Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inktober 2021 prompts used in the Yakuza/Ryu ga Gotoku series. Tags, relationships and warnings will be updated as I work on each prompt.

(I haven't written anything in over a year, so pardon my rust!)

Chapter Text

Kiryu Kazuma—no, Taichi Suzuki—sat up in the cheap leather seat of his taxi cab as he saw the salaryman walking towards him.

His very first official fare climbed into the back seat. “Le Marche, please.”

As Kiryu leaned forward to turn the medallion light off, a sudden memory slammed into his mind's eye like a punch in the face.

Kamurocho, a lifetime ago. The Champion District. Gnarled hands hovering over a glowing crystal ball, his entire future read out to his disbelieving ears. Nishiki's fate, Haruka, the kids...

Driving a taxi in Fukuoka.

Kiryu gripped the steering wheel hard. Everything the old fortune-teller said all those years ago came true. Wait, was it everything? Wasn't there another prediction? Something to do with his prison term?

The irritated salaryman interrupted his internal shock, dragging Kiryu back to the present. “I said Le Marche, please.”

“My apologies sir. Le Marche.”

Kiryu toggled his turn signal, and cautiously drove towards an uncertain and lonely future.

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The suit doesn't fit him.

Majima stands stiffly at attention as the hired tailor takes his measurements again. The tailor is careful and methodical, and only Majima being in his close proximity notices the tremor in his hands. Shimano himself and Sagawa are their audience, fouling the changing-room's air with their ugly laughter and cigar smoke. Majima has long since grown used to having his patriarch's beady eyes and imposing frame bearing down on him, but obviously the tailor isn't.

It doesn't help that the poor man has never had a model quite like him before, either. Majima was given black boxer briefs to cover his modesty, but nothing else. So the nervous tailor takes his measuring tape to him once more, trembling fingers trying to avoid the constellation of cigarette burns on Majima's left leg, the scarred rings around his wrists, the minefield of bruises on his lower torso.

At last, the tailor stands up and bows to his masters, promising that the new suit will fit like a glove and will be in Shimano's possession by the end of tomorrow. Sagawa remarks with a smirk that the Grand won't know what hit them when they see Majima all decked out in his impeccably tailored tuxedo.

A new uniform to go with a new prison.

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Kiryu's eyes widened in sheer disbelief as he pulled his latest catch from the water.

He didn't understand. He had bought a brand-new, top-of-the-line fishing pole, fresh high-quality bait, he even hitched a ride on his neighbor's fishing vessel for a change of location.

Yet here he was again, resignedly placing the current bane of his existence on the gently-rocking deck. Gritting his teeth, he reset his bait and cast the line once again, swearing on his honor he would catch something for the kids' dinner tonight.

Even if he had to personally remove every damn umbrella from the Okinawan seas.

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The taxi ride to the police hospital feels like it will go on forever. Traffic light after traffic light stops the cab short, which gives Kiryu more time to craft the lectures and reprimands repeating like a broken record in his anxious mind.

But then he finally sees Haruka, alive and awake.

She speaks that one word, and the tight knot of pain, anger and fear that has cruelly bound his heart for the past three years loosens and falls away, all his planned speeches forgotten.

"...Ojisan!"

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"Hey, the raven's back," whispered Baba, his breath misting in the chill winter air.

Saejima looked up from his group of cellmates, loosely huddling to shield each other from the cold, to see the sleek ebony bird perched on the exercise yard fence for the fourth day straight. The raven cocked its head and studied Saejima as well, its unblinking eyes trained on him alone.

"Gorgeous bird," murmured Himura. Saejima quietly grunted an affirmative, not wanting to frighten it away.

He then felt a tap on his shoulder. "Here, give him this. Our new warden could use a snack." He looked in confusion as Oshima poured a generous pile of uncooked rice grains into Saejima's palm.

"How'd you get this?" asked Saejima.

"Don't worry about it. Now hurry and feed him before the guards scare him away."

Saejima slowly knelt down, ready to dump the rice onto the ground, but gasped in surprise as the raven swooped down and greedily pecked the grains right out of his meaty hands.

"Wow, he likes you," said Baba quietly.

"That's gonna be you soon, Saejima," Himura remarked.

"What, eating rice out of some guy's hand?"

