Chapter Text
As signs and portents go, the ill-timed buzz wasn’t exactly a dramatic roll of thunder, but Gintoki knew a plot interruption when he heard one. He tried to sink back into sleep by burrowing deeper into the couch and letting the Jump over his face block out the noise, but the first buzz was followed by a longer, more insistent press of the button.
“Shinpachi. Door.” His words came out muffled by cheap, drool-damp paper, and didn’t bring any response because of course the reason he’d managed a nap in the first place was that Shinpachi had said something about errands and scurried off.
Gintoki lifted the Jump. “Kagura! Door!” Despite the raised voice, his only reply was another buzz. Probably Kagura had gotten bored and wandered off to find some other kids to play with. Which probably also meant... “Hey, Sadaharu?”
Silence.
Buzz.
Even the dog had abandoned Gintoki.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered. Irritation propelled him off his comfy perch, the magazine thumping to the floor. When the tinny noise recurred after a brief respite with what sounded like even more force, he rolled his eyes. ”We don’t even have a buzzer,” he complained as he stomped towards the door. “It’s a doorbell. Goes pin-pon. Right there in episode 15 already — it’s not that hard to fact-check.”
In a state of righteous indignation he slammed the door open rather more brusquely than necessary, and was shoved half a step back across his own threshold by two very large bodies in black suits. They came together like the doors of a barely missed elevator, closing the space between them to shield the man behind them from any cutting words Gintoki might have had for him.
Gintoki, once he’d regained his footing, went for his cool customer service voice rather than blustering outrage. “Yes hello — Yorozuya Gin-chan, how may I help you?” Anyone who could afford trained mooks would have pockets deep enough to make the interrupted afternoon worth his while, and he craned his neck to try and catch the eye of the moneybag. Uh. Customer.
The bodyguards reacted to some silent signal, executing a nicely synchronized bit where they slid open and ended up lurking menacingly behind their slighter charge instead. The man was dressed in fancy silks — black with red trim, which Gintoki couldn’t fault him for, but the kimono was lined with red, too, and a scattering of seasonal red maple leafs stood out like splashes of fresh blood against the black. He’d seemed smaller than he was behind his bodyguards — stepping confidently forward, the man in his geta was taller than Gintoki would be in his boots. The artful silks gave him a solid silhouette, but he was thinly built, and up close his face had a gaunt cast. It made it impossible to say if he was a younger man who had aged poorly, or an older man whose skin was drawn so taut across his skull his wrinkles didn’t show. If that was the case his ponytail was a likely culprit — it did look awfully tight.
“Sakata Gintoki-san?” There was an eager gleam in the man’s dark eyes that Gintoki hoped meant he was ready to pay dearly for Yorozuya assistance.
“The very same, at your service.”
“Yougai Yasuhiko,” the man introduced himself without producing a card, leaving a pause after his name indicating he expected some reaction there.
Gintoki waited. Yougai blinked. Gintoki cleared his throat. “Yes…?”
“Ah. Well.” Having missed his self-introduction window, Yougai pretended he hadn’t just failed to impress Gintoki. “I know you are a busy man,” Yougai said superciliously, “so let me get straight to business.”
Gintoki perked up at that. Usually he’d herd the mark — uh, client — inside at this point and serve some tea and senbei, but with Shinpachi out and those giant looming mooks? He made a quick calculation of what would appear most businesslike, and then nodded brusquely as if he always conferred with clients barefoot on his doorstep. “Of course. I’m sure whatever you need, Yorozuya Gin-chan is your man.”
Yougai smiled thinly. “Not quite.”
“Excuse me?”
Yougai took a half-step forward, getting closer than Gintoki felt was quite necessary. “I’d like to hire Shiroyasha.”
It took Gintoki a second to parse the words, to make sense of the shock he was feeling. It took another second to exhale, quirk his lips in a lazy smile, and drawl, “I’m sorry, we’re all out of those.”
Yougai’s expression didn’t change, though Gintoki felt a stirring of imperious impatience from him. “I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”
“Then I’m sure you can hire a fantastic cosplayer,” Gintoki retorted. Whatever this rando wanted with that name was none of his business, but he felt an urge to get the man out of his naturally curly hair as quickly as possible. Sure, there might have been money in it for him, but he knew in his bones that nothing could pay what it would cost him, and that it wasn't anything he wanted to dwell on.
“Don’t worry,” Yougai said, leaning even closer, his voice now a conspiratorial whisper. “This will stay between us — the police don’t have to know.”
