Second Chance: A Dark Tale of Urban India

Chapter 176: Yakuja’s Quest

***South Delhi, Saket, Sai Baba Towers – 22nd Floor 12:30 PM***

Rohit remained seated inside the taxi for a few extra seconds, quietly observing the towering commercial building through the window.

This particular part of South Delhi was infamous for its nightlife. Private bars, luxury spas, lounges, and discreet motels filled the surrounding streets, catering to wealthy clients looking to waste money, hide affairs, or conduct business better left undocumented.

At this hour, however, most of the building appeared lifeless. The neon signs were dim, shutters remained half-closed, and the corridors behind the glass looked almost deserted.

Except for one establishment on the fifth floor.

Kuruyami.

Its black-and-gold logo remained illuminated even in broad daylight.

Rohit narrowed his eyes before paying the taxi fare and stepping out onto the pavement.

The moment he entered the building, his gaze shifted toward an antique store positioned near the entrance.

Expensive artifacts, bronze idols, old Japanese pottery, gold-plated decorative pieces, and imported wooden sculptures filled the display behind reinforced glass.

His expression did not change, but his mind immediately began connecting the dots.

A perfect front.

The antique business could easily function as a laundering channel for smuggled gold and unregistered luxury imports. The spa and lounge upstairs, meanwhile, offered something even more valuable — access to wealthy clients, politicians, businessmen, diplomats, and influential foreigners.

A respectable corporate face hiding a far uglier machine underneath.

Given enough time, operations like these usually expanded into narcotics, escort networks, blackmail rings, and financial scams aimed at high-value targets. Powerful men compromised in private rooms often became far more useful afterward.

But none of that truly bothered him.

What bothered him was something else entirely.

Why India?

The Yakuza already possessed deeply rooted networks across Japan and parts of Southeast Asia. Expanding this aggressively into India would inevitably attract government scrutiny and strain diplomatic relationships.

Syndicates like these did not establish foreign operations this boldly without a reason worth bleeding for.

Rohit was still lost in thought when a familiar voice interrupted him.

"Rohit-sama."

A Japanese man in a dark suit bowed respectfully near the elevator entrance.

Kenzo.

The same man who had once welcomed him at the Fujimura Inn.

"Please come," Kenzo said politely. "Ren-sama is waiting for you."

Rohit gave a small nod and followed him toward the elevator.

The ride to the fifth floor passed in complete silence.

The moment the elevator doors opened, Rohit noticed the security presence immediately.

Several Japanese guards stood stationed throughout the corridor, dressed formally but carrying themselves with unmistakable alertness. Their eyes shifted toward him the instant he stepped out. Their posture remained professional rather than openly hostile, yet none of them made any effort to appear relaxed either.

Kenzo paused briefly before turning toward him with an apologetic gesture.

"A formality, Rohit-sama. I hope you understand."

Rohit simply raised his arms without objection. Kenzo performed a quick but thorough check, efficient and practiced, avoiding any unnecessary contact.

Finding nothing, he nodded once and continued forward.

The corridor split into three separate sections.

Both side branches remained closed, likely unused during daytime hours when business traffic remained low.

Kenzo proceeded toward the central section and Rohit followed behind him.

The lounge interior proved far more refined than Rohit had expected, blending modern luxury with subtle Japanese aesthetics.

Dark polished wood, warm amber lighting, soft instrumental music, and secluded dining booths gave the establishment the atmosphere of an elite restaurant rather than a criminal operation.

Several booths were already occupied despite the hour. Small groups sat with lowered voices, creating the unmistakable atmosphere of people conducting business in a place chosen specifically for privacy and neutrality.

The waitstaff drew Rohit’s attention next.

Most of the women appeared East Asian at first glance and wore elegant maid-inspired uniforms while moving efficiently between the tables with disciplined precision. But the moment they spoke, Rohit noticed the difference.

Their Hindi carried the same formal North-Eastern accent he had previously heard from Chanu, his mother’s bodyguard.

So they were not Japanese.

Most likely recruited locally from the North-Eastern states for the role. Easier logistics, lower attention, and visually close enough to preserve the atmosphere the lounge was trying to maintain.

The thought amused him more than he expected.

Kenzo eventually stopped before a private booth and silently slid the wooden door open.

"Ren-sama will arrive shortly," he said with a deep bow. "Please make yourself comfortable."

Rohit stepped inside without replying.

The room was a careful blend of traditional Japanese aesthetics hidden within a modern designed building. Tatami mats covered the floor, carrying the faint clean scent of woven rush grass.

A polished low table rested at the center of the room with neatly arranged floor cushions placed around it.

Soft amber lights glowed behind wooden patterned panels, giving the booth a warm yet strangely oppressive atmosphere.

There were no windows. No outside noise. Only silence.

Rohit lowered himself into the seiza position on the guest side of the table, the lowest seat and the one furthest from the position of authority.

An untouched tea set had already been arranged beside him. The quality alone made it obvious that it was expensive, but even its placement felt intentional.

The message behind it was equally obvious.

Rohit chose not to touch it.

Minutes stretched slowly into fifteen. Then twenty-five.

Not a single person entered.

