The Yakuza's flower

Nothing ever changes

Hanayama's POV

Days passed since I told her to leave.

Since I pushed her away.

I was walking through the neon blur of the nightlife district, cigarette burning low between my fingers, when I heard it—

"Hanayama!"

I turned.

Kozue was storming toward me, fury in her steps. Baki trailed behind, trying—failing—to stop her.

"She's gone!" she shouted.

I didn't move.

"Ume," she added. "She left Japan. Packed her things and vanished."

I glanced at Baki. He met my eyes with something cold—something close to a warning. Almost saying if you do something to my woman you're done.

"You knew that would happen, didn't you?" Kozue hissed.

I said nothing.

"You made her think she was nothing!"

My jaw clenched. Still silent.

"She looked up to you," she said, her voice cracking—not from weakness, but rage. "She was scared, broken, and you crushed what little hope she had left. You think that makes you strong? You think shutting her out makes you a man?"

The silence was thick. Suffocating.
I looked around the busy streets.

Finally, I muttered, "It's none of your business."

She blinked. Stunned. Then—

"Bullshit." Her voice rose. "You didn't protect her. You punished her. And now she's gone—and you're standing here like she didn't take half of you with her."

I looked down at her and threw my cigarette on the floor before putting it out.

"Why are you here?" I asked, low.

Kozue stared at me, tears threatening but never falling. Then she said, "Because someone had to tell you the truth. And because when she left... she cried like her heart was still in your goddamn hands."

Her shoulders heaved. She stepped forward like she might hit me.

Baki grabbed her just in time, pulling her into his chest.

"Enough, Kozue," he murmured.

She struggled for a second. Then went still.

They walked away. I watched until they disappeared.

I continued on with my day

With my life

No woman is worth the fuss

At least that's what I was taught.

The days passed and turned to weeks.

Weeks turned to months..

One night I was in my office at home.

The cigarette burned slow between my fingers.

I let the smoke fill my lungs and stared at nothing. My office was quiet—too quiet. No laughter, no interruptions, no clumsy footsteps coming down the hall. Just the creak of leather under me and the hum of silence.

Ume was gone.

And I was trying to live like she never existed.

The days passed in meetings. Orders. Paperwork. Blood on my knuckles. It should've been enough—it used to be. But now it all felt like noise. Like gripping a blade and pretending the blood wasn't mine.