Series: Yakuza Diaries

YAKUZA DAIRIES – VOLUME ZERO
Chapter 1 – Bound by Oath.
Part 1.

I am Kiryu, I eat money to get stronger and have such a mighty ass it can be seen through a jacket. [So far, so IRL, I’m on board]

[Shut up]

Early observations:
Nishiki looks like betrayal in a red suit.
My magic fists cause sobriety.
I do not fully understand JPY as a currency; money falls out of mens if I hits them and big number goes ka-ching. I will hits more mens with my magic sobriety fists.

PLOT POINT.
So I accidentally did a murder.
OR DID I.
Maybe Nishiki was late because he was murdering the mark, as he seems to know about the job and Has Ambition… now he’s pointing me at a specific boss, like a handsome muscular bullet with the voice of an angel. HMMM.

[IS THIS WHY HE WORE RED THE CRAFTY BASTARD]

Also, on that point about singing, Karaoke might have sprained something. Bloody hell I have a hard enough time with rhythm games as it is without it turning into a Whitesnake video unannounced. I can’t laugh that hard and push buttons at the same time.

Investigation suggests I have been framed for this murder-doing [yathink?]. I must solve this mystery by finding and presumably assaulting a loan shark with my clue-detection fist style. I will deploy my mighty sleuth-thews and chiseled jaw in pursuit of justice, because I am an upstanding member. Of the Yakuza. What. Yes. Quite.

Regarding my fists and their magical properties, a homeless fighting expert called Bacchus has introduced me to a fisting master who can give me special lessons in a parking lot. It will help my career and combat prowess, apparently. I have not yet found the in-game option to report people to the police; I suspect it will unlock later.

This mission seems to be vitally important, but I have made a discovery. (!)
Having been accosted by HOOLIGANS (as a change of pace from DELINQUENTS and/or DRUNKARDS) I have discovered the option of picking up nearby objects to use as weapons. Thusly, I am struggling to find a reason not to spend the rest of my evening beating the living shit of these mens with a giant traffic cone until money falls out, sobriety fists be damned.
Big orange is gonna getcha, big orange is gonna getcha good.

UNTIL NEXT TIME FRIENDS.

YAKUZA DAIRIES – VOLUME ZERO
Chapter 1 – Bound by Oath.
Part 2.

I am Kiryu, I fight street people with bicycles. Not street people on bicycles; I have a bicycle and I hit them with it. They are bicycle-adjacent street people at a rapidly diminishing distance.

I have been wearied by these struggles, but after eating my body weight in sushi and purchasing 16 bottles of stimulants, I am ready to track down this loan shark like a jittery and faintly rattling spirit of sexy vengeance.

TO BUSINESS. I have been framed for a specific murder, unrelated to the clearly life-changing events I have dished out to no fewer than a dozen gangs of enthusiastic felons while out shopping for rice, fish and drugs. While my mugshot would be a gift to the fashion world I must decline the opportunity and seek justice.

After much searching, and following my detectoring instincts, and being directly told where to go and following the giant pink arr-
THE LOAN SHARK’S ADDRESS, I AM IN IT.
DEPLOY DIPLOMACY FISTS.

[…]

THIS HAS NOT WORKED OUT AS EXPECTED.
I have hit many mens, but not the specific loans mans. I have instead spoken at length with an old man who wanted to smoke and discuss real estate. I think we have met before but it was probably a long time ago. I am beautiful in my outraged confusion.

I LEAVE, my name still dirtied but my skin immaculate.

---

I have had a troubling discussion with my friTRAITOR?!end Nishiki. Friend Nishiki. Not Traitor Nishiki. I cannot prove my innocence of this specific murder while I remain a yakuza, so I must go hand in my notice. Friend Not Traitor Nishiki thinks if I do this I will be MOIDERD and he is strongly against it. He offers me a lift.
squint
[In other news I have an itchy back and he has offered to help with an assortment of knives.]

