Bad Company

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Summary: Constantly on high alert, Genjo Sanzo, the egotistic president of Kinzan Publishing Co., had always derided the threats made on his life. Like hell he cared about that. Putting Son Goku, his ever-optimistic, ever-dogging assistant, in said harm's way, however, caused the pompous man to seek and spill blood for the first time in his solitary life.

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A/N: Thank you for the reviews! OAO Even though most of them were anon and I couldn't reply to everyone on PM (where did y'all come from?), I'm glad you find this AU to your liking! And my special thanks to promocat for giving Saiyuki a chance. It's the series that launched me into yaoi (even though the series isn't yaoi) and the world of fanfiction, after all, so yes, it's a huge part of me. :D

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Sanzo thought about the pictures that Gojyo had sent him during his spying on Kami. The few good shots that the redhead had managed to capture—without a zoomed in tuft of Goku's hair on the lens—were printed and kept inside his wallet. There was a picture of Kami's face partially shown, smiling and looking almost sheepish. There was another one of him giving envelopes to a black-haired man in a black suit whose back faced the camera. Another picture featured a zoomed in shot of the envelopes, and Sanzo had cursed when a huge chunk of the shot was blocked by the black-clad man's upper arm.

Shitty Gojyo couldn't even get a decent picture right.

Leaning back onto the cold, metal seat, Sanzo stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray and glared at the nearby people who eyed him with come-hither looks and subtle, provocative gestures.

He couldn't even drink a cup of coffee in broad daylight in peace.

Sanzo almost spat on the ground in distaste.

Fucking tarts.

The metal chair scraped on the ground as he stood up, and quickly washed down the taste of the cigarette with his now cold coffee; and he briskly walked away from the ogling eyes of both men and women.

It was the same everywhere he went.

It was not his fucking fault he was born with the face that he had. The only thing his face had given him over the years was a lot of headaches from unwanted people's attention and shallow affection. At one point, he would have blown a bullet to his face if that would mean the unwanted harassment would stop, but—

He turned to a corner, his face now settling in his normal, glowering mode, and took great satisfaction at the people that avoided him when they met his cold eyes. Good. At least he wouldn't have to be groped by strangers. You'd think a man who regularly dressed like a respectful businessman would warrant a sliver of respect from passersby, but no, that wasn't the usual case. In fact, the effect was the opposite—the sharper he dressed, the faster he got harassed in one form or another.

And today, he wore a pair of jeans and a buttondown shirt—and the stares sent his way still wouldn't stop.

"I should have just been born with the face of a cat's ass," Sanzo growled to himself. He would look like a fool to everyone, but at least people wouldn't bother him.

"Heeey, grumpy guy with the balding head!"

Sanzo whipped out another cigarette and chewed on it, leaving it unlit as he made an aimless route to wherever his feet would take him until his legs would turn to lead.

"Calling the attention of the sulking guy with the blinding hair under the sun!"

Maybe he'd get some peace in a bookstore. Yeah, that'd do him good. It would be better to check what were the trending genres lately. If he'd be lucky, he'd sneakily eavesdrop on some of the buyers' comments on Kinzan books.

"Weak-jointed old man in jeans and black polo shirt!"

Sanzo snatched his cigarette in between his teeth in ire and whipped around, ready to give whoever-the-owner-of-this-voice-was a good beating to the mug. That voice had been grating on his ears for a while now—

"Morning, Sanzo! I've been calling you for many times since I saw you near the coffee shop, but you didn't notice me. So I followed you around and yelled and called you names—tee hee!"

—only to stop in his bubbling wrath when he saw Goku's stupid face and his stupid smile and his stupidly wide, stupidly golden eyes.

Great.

Sanzo's initial glower simmered to a frown and a resigned sigh as he flicked his unlit and now-bent cigarette to the ground. "What do you want," he deadpanned, his tired eyes refusing to look at Goku's lively ones.

"Nothin'," Goku said in a lilting voice as he lightly swayed on the balls of his feet and hid his hands behind his back. "I just saw you looking ready to commit a murder any minute, so I followed you. Who's your target?"

Sanzo's eyebrow rose, and looked at the brunet with concealed curiosity, "Did I really look like I was going to murder someone?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," Sanzo blinked once, and gave a thoughtful hum, "I was thinking of going to the bookstore, but, well, I might murder someone if they ask too many stupid questions enough, like what you're doing now."

