"Sensei, do I have to?"
Slumping across her desk, Asane lets her fountain pen clack onto the table. With the morning sun hanging outside, its rays heat the study room through the windows.
Mishima sits comfortably on an armchair next to hers with a novel in one hand. Today his sweater vest is dark blue with derpy, white ducks. Where does he even find these things? One day when she's boss, Asane's first order is burning down all the stores selling sweater vests. Mishima will complain for a bit, but it's for a good cause. He'll understand.
The tutor looks at Asane with a knowing smile, as if he knows exactly what Asane was thinking. She wouldn't dismiss the idea, Mishima has known her for too long.
"The more you whine, the more you don't get done," he says.
"I know, but there's so much," Asane says, gesturing to the sheets on her desk.
The papers show a long list of the types imports going through Yokohama that the Mafia deals in. It wouldn't have been an issue if it was just that. No, the papers Mishima brought in were encrypted. Asane had to translate them first before she got to actually absorbing the content. Thankfully, Mishima isn't cruel enough to disallow her cheat sheet. Aside from learning about the Mafia's smuggling routes, Mishima had said this was an exercise in memorising Mafia codes.
"Then how about a quick break before we get back to it?" Mishima serenely smiles.
Asane perks up. "What did you bring this time?"
"That's what your mind jumps to?" Mishima says while closing his book. "Ah, but sorry to disappoint you, I actually gave it away on the way here."
"Mishima-sensei without snacks? What has the world come to?"
"Before we discuss why I can't be your vending machine," Mishima says. "Something's bothering you."
Asane pulls a face. "It's nothing."
"You've stared at nothing for five minutes straight."
"I was listening."
"Yes, but half of your mind is elsewhere."
Asane slouches into her chair with a sigh. "It's," she starts, "did you hear about it?"
"Asane-sama, I'm not a mind reader," Mishima says with an amused lilt.
"Debatable."
Asane lowers her head. She hasn't seen Hirotsu since he went on the investigation for a couple of weeks. Listening out for rumours is useless since Tsushima Group staff are tight-lipped. While their professionalism is commendable, the lack of gossip works against her.
"Did you hear about Father's new… son."
"Son?" Mishima asks, "I didn't know he had one."
Neither did I. Asane shrugs. "My younger brother, he said."
"Did Genemon-dono say he was his son?" Mishima holds his chin in thought.
"Yes," she replies. Did Mishima not know about him?
"You're certain? I've yet to hear about another child of Genemon-dono." Mishima asks, a small frown on his face. "But I suppose it shouldn't surprise me considering how under wraps you are."
"Yes, I'm quite cer…tain."
She stops, her words falling short. Her memory is fuzzy when she tries to think back to that day. The only recollection clear is the boy and his presence with her father. It's not as if her father's office is one of sanctity, but it sometimes felt that way with how few would be summoned. Asane always found herself hesitating outside his doors, even though Asane knows permission is granted to her.
"Asane-sama, you're doing it again," Mishima says.
"Huh? Oh, sorry."
"'Pardon me,'" Mishima gently corrects.
"Pardon me," Asane says. "I was thinking. About him."
"The boy? Did you come to a conclusion?"
"... about?"
Mishima hums, head leaning on his closed hand. "Well, what do you think of him?"
"… I'm not sure."
("The strong devour the flesh of the weak," Father said. At the time, she didn't know—)
"Can we go back to class?" she says quietly.
"Of course," her tutor says too easily. Mishima then points to the pictures on her desk of different packages in a warehouse. "So, what do you do if one of these has explosives?"
Asane internally groans. Inventory inspections are essential, because god forbid an accident like a bomb blowing up a warehouse lest they catch the attention of the authorities. In the future, she wouldn't be actively involved, but if she were to ever check operations in person, more knowledge is always better.
Shaking the packages or smelling them is out of the question. How is she supposed to know from a single glance?
"Evacuate?"
Mishima looks at her sceptically. "You really want to try outrunning an explosive blast?"
"Well, I can."
"Maybe," Mishima says, "but not everyone else."
"Use a sniffer dog?" Asane says.
"What if you don't have one?"
"Call an expert?"
"It's about to blow up in five minutes. Do you have enough time for that?"
"Well, maybe I will blow up if you keep asking me stuff I don't know."
Mishima shakes his head with a smile. "I would like you to think for yourself first before I give any answers."
Asane sighs. "Because sometimes no one can give them."
Mishima says wryly, "Indeed, there won't always be someone to tell you."
