The sun's warm touch stretches across the private library through the glass window walls. The dry, mustiness of old books. The occasional flip of a page slicing the silence.
Asane lies on top of a white bean bag, engrossed in a fantasy book, written in English about a young girl who discovered the world of tiny dragons—
"Asane-sama [1]."
Asane blinks, slipping from fantasy back to reality as she looks up. Hirotsu adjusts his monocle, coughing into his fist. The older man is as tidy as ever: black, swept-back hair with strands of grey, and a long brown scarf overlaying his black overcoat.
"Asane-sama, it's time for your lessons."
Asane scrunches her face. Already? She just finished her session with her tutor on the different markets in Yokohama. Although Mishima makes her classes more tolerable, she still doesn't like the stiffness from sitting upright for hours on end, or the information cramming.
"Call me Asane," she says.
"It would be remiss of me to do so."
"One day I'll get you to," Asane grumbles. Despite knowing Hirotsu for ten years, the older man was stubborn about respectful titles, no matter the lack of an audience or her insistence on something as small as calling her by name. But it is still a long way from the days when Hirotsu used to call her Tsushima-sama of all things, and that took ages to break Hirotsu out of that habit with a bit of badgering on her part.
"What time is it?" she asks.
"Two-forty-five in the afternoon."
Asane sighs, snapping her book shut. She stands up, dusting her pale beige dress, a simple collared one with a black belt and wide pleats. Her necklace is a thin, gold chain dangling a sea green pendant.
Walking towards the elevator door with Hirotsu following, she asks, "What else do I have today?" Asane struggles to hit the button to the thirty-seventh floor.
Without a pause, Hirotsu presses the button for her. "History and Japanese."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, that is all."
The elevator door opens with a ding.
"… I swear there was more," Asane murmurs.
Both stepping inside, Hirotsu says, "Boss [2] cleared your schedule for the latter half of the day."
The doors slowly close and the elevator jolts slightly before it rumbles in its descent. The light for each level blips on when they pass the next floor.
How odd. Mishima is the one who put her lesson schedule together with Father's approval. Last week, her tutor had emphasised that learning about Yokohama imports and exports and Ability use would be essential for her to know.
Father would stand to agree, seeing how he had always read her lesson reports with scrutiny. He'd put it down and remark it as acceptable. Or he would point to a specific part and question why she hadn't understood or remembered it. Rarely did Asane have an excuse for him.
Yet, Father is willing to change her routine just like that. Was this a very rare break, or should her attention be on something else?
"What does Father [3] want?"
"He wants to introduce you to someone."
"You know who it is," Asane says.
Asane is only met with silence, Hirotsu doesn't deny it nor does he confirm anything. Then again, as one of Father's most trusted subordinates, Asane wouldn't be surprised if Hirotsu knew who this 'someone' was. In fact, it'd be stranger if Hirotsu didn't know the comings and goings of people within Port Mafia headquarters.
Asane undoes the orange hair ribbon off her wrist. Her fingers comb through her raven-black hair, tying it into her usual loose plait.
Whoever she'll meet, whether they be a business associate of Father's or a new subordinate, she'll deal with them later.
On the thirty-seventh floor, one of the rooms is a study splashed with autumn, large enough to easily fit an antique sofa, a delicately carved coffee table and several bookshelves lining upon ginkgo-red walls.
On one side of the room, Asane has been jotting notes at her desk for almost two hours, her hands cramping from the strain. Her tutor, Mishima, would interrupt her to gently correct how she was holding her black fountain pen, one gilded with intricate patterns. At every half hour, Mishima would break out the snacks to share. Some days it might be cheap chocolates he bought at a train station on his commute to Mafia headquarters, while other days, Mishima whipped out an expensive box, wrapped in high-quality, silken cloth [4], filled to the brim with wagashi [5] or some other custom-ordered treats. Sometimes, Asane wonders whether the snacks are more for him than for her.
Now they are in the final stretches of the second hour of history class.
"—The Mafia got established around the same time when Yokohama came to be. As a port city, it became a base for foreign trade in Japan because of its strategic location," Mishima says, using the white marker to add to the scribbled timeline on the whiteboard.
