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There was absolutely nothing left for him to do this summer. It would undoubtedly be the most tedious, exceptionally boring summer of his entire eighteen years of life.

Harboring those cynical thoughts, Aki kept running along the path until the massive Hikawa Maru, permanently moored at the edge of Yamashita Park, peeked its clean white face out from behind the sharp shadow of a coastal building. Only then, catching his breath, did he finally come to a stop.

The Hikawa Maru, which used to sail proudly back and forth along the vital liner route connecting Seattle and Yokohama, had long since completed its active duty on the high seas. Now, stripped of its engines, it spent its remaining years as a static, floating park facility for tourists. It would never navigate the vast, open ocean again; its only remaining destiny now was to slowly rust away right here in the harbor.

Is it truly satisfied with that quiet retirement? Aki wondered, feeling a strange kinship with the ship. As if in direct response to his internal question, a ship's horn suddenly reverberated through the heavy air—a high-pitched, echoing blare that could be interpreted as either a sharp denial or a solemn affirmation.

Looking out across the wide, panoramic view of Yamashita Park from the top of the grassy hill, the brand-new Yokohama Grand InterContinental Hotel—architecturally shaped like the pristine sail of a majestic yacht—stood out sharply in the distance, its white silhouette striking a beautiful contrast against the clear blue sky.

The massive construction of the Minato Mirai 21 district, designed to represent the modern face of a new Yokohama, was currently hitting its absolute peak of development. Over the next ten years, all kinds of modern structures and skyscrapers would be built there. Yokohama, a unique place where historic stone architecture dating back to the Meiji era coexisted alongside groups of buildings utilizing the latest, cutting-edge architectural techniques, was on the very verge of massive change. Aki couldn't help but feel the weight of that transition. Yet, no matter how much the eras changed or how modern the skyline became, he desperately hoped that this specific, lazy afternoon scenery of Yamashita Park spreading out right before his eyes would never alter.

Despite the blistering summer heat, the green park was bustling with young couples and families enjoying the cool sea breeze in search of a brief respite from the soaring temperature. Even in this oppressive heat, lovers stayed pressed close together on benches without separating. Small children sought relief by playing with the cool water flowing from the public fountains. Yet, looking across this familiar, everyday scenery of Yamashita Park, the specific man he was searching for was nowhere to be seen.

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Where on earth did he go?

Aki searched Yamashita Park from one far end to the other, checking thoroughly along the concrete seawall and then tracking back up by the main street side. Yamashita Park was a long, narrow strip of land sandwiched squarely between the roaring coastal road and the open ocean; it wasn't a particularly deep or complex park. If it were the middle of the night, it might be a different story, but during the bright daylight, he should have been able to spot him easily among the crowd.

Suddenly, a massive ship's horn echoed like a loud, phantom chime through the heavy air. Instinctively, Aki spun around on his heel to look back toward the Hikawa Maru. The vessel usually sounded its automated horn as a time signal to announce the passing hour. However, this specific sound was clearly originating from a completely different direction along the harbor. Besides, the Hikawa Maru had just sounded its horn moments ago. Tilting his head in confusion, Aki shifted his gaze toward the true source of the noise. There, docked firmly at the distant Osanbashi Pier, he spotted a massive, pure white hull resting in the water.

"The Jianzhen..."

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The Yokohama International Passenger Terminal serves as the city's historic, sprawling gateway to the outside world, connecting the busy waters of Yokohama Port with distant foreign lands. Commonly known to locals simply as "Osanbashi," the massive wooden pier was currently playing host to the Jianzhen a regular, slow-moving cargo-passenger liner that sailed its routine route back and forth between Yokohama and Shanghai.

It was an immense, imposing vessel capable of carrying up to 500 passengers and 70 crew members, boasting a grand gross tonnage of 9,000 tons. Upon officially departing the safety of Yokohama Port, it would traverse the vast, open sea for about two full days to reach the distant coast of Shanghai.

Of course, if someone simply wanted to get to Shanghai as quickly and efficiently as possible, traveling out to Tokyo's Narita Airport and taking a commercial flight was vastly faster. The Jianzhen had originally been remodeled from an old domestic ferry named the Sunflower, and as a fascinating, lingering relic of its past life, it still featured a grand, open-ceiling public bathhouse deep within its hull. Soaking in those steaming waters on a clear night under a star-filled sky offered an incredible, leisurely sense of total peace. It possessed exactly that kind of unique, old-world charm.

The only people who regularly utilized the Jianzhen were broke university students with absolutely no money to spare or relaxed travelers who had the luxury of time to fully enjoy a slow, rolling sea voyage. It was a trip perfectly suited for anyone wishing to savor the profound, romantic nostalgia of the old historic Shanghai shipping route.

Yet, through Aki's hyper-practical, teenage eyes, the grand Jianzhen looked like nothing more than a battered, run-down old passenger boat that had seen far better days.

Watching the Jianzhen sound its massive horn, a sudden, sharp memory sparked in Aki's mind. He clearly remembered that when his grandfather had first introduced "him" at the house, the rapid conversation the two older men had shared might have been spoken entirely in Chinese.

"Maybe... he's over there."

Giving voice to his sudden realization as if to solidify his mental deduction, Aki immediately sprinted out along the wide path of Yamashita Park Avenue, heading straight toward the concrete entrance of the Osanbashi Pier.

Behind him, the massive hull of the Jianzhen slowly, heavily began to drift away from the wooden docks of Osanbashi.

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A dense crowd of well-wishers left behind on the pier waved their hands enthusiastically in the air, and the passengers lining the rails up on the ship's upper deck waved back in response. There was no grand, overly dramatic or tearful farewell playing out down at the docks; it was just a quiet, ordinary, and commonplace parting of ways. Once they had seen the Jianzhen successfully push out into the deeper waters of Yokohama Port, the crowd of well-wishers slowly began to turn on their heels, chatting quietly as they headed back down the pier.

By the time Aki finally arrived at the foot of Osanbashi, the departing crowd was already spilling out from the terminal's exit doors. He carefully navigated his way forward through the heavy foot traffic, pushing past the oncoming wave of exiting people to make his way inside the terminal building.

With the massive ship gone, the wide inside of the passenger terminal was completely desolate. It had grown so incredibly quiet within the halls that the bustling, loud energy from just moments ago felt like a total lie. Having successfully wrapped up their main duties for the afternoon, the terminal staff members were relaxing against desks and chatting amiably among themselves. Aki hurried past them. Too impatient and restless to stand around waiting for the slow elevator to the second-floor observation deck, he took the concrete stairs instead, bounding up them two at a time.

He ran directly past the quiet customs checkpoint located on the second level, where rows of small souvenir shops lined the hallway. Large glass doors surrounded the area, and stepping through them brought him out onto a wide wooden terrace that served as an observation deck offering a sweeping, magnificent, and unobstructed view of Yokohama Port. In front of one of those heavy, coin-operated telescopes found at any typical tourist spot, a young child hung from the metal viewfinder, loudly begging a tired parent for a coin.

Holding onto their wind-blown hair against the stiff, salty sea breeze, a young couple leaned closely against the handrail, watching side-by-side as the departing Jianzhen approached the massive spans of the Yokohama Bay Bridge—which was scheduled to officially open to traffic later this year.

Aki noticed that the young woman in the couple was flushing a deep, sudden crimson, her eyes repeatedly stealing subtle, intense glances away from her boyfriend toward the opposite side of the observation deck. Looking closer around the terrace, he realized a mother traveling with her young family was also casting covert, stolen glances in the exact same direction, while an elderly woman nearby was outright staring without making any attempt at discretion whatsoever.

Standing at the absolute focus of all those stolen stares, cutting a remarkably sharp, dark silhouette against the bright blue sky, was a slender, elegant man. He was dressed in a loose, flowing black suit that seemed to swallow the light, letting his long, pitch-black hair whip wildly and freely in the strong ocean breeze.

It was him.

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"Yin-Lan!"

Stepping fully out onto the wooden terrace, Aki called out loudly to the man's broad back.

The man—Yin-Lan—slowly, deliberately turned around to face Aki. Despite the fact that they lived under the same roof and saw each other almost every single day, Aki could never quite prevent his heart from hammering hard against his ribs whenever he looked directly at Yin-Lan's face.

The man was undeniably, jaw-droppingly beautiful. His pale skin possessed the translucent, flawless clarity of fine white porcelain, making the stark crimson lips on his face stand out vividly like a vibrant, blooming flower. His sharp, cool eyes held a deeply embedded, ancient sorrow; if he were to look at you directly with those dark irises, it felt almost impossible to maintain eye contact for more than a second. He closely resembled a beautiful, flawless doll crafted by the dedicated hands of a master artisan.

