I uncomfortably sat in the backseat of an Austin 10; the notion of a Korean yakuza member being able to easily peer into its open windows was discomforting. Usa's body was rigid as he sat next to me, his eyes invisibly scanning the surroundings as we drove past the woods.
"We didn't think you would have made it," the short-chubby man bellowed out from the passenger's seat. "The storm was pretty heavy last night, right Gen?" The large burly man grunted as he looked through the rear view mirror.
"Keep your eyes on road," Usa warned. Gen snorted but obeyed.
"Haha. I see. Well where are my manners? My name is Hideo Wakamura and this is Gen," he patted the driver and smiled towards us, not knowing who we were. I merely looked at him; I didn't feel the need for greetings nor smiles. Hideo turned around awkwardly once realizing we wouldn't be conversing with him and instead started to converse with Gen.