Chapter Text
Hanzo stares blindly at the ground. A hand presses to his head, forcing him into something like a bow as he exposes the back of his neck. He hears the cold snips of scissors. He sees his hair falling to the ground around him.
There is a sense of urgency in the air. His aunt murmurs orders incessantly in the background.
Snip.
His room has been returned to its proper state. The knife that he had is gone. The empty bottles are lined up neatly by the door to be taken out. The spills on the floor have already been cleaned, servants scurrying anxiously around him while he and his aunt waited in silence for the hairdresser to be fetched.
Snip.
Hanzo stares. He has sat in this exact same spot countless times before. This room was the room of his childhood, a place for him to play with toys or sneak a snack before bedtime. As he became a teenager, he had travelled more and more, accompanying his father to missions and meetings. He had slowly torn down all of his posters and put away his figures.
Snip.
Once his father died, Hanzo had moved out of this room entirely. The head of the Shimada Clan did not sleep in his childhood bedroom.
Yet here he was, weeping silently.
Snip.
Hanzo knows that if he went next door, he would see his brother’s room. Genji had never grown into his role like Hanzo had. His walls are still covered in colourful posters, displaying his favourite childhood anime next to scantily-clad models.
Hanzo’s heart sinks and he realizes that soon the room will have to be emptied. In fact, knowing his aunt, it has likely already been done. All of Genji’s vibrant possessions taken away, leaving behind nothing, as if he had never existed. A stain on the Shimada name that had been scrubbed clean.
Snip.
Why could Genji not have just done as he was told?
Snip.
Hanzo gets dressed agonizingly slowly. He suffered no injuries, but he can barely force himself to move. His fingers feel heavy, burdensome, and he drops his dress shirt twice before he can focus enough to slide his arms through the smooth material.
The shirt is made of the finest silk in the country and tailored specifically to his measurements. Yet as Hanzo does up his buttons, he feels constricted, unable to take a deep breath to calm his nerves. His tie seems to chokes him as it tightens around his neck. His vest weighs him down like a plate of armour.
His aunt waits outside. Today Hanzo will speak at the funeral for his younger brother. The casket will be closed. He will inspire loyalty in his leadership and ensure that no enemies think him vulnerable.
Finished with his outfit, Hanzo runs a hand over his newly trimmed hair and beard. He does not look in the mirror.
Hanzo is the head of the Shimada Clan. He has chosen his path, and he must now do his duty.
His eyes are dry.