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but you won't forget me
Osamu Sawamura sat alone behind the worn mahogany bar, idly tracing the rim of an empty glass with his calloused fingers. The dim glow of neon signs outside barely filtered through the thick cigarette smoke lingering in the air, and the last notes of a slow jazz record hummed softly from the old jukebox in the corner.
It was late—later than he would have liked. The last of his customers had stumbled out nearly an hour ago, leaving only the ghosts of their conversations behind. Now, the only sounds were the occasional creak of the old wooden floors and the distant rumble of a passing car.
He sighed and rolled his shoulders, the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. Sure, it was a Friday night, and the rest of the city was still alive with laughter, drinks, and poor decisions. But Osamu wasn't interested in any of that.
Not tonight.
Tonight, he had business.
His eyes flickered to the vintage wall clock beside him. 12:07 AM. Any fool who dared enter his bar at this hour would be met with nothing but an irritated glare and a one-way trip back out the door. He wasn't in the mood for company. He was in the mood for this night to be over.
Osamu reached for a pack of cigarettes tucked beneath the counter, sliding one between his lips but not lighting it. Just the familiar weight of it was enough to calm his nerves. His shipment was supposed to arrive soon—something that couldn't wait until morning, something that required absolute discretion.
Something that, if it fell into the wrong hands, would make his already complicated life even worse.
He exhaled through his nose, tapping the unlit cigarette against the counter.
Where the hell are they?
Then, just as he was about to check his phone, he heard it—
The creak of the bar's front door. The light jingle of the bell above the door.
Too soft to be the ones he was expecting. Too hesitant.
His tired eyes flickered toward the entrance, his annoyance already settling in.
Some damn fool just walked into his bar.
And, judging by the muffled whispers and the barely stifled laughter, there was more than one.
Osamu pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaled deeply, and finally turned to face the intruders.
And there, standing in the dim light of his bar, were three of the last people he expected to see at this hour—