Hirotsu once said he has known the man for at least a decade, yet Mishima doesn't look a day over twenty-five. A serene smile is always on his baby face. Someone you could easily overlook on the streets. Thankfully, today's sweater vest is the blue-white argyle one, nothing like the times Mishima wore an eye-searing nuclear green or some other abomination. Asane suspects he does so just to blind everyone else with its tackiness.
"How did the Mafia get established?" Asane asks, twirling a pen between her fingers.
"To answer that question," Mishima says, "You first have to know that Yokohama was invaded many times under the cover of night."
"The attacks only happened at night?" she asks.
Mishima shoots her a wry smile. "We'd be done faster with what you call a 'sleep inducer of a class' if you'd stop interrupting."
"You do have a soothing voice," Asane says. "But my apologies, go on."
Mishima shakes his head. "From what I was saying, yes, the attacks happened at night for the most part. The foreigners didn't want to attract the local police." Mishima draws an arrow on the whiteboard and little stick figures. "Which leads to the next turning—though it'd be more accurate to call it a breaking point. People couldn't trust authorities to do their jobs anymore."
"You can't tell me that the authorities were that useless," Asane says.
"This was the nineteenth century. You must keep in mind that back then, technology wasn't as advanced as it is today. Security cameras hadn't been invented and the study of forensics a bit more rudimentary. Catching crime, while possible, was much more difficult.
"Back on topic, civilians took matters into their own hands. They armed themselves, fought, and doled out their own punishments.
"And that's how Port Mafia was created in a nutshell. Individuals acting as vigilantes, who later banded together to drive away external forces," Mishima says, "It's not a coincidence when you think of how many criminal empires have similar origins."
"Is the Mafia still doing that?" Asane asks, "Protecting the city against foreign invaders?"
"In a certain sense, yes."
"Meaning?"
"Port Mafia today is one of the organisations that overlooks underground Yokohama." Mishima says, "They cemented their place in the city as a trading base for underworld dealings across the globe."
"Like what?"
Mishima lifts a finger. "Chemical weapons as one example." The tutor brings up a second finger. "Personnel is another. Soldiers, informants, lawyers."
"Lawyers?"
Mishima simply quirks an eyebrow at her. "Yes, Asane-sama, even criminals need lawyers." He clears his throat. "Organs are also one of the products the Mafia—"
Asane grimaces. "I don't want to know where we get those from."
"The Mafia primarily deals in it rather than act as a supplier on rare occasions."
"I still don't want to know."
When newspapers report missing persons or a body found in the waters without their entrails, who else could've done it? Even if the Mafia isn't at fault, everyone else seems to think so.
Mishima gives her a wry smile as he crosses his arms. "You need to if you are to succeed Genemon-dono [6] someday."
"I know." Asane sighs, resting her head against her hand.
Mishima lightly shakes his head. "But that lesson is for another time," he says, "We're finished for the day."
Asane blinks. "What about Japanese?"
Mishima chuckles. "You didn't notice when you were doing your assignment, but I got a message that your meeting with the boss has been moved up."
"So, no Japanese?"
"No Japanese," Mishima says, "but you're pretty far ahead in the subject, so you shouldn't worry."
Asane ducks her head while tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. "Thanks, Sensei [7]."
Mishima crinkles his eyes. "It's always a pleasure to teach you." He helps her shuffle her notes together and stack the books into a neat pile.
Asane nods, getting up from her chair. She smoothens the creases on her dress, making sure that not a single fold can be seen.
"How do I look?" Asane asks.
"Fine as always." Mishima shakes his head in amusement. "Now run along. You don't want to be kept here."
Asane huffs with a smile. "I'll see you later, Mishima-sensei."
"I'll see you next time," Mishima nods.
She waves, chancing a quick glance at the grandfather clock adorning the wall. Class ended fifteen minutes early. More than enough time to reach her father's office.
Asane had once hauled herself to her father's office, bruises mottling her skin from a one-sided sparring with Enchi. You're late, Father had said with a frown. And you come in looking as if you'll keel over. It wasn't an excuse for Asane to show up like a mangled corpse barely standing on her feet. She had answered him that it wouldn't happen again.
Asane intends to keep it that way.
The mahogany double doors easily loom over Asane. She firmly knocks twice, her knuckles slightly hurting from the effort.
"Father, it's me," Asane calls out, her voice faint in the dead silence of the hall.
