Summary: When a Hibari engaged in a fight, a switch was flipped, and it wouldn't flip back until they were done. With Mikado, however, the moment his switch flipped, it would never be able to flip back all the way. He would be a beast even outside of a fight—or as Kyouya liked to say, a carnivore. And unlike the prefect, Mikado wanted to be able to find excitement in the dull.
Warnings (rated-M): violent themes, skewed moral compass, hints to sexual immorality
A/N: Inspired by the observation in DRRR episode 1 that Mikado resembles Yamamoto in looks and Tsuna in character. This plot bunny went downhill from there. I'm still watching DRRR, but I just have to write about Mikado! He's definitely not a "good guy" like Yamamoto or Tsuna, so do not expect that in this fic.
"I'm moving out of town."
The group of farmers and retirees armed with bleach, gloves, rags, and plastic bags looked up from their patch of the alley at the twelve year-old schoolboy leaning against the entrance with his nose in a book.
"Aww, Mika-chan won't give us pointers anymore?" one of the farmers, an old woman, playfully whined as she dropped a stained rag in her plastic bag.
Mikado flipped a page on his book. "All of you should know how to clean up after yourselves by now." He didn't tell them where he was moving for their safety and possibly his own, and the retirees of the group understood, as they returned to cleaning the alley without a complaint.
"We will miss your advice," one of the retirees said.
"Take good care of these kamas," the old farmer woman cheerily advised as she pressed two kamas into Mikado's free hand. The boy gave a faint frown. "I don't plan to fight where I'm going." The old woman laughed. No one had never seen Mikado raise a hand against anyone, but if the parents were anything to go by…. Truly, anything would become a weapon in Mikado's hands.
A cop on a motorcycle drove up to the scene of farmers and retirees efficiently cleaning blood off alley walls and the ground, a farmer wife laughing with several bloody rags in hand, and a schoolboy using kamas for a bookmark. The cop parked his bike and paused.
"Ryuugamine-san."
"Officer," Mikado greeted. He didn't explain himself.
The cop coughed into his hand. "Yoshioka-san's former business rivals swung by?"
"They trampled our rice patties," the old woman complained for the farmers. The cop refused to pinch his nose bridge.
The rural town housed retired criminals and yakuza, and the town's farmers were fatally proficient with their tools when hooligans from retirees' past lives made a mess of any farmland. The hostilities between retirees and farmers had been unhealthily high until Ryuugamine Mikado had extended giving advice beyond solely his parents, who loved taking troublemakers in general down a peg or two. Cops also had less crime scenes to write reports for when Mikado spoke to the ridiculously dangerous oldies of the town.
"Does Yoshioka-san want to report an assassination attempt?" the cop asked. One of the retirees who the cop knew had an elaborate yakuza tattoo spanning his entire back stood up from facing the lower wall stains and approached the cop with a bloody toothbrush in hand. "I'm fine; the punk and his friends are not." The cop pretended not to hear the last part.
"This alley will be spotless before the six am shop opens," Mikado assured. In other words, none of the town's oblivious civilians would ever know that another attempted hit on its retirees had been conducted.
The cop inclined his head in respect and gratitude. "Thank you, Ryuugamine-san." The town would have been chaos without the schoolboy around. The cop wholeheartedly believed the rumours between the oldies and the cops that the boy's mother and her side of the family were descendents of warlords and that the children spread themselves around the world to conquer territories at a young age. The cop just hoped that Mikado didn't plan to move anytime soon.
"Did you know?" several of the group spoke up. "Mika-chan is moving out of town!"
Well, crap. "Ryuugamine-san…"
"My parents may give advice if the town needs it." Darn — his mind was set. Mikado's parents were more fighters than cleaners, too.
Mikado absentmindedly brushed his long bangs away from his eyes with a hand as he approached Namimori Middle. He understood that his cousin was the reason why crime and Namimori never went in the same sentence, but if Kyouya had plenty of "herbivores" to "bite to death," then the town couldn't be that boring. It surely had to be a step up from the completely rural area of Saitama.
