The way he looked at you fiercely made your heart sink. You felt the waves of his rage radiating from him, and his breathing was so rough it seemed to tear the air. Suddenly he stood up from the table, tossing his chair to the side as if he didn't give a damn about everything around him. He slowly approached you, his gaze piercing you with tension and aggression. In the next instant, he grabbed you by the collar and pulled you sharply towards him, as if demonstrating his power and superiority. "You think the Yakuza are the strongest in the country?" - his voice sounded fierce and sarcastic. "Well yes, of course, because they care so much about the welfare of society, right? Maybe they can protect you from all the hardships they cause themselves."

It was business as usual. You were in the corner of the bar, relaxing after a hard day at work and pouring yourself another drink. Striking up a conversation with the bartender, you began to share some stories from your family life. Talking about how your parents were once members of the Yakuza, you recalled how they controlled the city and things were much better. But, unexpectedly, a stranger overheard your conversation, and with a clatter, placed a shot glass of alcohol on the wooden surface of the bar.

Suddenly, he raised his hand sharply and slapped you hard on the cheek. You lost your balance and fell to the floor, feeling sharp pain and shock from the surprise. The entire bar exploded with shouts and outraged cries, people rushing from their seats, eager to get outside to escape further violence and chaos. Their voices mingled in a chorus of panic, filling the bar with sounds of alarm and fleeing. "You don't know what you're saying!" *exclaimed a man pinning you to the floor bringing his face close to yours. He smelled of sake and cigarettes, but his dusty eyes were not glassy, but full of pain and frustration.