It’s Just Business
Sometimes, the most dangerous thing in the world is a conversation.
Koji sat in the back of the StratoGlide eVTOL as it cruised toward Bay Forge. His eyes fixed on the window, peering into the vastness of the night, an infinite black expanse broken only by the ripples of moonlight dancing across the water below. But he wasn’t enjoying the view. He’d barely noticed it at all. No, Koji was running through the meeting to come, calculating the odds, gaming every scenario. Nothing in his world was ever guaranteed, yet nothing was ever left to chance. Every move, every deal, every carefully planted bluff was engineered for maximum effect.
As the city lights breached the horizon, he steeled himself. So much depended on tonight. The cost of failure would be devastating. Financially, it could wipe out everything he’d spent a lifetime building. Personally, it would be something he couldn’t bear. His opponent was not someone to be taken lightly. And tonight, his opponent held all the cards.
The gleaming neo-futurist spires of The Heights came into view, a skyline of glass, steel, and carbon fiber molded into magnificent structures of both form and function. Below the surface lay a master design, precise, engineered, every piece right where it needed to be.
Koji shifted in his seat as the StratoGlide slowed. Shimmering spotlights below guided it to the private landing pad of the Platinum Sands Casino. Thirty floors above the snarled traffic and constant noise of the Lower Stacks, the grand entrance stood sentinel against the black sky. The casino seemed to invite the whole world inside, yet in truth it was one of the most exclusive clubs in the Protectorate.
As the eVTOL settled and the rotors slowed, Koji took a deep breath and stepped outside. His immaculate two-tone black-and-white wingtip shoes hadn’t even touched the cobblestones before a luxury VIP host and an armed security detail greeted him.
“Mr. Tanaka.” The host bowed. “Your private suite is ready, and...” The man cleared his throat. “Your guest has already arrived.”
Koji grimaced. “Is he waiting in the suite?”
The host stammered. “Yes, I thought—”
Koji interrupted him. “It’s okay. I would expect nothing else from such a fine establishment.”
The host sighed and smiled a quiet thank you.
Stepping through the grand entrance was like crossing into another world. Warm air scented with vanilla and soft cedar, bright marble floors, and soft ambient lighting that gave everything a slight ethereal glow.
From the lobby, the host guided him onto the main casino floor, where every design choice whispered unimaginable wealth. The path wound past manicured felt card tables staffed by elite human dealers. There were no cheap electric shufflers or flashing slot machines here. Crisp cards slapped rhythmically against the green felt before being fanned out and back in with a single deft move. Even the simple process of shuffling cards in a place like this was part of the show.
The ambient sounds of the gaming floor pulsed with life. Heavy stacks of ceramic chips clicked rhythmically as they filled pots and shifted between winners and losers. High-stakes blackjack players shouted “hit me,” poker players pushed all in, and the heavy clunk of a metal ball settled into the winning slot on a roulette wheel. The excitement and anticipation were electric. And beneath it all, the crisp clink of crystal whiskey glasses drowned out the despair.
The VIP host whisked Koji through the crowd, guiding him toward the no-limit suites. Upon arriving at the private back room, an exclusive sanctuary reserved for the world’s highest rollers, the host paused and offered a respectful nod before pushing open the heavy double doors.
The room was a shrine to old-world luxury, with rich, dark mahogany paneling, deep, plush velvet sofas, and a single oval card table. Cheng Ma was already seated near the center of the room, legs crossed, arms draped over the back of the couch. His tailored royal-blue suit barely caught the light, unlike his polished black shoes with distinctive red soles that seemed to flare under the light. He rose to his feet with a calculated smile.
Koji reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a custom black-and-gold thousand-dollar casino chip. He slipped it into his host’s hand. “That will be all for tonight. You may leave us.”
The host accepted the tip graciously and then pulled the heavy mahogany doors shut.
Koji turned to Cheng Ma. “I appreciate you agreeing to meet on such short notice.”
