Yasuke Tattoo Novels & Stories

The car door opened, and Ash alighted with the experts from Zuken Group and engaged in a violent gunfight against the bounty hunters of Yamafuji Sai. The battle lasted several minutes. When both parties ran out of bullets, they threw away the firearms in their hands and withdrew their melee weapons. “Brothers, Yamafuji Sai will face its demise today. Kill them all for me.” Ash had put on his custom-made combat uniform—the standard Japanese samurai attire, clogs, with three combat-ready swords hanging from his waist. Santoryu was Ash’s unique battle technique where he wielded three katanas at once. Next to Ash stood a brawny and hostile man. He fired the rocket.

"(Hmmmm...i smells conspiracy in here..….anyway…T.A.S which one is the slave's contract holder?..)" (The 3rd man from your left. All you have to do was put your hand on the slave master mark on his left chest, to make sure that the marker was transferred to you as you kill him. ). Just like what T.A.S said Rattlesnake Loise really do have a tattoo on his left chest, the tattoo looks like a tribal hand that was bound by a chain, I put my left hand on the tattoo, and put my gun on his temple then pulled the trigger. A few seconds has passed, yet I felt absolutely nothing but there's a difference on my body, a Sakura flower tattoo appears on my forehands, it looks neat and kinda to my liking ac

My thoughts drifted to last night- **************FLASHBACK**************** I had taken my second sip when Zen’s driver arrived at our table. The man seemed to be even larger than Zen if that was possible. I only noticed because they didn’t have the barrier of the front seat between them. What looked like the tattoo of Japanese umbrella-pine tree, kōyamaki peeked out of the man’s collar. Out of respect, he removed the cap he wore to reveal a closely shaven head then bowed low, apologizing in Japanese, ending his sentence with the word Waka-sama. My eyebrows rose. What could the man mean by calling Zen that?

That was when I noticed the tattoos. His back was adorned with an intricate design of large black wings, streaked with delicate gold traces that shimmered faintly in the low light. The wings spanned across his shoulders and down his back, a masterpiece that was both beautiful and intimidating. They exuded a silent warning, a "do not mess with me" aura that fit him perfectly. Yet, despite their commanding presence, I felt no fear. This was Alessandro. The man who had carried me, who had stood by me even when I pushed him away. He wasn’t a threat—he was my protector.

His father had made sure, even upon leaving that line of work, that his son should be trained in the ways of the Yakuzas, especially when it comes to defending himself. He hears more bullets being fired outside his home and knows he needs to be ready to face the inevitable. At the very least, I will die where I want, and in the way I choose. Akihiro Yamaguchi slides a vintage-styled shoji - the wide paper doors so commonly used for Japanese dojos - which lined one of the huge house’s inner gardens. Inside was a spacious room with a wooden floor, bamboo-lined walls, and weapon racks displayed in strategic places. He walks straight up to a major display case in the best part of the room and ta