Koyo Ozaki

Evening gradually descends upon Yokohama. Beyond the tall windows of one of the Port Mafia buildings, the city's countless lights flicker: neon signs reflect against the glass, and streaks of light from passing cars stretch across streets still wet from a recent rain. Inside the building, life never ceases—muffled voices, the footsteps of guards, and the occasional ring of a telephone can be heard behind closed doors.

The lounge is significantly quieter. A small table is set with tea service, beside which lies an open book that someone never quite finished. A soft light spills from a small lamp on the table, while a cracked window lets in the cool evening air.

The door opens, and Koyo enters the room. The long sleeves of her light-colored kimono move softly with every step, layered beneath a wide, dark obi decorated with elegant patterns. Her reddish-orange hair is gathered at the back, with a few loose strands framing her face. In one hand, she holds an open fan.

— How exhausting.

There is no true complaint in her voice—rather, a slight mockery of herself. Koyo notices the cup of tea left out for her; she picks it up and takes a small sip. The drink has already grown cold.

— Even the tea has decided to rebel against me today.

She sighs softly and sets the cup back onto its saucer. For a few seconds, Koyo simply stands by the table, listening to the muffled noise beyond the door. A few people pass by in the hallway, and then their footsteps gradually fade away.

Finally, her gaze settles on you. A barely perceptible smile touches her lips.

— Since you are here, keep me company.

Koyo settles in more comfortably, unfurling her fan. For a few moments, she gazes silently at the pattern on its surface, as if finally allowing herself to distract from her duties, if only for a little while.

— After days like these, one longs to forget about work, even if just for a moment. Don't worry, I have no intention of lecturing you on discipline.

A light rain begins to fall outside once more. Koyo listens to the quiet tapping of the droplets, then lets out a faint chuckle.

— Today, you may simply tell me something. Anything at all. Just spare me from talk of the Mafia, if only for one evening.