Chapter 4: Facing Death May 17, 2023 9:03:16 GMT -5
Post by thegoldendragon on May 17, 2023 9:03:16 GMT -5
I take a deep breath as I steel my nerves. I know what I am about to do is foolish, reckless, and dangerous. But, this cat-and-mouse game that the Yakuza has been playing with me, the people I care for, and my family has to end. Unfortunately, I do not see it ending in anything other than bloodshed, but that is the thought I’m currently pushing out of my mind.
Kare o korose.
The problem is, I am one of those people who can never stop thinking. I’ve always got something running through my mind, so as I push the current situation out, something must come in. What comes in are my thoughts on the match I am scheduled to have at Access Denied. I say scheduled to have it because I must live to see it.
Brooke Blakely, you are the embodiment of the term “skin deep”. You live your life only for the desires of your flesh at that moment. Every moment to you is fleeting, just as every deep thought to you is fleeting. The whole scope of the situation is beyond your sight. You cannot see the end of the journey because you are busy looking at your feet. You have no foresight, and thus you have no idea of legacy.
The fact that you have no concept of a legacy goes hand-in-hand with you having no honor. You dishonor those you call a friend; you dishonor those you call family, and you dishonor yourself. You accused Junko Souma of losing in TPW, but you were the one who was pinned. You blame your parents for not accepting your lifestyle, yet you are the one who aired your personal family business in the public eye, dragging your family’s name through the dirt. You blame the fans for booing you, yet it was you who dishonored yourself in their eyes.
Do you see a pattern here, Brooke? You like to blame others for your problems, but in every situation, every problem, there is one constant: you. You are the problem, Brooke, not other people, not your situations, and not your surroundings. You take no accountability for yourself or your actions because your lack of self-awareness, discipline, and honor.
You have no sustainability because you clearly do not know how to persevere. You do not have the mental or physical abilities to make it to the top of OCW, or the sport. In the end, it will leave you broke and bitter. You will blame your failed career and miserable life on others because that is all you know how to do. You won't traverse the path if there isn't a shortcut. If it isn’t smooth sailing, you won’t board the boat. If a new trail has to be blazed, you will stay complacent with where you are at. You have no fire, and you have no heart. And soon, you will have no Paradigm championship either.
The loss of your title, the one, and the only thing that brings you validation outside of your Only Fans subscribers, that is one thing you will be able to blame on someone else. You’ll be able to blame it on me, The Golden Dragon Shinjiro Yamamoto. A man whose destiny, fate, and legacy have him headed to the top. While those same things have you headed to the bottom. We will meet in the middle, and when I step on you to elevate myself, hire, that same step will continue sinking you lower.
The Americans have a saying that I love, “death before dishonor”. You have already suffered great dishonor, by your own hand. At Access Denied though, you will suffer death at my hands, a flaming death.
I take another deep breath and exhale slowly. I pull the hood of my black Gore-Tex jacket up and over my head as I step from under the awning of a small laundry mat and into the San Francisco rain. I jog across the street that is so wet; the water stands over an inch deep in it. I quickly make my way across the street and into a small sushi and sake Bar called Sakura.
The small bell that chimes as I walk into the door immediately gives away my presence, but the host at the front doesn’t look up from his tablet. Instead, he greets me with a “name of reservation”
“I don’t have a reservation”, I reply as I stare holes through his head.
“Sorry, reservations only. Call the number on Google to make a reservation.”, he replies without ever looking up.
“I think Kenzo Shinoda will see me”, I reply as I pull my hood off of my head.
The host sighs heavily, clearly frustrated. He raises his head with an attitude, but when he locks eyes with me, a wave of shock and fear comes over him.
“Uh. UH… Ugh.” is all he can say.
“Don’t worry, I’ll wait right here”, I say as I reach over to the front door and lock it. I then pull the chain, turning the neon “OPEN” sign off.
The host says nothing. He simply nods his head and scurries off like a rat toward the back of the story. From the back, I hear some fast muttering, followed by the shouting of a different voice. I then hear the sounds of multiple quick-moving feet. It only takes a moment for three men to appear in front of the host, and two heavies.
Mr. Shinoda will see you. Follow these gentlemen.
I look at the two heavies. Both men are bigger than me. The bald one is clearly older, and his arms and neck are completely covered in tattoos. The one with the long black hair pulled up into a bun is the larger of the two. He looks very familiar but I cannot place him at the moment. I nod my head at them, and they returned my respects with grimaces and angry huffs.The larger man with the bun hair turns and begins walking to the back, as the bald man motions for me to go ahead of him. I follow them past the small dining room and bar to a back room usually reserved for banquets, but at this moment is home to a small gathering of the American branch of the Sumiyoshi-kai.
