Kenjiro Muto sat back in his leather chair, the light above flickering faintly. The stench of smoke, blood, and expensive alcohol hung thick in the air. He looked like a man forged from concrete—scarred knuckles, stiff posture, and a heavy presence that didn't need to raise its voice to command silence. His tailored shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled, forearms marked by old burns and tattoos half-faded with age. A tumbler of whisky sat before him, half-empty, untouched for now.
Beside him stood a younger man—lean, clean-cut, clearly the subordinate—arms folded behind his back. The room was heavy with tension. Jin could hear distant moans from injured thugs echoing below, some dragging themselves across the corridors. The silence up here, by contrast, was surgical.
The subordinate finally broke it. "Sir, no deaths reported. All injuries. Serious... but no fatalities."
Kenjiro nodded once and poured himself a drink. The amber liquid caught the light. He took the shot in a single motion, slamming the glass back down with a sharp clink.
"Alright, kid," he said without looking. "You said you wanted to talk. So talk."
Jin sat across from him, still breathing hard, a cut above his brow slowly bleeding. His bomber jacket was torn at the shoulder. He sat straight, eyes sharp.
"You kidnapped a father and daughter today," Jin said evenly. "I want them released , i will pay money."
Kenjiro's brow furrowed slightly. He turned to his man.
The subordinate answered without emotion. "Man owed three months of loan payments. He said it was for his daughter's tuition. We brought him in. Scheduled him for sorting and packing. The girl was to handle street delivery—low risk, easy routes."
Kenjiro looking at jin " family "
Jin " Neighours "
Kenjiro eyes shot at Jin. "So you're telling me… you stormed my building, beat my men, wrecked my operations… over a family that isn't even yours?"
"They're good neighbors."
Kenjiro's eyes narrowed, something cold flashing behind them. "Neighbors." He tasted the word like a bitter fruit. "I see. So that explains it."
"I asked to talk," Jin said. "Your men weren't interested at front ."
Kenjiro stared for a long second, then leaned back and cracked his knuckles. "Hmm."
He gestured to his subordinate. "Go. Bring the girl. Her father. And the idiot at the gate."
The man nodded and left.
Kenjiro poured another drink and slid the bottle across the table to Jin. "Drink?"
"I'm still growing," Jin said flatly.
Kenjiro "Fair enough."
He took another shot and exhaled sharply. Then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes gleaming like glass knives.
"Tell me something, kid. You came in here, ran through twenty-five of my guys like a damn terminator… Why didn't you kill anyone?"
Jin didn't blink. "Because I didn't want to."
"That simple?"
"I don't get to decide who lives and who dies. I'm not God."
Kenjiro laughed. A low, heavy sound. "You're not God, but you sure played the Reaper downstairs."
"I fought to protect. Not to take."
Kenjiro's expression shifted. His mouth tightened, his tone dropped .
"You preech like a monk but fight like a mercenary. That's hard to buy, boy."
Jin shrugged. "I'm telling you what I believe."
Kenjiro leaned back again, eyes distant. "You know what matters most to men like me?"
Jin said nothing.
Kenjiro raised his glass. "Reputation. It's worth more than money. More than territory. Lose your reputation, you're meat in the street."
A knock came at the door.
"Come in," Kenjiro said without turning.
The door opened. The subordinate returned, followed by two guards. Between them, Muten and Kuno stood disheveled—wrists bound, clothes rumpled, faces drawn with exhaustion. Kuno's cheek was bruised. Muten's lip bled.
The moment their eyes met Jin's, both froze.
"Jin…?" Muten whispered.
"Jin-oniisan…?" Kuno's voice cracked with disbelief.
Man shush them and move them forward .
Kenjiro stood up.
Without a word, he slugged the guard across the jaw, sending him crashing into the wall. The man collapsed, blood pouring from his nose.
Then—without emotion—Kenjiro drew a pistol from his waistband.
He raised it.
And fired.
The second guard's chest exploded in red mist. He crumpled before anyone could react.
Jin stood instinctively. The room shifted. the Man reached for his sidearm.
Jin lunged forward, instinct screaming. He grabbed the subordinate hand as he reached for his weapon, twisted his wrist, and disarmed him mid-motion. In a single fluid movement, Jin turned the gun and leveled it at Kenjiro's head.
The gangster didn't flinch.
"Go on," he said quietly. "Pull the trigger. But I swear on my life—I'll shoot the brat before I go down."
His pistol shifted slightly—now pointing at Kuno.
Jin's breath caught.
Muten stepped in front of his daughter without hesitation, shielding her with his body.
The silence was deafening.
Kenjiro's voice returned, calm, almost kind. "Put it down. Let's not end it this way. You said you wanted to talk, didn't you? . I also want to talk"
Jin's hands shook. Slowly, he lowered the weapon and tossed it aside. It clattered against the floor.
He returned to the couch. Kenjiro sat down again, holstering his revolver.
"You got Talent," he said. "So I'm gonna offer you something… Chance."
He reached under the table and pulled out a small wooden box. Opened it.
Inside—a single revolver. Six chambers. One bullet.
Kenjiro smiled.
"Let's play a little game, Jin. Just you and me."