I became aware of the surroundings only after K drove the car into an underground garage.

“Wait, where are we?” I looked around realizing we weren’t at the compound.

“Oh, finally…” K grunted. “You snapped out of it?”

“Out of what?”

She furrowed her brow and emitted an audible sigh. “Whatever broody mood you were in. I wish Sunny had come back with us instead of taking the train. You certainly weren’t a fun company.”

“What are you talking about…I was just thinking about the fights---“

“Yeah, yeah, get out!” she commanded.

We both scrambled out of the boxy car, which K nonchalantly parked between a shiny black Mercedes and a sleek yellow Toyota convertible. She headed immediately towards the elevator and I duly followed, wondering if I was really that absent during the ride to deserve such an attitude from her.

“Where are we---oh…“ I saw her pressing the top button with the face of a fox.

“I need a drink.” She looked determined.

I shrugged with a yawn. “Sure, why not…I have nothing but lovely memories of this place.”

The elevator buttons illuminated one after another from lower to higher numbers without a pause.

“Not sure they’ll let you in,” I remarked, passing my eyes over her tracksuit.

My words didn’t provoke any reaction so I turned towards the mirror and zipped my favourite dark-blue hoodie over the t-shirt. The image of me sweating in the elevator in the brand new suit sprung to my mind. My first time at Tenko hadn’t ended too well, but a lot had changed since then.

I tucked one hand in the pocket of my jeans and eyed K smugly. “At least this sporty look is a welcome change from your usual uniform.”

“Uni--“ Her eyes widened in question for a split second but then returned to normal as she caught on to my subtle provocation of her usual darkly clothes.

“Oh, wait…that t-shirt… that I’ve seen before,” I added, pointing my finger at her chest.

She scoffed. “They’d let me in naked.”

“Ouu….thanks for putting that picture in my mind,” I retorted, realizing only after I’d spoken on the awkwardness my words created. We both broke the eye contact; she cast her stare downwards, while I turned mine at the floor buttons.

Just before the elevator reached the top floor, K took off her cap, stuffed it in the back pocket, and smoothed her hair. I caught her glance at the mirror, which she pretended was accidental by continuing her stare upwards to the ceiling and then down the walls again.

When the door opened she darted out of the elevator, leaving me behind. I hurried after her, matching her long strides with ease. The two guards at the entrance to the club unclipped the barrier rope as soon as they saw her coming and let us in without any questions.

K headed straight to the bar and started ordering before she even sat on the stool. The bartender, a slim, young woman with long black hair tied up in a low ponytail, listened to K with her mouth slightly open and nodded nervously at her words.

“What do you want?” K asked me with an impatient look.

“Umm….do they have Pocari Sweat?”

With an eye roll, she turned back to the bartender, who again listened to her words as if her life depended on it.

I leaned my left elbow on the counter and turned away from the bar to look around. The Tenko club was filling up slowly. No familiar faces, not even Ernest, or Ella. The stage was empty and the jazzy music coming from the speakers was quiet enough not to disturb a conversation.

With a shaky hand, the bartender placed two glasses on the counter. While the one before K was filled with a yellow liquid containing a small, rounded fruit, mine certainly was not the sports energy drink I had ordered.

I pushed the large glass with what looked like a green magical potion away and shook my head. “That’s not what I ordered.” Panic appeared in the bartender’s eyes.

“Just take it,” K said and took a sip from her glass, looking at me all the while.

“No. I don’t want to drink anything with alcohol.”

She laughed. “Relax, it’s just a melon soda. Kids drink this stuff.”

I took the glass back reluctantly. “Why couldn’t you just order what I asked?”

“Because we’re in a club. You can’t order drinks that are sold in vending machines, you punk.”

She finished most of her drink by the time I made one sip of my green soda. With ice cubes inside it tasted refreshing but a little too sweet. K fished out the small fruit from her glass and put it in her mouth.

“What on earth is that?”

“Mmm….ume…plum. Delicious..mmm” she spoke, an expression of pleasure settling on her face. “It’s umeshu…plum wine. You want to taste?” She raised her glass towards me.

I shook my head wincing.

She grinned. “Sueno san really got to you.”

“I’m feeling fine, it’s just that—“

“What?” she asked while calling the bartender with her hand.

My eyes paused on her silver pendant, which peaked out of her t-shirt as she leaned over the counter. I continued with reluctance: “Well, last time, at the dining house, after you and Kentaro had that little fallout, I had a very strange, unpleasant sensation….and then the blackout and the nose bleed at that encounter with Fujiwara…sama. I’m good now and I finished the last sip of my medicine days ago …just don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. I prefer to keep to the Doc’s instructions for a while longer.”

