09-12-2022, 02:12 AM
After weeks of searching, Kiyohito was convinced that Haruto fled Japan. The family extended him the opportunity to find the one that was blamed for a very public blight against their family, but if Kiyohito didn’t track down his little brother in time, only his own blood would satiate the wrong.
He never imagined himself in Moscow. Yet as the car let him off at the entrance to a hotel in the downtown business district, he realized just how far from Tokyo he was. He’d never left Japan before.
The hotel had his data before he even stepped foot inside the lobby. The man who owned the building had ties to their organization, but the biometric scanners at the door weren’t lost to Kiyo’s gaze either.
Except for the odd guest in the hotel bar, Kiyohito was a guest that kept to himself. His meetings were always short, long enough to share sake and formalities. He was careful with his probing, finding that the family in which he belonged did not rule in Moscow. Finally, he arranged to meet with representatives from the Edenokōji clan whose foothold in Moscow was unrivaled.
The bar was in a neighborhood he hadn’t seen before. It had something of a reputation, he’d been told, of trouble. Rumor said that a bloody fight once took place in the parking lot among strained Yakuza and Russian relations. Kiyohito was alone when he entered, and he certainly felt alone when more than one tight pair of eyes looked up. He tugged on the sleeves of his suit and showed himself to a table along the wall and ordered a bottle of Japanese beer if they had it.
He never imagined himself in Moscow. Yet as the car let him off at the entrance to a hotel in the downtown business district, he realized just how far from Tokyo he was. He’d never left Japan before.
The hotel had his data before he even stepped foot inside the lobby. The man who owned the building had ties to their organization, but the biometric scanners at the door weren’t lost to Kiyo’s gaze either.
Except for the odd guest in the hotel bar, Kiyohito was a guest that kept to himself. His meetings were always short, long enough to share sake and formalities. He was careful with his probing, finding that the family in which he belonged did not rule in Moscow. Finally, he arranged to meet with representatives from the Edenokōji clan whose foothold in Moscow was unrivaled.
The bar was in a neighborhood he hadn’t seen before. It had something of a reputation, he’d been told, of trouble. Rumor said that a bloody fight once took place in the parking lot among strained Yakuza and Russian relations. Kiyohito was alone when he entered, and he certainly felt alone when more than one tight pair of eyes looked up. He tugged on the sleeves of his suit and showed himself to a table along the wall and ordered a bottle of Japanese beer if they had it.