by Amy Tasukada
“If you do not like it here, you could always leave.”
“Why would I? It’s fun to see you try not to get angry.”
Saehyun finished the tea and banged the teacup back on the counter, loving the way Nao jumped at the noise. A waiter came—also dressed in a yukata—and gave Saehyun his dumplings. Saehyun started to eat, watching Nao place the large tea tin back onto the shelf. Nao stretched, exposing a scar running across the lower side of his neck. The scar was thin, but the placement was deliberate. Saehyun had made the same cut many times, but no one he’d given it to had lived. It was odd for a tea merchant to have one.
“How long have you owned this shop?” Saehyun said, drawing Nao’s attention once more.
“Four years.”
“It’s a cute little place.”
Nao laughed, but it turned into a cough. He looked paler than Saehyun remembered too— perhaps he was getting sick? Nao must’ve gotten wet in the storm when he saved him.
Saehyun swallowed his concern with dumplings. “What’s so funny?”
“Your accent. It made it sound like you said ‘scary.’”
Saehyun narrowed his eyes. “You’re full of crap. My accent isn’t that bad.”
“I own such a scary shop,” Nao teased. “I guess it could be haunted.”
“Don’t tell me you’re another one of those superstitious Japanese people.”
“It’s Kyoto.”
“It’s a city like any other in Japan. It’s old. So what?”
“It used to be the capital, and only in Kyoto can you still find the old buildings. It’s like stepping back into the past.”
“You’re screwed up in the head.”
Nao laughed. “Osaka covered everything traditional to put up pachinko parlors and host clubs.”
Saehyun said nothing. The silence between them was broken only by the soft shuffling of mahjong tiles.
“So how do I get in on the gambling ring in the back there? Is there some secret password, or do I have to give you another blow job?”
Nao’s face grew red, and Saehyun laughed. It was too easy.
“Gambling is illegal,” Nao insisted.
“But they’re playing mahjong.”
“People can play mahjong and not gamble.”
Saehyun shrugged. “What’s the point of playing if you don’t wager? Besides, it’s late to stay open if you’re only a tea-and-dumpling shop. It’s nearly ten.”
“Exactly. We’re filling the niche.”
“Niche? Who says niche? Why can’t you talk like a normal person?”
Nao cocked his head, and Saehyun could feel his gaze over him. So he was attracted to him too.
“Your accent isn’t too bad. When did you move here?”
“To Japan? I moved here when I was fourteen.”
“Ah, you caught the language quickly, then. I was only teasing before, honestly.”
“Stop giving me compliments.”
“You can’t take them?”
Saehyun’s nostrils flared. “I don’t like getting them from jjokbari.”
Saehyun popped another dumpling into his mouth, almost irritated they were so good. He imagined the wheels inside Nao’s head turning as he tried to decipher the word. He was just like all the other Japanese, able to summon insults about Koreans at a whim while completely ignorant of the meaning when it was the other way around.
Nao flattened the front of his robe. “There’s that word again.”
“What? You don’t understand Korean?” Saehyun said. “Jjokbari means pig foot. Because the way traditional Japanese shoes sound and the way they split your toes, they make you all sound and look like pigs. You are the perfect example. Don’t people look at you funny since you wear those clogs all the time?”
Saehyun laughed. His phone rang, and Nao’s eyes narrowed. Saehyun grinned, letting the phone in his hand ring a few more times before answering.
“Hey. What’s going on?” Saehyun answered and carried the conversation in Korean.
“Where are you?” Hiro’s voice came over the line.
“I don’t get a day off after what I did?”
“Me and the others are doing a shakedown at the pachinko parlor, but the Matsukawa are lurking around. We called Lee to see if we should go ahead with it, and he wants you to help.”
Saehyun ate the last of the dumplings. “Not much of a choice, then, eh? I’ll be there in ten. You boys can wait until I get there.” He hung up.
“Girlfriend?” Nao asked.
“Yeah, right.” Saehyun laughed, easily switching back to Japanese. “I haven’t had one of those in months.”
Nao turned and sneezed.
“Sneezing is the first sign of sickness, you know.”
“It’s just a sneeze.”
“Your eyes are all red. Get someone to watch this place for you.”
“I’ll be fine.” Nao waved his hand.
“The last thing I want is to be responsible for getting a Japanese sick. How much do I owe you?”
“On the house.”
Saehyun glared at him.
“Can’t you take someone being generous?”
“You don’t get ahead by being in someone’s debt.”
“Hey, man. Where were you today?” Hiro asked. He was nothing more than a crooked smile underneath a mop of half-blond, half-black hair. “Lee was riding everyone’s ass, trying to find you. He’s scary when he’s that pissed off.”
Saehyun laughed. “If you think he’s scary, you should see the godfather Taejin when he’s mad. I did a big job for us last night, and Lee expects me there like a lapdog the next morning? He can go drink his piss if he thinks I can’t take a few hours off afterward.”
The two other Double Moon members said nothing. They were only a week into the job, and Saehyun decided they were competent enough to be put on the streets. Still, Saehyun didn’t bother to learn any of their names except for Hiro, the group leader. He would monitor their activity for two weeks and then let them go out on their own. Saehyun monitored about twenty groups of three to five with that method. It was a little messy, but his method got the job done.