She chucked and was about to say something but was interrupted by the bartender who was quick to respond to her call. After she made another order she turned to me and waved her hand. “You worry too much.”

“But that was weird, K, I’ve never experienced anything like that--“

“So, you think you can beat Wyshnewski?”

The quick change of topic caught me unprepared. “Well, I…yes, of course.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

“Do you think I can beat him?”

She hesitated.

I pointed my finger at her. “There, you see! You doubt me.”

She turned up her palms and shrugged. “I’m being realistic.”

I scoffed and turned to my drink.

“I saw you froze at his kick. Whatever trauma you have, you need to get over it or you won’t be able to beat anyone.”

I shook my head and sighed. “There’s no trauma… The problem is you, your attitude, K. You don’t have faith me in, in my abilities. You don’t show any desire or eagerness to make me a champ.”

She lowered herself by leaning both of her elbows on the counter and gazed up at me with a smug smirk. “You little cry baby. Wyshnewski got you all worked up and now you want a stupid pep talk to make you feel better? That won’t solve anything. How about you trust me for a change?”

“How about you let me prove myself by arranging a fight for me?…Or at least some decent sparring? Kentaro offered his fighters.”

“I’m sure he did.” Her pupils enlarged over her green irises, adding intensity to her stare I couldn’t bear. As I averted my stare she directed hers toward the bartender. “What’s taking her so long?”

Her words, purposely spoken in a loud voice, added pressure to the already nervous bartender, who in her eagerness to please K spilled some of the drink as she placed the glass on the counter. K’s glare made her slim body shrink even more. “Where the fuck is Kenichi today?” she asked and then repeated it to the girl in Japanese. The bartender shook her head and answered in an apologetic tone.

K let her go and took the glass, withdrawing into a disdainful silence. With a hope we’d leave after she finished her second drink, I scanned the club and recognized a couple of fighters that fought at Yokohama event among the newcomers. Despite some nasty bruises on their faces, they seemed cheerful and in high spirits. I felt jealous.

“Looking for anyone in particular?” K’s lips at the brim of the glass twisted in a wicked smirk.

“Nope,” I replied and faced the bar.

K’s suspicious look made me glad Miyu didn’t show up. Talking to her in K’s presence would be extremely awkward. Same with James. I wouldn’t know what to say to him without sounding fake about his fight.

Intent on finishing what was left of my melon soda, I noticed the bartender talking to a man in a suit. She started preparing drinks, while he waited by the bar. After observing him for a while, the man started to look familiar. Once the tray was set with two ceramic flasks of sake and several cups, he headed towards the hallway at the back of the stage, with the bartender following him behind.

“I’ve seen that guy…” I muttered to myself. K must have heard me as she lifted her head and turned in the direction of my stare.

Her slightly dipsy gaze changed into an alert stare. “Fujiwara’s entourage…”

“Oh, right…he’s one of the guys that caught us in that apartment…and then escorted us…”

Not really listening to what I was saying, she straightened up on the stool and took a look around the club.

“What is it? K?”

She threw me a glare. “The oyabun are here. Stupid of me I didn’t notice it earlier. It’s your fault.”

I frowned. “How’s that my fault?”

“You distracted me with your…whiny attitude.”

After more careful observation, I spotted a couple of suits standing near the entrance to the hallway and another two a little further by the stage.

“I wonder what are they doing here…” A thoughtful expression consumed her face.

“Taking another prisoner, perhaps?”

“Don’t be silly,” she returned to me with another glare. “It’s probably just a meeting after the Yokohama event.”

“They must have come here before us. Fujiwara is hard to miss, especially when he dresses up as a samurai.”

“Sorry, Fujiwara sama,” I added in a tone that was more sarcastic than apologetic.

“That’s not a samurai--ah, never mind.” Shaking her head she gave up on her explanation. “There’s a private elevator at the back of that hallway. They could have been here for a while or just arrived…anyway, it’ doesn’t really matter.”

K emptied her glass and got annoyed realizing there was no one to serve her. The bartender returned soon enough and went straight to the mini kitchen behind the bar, failing to acknowledge K’s calls until she practically yelled. Her eyes cast downwards she approached the counter and listened to K’s speech, then withdrew with a small bow.

“What’s the matter with her?” I asked

“She’s new to this place and has zero confidence. Serving the oyabun probably added to her stress. I wonder where Kenichi is…he had to know the oyabum were coming tonight. It’s odd that he’d leave somebody so inexperienced to do the job.”

“Do you know him well?”

“Kenichi? Huh, I suppose so.”

