The airport was crowded. People came and went, hurried farewells blending with emotional reunions. Mirai Tanaka walked slowly through the terminal, observing the scene with a faint smile. His black jacket, emblazoned with a sunglasses-wearing Squirtle, stood out among the neutral-colored clothing of the other passengers. Adjusting the strap of his backpack, he headed toward the exit and hailed a taxi.
"Do you speak English?" asked the taxi driver, an older man with graying hair and a seasoned gaze.
"Yes, I do," Mirai replied.
The driver smiled and added, "If you want some advice, avoid the areas with funk parties. If you're looking for a good time, go to bars and safer places. Foreigners always come to Brazil for fun."
"Thank you for the advice," Mirai nodded politely.
During the ride, he observed the urban scenery—colorful graffiti covered the walls, some of them impressively artistic. One, in particular, caught his attention—a stylized Squirtle with gold chains and sunglasses. Mirai grinned, pulling out his phone to snap a picture.
A few minutes later, he arrived at the hotel where he had booked a room. At the reception desk, he was greeted by a woman with light brown skin, long black hair, and intense green eyes. She wore a typical receptionist uniform.
"Welcome. Do you have a reservation?" she asked with a professional smile.
"Yes, Mirai Tanaka," he replied, leaning against the counter.
The receptionist typed something into the computer and, after a few seconds, handed him the key.
"Room 803. The elevator is over there. If you need anything, I'm at your service," she said, still smiling.
"Thank you," Mirai replied, taking the key. He hesitated for a second before adding, "You have a really beautiful smile."
The receptionist raised her eyebrows, surprised, but quickly let out a small chuckle.
"Have a good rest, Mr. Tanaka."
Mirai walked to the elevator, pressed the button, and waited. When the doors opened, he stepped inside, watching the digital panel display the floor numbers. The hotel smelled pleasantly of lavender, and the ambient music made the ride to the eighth floor even more relaxing. As soon as he reached his room, he tossed his backpack onto the bed and collapsed onto the mattress. He spent some time playing games on his phone and listening to music through his headphones before opening Instagram. Scrolling through his feed, he came across a post about a party at a nearby bar. Without thinking much, he decided to go.
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At the bar, flashing lights pulsed to the beat of the loud music. Mirai was enjoying the atmosphere when his eyes landed on a girl sitting alone at a table. Tanned skin, curly, voluminous hair cascading over her shoulders, almond-shaped brown eyes. She wore a tight red dress that accentuated her curves.
He approached her and struck up a conversation. The girl smiled and responded playfully. Her name was Camila.
On the other side of the bar, Diego Santos watched the scene unfold. Dark-skinned, athletic build, tattoos running down his arms, and sharp eyes, he sat at a table with a glass of whiskey in hand. Wearing a black jacket and ripped jeans, his fingers tapped restlessly against the table as he saw Mirai talking to Camila.
"Who the hell is this guy?" he muttered.
Camila and Diego had a tumultuous relationship. He was jealous, but she insisted on having her space. Now, seeing her chatting with a stranger, his blood boiled. He got up, walked toward Mirai, and just as he was about to reach them, he saw Mirai leaning in to kiss Camila.
Diego shoved him roughly.
"You foreign son of a bitch trying to steal my girl! Asian piece of shit!" he shouted, his eyes filled with rage.
Mirai, caught off guard, instinctively responded in English,
"What the fuck, man?!"
Diego didn't understand a word, but he didn't need to. His fist shot forward, landing a solid punch on Mirai's face. The Japanese youth staggered back, crashing into a table and knocking over several glasses. Pain throbbed in his jaw.
"What the hell is your problem?!" Mirai snapped, rubbing his face.
Diego lunged at him again, but this time, Mirai fought back, landing a punch to Diego's chin. The Brazilian spat to the side and smirked.
"Oh, so you wanna play..."
The two started trading blows. Diego landed a hook to Mirai's stomach, who retaliated with a cross to his jaw. The crowd around them began to gather, some cheering them on, others urging them to stop.
Amid the commotion, a tall, muscular man emerged from the spectators. Ricardo "Shark" was a well-known drug lord, his presence commanding silence. With a chiseled jaw and cold, predatory eyes, his tattooed arms bore the waves of the sea, stretching up to his neck. He wore a black dress shirt and a thick gold chain around his neck.
He glanced at Camila and then at the two fighting men, turning to one of his henchmen.
"Are you sure these two were with my girl, Fernando?"
Fernando nodded. Ricardo clenched his fists.
The noise of the fight died down as Ricardo stepped forward, his dominating presence forcing the crowd into silence. Without hesitation, he pulled out a gun and fired.
The deafening gunshots echoed through the bar. Mirai felt a searing pain in his chest. His eyes widened as he saw his blood staining his clothes. His body collapsed onto the floor with a dull thud. Diego was also shot, both of their bodies falling lifelessly.
As his consciousness faded, Mirai felt an eerie calm wash over him. "So this is how it ends?" he thought. "I should have enjoyed my life more..."
Nearby, Diego struggled to breathe. His vision blurred, his mind reeled. "Why...? I just wanted..." His last thought was a flicker of regret and hatred before everything went dark.
(To be continued...)
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