She receives no answer, but she knows better than to enter his office room without permission. Her lesson reports were hardly a priority when Father had proposals to read, be in the middle of discussing the latest trade agreements or he might leave in a flurry to quell conflict with another organisation.
So, she waits.
Asane listens carefully for her father's voice. Father knitted his brows each time he had to call her twice whenever her mind wandered. A mistake she would rather not repeat. She slowly counts the seconds even though it would be much faster to distract herself with something else.
If only Hirotsu was here. The older man is one of the few people who Father would allow as her escort. None of them are currently available so she's stuck without one in this dark hallway. According to Mishima, there would usually be two guards stationed here, but never once has Asane seen them.
Should she start carrying a pocket notebook? Mishima said it would be fine as long as she didn't make a habit of writing sensitive information, or at least coded it. Study notes should be acceptable. Asane could also read books because while Father has forbidden most books being removed from the library, that doesn't apply to all of them.
… seconds turn to minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes.
Her legs start to ache, the temptation to sit on the floor growing with every second.
Thirty minutes. Forty minutes. Fifty minutes.
But it won't do for the heiress of Port Mafia, daughter of Genemon, to be seen sitting on the ground. Who knows what people would think if they saw her so undignified? Not to mention, there were face recognition security cameras peppered along the hall, unblinking red lights, lens focused on not even letting a fly go unnoticed.
However, this floor is restricted access, except for some individuals like her father's direct subordinates and Asane. And she has yet to see a servant on this floor. Rarely would anyone drop by, even for cleaning. Perhaps sitting down for one moment would go unnoticed?
Sixty-six minutes in, "Come in," echoes from within her father's office.
Asane shakes her head. She breathes in. One. Two. Three. She breathes out and grabs both handles to pull open the doors.
Quietly, she says, "Excuse the intrusion [8]."
The moment Asane enters, she stills at the scene. The fading orange-gold of a sunset sky streams through the floor-to-ceiling window walls of the fortieth floor.
Father sits at his desk, surrounded by thick stacks of paperwork. Though he isn't the same as in his younger years, Father hasn't changed much.
What's different is the black-haired boy on her father's lap. Father is talking about the properties that Port Mafia owns, under Tsushima Group's name. Something she learned from Mishima a week ago.
"Do you understand?" Father says to the boy.
The boy nods, too dismissive, a nonchalance that has Asane bristling. And yet Father smiles. Not one she's familiar with. Not one of those wily ones when Father has made a good deal. Or the ones when he catches someone in a trap. It's something soft, his eyes aglow with something he never directed at her.
Finally, he turns his attention to her, and she quickly schools her expression to impassiveness. His eyes are sharp, all that softness gone in a blink. Her father's hair and beard started to grey a while ago. A few wrinkles on his face, his gauntness and pallor sticking out from the shadows, with Father spending most of his days in his office.
"Asane, you're here."
She had been for the last hour.
Father stands up, carrying the boy on his arm. Walking around his desk and towards her, he says, "This is Osamu, your younger brother."
… her what?
"Your brother," Father says, "are you listening?"
Ah. Had she said that aloud? Asane bows her head, an invisible noose hangs around her neck. "My apologies. I was… taking a moment."
Father's still expression has Asane straightening her back, the noose tightening ever so slightly as she folds her hands together in front.
Asane examines the child, the boy looking down at her from his perch in her father's arms, subdued and not like any child she would imagine, not that she's one to talk. Younger than her, no older than seven. A scrawniness that begs the question if he is eating right, but the white bandages wrapped around his arms makes him seem skinnier. Even Asane could hold him up and she's not the epitome of Hercules. The almost wrinkle-free dress shirt and shorts must mean the clothes are either new or recently washed and ironed. Reddish-brown eyes, cold and dark.
Asane shifts her attention to her father once more. Was he waiting for her to say something?
"By blood?" Asane asks. Did Mother [9] secretly have another child? Impossible. Her mother couldn't have. Mother died when Asane turned four.
"What do you think?" Father says.
She peers at her father's face, which reveals nothing at all. Is this some sort of test that Father has put up?
"I see." She doesn't but it's not like Father knows that, right? "Then he'll be living here?"
Father nods with a hum. "Look after him, why don't you?"