"No, jackass," snorted Himura. "Your parole hearing is coming up soon, and you'll be out of this shithole. Free as a bird."

Saejima let himself smile slightly as the raven fearlessly bent down for more rice. Himura was right. If all went well, he would finally have fulfilled his duty, paid his penance, and be free. Free as a bird.

Then the raven exploded into a mass of blood and feathers.

A shout of alarm sprang out of Saejima's mouth as the four of them whipped around in shock and horror, to find Kugihara several feet away, juggling a rock in his twisted pale hand.

"Whoops," smiled Kugihara, the demented cruel grin splitting his face like another ugly scar. "My hand slipped."

Himura, red-faced with rage, began to march right over to the bastard. Baba and Oshima raced to push their friend back and away, warning him not to start something that Kugihara was all too willing to finish. Other inmates ran over to the source of the chaos, which prompted the guards to blow their whistles and herd everyone back inside.

Saejima turned for a final glance at the dead raven, blood staining the snow, and silently let himself be marched back to his cell.

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"...Okay, I called the supplier a few minutes ago, he should be here in a couple of hours, all you have to do is sign the invoice. It'll probably get busy from 12 to 2am, but whatever you do, don't let Akimitsu drink all the Orion. He's a sentimental drinker and he'll talk your ear off about how much he misses Okinawa if he goes past 3 beers. Let's see, what else? You have my number and Akemi's number in case you can't reach my phone. Oh, and--"

A gentle kiss on the lips interrupts the whirlwind of information. "Mariko, it's fine. I can handle it. New Serena can manage without its mama for one weekend."

Mariko smiles and blushes in embarrassment. "I know you can more than handle it, Makoto. It's just that this bar is my pride and joy."

Date pulls his fiancee close for a goodbye hug, easing her bashfulness. "You're my pride and joy, and you definitely deserve some time off. I promise the bar will still be standing when you get back."

A final peck on the cheek, one more quick last-minute instruction, and Mariko is out the door. Date rolls up his shirtsleeves and gets to work.

Two hours go by. Date sweeps and dusts New Serena to a shine, signs the supplier invoice and restocks the bar. He still has plenty of time to kill before opening, so he decides to finally tackle the back room that hasn't been cleaned out in years, as a surprise to Mariko who could never find the time to do it herself.

He's elbow-deep in sorting the contents of a cardboard box when he hears the distant clinking of glasses. Confused, he cranes his neck to check the main room, but doesn't see anything. He shrugs and turns back to the box, pulling out yellowed paperwork and placing it off to the side.

"...calling me useless?"

Date quickly moves back into the main room. He knows he heard someone talking, but no one's there. He stares hard at the mounted TV, thinking maybe the thing's on the fritz again and turned itself on. A few moments pass and the screen stubbornly stays black. Frowning, he slowly turns back towards the spare room, but another sound and a sudden chill in the air makes him wheel around.

There's a woman in a white blouse, clutching her cheek and sobbing in a crumpled heap on the ground.

"...Why couldn't you save them? Was there nothing you could do?"

Then Date blinks and the woman disappears. Like she was never there.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as he grabs his trenchcoat and runs out of New Serena. His hands shake as he slams the door shut and shoves the key into the lock, his feet swiftly clattering down the stairs into the back alley.

It takes a few minutes for the cool April air to slow Date's ragged breathing and pounding heart, and tries to rationalize what he just witnessed. He overworked himself this week. He didn't get enough sleep last night. Yes, that must be it.

Still, Date decides that he could use a stiff drink.

At a different bar.

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Horie greets Haruka in the Dyna Chair office with a cheerful "Mail call!"

"Really?" gasped Haruka. "Fan mail? For me?"

"You bet, the first batch of fan mail for our newest star!" Horie grins as he places the box on the table. "I know you have vocal lessons in a few minutes, but I couldn't wait to show you!"

Horie goes upstairs, giving Haruka some privacy while she giddily dives into the box's contents. There's only five or so letters, but she carefully reads every one and treats them like precious treasure. She'll have to request some stationery so she can reply with her heartfelt thanks.

She then spies a small box in the bottom left corner. The wrapping is perfectly done, bright yellow with stars. No label is attached. A careful shake of the gift offers no clues as to what it could be.

Scissors gently pry away the pretty wrapping paper without destroying it, to reveal the last thing the shocked idol expected to find.