Sensing the defensive, almost hostile glares of the surrounding women turning sharply toward him for daring to interrupt their view, Aki walked closer to Yin-Lan's side.

"Yin-Lan, Grandpa is looking for you."

"……Understood."

Yin-Lan offered his brief reply to Aki in fluent, accentless Japanese. Without another syllable or gesture, he made a cold move to brush right past his shoulder. Yin-Lan was breathtakingly beautiful, yet he carried an aloof, heavy aura that actively pushed ordinary people away. His unique beauty was defined by a profound, piercing coldness rather than any comforting human warmth. He never broke his absolute poker face for a single fraction of a second, leaving Aki with the distinct, unsettling impression that he was entirely devoid of emotional highs and lows. In fact, Aki often couldn't help but feel that the mysterious man lacked the basic capacity for human emotion altogether.

Furthermore, Yin-Lan showed zero regard for basic social etiquette or the polite pleasantries that humans were expected to maintain with one another. Being someone who was naturally more attentive, responsible, and dutiful, Aki found himself flashing an expression of open, heavy irritation at Yin-Lan’s dismissive, ungrateful attitude.

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"Hey, Yin-Lan."

Aki threw his frustrated voice directly toward Yin-Lan’s retreating, unbothered back. Yin-Lan stopped briefly and glanced back over his shoulder at Aki, his deep, dark eyes carrying a totally blank look that seemed to silently ask if he had somehow done something wrong to warrant such an outburst.

"It is blistering hot out here, and I went completely out of my way to come find you. The least you could do is say a proper thank you."

"……Ah. My apologies."

Yin-Lan offered absolutely nothing more than that single, cold statement before turning his back on Aki once again, adjusting his slow, perfectly measured pace toward the glass doors of the observation deck exit. Aki scrambled on the wooden planks to catch up to him, quickly falling into step right beside his tall frame. Yin-Lan didn't seem to care or mind the sudden company at all; he kept his sharp eyes locked straight ahead, completely refusing to even look down at Aki.

"You really are incredibly anti-social..." Aki grumbled under his breath, stealing a sideways glance at Yin-Lan’s cold, chiseled profile as they walked. "……Personally, I think you should try smiling more."

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Running perfectly parallel to Yamashita Park, the wide boulevard of Yamashita Park Avenue is lined with prominent tourist landmarks like the towering Marine Tower, alongside historic structures like the Hotel New Grand—the absolute pinnacle of old-world Yokohama elegance—modern, stylish high-rises, and massive commercial halls. It was a historic district that had flourished for generations as a scenic, high-class destination overlooking the bustling harbor.

Yet, stepping just one block behind this fashionable, tree-lined boulevard reveals a generic, mundane grid of concrete office blocks, residential apartments, and multi-tenant commercial buildings. Nestled deep within this ordinary cityscape was a specific, vibrant street bustling with a thick, heavily concentrated crowd of pedestrians. Following the natural, rhythmic flow of the pedestrians led straight to a heavily trafficked, loud intersection at Honcho Avenue. Looking just beyond the crosswalk, a completely foreign, mystical landscape suddenly exploded into view.

Yokohama Chinatown.

Bounded by five monumental, colorful gates—the Choyo Gate, Enpei Gate, Suzaku Gate, Genbu Gate, and Zenrin Gate representing the four cardinal directions and the central core—this neighborhood originally took root as an isolated foreign settlement in Yokohama's early days. Following the historical abolition of the settlement system, Chinese immigrants traveling to Japan from major regions like Guangdong and Shanghai converged on this small plot of land, taking up various trades and permanently weaving themselves into the local cultural fabric. Overcoming staggering, tragic crises like the Great Kanto Earthquake and the hardships of the Second Sino-Japanese War, the enclave had evolved over long decades into the visually stunning, intensely vibrant Chinatown it was today.

Aki walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Yin-Lan, passing underneath the grand archway of the Choyo Gate—the entrance closest to Yamashita Park—to step into the bustling heart of Chinatown. The streets were densely packed with high schoolers in matching uniforms celebrating the imminent arrival of summer vacation, alongside young college couples out on romantic dates. Without fail, every single schoolgirl and adult woman who brushed past Yin-Lan spun around hard on her heel, locking her gaze onto his retreating back and trailing him with intense, utterly captivated eyes. Entirely unmoved by the collective female attention, Yin-Lan simply kept his eyes forward on the path, walking on without a single word.

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As the two continued down the crowded street, a middle-aged woman running a local florist shop suddenly called out cheerfully from her colorful storefront.

"Aki-chan! Make sure to tell Mr. Yang that his special order came in, alright?"

"For my grandpa? Sure thing, I’ll let him know right when I get home!"

Yang was the legal surname of Aki’s maternal grandfather, and the two lived quietly together in a single unit of an old, weathered apartment building located on the outer fringes of Chinatown. Aki had been raised from infancy in this neighborhood; every single memory he possessed in his eighteen years—both the blissful, nostalgic ones and the bitter ones—was deeply and irrevocably rooted in these specific streets.

"And hey, if that handsome fellow next to you wants any flowers, just say the word!" the florist’s wife added genially, throwing a bright smile toward the quiet companion.

Yin-Lan offered her friendly, neighborly banter nothing more than a brief, passing glance, walking right past the storefront without so much as a polite nod or a shift in stance. Aki quickly gave the florist’s wife an apologetic, embarrassed bow on Yin-Lan’s behalf before rushing to close the distance between them again.

"Yin-Lan, you can't do that. You have to at least acknowledge people when they greet you face-to-face."

Yin-Lan cast a brief, fleeting glance down at Aki, but he showed absolutely no intention of opening his mouth or continuing the conversation.

"……Seriously, you're hopeless."

To completely avoid the main Chinatown Boulevard, which was choked shoulder-to-shoulder with tourists and vendors, the two cut down Shanghai Road—a secondary thoroughfare that saw relatively light foot traffic during the afternoon. This specific street was quiet, populated by long-standing local establishments and legacy shops, and carried a distinctly tranquil, old-world atmosphere. By crossing Kanteibyo Avenue from here and cutting directly through the greenery of Yamashita-cho Park, Aki could reach his apartment building in no time at all.

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Suddenly, a raw, empty vacant lot crudely cordoned off with thick yellow ropes caught Aki's eye. There had been a devastating, fast-moving fire here just about ten days ago, reducing the popular local Chinese restaurant that once stood proudly on the spot to nothing but black ashes and rubble. Fortunately, the local fire department had brought the blaze under control before it could jump or jump-fire to spark into the tightly packed neighboring buildings, but dark rumors were already swirling around the neighborhood that the true cause of the disaster was deliberate arson for the explicit purpose of aggressive "land-grabbing."

"Chinatown has really been changing so fast lately," Aki said with a soft sigh, pausing directly in front of the empty, rope-lined lot. Yin-Lan stopped walking as well, as if patiently waiting for him to finish his thought, and quietly gazed toward the scorched, vacant land. "Just like here, small shops that were around until the other day suddenly vanish overnight, and big modern hotels get built in their place. Or small, cozy Chinese diners with a nice, welcoming atmosphere suddenly turn into these ultra-luxury, expensive restaurants..."

Aki stole a quick, searching glance at Yin-Lan’s profile. As usual, his cold, exceptionally beautiful face remained as completely expressionless as a carved doll's, betraying no internal human emotion whatsoever.

"……I heard the young kids who lived here are being permanently taken in by some distant relatives living in Tokyo. If you hadn't been right there at the exact time of the fire, Yin-Lan, who knows what would have happened to them..."

"Did the painful burns you got back then finally heal up?" Aki asked, looking down toward the man's hands.

Just as the quiet question left his lips, the sharp, jarring sound of shattering glass and a man's angry, muffled shouting echoed loudly from somewhere nearby. Yin-Lan quietly, instantly raised his sharp eyes. Aki looked up too, following his lead. Yin-Lan was staring intently at a long-standing, weathered coffee shop facing Shanghai Road, its vintage fabric awning marked clearly with the faded numbers *1973*. The violent commotion was clearly bleeding out from the dark, narrow alley running directly alongside the side of the building.

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The narrow alleyway was barely 1.5 meters wide, heavily cluttered and blocked with the humming outdoor condenser units of the coffee shop's air conditioners and a few rusted bicycles that presumably belonged to the kitchen employees. Looking straight up toward the sky, the concrete balconies protruding out from the second floor of the adjacent buildings cut off the natural sunlight, making the tight space feel even more claustrophobic and dark.

"You absolute idiot!"

"Stop it, Kato-san!"

This time, the distinct, heavy sound of a clay flowerpot smashing against concrete and a sharp, terrified female scream cut clearly through the air from deep within the recesses of the alley. Recognizing the familiar voice instantly, Aki instinctively stepped forward, moving past the trash bins into the narrow passage. Yin-Lan, who had been quietly watching Aki's frantic reaction from the edge of Shanghai Road, tilted his head slightly in mild curiosity before following him, stepping slowly and silently into the alleyway.

