Marquis sat opposite the old man as the tension in the room slowly rose, enough to permanently quiet even Amelia, who stood by his side, her usual curiosity missing.
The air felt heavy and charged with anticipation, as if bowing to the weight of the old man's presence.
The sounds of chairs grinding against the floor as their occupants hurriedly stood up before skittering out of Fugly Bob's would have been amusing to him if Marwyn was not forced to remain.
Even Old Bob was missing from the counter, and in what was basically seconds, the eatery was empty, leaving just three people present.
Marwyn, Amelia, and the old man.
Already Marwyn could spot his entourage which consisted of a driver and bodyguard outside the transparent doors, but a subtle shake of his head was enough to freeze them.
If this came down to a fight, Marwyn would die, simple as that, and the presence of the two enforcers would change little or nothing. The next option was to send Amelia out and into the hands of his enforcer, but he was canny enough to understand what it would look like—like he was preparing for a fight—and he doubted the old man would miss it, eyes closed or not.
Luckily for them, the old man had seemed... amiable to his little hellion, so he doubted if it came down to a fight, she would fall victim. Yet it twisted at his pride, the knowledge that Amelia walking out of here intact was dependent on the benevolence of someone else. He allowed those unfamiliar and annoying self-deprecating thoughts to drift out with an exhale.
He was not used to being the weaker party in a discussion.
With another inhale, Marquis steepled his fingers, his usual confidence in the presence of others tempered with a judicious amount of fear and caution as he studied the man across from him. They had called him the "Honored Elder," a title even the ancient Granny Sachiko had used with reverence. Now, seeing him in person, Marquis understood why.
The old man seemed like something that time had forgotten, and his features bore the marks of a hard life. His skin was like ancient, weathered bark, creased with lines so deep they seemed carved by a blade. His beard, long and pure white, was banded together by some material that Marwyn could not identify. His posture was casual, yet there was something about it that tickled at the lizard part of the brain.
Then there were his closed eyes. A more stupid person would've assumed the old man was simply being dismissive and thought it was pride that motivated the act. Yet for the brief seconds, those eyes had cracked open, Marwyn remembered what it had felt like. He felt like the world had revolted and flipped over in response. No, the old man closed his eyes for their sake.
Marwyn measured his words carefully before allowing them to slip past his lips.
"Do you know who I am?" Somehow he hoped beyond hope that the old man's presence here was a mistake, yet Marwyn wasn't a fool.
"The whelp known as Marquis."
He almost flinched at the callous disregard of the unwritten rules. But it was no surprise. The old man had come here, without even looking around, he had simply made a beeline for them. Somehow, he had known who Marwyn was. An ability that allowed him to identify capes?
"Yes, and you're... the Honored Elder.I had hoped to speak to you moments after your first appearance, but you've been... indisposed." That was one way to put it.
The old man remained quiet. Statuesque still in a way that could pass for dead or sleeping. If Marquis found out he had bored the man to sleep with his first few words, he was going to find the tallest building in the bay and throw himself off it. Head first. Without a reply, and withholding the nervous urge to glance at Amelia at his side, he continued. "The city has not been the same since your arrival. Your presence here has affected it's stability. Changed the way things work. Restructured and revised how the city functions, how the inhabitants live."
The old man finally did something other than imitate a statue. He leaned back slightly, his posture still relaxed, and when he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, old and unbothered. "Change is a constant and unceasing phenomenon, whelp. Regardless of the harbinger, it is bound to happen. You are left to grow, adapt, or decay. My presence does not dictate the choice or path you take, for it is but a stone cast into a river."
Marquis allowed a small smile, though it did not reach his eyes, as he also allowed himself to ease into his seat as well. The old man was open to dialogue. "Perhaps. How we react to it is all that matters, but calling you a stone in a river is a bit of a misnomer. You're more like a glacier in a small pond." His mind drew back to the tortured scream from a creature that had done nothing but destroy for the past decade or so since it had been present and he withheld a shudder.
"A being of your magnitude shifts currents and changes the river's path. Whether you want to or not, you've reshaped this city. Now there are lifelong plans that find themselves... on shaky grounds simply due to the sheer uncertainty that is your presence."
