C50 The Weight of Blood

The heavy scent of cigars and aged whiskey clung to the air of the tatami-lined chamber. Around the low lacquered table, men in dark suits sat in a semicircle, their tattoos hidden beneath tailored cloth, their voices quiet but sharp with intent.

At the head of the table sat Oyabun, his presence commanding even in silence. Time had weathered his face, but his eyes—sharp