Now you must pay the price

WARNING: violence

An eighteen-year-old young man trudged his way through the neighborhood of abandoned buildings, making his way to the shelter he had built for himself in one of the neglected residences.

He had been away for a few hours and the night had already darkened, so he wrapped his shabby coat tightly around him as he reached his hiding place.

It was a modest nook of old blankets and discarded furniture which he had scavenged from the street. He had piled the damaged pieces on top of each other and draped an old fabric over it, giving him at least some cover from the freezing wind blowing through the broken structures.

There was no sight of his black friend with yellow eyes - she was usually there to greet him when he returned, but for some reason, the small animal was nowhere to be seen. Natsuo peered out the hole in the wall, but only saw darkness and the silhouettes of the buildings, lit up by the moonlight.

The young man sighed and sat down, pulling out the box of roasted chicken, cooked rice, and fried vegetables. It had been months since he was able to enjoy a hot meal.

The delicious smell made his mouth water, but he also could feel his throat tighten as he thought of the person who had given it to him. It made him feel bad for having been such a burden to his high school classmate, the one he had tormented so many times. He wished he could have done something to repay the favor, but he had nothing to offer in exchange.

Just as he was about to take a bite of his meal, the furry creature jumped in, carrying something in her mouth. She dropped a dead mouse at his feet and meowed softly, her big yellow eyes gleaming in the nocturnal light as she watched him with a curious expression.

"That's lovely," he frowned as he stroked her neck. She purred sweetly in response and rubbed her head against his hand. Natsuo crumbled the tender chicken chunks and offered them to his feline friend, who eagerly licked her lips before devouring them.

His mouth hung open in surprise as he noticed the bulging roundness of her belly. He had suspected it was because of worms, but now that he took a closer look, he could see that the swelling was actually from a litter of kittens.

"When did you do that?" Natsuo murmured, thinking it was challenging enough to feed them both on the limited resources they had.

But quickly, he brushed his frustration aside, forced a slight smile back on his face, and assured her that they would figure something out - just like they always do.

(A couple of days later)

The taunting laughter, mocking voices, and vicious insults filled the white-haired man's head as his thoughts drifted into the past. He was back in the school's hallway, when the sinister eyes of his peers followed him, taunting and jeering him as he walked the long path of shame.

Jiro had never forgotten the feeling of humiliation and helplessness that had overwhelmed him years earlier, nor the way it had left him feeling shattered and alone. He had grown up since those days, but the memories still lingered, threatening to break him all over again.

The young man was awakened from his flashbacks as a scream pierced the room, shaking him from his dreamlike state. He looked around the wood-paneled space and the tattooed men gathered there, their grimaces illuminated by the subtle light of the candles.

A beaten man wearing only his underwear hung from a beam above him by his ankles, swinging back and forth as the tattooed men tortured him ruthlessly. He screamed out in terror and pain, pleading for mercy as his naked body was covered with bruises and blood.

Jiro's eyes shifted to the person he had encountered over half a year ago on the temple grounds, who was now lying on a futon. His back was being inked with tebori, an ancient Japanese tattooing technique, as he remained stoic and silent. An intricately carved teak wood piece held his long, tightly braided dreadlocks in a bun.

"You now ask for forgiveness... how interesting..."

The leader of the yakuza, known as oyabun and called oyassan among his followers, motioned for the tattoo artist to withdraw. The man quickly complied, bowing his head as he moved away from the futon.

The oyabun then slowly got up and strolled towards the victim who was still hanging from the ceiling. He grasped the target's neck and looked into his eyes with a chilling stare.

"You should have considered the consequences of your actions before you acted and tried to defy me," he said in a husky voice and leaned closer to him as he continued.

"Now you must pay the price."

The smell of smoke and incense spread throughout the space, mixing with the salty sweat of the man who was being punished. The wounded one squirmed as tears fell from his eyes and blood dripped from his nostrils. His face contorted in agony as he pleaded for his life, coughing up red droplets onto the tatami below.

"Takuya. Come here."

Jiro stepped out of the corner and walked towards the oyabun. He lowered his head in reverence and spoke respectfully.

"Yes, oyassan?"

His leader smirked as he took one of the baseball bats from another member and handed it to his white-haired follower.

"It's time for you to show him what happens when you fail to respect the rules of the yakuza."

Jiro reluctantly grabbed the bat, his chest tightening as he sensed the warm texture against his palms.

He had been taken under the wing of the oyabun, trained to become one of his disciples, and now he was asked to execute the leader's wrath against someone who tried to sell his secrets. It was the first time he had been forced to hurt someone in such a cruel way, but he knew he had to prove his loyalty.

The injured man's eyes were wide with fear as he gazed up at the new arrival, hoping for a miracle that would save him from his impending fate.

The oyabun settled back into his futon and gestured for the tattooist to continue, his face revealing his satisfaction with the situation. The tattoo artist wearing black clothing nodded and returned to his work, poking delicately into the man's back with the bamboo tool.

Every member's focus was focused on the youngest member of their clan, their eyes shining with interest as he held the bat in his hands. The atmosphere was still and all that could be heard was the sound of ink being applied to the oyabun's skin.

Jiro's breath was coming in short bursts and his mind was racing with emotions as he prepared to act on his boss' orders. He compelled himself to retreat to the dark place he had been trying to escape from for so long - that cold, emotionless state of mind felt familiar and comforting to him.

The yakuza swung the bat with all his might toward the roped man, his bottled-up frustration and anger fueling each strike. He imagined the victim's brown eyes as blue and his black hair as light brown as if he were punishing someone else instead.