I'm mean. Deal with it. –TPP
Tipping The Scales
Chapter 4: Sinking Under The Surf
Kenpachi groaned deep in his chest, annoyed at the ringtone assigned to this particular person on his personal cell. It vibrated obnoxiously off the bedside table, playing a heavy metal chorus that made the man smile slightly despite himself as he grabbed for it and unlocked the screen with a heavy finger.
"Yeah?" he grunted, now sitting on the edge of the cold bed, the sheets no longer draped over his naked form. He rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, the grayish light coming in through the large windows along the backside of his bedroom telling him it couldn't be more than seven in the morning.
"You forgot I'm with you this weekend, didn't you?" the voice asked, the tone simple, clipped.
Zaraki sighed again, scratching his side, "Don't get pouty."
"Considering the fact that I slept in the penthouse by myself last night, I'm thinking you're at the mansion with another new toy?"
"None of your business, is it?"
Zaraki grinned at the answering laugh: it was rich and young, younger than the blonde still asleep in the bed next to him.
Urahara was an extremely attractive man, but he couldn't compete with Shuhei's youthful fire.
"Well, I guess I'll just have your blue-haired slave keep me entertained for the day."
Kenpachi groaned, "Don't tell me 'yer fuckin' him too, Shu. Let it all be a bad dream."
"He's really cute," Shuhei chuckled, making Kenpachi roll his eyes at the teenager's antics, "And no, I haven't fucked him yet, but maybe I will, seeing as you don't want to spend any time with me. You know I get bored easily."
Kenpachi glanced at the small metallic clock on the bedside table: it was barely seven in the morning, "I have an appointment at ten and a lunch meeting with the Old Man at twelve. I'll see you sometime after one."
"I dunno. I'm pretty pissed right now. How you gonna make it up to me?"
Barely having gotten any sleep and just now beginning to think about the headache that awaited him with the Aizen situation still not solved, Kenpachi let all the gruffness leak out of him and into the phone, "Look, Shu, I'm in a sticky situation with a dick head from somewhere up North leaking account information, and so far, I know fuck-all about it to talk about with my boss today as I watch him try to eat a chef salad with dentures. I love you, but you're testing my patience right now."
"Damn. Why didn't you just call me and tell me you were fucked for this weekend? Could've left you alone until the next."
"No way. You're mine this weekend."
"Alright, don't forget I love you. Tell your candy man I said hi."
"Yeah, love you too."
Kenpachi groaned as Shuhei chuckled and hung up and dropped his phone back on the table before rolling completely out of the bed and heading for the shower. He'd have to have a talk with his outspoken subordinates.
Zaraki knew his subordinates had incredible loyalty, but to be leaking around gossip like old women was getting old. They were supposed to be tightlipped about everything: it was laughable how much like teenage girls some of them could be, wanting to know who was fucking who.
Zaraki turned on the shower and rinsed off quickly, trying not to think about the blonde in his bed. Fuck, just thinking about that body was getting him half hard in the spray. He ignored it and soaped his hair, trying not to think about it too much.
If he was going to get any alone time with Shuhei, he'd have to convince the Old Man that they had their fingers in the right cookie jars and were on their way to uncovering something about the account thief from the North, this Aizen dick. Zaraki had never heard of him, but he knew the type and it was only a matter of time before one of his computer-savvy lower-ring people got him some real information. He'd already put Byakuya in charge and it was beyond frustrating to see that even the extremely reliable and duty-devoted soft-spoken yakuza had yet to come up with anything worth a shit.
It wasn't like Kenpachi could use Gin or Grimm on something like this: this was techy geek work reserved for those walking virgin cesspools Uryu and the pink-haired freak he couldn't remember the name of. Something French. Kenpachi hated the French, or maybe he just hated the glasses-wearing pain in the ass so much he'd just blame the whole country he came from.
But they were the best at what Kenpachi couldn't grasp, so Byakuya was utilizing them. Of course muscle like Renji and Grimm would be called on when things were a little more settled, but for now, everything was up in the air as they tried to figure out what family he was directing or working under. They'd triangulated the ghost business, a virtual nightmare of building blocks that just lead to an even deeper labyrinth.
And it wasn't even like those particular accounts were anything good: just reserve money, like this Aizen guy was toying with them, stretching his legs for the real marathon to come.
And Kenpachi didn't like that. Nobody fucked with 11th Division money and got away with it.
