Chapter Ten
Sparks Were Flying
It was a few minutes of driving before the yakuza in the van and the small, banged up car following them reached leBlanc. The valets attending the front of the hotel looked on with dreadful confusion as the two vehicles riddled with bullet holes pulled up to the front of the property, and the yakuza in the vehicle exited quickly, awkwardly, onto the sidewalk, avoiding the stares and mutterings of the passersby. Iwai took out a wad of cash amounting to ten thousand yen, split it in his best estimate of equal halves and handed them to the two valets without a word before joining his compatriots inside.
Mishima was wary of joining the yakuza, and Makoto noticed this. While the company was waiting for the elevator, Makoto and Mishima stood aside, whispering to each other. The yakuza knew what the conversation was about but felt it unnecessary to intervene. "Is something wrong?" she asked her companion. "Why would you be afraid around them when you saved their lives?"
"I saved your life, Niijima-san," Mishima said resolutely in hushed tones. "These are criminals. We're in the wolves' den if ever there was one. And beside, Sakamoto is now a yakuza too! I mean, what the hell kind of coincidence is that?"
"One you're going to ignore," Makoto leered at him. "We're going up with them, and that's that. I'm looking out for us, don't worry."
"Famous last words," Mishima muttered, following Makoto to join with the other men once again.
The small group of yakuza, led by the imposing and stoic Kashiwagi, tried to all pile into the elevator at leBlanc, but awkwardly stumbled about when trying to fit in. The three large men, two smaller, young men and the comparably petite young woman. The scene made more than one patron in the lobby chuckle to themselves; two women who frequented the establishment whispered to each other about the "upcoming excitement" they believed was on the horizon thanks to the yakuza's messed up, sweat-drenched clothing and thousand-yard stares.
Makoto stood at the back end of the elevator with Akira next to her. Uncomfortably, she hugged her arms around herself as the distance between herself and the less fair sex waned. Sweaty, dirty men surrounding her, she grimaced at the body odor wafting up through the confined elevator.
Ichiban looked at a placard directly above the button panel for the floors. "We must be right about at the weight limit," he remarked. "This is a pretty small elevator after all."
"Yup," Iwai deadpanned.
"So we're just gonna hope this old thing can support all of us?"
"Yup."
"We could've gone up in two groups."
"Was too tired to think that far ahead."
"Ah," Ichiban nodded. "Touche."
The buttons dinged as they passed the floors, ascending toward the penthouse. They were stopped three floors below their destination, however, as the doors slid open to reveal a family of two parents and two young children all in touristy clothing waiting for the elevator. A long, awkward moment passed as no one said a word, the two groups just staring at each other as the parents immediately realized they were looking at an elevator full of yakuza. Kashiwagi bowed his head shallowly. "Pardon us, please," he said respectfully. "I'd recommend waiting for the next elevator."
The father smiled awkwardly. "Uh, yeah," he replied shakily. "No problem at all."
"Thank you," said Kashiwagi, pressing the button to close the doors and get on with the ride. All present in the elevator took a sudden awkward interest in the walls around them. Ryuji coughed into his hand.
The door finally opened to the penthouse, and before them was a sight familiar to Akira. Sojiro stood at the window, looking out over his city. The old yakuza Kuze stood off to his side, tapping his foot impatiently as he stared down the new arrivals at the penthouse; four other dangerous looking yakuza accompanied them. There were no hookers that Akira could see this time, only six angry men waiting for what was inevitably going to be a very interesting report.
Kashiwagi stepped forward, Iwai and Ichiban followed suit. They bowed to the yakuza before them as Sojiro turned to face them himself. "Good evening, Oyabun," said Kashiwagi. (T.N. – "Oyabun" means patriarch, often used to refer to the head of a yakuza family or clan.) "It is good to see you again."
"I always knew you to be one for quiet entrances, Kashiwagi," said Sojiro plainly. "An explosive car chase right down the South strip is not how I expected you to announce your homecoming." His eyes surveyed all before him. "Iwai, Ichiban," he greeted them with a small smile, "good to see you both. You especially picked a hell of a time to wrap up your work, Kasuga."
Ichiban's face lit up almost innocently at the recognition. "Good evening, sir," he bowed once again. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Boss. Though I wish it were under better circumstances."
"Forgive me, Oyabun," Kashiwagi continued, "this was not my intention. I was informed that Iwai was leading an investigation into one of the Kitagawa family's warehouses, and the situation seemed urgent. I went to investigate, and right after I arrived, things, well, went to shit, Boss."
"Didn't need to tell me that," Sojiro shook his head, though showed no sign of anger toward Kashiwagi. "I could hear the tires screeching and the cars colliding from here. Some of our men report a full-on firefight broke out at the warehouse. They told me that it was the Omi."
"That is what I believe as well, sir. The Omi Alliance had infiltrated our territory, and I believe this action to be a declaration of war."
