CHAPTER 5.8 - “The First Encounter of Death” (Valentine’s Special)

  “So… it’s like that?” Makato asked, his voice calm but laced with menace.

  “Y-yes, please… please let me go…” the man stammered, his body trembling.

  Makato narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, where is the headquarters of that mafia you mentioned?”

  The man hesitated, his breath uneven. “I-it’s… it’s in a warehouse about two kilometers from here…”

  “Take me there,” Makato ordered.

  “What?! No way—”

  Before the man could finish, Makato lunged, gripping him by the neck. His fingers tightened like a vice, cutting off the man’s air.

  “Tell me,” Makato said coldly, “or you’re dead.”

  The man gasped, his hands clawing at Makato’s wrist. “Ahh—ahh—o-okay! I’ll take you! Just don’t k-kill me!” he choked out.

  Still holding him by the throat, Makato stared into his fearful eyes for a moment before finally letting go. The man coughed violently, rubbing his neck as he stumbled forward, leading the way.

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  The path to the warehouse was eerily quiet. The night air was thick, heavy with the scent of rust and damp concrete. When they arrived, the place looked deserted—an old, crumbling structure with broken windows and a rusting metal door hanging slightly off its hinges.

  Makato stepped inside cautiously. The air smelled of oil and mold, and the dim light filtering through the cracks cast long, unsettling shadows.

  But something felt… off.

  As he took another step, he suddenly sensed movement behind him.

  Before he could react, two figures sprang from the darkness, striking him with ruthless precision. A sharp pain exploded in his head, and his vision blurred.

  Then—darkness.

  When Makato regained consciousness, his head throbbed. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, the rough texture of the rope biting into his skin. As his vision cleared, he realized he was tied to a cold, damp pillar in the corner of the warehouse.

  In front of him stood several men, their silhouettes sharp against the dim light. Their expressions ranged from amusement to indifference—clearly members of the mafia.

  One man stepped forward, grinning. He had a scar running down his cheek and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  “Hey, you,” he said, his voice rough. “Who the hell are you, and what do you think you’re doin’ here?”

  Makato didn’t answer. He simply stared, his expression unreadable.

  The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’ll make a good punching bag.”

  Without warning, he struck Makato across the face with the back of his hand. The sharp sting of the hit echoed through the warehouse.

  Laughter erupted from the group.

  Makato slowly turned his head back to face them, his jaw tightening.

  This wasn’t over.

  END/CHAPTER 5.8 - “The First Encounter of Death”

  NEXT/CHAPTER 6 - “Cocktail”