Summary: "So let me get this straight. You want me, to be bait, pretend and lure a suspected rapist to come out of his shell and expose who he really is?All for free?" "Hopefully, yes." "...Can I beat the shit out of him afterward?"
Warnings: AU. Smut later on. Graphic language. Violence of course. And HUGE amounts of OOCness. There will be angst!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not bleach, nor the characters. (So much sadness)
Setting: Los Angeles, California in Bligthe's Imaginary Universe/ Time: Present
Story Plot: Ichigo struggles with his self-identity after he looses grip on the last thing tied to his deceased mother. As he struggles to distract himself from his life's problems, an odd man with a hole in his skull offers him a chance to help create evidence to imprison a suspected rapist, all with out pay. He accepts. Little does he know that the enemies more than what he appears to be.
Clairvoyance-Chapter One
n.
Wan-weird:An unhappy fate
Kickboxing. I loved it. It was my passion. My life. It was a part of my soul, memories, childhood. I could give you pages and pages of my feelings towards the sport, but I wouldn't because that's just a waste of my time. But, yeah, I love kickboxing. The thrill of bruised knuckles pounding tendering flesh. The smell of blood. The high from the adrenaline pumping through heated veins. And the memories of my mother.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm no psychotic sadistic bastard. Honestly. I just can't help but love the sport for those particular reasons. Ever since I was a child, my mother encouraged me to learn to fight, to learn how to protect and defend.
She told me that "if you love something, you should be able to fight for it" . That type of thing is often heard in those cliché movies or television shows. But coming from her, it felt like it had a whole other meaning. Well, at that time it did. But now, it's things like that what reminds me of how useless things are turning out to be. "...if you love something, you should be able to fight for it..." But what if that thing I want to fight for is something I can no longer continuing pursuing? I want to ask her, so desperately ask her, what should I do? It's right there in front of me, but I physically can not do it. My body has given up on me. But I can't of course ask her. She's dead.
My mother, Masaki Kurosaki, is dead.
And my current condition will seem to remain forever unresolved. It's not like I can talk to ghosts or something*.
When she left, my whole world shattered. The ideal family image we held dispersed. My father, Isshin Kurosaki, shifted from the supportive father figure to a distant workaholic who is hardly ever home except Sunday evenings or holidays. Karin, my little sister, is slipping in her academics, her dyslexia becoming a huge hindrance. And Yuzu, Karin's twin sister, oh bless her. It's a miracle how she was able to care for us until now. Four years, she's replace mother's role in the family and taken care of both me and Karin! Though I am ashamed to say that I'm a 17 year old teenage boy being taken care of by a 13 year-old, I'm still proud of her.
But not of my father.
Though he has quite a reputation in his working field for managing some rich-people restaurants, he is a pathetic excuse for a father. He's never home to spend to time with his own children. He neglects Karin's critical need to help with her worsening dyslexia personally, and instead, asigns some useless, lazy son of an ass to help her. And when he comes home, he's all hyped up, fucking rainbows and unicorns, acting as if his absence at home was never ever a problem when he knows damn right it is. Yes, he's working hard out there so we can live a good life, go to one of the best schools there is in the state, and enroll in some pristine college so we can graduate and live a dignified life. But is spending more time with his own children really that harmful to his work?
I'd say that old bastard was also pretty psyched when he heard I couldn't fight in kickboxing anymore. Let me explain my condition, right here and now then. Four words. Scapholunate ligament dynamic tear. The scapholunate ligament that connects the scaphoid to the lunate in the wrist is completely torn or stretched to the point that it can't do its job. In my case, the scapholunate is completely stretched. And although surgery was able to repair it, it never reverted back to normal leading to my inability to continue in my kickboxing career and my early retirement as a rookie.
Now, what does that have to do with my father. Simple. Father's always disliked my obsession with kickboxing, he used to complain and argue with my mother that it was becoming a distraction in my studies, that I wasn't able to focus on my academics. Of course, me and my mother paid no mind. Mother continued to support me, with father in the sidelines. And his dislike for my passion in kickboxing grew after my mother's death. But I was stubborn. I wasn't going to give up on kickboxing, never. It's what felt like the only thing I had left of mother. 3 years, I fought, I challenged, defeated those who dared to try and push me off my pedestal. Until last year where I met my end, and was forced to retire and leave my place as the "Orange Rookie" of Vizard of the Mask: Kickboxing program (ridiculous, right?). So far, it's been a full year. Summer is reaching it's in, meeting it's fateful end to autumn, we're in our last weeks of July.