Sojiro looked back to Kuze, meeting his stern, disapproving gaze before looking out over the city once again. "Goda isn't this brazen, Kashiwagi. He has respect for the old ways. If he wanted a war, he would send a messenger, organize a meeting, or contract an assassin to fire a warning shot at my limo. I don't think he would use something so indirect, or deliberately put civilians in the line of fire just to rile us up."
"True, Boss, but who else would launch such a full-scale offensive?"
Sojiro raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Hell if I know," he replied. "Lost track of how many enemies I've made over the years. Though, I assume you brought the girl and the scrawny kid with you for some good reason. Maybe they can help."
Mishima balked at Sojiro's wry appraisal of him, but Makoto remained unphased, stepping forward to bow to the old yakuza dutifully. "Sojiro Sakura," she addressed him to the immediate surprise of all in the room, "it is an honor to make your acquaintance."
Kuze let his arms down, scowling at the girl. "The fuck did you just say, little miss?" he growled low in his throat like metal scratching against metal. "How the hell do you know that name?"
Sojiro then interrupted his subordinate, holding out his hand to silence him. "Let the girl speak, bro. This just got far more interesting."
Makoto stood up straight, looking Sojiro directly in the eyes with that same steely gaze she had exhibited to Akira upon meeting him. "I am Makoto Niijima," she declared confidently. "My companion here is Yuki Mishima. We are investigating the whereabouts of one Jinya Kaneshiro, and we have reason to believe there may be information as to where he has gone here in Kamurocho. Makes sense, I believe," her expression turned more dour, defensive, "considering this is the home turf of the Sakura Clan."
No one responded, only looking to Sojiro for what he thought of the girl asserting her position. Sojiro looked down his nose at her, adjusting his glasses. His eyes narrowed on her, as if probing for a crack in her disposition, yet there was none to be found. The old yakuza nodded slowly, continuing to scrutinize her. "Niijima, huh?" he muttered curiously. Sojiro's eye twitched, his fist clenched for a moment but then relaxed. He walked up to Makoto, looking down at her. Unblinking, she stared back up at him with no fear in her eyes. "And what could you possibly want with Kaneshiro, Niijima-san?"
All present waited on baited breath. Mishima spoke up from the back, saying, "Makoto, are you sure about this?"
"Absolutely," she responded, her eyes never leaving Sojiro's. She breathed deeply, preparing herself. "I am looking for Kaneshiro, because I believe he killed my father, and was never brought to justice."
The yakuza around her exhibited various reactions. Some raised their eyebrows, Ryuji and Ichiban muttered to themselves, and Akira stood still, surprise riddled on his face. "Oh jeez," Mishima whispered.
"That's a bold claim, kid," Sojiro said slowly. "So you've come out to my neck of the woods for… revenge?"
"No, I have no intention of killing the man unless the situation grows dire. I want to find the truth of his murder, and help him rest in peace by having his murderer brought to justice."
"Why haven't you gone to the police then, Niijima?"
"The case is years cold, sir. I do not believe they would open an entirely new investigation for one man who died in Shibuya, even if he was a police officer himself."
"And your alternative was to throw yourself head first into the fire?" He looked to Mishima. "Even roped a friend of yours into it?"
Mishima stood up straighter than he had been, only then realizing he was nervous slouching. "I am here of my own accord, sir!" he proclaimed. "I was inspired by Niijima-san's desire for justice in the face of any adversity, and am willing to help her in any way I am able." From off to his side, Ryuji glared at him with such anger that Mishima felt as if his eyes could burn a hole through his skull.
Sojiro stroked his bearded chin, looking over the two newcomers. "Are you truly willing to do anything for your goals?" he addressed Makoto.
"I have already endured a firefight, sir. Nothing except for death would deter me."
Sojiro and the older yakuza around him chuckled to themselves. Mishima immediately felt sheepish, while Makoto did not react at all. "Akira," Sojiro called to the young man in the back, "I like this one. Keep her around, yeah? I think this is going to get pretty interesting."
"I did kinda already promise my help to her," Akira admitted.
Sojiro shook his head with a soft laugh. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," he muttered before turning back to Makoto. "I know Kaneshiro, kid. At least, I used to before some shit went down like it always does in this business. Now, I have no idea what he'd be doing back in Kamurocho, but the fact that he hasn't come to me with a finger wrapped in a cloth means he isn't here to make nice and pay his dues. Therefore, he's a trespasser on my territory, and will be dealt with accordingly."
"Then can I count on your aid in this matter, sir?"
"You are free to conduct your business as you see fit in my city, as long as it does not interfere with my Clan's goings on or attracts more attention from the law. But aside from that, you may operate here under my Clan's protection, on one condition."
"What is it?"
Sojiro lowered his eyes, and Makoto felt as if this seemingly laid back, unassuming older gentleman was now staring into her soul as easily as he would look through the window behind him. "If you do not kill Kaneshiro, and if you are able to, you will bring him to me."
