Chapter Text
This is my very first annual reunion at the clan headquarters for New Year’s Eve. I've always heard about this event from the outside: stories about the toughest, menacing looking gangsters all gathered in a single location added to the mystique that surrounded the clan. And part of this rumor is true! Wherever I look, I recognize the top ranks quietly chatting between themselves, legends of the organization such as the Raging Bull of Nakano, a literal wardrobe of a man barely contained in a grey suit; or the Slippery Snake of Toshima showing the brand new tattoo on her back to her fellow clansmen; or better yet, the Octopus, the Tiger of West Sendai, the list goes on and on I still can't believe it I'm in the same room as them. It almost feels like being in a movie…
So imagine my reaction when I saw these legends of the underground world trembling in fear before a pink haired Uma child.
When I first saw her waltz in the crowd, I thought my eyes were playing a trick on me. My gaze followed this… bundle of energy wrapped in a cherry red floral kimono and peach pink skirt dashing back and forth, greeting these hardened criminals with years of violence on their shoulders like they were friends at the park. Not only that, I could also see the beads of sweat glistening in these lowlifes' foreheads as they greet back – Just who the hell is this kid?!
“Hi!” I let out a surprised yelp as said kid materializes in front of me.
“I've never seen you before! Are you my uncle, too? My name's Haru Urara!” She blurts out, this beacon of innocence incarnate looks at me straight in the eyes, her tail swishing behind her. My brain lags for a brief moment, immediately goes to default settings when opts for the preset answer for nosy brats: “What's the deal with you, little pu—” I feel myself being pulled by the scruff, suddenly coming face to face with the notorious Mad Monkey of Chidoya, his expression contorted in an intimidating glower.
“The hell you think you're doing, you bastard?!” The man whispers through his teeth, careful to not be heard by the onlooking Uma child.
“Haru-chan is speaking to you! Hurry up and introduce yourself properly!” My glance shifts from him to Haru, who seems confused by the situation. The more I look, the more clueless I become; I'm quite sure that behind those sakura petals eyes there isn't an evil thought – if there are any thoughts to begin with – which makes me wonder how did she end up here in the first place. Before I even formulate a puzzled sound out of my throat, the doors at the end of the hall swings inward. The room fell dead quiet, everyone snaps into attention: the Raging Bull’s body stiffens into a rigorous posture; the Slippery Snake's boastful smile immediately vanishes as she quickly dresses back up; even the Mad Monkey, who seemed so hell-bent on beating me up, abruptly lets me go to face the doors, arms behind his back. After heavily implying to copy his stance with a murderous glare, I replicate it to the best of my abilities, eyes fixed on whoever is about to step into the hall.
A tall Umamusume steps out of the dark corridor with authority, her long brown hair held together in a ponytail by six large, golden hairpins. Her ice-cold gaze enough to freeze the room to a halt, the outfit… Open kimono draped over her shoulders, hakama pants, sarashi binding her chest… No way, is that the—“Mommy!” a happy squeal tears into the utter silence. My jaw drops to the floor, watching Haru rapidly dashing through the parting crowd to latch herself onto the uma’s leg.
The one I recognize as the three times G1 winner, The Oyabun, Akitsu ‘Mile Monarch’ Teio.
“Akitsu-kaichou!” Every man and woman in the room bows down in respect, leaving me standing out like a sunflower on a field of daisies – or rather like an idiot. Fuck! I quickly fix my mistake, hoping the Oyabun haven't noticed. I've almost called the Boss’s daughter a little punk, too. This day can't possibly get any damn weirder.
Spoiler: It got weirder.
It is almost midnight, and fortunately enough I've managed to not draw any more attention to myself again after that close call. Everything seems back to normal; the boss, now that I can see her, is quite taciturn – actually I never heard her speak once, or change expressions for that matter… not that I was close enough to hear or see, since I'm actively trying to avoid her sharp gaze. I'm still wondering how on earth did such a stoic person give birth to a cinnamon roll like the pink haired barnacle attached to her. Really, who was the father? Santa Claus? And speaking of the kid, does she have any idea of what we do? For the looks of it, she has the same ease and obliviousness when approaching the members of our syndicate as a fly landing on a carnivorous plant. For real, this isn't a place tail wagging Heidi should be regardless of her being the Boss’s daughter.
Whatever, the new year is upon us. Can't help but fantasize bragging about the crazy stories that await me in the future: fast-paced chases with the police, gang fights, downing sake and pockets flowing with cash… I'm in it for a place amongst the legends!
“A moment of attention, please.” One of the seniors suddenly addresses the room, the voice comes low and commanding from the speakers to quiet the low hum of conversation.