Uryu and Eiffel Tower had managed to create more complicated encryptions, but that wasn't going to be enough to track and nail this fucker. And at the end of the day, he'd just be giving the orders, not delivering the actual blows. That's what Gin was for.
But it was still a headache, and Kenpachi could feel the tension in his shoulders even after he was finished with his shower and the hot water was turned off, the strong jets not even enough to soothe his muscles.
On the upside, he would see Shuhei this afternoon, so it worked out quite well that Urahara had asked for the day off.
Kenpachi didn't usually give breaks, but he needed one, and Shuhei was waiting for him.
Two birds with one stone.
Zaraki sure as hell wasn't a vain man, but he would never tell a living soul how much time he spent brushing his uncooperative black hair. Sometimes it could be a real pain in the ass, and other days, it was smoother than silk. Today it was a rat's nest, probably from all the pulling a certain shopkeeper had been doing in bed earlier.
Too frustrated to spend any more time putting in various gel products to get his hair into his usual spikes, he left it down and dried his body thoroughly, reminding himself to hit the punching bag later if Shuhei didn't manage to make him a little more less agitated.
Urahara listened to the quieting sounds in the bathroom, trying not to feel anything.
His chest hurt.
He'd been awake ever since Kenpachi had answered his damned cell, the loud music having wakened Urahara instantly but dismissing it when Kenpachi just sounded annoyed. Trying to go back to sleep, he couldn't help but listen to the man's gravelly voice as he talked to whoever was on the other end.
Some Shu, a Shu who was apparently very, very important if Kenpachi's tone was anything to go by. Maybe Urahara hadn't known him long, but he could tell Kenpachi cared, not to mention they'd exchanged the three dreaded words.
His chest had hurt ever since.
He didn't like it.
He continued to keep his eyes closed, thinking about the day ahead. He had to get home to his son, pick up a cake on the way, try to do something special. Jinta got out of school around three, so he had until then to maybe put up some cheap decorations and go shopping for some ingredients to make a celebratory hot pot.
And a present, dammit. He knew they couldn't afford to get him that new gaming system he'd been talking about for months, but he'd figure something out.
Urahara buried his head deeper into his pillow, willing the ache in his chest to go away.
He couldn't control how many lovers Kenpachi had. Hell, why was Urahara even surprised? He could have twenty, all of them working off a similar debt.
It was then that Urahara felt like a true prostitute. He was sticky, his ass throbbed, his muscles were aching and his throat felt raw from screaming.
IT'S BUSINESS. This is a business, Urahara, nothing more.
Kisuke felt his traitorous heart whisper something different.
After shaving and some deodorant and incense cologne Shuhei had bought him, Kenpachi went back into the bedroom and opened his walk-in closet, selecting a charcoal grey suit with a white collared undershirt and silk cream tie. He dressed, donned a pair of dark leather shoes, grabbed his cell and headed for the kitchen, Urahara stirring slightly as he disappeared.
Kenpachi dialed out as he simultaneously rummaged in the fridge for something quick to eat: he wanted to get downtown to his office before the meeting and finish up a mountain of paperwork he'd left unattended in favor of having a night to work off his frustration with Urahara. He'd known he'd have to pay for it, but it had been worth it. The contracts for the new property weren't due for a few more days, so he wasn't worried.
"Hai, buchou?"
"Pick me up in twenty."
"A'course."
Kenpachi hung up on Gin, loving him for his punctuality and no-questions attitude. It was nice: Kenpachi could always depend on him to be a soldier first, a friend second. It wasn't often that he found himself friendly with his subordinates, but Gin and Grimm, if he was being honest with himself, were his favorites. Kuchiki was smart but a tight ass who couldn't unwind with a bottle of sake and have a few laughs like the silver-haired fox and the blue loud mouth. Ikkaku was getting there with his 'I'll never give up or admit defeat' attitude, but he was still a newbie, fresh in the game. He was learning, though, which Kenpachi appreciated. He was making a lot less mistakes (one of which was currently responsible for the tight, erotic shop keeper still sleeping in his bedroom).
And if Kenpachi was being totally, one hundred percent honest, he knew perfectly well that both boys looked to him as a true older brother figure, not just an 'older brother' in the yakuza sense. The Old Man had lectured Kenpachi for hours when he'd scooped the crazy blue-haired orphan off the streets years ago, impressed by his fighting ability and 'I will be king' attitude. Kenpachi wished the little bastard was his blood, 'cuz he was proud as hell of the little fucker. They were too much alike for his tastes sometimes.