"What?" Makoto's eyes widened at the stipulation.
"This is yakuza business, kid. Therefore, it will be dealt with by yakuza. That fat sack of shit has hell to pay with me personally, and there are many others in my clan who want a chat with him as well. And before you ask, no. I will not tell you what this business is. You're a civilian, and this has nothing to do with your own personal reasonings for finding him. Just know that you, Makoto Niijima, are not the only one in the world with a bone to pick with that lard-ass."
Makoto stepped back reflexively, feeling an uncontrollable twinge of fear well up within her at the yakuza boss's explanation. His voice was so stern, authoritative, Makoto felt like a peasant before an emperor. She lowered her head, then nodded slowly. "I accept your terms, sir," she said. "Thank you for this opportunity."
"Smart girl," said Sojiro. "Don't worry, I won't try to butt in on your business unless you need the help or it crosses over into my own business. Do what you need, kid, and as a token of my trust, you and your friend are free to stay in the hotel if you need somewhere to sleep."
Mishima cringed at the back of the group, and Makoto only bowed her head. "That may be best, sir. I had intended to return to Shibuya tonight, but, well, our car is not in drivable condition."
"That can easily be replaced, once your mission is complete."
"Excuse me?"
"What does it matter? You're determined to find Kaneshiro, aren't you? You wouldn't want to just get up and leave the job half done now, would you?"
"No."
"Indeed."
Kashiwagi then quickly interrupted the exchange. "There's more, sir. Hamura was with the assailants."
Sojiro's attention was immediately grabbed in its entirety. "Hamura?" he asked.
"Yes, Boss. There's no mistaking it. Hell, I nearly ran the bastard over with my van."
"I can corroborate him, Boss," Iwai added. "It was definitely Hamura."
Sojiro glared at the two yakuza, distressed by the news. Behind him, Kuze laughed lowly. "And here I thought that idiot would have drank himself to death in a bumfuck country brothel by now."
"Hamura is many things," said Sojiro, "but an idiot is not one of them. If he's colluding with Kaneshiro, or Christ almighty, with the Omi, then we might have bigger problems on our hands."
"Sir!" Ichiban spoke up. "My friends and I," he gestured to the younger adults, "also made a discovery. There was some drug being shipped from the warehouse, RZ-412. We know nothing about it, but tried to get more evidence for the purpose of investigation. We got a manifest with more info, but it was taken from us by some shadowy agent. I can't be certain, Boss, but it may have been the one who killed Tatsu. He was a skilled fighter, took us all down with no effort and stole the manifest. I'm sorry, sir," he bowed again quickly, "he overpowered us."
Sojiro rubbed his temple annoyedly. "This was a real shitshow tonight, huh? Now I got a new drug on my streets, and that assassin might be here too. If those bastards really want a war, then they just might get—"
"Hey!" Akira interjected to the shock of all present. "Have you maybe forgotten that not everyone here knows all of your obviously bountiful history? What the hell are you talking about?"
The yakuza's visible reactions were varied. Kashiwagi and Iwai looked more surprised than anything, Sojiro looked to him thoughtfully, curiously, Ichiban looked more concerned than surprised, and Kuze glowered at him coldly. "You dare demand answers of your superiors?"
"I do." Akira walked forward with a loatheful glare, getting right up in Kuze's face. "And neither you nor anyone here are my fucking superiors."
Kuze raised his fist in anger. "You little shit!" he growled.
"Enough," Sojiro interjected sternly. "Akira's relation to the Clan is not the purpose of this meeting. We have far bigger concerns to tackle." The old yakuza took Akira's shoulder and gently pushed him back with just enough force to get the message across that he was to mind his tongue for the time being. Sojiro looked to Kashiwagi, asking, "How long before the media gets wind of this shitstorm, Kashiwagi?"
"Anytime, if they haven't already. Will probably be on the news any moment now."
"That will make things complicated." Sojiro stroked his chin once again, thinking to himself. "I think that's enough progress for tonight," he finally said. "Everyone, you are dismissed. Niijima, Mishima, your accommodations will be ready shortly. Feel free to hang out into the lobby until the attendant comes for you." There was no response from either. "The rest of you, try not to cause any more firefights. Akira," he addressed the young man, who was not surprised by being called out, yet was still visibly frustrated by it, "may I have a word in private?"
Fuck off, he thought to himself. "Sure, whatever," he said aloud.
"Good. Leave us, all of you," Sojiro commanded. The yakuza dispersed, taking turns going down the elevator.
Before Ryuji left, he called to Akira with a dry, annoyed tone. "Hey, Mishima and I are gonna hit the batting cages in the Hotel District tonight," he said. "Meet us in the lobby when you're done."
Mishima looked to Ryuji with an understandably confused glare. "What are you talking about, Sakamoto?"
"I'm saying we're going to the batting cages. The three of us."
"Who said I was going?"
