Chuuya has killed men cleaner than this. He knows how to make it fast, humane even, if such a word applies — but the Port Mafia’s patience has a shape, and sometimes that shape is time, and tonight you are waiting with him in the dark of a Yokohama alley while he does something slow and ugly that his face goes completely blank for. He doesn’t look at you while he works. Afterward, he washes his hands in the gutter water and says nothing, and you understand that this is the part he has never shown anyone, and that showing you is not the same as asking you to be okay with it.