The Yakuza's flower

Questions to answer

Ume's pov

I didn't stop running.

Not when my lungs screamed. Not when my bare feet tore open on the pavement. Not when I could still taste the blood in my mouth from biting that bastard's hand.

The rain blurred everything—lights, sound, time.

I rounded the corner too fast. Slipped. Hit the ground hard enough to split my knee.

Didn't matter.

I pushed up and kept running.

My baby was in that car.

My baby.

Gone.

Ripped from my arms without warning, without mercy. Like I was nothing. Like he was nothing.

I didn't know why—but deep down, I already had a feeling.

This was about Hanayama.

And now they'd crossed a line.

My hands were trembling as I grabbed the phone. I tried calling kizaki but no answer, then I tried calling kozue, no answer.

I dropped my phone when I heard one of those bastards call my name as they caught up to where I was.

I didn't have a plan. Just rage. Just fear. Just that unbearable silence in my arms where he should have been.

"Ume!!"

I turned.

And I snapped.

I charged before he could react, slamming into him with everything I had. He staggered back, cursing, and I swung again—fists flying, fingers clawing. I wanted to blind him. Make him bleed. Make him feel something close to what I felt.

Another one came at me from the side.

I ducked, kicked low—caught his knee. He shouted and grabbed me, but I sank my teeth into his shoulder until I tasted blood.

"She bit me—!"

"Hold her down!"

I wasn't a person anymore.
I was rage.
I was a mother.
And I was done being quiet.

I fought like an animal.

Shiro's pov

I knew she would fight.

I didn't expect her to fight like this.

There was no technique—just raw survival. Fury so violent it made trained men hesitate. She tore through my crew like a storm, bleeding, barefoot, screaming like an animal with its heart ripped out.

Two of my men were already down—one cradling his face, the other coughing blood. I moved in, fast, cutting off her angle—but she was already swinging.

Her nails caught my face. Blood spattered across my cheek.

I grabbed her arms—she wrenched free like they were never mine to hold.

"Ume—enough!"

She didn't hear me.
She only saw the enemy.

Her elbow crashed into my ribs. I felt one crack. Sharp pain. Black spots.

I tried to twist her down—redirect her weight—but she hooked her arm under mine and—

Snap.

My shoulder lit up in fire. A clean, brutal dislocation. No hesitation.

I staggered back, gasping, barely keeping on my feet.

She lunged again.

"Back—back!" I barked at the men, trying to keep her from getting close enough to do worse.