"Mika-san," Kusakabe stepped out from the school grounds and personally led Mikado to the Disciplinary Committee office, "you didn't say you would be coming to Namimori. Or should I say moving?"
"Was I obvious?"
"One place rarely contains a Hibari for so long until the right place is found, and you and 'rural' don't mix, if I may say," Kusakabe commented with a smile around the stalk in his mouth.
Kusakabe came from a branch of the Hibari family that was not so eager to move out and conquer like the typical Hibari did and was not as aloof, and when Kusakabe first witnessed Kyouya's inspiring power, he decided from then on to follow Kyouya wherever he went. As a long-time close associate of Kyouya's and Mikado's, Kusakabe knew certain quirks of his "cousins" Kyouya and Mikado, including Mikado's consistent struggle with boredom.
By the time they arrived at the DC office, Kusakabe had given a verbal tour of Namimori and described the DC's influence on the area. Kyouya sat behind the office's desk, finishing papers and looking like he owned the place, and Mikado knew better. "You practically own Namimori," Mikado greeted his cousin.
"It runs in the family," Kusakabe commented with a laugh. At Mikado's face, Kusakabe added, "You do not think so, Mika-san?"
Kyouya briefly huffed in his version of a snort. "Ikebukuro."
Mikado's cheeks pinked. "The Dollars was unintentional – and they don't rule Ikebukuro! Besides, they have no hierarchy, and I'm not the boss." A news article a curious Kusakabe pulled up on his cellphone came into Mikado's attention. "The graffiti-cleaning was just a suggestion," Mikado defended.
"They listen to you," Kusakabe pointed out in awe. If the Dollars was the largest group in Ikebukuro, then they had to have at least a thousand members, and Mikado was running things from long-distance. Kyouya seemed to have known for a while that Mikado was the founder of the Dollars, but this was news to Kusakabe. It was a wonder Kyouya hadn't tried to engage Mikado in a fight; in the prefect's point of view, Mikado would have been a carnivore. "Gangs don't just clean graffiti off walls for passtime, Mika-san. Are you trying to lead the city to order?"
Lead? Order? No no no. "I'm no prefect and I don't own Ikebukuro—" Mikado emphasised, right before he stopped a tonfa to a standstill with a kama. Kyouya had a faint, bloodthirsty smirk characteristic of a Hibari on his face. Not just anyone could meet the prefect in strength.
"Kyouya-kun," Mikado said evenly. "I would rather not fight."
"They listen to you," Kyouya quoted Kusakabe, before striking again. Kusakabe mentally went over the committee funds to see if they had enough to pay for the collateral damage of Kyouya and Mikado's spar. "That doesn't make me their leader! It was just a suggestion!" Mikado's voice rose from the sounds of tonfa meeting walls and tables, as Mikado was mostly playing duck and dodge with the occasional use of his kama in the mix. Until a tonfa grazed Mikado's cheek and took several hairs with its speed and power.
Mikado glared. "I would rather not fight," he repeated flatly.
Kyouya met the razor-blue gaze evenly. Though his cousin tried to play the herbivore among others, the carnivore within peeked out whenever the boy was provoked, like now. Kyouya was a content, almost lazy, person, but like any Hibari, he lived in the heat of a battle. Mikado was the only Hibari to ever refuse to engage in a true fight, and from what Kyouya sensed, it was because of what Mikado knew he would become when he gave himself over to adrenaline. Kyouya had been wielding his tonfa since age five — biting rule-breakers, cousins, and even, in poor attempts, his father — but he knew that what burned behind Mikado's eyes was the fire of a carnivore potentially even more ferocious than any Hibari.
He wanted to fight it.
"Mika-san is just passing by, Kyou-san," Kusakabe finally spoke up. "His school will be starting in ten minutes." The prestigious Yumei Private Middle School was near the edge of Namimori, whereas Namimori Middle was smack dab in the middle. Rules hardly mattered when Kyouya wanted to bite someone, but Mikado was out the second-floor window before Kyouya could take a proper swing to resume the fight — or the attempt at one. Mikado could be so stubborn.
