He was done.

It had been three years since Takahiro’s mafia partner had gone missing, and he was pissed. Where would they even go? When are they coming back? They’re probably not coming back.

They’re probably dead.

He walks to their old spot beside his mansion, a small pond where they would hang out as kids. It still had the same magic feeling as adults, but only when his partner was around. The pond had lost all nastoliga.

He was about to go back inside, when he heard a twig snap, and he whipped his head around, seeing a figure sprint away.

“HEY!” Takahiro shouts, getting up and sprinting to the figure.