The edges of Goku's lips crept up to a cheeky, little grin, and he took a step towards the blond, "Really? Well, can you do it now?"

The creases between Sanzo's forehead deepened, and he grunted, "The fuck's gotten into you? You're acting stupider than usual."

Goku's lopsided grin faltered a tad, and he raised his shoulders in a casual shrug, "Nothing much. So? Will you do it?"

Sanzo's brow twitched, and his lips curved in a snarl. "I have no bullets to waste on you, idiot," he grumbled.

The brunet let out a breathy, little laugh, and his eyes seemed to soften. "That's better," he said in an equal mutter, and he reached out and pressed his index finger to Sanzo's glabella, smoothing out the skin in between Sanzo's brows with slow but firm strokes. "The lines on your face disappeared. It's better that way." And he spoke in a soft, almost affectionate tone that Sanzo barely strained to hear in the open air of the city. The blond felt his shoulders gradually droop the longer Goku dragged his finger between his now smooth brows, and when Goku did stop, Sanzo's lips parted in an almost lament at the loss of the soothing contact.

The faint brushing of roughened, slender fingertips tickled against Sanzo's jaw, and Goku looked at him with a barely there smile and a tilt of the head, his eyelids unhurried in concealing his honeyed eyes—

"You looked like you had the world dead set as your enemy. Don't do that," Goku breathed, and when he was satisfied with the relaxed face that Sanzo now wore, he hummed in a silent approval—

"You're more beautiful this way," he said in a sigh that coupled with Sanzo's quiet surprise. And when the blond had finally regained his train of thought, Goku had already pulled away and took a few steps ahead of him, and he heard the brunet in his usual cheer. "Hey, Sanzo! Hurry up! We're going to the bookstore, right?"

The purple-eyed man traced after Goku's carefree form, and failed to fight back a small smile.

At least there was one constant headache he'd rather have.

Sanzo walked up to the jovial teen and ruffled his hair, and said nothing more. Goku giggled and their shoulders often brushed as they walked to the biggest bookstore in the city.

There, a different Goku emerged as he bounded over to all the sections of the floor as soon as they entered, leaving Sanzo to sigh and loiter around the novels section near the door. The brunet was always like this—like an excited puppy seeing a new toy—every time he saw a new pile of books. Sanzo guessed it was because he had read to Goku a lot at night when they were younger during their stay in Kanzeon's mansion. Sanzo would always stop at the part where the story would get exciting, leaving Goku wailing and complaining for him to continue, only for Sanzo turn out the lights and sleep. Soon, Goku developed a habit of reading an entire book a day just to quell his curiosity about the ending.

Sanzo smirked at the memory.

His fingers hovered on the edges and the spines of the books on the lacquered, wooden shelves, and he picked a title that piqued his interest—a book among the many of its own. Recently published, and today was the release date, judging from the big, red sign hanging over the shelf. He eyed for the identity of the author, and found none.

Odd.

He turned it over and read the blurb written in white letters against a black cover. Satisfied with the short summary, he flipped over to the first chapter, and read a few pages, and soon, he couldn't let go of the book until he heard the distinctive, loud slapping of a palm against smooth wood.

Placing his index in between the pages he was on as a temporary bookmark, he looked around and tried to locate the bothersome sound, and soon found Goku running over to him with an expression like that of confusion. In his hands were three, thick, paperbound books, and looked around as soon as he stood in front of the blond.

"What's that noise? I went over here quickly to check if you're okay, and you're okay, but where is that noise?" he peered around in between the shelves, yet couldn't sense where the echoing sound came from.

Sanzo did the same and frowned, "Doesn't look like they're doing a construction right now. Everything looks fine—"

Just then, a voice so familiar to Sanzo boomed from the far edge of a shelf near the stationery section, and he and Goku darted over to where the yelling was.

As soon as Sanzo recognized the familiar silhouette of the person from behind, however, he pulled Goku behind the nearest shelf with him.

"Hey, what—"

"Ssh. Look closely, and don't make a scene just yet."

Goku blinked and nodded, and they peered from the shelf.

There, standing in front of a teller, was a man slamming his hand on the counter, his arms splayed in tension as he spewed words to the woman almost in tears.

"What do you mean you don't have additional copies? Surely you must be wrong! Houtou's never wrong! It needs to be delivered today! What if our readers need extra copies of our book? We need to put out more!"