Asane taps the desk in a steady rhythm. "Then how about…"
Asane has been visiting the library for a year, yet she'll always feel lost in its wonders. Endless rows of books as far as her eye can see. Wall lamps keep the place well-lit.
Asane strolls along the shelves, tracing her fingers along the book spines. Pausing on the spine of a red book, Asane pulls it out, skimming a few pages. It details some of the different methods of suicide. Although not the most relaxing of reads, Mishima had assigned homework on how one could disguise murders as accidents. She tucks the book under her arm and heads towards the upper floor.
Asane lightly treads up the spiral staircase, her hand sliding across the varnished railing. The entire thirty-ninth floor is dedicated to housing a collection of books, gathered over generations since the Mafia's creation. The different viewpoints of Yokohama, no matter the window seat, could be likened to sceneries straight out of paintings. Of the lazy clouds drifting by, or the cerulean Yokohama Bay in the distance. One of her favourite spots is a windowsill seat on the upper level to watch the sunset.
But when Asane reaches the top of the staircase, she stops.
The young boy she saw at Father's office pays no attention to her arrival. He's on her windowsill, reading a book, nestled between the various pillows she had placed there beforehand. His dress shirt sleeves are rolled up, and a closer look reveals that he still has bandages on his arms.
"What are you doing here?" she asks. The boy appears to be halfway through his reading.
The boy slowly looks up, not blinking in the slightest. Asane stiffens from his gaze that doesn't reflect light, bored as if she is nothing more than a speck of dust. It reminds her of Father's indecipherable gaze.
A beat of silence passes before the boy faintly says, "I got permission."
"Did you now?" she mutters.
Only one person can authorise access to this library. Permission to the library she had waited years to get. Permission she had only gotten last year, promising that she would make the most out of it. And yet, this boy, not even a month since his arrival—
Asane breathes harshly through her nose, mentally counting the seconds. One. Two. Three—
"I see," is all her mouth manages to squeeze out.
The boy only stares at her in response, a bored expression on his face. As if he had deigned that saying anything to her is a pointless endeavour.
"Enjoy yourself then," Asane says with a tight smile, her grip on the book tensing. She can't stay here. It would not do if words were to betray her mouth any more than it already did.
Without waiting for an answer, Asane turns around and takes her leave.
Summer is the worst when the sun sears into her skin. Asane sits on the prickly grass in the backyard of Enchi's house. A traditional Japanese one built with wood, kawara [1] roof tiles and translucent paper walls and doors. Reaching for her toes, she feels the stretch in the back of her thighs.
"Done?" Enchi says, tying her fading red hair into a bun. For a woman in her thirties, she has a somewhat toned body, conspicuous in her workout clothes. With how dark the circles underneath Enchi's eagle-like eyes, the older woman has seen better days.
Asane nods, finishing her last stretch. She stands up, brushing bits of grass off her clothes. Her shirt sticks to her back, and she tugs at it, a small but fleeting relief from the sweat clinging to her skin. She can't do the same for her black tights.
"Same rules." Enchi claps once. "Either you can't continue, or you land a hit on me."
Asane nods in response, taking a step forward.
"Let's begin."
Asane launches herself at Enchi, spinning on one foot and hurling a roundhouse kick with the other, but Enchi dodges the kick with ease.
Asane follows with a jab, only to be blocked by Enchi's arm. Enchi then grabs Asane's arm and reels her forward. The next moment has Enchi slamming her knee into Asane's chest.
Ribs creak, pain bursting from her front. Asane smashes to the ground, stifling a cry.
Not yet!
Asane rolls away from the kick Enchi throws at her. Asane positions herself into a half-crouch, willing a surge of energy to crackle and burn beneath her skin. She lunges towards Enchi, her surroundings blur as she throws another punch.
But Enchi sidesteps, and Asane zooms right past her instructor.
She can't stop and about to crash into the brick wall face first—
But a harsh tug pulls on the back of her collar, stopping Asane's charge. Instead Asane falls onto her back, landing on the ground. She doesn't have a second before Enchi kicks Asane, the pain in her side sharpening as the blow irritates her bruised ribs.
Coughing harshly, Asane grits her teeth. Every little movement draws out the aching.
"Let's stop here," Enchi says.
Asane wheezes. "I can keep going."
Asane hasn't even landed a single hit. She hasn't been able to since the first time they met three years ago. Just one hit and yet she couldn't do it.
"Not in this state," Enchi says, "you're distracted."
Perhaps it's because Asane has been avoiding the library these days, or that she has less and less time to herself. Mishima, unsympathetic to her plight, heaps on more assignments. If she has to do more percentages, or memorise which conflicts happened in what years—
("Why couldn't you do this?")
