August 10, 2025. The prophesied apocalypse loomed. Dark clouds blotted the sky, rain pouring as if the heavens had cracked open. Though the neon lights of Hashima Island, Nagasaki, shimmered as usual, they now cast an eerie, sickly glow—a foreboding omen against the storm.
In a garden apartment complex within Hashima's Second Ring Road, Ginji lay in his warm, heated bedroom. Yet his heart felt icy cold. His boss's arrogant words from yesterday echoed in his ears, filling him with bitter resentment. More than anything, he seethed at his own powerlessness. Had he been stronger, he wouldn't be facing prison.
Ginji was born to an ordinary family in a remote town on Hashima Island. After middle school, his poor grades and desire to ease his family's burden led him to drop out. At sixteen, armed with only 1,000 yen, he set out to make his fortune in Nagasaki.
Jobs were scarce even for college graduates—let alone a dropout with no connections. For two years, he scraped by, gaining street smarts but little else. Then, by chance, he joined Nagasaki's largest yakuza syndicate. Six years of grinding later, he'd clawed his way to becoming a small-time boss. Just as his future seemed bright, disaster struck: his superior was caught orchestrating a kidnapping, and the police were closing in.
To save himself, the boss needed a fall guy. Ginji—newly promoted and lacking powerful allies—was chosen.
Ginji rose from bed and walked slowly to the window, replaying the boss's words: "Ginji, you know the cops are hunting me. If I go down, all of you suffer."
Yeah, and if you're gone, I might take your spot, Ginji thought coldly. But his face betrayed nothing. He kept his eyes downcast, the perfect subordinate.
"If someone confesses, this blows over," the boss added.
Here it comes, Ginji realized. Sacrificing pawns—his specialty. A chill shot through him. He called me here to—
"I'll pay you 300,000 yen to take the fall."
"I—" Ginji began to refuse, but the boss cut him off.
"Hear me out, Ginji. Your family struggles. I'll make it 350,000 yen. That changes their lives. What do you say?"
"Boss... let me think it over."
If I refuse, I won't leave this room alive, Ginji knew. Stall. Buy time. Aloud, he mumbled acquiescence.
"Think hard. Give me your answer tomorrow," the boss said. Ginji nodded and stumbled out, mind racing. "Think it over"? Screw that! 350,000 yen for decades in prison? I'm leaving Nagasaki. He won't force me to confess, but he'll make me disappear. All those years wasted...
As Ginji plotted his escape, the boss's voice followed him: "Don't worry about your folks. I'll send money monthly—to your parents in Ibara Town and your sister at Nagasaki Institute of Technology."
Ginji froze. Rage and despair collided in his chest. He staggered into the street like a ghost, numb to the bustling crowds around him.
Back at his window, Ginji replayed the ultimatum. His expression remained stoic, but loneliness pooled in his eyes. A sigh shattered the silence.
"My parents raised me... I've failed them. But I won't let them pay for my choices," he whispered to the darkness. "If I can't fight, I'll face this like a man." He turned and walked to the door, steps slow but resolved.
The police station materialized too soon. "Once I walk in... who knows when I'll see daylight again?" Ginji muttered. Head bowed, he crossed the threshold.
"I'm here to confess," he told the front desk.
Sentenced to twenty years for kidnapping, Ginji now scrubbed prison toilets. Three months in, he was a different man: buzz-cut hair, dull gray-blue uniform, spirit broken.
Sssssk— The bathroom door shrieked open. A towering inmate—mid-forties, muscles bulging under his prison garb—stepped inside.
"Mind your business," Ginji scoffed internally. "Just finish and leave." But as his eyes skimmed past the man, a glint of metal caught his attention. A knife.
Yakuza instincts flared. He's here for me. The boss sent him.
The assassin closed in. Ginji edged backward toward a stack of bricks.
Swish! A blade sliced the air. Ginji lunged sideways, but steel tore through his back—a gash ten centimeters long. Blood soaked his uniform. Before he could scream, the knife swung again. Ginji snatched a brick and hurled it.
CRACK! THUD!
Brick met skull. The killer stumbled. Ginji grabbed another brick, rising slowly. A second wound bled across his chest.
"Did my boss send you?" Ginji rasped.
"Not as dumb as you look," the man slurred, clutching his head.
"Then die!"
Ginji charged. The killer raised his knife—
THUD. The assassin fell, motionless. Ginji slumped against the wall, gasping. Blood drenched him; his vision blurred.
"I'm done for," he realized. He tilted his head toward a skylight, staring at the blue sky. Fury surged. "Why? Because I couldn't crush my enemies? Because my family's still in danger?"
"Next life," he vowed, voice fading, "I control my fate. No one else."
THUD. His head hit the floor. Silence swallowed the room.