While he wasn’t personally one for gambling, he found himself enjoying the vast vessel that acted as a floating casino. Water from the river lapped up against the side of the boat, and Naota leaned forward on crossed arms against the railing to look over. He was here to meet someone in hopes of a trade, but there was still just under an hour until then. Drae had helped a lot with the best ways to haggle and trade since he was so adept when it came to the black market, but Naota still had a thing or two to learn. He was too diplomatic for his own good. And when diplomacy failed he just followed his impulses. Needless to say, he needed to find a good middle ground.

This was good though, this would be good practice. What’s more, this was a fairly simple hand off. Surely he wouldn’t need assistance from Drae for something like this, right? Now that he thought about him, he wondered if it was time to pay him a visit. Since the return of his memories he hadn’t really gone around any of the others in the conclave save for Angela, but she hardly counted. No, when it came to Angela she was family: she was everyone’s family.

He sighed and conjured a small flat stone. They were so high up from how grand the ship was that he wondered if he’d be able to make it skip. Closing one eye, he set up the shot and then quickly flicked his wrist. The stone skidded once, twice, four, seven, ten times until sinking into the cresting waves. His nose wrinkled, it was too easy. After over one thousand years of existence it was a great thing to find any small pleasure, but apparently skipping rocks was no longer one of them.

Ah well, maybe he could go ahead to the meeting spot early. The stars showed him that there was still some time left, but even so he made his way back inside. The air inside was uncomfortably still in comparison to the constant breeze of the ocean, and he found himself straightening his hair back out. Not that it mattered as far as appearances went since he didn’t look like himself: his eyes were rounder and a dark brown; his hair was pitch black and close cropped; his usual lean frame was thicker with muscle; his skin was a shade paler and littered with tattoos that he’d never actual have needled in.

His attire was fitting to everyone else’s: nice, but casual. Torinasu was cloaked in invisibility at his hip, but he made sure to keep a hand on it in a subtle way so as to keep it from bumping into anyone he had to weave past. No one paid him any mind as he walked through the throng of people. Some were at tables throwing dice and cheering; others were standing around wheels and putting bids on numbers and symbols. So much gambling, and that didn’t even scratch the surface as far as card tables went.

He shook his head with a wistful smile. Gambling wasn’t for him but it was interesting to see what others found enjoyment in. When he came to the door he turned the knob and opened it, but froze at what he saw inside. There was a group of men, some with blades drawn, one with one too many gashes on his arm, and all sets of eyes turned immediately in his direction. His lips parted from surprise, but he knew he couldn’t just leave whatever was happening alone. Though he also knew he couldn’t give himself away.

“Uh…wrong door?”

He was here finally. The distance between Nisshoki and Jayou wasn't so wide as to pose an issue, but that wasn't the reason why it had been so difficult for him to come to the largest collective of the criminal underworld this side of the continent. If he had a choice, Masashi would have preferred to never set foot inside this place for the rest of his life. The one reason that hindered and pushed him towards arriving was one particular man–Gen Takara. It had been half a year since Hiryu overturned the Takara gang with a bloody takeover, killing many of the old guard as well as their leader himself. Closing his eyes, he could still see the blade go clean through Takara-san's body. The point to the hilt coated in crimson blood, Shohei's cruel laughter as Takara gasped for air. How many of his brothers had fallen? How many more were still alive? Though the gang was no longer in Nisshoki there were still people who had connections on their whereabouts. Through them he learned that his foster father's killer was now a hotshot gang head in the river city, climbing the ranks. The Takara gang was renamed and reshaped into the 'Crimson Dragons', after Shohei himself. 

The peddler who gave him the tip told him he should meet another informant in the city who would fill him in on the current situation. The description of the floating gambling house matched like a glove and now he had to figure out who he should be seeing. He wasn't given a name, only a few identifying details. The man had a mole on the center of his forehead and long earlobes, he couldn't miss him–they said. Not the type to gamble, Masashi slowly made his rounds inspecting the tables while holding a cup of sake. Despite his lack of ink, his stern face and rough look helped him blend in more than expected. Focusing on the male patrons, he kept visually scanning for the man with the forehead mole. The sound of panicked begging caught his attention and he got a side view of a group of thugs and some unlucky man in their grasp. "H-hey! Look I'm telling ya, I said I'll pay ya back at the end of today!" The man was cut up real bad, and a mean-looking skinhead grabbed him up by the collar. "Don't think so. Youse think you can weasel outta paying Kai-long what he deserves, huh?!"

The man whimpered as the skinhead raised a nasty looking knife, and as he squirmed Masashi saw a bit dark spot smack-dab in the middle of his forehead. Wait then that would mean… He didn't need to think twice when he stepped forward. By the look in their eyes they were going to gut him and throw him to the fish. "Drop the man." He said, furrowed brow locking eyes with the head thug. "What's it to you? He owe you silver?" The man turned with a sneer, flashing a gold tooth. "I've got business to settle, so drop him while you still can." Masashi wasn't backing down. That man was a very important person and he wasn't going to let him die on his watch. Debts or no debts, if the man with the mole died then he'd lose his only lead in finding Hiryu. The bald-headed man's sneer turned to a snarl and he flipped his knife in the air to catch it in a threatening grip. "C'mon boys, somebody oughta teach this punk the rules around here."