Despite its more advanced curriculum, Yumei looked to be as easily passable as Mikado's elementary school back in Saitama. Really, he didn't even need to attend class to ace tests, but Mikado's moral values kept his attendance records up to the present mark-free. He felt curious and responsible when a napkin with scribbles on it flew free of a disorganised desk during lunch, and Mikado made sure to grab it before the wind could take it out the opened classroom window, before keeping it until class ended.
At the dismissal bell, Mikado approached his most aloof classmate with a faint smile. "You should hold on tighter to your belongings, Irie-san." A paper napkin came into the auburnette's view. Shouichi blinked and accepted it with a nod of gratitude and a dash of curiosity. Mikado acknowledged it. "You wouldn't want everyone to know that you're inventing three-dimensional laser technology, right? I get the feeling you dislike attention."
Shouichi unhurriedly stood up with his belongings organised in his bag, including the collection of paper napkins with computer code scrawled all over them. "How did you know…?" he asked in surprise. Not even good developers could interpret the purpose of a program just from a few lines of code. Mikado rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I'm a computer person myself," he admitted. "Do you not have a computer at home to save your code?"
"I use the public library and a USB," Shouichi replied, and Mikado followed him out of the school grounds. Shouichi glanced at his classmate as they walked together. "Why did you choose Yumei, Ryuugamine-san?"
Mikado waved away the honorific and scratched his cheek in mild embarrassment. "I want finer education than that from my rural hometown."
"I'm sorry, but I don't believe you."
Mikado looked at his classmate properly, sensing a threat. "Irie-san—"
"No need for honorifics, Ryuugamine-kun. I just know a student bored with school when I see one, as I am one myself," Shouichi cut Mikado off. "From what I see, you're also a man of means — from online jobs or from your family, I can't decide — enough that you can attend any middle school you wish, yet you chose Yumei. Do you have family here?"
The auburnette had hit all the nails, leaving Mikado internally reeling. He was startled to realise that he was mentally rechecking the locations of the kamas hidden on his person. "Brushing the factors while being polite about it. That's a unique intimidation technique," Mikado identified. Ah, no good — he couldn't scare away his classmate with a glimpse of his inner beast. Shouichi didn't seem to be scared or even concerned. The auburnette shrugged, hand coming to his stomach before moving away.
"A necessary intimidation, though I don't mean to be rude. I just don't like others intruding on my personal property, but I suppose I should be grateful that you returned my code to me. So thank you."
"Irie-kun…" Mikado said warily. "Are you having a stomachache?"
A red sportscar drove down the street they were walking, and a rock caught in the tires, ricocheted past their faces off a wall, and stuck back into the car near the gas cap. Mikado and Shouichi watched the sportscar halt, reverse, and stop right next to them. Two tattooed men in suits with untucked shirts and ticked off faces stepped out with eyes trained on the two schoolboys. Mikado grabbed Shouichi's hand.
"Run!"
They managed two steps before a hand caught the back of Mikado's collar and lifted him up off the ground. "So you're the punk who threw the rock!" The thug shoved Mikado's face next to the gas cap for the boy to see the damage clearly, and a screech of metal followed. Mikado laughed nervously. He had two kamas bracing his arms in reflex, and their blades were thus sunken into the car. Gasoline ran down the side and onto the street.
"That one's on me?" Mikado offered.
"Bold little punk!" the thugs cursed, and they threw Mikado into the sportscar and drove off. Shouichi stared after them, a red cellphone in the hand Mikado had grabbed. A number had been dialled in.
Tracking the time and the car's speed, Mikado waited for the yakuza thugs to drive a safe distance away from Shouichi before Mikado would negotiate himself out of the car with his kamas. The two yakuza sandwiching him in the backseat had first taken his kamas and cuffed his wrists together with a zip-tie, but Mikado knew that a headbutt and a grab for the kamas during the following confusion would be enough for an escape. Not that Mikado had been kidnapped before, but he thrived in excitement just as Hibaris evolved in fights.
