Chapter Text
"Miyuki."
"Hmm?"
There's not even a hint of surprise in the answering hum. Knowing Miyuki, he probably realized the moment Eijun had woken up.
Damn observant bastard. Aloud, Eijun's grumbling is more noise than words, his annoyance low-burning and lethargic. Instead of opening his eyes, he turns his face into his pillow and sprawls luxuriantly on his stomach, the better to allow Miyuki to continue what he's doing.
Fingertips draw slow, curling patterns across the skin of Eijun's lower back, a canvas bare of clothing but not of color. Darkness pools in the dip of his spine where a single, glowing lotus floats on the surface, and Miyuki traces each one of its petals with leisurely precision. When the callus on his trigger finger skims over inked water, Eijun shivers and sends the water rippling.
"Miyuki," he says again as the wandering touch travels up his back, following the shape of a colorful carp that leaps towards his shoulder.
"What is it?"
"You ever thought of getting inked?"
"Nope," Miyuki says without having to pause and consider it. "Not interested."
That's a crying shame, but Eijun is too content to bother expending the energy to try and persuade him. Fish scales and fins map a path for Miyuki's fingers to follow, and all the while Eijun mumbles, "It's really too bad, but if you change your mind let me know. I could recommend you to someone. I get it, though, 'cause there are fewer people in the business getting tattooed these days. Old-fashioned, inconvenient… Kumicho said maybe I shouldn't, but I was determined by then. I don't have any regrets."
"Of course you don't."
Eijun detects a wry note in Miyuki's voice and slits an eye open. Before he can sort out what that tone of voice means, Miyuki replaces his fingers with his mouth, visiting the lines permeating Eijun's skin with the touch and go of elusive lips. "You," Miyuki breathes, kissing the curve of a shoulder before coaxing Eijun to roll over, "are a work of art."
Eijun snickers when they're face to face because what a line, but cheesy or not, intentional or not, it does have an effect. He flushes warm from the rare praise because too often Miyuki is insolent and insubordinate, driving everyone in the group crazy and Eijun most of all. Even now Eijun can feel the thin shape of a smirk pressed to his neck. There's no teeth though, no marks where anyone can see. Eijun can scratch and bite and bruise until Miyuki looks like he's been mauled by a wild animal, but in turn Miyuki leaves him imprint-free. On the surface, anyway.
"I'm unfinished," Eijun points out when Miyuki returns his attention the flow of ink down Eijun's front. White-tipped waves crest around a coiling shape, and nestled within is the Sawamura family emblem etched over his heart. The dragon is stark black lines, unshaded, an ambition that has yet to be realized.
"A work in progress," Miyuki agrees with a daring flick of tongue over the dragon's naked claws. He works his way down to plain skin where the only lines and shadows are in the contour and crease of Eijun's hips, and Miyuki's hands fit around them while his mouth molds along the length of Eijun's thickening cock.
Eijun cards his fingers through the sleep-tousled mess of Miyuki's hair, sighing in pleasure.
But Miyuki Kazuya is a bastard, a tease, and bad for Eijun's health. Once he gets close, the wet mouth on his cock pulls off, the hand stroking him stops, and Miyuki decides now is a good time to resume conversation as he casually throws out, "Say, Eijun…"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up." Eijun's grip in Miyuki's hair tightens, caught between conflicting urges to yank in irritation or push him back down to finish what he so thoroughly started. The baser instinct wins and Miyuki's laugh is a short, pleased burst that sparks dangerously close to the fuse of Eijun's temper. He hates to give Miyuki what he wants, just once Eijun would like to see Miyuki lose—but maybe not right this minute when Eijun is hard and aching, demanding that Miyuki duck his head and obey.
He relents under the force of Eijun's hand, taking him in deep and holding nothing back. Miyuki's tongue works under Eijun's cock, fingers pushing into him where he's still slick from hours before and his body still remembers being filled and fucked to sweet completion. Eijun's back arches off the bed when he comes, voice catching in a hoarse moan, with Miyuki's fingers buried to the knuckles in his ass and Miyuki's impudent, irresistible mouth milking him dry.
"You're the worst," Eijun pants afterward, sprawled out in loose-limbed bliss and taking up more than his fair share of the bed just because he can.
"Your orgasm says differently." Miyuki thumbs leaking wetness from the corner of his satisfied mouth and reaches down between his legs, gaze hooded, movements slow and intentioned.
Eijun watches with no small interest, nudging Miyuki with his knee and beckoning with a flick of his fingers. "C'mere."
At the prompt, Miyuki slinks up Eijun's body and straddles his hips to offer a good view, muscled thighs spread and cock heavy in the unhurried pump of his hand. He's gorgeous like this with all that bare skin on display, his scars few and far between. The most prominent one cuts across his cheek, a souvenir from his prison stint that won him his place by Eijun's side. He's not the type to look for fights but his talent for pissing people off is not to be underestimated. It goes hand in hand with his talent for coming out of things relatively unscathed.
Eijun can never stay idle for long; he grabs Miyuki's wrist and pulls it away, wrapping his own fingers around hard flesh, hot and velvety to the touch, and strokes steadily. They're well-acquainted enough that Eijun can recognize Miyuki's little shudder of pleasure at being handled, the way his gaze heats and lingers on Eijun's face, his mouth.
If Miyuki wants something, though, he'll have to ask for it. Beg, even.
Instead, Miyuki's eyes travel lower. He leans over Eijun, fascinated once more with the scales and serpentine curves of his incomplete dragon. Just a barebones outline for now, but Miyuki is transfixed by it. He traces and retraces the sinuous shape.
"When are you finishing this? You could start the shading anytime."
"Can't yet," Eijun says, and nothing more.
Miyuki's smile is a slow, suggestive curl, gaze going half-lidded as his hips push into Eijun's hand and his voice pulls at Eijun's formless desires. "When?" he asks again.
"I still haven't…"
"After the succession ceremony? Or…" Miyuki lets out a breathy, beautiful sound when Eijun's fist tightens, pumping rough and fast. "Or," he continues, licking his lips as he rides Eijun's motions, "after you make the Sawamura-gumi the most powerful organization in Japan?"
The words go straight to Eijun's head in a dizzy rush. He's not even the one reaching his peak and when Miyuki gets there he tenses above Eijun, trembling, slicking Eijun's skin in warm, translucent streaks.
Eijun doesn't give him the chance to catch his breath. "You think I'll be the next kumicho?"
Miyuki huffs out a laugh. "That's up to you, isn't it? Fighting the current, climbing the waterfall…" He trails his fingers through the mess he's made, his own obscene addition to the art that is Eijun's body and pride. His dedication shows through his skin. Miyuki remains a blank canvas, and Eijun can't help but think it's a pity.
He presses his hand flat over Miyuki's side and pictures elegant lines like brushstrokes taking the svelte form of a fox, its sleek body curving around from Miyuki's back where nine tails would fan out along his broad shoulders and a cunning muzzle would nose down by his hip. The Sawamura crest would hide in plain sight, melting into the swirls of ink, a more permanent declaration of Eijun's claim than mouth-shaped bruises and semi-circle teeth marks.
Eijun sighs his regret. "I still think you'd look good with a tattoo."
"Not gonna happen." Miyuki wipes Eijun clean, lingering more than necessary on the dragon that emerges from crashing waves spilling down from his shoulder.
"And yet you're obsessed with mine, you weirdo."
Miyuki smiles and doesn't refute the statement. Instead of drawing the sheets back up, he drapes himself over Eijun and steals some of his body heat to ward off the coolness of an early morning. His breath tickles along Eijun's collarbones. "Say, Eijun…"
"Now what?"