The ache in his knees gradually sharpened, but Rohit remained perfectly still, his expression composed. He understood the purpose behind the delay. In circles like these, making someone wait was rarely accidental. It was a quiet assertion of control.

Finally, the sliding door opened.

The atmosphere inside the room shifted instantly.

Ren Takayama entered gracefully, draped in a stunning black kimono embroidered with dark crimson patterns along the sleeves. Her hair was tied in a traditional style and secured with ornamental pins, while a folded fan rested lightly in her hand.

Two suited men remained outside as the door slid shut behind her with a soft click.

Without acknowledging Rohit immediately, Ren walked past him and seated herself at the kamiza, the highest seat of honor within the room.

Only then did Rohit rise smoothly to his feet.

He bowed deeply, hands flat against his thighs.

"Ren-sama," he said respectfully. "Rohit Singhania has come today to offer his sincere apology for his previous disrespect. I deeply regret my lack of awareness. Please accept my humble apologies."

Silence settled across the room.

Ren slowly opened her fan halfway while studying him with unreadable eyes.

"How does it feel," she asked calmly, "to wait for someone without knowing when they will arrive?"

Rohit kept his head slightly lowered.

"Not pleasant," he answered honestly. "It was my mistake. I deserve far worse than twenty-five minutes."

A faint trace of amusement touched the corner of Ren’s lips.

"Oh?" she murmured softly. "Then tell me, what exactly did you do wrong?"

Rohit answered without hesitation.

"My attention lingered too long on your swordsmanship during the incident. In doing so, I accidentally saw the tattoo on your back. I understand the cultural significance of an irezumi. That was my disrespect."

Ren’s eyes narrowed with genuine interest.

This boy was not only polite and familiar with Japanese etiquette, but also remarkably sharp. He had skillfully avoided mentioning her state of undress altogether and instead redirected the focus toward admiration for her swordsmanship, preserving her dignity while apologizing at the same time.

How cunning.

"You know quite a lot about our customs," she observed. "More than most."

Rohit remained respectfully lowered.

"I was taught well."

Ren watched him for several quiet seconds before a restrained laugh escaped her lips.

"You think rather highly of yourself."

Her folded fan gestured toward him lazily.

"You are merely the son of a billionaire family. Not even the heir." Her tone hardened slightly. "Tell me, Rohit Singhania, what possible use are you to me?"

Rohit showed no emotional reaction.

No pride.

No offense.

He simply lowered his head once again.

"Ren-sama is correct," he admitted evenly. "At present, I possess very little value."

That answer alone made Ren’s eyes sharpen further.

Most rich boys became defensive.

This one did not.

"But," Rohit continued evenly, "I still stand in a position that may become useful in the future. If Ren-sama finds me worthy enough to support... then perhaps becoming heir is not impossible either."

He paused slightly before adding with quiet confidence,

"And at the very least, this junior managed to defeat three of your current guards during our previous meeting."

Ren slowly hid her smile behind the fan.

Interesting indeed.

Without replying immediately, she pressed a small silver buzzer beside the table.

A few moments later, the door slid open and several attendants entered silently carrying trays of food.

They carefully arranged the dishes across the low table before leaving just as quietly as they had entered.

Steamed rice.

Hot miso soup.

Beautifully prepared premium sushi.

Thin slices of otoro, the most expensive cut of fatty tuna.

And finally, a small porcelain bowl containing fugu soup made from pufferfish, a delicacy infamous in Japan because a single mistake during preparation could turn it deadly.

The dishes were arranged neatly before them before the attendants bowed and disappeared.

Ren gestured lightly toward the food.

"You say you wish to serve me now," she said calmly. "Then let us see whether you can even share a table with a monster."

Rohit immediately understood the trap.

He did not touch anything.

Instead, he waited.

Only after Ren herself picked up her chopsticks did Rohit finally lift his own.

He followed the dining etiquette flawlessly, neither rushing toward the expensive dishes nor showing the slightest hesitation while eating.

Even when tasting the fugu soup, his expression remained completely calm.

Ren observed every movement carefully while pretending not to.

"How troublesome," she said eventually. "You even know dining etiquette."

Rohit swallowed his food calmly.

"My mentor was strict."

"Hm."

Ren leaned slightly against the table.

"Very well. I will consider your proposal."

Rohit’s eyes narrowed subtly.

"But first," Ren continued, "you will prove your usefulness."

"There is a commercial property we intend to acquire. Two remaining store owners refuse to sign the transfer documents." Her voice turned colder. "Legally, we require their approval."

"I want the signatures within two months," Ren said. "Convince them however you wish. If you succeed..." Her lips curved slightly. "Then perhaps I will truly consider supporting you."

Rohit nodded as he kept the bowl. "I understand."

"Good. Kenzo will brief you further."

Rohit rose from the floor and gave Ren one final respectful bow before turning toward the door.

Then Ren’s calm voice stopped him.

"One more thing."

He paused.

"The tattoo matter is not fully resolved yet."

Rohit slowly looked back.

Ren rested her chin lightly against her folded fan, her eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement.

"I may forgive you for seeing the tattoo," she said, her voice deceptively soft. "But I have not forgiven you for seeing me naked."

For the first time since entering the room, Rohit was genuinely speechless.

A faint, satisfied smile curved Ren’s lips.

"Take it as a reminder."