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They say that the 2050s was a decade of war, but that’s only if you ask the wrong people. If you were sixteen years old and lived in the suburbs of Mega-Akita, then life was really starting to warm up to its best. Modernity had finally caught up with the traditionalists, and the aesthetic was to die for. Genji spent those years swamped in hoodies, and half clad in armour, with a VR headset stuck to his face and modified katana at his side. It helped being filthy rich, and having fortress walls several centuries old to retreat behind whenever the consequences of his actions threatened to sneak up on him. But for the most part, it was long summers – juice cartons drunk on pagoda roofs, sunglasses and slot machines, cutting off the grass heads on the riverbanks with a sword strike.
Wars were worlds away: the radio could be tuned to other channels, and besides, if you knew where to look, omnics and humans kept getting on just fine, regardless of what was happening above ground. The neo-rave seen hit its height at that time. The thrill of illicit gathering with the ‘enemy’ just to dance to music in some abandoned warehouse or basement. Genji lived for it. He barely attended his school classes and toed a line between appearing at family functions and disappearing off as early as he could to find his own fun. There was always someone who had his back when he came home – a cook to rustle him up food after he’d missed dinner, a low ranking clan member who’d swear he’d been with Genji the whole time, his mother to smooth over the fights before they started with his brother or father.
Later, when part of his brain was digitised, he’d replay those memories like grainy VHS tapes, rewinding and rewinding to relive the freedom of the wind on his face, the cool river flowing over his toes, the sweat crawling down his spine in the close confines of a club. It was always the small things he missed. And the big things. Alright, he missed a lot of things.
But in 2056, life was perfect. For Shimada Genji at least.
It was one of those days that ought to be spent up at Lake Tawaza and that people ought to be criminally charged for if they thought a sixteen-year-old should instead be in a business meeting. The morning was heavy with the smell of storms, and awash with old blossoms, and ripe fruit, and there was pollen in the air, and dogs barking mad in the distance, and humid heat hanging close, and all the sun was such a bright white on the paths of the castle that it hurt to look at. Genji rolled off his futon with a groan. Someone had turned his fan off and the heat had woken him up. The light was too strong through the walls for him to get back to sleep now. He groaned again, rolled onto the tatami, and crawled to the door. He put his fingers in the crack and slid the door open an inch.
“Who turned the fan off!?” he called through the house. He wriggled on his stomach to get closer to the door. “I said, who-”
A foot appeared before his nose. He craned his head to look up at the intruder.
“Oniisan… You turned my fan off, didn’t you.”
Hanzo was dressed in his best, of course. He always was. Including that imperious stare he never forgot to put on.
“Get dressed. The family are meeting in ten minutes.” His brother turned to walk away. Genji looped his arms around Hanzo’s foot and clung on. He heard an irritable sigh. “Off.”
“You woke me up!” Genji complained.
“You’re needed in – now nine minutes. Get up, get dressed, and get off my leg.” Hanzo took a step and an entire sleepy Genji came with his foot.
“You’re so strong, Oniisan. And so awake. Can you ask Yosuke to make me breakfast?”
“Who?”
Genji sat bolt upright.
“The cook! He’s only been working here since before I was born?!”
“Ah, freedom.” Hanzo jumped out of reach now that his leg was free, though not before he placed the ball of his foot on Genji’s forehead and pushed him over, back into his room. Genji went sprawling.
“You-!” Genji jumped to his feet. Hanzo was already gone. Genji cursed. He toggled his fan on and pulled a face in the direction he assumed his brother had left in.
Eight minutes later he was sloping out of his room in a stifling heavy kimono and dowdy coloured hakama. He yawned as he slipped into his indoor shoes and clicked on the VR interface built into his metal headband. He flicked on the setting for a Super Mario game, and entertained himself on the way to the kitchen by vaulting over digital platforms, collecting gold coins, and jumping on the heads of shy guys and koopas.
Birdo was waiting for him in the kitchen, and he’d only lost one life when his attention was dragged back to the real world. Genji flicked off the VR overlay. Yosuke the cook was standing before him, hands interlocked in agitation. Genji peered round him forlornly at the place where digital Birdo had been.
“Genji-sama,” Yosuke interrupted again, “Hanzo-sama instructed me that, if you arrived in the kitchen after ten fifty-six, I was not to give you any food, and instead to send you straight to the reception room.”
Genji’s face went to a pout and he fixed the cook with a look of abject misery.
“Genji-sama…” Yosuke had a pitying tone. He slipped some sweet crackers into Genji’s hand, turned him about and gave him a gentle push. “I will have a feast of a meal waiting for you when you come out, ok?”
“Can I at least get some coffee?”
“There’ll be tea at the meeting, now hurry up, you’re already late.”
Genji sulked and kicked at the tatami, accidentally sending his slipper flying.
He was seven minutes late to the meeting. He slid the door open silently. The enormous reception room was on an upper floor of the castle, all tiled in tatami. The walls were painted in muted landscapes, but the room itself was bare, save for a line of family members seated on small, square cushions. In the centre of the line sat a man with grey hair tied back, and a long trailing moustache a little like rock moss. Either side of him was reserved for his sons. On his right was the ever-immaculate Hanzo. On his left was an empty cushion. Genji winced internally. He winced again when he realised they had guests. Two men sat opposite the long line of Shimada Clan captains. Genji sincerely hoped they weren’t too important, otherwise his tardiness would rack up in offensiveness to the point where excuses weren’t going to cut it.
He dodged Hanzo’s icy stare and strode into the room. He bowed to each of the guests and then to his father and brother, and came and knelt on his cushion.
“My apologies,” he murmured.
His father’s face was unreadable, but he gave Genji a single nod. Now that Genji had a view of the guests, he could see they were strangers. A slow dread drained through him. Why hadn’t Hanzo told him they were having guests? He’d just assumed this was another regular dull family meeting. He hadn’t been expecting-… And these people weren’t even Kobuta. Genji knew nearly everyone worth knowing in the Clan, and these people definitely weren’t from around here.
“My youngest son still has some trouble getting up early in the morning,” his father said. It was not far off noon. Genji had the grace to blush. “He apologises for his lateness.” Genji bowed properly to the guests now.
Five minutes later, Genji was bored. He still didn’t know who the guests were, his clothes were too hot, there was no air-conditioning in the reception room, and he couldn’t see any of that tea he’d been promised. He shifted as he knelt, wondering if it would draw too much attention to himself if he instead sat cross-legged. Hanzo shot him a furious glare behind their father’s back. Genji stopped fidgeting.