One of the yakuza stuffed his bandana in Mikado's mouth and duct-taped it over while the other yakuza began patting Mikado down for possible weapons, occasionally looking at Mikado's eyes framed by long bangs. "Hey," the hands slowed down, "you're pretty cute." One carressed an inner thigh. Mikado made a noise of protest, a foreign mixture of shock, fear, and anger striking him harder than any of Kyouya's attacks. He elbowed the yakuza, but the other one caught his tied wrists and watched as his partner patted down Mikado's leg and held an ankle. The driver called out over his shoulder for the thugs in the back to be gentle because he wanted a turn when they arrived at base, and the three of them laughed.
The yakuza holding Mikado's ankle slipped a shoe and sock off to leer at bare skin, and a beast's roar slipped through a gap in Mikado's concentration and consumed his mind for a second. When Mikado cleared his head, the yakuza was cradling the back of his head where it had hit the inside of the car, and blood smudged the thug's fingers. Cruel, dark anger hardened the thug's leering visage.
"Little punk—!"
Mikado screamed through his gag.
"What's wrong with you, Kai?" the other thug in the back shouted. "They're less fun when they have a broken leg!" "At least he'll scream more easily," the yakuza, Kai, retorted. The driver was swearing up a storm. "No blood or cum on my seats!" He turned hard into the headquarter grounds and sloppily parked quickly. When he threw open the doors, he swore. "The kid's passed out from pain." "Carry him!" Kai ordered, and the two other thugs lifted Mikado's arms and legs and brought him into Kai's room.
"What beef does Momokyo-kai have with a private school student, Kai?"
The one thug turned to see Momokyo, the boss of the Momokyo-kai yakuza group, standing in the hallway.
"Dad," Kai greeted with the move for a hug, but Momokyo stopped him. Kai felt hurt at the odd coldness from his usually affectionate father. "The punk threw a rock at my car!" he defended. Momokyo grabbed the front of Kai's shirt and nearly lifted him off the ground.
"That punk is a civilian of Namimori," Momokyo snapped. "Momokyo-kai is the only yakuza group existing at the borders of Namimori because we are strong. Now you have made the mistake of trespassing Hibari Kyouya's territory, kidnapping a child, and breaking his leg. I didn't raise such a fool to succeed me." With his part said, Momokyo's anger seemed to deflate from him, leaving the serious but understanding boss and father Kai knew. "Move him to the medical wing and give him the best treatment Momokyo-kai has to offer. Hibari Kyouya will be visiting us soon."
By the time Momokyo, Kai, and the upper echelon of the Momokyo-kai group had gathered in the main room of the headquarters to wait for their visitor, the doorman poked his head in.
"He is here, sir."
"Already?" Momokyo felt a flash of panic and anxiety in his chest before he gestured for his men to welcome the prefect in. A middle school boy in a casual version of a school uniform with a Disciplinary Committee band pinned around one jacket sleeve walked in with another middle school boy, this one with a pompadour, trailing behind him on his left. Neither boy looked angry or scared, but the prefect had the aura of a fatally precise and powerful fighter, which made the very air around the boy tense and electric. Momokyo cleared his throat.
"Momokyo-kai welcomes you, Hibari Kyouya-dono."
"I'm only here to return a cellphone," the prefect indifferently took one out from his pocket, "to my cousin."
Kai internally screamed but kept a masterful hold on his expression, and he certainly blended in with the rest of the straight-faced men in the room. An unwilling bead of sweat was his only betrayal.
Kyouya's steel grey eyes flashed straight at him.
"Your cousin is this way," Momokyo led the way, fully aware that this middle school first year had pinpointed the guilty solely from a detail even sharp eyes wouldn't normally pick up. Kai followed the group from the very back, refusing to tremble or wet his pants. He concentrated harder when Kyouya paused at the doorway of the medical room where an unconscious, sweating Mikado lied with a leg in a splint. The prefect's face was unreadable.
