In the gutters of Ashland, the poorest district in Osaka's Glen River area, Kuzuha Ritsu learned early that silence is survival. The son of a low-ranking yakuza and an alcoholic mother, he wakes each morning to shattered glass and screaming, then walks to school wearing the only armor he has: a perfect test score and a face that never gives anything away. His plan is simple—use his mind to claw his way out of this city of brothels, gambling dens, and biker gangs, and never look back.
Then he me
Until It Turns to Ashes - At the Bottom of the Ashes — The Light Lost, the Fist That Remained
The corridor of the family court was bitterly cold.
It was summer, yet the air inside the building felt like something else entirely—heavy, separate from the world outside—and the white of the walls was almost blinding. Ritsu sat on a hard wooden bench, waiting for the door ahead to open. Beside him sat his homeroom teacher, Tanaka. Tanaka did not look at Ritsu even once.
"Kuzuha Ritsu, enter the court."
The call echoed down the corridor. Ritsu stood. He didn't bother straightening the collar of his school jacket—left it hanging loose and sloppy—and walked slowly toward the door. He felt Tanaka's presence trailing behind him.
Inside the courtroom, it was colder still.
At the high bench in front, a judge in black robes sat. A man in his mid-fifties. Thin, and behind his glasses, his eyes reflected nothing. The gallery was empty. Neither his father nor his mother had come.
Ritsu stood at the designated spot.
The judge, eyes still on his documents, spoke in a flat, measured tone.
"This case concerns the respondent, who in July of Showa sixty-three, within the Ashland district, committed assault against three individuals using an iron pipe and his bare hands, inflicting injuries requiring three weeks of treatment in each case."
The voice sounded strangely distant.
Ritsu fixed his gaze on a single point on the wall ahead. A clock hung there. The second hand carved out its sound—tick, tick. Only that sound reached his ears with any clarity.
"Regarding motive, the respondent has stated that he encountered the victims assaulting a young girl and that the incident arose in the course of intervening."
The judge raised his head.
"However, the degree of force used by the respondent markedly exceeds the bounds of intervention. All three victims received concentrated blows to the face and head; one suffered a fracture of the left forearm, another a fractured nasal bone and two broken ribs."
Ritsu looked at his own right hand.
An old burn scar remained on the back. Around it, new wounds from that night overlapped—the skin of his knuckles split, scabs forming. He no longer remembered the sensation of punching. Only the feeling of bone sinking beneath his fist, and the warmth of blood, still lingered in his palm.
"In light of the above facts, this court places the respondent under probationary supervision."
The judge's voice fell into the courtroom.
"The period is two years. The respondent shall follow the guidance of the probation office and shall not neglect regular interviews and reporting. That is all."
Ritsu bowed his head slightly.
"Yes."
His voice was flatter than even he expected. Not a fragment of emotion—just sound. That was his only reply to everyone in that room.
When he left the courtroom, Tanaka walked ahead. At the end of the corridor, Tanaka spoke without turning around.
"Kuzuha."
Ritsu stopped.
"Your recommendation to Reimei Academy has been officially revoked."
That was all Tanaka said.
"You don't need to come to our school anymore."
His voice was cold. Not the voice of a teacher speaking to a student. From the beginning, to this man, Ritsu had only ever been "the yakuza's son." Before the incident, after the incident—nothing had changed. If anything, perhaps Tanaka was thinking he finally had a reason to push him out.
Ritsu stared at Tanaka's back.
"Yes."
The same reply again.
Tanaka did not turn around. He rounded the corner of the corridor and disappeared.
Ritsu was alone.
He pressed his back against the wall. The cold of the concrete seeped through his school jacket. The fluorescent light was terribly white.
He clenched his right hand tight.
Nails bit into his palm. Beneath the clenched fist, the burn scar throbbed dully.
(This is the end.)
Reimei Academy. A top school with a deviation score of seventy-two. The only ticket out of this city. And now it was gone. Completely.