A pair of rough-looking pliers, chunky but small enough to fit in her hand and spray-painted bubblegum pink.

Haruka finds a card tucked underneath the bizarre present. Random signatures pepper the card, with two short messages that explain it all:

Just in case any creeps try to start shit at your handshake events. Remember, yank the fingernail up and away! --Minami

I apologize for such an inappropriate gift. I hope you never have to use it, but better safe than sorry. The Family will always cheer you on! --Nishida

"Haruka! Time for practice!" calls out Yamaura curtly.

"Coming!" She hurriedly shoves the gift box into her handbag before her vocal teacher can spot them.

As the next weeks of her new idol life blaze past at lightning speed, Haruka thankfully never needs to use the pliers.

But she still keeps the card with her.

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"Damnit, I was looking forward to that movie all week," sulks Aoi as the trio of women join the crowd spilling out of Kamuro Theater, leaving behind the manager who was still apologizing for the broken projector.

"At least we got free popcorn as compensation," chirps Kuni, clutching the bag of overly-buttered kernels in her hands.

"C'mon, let's figure out Plan B," sighs Yui. She leads the way across the street to Theater Square for a team huddle.

Aoi fishes out a cigarette from her purse. "So Kuni-chan, where does our tourist wanna go?"

"Oh, you two know Kamurocho best, anywhere is more than fine by me."

"Let's see," ponders Yui. "We could do Club Stardust, oh shit, wait." A quick check of her wristwatch puts an end to that plan. "Forget it, we'll never get a table at this time of night."

"I'd recommend Bacchus, but that's out too," pouts Aoi around her cigarette. "They're still cleaning up from the murd—uh, I mean renovations," she quickly says as Yui glares at her behind Kuni's back. Thankfully, Kuni is too busy staring wide-eyed at the never ending river of people streaming down the big city's streets to notice the exchange.

Refusing to give up, Yui huffs in frustration. "Kuni-chan is only here for the weekend, there's gotta be something exciting we can do on a Friday night!"

A shriek of deranged laughter pierces the air as the answer to their prayers.

Kuni practically jumps out of her skin from both that sound and her girlfriends' squeals of joy, "Oh my God, they're here again!" She doesn't have time to ask what's going on as they grab her arms and race her towards a growing crowd of cheering bystanders back by the theater.

The three of them manage to squeeze into a gap between bodies, and Kuni watches in shock at what has everyone so excited.

A thin man in a snakeskin jacket, black eyepatch and a dagger in his hand is nimbly dancing around the fists of a giant in a light-gray suit. He's still laughing in feverish delight even as the giant blocks the dagger by body-slamming a bicycle into his sternum.

"Give me the popcorn!" Aoi shouts over the noise as she grabs the bag from the stunned Kuni, who is being protectively shielded by a clapping Yui. "Now this is a show!"

Chapter Text

It is way too damn hot.

Too many drunken bodies crammed into this small room, and too many eyes latched onto him.

But what really makes him sweat is his oyaji's lone eye piercing through his very soul, unspoken threats playing out in his imagination if he doesn't perform this task.

A sigh escapes his lips. The things he does for the Family.

Nishida resignedly picks up the microphone, and begins to sing.

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Sakito's eyes widened at the hobby shop display. So many tires, gears, frames, and pre-made pocket circuit cars to pick from! But he only had enough allowance for one toy; he couldn't afford to be distracted.

His gaze finally landed on what he spent a month of chores, good grades, and toughing out his English lessons for: the Rising Dragon model.

But Sakito's heart sank as he painstakingly counted out his money, three times just to make sure. He was 5000 yen short.

Suddenly, his father knelt down beside him and quietly placed a 5000 yen bill in his Sakito's tiny hand.

Sakito gasped, then hugged his dad tight. "Thanks, Dad!"

Fujisawa smiled. "You're welcome, Sakito. The Dragon's an excellent choice." Then he whispered in his son's ear, a bit sheepishly, "Let's just keep the price a secret from Mom."

Chapter Text

Minami wished he never opened his stupid-ass mouth.

It was a perfectly fine Friday night, with a chunk of the Majima Family staking their claim at Club JeweL for the evening. But then a hostess asked him what he wanted to drink, and when he said he just wanted a water, he just had to add that he couldn't stand the taste of alcohol.