He approached the bedside. "Mikado."
Momokyo stepped forward. "He won't wake up for another hour, Hibari-dono. The pain—"
"Kyouya…kun…." Not a few eyes widened when Mikado slowly opened his own and fought through his pain with sheer willpower to respond to his cousin. A familiar red cellphone came into view. Mikado's lips weakly twitched in a smile. "The few don't represent the many. So please…don't bite them to death…."
Kyouya watched with a straight face as Mikado passed out. The prefect looked at Kusakabe and then back at Mikado. At the signal, Kusakabe phoned the DC members waiting outside, and they and Momokyo's men worked together to transfer Mikado to a van parked outside for a drive to the hospital. Kyouya watched, and Momokyo and a few of his men stood by, waiting. Momokyo crossed gazes with the prefect.
"You know who did this to your cousin." It was not a question.
The unreadable prefect stood in that hybrid cross of relaxed and ready, his default mode, without moving, grey eyes consuming and dangerous. Kai suddenly screamed and collapsed on the floor, cradling his leg now snapped in half. Kyouya tucked his tonfa away with only a glint of metal to make it clear that he had been the one to attack Kai. He indifferently turned and walked away.
"I forgot about that herbivore already."
"I'm going to die young." A stab of pain in the stomach, and Shouichi inwardly cried. "From stress. And fear. And Ryuugamine-kun's unhealthy tolerance for danger." He lied curled up on his side on the floor, arms hugging his stomach in fruitless attempt at quelling what felt like ulcer pains.
He acted unflappable and unintimidated as a defence against outside forces that stressed or scared him, and combined with his unintentionally genius intellect, he came off as soul-seeing or all-knowing. In the past, people had joked that Shouichi could rule the world if he grew bored enough. They had also shied away from him when he fell into this intimidating mode, so Shouichi learned to avoid stressors in public and avoid interacting with others when confronted by an unavoidable stressor like big tests during the school lunch break. From NASA. Shouichi was a bit of a dilettante.
But then Ryuugamine Mikado, whom coding challenges couldn't entertain for long enough, picked up the scent of "interesting" from Shouichi and began alleviating his boredom with the world from there. The yakuza had been a side trip and a solution to keeping danger away from Shouichi — two birds with one stone. So Shouichi felt ambushed when Mikado left him a factor to the "interesting" in Mikado's life in the form of a red cellphone and the unspoken words of your move dialled out in Hibari Kyouya's phone number.
Cue stomach pains.
Shouichi pressed Call, reported what he had witnessed to the patient Kusakabe Tetsuya on the other end, pointed Hibari Kyouya in the flesh down the gas leak trail that led to yakuza who dared kidnap in Namimori, and reserved a hospital room for a classmate he had known for a total of seven hours with the claim that his friend had multiple bruises, broken bones, and a stab wound or two. He had been feeling creative. The kidnappers had been yakuza, after all.
The doctors had startled reactions to Mikado's true condition, but they fixed him the best they could — especially when Kyouya followed up the DC group that had brought Mikado to the hospital. Shouichi had sat in the waiting area sandwiched between two DC members, the lieutenant Kusakabe in front, and the crowd-hating DC leader standing in the corner of the room for an hour as the hospital staff treated Mikado's leg. The DC members disappeared once Mikado's health and safety were confirmed, and Shouichi stayed behind in Mikado's hospital room, curled up on the floor because he realised the transformation his daily life was going to take from then on.
"You here at the hospital for stomach pains, Irie-kun?"
"Ryuugamine-kun!" Shouichi shot up from the floor. "You shouldn't even be awake right now!" Shouichi glanced at the PCA, confirming that the high levels should have meant unconsciousness. The hospitalised Mikado's lips quirked in amusement. "Sedatives don't really work on me."
"Neither does pain," Shouichi retorted, before he realised his tone could be taken as callous at the classmate who had drawn angered yakuza away from Shouichi for the auburnette's safety. He cleared his throat with a move for his stomach. "Sorry."
"Don't be. I like the real Irie-kun." Mikado smiled.