"Ichigo. Are you brooding?" Chad said.
"Shut up." Was my simple answer.
Chad rolled his eyes and lightly tapped the top of my head. "Boss finally let me off my shift. So you done moping around and ready to leave? Or do I have to watch you glare at me for the rest of the evening?"
I sighed. "Fine, fine. Let's go."
With that, Chad hooked his duffel bag around his neck. Noticing the heavily built man's luggage, I decided to take in the sight of Chad's outfit, analyzing him. Bleached white wife-beater, his floral button up top slung over his already occupied shoulder, black gym shorts with a white pinstripe on one side. Although Chad was wearing his green-camo beach sandal, I could guess the other male's next destination.
"Vizard's practice huh?" I gave him a lop-sided smile.
"Yeah." Chad replies, "Hachigen and Love wanna try and improve my speed."
I chuckled. He always had problems with his speed. All that muscle tends to backfire with some weight to slow down his speed. "Good-luck with that buddy."
Chad makes a sour face, and I bust out laughing, Chad later joining in. Soon, after taking two buses, we're in front of his destination. I gaze up on the glowing red and yellow letters of the building's sign. " Vizard of the Mask: Kickboxing Program". I scowled. I need to go, now, before I get all emotional and drag myself back in there with force. Chad seemed to notice my struggle, because when I turn to him to salute him good-bye, he's giving me a knowing look. My scowled deepens and I open my mouth to oppose before he says anything, and failed when he started talking first.
"Say hi to Shinji." I want to curse him. "You know how Shinji gets when he hears that you've stopped by and didn't say hi."
I huff. "Bastard."
Yeah, I know. Shinji goes ballistic when I don't "treat him with respect and give a good old hey there" often. And when I mean ballistic, I mean foot in gut, missing nails, and patches of exposed scalp ballistic. Fucker's insane. Chad's smiling a bit as I follow his past the push through door. After a bell-chime echoes through the room, it's all down hill from there.
Flash of green. And before I can reacted, two slim arms curl around my waist and squeeze, then sly fingers dance on my clothing covered rib cages. A horrible outburst of bordering giggle-like laughs escape me as I try and squirm, panic, and wiggle away. A high pitch giggle joins my own fit of laughter.
"Berry-tan!" Mashiro squeals and officially jumps me. All protests are muffled by her signature cashmere bandana scarf, which usually varies in color day by day, today is orange. "We match!" And she finally releases me.
Mashiro Kuna. Crazy, hyper little odd-ball never told me her age. She was a very fashionable petite girl(or woman). She sported that lime green hair, just as crazy bright as my own, with blue circular goggles set atop of her crown, which she would randomly wear over her hazel brown eyes at times. Course, she's a fighter here. A pro-fighter might I add.
"Hey there gal." I greeted and she squeals again and runs off calling everyone else to "come and say hi".
Seconds later, a small, scrawny little blonde girl makes her way out of what I knew before was the equipment room. Her face is scrunched up in a sour scowl, but I still recognized her, even with her face all wrinkled up from being a sour puss. "Long time no see, Hiyori." I give her my best smile, as if her expression wasn't bothering me at all.
Hiyori Sarugaki. 15 years old and from what I remember, she was an Amateur lightweight kick-boxer of the young women's division. As said before, she was blonde, her hair held up in their usual two spiky pigtails with some hair-clips to pin her hair out of her face. Hiyori also had pronounced, dark freckles under her eyes and protruding canines, both features that led to me and my old manager, Shinji, calling her either "freckle face" or snaggle-tooth". Hiyori was also ill-tempered and had a filthy tongue for profanity.
She bristled. "What's the rotten berry doin' here?"
"Visiting. Saying hi." Chad answers shortly.
Hiyori clicks her tongue. "Well, it's useless. Some of us too busy to be saying hi to some washed out, weak-ass trash like you."
Ouch.
"Hiyori." Chad warns. "Watch it there, kiddo."
He's right. I knew that Hiyori always disliked me, sometimes to an extant where she goes overboard with her insults. I was always able to put up with it, and it was against everything I believed in to hit women, girls, all females alike. But still, I'm raging inside.
"Ichigo and me both know it's true. Can't fight anymore, so the rest of us who can, he's wasting our time just by saying hi. I replaced you! I'm the next rookie now!Che, you weren't that good of a fighter back then anyways you rotten-"
"Flatsy!" A familiar voice chimed about. "Watchu doin' there spilling filth up from yer mouth? Eh? Keep that up and the only thing that's gonna get big on ya is that head, not yer chest."