Deep inside the passage stood a weathered, neglected two-story wooden apartment building with a narrow, rusted iron staircase attached directly to its outer side. The dangerous disturbance seemed to be unfolding rapidly up on the second-floor landing.

Every single time a frantic scream or angry shout in Chinese rang out from above, the flimsy iron staircase trembled and rattled faintly under the weight of the struggle. With a loud, metallic clatter, a shared apartment mailbox painted in cheap red—its weathered finish heavily peeling away—broke entirely free from its mounts at the bottom of the stairs and crashed heavily to the ground. Most of the low-income residents who lived here likely worked long shifts in Chinatown kitchens at this afternoon hour, leaving their cramped rooms completely vacant. Despite the incredibly loud, violent ruckus, there wasn't a single sign of any neighbors peeking out their doors to see what was happening. Then again, in a neighborhood like this, no one would actively look for dangerous trouble by sticking their nose into an obvious, violent dispute.

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Aki stood frozen right at the base of the trembling structure, listening intently to the terrifying chaos unfolding just above his head. He cast his eyes upward along the metal steps, swallowed hard to calm his racing pulse, and reached his hand out toward the cold iron handrail. But just as he was about to place his foot firmly on the very first step to intervene, a cold, slender hand gently but firmly pressed down onto his shoulder.

Aki looked down at the pale hand resting on his uniform shoulder, then quickly turned around to look directly at the owner of those long, elegant fingers. Yin-Lan was gazing down at him with sorrowful, deeply intense eyes, softly but firmly shaking his head from side to side.

"Yin-Lan..."

Before Aki could say anything more to argue his case, Yin-Lan's sharp gaze suddenly snapped past him to the top of the stairs. Aki looked up as well, just in time to see the broad, twisting back of a man dressed only in his white underwear. A single second later, the man lost his footing entirely and came tumbling head over heels down the steep, unforgiving staircase.

"Ah!"

As Aki cried out in sheer shock, Yin-Lan tightly gripped his shoulder with an iron-like hold and yanked him backward with immense, sudden force, pulling Aki's entire body flush against his own chest. The heavy man in his underwear crashed violently onto the concrete with a loud, sickening thud, landing on the exact spot where Aki had been standing a mere fraction of a second prior.

"……Fang-san!"

Aki quickly pulled away from the safety of Yin-Lan’s chest and peered down anxiously at the fallen, battered man, calling out his name. Fang groaned in deep pain, shifting on the ground and casting a fleeting, dazed glance toward Aki. Right then, a harsh, mocking man's voice drifted smoothly down to Fang from the second-floor landing above.

"Look, Fang-san, I get that losing your house and restaurant to a sudden fire is rough on you. But we're in a real bind here if you don't properly pay back the money you borrowed from Mr. Chen. Of course, if you don't have the cash on hand, we'd gladly take that valuable plot of land off your hands instead..."

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Along with the heavy, resounding metallic thuds of someone aggressively stomping down the narrow iron staircase, the menacing owner of the voice drew closer. It was highly likely the brutal debt-collection enforcer whom Fang had just referred to as Kato. Wearing a loud, flashy aloha shirt, sporting a tight punch-perm hairstyle, and hiding his eyes behind dark sunglasses, Kato was the absolute textbook definition of a classic yakuza thug. As his boots reached the bottom concrete steps of the staircase, he instantly noticed Aki and Yin-Lan standing closely by Fang's battered side, looking straight up at him through the dim lighting of the alleyway.

"Wh—what the hell do you think you're looking at?"

Catching sight of the young pair interrupting his business, Kato tried to aggressively intimidate them. Yet, his voice hitched slightly on the delivery, perhaps because his internal survival instincts had suddenly sensed the bone-chilling, icy aura bleeding naturally off Yin-Lan. As if to aggressively mask his own sudden hesitation, Kato stepped entirely off the iron stairs, and without breaking direct eye contact with Yin-Lan, he wound up and kicked Fang in the rear with all his might. Kato's heavy boot toe dug sharply and mercilessly into Fang's lower back, causing the poor man to writhe and roll across the dirt in absolute agony before curling into a tight ball, completely motionless on the concrete.

"Kato-san, I found the deed!"

Calling down loudly to his boss, a young, bald-headed thug with no eyebrows poked his head over the creaking second-floor iron railing, clutching a crumpled brown envelope tightly in one hand. Looking closely at his twisting mouth, his teeth were rotted and completely ruined, severely eroded away from a long history of inhaling industrial paint thinner or toluene.

"Who the hell are these guys?"

A raspy voice dripping with vicious, unprovoked malice was hurled directly down the steps at Aki and Yin-Lan. Aki immediately, deeply regretted stepping into this terrifying mess. The moment he had first heard Fang's distant voice, he should have run to find a payphone to call the police. Registering Aki’s obvious, trembling terror, Kato—who had been momentarily paralyzed and suppressed by Yin-Lan's overwhelming, quiet pressure—finally regained his usual thuggish composure and feral, explosive aggression.

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"Matsuda, get down here right now! Teach these brats a lesson so they know not to get in the way of our business."

"On it!"

Rough, heavy boot steps rattled violently down the iron staircase. To Aki's racing mind, each descending step sounded like a ticking clock heralding an inevitable death sentence. He stole a frantic glance sideways at Yin-Lan. Yin-Lan hadn't changed his expression in the slightest; he just kept his cold eyes locked firmly on Kato's face. There's absolutely no point in asking someone as slender and pale as Yin-Lan for physical help, Aki thought in total despair. If he could just turn on his heel and bolt from this dark, claustrophobic alley back to the bright, sunlit public sidewalk of Shanghai Road to scream for help, they might both escape in one piece. The split second that desperate thought crystallized, Aki spun on his heel and took a hard, frantic step back toward Shanghai Road.

In that exact split second—a thick hand shot out from behind, violently grabbing Aki's arm and pulling him backward with brutal force. Aki lost his footing on the scattered alley debris, his physical balance shattering as he went crashing heavily down onto the hard ground. Looking up in terror at the arm that had seized him, he saw Kato looking down at him with a smug, triumphant sneer plastered across his face.

"Not so fast, little lady. And here I was about to give you a real-world lesson in how society actually works."

Kato brutally yanked Aki's arm toward his chest. It simply wasn't a level of physical strength an eighteen-year-old high schooler could ever hope to resist. But midway through the violent pull, his movement ground to a sudden, absolute halt. Aki looked up through his tangled hair and saw a pale, slender hand gripping Kato's thick forearm. Yin-Lan had completely stopped Kato in his tracks with a single movement. Yin-Lan didn't even look like he was putting much physical effort into the hold at all. Yet, looking closely at Kato's face, beads of greasy sweat were rapidly breaking out across his forehead, and his breathing was growing incredibly heavy, ragged, and strained.

Aki had absolutely no idea what kind of impossible thing was actually happening right before his eyes. But the moment Kato's painful grip on his arm slackened from the intense pressure, Aki instantly pulled his hand away and scrambled backward out of reach on the concrete.

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"You bastard, what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Matsuda barked savagely, stepping up to Yin-Lan, who still held Kato's twisting arm in an inescapable iron grip. Yin-Lan merely cast a fleeting, completely indifferent glance sideways at Matsuda, entirely refusing to grant the thug a verbal response.

"Oh, playing the silent type, are we?!"

Matsuda violently threw the valuable brown envelope to the ground and reached around to the small of his back. When his hand snapped forward again, it was clutching a lethal steel blade that gleamed sharply in the dim alley light. It was a short-sword style dagger, a traditional tanto, with a single-edged blade measuring roughly thirty centimeters long. Matsuda screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to break the psychological deadlock.

"Let go of his arm right now!"

Yin-Lan stared down at the lethal, incoming dagger with completely dead, detached eyes. Under normal circumstances, any ordinary person facing a bare blade would be entirely unable to hide their sheer panic. Smelling that primal fear, realizing his absolute physical dominance, and using it to fuel his own explosive violence was exactly how Matsuda had learned to survive and climb the ranks of the criminal underworld. But looking at the calm Yin-Lan, there was absolutely none of it to exploit. Matsuda felt a sudden, disorienting wave of confusion wash over his senses.

Grimacing in pure, agonizing muscle pain, Kato barked an urgent, breathless order at his partner's sudden hesitation.

"Matsuda! Hurry up and take care of this guy!"

Kato's panicked, strained voice broke Matsuda out of his brief trance.

"Yaaaaah!"

Letting out a strange, breathy roar to push past his own growing dread, Matsuda held the lethal dagger low against his hip and threw the full weight of his body forward, lunging violently directly at Yin-Lan's chest.