"You're high on morphine," Shouichi accused at the flattering statement.
Mikado lifted his head and looked down at his cast. The doctors had told Shouichi and the DC group that by the time Mikado's leg would mend, he would never again be able to run for long periods of time; pain in his leg would signal his limit. Mikado noticed the red cellphone on the bedside table and looked at Shouichi with twinkling eyes.
"I understand that my tolerance to danger is a source of stress and fear?" he quoted from earlier. "And that you've met my cousin, my more distantly related cousin, and the Disciplinary Committee personally?"
Shouichi's cheeks pinked in embarrassment at the fact that he had been thinking aloud for the past few minutes. "My stomach can't take the kind of stress that you and your — cousin? Of course Hibari Kyouya is your cousin!" Shouichi hugged his stomach.
Mikado inclined his bed with a remote. "How did you figure out that it was Kyouya-kun so quickly?"
Shouichi looked at him with soul-seeing eyes. He wasn't acting.
A smile lifted the corners of Mikado's lips. "You can rule the world if you so wish, Irie-kun. I think you understand humans better than humanity itself does."
Hibari Keizou had a son and daughter who went on to have their own children — one son each, both the same age.
Keizou's son ran the district police and lived in the main house with his wife and their silent son Kyouya, who gravitated to tonfas and already showed traits of a Hibari, having conquered kidnappers at the gates of his preschool and set up a discipline committee not a day later. And it was an effective committee.
Keizou's daughter, on the other hand, lived far with her detective husband in the more rural area, where they were allowed to enjoy the peacefulness of being neighbours with farmers and retired criminals. When said criminals' offspring or past enemies would come and wreck havoc around town, they were snuffed out easily and without police help. Most martial arts weapons originated from farmers, after all.
But whenever carefree farmers, retired criminals, or Keizou's daughter and son-in-law took out trash, they did so alarmingly quickly. Which meant messily. Which meant that a certain three year-old and growing had to remind his parents and neighbours of control, precision, and what to do and not to do when the police or potential witnesses came. Yet Keizou's daughter stated mildly monotonously, in typical Hibari fashion, that her son was growing bored of the town.
So Keizou invited his daughter's family of three over to the main house, plucked out his two grandsons Kyouya and his daughter's son, and told them to fight each other, no limitations. When Keizou wanted to learn about his family, he had to see them in a fight. Kyouya, six years old and the expected heir to the Hibari family, showed up at the dojo with no protective gear and two tonfa in hand. His opponent, six year-old Ryuugamine Mikado, respectfully appeared as well, without protective gear and without weapons.
Ryuugamine Mikado.
As in, "Emperor of the Dragon's Peak."
Was Keizou's daughter trying to liken her son to a conqueror of dragons — the ultimate beast? But what Keizou saw was not even a fighter and definitely not a Hibari. Ryuugamine Mikado had his mother's thin limbs but none of her graceful ferocity, and he had not inherited his father's stubbornness for a fight. The boy with a dragon name had appeared across the dojo of Kyouya, greeted the family heir with a small smile, and bowed once.
"I respectfully decline."
A Hibari had refused a fight. No — a Hibari had not wanted to fight. The relatives stood in place, perplexed by Mikado's existence, while Kyouya stared at Mikado with the same aloof, seemingly indifferent expression he wore before entering the dojo with tonfa in hand and the news that he had another relative he could fight. Kyouya had never spoken a syllable to the house staff or his relatives — or even his grandfather, the family head — in the six years he lived in the main house, so it was without a word that he turned and left the dojo with a flutter of his kimono. Keizou frowned and summoned his two grandsons to sit before him.
"Why does the Hibari family make its sons fight?" Keizou asked Mikado.
The boy paused. "Family tradition."
