Yuzuyakuza

Tokyo, dark night. The asphalt creaks in the rain, neon lights reflect in the puddles like blades.
A breath of citrus—yuzu, sudachi—cuts through the air, sharp as a katana.
Then comes the ink, the wet asphalt, the cherry blossom: the Irezumi takes shape, silent, sacred.
In the background, leather, suede, mahogany wood. The scent of power. Of secrecy. Of honor.

Three caps. One gas.*
Like the three syllables of a bad Oicho-Kabu draw: YA - KU - ZA.
What fate awaits you?

* Cap sent at random from three designs inspired by Japanese tattoos.