Saehyun snatched a metal bat from Hiro’s hand. The weight pulled on Saehyun’s stitched arm, but he didn’t care. He gave the bat a practice swing at an invisible image of Lee’s head.
“Bam!” Saehyun said.
Clouds covered all but the few stars piercing through the city’s sky. The pachinko parlor was several blocks closer to the train station and farther away from Nao’s shop. Clubs opened their doors and played the latest pop hits to seduce customers inside. Louder than all the clubs were the pachinko parlors.
“Let’s go in before it starts raining,” Saehyun said.
A wall of smoke hit Saehyun’s nose, and his ears were assaulted by the full blast of the dozens of pachinko machines. Game balls flew through tiny holes as players tried to control their speed. When someone got lucky, the noise would get louder. When someone was losing, it would get louder. Each one was a little slice of headache-inducing Japanese torture. Saehyun and the rest of the group walked past them and down to the wooden door of the back office.
“Allow me to escort you to the machines. They are the other way,” an attendant called out after them.
“We’re not looking to play some rigged machines,” Hiro said. “We need to speak to the owner.”
Saehyun, however, ignored the attendant altogether, opening the door and walking down the hall. The bat in his hand scraped the yellowing vinyl floor. He’d gone there the week before to check them out, and even then, the small layout left little doubt about where management lurked.
Saehyun pushed the door open with the bat. The manager sat behind his desk, looking over paperwork. The others were behind him, watching and hopefully learning not to get caught up both
ering with people who weren’t in charge. If the Double Moon were going to take over Kyoto in time, the new recruits would have to get the hang of things—and sooner rather than later. Saehyun pulled the bat back, swung it across the table, and knocked over a desk lamp. That got the manager’s attention.
“It’s time to pay up.” Saehyun grinned.
“I already paid the Matsukawa family.”
“Well, guess what? We’re not the Matsukawa. So if you want protection from us, then you better pay up.”
The manager fumbled with his papers. “I don’t…I can’t—”
“Looks like he doesn’t know how much protection he needs. Why don’t we show him?”
Saehyun snapped his fingers, handing the bat to Hiro. No wall was spared as the new recruits bashed them. Photos tumbled off the wall. Files and bookcases were thrown to the ground, all while Saehyun stood watching.
“Your face is next,” Saehyun said. “So, what’s it going to be?”
“Boss?” one of the attendants called from the hall.
Saehyun clutched the manager’s collar, lifting him up from his chair.
“You got some nosy employees. Let’s take this outside.”
After dragging the boss over the desk, Saehyun pulled him down the hall and through the door. The pachinko parlor stood between two buildings, creating an alleyway big enough for the group. Saehyun looked around. A light rain had started to fall. Perfect. Not only were they deep enough in the alley that no one would see them, but the rain would also keep people away from them. The train station was close enough that everyone would be too worried about getting to their destination to want to make a detour to help the person getting a beating.
“Please.” The manager curled into a ball. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Give me that.” Saehyun grabbed the bat from Hiro and slammed it beside the manager’s legs. “So you don’t think you need protecting now? Well, you’re going to get some every day until we get our money.”
“I don’t have the money after paying the Matsukawa.”
Saehyun slammed his fist against the manager’s head. His head bounced against the concrete.
“You need to hand us the cash.”
“I don’t have any.”
Saehyun spat in his face and looked back at the others to make sure they were watching. It would be nice once they were trained and he could get a break from having his knuckles hurt after pounding people’s faces until their teeth were stained with blood. It would happen, in time.
“Come on, a successful jjokbari like you, running a pachinko parlor as popular as this one? You gotta have something. You Japanese are all the same, letting pride stand in the way when you know you should give up.”
Saehyun took a step back, allowing the other members to continue the beating for him. Even though he was in a higher position with the Double Moon than he had been in Osaka, he still missed the city. He couldn’t escape how Japanese everything was, from the shrines at every corner to the outdoor festivals, to the people walking around in their yukatas, spouting nonsense about keeping Japanese traditions alive. At least in Osaka, the Korean mob ruled a quarter of the city and it was easy to get a decent Korean meal.
Saehyun stepped back and grabbed the baseball bat from Hiro. He held the bat high above his head and let it connect with the manager’s knee with all his frustration. The bone gave way, leaving the manager to scream in agony. Saehyun pushed the boss’s shin and rolled him against the damp concrete with his foot.
Saehyun then grabbed the boss by the collar and pulled him down the alley. The stitched-together slash on Saehyun’s arm pulsed, but he didn’t want to show the new recruits he was injured.
“Let’s see if that ticket exchange of yours has any cash.”
Gambling was illegal throughout Japan. So to make money from pachinko, instead of trading their winnings for prizes, people exchanged them for special pieces of colored plastic. Around the corner of every parlor was a kiosk that bought the plastic cards for cash.
“No, please!” he begged.
