Chapter Text
The scowl on your face only deepened as you stared forlornly at your mother’s garden. The roses wilted, a week’s worth of damage done in one night by the hands of an incompetent moron.
The task was a simple one. You left instructions on how to care for the roses while you worked during the day. The gardener only needed to trim them occasionally. They were more delicate than they seemed, and already the moist soil in the yard made it difficult for them to thrive. Plucking a head off the bush, you stood from your knees and lamented it. The evening had barely begun and already it was worse than you could have imagined.
The sound of your father's electric wheelchair buzzed behind you. You turned around, throwing the flower behind you and approaching him as he made his way down the ramp from the house. “Sweetheart! These damned hands don’t work like they used to- could you give me a hand with my bow tie?”
“Of course, Father,” you breathe, positioning yourself in his line of sight. You made quick work of his tie, adjusting the collar around it before you took a step back to admire your work. “You put me to shame, old man. Is this event today for a miserly spinster like me, or for the dashing bachelor in the hot rod?”
He snorted, brushing his knuckles against his tuxedo jacket. “Yes, quite the catch. Arthritis and emphysema, liver spots and all.” His hand moved to the joystick on his arm rest, and he bumped it, a gesture for you to step aside so he could venture further. You gave him no room; only a single step back.
A wiry silver brow lifted in inquiry.
Your mouth twitched.
“Sweetheart?”
You swallowed. “It's getting cold, Father. Why don’t we go back inside?”
“Nonsense!” Your father declared. He bumped the joystick with purpose this time, making it clear he wouldn’t hesitate to mow you over if you didn’t allow him passage. He tapped at the oxygen tanks strapped to the side of his chair that connected to the tube in his nose. “These certainly help with my breathing, but nothing beats fresh air! And I’m roasting under all these layers.”
He bumped the joystick once more. You finally relented, eyes downcast to your dress as you stepped aside, giving him a full view of the damage. His stony eyes grew a fraction, lips twitching the same way yours did moments before. To anyone else it would seem he barely reacted to the sight at all. You knew your father well, however. In your eyes, his sorrow was clear as day.
He drove further, stopping at the spot where you had discarded the flower. He leaned forward with a grunt and a series of pops, plucking it into his hand with two knobby fingers. He rolled the withered plant in his palm, giving all his effort to sit up straight and stare ahead at the bushes. You approached his side quietly.
"I used to think I'd never see these flowers again. I remember you asking me what I wanted for my birthday. I wanted the same thing every year. But…" He took a trembling breath to compose himself. You placed a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t remember what I said in response. Something frivolous, I’m sure.”
You smiled. “You told me that even a pair of socks would do. But what kind of child gets their parent socks?”
Your father chuckled, his weathered hand unclenching and reaching up to rest over yours. “I would have been happy with anything, as long as it came from you. But I should have known. My darling girl; ever the overachiever, even for a curmudgeonly old man.”
It’s not as if you were ever so guarded around me, you thought, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. We're all we have. Thick as thieves. “You used to stare at the picture of Mother in the garden everyday. I couldn’t bring her back to you, so I brought back a piece of her instead."
Your father cleared his throat. “You revived more than a piece. I no longer had to sit inside and stare aimlessly at a lost memory.”
He twisted the flower in his grip again, frown growing, voice quiet, “Do you think it’s too late to fix them?”
You shake your head, perfectly styled hair swinging with the motion. “No. I think I can still salvage them. First, I need to fire that moron. I specifically said not to use any sort of chemicals on them. Honestly, he had one job. When we come home tonight I’ll finish up my paperwork so that I can work on the garden in the morning-“
“Dear, you don’t have to worry about that. Goodness knows you're busy enough,” he cut in. He pried your hand off his shoulder with care, placing the dead flower within it and curling your fingers over it. “I believe we should give him another chance. He came highly recommended, surely one mistake isn’t worth firing him over?”
"Father,” you started.