The clerk took a step back and flinched as the man let out a yell and slammed his palm on the counter once more.

Goku, silent at the unfolding scene a few feet from them, looked up at Sanzo, "Isn't that that Zakuro person?"

Sanzo grunted an affirmative, "What's he prattling about? He could have just waited for new orders for the books instead of badgering a teller."

Zakuro howled curses as he stormed out of the store, arms flailing upwards in resignation. "The president will hear from this! Mark my words, peasants. Hmph!" And the store was left stunned.

"Well, that was awkward," Goku mumbled, and he went over to the counter, asking the teller about Zakuro. Sanzo, meanwhile, idly stood by, watching the exchange with mild interest.

"That man came earlier and went around the shelves and settled there in front of that shelf with the red sign on it," and she pointed a finger on the shelf that where Sanzo had been moments prior.

"The novels section?" Sanzo inquired, "What about it?"

The teller wiped an unshed tear from her eye and spoke with a quiver, "He asked me how many books from Houtou are in today. I told him it was 250, which was our usual amount per day, and he said it was the wrong amount and that there should have been more copies because Houtou customers wanted more, so he demanded that there be more! Then he called for the manager, and the manager kindly explained about it, but the man wouldn't listen, and he started yelling at me at how I suck at my job and kept pounding on the counter and it was awful!"

Sanzo glanced at Goku, then at the book that he had been holding for a while. "So, you're saying that this book here—is from Houtou?" He raised it up for the teller to see, and she nodded.

"That's the one. 'Meurtre de Humain'. The one he keeps claiming that gets raving reviews to their mail."

Sanzo inspected the cover. Plain and black and paperbound. Seemed to be 300 pages at most. The lettering was nothing special, just the usual glossed and embossed, red-filled font. On the back was the blurb he had read, and at the very bottom of the back cover was Houtou's logo—the face of the open-mouthed raven with the worm in its mouth.

"What's it about?" Goku asked as he eyed the book in Sanzo's hand. "Looks like you've been reading it for a while. Your finger in between the pages says so."

"A page-turner, that's for sure."

"That doesn't explain it. Is it a suspenseful one?"

Sanzo barely nodded, quite unsure at how to describe the book in a few words. Its content was decent at first. It didn't even bother with the too thin, too cramped up spacing. Wording was crude at its best, but what managed to drew him in was the amount of detail in each scene, right down to the minute bone and marrow and vein and blood and flesh. Its content drew him in a subtle hypnosis and couldn't help but to want to read more—

When Sanzo had finally responded to Goku's voice and light arm nudge, Sanzo looked startled and realized the book had already ended up in Goku's hands.

"You dropped it like it burned you, Sanzo. Are you ill? Do you need to take a rest?" Goku's voice crept to Sanzo's ears like warmth after the storm, and the blond nodded absentmindedly to himself, composure failing as he spoke.

"I'm—okay. Just—let's get that book and research on it—or something," Sanzo rasped, and Goku, on instinct, placed the back of his hand to the blond's forehead.

"You're breaking into a sweat—I'll take you home, okay? Miss, he'll buy this book. And I'll take these three more."

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Goku knew the book had to be something really weird if it could shook Sanzo—of all people—speechless. So when he had taken the liberty to claim Sanzo's couch for himself, he pored over the book and read it page by page as he ate chips, while the blond quietly sulked in the kitchen, eating the tilapia parmesan with mayo on the side that Goku prepared for him.

The brunet knew by heart that Sanzo didn't own a book that involved senseless brutality—even in Kinzan, he refused to take books that featured nothing but glorified and revered violence. Goku realized, as he turned over a page to another chapter, that reading this particular book gave Sanzo an uncanny effect like that of being in a severe culture shock. The blond had only chucked it on the sofa and didn't spare it a glance earlier.

Sanzo had stated that the book gave him bile that circled in his stomach and curdled in his throat, and Goku had taken note of the goose-pimpled flesh that appeared on Sanzo's arms while he retold the images the book gave him.

Goku snatched potato chip after potato chip as he read, quite aware of Sanzo looking at the back of his head from the kitchen. And when the chips ran out, he finally craned his neck to the blond, "Hey, Sanzo. This book is like, really familiar."

The clinking of utensils against the plate echoed as Sanzo sprang up and pushed the chair back—surprising a sleeping Tama in the process—and went over to the teen, wearing a face that could make the devil run for his money.