"You've got your ambition. What will you do to achieve it?"
He lifts his head to try and meet Miyuki's eyes, but it's difficult from this position. "What do you mean?"
"Just wondering," Miyuki says with a relaxed shrug and a shallow curve of his lips. His gaze wanders where Eijun can't follow. "To become a dragon, you have to pass through the trial of the Dragon Gate. What's your Dragon Gate, I wonder?"
When Eijun is twelve, he visits Tokyo, not for the first time but such trips are few and far between. He lives with his mom in a little town over in Nagano where he'll be attending junior high school come April. The remote location keeps them separated from the traditional family business, but it's Eijun's choice, his gramps and dad say, whether he wants to follow in their footsteps or not. He hasn't decided yet but he's old enough to start thinking about it.
He's also lost, again, because Tokyo is huge and crowded and directions don't stick that well in Eijun's head. The last time this happened, he went to a police koban for help, but when he gave the officer on duty the address of his dad's workplace, well…
"Next time, son, just call and I'll send someone to pick you up."
Eijun pulls out his phone but instead of calling he makes a face at the screen and puts it away. He doesn't need to be picked up like a lost child when in a few more weeks he'll be a junior high student. A real man should be able to navigate an urban jungle like Tokyo no problem, with his gut instinct if nothing else.
Twenty minutes later, after being led around by a gut that's getting increasingly hungry for lunch, Eijun considers asking someone for directions. As long as it's not a police officer, or a rival organization member, just asking should be fine. Although come to think of it, it would be bad if he's wandered into some other organization's territory. The Sawamura-gumi, from what he understands, has some allies and many more enemies.
When he hears the sound of young voices, he heads in that direction. Safer to ask people his age than an adult who might know what his dad's office actually is.
"Excuse me," he says to the group of boys he finds in a narrow alleyway, which doesn't seem like a fun place to be but what does he know, he's not a local.
"Huh? Who are—never mind, go away!"
"Mind your own business!"
Eijun merely blinks at the hostile faces glaring his way. Three of them, maybe a little older than he is, with the shifty-eyed expressions that customers often wear at his dad's office. Nervous and guilty. Well, it's not like he's here to extort them. "What, are you doing something illegal? Look, I don't care, I just want to ask—"
"We told you to go away, damnit!"
They're not cops or rival yakuza, so Eijun sees no reason to be intimidated. He steps in closer, trying to peer around the huddle of boys at whatever's got them so excited. "Oh," he says at the sight of the other kid on the ground. Scrawny, bruised, watching the rest of them with careful eyes. "So it's just bullying."
He would have left it at that because the bullies are right about this being none of his business, but then someone takes a swing at him. Eijun jerks out of the way on reflex. Suddenly his blood is up because that's no way to treat someone who's only passing by, and who do these kids think they are in the first place?
His mother would tell him to walk away and ignore it. His gramps and dad would say he can't let such an insult go.
He's in Tokyo right now, not Nagano. Eijun may not be a formally inducted member, but no matter what he's still the son of prominent yakuza in these parts. If he has to worry about police and rivals, he might as well claim the whole heritage, at least while he's here.
Eijun winds his arm back and smashes his fist across one boy's cheek.
Three-on-one aren't very good odds. Maybe if he had a weapon, but there's nothing nearby to use. Next time he goes out he'll make sure to bring his shinai with him.
He does manage to be the last one standing by the end, even if he has to lean against the wall to do so. His left eye is swollen nearly shut, his lip trickles blood down his chin, and the knuckles of his left hand are scraped raw. His wrist might be sprained. His abdomen also aches from one of the bastards getting a few kicks in while Eijun was on the ground before he caught the guy's leg and rolled him off balance.
"There's a clinic nearby if you want to see a doctor."
Ironically, the kid that was getting beat up at the beginning is the least hurt. He picks up a fallen baseball cap, dusts it off, and fixes it at an angle on his head. Everything looks a little too big on his small frame: the hat drooping over his forehead, the thick-framed glasses, the oversized t-shirt. His frank expression is anything but timid, though. He doesn't seem like the type to get picked on.
Eijun shakes his head because going to a clinic would mean someone calling his family and that's too much hassle. "Nah, I'm good."
"Suit yourself. You don't look like you broke anything at least. Pretty sure I heard something go crunch when you stomped on Yamamoto's hand."
"He'll live. And you're welcome."
"Oh? I didn't thank you."
"You're welcome anyway, you ungrateful brat." Eijun changes his mind; he can see why someone would want to kick this kid's ass. The toothy grin aimed up at him just invites trouble.
"Come off it, you weren't being a hero and this is overboard for self-defense." A sweep of his arm indicates the three boys groaning on the pavement, and yeah, there are probably some broken bones between all of them. Maybe a dislocated shoulder and definitely some missing teeth.
"What're you gonna do, report me to the police?"
"Hmm…"
Eijun belatedly realizes that maybe he should have thought this through some more. "Wait a sec—"
"Sounds like a pain, so I guess I won't. You're welcome."
"You little…"
"What've you got to be upset about? I'm the one they're going to come after again. You're a complete stranger." The boy shrugs when he says this and starts to leave the alley as if his words don't mean anything. His cheek is bruised and the rust residue of dried blood flecks the skin under his nose.
Eijun shoves his hands in his pockets and trails after him. "Well… fine…" He mumbles out the corner of his mouth, "Sorry 'bout that."
"Doesn't make much of a difference, really."
There's something weird about this kid's apathy. He's definitely not scared, not even resigned or weary like someone who gets by day after day. Those kinds of people are always in and out of Eijun's dad's office, and they're always hanging their heads. That's what happens when life isn't kind to you. But this kid who's half a head shorter than Eijun just keeps facing and walking forward.
I guess he has guts for a little guy. Impressed despite himself, Eijun asks, "Why don't you fight back?"
"And wind up all beat to hell like you?" A thorough once-over emphasizes his meaning. "No thanks. I'm not a big a fan of pain."
Eijun throws his head back and laughs. It hurts to do so, but that only makes him laugh harder. "Yeah," he agrees, in between winces, "you have a point."
The boy lifts one of his eyebrows. "You sure you don't want to see a doctor?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine. Oh, but—y'see, the whole reason I stepped in there was because I wanted to ask somebody for directions."
"You sure know how to pick 'em. So where do you need to go?"
At the cost of a beating, Eijun finally gets his directions. The boy doesn't blink at the name of the yakuza front company, so there's no issue there.
Eijun doesn't get his name until the time comes to go their separate ways and the boy says, "See you, Yankee-kun."
"Who's a yankee!? It's Sawa—" He reconsiders just in time. The family name is common enough, but maybe just to be safe… "Eijun. You can call me Eijun." Not that they're likely to meet again after this, but hell if Eijun's going to be remembered as a lame delinquent thug. Gramps and his dad would call it another insult.
"All right, Eijun. I'm Miyuki Kazuya."
Eijun is fifteen when he decides to transfer schools at the end of summer. The decision starts with a phone call and his mom sitting in the hallway with her stifled sobs, and it resolves the moment they lower his dad's ashes into the family grave.
She doesn't try to stop Eijun from going. She's raised him for fifteen years after all and probably knows his decision before he says anything. That night when they're keeping vigil over his dad's body and the guests have all left—guests from the Sawamura-gumi, guests from their brother organizations the Kunitomo-gumi and Tahara-ikka, even a few guests from the newly formed Todoroki-kai—she tells him, "Do you know, Eijun? When a tiger dies, he leaves behind his skin; but when a man dies, he leaves behind his name."
