In the dim confines of her apartment, Saki lay curled on the cold floor, her body battered and her spirit nearly extinguished. The weight of her choices pressed heavily upon her, and the faint flutter of life within her served as a cruel reminder of the innocence she felt unworthy to nurture.
As the oppressive darkness threatened to consume her, Saki lay motionless on the cold, unforgiving floor of her dilapidated apartment. Her body, a canvas of bruises and fresh wounds, bore testament to the relentless torment she had endured. The faint stirrings of life within her served as a cruel reminder of the innocence she felt unworthy to protect. Tears traced silent paths down her cheeks, mingling with the blood that seeped from her split lip. Her breaths were shallow, each one a laborious effort, as she teetered on the precipice of oblivion
The oppressive silence was shattered by a sudden, forceful knock that reverberated through the room. Before Saki could summon the strength to respond, the door burst open with a resounding crash. Three figures stood silhouetted against the harsh glare of the hallway light, their presence both unexpected and overwhelming
"Aniki!" Hiroki's voice rang out, laced with urgency and concern
Shotaro stepped forward, his crimson eyes narrowing as they took in the scene before him. The sight of the frail, battered woman on the floor struck a chord deep within him. "What happened, Hiroki?" he inquired, his tone a blend of authority and worry
Bird, ever the blunt observer, let out a low whistle. "Whoa, look at this. A naked, pregnant woman... and she's bleeding," he remarked, his voice tinged with disbelief. The trio had been indulging in their usual weekend ritual of aimless wandering and drinking, embracing the transient freedom of their chosen vagrant lifestyle. Stumbling upon such a scene was far from their expectations
Shotaro's gaze softened, a flicker of empathy crossing his features. He swiftly removed his hoodie, the fabric worn but warm, and approached Saki with measured steps. Draping the garment over her trembling form, he crouched beside her, his voice gentle yet firm. "Why would you do drugs while pregnant?" he chided softly, the disappointment evident in his tone. "You're not just risking your life but your baby's too."
Saki's vision blurred with tears as she gazed up at him. The dim light caught the silver strands of his hair, the crimson hue of his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion she hadn't encountered in what felt like an eternity. Beside him stood Hiroki, his indigo eyes wide with concern, and Bird, the ever-rowdy brunette, whose usual bravado was now replaced with genuine worry. The trio exuded an aura of strength and camaraderie, a stark contrast to the isolation and despair that had become Saki's reality
Overwhelmed by their unexpected kindness, Saki's defenses crumbled. Sobs wracked her fragile frame as she clutched the hoodie tighter around herself. "I... I didn't know where else to turn," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Everything just kept spiraling... and I couldn't stop it."
Shotaro exchanged a glance with his companions, a silent understanding passing between them. He reached out, his hand gentle as it brushed a stray lock of hair from Saki's tear-streaked face. "You're not alone anymore," he assured her, his voice steady and resolute. "We'll help you through this. Both you and your child".
Hiroki nodded in agreement, his usual playful demeanor replaced with earnestness. "Yeah, we'll figure this out together. No more going it alone."
Bird, ever the pragmatist, added, "First things first, let's get you somewhere safe and get you cleaned up."
After a much-needed bath, Saki emerged from the bathroom, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders. She had borrowed a loose-fitting shirt from Shotaro, which hung slightly off one shoulder, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone. In her hand, she held a fish cake—the same kind the trio had been snacking on earlier during their impromptu drinking session. The savory aroma filled the room as she took a tentative bite, savoring the simple pleasure of food she hadn't enjoyed in what felt like an eternity.
The room was modest, cluttered with the remnants of the group's earlier revelry. Empty cans and wrappers lay strewn across the floor, a testament to their carefree camaraderie. Shotaro lounged on a threadbare couch, his silver hair catching the dim light, while Hiroki and Bird sat cross-legged on the floor, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern as they watched Saki
Saki hesitated for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor as she gathered her thoughts. The weight of her past pressed heavily on her chest, but the warmth emanating from these strangers—no, her saviors—gave her the courage to speak
"My name is Saki Yoshida," she began, her voice soft yet steady. "I... I was just an ordinary girl once. Quiet, a bit of an introvert. I didn't have many friends, and I spent most of my time buried in books or lost in video games."
She glanced up, gauging their reactions. Shotaro offered an encouraging nod, prompting her to continue.
"When I started high school, I wanted to change. I thought that if I altered my appearance, maybe I could make friends, fit in, and be noticed." A bitter smile tugged at her lips. "So, I did. I learned about makeup, dressed differently, and for a while, it seemed to work."
Hiroki leaned forward, his indigo eyes narrowing with interest. "And then?"
Saki took a deep breath, the memories surfacing like unwelcome ghosts. "Then I met Hayato. He was charming, older, and he made me feel special. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was introduced to things I never imagined—drugs, parties, a lifestyle that was as intoxicating as it was destructive."
Bird's brows furrowed, his usual jovial demeanor replaced with solemnity. "That bastard," he muttered under his breath.
