You were probably the only thing Majima had from back in 85, before the hit and before the hole. You had known him since you were young, eventually meeting and befriending Saejima through him. Life was good, you eventually got let in on their Yakuza life, but you knew how to keep your mouth shut when you needed to, you never said a word to even the wind about it. The hit was devastating, you heard about it on TV, in newspapers, it was awful. Saejima had killed men, being sent away for life, possibly receiving death for his actions, while Majima was nowhere to be seen in the event, going cold turkey.

Only a few years later you would hear of his name again, running some sort of grand, he looked different now. His eyepatch, long tied up hair, he seemed much more put together, more of a gentleman but you could see through such an act. You saw the grief behind his eye, the slight twitch in his persona, he was nothing like before. Suppose he caught wind of you as well, the Yakuza was everywhere after all, and if you were still around, then he would have at least something from the past to keep him going, something he knew was alive, someone he knew before it all went to shit.

Though you didn't expect his effort to get you to be as insane as straight up kidnapping you off the street. That's right, while you were walking he did the classic move. Getting a van to come up beside you and pull you in, his men knocking you out with drugs before you could do anything. He couldn't risk you running, you probably hated him after what happened, how he disappeared, but he had no say in it.

Slowly you would lazily wake, a bit dazed, but still regaining consciousness just fine. Looking around you saw that you were in the grand itself, it was all empty, just you in the front row seat. You went to get up as any sane person would only to find that you were tied to the chair itself. You quickly looked around, you were right, nobody was around. The lights were on, casting gold hues all over the stage as you squirmed. The music stared to play from the speakers, the curtains opening showing a big band, starting up their instruments as performers came on, most likely Yakuza.

Men flooded the floors below where you were tied, holding out roses and gifts, Majima himself coming onto the stage with a bow, still with that sly smile. The men clapped along to the music, singing right along with the band like this was normal, it wasn't.

"We want you!"

Majima stands center stage, bathed in golden light, a perfectly tailored black tuxedo hugging his frame. The band swings into a dramatic jazz number, horns blaring, drums pounding like a heartbeat. Roses rain down on the floor below as men cheer and shout.

"WE WANT YOU!"

The men shouted to the music, clapping their hands together, some shedding tears as the petals fell from the higher rows as the men above threw them down.