Chapter 4: Blood and Business

Taro’s ribs still ached from the fight, but the pain was a dull reminder of something new—his first real win. Ten grand sat in his pocket, heavier than it should have been, but he knew the money wasn’t free. Nothing ever was.

Ivan didn’t waste time. As soon as the fight ended, he motioned for Taro to follow him. They walked through a side door of the gym, entering a dimly lit office cluttered with stacks of cash, half-empty whiskey bottles, and a desk covered in cigarette burns.

Ivan leaned against the desk, lighting another cigarette. “You’ve got talent, kid,” he said, exhaling smoke. “But talent without direction is wasted.”

Taro crossed his arms, his posture guarded. “What do you want from me?”

Ivan smirked. “I want to make you rich.”

He pulled out a small bag from his desk and tossed it onto the table. White powder. Taro didn’t need to ask what it was.

“This is your first job,” Ivan said. “Simple delivery. No questions, no trouble. Drop it off at a bar in Kabukichō. The bartender will be expecting you.”

Taro stared at the bag. He had stolen before, fought, done what he had to do to survive—but this was different. This wasn’t just taking. This was stepping into something bigger, something that could pull him in deeper than he could escape.

He looked up at Ivan, but the man was watching him with an unreadable expression, as if he already knew what decision Taro would make.

“Do it,” Ivan said, his voice calm but firm, “or walk away and go back to starving.”

Taro’s fingers tightened around the bag.

He had spent his whole life running. Maybe it was time to stop.

—

The streets of Kabukichō were alive, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of alcohol. It was a different world from the slums Taro was used to—louder, more dangerous, but full of opportunity for those willing to take it.

He found the bar easily. A small, run-down place wedged between a hostess club and a gambling den. The sign above the door flickered weakly, barely legible.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with cigarette smoke and low conversation. A few drunk salarymen sat hunched over their drinks, while a couple of younger guys in suits whispered in a corner booth, their eyes flicking toward Taro as he entered.

The bartender was a stocky man with a scar running down his cheek. He glanced at Taro, his gaze sharp despite the casual way he cleaned a glass.

Taro walked up to the bar and placed the bag down, just as Ivan had instructed.

The bartender didn’t say a word. He picked up the bag, weighed it in his hands, then nodded toward the door. “You should go.”

Taro turned to leave—then stopped.

A man was standing in the doorway.

He was tall, mid-thirties, with slicked-back hair and cold, calculating eyes. A few more men stepped in behind him, their presence shifting the energy of the room instantly. The bartender stiffened.

Taro didn’t know who they were, but he knew their type—dangerous.

The man with slicked-back hair smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “You must be the new delivery boy,” he said.

Taro didn’t respond. His instincts screamed at him to leave, but the man took a slow step forward, blocking the exit.

“You work for Ivan, don’t you?” the man continued, his tone almost amused. “He’s been getting bold lately. Expanding his business.”

Taro’s hands curled into fists. He had no idea what kind of conflict he had just stepped into, but it was clear that this man wasn’t a friend of Ivan’s.

The bartender muttered under his breath, “Kid, you should really leave now.”

Taro took a step back, ready to move, but the man grabbed his shoulder.

“Tell Ivan,” he said, his grip tightening, “that Marcus Knight is watching.”

Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, the man released Taro and turned away, signaling for his men to leave.

Taro didn’t wait. He pushed past them and disappeared into the streets.

His heart was still pounding as he reached the train station.

He had just made his first delivery, but he had also been given his first warning.

And he had the feeling this wouldn’t be the last time he heard Marcus Knight’s name.

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