Thursday, 13 November 1992
Akira Hamazou sat alone in the dimly lit hall of the Hamazou clan headquarters, the scent of old wood and sake thick in the air. A bottle sat half-empty beside him, but his mind was far from the numbing comfort of alcohol. The memories weighed heavier than ever.
Ever since the violent confrontation with Zaboru—his daughter's boyfriend—and the gut-wrenching moment when Ayumi, his own daughter, threatened to take her own life if he interfered again, Akira had been in turmoil. The fear that she might mean it had haunted him relentlessly. Not because he thought Ayumi weak, but because he had seen it before.
He knew how deeply pain could run.
He had lived it.
In his youth, Akira was feared. They called him the "Ashura of Hamazou," a monster with fists like steel and a will that couldn't be broken. Alongside his brother Abarai, a master tactician, they made the Hamazou Yakuza family one of the most dominant forces in the underground. But not everyone in the family fit the mold.
Their elder sister, Aria Hamazou, had been different. Gentle. Dreaming of a normal life, away from crime, away from blood. She wanted to marry, to raise children, to live in peace. And she fell in love—with a kind, ordinary supermarket clerk.
Akira hadn't understood.
When he saw them together, he felt shame disguised as anger. He thought, how dare a mere supermarket clerk believe he was worthy of someone with Hamazou blood? He beat the man nearly to death, ignoring Aria's desperate pleas. He thought he was protecting her, saving her from dishonor. But the result was tragedy.
Her lover, crippled and traumatized, distanced himself from her.
Then she went to Azai Hamazou, their father and the leader of the Hamazou family, and pleaded with him to let her leave the Yakuza life behind. She just wanted to be a normal girl, to live freely without bloodshed or legacy. She made it clear: if she couldn't escape, she would end her life.
Azai, torn between tradition and his daughter's happiness, was ready to grant her wish. But Akira stood firm in his defiance. He argued that she should be proud of the Hamazou bloodline, that abandoning it would be disgraceful. Blinded by his skewed sense of honor, he even threatened to track down and punish any man she chose to be with, convinced it was the right thing to do to protect her.
After that misfortune began and Aria, broken by the cruelty of the very family she had once loved, took her own life. Her final letter was scorched into Akira's memory: "Everything is Hamazou's fault. I wish the family would collapse upon itself."
Akira hadn't cried. He had raged.
He buried his guilt in violence, in loyalty to the clan, in his pride. Even when his brother Abarai and father Azai sought change—sought to soften the Hamazou name and move toward legitimate business because of how hurt they are not for Akira , Akira remained the relic of a dying age.
And now, decades later, he had nearly repeated the same mistake.
Ayumi.
Ayumi, who reminded him so much of his sister Aria. Even their looks are almost identical.
Her threat of suicide had pierced the armor he had spent decades forging. And for the first time in years, Akira felt afraid. Not of enemies. Not of rivals. But of himself.
"Ashura of Hamazou?" he scoffed into his sake. "I'm nothing but a damned monkey, just like Akechi said." He said while punching his angry gorilla tattoo on his left chest.
Slamming the bottle away, Akira stood. His eyes were bloodshot but clear.
"No more. No of this bullshit i need to make this right"
He dressed, combed his wild hair back, and left the Hamazou compound, heading straight for Ayumi's apartment.
Not long after, Akira arrived at Ayumi's apartment. He stood in front of the door, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. Then, with a trembling finger, he reached out and pressed the doorbell.
Ayumi opened the door with a frown. Her expression hardened the moment she saw who it was.
"What do you want? I told you, I want nothing to do with you."
Akira bowed his head. "Ayumi... please. Just talk with me. One last time. Let me speak."
His voice held no pride. No bravado. Just quiet desperation.
Ayumi hesitated, then stepped aside. "Five minutes. That's all."
They sat across from each other at her small dining table.
"I'm sorry," Akira began. "What I did to Zaboru... what I said to you... there is no excuse. I was wrong. Completely. And if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I'll do anything to make it right."
Then, to her shock, Akira bowed low. His forehead touched the table.
"Please... forgive me, Ayumi," Akira said, his voice trembling as tears rolled down his cheeks. Desperation clung to every word. This wasn't about pride anymore; it was about a father yearning to be loved again by the daughter he had nearly lost.
Ayumi's eyes welled up. This wasn't the father she remembered. This wasn't the monster she feared. This was a man broken by regret.
She stood and gently touched his shoulder. "Raise your head, Father. I forgive you. But..."
Akira looked up.
"If you want me to forgive you fully, you have to apologize to Zaboru. The same way you apologized to me." Ayumi said
His heart pounded. But he nodded.
Akira gritted his teeth, but then took a deep, steadying breath. "So be it. No more delays. Invite Zaboru to the Hamazou headquarters. I want to apologize to him there—in front of everyone." His tone was resolute, stripped of any ego. This was his way of drawing the line, of starting a new chapter. His pride no longer mattered; what mattered now was being a father Ayumi could truly be proud of.
Ayumi smiled faintly. "I'll contact him."
Akira thought, 'I'll do anything to earn Ayumi's love back as her father—even if it means throwing away my pride. I've already been a fool for far too long.'
To be continued...
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