1: The Schemers

By the time Ootori Kyouya was twenty-three years old, he was already a millionaire many times over. One does not amass a fortune through an excess of kindness. And one does not maintain a fortune through ostentation. So few, not even his family, knew the extent of Kyouya's private accounts; he lived at home still, as did many men of his age, and worked for his father in the business division of Ootori Medical, Ootori Internation.

Although he worked in the family corporation, he was not often called to report to his father. It came as a surprise to him the day Ootori Yoshio strode unannounced into his son's room and told Kyouya that he was to be engaged. In this day and age, engagements were forged in the feudal way only for two, mostly separate though sometimes simultaneous reasons. Either to protect the reputation of a misbehaving child, or to secure an irresistable dowry... and Kyouya, as far as he knew, had not misbehaved.

"May I ask to whom?" he said mildly, crossing one leg over the other.

His father stopped before his couch. "The Saitou Heiress," he said.

Kyouya scoured his memory. The Saitou name he knew: their corporation's main business was to produce the delicate, complicated medical machinery used to monitor patients' health. But the Heiress? He thought for a full minute but the only thing that came to mind was the image of a horse. "The equestrienne?" He threw aside the GQ he'd been flipping. What little he knew of her, she wasn't exactly a fast and loose type. "She's gotten into some kind of trouble?"

"Don't be common," his father scowled. "No, not at all. But it is a succession question."

Right. Heiress. "Don't tell me she can't own the company without getting married and I'm your only single employee."

His father snorted. "Once again, you lack imagination. No, Kyouya—you can't own the company without getting married."

Kyouya was a little dumbfounded. He had no interest in a company who, as far as he could remember, had falling market shares for the last five years. A company scandal had left their reputation in scatters, though its exact details were hushed up, and their current political clout stood at next to zero. Had he wanted control of the company, he could easily buy it and turn it around. Was his father desperate to provide a living for him? If so, the Saitou family business was not it.

"This is slightly out of the blue," he said finally.

"Yes, yes," his father waved off his comment. "You were expecting an hour's alone time before the family dinner tonight. But, the delicacy of this situation… I'm planning to tell them tonight, you see. Not even your brothers know yet. I need to hear your commitment to this project."

Kyouya's puzzlement turned to irritation. "Father, forgive me for not offering commitment without first hearing your terms," Kyouya replied. "What is the incentive?"

His father dwelled for a moment. "That is a matter between Saitou Iwao and myself. In time I will reveal more to you, but right now you must trust me. This is," he pinned Kyouya under his gaze, "a critical time for our company, and your engagement is a vital part of our future operations."

"Rather old-fashioned of you."

A smirk. "I am an old-fashioned man." Ootori Yoshio stopped his pacing, momentarily distracted by the few baubles Kyouya had put out on top of his dresser. A photograph of Boston in the summer, a stuffed dragon given to him by Tamaki and Haruhi, and a single trophy, clustered together. They must seem maudlin to his father, he realized belatedly. Evidence his youngest son had a heart. Kyouya made a note to put the keepsakes away.

Turning back to his son finally, Yoshio stated: "Everyone knows the Heiress is picky, and we need her to pick you."

"What makes you think that likely? Even if she is to my liking, as she apparently must be, I might not be her Prince Charming."

His father fixed him with an intense glare. "One would assume charming impressionable girls would be a breeze, given your history of… extracurricular activities," he said quietly.

Kyouya felt himself flush. His father's contempt for the host club and his circle of friends was old news, but generally he did not show it so openly.

"But I'm not here to rehash old arguments. Believe me when I say, there's a deal going down between Saitou and I, and the main condition for his cooperation is that his daughter Yori marries well."

"But not for love."

"I never imagined you were interested in marrying for love, son."

"She might be." Kyouya said noncommittally

"Then you better make sure she falls in love," his father said. "Are we clear?"

The moment for protest had passed. Kyouya pushed aside the storm of questions churning in his head. He nodded and rose to his feet. "Yes, sir."

His father nodded. "I trust you will have some idea of the magnitude of this venture," he said. Kyouya kept his breathing calm, noting acerbically that his father treated this with as much feeling as he did any other business deal. Well, two can play at that game. "I will make the announcement of these intentions at dinner tonight, and we will arrange the first omiai for next week."

Ootori Yoshio made to leave.

"Sir."

"Yes, Kyouya?"

"To be blunt, the incentives you have given me are too weak by themselves to guarantee, well, success." Sweeten the deal, Father.

