Chapter 4: The Drunks truth

Chapter 4: The Drunk's Truth

Rin sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of Engine's dimly lit home, the scent of rust and old paper lingering in the air. Morning light streamed through a slit in the metallic ceiling, illuminating the scattered tools and mechanical scraps that littered the room. Engine, as usual, was absorbed in tinkering with some odd contraption, his black fingers twisting wires with practiced ease.

A rusted metal pipe clattered outside, followed by the hurried footsteps of the delivery boy. With a grunt, Engine reached for the daily newspaper that had been slipped under the door. He unfolded it, his sharp silver eyes scanning the headlines.

"THE SHIRAIRYU IS DEAD."

Rin, peering over his shoulder, frowned. "Who's the Shirairyu?"

Engine didn't answer immediately. Instead, his fingers crumpled the paper slightly, and his jaw tensed. He shot Rin a look—a silent warning not to press further of the matter.

But Rin wasn't one to let things go. "You know something," he said, his voice low looking engine back directly at his gaze.

Engine sighed, rolling up the newspaper and tossing it aside. "Forget it, kid."

That only made Rin more curious. But before he could argue, his eyes caught something else in the newspaper—something strange. A folded letter had been slipped between the pages.

His heartbeat quickened as he unfolded it.

"I know your father."

The words were scribbled hastily, almost as if the writer had been in a hurry. Below the message was an address.

Rin's breath hitched. His father? The man he barely remembered, the man who was nothing more than a ghost in his memories? He clenched his fists, glancing at Engine, who had already turned his attention back to his work.

Rin made his decision.

The bar was filthier than he had expected. The air stank of sweat, cheap liquor, and something more putrid—maybe rotting food or bodies that hadn't been washed in days. The floor was sticky with spilled drinks, and the wooden tables were scarred with knife marks.

The patrons—thugs, lowlifes, and men who looked like they had killed before—eyed him as he stepped inside. Conversations hushed for a moment before resuming in low murmurs.

Rin ignored them. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on a man slumped over the counter. A glass dangled from his fingers, the liquor inside dangerously close to spilling. His clothes were tattered, his hair an unkempt mess, and his beard thick with neglect.

Hudson the Drunk.

Rin approached. "Are you the one who left me the letter?"

Hudson's head lifted slightly, bleary eyes peering at Rin. "Ah… so you came." His voice was rough, like gravel scraping against metal. He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the counter. "Didn't think you'd show."

"Who are you?" Rin demanded.

Hudson smirked. "Just an old fool who remembers too much." He gestured to the bartender, who poured him another drink. "But you… you're your father's kid, aren't you?"

Rin stiffened. "You knew him?"

"Knew him?" Hudson let out a bitter laugh. "Your old man was the kindest person I ever met. A good man in a world that doesn't deserve good men." He swirled his drink, his expression distant. "And look where that got him."

Rin's chest tightened. "Where is he?"

Hudson didn't answer. Instead, he took another long sip of his drink.

Rin slammed his fist on the counter. "I asked you a question!"

Hudson chuckled darkly. "And I don't have an answer you'll like."

Something in Rin snapped.

His hand shot forward, grabbing Hudson by the collar and yanking him off his stool. The man stumbled, nearly dropping his drink.

The bar went silent.

Hudson's drunken smirk didn't waver. "You've got his fire, alright."

Rin didn't let go. "Tell me what you know!"

Hudson's eyes turned sharp despite the alcohol clouding them. "Or what? You'll beat it out of me?"

Rin's grip tightened. "If I have to."

A flicker of something—amusement?—crossed Hudson's face before he drove his forehead into Rin's.

Pain exploded in Rin's skull as he stumbled back, but his instincts kicked in. He retaliated with a swift punch to Hudson's gut, sending the older man crashing into a table. The bar erupted in chaos.

Drunken patrons cheered, others scrambled out of the way, and a few even joined in, fists flying in every direction. Bottles shattered, chairs were thrown, and the bartender ducked behind the counter.

Hudson, despite his state, was fast. He lunged at Rin, tackling him into a wooden pillar. "You want to know about your father?" he growled. "Then listen, boy—"

Rin shoved him off and landed a kick to his ribs. "Stop talking in riddles!"

Hudson wiped blood from his lip, grinning. "Fine. You want the truth?" He raised his voice over the chaos. "Your father was—"

Before he could finish, the doors burst open.

Authorities stormed in, clad in dark uniforms and nose marks and armed with batons. "Enough!" one of them barked.

The room stilled for a moment before chaos resumed. The officers moved swiftly, tackling men to the ground, breaking up fights with brutal efficiency.

Rin barely had time to react before a baton slammed into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. He collapsed to the floor, coughing.

A firm hand grabbed his wrist, twisting it behind his back. Cold metal clicked around his wrists—handcuffs.

Hudson, still grinning despite his bruises, lay beside him, similarly restrained. "Well, boy," he wheezed, "looks like we're in this together."

Rin gritted his teeth as he was hauled to his feet when Hudson looked elsewhere he chuckled.

This was part of his plan.