He resisted the temptation to scratch the scar that meandered from just below his left ear to his neck. It was a reminder of his first task when he’d joined the family business. Even though his father was the oyabun, Katsuro had still needed to be initiated when he came of age to become a kobun. It was his first kill, and he had been badly underprepared. The kobun from the Watanabe-kai had seen him coming, and there had been a struggle, during which the man had swiped at him with a blade. That Katsuro had fought him off and then killed him had gone some way to ameliorating the shame he felt from his injuries. The scar was a reminder that a slovenly attitude to preparation was dangerous, and he had never made the same mistake again. Katsuro clenched his teeth to distract himself from the itching, exacerbated by the humidity that even the powerful air-conditioning units in the foyer couldn’t completely ameliorate. The fine woollen suit that he was wearing was not helping matters, but he was here on business, and appearances were important.

And—although he didn’t like to admit it—he wanted to look good for Sakura. He hadn’t seen her since the last run, and he had been looking forward to being reunited.

He looked to the automatic double doors that separated the arriving passengers from the main terminal building. They opened and closed every few seconds, and Katsuro peered through them, scanning the row of security booths. He could see a line of passengers beyond them, slowly funnelling between the booths as their passports were checked. He frowned. There was no sign of Sakura.

This was an easy job for Katsuro. He had refined his skills since his almost fatal initiation and was now highly adept. His repertoire went all the way from babysitting—the reason he was in Bali—to wet work when his father needed it. Takashi had made Katsuro responsible for developing the relationship with the premans on the island, and all of the first runs had been successful.