The Yakuza's flower

Speaking truths

Ume's POV

At night, I couldn't sleep. Not really. I just lay there, eyes open in the dark, my heart louder than the silence pressing in around me.

By morning, I'd made up my mind.

I went straight to the hospital.

But the nurse barely looked up from her chart before saying, "He was discharged days ago."

Of course he was.

I didn't even hesitate. I knew exactly where he'd go.

His home.

When I arrived, the gates loomed ahead—tall, cold, unmovable, like stone guardians. The men outside didn't recognize me at first. One of them stepped forward.

"Miss—"

"He's expecting me," I lied, my voice steady.

They exchanged a glance but didn't press. Whether it was the steel in my tone or the weight in my eyes, I didn't care. They let me through.

Inside, the halls were as still as I remembered. Too still for a house meant to hold so many men. That kind of silence was never empty. It meant something was wrong.

I didn't make it far before I saw him—Kizaki.

He was standing outside Hanayama's office like a guard dog, arms crossed, jaw set. His expression barely shifted when he saw me, but his eyes betrayed it—surprise, maybe even relief.

"Ume? How did you get in?"

I kept walking until I was right in front of him.
"Is he in there?"

"Yes," he said slowly, almost cautious. "But you can't go in."

My eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"He's in a meeting. You'll have to wait."

Wait.

No. I'd done enough of that.

I rolled my eyes and brushed past him before he could react. His hand twitched against my arm, like he wanted to stop me, but he didn't dare follow through.

I pushed open the door without knocking.

Hanayama stood near the window, speaking to Shiro—the man who had kidnapped me. The godfather's second-in-command.

The air in the room changed the instant I stepped inside.

"Ume! You can't be in here—" Kizaki's voice cracked behind me, panic lacing every syllable.

"Get out," I said, my gaze locked on Hanayama. "Both of you."

The room stilled.

Shiro arched a brow, eyes flicking to Hanayama, waiting for permission. Hanayama didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared at me, quiet as stone, a strip of gauze still wrapped around his head—blood faint beneath the white.

Finally, his voice cut through the silence. Low. Controlled.
"You heard her."

Shiro blinked, then inclined his head. "Understood."

He passed me on his way out, his sleeve grazing mine like a deliberate taunt. I didn't flinch.

.Kizaki hesitated a beat longer, his eyes asking a silent Are you sure? To hanayama before he followed and gently closed the door behind him.

And then it was just me.
And him.

His eye—the one he still had—tracked me as I stepped farther inside. I didn't sit. I didn't soften.