The neon lights of the city buzzed overhead, flickering against the damp pavement as Emi Fujimoto gripped the strap of her worn-out bag. She had been working overtime at the diner, her body aching from exhaustion, but she wasn't heading home just yet. She had one last stop to make.
Her father had done it again.
Another debt. Another desperate plea for money he didn't have. And now, she had to clean up his mess before it swallowed them both.
At the intersection, she paused under the flickering glow of a traffic light. With a quiet breath, she reached into her coat pocket and curled her fingers around a small pendant—a simple silver necklace with a tiny cherry blossom charm. The chain had dulled over the years, but she never went anywhere without it.
Her mother's last gift.
A memory bloomed behind her eyes—the hospital room, sterile and too bright, her mother lying frail but still smiling through the pain.
"Emi…"
Her voice had been soft, brittle like paper. "I'm sorry, baby. I wish I could stay."
Emi had clutched her hand tightly, holding back sobs.
"Your father… he's flawed, but he's still your father. You're all he has. Promise me you won't hate him. Be stronger than I was. Be braver."
Her hand had trembled as she reached for Emi's neck, fastening the necklace gently.
"This is for when it gets too hard. When you want to give up. Just remember… you're not alone. You can survive anything."
The memory faded, and Emi's jaw tightened.
I'm trying, Mom.
The pachinko parlor buzzed with noise—flashing lights, spinning reels, and the chatter of addicts chasing luck they never had. She slipped past the machines and the distracted staff, moving like she'd done this a dozen times before.
Behind a steel service door, down a short hallway marked with stains and peeling paint, she stopped at an unmarked door. She knocked once. Twice.
A man opened it, eyed her, then stepped aside.
The hidden room reeked of smoke and stale beer. The air was thick, the ceiling low, and a single exposed bulb hung overhead, swaying slightly. A cluttered table took up most of the cramped space, covered in cash stacks, playing cards, ashtrays, and greasy food wrappers.
At the center sat Takahashi, the loan shark who had been bleeding her father dry for years.
"Fujimoto's girl," Takahashi mused, leaning back in his chair. "Didn't expect to see you tonight. You here to beg for more time?"
"I'm here to settle the latest debt," Emi replied, pulling an envelope from her bag. It wasn't enough to cover everything, but it was what she had managed to scrape together from her tips and side jobs.
Takahashi snorted, flipping through the bills. "This is barely a dent. Your old man owes me five times this."
"I'll get the rest," she said, keeping her voice even. "Just give me some time."
One of his men chuckled. "That's what he always says. But guess what, sweetheart? Time ain't free."
Takahashi's smirk widened. "Your father's a useless gambler, but you… maybe you can be useful in another way."
Emi's blood ran cold. She knew where this conversation was heading, and she refused to play along.
"I'll pay. Every yen," she said, standing her ground.
Takahashi exhaled dramatically, as if considering it. "You've got guts, girl. But guts don't pay debts." He gestured to one of his men. "Take her."
The moment the thug grabbed her wrist, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Let her go."
The room stilled. The men turned toward the entrance, where a figure stood leaning against the doorframe, the dim light casting shadows over his face.
Ren Kazama.
Just his name made the room tense. Emi had heard the rumors, caught glimpses of his face in news reports—always blurred, always mysterious. But now, seeing Ren Kazama in person for the first time, the stories didn't do him justice.
He was tall, his frame all broad shoulders and controlled power, his black suit sharp against the grime of the alley. Even standing still, he radiated danger—the kind that didn't need to raise its voice to be heard.
If Takahashi was a street thug, Ren Kazama was the shadow that made men like him sweat.
Takahashi's smugness faltered. "Kazama-san. What brings you here?"
Ren's dark eyes swept over the scene before settling on Emi. She could feel the weight of his gaze—cool, unreadable. He didn't look at her with pity or amusement. Just curiosity.
"Didn't know you started dealing with children, Takahashi," Ren said lazily, stepping forward. "I thought you had better standards."
Takahashi swallowed. "It's just business—"
Ren cut him off. "You're going to drop Fujimoto's debt. Permanently."
A tense silence filled the room. Emi's heart pounded. Why was he helping her?
Takahashi hesitated. "Kazama-san, that's a lot of money—"
Ren's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the air. The room suddenly felt colder.
"You want to talk about money with me?" His tone was soft, almost amused, but the threat was unmistakable. "Fine. How much do you think your own life is worth?"
Takahashi paled. The men behind him shrank back.
Ren tilted his head. "I'm waiting."
There was no argument left to make. Takahashi muttered a curse under his breath before waving a hand. "Fine. The debt's cleared."
Ren didn't acknowledge him. Instead, he turned to Emi, his gaze still unreadable. "You shouldn't be here," he said simply.
Emi met his eyes, forcing herself to stand tall despite the confusion and adrenaline flooding her system. "I didn't ask for your help."
Ren's smirk deepened, the kind that made people forget how to breathe. "Doesn't mean you didn't need it."
Her jaw tensed. "I can handle my own problems."
He stepped closer, just enough to make the room shrink around them. "If you could, you wouldn't be standing in a room like this with men like them."
"I was managing it," she snapped, her voice sharper than she meant.
"I noticed," he said dryly, glancing briefly at the thug still frozen behind her. Then, quieter, "No one should have to 'manage' that."
Emi's pulse stuttered. He wasn't mocking her. He wasn't pitying her either. Just… observing.
She looked away, ashamed of the heat rising in her face. "You don't even know me."
"No," he said. "But I know the look in your eyes."
Her gaze snapped back to his.
Ren tilted his head slightly. "Like you've been surviving on scraps of hope and instinct for too long."
Silence stretched between them like a live wire. Emi swallowed, the words caught in her throat.
He broke the tension with a final, offhand murmur, already turning toward the door. "I remember faces. Yours just became one of them."
Then he was gone.