Monk

Chapter One Shattered Glass

Tokyo’s neon lights pulsed against the night, casting a glow that seeped through the window of the small Takeda apartment. The familiar warmth of family surrounded Hana as she sat at the table with her parents, relishing the comforting routine of a homemade dinner. Her mother’s gentle laughter filled the room, echoing against the low rumble of her father’s voice as he recounted an old family story. It was a rare moment of calm in a city that never slept, and Hana couldn’t remember feeling more at peace.

But as she looked around, a strange unease tugged at her mind. The world outside, the hum of traffic, the distant clamor of late-night vendors—all seemed to fade into an ominous silence, as though the city itself held its breath. Her father noticed her far-off expression and smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

“Everything all right, Hana?” he asked, his voice warm but edged with concern.

Hana managed a small nod, though her chest felt tight. “Yes, just… a feeling. Like something’s coming.”

Her mother chuckled, waving off the comment. “Don’t be silly, Hana. You’ve been reading too many thrillers,” she teased, dishing out another helping of rice.

But before Hana could respond, a sudden crash shattered the tranquility. The living room window exploded inward, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor. The family froze, shock rooting them in place as dark figures poured through the open door, their black suits melding into the shadows of the room.

Yakuza.

Hana’s heart raced, the realization hitting her like ice. She had heard whispers about the Yakuza’s reach, their ruthless control over the city’s underbelly—but they had always been a distant threat, a faceless force kept at bay by the safety of home. Now, they were here, in her living room, turning her world inside out.

Her father’s hand tightened on hers. “Hana, go. Get out!” he hissed, a fierce command barely masking his fear.

Hana’s mother was already on her feet, placing herself between Hana and the intruders. But the Yakuza men advanced with a cold, merciless efficiency, ignoring the pleas and protests that erupted from her mother’s lips. Hana’s father sprang to his feet, desperation in his eyes, as he tried to shield his family.

The leader, a towering man with a scar cutting across his left cheek, raised a gun. Without hesitation, he aimed it squarely at Hana’s father.

“No!” Hana screamed, reaching out as if she could stop what was coming. But it was too late.

A deafening shot rang out, reverberating through the small apartment like a final death knell. Her father staggered backward, his face frozen in shock, before collapsing onto the floor. His hand slipped from hers, leaving her clutching empty air. Hana felt her world collapse, the life she had known dissolving into fragments before her eyes.

Her mother’s scream pierced the air, a wail of raw, unfiltered anguish. The men turned to her next, their eyes as empty as the barrel of the gun they held. Hana’s instincts took over, adrenaline surging through her body as she scrambled to her feet, heart pounding.

“Hana, run!” her mother’s voice cried out, strangled and desperate.

Hana hesitated for a fraction of a second, torn between the urge to stay and the instinct to flee. But her mother’s final, pleading look left her no choice. Choking back her sobs, she turned and bolted toward the back door, forcing herself not to look back as another shot shattered the air. She pushed through the door, the last remnants of her home vanishing behind her as she plunged into the dark alley beyond.

She ran blindly, her breath coming in gasps as she darted through narrow streets and twisting alleys. The sounds of the city faded, replaced by the pounding of her heart and the echo of her mother’s last scream ringing in her ears. She felt cold, her body numb with shock and terror, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to keep moving.

The footsteps of her pursuers grew louder, closing in with each passing second. Hana turned a corner, barely noticing the pain as her foot slipped on the slick pavement, sending her sprawling to the ground. She scrambled to her feet, her hands scraping against the rough asphalt, but the Yakuza men were already rounding the corner, their shadows stretching long in the dim streetlight.

She pushed herself up, ignoring the pain, and ran deeper into the maze of alleys, her mind racing. She needed to find a place to hide, somewhere she could disappear into the city’s darkness. But the men were relentless, their footsteps echoing through the narrow streets, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just behind her.

Ahead, she spotted an old, abandoned warehouse, its doors slightly ajar. Without thinking, she slipped inside, pressing herself against the cold, metal wall as she struggled to control her breathing. The dim light cast eerie shadows across the room, but it was quiet, a haven of stillness in the chaos of her escape.

She held her breath, listening as the footsteps outside grew fainter, then stopped altogether. Hana felt a flicker of hope, a brief moment of relief. But as she glanced around the darkened room, she realized that she was far from safe. The warehouse was empty, a desolate shell filled with forgotten memories, but it was also a trap. If they found her here, there would be nowhere left to run.

Slowly, she crept deeper into the warehouse, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. She felt exposed, vulnerable, her heart pounding in her chest as she searched for a way out. Every creak of the old building sent a shiver down her spine, her mind racing with thoughts of what lay just outside.

And then, she heard it—a soft whisper, barely audible, but unmistakable. The faint shuffle of footsteps on the concrete floor.

They were inside.

Panic surged through her veins as she pressed herself against a stack of crates, willing herself to disappear into the darkness. Her breathing was shallow, her body tense, every nerve on edge as she waited. She could hear the men talking in low voices, their words a mixture of laughter and menace that sent chills down her spine. They were hunting her, relishing the chase.

For a brief, desperate moment, Hana considered running again, but she knew it was futile. They would catch her, just as they had caught her family. And she was alone now, the last thread of her life severed by the Yakuza’s cruel hand.

She clenched her fists, a surge of anger bubbling up through her fear. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. She might be powerless now, but she would remember this night. She would remember their faces, the coldness in their eyes, the smug satisfaction of their smiles. And one day, she would make them pay.

The footsteps grew closer, echoing through the empty warehouse as the men searched each corner, each shadow. Hana’s heart raced, her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the walls closing in around her, the weight of her own helplessness pressing down on her like a vice.

And then, just as one of the men stepped into her hiding spot, a voice called out from outside the warehouse, urgent and commanding.

“Leave it. She’s gone,” it said, cold and dismissive.

The man hesitated, his eyes scanning the darkness one last time before turning to follow the others. Hana waited, her heart hammering, as the footsteps retreated, fading into the distance. She didn’t move, barely daring to breathe, until she was certain they were gone.
When she finally stepped out of her hiding place, the silence of the warehouse engulfed her, a heavy emptiness that mirrored the hollow ache in her chest. She was alone, truly alone, the life she had known reduced to ashes.
As she stumbled out into the night, one thought burned within her, fierce and unrelenting.
She would return. She would become strong. And when the time was right, she would take her revenge.
This was the beginning of her war.