There is a void now in the place where the Sawamura-gumi's heir had been. Those from the Kunitomo-gumi and Tahara-ikka are respectful and genuine with their condolences, but the alliance between the three groups holds only as long as they are equals.
"Remember that we are yakuza," says Sawamura Eitoku, second kumicho in the history of the Sawamura-gumi and the man responsible for the formation of the alliance during the time when the Teitou-kai threatened to consume every group in the Kanto region. "Diplomacy is the way to prosper, but we eat or be eaten in order to survive."
They are truly beasts in the end, but legendary beasts leave behind more than their skins. Their legacies are in stories. They are remembered, revered after they've gone, and it's like they never really die at all. Instead, they become something greater.
Because of the funeral, Eijun transfers a week after the semester begins. It's not like Nagano where he was so far removed from the seat of the Sawamura-gumi's power that few people knew or cared whose son he was. Here in Tokyo, though, the rumors spread in a matter of days.
"Is that him?"
"It's true, my dad knows someone in the Organized Crime Control Bureau. They keep track of all the prominent members."
"Didn't one of the bigwigs die recently? I heard about it on the news the other day."
"Scary…"
"You guys!" One of the girls slams her hands on her gossiping classmate's desk. "That's all hearsay! You shouldn't listen to everything people mouth off about, geez."
"Let's ask directly then."
"Wait, that's…"
"Oi, Sawamura! Is it true your family's yakuza?"
According to Gramps, in the old days they went so far as to provide the police with a list of their members. It was an honorable way of doing things, like proudly wearing the badge with their family crest on a lapel. But in these modern times, with all the new anti-yakuza laws and corrupt cops themselves horning in on yakuza businesses, more and more groups have been going underground. Discretion is the rule of thumb now, but on the other hand, why deny what everyone already knows?
"Sure is," Eijun says with his cheek propped in his hand and his thumb pointing at his chest. "In fact, you're looking at the future third kumicho of the Sawamura-gumi." His declaration is met with resounding silence. Some openly stare at him and others are determined to look elsewhere. "It's also true," he adds, swallowing the lump in his throat, "that one of ours was done in by some Narushima-kai bastards. Normally it'd be war, but… well, the matter's been resolved." Not to anyone's satisfaction, but they have no other choice. The Narushima-kai is a subgroup under the formidable Teitou-kai, and while the Sawamura-gumi is willing to wage war for the sake of family, they've been stymied by the Teitou-kai claiming ignorance and the Narushima-kai announcing their dissolution.
It's all bullshit, of course. The Teitou-kai can afford to sacrifice a small subgroup and their offer of the Narushima-kai's territory as compensation is an empty gesture. But with their right to justice subdued, the Sawamura-gumi can't rely on their allies to help them in a fight and alone they don't stand a chance against the larger organization. Attacking out of vengeance would be foolish at this point, and without a successor they can't afford any further weakness in front of their watchful Kunitomo and Tahara brothers. The alliance is a tenuous thing these days and there's also the Todoroki-kai waiting in the shadows to lunge at any opportunity to grab power.
Eijun is prepared to answer more questions but none are forthcoming. The class sits in uneasy silence until homeroom starts and no one approaches him throughout the rest of the day.
"Man," he sighs, stretching his arms over his head as he walks home. "Maybe I should quit school after all." His mom would be disappointed but Gramps would approve. Why would a yakuza need to complete high school anyway? Eijun doesn't have any interest in the corporate or legal side of the business. Local boss, regional boss, second in command, and finally the kumicho at the head of the family… he doesn't need a diploma for any of that.
"What a shame," someone comments. Eijun turns his head to see a boy wearing the same uniform as he is. The sharp gaze behind a pair of glasses strikes Eijun as familiar, as does the upward tick of a smirk on the boy's mouth. "Transferring in only to drop out in less than a week. But that does appear to be your modus operandi. It's been a while, Yankee-kun."
"I'm not a—it's you! Miyuki Kazuya!"
"Oh, you remember." The edge of Miyuki's smile softens just a little. He's no scrawny brat anymore, growing into a lean frame with sinewy muscle clinging to his arms. Eijun looks him up and down while holding a hand under his chin to make sure his jaw doesn't drop.
"You, uh, you got bigger."
"People do that at this age."
Eijun steps closer and measures the difference with his hand before declaring, "You're taller than me!"
"So?"
"You were a squirt! Pint-sized! Chibi!"
"Oi…"
"And now you go to my school—wait, are we the same age!?"
Miyuki's mouth twitches. "I'm a second year."
"You're older than me too!? And you were older back then!?"
"You're not very bright, are you?"
By the time they relocate to a nearby park Eijun has more or less come to terms with his reality—although it doesn't help when Miyuki takes gleeful pleasure in rubbing in the truth. He hands Eijun a Garigari-kun popsicle from the conbini with an unbearably smug grin and says, "Here, senpai's treat."
Eijun is a hair away from rejecting the gift—and the condescension that comes with it—but that, he decides, would be childish. Although violently ripping the wrapper off probably isn't much better. "Has anyone told you you're an asshole?"
"Not lately, but I guess you're going to fix that."
"Damn right," Eijun says, vengefully crunching through a mouthful of flavored ice. "You grew up into a nasty guy."
"I've always been like this," Miyuki insists, affecting wide-eyed innocence that doesn't suit him one bit. He has a point but Eijun guesses he's too big now to get bullied for being an obnoxious shit. Whatever abuse does get hurled at him probably rolls off as easily as it did back then. He really is a difficult person to deal with. "I'm the one who's disillusioned," Miyuki continues, "I can't believe I thought for a minute you were cool."
Eijun perks up. "You thought I was cool?"
Laughing, Miyuki gives him a shove and the swings they're sitting on sway back and forth. "Like I said, I've been disillusioned."
The swings creak, and even though Eijun eats quickly, he still winds up with sticky fingers as the ice melts in the summer haze. The cicadas are just as noisy in Tokyo as they are out in the country, though here the buzzing insects have to contend with the rest of the city's clamor. Still, the lull of heat and background noise make for a peaceful afternoon.
"Are you really going to quit?" Miyuki asks after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. He sounds mildly inquisitive, like it doesn't matter to him either way and he's only satisfying his curiosity.
So, Eijun thinks, he's still like that, too. Then he shakes his head; they're practically strangers, why should it matter to Miyuki whether Eijun drops out of school or not? He shrugs, feet scuffing the dirt where countless other shoes have left furrows in the ground. "Maybe… well, probably."
"Family business?" When Eijun glances at him, Miyuki just says, "The whole school's talking about it."
Oh, right. Biggest non-secret ever. Only then does Eijun realize that part of him has been holding that secret back from Miyuki alone. It doesn't matter, he reminds himself.
"I went there once," Miyuki begins out of the blue, not returning Eijun's surprised gaze and suddenly everything's awkward. "The address you were looking for last time."
"You were looking for me?" His gut tightens, anticipating, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or not.
Miyuki rubs the back of his neck. "I guess I was. You weren't there of course. I didn't try again."
"Good," Eijun says, fingers tight around the links of the swing. There's a heavy thudding in his chest. "Don't—don't go there." The office—his dad's old office—wasn't attacked, but it's not unheard of to target them. A pipe bomb through a window sends a very strong message. They'd considered such retaliation before the Narushima-kai's pathetic surrender. "I'm quitting school," Eijun says, certain now. "So, you know…"
"So it's like that."
That's right. Eijun didn't come to Tokyo to finish high school or make friends. He pushes off from the swing. "Yeah. Sorry. But it was good to see you again. And thanks for this," he waves the empty popsicle wrapper between his fingers, tossing a grin over his shoulder, "senpai."
