Chapter Text
Bright neon lights, drunken businessmen, loud yakuza stirring up trouble on the dark side streets – yeah, it was a typical Friday night in Kamurocho’s infamous red light district. The scent of cigarette smoke and booze lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, while people sauntered in and out of hostess clubs. It’s a fuckin’ wonder that my lungs haven’t failed me yet, Majima thought as he lit a cigarette of his own, watching the ember glow like a firefly as he took a long drag.
The conmen trying to make a quick buck with their poor-quality pirated DVDs had been effectively cleared from his turf, so Majima sent his boys out to go enjoy themselves with alcohol and gambling. They were probably off at an underground chō-han ring or flaunting their cash at some lousy hostess club – either way their departure left Majima bored. He had been hoping to score some quality brawling time with Kiryu, but the Dragon of Dojima was nowhere to be found on that lonesome night. He would’ve even settled for a few rounds of karaoke instead of throwing punches.
Majima huffed and kicked a small stone across the road, hitting a well-dressed man’s shoe and then grinning when the stranger glared his way. Much to Majima’s dismay, the man simply shook his head and walked off without even throwing a punch. How boring.
“You, there. Hold on,” Majima heard as he neared the mouth of the Champion District, just when he was about to decide to turn in for the night. He stopped and turned his head, his good eye seeing an old woman wearing a long black cloak. She sat in front of a small table, just big enough to hold the strange crystal ball that rested there on a pedestal. Through her hood, the woman was looking over at him ominously, reminding him of some sort of phantom straight out of a horror flick.
“Ya talkin’ to me, lady?” he asked her. When she nodded slowly, Majima snorted and walked over to her. He finally glimpsed the sign next to her table. “See your future,” it stated in a bold font. “1 million yen for a reading.”
Talk about a rip-off, Majima thought, wondering if he should just send the lady packing. With prices like that, the thing was clearly a scam. Although, Majima was used to extreme prices not being advertised – normally, the business-owners lured people in and then trapped them with an outrageous bill afterwards. The willingness of the fortune-teller to shamelessly advertise such high rates was odd to say the least.
“Look, grandma,” he said calmly as he approached. “Yakuza don’t really take too kindly to people doing business on their turf. Ya could get yourself into trouble by settin’ up shop around here.”
The old woman only smiled at him. Majima watched the contents of the crystal ball grow foggy, the mist swirling around like a tornado. “They haven’t given me trouble...yet,”she said, her voice soft and soothing. “I’m not like those pirated DVD salesmen you kick around. I’m the real deal, Majima.”
A chill traveled up Majima’s spine, but he still managed to glare down at her. “The fuck?” he spat. “Ya been followin’ me?”
“No,” the woman said simply, not at all fazed by his change in demeanor. She pointed down at the smoky orb on her table, and said with a shrug, “I can see your fortune.”
Majima rolled his eye. “Alright, whatever. What d’ya want?”
“A deal.”
At that, Majima had to cackle. “What kinda deal?”
“I want to keep doing business here, and in exchange, I will give you a free reading,” the woman said, lowering her hood. Without it, the air of mysteriousness vanished. Majima could see her grey hair and her round, wrinkly face – she looked like any average grandma, sweet and out of place on Kamurocho’s cruel streets.
Whatever.
Majima sat on the empty stool next to the fortune-teller’s table, his curiosity peaking when the crystal ball almost appeared to glow. The woman pulled up her hood once more and stared intently into the mists, her eyes seeming to scan imaginary words from some invisible ancient text. She lifted her hands like she was drawing in energy from the universe through her palms before clapping them together loudly, nearly startling Majima. When she finally looked back at him, Majima would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t on the edge of his seat.
“You’re in love,” she said with a grin.
He laughed so hard that he nearly pissed himself.
“Okay, now I know this is a scam, because I definitely ain’t,” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
“You won’t admit it to yourself, but you finally will in the coming week. Your denial will fade away.”
“Denial?” Majima spat as he abruptly stood. “If I were in love, I’d tell ya outright, lady. I ain’t some sorta pussy. Now, if I see ya scammin’ people around here again, I’m gonna really be angry.”
With that, he stomped off hearing the woman’s loud laughter echoing from behind. Him in love? What a joke. He rolled his eye again, distraught that the city’s criminal underworld was so strong that they even had little old ladies in on it now. Any hopes of his mood getting better were effectively destroyed following the strange altercation. He was left wanting to drink the night away at the next run-down bar that entered his line of sight. Drinking alone wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time, but without Kiryu there to entertain him, what else could he do?
Majima ducked into a small bar within the Champion District’s labyrinth of alleyways and immediately ordered a shot of whiskey.
And then another.
And another…
The putrid smell of rotten food worked as his alarm clock. Groggily, Majima blinked awake and eyed his surroundings. He couldn't remember much, but passing out among bags of restaurant garbage definitely wasn’t his proudest moment. He had woken up in stranger places, though. At least it was soft trash, comfy even.
He would definitely need a nice, long bath after this, though.
A yawn overtaking him, Majima stretched until a sudden odd feeling struck him like a bolt of lightning. Why did everything look so big? The garbage bags surrounding him were gargantuan, and the back door to the restaurant looked so tall, much too tall for him to reach the doorknob. Majima went to jump to his feet but found that his balance suddenly failed him. He stumbled forward and face-planted on the dirty concrete, the distance to the ground much shorter than it should have been.
Officially terrified, Majima pushed himself up only to spot paws where his hands should have been. Tiny, fluffy, white paws with back fur traveling up his arms and down to his…yep, that was a tail.
What the fuck. What the FUCK. This was crazy. This was not happening. Yeah, Majima had to be having some weird, alcohol-induced dream. He would wake up any second now to Nishida worriedly asking him how he was feeling.