The old man's features twitched. Then with slow movements, he turned his head to the side a bit, as if his attention had drifted. Already Marwyn could tell the old man had picked up on his meanings. Marwyn would admit he enjoyed this cryptic way the old man spoke, and he played along nicely.
It was barefaced subterfuge that he doubted the old man was aware of that fact that it helped Marwyn to hold on to what shreds remained of the unwritten rules and his secret identity. It was a good thing they were the only ones present for now, but he didn't expect that to last. Someone else had to have noticed the old man's presence.
"I did not come here to rule over whelps or carve out a domain. If you seek a claim, take it. Do as you wish. The privilege of the strong is to dictate their will, is it not?" The old man finally deigned to bless him with a reply.
Such an old way of thought. Marwyn mused. Primal in its simplicity, yet efficient all the same. Yet it was something Marquis agreed with well enough, so he inclined his head, both in agreement and acknowledgment of the subtle challenge in those words. "Even so, your presence commands attention. Power attracts power, Honored Elder. Whether you desire it or not, the city now pivots around you. Without intention, you've become a cornerstone."
The old man's attention drifted back to him, features as unmoved as they had always been. "And if that cornerstone decides it has no care for the structures that lean upon it?"
The words sounded rehashed. Like it was a conversation the old man had already and had grown tired of. Yet Marwyn allowed the implications to run through his head and let the silence linger for long moments before finally replying. "Then chaos reigns. Power, as you know, does not exist in a vacuum. I have no plans to challenge you nor depend on you, yet your presence here means that I must truly know where you stand, and if necessary, share the weight of your decision."
It almost physically hurt Marwyn to squeeze out those words. To even insinuate he would be subservient to anybody in even the slightest way, yet he would be a fool to stand against a man that had killed an endbringer. So instead of dwelling on his own words, he rapidly continued. "This peace we have is a fragile thing, brought about by uncertainty and unease. It can only last so long before it crumbles."
All it needed now, was a spark. A spark that everyone was simply too scared to light. But it was only a matter of time.
The old man gave a single nod before speaking with a tone of bored finality. "Your concerns and worries are fleeting and are of those who simply do not know their path. If you know what you seek, then you shall act to grasp it. If you wish to shape this city, do so. But understand this: I have no interest in whatever happens, as long as it does not disturb me."
Marwyn nodded slowly, straightening up in his chair as the bare bones of a tentative agreement and understanding began to form. "Of course, Honored Elder. But like I said, power does not exist in a vacuum, and you are strong. Strong enough that the mad, the brave, or simply the stupid would seek to challenge you regardless of your wishes."
"And I would treat them like the whelps that have come before them." The old man dismissed his words easily, without any care.
Marwyn twitched. That was not what he wanted. He had seen the damage the old man's fights had caused in the city. Yet it was nothing compared to the destruction he had unleashed in Lyon. If something annoyed the old man enough to use half of that power in the Bay, Marwyn refused to think about what would be left of it. Of the city he was building for Amelia.
He looked outside the transparent door, at the cars driving about and the people walking along the walkway, ignorant of the weight of the conversation happening inside.
"I want to save this city," he began, picking his words carefully. "Not because I'm a good man, or I care for it in particular, or even because I care for the people who walk the streets, but because of an idea. An idea whereby this city becomes a beacon of sanity in the madness that the world is slowly devolving into."
Of course, this was all for Amelia, but despite how amicable the old man sounded, Marwyn doubted that he thought a random child was reason enough for such a big dream.
Yet for a moment, the old man's expression softened, almost imperceptibly. The age-etched wrinkles eased just the slightest, and though it might have been a trick of the light, Marwyn felt something about the way he had said those words resonated deeply. For in that fleeting second, it felt like the old man understood and sympathized with him and his desire to make this city a sane place.
Then it was gone just as fast, and like smoke on the wind or a dream that slipped through the fingers no matter how much you tried to hold on to it, leaving only the bare echoes of memory.
With slow motions, the old man began to rise, his white robe covering his body. When he got to his feet, he rested on the cane in his hands. Then his eyes cracked open by the slightest margin, pinning Marwyn with his gaze. "Then do not contemplate further. I shall not hinder your ambition, nor cause undue damage to it. So do as you will."