"I did. Don't worry, it's just a social night out, nothing more."
Akira crossed his arms in front of him. "You got something to say, man?"
"I do," Ryuji nodded. "And I'll say it at the batting cages." He entered the elevator, hand in pockets with a tired stare on his face. "See you two there," he smirked weakly before the elevator closed.
Mishima became only more confused. Turning to Akira, he asked, "Hey, I know we haven't even officially met yet, but Sakamoto seems to trust you. If you go with me, maybe he won't get into a public smackdown with me."
"I don't think that's what he's after, even though I know why he's pissed at you."
"Oh," Mishima said sheepishly. "You know about all that?"
"Yeah. But I think he's looking more to settle matters rather than 'settle the score'. But, if it makes you feel better, I'll drop by to make sure things stay on the up and up."
Mishima nodded, seeming to relax a bit. "Well, guess we can humor him then. See you soon, Kurusu-san," he waved to him.
Makoto had been watching the whole exchange quietly. Before joining her companion at the elevator, she approached Akira with a stern, but somehow pained expression. "Hey," she began, "whatever Sakamoto tells you, just know that there was nothing I could do."
"You mean with Kamoshida?" Akira asked.
"So, you do know then?"
"More than you can imagine."
"What does that mean?"
Akira's eyes visibly twitched, his hands and jaw clenched for a moment. With a slight rasp in his voice, he said, "Ask me again sometime."
Makoto raised an eyebrow incredulously, but let the questioning she had in mind go. "I have a feeling we'll be working together a lot from now on. Guess I'll have plenty of time to ask then. But remember, Kurusu-san, I had nothing to do with it." Her voice caught ever so slightly as she reiterated her point. There was an anger in her tone that seemed directed, desperate in a way that only someone with a guilty conscience could feel. Akira felt curious about what she meant, yet uncomfortable all the same.
"I'll keep that in mind," he nodded.
Makoto joined Mishima at the elevator. Slowly, she nodded as well. "Thank you," she said finally.
"You're welcome." The door closed, his new allies disappeared, leaving him alone with Sojiro.
"Strange circle of friends, you've got," the old yakuza remarked as he nursed a cigarette. Akira did not turn to face him. ""You are many things, kid. 'Interesting' being at the top of the list."
"Aren't you going to reprimand me?" Akira asked indignantly.
Sojiro sighed, blowing out a puff of smoke. "Why would I? You're not oathbound to my Clan, no matter how the others see it. As much as those around you wish it were so, you're not a yakuza. Though you can hardly say you're a civilian either." Sojiro took another puff of his cigarette, looking out over his city. "You're both, Akira, and yet, you're neither. You hate the idea of being a yakuza, but you're damn good at it. You're a hero to my Family, despite how Kuze acts with you. He may not respect you, but my other men do." He chuckled low in his throat. "You have the potential to be a legend, just like you're mother and grandfather, yet you want nothing to do with it. And there's nothing I can do to change that, I think."
Akira finally turned around to look at the old man, who now had turned from him. "Does that mean you're letting me go?"
Sojiro paused before speaking. "You could have left anytime you liked, Akira. I've never prevented you from getting a cab or a train and going home. God knows you've got the money for it. If you wanted to pack your bags and leave right now, I would let you." Without turning to look at Akira, Sojiro beckoned him to stand beside him as he stared over the city. Slowly, Akira took his position to Sojiro's right, looking out over the buildings and people below. "Truth is, kid, I want you here," Sojiro admitted slowly. "There's a war coming, and there's no doubting it anymore. I've been down this road before, but thank God I was able to end it quickly, effectively. I thought it was over for good, but now I guess that wasn't the case."
Akira looked to Sojiro, seeing in his face a cocktail of pain, anger, and world-weariness, as if he had aged another ten years in the last few seconds. "You kick your own ass over and over for killing one man who surrendered to you, Akira. That's nothing compared to what I've done in my long years as chairman." A chill ran down Akira's spine. "I'm not saying what you did wouldn't shake anyone up, but you walk around acting like you're the only person with problems or regrets, and I'm going to tell you that's not true. Everyone has sacrificed to make it where they are today, even your friend Sakamoto."
Finally, their eyes met, and Akira saw now less anger in Sojiro's gaze, but a great and terrible sadness. "I think this will be my last war, kid. My Clan has weakened, and if it really is the Omi knocking at my door, then I'm in for the fight of my life, and that's really saying something. If war does come, and the Sakura Clan is defeated by him, it will result in national catastrophe. Shido already got close to your family, Akira, Christ knows how. But if he can get that close when he's drunk off his ass, imagine what he can do when he gains control of the whole yakuza world. I know him, kid, and I know he will go to the ends of the earth to destroy your family.
