Page 44 of Kotori
Methodically, efficiently, I work through the gang members. Not elaborate torture—quick, precise violence that disables without killing. Yet. Broken bones, shattered joints, permanent reminders of what happens when you test Matsumoto authority.
I can feel the wound on my shoulder throbbing. Bleeding. These vermin drew my blood—their death warrant is now sealed.
The leader watches his crew fall apart, finally understanding they've made a fatal mistake.
"Please," he gasps when I return attention to him. "We'll leave the territory, never come back."
"You're right." I grab his head in both hands, positioning carefully. "You'll never come back."
My hands snap to his face, fingers tight on his jaw, forcing his head back to bare the weak point I've trained to destroy. Forty years of martial art discipline coil into a single, explosive palm-heel strike—my hand rockets up, smashing his nose with a wet, splintering crack. Blood erupts as cartilage and bone collapse under my precision. His scream dies in his throat, eyes glassy with shock.
I don't hesitate. My other hand clamps the back of his skull, slamming it down with ruthless force, the impact reverberating through his cranium. I feel something give way beneath my grip—the subtle yield of fracturing bone. His body folds, lifeless, slumping to the ground, eyes wide with final understanding.
"Get up," I tell the corpse, blood pooling beneath it. "Get up and apologize."
When it doesn't move, I kick it once, hard enough to crack ribs.
"You made me late for dinner."
The surviving gang members stare in horror, finally understanding what real power looks like. What real violence feels like. Not their pathetic street posturing, but the cold, calculated fury of a man who's spent decades perfecting the art of pain.
I turn to the youngest, the one with the broken arm. His face is white with shock, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Watch carefully," I tell him, moving toward his friend with the shattered knee. "This is what happens when you touch what belongs to me."
I position myself behind the kneeling boy, who tries to crawl away on his one good leg. My hand moves to my pocket, drawing out the tanto I always carry—a blade passed down from my father, its edge honed to surgical perfection. With practiced efficiency, I grab his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat.
"Shine," I whisper in his ear.Die.
The blade moves in a single, precise arc. Blood sprays in a crimson fan across concrete as his carotid artery opens under my steel. His body spasms, hands clutching futilely at his throat, eyes wide with the sudden certainty of death. Within seconds, he goes still, life pouring out onto the warehouse floor.
"Who's next?"
They beg. They cry. They offer money, loyalty, servitude.
"Urusai!"Shut up.
I offer only death.
When I'm finished, five bodies lie cooling on concrete, their blood forming patterns like macabre artwork. The sixth—the youngest—left alive but broken. A messenger to carry word of what happened here tonight.
I crouch beside him, my face inches from his terror.
"Tell them who did this," I whisper. "Tell them why. Tell them what happens when you interfere with Matsumoto business."
He nods frantically, clutching his broken arm.
"Oboetenasai."Remember."The feeling. The helplessness. The certainty of death. The moment you understood your life was in my hands."
I straighten up, checking my watch. Blood has soaked through my shirtsleeve where the bullet grazed me. Blood spatters my hands, my face, my clothing.
"Takeshi," I call toward the doorway. "Call for cleanup. Make sure the workshop family understands their security is guaranteed now."
"Hai, Aniki." He surveys the carnage with approval. "And the survivor?"
"Hospital. Eventually." I check my watch—only thirty minutes since we arrived. Efficient evening's work. "Let him explain to doctors how he learned about respect."
But the lesson is complete. Five dead gang members, one traumatized survivor, their territory claims demolished along with their lives. Word will spread through Kyoto's underworld: Matsumoto protection is absolute, and testing our authority carries consequences beyond imagination.
