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Rikiya didn’t fly into Tokyo blind, flailing and unaware that Kamurocho would be a different ball game. He did, after all, own a television.
He was aware that Okinawa was small, and that Tokyo was big. He even knew that whereas Okinawan yakuza would front with chest-beating and a haymaker or two, Kamurocho yakuza sometimes lacked the patience for that sort of thing and had less of a problem with just dropping a motherfucker - though he thought the likelihood a good bit overstated.Tokyo is still Japan. Yakuza are what they are. Kazuma Kiryu is compelled to put himself in the middle of other people’s problems, but goes to great lengths to keep that privilege for himself. When Kiryu-san left for Kamurocho without him, Rikiya didn’t show up because he wasn’t afraid. He showed up because he was pissed about being left behind like a fucking child, despite assurances that they would find his boss’ attacker together. As if Kiryu-san had more of a right to sort this thing out than he did.
As if he couldn’t use the help.
As if Rikiya would be a chore.
Sometimes he thought maybe Kiryu-san was one of those people who had to bear the biggest burden, and make sure everyone knew about just how much they were sacrificing for the good of those around them. Kiryu-san never complained about it, though, directly or otherwise. He’d never seen his aniki use the fact that he’d done something dangerous all by himself as leverage. It threw Rikiya off.
Since he’d actually come fully expecting Tokyo to be overwhelming, it was that much more embarrassing when he couldn’t figure out where he was in Kamurocho and had to call Kiryu-san to come find him.
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When Rikiya asked - begged - almost hyperventilating, demanded - to come along to Kamurocho, he hadn't expected Kiryu-san to say yes. In fact, he hadn't planned on asking at all.
Ever since he'd met the man, Rikiya felt as if he'd been sucked into the gravitational pull of a galaxy that spun around him and his decisions alone. If a part of his life didn't involve Kiryu-san at all, Rikiya was still in control. If his aniki was even peripherally involved, the course of events was out of his hands. He'd never so much processed this reality as just accepted it. It wasn't until Kiryu-san announced that he was going to Kamurocho, alone, to deal with both his and Rikiya's problems, that his wounded ego realized that it had somehow become normal to let Kiryu-san make all the decisions - not just his, but everyone's, really. His protests came out in a jumbled torrent of words first and thoughts, second. They were out there in the open before Rikiya even knew they were coming. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't to be told that yes, he could come along. That he should go home, pack his bags, and get ready for a flight out the next day.
Nobody asked Rikiya why he, a grown-ass man, was breathless and manic with pride over another grown-ass man telling him that he could, like other human adults, purchase a plane ticket and arrive at the same destination because they were all well past the point of questioning Kiryu-san's gravity. Of course Rikiya would have to feel flattered, trusted, cherished to be allowed the privilege of sharing danger with Kazuma Kiryu. Shimabukuro Rikiya was the 25 year old captain of a yakuza organization run like a mom and pop general store. Kazuma Kiryu was a man so sure of himself that after becoming Chairman of the Tojo Clan, he stepped down to take care of a bunch of kids. He was 16 years older than Rikiya, but utterly wiped the floor with him when they met. Mere mortal, meet Platonic Ideal. He was unreal, and Rikiya had so much trouble setting him in the context of everyday Okinawan life, that he went at it the other way around and set life in the context of Kazuma Kiryu instead.