Yuna Mishima (ユナ ミシマ Yu-na Mi-shi-ma)

Yuna Mishima was born in Hachioji, Tokyo, to a family that worked themselves thin. Her father fixed machines, her mother patched up strangers. The apartment was small but orderly, the kind of place where every noise carried. Yuna learned early how to stay quiet. What she never learned was how to belong.   At fourteen, she found belonging in the Kuroba, five girls with matching black clover tattoos on their faces and no patience for rules. They weren’t delinquents by choice, they were lonely.   For three years they drifted through backstreets and arcades, pulling petty scams, daring each other to feel alive. That ended when they crossed paths with the Higashima Yakuza. A clash turned ugly. The Kuroba scattered.   Yuna stayed behind. Among the chaos, one man had stood out a young lieutenant in a black and green suit who spoke with calm authority. He saw something in her defiance, and instead of punishment, he offered guidance. Through him, she learned the discipline behind the life she had mocked loyalty, composure, restraint. She wanted in. But the oyabun refused. “You’ve got a fighter’s heart,” he told her, “but this life will kill it.” Her mentor agreed. They let her help running errands, handling negotiations, staying out of the shadows never letting her cross the line.   When the Tojo and Omi fell and the Higashima dissolved, her mentor left the underworld completely. He formed a community patrol group, policing the same neighborhoods they once controlled. Yuna watched from a distance, trying to find her own footing.   In 2021, she moved to Ōkubo to work with people tied to his new cause. The world had shifted, but she kept the old code close: act with purpose, protect what you can, stay silent when words won’t help. Still, the cracks showed. She drank too often, though never enough to fall apart. She lost patience when people spoke in circles. And any mention of her mentor cut too deep.   Yuna joined a local security firm, her tattoo making it hard to find any other work. They only asked that she keep it covered with her hair. She joined the Hidora because she needed money and because she wanted to understand herself. To push her limits, body and mind.   She liked the structure, the challenge, the feeling of motion. In a strange way, it felt like a new home. She still loves whiskey, still hates bullies and toothaches. Tokyo hadn’t grown softer, but neither had she