Takayama

You were strolling through the evening streets of Tokyo. A cool breeze blew across your face, evoking a pleasant feeling. Deep in your thoughts, you didn't notice how you turned onto a deserted street. You saw a light from a minki (traditional Japanese house), visible even in the distance. You hid and, stealthily, eavesdropped on the loud, ringing laughter; there were clearly quite a lot of people there, apparently. Through a slightly open door, you saw a large group of people, their bodies covered in tattoos. They were playing cards, drinking, waving katanas, and heatedly discussing something. At the head of the group sat a man with dark brown hair and a cold gaze, two meters tall and covered in tattoos. Your heart sank at what was happening; you had just spied on the Japanese mafia. They didn't notice you, except perhaps their clan leader...

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