Chapter Fifty-One: A Ruthless Trap
The muraled door slid open and Mama stepped through, entering Ishida's room.
The space felt different at night. Recessed lighting lit the walls and furniture in pristine white, highlighting artwork and décor and emphasizing its modern aesthetic. The green theme wove its way through it all, but there was something sanitized about it. Superficial. The majesty of the forests and the mountains without the dirt.
Then her attention gravitated to the array of windows and the glittering endlessness of the city at night. At so many stories above the ground, the view of the financial district was breathtaking. Yet again, she was struck by the surrealness. Tiny points of light flowed down thoroughfares and snaked along unseen train tracks. Each representing a person and a life yet devoid of detail and humanity. It would be easy to forget that the world below was real from such a lofty perch.
The sound of rippling plastic drew her back.
Secured along the frame, a large tarp covered the shattered window and she watched as the wind teased at it through the gap. The world truly did exist beyond the glass. She just needed to keep pressing at the cracks.
"Higurashi-san?" Yukina spoke up, touching her gently on the arm.
Mama spied back at her and smiled softly. "Don't worry. I was just taking a moment to enjoy the view."
She nodded, pride warming her cheeks. "It's the best in the city."
"I don't doubt it," she agreed, and her smile broadened, "To have the privilege to work in a place filled with such opulence must be quite the honor."
Yukina sighed. "Even if this were a hole dug in the mud, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. I owe everything to Lady Oya."
Mama blinked. "I had assumed you were indebted to the clan and forced to—"
"It's not like that," she interjected firmly. Then, surprised by her own vehemence, her voice faltered, "At least, it's not for me."
Unfazed, she waited. "Go on. Tell me."
"When I was a teenager, my homelife was… My father… He…" Biting the inside of her lip, she shook her head. "Well, it wasn't good and I ran away. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I thought it would be easier being on my own except I didn't have a plan or friends. I ended up homeless, taking shelter at one of the city's temples. The gardens were what drew me and kept me there. They were so splendid, lush and green. I'd walk them for hours and forget my trauma and despair. A piece of solace in an uncaring city. And then one day down a secluded trail, I met her."
Though her eyes were on Mama, her gaze was somewhere else. Somewhere in bloom.
"Have you ever been at your lowest point," she asked, almost in whisper, "Where you were exhausted, dirty and raw from the world, and looked at something so beautiful that it hurt? So breathtaking that you physically felt pain because of it?"
Mama remembered the trees at her shrine, cycling through the seasons as Oya approached, her braids flowing behind her.
And she swallowed dryly.
"I fell to my knees and cried when I met her," Yukina continued. "And in her grace, she lifted me up and demanded Ishida take me home. But when I said I had no home, she decided right there to give me one. Since then she's cared for me and protected me. Given me purpose. Looking back, I know I'd be dead without her."
"That was generous of her, Mama noted warmly. "To take you in and offer refuge."
She nodded.
"But what about those she didn't protect?" she asked, her face remaining kind as she wielded her words like a scalpel. "What about the homeless girls she exploited through her clan's business? They had lives, too, worthy of grace."
"I don't know…"
"Benevolence granted to a few doesn't excuse atrocities committed against many."
"I don't—"
"That's enough," a man growled.
Propped up by pillows and with the head of his bed fully inclined, Ishida sat, scowling at Mama. Medical equipment mounted on casters flanked his bed, unplugged and disregarded. His attention turned from her to the young woman.
"Yukina," he barked, "Go put together some dinner for me, please. Soba if you can find it."
Relief escaped her in a sigh, and she gave him a quick yet polite bow. "Yes, of course." Then she scurried out of the room, the door shutting behind her with a soft tap.
He watched her go and when she disappeared, his eyes snapped to Mama.
Keeping her expression a neutral mask, she met his glare in return.
"I know what you're trying to do," he said coolly, "But leave her alone. She's not going to betray Lady Oya, so you're only distressing her. Her life's been hard enough without losing the only people who have ever cared about her like family."
"Like family?" she asked dubiously, her eyebrow arched.
"What do you think a yakuza clan is? A found family of siblings and patriarchs. People who form bonds and serve roles. Live like brothers under the care and discipline of a father."
"Under the care of a father?" she noted pointedly. "But not under a mother?"
He snorted and shook his head with incredulity. "You're as sharp as a knife."
"Sometimes."
