Page 9

9

The Shadow of the Past

MOMOI

I should’ve known better.

I should’ve known that no matter how far I ran, no matter how many oceans I crossed, my past would follow me like a tethered corpse. The Yakuza wasn’t something you could leave behind—not easily, anyway. And no matter how much I hated it, or how much I wanted to forget it, the moment someone found out about me, about who I was, everything would come rushing back.

I learned that the hard way.

It was a cold slap in the face that morning when the envelope slipped through my door, the familiar, grimy handwriting scrawled across the front. The Yakuza. Even now, even here, they found me. My stomach twisted as I stared at it, the letters burning into my retinas. There was no escaping them. There would never be a safe place. Not even in this city full of strangers, hidden behind the facade of a new life.

I dropped the envelope onto the kitchen counter, unable to bring myself to open it right away. The anxiety clawed at me, pulling me into the familiar, suffocating fear I thought I had outrun. The words inside would be simple, calculated—just a reminder that they hadn’t forgotten about me. A warning.

But I didn’t want to open it. I didn’t want to know what they wanted this time. The longer I stared at it, the more I wanted to walk away. Just ignore it. Pretend it didn’t exist.

But it did. It always did. I couldn’t outrun it. Not really.

I inhaled deeply, my chest tight, and grabbed the envelope. The letter inside was short, just a couple of lines, but it was enough to make my heart race. The message was the same as always: Your loyalty belongs to us.

There it was. The past reaching out from the shadows, clinging to me like a parasite.

I tried to shove it all down, to bury it deep inside where it wouldn’t hurt, where it couldn’t touch me anymore. But I knew, deep down, that there was no forgetting.

I threw the letter on the table, my hands trembling. I could feel the anger rising, a tide that never receded. I couldn’t go back to them. I wouldn’t go back to them. Not after everything I’d worked for. Not after everything I’d tried to leave behind. But the fear lingered, suffocating, because I knew it wasn’t just my life they’d come after.

It probably meant my mother was dead.

It probably meant they wanted me to take her place.

My mind flashed to all the things I’d done to survive, all the times I’d been forced to make choices I could never take back. The things I’d been willing to do—things I couldn’t wash off, no matter how much I scrubbed at my own skin. The stain was permanent. I was permanent.

You can’t escape your past, Momoi, I told myself, the words cold and harsh in my head. You’re never going to be free of it. Not here. Not anywhere.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the familiar ache in my chest threatening to break through. I thought of the monk, Tatsuya, and how he had tried to pull me out of my dark spiral. The memory of his calm gaze, his words, seemed so far away now—like something that had never really existed.

I wasn’t even sure what I wanted from him. His kindness—it felt akin to a cruel joke. A foreign thing, something I didn’t deserve, and yet... I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Every time I did, a knot tightened in my chest. He was so damn different. Too different. His calm, that steady presence—it irritated me more than it soothed. He seemed to have it all figured out, a man who lived in the light while I was drowning in shadows. And it made me angry.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to care. But here I was, staring into the distance, my thoughts wrapped around him with an old, familiar ache I didn’t want to acknowledge. He made me want something for myself—a life untouched by my past, a future where I didn’t have to keep running.

But that was the problem. It was unattainable .

What right did I have to want peace? To want normalcy? Every part of me screamed at the thought, every scar on my body a reminder of how far from normal I really was. Men like Tatsuya—they didn’t understand. He had the privilege of a clean slate, a life built on discipline and calm. Me? I had nothing but the wreckage of my choices and the bitter taste of regret.

And that’s where my anger festered. He made me want something I couldn’t have, something that would always be just out of reach. Every time he looked at me with that damn calm in his eyes, it was as if he was telling me I could have it too. But I knew better. I knew what I was. I knew where I came from. No amount of kindness, no matter how genuine, could erase the dirt that clung to my skin, the stain of everything I’d done just to survive.

So, I buried the thought down deep where it couldn’t rise up again. It made me sick to even think about it. The idea that I, of all people, could have something pure and untarnished was laughable. I had been shaped by my choices—by every wrong turn, by every dark alley I had wandered down. And to even imagine that I could be part of that world, the world where Tatsuya belonged, made me want to scream.

I pushed the thought of him away. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing about him or his world was worth the pain it brought me to even entertain the idea.

But now, the idea of getting caught in the storm of my past, of being dragged back into that world, felt even worse.

My phone buzzed on the table, breaking me out of my thoughts. A message from an unknown number. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

I opened it, and sure enough, it was a threat. Simple, direct. The same handwriting. Time’s up. We’ll be waiting.

I let out a shaky breath. So this was it. They’d come to collect. They always did. I wasn’t exactly sure what they wanted this time, but it didn’t matter. I could feel the old dread creeping back into my bones.

I had two choices: confront them or run.

And I wasn’t sure which one scared me more.

With a deep breath, I grabbed my keys and left the apartment, the walls pressing in on me indistinguishable from a suffocating vice. The silence in the room felt thick, as though the air itself was alive with whispers of destruction, curling around me with cold fingers, each breath I took more labored than the last. Every crack in the walls, every shadow lurking in the corners was watching, waiting for me to break. The floor seemed to shift beneath my feet, and for a split second, I wondered if I was walking on solid ground at all—or if I was just sinking deeper into the nightmare of my own making.

