunsuke closed his eyes, the tension in his chest loosening just enough to let him breathe. The girl’s weight against him was light, but the choice he’d made felt heavier than anything he’d ever carried.

  ???????

  After a long, silent drive, they arrived in Ichigaya, just a few alleys from the Nakashima residence. Taiki pulled the car to a discreet stop, far enough to avoid drawing attention. It was better this way—Shunsuke would go alone.

  He stepped out carefully, the night air cool against his bare skin. Then, with quiet determination, he scooped the girl into his arms once more, cradling her gently.

  “You’re home now,” he whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear him. “I wish you all the happiness you can find.”

  As he approached the residence, the gates opened. Guards stood alert, but it wasn’t them who met him.

  It was Yuu Nakashima.

  Shunsuke bowed his head slightly, then stepped forward. “Nakashima-sama,” he said, voice firm but trembling at the edges. “I found her in the Shimazu-gumi HQ. I dressed her in my shirt and jacket—just to keep her covered.”

  Yuu’s eyes flicked to the girl in his arms. His composure held, but a crack ran through it—a tremor in his voice as he reached out.

  “Thank you, Kawamura-sama,” he said quietly. “I will never forget this.”

  Shunsuke handed her over with reverence, his arms suddenly feeling too light. He didn’t ask her name. It wasn’t his right.

  “I take my leave,” he said, bowing low.

  Then he turned and walked back toward the car, where Taiki waited in silence.

  Behind him, the gates closed.

  And the girl he had saved disappeared into the world she belonged to—a world he could never enter.