I can't do that, she doesn't say. Why would Father even ask her of this? Her schedule from nine to five is filled to the brim with lesson plans, weekends included. What precious time Asane stole for herself when she wasn't in class was time just for her.
Look after him, he said. Where did this boy even come from that Father would request such a thing from her?
"Shouldn't Hirotsu be in charge of that?" Asane blurts.
"Is there a problem?" Father directs that piercing glare at her.
Asane flinches, biting back an apology. The last time a subordinate offered meek apologies for his failure, the man met his end at Father's scythe.
She says instead, "No, there isn't."
"Hm," is all Father says, dark green eyes watching her like a bird of prey would watch its mark.
In the middle of reading her reports, Father might snap at her for breathing too loudly. But honestly, she prefers those moods. Because on other days, Asane is never sure how to react when her father does something like ignore her as if she wasn't in the room. Only when she works up the courage to softly call him does he respond with a hum and a quick dismissal.
"Good," Father says, his features neutral. "This much you can do for him, yes?"
"Yes, Father." She nods, refraining from breathing a sigh of relief, the invisible noose finally loosening. She seems to have passed some sort of test, if it was one. He had done stranger things. Such as assigning a personal maid who tried to kill her two weeks later. If Asane had caught on earlier, Father wouldn't have locked her in the dungeons for a week. By the time she got out, the maid was gone. A shame since that maid's handmade fruit tarts were crispy and delicate.
Father turns to the boy and gives him a pat on the head. "If there's anything you need, ask Asane or Hirotsu."
Even with his hair just ruffled, the boy doesn't respond, his stare still on her. Yet Father sort of smiles anyways. Not quite one, but a quirk of the lips.
With a nod, Father says, "You're dismissed."
"Yes, Father," Asane says quietly, not trusting her voice to give something away. She mentally counts backwards. Slowly. Three. Two. One.
Asane bows, turning around and striding to the exit, taking extra care not to trip on her feet.
As Asane pushes the doors open, she glances behind her. It's like watching a film she hasn't seen before, one of Father muttering, whether to himself or to the boy. As if the conversation Asane had with her father never transpired. If Father is talking to the boy, Asane doesn't stay to find out. Pulling the handles, the heavy door weighs upon her as she closes them.
She isn't sure how long she stood outside of Father's office doors but when a voice calls out —
"Asane-sama?"
Asane snaps out of her daze to see Hirotsu standing not too far from her.
"Hirotsu? Weren't you scouting a local gang?"
Asane remembers that little detail because it's not everyday that a group would purposefully pick a fight with the Port Mafia.
"Yes, I've return to make a report to the boss."
"You said it'd take till nightfall?"
"… Asane-sama, have you already met the boss?" Hirotsu asks instead.
"I did." Asane says, confused at the sudden topic change.
"And how long have you been standing here?"
When Asane says nothing, Hirotsu watches her carefully before he asks, "Asane-sama, shall we walk?"
Asane shoots a look at him, unsure for a moment before she nods numbly. There's a lag in her steps, but Hirotsu doesn't seem to mind as he ambles alongside her. Their steps echo. Only the floor lights lining the edge of the dark hallways illuminate their path. Hirotsu's hands are clasped behind his back. Asane could easily grab his hand as they walk. She squashes down the urge. She hasn't held anyone's hand since she was six. She's fine.
The silence smothers her, cold air trapped in her throat. "Hirotsu."
"Yes, Asane-sama?" Hirotsu's facing ahead, not a change in his expression. She doesn't know what to make of that.
"That boy," Asane says, "did Father give you instructions about him?"
"Dazai-kun?" [10]
"… who?"
"Your brother," Hirotsu says.
Asane stares blankly before it finally registers. "So his name's Dazai Osamu? Not Tsushima?"
"That's correct."
"… you're not calling him Osamu."
"No. He insisted on being called by his mother's name."
Huh. Father would've berated her for mentioning Mother, let alone using her mother's maiden name.
"I see." Asane shakes her head. "Can you tell me what those instructions were?"
"Perhaps we should take this conversation elsewhere."
Hirotsu coughs at Asane's utter look of confusion. "The walls have ears, Asane-sama."
Oh. Asane flushes. "Sorry. Where to?"
When they arrive at the elevator, Hirotsu presses the button for the ninth floor. Asane pushes down the questions threatening to bubble to the surface, hesitating to grab Hirotsu's sleeve.