He laughed but heard a strange meow exit his mouth instead. His anxiety shot back up. Was he on drugs right now? Had someone slipped him something? He couldn’t think straight. Shakily moving himself from the alleyway on all-fours, Majima found that the people passing him by towered over him.
This felt so real. The dizziness he felt from traveling so close to the ground was almost making him gag, and his head was fuzzy with panic. Everything was so loud – he felt like he could hear conversations from a mile away. When Majima looked to his left, he suddenly found a stout man in a cooking apron approaching him with a broom.
He stared as the man extended the broom to him, sweeping him away from the restaurant like he was a piece of dirt on the floor. “Shoo,” the cook said. “We don’t have any scraps for you.”
Awkwardly, Majima ran away, occasionally tripping over himself when he failed to coordinate his front paws with his back ones. He could feel his ears twitch on the top of his head, his tail swing back and forth almost on its own accord. Once he arrived on a main road, the noise and the brightness was nearly overwhelming. He heard chattering, car horns, and cellphone ringtones all around him. Doing his best to evade moving feet, Majima moved to an empty sidewalk, sat down, and he yowled at the top of his lungs.
A few heads turned his way with stunned expressions, but most people ignored his outburst. He didn’t know what he expected – the situation seemed hopeless. He could only pray that he woke up soon, back safely in his knife-wielding, very human body. He yowled again, the sound of his own meows piercing his ears.
A young woman dressed in a Poppo uniform approached him with her hand outstretched. “Aw, poor baby,” she said. “Are you hurt?”
She moved her hand to scratch behind his ear. Damn, that felt nice. He felt himself almost get lost in the blissful moment before he extended his arm and swiped at her. His claws pierced skin, causing the woman to yelp. He almost felt bad, but anger quickly filled his veins instead. He didn’t need ear scratches, he needed help.
The woman ran away clutching her wound, leaving Majima to wallow. A low growl sounded in the back of his throat whenever another unsuspecting person went to pet him. Who did these people think they were?
He was willing to wait this strange transformation out, threatening anyone who came close to him until he regained his human form, but as hours passed, his stomach churned more and more. He didn’t know what he could do – after all, he didn’t have a way to call up Nishida and demand that the man pick him up. He felt sick, but his growing thirst finally got the best of him. Majima set out to find some water. He wondered how a cat could feel hungover, it was just his luck that he seemed to have the worst hangover of his life. Nonetheless, despite being parched, he’d die before he drank from some dirty Kamurocho puddle. Even Majima had standards.
After fifteen minutes of wondering and warding off hands looking to pet him, he finally came across a public park water fountain. Jackpot. With a clumsy leap, Majima pulled himself atop the fountain, shocked by the strength in his back legs. He may be short, but damn could he jump. Feeling proud of himself, Majima pressed a paw down on the button next to the water spout and awkwardly drank the water that hit the cool metal. Slurping was definitely much more difficult, but Majima found that he could do so efficiently at the right angle. Fresh droplets clung to the fur on his chin and the tops of his paws, offering some cool relief from the sun.
His was just about ready to deem his thirst sufficiently quenched when he felt a sharp pain hit his stomach, the force knocking him from the fountain and onto the ground. What the fuck, he thought. Can I not catch a break today? From his spot on the dirt, another object struck his side, causing him yowl in pain. When he finally looked for the perpetrators, Majima spotted a group of three young punks brandishing stones and laughing amongst each other. “You have great aim,” one said to another. “Here, see if you can hit it from all the way back here.”
Majima went to yell at them, but a hiss escaped his mouth instead. The three men laughed even harder, the one holding the largest stone stepping back a few steps. “Alright,” he said. “Watch this trick-shot.”
Majima groaned in pain and let his head fall to the ground. Was this really how he died? Stoned to death as a cat? He huffed and cringed as he heard the stone leave the punk’s hand, but the blow never came. Must’ve missed – what a loser.
When Majima lifted his head, he was shocked to see a familiar grey suit standing in front of him, shielding him from any more oncoming blows. Without missing a beat, Kiryu lifted one of the discarded stones and propelled it at the closest punk’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him and sending the others running. Before he had time to celebrate, Majima felt small hands gently touching his side as none other than Haruka examined his wounds. “Uncle Kaz, he’s hurt,” she said, looking up at Kiryu with pleading eyes. “We have to help him.”
Majima laughed to himself. What an interesting turn of events. Well, he had kitty charm on his side now, so he might as well put it to good use. Mustering all of the cuteness he could, Majima looked up at Kiryu with his one large eye and let out a tiny mewl. Kiryu stared for a long moment before huffing. “Alright,” he said. “Let me go buy some supplies.”
Hook, line, and sinker. Majima should definitely win an award for that performance – he even had the stone-faced Kiryu falling victim to his lovable fuzzy face. He was so proud that he nearly forgot the sharp pain at his side. He saw some sticky blood coating his black fur, but when Haruka ran her soft hand along his back, the pain dissipated ever so slightly.
What a good kid, he thought before he was interrupted by a low vibration sounding in his throat. That was certainly new, although, the noise was comforting, almost like a lullaby. The white noise filled his ears as Haruka continued petting him, and the tranquility only coming to a halt when Kiryu returned with a bag full of food, first aid supplies, and kitty litter. One sudden, resounding realization took over his small body.
They’re going to make me their pet, aren’t they?
He was the Mad Dog of Shimano, not the Mad Housecat. What kind of cruel joke was this? And what kind of person just took in a stray cat from Kamurocho’s streets?
Kiryu did, of course. Majima could only huff when Kiryu effortlessly lifted him into his strong arms and cradled him close, and when Kiryu scratched softly under his chin, whispering “it’s okay…you’re safe now,” Majima found himself purring even louder.
Okay, maybe this wouldn' t be that bad.