Fifteen minutes later, the heat and the lack of caffeine were getting to him. His eyelids drooped and his shoulders tilted dangerously close to his father. A hand appear out of nowhere and propped him upright. Genji’s head snapped up. Hanzo withdrew his hand and gave him another glare so livid that Genji managed to get through the next twenty minutes on fear alone.
“Let us consider the details over tea in the rock garden,” Shimada Sojiro finally announced. Genji could have cried with relief.
The rock garden was sheltered and little by the way of wind managed to get in and cool down the day. They took their tea in a shaded pavilion where the air at least felt a little less stuffy. Genji wished the tea was iced, or better yet that it was coffee. His mind was on iced coffee, and lake swimming, and how to beat Birdo.
“Hmm, it seems our sparrow is distracted today.” The nickname had been intended as an insult when it had very first been used. Genji was often flitting from place to place, more interested in playful pursuits than the serious business endeavours of the family. His father had told him he was too-gentled natured and capricious to amount to anything in the clan – a sparrow in a family of hawks. Genji had been hurt at the time, but he didn’t mind the name as much now. It was often spoken with a hint of fondness, and besides, got him out of lots of wayward behaviour.
Genji looked up. He gave his father a warm smile. “Sorry, Otousan. And sorry for being late too. I didn’t know we had guests.”
“Hmm...” Sojiro’s face furrowed. “I did send your brother to tell you and wake you...” He looked over at Hanzo disapprovingly.
“Oniisan did!” Genji said quickly, moving so that he occupied his father’s attention. “He did. It was my fault. I was slow getting up and lost track of time.”
Sojiro’s eyes slid slowly back to his youngest son. He broke into a smile again.
“Up late playing video games again?”
Genji pulled a face and moved his head side to side.
“Kinda...”
He ‘kinda’ hadn’t. He’d ‘kinda’ snuck out and been at a rave until the early hours of the morning, and slid into bed at the unsavoury hour of five thirty AM.
“Oh, Sparrow, whatever are we going to do with you?” Sojiro ruffled a hand in his hair. Genji beamed at him. His beam faded when he saw his brother turn away, just behind his father. Before he could go to him, Sojiro had put a hand on his shoulder. “Now, our guests have come all the way from Sendai today, and were hoping to see some local sights. And since there isn’t a better tour guide in all Akita...”
“Oh, sure!” Genji drew his eyes from Hanzo back to his father. “I can show them around. Anything in particular?”
“Nothing too untoward,” his father said seriously, “they are Family people, and very traditional.”
“Uh huh,” Genji said vaguely. His father always said that about syndicate high-ups, but Genji had yet to meet one who didn’t want some light entertainment after all those boring meetings. He’d once wound up explaining which Pokémon types were supereffective against others to the Kobuta Oyabun…
“No nightclubs or arcades.”
“Uh huh, sure thing, Otousan.”
“And none of those tacky ramen takeaway shops. If you’re going to eat, it should be a proper meal. One where you sit down. And with fresh food. None of this noodles out of a pot with little packets of sprinkles...” Sojiro’s face was a picture of disapproving, but Genji couldn’t help but laugh at it.
“O-… Otousan,” he said, between stints of laughter, “th-… the way you said – little packets of sprinkles. I can’t-. You’re so funny!”
“Hmph!” Sojiro’s dark expression became wry as he shared Genji’s mirth. He gave a chuckle himself. “Well, I plan on extending a dinner invitation this evening anyway, so our guests will at least be spared your questionable food choices.” Sojiro held up his cup as tea was poured into it by a ranking member in a formal black suit. “Hanzo will be with you, so trust his guidance as to what is appropriate for our guest’s entertainment.”
Half a dozen half-baked plans for the evening shrivelled up and died in Genji’s mind.
“O-...oh.” He looked at over at his brother. Hanzo was deep in a serious conversation with one of the guests, whilst sipping daintily from his teacup.
“… If Oniisan’s there, we won’t get to go to the places I suggest.” Genji’s face became sullen. “Can’t he stay here? Then I could-”
Sojiro gave Genji a look from under high arched eyebrows that reminded Genji of Hanzo.
“He’ll only veto the inappropriate places, Genji. And no arguing about it, I still haven’t forgiven you for taking the Oyabun’s nephew to that drug den.”
“O-Otousan…” Genji was never going to live that one down. “It was just a regular nightclub, I told you. I lost track of him and he ended up in a room at the back where-”
“Well, with Hanzo with you, hopefully you won’t be losing track of any more people, hm?”
Genji gave a sour smile in agreement and drank his too warm tea in his too hot clothes.
“Now, let me introduce you properly.” His father touched his shoulder and the affection banished Genji’s mood.
Genji bowed politely as he was introduced to an older man, perhaps in his sixties, hair streaked with grey, with spectacles on his nose, in traditional kimono and hakama, with a silvery haori emblazened with white koi fish. He was so monochrome, Genji wondered if he’d been pulled out of some ancient newspaper. Genji bowed again and smiled for the elderly gentleman as his father introduced him as Suzuki Masahiko, the head of an influential Yakuza family from Sendai. With him was his lieutenant, Abe Shiro, in a simple, but finely tailored black suit. His skin was a deep brown but peppered with scars that showed up a creamy white. Looking at him reminded Genji of one time when he’d gone to the beach in winter, when the skyline was winter bleak and crashing waves lashed against the shore, breaking upon the hard, bare, black rocks. There was something hard and fierce also about Abe Shiro. Genji bowed to him too, though the fixed smile on his face wavered a little. He stepped back as his father filled the moment with light conversation. A voice sounded at Genji’s ear.
“He won’t give us trouble if we don’t give him cause to. I’ll have your back, don’t worry.”
Warmth blossomed in Genji’s chest. He turned and gave his brother a brilliant smile. Hanzo still had a dark expression on his face, but nothing could dampen the glow of happiness that radiated in Genji just then.
Later that afternoon, Genji sloped down the street in a light neon print tank top and loose tobi trousers. He’d been excused from his formalwear on the condition that the Akita tour begun first with a tour of Hanamura. Genji was leading the way down the dry summer streets with his hands thrust deep in his pockets. After him walked their two guests, and Hanzo brought up the rear, still, of course, wearing a respectable kimono and with his long hair drawn up into a perfect knot at the top of his perfect head. Genji kicked at a stone on the path.
“These are the famous cherry trees. In spring they blossom and line the river bank, but as you can see now, they’re just green.” The guests nodded politely. Genji indicated vaguely to his left. “These are some old houses. They are old. They’re famous for being old.” He blew out a slow huff of air, and tucked some of his rampant dark hair out of his face.