"What do you mean 'familiar'? You've read that before?"

Unfazed by the hinted accusation in his voice and the furious glower being sent to the book in Goku's hands, the brunet shook his head. He had always known that Sanzo would never allow him to read such asinine books, fearing it might 'addle Goku's brain cells even more', and had often lent him works about nature and legends and wildlife and the occasional philosophy instead, to which Goku have always happily accepted and read in three days time.

Goku was proud, to say the least, that his stomach was stronger than Sanzo's.

"No, not read, really. More like, heard of it in the news before. Heard of the disappearances of the people in the central lately? The ones with the victims being killed for 'no reason' at all? I think this is basically it. The press was all over that story for months."

"The news about salarymen and higher ups in companies being killed? Yeah, I've read about that, but the details on the news are scarce."

"Gojyo told me about it when he picked me up from Godworks. Says the murders going around were from an underground alliance or something." Goku folded the edge of the page he was on and closed the book, ignoring Sanzo's disapproving look at the dog-eared page. "Gojyo always makes sure Kinzan is safe while you're out doing your work, you know. Because why would you give him numerous days off other than making him prowl the streets and gather info?"

"...I actually give him days off so he wouldn't give me shit and bother me while I'm working. I'm pretty much capable on my own, not because I order him to gather info."

"...Oh."

The silence that followed hung thick in the air, and Goku pursed his lips and looked away. Sanzo, sensing the accidental avowal, grunted a laugh. "So. That's what he's been doing while I give him days off, eh." Sanzo hummed, and regarded the book with a suspecting glance. "He told you about the actual details of these murders that the media is covering up? I know that undine has questionable company, but hearing it from you sounds strange."

"He told me he got that bit from that friend of his. The one that Hakkai always gives angry looks with."

"Banri, huh. I see." He went around the couch and sat on it. He took his phone from the coffee table and dialed Gojyo's number. Goku, puzzled about it, scooted over to the blond and listened to the phone ringing. When it did pick up, the sound of cackling boomed through the receiver, loud enough for even Goku to hear.

Sanzo grimaced at the sound, and when the laughter died down, Sanzo drummed his index on his lap, impatience ringing from his voice. "Listen, I'll cut to the chase. What does Banri know of the businessmen being killed in central district? ...It's important, so just tell me. ...Fuck no I'm not asking that so I could join in on your shady business with firearms, shit-for-brains. He—he deals with them? The fuck?"

Just then, Goku leaned on the blond and insistently tugged on Sanzo's sleeve, whining, "Put him on speaker so I can hear it, too! Sanzo, put him on speaker!"

"All right, all right—stop tearing my shirt—...no, it's Goku. ...Of course he's with me, you ass. He lives just below my floor, we're bound to fucking meet at some point. ...The fuck are you talking about? No, it's not what you think. ...Fuck off and mind your business. Goku, stop pulling on my shirt, dammit— ...Fuck off, shithead. I'll put you on speaker, the monkey wants to hear it." Goku stopped tugging on Sanzo's shirt as soon as Sanzo put Gojyo on loudspeaker, and the sound of a TV bounced off the speaker, along with Gojyo's voice resounding in static.

"Okay, so Banri doesn't really deal with the killers, you know? Word just gets around. He simply sells guns and shit, and some clients tell him stories about it. Some of them swore they saw some of the recent killings, but I say it's just a tall tale. But still. Pretty gory stuff, if you ask me. The gun sales are on the rise because of it, seeking the firearms' protection, they say. But it's pretty much a double-edged sword. Most of his clients nowadays don't even know how to fucking clean the damn gun."

Sanzo huffed, "Basically, they're first time gun handlers who don't know shit."

"Exactly. Why did you ask this, by the way?"

The blond glanced at Goku, "Goku told me that you told him about it. And then there's this book we bought. It's about—"

"It's about the gory stuff you told me about! This book is almost exactly like what the news said, and what you told me about!" Goku interrupted with flailing arms. "The one with the chopped limbs and heads and being put in bags and thrown into rivers! Only, this one's worse! It uses human flesh as—mmph!" He looked at a scowling Sanzo, who had stifled his rant with his hand.

"Don't go into every detail, idiot. I just fucking ate. Gojyo, this book we bought earlier has an uncanny resemblance to the—...stories you told Goku. Call it coincidence if you will, but I want to have a list of all of Banri's clients. I have a feeling it'll be important."

