C14 A Father’s

The Oyabun’s house was quiet, far removed from the neon chaos of Tokyo. Sliding doors. Old wood. The smell of pine and incense. Tradition wrapped around the place like armor.

Riku knelt in the tatami room, silent, head bowed. Across from him, the Oyabun sat in a simple kimono, hair gone silver, his eyes still sharp with the weight of decades. To the outside world, he was a mountain. To Riku, he was something else—both a father figure and a reminder of everything that had been lost.

“Riku,” the old man began, his voice heavy. “You’ve grown into a man your father would be proud of.”

The name alone cut like glass. Riku’s father. Fourteen years old—that was the last time Riku had seen him, the night his father’s blood spilled to shield this very man.

The Oyabun’s gaze softened, though his voice carried guilt. “He died saving me. That debt… I can never repay. But taking you in, raising you as my own… it was the only way I could honor him.”

Riku bowed lower, his hands pressed to the floor. “You owe me nothing. My father made his choice. It was his pride to protect you.”

The Oyabun’s lips trembled with something unspoken. Because Riku didn’t know—couldn’t know—the truth. That the bond between him and his father had been more than loyalty. It had been love, unspoken, forbidden, and forever buried.

After a long silence, the Oyabun’s voice lowered. “I’ve heard whispers. About a boy.”

Riku stiffened.

The old man sighed, his eyes full of both concern and sadness. “They say you’ve taken an interest. A fighter. A waiter. A boy who does not… welcome your gaze.”

Riku’s fists tightened against his knees. “He belongs nowhere near this world. And yet—he’s under my skin.”

The Oyabun leaned forward, worry plain in his eyes. “Riku, listen to me. Obsession is poison. I watched your father destroy himself for loyalty, for love that could never be spoken. Do not repeat his fate.”

The words hit harder than any blade. Riku’s jaw clenched, but his silence spoke louder than denial.

The Oyabun looked down, hiding the flicker of grief in his eyes. Like father, like son, he thought bitterly. “Do not chain yourself to a boy who cannot return what you give. Or one day, you will bleed for him, as your father bled for me.”

Riku lifted his head, dragon eyes steady, burning. “Then so be it.”

The room grew colder.

And in the Oyabun’s silence, grief for the past tangled with dread for the future.