“As in tradition, we welcome the new year with fortified purpose and ambitious prospects – Here tonight, we wish so by reaffirming our bonds not only with strength and discipline as our pillars, as the Oyabun decrees, but also with joy.” A ripple of confusion runs across my brain. Joy?! We're a crime syndicate for crying out loud, not a festival troupe! This directly clashes with my vision of those tough as nails, gritty criminals who laugh in the face of death and defy the law. I look around, scanning the faces of my comrades, and none of them seem perturbed by this; on the contrary, they look quite delighted. “But before she retires for the night, our dear Haru-chan will bless the year ahead of us with a song.”
Are you actually fucking with me?
I watch as Haru Urara rushes to the senior amid a polite smattering of applause, while my idea of a gangsta lifestyle shatters in real time. This can't be true, is it? All around me, I see waves of scarred, intimidating men and women taking out their phones to film the performance. The Raging Bull's holding the device far too little for his hands sideways, while the Mad Monkey was biting on his lip, eyes suspiciously bright. Is this a kindergarten recital now?! Where's the boss…? There she is… RIGHT IN FRONT OF EVERYONE?! I'm about to pass out.
A chord progression rolls out of the speakers, the audio peaks horribly, but it doesn't matter, the entirety of the hall is captivated by the little Uma as she sways left and right. Her mother, the ever stoic, cold-blooded Oyabun follows the beat of the song with the most eagerly enthusiastic deadpan clapping, which I didn't know you could do, as mechanically precise as a metronome.
“ ♪ ~ Mōikutsu neruto – Oshōgatsu ~ ♪ ”
The scene is so surreal, the gap moe insurmountable. My bewilderment challenges the reality before me as my jaw drops to the floor; the happy chime digging into my ears like a jackhammer, Haru Urara has… a surprisingly nice voice for a child. It's not like those preschool musicals where everyone – and I say everyone – prays for a quick end to the torture. No, Haru has at least the ability and decency to hit those notes, and you can very much see she's enjoying the mom—The hell am I talking about?! “ ♪ ~ Hayaku koi koi – Oshōgatsu ~ ♪—HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” Haru shouts into the mic, and sends the hall into uproar. The applause is deafening, booming across each corner of the room alongside whistles and encore requests. I'm at a loss for words, all I can do is stare as the kid waves at the cheering crowd like a pop star.
“She gets better every year.” I hear someone say behind me, clearly moved by the performance.
“Did you get that twirl in the video? That idiot just had to walk in front of my camera.”
“Of course! I'll send it to you right away.”
Did you hear that? That's the sound of my ambitions popping into a cloud of pink confetti and sunshine.
“Oi, you bastard!” I feel myself being pulled by the collar. I'm met yet again with the Mad Monkey, knife uncomfortably close to my eye. See, that would have made me crap in my pants any other day, still does, however it'd be much scarier if his face wasn't completely marked by tear trails. “How dare you not clap?! Haru stayed up past her bedtime to grace us with her song. Don't you have a heart?!”
“I’m…sorry?” I raise my hands in surrender. This does comfort me a little, in a very not sane and kind of problematic way, but I still don’t understand. Can these two realities coexist without friction? What if our enemies find out about this soft side of ours? Wouldn’t they ridicule us? Wouldn’t we be called weak? “Beat it, Monkey. The kid doesn’t get it yet,” a hand clasps firmly on my shoulder, a voice so deep that turns my legs into jelly. I slowly turn around, a lump stuck in my throat as the Raging Bull himself comes into my field of view; his face is a map of battle scars, and yet offers me the kind expression of an old fool’s wisdom: “Young blood, life in the syndicate is a bleak one, you see. You might find solace indulging in instant gratifications, but it is as fleeting as a flash in the pan, and soon enough, it'll leave you hollow.” Then he guides my head towards Haru, holding her mother's hand as she is set to leave for the night, not without waving goodnight at her supposedly many uncles and aunts.
“Many of us see Haru-chan as our only beacon of light in this dark world that’d otherwise consume you from within. And the same also goes for the Oyabun.” He invites me to take a better look at the Mile Monarch, in particular her face. The Mona Lisa smile, so subtle in its tilt, but it's there whenever she looks at her daughter, one that breaks the aura of ruthless leader her reputation carries.
“It ain't only for her sake that we try to maintain her innocence.” He says, easing the grasp on my shoulders.
Oh my god… I get it.
Suddenly my fantasies of notoriety and cash dripping pockets feel childish, immature. My cartoonish view of the criminal life now leaves an awful taste in my mouth, as if I’ve got it wrong for all this time. Much like Haru, I’m stepping into a complex, cruel adult world and misunderstanding it, just in the complete opposite way. I find myself with a long road ahead, me who believed to be already halfway through. With that in mind, I bid farewell to the old me as the last piece of the calendar falls to the ground, approaching the new year with renovated – and definitely more fulfilling – purpose, all thanks to a pink haired Umamusume.
“Do you want me to airdrop you the video of Haru-chan singing?”
Nevermind, this place is a fucking nuthouse.