Saki nodded, acknowledging the sentiment. "I thought it was love. I was naive. He used me, and I let him. To support his habits, I... I started selling myself. At first, it was just to help him, but then it became a way to numb the pain, to forget who I was."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of her confession settling over them. Shotaro's crimson eyes softened, reflecting a depth of understanding that surprised her
"It spiraled out of control," she continued, her voice trembling. "I lost my family and my home. I became addicted, pregnant, lost the baby... and eventually, I lost myself."
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "I ended up here, alone and broken. I thought... I thought it was the end."
Shotaro stood, closing the distance between them. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding her. "It's not the end, Saki," he said firmly. "That's fucked up."
Hiroki grinned, attempting to lighten the mood. "Your dad fucked you?"
Bird chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. "Yeah, that's some other level BS."
A genuine laugh bubbled up from Saki's chest, the sound foreign yet comforting. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a glimmer of hope. The road ahead would be arduous, filled with challenges and setbacks, but with these unlikely companions by her side, she dared to believe that redemption was within reach.
As the night deepened, the four of them remained huddled together in the dimly lit room, the remnants of their earlier meal scattered around them. The atmosphere had shifted from the weight of Saki's revelations to a more contemplative calm. Shotaro, ever the pragmatic leader, leaned back against the wall, his crimson eyes reflecting a newfound determination.
"First things first," Shotaro began, cracking his neck as was his habit when gearing up for action. "We need to pay your father a visit."
Saki's eyes widened slightly, a mix of apprehension and hope flickering across her face. "My father?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Shotaro nodded, his expression unwavering. "Yeah. It's time to start mending bridges. What's your family's surname"?
Saki hesitated, the weight of her past mistakes pressing heavily on her shoulders. "It's Yoshida," she finally admitted, her gaze dropping to her hands.
Hiroki, ever the lighthearted one, chimed in with a grin. "Yoshida, huh? Sounds like a solid name. Don't worry, Saki-chan, we'll be there with you."
Bird nodded in agreement, his usual rowdy demeanor tempered by the gravity of the situation. "Yeah, we'll have your back. Family stuff can be tough, but it's not something you have to face alone."
At 1 AM, the Yoshida household was silent—until the sharp, relentless knocking shattered the peace. It wasn't polite. It wasn't hesitant. It was the kind of knock that made people's stomachs drop.
Mr. Yoshida groggily pulled himself out of bed, irritation flickering in his tired eyes. His wife, already stirring beside him, whispered nervously, "Who would come at this hour?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he stomped toward the front door, unlocked it, and pulled it open—only to be met with a sight that drained the color from his face.
Two young men stood on his porch, illuminated by the dim yellow light. The one in front—broad-shouldered, blonde, and sharp-eyed—held a thick bamboo stick in his hand, resting it lazily against his shoulder. He wasn't twirling it. He wasn't playing with it. He was gripping it like it was meant to be used. Behind him stood a leaner, but equally menacing brunette with an unreadable expression.
They didn't speak at first. They just stared.
Mr. Yoshida swallowed. "What do you want?"
The blonde took a slow step forward, his indigo eyes dark with something unreadable. "Yoshida, right?"
"Yeah," Mr. Yoshida muttered.
Hiroki's jaw tightened. "Good. Saves me from beating the wrong bastard."
Mrs. Yoshida gasped, rushing to her husband's side. "Who are you people?! What is this?!"
Bird spoke for the first time, his voice cold. "We're the ones cleaning up the mess you left behind."
A deep silence followed. Mr. Yoshida's throat bobbed as he took an uneasy step back. "I don't know what you're talking abou—"
The bamboo struck the wooden floor beside his foot with a sharp thwack.
Hiroki's expression didn't change. "Don't bullshit me, old man."
Mr. Yoshida flinched.
"You know exactly why we're here."
Mrs. Yoshida's hands trembled. "Saki…" she whispered.
Bird nodded, eyes narrowing. "Yeah. Saki."
The weight of that single name crashed over them like a tidal wave. Mr. Yoshida's hands clenched into fists. "Is… is she okay?"
"She's breathing," Hiroki said, "which is more than I can say for what's left of her fucking soul." His voice was flat, but the rage simmering underneath it was unmistakable.
Mr. Yoshida barely had time to react before a heavy presence filled the room. He turned, and his breath hitched.
A 2.4-meter-tall figure stood behind him, like a phantom stepping out of the darkness. Silver hair. Crimson eyes that gleamed with something ancient and merciless. His broad frame barely fit in the hallway, his presence alone suffocating.
Mugyiwara fucking Shotaro.
Mr. Yoshida's lips parted. "What the fuc—"
"I don't use doors," Shotaro said flatly. Then, without hesitation, he picked up the bamboo.
There was no ceremony. No drawn-out threats. Just violence.
The first strike slammed into Mr. Yoshida's ribs, folding him like a deck chair. He wheezed, staggering backward, but Shotaro followed through—no wasted movement, no hesitation. Another hit. Then another. Then another.
A dull, rhythmic thwack echoed through the house as bamboo met flesh.
The noise jolted Mrs. Yoshida awake. Heart pounding, she rushed down the stairs, only to freeze at the sight.