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"Yin-Lan!"

Aki screamed his name into the narrow, dark alleyway, his voice cracking under the weight of pure terror.

Matsuda’s rushing body collided directly with Yin-Lan’s frame, and the sheer momentum of the heavy lunge caused Yin-Lan's torso to violently jerk and shudder under the impact of the steel blade.

The tight grip Yin-Lan held on Kato’s arm snapped loose from the force of the collision. Finding himself suddenly liberated, Kato quickly backed away from the direct line of fire, aggressively massaging his bruised wrist while a smug, nasty smirk spread across his face as he stared back at the impaled Yin-Lan.

"What a pathetic idiot. If you'd just stood still and taken a couple of punches like a good little boy, you wouldn't have had to end up like this."

A painful pang of intense guilt shot through Aki's chest as he took in the horrific scene playing out right before his eyes. He was entirely convinced that this sudden bloodbath was the direct, catastrophic result of his own reckless choices. Yet, the exact moment the presumably stabbed and mortally wounded Yin-Lan slowly, deliberately raised his head, Aki found himself completely unable to mask his utter astonishment.

With a loud, metallic clatter, the blood-slicked dagger slipped out of the attacker's grip and clattered onto the hard concrete ground.

His facial expression entirely unchanged, Yin-Lan cast a deadpan, unbothered look over at Aki. Straightening his posture back into a perfect vertical line, he casually pushed Matsuda’s slumping, dead-weight body away from his chest. Matsuda’s frame wobbled precariously for a brief moment before crashing straight down onto the ground, landing hard on his back. Foam was rapidly bubbling at the corners of Matsuda's twitching mouth as he lost consciousness entirely. Furthermore, his arm was visibly broken, twisted violently at an impossible, completely unnatural angle from the brief, unseen counter-grapple.

"Matsuda...?"

Kato let out a dazed, utterly hollow sound from his throat. Matsuda was supposed to have driven that lethal blade straight into Yin-Lan’s abdomen or thigh; the thick coat of fresh, dark blood pooling on the fallen dagger was absolute proof of a direct hit. Yet, the very man who had supposedly just been stabbed was standing right there on his own two feet, looking completely unbothered as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Meanwhile, his own enforcer was foaming at the mouth, his arm snapped in half as he succumbed to agonizing shock. What on earth had just happened?

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Yin-Lan slowly shifted his gaze to look down at Kato. Without uttering a single syllable, he merely looked down at the remaining thug with a piercing, glacial stare that stripped the warmth right out of the air.

Kato locked eyes with Yin-Lan for a split second before his gaze instinctively dropped, desperately trying to avoid that suffocating, terrifying pressure. It was then that he noticed something dark and wet staining the front of Yin-Lan’s black shirt right at the abdomen. So, Matsuda’s dagger had managed to pierce this monster after all. Armed with that sudden, reassuring realization, Kato tried to rebuild his thuggish bravado and glared viciously back at Yin-Lan.

Aki had noticed the dark stain at the exact same moment. Yin-Lan was seriously injured—.

Kato moved first. Aggressively tearing into a wounded, bleeding target was the golden rule of survival in his violent world. He lunged downward, diving straight toward Matsuda's fallen dagger to drive it back into Yin-Lan and finish the job. Yet, when his hands reached the weapon on the ground, the man who was supposed to be standing right in front of him had completely vanished into thin air.

"Wha—Where the hell did he go?!"

A sudden, terrifyingly cold aura materialized directly behind Kato's neck. In that fraction of a second, his body reacted entirely on instinct before his brain could even process the incoming threat—a split-second reflex born from surviving countless near-death encounters in the criminal underworld. But that desperate reaction was the absolute limit of Kato's abilities. The absolute last thing Kato’s eyes ever registered was Yin-Lan’s cold, absolute, and merciless gaze—an expression capable of freezing anything solid, entirely devoid of a single shred of human compassion.

To Aki's eyes, it looked as though Yin-Lan had literally vanished from existence. By the time his brain caught up with reality, Yin-Lan was already standing directly behind Kato’s back. It looked like Yin-Lan had done nothing more than deliver a light, casual knife-hand strike to the side of Kato’s neck. Yet, Kato's eyes instantly rolled back into his head, showing only white as his heavy body collapsed forward onto the concrete. Aki couldn't fully comprehend the exact physics of what had just transpired. However, looking down at the two unconscious yakuza sprawling on the ground, he knew one thing for certain: the nightmare was over.

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"Uuuugh..."

A weak groan echoed from the ground. It was Fang. The moment he regained a sliver of consciousness, he immediately began to crawl on his hands and knees toward the brown envelope Matsuda had dropped on the dirt. Securing it tightly in his arms, he began to drag himself back up the iron staircase, completely ignoring the chaos around him. Watching this play out, an overwhelming wave of unadulterated fury washed over Aki. They had just risked their lives and faced down lethal blades for this man's sake. And to make matters worse, Yin-Lan had been stabbed in the process.

"Hey! Fang-san!"

Aki snapped, the sharp words bursting out of his mouth before he could stop them. At the sound of the sudden shout, Fang cast a terrified, trembling glance back toward Aki, his eyes darting fearfully to Yin-Lan right after. But as if desperate to escape that icy gaze, he snapped his head back toward the stairs, refusing to say a single word as he resumed his frantic crawl up to the second floor. Aki threw her voice directly at his retreating back.

"Fang-san! Yin-Lan just saved your life for the second time, and you can't even manage a thank you?!"

Fang’s foot froze on the iron step. He slowly turned his head to look back down at Yin-Lan. Yin-Lan remained completely silent, not even bothering to look up at the man on the stairs. Instead, his detached eyes were fixed entirely on Aki. Aki pressed on, his voice ringing clearly through the alleyway.

"Look, Fang-san. I get that losing your restaurant has left you completely devastated. But when someone saves your life... I mean, during the fire, Yin-Lan literally carried your two kids out to safety, and now he just saved your own skin from those thugs. Don't you think the absolute least you could do is say a proper thank you?!"

PAGE 46

The vacant, rope-bound lot back on Shanghai Road was the exact location where Fang’s popular restaurant used to stand before the disaster. During the fierce, roaring blaze ten days ago, while the aggressive flames were tearing rapidly through the structural wooden beams, Yin-Lan had heard the frantic screams of crying children echoing from the second floor.

Without a single moment's hesitation, he had simply drenched himself in a bucket of water and charged straight into the crumbling, burning house. He had forcefully smashed through the second-story window, tumbling out onto the hard ground below with the small children safely cradled in his protective arms. While the kids had fortunately suffered only minor burns, they were never in any serious danger; rather, it was Yin-Lan—the entire back of his clothes heavily scorched to cinders and his exposed body covered in angry burns—who looked to be critically, fatally injured.

Yet, when the panicked neighbors rushed him to a local doctor, there wasn't a single lasting trace of a burn on his pale skin, which had merely turned a swollen, angry red for a few hours. Following this impossible miracle, Yin-Lan became widely known among the tight-knit Chinatown locals, who came to understand him as a blunt, unsociable man who ultimately possessed a genuinely good, protective heart.

Fang, on the other hand, had lost his thriving business and fallen into a state of deep despair, yet not a single soul in the community offered him a single word of genuine sympathy. He was a reckless gambler to his absolute core, maintaining active, dark ties with Japanese yakuza factions and a powerful man named Chen, who was notorious for his shady, criminal reputation around Chinatown.

Sinister rumors were even swirling around the alleys that Fang had intentionally set the fire himself after his heavy gambling debts had spiraled completely out of control. It was openly said that the massive payout from the fire insurance would amount to a staggering sum of cash, and to make matters far worse, a substantial life insurance policy had recently been taken out on the two innocent children who were sleeping upstairs that night.

The underlying reason these dark rumors took root so easily in the neighborhood was that Fang had caused serious financial trouble and breached contracts when he first launched his restaurant years ago, effectively alienating himself from the tight-knit Chinatown community. During that past dispute, his selfish actions had publicly disgraced and insulted Aki's proud grandfather, Yang. As a direct result of that old grudge, Fang consistently maintained a cold, distant, and borderline hostile attitude toward Aki simply due to his close relation to Yang.

For those very bitter reasons, Fang had grown to avoid people entirely. Keeping his eyes locked suspiciously on Aki and Yin-Lan from the top of the dark landing, he turned around without uttering a single word, marching back up the final steps into his cramped room before slamming the heavy door shut and aggressively throwing the deadbolt lock to seal himself inside.

PAGE 47

"……Unbelievable, seriously."

Aki fumed with hot indignation at the man's sheer rudeness, but the sudden, sharp realization that Yin-Lan was still standing right there beside him snapped him out of his anger.

