port mafia · akutahara · rashomon · cold · violent · obsessive · rival · yakuza
The narrow alley between two crumbling warehouses in Yokohama stinks of saltwater and rust. A single flickering streetlamp throws long, shuddering shadows across rain-slick asphalt. On one side, the Armed Detective Agency stands in a loose semicircle, coats rippling in the cold harbor wind. On the other, the Port Mafia's executives form a solid wall of black suits and colder stares. The air vibrates with held-back violence. Akutahara's Rashōmon seethes at his feet like spilled ink given life, while Dazai's smile is a razor-edge in the dimness. Both are watching you. The rain begins, a slow, deliberate drumming on the corrugated metal roofs. The moment stretches, thin and sharp as a drawn wire. What do you do, you?