My Yakuza

I tried going back to the school, I just couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to see the disappointment on Master Opahs face. Weeks passed and Diomeda was constantly on my mind, the people we killed. Their screams kept me up at night, the smell of their burning flesh as they cradled their now silent, lifeless children. I missed the Misfits, the chaos and joy they brought me, but just like my biological family, they threw me aside too.
 
The streets of Zynii were cold, lonely and full of corruption you'd never see as an outsider, gang warfares ruled in the cover of night. I had never been so hungry, so alone. That was until I met big sis Misato, little bro Naoto and Taro, three Leishu like myself. Betrayed and alone in this world, the only difference is they were apart of something underground, something that showed results. They had their own motive for their actions, but we all shared the same thoughts and ideologies. They brought me into something that would actually cause a difference.
 
The first night I entered the Yakuza’s compound, I felt like an outsider in a world that didn’t care about my past. I had once been on a respectful path, to become a scholar, an archivist of knowledge no longer known to mankind, but after Diameta fell, my magic had diminished, it had weakened.
My family didn’t understand my magic, they only saw it as an impractical, fragile and weak. I thought they might have cared, that they might have stayed by my side. But no, when I reached out to go home, there was only silence.
 
The Yakuza didn’t care about bloodlines, titles, or failures. They saw only what I could offer, my knowledge, my skills, and what was left of my determination. At first, I tried to prove myself through magic, inscribing runes for their protection and to disarm any traps or spells while on missions. I wasn’t a fighter anymore, not like them, but my magic still had purpose. The Yakuza watched me closely, Taro seemed particularly interested in me. He didn’t judge my weakness, but instead, observed quietly, like someone waiting to see what I would do at any moment.
 
The Yakuza didn’t expect me to be perfect. They didn’t care that I was weak, that I was frail, that I was still haunted by my failures. Instead, they taught me to survive, not by power or strength, but by wit, by patience, and by loyalty. They taught me that survival didn’t mean being the strongest, it meant being able to endure and finding strength in the most forsaken places.
 
Kanoe, a cunning woman in charge of our branch took us under her wing. She didn’t teach me to fight like a soldier, but to fight with my mind. “Your mind’s your weapon, little scribe,” she would say, clapping me on the back with a grin. It was through her that I learned to trust not only my knowledge of runes, but my ability to outthink my enemies, to play the long game.
 
Gradually, the Yakuza became more than just allies. They became my family. They didn’t ask for my past. They didn’t care if I’d failed. They didn’t expect me to be a warrior or a mage of legend. They needed me to be loyal, to be clever, to contribute what I could. And that was enough. Everyone was here for a reason, our ideologies all encouraged us to be apart of something more.
 
Our missions were never corrupt, however I'm not proud of some of my actions, most branches of the yakuza are relentless. Will do anything to get the information they need. I was apart of some of these missions, rendering others paralysed or traumatised. I decided not to go through with an interrogation. Set the man free, only to find out he had been exploiting millions from the Yakuza funds and destroyed our own that got in his way. From then on I understood, the people we targeted were corrupt, they made the world toxic, and they had to be removed. To achieve peace.
Our main task as Kobun was to protect the crystal warehouses, at least one of us on guard at all times. To attack on sight if anyone was to try steal from us. The four of us had dealt with many thefts, some slipped between our fingers. Others were not so lucky having to deal with us. We did recon and scouting missions, gathered information to which my runescribe powers came in handy. Through these tasks we became family, brothers, sisters and more. I had a new family, one of which was my own kind. One I would kill for
 
They didn’t need me to be perfect. They didn’t see me as a failure; they saw me as a part of something, as someone who had something to offer. When I faltered, they didn’t cast me aside. When I hesitated, they didn’t judge. Slowly, I began to feel what I had never felt with my real family, belonging. I missed the misfits, all those nights I had yearned for them, their comfort and all the chaos we had created, but they too had left. I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I was part of something real. The Yakuza, for all their brutality, were bound by loyalty, and in that, they became my family. Perhaps, in the end, this was the strength I had been seeking all along, not in runes, not in blood, but in the bonds I had built with those who had accepted me as I was.
 
I will never let anything happen to them. I swear on the Gods