"You go back home, live a happy life, and I can't guarantee the safety of your family or yourself, or any of your friends or loved ones. Shido has no respect for the lives of those in his way, nor of those close to them. He will raze your family legacy to the ground before he's satisfied, and will then move on to the whole damn country." Sojiro inhaled more smoke, calming himself. "You want money, kid? Women? Power? Anything you want will be yours if you stay, and help me save both our families."
Akira turned away, scowling out the window at the horizon. He thought on what Sojiro had told him, the call to action he had just received. His stomach churned, his fists clenched, his teeth gritted. He wanted to go home, lie about what he had done in Kamurocho, go back to his normal life with his normal family and friends. But then again, a firefight had just broken out in the streets, innocents were put in danger, and some ties between his family and Shido meant they all may be next.
He held out his hand to Sojiro, silently demanding a cig. Sojiro handed him one, but Akira did not let him light it, only holding it in his hand. "I don't need your money," he said, nearly growling the words.
Sojiro nodded respectfully. "Thank you."
"They called for war, right? Sparks flew tonight, and some bastard my parents knew wants to turn those sparks into a fire." Akira held the cigarette out to Sojiro, who promptly lit it. Akira took a puff of the calming, deadly concoction and caught his reflection in the window. He was no yakuza, but he sure as hell looked like one. "I'm not doing this for you, Sojiro. I'm doing this for my family and friends. Never was one to leave people in need behind." He paused, holding the cigarette in his fingers. He caught a glimpse of the horizon to the west, toward his hometown. He thought of his parents, of his friends, of the family spoken of in hushed and reverent tones in the Clan. He thought of Ryuji, Ann, even the determined and justice seeking Makoto and Mishima. A heat he knew well rose up inside him as he thought of the danger they all were in. "For my family, my friends" he said, "I'll start my own fire."
…
The walk to the batting center was quiet for the three young men. They spoke not to each other at all over the course of the five minute walk, both on account of the awkward nature of their outing, and for the whispers of a yakuza shootout that permeated the night air. People claimed to hear from their apartments cars crashing, guns firing. Others claimed to see those very cars speeding down the freeway, many seeming either rattled or excited by the events.
"This is rough," Ryuji whispered to Akira, minding the suspicious looks their yakuza-esque attire got them as they walked up the street. "News is travelling fast. Hopefully the Boss' contacts in the police can smooth this over."
"It was a big fight," replied Akira. "It would probably be to lay low for a while, but if we're gonna get to the bottom of this, I don't think that's gonna happen."
"You mean you're in, man?"
"I'll tell you later. It's complicated."
Ryuji shrugged as they approached the bustling Kamuro Theater Square. "Always is with you. I'm not even surprised anymore."
Theater Square was a popular destination for any and all comers to Kamurocho, residents and tourists alike. The plaza was home to the largest theater and arcade in the district, along with many highly regarded restaurants, bars and food stands on all sides. Mishima took special interest in the bars he was too young to get into without a good word, and the women in sparkling, tight-fitting dresses that passed them by.
"First time in the big city, Mishima?" asked Ryuji as they came upon the batting center.
"First time in Kamurocho, yeah. I've been to Sotenbori with the family a couple times, but this… Man, this is something else. And I thought Shibuya was flashy."
"Shibuya ain't shit compared to this, man. And you haven't seen a fraction of what the city has to offer."
"I doubt that's why you made me go with you to the batting cages."
"Yeah, not really."
They entered the batting center, which thankfully was mostly empty. The clerk gave them a strange, worried look as they checked in, but the boys paid him no mind. They took their places at their assigned booth, picked the bats that best fit them, and Ryuji took the plate first.
"Been a while since I've been down here," he remarked, knocking the tip of his bat on the plate at his feet. "Hopefully I've still got some good slugs in me."
Impatiently, Mishima then said, "So, we're not here for me to be beat up over the Kamoshida thing?"
"Nope." Ryuji hit the first pitch, sending the ball straight to the "Double" marker. "We're here to talk about it."
"At least we're just talking," said Mishima. "Look, Sakamoto, I don't blame you for being mad, or even hating me for what happened. And I can give you every excuse in the world, but," the second pitch was struck with great strength, nearly hitting the home run target, "it won't change what happened to you. And for that, I'm sorry, Sakamoto. I really am sorry."
Ryuji swung with all his might at the first pitch, only to completely miss it as it sailed under his bat. "Shit," he muttered. "You're really sorry about that mess?" Ryuji spoke up.
"Of course. Not a day goes by where I don't kick myself at least once for not standing up for us, for you. I was a scared, spineless kid back then, and honestly, I was in shock too. I had no idea what to do, and only knew the one thing that could maybe, maybe keep me safe from Kamoshida's abuse and getting kicked out of school. I panicked and covered my own ass. That's all."
Ryuji tipped the next ball, fouling it as he grew more stressed. "Yeah, you did cover your own ass," he said sternly. "If it wasn't for you, I might not even be here today, Mishima." He swung again, hitting the "Single" mark. "The school expelled me, my mom couldn't handle it and wanted me out, and I sure as hell wasn't going to give the woman any more grief than I already had. So, I hauled ass out of Shibuya and came here." The final pitch for his turn came, and he hit nothing but air. "Mother fucking dumbass breaking ball bullshit", he said under his breath. He took the bat in hand and sat next to Akira as Mishima took the plate.