Her husband was on the floor, barely holding himself up, while three tall, broad teenage hoodlums loomed over him like executioners. Hiroki stood off to the side, arms crossed, indigo eyes sharp. Bird looked almost bored, but there was an unmistakable edge to him.
Got it. I'll keep the intensity while making it more about psychological domination rather than outright execution. Here's the refined version:
And in the center of it all—Shotaro, his red eyes burning like embers in the dimly lit doorway.
Mr. Yoshida coughed, blood dripping from his mouth as he struggled to lift his head. His entire body trembled—not just from pain, but from the suffocating presence of the boy in front of him.
"P-Please!" Mrs. Yoshida's voice broke as she clung to the doorframe, her face pale with fear. "Please stop!"
Shotaro didn't even glance at her. Instead, he crouched, gripping Mr. Yoshida by the collar and dragging his battered face up until their eyes met.
"You don't get to play the victim," Shotaro said, his voice terrifyingly steady. "You're going to tell her the truth. Right now."
Mr. Yoshida's breath hitched. He could feel the heat radiating from Shotaro's presence, as if the very air around him was waiting to ignite. Hiroki stood behind, gripping a thick bamboo stick, and Bird cracked his knuckles, ready for round two.
"You're going to confess," Shotaro continued. "You're going to tell your wife exactly what kind of man you are. No more lies, no more twisting the story to make yourself look better."
Mr. Yoshida's mouth quivered. "I—"
Shotaro yanked him closer, his crimson eyes boring into his soul. "Say it."
A deep, awful silence filled the house. The weight of the moment pressed down on everyone. Saki stood in the corner, arms wrapped.
As the weight of his confession sank in, Mrs. Yoshida's body swayed. Her breath hitched, her knees buckled—and before anyone could react, she collapsed onto the floor.
"Aunty's out!" Hiroki announced, blinking.
"Shit," Bird muttered, scratching the back of his head. "Didn't think she'd drop like that."
Saki just stood there, staring at her unconscious mother. A part of her had imagined this moment a thousand times—her father exposed, the lies undone—but reality was always messier than daydreams. She clenched her fists. "She'll wake up."
Shotaro, who had been watching in silence, sighed and rubbed his temples. "Well, this turned dramatic fast." He glanced at Hiroki. "Go get some water or something. Wake her up."
Hiroki groaned. "Why me?"
"Because you announced it."
Bird nudged him. "C'mon, dude, you literally yelled 'Aunty's out' like a sports commentator."
Grumbling, Hiroki stomped toward the kitchen while Saki turned her gaze back to her father. He hadn't moved. He just sat there, shoulders slumped, defeated.
"You did all that," she said, her voice trembling, "and you still couldn't look me in the eye once."
The words hung in the air.
Shotaro crossed his arms. "You got anything to say to her?"
Mr. Yoshida remained silent.
The room felt suffocating, the kind of heavy quiet that pressed into your ribs. Saki waited, giving him a chance, one last opportunity to say something—anything—but the longer he sat there, the more her chest burned.
"...Figures," she muttered.
Hiroki returned with a glass of water and unceremoniously splashed it on Mrs. Yoshida's face. She gasped awake, coughing, eyes darting wildly until they landed on her husband—on Saki—on the strangers standing in her house. And then the memory hit.
Her face twisted. "Tell me that was a lie," she whispered. "Tell me it wasn't real."
Shotaro exhaled. "Lady, you already know the answer."
Mrs. Yoshida shook, her hands gripping her head. "I—I didn't want to believe it..."
Saki watched her, waiting for the anger, the rage, the shouting—waiting for the inevitable moment where her mother turned to her and blamed her instead.
But it never came.
Instead, Mrs. Yoshida slowly raised her head, her expression unreadable. And then, for the first time, she looked at her daughter—not as an inconvenience, not as a burden, but as someone she had failed to protect.
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Saki..."
Saki's throat tightened. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know if she could forgive her.
Mrs. Yoshida trembled, still struggling to process everything, but Shotaro didn't linger. His job here was done. Whether they healed or shattered further was up to them now.
"Alright then," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Go inside. Support your daughter. Support your grandchild." His red eyes flickered to Mrs. Yoshida one last time. "No more excuses."
She nodded weakly, reaching for Saki, who hesitated for just a second before letting her mother's arms wrap around her.
Shotaro turned, rolling his shoulders as he stepped toward the door. Hiroki and Bird followed without question.
"Where are they going?" Saki muttered, watching them leave.
Mrs. Yoshida wiped her eyes, still dazed. "Who...who else are they going to see?"
Saki swallowed hard. She already knew the answer.
"Hayato."
Her ex. The one who started it all.
Shotaro was about to make his night a living hell.
Hayato slept soundly, his breathing slow and even. His arm draped lazily over the girl beside him, his lips curling into a sleepy grin as she whispered into his ear.
"Hayato-kun~~" she cooed, her fingers trailing teasingly down his chest.
He stirred slightly, groaning. "Hnn… let me sleep…"
But she wasn't done. Her hand glided lower, nails brushing against his skin. "Haaayato-kun~~"
"Hey, stop that," he murmured, finally cracking an eye open as he turned toward her. "You're so nau—"
The words died in his throat.