The two heavies took their seats at the table where Underboss Shinoda, his lieutenant Tetsuya Goko, and a white Male that I am not familiar with. Shinoda motions for me to sit at an empty chair at the end of the table and I take my seat cautiously. I can feel the hatred coming from the eye of everyone in the room, except the white man. He seems more nervous than anyone as if he were the one to have just walked into the lion’s den.
“Well, if it isn’t Shinjiro… Yowamushi,” Shinoda says in a tone thick with arrogance.
Yowamushi is essentially the same thing as calling someone a coward, but on a much higher level. Calling someone a coward can either really anger someone or lead to no reactions. In a masculine environment, calling one ‘Yowamushi’ will certainly boil up testosterone levels. The best example for Americans would be calling someone a “bitch” in prison. I felt my anger boiling at this point but knew I had to remain calm so that I could remain focused.
Boss Shinoda, I know your men have been following me, even pursuing me. I have come to settle the debts of my family. Let us discuss the terms and price.
HA! Jōkō? Kakaku? Kantanda yo, kono kuso atama.
Kore wa anata ni wa kaenai kakakudesu.
Shinoda slams his fist onto the table. He feels disrespected, and his authority and standing in the Yakuza are questioned solely by my response. The other men at the table sat still. They would not move or act until ordered to do so.
Anata wa watashi no ichizoku ni shakkin o kakaete watashi no resutoran ni kite, sono nedan o aete shitsumon suru nodesu ka! ?
Shinoda slams both fists onto the table and begins to rise, but pauses as I continue with my response.
I owe you nothing. Your clan cheated my father, and when I called them out on their dishonesty and lack of honor. I came here to settle this out of respect for my father, because my father has honor, unlike your big boss. So, I will ask again, what will it take to settle this, and let us be realistic in reasonable in determining the price.
Shinoda drops back to his chair and waves me off with his hand while looking at his two heaves.
Kare o korose.
They look at one another, then back at Shinoda and nod. As they stand up I look at the one with the bun.
I thought you looked familiar. I recognize you now. Soshi Tanaka, former Yokozuna. You were in a car accident that ended your career due to a back injury, even more tragic, took your parents. That left you out of your sport and entrusted with the care of your younger brother and sister, who both are back in Japan attending boarding school at the New International School of Japan. It would be very unfortunate if I revealed their names and location to a rival clan.
The larger of the two men stopped in his tracks and looked across the table at the older bald heavy. My distraction was working, and the men didn’t notice my hand sliding under my jacket to grab the nun chucks in my waistband. I turned to look at the older bald man.
You were unrecognizable, and it took more digging to find your identity. Then I found you, Hiro Suzuki. Grew up on a farm, a standout baseball player in school, but not good enough to make it to University. Walked on at Yokohama National, but couldn’t make the team or the grades. Faced with the shame of returning home as a failure, you turned to crime. You’ve been nothing more than a foot soldier your entire career with the Clan, and will most likely never advance beyond your current station. You could try to kill me, but you wail fail, just like you have at everything else in your life.
“Kuso yarō no musuko yo”, the bald heavy says as he moves toward me.
I stand quickly, snapping the nun chucks out as I do. The handles strike Hiro on the orbital bone and nose. He falls to the table, and as he tries to rise, my hand is on his head, slamming his face back down into the table.
“Tada soko ni tatte inaide kudasai! Kare o korose!” Shinoda shouts.
I wrap the chain of the nun chucks around the throat of Hiro. I pull him against me, using him as a human shield. My gaze is focused on Yoshi and the now upright Tetsuya. Both men look hesitant to attack as they look at each other and back at Shinoda. Shinoda shakes his head and stands up, pulling a golden gun, with a pearl handle out as he does, and saying
“Idioots, I’ll do it myself”
As Shinoda points the gun, I try ducking my tall frame behind the shorter, but wider body of Hiro. Then I hear the sound of a gun cock and see the barrel of a revolver pressed into the side of Shinoda’s head.
The small white man has jumped to his feet. His entire body language has changed from meek to confident and brave. He holds the gun to Shinoda’s temple and says, “Henry Phillips, FBI.”.
Shinoda’s eyes dart around in his head, trying to get a better look at Henry.
You’re under arrest Shinoda. Now, DROP THE F**KING GUN!
Time seems to stand still as everyone in the room stares at each other. I slide my head up to get a better look and after that; we are all frozen. No one even blinks as the tensions rise in the room.
To be continued.