The smirk returned. It was the merest quirking of the lips, and generally did not reach Ootori Yoshio's eyes. But this time he seemed actually amused. "And here I thought I had avoided this discussion."

"No sir. I was merely paving the way for negotiations."

Half an hour later, father and youngest son arrived at the family dinner having reached an agreement. They surprised the servants by entering together, one after the other. The son looked placid, perhaps a little lost in thought. The father, however, was a strange shade that the servants had never seen before. The housekeeper remarked that he was not his usual self, and got a sharp reprimand for it.

The elder two sons, who had been left out of negotiations altogether, immediately intuited that something was happening. They spent the next hour speculating silently, until his father finally put down his fork and drew a deep breath. "Kyouya," he pronounced. "Why don't you tell everyone the good news?"

"I've decided," Kyouya said without missing a beat, "that as my brothers were engaged by the time they were my age, that it's time for me to court someone as well."

"Anyone in particular?" Yuuichi, the eldest, asked.

"Saitou Yori."

"Yori Horseface?" Yuuichi's wife burst out.

"Do you know her?" Kyouya asked politely.

"Just a little," she said, a little embarrassed. "I mean, we used to go to school together. She was a year below me but quite the star for, um, horsemanship."

"A girl with one defining feature," muttered Akito, the second son.

Kyouya turned a chilly smile on the three of them. Akito had not yet married his fiancée, though it'd been something like four years, so she did not join them at the dinner table. But he was aware that the four of them made a quadrangle of schemers. Leaving discretion aside, he now had an inkling of why his father had chosen not to disclose the deal to his brothers.

The less they knew, the better.

Yoshio broke in. "To be honest, it has long been my hope that I see my three sons married to good women and good authority assures me Miss Saitou is a lady."

His elder sons nodded their heads and looked down at their food. The news had taken them as off-guard as it had Kyouya. The youngest son could see his second brother visibly thinking, eyes darting from side to side as if sizing up his gazpacho course. They would not dare to interrogate his father, especially not in front of so many people—but they were no fools. Akito especially could smell secrets from miles away. Especially when they all knew their father only talked about marriage to bully or cajole.

Kyouya sipped his water and thought of convenient replies for when his brothers came to him to gather intel. If they knew that his father was offering him, at the very least, ownership of Saitou corp by marriage…

The Ootori boys were raised from a young age not only to excel, but to scent weakness. And leaving Ootori International for a second tier company would be like his ambition stripping naked and taking a cyanide pill on national television.

But his father was, in fact, aging. Kyouya could see it in the crow's feet accumulating on his face and the profusion of age spots beginning to surface on his skin. He could read it in the way that his father preferred to stand, favoring his bad back whenever he was alert. He could see it in the fact that it sometimes took his once knife-sharp wit twice as long to find a response to a complicated question. And old as he was, Yoshio was beginning to make mistakes.

Kyouya smiled quietly to himself. His father was wily enough to thwart his brothers, but not him. Kyouya would keep his promise to his father, to follow through with the deal. But, as always, it would be on his own terms.

Just wait, Father, he thought. You'll get your deal. And more besides.

That evening, Kyouya closed his bedroom door and booted his laptop. It loaded within twenty seconds, flashing the Ootori symbol. Kyouya keyed in his password, navigating to the old IRC client, which he hadn't opened in months. There was no need until now. He needed a few services. Logging onto a chatroom he used to frequent, with an old and trusted screen name, he typed out a job description. Seeking pro trawler for immediate work. Discretion is everything. Rate DOE.

There were a few immediate responses over private message, most of them overly boastful. The ones who bragged were never as professional as the ones who didn't. He decided on one who messaged merely a sequence of numbers and, I've got refs if you have details.

He smiled. References—as if reputation wasn't enough when it came to hackers. He sent along the specs.

Simple.

You'll do it?

No job too humble for me. 50 Euros an hour?

800 Euros, flat rate. If you succeed, there will be more work in the future.

Agreed. What shall I call you, patron?

Kyouya thought. Smirked. Mother. You?

A beat. Nixon.

A strange name, Kyouya thought, but no stranger than mine. Let's call your target, S Corp.

.XXX.

[Author's Note:] Dear all, I'm re-writing The Machiavellian. It's undergone a total revisioning, because the original plot was not working out. This time it's completely a Kyouya-OC fic. The question will be, which original character? Yorika has undergone a name change, and the whole thing will be a little better, I hope. Please reread!