Cheng Ma’s smile widened. “It’s not every day a Yakuza of such exceptionally high regard seeks a sit-down with the Red Sky,” he said, his voice carrying a tone that was half-amused, half-mocking. “So when word reached me that the legendary Koji Tanaka requested an audience, how could I possibly refuse?”
His sharp smile tightened as he appraised the older man standing across from him. “So tell me, Mr. Tanaka. What can the Red Sky do for a titan of the Hanshin syndicate?”
“You can help me save the life of one of my assets,” Koji said flatly.
“Can I?” Cheng Ma said, leaning back into his seat. “And what exactly would we be saving this unfortunate asset from?”
“Himself, mostly,” Koji sighed.
“Intriguing,” Cheng Ma mused, swirling the amber liquor in the heavy crystal glass resting on the table. “What kind of trouble could someone find themselves in that the Yakuza cannot handle directly? It must be quite the story.”
“I prefer to think of this as a mutually beneficial trade,” Koji replied, stepping closer to the oval table, “and not a personal favor.”
“And I would prefer to rule the world, Mr. Tanaka,” Cheng Ma retorted with a light chuckle, “but we cannot always have what we want. I suggest you move toward specifics. I am a very busy man with many pressing matters to tend to.”
Koji paused before letting out a long sigh. “Unfortunately, one of my assets has managed to find himself in the crosshairs of the Neon Shroud.”
Cheng Ma shot back the rest of his drink and set the glass on the table, the jitter of its placement betraying the tremble in his hand. “The Shroud, you say?” he murmured, leaning forward. “How exactly do you imagine we are in a position to assist you with that? This is the United Nations Protectorate, not Mainland China. Our operation may have teeth here, but this is Shroud territory, and we are merely tourists.”
Koji took two slow steps forward, his hands resting lightly on the back of a velvet chair. “You can kill him.”
Cheng Ma’s head cocked slightly to the side, his theatrical smile entirely vanishing. His dark eyes narrowed as he reassessed the man standing before him, suddenly wondering if Koji knew something he couldn’t possibly know.
“And here I thought you were asking to save your man’s life, not his soul. Or do you want to ensure his silence in the face of the Shroud?” Cheng Ma asked, his voice dropping an octave. “Tell me, Mr. Tanaka, how would killing a man save him?”
A faint, fleeting smile appeared on Koji’s face, a tiny crack in his rigid porcelain mask that vanished almost as fast as it arrived. But to a trained observer like Cheng Ma, that brief flash of satisfaction might as well have been a brilliant neon sign flashing in the dark.
“Because then you will bring him back,” Koji said quietly. “The way you can, and the way you do.”
Silence settled over the room, save for the soft hum of the environmental control systems concealed within the mahogany walls. The color in Cheng Ma’s face had dimmed and Koji noticed a small bead of sweat forming on his forehead. Cheng Ma stared at Koji before breaking into a boisterous laugh that echoed off the dark paneling. But his eyes. His eyes remained fixated on Koji’s face.
“When my people told me the legend of Koji Tanaka, the most notorious Yakuza in Hanshin, I wasn’t sure what to think. The man who could have been emperor but turned it down to be a father,” Cheng Ma said, smoothing the lapels of his suit as his laughter died down. “It seems you live up to your reputation, Tanaka-san.”
He unbuttoned his suit jacket and leaned back, stretching his arms wide across the couch. Taking a navy handkerchief from the chest pocket of his burgundy vest, he patted his forehead. The opening salvo of the game was officially over. Cheng Ma still held the chip lead, but Koji had successfully put him off balance, tilting the momentum of the table just enough to force a real negotiation.
“Let me speak with total clarity then,” Cheng Ma said, his tone turning cold. “What you ask is impossible. Even if we had that capability, why would we ever use it on a Yakuza asset? Wouldn’t it be easier to cut the head off the snake right here and keep our little secret safe?”
“As I had mentioned,” Koji took a seat across from him. “I am here for a trade, not a favor.”