---

I speak at length with an old man who wants to smoke and discuss real estate. He seems familiar, I think we have met before but it was probably a long time ago. He does not support my career decision and leaves, presumably to drink Sanatogen. I am beautiful in my outraged confu- HANG ON IT’S GONE ALL FIGHTY.

RESIGNATION FISTS, POWER UP, IT’S NOTICE TIME.

I punch the mans and I get the dosh and all is right with the world. Like majestic and unexpectedly violent ivy, my instinct is to climb; however, there is one man standing in my way. Repeatedly. Undeterred by what has to be a truly brutal treble concussion and a fractured everything, he is Weasel Faced Yakuza Terminator, and he is persistent.
[I am jump-scared and QTE’d to the extent of pushing the wrong buttons due to shrieking with laughter. I love this game.]

At this point it would be reasonable simply to leave, but my fighting ivy instincts are so mighty that when faced with a locked door I hurl myself through a nearby bathroom window just to go higher. Life finds a way, and that way is through a pane of glass and several badly startled men with wet hands and shoes.

I fight, I climb. Instinct and weaponised furnishings drive me to the peak, and I… speak at length with an old man… He seems familiar, I think we have met before but it was probably a long time ago. He does not support my career decision. I am beautiful in my outraged confu- why is he taking off his shirt.
Dann boy, he’s pretty spry. Hang on is this boss musi-WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY PUT IN SANATOGEN NOW JESUS CHRIST

[…]

THIS HAS NOT WORKED OUT AS EXPECTED. I have seen things. Many things. Also bits of things that were previously on bigger things and oh dear. I have wrestled with doubts, with my conscience, with a very shiny and surprisingly quick old man and it is all too much. I am outside now and fall to my knees in the rain, looking like the forlorn patron saint of throwing water on sexy men in white shirts. Lost and confused, I am there for an age before a mysterious businessman shelters me with a brolly and offers his hand. And a shower.
Hang on is this saxophone musi-

[…]

THIS HAS NOT WORKED OUT AS EXPECTED.
It turns out his offer of a hand was exceedingly generous giving his personal circumstances, and he only briefly stole my clothes while I showered. (I am Kiryu, and I can still intimidate mortal men even if I am clad in only a robe and fuzzy slippers. If anything my gaze intensifies, and my NANI?? fairly slays in towelling.)

I LEAVE THIS MAN. Unpunched, as he has offered help with my mission. Loose on the streets once again, unemployed but filled with new purpose, I should let TRAIfriendTOR Nishiki know I’m ok.

I will head to him immediately so he doesn’t worry about me.
Hang on, is this arcade musi-

---

UNTIL NEXT TIME FRIENDS.

YAKUZA DAIRIES – VOLUME ZERO
Chapter 2 – The Real Estate Broker in the Shadows.
Part 1.

I am Kiryu, I am a television producer specialising in gourmet food programs.

(Wait, no…)

I am Kiryu, I am a Hooliganism Consultant for musicians struggling to meet their street cred.

(What?)

I am Kiryu, I teach my gruff and imposing ways to subs woefully misemployed as professional doms.

(Steady on.)

I AM KIRYU, I BREAK UP ILLICIT MICRO-CARTELS PEDDLING THE WORN UNDERWEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS.

(It was one time you’re really overstating th-)

I AM KIRYU, I HAVE BEEN FRAMED FOR MURDER.

(Finally.)

I have been booted out of the Yakuza while I attempt to clear my name, and I urgently need to tell friend-not-traitor Nishiki that I’m alive.

(I think this is the one.)

It has been 34 years since then and I have yet to further my own ends. I leap from situation to situation, striving to put right what once went wrong and hoping each time that my next leap… will be the leap home.

(Stop that immediately.)