Suzuki Masahiko turned to his lieutenant and murmured something to him. Abe hung back and to engage Hanzo in a question. Genji felt a familiar prickle of concern, a bit like when teachers handed his school reports to his parents. Before he could try and eavesdrop on the conversation, Suzuki had quickened his step and was at his side. The man gave him a wide smile that showed off a gold tooth.
“Genji-kun,” Suzuki said, “you mind if I call you that? I have Shimadas coming out my ears.”
“Not at all, Suzuki-sama.” Genji bowed to him.
“I have a question.” Genji’s heart sunk. He really didn’t know very much about historical tours. “Where is… the good stuff?”
Genji blinked.
“I-I’m sorry, what did-”
The Yakuza boss slapped Genji on the back, nearly bowling Genji over.
“Boy, you have a reputation for knowing… the real Akita. Places a gentleman can have fun.” The old man’s face had crinkled so that looked like a gleeful smiling Buddha.
“S-suzuki-sama, I’m sixteen years old…”
“Sixteen and never done any gambling?”
“O-oh, gambling.” Genji wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Oh, ah… I mean. I’ve never heard of it. Gambling is uh illegal.”
“Of course, of course.” Suzuki winked at him. “In which case, where can one go to not gamble, and just play some Blackjack and Poker for fun?”
Genji glanced behind him. Hanzo was thoroughly immersed in a conversation with Abe that involved lots of gesticulation and serious expressions.
“Don’t worry about Shimada-san, Abe will keep him misdirected. Abe is a great fan of talking business structures and models.”
Genji tilted his head from side to side. That would do it. Hanzo would be more than occupied.
“I know a number of places,” Genji murmured to Suzuki.
“Good.” Suzuki lit up a cigarette. “My cousin had a friend who ran in Tokyo, and he said when his son came to Akita, Shimada Genji was the man who showed him the world. I want to go where you go, I want to see these wonders.”
Genji’s painted smile returned anxiously. “Ah…. I… do not do that kind of gambling, Suzuki-sama.”
Suzuki paused to blow out a ream of smoke. He looked at Genji from over his glasses. He’d traded his normal pair in for a sleek pair of sunglasses in the baking heat.
“And where do you gamble, Genji-kun?”
“The arcades,” Genji said without a second thought. “If you really want to gamble in the 2050s, you need to move off your poker game and into the 3D arcade scene. Cards and tables? Those belong to the old millennium. I’m talking ten thousand square metre digital stadiums and standing on the edge of virtual precipices so real you’ll throw your guts up. Have you ever played baseball for the national team, wrestled in the Olympics, jumped a canyon fifty metres wide, climbed up a Tokyo skyscraper by your fingertips? I can show you how to put the fun back in gambling.”
The old man’s eyes lit up like a child’s.
“I knew I didn’t choose the wrong family to make this deal with.”
Genji’s brilliant enthusiasm failed him and he backtracked. “Y-...you chose to do business here because...”
“Because it gave me an opportunity to see the Akita underworld with Shimada Genji?” Suzuki’s eyes twinkled and he took another drag on his cigarette. “Don’t act so modest and surprised, boy. When you get to my age, you start looking back on life. You see all the grit and struggle. It mattered so much how you rose through the ranks, how you trod down those around you, how much cash you pulled in a night… When you’re twenty- how old did you say you were?”
“Sixteen...”
“Well, whatever-” Suzuki waved dismissively. “When you’re a young man, your blood is always racing. You want to beat some guy’s head in, or fall in love every Tuesday, or whatever. But at my age, you realise you’ve got what you’ve got and, what else? Not much. You never stopped to enjoy it. And sure the parties were good, the nightlife was fun, the sex was good, but what does it mean? It doesn’t mean anything. So before I reach seventy, I want to party like the today’s kids do. When I was your age – you went to the disco. You know what disco is?”
“Yes, Suzuki-sama.”
“No, you don’t – no one today understands what disco is. It belonged to the time, it belonged to the moment. You see what I’m saying here, Genji-kun?”
“Uh… yes, I think so.”
“Okay, good. Good. I want disco. But I don’t want disco. I want what you kids got instead of disco, okay?”
“I… I think so?” Genji scratched his chin. “So… you don’t want to play and Blackjack and Poker?”
“Screw Blackjack and Poker. What are your games called?”
“Uuh… Donkey Kong Space Bonanza and Streetfighter Ten?”
“Okay… okay I haven’t got those names down, but by the end of the night I’ll be streetfighting that donkey like a pro.”
The problem was that, even though Genji was able to wend his way through the city whilst keeping Hanzo a distracted few paces behind them, there inevitably came a time when they reached their destination. The arcade was thirteen stories high with 3D characters leaning out the windows. A full race hovercar was speeding around the sixth floor, and a digital waterfall was cascading down from the tenth to the eighth.
“Hooeee!” said Suzuki, in a not at all dignified manner. He ducked a laser shot from the head of a hologram Devil Jin, who was flying on terrible wings and rattling a jangle of digital chains as he tossed his horned head and screeched. Suzuki pointed, “Look at that!”
Genji couldn’t ‘look at that’, because he was pinned in place by Hanzo’s stare of utter outrage. Genji took a few steps back and put Suzuki between them.
“I’m glad you’re looking forward to going in, Suzuki-sama,” Genji said, in a very obvious way, hoping to direct Hanzo towards the fact.
“I sure am,” Suzuki beamed and he immediately stalked into the arcade. The enigmatic Abe, made quick strides to follow his boss. So did Genji. Hanzo’s hand gripped hard on his shoulder and stopped him.
“My brother and I will join you in just a moment,” Hanzo said sweetly to Abe, in a tone that made Genji’s insides want to shrivel up.
A moment later, Suzuki and Abe were gone, and Genji found himself hauled into a side alley and slammed against a brick wall. His shirt was all bunched in Hanzo’s hand, and he could feel a bruise starting on his skull and shoulder blades.
“What were you thinking?!” Hanzo hissed at him.
“Oniisan, come on. You really think I’d dare pull a stunt like this on my own with you around? Su-” He winced as he was shoved roughly into the wall again. “Suzuki-sama asked me to!” Genji protested.
Hanzo’s eyes were dark and piercing. Genji dodged them on instinct.
“Look at me!” Hanzo snapped.
Genji did, with a slow reluctant gaze, and his best innocent expression. “I was just doing what that boss asked…”
“And who is it you serve, Suzuki or Shimada?”