I could feel the echoes of my past rising from the dead, clawing at my skin, whispering promises of pain and chaos, telling me I was going to be caged as a plaything to them all, left to starve and crave the scraps they threw my way. The weight of everything threatened to crush me, but I couldn’t stay in the apartment. I couldn’t breathe under its oppressive silence any longer.

I left. But as I closed the door behind me, I felt the darkness shift. It followed me—slowly, quietly, always just behind me like a reanimated skeleton that refused to die.

The evening started normal enough. I wandered the streets of the small town, trying to feel as if I belonged, soaking up what little freedom I had left. The locals here still didn’t know me. They didn’t know my name, my history, or the blood that ran through my veins. They only saw a woman—a stranger who had appeared out of nowhere, lost and looking for something she could never find.

But there’s always someone who asks the wrong questions.

I’d gone to the market, trying to blend in, trying to buy something normal—fruit, vegetables, anything to feel close to a normal person. It wasn’t long before I noticed the eyes on me, the whispers that had followed me ever since I first arrived. I’d ignored them at first. You couldn’t let the stares get to you. Not when you were like me.

But today felt different. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with something darker.

I tried to keep my head down as I moved through the market, but there was a feeling crawling at the back of my neck. I was being watched.

I turned the corner to head down a narrow street, my pace quickening, my mind racing. My instincts had always been sharp. Too sharp. I could feel it now—something was off.

"Hey!"

I froze.

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The voice was too loud, too familiar in its tone. I felt a pit of dread open in my stomach, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

When I finally turned around, I saw them. Two men—one of them the same stranger from the bar. He just couldn’t let it go, could he? But it wasn’t just the familiarity of his face that froze me; it was something darker in their eyes. A cold certainty that made my stomach twist. It was more than arrogance—the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you have backup, knowing you’re untouchable.

I felt my pulse quicken, a chill crawling up my spine as I recognized it. That unmistakable air. The same look I'd seen in the eyes of Yakuza men back home—the kind of men who ruled by fear, who didn’t hesitate to make their presence felt. The kind of men who took what they wanted, no matter the cost.

Had I missed the signs? How was this man—this stranger—connected to them? They positioned themselves so casually as if they planned to watch me squirm... It hit me. This wasn’t a coincidence. The man at the bar—he wasn’t just some random creep. He was part of something bigger. And now, I was in it.

I could feel the blood in my veins running cold.

"Yeah, you." The one closest to me smirked, his teeth yellow, his face dirty and unshaven. He was dressed like a man who spent too much time under the sun, too much time in the streets, with nothing to keep him in check. "You’re not from around here, are you?"

My heart hammered in my chest. I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’m just passing through."

His grin widened, and there was something predatory in his gaze. "That so? You sure you don’t have any ties to those, uh… boys from the city?" His words were slow, deliberate. He glanced at the other man, and they both chuckled, as though sharing some private joke that wasn’t funny at all.

I didn’t move, didn’t blink. I could feel the adrenaline surging through me, my body on high alert. My instincts screamed at me to leave, to run.

But I wasn’t stupid. I knew where this was going.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level, but the tremor in my throat betrayed me.

“You sure about that?” the second man asked, stepping forward. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t look like someone who just passes through . We don’t like strangers around here. Especially not you .”

I felt my chest tighten. That was it. The words. The way they said it.

They knew.

My hand instinctively went to my side, to the knife I kept hidden in the folds of my jacket. I wasn’t stupid. I knew how to protect myself, how to survive. But there was something about these men in how they were circling me, as if my time was running up.

“You should get out of here,” I said, my voice low but firm. My mind was racing, looking for an escape, but the narrow street left me no room to maneuver.

The first man laughed again. "Oh, I don’t think you get it, sweetheart." He took another step closer, his breath stinking of alcohol. “We know who you are. And you’re not leaving until we get what we want.”

My pulse quickened, panic surged, ice water flooding my veins. But I forced myself to stay calm, to think through every step. Panic was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I had to keep my head clear, or else this would end before I could even make a move.

I glanced at the two men, sizing them up. One was stockier, his body built like a wrecking ball, the kind that relied on brute force. The other was leaner, quicker, probably the type to fight dirty. I can take them, I thought. I have to.

My fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife tucked in my jacket. It felt solid in my grip, a comforting old friend. But I didn’t want to use it. Not yet. The streets were crowded, people were around, and making a scene would only draw attention. I had to be smarter, get them away from my apartment first—away from any place I could get cornered.

I could lead them toward the alley on the right. It’s narrow enough to trap them for a second, giving me just enough time to slip past. But they might catch on. They might. I could lure them toward the park, too—there’s an abandoned shed behind it. It’s dark, isolated, but it’s risky. I’d have to move fast, too fast for them to react.

I clenched my jaw. There was always the option of running, trying to lose them in the crowd, but I wasn’t sure I could outrun these two. They were already closing the distance. Every second mattered.

Focus. Think. The familiar adrenaline surged through me, sharpening my senses. I had to use their overconfidence against them. They were too sure of themselves, too relaxed as if they thought I was just going to crumble in front of them. That would be their mistake. That would be their downfall.

If I could get them just a little further down the street, a little farther away from my place... then I could make my move. The knife would be my last resort. I’d only pull it out if I had no choice. But if they didn’t follow me into the right spot, I would be ready.

I took a breath, feeling the weight of the knife, the weight of the situation, pressing down on me. I couldn’t let fear take over. Not now. Not when I had a plan.