Chapter Text
Truth be told, Yuuri knew that this would be coming. Sitting in front of Principal Asano’s desk, Yuuri took tiny sips from an oriental teacup as his boss shuffled through a manila folder. A rather imposing one at that! Leaflets of paper ran down Asano’s thumb, like a counter inspecting the bills after a bank heist. Probably not ethical for Yuuri to view his boss in such a light, but the ominous atmosphere and the shadows highlighted across the principal’s face was what nightmares were made of. The heavy cast of eyebrows, the pointed glint over Asano’s eyes, and that devilish smirk curved over his lips. Drops of unease trickled off of Yuuri when he leaned forward, inspecting the documents that Asano pushed towards him. Yuuri’s school records from around ten years ago. When he was a student at Kunugigaoka Academy.
Asano should’ve held this meeting ages ago, but he was a lenient man. As lenient as an educator/businessman could be. All he expected were results, and Yuuri delivered them dutifully. Like a student turning in assignments on time to remain on a teacher’s good side for the time-being. There was nothing wrong with Yuuri’s work, and the principal didn’t expect anything less from a young man with a bachelor’s degree. However, Principal Asano couldn’t turn a blind eye over a very simple fact. Japan’s Frozen Tiara was under his care and supervision, and not even a toddler could miss the biggest fact that was standing before him. Katsuki Yuuri, figure-skater of the highest caliber. Decorated with gleaming medals, hungry vengeance, and nerves of steel. Weathered down into an unappreciated class monitor with a clipboard and pens. Wasn’t that a troubling sight?
To see one of the brightest citizens in the country culled into a position like this. If the world knew...The world wasn’t going to know. Kept under a strict contract, courtesy of Japan’s Ministry of Defense, Principal Asano and Katsuki Yuuri vowed with their lives to not divulge anything about Koro-sensei and Class 3-E to the public’s ears. However, nowhere on the contract did it say that the signed parties couldn’t question and investigate each other. If they wanted to. Yuuri suspected that sooner or later he would be caught, but what was the purpose behind showcasing old school documents?
Yuuri was a decent student, at least on paper. A few infringements for tardiness, but nothing more severe than that. Absences were waived because he had medals to bring home, or at least put Japan’s name out there on the list of rising athletes on the competitive ice. Average grades that fluctuated up and down, down and up. Nothing out of the ordinary, but there was a secret lurking behind Principal Asano’s smile when Yuuri looked up from the papers.
Was Yuuri a former student? Yes, he was. These school documents weren’t forged, and Yuuri quietly cringed when his eyes spotted past school pictures of his goofy self and that equally goofy smile plastered across his face. He really couldn’t smile with his eyes since the cinnamon-tinted windows to the soul were barren on top of a superficial smile. Drawing his eyes away from all of that, Yuuri closed a chapter of his life before his boss got too greedy. Humbleness was a virtue for any age, and Asano was no stranger to such formalities.
He simply eased back in his seat. Curious yet honored that a former student paid a visit after all these years. Yuuri mumbled that it wasn’t strange at all, and that he wanted some inspiration after a disappointing letdown during the last skating season. Everything Yuuri said was true, but he didn’t dare look away from Asano. Unless he wanted to reveal a scar or two for a crafty civilian. The meeting ended soon afterwards, and Asano congratulated Yuuri on his hard work and self-sacrifice. Patting a rough hand over the reports that Yuuri had been turning in for the past few weeks. Yuuri nodded, backing out from the office slowly. Mumbling that he was late for practice, mumbling that he couldn’t skip out on routines if he wanted to make a comeback for the next skating season.
Principal Asano managed a chuckle, almost tricking Yuuri into letting his guard down. As soon peace was restored in the room, Asano was quick to pierce it. Like a needle popping a child’s balloon.
Give a greeting to Ms. Saruhiko on my behalf. Today is her anniversary.
Back facing Principal Asano, Yuuri gave a curt nod. Biting the inside of his cheeks to keep his composure. Asano didn’t know. Yuuri kept telling himself that. He was Ms. Saruhiko’s former student and if Yuuri was anybody else, Asano would’ve said the same thing. However, why would the principal bring this up if he wasn’t already aware of something else? No, Yuuri couldn’t think like that. Ms. Saruhiko taught here at the academy for at least five years. It was be no surprise that Asano knew of the teacher’s anniversary, but it was rather unnerving that the meeting was held on that very same day. As if Asano wanted to see for himself if an old rumor was true.
Did Kunugigaoka Academy produce its own, “organic” assassin?
