The hot water slammed against my back, the spray hissing as it hit the tile floor. The shower room smelled of sweat, soap, and tension—the kind that only comes from months of living in this hellhole. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the heat loosen my muscles.
Then I saw them. Three guys from another block, grinning like they owned the place. They didn't understand the prison. They didn't understand me.
"Hey, rookie," one of them sneered, stepping closer, "thought we'd show you how things really work around here."
I opened my eyes. "You're about to learn," I said, voice calm but sharp.
The first lunged. I struck first—a sharp elbow to the ribs, sending him staggering into the wall. The second tried a wild swing, but I caught his wrist, twisted it, and slammed him to the tile floor. The third came at me, desperation in his eyes, and I sidestepped, driving a knee into his stomach before following with a punch that left him gasping.
Water sprayed everywhere, voices shouting, but I didn't stop. By the time the shower guards arrived, the three men were nursing bruises, bruised egos, and a painful lesson: I wasn't someone to be trifled with.
I let the water hit me a little longer, adrenaline burning through me. Survival here wasn't about recklessness—it was about reading the room, asserting control, and making everyone around you understand the rules.
Months passed. The yard settled into a rhythm of quiet tension. My cellmates respected me; minor factions avoided me. Every fight, every negotiation, every careful move honed my instincts. I had grown, not just stronger, but sharper, aware of the web of influence spinning through the prison.
Then Jun came back into my life. Not inside the walls this time—he was free. He walked toward the prison gate, moving with the calm authority of someone fully backed by Kurohane-gumi. Guards stepped aside; even the warden's eyes flicked toward him in respect.
Jun stopped near the wall where I could see him from the yard. In his hand was a small slip of paper. He handed it over through a discreet channel, and I caught it immediately.
"Once you're out," he said, voice low but firm, "reach me. Don't lose this. Don't get careless."
I looked down at the paper—Kurohane-gumi's contact number, the key to a world beyond these walls. The weight of it pressed heavier than any guard's fist or rival's knife.
Jun's gaze locked on mine. "The world outside is bigger, bloodier, and full of shadows. You'll need allies—and brains—more than fists. Remember that."
Then he turned, slipping away into the streets beyond the prison walls. I held the slip of paper in my hand, feeling the heat of the shower still lingering, adrenaline fading into contemplation. My survival had prepared me for something far larger than this cellblock.