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Client #69 was like any other when she pushed her meal ticket across the counter. The edges, folded and picked at from a worthwhile wait, and a sliver of her bangs slid and rested so delicately over her nose. Much as how a branch from a chestnut tree sagged under the weight of its fruit, and Client #69 batted her lashes. Not out of embarrassment, but a splash of pink crept over the bridge of her nose when she brushed her bangs away. The hem of her sleeves dipped, exposing her chiseled wrists and the motherly hands that have coaxed not one, not two, but three children to head off to bed when World’s or the Asia Cup hadn’t met its end yet. The sling of her backpack sagged, down it went and rested at the joint of her elbow when Client #69 lifted her ramen tray.
“Thank you so much.” A quick bow of her head, and she shuffled away from the counter and back to her table.
Within fifteen seconds of a short exchange, Client #69 had cradled a young man’s heart. The apprentice, now he poked his head out from the kitchen window and peered over the counter, sighed under his breath. Didn’t want to admit, for it was true, Client #69 was married and there was nothing that he could do. Perhaps, it was unprofessional to imagine the meandering lives of those who had their fill in the establishment, but it kept the apprentice occupied when he shelled through garlic and picked apart leeks.
Oh, Client #69 had a traditional wedding. Woven from head to toe in the finest silk, sewn by her grandmother’s hand and bestowed on top of her head was a tiara for she was a queen with every step in practice. Her husband, boisterous and proud, stood like a giant next to her when they did the traditional lap around the temple. Pale lilies adorned in her hair; fiery daylilies cuffed at her husband’s collar. The sound of a conch shell from on top of a mountain when they were wed with the entirety of Hasetsu to see, bask, and wonder. A literal angel swooped down from the clouds and bestowed three children upon Client #69. Soft, polite, and studious. Never a ruckus or bother, and her husband ravished every meal set forth at the table. Always left a portion of the meal still on his chopsticks and inside his bowl, signaling that he couldn’t bear to finish the meal because it was too good and filling.
The only time Takeshi couldn’t finish his meal was when a chicken bone was lodged in the back of his throat, and Yuuko asked if he was choking before thrusting her fist into his stomach. In some ways, that night was educational for the girls. They witnessed the choking-procedure chart in action: from the question, to the response, and Yuuko narrated exactly where her fist needed to be before she pushed. Takeshi slapped his hand against the dining table, repeatedly. Face red, then gray, then blue. His daughters waved their chicken wings in support, and Takeshi gasped between his words. His voice, strangled from the get-go, before he heaved. The grimy joint of a chicken leg protruded from his mouth before Takeshi coughed it back onto his plate.
“Yay!” A round of applause from Axel, Lutz, and Loop now that their father was saved from the cursed chicken leg. Yuuko bowed and hollered at her heroic deed as Takeshi panted. His face pressed against the dining table, and he checked how numb his heart rate was.
“Did I do good sweetie?” Yuuko perched next to Takeshi. The pitter patter of her fingers along his back eased some sense into Takeshi when he lifted his head. The air in his lung sucked out, once again.
“You did great,” was all he could wheeze when he rested his head on Yuuko’s shoulder. The mere touch knocked her back a little, but Yuuko had rooted herself firmly to where she knelt. Her shoulder, warmed by Takeshi’s flickering breaths as he eased his heart, was where Yuuko heard the phrase: I love you.
Three words, three simple words that Takeshi uttered under his breath when he took Yuuko’s hand in marriage, when he pressed cuddles and kisses against her side after the triplets were born, and for every moment since when Yuuko knew just what to do to make everything alright again. He kissed the crook of her shoulder. Well aware that Yuuko could only feel the poke, but not the affectionate touch that held more than its weight in gold. Dinner, heroics, and the rogue chicken bone disappeared from Yuuko’s mind when she fumbled her fingers across the back of Takeshi’s neck and held him close. He could breathe and decipher every fruit and berry that Yuuko rubbed into her skin with shampoos and lotions. Yuuko could feel every nerve and heartbeat when she tapped out a little rhythm along Takeshi’s skin.