The younger man stretched out his arms and knocked on the plate, taking the normal batting stance. "You know, Sakamoto, I was hoping you and your mother had just moved or something. Like, you got an athletics scholarship, or just a good job somewhere else. It… hurt me… to see you running with this crowd. Uh, no offense," he smiled awkwardly to Akira.
"None taken," Akira shrugged casually.
Ryuji folded his arms, sitting one leg over the other as Mishima missed the first pitch. "I honestly didn't know if you would care that much when I heard you were riding with Niijima."
"Did you think I wouldn't care at all?"
"No, I said I didn't know if you would. It's not like you ever liked me or anything."
"Hardly got the chance to see one way or the other." Mishima hit his first "Single". "You were one of the stars of the track team, man. And I could barely cut it in volleyball. You were in a whole different league than me."
"I mean, you're not totally wrong," Ryuji smirked.
Ignoring him, Mishima continued. "Everything went to hell after you were kicked out. Everyone eventually heard the truth, at least kind of. It was after Kamoshida 'took a leave of absence' when his hounding of Takamaki started making rounds. You remember Takamki, right?"
"You know, it's the craziest shit, man. She's actually in Kamurocho too!"
Mishima looked back to Ryuji in disbelief, causing him to miss the next ball. "She's what?"
"Yeah, she's in for a fashion shoot, right, Akira?"
"Right."
Mishima missed his last pitch but did not seem to care nor notice. Sitting down in the dugout as Akira stepped to the plate, he asked, "Wait, Takamaki is actually here? Man, talk about a coincidence."
"Small world, right?" Ryuji smiled for the first time since leaving leBlanc.
"The odds of all of us Shujin students being caught up in the same business in the same place must be astronomical."
Akira hit the first ball into the "Triple" target with general ease. "That's not even the crazy part."
"What could possibly be the crazy part then?"
"Well," said Ryuji, "this guy here actually killed Kamoshida."
Akira's arm tightened mid-swing, causing him to miss the second pitch.
"Oh my god!" Mishima exclaimed, standing back up to his feet. "You killed Kamoshida!?"
Akira let his arms hang low, ignoring the next pitch coming his way. "Wanna try that again?" he asked with venom in his voice. "I think the reporters in Hokkaido didn't quite hear you."
"Oh, geez, sorry," Mishima rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I mean, I'm not judging you, man! Couldn't tell you the amount of times I wanted to rid this good Earth of his filth myself."
"You don't know the half of it." Akira tried to focus up again to nail the next pitch. He completely missed.
Ryuji added, "Yeah, shit got crazy. The guy made porn, dude. Like, snuff porn, and wanted Takamki and Suzui to 'star' in his next picture out of revenge for Shujin."
"No freaking way," Mishima's eyes widened in amazement and fear.
"No bullshit. Right, Akira? God's honest truth?"
"God's honest truth." He clipped the next pitch, sending it rolling off to the side.
"Yeah, God's honest truth!" Ryuji's demeanor slowly started to soften, sitting next to Mishima on the bench without the aggressive sideways glances or angry snides. The two appeared more relaxed, even Akira noticed a change in atmosphere and on their faces.
Ryuji proceeded to tell the story emphatically, excitedly, and Mishima held on every word. "We tracked the bastard down to his hideout after saving the girls from his goons. The place was like hell itself, but this son of a gun right here decided to stay and fight with Anna and I even though we'd just freaking met! He didn't have much of a reason to help us, but Akira just ain't the kind of guy to let those in need go without help, I guess. Not everyone knows this about him, and most of the stories are wrong anyway, but I was there, Mishima. I know the truth, and Akira here did something great that day."
"Killing Kamoshida?"
"Nope." Ryuji looked to his friend, who stared still at the pitching machine, ready for the next ball. The blond yakuza gave a wry, approving smile as he leaned back on the bench. "He helped us, for no reason other than we needed help. Nothing to gain out of it, just wanted to help a couple messed up kids who could use the support." Mishima's expression turned to amazement, and Akira felt… strange. They were speaking of Kamoshida, but he had not twitches or flashbacks. He felt calm, focused, almost warm. He reset his stance at the plate, and a small smile sneaked to his face. "This guy's a hero, Mishima. And that's all there is to it."
Mishima looked to Akira with fascination at the story of this seemingly unassuming young man. Now knowing that the boy with long, dark hair standing before him was a hero, it was as a great aura of strength surrounded Akira, especially as the next pitch came, and the ball cracked off the bat powerfully, being sent flying straight to the "HOME RUN" target. The other two boys cheered for Akira, and the boy at bat simply nodded with a smile.