The Hibari family had its children sparring each other from age six; no rules against attack methods, weapons, or when one yielded. The lattermost was the most important in that it didn't cut off fights too soon. Often, Hibaris were the boulder that contentedly sat among nature undisturbed, but when prodded, would roll down a mountain unstoppably until there was no mountain left. Fighting was energy – even life-giving, purposeful. Attributing the Hibari take on sparring as "tradition" failed to acknowledge what made them tick. Keizou looked at Mikado disappointedly, and then moved his gaze to Mikado's mother.
"He does not have to fight."
It was the same as disownment.
Mikado bowed respectfully and rose at the clear dismissal. He was a Hibari through his mother, but he did not share the same blood in their eyes. If he called for help in emergencies, Hibaris would come, but they would all basically leave him alone. Mikado turned and walked for the exit.
"Stop."
If the room wasn't silent, it was now. All eyes swivelled to the characteristically aloof, silent Hibari Kyouya who had spoken for the first time in the six years the Hibaris had known the family heir. Even Keizou's interest was piqued. "Come here," the family head gestured at Mikado, "elaborate on your answer." Kyouya had apparently seen something in his otherwise disowned cousin.
Mikado approached Keizou but did not reclaim his seat next to Kyouya. He sent a side-glance, but the raven-haired's indifferent gaze was ahead. Kyouya was done ambushing everyone with speech. "Hibaris live from unleashing the beast within our veins," Mikado stated. "The family traditionally unlocks such drive and power from its young through physical battles."
"We fight to free the beast," Keizou agreed, resting his chin on a bridge of his fingers. "We do not fight for the sake of creating chaos. Such behaviour is unfulfilling and for the unintelligent. Beneath us." He looked into Mikado's eyes and saw what Kyouya's unrefined battle instincts picked up. The corner of his mouth lifted in a wicked smirk. How genius grandsons I do have.
"You describe us better than we understand ourselves, Mikado." Keizou stated. "I am correct that you therefore know why every single battle of yours will have weight – no exceptions?"
Mikado's gaze was even.
Keizou's smirk deepened. Ultimate beast, indeed.
"My heir as family head is one of these two boys," Keizou announced. He could live longer as the head of the Hibari family, and his son and daughter were in no rush for his position. No — he was more interested in his two grandsons with more potential than any Hibari he knew.
One was the epitome of the finest Hibari traits. The other acted docile in order to never wake the sleeping titan within.
Author's Note:
As putting more human nature — evolving strengths, faults, morals — into Mikado and those closely associated with him is a personal challenge I have accepted, much of the story's start will be involved in the Khr world — not just to analyse the Khr characters associated with Mikado, but to give a feel of Mikado himself before he enters fast-paced Ikebukuro.
Extra Author's Note:
Argh! It's not easy writing a character from the dynamic, twisted world of Durarara in the typical shounen manga environment of Khr, especially when Khr has its own dynamic characters like…
Hibari (middle school main character with odd obsessions, resources like private helicopters, unexplainable fighting skills, and no background story)
and Shouichi (frail nerd with the emotional, moral, and intellectual capacity to lead a famiglia unafraid of massacring others for world domination, stab his boss/BFF in the back, and use children in a war, all in the name of the greater good)
(again, no background story)
…that become more three-dimensional when given a DRRR character for a blood relation or close associate.
Can I just say that "explaining" Hibari with no canonical background to go on is a challenge? A fun one, but still. I also love Mikado — I just finished Duararara's twenty-four episodes, and I still can't tell how Mikado truly works. That's what I love about Durarara — the simplest character can turn out to be the deepest.
It's difficult writing Mikado when he's a walking…contradiction? He can't keep up with city people's jokes and can't confess to the girl he likes, but he can piece together a conspiracy in seconds (literally) and boldly frame the person responsible in minutes (also literally). He doesn't like people hurting and using each other, but he takes big risks (allowing the Dollars exist, leaving it alone, betting on it when he needs help) just to not feel bored. He also has a questionable moral compass like all DRRR characters — he even praised a stalker for being attached to her obsession who tried to kill her. Mikado goes on to take advice from the same couple.
Isn't he just a country bumpkin? Late introduction to the Internet is overwhelming, but surely it doesn't produce Mikados, right?
Right?
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