The afternoon wanes, the sun edging closer to the horizon but still hanging bright in the sky.
"I've got things covered for the rest of the day. You can head out early," Jiro's dad says with a smile, waving him off.
"Are you sure? Jiro asks, shifting his weight forward, eyes wide.
"Yeah, go be a kid for a while, just remember you have school tomorrow."
"Thanks, Dad!" He yanks off his apron, tosses it on the hook, and races up the stairs to his bedroom.
He watches as Jiro disappears up the stairs.
It won't be long before we can afford to hire an extra hand. Then he can finally just enjoy being young. Forgive me, Yuna, I never meant for things to turn out this way.
He stares up at the ceiling, his gaze drifting beyond it.
Upstairs, Jiro digs into his backpack, pulling out his Game Boy, flipping it open with practiced fingers.
He flops onto his back, kicking his feet toward the ceiling. A faint ding chimes as the screen flickers to life.
I'm gonna catch him today.
The Pokémon theme buzzes from the tiny speaker as the game boots up.
An hour or two slips by, sunset bleeding through the drapes. Jiro sets his game down and moves to the window to watch.
"I wish you were here. Nothing's been the same since you left—not Dad, not the food, not even the sun. I know you didn't want to go, but it doesn't change that you're not here. I hope you can see this from wherever you are."
Jiro watches quietly as the sun fades behind the hills.
Back downstairs, Mark closes up shop. He draws the blinds over the windows and doors, then turns the key in the lock.
He slips behind the counter and drops onto the stool, reaching under to pull out bottle of whiskey. With a quiet sigh, he twists the cap off and pours himself a glass.
One glass became several as the evening grew darker.
He reaches beneath the counter a second time and pulls back a curtain, revealing a small safe built into it. His fingers deftly spin the combination lock, and a sharp click echoes as he pulls open the small safe door.
Inside, he retrieves an ornate wooden box. Flipping it open, he rummages through its contents: a U.S. passport, a pistol, and a cell phone.
His hand hovers for a moment before he picks up the phone. He powers it on, his thumb hesitating before slowly dialing a number.
The screen glows faintly in his hand as he sits in silence, the number ready— the call just one touch away.
Suddenly, there's a knock at the front door.
He quickly shuts off the phone and slips it into the box. After nestling it back into the safe beneath the counter, he quickly slides the curtain back into place.
"We're closed for the night!" he called, raising his voice just enough to be heard. "Please come back in the morning!" he said approaching the door.
Another loud knock bangs on the door as he draws nearer.
"I said we'r…."
With a violent crash, the glass door shattered inward, shards scattering across the restaurant floor. The blinds tore loose, slamming against the floor as a shadow pushed through the broken frame.
Before Mark could react, a heavy strike from a metal bat crashed into the side of his head.
The loud noise jolts Jiro awake. Yelling and crashing sounds echo from down the stairs.
Half-awake, he throws off the covers and makes his way toward the loud noises. He moves down the hall, the sounds building with each step, his heart pounding faster with every one.
Reaching the top of the stairs, his voice trembles as he calls out, "Dad?"
There is no response.
He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before heading down the steps.
Each step draws him closer to the slightly open door at the bottom—through it, the source of the chaos.
Slow and careful, he moves to the corner of the door, hiding behind the frame as he peeks through the opening, heart pounding.
Peering through, his breath catches—his father lies broken and bloody on the ground, the three men from yesterday towering over his broken form.
"Not so tough without that old man here to save you, huh?" The bald one crouches beside him, bruises from the earlier fight still fresh on his face.
"Now I'm going to ask you one more time, where do you keep the money?" he demands, driving a hard kick into Mark's ribs, knocking the breath from him.
Two of the men force Mark into a chair, binding his hands behind him before slamming another punch into his stomach.
"Now you want to play tough all of a sudden? What happened to the coward from earlier?" He leans in and whispers. "You don't run a place like this without a safe. Now for the last time, where is it?"
He lashes Mark across the face with the back of his hand.
The third man storms through the restaurant, ripping it apart as he searches for the stash.
"Ooh, what's this?" the man says, yanking back the curtain behind the counter. "Yup—there's a safe, all right!"
He turns to Mark, shouting. "What's the combo, old man?"
The bald man in front of Mark reaches into his pocket and pulls out a heavy set of brass knuckles, slipping them onto his right hand.
The other thug cuts in, "Oi Daichi, didn't this guy have a kid with him?"
He lets out a crooked smile. "That's right…"
"Maybe your boy can help us out with this little problem we're having."
"Fetch the boy." Daichi commands.
The man beside him nods and heads toward the back.
Jiro clenches his chest, heart tightening as the man heads towards him.
"No… Stop—p! I'll give you the code," Mark gasps out, voice cracking, his battered face barely holding together.
The man pauses mid-step and turns back towards Mark.
Daichi scoffs. "Was that so hard? All we wanted was a little cooperation. Now—what's the damn code?"
Mark whispers, his voice shaking, "Six."
The dial clicks and turns the other way
"Twenty-seven."
He pauses, swallowing hard.
"Ninety."
The man yanks the lever down.
With a metallic groan, the safe door swings open, revealing a few wads of cash and the box from earlier resting inside.
"It's open!" The man starts loading the cash into a duffel bag.
"What's he got in here?" the man whispers to himself, lifting the wooden box lid with a curious glance.
He lifts a gun out from under the counter.
"This old guy was packing some serious heat this whole time!"
"Bring that over here." He orders.
The man places the gun into Daichi's hand. He feels the cold metal settle into his grip and immediately racks the slide with a sharp, deliberate pull.
Daichi turns to Mark, "What's someone like you doing carrying a piece like this?"
He presses the gun against Mark's chin, forcing his head upward to meet his gaze.
"I asked you a question," he says, his finger resting lightly on the trigger.
The door explodes inward as Jiro barrels into the room —he stands there, breathing hard, gaze fixed on the gun pressed against his dad's chin.
"Leave him alone!" he shouts.
Daichi laughs, "This little squirt's got more fire than his pops did."
With nothing but adrenaline and rage, Jiro charges at the man, unarmed and reckless.
Before he could reach them, a heavy blow caught him across the head. Jiro hit the floor hard, dazed and barely holding onto consciousness.
One of the men towers over him, grinning darkly. Pressing his foot into Jiro's back he says, "You're a feisty one. The boss'll have fun with you."
The man glances at Daichi, looking for the go-ahead.
He lets out a sigh, "Fine, the boss will like him." He offers a quiet nod.
The man lifts Jiro roughly from the floor, slinging him over his shoulder.
Daichi orders sharply, "Get the money, then torch this place."
"What about the old man?"
With a grim look, Daichi points the gun at Mark's chest and pulls the trigger. Mark jerks back in the chair, the force tipping both over with a heavy thud as they crash to the ground.
"What about him?" And without another word, he heads out of the restaurant.
Barely conscious, Jiro lets out a broken scream. "No!"
He thrashes in the man's arms as he's carried toward the door.
He reaches out—fingers trembling, grasping for something he'll never touch again.
"Dad…" he chokes out, his voice raw, cracking under the weight of what's just happened.
"Dad get up!... D-Don't leave me!"
His fists pound against the man's back, useless and weak. Tears pour down his cheeks, blurring everything.
The doorframe passes over his head, and with it, the last image of his father.
The world goes black as a bag is thrown over Jiro's head. Rough hands haul him into a SUV, and the door thuds shut, trapping him inside.
Dad… no…