(...It's over.)
Ritsu bit his lip. He tasted blood.
The inside of his lip split where he'd bitten down, and the taste of iron spread across his tongue. Even so, his face didn't move. Expressionless, he leaned against the cold wall and stared at his fist.
No tears came.
There was no way they would. Crying wouldn't bring anything back. Crying wouldn't get him out of this city. So Ritsu didn't cry. He just clenched his fist, bit his lip—that was all.
When he got home, the smell of alcohol hit him the moment he opened the front door.
His father's voice came from the living room.
"Oh, you're back."
Go. Ritsu's father, head of the Kuzuha-gumi. Boss of a minor organization under the Minamigawa Federation, ruling the Ashland territory. Mid-forties. Face flushed with drink. Through the carelessly open collar of his shirt, an old tattoo peeked out.
Ritsu tried to walk past the living room.
"Hold on."
Go, still sitting on the tatami, looked up at Ritsu with a grin. A sake bottle in his hand. On the table, plates of food were scattered.
"How'd it go today? The trial."
Ritsu stopped. He didn't answer. Go drank a sip of sake, as if savoring Ritsu's silence.
"Serves you right."
His voice was low.
"Now you've got no path but the yakuza life."
Go's eyes were laughing. Eyes that genuinely found amusement in his son's ruined life.
"Smart or whatever you are, in the end you're my kid. Blood tells, and there's no arguing with it."
Ritsu looked at Go's face.
Something deep in his chest made a hard, grinding sound.
(This man was, from the very start—)
Ritsu thought.
(From the very start, he was waiting for me to fall.)
Go met Ritsu's gaze and laughed even harder.
"What's with that look? You got something to say?"
Ritsu said nothing.
"Whatever. From now on, you work for my crew. Schooling's worthless in this city. It's power. Power's the only thing that matters here."
Ritsu left the living room.
Behind him, he heard Go's laughter.
As he passed his own room, he sensed his mother's presence from the kitchen.
Ritsu paused.
His mother was sitting on the kitchen floor. A sake bottle in her hand—again. Empty bottles lay scattered around her feet. Her hair was disheveled, her face haggard. A face that must once have been beautiful, now utterly ruined by drink and despair.
His mother looked up at him.
With unfocused eyes, she stared at Ritsu's face.
"You..."
Her lips trembled.
"I should never have given birth to you."
Her voice was a curse.
"Because of you, I couldn't go anywhere. I couldn't escape from that man. It's all your fault."
Tears spilled from her eyes.
"I should never have had you. I never should have given birth to you."
Ritsu said nothing.
There was nothing he could say.
Taking his mother's curse against his back, Ritsu opened the door to his room.
Six tatami mats. A bed, a study desk, a bookshelf. On the shelf, books on economics and psychology lined up. Once, in this room, Ritsu had sworn over and over that he would get out. These were the books for that. The studying was for that.
Ritsu collapsed onto the bed.
The stains on the ceiling, the traces of water leaks, spread like a map.
Through the wall, he heard Go's shouting.
"Shut up! It's because you spoiled him, that brat!"
His mother's shrill voice.
"It's because you're a yakuza! Your blood—it's your blood that made that child—"
A crash.
The sound of a sake bottle shattering.
"Stop it!"
"I wish you'd just die!"
Ritsu closed his eyes.
(I can't get out of here.)
For the first time, he thought it.
(Maybe I really can't get out of here.)
Until now, he'd believed in his head that he could leave. He'd thought grades were everything. But he was wrong. This city, this house—they gripped his legs and wouldn't let go. Being born the son of a yakuza clung to him like a curse.
The burn scar on the back of his right hand throbbed.
(I can't get out.)
Ritsu clenched his fist.
(Can't get out.)
It was fear.
Losing everything, sinking to the bottom of this city, drowning in drink like his father, cursing someone like his mother, and dying that way—maybe that was how it would end. The image cast a dark shadow over Ritsu's heart for the first time.
