The sky was bruised and gray when Kazuki found the Doghouse.
Technically, it was an abandoned mechanic shop tucked between a pachinko parlor and a condemned karaoke bar. But to the pathetic dregs of the Stray Dog Syndicate, it was home. Their little throne. Rusted shutters, garbage out front, a busted security camera spinning for no one.
Kazuki slid his hands in his coat pockets, tilted his head, and smirked.
"Let's knock."
He didn't knock. He kicked the door in so hard it ricocheted off the inside wall. Five heads snapped toward him. Teenagers. Malnourished, wild-eyed, all pretending to be tough. One had dyed orange hair and a crowbar. Another had a half-smoked cigarette trembling between his fingers.
The boss—if you could even call him that—stood behind them. Thick neck, scar across the jaw, half a tattoo peeking from his collar.
Kazuki walked in like he owned the place. Not slow. Not fast. Just… unbothered.
Orange Hair stepped forward. "Yo, the hell do you want, old man?"
Kazuki blinked. "I'm twenty-five."
"Then you're in the wrong building."
The other punks laughed, but it was shaky.
Kazuki glanced at the flickering overhead bulb. "This place smells like mold and piss. How many rats you sharing turf with?"
Scar Jaw finally spoke up. "You got five seconds to get outta here, pretty boy."
Kazuki just smiled. "You want this place. I want it too. Let's make it interesting."
Scar Jaw spat on the floor. "You got a death wish?"
"No," Kazuki replied, calm as ever. "I've got free time."
The room went tense. Orange Hair lunged.
Kazuki sidestepped. One hand still in his coat pocket, he grabbed the guy's wrist mid-swing, twisted, and calmly dislocated his shoulder. The scream echoed.
Kazuki shoved him aside like garbage.
Another rushed in—baseball bat in hand. Kazuki ducked under the swing, kicked the guy's knee sideways, and used his own weight to crash him through the couch behind them. The frame splintered.
The cigarette kid backed off, holding up both hands. "I—I didn't even do nothin', man—"
"You're doing something now," Kazuki said. "You're breathing."
The kid bolted.
Two down. One gone. Three left.
Scar Jaw's eyes narrowed. "You some kind of freak?"
Kazuki smiled faintly. "Depends on who you ask."
Scar Jaw drew a knife. Big, rusty thing. The kind of blade someone kept because it looked mean, not because it was useful.
Kazuki stepped forward. "Alright. Let's play."
Scar Jaw swung wide. Kazuki leaned back, let the blade pass by his nose, and grabbed the man's wrist. He squeezed.
There was a crunch.
Scar Jaw dropped the knife. Kazuki kneed him in the gut hard enough to lift him off his feet, then shoved him face-first into the concrete floor.
The last two gang members froze. One pissed himself.
Kazuki looked down at Scar Jaw, groaning on the ground. "You call this a syndicate?"
He turned to the others. "This ain't a gang. This is daycare with weapons."
No one moved. The tension was suffocating.
Kazuki straightened his collar, brushing dust off his coat. "Here's how this works now. You lot are under me. If you've got a problem with that, feel free to walk out and get flattened next time."
No one argued.
Kazuki smiled. "Good. You listen better than you fight."
He walked to the makeshift table in the back—cluttered with cigarettes, porn mags, a half-eaten instant curry, and a map of Shibuya marked in red ink. He tapped the map.
"This territory's weak. You're boxed in. Yakuza on one side, loan sharks on the other. You've been leaking turf for months."
"Y-you knew that?" the youngest muttered.
Kazuki nodded. "I've been watching."
One of the braver punks frowned. "What's in it for you?"
Kazuki grinned. "Entertainment."
The kid blinked. "What?"
"I'm bored. And watching dumbasses claw for scraps is mildly amusing." He shrugged. "But watching them win? That's a little more interesting."
"You're crazy, man."
"Maybe. But I'm also right."
Kazuki pulled a cigarette from the table and lit it, even though he didn't need to smoke. "From now on, you don't deal drugs. You don't touch kids. And if you so much as threaten a civilian? You disappear."
Someone scoffed. "And what? You gonna run this place like some kinda righteous hero?"
Kazuki exhaled smoke, eyes gleaming. "No. I'm gonna run it like a god who's sick of watching bugs play mafia."
Nobody laughed.
He turned toward the busted door. "Fix the entrance. Clean this dump. You've got three days to look like a crew that actually matters."
Then, just before leaving, he added without turning back, "Oh—and tell the Yakuza you're under new management. If they got beef, they can talk to me."
The sound of his footsteps faded into the alley, but the silence inside the Doghouse stretched even longer.
One of the punks finally said, "...What the hell just happened?"
Scar Jaw coughed blood onto the floor. "I think we just got conquered."
The youngest one whispered, "That wasn't normal."
No one disagreed.