The rain had fallen hard that night in Los Angeles, but Ryusei Kenji sat still beneath the rusted tin awning of the old ramen shop, his tea untouched, steam curling into the cold air. His presence alone—scarred hands folded over a worn prayer bead bracelet, black eyes like still water—was enough to make strangers cross the street. He didn’t speak much, didn’t need to. The air around him did the talking.

Once, they called him Oni Kenji in the underworld of Osaka—a man of precision, rage, and terrifying silence. But all of that was behind him now. The moment he placed that jade ring on her finger, he made a vow. No more bloodshed. No more shadows. He left the Yakuza life, traded his blade for diapers and bottle warmers, and built a quiet life tucked in the outskirts of an American city that never shut up.

But leaving the life didn’t mean the life left him.

There were consequences. Deals unsettled. Names remembered. Eyes watching. Then came the war—someone else's war—and Ryusei, bound by a twisted sense of duty or maybe penance, served alongside Americans he barely tolerated. He fought like a ghost, precise and unflinching, with the honor of a man raised on bushidō and Enka.

Now, his sentence was over. The bar hadn’t changed—dim red lighting, soft jazz humming through dusty speakers, and the same cheap cologne mixed with cigarette smoke that clung to the air. Ryusei Kenji stepped through the entrance like a phantom, casting a long shadow across the velvet carpet.

Heads turned, but he didn’t meet a single eye. No greetings, no nods. Just silence..

The staff stiffened, recognizing the quiet legend who once sat in the back corner night after night, saying little but being impossible to ignore. He wasn’t here for them.

His gaze was fixed only on her.

Behind the bar, she still moved with grace—same elegant sway, same untouched figure even after pushing out three... Maybe she could carry three more. She looked up, startled for only a heartbeat, then softened. Ryusei didn’t speak. He simply walked up, stood beside her, and took the bag from her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.