Before he knew it, his gang of fellow yakuza decided that he just hadn't found the right kind of booze yet and shoved practically the club's entire bar in front of him. Minami, trying to save face, downed everything the Family offered him: beer, champagne, whiskey, even some fruity girly drink that was 99% orange juice. It only further convinced him of his decision. The cheap shit, the expensive shit, the "good" shit—to him, it all just tasted like shit.

And now he felt like shit too.

He drunkenly stood up and fished out a cigarette and his lighter, hoping the familiar taste of nicotine would wash away the sourness in his mouth and keep him from puking all over himself.

But as the lighter struck, a loud belch escaped from deep in his chest, and a burst of fire erupted from his mouth.

And landed on a snakeskin jacket.

A blast of a nearby fire extinguisher from a sober and quick-thinking Nishida stopped the fire as soon as it started, thankfully leaving no damage to the jacket or its owner.

Majima, three sheets to the wind himself, burst into laughter and clapped a dazed Minani on the back. "That was--hic--the funny—the funniest fuckin' thing ever. I'm impressed, kid! Hey, hey Nishida, we got a firebreather in the family!" He then stumbled away to another corner of the club.

The words of his oyaji, the very man who inspired him to swear up, managed to sink into Minami's pickled brain.

Majima was impressed by him.

Maybe booze ain't so bad, he thought to himself with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

And then Minami promptly passed out.

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The clerk at Karaokekan gave a goodbye bow to the man as he left. She then realized that he hadn't returned his mic to the desk.

Thankfully, the drunk had left the karaoke room in pristine condition. She had worried that she would've had to clean up vomit by the way he had half-stumbled into the place an hour ago. Lord knows it wouldn't have been the first time she scrubbed puke off the tables from a wasted customer.

She quickly wiped down the table and the mic, and gave a quick glance at the man's song list before resetting the machine. She boggled at it. She could only listen to a song three times before it got stuck in her head. How did he not go insane?

Drunk or sober, how many times can someone sing Baka Mitai?

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Mikio felt the sweat trickle down the back of his neck, and it had nothing to do with the hot Okinawan weather.

He was on babysitting duty while Rikiya was helping Kiryu and Haruka run errands in town. After a game of baseball and a swim at the beach, the kids wanted to play hide-and-seek.

Most of the kids were easy to find in such a small area, and thankfully he remembered to leave Izumi for the end, so no tears were shed.

But the afternoon dragged on and Mikio could not find Taichi anywhere.

While the others’ short attention spans moved on to a different game, Mikio combed the house top to bottom once again, trying to act like a perfectly calm and dependable adult while he was panicking on the inside.

After his third search of the house did not reveal Taichi, Mikio ran back out to the front yard, scanning the horizon and praying the kid would just get bored and announce his presence at last. The sun was starting to sink, Kiryu’s entourage would be back any minute, and he did not want them to return to the orphanage to find it one child short.

Mikio’s imagination went into overdrive imagining the worst. Haruka would be worried, Rikiya would be furious, and Kiryu...well, Kiryu would probably just Tiger Drop him into oblivion.

As the man started to mentally plan out his last will and testament, Mame, who had spent the day napping in his doghouse, woke up and started barking. Mikio turned to where the dog’s attention was, and nearly sobbed in relief.

Taichi was clambering down from the damn roof.

“Awww, Mame, you found me!” Taichi laughed and playfully wrestled with the shiba, completely oblivious to the nervous breakdown he almost gave his babysitter.

Finally, all the kids were accounted for. And not a moment too soon, as he saw his three friends make their way down the road back home.

Next time Kiryu needs a babysitter, Rikiya can volunteer. And Mikio will strongly advise him to play any other game than hide-and-seek.

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Yoshitaka Mine holds an untouched glass of Yamazaki in his hands as he stares at the grandfather clock, tirelessly ticking away.

The clock had been a birthday gift from Daigo. Made from jindai sugi wood, it wasn't the most expensive piece of furniture Mine owned, but it was still one of his most prized possessions.

He remembered the day he got it. Daigo had it installed in his office the very day he came home from the hospital, still recovering from the bullet he took that was meant for Mine. After the workers had left and just the two of them remained, Daigo dropped his mask of polite impassivity and gritted his teeth in pain. Mine gently hustled him to the leather sofa and poured him a glass of water so Daigo could down a painkiller. Daigo smiled at him, but Mine's eyes were still hooded in worry and confusion. All he could think to do was prostrate himself in front of his chairman and whisper, "Why?"