And Gin had been a welcome surprise, the first of any of his subordinates to make him laugh, despite how dangerous his skill set was. They were the only subordinates Kenpachi allowed access to his homes uninvited, although the Old Man thought that kind of 'weakness' would be his downfall someday.
"How you manage to make men willing to die for you, I will never know, Zaraki.
I have no doubt of your strength, but you can be foolish.
One day, you will lend trust and loyalty to the wrong person, and then you will fall."
The old fuck sure could be condescending sometimes. Zaraki carried the words of warning with him out of habit: he tended to remember obnoxious words of wisdom over most other things, if only to scoff at them later while pouring a scotch.
He'd gotten to the top with his bare hands: more than the Old Man could say. He'd inherited the position. Kenpachi had been nobody, less than nobody from a shit world and a shit family. He'd been born in muck.
He thought briefly of the lotus blossoms adorning his hands, deep in his skin, a constant reminder of what could grow from shit and muck: strong roots, overwhelmingly bright blossoms, a resilient plant.
Kenpachi grabbed the toast he'd put in the toaster and ate it plain, chugging some orange juice straight from the container, careful not to spill any on his suit. After so many years of wearing them, they didn't bother him, but he'd kill to be able to wear a pair of sweats and a wife beater once in a while.
"Kenpachi, may I leave?"
Kenpachi turned to regard a half-naked Urahara, a bed sheet around his hips.
Oh yeah. His clothes were still outside by the Jacuzzi.
"Not like that, I hope," Kenpachi asked, finishing off his toast and cocking a hip against the kitchen island, "Got somewhere to be?"
"Can I spend the day with my son or not?"
Kenpachi narrowed his eyes slightly at the tone: what was wrong with him?
"Yeah. I got business to deal with. Get dressed: my car will be here in fifteen. Unless you wanna sleep –"
"No thank you."
Kenpachi held in a hiss as Urahara bowed slightly and made his way to the sliding doors and let himself out onto the patio to retrieve his clothing.
Whatever the hell act this was, he didn't like it at all.
When Urahara returned, he was dressed, his face blank as he asked Kenpachi politely for something to drink.
"Your arms broken? Get it yourself."
Kenpachi watched the mechanical way in which Kisuke retrieved a carton of juice from the fridge and rooted around the various cupboards to find a glass, saying nothing as he sipped it and waited with Kenpachi in the silence.
"So you gonna tell me what crawled up your ass? 'Cuz last time I checked, my dick was the last thing in there."
Urahara set his glass down, giving Kenpachi a half-smile, his bangs draping down the center of his forehead, "I'm fine. Just a little sore."
"You can stay, I ain't kickin' you out. I'll give you Grimm's number and when you wanna leave, he'll drop you off."
"Thank you, but no. I'd rather shower at home, and I have a lot to get done before my son gets home from school. I want to surprise him."
Kenpachi listened to the tone: it was much, much more polite than the almost biting tone from earlier, like he was slowly getting himself more and more under control.
To hell with this shit.
He reached down and unzipped his expensive suit pants, tugging his dick free from the silk boxers, "We got ten minutes. Suck me."
Urahara picked up his glass, finished the last bit of juice, and set the cup back down before coming around the island and getting on his knees.
"Tch," Kenpachi quickly tucked himself away before Urahara could touch him, his head cocking up to study Kenpachi's face.
His guts squirmed around: he didn't like the look on Urahara's face at all. His eyes were wrong.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Urahara just blinked, "Well, I was going to suck you off in your beautiful kitchen, but I guess you changed your mind."
Kenpachi grit his teeth, grabbing Urahara's hair and tugging him up as he winced at the pain, "Mind games don't work on me, princess."
"You're hurting me."
The tone was even, polite. Kenpachi tugged him fully upright before slamming him against the kitchen island, knocking the breath from him, his fingers curled in the front of Urahara's shirt.
"I don't fuck robots, so either change your tampon or tell me what the hell is wrong with you."
Urahara's eyes narrowed slightly, "Don't act like you care. You bought me: this is just good business."
Kenpachi was suddenly furious, "Who the fuck do you think you are 'ta talk to me like that?"