Back at his aunt and uncle’s apartment complex, Yuuri laid dormant in his room, hidden under fleece blankets. Resuming exercise when his folks went out for groceries. Breathing through his push-ups, Yuuri’s shoulders shook as his back curved into a mountain top. His form was sloppy, and Yuuri could almost hear Ms. Saruhiko’s voice. Urging him to straighten up if he wanted a sturdy upper body. Widening his hand stance, Yuuri dropped deeper into his push-ups. Chest a few inches off the floor as his rusty body pushed itself up. Managing one proper push-up before Yuuri fell over and smacked his head against a cabinet door. Lying in silence and nursing his wound, Yuuri closed his eyes.
Not to sleep, but to think back to the old days. Specifically five years ago, when he heard that Ms. Saruhiko was in Russia. Yuuri was in Detroit when he received the phone call during his practice session with Coach Celestino and fellow skater, Phichit Chulanont. Promising to keep his phone on silent next time, Yuuri rushed to the locker room. Cornered alongside metal doors in a frigid room. Voice dropped to a whisper, eyes wide when heard his late-teacher’s pants. Her voice so hushed that Yuuri barely understood what she said until Ms. Saruhiko whispered his code name. City Hunter. That was the first and last time Ms. Saruhiko ever called Yuuri by his code name.
A gunshot deafened her late-pupil’s ear, enough to produce a mere whisper as a fragile student called out to his teacher. In a vain attempt, Yuuri asked if Chihoko was okay. That was the first and last time he ever called Ms. Saruhiko by her first name. How tragic it was for one to never hear the bond between a pair. In the end, a teacher left this world without her just desserts.
The woman that had taught Yuuri everything she knew to survive in this cutthroat world was gone. Her way of life survived through Yuuri, but the numb assassin barely had a grip of what was going on before he hid the mask and way of life altogether. Never to be seen or used again, but Yuuri was easing back into familiar roots and had recently discovered where his old mask was. The dusty surgical mask rested under his pillow, serving as a memorabilia to everything that had shaped his life in the past ten years.
Later that evening, Yuuri spent his dinner at a bar. He left a note for his folks to read and to new honest, they were probably glad that he went. Always concerned that he wasn't fitting in with his “peers”, but at least they won't question Yuuri if he came home late. A lecture here and there, but Yuuri was an adult. Acceptable for him to spend an hour or two drinking to lift the spirits, but it wasn't his spirits that were lifted. Locked behind a bar counter with a shot of sake, Yuuri tipped the bottle for Ms. Saruhiko’s favor. Pouring the female assassin a generous portion, hitting it with his own glass, and downing both shots in rapid succession. Ears hot, Yuuri kept repeating the ritual until the alcohol tasted like Red Bull.
Back in the day, Ms. Saruhiko promised that she had a tasty drink for when Yuuri was of age, but the skater preferred his drinks alone. Much like how he preferred to do a lot of things alone until a dear friend snapped him out of it.
Yuuri dedicated the next shot to Phichit. Mumbling how the skater was his support pillar, quickly adding that Chihoko was a great pillar too. Both shots ran down Yuuri’s throat, leaving behind a burning bitterness. What was he doing? Slumped over a bar seat, trying to come to terms with a reemerging past.This was like every bar scene in a movie. The main protagonist drinking his sorrows away before someone convinces him to fall back to old roots. Yeah, right. Yuuri promised himself that the assassin life was behind him. If he was going to do anything drastic, it was going to be with his own face. Not a mask for people to speculate behind.
Yuuri needed to hold back on the liquor.
Someone came behind him, clasping a hand over his shoulder when sake spilled over the wooden bar counter. Lovely hands fit for a lover than a bar attendee. Silky hair ticking Yuuri’s neck when the patron came closer. Warm breath barely grazing Yuuri’s exposed skin. A mere whisper, strong enough to match a whistling bullet. Be my coach.
Yuuri snapped back, reuniting with the teal eyes of a madman. Slipped past the blade running down Viktor’s arm and matched it with his own. Blades met at the middle, both patrons too close to arouse suspicion from the general public. Steady eye on the other’s weapon as Viktor and Yuuri played off the tension. Chatting about how Viktor was in Tokyo for a bit before heading to the hot springs in the countryside. Yuuri poured him a drink, subtly influencing the famous skater to visit Hasetsu. There was a quiet ice rink there if Viktor cared to practice while on vacation. It would’ve been a nice chat between adversaries if daggers were pointed at each other’s thighs. Viktor nursed his sake slowly, knife rested just above Yuuri’s knee. Yuuri poured a bit more for Viktor to drink. Making the skater a stupor drunk would’ve been fine, but Viktor had vodka running through his veins. A little sake wouldn’t do very much, but Yuuri hid his smile when Viktor slurred his words. Two shots in. Yuuri already hid his knife, but he kept a friendly arm over Viktor’s shoulder when the European was pleasantly buzzed.