Genji’s heart sunk and doubt slunk into him. His cocky attitude evaporated and he melted a bit into the wall.
“The… the Shimada of course.” His voice was small.
“And did Otousama not explicitly say to you not to take the Sendai guests anywhere degenerate?!”
“Y…yes. But… but isn’t it rude to deny our guests? Suzuki is my senior and he was insistent. I-”
“That is what I’m here for, you ignorant fool! I’m here so that you don’t have to make these judgements of etiquette alone!” Genji’s eyes softened and he looked at Hanzo with a quieter adoration. “Don’t give me that look! You disobeyed a direct order and-”
“You’ll sort it out for me, wont you, Oniisan? You always sort everything out.”
“If Otousama finds out, he-” Hanzo’s eyebrow twitched, troubled. It occurred to Genji for the first time that if he and this whole excursion were under Hanzo’s watch, then it might be Hanzo that got the repercussions if it went wrong.
“I’m sorry,” Genji said quickly. “What should I do? Should I suggest that we go elsewhere to Suzuki-sama?”
Hanzo released him and took a step back. He brushed down his formal kimono and hakama and pulled his shoulders back. After a second, he also brushed down Genji’s top of creases.
“Really, couldn’t you have worn something a little more formal,” he muttered. Then more audibly, “Yes, of course we’re going to suggest taking him elsewhere. We can take him to see the pagoda in Kanezaka, it’s very popular with tourists.”
“Oniisan…” Genji submitted to having his attire sorted out, though he really didn’t think there were many ways one could sort out a tank top and baggy trousers. “He really came here for the high life, not for pagodas.”
“The pagoda is very high.”
Genji looked at his brother. His face was completely straight. Honestly Genji couldn’t tell when he was joking or not, but he burst out laughing anyway. As he did, he caught the hint of a smile in Hanzo’s eyes. In between trying to reign in his laughter, Genji had time to be glad that his brother wasn’t furious with him. Or at least, wasn’t completely furious with him.
“But I’m not kidding,… Suzuki-sama said he even took the deal just so that he could look around town here…”
“And you believe everything everyone tells you? You’re his host Genji, and a little flattery does go a long way to making you compliant.”
Genji scowled. “You didn’t see how he-”
“The matter is irrelevant. We are a respectable clan and we are taking him elsewhere. Come.”
All Genji could do was slink behind his brother and look sullen and sheepish. He forgot some of that as soon as they entered the arcade though. His attention was snatched in a thousand different directions, and his pulse lit up as it always did in the dim arcade rooms, beating with lights and the latest loud neosynthwave, and the buzz and hum of machinery. Hanzo immediately began trying to scour the place for their wayward guests. In the dark, faces were lit from strange angles with the bright glow of screens and ricochetting lights of pachislot machines. The sing-song repetitive tune of the claw machines blended with the screech of tires from a 3D racing game, and the constant background blur of a host of different machines all rolling at once.
“I cannot hear myself think!” Genji heard Hanzo declare to himself over the noise. A sly smile slipped onto Genji’s face, though it quickly vanished when Hanzo turned towards him.
“Let’s split up and try to find them,” Genji said, leaning in close to be heard. Hanzo nodded. Genji turned to leave, but was abruptly wheeled back round. Hanzo’s lips were close to his ear.
“If I find you playing video games instead, I will make you regret it.”
Genji gave a weak smile when Hanzo let him pull back. He’d already been eyeing up the latest Street Fighter game in the corner. He inclined his head in a slight bow, not trusting himself to talk, and darted off the moment Hanzo let go of him.
Honestly, what had their father been thinking letting Hanzo come… Everything would be just perfect if he wasn’t here. Genji would be happy, the guests would be happy, and no one would be worrying about stuffy ritual and honour and what was proper. What was the harm in a few arcade games anyway? And alright, maybe Genji had been planning on taking Suzuki to the backrooms where some slightly less legal operations occurred, but it was just a little harmless gambling. Genji couldn’t understand how his family could get so irritable about it when they were the ones talking about assassinating people and blackmarket arms deals behind closed doors. Why was a little fun so reprehensible when their business was all the kind of crimes that would lock less careful people away for life? Why would Suzuki want to go look at some dumb pagoda anyway? Weren’t there pagodas in Sendai? Hanzo could be so boring. No wonder no one personally requested him to give them guided tours.
Genji paused. He’d been squeezing through the busy arcade, trying to avoid the wild elbows of players on fight sticks, when he’d noticed a new release game he’d being dying to try with a free cabinet. It was so rare to see it without a queue, let alone a player. He stared at it wistfully. He did a mental tally in his head of game vs Hanzo-finding-out pros and cons. He glanced around him. Just one little game surely couldn’t hurt…
Fifteen minutes later he was down ¥65,000 and slinking surreptitiously off to the back of the arcade. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder and he turned to see Hanzo.
“O-Oniisan, I-I was just-”
“Did you check any of the other floors yet? I cleared the basement, and there’s nothing there but obscenely out of taste sporting video games. I saw a youngster there completely fail to grasp even the remotest basics of baseball.”
Genji was too glad to have gotten away with his negligence to contest that.
“Let’s check upstairs.” Genji pinched at the sleeve of Hanzo’s kimono so that they didn’t lose one another as he led him up a flight of stairs to the dance floor.
They navigated through dance machines with their brightly coloured light-up floors and chattering tunes, until they found, at the back, under a neon retro 80s vaporwave sign, Sendai Yakuza boss, Suzuki Masahiko, in a hotly contested disco dance-off with his lieutenant.
Hanzo stopped dead in his tracks. Genji slipped forward to smooth over any problems in advance of their appearing.
“Genji-kun!” Suzuki exclaimed when he caught sight of him. “Oh! Give me a moment – uh – huh – huh, got to get this step, it’s hard. I don’t want Abe to take this song, it’s an old favourite of mine.”
Hanzo stepped forward. Genji put a hand on his arm.
“Got to wait until the end of the song, Oniisan, or he’ll mess up. Look at the top, Suzuki-sama’s on a 30 step combo.” Hanzo glared at him, but waited. Genji took an incredible amount of delight watching his brother’s expression ticking ever darker as he had to wait through the dance routine.
When the song ended, Suzuki cackled with delight at his victory. He mopped his brow and had to lean against the rail of the dance machine.