"Yin-Lan, your wound……"

Yin-Lan remained standing there on the concrete landing with a completely unfazed, detached look on his face. Because Yin-Lan acted so utterly casual and indifferent to the violence, Aki had momentarily forgotten all about the bloody injury. Stepping closer to examine the side of his torso, Aki could clearly see a clean tear ripped directly through the fabric of Yin-Lan’s jacket where the blade had pierced it, accompanied by a dark, widening stain that looked heavily soaked in fresh blood. Aki knit his brows tightly, looking up at Yin-Lan with deep, undeniable concern.

"It merely grazed me."

Yin-Lan stated bluntly and impassively, before immediately turning on his heel to walk back toward the entrance of Shanghai Road. Aki scrambled quickly to chase after his long, even strides.

Even after they emerged onto the busier thoroughfare of Shanghai Road, Aki couldn't stop worrying about the true depth of Yin-Lan's hidden wound. However, given that Yin-Lan wasn't showing any visible signs of toughing it out through intense pain, and was instead walking along perfectly composed with his usual expressionless, doll-like beauty, Aki figured the injury might truly be nothing serious after all.

Cutting away from the main path of Shanghai Road, they walked quietly through Yamashita-cho Park—the only public green park nestled inside the borders of Chinatown—and navigated a narrow, trash-lined alleyway tucked behind it until the worn entrance of a weathered, old apartment building came into view. The interior of the residential building was starkly dim and oppressive; even during the peak of daytime, you couldn't make out your surroundings without the artificial, flickering hum of the fluorescent ceiling lights.

Judging by the heavily stained, yellowed walls and the cracked, peeling linoleum flooring, the concrete structure had to be at least twenty-odd years old. Aki didn't know much about an apartment building constructed well before he was even born into this world, but he knew one thing for certain: it was definitely not the kind of dark, embarrassing place he would ever think to bring his high school friends over to visit.

Aki and Yin-Lan headed toward the single elevator tucked deep inside the ground floor hallway. The architectural layout was designed so that the concrete staircase wrapping directly around the open elevator shaft led up to the higher floors. On the cramped stair landings, a cluttered, chaotic assortment of children's rusted bicycles and discarded, outdated wooden furniture belonging to the various residents lay piled up high.

According to his grandfather, Yang, it was all left out there because the old items were still perfectly usable and didn't warrant being thrown into a landfill, and if anyone in the building ever found a need for them, they would simply take them for free. Perhaps because Yang constantly reminded Aki that the fundamental, sacred rule of living in Chinatown was for everyone to support and help one another survive, Aki had naturally grown to accept this cramped, chaotic environment as completely normal.

PAGE 48

The loud, heavy grinding sound of a mechanical wire rope winding up the shaft, followed by the sudden metallic clunk of the ancient brake engaging, signaled to them that the elevator car had finally arrived. Stepping inside the small metal cab, Aki let out a wry, nervous laugh to break the silence.

"Every single time I get in this thing, I find myself praying because I honestly feel like it could plummet to the ground at any second."

As Yin-Lan stepped into the small space alongside him, Aki pressed the plastic button for the eighth floor, which was the topmost level of the aging building.

The official capacity plaque mounted on the wall stated the elevator could hold six passengers, though it felt like it would be packed completely to the brim with just four ordinary people inside. Believing the official plaque to be an absolute, dangerous lie, Aki felt the heavy vibrations of the winding wire rope pulsing directly through the soles of his shoes as he stared at Yin-Lan’s profile. Yin-Lan was silently gazing at the illuminated floor indicator buttons without a single shred of human emotion.

Aki's eyes instinctively drifted downward once again, settling on the exact spot on Yin-Lan's abdomen where the hidden stab wound should be. Unable to shake the lingering, paranoid feeling that he was indeed badly injured, Aki lightly nudged Yin-Lan’s stomach with his elbow to test him. Yet, not a single flicker of agony crossed Yin-Lan’s face; he merely shifted his gaze sideways, casting a quiet, questioning look down at Aki.

Flustered by the reaction, Aki quickly offered a sheepish smile to cover his embarrassment. Without changing his expression in the slightest, Yin-Lan calmly returned his gaze to the rising floor numbers.

PAGE 49

Before long, accompanied by a light mechanical vibration pulsing through the floorboards and a brief, sinking sensation as the ancient counterweights settled, the elevator finally ground to a halt, and its heavy metal doors slid slowly open.

On the concrete wall directly across from the doors, a piece of paper displaying the bold number "8" and the word "Manager" written in sweeping, elegant calligraphy was sealed protectively in plastic and carelessly slapped onto the surface with thick packing tape. It had highly likely been brushed by Aki’s grandfather, Yang. Having been put up a long time ago, the edges of the paper had noticeably discolored into a pale yellow in several spots over the years. Right next to it hung a diamond-shaped piece of red paper featuring the character for "Good Fortune" (Fú) pasted completely upside down—a traditional Chinese custom meant to symbolize that luck had literally arrived into the home.

The communal space leading to the apartment doors was strung with a coarse rope for hanging wet laundry, and various household items like large metal cooking pots and stacked wooden shoe racks were scattered about. To Aki, these cramped, chaotic sights were simply the familiar backdrop of everyday life.

"I'm home," Aki called out into the quiet space, offering a standard greeting as he opened the dark green iron door labeled Manager's Office. The official nameplate read Yang Min-Bao, and just below it, a newer, smaller piece of cardboard bore the name Hinata Aki written in rounded, casual script. Yin-Lan followed closely behind Aki, stepping silently inside the apartment.

PAGE 50

"Grandpa, I brought Yin-Lan back with me."

The narrow entryway opened up directly into the kitchen area. Aki called out toward the back of the apartment from the threshold while slipping off his shoes.

"All right. Show him on through to the back room."

A raspy, uniquely unhurried voice drifted out from the inner chamber. Aki gestured to Yin-Lan, prompting him to step into the back room.

The room was about six tatami mats in size. An old-fashioned television set with physical dials and a wooden tea cabinet stood against the wall. In the center of the tatami floor sat a small, folding low table with a small teacup resting on top. Seated on a floor chair before the table was a tiny old man who looked almost like a decorative statue, featuring a balding head and a long white beard gracing his chin. This was Aki's grandfather, Yang Min-Bao. Though he was turning eighty-five this year, his legs and torso remained perfectly sturdy, thanks to his daily practice of Tai Chi exercises.

"Ah, Yin-Lan, thank you. I appreciate you making the trip all the way over here."

Yang gestured warmly toward a floor cushion laid out across from him. Without a word, Yin-Lan crossed his legs and sat down on the cushion.

"I'm sorry to you too, Aki. Making you go out to fetch him in this heat."

Yang smiled, the deep wrinkles etching his weathered face as he expressed his gratitude. Aki smiled back warmly.

"It's fine, I didn't have anything else to do anyway. Yin-Lan was watching the Jian Zhen Hao liner at the harbor. Grandpa, you said he was at Yamashita Park, so it took me a while to track him down. Plus, we had a little incident over at Fang-san's place..."

PAGE 51

"Did that fool Fang stir up trouble again?"

Yang's eyes narrowed, a sharp, stern glint flashing within them. Aki went on to recount the entirety of the incident that had just unfolded in the back alleyways of Shanghai Road. After listening to the whole story, Yang let out a heavy, tired sigh, sipped the hot tea from the cup sitting before him, and spoke.

"That idiot Fang... Not only did he humiliate us during the Hui meeting, but now he's gone and gotten mixed up in something like this... I can't look after him anymore."

The Hui was a traditional type of rotating savings and credit association native to the Chinese diaspora—a mutual aid society where members pooled their financial resources to support one another. For instance, if someone wanted to open a new restaurant in Chinatown, they would be introduced to this association. Over a casual meal with the group, the applicant would receive small cash contributions from fellow members to serve as capital for their business. Starting from the subsequent meeting, the recipient would host the gathering's meals and begin paying back a portion of the funds. In return, by participating in the association, they would gain access to a wealth of networking information and mutual support within the Chinese community.

Naturally, these informal lending circles operated entirely outside the bounds of official legal frameworks. They were a desperate, vital workaround born in an era when ethnic Chinese residents faced systemic barriers to securing loans from Japanese banks. Nowadays, with the establishment of institutions like the Yokohama China Bank and improved access to standard Japanese banking loans, the tradition was gradually dying out. The association Yang referred to was one of the few remaining circles still operating in secret. Ancient customs like the Hui and foot-binding were steadily fading away as Chinatown increasingly integrated into Japanese society.

"Well, at least I am glad to hear nothing serious happened to you, Yin-Lan."

The sternness vanished from Yang's face, replaced once more by a wrinkled smile. He then turned his gaze toward Aki and spoke.