“Now, now. Life’s too short to be so incensed by little things. The bushes are still standing, and you said yourself that it should be salvageable. Give him the opportunity to fix his mistake. If it ends up worse than before, we’ll take care of it,” He said.
Your brow pinched as your fist clenched tighter around the rose. “You love these flowers so much, though…”
Much as he always did when your overprotective nature reared its head, your father smiled warmly and motioned for you to bend down so he could pat your head, just as he did when you were little. You obliged begrudgingly, fighting back a smile. “Thank you for trying to protect my happiness, sweetheart. Let’s give the gardener a second chance. I promise you can still lecture him properly.”
You stopped fighting it, and allowed the smile to brighten your visage. "Alright. That’s a fair compromise.”
“Fantastic. We can’t let anything ruin the day today. If we meet the matchmaker with our glass half full, we’ll make a poor impression on your potential husband!”
Your smile was gone in an instant. Bile rose in your throat and you failed to mask the expression of utter despair. Your father laughed, believing it was just nerves. While you could always read him like a book, he never could quite read you so well. To label it as nervousness would be a gross misjudgement.
Yet you smothered it, following behind your father as he turned his chair and made his way back into the house. “Father, I know we had an agreement. I just don't think we should put all our eggs in one basket,” You said.
He sighed. “I’ll try not to get my hopes too high. But an old, very influential, friend came to me with the proposal himself. We don’t plan to push you to marry immediately. I just hope that you’ll be more… open minded.”
You both stopped in the dining room when Tacitus rose from his bed to greet you. The Shiloh Shepherd was nearly as tall as your father’s wheelchair. He made a small grunt, nosing your father’s hand first, then moved around him to do the same to you. You bent to sit on your hackles, minding your outfit as you rubbed his ears affectionately. You heaved a sigh, trying to glean as much comfort from the dog as you could without getting his fur on you.
“I will give him a chance, if he minds his manners,” You stated venomously.
Your father cleared his throat, his right hand raising to fiddle with his breathing tube. “Well, from what I understand he’s a very well-spoken and polite young man. I don’t think we’ll need to worry about him doing anything untoward. Even if he does, I know you can handle it.”
You snorted. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
He peeked over his shoulder with a wry look. “I’ve seen what your quirk can do. A smart man wouldn’t risk your ire.”
“And yet they still do. What does that say about you and your associates, old man?”
He turned the chair around, face a mask of mock outrage in response to your teasing. “I have always been a perfect gentleman, I’ll have you know! How do you suppose I got this position? It’s this new generation, I say! They’re spoiled and entitled and have zero understanding of the old ways. If our numbers were what they used to be, those boys would have left there with their body parts missing , not mismatched.”
You stood up, lips pulled into a mischievous grin. “Maybe. Still, I am a doctor. I can’t allow someone to come to grievous harm in my presence. My reputation would be in tatters.”
You followed him through the threshold into the entryway, grabbing your jacket and adjusting your mother's pearls around your neck. Tacitus sat behind you, ears alert as he awaited instructions patiently from his humans. “Tacitus, bewache das haus,” your father commanded. Once more, the dog offered a grunt, turning around and heading back to his bed.
“I have to admit,” you began, “Something stood out to me. Out of all of the profiles we’ve gone over, his is the most…” You trailed off, resisting the urge to bite your lip. “Rather, I should say it’s the least substantial.”
Father reached for a manila folder that had been set aside on the end table by the front door. From it, he procured two pieces of paper. Really though, this man's family could have saved space and fit everything on one. Or perhaps used a simple index card. Your own resume had taken two pages. Your education, job, family background, income (much to your chagrin), and even your quirk had been laid out in full, along with a headshot of yourself. Many of the men who had read your profile would put even the smallest details into their resumes. Either because they did not want to seem outdone by a woman, or to kiss your ass.