Oh, the police didn’t have to know? Well, Yougai had clearly missed most of canon — definitely the Shinsengumi episodes, at least. Gintoki leaned forward, mimicking Yougai. “I’m sure that will make whoever you hire very happy.” He straightened and cleared his throat, speaking up again. “Sorry I couldn’t help you — goodbye.”
“Sakata-san,” Yougai said slowly, a crease struggling to appear between his brows. “I’m sure you don’t quite understand the situation—”
“No, you don’t understand the situation,” Gintoki retorted, very carefully not thinking about anything beyond ending this non-transaction as quickly as possibly. “And I can’t help you with that.”
Yougai was now frowning in earnest, and his henchmen loomed extra threateningly. “Sakata-san—”
“Sorry. Shiroyasha needs a nap. Goodbye!” Done with the conversation, Gintoki shot them a grin, then stepped back into his hallway and slid the door shut quick as a striking snake.
Then he slid it back open, gave the noncanonical buzzer a good punch, and slammed the door on the sight of the three men outside staring at the smoke billowing out of the new hole in the facade, Yougai’s ponytail wafting in the resulting breeze.
Gintoki stomped back to the sofa, and groaned. “Those bastards. They made me lose my place in the Jump!”
The next thing that roused him from sleep was far more welcome — a jumble of familiar footsteps and voices and yips, the smell of Otose’s cooking. He didn’t stir, and soon Shinpachi’s critical stare bored through the Jump. “Gin-san, what happened to the door? And where’s the client?”
Gintoki plucked the Jump off his face and blinked up at Shinpachi. “Who?”
“The old lady said she heard you talking to someone!” Kagura said as she hopped into view.
“Pff. She must be getting senile.”
“There’s a hole next to the door!” Shinpachi looked insulted on Otose’s behalf, but before he could continue protesting Gintoki overrode him.
“Honestly, there was no client! Just someone annoying me with the buzzer.”
“Since when do we have a buzzer?” Shinpachi exclaimed.
“That’s what I said!”
“Gin-chan, Shinpachi, I’m hungry.”
Gintoki ignored Shinpachi’s follow-up questions and complaints about repair bills — that sort of thing tended to sort itself out eventually — and the issue was dropped when they both had to dive in to keep Kagura from picking out all the meat in Otose’s curry. Sadaharu added to the mayhem by barking happy approval of dinner plans. The familiar chaos put Gintoki at ease. Everything was back to normal, and it was time to put that smarmy Yougai and his request out of his mind and then forget that he had ever put anything out of his mind. Since the guy hadn’t come back, he had probably taken the hint and gone off to do weird shit without Gintoki.
***
Slamming the receiver down for the fifth time the next morning, Gintoki admitted the possibility that he might have been slightly too optimistic about Yougai. The man was far too persistent for anyone’s good.
It made Gintoki wonder. He tried to keep his speculations from running away with him, because then his feelings might follow, and that would be— Well. That was something he’d prefer to avoid. But it was strange. Not that it was impossible for Yougai to have made the connection between Shiroyasha and Sakata Gintoki — he’d never made a great secret of his past; he just didn’t bring it up much — but that the man cared at all. And if he cared about that, it had occurred to Gintoki that he might care about others, too. Gintoki hesitated, mulling the conclusion over, considering what he had to lose by just pretending none of this was happening. Then he sighed and dialled Zura’s number.
The dial tone droned on until Gintoki nearly hung up before the call went through. There was a rustle of cloth, a muted voice muttering as a finger blocked the microphone, and then, “Hello? Hello? It's Katsura.”
“Hey, Zura.”
“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.”
“It’s Gintoki.”
“No, I said it’s Katsura.”
Every single time. Gintoki refused to take the bait. Katsura knew it was him. Probably. Either way, Gintoki couldn’t spend too long on this schtick, so he forged ahead. “Have you gotten any… weird callers lately?”
“I have one right now,” came Katsura’s deadpan voice from the receiver.
Gintoki stared very hard at the far wall. Funny, Zura. Very funny. “So nobody asking about the old days?”
There was a pause. It wasn’t a subject either one of them would bring up unprompted. Not even that idiot Sakamoto would, usually. “No. Why?”
It was Gintoki’s turn to pause. He didn’t know what Yougai wanted; he’d never listened that long. He just knew he didn’t like it. But he did have a business advertising they’d do any job, and he did have a big sign outside with his name on it. So maybe there was nothing sinister, just creepy fanboy shit, and that was not something Zura needed to know he was dealing with. “No reason,” Gintoki said. “I just some random stalker asking question.”
“I thought you already had a regular stalker? Why are you getting a random one too?”