The third time, as they say, is the charm.
It starts with Eijun storming into the Sawamura-gumi's main office and charging up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator to the top floor. He doesn't wait for anyone to hold the doors for him either, blowing into the executive suite by himself.
"Gramps!" He forgets himself, formality and titles dropped somewhere between here and the police station. "What happened? They let me go all of a sudden. I thought for sure you'd leave me to face trial."
"Oh, for..." Eitoku rubs his temples with one hand and uses the other to set out a tumbler and pour himself a finger of whisky. "I was going to do exactly that, you irresponsible brat. But lucky for you, some poor fool volunteered to go in your place."
That takes the wind out of Eijun's sails. Bewildered, he drops onto the leather couch. "Who'd do that for me?" He's positive that everyone in his own Akagi-gumi is accounted for. Wakana would have told him otherwise. The other subgroups that are his rivals wouldn't stick their necks out for him, and the higher-ups might make some allowances owing to the blood in his veins, but it's not their job to clean up his mistakes.
Instead of answering, Eitoku slides a tablet across his desk. On the screen is a photo—snapped on the sly judging by the angle and unaware subject, but the image is clear and crisp. A young man sits at a table, cigarette held to his lips and his eyes downcast, focusing on the mahjong tiles lined up in front of him. The corner of his mouth that's visible behind his hand curves thin and sharp. It's been four years since Eijun last saw that smirk and he leans forward in spite of himself.
Miyuki hasn't changed much since high school. A little more filled out, his shoulders nicely broad under the rumpled lines of a shirt that looks like it hasn't been ironed in ages, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. His hair could use a trim. When the heck did he start smoking? That's a vile habit, he should know better.
"Good," Eitoku interrupts the train of thought. "You're acquainted like he said. This might be effective after all."
Eijun's head snaps up. "What's that mean? And what's Miyuki doing with the likes of us?"
"Azuma recruited him just last month, said there was a clever punk making bank at one of our mahjong parlors who might be useful. Then, only after being brought into the fold as a brother, the bastard goes and mentions you. We've been keeping an eye on him ever since."
"You could have told me about this."
Eitoku scoffs. "You trust people too easily. Just look at the mess your poor judgment caused this time, though at least it gives us an opportunity to put the new guy to the test."
Miyuki joining the yakuza. Who would have thought… "He really agreed to take the fall?"
"Sure did." Eitoku sips his whisky and adds, "Even though he just turned twenty."
Eijun's palms smack on top of the table as he half-rises from his seat. "That's not fair! If it was me—"
"If it was you you'd be tried as an adult just for being yakuza and my grandson, heaven help me. This is his first offense and he hasn't been with us long, so his sentence will probably be lighter than yours would have been. Now listen here, Eijun." The empty tumbler is set aside and Eitoku points a bony finger at him. "While he's in the slammer you're not to visit or pass messages through any underlings. Got that?"
"What? Why not?"
"Because it's a test, you moron. He's shown himself to be smart, and he clearly likes to gamble, but we don't know what his motives are. So we'll wait and see for now. If he's loyal, he'll have to prove it."
Waiting has never been Eijun's strong suit, but he stifles his protest and nods once. "Fine. I won't do anything. But what happens once he gets out?"
Satisfied with Eijun's compliance, Eitoku folds his arms and sits back. "If all goes well, I'll permit you to share sake with him. Assuming that's what you want?"
If they drink from the same cup in the yakuza's most sacred ritual, they'll be sworn together as family. Miyuki—that cheeky little kid and brazen senpai and almost-stranger, who in spite of warnings has stepped into Eijun's world—will be his. "Yes," Eijun says, his mouth faster than the rest of him, and what follows is a pounding avalanche of yes, yes, yes. He wants; he has his sights set on the seat at the top, he wants that legacy, and he wants Miyuki by his side to achieve it. The two desires fuse together and he's never wanted anything more.
Eijun is yakuza, and when he wants something, he sets out to devour it whole.
The day when Miyuki steps out into cold, winter sunlight as a free man again after a year, Eijun is there to greet him.
"Miyuki."
"Eijun." His head tips to the side and he mildly asks, "Does this mean I call you 'boss' now?"
Eijun grins and slings an arm around Miyuki's shoulders. He smells like cheap soap and laundry detergent, his hair's been cut shorter than Eijun's used to seeing, and there's a new, thin line that slices horizontally across his left cheek. He sounds as impudent as ever. Tonight he'll be welcomed into the group, sworn to Eijun's side.
No more going their separate ways.
"Are you hungry? To celebrate your release, this boss will treat you to hotpot."
Miyuki's not much good in a brawl, but he's a crack shot, favoring a custom 1911 over the cheap knock-off Tokarevs smuggled in from China. The single stack makes it decently concealable, and with a scandium alloy frame, the weight isn't too much of a burden for extended carry. A sleek black finish doesn't make it bad to look at, either. If he needs to sneak in something smaller, he also has a pocket-sized Kahr PM9 to get the job done.
Right now his 1911 is out in the open, unloaded and set to the side. Miyuki sits at a dingy plastic folding table with a box of ammo that he slowly, methodically feeds into an empty magazine.
"So you see," he says without looking up, "Isobe is in a coma and doesn't look to be waking up anytime soon. Some say he's better off that way, although it does leave the organization with a bit of a problem. Luckily, we still have you, Ueda-san, to help get to the bottom of this mystery."
Ueda is smart enough to know when he's being intimidated but that doesn't mean he's not sweating. He's had a full night to come down from his high and realize just how much shit he's wallowing in. With his hands ziptied behind his back and Miyuki sitting between him and the warehouse exit, Ueda is as cornered as can be. He licks his lips and pleads, "All I know is they were foreigners, Southeast Asian, that's all! They're the suppliers!"
"Hm, but we already figured out that much by ourselves." Miyuki speaks with exaggerated patience, giving the fully loaded magazine a meticulous once-over before inserting it into the gun's grip. "What we're curious about is who asked you to distribute the heroin, because I'm sure you know that drug trafficking is against group policy and you don't strike me as the enterprising sort."
"I don't know, I don't—"
Miyuki drawls over him, "You can tell us what you were threatened with. It might help your case."
It won't help, but Eijun keeps that to himself. The Sawamura-gumi has a strict no-tolerance policy regarding drugs. Partly because their kumicho remembers the explosion of meth on the Japanese market back in the '50s, and partly because they've cut a few deals with the police; the organization stays drug-free and the cops conveniently overlook some of their other practices. Lesser evils and all that. So at best, Ueda will be excommunicated and handed over to the authorities in disgrace.
"I—I—"
"What do you think?" Miyuki half turns in his chair, one arm slung over the back and the other keeping a loose hold on the gun where Ueda can see it. "Inside job or rival group?"
"Rival," Eijun answers. He sits on a stack of crates with an ankle crossed over his knee, his favorite katana sheathed and propped against his shoulder. He's an okay shot, but he feels better with a blade in hand. "Isobe and Ueda aren't the best choices for something like this. They were supposed to get caught and cause trouble for the organization, not turn a profit for it."
Miyuki nods in agreement—he probably had it all figured out in the first place—but that's his cue to rack the slide of the gun with a practiced push and finally give Ueda his undivided attention. Round chambered, safety off, he shows the barest edge of his teeth when he smiles and says, "Now then, Ueda-san, which of our enemies approached you?"