“Oh, a trade!” Cheng Ma laughed. “And what could you possibly trade for that?”
“Fusion technology.”
Cheng Ma sat in silence, his eyes shifting back and forth as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Fusion technology,” he repeated slowly. “That is among the most closely guarded secrets in the Protectorate. How exactly does a Yakuza broker come into possession of something like that?”
“He doesn’t,” Koji said. “Not yet.”
Cheng Ma tilted his head. “A bluff? Then we have nothing left to discuss.”
“It’s not a bluff.” Koji snapped before composing himself. “It is why I need my asset secured. He presents a unique opportunity.”
Cheng Ma smiled, having seen the momentary slip. “I’m listening.”
“He works for the Special Investigation Services of the Protectorate, and he brings the high-level clearances that position affords him.”
Slowly, the wide smile returned, and something glinted behind Cheng Ma’s eyes. “Special Investigation Services? How fascinating.” He rose from the couch and moved toward the card table, trailing a finger along its polished edge. “The man who could have been emperor, and the outsider he chose to be a father to instead.” He looked up. “Your forbidden son, Tanaka-san. This changes things considerably.”
Koji said nothing. Cheng Ma too held forbidden knowledge. Koji’s silence was his admission.
“There is also the matter of process,” Cheng Ma continued. “Before we can bring him back, we’ll need to grow a custom vessel. It is neither cheap nor quick. Properly stimulating the nervous system to develop sufficient neural pathways to hold an entire human consciousness takes well over a year. Rush it, and the transfer fails. The result is a fate considerably worse than death.”
“I understand,” Koji said quietly.
“No, Tanaka-san. I don’t think you do. Until you see it with your own eyes, you can’t ever understand. But you will,” he said, inspecting the tip of his finger and flicking away what little dirt had collected on it.
Koji gave a single nod.
“Very good.” Cheng Ma moved back toward the couch, reaching for the decanter on the side table. “You understand of course that once this arrangement is in motion there is no unwinding it. For either of us.” He poured two glasses without asked and set one on the edge of the card table within Koji’s reach. “Before we begin the process, you will have to pay for the vessel. In full. Consider it a down payment towards our wider arrangement.”
Koji studied the glass for a moment. “How do I know you will keep up your end?”
The temperature in the room chilled.
Cheng Ma set his glass down with a firm clink. When he looked up his theatrical warmth was gone, stripped away to reveal something primal. Koji noticed for the first time what he had missed when Cheng Ma unbuttoned his jacket earlier. Tucked beneath his left arm, fitted into a slim leather scabbard, was a short dao, its handle worn smooth.
“I may be many things, Tanaka-san,” Cheng Ma said, eyes unblinking. “But I am not without honor. Question that again and this will become a very different conversation with a much sharper conclusion.”
The silence that followed was total.
“Forgive me,” Koji said. “I meant no disrespect. I will accept your terms.”
The smile returned, wide and warm and entirely performative, as if the last thirty seconds had never happened. Cheng Ma raised his glass in a small salute.
“Excellent.” He settled back into the couch. “One of my contacts will reach out with the account transfer details. We know where to find you.” He took a slow sip. “But Tanaka-san. If this turns out to be one of your legendary games, I will not hesitate to kill you.” A brief pause. “And your son.”
Koji held his gaze for one long moment, then gave a single, quiet nod as he turned to leave, leaving the glass untouched.
About Liminal Space Creative
As a Métis writer of short stories, flash fiction, and poems, I explore the grey areas of the human condition where love and sorrow pool together. My stories often blend genres, opening as one thing and shifting quietly into another, because the moments that change us forever rarely announce themselves.
Some of my previous Sci-Fi Short Fiction stories:
This story was written for Reedsy Prompts Weekly Contest #365, Two Sides to Every Story with Emily Martin. The prompt: “Start or end your story in an empty, hidden, or locked room.”
I wasn’t expecting “kill him so you can bring him back.” That changed the whole conversation pretty quick. Good read!