"It was hell, Mishima," he remarked as he returned to the dugout. "I still remember it as clearly as if it were happening right now, right in front of me. But," he looked to Ryuji, who still exhibited the same confident, approving, friendly smirk, "maybe there was some good in it. Truth be told, I don't know if I can believe that yet, but at least it seems like someone can." Akira smirked as well as he sat down with his companions, feeling strangely at ease.
Mishima's eyes met Ryuji's once more. "Looks like you made it after all, Sakamoto," he said. "I wish it hadn't happened the way it did, but at least you were able to avenge us all, with some help."
"I made my peace with Kamoshida's shit. I didn't need to kill him, though I don't think I'm bent out of shape over his death. I'm glad he's gone, but I didn't need to be the one to do it. Neither did Ann, and she had more reason to do it than I did." Ryuji took a deep breath, as if confirming something to himself. "But if I could make my peace with that bastard, I think I could do the same for you." He looked to Mishima with a slow nod. "It's in the past, man. Consider us square."
Mishima looked nearly ready to cry, like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "You mean it?"
"Well, you did save our asses too tonight. I'd say we're good, if you do."
Mishima nodded quickly, a bright smile shining on his face. "Absolutely, Sakamoto! Thank you for seeing it that way. You… you don't know how much it means to me."
Ryuji smirked, standing up to begin his second round at bat. "Trust me, I can imagine." He turned around, gave Akira a thumbs up and a smile, and the conversation gradually shifted to lighter subjects.
Soon, it was time to hit a food stand before calling it for the night. The three boys had become so comfortable by that point, that they did not know their great tales of heroism had truly started to circulate through the city. For many, fear was descending upon their spirits. But for these three young men, there was only their batting records, Takoyaki, and good company.
…
A lovely female reporter with long dark hair and large eyes looked up from her notes to the camera, maintaining a professional appearance in spite of the frightful news. "The vehicle chase earlier this evening is believed to be the actions of the local crime syndicate, the Sakura Clan. Motives behind this altercation are unconfirmed at this time, as the situation continues to develop. On sight witnesses claim that the pursuit originated in the warehouse district, and that the cars were led onto the freeway before exiting Kamuro jurisdiction. Seven traffic accidents occurred as a result of this incident, and eleven civilians were injured. Thankfully, however, no civilians were killed. Although, we do have four confirmed casualties involving those in the pursuit. Their identities are currently being investigated."
The girl laying in her bed doing her nails diverted her attention to the news more thoroughly as the report continued. She had been flipping through channels, absentmindedly using soap operas for background noise when she came upon this disturbing report, which did little to avail her already rattled metal state. She tried to focus more on her nails, but the thought of a gang war in the streets atop her other problems plaguing her mind was enough to make her shiver, lose focus, clam up.
Her name was Haru Okumura, and she was in some serious shit.
Haru was beautiful by all accounts. Her hair was a large, curly mound extending to all sides of her, sometimes referred to by Har as her "floof". Her skin was fair, her eyes large and enticing yet innocent. Her body was curvaceous and womanly, but toned thanks to her years of dancing practice. She was proud of her blessings inherited from her mother, though some more "traditional" Japanese individuals were put off by her full figure. She did her best to repress such superficial critiques. Her high-pitched, girlish voice betrayed her age of twenty, but there was a kindness and elegance to her speech that she valued, like that of Snow White in the classic Disney film. Truly, she was a beautiful young woman, and the inside certainly matched the outside. Kindness came naturally to her, and there was little she enjoyed more than making others happy.
But her life was full of things now that she enjoyed far less. After a long day of dutifully following her father to press events, she had locked herself away in her penthouse room to recuperate, find something to take her mind off the endless barrage of paparazzi questionings, the requirement to act as prim and proper as possible yet still not being able to meet her father's expectations even when she gave it all her effort, and the interactions with one Daigo Sugiwara.
Thank God he had only made a brief appearance to shake hands with her and her father. The way he leered at her, smirked at her, judged her, made her skin crawl and her hands clammy. He spoke to her as if there was some innate aspect of superiority to him, and inferiority to her. Yet when around her father, he acted like the most respectful and desirable future son-in-law a man could wish for. He was the future inheritor of a prodigious real estate company with strong ties to the political world. Having him in the family was perfect for her father, far less so for herself.
Haru hated the act she needed to put on for her father's sake, for the company's sake, but she still put on the act nonetheless. She was Kunikazu Okumura's only child, and with such a fate came expectations. Great, terrible expectations to be met and surpassed like a game of chess. She was a daughter, but also an asset. A valuable asset to her father, and she knew that in her heart. Yet she put up with her fiance's leers, her father's watchful gaze, the naysaying of the boards and committees. She was her father's daughter, and for that reason, she would meet the expectations placed upon her.
Even if those expectations made her wish for the sweet release of death at times.
In the midst of her revelry came a knock at the door that caused her to jump in her bed. "Haru," came her father's voice, "may I come in."
