Emperor of Havoc: Chapter 38

The car roars through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo, the city a blur of light and shadow beyond the tinted windows. Kolya’s hands, strong and tattooed, are tight fists on his knees as he sits beside me in the back seat, his face a mask of grim determination.

His voice breaks the heavy silence. “Where and when did you meet my brother?”

“England,” I murmur, looking out the window. “Ten, twelve years ago. Through my mother’s social circles. He became a sort of mentor to me when I was a teenager.” My jaw tightens, the memory bittersweet as I turn toward Kolya. “He was also my friend.”

Kolya nods, his expression grim.

“My brother has experienced…problems with his mental health,” Kolya mutters slowly, as if forcing the words out costs him. “He’s suffered from psychosis and paranoid schizophrenia since we were children. He had it under control for a while. He was on the right meds.” His voice becomes almost hesitant. “But right around the time my wife Marianna became pregnant with Katarina, Jin said he needed a change of scenery. He left Japan, moved to the UK, and sort of fell off my radar. He was there for years; we lost touch for many of them.”

My brow furrows. “Why the different name?”

Kolya smirks privately. “Akira Ohno?” he murmurs, shaking his head. “No idea. Probably wanted to distance himself from the Ishida name. But I can tell you how he picked his new name.”

He sighs as he turns to me.

“Do you watch anime, Takeshi?”

“Excuse me?”

“Japanese animation. I don’t mean Pokémon. The more…adult versions.”

I lift a shoulder. “Sometimes.”

“Are you familiar with the movie Akira, about the outlaw young man who races motorcycles around a future Tokyo?”

I have seen that movie. And suddenly, it clicks.

Akira.

The man who lived and breathed motorcycles, who gave me my love for them, took his new name from a movie about a kid who loves motorcycles.

Holy shit.

It’s so obvious and simple that it almost makes me want to laugh.

Almost.

“And Ohno…” Kolya smiles a rare smile, shaking his head. “That was a nickname we had for him growing up.” He turns to me. “Jin was…accident prone. Or maybe trouble-prone. And whenever he’d mess up, my mother would say ‘oh no’ in English.”

My mouth falls open. “He returned to Japan when Marianna…got sick,” Kolya continues. His voice tightens, but he keeps going. “She died not long after Jin came home. It was strange: they weren’t that close, but Jin took her death very hard. He wasn’t ever the same. His moods spiraled, his mental health crumbled. He stopped taking his meds and started trying to fix things with drugs and alcohol instead.”

Kolya grits his jaw as he glances at me. “I tried to help him. I even put him in a facility, hoping they could help him. But it got worse. He became…volatile.”

“So these notes,” I growl. “To Katarina. They’re from him?”

Kolya nods curtly. “That’s his handwriting. I’d know it anywhere.”

My blood runs cold. “Do you think he took her?”

Kolya hesitates, but then he shakes his head. “It’s impossible.”

“And why the fuck is that?” I snarl, leaning forward. “Why⁠—”

Kolya cuts me off, his voice firm. “Jin hasn’t left his apartment in almost a decade.”

My mouth opens, but no words come out.

Kolya exhales heavily, shaking his head. “Jin is a hikikomori—a hermit. The fact that he hasn’t once in ten years left the apartment I bought him is his decision. He has food and supplies delivered whenever he wants. He has my number. He can always come out. He just chooses not to.”

The car slows and pulls up to the curb. Kolya’s face is grim as he turns and glances out the window.

“We’re here.”

“Kolya-sama.”

At the front door, a man in a dark suit bows low to Kolya.

“Has anyone been to see him?”

The man frowns. “Sir, he…” He clears his throat and shakes his head. “He never has visitors.”

Kolya grunts. “We’re going up. Stay here.”

The guard steps aside and we move into the building. A second guard is stationed by the elevator, his posture rigid, his hand resting gently near the hilt of a katana under his suit jacket. Kolya doesn’t so much as glance at him as we pass, but the tension in his bearing is palpable.

The elevator ride up is silent. Kolya stares straight ahead, his face reflected in the polished steel doors grim and unyielding. I want to ask him more about Akira—about Jin.

All I can think about is Katarina.

“We’re here for a reason, Takeshi,” Kolya growls. “Believe me, I want to be out there looking for her as much as you do. But⁠—”

“But there’s a thread here that needs pulling,” I finish, my voice edged.