“Ah! I haven’t danced like this since the year 2000!” He wheezed with laughter, and then just wheezed a bit in general. The equally exhausted and slightly less enthusiastic Abe, brought a bottle of water out of his suit jacket (hung neatly on the side of the arcade machine) and handed it to his boss. Suzuki gulped down the water. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier!” Suzuki exclaimed. He clapped Genji on the shoulder, half collapsing on him before he regained his balance. Whatever Hanzo had been going to say was dying on his lips, Genji was malevolently pleased to see.
“So glad to see you’re enjoying the arcade, Suzuki-sama,” Genji said, passing a smirk in Hanzo’s direction.
“It’s marvellous! This machine plays songs from when I was a little boy!” Genji was genuinely moved to see small tears in old man’s eyes. “I don’t really listen to music any more, and I’d forgotten all the names of songs, but here they all are, preserved in this computer game! What a treasure to find! We danced to this when I was younger than you are, Genji-kun. All the rich children would get their parents to hire a hall and a DJ on their birthday. I was ever so jealous hah hah hah! I haven’t thought about that in over sixty years…”
“I’m glad it was to your liking, Suzuki-sama.” Genji helped him since he was still a little wobbly after the exertion. “Shall we go somewhere a bit quieter and let you rest. There’s a beautiful pagoda in Kanezaka.”
“What?! Pagodas? Pah! I’m not done here. I want to see what other games there are. Weren’t you going to teach me the donkey game, Genji-kun? Come along.” Suzuki pulled away and strode off towards the stairs, tottering a little as he did.
Genji chanced a sidelong guilty glance Hanzo’s way. The predictable frown was there, but thankfully right now, it was resting on Suzuki.
“Suzuki-sama!”
Genji’s eyes snapped back to their guest. Abe was hurrying to Suzuki’s side. The old man had gotten two steps up the next flight of stairs, and was now sinking into his subordinate’s arms.
Genji and Hanzo hurried over.
“Oh, hah hah,” Suzuki said. “Maybe a small sit down was necessary after all. I’ll be up in a minute and raring to go!”
Suzuki wasn’t up in a minute. Nor was he up in thirty. He wasn’t up ever again in fact, as the happy and over-excited old man had promptly died of a heart-attack on the second floor of the arcade.
At first, it wasn’t clear quite what should be done. Abe was holding his master on the ground in the midst of a thoroughfare, since the third floor was a popular destination. The moment Suzuki stopped breathing, Genji realised they should be calling an ambulance. Hanzo had already dialled when Abe looked him dead in the eye and told him it was too late.
Genji crouched down next to Suzuki. He took the old man’s hand. It was still warm, still so recently full of life. He didn’t feel sad. The man had asked to live again, and he had. In Genji’s head, he could hear the old boss’s cheeky croak of a laugh, declaring that he lived more in those last few minutes than he would have done in the rest of his life anyway.
“I hope there’s dancing wherever you’ve gone, my friend,” he said quietly.
“Genji!” Hanzo snapped. Genji could hear panic in his voice and not just anger.
Genji tried to mull that over as the next hour passed in a blur around him. The whole arcade was evacuated, and the streets were lined with black-suited Yakuza as far as the eye could see. The body was moved out on a stretcher with a white sheet over it. The ambulance Hanzo had dialled never got to their location, and was turned back around by a Shimada clan officiary. Instead, the family doctor was on the scene and pronounced Suzuki dead, before he was placed in a car with garlands of flowers which seemed to have materialised out of nowhere.
Genji was still in a daze when their father approached them. Hanzo bowed low to him. Genji was confused and still in shock, so forgot. His father indicated for Hanzo to follow him. Genji was left on the curb outside the arcade, alone. He followed with uncomprehending eyes as his father and brother moved away, painfully aware of the furtive anxiety in the minutiae of Hanzo’s body language.
A short while later, Genji found himself sitting in a black car with black tinted windows, being driven to the Shimada residence. The car was full of bodyguards in black suits. Someone told him he should go and get changed immediately into a black kimono when they got back. Genji remembered getting out the car and being surprised that it was still daylight and still summer. He crossed the courtyard with its flagstones glowing faintly in the colours of evening. He slipped away to his bedroom and sat quietly on the tatami with his knees drawn up to his chin. He stayed there for a bit, thinking. Then he quickly donned mourning attire, and spent an extra minute in front of the mirror trying to make sure he looked presentable and that the clothing was free of creases.
He wondered if he was meant to be somewhere. No one had summoned him. He wondered if he should try and find Hanzo. He was afraid of seeing his father just then. His father was always gentle with him, but Genji was afraid all the same. He swallowed and tried to summon all his courage. He slid his sword into his obi, mostly because it made him feel braver, and stepped out of his room.
He immediately wanted to be back inside. There was a flurry of activity all around him, a constant sea of people moving hither and thither, all with sombre expressions and dressed in black.
“Excuse me.” Genji stopped someone. “Where is my brother?”
“Hanzo-sama is busy.”
He stopped someone else and asked them.
“There is a private clan meeting. Hanzo-sama is in attendance.”
“Where? Can I go?”
“Sorry, Genji-sama, I don’t think so.”
Well, fine. He’d just go and find that meeting himself. He checked all the usual formal halls first, and then the more private family rooms. He paused when he heard voices coming from a remote room in the south wing of the castle. He slid the door open a crack and put his eye to it. Hanzo was kneeling before the five senior elders of the clan, with their father in the centre of the line. Genji’s stomach twisted.
The room was relatively small, but the voices within were still hushed. Genji could see from the contrite way Hanzo’s head was bowed, and the whites of his knuckles, that things were not going well. Their father’s dark eyebrows were in almost a ‘v’, his frown was so fierce.
He’d already flaunted so much etiquette today, Genji thought he might as well flaunt a little more if it might help out his brother. He pushed open the door, stepped out of his indoor shoes onto the tatami, and knelt, immediately bowing his forehead to the ground.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I should be at this meeting. It’s my fault.”
There was an abrupt silence. Genji could hear the faint tick of a clock on a wall. Sweat collected at the back of his hot collar and ran down his neck. He could feel the smooth weave of the tatami pressed into his forehead and brushing his nose. Eventually, his father spoke. Genji dared not look up.
“This is a private meeting, Genji.” His voice was terse and not at all amiable like usual. Genji suppressed a shiver.
“Y-...yes, Otousan, but please allow me to attend.”
His father’s voice got a little louder. “A guest from the powerful Suzuki Family of Sendai has died whilst visiting the Shimada on a matter of business. This is a highly volatile situation and no place for a child!”
“I’m responsible for where we went though, not Oniisan. Please let me-”
“Go to your room!”