The figure lying beside him wasn't his girl.
It was Hiroki.
With the most sinister grin Hayato had ever seen in his life.
"AHHHHHH—!!"
His scream was muffled as a thick, black cloth was yanked over his head. A heavy fist slammed into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs before everything faded to black.
Hayato jolted awake, his head throbbing like someone had used it for batting practice. His arms were tied behind him, the rough feel of rope digging into his wrists. The metallic chill of an interrogation chair pressed against his back.
The room was dim, but even through his hazy vision, he saw them—baseball bats, bamboo sticks, a wrench, a pair of tweezers, and what might've been a car battery in the corner.
His stomach dropped.
"Wh-Where am I?!"
A slow, mocking voice answered.
"Disneyland."
Hayato's breath hitched. His eyes darted toward the source of the voice.
Shotaro stood before him, arms crossed, red eyes glowing faintly in the shadows. Hiroki leaned against the wall, cracking his knuckles. Bird loomed nearby, casually twirling a bat over his shoulder.
Hayato forced a nervous chuckle. "Oh... haha, really? I always wanted to meet Mickey Mo—"
A sharp crack rang through the room.
Hayato's head snapped to the side, blood and a tooth flying from his mouth as Shotaro's fist met his jaw.
"I was joking."
Shotaro shook his hand out. "Now. Let's start the parade."
Hayato's head rang like a busted school bell. His vision swam, his ears buzzed, and the taste of iron flooded his mouth.
He barely had time to spit the blood from his lips before—
CRACK!
Hiroki's fist crashed into his stomach like a sledgehammer, folding him over like a rusted lawn chair.
"Whoo! That one sounded painful!" Bird whistled, spinning his bat. "I'd give it a solid 8/10."
"Fuck you," Hayato wheezed, barely able to lift his head.
"Oh? What was that?" Shotaro leaned in, tapping his ear. "You're still talking? Man's still got spirit after that?"
Hayato barely had time to breathe before—
SMACK!
A bamboo stick whistled through the air, snapping against his back with a sound so crisp it could've been the new opening theme for hell itself.
"GAH—!!"
"That one was for the emotional damage," Hiroki muttered. "Bird, your turn."
Bird cracked his neck, stepping forward with his bat. "Hmm… lemme think. Should I go for the kneecaps or the ribs? Ooooh, what about the fingers? We should take votes."
Hayato's breath hitched. "W-Wait, hold on! I—"
"Too late."
Bird's swing was perfect—like he was Babe Ruth aiming for the ninth inning home run of Hayato's existence.
BAM!
The bat met his thigh. Hayato let out an unholy scream as his leg spasmed like a dying fish.
"Oh shit, I think I saw his soul leave his body for a second," Hiroki laughed. "You see that, Aniki?"
Shotaro, who had been watching with arms crossed, nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah… but I think we need a little more."
He took a step forward, rolling his shoulders.
Hayato barely had time to flinch before—
BANG.
A roundhouse kick sent him and the chair flying.
The sheer force cracked the floor beneath him as he skidded across the room like a goddamn bowling ball.
Hayato coughed, choking on his own breath. His body felt like it had been restructured, his organs relocated.
"Y-You—!!"
"You you what?" Shotaro loomed over him, flexing his fingers. "I ain't even warmed up yet."
Hiroki grabbed another bamboo stick. "Yo, Aniki, lemme do the next one. I call this move 'Regret for Your Entire Bloodline'—"
Hayato screamed. "OKAY, OKAY, I'M SORRY, I'M FUCKING SORRY—!!"
Shotaro crouched down, tilting his head. "What was that?"
"I— I SAID I'M SORRY, DAMN IT!"
Shotaro exchanged glances with Bird and Hiroki. "You guys hear anything?"
Bird shrugged. "Just the sound of bitch."
Hiroki sighed, raising the bamboo stick again. "Welp. Back to work."
As the bamboo stick came down with a sickening CRACK, Hayato's scream echoed through the room. His knee buckled inward, his whole body convulsing as raw pain exploded through his nerves.
Shotaro crouched down, gripping his chin and forcing their eyes to meet. His red gaze burned, his voice cold enough to freeze hell over.
"Listen here, fuckface. If I ever hear about you pulling this shit with another girl—if I so much as breathe in the direction of a rumor—" He leaned in, his grip tightening. "I will personally take you to Disneyland and drop your ass into* Space Mountain—without the fucking seatbelt.** You got it?"
Hayato nodded so fast it looked like his neck might snap. "Y-Yeah, yeah! I swear! I won't—I won't do anything like that again!"
Shotaro held his gaze for a long, tense moment before releasing his grip.
"Good," he said, standing up. "Because I'd hate to waste another night on a bitch like you."
Hiroki sighed, cracking his knuckles. "Damn, Aniki, that was poetic."
Bird grinned, patting his bat against his palm. "Yeah, but I think I can sum it up in simpler words—" He raised the bat. "Don't be a piece of shit, or we'll be back."
And with that, the parade came to its grand finale.