And the both of them knew he wasn't talking about the birthday present.

Daigo tenderly lifted up Mine's bowed head and looked deep into his frightened eyes, as if he could destroy Mine's self-doubt if he stared hard enough. "You deserve mercy, Yoshitaka."

It was an act of mercy, and Mine smiles at the memory.

But then his mind traitorously drags him back to the here and now, with the knowledge that Daigo is in a coma, and will remain in one for the rest of his life.

Mine suddenly downs his drink and walks over to the clock. The relentless ticking, once a comfort to him, is now unbearable. He delicately opens the side glass and removes the timing mechanisms.

The ticking stops and the office is deathly silent. And Mine now knows what he has to do for the man he loves.

An act of mercy.

Chapter Text

Nishida was plugging away at Majima Construction paperwork in the family office, building his own little fort consisting of file folders, binders and invoices. Thankfully, he was the type of worker who could buckle down and focus on a task no matter the chaos surrounding him—he wouldn't have survived long in the Majima Family otherwise. Today, it was a mix of officers and employees coming in and out, and the boss himself playing indoor golf, who was still cranky that the batting center was closed for repairs. Nishida was just happy Majima wasn't playing baseball.

The door opened and the latest group stopped by, this time an officer giving a group of newbie chinpira the "grand tour." One of the newbies was Yokoi, an obnoxious 20-year-old who thought that swearing up made him hot shit.

With the swagger of a class bully, he sauntered over to Nishida's desk and knocked on his yellow hard hat. "Hey man, worried the building's gonna fall on ya? Why the fuck ya' wearing a hard hat indoors?" He barked out a laugh, completely oblivious to the fact he was annoying not a fellow grunt but a family lieutenant.

Yokoi was also oblivious to the golf ball cutting through the air at mach speed until it smacked right into his head.

Nishida didn't even look up from his work as the chinpira went down like a felled tree. "That's why."

Chapter Text

Daigo Dojima, sixth chairman of the Tojo Clan, feels the December chill as he walked down the Nagasugai streets alone.

He also feels lost.

If the Tojo Clan is a ship, with a crew of 30,000 strong, then Daigo is the captain who's barely holding onto the wheel. Every year has brought a storm upon them that they have barely managed to weather, and he fears that if he doesn't find a safe harbor soon...

At last, he reaches the taxi cab he was looking for, and prays his compass will point him in the right direction before his inadequacy capsizes his ship at last.

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Ichiban dodged another swift kick from the pair of steel-tipped dress shoes in satisfied glee.

He didn't want to count his chickens before they hatched—Majima was fast. It was all he and his party could do to keep up with the guy. But as the fight dragged on, Ichiban in his adrenaline-fueled state realized that Majima's breath was running a little bit ragged, his dagger a hair-trigger slower.

Holy shit, Ichiban thought, his grin almost matching his foe's in giddiness. I think we got this. We got this!

"Is it my turn yet?"

Oh shit. Ichiban was so focused on fighting the legendary Mad Dog, he completely forgot about the other legend in the room.

As Saejima's giant fist collided into Ichiban's skull, the only thought that cut through the sheer blinding pain was that they really should have grinded more at that battle arena.

Chapter Text

Ichiban manages to shake off the punk trying to drag him down and smashes a bloody finger to the call button on his phone.

Suddenly, the clouds part to show the bright full moon, flush with the demonic visage of the hannya and illuminating the one-man army that is Goro Majima.

With an insane cackle, the Mad Dog leaps and runs down the side of a nearby building with impossible speed and unleashes a rain of daggers that then crackle with violet electricity. The electrocuted punks that were giving the tired party a run for its money collapse onto the ground unconscious.

Victory!

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Nanba groans and dusts himself off from the fight, tensely clutching his umbrella as he stares at their defender who only just the other day was beating the shit out of them. Majima cheerfully waves goodbye to the group and hops into the waiting car, his dagger in one hand and a stun gun in the other.

Though reluctantly thankful for the man's help, he doesn't fully relax until Majima disappears out of view. He turns to Ichiban to make sure he's okay, and notices him staring at the moon before snapping out of it. Nanba again wonders at his friend's overactive imagination.