"You're asking for the impossible, man. That guy's got tons of clients. I have no problems getting it all, you know—but you're asking for an encyclopedia's worth of—"

"I'll give you a raise."

The sound of TV on the other line went mute, and so did Gojyo. Goku blinked at the phone, and Sanzo stared at it with one eyebrow raised. And then—

"You got me there. All right. I'll do it. When do you want it?"

"As soon as possible. If you could get it now, get it now," Sanzo demanded.

"A'ight. A'ight. I got it. Give me any clue as to why I should do this?"

Goku looked at Sanzo. The brunet wondered about it, too—about Sanzo's sudden fascination with the book that made him sick. Sure, the book was from Houtou, but still—

Sanzo took the book from Goku's hands, and eyed the title with disgust.

"Kami might be one of his clients."

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Zakuro grunted as he exited his constantly dim office. He ignored his job of finishing another book—he always made sure to mirror his mood with his dim office, the only light he allowed was from the light peering in between his venetian blinds.

Today, he was out for blood.

He had seen and replayed the tapes Genjo Sanzo had given him—the tapes about the shooting incident in Kinzan, and Zakuro had came to the conclusion that Kami, that bastard from Godworks and also the Houtou chief's favorite, had tried to kill Kinzan's CEO to aim for Zakuro's current position as a Houtou supervisor. There was no other reason than that. Houtou and Godworks worked as sister companies only as a façade, but underneath it all, there was a deeper and darker reason behind it all.

As one of Houtou's supervisors and writers, he had a reputation to uphold, and it was to make sure that the books with his name on it would make it to the top sales.

Only, he had yet to make it to the top sales.

He had often wondered why any book he had ever made never reached to the top despite the reviews he had received in his mail. Something had to be missing.

Zakuro frowned as he descended the elevator.

He knew that Kami had at least one connection to Houtou that gave him free rein to do whatever he so damn well pleased—and it made Zakuro flush in anger.

The elevator doors opened, and he saw a black-haired man dressed in a pure white coat and tie from head to toe.

Zakuro gave the man a slight upward tug of his lips and bowed, muttering a curt, "Chief" as he stepped out of the elevator.

The chief didn't spare him a glance, a nod, a quirk of an eyebrow, or even a muttered 'hi'. The white-clad man simply stepped inside the elevator and pressed the button for the doors to close, ignoring him completely, leaving the bowing blond in front of the doors—

"—like an idiot...!" he muttered to himself. And he choked his wounded pride as he strode out of the building that was both the boon and bane of his existence.

In his early days, he had always thought of Houtou as an icon, with its tallness and almost fortress-like façade. For a then young Zakuro, Houtou was like his temple, a place that was worthy to be revered by many for its immense collections of books that they have published over the years. He had sworn to work under its influence when he was young, and when he had finally landed a job as a temp, he started having doubts, but had always turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to anything.

The first job the chief had given to him as a freelance writer was a very strange request, to say the least.

After being summoned to the chief's office through the loud speakers scattered all over Houtou—he was ordered to punch another temp in the face for going to work late that day.

Zakuro had initially asked questions, and was met with a stern glare from the chief's PA.

Zakuro had held his tongue and obeyed, and when the other temp begged for mercy to the chief, the chief had merely huffed and looked away with the eyes of boredom.

Then came more requests, getting stranger and stranger, and when his big break arrived after being permanent in Houtou, he had received his first official job as a Houtou writer—

—and that was to kill a man that he had never seen before.

He had obeyed, though only after he was promised of a place of his own, and a steady rise in the company, as long as he killed.

"'Everything you will experience, you'll write in your books—and they'll love you for it,' he says," Zakuro muttered in distaste, his brows now drawn in knots as he entered the bookstore he usually frequented.

This bookstore was smaller compared to the other one with the manager he badgered, but hearing anonymous customers' comments about his books might give him an idea on what to improve on. Maybe today would be the day he'd get a boost in sales?

He entered the store, and went straight to the novels section, where he was sure to find a shelf full of his books with customers lining up to get a copy. He suddenly felt a surge of excitement—only for it to come crashing down in mere seconds when he saw a gaggle of girls huddling over a shelf and a stand that were filled with books from Kinzan.

Kinzan's logo of the lilac lotus with the golden-tipped petals seemed to mock Zakuro all the way to his core, and he scowled as he grumbled his way to where his books stood in a neat stack in a shelf that was much bigger than the shelf with Kinzan books.