After making sure Hayato got a proper farewell gift—a couple of broken ribs, a shattered ego, and the fear of God branded into his soul—they dragged his sorry ass straight to the cops. The list of charges? Drug trafficking. Pimping. Assault. Enough dirt to make sure he'd rot behind bars for a long, long time.
And just like that, the past was buried.
Years Later
The sun hung high in the sky, casting warm light over the small park where Saki sat on a bench, watching her daughter chase after the wind. The little girl, barely six, turned around with bright, curious eyes.
"Mom?" she asked, tilting her head. "Why did you choose to keep moving forward?"
Saki paused, a soft smile playing on her lips. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed against the chain around her neck—a small, worn-out coin Shotaro had given her that night, as a stupid keepsake.
"Because," she said, her voice warm, "your mom met three heroes drunk at a train station."
Above them, the clouds shifted, and for a brief moment, three silhouettes seemed to form in the sky.
Mugyiwara Shotaro.
Mazino Hiroki.
Gojo "Bird" Zenkichi.
Three homeless drunkards. Three legends. Three idiots.
Saki laughed softly, shaking her head as the image faded.
"Three heroes, huh?" she muttered to herself. "Yeah… that sounds about right."
Metamorphosis: Mugyiwara Ending.
The afternoon sun hung lazily in the sky as three figures wandered the streets, their uniforms wrinkled beyond salvation, ties hanging loose, and their general attitude screaming delinquency.
"Got a cigarette?" Bird asked, shoving his hands into his pockets like he already knew the answer.
"Uhh..." Hiroki muttered, patting his own pockets before coming up empty. "Nah, I'm dry... Actually, screw it. Let's just roll some tobacco in paper and use that instead."
Shotaro, who had been listening in silent disappointment, finally snapped.
"You two could pave an entire 100-meter road with the mortar that's collected in your lungs from all this damn smoking!" he barked. "Can you at least keep your nicotine addiction in check?!"
Bird and Hiroki exchanged a glance.
Then, in perfect unison, they exhaled dramatically.
A cloud of imaginary smoke drifted into the air.
Shotaro clenched his fists. "I fucking hate you both."
As they wandered aimlessly through the streets, Shotaro, Hiroki, and Bird's attention was drawn to a blonde kid training diligently in the distance. Bored and looking for entertainment, they decided to approach him.
"Yo, kid! Which championship are you training for? UFC or WWE?" Shotaro called out with a smirk.
The boy stopped his routine and turned to face them, attempting to appear tough despite the clear age and size difference. "Uhh... The Red-Eye Ronins, what do you want?"
Hiroki raised an eyebrow. "He's confident," he remarked. "So, what's your name, kid?"
"Mori Hiroki," the boy replied, standing his ground.
Bird chuckled. "Oh, he's named Hiroki too."
Shotaro crossed his arms, observing the young fighter. "Mori Hiroki, huh? You've got guts, I'll give you that. But training alone won't get you far. You need experience."
Mazino Hiroki added, "What exactly are you training for?"
Mori Hiroki wiped the sweat from his brow and replied, "There's this big black guy named Kokujin. I want to beat him for flirting with Nao, you know, my girlfriend."
"Damn, even this little guy's got a girlfri—wait, who?" Mazino's eyes narrowed.
"Kokujin," Mori repeated.
"No, before that," Shotaro interjected.
"A big black guy from America," Mori clarified.
"... ... ..."
"... ... ..."
"... ... ..."
"Umm... guys?" Mori looked between them, confused by their sudden silence.
Mazino sighed, rubbing his temples. "Classic NTR plot."
Shotaro shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Kid, Just show us the picture."
Kokujin was in the middle of his usual smooth-talking, his towering frame leaning down toward Nao, when he suddenly felt something even bigger—an iron grip clamping down on his shoulder. It wasn't just heavy. It was crushing.
"Hey, Bert," a voice said from behind, casual but carrying an unmistakable weight. "Or should I call you Kokujin?"
Kokujin turned his head slightly, already feeling the pain shoot through his arm. "Uhh... who the hell—?"
"Mugyiwara Shotaro," the silver-haired delinquent introduced himself with a lazy grin. "This is my area, and I've heard some things about you." His grip tightened, and with a casual squeeze, Kokujin's shoulder made an audible pop.
"GAH—!!" Kokujin gritted his teeth, but he still forced a cocky grin through the pain. "What, you mean that little dick prick?"
Shotaro's smile didn't waver. "Hiroki Mori," he confirmed. "You were harassing his girlfriend. And even now, I'd be a little scared if I were you."
As he spoke, Bird had already grabbed Nao and pulled her aside, leading her away.
Kokujin huffed, rolling his good shoulder. "Man, these girls need a real man. Someone with big, strong genes, you know? A big black co—"
CRACK.
Kokujin's other shoulder caved under Shotaro's grip, his knees buckling.
"Oh, big and strong, huh?" Shotaro said, tilting his head. "That's funny, 'cause I heard you assaulted a woman back in America and got deported here."
Kokujin's eyes widened. "The fuck you me—"
Before he could finish, Bird appeared behind him, smoothly slipping a black cloth over his face.
