Chapter Text
When people had asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, you never would’ve said ‘an associate of one of the most ruthless gangs in Japan’. You said something like ‘doctor’ or ‘vet’. Still, life had a funny way of doing weird things, and that was what you found yourself as.
It was kind of guaranteed, though. Your mother and father had both been mafia. Had, past tense, because they were now dead. Accidental car bomb. ‘Accident’, being funny joke to people in your circle. Did you resent the loss? Not exactly. They had never been particularly close to you. Your real family lay in the hands of your fellow associates. Especially your uncle.
Okita Souji had been the left hand man of your father’s, the gang’s capo. Okita wasn’t your real uncle; he had been sworn in as a brother by word instead. The role should’ve fallen to your father’s son, if he had one—but your mother grew infertile after your birth, and the resentment of having to pass leadership out of his bloodline made your father quite cold towards you. But that was fine. You were used to the cold.
You should’ve hated Okita, but you didn’t. Okita was a better father to you than your own blood had been. When he called you to his office, you did so without hesitation. Your father’s office had always seemed so cold in your memories, but Okita made it seem warmer, making it seem less like a dungeon than a large study with a fire that was always burning. You closed the door behind you and smiled.
“Uncle Souji.”
He looked up from his papers and smiled back, extinguishing the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “[Name]-chan. How are you?”
“Fine. The last job went just as planned.”
“That’s good… but I wasn’t talking about work. How are you?”
It was strange. Nobody had ever bothered to ask after your health before Okita. Even then, the questions were rare, because there were always more important things to talk about rather than your life. You shifted in your heels.
“Um… okay, I guess. Why?”
“We have something… to discuss. Sit.”
You eyed the chair warily. That chair was where people sat when they got sentenced to death.
Still, you sat slowly. He rubbed his unshaven stubble with a rough hand and sighed heavily.
“[Name], our group is dying.”
“That’s a lie,” you shot back. “We’re fine.”
“We’re not. [Name]-chan, face it. We’ve lost too much when your father and mother went out. Loyalty’s been divided… funds have been low… we’re barely staying afloat with the underground games. We just lost our contraband fences in South Africa. There’s no way we can survive if war is declared.”
“There’s going to be a war?” you asked with horror. He thought about something and lit a fresh cigarette, smoke puffing out with the following words.
“Not unless we marry you out.”
Although he hadn’t given you the blade to commit suicide with, you felt like you had been sentenced to die all the same.
---
You hadn’t wanted to do it, but you had to. You weren’t well liked in your own group. After all, you were a girl, and you had no desire to sleep with any of the ratty underlings. Why would they like you? Your personality? As if.
Your uncle sent you off with a smoky apology, an awkward hug, and that was it. Your bags had already been packed weeks before, and now, there was no turning back.
The Shiratorizawa gang was one of the biggest groups in the area. Karasuno from the south had been clawing their ways up the ranks, scooping up territories and influential people faster than people had anticipated. They had even won a dispute against Seijoh, which had brought a chill down everyone's spine. It was clear that Karasuno was going to grow big, but there wasn’t enough room for the families. Somebody had to go down. Okita guessed that it would be yours. As a solution, he’d meld the group’s assets into Shiratorizawa’s in exchange for protection. You were just a promise. A hostage.
He’d told you to look presentable, so you put on your ugliest scowl and entered.
A guard frisked you. They checked your teeth for cyanide pills and took your gun away from you. You watched it go with mournful eyes. It had been the only gift besides life your father would ever give you.
“He’s a lucky one, ain’t he?” the guard asked jokingly as he checked your pockets for blades. The other sighed wistfully as his hands ran over the insides of your thighs.
“Wish I could take his place.”
Even though they were literally talking about your betrothed, you couldn’t help but feel a sting of humour and guilt. You still didn’t know his face. Nobody had bothered to send you a picture of your future hubby-wubby. All you knew was his name on paper. You weren’t even sure you knew how to read the kanji properly.
“Right this way, lady.” The guards were satisfied with their inspection and one led you forwards into an antechamber. Two other men in black were stationed in front of a large wooden door. You could see the outline of his gun in his shirt pocket. He opened the door wordlessly and you stepped in, head down.
A hum of conversation died the second you stepped foot into the room. You looked up hesitantly, your eyes skipping over their faces, struggling to figure out which one was the one. Your eyes caught on one face in particular and they smirked at you, straightening. Fear struck your heart, making it race when they spoke.
“Welcome to Shiratorizawa.”