So why wasn't anyone coming over to get a copy?

He got his answer in the form of the same gaggle of girls wandering around the aisles of books and settling to where he was. Pretending to read a book himself, one girl took a book from the shelf and opened it, only for another girl to stop her from reading it, saying the book was weird and no one in their school would read it because of its controversy and the way it portrayed people as mere meat.

Zakuro blanched as the girl's eyes widened and she nodded as she returned to the shelf with Kinzan books. He tried not to look completely dejected as he exited the bookstore.

Outside, the sky looked grim, with its gray and looming clouds on the city. He kicked a nearby can and started making his way back to his flat, when he saw a familiar blond walking on the other side of the street, wearing a dark blue suit and black slacks.

Zakuro huffed and almost yelled and pointed a finger at Kinzan's president when he stopped upon seeing that he was not alone.

Walking beside the pale blond was the boy from the video he watched, the one who got shot in place of Genjo Sanzo. The boy looked leaner in person with his long-sleeved, maroon dress shirt and dark slacks.

Kinzan Publishing was nearby, and the streets were bound to have Kinzan employees scattering about, and it'd do him no good if he would make a scene.

So he calmly observed as the blond listened to the boy talk and flail his arms about, and Zakuro crossed the street and followed them, staying a good few paces behind. At one point, the two stopped in their tracks and looked around, and Zakuro had to crouch behind a fruit stand.

Zakuro had just realized that the two of them have a sharp intuition.

When the coast was clear, he followed them once again, until they went inside a restaurant that catered Italian food. Zakuro stopped as he watched the two take a table on the far edge of the room, when a waitress interrupted his musings.

"Table for how many, sir?"

He blinked, and said on instinct, "Just one."

"Will you or will you not smoke?"

At this, Zakuro almost laughed. Of course he wouldn't smoke! Why would he—? But then he saw Genjo Sanzo taking out a cigarette and started smoking—

"I won't smoke, but—" He pointed to where Genjo Sanzo and the boy sat, "Put me to the table where those two are. I need to talk to them."

The waitress, puzzled by the request, nodded and wrote something on her list, and led him to where the two men were ordering their first course.

"Um, customers. This customer wishes to sit with you, is that all right?" asked the waitress, and Genjo Sanzo looked up and scowled, and opened his mouth to retort when the boy beside him piped up with a grin.

"It's all right. Right, Sanzo?"

Sanzo tutted, "What. Hey, Goku. What are you—" He stopped when Goku, who had seated in front of Sanzo, slid his way on the round, red booth seat, and draped a hand on the pale blond's shoulder and pulled him close, whispering something to him. All the while, Zakuro started to regret his decision in following them, when the boy kept glancing at him as he whispered to Genjo Sanzo—

—Zakuro noted the proximity they had, and how the pale blond seemed to be quite fine with another person touching him almost intimately.

Well, that was an unexpected sight. He had always thought Kinzan's president was unapproachable as the rumors said—

Genjo Sanzo sighed and pulled away from the boy, "Fine. You can sit with us."

The waitress, satisfied, smiled to Zakuro and handed him a menu. "Please enjoy your stay!" And she went away.

Zakuro looked at his feet as he sat stiffly in front of the two, feeling their eyes locked on him as he tried and failed not to fidget in his seat. And when he was about to say something, the boy, Goku, chirped up with a warm smile.

"Hey, Zakuro, right? Why are you here? Ah. Don't tell me. You're here to try out the new Milanese polenta, too! I knew it! Sanzo, I told you the polenta will be awesome!"

Sanzo, unenthused with Goku's praise for the food, chose to smoke and openly glare at Zakuro. The pale blond casually draped an arm behind Goku's seat and let out a trail of smoke. "Hey, pissface. You the one who followed us earlier, yeah?" Goku blinked and looked at Zakuro, who looked away and hid his face.

"So he was," Goku noted, and turned to Sanzo. "I'm hungry, Sanzo. I wish there were onion rings or something while we wait."

"Tch. Have patience and wait for the food, idiot. Hey," Sanzo knocked his fist on the table twice, and when Zakuro looked up, Sanzo raised an eyebrow in question. "Well? You followed us here, so surely you must be needing something. Did the video finally get to tell you that what we said was true?"