And just like that, the parade was about to begin.
When the blindfold came off, Kokujin found himself strapped to a chair in a dimly lit room. His shoulders still throbbed from Shotaro's earlier grip, and the hazy scent of something spicy filled the air.
In front of him, Shotaro sat casually on a crate, biting into a piece of fried wasabi chicken. He chewed slowly, savoring the flavor before gulping it down.
"You were," Shotaro wiped his fingers on a napkin, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement, "planning on going after his girlfriend first... then his sister... then his mother... and then his childhood friend, weren't you?"
Kokujin's throat went dry.
Bird and Hiroki stood behind him, their shadows looming over the chair.
"Bro, this man was about to complete the NTR Grand Slam," Bird muttered.
Hiroki shook his head. "Disgusting."
Shotaro reached for another piece of chicken, staring at Kokujin like he was just another meal on the menu.
"Man," he sighed, "you really are built different."
Shotaro said before grabbing boiling hot sauce & throwing the pot on his torso as it reached down there on his dick.
Kokujin's scream tore through the room like a dying animal. His body convulsed, the boiling hot sauce searing his skin, dripping down to places no man should ever have to feel that kind of pain.
Shotaro tilted his head, watching the scene unfold with mild curiosity, like he was observing a science experiment gone horribly wrong.
"Ahhh—FUCK! AHHH!!" Kokujin thrashed against the chair, but the bindings held firm.
Bird winced. "Damn, that's crazy."
Hiroki covered his mouth. "Bro lost his legacy."
Shotaro took another bite of his chicken, chewing thoughtfully. "You said something earlier… something about being a 'big strong man,' right?" He gestured toward Kokujin's now scorched future. "I dunno, man… not looking too strong right now."
Kokujin wheezed, his face drenched in sweat.
Bird shook his head. "He gonna have to change his name to Kokuless."
Hiroki exhaled. "Mofo really thought NTR was gonna run in this area, wrong area, worse protetctors."
Shotaro tossed the bone from his chicken aside and stood up, cracking his knuckles. "Alright. Next round."
Kokujin groaned, the heat from the sauce searing his skin as he writhed in the chair, his wrists bound tight. Shotaro took his time, cracking his knuckles as he leaned forward.
"You were planning to go after his girl, his sister, his mom, and then his childhood friend?" Shotaro took a long, deep breath, as if genuinely processing the sheer level of depravity. "Man... you need a fucking hobby."
Mazino Hiroki twirled a bamboo rod between his fingers, then suddenly slammed it against Kokujin's shin. A sickening crack echoed through the room.
"AAAHH—!"
"Shut up." Shotaro shoved a sock into Kokujin's mouth—probably his own, judging by how Kokujin gagged.
"Aniki, I got the list," Bird said, flipping through a small notebook. "This dude got deported for assault, harassment, and—hold up—he actually tried to pull this same shit back in the States?"
Shotaro nodded slowly, eyes glinting with something almost... amused. "Damn, you're a global problem, huh?"
Another crack. Another yell, muffled by the disgusting sock.
Shotaro crouched down, staring Kokujin dead in the eye. "Let me tell you something. This ain't America, and it sure as hell ain't some hentai plot where everything magically works out for your ass."
Bird sighed, stretching his arms. "So what do we do with him, Aniki?"
Shotaro thought for a moment before smirking.
"We could always mail him back," Hiroki Mazino suggested. "International shipping ain't that expensive."
"Nah," Shotaro said, patting Kokujin's trembling cheek. "I got a better idea."
And then, Kokujin found out just how bad things could really get.
Kokujin shivered as the first bucket of ice-cold water splashed over him, his body jerking against the restraints. His breath hitched, confusion flickering in his eyes as he struggled to process the sudden shift in tactics.
Shotaro crouched in front of him, lazily stirring another bucket with a wooden ladle. His red eyes gleamed with something unreadable—calm, almost friendly.
"Cold, huh?" Shotaro mused, watching Kokujin's skin twitch from the shock. "Yeah, I bet it is."
Kokujin's teeth chattered as he tried to catch his breath. "W-What the fuck are you doing?!"
Hiroki Mazino cracked his knuckles. "Oh, you'll get it in a sec."
Bird reached into a bag, whistling a low tune as he pulled out a thick bamboo stick. At first, Kokujin didn't understand—until they began rolling it in their hands, letting him see every ridge and knot in the wood.
And then, he understood.
His entire body went rigid.
"Ah, there it is," Shotaro grinned. "That moment when the dumbass finally realizes."
Kokujin thrashed against the chair, panic flooding his system. "W-Wait—WAIT! HOLD ON!"
"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Hiroki Mazino said, adjusting his grip on the bamboo. "You wanna talk it out, right?"
Shotaro exhaled through his nose, tapping Kokujin's shoulder with the ladle. "Too bad you didn't give all those girls a choice either."
And with that, the real fun began.
Bird didn't say a word. He just swung.
CRACK!
The bamboo slammed into Kokujin's kneecap with a sickening pop. A scream tore from his throat as his leg jerked unnaturally, the joint bending in a way it definitely wasn't supposed to.
