Chapter Text
“I said I’m Aohitsugi Samatoki, now let me through, goddammit!” Ichiro (Samatoki) barks, louder this time around and approximately a million times more demanding. Even in a voice that isn’t his, shouldn’t an order like this be enough? He seriously isn’t in the mood to deal with his subordinates not recognizing him, and he has no time to be dragging his feet without being allowed into his own godforsaken office. Not when he’d called Juto and Rio over the night before and he’s sure they’re already in there. If Samatoki can’t meet them he’ll seriously lose it (his patience and his goddamn mind).
He hears Jiro and Saburo tail after him hastily without hesitation, and Samatoki wonders if part of them are still unconvinced that he isn’t their damn big brother or shit; it’s pissing him off to high heaven that no variation or degree of warning them off is enough to make them leave him alone. He gets that the situation is as bizarre as it can get, hell, he understands that better than anyone, so it’s whatever if they can’t afford to let Ichiro(‘s body) out of their sight. But worrying this much and following him unarmed all the way here to Yokohama, to the yakuza, is just plain reckless if anything. Maybe the shitty self-preservation instincts run in the family like the moles and heterochromia. Either way it’d be great if they get by without incident, though Samatoki’s starting to doubt that.
“Look, I ain’t gonna tell you twice,” he seethes, facing forward sternly, but just as stubbornly his underlings continue to block his way, continue to look at him like he’s insane. Well, he feels friggin’ insane, too, thanks very much, but he’s hoping that if he can get past here and see his teammates, reunite these runts with their leader, he’ll come back down to reality. He cracks his knuckles. “Get outta my way or you’re all gonna be real fuckin’ sorry.”
They volley looks of confusion and animosity among themselves, muttering all the while, “No matter how you look at it, that’s Ikebukuro Division’s Buster Bros!!!” “We can’t just let them do what they want and storm the place!” “Besides, Aniki’s not himself today, he drank out of a flower vase this morning.” That last bit of it makes Samatoki want to do a double-take because they allegedly saw him drinking out of a what?? but he takes it anyway, because of course ‘Aniki’s not himself today’ he quite literally isn’t. That’s fucking Yamada Ichiro in his body and vice-versa for crying out loud, is it that hard to believe?
Okay, maybe it is. Especially when he has two brats clinging to the hem of his shirt and whining for Ichi-nii—uhh, we mean, Aohitsugi Samatoki— to calm down and get a grip and not start shit in a place like this. But it doesn’t make Samatoki any less angry that his men are outright refusing to even consider hearing him out. He should just fight and force his way through at this point. He spares a glance to his left at Jiro; if he fights anything like his big brother did at his age, Samatoki could easily leave his back to him. But even then—he spares a glance to his right at Saburo— Samatoki curses under Ichiro’s breath. He swears the protective instinct that rises in his chest isn’t his, it’s Ichiro’s, just something so deeply ingrained in him as a person that it’s become natural and automatic to this constitution.
And, Samatoki can simply write it off as his personal principle. The one that his lackeys are very clearly tossing aside, by the way. When Samatoki faces forward again, he finds that they’re raising weapons, weapons, at him and the two damned teenagers behind him. Samatoki so vividly feels the blood in Ichiro’s veins run cold, his voice following suit and simmering down into something low with pure, unadulterated anger:
“Hey. The hell do you dumbasses think you’re doin’ pointin’ guns and knives at kids?” He takes a big, imposing step forward and cocks his chin. “Have I taught you punks nothing about never gettin’ children involved? At least use your fuckin’ mics, you bastards, what do you have ‘em for, huh?”
For a moment, they slump, go slack and relax at that— that’s something only Samatoki would say, that way. But then they tense all over again, because that’s something only Samatoki would say, that way, and the thought, the promise of the beating that’s sure to come after to set them straight for forgetting something that gravely important fills every last one of them with a specific dread that only their boss can ever make them feel.
Samatoki thanks fuck. Finally, they believe him. They’ll get what’s coming to them, he’s decided. It wasn’t supposed to come to this but even if he could forget that they weren’t listening to him at all, some things, like even threatening to touch his— Ichiro’s—family, he won’t forgive, maybe never in a million years, not without the severest of punishments. He reaches into Ichiro’s jacket for the hypnosis mic he grabbed before leaving that unstylish bedroom, and readies his finger on the switch like a trigger, holds it steady. Then, he throws a look over his shoulder. “Aight, you piss-stinkin’ brats, stay behind me. Things are ‘bout to get real fuckin’ ugly in here.”
Jiro and Saburo blink. For a moment they think, that there, they really see their big brother, with that protective arm outstretched in front of them, the determined look in his eyes, the sheer and utter coolness of him. Except, of course, when the mic switches on, pixels manifesting into the shape and rhythm of his soul, the iconic bright red B.B. rings don’t form around his fingers; instead, grasped tight in them now is a shining silver skull, Mr.Hc engraved into it, as his speakers form into a harrowing coffin behind him, opening with a deafening creak and welcoming these insolent guys to their graves.
Samatoki drops his first couple of bars in Ichiro’s voice, glare intense in green and red, attack coming in big heat waves in tune to the white madness within him, unbelievable, powerful, incredible. The enemies don’t stand a chance; this’ll be over in a second, a too-easy one-verse one-punch kill. Still, obediently, faithfully, Jiro and Saburo stay huddled in the safety of Ichiro(Samatoki)’s back.