Asane lets out a long sigh and grouses, "I can keep going." She tries to get up, her arms trembling from the effort.
"This is just pathetic to watch," Enchi remarks.
It would not do to try and scratch her combat instructor's face off. Do not attempt it, Asane tells herself. Not to mention the pointlessness of such an endeavour.
Enchi ignores Asane's glowering. "The moment you're useless, you'll get killed."
Asane sulks and rolls onto her back, breathing heavily, each inhale stinging with pain. A familiar sensation but nothing uncommon. She wipes the thin layer of sweat off her face, the humid air making her disgustingly sticky. Her vexation only grows when faced with the cloudless sky. From the corner of her eye, Enchi saunters up to her. Asane recoils when she crouches down, her hand touching Asane's forehand.
Enchi scoffs. "Relax."
Needles stab into her, threading pain into her. Asane winces, an involuntary whimper escapes her as bones knit back together.
She should be happy that Enchi heals the worse injuries at the very least, even if it is only the worst of them.
Asane hates her for it.
"You still haven't decided what you want to hone," Enchi says. "Make a decision. Either your body or your Ability."
"What's wrong with both?" Asane says dully. She doesn't move from her spot. The phantom pain still lingering even though all her bones are fine.
"There's nothing wrong with that. If, for some reason, your Ability is useless, then you have a second blade to fall back on. But until then, focus on training one. I suggest your Ability since you can't even control how fast you go."
But I'm better than that. If Father can do Mafia business while teaching someone, then she can do the same.
Enchi stands up and gives Asane a pointed look of disapproval as if she knew what Asane was thinking about.
But Enchi only asks, "You should pick up a weapon."
"I thought it'd be better to use my Ability with my body," Asane says.
"You can have so many applications with it. Don't restrict yourself." Enchi scoffs. "Such a shame, wasting that talent with the scythe."
"It's too unwieldy."
"Bullshit. I've seen you twirl a kid's one like a ribbon."
Asane silently frowns as she stares at the deep-blue sky before she says, "Mishima-sensei said my body wasn't ready for weapons." She and her tutor had been discussing the difference between hand-to-hand versus weaponry.
"The human body is a lot more durable than you think, especially people like us," Enchi says. "But fine, if you really don't want to use a scythe, using any other blade is always a good choice."
"You're just saying that cause you like to stab people."
Enchi smiles sharply. "I don't deny that."
"… what should I wield then?" Asane rarely got to question Enchi. The older woman was always quick to launch straight into their sparring sessions as soon as Asane arrived at her private residence.
Enchi shrugs. "Who knows. Try out a few weapons to figure out what you like. You'll might have to take that up to the boss."
She would rather do a few more training sessions with Enchi than—
"Here."
Something glints in the light as Enchi tosses an object towards her. Asane catches it, registering the cool metal. A golden flower prong hairpin with amber beads hanging from it, matching her eye colour.
The first year they met, Enchi had given her a bracelet with a secret compartment. Last year Enchi had gifted her a defender ring, with a tiny switchblade that juts out with the hold of a button.
Asane studies the hair stick suspiciously. "What do I do with this?"
"Do you really need to ask?"
There are no other special features to this gift aside from the sharp tip. With enough force, it could really get under someone's skin.
"… thanks, Enchi-san."
"Enchi," the woman corrects.
"Thanks, Enchi-san."
"Brat." Enchi takes out a cigarette pack and a matchbox from her pants pocket, lighting one stick. Sucking in deeply, she then blows out a long drag of smoke. "You're not allowed inside till you figure out how to control your Ability. Or some part of it."
"Okay," Asane drawls out, the sweltering heat draining what's left of her energy.
Enchi walks back to her house and slides open the partition door. She suddenly looks back at Asane and says, "Your birthday's next week, isn't it?"
Asane blinks. "Pardon?"
Enchi enters the house, clunking the door shut.
… if this year weren't any different than any of the previous years, Asane would've ordered Hirotsu for them to share a meal together, or to escort her outside of Mafia headquarters. She had perfect excuse to find Hirotsu's present whose birthday was only five days earlier than hers. Strolling through the upper shopping districts and peering through sparkling windows was always a novelty.
Once an exquisite, black porcelain tea set caught her eye, so Asane mentally tagged it as a potential gift. The next day, however, Hirotsu had given her the same tea set. He thought that Asane wanted it for herself. She didn't have the heart to correct him.
There would be no such outings this year.
"You turned ten today, didn't you?"