But not this man. It almost seemed as though he didn’t bother to make an effort. “He couldn’t even take the medical mask off for his photo? I can't see his face. Not that I care about his physical appearance, It’s just… weird. If he was sick he should have taken the photo on a different day,” you raved. “Plus, his highest education is a high school diploma, he has no job or family background listed, yet his income is well above what it should be.” You raked your hand over your hair. “...He also left out information on his quirk entirely. If I didn’t know any better, I would say this man is further invested in the Yakuza than any of the men I’ve met so far,” you pointed, raising a skeptic brow at your father’s back.
His hand reached around to scratch the back of his head. A nervous habit. One he did when he knew you wouldn’t like what he had to say.
“I won’t lie. It’s also why I prefer this man to the rest,” he said.
“Excuse me?” you asked, venom creeping into your voice.
He put the man’s resume back in the folder and tucked it under his arm. When he turned his chair to face you, he sat up straighter, face stern. It was the face of a man preparing himself to face a storm head-on. “You and I came to an agreement when you turned eighteen. You always wanted to follow in your mother’s footsteps and become a doctor of unrivaled talent. I couldn’t even read you fairytales or fiction as a child because you were so engrossed in her medical journals and texts.”
You visibly deflated.
“I allowed you to pursue your passion. I helped nurture your talent, made sure you received the best education. I did this despite my superiors' obvious disapproval.” He drove closer to you, bony hand reaching out to take your smaller one. “Dear, if I could spare you from this, I would. You know I would. I don’t like forcing you into something you clearly don’t want.”
Your free hand swept deftly under your eye. You couldn’t let your makeup be ruined before the night had even started. Your father gave your joined hands a gentle squeeze.
“Unfortunately, however, this is the life we live. And there’s no leaving it. It’s true that the Yakuza is not what it used to be. We are small, and the new generation does not honor the old ways as we do. But there is hope yet. I have been keeping an eye on your matches, and have been doing my best to ensure you end up with someone honorable. It’s been quite the journey so far, but this young man shows promise. He has devoted himself to the old ways under the guidance of his boss, a good friend of mine. He was hand chosen and groomed for this life. This young man’s resume may not be substantial, but I’m sure his character will more than make up for that. All I ask is that you give him the same courtesy you've given the other men thus far. I'm certain he'll be far more deserving of it.”
You inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. Timing your breath with a breathing exercise meant to calm you down. This wouldn't be any different than the other meetings. You just had to smile pretty, eat dinner, make small talk, and hold your tongue until this mongrel of a man let his wag well past acceptability just as all the rest did.
The men you had met with thus far were not as progressive as you, nor did they have or care about higher education or respecting you as an individual. Often times they made it very clear, with their own vile words or silent implications, that their bosses just wanted them to have a trophy wife to hide behind and produce more soldiers with.
Thankfully, most of them were willing to compromise. That is, before they said the wrong thing and often times ran, if they were fast enough, from the restaurant with their extremities rearranged. Your income and education were far more valuable to them than your viability and life skills. Most anyone who received a higher education these days kept their noses clean, not wanting heroes to come sniffing at their heels. This made it very difficult for the Yakuza to keep personal doctors or receive help from the legal system.
Your father was not high up in the chain of command within his organization, but he was the highest ranking man with a daughter of marrying age and often acted as a liaison between the remaining yakuza. Because of this, they were willing to give your household more freedoms than most. He had many friends in all sorts of places, and had he been anyone else, you would have had no choice but to partake in the life of crime that your father lived since he was a young man. You wouldn't have received more than a high school education if you were lucky, would have been forced to be branded with their tattoos, and would have been treated like a dog.
But doctors were in short supply and high demand. Why waste potential if it can be used efficiently?
You eyed your father wearily. “I can't make any promises,” you said. “But I will honor our agreement and do my best to not be biased. For you.”
“For us, sweetheart,” your father said, smile wavering. “I know the leader of the shie hassaikai would treat you like his own child. And the man he raised is sure to be a fine one. You’d have a chance to be part of a happy family with them. At least this way… if it's them, I won't be so afraid to leave you-”
“That's enough.”
