What the hell have you done?

Natsuo wandered around Tokyo, absorbing the sights and sounds of the never-sleeping city he hadn't visited in a long time.

He had changed into the clothes he wore when he entered boarding school - dark cotton jeans and a gray sweatshirt. Around his shoulder hung his old backpack, packed with cans and snacks. He had been saving up all the food he could store that wouldn't spoil - that was the plan he had made as part of his mission to gain freedom and escape his suffocating life.

But Natsuo had no clue what to do next - he had no job, no place to stay, no money, and no one to turn to. He had no idea what to do next.

The neighborhood Natsuo stumbled upon was far away from the city center chaos. The area was littered with broken buildings and graffiti-covered walls, creating a concrete jungle that almost seemed hostile. Only a few people wandered the desolate streets.

One abandoned structure stood out to him. It was a small, two-story house with boarded-up windows, along with a door with only the top hinges attached. He figured he could find shelter there while he decided his next step.

Inside, it was dim, but slivers of moonlight filtered through the cracks and broken walls. The place was empty, with dust covering the bare flooring.

His legs were aching from walking all day, so he made his way to the corner and sat down. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts.

A grumbling sound came from his stomach, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since he snacked on a bar of sugary cereal that morning. He opened his backpack, pulling out one can of squid he had saved from the school lunch.

From the shadows, yellow eyes spied on him - a famished, black cat jumped down with a soft thud. The feline sniffed the air and cautiously snuck up on the human, meowing softly and nuzzling its furry body against his sneakers, not seeming to be scared.

Natsuo sighed. He opened the can and gave the limited food he had to the starving animal.

"You might need this more than me," he mumbled as he pushed his bag further away, using it as a pillow to lie on and listening to how the cat feasted on the seafood.

His eyes widened when the cat curled up next to him, purring contentedly as it snuggled against his side. He ran his fingers through its thin fur, feeling a bit of comfort when he realized that perhaps he wasn't so alone after all.

(Elsewhere at the same time)

Jiro, dressed in a black suit, spat on the ground as he took a battle stance. He kept his fists tight as he stared down at a cursing man in front of him, who was also clothed in black.

Around them, the temple grounds were quiet, guarded by a majestic and silent towers. The sky was bright with hues of orange and red, casting an almost ethereal looking glow over the graveyard.

A funeral was held for Jiro's parents that day. The ceremony had ended and grieving relatives had remained at a social gathering, but the young man had ventured outside to get some fresh air. The middle-aged couple had passed away two weeks ago in a car accident, but their only child only learned of their deaths recently.

Jiro had heard a scuffle coming from the cemetery as he walked away from the temple, so he had investigated it. He found a man in his middle years, kicking and swearing at the tombstones, like they were his sworn enemies. Jiro's calm inquiry about the man's actions created a spark of rage in him, and almost out of nowhere, a fight broke out.

Jiro's attacker was a local yakuza, if his slurred words were to be believed. He had colorful tattoos peeking out behind his sleeves and his whole being reeked of alcohol, so perhaps he was being honest. The two circled one another and threw punches at each other, trying to land a decisive blow.

Jiro was leaner than the older man, but he stood tall with a confident expression on his face. His gruff opponent was broad and muscular with a menacing scowl on his face, but that didn't phase him.

He dodged swiftly as the yakuza lunged in, and in one powerful movement, he tackled the grown man and brought him to the ground.

His heart pounded as blood and adrenaline rushed through his veins - the anger and frustration that had been building up for so long finally burst forth, flushing him with satisfaction and freedom.

"Fuck you, child! I'm burying your corpse in the wasteland!" the yakuza cursed with a red face, visibly furious after being defeated by a much younger and smaller challenger.

Then, Jiro heard slow steps coming behind him, just as he locked his fist and was ready to punch.

A man wearing an ornamental robe, resembling a kimono, approached them, but his face was hidden behind the nearby tree's shade. The amber light of the sunset only revealed his sharp jawline and piercing eyes.

"You are quite a fighter," the stranger remarked, with a hint of admiration.

Jiro let go of the man beneath him, jumped up quickly, and prepared to defend himself if the intruder acted aggressively.

"People like your spirit are always difficult to find - but when they are found, they can be fruitful in ways they never imagined," the man continued, speaking in a deep, husky voice.

(Later that night)

Toshiro Takuya smoked his cigar as he stood in the temple garden and gazed at the night sky. He blew out a puff of smoke and watched it dissipate like a halo around the moon.

His lips curved into a smirk as he thought about the fact that his deceased sibling's share of their billion-dollar company had been transferred to him - and all it took was just a common accident, a tragedy he was never accused of. His plan had turned out perfectly.

Everything had a price, their father used to say - and luckily for him, he could afford it all. He was now one of the richest people in the world, and nothing stood in his way.

At the back of his mind, he thanked his older brother for introducing him to his son. Having him around had been a pleasure - in every sense of the word. He would make his nephew obey him, forcing him to do whatever he was told. The boy would become a wonderfully submissive, willing to please his uncle at any time.

Just then, the familiar face emerged from the shadows, smudged with dirt and wearing a tattered suit. His nephew had an adamant look on his face as he stood tall and proud, despite his disheveled appearance.

Toshiro walked closer to him, a seductive look on his face as he studied at the boy who now looked like a real man.

"My sweet nephew - "

"Don't come any closer," Jiro warned in a loud, clear voice.

Toshiro's smile stretched even wider as he heard his defiance - fighting and protesting only fired him up. His nephew should have known that.

"Now, now, my dear boy. Uncle will take good care of you now. It's time to go home, just the two of us," Toshiro replied as he puffed his cigar.

"Unfortunately, that is not possible."

Toshiro frowned at the unidentified, strange voice, and saw how a tall figure followed his nephew out of the darkness. He then instantly recognized the infamous man with decorative tattoos and maroon-brown eyes that shot a calculating stare at him.

"Jiro, what the hell have you done?" Toshiro asked, gritting his teeth.

"From now on, he is part of my family," the yakuza leader said as he placed a hand on the young man's shoulder.