Please accept my apology

WARNING: violence

Five individuals had gathered in a spacious room decorated with tatami mats and shoji screens, allowing soft moonlight to filter through.

Four of them stood in silence, their solemn features highlighted by the subtle glow, each wearing traditional garments. They stared as one person bowed on the floor, filling the air with reverence with his gesture of respect.

The man with loose dreadlocks stepped forward, cutting through the dimness with his maroon-brown eyes. He held a small wooden box in his hands, a plain, yet elegant object that seemed packed with an infinite amount of secrets.

"You have dishonored your family and broken the oaths you swore to uphold," the oyabun stated authoritatively.

The man with white hair straightened his posture, but kept his face down.

"Yes, oyassan."

The three other head officers of the yakuza clan observed behind, their expressions unreadable as the scene unfolded in front of them. They were still as statues, watching the young man bow again.

One of them was Mika Kamiwara, oyabun's older sister, the waka gashira, the first lieutenant, and the madam of the brothel. Known as ane-san, she was renowned for her captivating beauty and her smart wit. She had a talent for manipulation and a keen eye for people's secrets.

Next to her was Kazuo Koda, the shatei gashira, the second lieutenant, a man with an eyepatch who operated bars, such as Lagoon, and gambling dens for the yakuza. He was known to be a violent killer with a fearsome reputation, whose approach to getting what he wanted was brute force.

The last person was Hideo Ishida, the saiko-komon, the family's head advisor and senior mentor. He had sleek dark gray hair, a sophisticated manner and a shrewd attitude that made him an asset to the oyabun. Through his experience and strategic thinking, he assisted the clan to defeat their opponents.

The absolute leader, Aoi Kamiwara, then spoke again with finality.

"You shall perform the yubitsume ritual. This is a sign of repentance and a reminder of your dishonorable deeds. It is your duty to carry out this act and make amends for your wrongdoings."

He opened the wooden box, revealing a small knife and a clean cloth inside.

The lower-ranking man maintained his face emotionless as he slowly reached for the items, aware that he must pay for his mistakes with his own blood and pain. His movements were almost automatic as he walked over to a short-legged table in the middle of the room and carefully laid out the tools.

He steeled himself, forcing his trembling hands to stay steady, even though fear and dread coursed through his veins - a skill he had only learned from his uncle.

The man in the leather jacket then spread out the white cloth on the surface. He sliced the tip of his little finger off with a swift motion, clenching his teeth at the sharp pain that shot through him.

Blood pooled on the textile as he completed the sacred ceremony, staining it red. He wrapped the cloth around his cut fingertip and bowed his head in resignation.

"Please accept my apology, oyassan," he whispered and placed the reddened sheet in the wooden box.

(Later that night)

Natsuo paced back and forth in front of the penthouse entrance, his arms crossed as he waited for his roommate to arrive. He immediately knew something was off when his friend left earlier. The man had been tense all morning, couldn't sleep the night before, and avoided the other one throughout the day - a sign that something was bothering him.

It seemed an eternity before his housemate returned, his face grim and his hands hidden inside his pockets. He appeared almost distant as if his mind was elsewhere, not responding to inquiries about what had happened.

The white-haired man walked straight to the bathroom, but the teal-haired one noticed red blood drops following him, oozing on the floor with each step. His friend shut the door behind him, leaving the other one standing in the hallway. Natsuo's ears caught the sound of running water - it was clear that something had happened, but he had no idea what it was.

"I'm coming in, Jiro," he announced, after clearing his throat.

He opened the door. The sight that greeted him made his stomach twist - a frantic flow of blood gushed from his flatmate's left hand along with water.

"What happened?" Natsuo asked as he rushed to help, grabbing a towel from a shelf and pressing it against the wound.

The man didn't answer. His skin slowly drained of color as he looked down at the blood-soaked linen in the other's grasp.

"You need to go to the hospital," Natsuo said nervously as he raised the injured arm in the air to contain the bleeding.

"No. I'm not going anywhere," the white-haired man replied firmly, but still somewhat weakly.

His face was etched with a deep frown and his pale brown eyes were cloudy, weighed down by worry. Natsuo motioned for him to sit down on the toilet, not letting go of his hand as he guided him there.

"I don't want to deal with the looks or the questions. I will take care of it on my own," the man explained, sounding somehow bitter.

Natsuo paused, not expecting such a response.

"Why won't you leave the yakuza? You don't have to be a part of that anymore," he said, almost pleadingly.

Jiro gulped, looking even more difficult then he was before. For a short while, he looked like he wanted to tell something, perhaps some sort of secret, but he eventually let out a heavy sigh.

"No, it's not that easy. I, uh... pledged my loyalty when I joined, that I would serve until I died," he replied shakily.

Natsuo pressed the man's bloodied fingers against his chest. He had learned a few things about the yakuzas and their rules, so one thing came to mind - almost like a sudden weight on his shoulders.

"Is this because you saved me?" he asked quietly, nearly whispering.

The red liquid also marked his shirt, bleeding into the fabric and leaving traces of the trauma the other had endured.

"No," Jiro said, but his voice lacked conviction and his eyes gave away the truth.

Natsuo's face darkened as he realized the sacrifices he had made for him. They had talked about the yakuzas quite a bit, even though Jiro kept most secrets and details to himself. During those conversations, or whenever the clan or his work came up, one thing was certain - lately, it had been nothing but a struggle for him, something he had tried to hide.

Jiro placed his right hand on top of the towel, gripping Natsuo's fingers along with his own, and squeezing tightly as if he could draw strength from the other man's touch.

"I swear it wasn't because of that. My leaders were quite pleased as everything worked out well for them," the man said as he presented his most confident face.

Natsuo stared deeply into his pale brown eyes, and a silent understanding passing between them. He gently brushed the man's forehead with his fingertips, as an act to soothe the agony visible on the other's face.

"Jiro, you don't have to do this alone. Let's go to the hospital and get the help you need. I will go with you."

The look on the yakuza's face was a mix of surprise and gratitude as he gazed at him back.

"Don't let this define you. You are better than that," Natsuo continued without hesitation.

Jiro finally nodded in agreement, looking like he was comforted by the other's words. As if cemented together, their hands remained intertwined on the way out, while they promised to be there for each other, no matter what.