Your father startled at the harsh finality of the words that left your mouth. Tacitus’ nails clacked against the hardwood as he scrambled back to the entryway, stopping to stare at you intensely. Your tone had startled even the dog. You hadn't meant to say it so rudely, you just reacted.
“I'm not naive. I'm well aware of the reality of the situation,” you began, voice trembling. “But please , Father. Don't bring that up. Not now. Not tonight.”
He released you. The smile on his face made him look a thousand years older.
You hated it.
“Forgive me, darling. I never meant to upset you. But you're right; no use thinking such negative thoughts. Happy ones! This will be a good night, I can feel it in my bones.” He held up his hand and shook it loosely. “Hm… perhaps That's just the arthritis again…”
His attempt at humor worked a little. A small smile flickered at the corner of your lips. His knuckles reached up and dusted your chin.
“There's a smile. Just like your Mother's.”
Any comparison drawn between you and your late mother normally filled you with pride. After that conversation, however, it made your stomach churn. What would your mother do if she were alive today, and knew of the plight her loved ones faced? How would she react, to know her only child was being forced into a lifestyle she never wanted for her?
These were questions you asked yourself often, but once more quashed to spare your mental state further damage. Quietly, you helped your father into his coat and followed him out the front door, where your driver waited.
Chisaki Kai had to admit, he had been hoping that his boss would have requested his presence to discuss something more serious than what he originally believed to be a joke.
“Pops… you were serious about that?"
“As a heart attack,” the older man quipped, straightening his tie in his bedroom mirror. “Now go put that on,” he gestured to the freshly cleaned and pressed suit that hung on the closet door, “and make yourself presentable.”
Kai's eyes narrowed on the suit with barely concealed disgust, flexing his fingers and inhaling deeply through his nose. “I knew you were keeping something from me, but an omiai? Have you been drinking?”
“Look, I'm sorry I sprung this on you all of a sudden," The boss grumbled, fixing his yukata. "...But we're in short supply of eligible young bachelors, and I doubt an executive would approve of me attempting to match his daughter with someone three times her age."
"If I may, Hari would do just as well," Kai suggested, not even feeling the least bit guilty for attempting to scrape his boots off on his only friend.
"Hari isn't particularly interested in women. Unless that magically changed in the last week or so," the boss deadpanned.
"How do you know that I'm even interested in women?"
"Boy, you aren't interested in anything outside of family affairs and meticulous cleaning."
Kai scoffed, but said no more.
The boss exhaled, running a hand over his face. "If I had tried the direct approach you would have found a way to talk me out of it, and I can't afford that. I've known the girl's father for a very long time. He runs with the Kyoro-ryo organization, but he's key to keeping our networks strong and working together on amicable terms. He upholds the code and the honor of a Yakuza better than anyone," he explained. “Not only is he a respectable man and one of my oldest friends, the girl is a highly praised doctor. A doctor with Yakuza affiliation , Kai! She would be invaluable to our ranks.” He ran a tongue over his teeth, double checking them in the mirror. “I wish I could have gone about this differently, I mean it. But you're the only one who I can rely on to do this, Kai.”
Kai couldn't help it when his ire ebbed slightly to make way for a sliver of pride. Clearly his father-figure was trying to butter him up. He couldn't deny it was working. The glare that was fixated on the carpet lessened in severity, however slightly.
“Based on what I've been told, you two have a lot in common. If nothing else, I'm confident that you'll get along to some degree. You both are fueled by intellectual pursuits and have a strong sense of duty to family. That's a good start, don't you think?”
Kai couldn't give him an answer immediately, adjusting one of the straps of his medical mask. While most people fixated on something as mundane as a romantic partner to spend their lives with, it wasn't something he had ever given thought to. Everyday was spent trying to survive, trying to build upon a dying empire, trying to take care of the man he called his father. He already had a close friend, many subordinates, and an established place within the family. What more could he possibly need?