Genji looked up. His father’s face was furious. Everyone else was looking straight forward. Hanzo had his back to him, and Genji couldn’t see his expression at all. Genji swallowed. He bowed low, stood, bowed again, then backed out the room and slid the door closed before him.
He didn’t know what to do. Why wouldn’t they just let him explain? He was the one that had taken Suzuki to the arcade, and deliberately kept Hanzo in the dark. Hanzo had only tried to do everything correctly. He only ever tried to do everything correctly… Genji now also feared what his brother would be like afterwards. Whenever he was punished for Genji’s mistakes, Hanzo became more cold and distant, and his eyes would become hateful. Genji never asked for others to take the fall for his errors… He would much rather be reprimanded himself than have Hanzo hate him.
Genji didn’t go to his room. He wandered out onto one of the first floor balconies and sat with his legs dangling down onto the tile roof below, whilst he looped his arms over the one of the wooden rails hemming in the parapet. A pink sunset was easing the rose hue of evening through the Shimada residence. Long brown shadows were pooling in the gardens below. Old, tired flowers that had ripened too long in the sun were finally rejuvenating in the evening cool, and filling the air with soft floral scents. Genji could just see the inviting lights of the city beyond the high outer wall of the castle. He gave a heavy sigh and leaned his cheek against the grain of the wood. The thick wool mourning kimono was hot about his neck and the heat of the day was still hanging about his clothes.
“May I join you?”
Genji scrambled to his feet. Abe Shiro, Suzuki’s lieutenant, was standing before him. Genji bowed.
“… Abe-san, I’m deeply sorry for your loss. I-” Genji could feel himself panicking. After seeing Hanzo in that room with all those accusing faces, he was really starting to feel like he’d actually killed Suzuki himself. “I’m so sorry that I-”
“Thank you, Shimada-san, but you needn’t trouble yourself with an apology. Suzuki-sama’s death was hardly your fault.”
Genji looked up at Abe gratefully. The man was tall, with a gaunt, shadowed look to his face. When Genji had first looked at him, he’d been a little intimidated by the man’s scars, now though, he felt warmth.
“Would you care to take a walk, Shimada-san? I imagine you might be feeling as trapped as I am in this castle right now.”
Genji smiled at him. He loved the way Abe called him ‘Shimada-san’. There were so many Shimadas in the castle that Hanzo usually got ‘Shimada-san’, and Genji was left with some diminutive version of his personal name. ‘Shimada-san’ sounded like he was a well respected member of the family.
Genji straightened down his kimono and drew back his shoulders.
“Yes, I’d be honoured to accompany you.” He said it the way Hanzo would have wanted.
They took the south steps down into the gardens, where the flowers were all closing their cups for the night under the dark waxen leaves of the rhododendron bushes.
“They will light the lanterns soon,” Genji murmured. “They are beautiful here in the garden.”
Abe nodded. His eyes were on the gate that led to the rock gardens and towards the main entrance.
“Forgive me, I’m going to wander around town for a bit. I need a little time outside these walls.”
Genji nodded. “I will join you.”
They walked side by side out into the evening. They took a winding steep road down the hill into Kanezaka, where the buzz of neon lit up club signs, and the daytime cafes faded to greyscale as they wound down their business. Windows shutters on the floors above were pulled to, and their slats opened to let in the air.
“Did you want to go somewhere in particular?” Genji asked Abe.
“Perhaps that pagoda you mentioned.”
Genji nodded. It was a beautiful evening. There were silhouetted sparrows sitting on the telephone wires, and the day’s dust was starting to settle – it hung as a brown haze in the streets at sunset. A melody wound out of a radio coming from an open window. The sizzle and smoke of the last streetfood wares being turned on the grill mixed with the smell of old summer and the bleat of distant traffic.
The pagoda appeared abruptly before them when they rounded a corner. The city had been built up high around it so that it couldn’t be viewed from any angle other than under its eaves. Genji craned back his head.
“Well, there it is.” Hanzo would have known something interesting to say about it. All Genji knew was that he’d once kissed someone under it, whilst the rain came down in droves and lightening lit up the puddles on the streets white.
“Can we go up?”
“Sure.”
Genji led Abe up a set of nearby stone steps and then across a makeshift bridge that took them to the first floor of the pagoda.
“It’s normally off limits,” Genji explained, “but everyone comes up here anyway. We can get higher too, there’s a trick to it though.”
Genji jumped up and poked open a little trapdoor in the wooden ceiling above. He pulled down a wooden ladder and grinned at Abe. They ascended to the second floor and Genji pulled the little ladder up behind them. Whilst the first floor of the pagoda was without walls and open to the night, the remaining tiers were enclosed. Genji led them up higher and higher, up a series of step ladders, until they reached the top floor. He lifted out a piece of the wall panelling so that they had a window and could look out over the city below.
“Do you come here often?” Abe had sat down cross-legged next to him. He got out a packet of cigarettes from his suit jacket and offered one to Genji. Genji declined.
“No… Only if I need to get away from something. I keep it a secret. I like having a private haven to come to if things get too much. It’s calming to sit here and look down at the world.”
Abe lit his cigarette and a twist of smoke wound its way out into the evening.
“It’s a good find. Thank you for bringing me here, Shimada-san.”
Genji gave him a smile. “Wait until the lights come on, it’s something else.”
As the dusk rolled in, the house lights below winked orange squares into existence. Tall towers lit up their striplights and clubs blinked on their neon. A galaxy of stars was spread amidst the city’s darkness. Genji chanced a glance at Abe and saw him smile at the sight. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad tour guide after all.
A ringing came from next to him. Abe pulled out a mobile phone.
“Excuse me a moment,” he said, and held his cigarette at arms length with his long, thin fingers. Its end glowed red in the growing gloom.
“Moshimoshi, Abe speaking.” He gave Genji a reassuring smile, then returned his attention to the call. “Why do you ask?… Perhaps, perhaps not. Why, are you missing something?” A smirk appeared on Abe’s lips and his eyebrows climbed. Genji thought it was perhaps impolite to stare. He could at least pretend not to hear. He looked out at the rooftops and wondered for the tenth time this evening why he hadn’t just brought Suzuki somewhere peaceful like Hanzo had wanted. Somewhere like here.
“I’m with Shimada Genji,” Abe said. Genji’s eyes wandered over the cityscape. The phonecall was probably from the castle then, since he doubted anyone outside his clan would know him by name. “Indeed. We’re just getting to know one another.”
Genji felt something. A slight tingling at the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure why. He was just aware of feeling faintly uncomfortable.
