Brothas

No Turning Back

[City: Salem, Illinois Time: 7:25 a.m.]

[Location: Salem Expressway]

Kebo and Kasuga's viewpoints while hurrying in the car, running late for work:

The day had barely begun, yet it already carried the heaviness of something unusual.

The sun was only beginning to climb, its pale light stretching across the horizon in thin bands of gold and silver. 

The air still had a cool bite to it, but the promise of a warmer morning lingered. Ichiban and I were running late for Hello Work, our car rolling steadily along the Salem Expressway.

We'd left my penthouse only minutes earlier, the quiet between us broken by an unexpected call—one that still sat in my chest like a lead weight. 

The name behind the voice wasn't a stranger: Masumi Sawashiro, once one of Kasuga's subordinates. 

His tone had been unnervingly mechanical, almost drained of human inflection, the kind of delivery that made each word seem calculated and deliberate. His threats were clear. 

He claimed he was coming to Salem, and that I had little time left unless I told him where Ichiban was.

The call had ended quickly, but its echo lingered. His voice threaded through my thoughts even as the city's morning rhythm unfolded around us. 

Traffic noise swelled and ebbed outside the glass, horns cutting through the low rumble of engines, but underneath it all, my pulse remained a constant, rapid beat. 

I told myself I wouldn't give in to intimidation—wouldn't betray a friend to shield myself—but determination didn't make the moment feel any less real.

Kasuga maintained his characteristic focus as he drove, his steely grey eyes fixed intently on the road ahead. 

Under his breath, he muttered inaudibly—a familiar habit of his when meticulously weighing his options.

"Okay... let's hope the expressway isn't too busy. Maybe I should take a different exit," he said, scanning the lanes. For a fleeting moment, there was room for optimism.

That hope faded quickly as we rounded a bend and saw the brake lights ahead. Lines of slow-moving vehicles stretched into the distance, their stop-and-go rhythm like a slow tide. 

The air outside seemed to thicken with impatience—drivers leaning on their horns, others shouting from cracked windows.

 Salem's morning road culture was in full display, each burst of noise cutting through the tense quiet of the car.

"Damn it!" Kasuga muttered, sitting back against the seat, not satisfied how the traffic is moving slowly.

"There are so many cars... we're going to be late." His hands adjusted minutely on the wheel as he tried to slide in behind an SUV, but there was no room. 

Every lane was jammed, cars clustered so tightly they looked welded together.

We came to another halt. My eyes drifted toward him, and for a long moment, he was no longer just a driver in morning traffic—he was a friend noticing a silence that had gone on too long. 

His gaze met mine. Around us, the noise dulled, as if the rest of the world had slipped a few paces away.

Sawashiro's voice echoed once more in my mind, every word articulated with precision, every syllable cutting with clarity. 

His presence seemed almost tangible—not in a physical sense, but in the lingering way an encounter imprints itself, like a shadow stretching from a place just out of view.