I beamed, happy to see my savior from this ridiculous argument, Shinji Hirako. He was my kickboxing manager before my retirement, and a damn good manager too. Shinji has brown eyes and jaw-length blonde hair and fringe style bangs with an asymmetrical cut, different from his old horizontal straight-edge bangs. No matter. From what I saw, he was still the same old Shinji. Lazy, slurring slang and that odd smile that tends to show only his upper teeth in the creepiest way. And that playful tone of a mischievous joker, always looking for the opportunity to prank someone go by and catch it.
Shinji was glaring a Hiyori as he loosened up his forest-green tie and untuck his white button up collared long-sleeves from his beige khakis.
Hiyori flushed. "P-Pervert!" She screams at him.
Shinji scrunches his nose and flicks Hiyori's forehead. "Fuckin' gnat. Don't be goin' around, thinkin' yer all high and mighty just 'cause ya had this tiny winning streak. Dumbass, that ain't freakin' nothin'. You ain't have no talent kid, so ya gotta work hard for them wins."
"He's right," Kensei squeezes himself in the conversation.
Kensei had that look of a delinquent if he wasn't like in his middle twenties or something( all this time, I don't even know his age). Kensei is a tall, muscular man with sharp features, silvery-gray hair mussed up in a mohawk like fashion. Add that with the piercing on his left eyebrow and the three other ones on his left ear, and you got yourself the appearance of what elderly people would call a "delinquent".
Good ol' Kensei. My old coach slash adviser. Tough shitty bastard. He was one of those hard-core coaches, screaming at you at your weakest point and laughing at you when you were at your strongest. But he was the best coach/ adviser I had ever had. Even if his work outs were a little over the top.
He spares me a brief greeting before going on with his sentence.
"Kurosaki here, though, has had a natural talent for fighting." Kensei then gives me a look. "Care to demonstrate to the rookie here?" Ironic, because back then, I was a rookie too.
I shook my head. "You guys must be busy. I wouldn't want to hinder you all more than I already have."
The skinny blonde lets out a loud 'HA', but Shinji slaps the back of her head as punishment. Kensei didn't bother to pay attention to them. "You're not bothering an of us. Right now, we're on break."
"Think of it as entertainment!" Mashiro pipes up, giving a few kicks as if she was emphasizing her point.
Next thing I know, Love Aikawa, Hachigen Ushoda, Lisa Yadomaru, and Rojuro Otoribashi( we call him Rose though) joined the rest of us.
"Besides, this talentless rookie needs to learn true talent." Lisa gives Hiyori a snide smirk.
Hiyori attempts to kick Lisa, but Shinji prevents it by putting Hiyori in a head-lock.
Lisa, Love, Hachigen, and Rose. I didn't know the rest of them quite well, often we would cheer each other on, exchange advises, or express our minor problems. Simple things like that. Even though, I still felt that familiar tug towards them, like they were a second family.
Lisa has that look of a young adult woman (her age was never mentioned around me, nor did I ever bothered to ask) with turquoise eyes, red oval glasses and long black hair. She sports mussed bangs in the front and a long braided ponytail straight down her back. I noticed that she must have changed out of her work-out clothes and into a familiar sailor-like uniform. Then I remembered that she goes to some advanced night class program thingy. How impressive. But then I remembered that time where Love caught her reading an erotic manga in the resting room.
Speaking of Love, he steps forward, bring a dummy behind him. He positions it in front of me, leans on the dummy with his arm on it shoulders as he rearranges his mirrored sunglasses. He had this crazy, spiked up fro pointed out in the shape similar to a star and bushy sideburns that annoyed me every time I look at them.
" A simple kick would suffice." He pauses, pretending that he was in deep thought. "How about one of your signature kicks, or your finishing moves maybe?"
Hachigen starts failing around, as if something's excited him. "Getsuga Tensho!" He almost wails. This surprises me. Hachigen Ushoda, was usually a calm, large and round, middle aged man with pink cropped up hair and a matching mustache. "Getsuga Tensho!" Hachigen repeats.
Stunned, I held up my hands in defense and obey. "Okay, Hachi!"