Kolya nods as the elevator door opens. “In ten years, Jin has never once called me, or sent a text, or a letter, even a simple note.” He turns to me. “But he’s sent notes to Katarina before. Small ones, just saying hello, or that he was thinking of her. But those two in the white envelopes?” He grimaces. “Those are…”

“Not the sort of notes an uncle sends his niece,” I murmur.

“No, Mr. Mori,” Kolya says darkly. “No, they’re not.”

Another of Kolya’s men bows formally as we exit the elevator. Another stands at the far end, positioned outside the apartment door. His gaze flicks to Kolya, then to me, as we approach.

“Leave us,” Kolya growls.

The guard bows and retreats down the hall to join the man by the elevators.

Kolya exhales slowly, then raps his knuckles on the door. “Jin,” he says, his tone surprisingly gentle. “It’s me. I know it’s been a long, long time, but we need to talk about something.”

Silence.

Kolya knocks again, harder this time. “Jin. I know you’re in there. I’m not angry, we just need to talk about Katarina.”

Still nothing.

Kolya’s hand clenches into a tight fist. “She’s in trouble, brother,” he presses, his voice strained. “I need your help. Please.”

The seconds stretch into an unbearable eternity. My pulse pounds in my ears, a steady drumbeat of dread. Finally, Kolya steps back, his face hardening to stone.

“Enough fucking around,” he growls, pulling a gun from his holster.

“Smartest thing I’ve heard all night,” I mutter darkly.

I kick the door in, the wood splintering under the force. The sound echoes sharp and jarring down the corridor. We step inside with weapons drawn.

There’s a single light on in the living room, but the air inside is musty and stale.

The apartment is silent and meticulously tidy, but devoid of life. Dust is everywhere and the faint scent of decay lingers in the air. It’s as if the space itself has been suspended in time, forgotten by the world.

Kolya’s eyes dart around. “Jin?” he calls out, his voice firm but wary. No response.

I move toward the kitchen, my gun at the ready. The cabinets are fully stocked and the fridge hums quietly, but everything feels wrong. Too tidy. Staged.

“He’s not here,” I say tightly.

Kolya grits his teeth before suddenly storming through the apartment. I follow, checking each room. A bedroom with a neatly made bed. A bathroom with clean, folded towels. A study with shelves filled with books on engineering and philosophy.

No Jin.

Then I notice it: an open window in the back room, its curtains fluttering gently in the breeze. My stomach drops as I approach, my gaze going to the rope ladder leading to the courtyard below.

“Kolya.”

There’s no answer when I call his name.

“Kolya.”

I frown as I turn.

“Kolya?”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I prowl back through the apartment, checking every empty room again before I step into a small office. Kolya stands frozen in the center, his gaze fixed on the far wall. When I turn to see what he’s looking at, my soul goes numb.

Holy fucking hell.

The wall is covered in photographs. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds.

Every single one is of Katarina.

Some are recent and taken from a distance while others are older, grainy images that look like they were pulled from family albums. Then there are the words, scrawled across the pictures or on the wall around them like hand-drawn frames, in bold, jagged letters:

Marianna.

Mine. Always mine.

My love.

Kolya’s face is a mask of controlled fury. I step closer, scanning the monstrous collage. The sheer intensity of the obsession is suffocating. My own anger flares, hot and blinding.

“Whatever part of this fucked-up family saga you haven’t yet told me…” I growl carefully, turning to level a cold glare at Kolya. “I need to hear it, now.”

He nods, his face grim.

“Jin was in love with Marianna,” he says bluntly. “The irony, of course, is that I wasn’t. We married merely to increase the strength of the empire I’d just wrested from my grandfather’s control. Honestly, we could barely stand each other. But Jin?” He shakes his head slowly, still staring at the wall of madness.

“Jin always loved her. I know that’s why he left when Katarina was conceived. Why he came back when Marianna got sick. And why he lost whatever shred of control he had over his demons when she died.”

We stand there in stunned silence for another minute, staring at the collage of photos.

“Kolya,” I growl quietly. “What did your wife look like?”

He lifts his arm, pointing at a smiling photo of Katarina.

“Like that,” he growls. “Katarina looks exactly like her mother.”

It’s the last piece of a puzzle we’ve been dreading putting together.

I turn to Kolya, nostrils flaring. “Do you have any idea where Jin might be?”

He nods as he turns to me.

“He’s going to be at the only other place he’s ever called home.”