"Eleven, Father."
"Is that right?" Father hums, fixated on scribbling on documents at his desk.
Asane certainly doesn't feel any older as she's standing inside the office, hands folded in front. An oriental rug takes up most of the room. Wooden bookcases at the back, neatly stocked with tomes. The boy is nowhere to be seen, much to her relief. She doesn't need another pair of eyes, watchful of her every move.
She patiently waits for her father to say more… but he doesn't. Asane expected this. Audiences with Father is akin to walking upon a bed of nails. Safe if one knew how to tread carefully. But what does he have in store for her? Around her previous birthdays, never did Father call for her once.
Time drips like a leaking water tap for what could have been minutes before Father finally stops writing.
"Now that you are old enough," he says, "as part of your studies, you will now shadow one of the Tsushima family's loyal retainers."
"If I may ask, which family?"
"The Kawabatas," he says. "They have been with us for generations."
The number of people allowed to meet her on a regular basis can be counted on one hand. It's a bit disconcerting that Father would introduce her to someone new, considering that Mishima was solely in charge of her education until now.
"Where shall I meet them?" she asks.
"His office is in the second building, but he will contact you on the meeting time and place."
Asane feels a faint well of anticipation. Even if it's only to the second building, she would be able to leave the premises of Port Mafia headquarters more often. Perhaps she could search for one of the secret passageways or hidden rooms Mishima once told her about. A switch between the crevasses of the library books? Or a revolving door when you push the right spot? Would it be appropriate to ask for blueprints—
"Asane."
"Yes?" She doesn't know what her father is thinking, given the unreadable look Father has now.
"Is your mind wandering again?" Father asks flatly.
"My apologies, Father, I was wondering—" Asane stalls, trying to think of her next words. Asane fights down a flush, and in her chest, a ball of tightness grows. The moment to bring up her birthday had already passed.
She says instead, "Where's Hirotsu?"
Having someone else assigned to her isn't the same. Not to mention that one time Asane had gotten lost while with an escort. The Mafia was left in a scramble to find her.
She never saw that escort again.
"He's out," her father says, turning his gaze to the window.
She already knows that much since Asane hasn't caught sight of the man for months now. Without Hirotsu, Asane hasn't been able go anywhere, with Enchi's house as the exception.
The silence stretches for ten seconds. Twenty seconds.
At the thirty second mark, her father asks, "How's the boy?"
"Yes? Osamu?"
She dislikes the tightness making itself home, making Asane wish she could press against her sternum to alleviate some of the pressure. Asane secretly pinches herself, the sharp pain waking her to attention. Hopefully, Father didn't notice her slip in manners.
"Has he been adjusting well?" Father asks, looking at her with the air of an inquisitor. When had he placed the pen down? She hopes he isn't seeing through her with how intense his stare is.
Asane has gone out of her way to avoid the boy since that day in the library so she wouldn't know. The more she didn't see him, the better… in hindsight that might've not been the best decision.
"He's, fine, Osamu…" Asane says, the foreign word odd on her tongue. "He seems to have settled. I've caught him in the library doing some light reading."
When her father doesn't reply, Asane pauses for a long beat. Her next words a tad hushed, "Aside from that I haven't seen him much."
Father only hums. "Is that so?"
Heavy silence crawls. Five, ten seconds go by.
Asane almost flinches when her father says, "He's progressing well on his studies. You need to keep up."
Keep up with…?
"Ah… yes, Father," are the words Asane strings together.
It's possible that the boy would be ahead of her if he is under her father's personal tutelage, even though he's much younger than her. Though neither Mishima nor Enchi has said anything about Asane's studies being behind. She would know. She would've thrown herself into the books or more spars had they mentioned a word of her lacking progress.
"Asane," Father says.
"Y-yes," Asane inwardly curses her stutter. "Yes, Father?"
Acidic green eyes squint at her. Asane stands still, allowing her father to scrutinise her. The look in her eyes is as if he's inspecting a document, looking for discrepancies. Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't reveal. Her father's severe expression remains.
Finally, Father turns back to his papers, picking up his pen, and continues to write.
"That will be all." Father waves her off. "You're dismissed."
"Yes," Asane says quietly, her flicker of hope snuffs out. "Then I shall take my leave."
As she bows her head and strides out of the office. The parasitic tightness in her chest lingers no matter how hard she breathes. Since Hirotsu will not be returning anytime soon, and Mishima has a day off… she'll have to find something else to occupy her time.
[1] Traditional roof tiles of Japan
Edit note: May be subject to future edit changes.