Zakuro heaved a deep sigh, and his shoulders shifted along with his body in awkwardness. Gone was his usual air of arrogance—it being replaced by shuffling thumbs and squared shoulders. "Yes. And I realized—you see, Genjo Sanzo, I, Zakuro, have come you for... for..."

He mumbled as he hid his face once more, and Sanzo grew irritated and knocked on the table again.

"For what?"

"For aid!" Zakuro yelled, and the nearby patrons looked at their table curiously, and Sanzo growled. Zakuro, hastily bowed in apology to the startled diners and waiters, and repeated himself to the pale blond. "For aid, I mean."

"Hmph. So the great Zakuro finally realizes that he's not so great, after all," Sanzo huffed as he drew out another drag of the smoke, and smirked at Zakuro's flinch. He hummed when Goku tapped him on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper.

"You think we could get info out of him? He is from Houtou, after all," Goku muttered, eyeing the tanned blond who looked at them with a blank face.

Sanzo pondered over the thought with idle tapping of the finger on the table, and he mouthed to Goku's lips, opting not to cover his mouth the way Goku had. He side-glanced at Zakuro as he breathed in undertone, "We'll see. But for now, let's hear what he has to say. Doesn't look like he's picking a fight today. I'm not in the mood to waste energy in a fight, either."

Goku nodded and returned his attention to the silent Zakuro, and when the tanned blond spoke, it was not something that the two expected.

"You know, you two look really close." At this, Sanzo and Goku looked startled, and blinked at the unsuspecting Zakuro. The tanned blond shrugged at the vague reaction, "I mean, at first you don't look like anyone could talk to you, Genjo Sanzo. But I swear I could tell that you two are dating—"

The click of the gun's safety going off reached Goku's ears, and before he knew it, Sanzo's foot was already on the table, his form towering over a wide-eyed Zakuro as Sanzo's gun nudged against his temple.

"I fucking dare you to say that again," Sanzo drawled with a venomous hiss.

"Sa-Sanzo! Don't pull out your gun in public! ...ah. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please excuse us, I'm sorry," he apologized quickly to the nearby diners in shock, and he simultaneously pulled Sanzo back to his seat with a hushed reprimand. "I thought you said you want to hear what he had to say and you don't want to start a fight?"

"Well, he fucking started it," Sanzo hissed and scowled at the brunet as he tucked his gun back inside his pocket. Goku pouted, miffed, and soothed his thumb on Sanzo's shoulder, calming him down with muttered whispers to his ear, and when Sanzo had calmed down, Zakuro's booming laughter met their ears, his meekness moments prior now vanished into thin air.

"Gyahaha! So that's what it takes to rile you up, Genjo Sanzo!" He shook his head, palms held up in a shrug, "But worry not, Genjo Sanzo, for I, the great Zakuro, chose not to divulge into your scurrilous affairs—unless, of course, you wish to tell me." Zakuro propped an elbow to the table with a dismissive wave of the hand and smirked, "I merely wish to grant me a listening ear. You see, Kinzan has been flourishing lately, and the thing is—Houtou House had always been three steps ahead of you since the beginning. It has always been that way. But lately, I've been seeing—"

The food arrived for Goku and Sanzo, and they ate, with Goku beaming his thanks to the chef as he wolfed down his Milanese polenta, and Sanzo muttering his thanks as he dug into his Roman egg drop soup, all the while, the two talked to themselves about which food tasted good.

"—...zan being, imperious, shall we say, about the published books. I know very well that Houtou House always boasted numbers in sales and—"

Goku chewed on his food noisily, looking at the new diners coming into the restaurant with bright eyes. Sanzo sipped on his Semillon, and muttered about how Goku looked sloppy with bits of corn and tomatoes all over his mouth. He groaned curses as he wiped off the mess from Goku's face, and the latter grinned his thanks.

"—Kinzan had just recently broke away from tradition in selling religious books since you took over, right? I must say, Genjo Sanzo, that's a very bold move. I heard you recently let romances into your line? That's quite odd, indeed, so I was saying—"

Goku took a gulp of his sangria and was halfway done with his polenta when the next course arrived, and he cheered as he put the plate of veal cutlets next to his half-finished dish. Sanzo, meanwhile, silently placed his steaming plate of lemony tuna next to his Roman egg drop soup, muttered his thanks, and drank more of his wine.