The man's panicked eyes dart from the barrel of the gun to where Eijun's sitting, but he's not here to help. He's not even here to supervise; Eijun only tagged along because he was bored and he likes to watch Miyuki work. There are some people who make natural criminals, who sink effortlessly into the shadows and navigate through them with keen instinct veiled in a silk layer of charm. Miyuki handles his weapon with the same assurance and precision he displays when handling people.
In the end he only has to spend one bullet that lodges in the cinderblock by Ueda's head. No blood, no fuss. They have their information, and because it's only a small-time group stirring up trouble, there's no need to sound any alarms. The three-way alliance remains in its stalemate for now.
Two of Eijun's men come in to haul Ueda away. They also dig out the round and collect the casing to dispose of while Miyuki unloads his gun, this time without the slow-building drama.
As soon as they're left alone in the warehouse, Eijun sighs gustily. "Help me out here, it'll cause too much commotion if we go in guns blazing, so what's a more subtle approach?"
"You're hopeless, boss."
"I don't need to learn diplomacy when I have you."
"So hopeless," Miyuki repeats, but he's grinning while he says it and the advice he offers is sound. The box of ammo disappears and the gun slides into the holster at his waist. He's shot people with it before but Eijun can't tell if he's a killer or not. There's a bottomless depth to Miyuki, he's a mix of obfuscating taunts interspersed with cutting clarity, and Eijun's never seen him wield a blade but that's probably a good thing. Miyuki has more than enough sharp edges already.
Eijun gets to his feet and stretches. "I want someone to go over Ueda's and Isobe's homes again with a fine-tooth comb and check out any other places they liked to frequent. Isobe had a mistress, didn't he? If there are any more drugs stashed, get rid of them."
"I'll take care of it," Miyuki says, as Eijun had known he would.
"Kanpai!"
The glasses clink, liquid spilling over to drip down hands and onto the table. Eijun switches his glass to his other hand and starts to shake out the wet one, only for Miyuki to snag him by the wrist, call him a slob, and wipe him dry with a napkin.
"You've become well-trained," Wakana remarks over her drink. She's on her second, a flush sitting high on her cheeks and her tongue looser than normal. They're celebrating her birthday so she's not getting out of endless drinks, and she accepts her fate with aplomb and a margarita on the rocks that turns purple under the atmospheric club lights.
The smile Miyuki turns on her are just a few degrees shy of wintry. "I'm only taking some of the burden off you, senpai."
"I'm not a child," Eijun protests, which is the only part of that exchange he cares about. Whatever their disagreement is—and they've been like this ever since Miyuki joined the Akagi-gumi—as long as they work together when required, Eijun's happy to leave them alone.
Neither is the type to make a fuss, so they come to an unspoken truce and ignore each other for the rest of the night. That suits Eijun fine. He orders a round of shots for everyone and is met with much cheering because the night's drinks are all on him (but when the club is in their territory, it's not like he's paying full price for anything). Once he's feeling good and buzzed, he leans indulgently on Miyuki, breathing in the subtle musk of his cologne—which unfortunately comes with the acrid whiff of those damn menthols he insists on inhaling on the sly.
Eijun's always getting on his case about that because there's nothing pleasant about kisses that taste like ashy toothpaste. When Eijun's feeling mean, he confiscates Miyuki's cigarettes and doesn't allow him out of sight to buy more in secret just to watch him fray at the seams for a few days. The result is entertaining at first, but after a while a bad-tempered Miyuki becomes more trouble than the novelty is worth. He doesn't mince his words under normal circumstances but withdrawal makes him downright brutal. Half the underlings are terrified of him and the other half plot to strangle him in his sleep. When Eijun finds himself in the latter camp, it's time to let the man have his nicotine fix.
For now, though, when Eijun curls a fist in the collar of Miyuki's shirt and tugs him down, the inside of his mouth carries only the taste of vodka and a hint of lime. He's malleable to Eijun's demand and sucks wet on his lips, coordinated enough that he's probably not too drunk yet. Miyuki's alcohol tolerance is average but he's extraordinarily good at pretending. If pushed to his limit, he'll go from seemingly sober to falling-down drunk in an instant, which is the funniest shit Eijun's ever seen.
Eijun doesn't want him that drunk tonight, though.
"Exhibitionist," Miyuki accuses when Eijun releases him, eyes gleaming behind his glasses and the sensual curl of his mouth begging for trouble.
"So what?" Eijun loops his arms around Miyuki's neck and breathes next to his ear. "People already think you slept your way to the top." People Eijun doesn't care about, that is. Here in the heart of his territory, surrounded by those he trusts, he can do whatever he wants. He's king of this kingdom and his subjects know better than to question whom he places at his side.
"Oh, I see. Valued only for my pretty face."
"It's a very pretty face," Eijun agrees, brushing a kiss over the scar decorating Miyuki's cheek.
He's pretty when he's on his back, too, sweat-damp hair sticking to his flushed skin and the light from the bedside lamp spilling golden across his toned body. The rest of the room is shrouded dark and shadows pool in the curve of his neck, throat spotted with possessive marks. Soft gasps squeeze out of him as he's rocked by the push of Eijun's hips.
Eijun can't control the slip and grip of his fingers bruising into flesh—it's not enough having exchanged sake to become family, it's not enough being inside Miyuki, having Miyuki inside him, joined as closely as two people can ever be. It's never going to be enough because Eijun is not someone who can simply be content. He hungers like a beast starved.
"Miyuki, Miyuki…" Eijun thrusts into him sharply, wringing a moan from parted lips. The hot, heavy sound of it burns through his skin. He slides a hand down Miyuki's thigh, under his knee, bending his leg higher and spreading him more open.
Miyuki's breath hitches. "Fuck, Eijun…" He's warm and pulsing under Eijun, around Eijun's cock, or maybe that's his own pounding rush of blood filling his veins, thick and heady.
He shakes his head as if to clear it. Alcohol isn't the only thing he can get drunk on. "Too much?"
An abbreviated, near-soundless laugh cuts through the air. Miyuki bares his teeth in a fierce, feral grin, armed even while splayed vulnerable on his back. "Never."
Eijun loses what little grasp on his control that he had. He plunges forward, folding Miyuki's legs and pinning him immobile, mouths slanting together to muffle and swallow every noise Miyuki makes: his ragged laughter, breathless sighs, and broken iterations of Eijun's name.
He bites Miyuki's lip and his teeth aren't gentle. They come away coppery. Miyuki shudders underneath him and his hands clutch and flex at Eijun's shoulders, the tantalizing scrape of his nails the closest he's come to marking Eijun's precious skin, and Eijun yearns for it, rolling into his touch and into Miyuki as close and deep as their bodies will allow.
More. Mine.
His tongue licks up the red oozing from Miyuki's mouth and Miyuki's eyes are dark, glazed, and wanting. It's Eijun's turn to chuckle as he says, "You said once that you didn't like pain. You lied, huh."
The wound splits further when Miyuki smiles. "I've been known to do that." Then his eyes drift shut, the insight gone. He murmurs, "Feels like you're gonna devour me."
"We're yakuza. It's what we do."
Wordlessly, Miyuki bares his unprotected neck like an offering.
"Quit that, you're such a pest." Eijun snags the hand that's playing with the loose fold of his yukata and flings it aside, then straightens his clothes so the cotton layers keep his tattoos covered. He glares at Miyuki, who's too old to pout like that.
"So stingy."
There should be a limit to his obsession with Eijun's inked skin and there should be a limit to how much Eijun indulges him. "It's not the Sanja Festival! Showing them off now will only cause trouble. …Wipe that expression off your face, you pervert." He makes a point to turn his head, gnawing on a piece of grilled squid, but that doesn't stop the feverish memory from rising up. The Sanja Festival in May is the only time when it's socially acceptable for yakuza to display their tattoos in public but doing that in front of Miyuki is tantamount to foreplay no matter where it happens. They both got carried away last time, ending up with Eijun buck naked and his legs wrapped around Miyuki's waist outside in broad daylight. No one else was around, but still. Eijun could be arrested for any number of reasons, but indecent exposure would be too embarrassing and he'd never hear the end of it.