Shotaro tilted his head. "Damn. That one really went in."
Kokujin's breath hitched, his body trembling. "Y-YOU FUCKING—!!"
CRACK!
The second hit came before he could finish, Bird's swing driving right into his ribs. A sharp, hollow thud echoed through the room, followed by a wet gurgle as Kokujin coughed up spit, his body convulsing from the pain.
"Hey, hey, hey, don't pass out yet," Hiroki Mazino said, slapping Kokujin's face to keep him conscious. "We just got started."
Shotaro clicked his tongue, crouching down to look at him. "Man, you were real talkative when you were running your mouth about other people's girls. Where's all that confidence now?"
Kokujin wheezed, barely able to lift his head. His body was wrecked, his breath coming out in short, ragged gasps.
Bird twirled the bamboo in his hands, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, ribs are still mostly intact. Should we fix that?"
Shotaro smirked. "Oh, absolutely."
And the beating continued.
They pulled out the twezzers
"Right or left?" Hiroki asked.
"What?"
"Nipple" Bird replied, "Which one you want us to pull out?"
"Wait no fuck"
"Guys stop!!!" Shotaro said before adding, "Let use all just take his dick".
Kokujin's eyes went wide with pure, unfiltered terror. His breath hitched, body frozen in place despite the overwhelming pain racking through him.
"You—You motherfuckers wouldn't—"
Shotaro cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders like he was just warming up. "Nah, you're right." He stretched out his hand, and Hiroki placed the tweezers in his palm. "We're just gonna make sure you never think about using it again."
Bird nodded sagely. "Crime prevention, you know? Gotta make the world a safer place."
Kokujin thrashed in the chair, panic overriding his pain. "WAIT, WAIT, FUCK—!!"
Shotaro sighed, stepping forward and gripping Kokujin's jaw, forcing him to look directly into his burning crimson eyes. His voice dropped to something cold and final.
"You went after a dude's girl, were planning to go after his sister, his childhood friend, his mom—like, really? You thought we were just gonna let you walk after that?"
Hiroki Mazino spun the tweezers between his fingers. "I mean, technically, he won't be walking properly after tonight, either."
Bird grinned. "Or using anything else."
Kokujin's screams echoed through the night.
The dimly lit warehouse buzzed with tense energy as Kokujin sat bound to the chair, his face twisted in pure dread. His body ached—bruises forming, ribs cracked, his kneecaps shattered beyond repair. And yet, all of that paled in comparison to the absolute horror in Shotaro's eyes.
Bird and Hiroki Mazino stood on either side of Shotaro, each holding onto a bamboo stick like executioners waiting for the final command. The mood in the room had shifted, something primal and vengeful boiling beneath the surface.
Shotaro took a deep breath and stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. His red eyes burned with an almost supernatural intensity.
Then, in the most dramatic, deep-voiced delivery possible, he stretched out his hand and commanded:
"GIVE ME THAT JUICY VEINY BIG BLACK COCK, Kokujin"
The words echoed through the empty space, bouncing off the walls like a divine decree.
Kokujin's pupils shrank to pinpricks. "W-WHAT THE FUCK?!" He thrashed against his restraints, panic overtaking his senses.
Bird wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Damn, what a moment. This is cinema."
Hiroki Mazino nodded solemnly. "Pure art."
Shotaro's expression remained cold and unflinching. "Hand it over, Kokujin. Peacefully."
"YOU CAN'T BE FUCKING SERIOUS!!!"
Shotaro sighed. "I tried to be nice." He looked at Hiroki and Bird. "Boys."
With synchronized precision, they cracked their bamboo sticks against the floor.
And then the real fun began.
Scene cuts to them burying the mother fucker.
"DIdn;t knew he would die due to being castrated like that" Mazino Hiroki said hitting the soil with shovel to level it after burying him.
"Damn" Bird said, As he planted an endagendered japenese plant [enter name] so no one can dig the body out
Shotaro heard something, "Oh it's Mori"
Mori looked at him, cound confient, "Where is Kokujin, I will beat him up, Nao said he was with you three".
"Oh we just told him to go back to US" Shotaro replied, "he was quite---cooproative".
"Damnit I really wanted to beat him up" Mori kicked rock on ground.
"Go home ki".
The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the quiet, desolate clearing. The air smelled of fresh soil, sweat, and a faint trace of blood.
Hiroki Mazino wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, exhaling as he drove his shovel into the dirt one last time. The grave was deep enough now—deep enough that no one would ever find it.
"I didn't know he'd die that fast from being castrated like that," Hiroki muttered, pressing down on the mound of soil with his foot to level it out.
Bird, crouching nearby, inspected the ground with a critical eye. "Well, his dumbass bled out pretty quick. Guess all that protein powder didn't make his blood thick enough."
Shotaro, standing a few steps away, watched them work, hands in his pockets. His crimson eyes flickered in the dim light, unreadable.
Bird let out a tired sigh, then dug into his jacket, pulling out a small, delicate plant wrapped in cloth.
"What's that?" Hiroki asked, brushing dirt off his hands.