Urahara's eyes went flat again, "I'm a desperate man who'll do anything for his son. You already know that. I won't let you sell my store, and I sure as hell won't let you take my son, so if I have to suck you off, let you fuck me, so be it. You didn't buy me to talk to me, did you? That'll cost extra."
Kenpachi lost it. He slapped Urahara, the sound deafening in the quiet space. He then punched Urahara, pushing him to the tile, covering his squirming body with his own.
"Watch. Your. Fuckin'. Mouth," Kenpachi annunciated, practically seeing red as he sat on Urahara's chest and pulled his piece he'd stashed in the back of his waistband. Practiced fingers unlocked the safety, pressing the barrel underneath Urahara's chin, "Before I blow your brains out. Maybe I'll even fuck you bloody before leavin' your body for your bouncin' baby boy 'ta find on his special day."
Urahara's whole body jolted like Kenpachi had already shot him, his eyes closing before opening slowly.
"I'm sorry. I will never disrespect you again."
"Fuck," Kenpachi said, clipping the safety before tucking the Sig back again and assaulting the blonde's mouth. Urahara was still shaking slightly, making Kenpachi's insides squirm again.
Dammit. How many years had it been his job to create fear? He didn't like the shopkeeper like this.
He leaned back again, trying to ignore the tears gathering in Urahara's eyes. He leaned forward again, yanking on Urahara's hair, "Don't. Fucking. Cry. I hate crying."
"I'm sorry."
Kenpachi got up, thankful that the front door was slammed open by his silver-haired subordinate who wandered in to see Urahara getting up from the floor, the side of his face already swelling, wiping tears from his face as Kenpachi stood rigid, hands in his suit pockets, not too far away.
"Mah, buchou, wha's goin' on?"
"Take him wherever he wants to go. I'll take the car in the garage," Kenpachi said, walking to a side cabinet and grabbing a set of keys out of the knife drawer before disappearing through the living room. The door slammed, making Urahara and Gin both flinch.
"Mah, whad'ya do, sensei?" Gin murmured, helping his old professor off the floor and looking at his face with a bit of concern.
Gin felt like he'd be sick when Urahara chuckled and shook his head, a small smile on his lips, "I did something really, really stupid."
Gin went to the freezer, removing a bag of pees and bringing it back to Urahara who just shook his hands as if to refuse.
"And wha' was tha', exactly?"
Urahara wiped his eyes and focused on his son. He wanted to get going, and Gin was going to get him out of this hellhole and back to the only thing that made his life worth living.
"I got jealous."
Kenpachi exited the elevator, heading directly for the penthouse, loosening his tie on the way. His day was just bloody fucking peachy so far, and he would commit seppuku if he had had to sit with the Old Man one more fucking minute. He'd escaped as quickly as possible, calling Kuchiki and telling him he didn't want to see his face until he had something solid on Aizen, and then driven quite illegally back to the penthouse, hoping Shuhei would be what he needed to calm the fuck down.
When he stepped inside, he knew his killing aura was potent because his blue-haired subordinate who had been relaxing on the couch next to a video-gaming Shuhei took one look at him and hopped up, grabbing his suit jacket and pack of cigarettes.
He simply saluted his buchou with two fingers to the temple before closing the door to the penthouse behind him. Kenpachi didn't know if he was pissed he hadn't gotten to throw a tantrum or thankful that Grimmjow had been smart enough to get the hell out while he had the chance.
Shuhei continued the level, shooting sounds and cries leaving the screen as Zaraki headed straight for the bar and his favorite bottle.
He downed two crystal brandy cups before Shuhei paused the game and stared at him, his arms over the back of the couch, "So what's got your panties all in a bunch?"
Zaraki downed another glass before looking at the extremely attractive eighteen year old, noticing his spiky black hair was in need of a cut.
"You need a haircut: I sure as hell give 'ya enough money per week. Walk your ass to a barber shop."
Shuhei grinned slowly, Kenpachi deflating: this kid always saw through his bad moods.
"How 'bout you take a seat, have another drink, and I order some pizza and we ignore that you are emotionally retarded?"
Kenpachi sighed, setting his drink down only long enough to removed his suit jacket and unbutton his shirt and throw his tie, "I don't want pizza."