Now they're smiling and laughing. Well, expect for Hiyori whose pouting in Shinji's headlock. Honestly, I don't see what's to get worked up over a kick. Or a forty-five degree roundhouse kick to be exact. I shed my backpack before I start stretching my legs and my torso. I pause in each stretch, relishing the brief tension of my muscles, reminiscing and sighing on how long its been since the last time I had done this. I then take a moment to analyze the dummy, it's position, height, mass. Whatever. They distance themselves to the point where they're at a safe distance from the practice mat in the demonstration room. I take my stance, and in simple movements, I swung my leg in a semi-circular motion towards my target, landing the attack on the torso area of the dummy.
Upon my foot meeting its side, the dummy flies off it's feet, ricocheting off, and landing in a stand for weights that appeared to be only for décor. There's a brief pause before Hiyori grunts. Then the Vizard fighters are applauding.
"Seems like nothings changed." Kensei comments. "Still a killer kick you got there."
"I doubt that. I haven't been working out as much as I used to." It's true. My work out sessions have been reduced to running. I can't work on my upper arms strength because of my left, which was the one to be injured. But even running seemed tedious, because if I move my arms for too long, my wrist begin to burn. But I believed that to be all in my head, because it just seemed to be a bit too ridiculous if my wrist started hurting after a little arm movement from running.
"Well, the dummy proves otherwise." Kensei gestures a nod of his head towards the fallen dummy.
Love and Hachigen are putting the dummy back on it's feet, Hachigen putting up a show of effort as if the thing was heavy. Now, my doubts are beginning to clear. Rose helps Love and Hachigen turn the dummy so that it's back may face me and Kensei's direction. Rose then points at something on the nape of the dummy's neck, smiles and repeatedly tapped the etched in symbols.
100 lbs.
I sputtered nonsense. My eyes were as wide as they could possibly be. Rose started laughing.
"Is it really that shocking?" He smiles.
"Yeah, so what if the berry could kick a hundred pound dummy off its feet. Anyone else in here can do that." Hiyori snarls.
"Dumbass." Shinji headlocks her again, this time giving her a knoogie. "Ichigo quit his old work out routine and only sticks to running nowadays. If anyone else were to do that, any of our kicks wouldn't send that dummy flying off like Ichigo had done." Shinji releases her. "Stop talking stupid kid and go do some shit."
"You shut it." Hiyori grumbled. "Just 'cause he got some talent kicks doesn't mean anything. It's useless when he can't even fight properly. It's reason like his dependence on his talents is what got him into that lame fuck accident. Can't even fucking fall on his own hands or catch a hit with his bare hands correctly. Overall, good fucking-"
"Hiyori!" Kensei snarls. Oh fuck, now he's lost it. "You think your all fucking that huh? Talking a bunch of bull like its a fucking political badmouthing party huh?" He glares at Hiyori as she flinches at the end of each sentences. "Well, do you think you can back up what with all the useless fucks you call words? Huhh? This ain't no fuckin' debate party, you grimy scum! This is fuckin' kickboxing! So you gon' keep talkin' or what?"
Pfft. Hiyori barely even managed a nod. "Then get yer ass back over to them weights! Screw aerobics. You're weight-lifting today! 20 each arm! Now move it Freckles!" Hiyori already left before he could even get to the 'move it' part.
Kensei cackles at the sight of Hiyori fleeing the room, of course, me and Shinji are laughing along with him. It took a while for us to calm down. By then, Lisa already left and Hachigen, Love, and Chad had started their session. Rose, Shinji, and Kensei bother stay a bit before tending to Hiyori's session. I have no idea where Mashiro disappeared off to.
"Yo, Ichi." Shinji called.
I turned to him. "Yeah?"
"We heard from Chad that you still work out and stuff, right?" Shinji said.
"Yeah, I figured that you knew somehow when you mentioned it earlier." I replied, wondering where the hell this conversation was going.
"Well, some of us have been thinking..." Rose trails on. The guy never hardly ever seemed so reluctant. Yeah, sure, he was a laid-back kinda of guy, but he was also a bit of a narcissist. He was always tending to his looks if he wasn't helping new members, brushing that blonde wavy hair like he got nothing better to do.
"It's okay if you want to work out here." Kensei finishes simply. "Forget what that stupid brat says. You don't bother any of us."
"And to be honest," Shinji flicks my temple. "We miss ya, Berry-tan."
I snorted, rubbing the inflicted area. "Well, yeah, I'll think about it. It does seem convenient since my wrist start hurting after being out in the cold for too long."
"So that's a yes!" I jumped at Mashiro's intrusion into our conversation.
I rolled my eyes. "It's a maybe Mashiro."