"Well, I don't have a need for a knife right now," he asserted and then nodded towards the overbed table stowed beside a nearby wall outlet. Plugged in and ready, an electric kettle sat upon it along with a cannister of loose leaf and a cast iron tea set. "A cup would be nice before dinner. Make it for me, please."
After granting him a cordial bow, she approached the table and clicked the kettle on and as it started with a soft hiss, she picked up the tea cannister and popped off its bamboo lid. The delicate, floral scent of jasmine wafted through the air and she suppressed a chuckle.
"What?" he asked.
"It's the same tea that I served Lady Oya when she visited my shrine. It seemed like a good fit then."
"It's a favorite," he commented coolly, "And even more proof of why she shouldn't have brought you here. You're disruptive and distracting."
She hummed thoughtfully as she filled the tea basket. "I'm an observant and curious type. And if my expressing that proves disruptive or distracting, you must ask yourself what is it that I'm seeing that makes you so anxious and prone to deflecting?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
The water in the kettle began to boil and she turned it off.
"I'm not intimidated by you," he assured.
She smirked. Steam curled from the kettle's spout as she poured it into the teapot. From within, the tea's aroma blossomed brightly, filling the room. "I wouldn't insinuate that you're intimidated by me, yet by commenting on my sharpness in lieu of answering a question, you appear to suggest otherwise."
He scowled.
"So," she asked, unplugging the kettle and wheeling the table towards his bedside, "Why is it under the care of the father and not the mother?"
His jaw working, he glared at her.
She waited, her manner unaffected as she positioned the table over his bed and filled his cup with tea.
Then he blew out a breath and mumbled a string of obscenities. "It's assumed that the clan is governed by a father and she takes advantage of that. She's fond of adoption and absorbs weaker clans under her rule, but the newest children always need time to adjust. And so, she lets them believe that this family operates in the same way as their old family."
"When she came to visit me," she remarked as she tucked her hands into her sleeves, "I had deduced that her reclusiveness was out of fear of rejection. It's good to know what convenient excuse she uses for hiding."
His eyes narrowed. "Are you pining for death, woman?"
She glanced up at a katana mounted over the head of his bed, artfully uplit in green. "No, I'm not. And in truth, what you find infuriating about me is exactly why I'm still alive. It's why my family is still alive." She smiled wryly. "And it brings me to my next question for you. Why don't you want her to kill me?"
"What do you mean?"
"Now don't get me wrong. You'd be pleased if I was no longer a distraction. But earlier, when she and I were engaged in our conversation, you were serious about having me killed or tortured, yet you balked at her being the one to do it. Why? She's more than capable of it and as the matriarch of her clan, it's her right to defend it against disruptions and threats. So, why did you challenge her on it?"
He gritted his teeth.
She raised an eyebrow and watched him.
The tea slowly cooled in his cup.
"I'm not challenging her," he finally growled under his breath, "I'm protecting her."
"From what?"
"From pain," he admitted and then picked up his tea and downed it. The empty cup clattered onto the table, and with his thumb, he swiped at a dribble leaking from the corner of his mouth. "You know what she is."
"A kirin."
"Then you should also understand why she shouldn't be in that position." His attention drifted away, drawn towards the forested murals, and his scowl softened. "You know that when she walks across the grass, she doesn't bend a single blade. I've been her lieutenant for years, escorting her to the temple gardens every month on holy days, and not once has she left a trail. I still have a hard time conceiving of that level of gentleness. But the animals know it. They gravitate towards it, attracted to her grace and soothed by her aura."
"The insects," Mama marveled, thinking back. "When she visited, they crawled up through the bricks, beckoned by her. But none were crushed when she passed."
"A kirin isn't meant to kill, and I will do anything to protect her. Bear her burdens even if she feels otherwise."
"You sound like you love her."
His expression turned cold and hard, and their eyes locked. "She's my family. All that I have. And I would raze this city to the ground to save her. None of it would be left. I'd burn it all."
Mama swallowed as her resolve wavered and she took a step back.
"You understand what that means, don't you?" he added. "You've felt it for your own. That's what I'm willing to do. Remember it."
And again, she looked up at the katana that loomed over his bed like an executioner's axe.
"I will," she vowed.
OOOOOOOOOO
Leather-soled shoes clapped against the floor, echoing down the hallway. Dressed in his favorite white suit, Kurosawa strode with purpose, a smug smile curling his lips. A step behind him, Hyousuke hustled, out of breath. Dark bags underscored his eyes and his skin appeared waxy and pale. But he wore his brown suit crisply and his head was clean shaven. Quickly though, as they made their way through the endless labyrinth of the tower's top floor, his pace began to flag.