To pay him back, that tiny voice in his head chimed. To do anything, however difficult, however small, to repay his kindness tenfold.
Kai raised his head and found a pair of wizened grey eyes fixated on him, crows feet and smile lines on full display. Kai's heart ached with love for the man. Every year that those lines grew meant another year gone by without Pops seeing his dreams come to fruition.
How many more years would it take?
How many years would he have left?
And if he should fall before then, what was within Kai's means to control that he could do for Pops in the present?
However difficult, however small, Kai mused to himself, a small smile hidden carefully behind the mask.
"To be clear," Kai began, "I don't necessarily need to have a relationship with her, so much as convince her to join our family, yes?"
"Well… that's certainly one way to look at it," He said, rubbing his chin with a sigh. "It would be nice if it became more than that, but if either or both of you do not feel that it's possible, then at the very least, do whatever you must to officially recruit her into our ranks."
Kai nodded, eyes boring back into the carpet as he processed the information. "Very well. I can work with that."
The elderly man clapped him on the shoulder firmly. His eyes gleamed with approval. "Atta boy."
The moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. Kai recognized Hari's voice as he called, "The car's around, boss. Ready when you are."
Pops acknowledged Hari and reached behind him to grab a leather binder off of the end table to hand to Kai. "Here's everything you need to know about her. Get dressed and study up. I'll be waiting in the car."
Kai didn't move immediately, even when he heard the door shut and Pops' footsteps faded to silence. He frowned at the suit before taking a moment to thumb through the binder. Everything Pops told him about her appeared to be true. And goodness, what a meticulously detailed document. It certainly put his own to shame, assuming Pops didn't have someone forge his information. Another flip, and he landed on her photo. He couldn't help but exhale an amused breath, as she hadn't smiled for her photo. Her face was blank, carefully guarded, making it very clear she was not pleased with this situation in the least.
That makes two of us, He thought, swallowing as he turned back to the page entailing her personal information. Nothing of note, and some spaces had the bare minimum. Likely in defiance, if her expression was anything to go by.
The amount she made on paper was certainly desirable, if nothing else. She was also interested in going further with her education. She had no family other than her father. When he died, she would likely be at the mercy of the Kyoro-ryo and assume any debts her father may have owed them. He held no major seats, and even if he did, she would not inherit them solely because she was a woman. No matter the situation, this girl wasn't guaranteed any sort of protection.
"So, that's your aim, huh?" Kai asked aloud. Her father needs something tangible in order to protect his only child.
As he began to change clothes, he hummed quietly in thought and set the open file on the dresser. Give us our own personal doctor in exchange for her safety. But will that price suffice? After all, should her father pass and she were suddenly affiliated with a new group, they would have grounds to start a war with us. His daughter may be priceless to him, but is one doctor worth the risk?
As he fiddled with his necktie, he continued to read. Of course she would have a quirk. How filthy.
Kai nearly decided right then and there that the risk was not worth it.
Then, something caught his eye. A gloved hand carefully extracted the lone paper he needed.
Job: Surgeon, M.D.
Quirk: O.R.
Hm. A surgeon. OR. Operation Room…?
Kai found his lips pulling upward of their own accord.
On second thought, perhaps he could see the merit in taking her in.
Making the final adjustments to his attire, he closed the binder and tucked it under his arm, walking out the door. His friend and subordinate waited patiently at the end of the hall.
"You're gonna do it after all? I was sure you'd actually refuse the boss this time," Hari said with wide eyes. Kai handed him the binder, silently obliging him to view its contents. Hari gave him a once over before taking it cautiously. Kai wasn't an expressive man by any means, but Hari knew better than anyone that the glare in his eyes was the prelude to a dark plot.
"Do you remember what we discussed the last time we met? I believe this woman might just be the answer to our prayers."