PAGE 52

"I am sorry about this, Aki. But could you go outside and find something to do for about an hour or so? I have to discuss a bit of business with Yin-Lan."

This was something Aki was completely, intimately used to. It had been this exact way ever since he was a small child. Whenever his grandfather had a business guest or an associate over to the apartment, without fail, Aki would be handed a small amount of pocket money and gently sent out to play in the streets until the meeting concluded.

"Sure, no problem. I'll go wander around Yokohama Park for a bit."

With that casual reply, Aki slipped his worn shoes back on at the entryway and left the apartment behind. Yang waited in complete silence until he heard the familiar footsteps fade completely down the concrete hallway, followed by the distant sound of the heavy elevator doors opening and the mechanical cab descending toward the ground floor, before he finally spoke. When he spoke, the language he chose was Shanghainese.

"Ever since that boy's parents passed away so tragically, I have been the one solely responsible for raising him. I must say, looking at him now, I think he has grown into a truly good, honest child."

Yang sipped his hot tea slowly, his old eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he looked back into the distant past.

"I remember clearly when he was just a little thing... I sent him out to play on a hot summer day much like today, and he didn't come home for the longest time, making me worry. When I finally went out into the neighborhood looking for him, I found him fast asleep right inside the main hall of the Kanteibyo Temple. My old friends and I used to laugh about it afterward, saying that because he was a child clearly protected by Lord Kuan himself, this entire neighborhood was his true home... but..."

PAGE 53

Suddenly, a profound shadow of deep, unmistakable loneliness settled over his deeply wrinkled face.

"……But lately, his young heart seems to be looking toward the wider world outside of this old neighborhood."

Letting out a heavy, world-weary sigh, Old Man Yang stood up stiffly from his floor chair and walked slowly over to the glass sliding doors. Outside the window, the sprawling, colorful expanse of Chinatown stretched out like a dense tapestry below them.

"We old-timers—the old generation of Chinese immigrants who chose to stay here and build our lives in Yokohama—we can never quite understand the mindset of our younger comrades who pack up everything and leave for Tokyo, Kobe, or Nagasaki. In this day and age, something in society has fundamentally, dangerously begun to warp. It was exactly the same back when we felt the violent, chaotic ripples of the Cultural Revolution in Shanghai. Back then, every single established standard of human value began to twist into something unrecognizable. Perhaps the modern Japan of today is undergoing the exact same societal decay. The political ideologies might be completely different, but people are obsessing wildly over land and paper money... and who is supposed to decide what any of it is actually worth in the end? What is even considered right anymore? The modern obsession with finding false value in these material things and losing one's mind over it is identical. After all, the hard-earned money normal people sweat and bleed for can vanish in a single instant, all based on the mere whim or a single word from a handful of powerful men. But corrupt, wicked rule never lasts long. One day, it will inevitably collapse under its own rotten weight. That has been a universal truth since ancient times. Though, I fully expect I will no longer be among the living by the time this current era finally crumbles."

Old Man Yang let out a soft, dry, rattling chuckle at his own grim prophecy.

Yin-Lan maintained a heavy, absolute silence, sitting perfectly still as he quietly absorbed the old man's philosophy. On the wall, an old pendulum clock struck a single, resonant chime that echoed through the room, reminding them both of the steady, unceasing march of time. Time never stops for anyone; it flows onward relentlessly, carrying all things away with absolute, brutal equality.

PAGE 54

Without warning, Old Man Yang turned a sharp, piercing gaze directly onto Yin-Lan's face.

He stared intently, locking eyes with Yin-Lan for a long, suffocating moment. Not a single trace of change or hesitation flickered across Yin-Lan's pale features. He simply matched the old man's intense stare head-on, completely unfazed and expressionless.

"……The young folks running around here can't even look an old man like me straight in the eye anymore without flinching. It seems you truly have walked through far deadlier circles of hell than I ever have in my long life."

Stroking his long white beard thoughtfully, Yang adjusted his posture on the floor and sat back down directly in front of Yin-Lan.

"……The truth is, Yin-Lan. It is about the specific man you have been tracking and searching for all this time."

A subtle, dangerous shift passed over Yin-Lan's expression. A fierce, commanding light flared up within his dark, melancholic eyes. It was a gaze so intensely severe and terrifying that Yang found his entire body locking up involuntarily under its immense weight. Before he even realized what was happening, Yang had balled his hands into tight fists, his palms sweating so profusely they were slick. Perhaps it was his primal human instinct—or rather, his raw biological survival instinct—instantly sensing an unfathomable, predatory danger lurking within Yin-Lan's eyes. Yang wiped the cold sweat from his palms onto his trousers, reached carefully under the low table to pull out a single airmail letter, and slid it across the wooden surface toward Yin-Lan. The return postmark address was from Taiwan.

"……Taiwan."

Yin-Lan's lips parted slightly as the single word escaped his throat. Yang nodded slowly in confirmation.

"Yes, Taiwan. An old, reliable acquaintance of mine sent it over recently. He is originally from Shanghai and works in the international trading business. He is a man with deep, dangerous connections to the Triads (Bang), currently living over in Taiwan. It seems one of the major headaches his organization is dealing with right now involves information on a certain lethal gangster (Liumang)—a man deeply feared within the Taiwanese underworld by rival factions from other territories. Word is, the eldest brother of the Chen family... the Chen brothers who run the shop down here in Yokohama... has recently taken this specific man under his wing. From what I hear, this terrifying fellow can literally tear a human body apart with nothing but his bare hands. Yet, despite such extreme brutality, the sheer volume of blood left behind at his crime scenes is said to be completely, unnaturally scarce……"

PAGE 55

When Yin-Lan carefully opened the crisp paper envelope, he found two chilling photographs tucked inside. They were vivid Polaroid pictures of a fresh corpse showing the horrifying, jagged remnants of a human neck that looked as though it had been brutally, violently torn apart by raw hand strength; yet, despite such an incredibly violent death, the actual amount of blood splattered across the wooden floor in the image seemed completely, unnaturally scarce. The second photograph captured the detached head that had met the grim, tragic fate of being separated entirely from its torso.

Yin-Lan froze instantly, his dark eyes locked onto the graphic photograph of the severed head. His intense gaze remained entirely fixed on a single, deliberate detail—a sharp, crimson character scrawled directly onto the center of the cold forehead, undoubtedly painted in fresh blood. Staring intently at the single, heavy word, he breathed it aloud in the quiet room.

"……Fang……"

Yin-Lan muttered heavily, the weight of the name hanging in the air.

It had been that exact way ever since Aki was a small child.

Whenever his grandfather, Yang, ushered a new business guest into the back room, Aki would immediately be handed a bit of pocket money and sent outside into the streets to play. Back then, he would tightly clutch a single shiny hundred-yen coin in his small fist and sprint straight to the local neighborhood candy shop. Now that he was eighteen years old, his allowance had naturally grown a bit, and the nostalgic candy shop had long since been replaced by modern amusement arcades.

Whenever Yang welcomed a visitor into the apartment nowadays, Aki would instantly sense the unspoken social expectation that he should leave them be, voluntarily stepping out of the room on his own accord without needing to be asked.

PAGE 56

Today was no different from any other tedious day; he made his slow way over to a dimly lit amusement arcade situated near the perimeter of Yokohama Park to kill some time.

A fabric awning printed with a severely faded Space Invaders pixel pattern was installed over the shop's front entrance, further emphasizing the sheer age and decay of the commercial building. The dimly lit interior space was illuminated only by the frantic, chaotic buzz of electronic sound effects and the glaring, primary-colored glow emanating from the cathode-ray tube monitors.

Amidst the flashing lights and drifting cigarette smoke, Aki sat quietly before a worn Tetris cabinet, silently and methodically stacking and clearing away the falling blocks in a repetitive, hypnotic rhythm. As the game level rapidly advanced and the falling speed accelerated, the high-speed gameplay completely surpassed the threshold of conscious visual recognition, allowing him to plunge entirely into a deep state of subconscious immersion. By placing himself entirely within that mindless, rhythmic pocket of time, Aki could completely forget his own complicated existence.

The girl from Chinatown.

To the judgmental students at his local high school, that simple label was the beginning and absolute end of who Aki was.

Aki’s grandfather, Yang, had crossed over the sea from Shanghai to Japan long before the war broke out, eventually settling down permanently in Yokohama's immigrant district. Historically, the early generation of Chinese immigrants was famous for making an honest living as skilled artisans who wielded what were known as the "Three Knives" (San Ba Dao): the barber’s sharp razor, the tailor’s heavy shears, and the Chinese kitchen cleaver. Yang had been scouted and brought to Japan specifically for his exceptional, precise skill in tailoring Western-style clothes. In the immediate aftermath of the chaotic postwar era, he had tailored a vast number of high-quality garments for wealthy clients.