Shuhei got up from the couch, approaching the intimidating man, slipping his arms around him in a hug. Kenpachi didn't want to give in right now: he was still pissed from this morning, something that made his gut roll all wrong. He'd slapped and punched plenty of people before. Fuck, even shooting someone didn't make the giant flinch, so why did he feel so fucking guilty over what he'd done to Urahara?
Finally Kenpachi rested his chin on top of Shuhei's spiky head, absorbing the affection and trying to forget about the shopkeeper.
"Dad, you didn't have to do all this."
"Of course I did! You only turn sixteen once! Eat up, eat up!" Urahara said, clapping his hands together as Jinta began to dig into the delicious hot pot Starrk had helped him make. A small coconut-flavored cake was waiting on the counter for later. Starrk sat to the left, a party hat tilted sideways on his brown locks as he ate slowly. Jinta had refused to wear a birthday tiara Urahara had found at the dollar store, so he himself was wearing it (no sense in letting it go to waste).
After dinner and big thick slices of cake, Urahara presented a small tissue-wrapped box to Jinta, "Happy birthday, Jinta."
Jinta opened it, smiling, "Thanks, dad."
Urahara nodded, giving his son a hug as he tried not to think about the silver locket that used to belong to his sister. He'd told Jinta the real story a few years ago, unable to keep lying to the kid or have him wonder what really happened to his mother. He'd been so young at the time, and now Kisuke felt strong enough to part with the piece of jewelry she had been wearing when she died. Kisuke had kept it safe all this time, not knowing if he could ever part with it, but he hadn't been able to think of anything else to give Jinta for a present. It was the most sentimental, beautiful thing he could think of.
As soon as Jinta slipped it on and tucked it under his shirt, the front door was being banged against.
"They wanna go to the arcade for a while," Jinta said, giving his dad another hug, "But maybe we can watch a movie later?"
"Sure! Go be youthful, my son," Urahara encouraged, watching Jinta leave the apartment with a small herd of friends from school. It was nice to see Jinta was so popular.
He started clearing up the dishes, Starrk leaning against the sink as it filled with water.
"So we going to talk about the bruise on your face or do I get to wait for that story too?"
Urahara sighed: he'd told Jinta he'd hit the side of the counter at work and Jinta had been quick to write it off because he was usually a klutz, but of course Starrk would know better.
So Urahara decided to bite the bullet.
"I'm sleeping with a loan shark to clear the debts to the shop. I mouthed off. I shouldn't have. The end."
Starrk stared at him, and the silence spoke more than yelling or screaming.
He finally sighed, "Ki, you should have told me. I have some money saved up…"
"This is my battle, Starrk. Please stay out of it."
"Not when Jinta's involved. They'll take him, Kisuke. You know that."
"I have his word. I'll just keep spreading my legs and nobody gets hurt. Simple."
Starrk approached him, lifting his hand to slide it along the side of his jaw, careful of the purpling mark, his eyes sad, "No, Ki: you're the one who gets hurt."
"That's collateral damage I'm willing to live with," Urahara replied, moving his face away from Starrk's gentle hand, "Seriously, Starrk, I have this under control."
Starrk shook his head and picked up some dishes, cleaning them in silence. Urahara gathered the last of the plates and dried what Starrk finished, wanting more than anything to escape the tension in the cramped living space.
When they finished and Kisuke was wiping the table down, there was another knock at the door.
Starrk was passed out on the couch already, so Kisuke answered it, surprised beyond belief to see Grimmjow standing there, grinning with a bulky, crappily-wrapped box.
"Special delivery for the birthday boy," he said, holding it out for Urahara to take.
"This is a joke, right?" Urahara almost growled, not liking Grimmjow's smile.
"If it makes you feel better, he told me I had no limit on the credit card. 'Just pick out something you'd want' he said. Your kid's gonna flip, I promise," he said, trying to make Urahara take it.
"I don't want it," Urahara hissed, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him.
Grimmjow raised a blue eyebrow, "Well 'ya might wanna peak first before you say that. Seriously, Candy, this is –"
"I have nothing against you, Grimmjow, and I'm sure under different circumstances, we could be quite good friends, but all I want right now is for yakuza to stay away from my son and my home. Do you understand?"
Grimmjow sighed, setting the package down on the ground at his feet, hands in his pockets, "Look, Candy, I know a thing or two 'bout buchou, and I think I like 'ya enough 'ta tell you that he doesn't give his fuck toys presents. Ever."
"He knows my son is off limits. I don't appreciate him trying to be funny, especially after this morning."