As evening darkens overhead, the oppressive heat of summer lifts a little and the streets glow with an abundance of lanterns. They wander past rows of food and game stalls, almost anonymous save for the occasional, discreet bow from members of their cohort mixed in with the other vendors. Rival groups have their presence here as well, but owing to the occasion they all consent to an implicit truce. If anyone gets rowdy during a festival, their peers step in to defuse the fight.
"Hm? Oh, it's Wakana. And that's—shit." Eijun bites off the last bit of squid and chews furiously, tossing the stick into a nearby trash can. He marches over to where Wakana is standing in front of a goldfish scooping stall, her arms crossed and voice lowered in a heated discussion with someone whose back is turned, but given the look on Wakana's face, there's only one person it could be. "Oi," Eijun growls and the man turns around.
"Oh, it's you." Kuramochi's not happy to see him but his frown goes tight and angry when his gaze snaps past Eijun to land on Miyuki.
Eijun can glimpse the crawl of a smirk shaping Miyuki's mouth as he leans forward. "Yo, Officer-san. This wouldn't happen to be sexual harassment, would it? A civil servant shouldn't be doing such a thing."
"I don't want to hear that from a criminal." Kuramochi doesn't hesitate to get up in Miyuki's face, ignoring Eijun, and that would almost be insulting if not for the history between those two. "And I was not harassing—!"
"Yes, yes, it was only a joke. I'm sure Aotsuki-senpai wasn't doing anything an officer of the law would take issue with. Oh, but maybe we interrupted something else?" Miyuki's eyebrows rise in suggestion, his smirk showing more teeth. "Apologies in that case."
At Miyuki's nudge, Eijun hisses, "Why do we gotta apologize to a cop when we didn't do anything!?"
"Well, a lover's spat isn't any of our business, is it?"
Eijun's eyes go round. "What—"
"No," Wakana says, glaring venomously at all three of them.
Kuramochi yanks Miyuki by the collar. "One more word out of you and—"
"Whoops." Miyuki holds his hands up peacefully. "My mistake."
For a tense moment, Eijun is sure that Miyuki is going to get clobbered and he half-thinks Miyuki will deserve it, but then the moment passes and Kuramochi's stiff fingers untangle from Miyuki's clothes. "Forget it," he spits with smoldering rage in his eyes. "Run-of-the-mill yakuza are bad enough, but I especially don't want to associate with a shameless traitor like you."
"Run-of-the-mill—" Eijun starts forward, incensed, but Wakana grabs him by the arm.
Miyuki smooths the front of his yukata, still smiling. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Officer-san."
Sometimes Eijun feels sorry for Kuramochi. For whatever reason, Miyuki always gives him his worst. "You're a real bastard," Eijun tells him after Kuramochi storms away in disgust.
"You're both meddlesome idiots," Wakana says scathingly, the shift of her glare seeming to imply you in particular when it narrows on Miyuki.
His smile falls away and he dials back on the impertinence, adopting a neutral expression instead of a mocking pretense of remorse. "Sorry for interfering, senpai."
"Hmph."
Before the mood can turn frosty, Eijun loops his arm through Miyuki's. "Water under the bridge now, right? Come on, the fireworks will start soon. See you later, Wakana!"
He grabs a skewer of dango before they dive into the thick of the crowd waiting around for the show to start, and for a while he entertains himself by pestering Miyuki into eating one of the sweet dumplings. There's a scale to the kinds of sweets he will or won't eat; anything that's primarily sugar is right out, but if a contrasting flavor offsets the sweetness, he won't mind. The syrupy glaze on the dango is pushing the limit but Miyuki eventually bows to Eijun's whim just to make him stop being a nuisance.
"Sorry," Miyuki says a short while later, seemingly out of the blue.
Eijun chews on the end of the leftover skewer. "'Bout what?"
"Well… I know some of the executives still don't trust me and it's difficult for you sometimes."
Oh, that. They did their research while Miyuki was serving his sentence and a problem came up when they learned he was a police academy dropout. Never trust a cop, even the crooked ones are only to be used, never relied upon. After jail time and nearing two years of service, the suspicion that Miyuki may be a spy still hasn't been completely alleviated. Eijun shrugs. "Not a big deal. If it's not one thing with them, it's another. Kumicho and Chris-sensei trust you. I trust you. So to hell with the rest of 'em."
"Geez," Miyuki laughs with a duck of his head. "That's not something the future kumicho should say."
"When I become kumicho, I'll say whatever I damn well please."
"I'm going to have my hands full with damage control… no different from usual, I suppose."
"Work hard, future wakagashira."
Just then a whistle pierces the air, shooting into the sky overhead to explode in a shower of incandescent sparks. More are fired after it, one after another in glowing bursts and thunderous booms. Everyone's faces are turned up to watch the show of flowers blossoming and burning in the night sky.
Almost everyone.
"Eijun!"
Eijun reacts instinctively—not to the syllables of his name but to Miyuki's tone. It's a tone he doesn't hear outside of a fire fight and he jerks to the side. At the same time, Miyuki collides into him, turning him around, and a crack of thunder goes off much closer to the ground than the fireworks exploding in the sky. Eijun stumbles from an impact slamming into him from behind. He doesn't get the full brunt of it, though. The body covering him absorbs most of the shot's momentum.
For a crystal clear instant, the heat of adrenaline is doused in bone-chilling cold. Eijun's breath and heartbeat freeze inside his chest.
No way…
Miyuki clutches at him. "Eijun," he pants. "Eijun, are you all right?" The harsh pulls of his breath rattle through the close press of their bodies, shaking Eijun loose from fear's icy grip.
Eijun's really not all right. How could he be all right? "Miyuki, you…!" He wraps his arms around Miyuki, taking his faltering weight. Wetness seeps under Eijun's hand on Miyuki's back.
Somewhere in the flutter of the panicked crowd, the shooter is getting away. Eijun can't afford to care about that. People are shouting but he's deaf to the commotion. The bright colors of the fireworks glow and fade on Miyuki's skin.
"Miyuki," Eijun says, holding him with a hand pressed firmly over the leak of blood where the bullet entered. No exit wound on his front. He shielded Eijun perfectly and that was never supposed to be his job. He's supposed to just stay by Eijun's side. Resolve fires through Eijun as he turns Miyuki's cheek to make sure he's looking him in the eye, and then Eijun orders in the most absolute terms he knows: "You don't have permission to leave. Got that? You can't die unless I say you can."
Because he's an idiot, Miyuki laughs. A wet cough sticks in his throat and blood flecks his lips. He grins. Then his eyelids start to lower. "Whatever… you say, boss."
"He has the devil's own luck, doesn't he?"
Eijun snaps upright in his chair and whirls around, remembering at the last second to keep his voice down. "Chris-sensei! What are you doing here?"
"Kumicho sent me to check on you two." He takes a seat on the couch because Eijun has claimed the only chair by the bed. The room is private, comfortably furnished, and the owner of the hospital has been cooperating with the Sawamura-gumi for years. The hospital's monetary contributions to the organization are very small in exchange for services at times like this and no one dares to suggest that Eijun leave when visiting hours have been long over.
"I'm fine thanks to Miyuki."