A man called Miracle “OC Do Not Steal” Johnson, who lives without fear of the estate of Micheal Jackson has – along with five thousand other people – demanded my assistance on my way home. The assistance of a man framed for murder. The quasi-murderer assistance. The assistance specifically from someone framed for murder. That assistance.

(Better. I think. I am squinting at you so hard right now.)

I am Kiryu, I am a television producer specialising in music videos and fighting zombies.

(Oh for fucksa-)

[WHAT?]

(You know what. You’re doing a bit because you think it’s amusing instead of exhausting.)
[MAYBE. It’s kinda cute tho.]
(MAYBE. But behave yourself, now. This is serious games journalism.)
[FIIIIINE]

---

I AM KIRYU, I AM A BEAUTIFUL IDIOT AND HAVE BEEN FRAMED FOR MURDER. Fresh from a pitched battle with a terrifying and frankly ripped pensioner, I was briefly sheltered by a generous businessman with an excellent shower and impeccable manners. The mystery of my framing began to unravel beneath his practiced fingers and I had a new lead firmly in hand, but our time – while invigorating – was short. I had to leave, best-friend-not-traitor-Nishiki awaits news of my wellbeing. It is vital that he not worry.

I run through the weirdly-dry-given-it-was-pissing-down-ten-minutes-ago streets of Kamurocho, dodging hoodlums, helping the needy, punching zombies, distancing myself from inevitable litigation, assisting sex workers, directing commercials, and intimidating schoolgirls. For a hulking yet graceful confection of masculinity, my resume is as broad and flexible as a Yakuza turned hound of justice.

Considering all of this, and the urgency of my situation, I can’t quite explain why I find myself having lost two and a half hours in this small arcade, glued to a claw machine.
I have emptied it entirely several times. My bank balance and storage agreement are equally strained by an unreasonable quantity of plush toys. I own multiple complete sets of a family of axolotls.
Axolotls. One of them is wearing a tophat. I continually harass the staff to refill the machine. The beautiful machine. I COVET A ROTUND BIRD WEARING A FEZ, REFILL THIS JOY-DISPENSER IMMEDIATELY TINY MAN.

When it isn’t the claw machine of beautiful joy, it is OutRun. I sit there as if in a dream, lulled by the whirr and clatter of the arcade. All I can do is sit at the cabinet and wonder… am I going the distance? Am I going for speed?

Nishiki’s all alone [ALL ALONE], all alone in his time of need.
Because I’m racing and pacing and plotting the course.
I’m fighting and biting and riding on this horse.
I’m going the distance.
No trophy, no flowers, no flashbulbs, no wine.
I’m haunted by something I cannot define.
Bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse assail me, impale me with monster-truck force.

(That is a CAKE song and you know it. Leave the arcade you fool.)

[…FINE.]

What has become clear, is that Kamurocho is a town of many distractions. One potential underwear model and driving force behind a line of premium cologne can only do so much before this place grinds him mercilessly.
(Down. Grinds him down.)
[STEADY ON.]

I have eaten 27 bowls of ramen and crushed enough passing ne’er-do-wells that the local police force sent me flowers. I have assisted the careers of professionals, turned younglings from the path of darkness, and yet still not reached the office where Nishiki awaits, no doubt biting his fingernails to the knuckle.

---

Nobody is trying to get my attention, I cannot possibly eat another thing, and the manager of the arcade has put my picture on the wall and notified the staff not to serve me. Finally, I have found Nishiki and I tell him that I am alive!

He can NOT believe it! He seems… exasperated, surprised, and angry by turn. Entirely on my behalf, no doubt. Such a good friend.
Weary after my adventures, I leave him to aggressively chain-smoke and mutter to himself.

As I wander the streets once again, something nags at me. An uneasy feeling, a niggling suspicion. As if something is looming at my back. I keep feeling the earth shake very slightly, and everything has gotten very dark, as though a long shadow has fallen over me and me alone.

What is a ‘Mr. Shakedown’?

---

UNTIL NEXT TIME FRIENDS.