Just what exactly does Ichiban see when he fights?

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Majima slipped out of his shoes and walked into his new apartment in surprise.

It was basically the size of a shoebox, barely any furniture and creaky floorboards. The grimy window did little to prevent the stench of polluted river water from seeping into the room. The place would be a shithole to anyone else, but compared to the hole, to Majima it might as well be a palace.

He pried open the stubbornly sticky window, lit up a cigarette, and stared into the evening sky.

It was then he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He slowly looked forward into the building right across the water and saw a man staring right at him. Looking down, another man boldly met his eyes. And another.

No subtlety or subterfuge. Just a message glowing as bright as neon lights. We're watching you.

Majima cursed under his breath as he shut the window and left himself in darkness.

He should have known that Shimano's surveillance wouldn't be limited to the Grand. It was starting to sink in that the leash looped around his neck had only been loosened, not removed.

Shutting the window, he finished his cigarette and stubbed out the remains in the ashtray.

His apartment suddenly felt even smaller.

Chapter Text

Majima grits his teeth as the cloyingly cute music grates against his ears for the umpteenth time.

Why the hell do they make these UFO Catcher things so damn difficult? Well, he does know why; a fool and his money are easily parted, and Majima can be a very stubborn fool. Particularly when he reminds himself that the little girl is still waiting for him out in the cold.

He puts in yet another 300 yen, determined to win his prize. He thinks he's got a good shot this time; the squirrel's tail is sticking up like a sprout in a garden of cheap plastic, ready to be plucked. He lines up the crane and holds his breath as it latches onto the tail, slowly inches its way to the right, and finally drops the toy into the prize door.

At last, the stupid Chestnut the Squirrel doll with the red hat is in his hands, ready to hopefully make the little scamp happy enough to make her way home safely.

Majima notices he has two more turns left. There's a blue-hatted squirrel near the left corner that's still standing tall even after Majima's many failed attempts for its sibling, practically begging to be picked up. He thinks about it for a moment, then presses the button to start up the catcher again.

After all, why waste perfectly good money?

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Ichiban sank into the chair as the hairdresser got to work. He always found haircuts so relaxing that more often than not he would almost fall asleep. And today, even with his mind whirling with this new world that he was released into, he could feel himself nodding off.

Until he happened to crack open his eyes, and adrenaline flooded into him like he chugged an elixir.

He stared at the mirror in dull shock. This was...not a punch perm. Not even close to a punch perm. His hair was blown back into a fuzzy mane, like a lion that stuck a fork into an electrical outlet.

The poor hairdresser bowed and stammered apologies, but Ichiban was too distracted by this bad hair day from hell to listen.

How was he supposed to face the boss looking like this?

Chapter Text

Akiyama groans and massages his lower back after all that heavy lifting. It's been hard work, but the new office is finally set up.

Well, the important stuff is set up, like the vault, the bookshelf, and Hana's desk. His own desk is still sitting in some shipping crate somewhere waiting to be delivered, and he's got to buy a ton more office supplies, and a coffee table would fit really well with the couches--

But all that stuff can wait, because right now the most important piece of furniture is beckoning him to take a well-deserved break.

He is just about to collapse into the couch, when he hears heels clicking near the open office door. A woman's head timidly pops in, with tear-stained cheeks and tentative hope in her eyes.

"Excuse me sir, are...are you open?"

Akiyama mentally sighs and bids farewell to blissful naptime as he ushers her in, ready to help his first customer.

"Yes miss, Sky Finance is officially open for business."

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Dusk was beginning to settle over Onomichi. Street lights and house lights began to come to life, lighting Kiryu's way back to home base.

It had been a long and ultimately fruitless day of trying to find information about Haruka's time here. The only person more frustrated than Kiryu was Haruto, who was only moments away from a full-blown meltdown. He was getting more restless and squirmy, and no amount of the upsy-daisy game was going to calm him down at this point. Thankfully, Kiryu could see the Navy Apartments come into view at last. All he needed to do was cross the street and--

"Hey, grandpa! Where do ya think you're goin'?"

Dammit. Kiryu did not have time for this nonsense.