What was Viktor doing here? If he initiated an attack, it meant he was an assassin. Or, someone tied very closely to the circle. His mother was a mafia boss after all, but it didn’t mean Viktor was one too. But then, why would the European show up at all if that wasn’t the case? Yuuri narrowed his eyes when Viktor babbled, slipping from English, to Russian, and to some Japanese. More than enough evidence to suggest that Viktor hadn’t been in the circle for very long. To be put under with just a few shots was embarrassing, but Yuuri wasn’t going to hurt Viktor. Yet. He still revered the man as his idol, and Yuuri could never forget Ms. Nikiforov’s kindness from ten years ago. But then, why was Viktor here? How did he know where Yuuri was? On this day in particular, the anniversary of Ms. Saruhiko’s death. And what was with the strange phase Viktor had whispered before striking?
It was an odd way of making your presence known, and Yuuri couldn’t let his guard down. Even when Viktor fell asleep over the bar counter. Bangs hiding half of his face, but not hiding that childish smile tugging the corner of his lips. The kind of smile that you would see on a child as they slept on their mother’s knee after a long, long day. Yuuri couldn’t just leave Viktor here to his own devices. Despite being buzzed himself, Yuuri managed to pick Viktor up. Carrying the man bridal-style after paying off the bill. Shuffling down the sidewalk with a man nuzzled against his chest. Viktor breathed softly like a kid. He hadn’t changed one bit. Somewhat sheltered because of his mother, gullible when it came to offers, and quick to drop his guard when Yuuri turned out to be friendly.
For whatever reason, Yuuri didn’t let Viktor go. He didn’t know the man’s motives, or why he was truly in Japan. If Viktor knew where Yuuri was, that meant the European knew about the skater’s past. Why was everyone trying to dig that up? The City Hunter was the vigilante that the world deserved, but not the one it needed. There was no reason for him to don the surgical mask and fight against backalley crime. Yuuri had a skating season to train for and a yellow octopus to kill...Wait, did Viktor know about Koro-sensei? Was Viktor aware of the world’s most dangerous criminal and because of his mafia roots, did he decide to take a trip down to Japan just to kill the bastard? The pretty penny over Koro-sensei’s head was no joke and for a mafia group, it was enough to fetch in weapons, drugs, influence, and state-of-the-art luxuries.
You thought if you took me down, you could get the octopus’ coordinates.
Viktor twitched in his sleep. Completely helpless, but Yuuri knew better than to do anything funny. While under Ms. Saruhiko Chihoko’s tutelage, she warned Yuuri to never let his guard down when the enemy was vulnerable. Guns and knives weren’t the only tools that an assassin was equipped with. Poisons, recording devices, and the sly chance of the vulnerable corrupting you from the heart. Assassins only seemed vulnerable to tug at the heartstrings before “waking up” for the finishing blow. An old trick that female shinobi were taught. Whether clothed or naked, they were a slippery threat that could easily wiggle themselves into someone’s heart before destroying them from the inside-out. Yuuri wasn’t sure if any mafia group copied that tactic, but it was no secret that shady organizations employed attractive faces to put the public in stupor while the real puppet strings were hitched from the behind.
Maybe Viktor wasn’t here for Koro-sensei, but for Yuuri. Did he finally learn that Yuuri had planned on sabotaging his mother’s public record all those years ago? Yuuri didn’t stop to find out. Booking a hotel room for Viktor somewhere in downtown Tokyo, he hauled Viktor to the elevator and down the fifth floor. The Russian collapsed onto his bed, immediately reaching and grabbing Yuuri’s hand before the skater could leave. Was that really a good idea when someone had knives up their sleeve? But Viktor had just woken up, flat-out forgot that he had seen Yuuri earlier. Or, that was what he wanted Yuuri to believe.
The Russian murmured questions, asking where he was and why Yuuri was here. There was something so gentle about Viktor’s words that Yuuri turned his head, guard dropped by a sliver. A smirk twisted over Viktor’s lips.
You never let your guard down around anybody, Ms. Saruhiko had advised, years ago. Never know when a cute face is gonna turn on ya.
Be a shitty way to end his late-teacher’s anniversary with a blade at his throat, an attractive face cornering his escape. They were both drunk, not fully aware of what they were doing. It wouldn’t hurt if Yuuri played with his prey a little. Crossing the few centimetres bridged between them, Yuuri met Viktor’s lips at the middle.