Chris nods. "I spoke with the doctor. A little higher up and the bullet would have hit his scapula. An inch more to the left would have meant damage to the spine. As it is, he suffered only a single fractured rib and pulmonary contusion."
"He's a lucky bastard all right." The rib will take a couple months to fully heal but somehow the lung wasn't punctured, only bruised to hell. The surgery to remove the bullet went off without a hitch. He's still intubated for now, but the nurse said they should be able to take that out in the morning, which is almost a pity. Under different circumstances, Eijun would have liked to see a Miyuki who couldn't talk back. Just until the amusement wore off though, because Eijun's really very fond of Miyuki's voice, abrasive edge and all. "So," Eijun says, loosely clasping his hands together and taking a deep, anticipatory breath. "Have you found out who's responsible?"
"We're looking into it. Sit down, Eijun. No one is taking this lightly and acting in haste will not aid the investigation."
Eijun falls back into the chair, arms crossed and temper crackling. "That's why you're really here, huh? To keep an eye on me." Kind of funny that the organization would send their top advisor to babysit, but on the other hand, Chris is the only person Eijun might listen to.
"To be specific, I was asked to bring you back to the main house." Chris smiles faintly at Eijun's expounding snort. "I expected as much. However, I am posting a guard outside. If you go anywhere, please take Kanemaru-kun with you. I believe that's fair, yes?"
He really is being babysat. "Sure," Eijun has no choice but to agree. "Do you think there's gonna be a war?"
"It's possible. You are the kumicho's grandson after all."
But not the successor. Not yet. Blood inheritance is becoming old-fashioned nowadays, but an insult to the family is as grave as ever. Furthermore, the major players of the region are so precariously balanced that the smallest spark could set something off. They've been sitting on that tinderbox for a while. "Damn," Eijun sighs, slumping in his seat.
"That's why you should be careful. War may be inevitable, but I'd rather not start it on someone else's timetable."
Eijun gets that, he really does, but with Miyuki breathing on a machine with a hole in his back, well, that's not something Eijun can simply ignore.
He waits until Chris leaves, and then Eijun makes a call. The hour is so late it almost counts as early but someone picks up after only two short rings.
"Eijun-kun, I thought I might hearing from you soon."
He breaks into a grin. "I knew it. They have you two working on this." It's hardly a surprise; you need info that's not quite above-board, you ask the Kominato brothers. Their prices are steep but their reputation is well-earned. The elder one is a shark Eijun knows better than to swim with (not when it comes to business at least), but Haruichi likes him enough to do him a small favor now and then.
"Mm. So, how can I be of assistance?"
"Well…" He can't ask to get first dibs on whatever Haruichi finds; not only would Haruichi refuse on the grounds of it being bad business, that sort of thing feels a little too close to interfering with his own parent organization. Better not risk it. "Just keep me in the loop, will you?"
"Of course, that shouldn't be a problem. I'll let you know as soon as I have something."
The higher ups aren't going to be very forthcoming with the info, that's for sure, so in the time it takes for them to have their executive meeting or whatever it is they do, Eijun can make his own move instead of waiting for their final decision to trickle down. "Great, thanks. I owe you."
"Always a pleasure," Haruichi says with genuine warmth. He's sharp when he needs to be but disarmingly gentle more often than not. Not even his scary brother has the same talent for concealing weapons. But right now there's only concern in his voice when he warns, "Take care of yourself, Eijun-kun. I can't help but think this is a sign of things to come."
"Not a bad view, don't you think?"
It's windy on the rooftop where gusts of warm air snap at his clothes and Eijun is glad he chose to dress down a little. He's never been a big fan of the suit-and-tie uniform of the yakuza. Miyuki probably thinks he's joking when he says that as kumicho he's going to wear a tracksuit but Eijun is absolutely serious, he's going to do it at least once just to see the looks on everyone's faces.
The sleeves of his button-down are rolled up in concession to the heat and there's no tie flapping in his face. It's as cool as it's going to get at this time of night. The city spread out before him is lit up in digital screens, neon signs, and car lights. Eijun leans on the railing and glances to his side.
"Go on, take a look."
The man sneers at him—or that's what it looks like with his face all scrunched up and nose busted into a pulpy mess—which is not how someone of Eijun's station should be treated. Such disrespect deserves another educational smack. Leather creaks as he tightens his gloved fist and cracks it across the man's jaw. His head whips back, and when it lolls forward again the tempered edge of a katana presses a red line into the soft flesh of his throat.
"Hands on the railing," Eijun says, nice and conversational in counterpoint to the threat of his sword. "Now look down."
This isn't his usual style. He doesn't have the patience to execute long, theatric games, although he doesn't mind watching them at the hands of a master. This is more Miyuki's thing. Normally, Eijun would run the guy through and call it a day.
Normally, Eijun isn't this pissed.
The files Haruichi sent over included CCTV footage from the festival that identified the shooter. A separate clip showed the same man bowing deep to someone in a very distinct car. Eijun didn't need to wait for the executive board to tell him to not do anything stupid, but he wasn't going to sit on his hands doing nothing either.
Strangely, the rage pulsing through him has a calming effect. Like it broke through the threshold of anger and into a zone of serenity. His touch with the sword is light and fluid, following the man's movement until the honed blade rests over the back of his neck. He's bent over the railing, looking down at the tiny people weaving along the street below. A flashy car pulls up to the building and Eijun sighs through his nose. He thought he might drag this out a bit longer, but looks like he's run out of time.
There's no need to say anything else. He hasn't even bothered to remember the man's name. Eijun grips the hilt of his sword in both hands, raises the blade high, and brings it down in a single, swift stroke.
The angle is not ideal but he adjusts for it and slices clean through the neck. He barely feels the resistance of bone. Sharp steel rings piercingly loud when the blade notches the thick metal railing and he feels that impact jar up his arms, but otherwise Eijun is a little impressed with himself. Apparently, cool-headed wrath goes a long way. No wonder Miyuki and Chris are always telling him to keep a level head.
But he shouldn't dawdle here congratulating himself. The screams have started from below. Eijun gives his sword a quick wipe, sheathes it, cases it, and slings the whole thing over his shoulder. His all-black ensemble does its job of hiding stains and he rolls his sleeves back down his arms to cover any telltale traces on his skin. Lastly, he rubs his face and neck with a cloth to remove any specks of blood there.
Good enough to pass muster. Eijun is packed and ready to go, but first he steps up to the man's corpse still slumped over the railing, sans head. Lifting it by the feet, Eijun checks his position and then flips it over the edge while hoping for the best. He's rewarded with the crunch of metal and glass down below, car alarm shrieking in the night, and Eijun exits the roof in high spirits.
Kanemaru is waiting by the car at the end of the alley where Eijun emerges from. Sour-faced but oddly silent, the bodyguard opens the door for him. Eijun starts to get in but pauses when his phone rings. The screen shows an unknown number but he has a good guess as to who it is and answers readily.
"Hello?"
"You little punk," greets Mukai Taiyou on the other end. "That was my favorite car."
Eijun grins so hard it hurts. "Oh, did something happen to your Lamborghini?" He slides into the backseat of the more ubiquitous (among yakuza) Mercedes, but his face falls when he sees who's waiting for him. Chris merely raises an eyebrow and motions for him to continue with his call.
"You should compensate me for a replacement. Or maybe you'd like all-out war?"
You'd like that, huh. Eijun makes himself comfortable. First, deal with the newly minted Teitou-kai heir, then he can worry about facing the music with Chris. "Since when does the almighty Teitou-kai care what happens to clumsy, would-be assassins? I mean, he really fucked up that job. I did you a favor."