True patience lies in bearing what is unbearable, Mishima once said.
Asane jerks back her hand that was trying to reach out. What am I even doing? Chancing a glance at Hirotsu's face, she cringes when the older man has a slight smile on his face.
Ah, he saw.
Despite Hirotsu witnessing that embarrassing moment of hers, he extends his hand to her.
Heat blooms in Asane's cheeks as she timidly grabs his hand. It's grounding, the familiar solid feel of his calloused but warm hand.
(In her younger years, the hand she often held wasn't gentle, but it was some of her fonder memories with—)
"Not a word to anyone," Asane says.
"Of course," Hirotsu replies.
Asane doesn't believe him, detecting the hint of amusement in his voice and looks away.
If I don't see it, then nothing happened.
Asane sinks into one side of the cushioned booth of the private room. The room they are occupying is in the back area of one of the main building's office cafés. Hayashi Café [11] is located on the ninth floor. She could see why corporate workers would be drawn to the place with its timbre and verdant plant décor. The window seat gives her a view of the night sky, contrasting against Yokohama's luminescence at its peak. The cityscape alive with colourful lights.
Hirotsu does a sweeping glance of the room before taking the seat opposite her. "Have you been here before, Asane-sama?"
"No, I haven't," she says.
Hirotsu nods. "These rooms are designed for secret meetings. The walls soundproof and the windows bulletproof."
"Really?" She taps on the walls. "… actually, I think Mishima-sensei might have mentioned it once."
"I would imagine." Hirotsu presses the 'call' button on the table. "After all, many of our higher tier members would use these rooms."
The door slides open to reveal a waitress, sharply dressed in a server's shirt, vest and skirt. She asks, "Yes, what would you like?"
Hirotsu looks at Asane, but she shakes her head. "I'm fine."
Hirotsu sighs, turning to the waitress. "Chamomile tea, milk and strawberry pancakes. One of each."
"You don't need to," Asane hurriedly says.
"You don't want the pancakes?" Hirotsu asks.
"… I never said that."
"That'll be all," Hirotsu says.
"Understood." The lady bows before she takes her leave, closing the door on the way out.
"Before I forget, what were you saying earlier?" Asane asks, "about your instructions?"
Hirotsu is quiet for a moment, then he says, "Boss gave the orders to see to Dazai-kun's living arrangements."
"… nothing else?" she asks.
"None."
"And? Did you already make the arrangements?"
"Of course."
Asane crosses her arms and huffs. "Then I don't understand," she says, "why Father gave me the order to do so when you've already taken care of everything."
"Perhaps Boss wanted you to get acquainted first."
"Did he now?" Asane says before falling silent. She's only had adults for company. She was the only child roaming around the upper levels of Port Mafia headquarters.
Though I suppose that's no longer the case.
"Hirotsu," Quietly, she asks, "is that boy truly my blood brother?"
"Yes," Hirotsu nods. "I tested it before bringing him over."
"Ah," she says, "so you brought him over." How long was this planned? Now that she thinks about it, Hirotsu went on a business trip a few months ago. Was that his mission then? Or was it some other time she's unaware of?
"On Father's orders, I suppose."
"Yes, it was."
Asane sits back, leaning against the backseat of the booth, folding her hands over her lap, but she couldn't help gripping her hands together. Father had ordered one of his most trusted men to pick up this child. Why did Father bring in another child? Why now? Surely, he would've had more children. Why not earlier? What makes this one so different? (Is this boy bett- different to her?)
"Who's his mother?" Asane flickers through the memories of young women who entered the buildings, but none of them particularly stand out.
When Hirotsu says nothing in response, Asane sighs. "You can't tell me, can you?"
"My apologies–" Hirotsu softens his voice.
"Don't," she snaps.
If Hirotsu couldn't say, then fine, the boy's mother will stay a mystery. She couldn't care less. It is the boy himself who matters.
With a short sigh, Asane asks, "Which floor did you arrange his room?"
Hirotsu hesitates for a second before he says, "The thirty-eighth."
Ah, above hers. Did Father ask for that arrangement? Or perhaps the boy asked for it? If Asane had done the same, she couldn't begin to guess what her father's response would be. She would rather not imagine it.
"Asane-sama."