They could understand each other, read each other, as if nothing could separate them. But yet, when Takeshi whispered the little, three-worded phrase...Yuuko was rather glad that her bangs slipped just at that moment. So that her daughters wouldn’t see the tears pooled near the edge of her tender gaze. It was moments like this that reminded her of how sweet it was to feel vulnerable. To feel so ease that she could drop her guard and know that nothing could disturb the love and tranquility rested upon her shoulder.
The memory of that night and every dinner before and after it rose, curled amongst the delicious wafts of ramen as Yuuko dipped her spoon into the broth. The rich, earthy taste sprouted images of a forest and of the neighboring mountains that surrounded Hasetsu. The bite of the spring onions rippled the steady pond of the miso broth, chiseling the mountains into a clear meadow. Sashayed with teenage grass and of the cascading dew that spilled across Yuuko’s feet when she strolled across her imagination for more.
Poking up from a noodle-pond were the fish cakes! Round, soft. Edged with pinks and blues and reds, tickled with laughter and they waved around seaweed lines like brandished chicken wings from a memorable dinner. Rolling through the thickets of grass was a bulbous egg, sliced down the middle and oozed slightly with yolk. The yellow danced around in the miso broth, a dab of sunshine in an already tranquil-state of mind. If she could, Yuuko would’ve spoken to the delicious personas of her family. But alas, it was all in her head when Yuuko opened her eyes. Bits of steam wiped back the tears pooled at the edge of her eyes. A single drop fell into her broth, quiet like a drop of rain when Yuuko gathered her egg and nibbled at a rounded corner.
It hurt, eating alone like this while the rest of her family enjoyed dinner together. Yuuko held her chopsticks steady, though her fingers quivered around the spoon in her hold. Even so, Yuuko tipped her head down and blew at her first taste of the noodles before eating. Her ponytail bobbed up and down, tickling the back of her neck as she ate. A lone metronome to the rhythm that kept her steady.
What was Takeshi making tonight? More chicken for the girls, or did he learn his lesson and bought take-out from the local convenience store? They probably ate on the couch, scrolling through the skating performances recorded earlier today while at work. Lutz would brandish her tidbits of pork, in memory to a heroic but very scary night. Axel would inevitably pluck something off from Takeshi’s combo-box while he wasn’t looking, uncorking a bit of sweet tea for himself. Loop’s gaze would often shy away from the television screen and glance towards the front door. Where at any moment, her mother would stumble in. Healthy and alive, but no one could ever be certain of that. Not even Yuuko, herself, when she plucked floating spring onions from her broth. Slurping them up, one slice at a time.
Nothing was ever definite or finite when you had your entire being with your family, but your toes occasionally dipped into the distorted waters beneath your feet. Where, flashing up from the depths, were gunshots and bloody knuckles to last for a lifetime. Yuuko instinctively pulled up her sleeves to hide the bareness of her hands. To hide the scuffle marks and scratches lashed across her knuckles, though they were healed and already hidden over with lotions and cream. It was just...it was hard to believe how someone so ordinary could be roped into one of society’s darkest secrets. Then, that was the name of the game. The point was to look so ordinary that no one would expect anything, and one’s true colors never surfaced unless they were told to.
Speaking of which, this was one of those nights where Yuuko peeled off from her usual pinks and whites. Donned over her shoulders would be the black and deep red of none other than the word: mafia. The Tokyo Syndicate didn’t have a dress code of what each of its individual needed to wear, but there was a consensus in matching with the crowd. For in a crowd, the weight of an action was distributed amongst the members. Not one member felt the total weight of what they’ve done unless they wished it be theirs alone.
Yuuko always circled that option when she danced, toe to toe, with an opponent that took her on so easily.
Perhaps, because she was a woman. Perhaps, because they noticed her motherly frame. Perhaps, they learned their lesson when Yuuko handed their ass right back to them. Barely a knick to her fists because who would defend themselves properly against someone they perceived as weak? That was one lesson her opponents found, moments later and grogged on the ground with bruises hitched up their sides. For Yuuko was a fighter, and her fists knew that story better than anyone else did.
‘What good could come from associating yourself with the Tokyo Syndicate?’
