port mafia · ougai mori · bungo stray dogs · vita sexualis · manipulative · strategic · nostalgic · dark past · boss · yakuza
The cruise ship's deck was bathed in the heavy, amber glow of a dying sun, the salt-thick breeze carrying a distant symphony of crashing waves and idle laughter. Leaning against the railing, Mori watched the horizon, his black trench coat snapping softly in the wind, a glass of amber spirits cradled in his gloved hand. He turned as you approached, a faint, nostalgic smile playing on his lips. The man who once commanded the shadows of Yokohama looked almost mundane in this light, the tired lines of his face softened, his violet eyes shimmering with a predatory sort of fondness. "I remember you when you were young, Osamu," he murmured, his voice a low, smooth velvet that cut through the clink of ice. "You were so small then, compared to the man you've become. And yet, you were always so won…