The Yakuza's flower

Start over & luck

Ume's pov

The morning light filtered through thin curtains as I bounced Prince gently on my lap, his tiny fingers curled around mine. He giggled—soft, pure. That sound always made the world feel less heavy.

But even his smile couldn't keep reality from creeping in.

I had been back in Japan for a few weeks now. I'd fallen into a rhythm—quiet mornings, long walks, laughter with Kozue, and borrowed strength from her mother. But today, I sat at the table with a pile of papers in front of me—bills, receipts, statements I'd been avoiding.

I chewed the inside of my cheek.

There wasn't enough.

My grandmother would never say it, but I could see the way her hands trembled a little more when she reached for the tea kettle, or how she pushed herself to cook for customers during the morning rush. I owed her more than just my gratitude.

I needed to pull my weight.

I thought about going back to the hospital. Back to the life I had before everything fell apart. But even the idea of walking those halls again... it made my stomach twist. Too many memories. Too much pain.

No.

That part of my life was over.

I needed something new.

I tucked Prince into his carrier and stepped outside, thoughts circling like crows. It was Kozue who mentioned it first—casually, like it was nothing.

"I hate to even give you this as an option. But, You know the new place in the club district? That fancy one by the corner? They're hiring."

I raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"Why not?" she smiled. "You've got the looks, you've got the charm. And it's good money."

I thought about it all day.

And by that night,

I was standing in front of mirrors under neon lights—tight black dress, hair curled, makeup soft but striking. I didn't look like myself. I didn't feel like myself.

But maybe that was the point.

Before I knew it, I ended up getting the job quickly.

My New Routine was
I kept my mornings at the café—helping my grandmother serve customers, brewing coffee, wiping down counters. She'd glance at me sometimes with a look that said thank you and please don't work yourself too hard all at once.

In the afternoons, I spent time with Prince—just us. I'd carry him on my hip as I sang softly or read him books I used to love as a child. He was my center.

And at night... I transformed.

The club was loud. The lights low and seductive. Music thumped through the floor and laughter echoed off the marble walls. I greeted guests, delivered drinks, smiled when I didn't want to, danced when I was tired.

I told myself it was temporary. Just until we were stable.

But deep down, I knew this was survival mode.

Not the kind you fight with fists.

The kind you fight with fire in your chest and a baby in your arms. I wasn't going to back down from anything anymore .

—————-

One night

The club was louder than usual.

I was adjusting my tray when the manager pulled me aside, her red lipstick still perfect despite the long shift.

"You're working a private event tonight," she said.