However, when Japan entered its period of rapid economic growth, mass-production factories came to completely dominate the domestic apparel industry, stealing his traditional clientele and forcing him to eventually lay down his heavy shears for good. Nowadays, he spent the quiet twilight of his remaining years working as the humble manager of a weathered old apartment building tucked away in a quiet corner of Chinatown.

PAGE 57

Aki’s birth parents had passed away when he was still very young. Aki himself couldn't quite remember the exact circumstances or reasons behind their sudden deaths. The only vivid, crystalline memory that remained from that painful time was of his grandfather, who simply told him with a trembling voice that they had died in an accident, tightly pulling Aki into his chest and weeping bitterly. That was the one and only time in his entire life that Aki had ever seen his grandfather cry.

It was from that tragic period onward—right around the time his grandfather laid down his tailoring shears—that fellow Chinese immigrants began frequently visiting the apartment, and without fail, Aki would be sent outside to play in the streets each time they arrived.

Eventually, over time, his neighborhood friends vanished entirely. He found himself being constantly bullied and isolated, both by the kids at school whose parents were native Japanese, and by the local traditional children inside Chinatown who viewed him as an outsider. His name was Hinata Aki. He possessed a distinctly, undeniably Japanese name.

Both of his parents were second-generation Chinese immigrants born and raised entirely in Japan, and they had legally naturalized as official Japanese citizens. From the moment he was born, Aki had studied and grown up entirely in the Japanese language, knowing no other home. However, once his parents—who had been living comfortably in the nearby Motomachi neighborhood—passed away, he was taken in by his traditional grandfather, and moving into the heart of Chinatown shifted his entire cultural environment. He hadn't changed at all as a person. It was the world around him that had suddenly changed. As if to release all of that pent-up frustration and anxiety, Aki had joined the high school track and field club, devoting his entire body to running.

As long as he poured himself completely into the sport, he felt like he possessed a real, tangible purpose. If he could just run faster than anyone else, then people would finally accept him for who he was.

But now, even track had ended with his recent retirement from the club after senior year, leaving him with absolutely nothing left to cling to. Aki had absolutely nothing to anchor him. He couldn't help but feel that if he could just leave this suffocating place behind and escape to Tokyo—a massive, sprawling metropolis where a diverse, chaotic sea of millions of strangers gathered—something might finally change for the better. No one there would know his past, and nothing but pure, unwritten potential would stretch out before his eyes. Yet, no matter how much he daydreamed about that freedom, he knew all too well that he could never bring himself to say such a selfish thing to his old, fragile grandfather——.

PAGE 58

Before he realized what was happening, his hands had completely stopped moving the plastic joystick.

Inside the glowing glass monitor, the falling geometric blocks had stacked up to the very top line, turning a dull shade of dead gray as the bold words Game Over flashed onto the center of the screen. Even if he wanted to drop in another coin to continue, the spare change in his pockets had completely run out.

"……And that's it."

He must have been playing intently inside the arcade for a considerably long time since first arriving; the hands of the clock were already closing in on six in the evening. Letting out a deep, heavy sigh, Aki stretched his arms wide to relieve the tightness building up in his shoulders. Glancing out past the open doorway toward the main street, the summer sky was still reasonably bright. However, looking closer, he noticed that the flow of pedestrians outside was unusually heavy for this hour.

"Oh, right. There's a game in Yokohama today."

He remembered that the local professional baseball team, the Yokohama Taiyo Whales, was scheduled to play an evening night game against the Yakult Swallows at the nearby stadium. Since the Whales had already been mathematically eliminated from any realistic possibility of winning the pennant, the crowd turning up for a Yokohama game usually wasn't very large. Even so, the die-hard, dedicated Yokohama fans still made their regular pilgrimage to the ballpark. Suddenly, amidst the passing stream of spectators moving toward the stadium gates, Aki spotted a highly familiar face.

"Wait, if I remember correctly, she's the transfer student……"

Today, on the very last day of the first semester right before the start of summer vacation, a female transfer student had suddenly joined Aki's homeroom class. A transfer at this specific time of the school year was an incredibly irregular, unprecedented occurrence. While Aki didn't know if her family had paid an exorbitant donation to the private school or if they possessed powerful connections, the young girl—who was temporarily excused from the school uniform because it hadn't been tailored yet—had appeared before Aki and his classmates dressed in a nostalgic, traditional sailor-style school uniform (sailor fuku). If he recalled correctly, her name was——.

PAGE 59

"Otonashi-san! Saya Otonashi-san!"

Aki called out the sailor-uniformed girl's name at the top of his lungs as he bolted out of the dim amusement arcade.

The young girl called Saya Otonashi turned around slowly at the main entrance of Yokohama Park. Slung over her shoulder, Saya carried a long, cylindrical, black plastic carrying case—about one meter in length—the exact kind typically used by architects or artists for transporting large blueprints or technical drawings. Aki ran toward her but abruptly skidded to a halt a few meters away. Standing right beside Saya was a tall foreigner clad in a sharp black suit, sporting short blonde hair and dark sunglasses, who had also stopped in his tracks and was looking directly at him. The man was scrutinizing Aki with an intensely searching, analytical gaze. Keeping his eyes locked firmly on Aki, the foreigner spoke to Saya in low English. Even as he spoke, he never once averted his eyes from Aki's face. Aki couldn't make out what the foreigner had said in his native tongue, but Saya replied to the man in plain, direct Japanese.

"A fellow student."

Saya answered in a low, flat, completely unbothered tone. Upon hearing this explanation, the foreigner removed his sunglasses, his stern, intimidating face suddenly breaking into a warm, affable smile.

"A fellow student? Ah, a classmate."

The foreigner's response was delivered in incredibly fluent, natural Japanese.

PAGE 60

"Hello! Or, I suppose at this hour, I should say 'good evening.' I'm David. I guess you could call me Saya's…… guardian. What's your name?"

Aki was completely caught off guard by the man's overly casual, open, and breezy manner of speaking, but figuring that this was simply how foreigners who understood the Japanese language behaved, he answered somewhat hesitantly.

"Oh, u-um, I'm Hinata Aki. Just Aki is fine."

"Aki-san, huh? That has a nice, bright ring to it. Do you live around here, Aki-san?"

"Yeah, my home is actually right inside Chinatown."

"Chinatown?"

Aki pointed across the street facing the open perimeter of Yokohama Park. Directly at the tip of his finger stood the towering Genbu Gate—the northern entrance of Chinatown that faced directly onto Osanbashi Road, with the characters for Chinatown proudly displayed upon its colorful architecture.

"Oriental," David murmured in genuine admiration, looking at the elaborate structure. "So that's the Yokohama Chinatown."

"That's just one of the main entrances, the North Gate, officially called the Genbu Gate. Besides that one, there's also the Choyo Gate, the Suzaku Gate, the Enpei Gate, and the Zenrin Gate marking the other entry points around the district." Aki explained.

"To tell you the truth, Aki-san, today is actually our very first time visiting this area. When I walk behind Saya, I never know where she's going to lead me, so we're a bit lost and I'd love it if you could show us the ropes, but..."

PAGE 61

"David!"

Saya’s sharp, warning voice cut David off completely mid-sentence. Having his name called out so firmly, David shrugged his broad shoulders playfully and gave Aki a knowing, silent sign with his eyes. Aki couldn't help but offer a small, wry smile in response to the guardian's antics.

Suddenly, breaking through the quiet evening twilight, the sharp, rapid cracks of exploding firecrackers echoed loudly as they bounced off the concrete buildings. Looking toward the source of the sudden noise, string after string of red firecrackers were popping violently in front of a large, multi-story Taiwanese restaurant, sending up thick plumes of acrid white smoke into the air. Vibrant red, light blue, and yellow floral funeral wreaths heavily decorated the storefront, and an elaborate lion dance troupe was performing with high energy right before the main entrance hall. The entire dramatic display possessed a brilliant, festival-like splendor that seemed to contrast heavily with the concept of mourning.

David stared at the exotic spectacle with genuine, unblinking curiosity.

"That's a funeral for the younger brother of that restaurant's wealthy owner," Aki explained helpfully, leaning slightly toward them.

"A funeral? It's that incredibly flashy?"

​"Apparently, it's the traditional Taiwanese style. My grandpa told me that a Taiwanese funeral is all about celebrating the deceased's life by doing all the things they loved most when they were still alive to send them off as grandly as possible. The person who passed away was named Chen, but because his family doesn't get along well with the rest of Chinatown, absolutely no one from the local neighborhood is attending the service."

"Chen..." David murmured deeply under his breath, his relaxed posture stiffening slightly.

"Huh?"

PAGE 62

"That Chen guy... was he by chance the one killed recently in Shinjuku...?"