"Yes, Father," she said dutifully.
The doorknob twisted, and in walked the man of the hour, and every other hour by his daughter's reckoning. Still wearing his business suit, Kunikazu Okumura sat on the edge of his daughter's bed, folding his hands as he looked to the television. The news continued to report on the pursuit, and Haru's father looked concerned, crestfallen.
"Ah, I was just going to speak to you about that," he said.
"It's quite scary, isn't it?"
"Indeed. This, my dear, is why I am running for Prime Minister. To think these savages would wreak havoc in full view of the common folk is disgusting, would you not agree, Haru?"
"Entirely, Father."
"As I thought," he smiled to her. He did that rarely nowadays, unless he approved of something tangible she did. "I will be making arrangements to increase security at all further events, if only for our own peace of mind. Speaking of which, I hope this has not upset you too much."
Her father was a man of business, of diligence to a fault, but Haru knew there was some part of him that still loved her and truly cared for her, sans the business value she held. "It is terrifying, Father, but I am alright. I know you won't let anything happen to us."
"I'm glad you think so," he nodded. "Rest assured, daughter, their time of boyish samurai fantasies is coming to an end. Tatsu's regrettable passing has served to wake up the people of this country to the detestable nature of these men, and this incident will only help our cause further, if we act appropriately."
"I agree, Father." The words came as reflexively as breathing to her.
"Well, I'm glad you're holding up well. Strength runs in the Okumura blood, daughter, and I know you have inherited it in spades."
Yeah, sure. I guess…
Kunikazu stood to his feet, his expression becoming more serious. "Oh yes, and please, Haru, try to get along better with Daigo now, will you? I've already had to convince the press to not publish photos of you arguing with him this morning, and there is only so many times I can do that before people grow suspicious."
"Father, you don't understand," she tried to protest.
"A lover's quarrel, I know," he interrupted her dismissively. "Just please try to handle things more privately now, Haru." His expression softened once again. Anyone would see his eyes as pleading, apologetic, caring, but Haru knew how good of an actor her father was. He was a master of changing his demeanor on the fly for the camera. "You can do that for me, can't you? Not just for the company, but for myself, and your future."
He tried to grope me as I went into the bathroom, then called me fat again, and told me I was eating too much. I'd only had a couple appetizers. Haru hung her head low. "I understand, Father."
"There's a good girl," he smiled down at her. "Now, if you need anything else, please call me. I'll be in meetings most of the day tomorrow, but due to tonight's events, I don't want you going out tomorrow until we attend the award ceremony at the precinct. You most certainly will not be going out alone for the time being. I'm sorry for that, but I am just too concerned for your safety, daughter."
Then get me a new fiancé. "Thank you, Father," she looked back to her nails.
"You're welcome, my dear." Oh my god. "Sleep well, now. We have another busy day ahead of us tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Father. I love you."
"I love you too." He smiled to her and closed the door, leaving Haru alone once again.
She breathed out slowly, falling onto her pillow. She stared to the ceiling, feeling trapped, isolated, angry, but there was no way to act on any of those feelings without tarnishing her father's reputation and political endeavors. She truly was like a princess locked in a castle, she thought, as cliché as it may sound.
Sirens sounded off in the distance. The city bustled many floors below, and Haru was on the apex of becoming one of the most important people on earth by relation if her father became Prime Minister. And yet, she was sickened by the idea. She would be married off to Daigo immediately, a thought that truly terrified her given his tendencies. Her father would become more distant than he already was, leaving even more in the hands of her soon-to-be husband.
Haru curled up in a ball, tears falling down her face as she thought of his actions earlier that day, of the many times he called her "fat", demanded she lose weight or she "would not fit in her wedding dress". Yet, if ever he did anything to hurt her, it was always pinned back on her, for it was the men that held the power in this context. She was a tool, a womb to be sold off and produce more members of a new dynasty.
This was her fate. This was her daughters' fate. And for herself and her prospective future daughters, she cried into the pillow, alone, unheard. Many times had she done this, and yet, she could not scream. The marriage, the campaign, these were too important to her father, who would only tell her to buck up like a "good Okumura daughter".
Haru knew she would be considered a terrible Okumura daughter if she cried loudly, if she objected to the life created for her. So she did not scream like she wished to, but only wept softly into her pillow, for herself and her potential daughters. This was all she could do. This was all they would be able to.
Haru wept, for her fate was sealed the moment her mother conceived. She was not a woman, but a womb. She wished to scream, to run, to tell her father all she had ever thought of this marriage and this campaign, but such was impossible, the ramifications too great. She knew Daigo would be laughing if he saw her now.
Haru wept, until sleep took her at last…
[Reviews are always appreciated. If you have any questions, comments, critiques, or are interested in collaboration since this has become such a large project (we're only maybe half done), please feel free to DM me. Always looking for more people to enjoy the process with!]