“Why, of course it must all go ahead. And with a little more besides. Full compensation is expected. All things considered, it’s only fair that the Suzuki take out a little insurance… Of course… Yes… You can rest assured. Once everything is in order, we can each return what is owed to its correct owner.”
Shortly after, Abe clicked off the call. The isolated viewing spot no longer felt quite so peaceful. The night air was getting a little cooler too. Genji stretched.
“Well, I guess we should head back. It’s getting colder and-” Genji froze. A tanto was at his throat. He backed up against the wall but the thin blade edge followed him, staying millimetres from his skin. He was breathing so fast his breath was clouding up the steel.
“And they told me you didn’t have a head for understanding business, Genji.”
No more ‘Shimada-san’, Genji noted bitterly, which was a strange thing to think when you have a knife to your throat.
“Ah, I-”
“Hush now,” Abe said. He leaned a little closer. Genji flattened himself further against the wall. He looked up at Abe, eyes wide with dismay. “Don’t move and keep quiet. Do as I say, and I’ll send you back to your father in one piece, understood?”
Genji wondered how he could show he understood without moving or speaking. He stayed very still.
“Good boy,” Abe said. “It’s nothing personal, Genji, just business, you understand. Your family owes mine a debt, I’m just making very sure they pay out in full. As such, the first thing you can do is hand me that katana you brought with you.” Genji’s chest rose and fell fast. He reached towards the hilt of his blade. “Slowly,” Abe said. He pushed the blade until it rested against Genji’s neck. “Any sudden movement and I will slit your throat.” Genji paled. He had difficulty getting the katana out from his obi whilst pressed up against the wall. He felt the wafer edge of the tanto press momentarily against his skin and break it open. Tears sprung into his eyes as a thin line of blood appeared at his throat and slid down his neck.
“Careful, Genji,” Abe scolded lightly.
Genji handed over his precious katana. He blinked quickly and tried to ignore the one tear that escaped and rolled down his cheek.
“Good.” Abe took the katana and set it down beside him. Then he withdrew the knife, though he turned its point to face Genji’s chest. “Now, we’re going to sit here quietly, alright?”
Genji nodded silently. He sat cross-legged with his fists curled into tense balls on his thighs. Just when he thought he’d blinked away all of his tears, some more of the stupid things appeared and welled up in his eyes, flooding them until his sight was glassy and shiny. They seeped very slowly and individually down his cheeks. He wasn’t crying because of the surprise pain of the knife this time, though. He was crying because Hanzo always complained that he made idiotic mistakes and he was right. Genji had made mistake after mistake today, and just when he thought he’d cost his family as much as can be lost in a single day, he went and carelessly got himself kidnapped, and held as insurance over some business deal.
“You are Gokudou,” Abe said. The weight of his gaze rested heavy on Genji. “You better get used to situations like these. I already told you: no harm will come to you if your family abide by my terms.”
Genji wiped his eyes on the sleeves of his kimono. He wrapped his arms around himself and kept his eyes lowered.
“What, no more smart words? You’ve been so talkative all day, I thought you’d never run out of things to say.”
Genji didn’t reply. He stayed very quiet and wondered if he should have put up more resistance when he was disarmed. If his family found out he’d handed over that legendary weapon so easily… But surely it was most important not to die? He wasn’t so sure any more. He wished he’d never got up this morning. He wished he’d stayed in his bed with the morning light filling up his room.
As he sat there with the dark shadows getting darker and the slip of silvery knife glowing dimly in the gathering moonlight, he found himself wondering if his family would really take a bad business bargain over his life. They would probably be thinking of appearances. Would it appear weaker to allow life of their Kumichou’s son to be taken, or to accept a bad business arrangement? They would seek first to avoid making such a choice by trying to find him. They wouldn’t find him though. Genji was always out on the town and never told anyone his comings and goings. No one knew this pagoda could even still be scaled. And hadn’t it been him that pulled up the ladder behind them, thinking to keep his little secret from the public? Misery sunk heavy onto his shoulders.
He could see movement on the streets now. Brothers from his clan were running up and down the streets in their black mourning kimonos with torches and katana in their hands. From up here they were no bigger than his hand.
“Keep nice and quiet, Genji,” Abe said softly. His features were lost in the darkness of the pagoda interior. He was just a knife and a smattering of light splashed on a sharp cheek bone. He leaned forward and his eyes lit up bone white. “Alright?”
“Yes, Abe-san,” Genji said, very quietly.
Genji found himself wishing a lot of things as he sat in the dark with that knife. He wished he’d listened to the meeting this morning when the deal between the clans was being proposed. He wished he’d never gone to that arcade. He wished he’d not stopped to play a video game and had instead got to Mr Suzuki fifteen minutes earlier. He wished he’d insisted on staying in that meeting with his brother and father. He wished he’d paused to really think about why the only member of the Suzuki Clan within Hanamura had requested to spend time with him, the screw up of the Shimada family. More than anything else, he wished Hanzo was here. Hanzo had told him he’d have his back today… If Hanzo were here, he would snap at him and tell him to pull himself together and stop crying. He’d never allow Abe to so much as point that knife at Genji. Genji sniffed and tried to suppress his tears.
As he did so though, his ears picked up on a sound. He realised the clansmen were no longer running about the street. Keeping himself very still and not even daring to glance towards the window, Genji listened. From the steady, even way that Abe still held the knife, his ears were not trained to hear what Genji’s could. The Shimada were not just another Yakuza clan among many. They were inheritors of an ancient school of infiltration and assassination. Genji dared not breathe, but he also dared not not breathe. He needed to keep Abe from being alerted to anything. Abe couldn’t know the faint sound of a wicker shoe on tile. He couldn’t know the faint flow of material as it blew in a slight wind. He couldn’t know the soft pull of breath, expelled in an irregular rhythm designed to disguise it from listeners.
As the sounds drew closer, Genji let his distress sound a little louder, so as to better cover the ambush. He sniffled a bit and let his already shaky breath escape.
“Quiet!”Abe snapped, his voice hushed. So he perhaps had noticed something after all. “It’s too quiet,” Abe murmured. And indeed, now that Genji wasn’t listening explicitly for the approach of the assassins, he noticed that all the sounds of the city had died. Not even a car horn or engine could be heard. It seemed like even the sparrows had stopped their song.
The pagoda wall exploded into shards of wood as it was kicked inward. Abe was bowled over backwards. Genji lunged for his sword, but Abe kicked him fully in his face. Genji’s head went to stars and he tasted blood on his tongue. He slumped back against the wall and had to catch his balance to stop from falling out onto the steep roof below.