"Keep up, Hyousuke," Kurosawa barked, his impatience clipping his words. "You know how long I've been waiting for this moment."
"Yes, oya-jii," he replied, perspiration dappling his bald pate. "My apologies, sir."
Kurosawa's smile returned and his stride quickened. For nearly a year, ever since his initiation into the Shikai Clan, he had bowed and scraped for their mysterious oyabun. A glowing-eyed monster that hardly no one knew about, or at least, no one was willing to confess what they knew. When the demon had come for him a few days ago, he had hoped what intel he had fed him would have spelled death for one of them, especially after seeing the parking structure rubble. To his chagrin, they both lived. But as one door shuts, another opens. He would take back what was his and with interest.
"Is it set up and ready?" he asked over his shoulder.
Hyousuke nodded, panting. "Yes, sir."
His smile broadened into a menacing grin. "Good."
A young woman in a fine kimono waited ahead of them and both men slowed as they approached.
"Kurosawa-san," she welcomed with a bow, her hair ornaments jangling. "I hope this evening finds you well and thank you for coming on such short notice. Our oyabun appreciates your dedication."
Without acknowledging her greeting, he stopped at the muraled panel beside her and began to adjust his cuffs and straighten his suit. He glanced at Hyousuke and a flash of disgust wrinkled his nose. "You're sweating. Dry your face." Then he eyed the lump in his breast pocket. "And fix that, too."
"Yes, sir," he replied and pulled out a handkerchief from inside his coat and started to dab.
He watched him as he cleaned up, and once he was satisfied, he gave him a nod of approval and his attention flew to the woman. "You."
"Yukina," she corrected.
"I don't give a %$&#," he said flippantly. "Are we doing this or not? Open the door."
She pressed her lips into a thin line.
"Are you deaf?" he asked, snapping his fingers in her face. "Let's go."
She took a deep breath. "This way if you would, sir." Then she reached for a hidden handle and slid the panel open, revealing a room.
With his head held high like a preening rooster, he sauntered inside with Hyousuke trailing behind him. The room boasted a familiar set up for the tower, filled with expensive furnishings, exquisite artwork, and an almost panoramic view of the city's skyline. He wore a mask of indifference as he pored over the space, reimagining it in his own style.
A wry smile spread across his face.
"Ishida-san," he greeted with exaggerated warmth, his eyes bright and his teeth sharp. "Glad to see you lived."
Clothed in a designer dress shirt and slacks, Ishida glared at him from the comfort of a hospital bed, his attendant nurse standing close beside him. Tight under his pantleg, the bandage around his thigh bulged.
"Raiden," he greeted in return, enunciating the man's first name with mocking relish.
Kurosawa's smile transformed into a scowl. "I see that your brush with death has done nothing for your manners."
"I'm only granting you the respect you deserve and nothing more."
He scoffed. "Yet here I am, personally summoned by our oyabun. And from your sour expression, I can tell it wasn't your idea. Your esteem, good or foul, must mean nothing before our father. How does that taste? Bitter, no doubt."
"You'll reveal what you are," Ishida spat. "Garbage in a nice suit is still garbage. You can't hide your rotten stink despite all that cologne."
"Ooh," he hissed.
"Enough," a voice commanded.
Kurosawa spun on his heel and his eyes widened.
Seated cross-legged in an antique armchair, a dark-skinned woman stared at him, her chin resting in her elegant hand. Her countenance was cool and dispassionate, but her black eyes bored deep into him. A strange mist fell over his senses. The chill of an autumn morning along a reed-choked creek overwhelmed him and he felt his fight slipping with the water's gentle babbling.
"Who are you?" he asked, his words slurring as he shook his head, driving the imagery from his mind.
"I'm your oyabun," she replied, then gestured towards him. "Bow and show me the deference I deserve."
He froze, staring at her. This wasn't right. An oyabun was a man. A Japanese man. What kind of ridiculous ruse was this? Was Ishida toying with him? Had he demanded for him be summoned so that he could have another chance to humiliate him again? He'd kill them for this. First, they stole his clan, and now they further insult him with this farce. If they hadn't forced him to leave his weapons in the lobby, he would slay them all right now.
"Bow," she commanded.
And the weight of a mountain crushed him.
His knees struck the floor with a heavy thump followed by the palms of his hands. The fresh scent of pine filled his nostrils and he couldn't tell if it was the wood polish pressed against his nose or the forested dell that filled his vision.
"Thank you," she said dryly from her chair.