"Oh, wow, you're really incredibly well-informed about current events."

"Well, I just saw it on the television news."

David looked down over at Saya with a heavy, significant look, and Saya gave him a firm, knowing nod in return, confirming the dark connection.

Another loud volley of firecrackers popped violently and echoed all the way down the street. The normal pedestrians walking along the road stopped dead in their tracks at the sharp sound, looking over their shoulders.

"They'll probably end up setting off actual fireworks before long... I just hope the burning embers don't fly over into Chinatown and spark another major fire."

"Another one?" Saya questioned, her flat voice showing a sudden flicker of interest.

Aki began to recount the dramatic details of the recent neighborhood fire.

"We just had a serious fire in Chinatown not too long ago. Fortunately, the flames didn't spread to the surrounding tight buildings, but that specific house burned completely to the ground."

"Was anyone seriously injured or trapped?"

"Well, two small kids were actually left trapped inside the burning building, but Yin-Lan dove right into the massive flames and rescued them single-handedly."

"Yin-Lan?"

Saya's eyes snapped up instantly, locking onto Aki with a sudden, intense focus. Aki answered her, feeling slightly pressured and taken aback by the sheer intensity of her sharp gaze.

"Yeah. He's a tenant currently renting a room in our apartment building. He's a guest of my grandpa's. But I guess you could say Yin-Lan has unbelievable, supernatural luck. Even during the fire, he ran straight into those massive, roaring flames, and although his clothes got completely singed and blackened, he didn't have a single burn on his skin. He even jumped down directly from the second floor while holding both kids tightly, and he wasn't injured at all. Normally, a regular person would at least sprain an ankle or break a bone doing something like that."

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"Incredible. This Yin-Lan guy sounds like something else entirely," David remarked, a low whistle escaping his lips.

"According to my grandpa, it's all the direct result of his daily, rigorous Kung Fu training."

"Hang on, when you say Kung Fu, do you mean that movie stuff? The martial arts you see in the action movies with Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan?"

David made a bizarre, exaggerated physical gesture, mimicking a classic martial arts blocking pose. The awkward movement looked much closer to a traditional Japanese festival folk dance, causing Aki to burst out laughing at the silly sight.

"Kung Fu isn't just about flashy, choreographed forms like that. My grandpa could explain it much better than I can, but I've always just thought of it as a basic health routine for old folks. He's called 'Master Yang' around here because he teaches Tai Chi to everyone in the mornings. He always says that it's something valuable you acquire only by accumulating disciplined training day after day, year after year, using the proper internal methods. Apparently, if you truly master your Kung Fu to the absolute highest degree, you can do things that look like they're straight out of a movie."

"Does Aki-san practice it too?" David asked curiously.

"No way. I did a little bit of Tai Chi before, but I didn't have the motivation to wake up super early in the morning and head to the park with all the old folks from Chinatown, so I quit pretty quickly. I figured getting more sleep in a warm bed was probably way better for my health anyway."

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"Ahaha, yeah, I bet. That sounds exactly like what a sensible person would do."

David laughed heartily, the lines around his eyes crinkling. Yet, right beside him, Saya was not smiling. Her expression remained completely frozen, a mask of cold, analytical intensity.

"Actually, today too, Yin-Lan got into a nasty fight with some dangerous yakuza from Chen's place, and he got stabbed right in the stomach."

As he spoke, Aki instinctively pressed a palm flat against his own midsection to demonstrate the location of the strike to his new companions.

"He was stabbed with such a massive, terrifying blade that I honestly thought Yin-Lan was going to die right then and there, but he calmly told me afterward that it had just grazed him, so I guess he's fine. Still, there was thick blood slicked all over the dropped blade, so it looked incredibly bad to me... I wonder if he somehow healed the wound through the secret power of his Kung Fu……"

"He healed the wound?" Saya questioned Aki sharply, her voice cutting through the evening air like a blade.

"Yeah. I even tried physically pressing down near the injury myself, but he didn't look like he was in any pain at all. Looking back, I can't think of any logical explanation other than that it instantly healed. Though, I suppose it's entirely possible Yin-Lan managed to dodge the blade at the absolute last microsecond."

"……"

Saya remained perfectly silent and did not offer a reply. Aki found himself completely unable to withstand the heavy, suffocating pressure of her silent stare.

"U-um, I should probably be heading back home soon or my grandpa will worry……"

With a hurried, nervous goodbye, Aki quickly took his leave of David and Saya, spun around, and ran off as fast as his legs could carry him toward the sheltering red architecture of the Genbu Gate.

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"……Chinatown."

Saya’s quiet, faint murmur was completely swallowed up and erased by the sudden, deafening roar of the massive crowd over at Yokohama Stadium, loudly cheering a spectacular home run hit by the Taiyo Whales' number-four star batter.

"Where's Yin-Lan gone to?"

When Aki finally slipped off his shoes and stepped back inside his home, Yin-Lan's striking figure was nowhere to be seen in the apartment.

"Who knows," Old Man Yang replied dryly without looking up. From the dark space at the back of the living room, the flickering sound of a television news broadcast could be heard echoing off the walls. It was a breaking, somber report about a gruesome murder case that had just occurred far away in Nagasaki.

"Ah, this is the Nagasaki Chinatown they're showing on the screen, isn't it?"

"So it seems."

"That's kind of scary. First Shinjuku, and now this..."

According to the details provided by the broadcast anchor, the tragic victim of the murder case in Nagasaki's Chinatown was an elderly company president who ran an international trading business as a highly prominent, wealthy member of the local Chinese diaspora. His head had been cleanly, precisely severed with a sharp, heavy blade. During the middle of an important strategy meeting with other business clients, the victim had briefly excused himself from the conference room; when he failed to return for a long time, the anxious associates went searching for him down the corridors and discovered his headless corpse. The severed head itself had still not been found by the police.

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Looking at the television screen, Old Man Yang's weathered profile grew noticeably stern and grim.

"If you conduct the kind of cutthroat business that invites deep, generational hatred, I suppose this is the kind of end that can happen to a man."

"Is that true? Was he a bad guy?"

"I don't know the full, intimate details, but I have heard dark rumors over the years that he built his current high status through rather ruthless, predatory, and underhanded trading practices. Well, it is certainly not the sort of dirty business you need to concern yourself with, Aki."

"I guess so," Aki murmured, looking away.

Aki did not fully understand everything his aging grandfather did behind closed doors. He had lived with him ever since his parents died when he was a child, but he could only surmise that the private discussions taking place while he was sent outside were certainly not entirely above board. His grandfather, who had quietly taken care of and hidden many Chinese immigrants in Chinatown over many decades, undoubtedly possessed many heavy secrets he could never speak aloud to his grandson. And the same dark truth went for Yin-Lan, the mysterious, dangerous man his grandfather had personally summoned to this city——.

***********************

At that exact moment, Yin-Lan was standing in the shadows of a nearby Christian church. It was a quiet sanctuary located right inside the labyrinthine streets of Chinatown, built specifically for the local Chinese parishioners. The dimly lit interior of the chapel was small, no larger than a standard school classroom. While old congregation members would visit for formal services on a Sunday morning, there was absolutely no reason for anyone to be here at a lonely hour like this.

Before the stark crucifix at the very back of the dark altar, Yin-Lan simply stood in absolute, deathly silence with his head bowed low.

This was a melancholic sight that had become quite common shortly after Yin-Lan first appeared as a ghost in Chinatown. In the beginning, the resident pastor had been deeply concerned and tried gently calling out to him, but he never received a single word of reply. Now, the church staff knew better, and no one even attempted to speak to Yin-Lan as he stood there utterly alone in the dark.

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Yin-Lan did not clasp his hands together in a traditional prayer; instead, both of his long arms hung limply, loosely at his sides as his head remained bowed and his eyes stayed tightly shut. He had been standing completely frozen in that exact, rigid posture for well over an hour, like a stone statue.

Suddenly, breaking his trance, both of his dark eyes snapped wide open. He reached slowly into the breast pocket of his dark jacket and pulled out a small packet wrapped carefully in a white cloth. It was a neat, square bundle about the exact size of a folded handkerchief.

As Yin-Lan unfolded the layers of cloth resting upon his pale right palm, a single, dark lock of human hair was revealed resting inside.

"……He is coming."

He slowly raised his left fist, hovering it directly over the fragile lock of hair. Then, channeling an immense, unnatural strength into his left arm, he squeezed his fist tighter and tighter until his knuckles turned white.

With a soft, heavy patter, a thick, crimson droplet fell directly onto the lock of hair. It was Yin-Lan's own blood. Fresh, dark blood was dripping steadily from the tightly clenched fist he was squeezing so fiercely.

Breaking the absolute, hollow silence of the chapel, only Yin-Lan's low, chilling voice echoed through the sacred space.