ENGLISH VERSION - Second Star to the Right (Mikey Bonten x OC)

Chapter 2: Bonten

POV MIKEY

6 years later

Tokyo, January 3, 2012

"Bonten: gambling, fraud, prostitution, trafficking of all kinds, and murder... They say they're behind every crime. We don't know their numbers, nor the identity of their leaders. Our police force is overwhelmed. None of our informants dare to speak... Bottom line, this gang is becoming the largest criminal organization in the country," recites Takeomi Akashi, consultant for Bonten.

He tosses the report, stolen from the police, onto the table in our new headquarters' meeting room. A 43-story building in the heart of Tokyo to house our 500 members. Kokonoi Hajime, our treasurer, handled the acquisition. The place is perfect: private floors for the executives, each with their own suite, a massive dojo, and a multi-level basement... for all the things that need to stay hidden. Officially, we're in import-export. But in reality, everyone knows what we're really up to. They talk about us everywhere, even on TV.

"These are the details we've managed to gather," Takeomi continues. "Got anything to add, Wakasa?"

Wakasa Imaushi, former Black Dragons gang member, barely looks up, shaking his head. "Nope, nothing. You guys have gotten exactly where you wanted. Welcome to the big leagues."

"Damn, that title's got some weight to it, huh? 'The biggest criminal organization in the country,'" exclaims Rindou Haitani, a Bonten executive.

"You really think they got zero info on us?" asks Kakucho Hitto, Bonten's number three.

"No way they do," snickers Sanzu Haruchiyo, Bonten's number two, stroking his katana. "Everyone knows what we do to traitors."

Hanma Shuji, another Bonten executive, bursts into laughter. "What was that line you said to that jerk before you crushed him?"

Rindou laughs. "Don't get him started, man. He'll go off again. This junkie gets way too hyped over snitches."

Sanzu grins, a crazed smirk plastered on his face. "Bonten's hammer falls on the traitors!"

Ran Haitani, Rindou's older brother and another Bonten exec, rolls his eyes, adjusting his flawless suit. "Yeah, and right after that, he splattered my two-thousand-dollar Italian shoes with that guy's blood. Thanks, Sanzu. I'm putting that on the expense report."

"Yeah, good luck with that," retorts Kokonoi, exasperated. "Don't forget who handles the money around here."

Rindou throws a crumpled piece of paper at him. "You're such a cheap ass, Koko."

"I'm thrifty, and it's a good thing I am, or you'd all bankrupt us. Seriously, Ran, do you really need to buy drinks for every girl in Tokyo?"

Ran smirks. "I'm just a gentleman, and excuse me for being popular with the ladies."

Takeomi clears his throat, bringing everyone back to focus. "Alright, settle down, kids. We're not done yet. We need to talk about the next mission, especially with these new guys aiming for the top spot."

"The top spot? There's only one throne, and it's Mikey's," declares Sanzu.

All eyes turn to me. Manjiro Sano. The boss of Bonten. My empire.

The door opens, and Mochizuki Kanji, another Bonten executive, walks into the room. "Sorry I'm late..."

"We didn't even notice you were gone," mocks Rindou, sparking laughter from Ran, Sanzu, and Hanma. Kokonoi smirks, while Kakucho stays impassive.

"I'll smash your face into the wall, asshole," Mochi growls.

Takeomi coughs again. Wakasa looks bored out of his mind, staring out the window.

"You're all pissing me off," snaps Takeomi. "Mochi, go ahead. Tell us about these guys who think they can steal our spotlight."

"The Black Snakes. A new gang making some noise in town. They're encroaching on our territory. I've got people who might give us all the info we need." He taps his phone, and the faces of these guys appear on the big screen. I barely glance at it.

"Good work, Mochi," Takeomi praises him.

"That one looks familiar," murmurs Kokonoi, frowning.

"Yeah, Atsushi. He was with Takemichi. An ex-Toman," confirms Kakucho.

Takemichi. Toman. Names from the past. I should feel something. But I don't. My eyes drift toward the screen. I vaguely recognize the guy. He was friends with her.

Her.

Her name flashes through my mind for a split second. But the wave of memories is too strong, too dark. I close my eyes for a moment. I remember her laugh. Her eyes. How she lit up everything around her. My fist clenches under the table. The emptiness inside me grows again.

"Deal with him first," I say coldly.

"Right away, Mikey," Sanzu replies with a wicked smile.

"Okay, meeting's over. You all know what to do. We'll meet again in two days," Takeomi concludes.

Chairs scrape, doors slam, everyone leaves. Except me.

I stay there, staring at the wall. I hear a lighter flick open. I turn my head. Wakasa is still here.

"Changed your mind?" I ask, without much interest.

"No, still not joining Bonten. Just doing a favor for my bro."

"Then why are you still here? If you're here to piss me off, you can fuck off."

He takes a long drag from his cigarette. "Nice matching tattoos," he comments, gesturing at the hanafuda symbol on my neck.

"Kakucho's idea. Tied to Izana."

"I see," he replies, tapping his cigarette into the ashtray. "Takeomi told me about the new business ventures you're launching."

"And?"

"You sure about what you're doing? You're going up against the mafia, you know that?"

"Yeah." My gaze fixes on him, cold. I can feel my temper slipping. "If that's all you had to say, you can get the hell out."

"You know, your brother, he—"

"I'd suggest you don't finish that sentence if you want to walk out of here alive," I cut him off.

"Alright, just giving you a heads-up," he sighs, standing up. He pauses at the door. "You know what waits for you at the top?"

I don't answer. I don't give a damn what he thinks.

"Nothing. Just the void, and I hope you don't fall into it."

He's wrong. I'm already there. The void is all I have left.

He finally leaves, and I'm alone. I play with the thimble in my hand. I think of her. I never stopped.

I stare at the wall like one looks at eternity: endless, with no answers, just the crushing silence of what will never be.