"Arisaema sikokianum," Bird said with surprising reverence as he gently placed the plant over the disturbed soil. "An endangered Japanese cobra lily. no one can dig this spot & find that body."
Hiroki let out a low whistle. "Damn, that's poetic."
Bird gave him a thumbs-up. "Crime and botany, my two passions."
Just then, Shotaro's sharp senses picked up something—footsteps, approaching fast. His head tilted slightly.
"Oh. It's Mori."
The three turned toward the sound of rustling branches as Mori Hiroki emerged from the shadows. His small frame was brimming with energy, fists clenched as he stepped forward with the confidence of a kid who thought he was about to do something.
"Where's Kokujin?" Mori demanded, chest puffed out. "I'm ready. I'm gonna kick his ass. Nao said he was with you three."
Shotaro exchanged a glance with Bird and Hiroki, his face unreadable. Then he casually shrugged.
"Oh, him?" Shotaro said, voice smooth and relaxed. "We just told him to go back to the US."
Mori frowned. "What? Just like that?"
"Yeah. He was… surprisingly cooperative."
Hiroki Mazino suppressed a snort. Bird turned away, pretending to inspect the plants like his life depended on it.
Mori let out a frustrated groan and kicked a small rock. "Damn it! I really wanted to beat him up!"
Shotaro clapped a hand on the kid's shoulder. "Next time, maybe don't wait until the last minute to handle your shit, yeah?"
Mori scowled. "You guys better not have gone easy on him."
"Oh, don't worry," Bird said, grinning as he patted the mound of dirt. "We made sure he had a real life-changing experience before leaving."
Shotaro yawned and stretched. "Go home, kid. Get some sleep."
Mori narrowed his eyes at them, clearly still skeptical, but he eventually sighed in defeat and turned to leave.
As he walked away, Hiroki Mazino leaned on his shovel and smirked. "Think he'll ever figure it out?"
Bird dusted off his hands, eyeing the freshly planted lily. "Not unless he suddenly gets really into rare Japanese flora."
Shotaro took one last glance at the grave before shoving his hands into his pockets and walking off into the night. "Let's go. I need food."
And just like that, the three disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind only the whisper of the wind and a single, solitary lily standing watch over the sins they had buried.
Hiroki Mori trudged home, still fuming about missing his chance to fight Kokujin. His fists were clenched, his shoulders tense, his head swirling with frustration.
Why'd those guys have to handle it? I was supposed to be the one to stand up for Nao…
The warm glow of his house's windows came into view, and the scent of home-cooked food drifted through the air, pulling him from his thoughts. His stomach growled on cue.
As he stepped inside, the sound of sizzling oil and clinking chopsticks filled the air.
"You're late, idiot," Kanoko Mori—his sister—announced from the dinner table without looking up, stuffing a piece of karaage into her mouth. "Did you get jumped again?"
Hiroki rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
Their mother, Kaede Mori, turned from the stove, giving him a quick once-over. "You look like you were out doing something reckless again."
"I wasn't—"
"And yet you smell like dirt," she said flatly. "Go wash your hands before you sit down."
Hiroki grumbled but obeyed, dragging his feet toward the sink. As he rinsed off, he noticed Nao sitting at the table, stirring her miso soup absentmindedly.
She looked up at him and smiled softly. "Welcome back."
For a second, his irritation melted.
"Yeah," he muttered, drying his hands. "I'm back."
He plopped down at the table, the warmth of the house settling into his skin, the casual bickering of his sister filling the air, the scent of his mom's cooking wrapping around him like a blanket.
Nao was here. She was safe.
Everything was… normal.
But deep down, somewhere he couldn't
As Hiroki Mori dug into his dinner, the frustration from earlier slowly faded away. The warmth of home, the smell of miso soup, the sound of Kanoko being an annoying little shit—it all felt… normal. Almost like today was just another day.
But then, Nao spoke up.
"So… what happened to Kokujin?"
The chopsticks in Hiroki's hand froze mid-air.
Kaede Mori raised an eyebrow. "Kokujin? Who's that?"
Nao shifted slightly, her fingers gripping the edge of her bowl. "Just… some guy. He's been bothering me for a while."
Kaede's expression darkened instantly, but before she could press further, Hiroki sighed, setting his chopsticks down.
"He's gone," he said simply.
Nao blinked. "Gone? What do you mean?"
Hiroki scratched the back of his head. "Shotaro, Mazino, and Bird talked to him. Told him to fuck off back to the US or whatever."
Nao frowned. "That's it?"
Hiroki shrugged, reaching for another piece of karaage. "Yeah. Guess he didn't have the guts to stick around after all."
Kanoko snorted. "What a loser."
Nao still looked unsure, like she wanted to ask more, but in the end, she just exhaled and smiled.
"Good," she murmured, as if finally releasing a weight from her shoulders. "That's really good."
Hiroki nodded. "Yeah."
It was better this way.
He didn't know how those three convinced Kokujin to leave. He didn't want to know.
All that mattered was that he was gone.
Nao was safe.
And for tonight, at least, Hiroki Mori could eat dinner in peace.
—
Kokujin no Tenkousei: Mugyiwara Ending.