"—I wonder if such a thing were possible for a vile and vulgar Buddhist such as you, Genjo Sanzo. I mean, romances, really? I would think that something that involved guns would be more of your thing. How could you even put romances in your line? Isn't that against your policy—"

Sanzo raised his finger and called on a nearby waiter for a small bowl of mayonnaise, and Goku ordered for the next course. He urged Sanzo to try the sangria, and the blond shrugged and held out his glass for the drink, mixing it with the Semillon, and upon drinking it, he mumbled about the sangria mixing quite well with the white wine.

"—hey. You two. Are you even listening to me?"

"No, we're not," was their instant reply in unison, and Goku muffled a giggle behind a mouthful of stuffed veal as Zakuro stuttered for a decent retort.

"We came here to eat. So naturally, we will eat. We'll be on our third course in a few minutes and you still haven't ordered anything, if you notice," came Sanzo's aloof reply as he took a forkful of the tuna.

Zakuro blinked, and only now did he notice the lack of food in front of him, and before he could even reply, Goku butted in with a glare.

"No. No, you can't have my food. It's mine," and Goku took the plate of veal cutlets next to Sanzo's rice pudding, and huffed at Zakuro.

Sanzo gulped down his sangria and Semillon mix, and pointed at Zakuro with a fork, "Order your own food. Don't mooch off of me. I already have my hands full enough with this monkey—hey. Goku. What did you put on my plate?"

"You didn't take any veal, so I put one on your plate. It's delicious!"

"Oh? Did you hit your head? Why are you offering me your food? I thought you just said you didn't want to share? Heh. Who are you and what have you done to my stupid monkey?" he joked with a lopsided smirk at the golden-eyed teen. Nevertheless, Sanzo took a bite of the veal on his plate, and hummed in silent approval at the taste. "You do this one next."

Goku grinned and nodded, and Zakuro sat in silence as the president and his assistant talked in hushed tones, with their fingers and shoulders fleetingly brushing against their clothed skins—like they have created a world of their own in a few minutes.

In the end, he couldn't speak of his plea for advice, and the only thing that Zakuro had found during his meal with the infamous Genjo Sanzo was that despite all the wild rumors stating that the pale blond had a heart of an impenetrable iceberg, Genjo Sanzo had, in fact, a heart buried underneath all of that cold exterior he showed in public—

—at least, that heart only emerged when he was with this high-spirited boy.

Zakuro wondered about his own boss back at Houtou—as he looked at the boy's jovial expression and the pale man's grimace at being offered another piece of stuffed veal—and Zakuro concluded his epiphany—

"Here, Sanzo, take the last one, since you like it so much."

"The fuck are you on? Eat it, stupid. I still have my tuna. The next course is here, idiot. Stop shoving it on me and eat it!"

—that having a foul-mouthed, but secretly kind superior like Genjo Sanzo might not be too bad, after all.

.

Zakuro returned home to his luxurious flat and fell face first on the couch. After his dinner with Kinzan's president and his assistant, Zakuro felt a heavy feeling inside him, and he carried it with him as he dragged his slipper-clad feet to the carpeted floor, frowning.

He made it to the kitchen to drink water, trying to clear away the vision of his boss being the actual cold one instead of Kinzan's. He turned around, muttering his thoughts to himself—

—and the glass in his hand fell to the floor into pieces as his forehead was met with a gun.

In front of him stood the blond with the birthmark on his right eye, with Kami's glacial glare piercing Zakuro's chartreuse eyes.

"Hello, Zakuro. I came to collect my dues."

Zakuro whipped out his gun from his pocket, and aimed it straight at Kami's temple, silently catching the telltale speckles and dashes of blood against Kami's white clothes and pale face.

Kami was out to dethrone Zakuro, indeed.

"I just started out, Kami. Don't think you can off me so easily."

The sound of a gunshot was heard, and a laughing Kami lunged at the glowering Zakuro as they fought in the night, with bullets wheezing past walls and glass and wood, both shooting and crouching for a decent hiding place—

Zakuro cursed as he reloaded his gun, eyes frantic in search of the suddenly silent intruder.

"An SNS. You have an SNS for a gun. Really?"

Zakuro whipped around to see Kami standing behind him—

—and as Kami kicked Zakuro in the ribs, Zakuro heaved and fell to the floor.

The last thing he saw as he felt the gun prickling against his torso was a coldly smiling Kami towering over him.

"Try putting this in your next book this time."

The bullet pierced through Zakuro's flesh, and he fell in a motionless heap beneath Kami's apathetic gaze.