"Good for you, you've learned how to take out trash, that seems right about your level. But you should watch where you dump it. You're paying for my new car."
"Fine, whatever." Eijun rolls his eyes. Petty revenge for petty revenge it is. And so the stalemate continues.
"I'm surprised, though." Mukai's voice takes a taunting turn. "I thought your subordinate was worth more than chopping up some nobody in a temper tantrum. You're just a kid after all."
Eijun's fingers clamp tightly around the padded nylon of his sword case. "You're the one not worth bothering with. And if I'm such an unimportant brat, why'd you try to take me out?"
"Oh, that. Something of a lark, I guess?"
He's losing his cool serenity to a more familiar boiling point. "Not to toot my own horn but did you think if something happened to me our kumicho would let it pass? What the fuck are you trying to pull?"
Mukai's tone dips and comes out steely. "Sawamura-gumi's esteemed kumicho is already well past retirement age. Quite a few people are concerned. At the very least, there should be a distinction between acting as a kumicho and acting as a grandfather."
"What's that supposed to—"
"Do pass on my wishes for his continued good health."
"Oi—oi! Why that smug asshole—!"
Chris lets out a sigh. "Well, for now at least we've avoided the worst-case scenario."
Eijun pockets his phone, and though it takes effort, he tucks away his anger while he's at it. Once he's composed, he turns as best he can in the seat to face his former mentor and lower his head. "I acted on my own again. Please accept my apologies."
A light touch glances over his hair, but instead of patting him on the head like he's a child again, Chris's hand shifts to rest upon Eijun's shoulder. "I can't say I'm surprised. And even though you took matters into your own hands, you exercised good judgment. Some of the executives aren't happy but the outcome for us isn't bad at all. You did well."
…Oh. Eijun knows he's red-faced when he lifts his head but he can't help it. Some old habits never die completely. "Th-thank you." He thought for sure he'd be put under house arrest or something. Assigned additional bodyguard detail at the very least. Kumicho probably wouldn't have gone so far as to demote him but Eijun had been prepared for anything. Speaking of which… "Sensei, Kumicho still hasn't picked his successor, right?"
"That is correct."
Eijun's eyes narrow, recalling Mukai's words. "He hasn't said anything weird though, has he?" The way Chris's broad frame stiffens just the tiniest bit does not fill Eijun with reassurance. "What? What's he done?"
With an air of reluctant inevitability, Chris replies, "It was an informal affair, mind, just a few drinks exchanged with our Kunitomo and Tahara brothers. I'm concerned as to how word got out… but anyway. The main point is I believe someone mistook the words of a proud grandparent for the words of the organization's kumicho."
Eijun can't believe he's hearing this. "Are you… are you telling me I almost died—Miyuki almost died—because that drunk old codger was bragging about his grandson!?"
Chris's embarrassed silence serves as tacit confirmation.
"Unbelievable." Eijun isn't too old to refrain from kicking the front seat in a fit of temper. "He really should retire already! Next he'll be going senile! Hurry up and make me the official successor—"
"About that."
"Huh? What?" He stops kicking the seat and up front Kanemaru mutters something unkind.
"I find it curious that the Teitou-kai would target you over something like this. As silly as the mistake was, only a fool would take it as a sign of weakness. Everyone knows how our kumicho is."
Stupid Gramps. Of all the times and places to be a doting grandparent. "Yeah, so? It's true he's pretty old now and eliminating his successor is only natural. That's how they did my dad." Shit, he only realizes just now that the same thing nearly happened to him. And he'd have nothing but a nepotistic name to show for it. Eijun lets his head drop back to rest against the top of the seat, tension draining out of him. I've gotta be more vigilant… and responsible as a boss… then Miyuki wouldn't have...
"But none of the other candidates were targeted, only you."
"I know!" He grimaces and gets a grip on his anger, wrangling it under control. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful from now on."
"That's not what I meant." Chris shakes his head and fond exasperation creeps into his voice before smoothing over with long-time patience. "If you were to take out only one individual among a group, which one would you single out?"
This is a familiar feeling. After Eijun dropped out of high school, Chris was the one who taught him everything he needed to know. It's easier to pay attention to the lesson now when he's not nursing a hopeless crush on his hot teacher. "Well… either the easiest, the biggest threat, or the one that would have the most impact."
"You fit all three of those criteria, don't you?"
…Eijun really doesn't want to agree that he's easy pickings but the festival incident speaks for itself. On the upside, being seen as a greater threat than the other candidates helps soothe his ego and he's already well-aware of his status as the kumicho's last remaining blood relative. "Huh," he says, mulling over those reasons and what they could mean. "The Teitou-kai is more worried about me than the others? Even Furuya?"
"When it comes to you, it's not about how much territory you have or how much money you make." Eijun harrumphs under his breath. Just because that bastard Furuya pulls in the most business and controls the biggest branch, he's been the favored candidate for a while. "You have unique connections, first of all. The Kominato brothers don't favor any one group, but they make exceptions for you alone."
"I wouldn't go that far… and Harucchi is a nice guy. I think Ryousuke-san just humors me."
"You're on good terms with the young leaders of the Todoroki-kai as well. Avoiding trouble with that organization would put us in a beneficial position in the future. I suspect they'll make a big move soon."
"Raichi and I never talk business if you think I might know something, and Sanada-san is easy-going in general." Most of the time, anyway. He can get a little… intense.
"How about Kunitomo-kumicho's adopted son? He's neither nice, nor easy to get along with."
"Oh, no. I'm not friends with Mei. Fuck that guy."
"He offered to assist in tracking down the shooter."
"Only because he knew he'd be the primary suspect!"
"And did you seriously suspect him for even a moment?"
"Well… that's… but he's an asshole. He's just an asshole. We're not friends."
"In any case," Chris says with his evidence laid out, "the candidate with the greatest future prospects is you. The Teitou-kai doesn't want our current alliance to stand, let alone grow stronger, and you may be the key to that. That's one reason they'd want to remove you as a threat."
"Shit, there's more?" While it's flattering to be taken seriously by an organization as old and powerful as the Teitou-kai, who once controlled the majority of the region, knowing that they're gunning for him isn't going to help Eijun sleep at night. It's also sort of embarrassing that some of these vaunted connections of his are strictly personal affairs. I should stop joking about Miyuki sleeping his way to the top. It might actually be true in my case.
"I'm certain they didn't expect you to retaliate the way you did. Their aim was obvious."
"Yeah, Mukai was spoiling for a fight. I guess if they couldn't get rid of me, they thought I'd do something that would ruin my chances at the succession." Eijun had come close to doing just that. He wouldn't have minded going to war, storming a Teitou-kai office and maybe putting Mukai himself at the business end of his katana. It would have been satisfying. Only, Chris had told him to be careful, and Miyuki couldn't advise him as to what to do, so the best plan Eijun could come up with on his own was to make an example of the only expendable piece and end it there.
"You refrained from going overboard," Chris says, sounding pleased. "Even our own members will be surprised. When I left the main house, they were all scrambling to prepare for the worst."
"I'll bet," Eijun mutters. He's fighting not to grin but it's a losing battle. "I've grown a little, right?"
Chris smiles and it's not an indulgence. The deliberate nod of his head is more than mere agreement. "I believe that the Teitou-kai is right to be wary of our young master."
"When you put it like that, what else can I do but meet your expectations?" Laughing, Eijun's lingering apprehensions fall away. Let his enemies come, then. The next kumicho of the Sawamura-gumi should be able to handle at least that much. He won't let harm come to those around him again.
He's already let go of Miyuki twice in this life and Eijun swore over the cup of sake binding them together that there wouldn't be a third time.