One of the greatest goods, in Yuuko’s opinion when she burned her tongue from a pork slice, was that she could protect her family. Dear and truly, there were just some things that no one else could do unless you did it for yourself. There were just some people that Yuuko couldn’t trust when it came to her family’s safety, especially for her daughters as the years rolled by. If someone wasn’t going to do their job properly, picking up the slack yielded a happier result than waiting for something horrific to happen. To some degree with the world, horrific happenings were never far away if caught at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Just the thought of it soiled the last few strands of ramen that Yuuko had left before she finished her bowl. Her spoon clanked against the creamy ceramic of the bowl before it floated over a thin pool of broth. Shadowed by a pair of chopsticks when Yuuko rested them over her meal. A toothpick in hand, chiseling away at the stray pieces of meat and onion that clung to her smile. When the stick snapped in half between her fingers, Yuuko secured her backpack over her shoulder and rose from her table.
The apprentice from the kitchen window poked his head out, calling up a meal ticket number while his eyes followed Yuuko. Not intentionally, but something from Yuuko reeled his attention. Perhaps, it was the confident click of her tennis shoes against the wooden floorboards. How her fingers hardened against the strap of her backpack, and a cool calm overshadowed her eyes. As if nothing could faze her, even if everyone in the world turned their backs against her. The apprentice nearly toppled out from the kitchen window when his uncle came around and slapped his back. Thrust into his arms was an order that he needed to deliver to a patron outside, and the teen mumbled that it was cold.
His voice drowned out by the slide of the front door when Yuuko’s fingers fumbled at the frame. She zipped up her jacket and stepped out. General Winter’s shout numbed her ears, and his prying fingers yanked at the edge of her collar. It was just the wind and yet, even Nature was telling Yuuko to go home. That spending her time, skulking around Hasetsu, was driving her away from her family. She hadn’t been on-call for the Tokyo Syndicate in months, yet Yuuko held true to her weekly routine. Even a lapse in her schedule would break every memory, every bit of training, ingrained her muscles when Yuuko trekked through the cold and bought a can of hot coffee from a vending machine.
It rolled and fell right into the snow. Just as Yuuko stooped down, she heard the apprentice's voice again and the revv of a motorcycle. Out here, late this evening? Yes, a few bikers enjoyed having a hot bowl on a night like this, but to revv this loudly in a sleepy town like Hasetsu sharpened Yuuko’s senses when she turned around. Her coffee but an inch away from her lips when a biker hoisted the apprentice by his shirt collar. He flailed; his feet kicked bare air just as the biker tossed his food to the back of his motorbike. A shout, an argument, long drowned out by the revv of the motor-engine. The apprentice clawed at the biker’s hands until they slid off, and he begged for mercy. Unsure of what he did wrong. Sure and truly, he stepped out to deliver food and was innocent to the very end.
And then, a savior threw a coffee can at his assailant’s head. The hot beverage spilled between them, and the apprentice fell back into the snow. A grunt escaped from his lips while the biker swung his head, eyes darting left and right at who threw the can. All he saw was Yuuko, doe-eyed and staring back at him as she plucked herself a new can of coffee from the local vending machine. She cracked the top and drank in front of him. Nothing taunting about it, but Yuuko clenched the mouth of the can between her teeth as she rolled up her sleeves. She wagged her index and middle fingers at him. If he wanted to go toe-to-toe in a dance, and the biker hooted out a laugh.
‘You’re a woman. It’s too dangerous for you to fight!’
The biker easily towered over Yuuko. A foreign giant that would’ve blended easily with the trees up near the mountains. What struck Yuuko’s nerves was how normal the man was. He was neither a villain nor hero in his own story, but a mere character who followed his line to the ‘T’. But then, looks didn’t make a villain. It was the actions that they chose, and a throbbing vein stuck out on the biker’s forehead as he brushed snow off from his office suit. His tie, tucked beneath the front of his suit, and he pressed his hand against the glass of the vending machine. Peered down at Yuuko, well aware that he couldn’t harm a woman while a quivering teen was in the snow. Not too far away and the apprentice trembled from head to toe.
“Look, Miss.” The slight cock of his head while a faint smile traced over Yuuko’s lips. A bead from her coffee ran down the biker’s face and stained his pressed collar. “I really don’t have time to entertain you.” A slight snarl at the end of his statement, and Yuuko curled her fingers around the biker’s overhanging arm. A push on her part, gentle compared to the metaphorical spear she stabbed him with.