“Was he your bartender confidant for the many nights you spent at the bar?” I asked jokingly, turning my eyes at her third glass of umeshu the bartender just placed before her.

She forced a smile. “I know him quite well actually. He manages this place. And like me, he had his share of shitty life experiences.”

“And what were those?” I continued, realizing the plum wine started to work its magic.

“Mine or his?” She simpered, then leaned closer to me and whispered: “He was a gangster. A real gangster. Did you notice that half of his little finger is missing?” She grinned awkwardly and sipped from her glass. “He chopped it off…like this--” Placing her left hand on the edge of the counter she made a cutting motion with her right hand over her left pinkie.

“Haven’t noticed it…but interesting.” I nodded my head, beginning to enjoy the conversation. “Why did he do it, though? I know Yakuza cut their finger when they fuck up with their boss.”

“Yakuza, uh-huh…big word for a gaijin…” Giggling she put the glass to her mouth. “Cutting off your finger is a ritual, to show your remorse. But… he never told me how he wronged his boss.”

“I always wondered why the pinkie? Can it be another finger? Or it depends on the crime….like the bigger the fuck up the bigger the finger?”

My question set her off into a fit of laughter. “Baka,” she uttered, once she calmed down. “It’s because of the sword. The last three fingers –” She raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in my face. “--are used to grip the sword tightly. Removing the pinkie would weaken your grip and make you a weaker swordsman.”

“How’s that still a thing? People don’t exactly go around with the swords.”

“The sword will always be very important in Japan.” Shaking her head, she dismissed me with a hand wave. “You cannot understand…“

As it was the case with many other Japanese things, but right now I was intrigued by the mystery that sat beside me. I realized how little I knew about my proxy. “You’re pretty good with the sword.”

Pressing the glass to her cheek, she chuckled. “Yes, I am.”

“Have you trained with it for a long time?…Is there a particular school of swordsmanship? I have no idea how this goes…”

“I’ve trained kenjutsu--the Japanese swordsmanship since I was a kid. I’m schooled in Ono-ha Itto-ryu style. But, lately…actually for a while now…” she dropped her head forward and tapped her fingers against the counter. “The sword training I had with you was the first one after a long time.”

“Well…” I said, sensing the nostalgia creeping up inside her. “You were still quite good.”

She lifted her head promptly. “What do you mean quite good?…I beat your ass!”

With a glass in my hand, I tilted my head sideways pursing my lips…”Mmm…don’t know about that.”

She opened her mouth enacting a mock shock expression. “I’ll remember this for our next sword practice.”

“Uuu…I’m shaking…those wooden sticks are really scary,” I teased.

She wanted to say something back but was overcome by laughter.

I leaned my elbow on the counter, and rested my head in the palm of my hand, smiling and enjoying the pleasant change of the mood between us.

“So what are your shitty life experiences?”

Her laughter waned and she shifted on her stool, clasping her fingers around the glass. Her gaze became thoughtful and accompanied by a bitter smile. I watched her, waiting for her to speak when a person coming from the hallway entered my field of vision.

“Hey, isn’t that Kenichi the bartender?”

K turned her head and immediately waved at him, calling out his name. But Kenichi walked right past us as if he didn’t see or hear us, despite being only a meter away. He headed straight towards the terrace.

“What was that all about?” K uttered looking a little surprised, and followed him to the terrace. Kenichi’s behaviour gave me an eerie feeling, so I went after her.

The terrace was mostly empty save for the few guests at the corner tables, whose privacy was well sheltered by the scarce illumination.

Kenichi stood by the transparent fence with his back towards us. His pose was oddly straight, with his arms separated from the sides of his body, and his legs slightly spread.

K and I both stopped at a distance, our instincts telling us something was off.

“Kenichi san? Dō shita no?”

At K’s words, Kenichi turned. His face, prominent against the moonless sky, was sunken and gaunt and bore an alien expression. His eyes gaped not at us but through us, refusing to acknowledge our presence. The lines on the sides of his mouth deepened pulling his lips into a disturbing approximation of a smile as his hands reached for the collar. In a sudden motion, he tore his blouse open, revealing a tattooed torso beneath it. The inked motives covered every inch of his flesh and seemed to extend further over the arms but stopped neatly below his collar bone, leaving Kenichi’s neck clean and ordinary. He inhaled deeply, the sides of his open blouse fluttered in the night breeze.

In that tiny amount of time, my eyes noticed a myriad of details: the button that fell from his blouse to the ground, a small cherry blossom tattoo above his navel, the mutilated pinkie on his left hand, the droopy eyelid above his right eye. All that disappeared as he turned around, grasped the top of the fence, and hoisted himself over.