Trembling, he pushed up against the weight, lifting his head. As he struggled against it, sweat beaded his brow and a long tendril of drool seeped from his mouth. His wide-eyed gaze rose from her feet until he spied her burning, opalescent eyes.
She was the one behind the screen during his initiation into the clan. There was no doubt in his mind. He had finally met the oyabun of the Shikai Clan.
A foreigner. A woman. A monster. Could he have hoped for anything better?
"Forgive my earlier impudence," he sputtered, spraying saliva onto the floor. "It's my honor to serve you, oya-jii."
She regarded him for a moment, watching him as his body shook and his collar soaked up his sweat. Then a smirk kinked her lips and the weight pressing him down evaporated.
Heaving gasps rolled through his body as he gulped down air into his oxygen-starved lungs. Unsteadily, he climbed back to his feet and pulled a handkerchief from inside his coat to dry his neck and face. As he regained his bearings, he glanced back at Hyousuke. He still sat on the floor, terror stealing what color he had left. But the angle was fine, so he let him be.
"I appreciate your dedication to my service," she said, the glow in her eyes dimming to black.
He turned back towards her.
"And while your reputation precedes you," she continued. "I'm in need of someone who isn't afraid to be ruthless."
"Ruthless?" Ishida interrupted. "He started a gang war inside his own clan and ripped it apart for the sake of power. He's not trustworthy and he doesn't care about family. It would be foolish—"
She raised a finger in his direction. "Quiet."
He growled under his breath but said no more.
"Ishida is right," she agreed. "You aren't trustworthy and you have no care for family. But it's for those reasons that I've summoned you. The demon is in hiding and I need someone of your caliber to flush him out into the open."
"You want me to find the demon?" Kurosawa asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I want you to create havoc. Stir up the city. He fancies himself a guardian of the people. Their protector. I want you to drive him from his pathetic hole with blood and fire, and when he pokes his head out, we take it off."
With his confidence bolstered, he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. "A war, huh? That'd lure him out. But it's messy and attracts a certain kind of unwanted attention, speaking from experience. If I might suggest, unlike me, he's a little more sensitive about his allies. Gut one of them, and he'll come running. His little sidekick on the motorcycle. Or better yet the girl. There are a few things I could do to her to get his blood boiling and have a little fun while I was at it."
"No! You can't!" the nurse half-shouted before her hand flew to her mouth.
The oyabun eyed her obliquely.
"Hush," Ishida whispered.
Without a word, she nodded and turned to the window, losing herself in the city.
Kurosawa's eyes narrowed as he watched the three of them, sensing a secret.
The oyabun's attention returned to him. "Attacking his family is a card I'm not willing to play yet. The city will do. Especially around Namidabashi, his new namesake."
He stared at her, his mind working as he pried at what was there but unspoken. He called them allies, but she regarded them as family.
"Kurosawa?" she called out when he didn't respond.
People she's not willing to attack… yet.
"Kurosawa?"
Then it clicked, and a wicked smile cut his face, exposing teeth and malice.
"My apologies," he feigned. "It will be an honor, oya-jii, to do what I do best. A war in the city? Consider it done tomorrow morning."
"If you're successful and the demon, with his soft heart, is slain, I intend to promote you. You'll be my shateigashira, second lieutenant, and outranked by only Ishida himself."
He bowed deeply at the waist, exuding deference. "Then I look forward to my upcoming promotion. Now, if there are no other details that need imparting, I must rally our brothers, because tonight, the burning begins."
Satisfied, she waved him off. "Have at it. You're dismissed."
Leaning over, he grabbed Hyousuke by the collar of his coat and hauled him to his feet. The man flopped as though he were rubber, but he found his footing, and when he felt steady, Kurosawa let him go.
Together, they granted her another bow and slipped from the room, heading alone down the hallway.
"Did we get it, oya-jii?" Hyousuke mumbled, his body trembling with chills.
With a fang clipping his lip, Kurosawa smirked and reached for his lieutenant's breast pocket. From it, he plucked a small smartphone, the eye of its camera in line with a small hole in the pocket. He tapped the red button on the screen, ending the recording.
"Yes, we did," he mused as he scrolled through the video, earmarking clips. "And now it's time to make a little movie about a monster who imagined herself as an oyabun. And more than that, I'm all but certain that she's currently harboring the family of her clan's worst enemy." He chuckled darkly. "To think I believed that I would be perpetrating the greatest act of betrayal today. This tower will be mine before the day is done tomorrow."