“You seem to be really good at making a fool of yourself.” A quick turn of her wrists, and the biker’s arm rolled. He clenched his teeth; a groan flew from his breath when he held onto his arm. Trying to roll it back, but Yuuko maintained her grip.
‘You should call for help than take care of an argument on your own.’
If she really wanted to, Yuuko could’ve snapped the biker’s elbow. But rather, she simply stepped under his arm and only pulled away when the man’s lips writhed with pain. Mumbling silent curses that he couldn’t outright say when Yuuko walked away and checked on the apprentice. He was fine, except for the ache in his back. Yuuko offered her shoulder and helped him up. About to enter the ramen shop again until she heard a taunt.
Backwater spit to Yuuko’s ears, but when someone insulted her family...all bets were off.
‘You don’t know what they’re capable of.’
Yuuko heard the thump of her heartbeat first before she heard the swing of the biker’s fist. Even so, her body had felt this scene before. She ducked her head, propped onto one foot and swung her other leg back. Knocked the biker off-balance, and Yuuko whipped around. Balancing herself across her palms when she jabbed at the biker’s face with her shoe. He stumbled back. His spit melted off an inch of snow. The apprentice crawled on his hands and feet back to the threshold of the ramen shop while Yuuko and the biker break-danced in the snow. Faltering punches were met by a sturdy block with Yuuko’s forearm before she bruised a rib. One after another, chiseling the biker down until he fought dirty. Grappled his arm around Yuuko’s neck and locked her against him.
‘You should call for help.’
Her face pressed against his chest. Her punches didn’t leave their familiar stings anymore, and Yuuko blocked a knee to her stomach with her own. The crash of bones shook her, ruptured a burn that tingled up to her chest when clawed back a gasp. Teeth clenched, Yuuko buried her fists against the biker’s torso and gradually pulled herself away. Her arms shook, uncomfortably against the cold and from the nips of fatigue.
What was she going to do? Against an opponent that wished between glee that fatigue would snipe her down first. Yuuko had a move in mind; even if it hurt her just the same as it would hurt him. If she couldn’t break free, there was nowhere else to except up. Digging into the biker’s knees, Yuuko shot up, snaked over his shoulder, and strangled him with her thighs. He shook like a mad dog, and Yuuko clung for dear life. Her hands grasped at the bare suit on his back before she took a nosedive right back into the snow. Reeled the biker down with her. Just before the impact, Yuuko broke free and rolled across the road. Scratches lashed across her chin and neck when it was all over.
‘No one will love you for your scars.’
On the contrary, Yuuko was very much in love and married to the man that kissed each and every one of her scars after cleaning and bandaging the wounds. Late that night, with a soft yellow light hovering above their heads, Takeshi’s lips lingered at Yuuko’s knuckles before he pulled away from the kiss. It was just them two, alone in the kitchen. The girls were asleep, unaware of how late Yuuko came home tonight or of what happened to her. Still believed that their mother was strong and unbreakable, a different story to how broken Yuuko felt right now. With ointment stinging at her chin, at her hands, at her knee, and just...everywhere else when Yuuko scratched the back of her neck with heavy eyes glancing up at Takeshi.
They’ve been down this road before, and Takeshi was just glad that Yuuko managed to come home. Were those tears in his eyes when he bumped his forehead against Yuuko’s, softly so that he could look into her eyes and know that she was still here with him? Was that his hand at Yuuko’s face when Takeshi wiped back the tear that flooded down Yuuko’s cheek? Yuuko cried because she could, because there was someone she could trust and drop her guard to. Takeshi held Yuuko in his arms, pressed his chin on her shoulder and patted her back. Little circles drawn with the edge of his thumb, and he whispered,
“Welcome home, sweetheart.”
Love was pain: for both ways. The nag that fiddled with Takeshi’s heart when Yuuko came home later than usual, or not at all. The stitches bleeding down her chest when Yuuko feared that this one fight might be her last, the taste of Death upon her lips when she glimpsed at snippets of her life through a romanticized lens. Despite these aches, these desperate holdings that kept Yuuko and Takeshi up at night to know that the other was still alive, their relationship grew stronger every time they carved these private moments to check that the other was okay.
This was their love, an enduring one.