"What is it?" Asane idly says.
"I will be out for a while."
"What?" Asane snaps her attention to Hirotsu. He seems composed, except for the furrow in his brow.
"Boss ordered an investigation, and I'm in charge of it."
"Okay?" That's not exactly new. Hirotsu does all sorts of tasks, from the menial such as bringing the boss tea (Then again, Hirotsu is the best tea maker she's known) to the unsavoury. Asane asks, "Does it have to do with that gang raiding the cargo?"
"No, it doesn't. This is a separate investigation. I am uncertain for how long it will take."
A fortnight was the longest Hirotsu couldn't accompany her. During that time, she had to stop herself from talking to someone who wasn't there. Now she would have to deal with that again.
"I see," Asane says. "You'll do well."
With a frown, Hirotsu asks, "Will you be alright?"
"Of course," Asane says. "Why wouldn't I be?" It's not as if she'll completely be on her own. Mishima will still be around. Even if Mishima were to leave too, and Asane would miss his endless supply of snacks will be missed (though not his sweater vests), it's not as if Hirotsu would be gone forever. Of course she'll be alright without Hirotsu's presence for an indefinite amount of time.
"I'll take my leave here," Asane says. She should go, having spent too much time here. Considering that Hirotsu is part of Father's inner circle, he has better things to do. There is no need to take up his time as well. "That's all I wanted to ask you."
"Asane-sama," Hirotsu says sternly.
Asane shakes her head. She shouldn't be loitering when she has next week's assignment on previous Mafia leaders to think about. Or practice her calligraphy for the next set of kanji. Or whatever else Father would deem a valuable use of her time. (The niggling thought of Father's request crops up, and Asane would argue that taking care of a child doesn't count towards her studies, and thus there isn't a need for her to do so, right?)
Asane is about to stand when Hirotsu calls her once more, "Asane-sama."
There's something in his expression, lilac eyes filled with a firmness that has Asane pausing. "Hirotsu?"
Hirotsu eyes her for a long moment before rubbing his temples. "Asane-sama," he says, "Please at least accompany this old man for his tea."
Asane frowns. "You're not old."
Really, he isn't. If anything, Father's– well, Father isn't old either. He's only older than Hirotsu by a few years.
"If only everyone else says the same," Hirotsu dryly says. "Well?"
The memory of a warm, thick stack of pastries dusted with sugar and heaped with strawberries, and whipped cream puts her thoughts on hold. Over time, Hirotsu had gotten good at making pancakes. However, one wouldn't expect a gentleman like him had failed the first time he tried cooking them. The batter was too thin, burnt too quickly on the pan and tasted like charcoal. (Asane ate them anyways just to see the image of an appalled Hirotsu.)
When Hirotsu isn't preparing her favourites during his free time, Hirotsu often orders them.
"Okay," she says, "but only because you asked."
It's not because of the pancakes. No matter how tantalising the pancakes are, coated in maple syrup, a splatter of warm butter blending with the fluffy cloud that melts in the mouth. No, Hirotsu shouldn't have to waste his money, that's all.
"Of course," Hirotsu says in that knowing tone of his.
[1] Mr.; Mrs.; Miss; Ms. Honorific or respectful (sonkeigo) language, after a person's name (or position, etc.)
[2] mafia members call their boss, 'Boss' using English
[3] Asane calls her father, Otou-sama as respectful way of saying 'Father'
[4] wiki/Furoshiki
[5] wiki/Wagashi
[6] Mr.; Mrs.; Miss; Ms. Polite (teineigo) language, form of address
[7] teacher; instructor; master
[8] shitsurei shimasu (しつれいします)
[9] Okaa-sama; respectful Japanese honorific for 'Mother'
[10] -kun is Japanese suffix for Mr (junior); master; boy
[11] 林 meaning 'grove'
Author's notes: In which I need more fics about Dazai having family figures in his childhood, suffered a withdrawal because there was little to none, and thought "DANG IT, I AM GETTING MY FAMILY FEELS STORY EVEN IF I HAVE TO WRITE IT MYSELF" and thus this was born. It was quite the adventure writing my first fanfic. Hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave any comments or feedback. Happy 2022 everyone!
Edit: 15/01/2022. Made quite a few edit changes but the overall scenes are still the same. May be subject to future changes.