Mashiro pouts and Kensei attempts to console her by rubbing the top of her head, avoiding the goggles. Shinji nudged my side with his elbow, as if gesturing me to do something to make this situation better. Great, now I feel bad.
"But I'll make sure to visit weekly. Maybe the weekends." I give in.
I swear, Mashiro's eyes fucking sparkled like she had bedazzled eyes. I try not to cringe at how it freaked me out a bit. Kensei, I don't know, but it seems like he noticed because he started cackling again. I offered to leave, and they reluctantly agree, with both Shinji and Kensei having to deal with the impatient Hiyori. I say my goodbyes and try my best to peel away from the sobbing Mashiro. After that, I left.
My house wasn't to far off from the Vizard's building. But I still take the bus. I'm in no mood to walk and I don't trust the streets right now since the evening grew darker by the minute. Visiting them was nice and everything but... but that little devil. That demon. That...ugh! Everything she said just ticked me off. And what pissed me off even more was that fact that everything she had said was agreeable. I am in the least bit thankful she didn't include my mother in this at that time, considering that she knew of what happened to her. But still... She was all right. I had good endurance, monstrous amount of stamina, and my leg strength was deemed incredible. I also had good analyzation skills and sly tactics and maneuvers that won me almost every competition I entered.
But it was things like landings after getting hit and the way I blocked, and my posture is what I lacked in. At that time, I didn't care about those things, no matter how much Kensei told me it was essential, I relied on my talents and brute strength. Not once did I include the way I support or held myself as a essential fighting requirement. And to this day, I can't help but laugh at it like it's some joke, how ridiculous it was that a simple fall on my wrist lead to my permanent early retirement from kickboxing. Fucking ludicrous. All of this.
Soon I arrive home, negative thoughts still plaguing my mind. In front of the apartment complex, I shrug my backpack further up my shoulder as I search for my keys in my pockets. Upon finding it, I give a moment of cheering to myself momentarily because it took quite a while to find them. I climb the stairs juggling the keys in my hands, scowling at the over-exaggerated luxurious look this apartment complex had.
Black, glossy marble steps and exquisite Victorian style railings painted gold. Pale white morning glory vines hugged the railings here and there, brushing my fingers every so often. From the stairs, I could see the small, rectangular garden that I often seen tended to daily by the gardeners hired by the manager of this estate. The garden varies from different types of flowers, I remembered Yuzu naming some of them like camellias, anemones, magnolias, and others I can't seem to remember. The flowers usually varied from the colors white, golden or yellow, and black. Guess to match with the rest of the area or something.
After climbing the short flight of stairs, I finally made it to my family's apartment door. I found out that getting my keys ready was in the end, useless. Yuzu was already over the door's threshold, her face bright and elated like a gave her a unicorn. But she's always like this. That's what I loved about my little sister, she was always so happy, but she never overdone it to the point where it either creeps me out or annoys me. Or maybe I'm just being biased because she's my sister.
"I made some Miso soup, tempura ayu, tonkatsu tonight!" She beamed.
I smiled. "Sounds awesome. Does this mean food's ready to eat now and you guys were just waiting for me?"
"Just hurry up inside before I start without you both!" Karin drawled impatiently from inside the house.
I laughed, Yuzu scowling at her twin's rudeness. "Oni-chan, don't be like that. Ichi-nii probably had a rough day."
I followed Yuzu in, closing the front door behind me. Karin had already seated herself at the table, chopsticks in hand and food on her plate. Karin clicks her tongue. "Ichi-nii's fault. He's the one who got a job when it's entirely unnecessary."
I frowned, but she was right. Just then, my phone rang. Reluctantly, I glanced at it and sighed heavily. "Yes, ma'am?" I answered.
"Speak of the devil." Karin muttered before Yuzu hushing her.
"Kurosaki." Soifon replied, her voice serious and flat as usual. "I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?"
"Well, not-"
"Good." I my best to hold back my sarcastic sigh. She continued. "I need someone to fill in for Shishigawara tomorrow."
"You mean Moe?" Shishigawara was Moe's last name, but it was a mouthful to remember, so I never really remembered him well by his last name.
"Tch. Whatever. Yeah, him. He's suddenly decided to use one of his vacation days tomorrow, of all the god-forsaken days in the world. Does he not know what tomorrow is? The day where we promote our restaurant with our 10th anniversary sale. And the cowardly bastard has the balls to ditch us on the most important day of our business." Oh god, I hope my sisters can't hear the words she's saying right now. "He's lucky he's got that pretension lawyer and the government business laws by his side, or I would have him working the dirtiest job at the lowest pay. Worthless son of a-"
"So tomorrow right?" I cut her off before the volume of her voice rose any higher.