His parting words said, the old man turned away and began to walk slowly. The question came to Marwyn's mind, and he blurted it out without thinking.
"What is your name, Honored Elder?!"
There was silence for long seconds as the old man continued to walk away, without the slightest hint that he had heard the question asked, right until he was at the door.
Then, as one of Marquis's enforcers hurried to open the door for the old man, he finally spoke. "Shigekuni Genryūsai Yamamoto."
The door had begun to close behind the old man when a voice rang out. "See you later, Grandpa Yama!" Marwyn turned and gave the little hellion beside him an incredulous stare. In the middle of the conversation, he had forgotten his daughter had been seated beside him.
Listening to every word. He doubted she was old enough to understand or comprehend the weight of the conversation they had just had in front of her, but one day, she would grow up and realize just the type of man her father was.
Marwyn might have been a good father, but Marquis was not a good man. In fact, he was very much aware of the fact that he was a villain in the purest sense of the word.
A monster and psychopath bound by rules and ethics that let him mimic and disguise himself as a regular person. Yet that had not affected his love for his little flower in the slightest. He ruffled her hair, and she smiled as she looked up at him, before her features twisted into a frown.
"Your hand is full of very, very, very tiny... dirt?" It took him a few seconds to place what she meant. She most likely meant microorganisms and bacteria. He let out a laugh as he stood up and lifted her in the same motion, uncaring of the mixed look of joy and disgust that were fighting for dominance on her face.
"My little flower is now a superhero." Amid his laughter and Amelia's squeals as her joy at being spun around overcame her disgust, neither of them realized that the cup of ice cream on the table was now missing.
…
Yamamoto walked.
He refused to dwell much on the insight he had gained, as he watched the child's reiatsu flare up before something latched onto it. Something that bolstered and twisted the sense of her reiatsu. The closest comparison he had were the Quincies and the way the whelp the Soul King had birthed had given powers to his followers.
However, Unlike Yhwach, whoever or whatever the source of these powers was, they were not his enemy, therefore he did not care. He only had a single group of tentative enemies. The Endbringers and that was simply because of how out of balance they were. Like wolves in a world of sheep. Yet, he wa not in a hurry to run up and slay one. That was a young man's Job.
Yammamoto was Old.
His discussion with the man and his whelp had been enlightening. Of course, he knew that his presence in the city had changed things. The Quincy-lite derivatives that crowded this world were nothing to him. The only beings that might count as a threat were the Endbringers and the golden other that masqueraded as a man.
Instead, his thoughts drifted back to the man and his simple desire. A desire that a younger Yamamoto had shared centuries ago. The reasons might have been different, but the goals were similar enough that as Yamamoto walked down the street, uncaring of the way people did not just part for him as was their wont previously, but now they actively stopped and stared. He continued, heedless and uncaring of the attention.
He had succeeded back then, with no small thanks to the first Gotei 13 he had created. Monsters, all of them. Yet the man seemed different. He seemed the type to do things alone. Yet perhaps he would not need his own version of the Gotei. For even if their ambitions were similar, the scale of them was as different as the sun and the moon.
The Soul Society had been a whole realm of its own, vast and impossible to completely chart in its entirety. While the man had a much smaller sight and appetite. A single city.
Yamamoto reached the house and climbed up the stairs. As usual, someone was at the door, ready to open it the moment he arrived. With his stride unbroken, and only the barest of nods given to the doorman—the whelp he remembered as Jin—Yamamoto entered fully and was greeted by a strange sight. Sachiko was hunched over two children, dusting their dirty and soot stained clothing while murmuring rapidly about dirty children stressing their elders. Words that were completely opposite to how cheerfully she seemed to enjoy cleaning up the duo.
The sound of the door closing behind him drew their attention as the duo and Sachiko turned to face him.
"Ah, Honored Elder, you're back. How was your stroll?"
"Eventful," Yamamoto answered noncommittally as one of the girls focused on him, her eyes burningas she looked back at him. Yamamoto raised a brow as something unfamiliar twisted in his guts. It took him seconds to figure it out as he observed her reiatsu. Curiosity.
"Interesting."