The other Double Moon members cheered Saehyun on. He walked toward the edge of the alley where it started to open up onto the street. The rain still fell. No one would see them, and besides, the manager was already injured and would give in without much of a fight. It was better to be violent once than have to beat around the bush each time they needed cash. It was the violence that the Japanese knew. It was in their blood.
They came to a small kiosk set into the alley wall. The window was closed, but all it took was a special knock for it to open.
Saehyun threw the manager to the window. “Get the cash.”
The manager clutched the ledge to hold himself up from the ground. His leg twitched. Next time they came, he wouldn’t put up a fight. He knocked on the window.
“I need the money,” he said to the attendant when she opened the window.
Her jaw dropped. “Sir? But we paid the Matsukawa yesterday.”
“Well, these Korean cockroaches—”
Saehyun kicked him in his already injured knee.
“We’re called the Double Moon, you Japanese bastard. Don’t forget it.”
“Hand them the money!”
The lady reached below the counter. Her hands shook and crumpled a few of the bills. Those Japanese were getting on Saehyun’s nerves. Kyoto would be under their control in a few short months. Saehyun couldn’t wait. Godfather Taejin’s timeline of taking over Kyoto by the end of July felt doable.
Hiro took the cash and put it in a bag.
“Look”—Saehyun grabbed the manager’s arm—“you tell all your other buddies this ward is no longer the Matsukawa’s territory. You covered less than half of the amount, but don’t worry, we’ll set a loan for what you couldn’t cover. Ten percent increase every ten days is not bad. Not even the Matsukawa would give you a better rate.”
The manager shuddered as Saehyun grabbed him by the collar, making sure to use his uninjured hand. Snot mixed with tears and ran down the manager’s face. Saehyun pulled back his arm to get one last hit in, but a tingling vibrated through him as if someone was watching. He turned and looked up the alley. A Japanese man in a yukata? Saehyun stepped closer. Nao?
“You want some too?” Hiro yelled.
Nao stood wide-eyed, his clear umbrella bouncing off the light from the streetlight above. Saehyun choked on his breath as his gaze traced Nao’s features that he so vividly recalled in his mind. Yet even with the violence surrounding Saehyun, Nao’s eyes were fixed upon him. He didn’t look away for a single moment, as if he were a pillar of strength. It was the first time Saehyun had felt self-conscious about what he was doing.
“Don’t get involved in a drunken brawl,” the man with the acorn-shaped head said, pulling Nao away in the direction of the train station.
“Let’s get out of here before the Matsukawa come,” Saehyun said.
Saehyun stirred the pot of rice porridge a final time before putting on the lid. The lingering smell reminded him of the times his mother had made it, at even the mere suggestion he was coming down with a cold. But that was when she had still acted like a mother. Even with the humidity, cooking seemed like the perfect thing to do under the circumstances.
“Making Saehyun what?”
Saehyun flinched. “For the hundredth time, Minwoo, if you can’t speak Korean correctly, just speak in Japanese.”
Minwoo was fourteen and had joined the Double Moon a month ago. Others who’d joined with him were already on the streets. In that month, Saehyun had become convinced that the bleach Minwoo used to dye his hair had somehow leached into his brain, or his mother drunk herself to tears when she was pregnant. Saehyun believed that more than Minwoo’s excuse of moving each year to a new country when he was little. Still, Saehyun was surprised Lee even let Minwoo near a rice cooker.
“Sorry,” he apologized in Japanese. “What are you making?”
Minwoo reached out and tried to grab the lid, but Saehyun smacked his hand.
“Don’t touch it. It needs to simmer for an hour.”
“Are you feeling sick?”
“No, but I think someone else is. If that’s true, I owe a debt to him.”
“I never thought I would see big, bad Saehyun Park making cooking.”
Saehyun rubbed his temple. Even Minwoo’s Japanese wasn’t the best. No wonder he was so eager to join the gang; he probably couldn’t get a job anywhere else.
“Everyone has to learn to cook, or else you can’t feed yourself,” Saehyun said.
“It’s just … you know.”
“What? If you touch this lid, I’m still gonna beat the snot out of you. Got it?”
Minwoo held his hands up in surrender. “I was just seeing if you’re cooking lunch for everyone.”
“No. You still have to cook.”
Saehyun leaned against the counter, watching Minwoo grab a bag of rice from the cabinet and begin washing the grains. Saehyun crossed his arms over his chest; his muscles crinkled the bandage covering his stitches. The bandage had irritated him half the night. He ripped it off and threw it in the trash. Saehyun vaguely remembered Nao’s superglue first aid on his cut. It was strange he knew the trick, but Nao was odd anyway.
Not only did Nao drag him out of the canal, but he avoided the hospitals as Saehyun had asked. Saehyun shook his head. So what if Nao was hot? So what if the way his eyebrows crossed when he was called an old man made Saehyun want to poke fun at him even more? And then the way Nao stood unafraid when Saehyun pounded the pachinko manager’s face in. That would make twice in one day they’d run into each other. No. Nao saved him well after midnight. So that would make three times in one day.
“Destiny,” Saehyun thought aloud.
Minwoo looked up from the rice cooker. “What?”
“You know the saying, ‘If you meet someone three times in a day, it’s destiny?’”
“I think my grandma talked about it.”