The swirling black kimonos of the Shimada were suddenly all around them, like black crows on the moonlit tiles of the pagoda. Abe lurched forward, aiming for Genji. Instead, his knife met steel. A figure all in black had stepped forward, katana gleaming cold in the night. The rest of the crows shuffled back, giving their master space to draw his blade. Abe was still crouched on one knee, and threw his knife at his attacker. The shadowy form twirled in a ripple of flowing sleeves, knocking the knife aside with a downward katana strike. Abe used the moment to pull a hidden wakizashi from within his jacket. In one smooth movement, he drew it from its sheath and curved it down in an arc toward the spinning robes.
“Oniisan!” Genji cried in warning.
Hanzo’s katana flashed in the night, parrying the wakizashi. Abe pushed back against the crossed blades, heaving his weight against them to clear a space and leap to his feet. The woodchip remains of the wall panel splintered under the clack of his shoes. He drew is wakizashi back and plunged it forward in a stab. Hanzo side-stepped, cutting sideways with his katana to block. Abe’s wakizashi scraped glinting sparks down the blade and rolled off the steel to strike for Hanzo’s neck. Hanzo deftly stepped all the way past his opponent, off the rooftiles and into the room, turning quickly to slash at Abe from behind. Abe had a split second to swivel on the spot, reversing their positions, and turn his blade into a block. Abe was on the tiles now, surrounded by silent sentinels. He took a step back into the room, slipping his blade off the katana. The proximity and enclosed space made the katana more unwieldy. He made a short sharp downward strike toward Hanzo’s head. Hanzo was already moving though. He stepped to the side, and struck a keen slash straight to Abe’s shoulder.
The spell of the dance was instantly broken. A howl of pain split the night. Abe went down on one knee and clutched at his arm. His wakizashi skittered across the floor, toppled over the edge and slid off the roof. It clattered somewhere far below. Abe’s arm hung, doll-like before him. Genji saw the pale, glimmering white of Abe’s shirt bloom dark with blood. Hanzo at last stood still long enough for the moonlight to fall on his features. He was proud and cold and furious. His long hair was gathered to a loose ponytail and caught now in the night wind. There was something terrible about him, standing their with his black mourning robes all billowing around him. Genji let out a shuddering sigh of relief. He pulled himself upright onto his knees and grabbed his sword. He looked up gratefully at Hanzo, thankful that his ordeal was over.
Hanzo slashed his sword once. Abe’s pained cries were immediately cut short. A wash of blood swept all the way up the side of Genji’s body and across his face. He sat their a little stupidly as Abe’s body crumpled to the floor, bleeding profusely from a single katana strike to his neck.
Genji sat still, dazed by the sudden end to the violence. Hanzo looked down at him.
“Are you injured?”
“No, Oniisan.” Genji said quietly. He wiped warm blood from his face.
Hanzo took him by the front of his kimono and stood him up. He touched the hilt of his katana to Genji’s chin, lifting it to see the cut the tanto had made at Genji’s throat.
“It’s nothing,” Genji murmured. He made to push Hanzo away but was stilled by those icy eyes. He swallowed and looked away.
“Clean up here,” Hanzo snapped, and at last the clansmen around them moved to do his bidding.
Genji tucked his sword into his belt. There was no way Hanzo hadn’t noticed he’d been disarmed, but he hoped he would say nothing of it. They descended the pagoda together the more traditional way. When they reached the street below, all was still deserted. Genji turned abruptly and wrapped his arms around his brother, burying his face in his clothes. His shoulders shook.
“You’re getting blood on my kimono,” Hanzo said.
Genji didn’t let go. Hanzo gave a huff. He placed a hand on the back of Genji’s head, and the other on his back.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t find me,” Genji whispered, in the privacy of the embrace.
“Fool. As if they can hide my own brother from me in my own city.”
Genji looked up. “How did you find me?”
Hanzo shifted. He pulled a distasteful face. “Tracked the location data on your VR headset.” Genji burst into a grin. “Don’t give me that look.” Hanzo snapped. “It’s still a stupid, childish distraction.”
Genji laughed and stepped back. He wiped his hand across his face again, but most of the blood had dried onto him.
“By the way, did you really have to kill that guy? And in such a gruesome way? Weren’t you talking to him all afternoon? I thought you liked him.”
“He kidnapped you.” Hanzo said, as if that answered all the above inquiries. Genji felt a glow of warmth, even if another part of him was still reeling from the shock of what had happened. He was determined not to let Hanzo see that he’d been disturbed by the lethal display. Hanzo’s eyes flicked over him anyway, as if they could somehow read his internal dismay.
“Will there be a war?” Genji asked tentatively. “Between us and the Sendai clans – will there be a war?”
“Most likely,” Hanzo replied.
Genji didn’t say any more after that, he just stayed quiet and close to Hanzo. They strolled back together through starlit Kanezaka, Hanzo with his hands clasped behind his back, Genji a little more hesitant at his side.
“Sparrow!” His father held open his arms when they got back to Shimada Castle. Genji ran to him like he used to when he’d fallen and hurt himself as a child. He fell into his father’s arms. Sojiro cradled him close and stroked a hand through his hair. Hanzo remained silent and standing where he’d entered the family ancestral hall. “What’s all this blood?” Sojiro Shimada asked, tugging at Genji’s kimono. He glanced at Hanzo sharply.
“It’s not my blood, Otousan,” Genji said.
“And this?” Sojiro touched Genji’s neck. Genji pulled away.
“Otousan-” Genji started.
“I thought I told you, if there’s even a mark on your brother as a result of-”
“Otousan!” Genji said sharply. His father was startled out of the glaring match he’d been having with Hanzo. “If you and the elders hadn’t been more interested in laying the blame on Oniisan than on resolving the situation with the Suzuki Clan, then Abe wouldn’t have been wandering the castle unattended after there’d just been a slight to his clan!”
That stunned Sojiro and Hanzo both into silence.
“Now,” Genji added, whilst he still had a streak of bravery and before he was firmly reprimanded for his insolence. “If you don’t mind. I’m going to have a bath, and then finish the Super Mario level I was stuck on.” He swept out of the hall in his bloodied black kimono with his head held high.
2056 was a perfect year, if you knew where to look. You could live the high life, untouched by any of the world’s troubles. Sometimes darker matters threatened to come in and ruin the fun, but it was nothing a little wilful forgetting and virtual headset couldn’t resolve, Genji thought.