Scowling in anger, he gently but quickly placed Haruto into a bystander's outstretched arms, loudly cracked his neck muscles, and fearlessly ran right into the gaggle of young punks spoiling to fight.

Those little bastards were going to learn very quickly that you do not come between "grandpa" and changing a leaky diaper.

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All Hinata could hear was roaring. The roaring of Omi and Tojo alike fighting against fate, the roaring of the fucker in the red suit punching him down to the floor, and the roaring of blood in his own ears.

Was this what he and his friends—his brothers--fought and died for? So many oaths sworn; blood, sweat and tears shed; sacrifices made...all for one man to just walk into the room, clear his throat, read from a piece of paper, and wipe it all away?!

Fuck that!

Seizing the tanto sitting next to his head, blade gleaming like a beacon, he screamed in rage and ran towards the filthy traitor standing on the stage.

If Watase truly wants the clans to go extinct, then he should put his money where his fucking mouth is and volunteer.

Chapter Text

Kiryu stared at the sight in sheer disbelief: the Millennium Tower, high on a far-off hilltop, splitting in half to reveal the glittering Osaka Castle. But one sound sent him springing immediately into action.

"Ojisan!"

Haruka!

Taking a running leap, he easily scaled the wall, and made short work of the army of chinpira and samurai standing in his way. Even though he was laser-focused on his goal, he was vaguely aware of an invisible audience watching his every move, and two men providing commentary on his progress. It only spurred him on.

But no matter how far he went, the castle remained an impossible distance away. Kiryu could feel himself become more and more exhausted, his limbs getting heavier and less cooperative.

His next obstacle was a large moat, with mud-slick stepping-stones his only way to cross it. He managed to jump to three of them, but on the fourth stone, his tired legs overcompensated for his center of gravity and he lost his balance. He reached out to grasp empty air as he went splat into the murky water which filled his lungs--

Kiryu gasped awake, his bare chest slick with sweat. Gulping air, he took stock of his surroundings. There was no moat, no castle, and no Haruka. He was in the Navy Apartments in Onomichi, with Haruto, who thankfully had not been woken up by his violent exit from that nightmare.

He slowly got up and shut off the source of his bad dream: the small television's light beaming through the room on low volume, showing reruns of that old 80's game show. He did a quick double-take before scowling and shutting off the TV.

Kiryu realized that maybe he was getting too old to have a drink right before bed, because the game show host looked a bit too much like Patriarch Hirose.

Chapter Text

Shinada is coming to the conclusion that maybe he just has a punchable face.

Because he sure as hell isn't attracting unwanted attention because he looks rich. Nope, his threadbare jeans, stained tank top and battered suede jacket scream to every Kineicho townie (as if they didn't already know) that Shinada barely has 5000 yen to his name at any given moment. He's not even worth the hassle of getting in his way crossing the street, much less mugging him.

But that still doesn't stop punk-asses from fighting him anyway.

He normally tries to give as good as he gets in a fight, but this time he's especially hellbound on keeping his cash out of this asshole's hands. Tonight his money isn't just beer money or ramen money, it's Milky-chan money.

Unfortunately, a split-second wandering thought of Milky's sweet smile distracts him enough that he doesn't dodge the fist rocketing into his face.

Dazed, Shinada is blinking away the stars and tears in his eyes as he blindly gropes for something to defend himself with.

But when he realizes that his fingers have connected to a baseball bat instead of a wooden katana like he thought it was, he snatches his hand away from it as if it was on fire. He'd have a chance to win this fight, but he just can't bring himself to do it. He'll take a thousand punches and being flat broke for the rest of his life before he swings a bat in violence.

Out of energy and options, he takes his lumps and bids farewell to a Milky-chan session this week as the punk lands a finishing blow to his stomach and makes off with his earnings.

Yet another strike out for Tatsuo Shinada.

Chapter Text

Shinji stifled yet another yawn as he waited for Kiryu to exit Kotobuki Drugstore. Shit, he'd give anything to be able to catch even just 15 minutes of sleep in the car's back seat. He should've waited until after his shift to visit Shangri-La; his session with Akemi made his body and brain feel like boiled ramen noodles when he should be awake and alert.

The click of the car door opening shook him from his thoughts as Kiryu climbed in and handed him a Staminan Spark.