Three weeks had passed since the incident.
Summer sunlight beat down on the alleys of Ashland. Ritsu passed through the gates of Kuzuha Middle School for the first time in a while. Today he'd been called in—to gather his remaining belongings and complete the formal withdrawal procedures.
The school building was wrapped in the silence of summer vacation.
As he walked the corridor, students who appeared to be there for supplementary classes saw him and quickly stepped aside.
"Hey, that's..."
"It's Kuzuha."
"A murderer."
Whispers echoed through the corridor. Ritsu walked straight ahead, eyes forward.
When he reached the classroom, Tanaka was waiting. Tanaka held out a cardboard box.
"Put your things in this. When you're done, stop by the staff room."
That was all Tanaka said before leaving the classroom.
Ritsu went to his desk.
The seat at the very back by the window. Where Ritsu had sat for three years. The desktop was empty. He opened the drawer.
Inside were a few textbooks, a stack of handouts. And a single small scrap of paper.
Ritsu picked it up.
A folded slip of memo paper. He opened it. In round handwriting, it said:
"Ritsu-kun, see you around."
It was Ai's handwriting.
Ritsu stared at the note.
A girl with a brown bob. Big black eyes. When she smiled, you could see her snaggletooth. She'd always barge into Ritsu's classroom without a care and loudly declare her love for Ritsu-kun.
Ritsu-kun, see you around.
Just those few words.
Ritsu folded the note and slipped it into his pocket.
(See you around, huh.)
Ritsu thought.
(Where did she go?)
He gathered his things and left the classroom. Summer light poured through the corridor windows. Outside, the cicadas were crying.
When he exited the school gates, Masashi was standing there.
Short brown hair, almost blond. Tanned skin. A big mouth. A safety-pin earring in his left ear. A year above Ritsu, a low-ranking member of a delinquent group. He'd witnessed Ritsu beat down three Red Scorpions that night, and ever since, he'd looked up to Ritsu like an older brother.
"Ritsu-san!"
Masashi came running the moment he saw Ritsu.
"I heard! You're quitting school!"
Ritsu looked at Masashi.
"So?"
Masashi didn't flinch at all under Ritsu's cold stare. If anything, he stood before Ritsu with a serious face.
"Ritsu-san, I'll follow you anywhere."
Ritsu stared at Masashi's face, expressionless.
"You're an idiot."
That was all he said before walking on.
"Wait up, Ritsu-san!"
Masashi chased after him. Ritsu didn't turn around. He walked alone down the road toward Ashland. Behind him, Masashi's footsteps followed.
Ritsu touched the note in his pocket.
(Idiots.)
Ritsu repeated in his mind.
(Me, and her, and everyone—all idiots.)
Night fell.
The alleys of Ashland trapped the day's heat, sweltering like a steam bath. Ritsu walked alone.
He was heading to Ai's house.
The apartment where Ai had lived was on the north side of Ashland, near the Glen River. An old steel-frame building, its exterior paint peeling, the stairway railings rusted. Ritsu reached Ai's door and pressed the intercom.
He waited a while.
The door opened just a crack.
A middle-aged woman peered out. Ai's mother. Thin, with dark circles heavy under her eyes.
"...What?"
The woman's voice dropped warily at the sight of Ritsu.
"Is Ai here?"
When Ritsu spoke, the woman's face twitched.
"My child isn't here anymore."
That was all she said.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know. She moved."
Her voice was cold.
"Don't come here again."
The door slammed shut.
Ritsu stood staring at the closed door for a while.
(Gone.)
Ritsu left the apartment.
He asked around the neighborhood.
"Ai-chan? Oh, that girl. I heard she moved."
"She was gone before I knew it."
"I don't know the details."
Only vague answers. No one knew where Ai had gone. No one was even trying to know. In this city, someone d
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