“I didn’t exactly ask for it.”
“In that case, have your four-eyed ninja take them out. There can be only one and all that.”
“Isn’t that Highlanders, not stalkers?”
“Well, whatever they are, don’t hog them! Some of us have no stalkers, regular or random. It’s quite unfair.”
That sealed it. Katsura would definitely not be thirsting for the spotlight if he had to put up with Yougai to get it. “Fine, I’ll give them your card.”
“Don’t be silly, Gintoki. I don’t have cards. I am a rebel, on the run from an oppressive government, I couldn’t possibly carry cards that would betray my true identity.”
“Sure, whatever.”
Gintoki hung up, feeling a bit lighter at heart for the confirmation that whatever was going on was a localized phenomena. Then the phone rang again. He picked up the receiver, and at the sound of the now-familiar voice greeting him politely on behalf of Yougai-san he nearly ripped the cord from the wall and threw the phone out the window. But that would set him back a phone. Instead he held the receiver at arm’s length, eyeing it with disgust, and then and lowered it by the cord until it dangled into his trash can.
Shinpachi wandered in and processed what was happening to the phone. “Another prank call?” he asked with a fair bit of sympathy, and Gintoki grumbled an affirmative and put his feet back up on his desk. That bastard Yougai’s personal assistant had a vocabulary entirely lacking the word “no”, as well as all versions thereof, such as “hell no” and “you can tell him to shove his offer up his ass.” She was ruthlessly polite and completely inflexible as she persisted in her efforts to get Gintoki to accept a slightly higher offer than the previous figure her employer had mentioned. He was sure the trash can would be very impressed.
Running interference to make sure Shinpachi or Kagura didn’t get involved in the one-sided bidding war had kept Gintoki from at least one good nap and forced him to rush through taking a dump, all of which had put him in a sour mood. What he needed was a proper client with an easy problem: a lost mystical pet to recover, a village to defend, a pirate treasure at the end of a geographically unlikely sea to find. Anything that would put a few more yen in his bank account and get him and those two layabouts out and about away from the phone.
Instead he got an envelope, delivered covered in dog saliva by a cheerful Kagura. “I taught Sadaharu how to fetch the mail!”
Gintoki looked at the soggy envelope. “Un-teach him.”
“Meanie! At least Sadaharu is doing some work around here, unlike some people I could mention.”
“Fine, fine. Now go train him to put out fires or something.”
Kagura pulled the expected face at him, and Gintoki ignored it. He poked the envelope open, wiped his hands, and fished out the surprisingly dry card inside.
It wasn’t black with red calligraphy or anything, but it did have that little scattering of blood-red maple leaves in the corner. Past the formalities and pleasantries, it included the words “final offer” which was the only reason Gintoki didn’t toss it straight in the garbage. Final offer was another way of getting the peace and quiet he was missing, and without having to go to the end of the Grand Line. There was a time and place the very next day, and an apology for any bother Yougai had caused by framing his request so poorly.
Great. He’d go tell Yougai where to shove the request. Do it in person to make sure it was done right — he had the feeling the assistant may have taken some liberties with his message — and that would be that. In the meantime, he had a nap to catch up on.
***
Gintoki waved vaguely and told his employees he was leaving, but Shinpachi was busy teaching Kagura the fanclub choreography to Otsuu-chan’s latest single, and they barely mustered a distracted “Bye,” as he slid the door shut. Yougai had picked a park outside of both Kabuki-cho and the neighborhood that had been on his card. Perfectly polite and neutral. Easy enough to get to, and by the time Gintoki arrived, the pleasantly warm sunlight slanted fetchingly through the foliage of green keyaki and maple shifting to shades of red.
A few kids roughhoused among the trees, and a couple of tiny old ladies were making their slow way along the path, cheerfully swapping supermarket sale battle stories, but other than that the park was quiet. It felt remote from the city, even though the bulk of Central Terminal blotted out parts of the sky behind him. One of the children laughed, loud and joyful, and in the rural silence the sound brought a wave of pure nostalgia — the small school house; the dojo. Flopping down to get a better look at the maple leaves Sensei had pointed out; his kind smile against the crimson.
Gooseflesh prickled Gintoki’s bare arm, and he shrugged the moment off before it could get more than skin deep. This was no time to space out among the trees — Yougai seemed like the type to arrive by fancy car, so it would make more sense to wait by the main entrance to the local shrine. Plenty of traffic went right by that. Plenty of noise, no playing kids. That would do fine.
