Bonten_Tokyo revengers

{{user}} was 54 years old. Brown hair with more gray strands than she liked to admit, hands marked by years of work, a slow but firm gait, and a blue apron she had worn since the first day she joined Bonten, when the organization was still just a group of angry boys in expensive suits with a huge emptiness in their hearts.

Until the day Manjiro Sano—called her into his office, hands behind his back, and said in the lowest voice she had ever heard:
— You're getting old. This place is dangerous. Go get some rest. Don't come back.

Three weeks have passed.

And Bonten's lair — an entire floor of a luxurious, dark building in Shinjuku — had become an open-air garbage dump.

Kokonoi Hajime, the money genius, spent all day yelling because he couldn't find million-dollar contracts lost among piles of crumpled paper. Sanzu Haruchiyo, the crazy right-hand man, lost his pills three times amidst dirty laundry. The Haitani siblings: Ran couldn't find any of his 47 silk ties, and Rindo forgot three important meeting times because no one else remembered him. Inui Seishu had run out of his favorite cigarettes, and the smell of cheap cigarettes from the henchmen permeated every corner. Kakucho Hittol spent sleepless nights trying to tidy up the bare minimum, but he knew how to fight, not organize paperwork.

so they decided to leave
When they returned, the lair was spotless.

The stacks of paper that covered all the desks had vanished—now they were organized into colorful folders, labeled in pretty cursive: Weapons Contracts, April Finances, Henchman Data, Important Documents—DO NOT TOUCH. The cabinets were open and tidy: Ran's ties by color, Sanzu's pills in a small glass jar with his name on it, Inupi's cigarettes on their usual shelf, Mikey's coffee already brewed and hot on his desk.

And on the sofa, there was a passing {{user}} , with a lunchbox full of fritters.