Grimmjow looked unfazed, "Are ya having a hissy fit 'cuz he's spending time with Shu? Is that what this is about?"
Urahara felt instant anger in his gut at the mention of the lover's name, "No, Grimmjow. This is about Kenpachi's word as a man to stay away from my son, and this, giving him an extravagant gift, is not staying away. I won't accept it. Just return it or keep it for yourself."
Grimmjow scratched at the back of his neck, sighing, "You're a pain in the ass, Candy. I don't think you're pickin' up what I'm layin' down here."
"This is a business arrangement. He bought me; that's how this is supposed to work. No gifts, no presents, no home deliveries from yakuza lap dogs-"
"Careful, Candy. I take offence 'ta that," Grimmjow growled, narrowing his bright summer blue eyes, "I've earned my marks, I'm only doing him a favor as family, 'cuz Gin's busy and you don't know anybody else, but you better be careful how you talk to me, 'cuz your face already looks like its in pain."
"Compliments of your buchou."
Grimmjow shook his head, "If buchou had meant 'ta hurt you, you'd probably be dead."
Urahara stiffened at that and didn't say a word as Grimmjow bent down and picked up the gift again, depositing it into Urahara's hands, "Just give it 'ta the kid. He deserves something nice: suck up that stupid pride and work your fuckin' problems out with buchou. I've never seen him that pissed with his son in the room."
Urahara watched Grimmjow start to walk down the hallway, his brows drawn together, "Son?"
Grimmjow stopped and looked at him as he hit the button for the elevator, "Yeah, his son Shuhei. He's in town for the weekend. Even buchou's cunt of an ex-wife couldn't win that custody battle."
Urahara's face must have betrayed some kind of surprise because Grimmjow started laughing as he backed into the now-open elevator, "Oh shit! Ahahaha! This is better than tv!"
Urahara didn't have enough time to be annoyed because the doors closed and Urahara lugged the package inside, setting it on the table, taking a peak under the wrapping, his eyes going wide.
The brand new video gaming system Jinta had wanted. Either Grimmjow was a video game nerd or had wired the apartment. Urahara hoped it was the first option.
But the words finally sunk in, the tightness in his chest disappearing.
A son, not a lover.
Urahara went to take another shower to clear his head, his bruised face begging for more advil.
"Wow, dad. You're whipped."
"Shut up, Shu."
"I think it's cute," Shuhei said, cursing when his father managed to kill his ninja on the flat screen tv, "dammit. For an old man who never has time to even watch tv, how are you so good at kicking my ass?"
"I'm your dad. It's part of the description," he said, reaching over and ruffling his only son's hair until his hand was smacked away.
"So when do I get to meet the love of your life?" Shuhei teased.
"Don't push it. I'll send you back to your mom's."
Shuhei rolled his eyes, "We both know that's an empty threat, Kenny."
Kenpachi growled, "You're lucky you're my only child."
"Is he cute? 100,000 yen says he's blonde."
Kenpachi knew better than to bet against his son: he liked to gamble way too much and was just about as good with investing money as Kenpachi was, "Stupid bet."
"You've never been this pissed off over a toy. You sure you're not dating him?"
"Shu, I'm gonna kick your ass."
Why did he tell his son anything? Christ, it was like he was a little annoying sorcerer. Kenpachi chalked it up to his ex-wife's bloodline: that kind of devilry sure as hell hadn't come from him.
"You suck at emotions. You and mom were only happy when you were making each other miserable. You're just scared 'cuz this mystery man makes you happy without having to make him miserable."
Kenpachi stared at his son, forgetting the game, which led to Shuhei destroying his ninja and making him woop in victory at his dad's obvious lack of attention.
Shit. No way that was true.
Shuhei rolled his eyes, "Don't look at me like that. Who knows you better than me besides your sexy little lackeys? You know I'm right."
"It's for the debt. That's the only reason he's involved with me."
"Then clear the debt and start over," Shuhei said with a shrug, "from what you told me, that shop is chump change. You've never coerced a debt payer before, idiot! The Zaraki Kenpachi I know would've took everything away from him before he could blink. Face it: you're totally smitten. If it makes you feel any better, I'd be willing to throw away 7 mil for love."
LOVE?
"No more talking," Kenpachi grumbled, starting up a new level. Shuhei just laughed.
So much for the big, bad, scary yakuza.
