Enraged cheers fill her ears.
Okiku is entirely surrounded by boys that range from fourteen to seventeen years old, much like herself at fourteen, she is a sore thumb in the crowd. Proudly wearing her crimson school uniform from a private high school, there aren't few that don't take a peek at her, and different disheveled delinquents take their turns guessing what someone like her is doing here.
"Do you think she's Michimasa's girlfriend?"
"She's a rich girl that wants to have her fun mingling with low-lives like us."
"Maybe she has too much money and doesn't know where to spend it."
It's true that, at the start of this entire ordeal, Okiku didn't hide when she handed over a fat stash of cash to the guy dealing with the bets. And she didn't say, either, what exactly she was doing there besides betting and observing. Her nonchalance and appearance, both always working in her favor, have the entire crowd of boys reeling at her like rabid dogs. Always around her, but never daring touch her, as it is apparent in the empty space around Okiku's seat. Someone would call her a dog tamer if she cared enough to address such effect.
The mere sight of a girl has these boys, filled to the brim with hormones, drooling around her like hungry beasts. But Okiku isn't just an unexpected sight at this place, a remote fight club in Shibuya. but represents something deeper and more enigmatic than just a sight for sore eyes. She's a bizarre encounter between two worlds seemingly running parallel to one another, untouching and separate; the low and dirty land of teenage delinquents crashes against the schoolgirl from a good family when she makes her appearance, and most cannot fathom such a sight.
The flimsy guy she's betted on, a first year boy called Shinohara Hiro, stands the blows the best he can while unsurprisingly being unable to land any hit against his opponent, a guy that's already out of high school and working part time, Kakui Shoho. (One might wonder how she knows so much about the fight club's pawns, but to that she won't answer).
Okiku stares down at the arena like how a roman emperor might have stared down at the coliseum a hundred years ago. The scenario is set clear in her eyes; Shinohara, the unfortunate gladiator set on today's battle for entertainment, Shoho, the lions bound to eat him.
Okiku's phone pings with a sweet whistle, a strange noise that doesn't fit with the screams surrounding the pseudo arena. She changed the sound for Heiemon's contact to know it was him when he messaged. A picture of two kids smiling at the camera (on the day where they got their first piercing made, the girl had dragged the boy, and so he was convinced) welcomes Okiku when she unlocks her Sony Ericsson. Quickly, she checks Heiemon's text;
'Where are you? We're gonna be late.'
Okiku types a message with skillful fingers, overseeing the battle still ongoing on the ground. Shoho is panting now, surely tired from trying to hit Shinohara, who had changed strategies after the tenth punch and focused solely on dodging. As it's clear, he's definitely doing better.
'Don't worry, it's ending soon.'
The moment she hits 'send', Shoho finally collapses and Shinohara is left standing, covered in bruises, but still standing. He is quickly appointed winner and Shoho's friends go get him from the floor, as Shinohara abandons the stage and the various executives get ready for the next fight. Meanwhile, Okiku unceremoniously gets up and goes to get her money.
From all the fights taking place that 6th of July, this one was the most likely to have the competition betting on the loser. At first glance Shinohara was a weakling, known for stepping on his own feet since he was a kid, so no one would have thought him capable of winning a fight. It was this clumsiness, however, the one that made him get into athletics. Appointed by the doctor to get better control of his motor skills, Shinohara had been a member of the running track club since middle school, and one of the best runners from what Okiku had been told.
The amount of cash she gets handed by Kiyomasa is, compared to other fights, probably five times the usual.
"A pleasure doing business with you," Okiku mutters, accepting the money from a grudgy Kiyomasa who takes two seconds to let it go. "You know our deal," she says without pulling any punches, "someone will deliver this to you tomorrow morning. By then, I want your third division free and out of this place."
Her phone pings again with that tone and Okiku stuffs the money in her school bag, between the math homework and an essay for Japanese class she rushed before coming. Another ping and she knows she should get going.
They are already announcing the next fight by the time she's out the door. Wistfully, she hopes Hanagaki doesn't get too beaten up against Suzuhara.
Not that she cares about these delinquents anyway.
…
In the popular kabuki play, 'Yoshitsune and the Thousand Cherry Trees', Minamoto no Yoshitsune must depart on a journey to settle the political conflict arising in the family. But to do so he must leave his wife aside and Lady Shizuka is tied to a tree in hopes of preventing her from going through the dangers of such a conflict.
She is then later found by the enemy's party and resolved to be taken prisoner, but before it happens, a loyal retainer on her husband's side appears, defeating the others and escorting Shizuka to safety.
It is only much later that the retainer's supernatural origins are revealed, showing himself as a fox spirit and disappearing once his ultimate goal is satisfied.
The role of this spirit is often revered in a heroic light, deified in a tale about vengeance and honor whereas not many of these creatures are shown in a good light in other stories. In contrast to another instance in mythology where the kitsune takes the main role, the tale of the deceiving wife paints them as vicious beasts, playful things that take out the hearts of men who are unlucky enough to marry. It is mostly in these precautionary tales that the kitsune regains its femininity, weaponizing seduction for the sake of deceiving foolish men who don't know any better, while in other legends where the kitsune appears in a male role he loses his playful nature and becomes an ally instead.
The origins of most kabuki lay in real life occurrences, great events that shake history even to this day. One can only wonder if it was merely by chance that the kitsune revealed itself in the face of Shizuka's danger, or if it was perhaps the feminine quality so commonly found in these mischievous, traitorous and oftentimes mask bearer spirits the one that manifested within her. Revealing herself something greater at first glance when she's tied down and stripped of her agency, she is forced to become someone else and adopt the identity of a male counterpart. Only then is the kitsune praised for her lies.