There's a pause, and when she talks, she seems calmer. "Yeah. Be sure to get here earlier. 'Kay?"
"Yes ma'am." And I hung up.
I have no qualms about working tomorrow, even though it's the start of the weekend. Usually, my weekends are free. I spend my time working extra hours at the Suzuembachi( Soifon's restaurant), working out, chores, and spending time with my friends. It's a must that I stay active. Because if I don't, I'll get restless, and start thinking. And usually deep thinking leads to certain negative thoughts and I don't need that. I need distractions.
"Ichi-nii!" Yuzu chimes. "How about we invite Mr. Zangetsu?"
I looked out the sliding door window that lead to the balcony and spotted a brief stream of smoke flowing through the air outside. Tensa Zangetsu. Guessing from the offer, I guessed that Yuzu had also spotted the smoke, the tall-tale signs of Old-Man Zangetsu's presence. He was an not really an old man, in his early thirties perhaps but I still call him "Old-Man Zangetsu" for his elderly looks, and he happened to be our next door neighbor. Yuzu would often offer the idea of inviting the old man to eat with us, I end up doing so and inviting the old man, he accepts and moments later he's sitting down eating with us like it was a regular thing.
It actually kind of was a regular thing. The only time he's never over to eat dinner(or lunch) with us was on Sundays or Wednesdays. God knows why. We never probe into his business, because usually he's the one initiating the talking when it comes to speaking about himself. And he seemed like a 'to-himself' kind of man, so we never bothered asking personal stuff. Maybe, one day, when we have nothing else to talk about, one of us would ask Zangetsu something about himself. All we know is that he has a young son, about two years older than me, who also lives in Japan as a fetish model...Yeah. Apparently he's albino too with a weird quirk to his eyes that causes his sclera to develop a black tint. Yeah...as if fetish model wasn't weird enough already.
I enter the balcony, the scent of smoke immediately filled my nostrils, and I walked up to the plaster white railing and leaned against it. Another puff of smoke wisps by me as I stare out over the golden flickering lights of LA.
"Yuzu made a bit too much food today again," I said. "And it'd be convenient to invite you over so you can help us finish it up. No one likes left-overs."
Old-Man Zangetsu give me a dry laugh before exhaling the smoke from his nostrils. I tried not to cringe. "You're horrible at inviting others, as usual."
I shrugged. "I could always be worst."
"Of course." He then puts out the cigarette. "Tell Yuzu I'll be there in a sec."
"Yeah, we all know you will." And I left the balcony before closing the door behind me.
Now that I think about it, Old-Man Zangetsu was better at being a father than my own. Socially I mean. When it came to money, yeah sure, you can count my father in. But anything else, I wouldn't exactly say so. Sure enough, Old-Man Zangetsu was at our door to join us for our nightly feast. We chatted about the typical things of our day. Things like school, work, sports, et cetera. Soon after finishing, the old man left after helping us clean up and saying his usual goodbyes, and returned to his home. We were left to the rest of the night doing whatever we wanted. And tomorrow, the cycle repeats itself. It all felt never-ending. But I knew it wouldn't last forever. I knew that after high school, father would forcefully send me to some palatial college for top-notch students, colleges such like Harvard or Yale. After that, I'd have too work in the management business, just like my father.
No, maybe I won't have to. I could break free of his influential grasp and lead my own life. Become what ever I wanted. Do what ever made me happy, far away from the stubborn ass. But what is out there that is left for me? Fighting sports has been taken away from me. And that is the only thing I know that I can do. Besides wait tables and work the register at work. I might end up having to actually follow my father's guidelines. I might actually have to follow after his footsteps...But will I become like him? Will I become the oblivious workaholic who ignores his loved ones around him as his dives into the infinite pool of paperwork and business?
No. I don't want that.
*Oh the irony.
Ugh. I know. It's boring so far. And yeah. I have this other story that I must work on, but that one isn't due for a while ;D Anyways, next chapter, things will get a bit interesting. I won't update this story a lot because this story requires me to work a bit longer on it, so I might update this story every two weeks or so. Depends on my schedule. And just to let you know, Grimmjow will be a little...cold and insensitive in this fanfic =^.^= Next chapter, if the plot is still unclear, I'll explain it a bit more in the author's notes~
Review Please! :3