Yougai was indeed delivered by a shiny black limo— one of two. His two suited goons spilled out of the first like clowns from a very expensive clown car. One took up a looming position near where Gintoki was leaning against a convenient stone pillar, the other went to hold the door of the second car. A young woman in a conservative business kimono and glasses emerged, a tablet in one hand. There wasn’t a hair out of place in her smart bun, and even without hearing her voice, Gintoki knew this must be the personal assistant.
Finally, the man himself emerged, greeting Gintoki as warmly as if no door had ever been slammed in his face. Gintoki sighed. “Yougai. You sure don’t know how to take a hint, huh?”
“Apologies, Sakata-san. I’m sure we will be able to reach a cordial agreement once you hear my proposal.”
Gintoki scratched an itch on his butt. “Yeah, my cordial offer is ‘no’.” He pushed off the pillar. “That clear enough? I have a weather forecast to catch, so…”
Yougai nodded as if he had very much wanted to hear those exact words. “I’m sure we can keep a window of your schedule clear for your viewing pleasure,” he said. A frisson of tension went up Gintoki’s spine, and he straightened. This was neither desperation nor poor negotiation tactics. Yougai was casually rewriting Gintoki’s answer to suit himself — and not just that, but doing it as confidently as if he expected his words to override Gintoki’s reality. It was the sort of thing a dangerous person used to getting their way would do.
“Ueno-kun.” Yougai motioned to his personal assistant.
There it was again. Gintoki hadn’t pegged Yougai as dangerous before, but now he had a pit in his stomach that had nothing to do with how the two bodyguards simultaneously reached inside their suit jackets. It was the way Yougai’s serene smile tilted into a smirk, the way his eyes lit up as the woman with the tablet stepped inside Gintoki’s personal space and wordlessly held up the screen.
Gintoki forced his fingers to curl into a fist rather than clench his sword. His body knew this for a loaded trap, even if it was one without locks or bars. Knew once he looked at that small square of pixels he would be well and truly in it, but that it had already been set all around him — and he hadn’t even noticed. Idiot. He kept his voice calm, made very sure Yougai couldn’t tell how the rush of worry had set his heart racing. “What’s this?”
“My offer,” Yougai said with deep satisfaction. “I believe you will find it… compelling.”
“And if it pisses me off as much as your endless buzzing did?” Gintoki knew the fate of the buzzer would not have slipped Yougai’s mind.
The mook twins shifted threateningly, and Gintoki was surprised to see some kind of snub-nosed Amanto weaponry come out of the suits. He’d imagined revolvers, to go with their look. “Splendid attitude. But I wouldn't recommend it,” Yougai said, clearly enjoying his part of the exchange. “We live in an age of wonderful technology, where one little mishap here might have very immediate, very fatal consequences elsewhere.”
Gintoki couldn’t help it. Hearing the threat out loud, he had to know — had to see how bad it was. He dropped his stare from Yougai to focus on the tablet. To the live-feed image of two bodies slumped unconscious, too small to be adults, too blue-and-white and red to be anything but Shinpachi and Kagura. They were on separate nondescript futons; the exact state of the two of them— Gintoki breathed through fear and into anger. Hostages were no use dead. He watched long enough to confirm that they were just unconscious, that they would be fine as soon as he could get them out. “If you’ve harmed them,” he said, fixing Yougai with a level gaze, “I will end you.”
Ueno, who hadn’t faltered once through any of their calls, took a step back from him and swallowed.
“Excellent!” Yougai seemed like he was about to clap with delight, as if he hadn’t heard that every single word Gintoki had just said was a promise, not a threat.
No matter what the minions were packing, Gintoki could take them before they had a chance to react. He would have Yougai at his mercy; Ueno could call whoever had Shinpachi and Kagura and demand their release… and if Yougai was true to his veiled threats, the response to that would be to kill Shinpachi and Kagura while they were still out cold. It wasn’t hard to tell that Yougai had the utmost confidence in his plan — he wouldn’t be here personally if he didn’t think he had taken enough measures to keep himself absolutely safe.
“No, your little friends are just with me for a visit,” Yougai continued. “They are perfectly fine, and will remain that way as long as you don’t overreact.”
Braced as Gintoki was, feeling the trap snap unequivocally shut on him still brought a surge of rage so powerful it blocked out his guilt and made the two bodyguards flinch and subtly brace for a fight even though he didn't even shift his stance. With those words Yougai had rendered him completely powerless to act — and the shitty bastard knew it, too, even if the mooks weren't as confident in their boss’s unassailability.
Yougai radiated smugness. “I knew we could come to an understanding, Sakata-san. Now if you would, please — we have places to be.”