…
'There are some guys following me,' she texts to Heiemon, trying to look distracted, 'I'll try and shake them off. Will be there shortly.'
It's not a lie. For the past fifteen minutes, a group of three suspicious looking guys have been following Okiku indiscreetly.
They have been since she walked out of the fight club, and probably think she was just lucky on her betting because they don't try to hide from her. Be it confidence or stupidity, they believe she won't know of their intentions, so laying low is not something they do.
She isn't familiar with their faces, so it's not a Ginnobikai issue, but she saw them among the group that circled the debt collector after Shoho's win and assumes they redirected their anger at her. Usually, when no one bets for the winner they give back the money and a defeat just becomes a lost opportunity.
This time, however, they think Okiku's taken their money away from them.
"There was no way she didn't trick us," one of them says too loudly. "She must have paid Shinohara to lose beforehand, how could she have known that sucker would win?"
Whoever knew of Shoho's background with running track and his daily activities like she did could have predicted he could outlast an opponent, no matter his strength, if he started dodging instead of hitting.
Nothing happens that doesn't reach her ears.
"When she goes into some deserted alleyway," another one quietly starts, "we'll corner her and take the money. We're three against one, and she's a girl anyway."
On the next cross for the closest backstreet, Okiku turns on her heel and patiently waits for the others to follow after her. Then they get closer, cracking her knuckles, and put on those wolfish smirks she knows so well.
'It's not a fair fight,' Okiku thinks, 'it's not a fair fight for them.'
The goons that follow Kiyomasa are like devilish cartoons, lower minions without half a mind of their own to do a better attempt at whatever this is, really. Even the kids at her old neighborhood were better at planning a daylight robbery.
If it were any other day, Okiku would have sent them a doe eyed expression, perhaps pleaded for mercy or played dumb before beating the shit out of them, but she isn't in the mood to bother with their foolish 'one liners'.
Their shadows against the wall, overlapping with Okiku's, add to her silhouette three forms that mimic long and curved shapes coming out of her shadow's back. In the air hangs the smell of something close to divine.
When they first met, Heiemon said Okiku was the best actress he had ever seen. It's no small compliment coming from someone whose entire life revolves around theater and, in truth to the estatement, the faces of these low life punks contort, changing into ones of pure and utter terror when Okiku shapeshifts. Her eyes sparkle red in the dark.
It's been a month since that day and Okiku needs a punching bag.
"What do you think you are doing?"
A fourth shadow joins the others in the wall. The punks that have been following Okiku retreat. Her tails hide away.
" Huh?" The most ferocious one turns to the newcomer baring the fangs he hadn't shown Okiku yet. He's unaffected by the sheer height of his opponent, nor by his absolute look of aggravation. "We're in the middle of some business here, brat."
"I asked," the tall figure speaks again. His words shake the fear-stricken punks to the core, "what do you think you are doing?"
"Boss, that tattoo…" one of them mumbles. His other 'friends' have started catching on, fidgeting on their feet. "That's a dragon in his temple!"
"It's Draken!" Someone finally yells. "Toman's vice commander!"
Okiku, who'd resigned to stare at the encounter between them, eventually tilts her head to catch better sight of the stranger. The words 'Toman' and 'vice commander' quickly catch her attention.
Draken doesn't waste time and reaches them with a firm stride, punching the leader in the face, knocking him unconscious in one move. "That's all you had?"
Not even a minute goes by before all the others are scurrying away like filthy rats. And once they've left, Draken crosses the street (walking over the still unconscious leader) and takes no time in approaching her.
There are few boys who have yet to hit their growth spurt at their age and from the ones that have, not many surpass 170cms. Okiku, who sat at an unusual 180cms for the average Japanese woman, wasn't used to looking up.
Unknowingly, she gulps.
"Are you okay?"
He looks genuinely concerned, the lightest furrow on his brow. She's heard so many things about Toman that tell her to be cautious. Okiku herself says to be cautious. It's Toman, after all, who hosts the fight club she's just back from.
"You don't look from around these parts." This Draken character stares down at her quizzically and about that estatement, Okiku must admit he's right. "Cat got your tongue?"
"Huh?" Perhaps playing the part of the shy schoolgirl too well, Okiku hasn't said a word just yet.
Even if this is a delinquent from Toman, she should swallow her pride and talk.
"Right, sorry." She coughs now, a blush going up her cheeks. Purposefully, Okiku looks away. "Thanks for that."
Okiku looks up at him through her bangs, a swift hand twirling around a playful lock of hair.
The perfect flustered schoolgirl, Heiemon would say, a flawless performance.
Draken looks unaffected, however. Perhaps she should bite her lip, look more embarrassed.
"How did you get tangled up with those guys?"
He should know, they were Toman, but maybe the vice leader is too busy stealing from babies to send his lackeys after helpless girls and they just took the lead.
"I'm not sure," Okiku looks away then, eyes fluttering from the floor to his face a few times. "I came here to work on a project for school, but I got lost on the way back. They probably thought I'd be quick cash." Now she stares right into Draken's dark eyes, holds his gaze with her own, "I got lucky you were here to save me."
Most would melt with her words (most did, anyways) but he just rubs at the back of his neck, (shaved, he must do it every morning) and shrugs nonchalantly.
"I won't ask what school you go to, but I'll say it's reckless to wear something like that around here."
Okiku has enough shame to look mildly embarrassed. No one expects someone like her to know how delinquents work, and her naive ignorance often makes people like him sympathize with her. "I'll try to be more careful."
She turns to leave, shily, but Draken stops her.
"It's getting dark," He estates the obvious. "I'll go with you to the station so this doesn't happen again. What line do you get on?"
Okiku ignores she has a scheduled date and lies, "the Asakusa line."
…