"Thank you, aniki." Shinji stared at the bottle in his hands. He actually never had an energy drink before, normally relying on soda or coffee to stay awake. But he needed to wake the fuck up fast, and he'd seen a battered Kiryu chug a bottle and then demolish a group of ten dudes with energy to spare.

If it was good enough for the Dragon of Dojima, then it was good enough for Shinji. Bottoms up.

Shinji gulped down half the bottle as he drove them to their first collection of the evening. Not bad, it tasted kind of like Ramune with an extra kick.

Unfortunately, as they pulled up to the building, he quickly noticed that the Staminan Spark's "extra kick" was not only kicking him in the heart and bloodstream, but his guts as well.

Panicking, he launched himself out of the car and ran past a confused Kiryu towards the nearest Poppo. "Sorryanikiillberightback!" Shinji shouted as he bolted down the street, praying he'd make it to the toilet without shitting himself.

Well, he was wide awake now.

Chapter Text

"Ojisan, this is sooo good!" Haruka chirped around a mouthful of crispy chicken, her little legs swinging happily in her seat.

"I'm glad you like it," smiled Kiryu, chasing down his own Wild Fried Chicken with a gulp of oolong tea. He was pleased she found food to enjoy that was at least a little bit healthier than their usual fast food. Little girls can't live off Smile Burger alone.

The sound of the Wild Jackson door sliding open made him look up. He was right to position himself facing the door so that he could see everyone entering the restaurant, for a Blue Z punk was ready to saunter in. And judging at the sneer on the punk's face as he was staring right at Kiryu, he wasn't there to order food.

But before Kiryu could even stand up, the punk was grabbed by the collar by a pair of leather gloves. The punk turned around in rage, and Kiryu could see his face turn pale as he then booked it away from the restaurant in terror. His captor immediately gave chase, a blur of snakeskin. His shouts were muffled by the glass, but Kiryu could still hear him.

"Hey asshole, let a man and his kid eat in fuckin' peace!"

Haruka, who had been blissfully focused on her meal to the exclusion of all else, suddenly looked up at her guardian. "What was that noise, Uncle Kaz?"

Kiryu didn't even try to hide the smile spreading across his face. Potential crisis averted, from a man who was chaos personified. A friend. And though he was still terrified of having this child in his incompetent care, for the first time he didn't feel quite so...alone in this. "Nothing, Haruka. Do you want more orange juice?"

"Yes, please!"

Kiryu got up to order another drink, a warmth blooming in his chest that had nothing to do with the spiciness of the chicken.

Chapter Text

The Millennium Tower.

Born out of greed, it sprouted from a cursed patch of land that was no bigger than a postage stamp compared to the rest of Kamurocho's territory.

And like every other building in the city, it fed off blood and capital. It grew and grew and grew, until it towered over everything else. If Kamurocho's skyline was a forest, then the Tower was a redwood.

Time ticked forward, and the tree at last finished its germination. But the redwood still needed to be watered; it could not wither and die, not after all the growing pains it endured.

Every year, like clockwork, through explosions and battles and bullets, the Millennium Tower is watered by blood and capital again and again.

And it drinks deep.

Chapter Text

There is the tale that one koi fighting against the current, with strength and perseverance, made it to the top of the waterfall and was transformed by the gods into a golden dragon. That is how the legend goes.

Not Akira Nishikiyama's legend, though.

He wasn't swimming upstream, fighting valiantly against the currents of fate. No, he was slithering like a snake in the grass, scheming and plotting with other vipers, poison dripping from his fangs.

Nishiki knows deep in his heart he's not making it to the top the right way. Not the way that Kashiwagi would do it. Or Kazama. Or Kiryu.

He'll have to settle for getting to the top of the waterfall his way. And if he has to play the role of the snake to get there, so be it.

After all, what is a dragon but another type of serpent?

Chapter Text

Okamura scanned the desolate landscape of what used to be Kamurocho with eagle eyes.

Now, a sane person would have immediately fled back into the bar once they saw one demolished building, let alone undead hordes crawling through the rubble. He would have gone back inside where it was safe (well, safer) and waited until the police or military could escort him safely out of the quarantine zone.

But he'd be a fool to ignore this second chance to save his movie.

Well, Okamura thinks to himself as he double-checks Kudo's camera for the next shot, if he wanted to live a risk-free life, he would have been a salaryman like his parents wanted instead.