Chapter Text
He stepped under the shade of the overhang by the Sega building and leant back against a pillar. The air was stagnant with the heat, but, fuck if he didn't need a smoke. He placed a cigarette between his lips and flicked his lighter, his sweaty face resenting the closeness of the tiny flame. He closed his eye and inhaled, letting the bustle of Theatre Square filter through into his ears. Civvies laughing, talking; some punks raising their voices down the alley; a car grumbling as it made its slow and stunted way down the road, at the mercy of uncaring pedestrians. And music. The vaguely fizzy, static-traced sound of a home-recorded casette bleeding out of a boombox. And then, her voice.
Majima opened his eye and glanced around the square to find the source of it, waving his exhaled smoke away from his face to make it easier. Down by the little wall at the centre of the square, a girl was standing before a small crowd of curious passers-by, projecting her fine voice and disappearing from Majima's sight each time she danced too far to the left. Huh. He replaced the cigarette, holding it firm with the pressure of his lips, and strolled along towards the little gathered crowd. This kid was sure giving it everything, especially in the heat. Her face shone with sweat, but she danced and sang, unmoved, unseeing, like a girl possessed. Her performance transfixed Majima, hell, transfixed the whole square. The girl damn near transfixed herself, she was so committed. That's probably why she didn't see him before it was too late.
A sweaty, heavy slug of a guy pushed his way through the crowd, bashing the sleeve of Majima's fine jacket as he passed in his greasy vest. Majima scowled and tisked on reflex, but Sluggernaut wasn't concerned in the slightest with someone strong enough to fight back. The singing stopped in a shrill scream as the slug grabbed the girl's thin, pale wrist and held it high over her head. "WHAT DID I FUCKING TELL YOU, BITCH?" Majima could see the slug's saliva patter over the girl's pretty little face as she cowered away from his raised hand.
"Please stop, Uncle!!" she whimpered in a voice of total, hollow defeat. Hard to believe that tiny, cracked voice was the same defiant, proud, resonant singing that bewitched the square.
Now the square was all murmurs above the hum of the little ghetto blaster playing out its karaoke track unassisted. Uncle Slug glanced around at his witnesses, and then booted the ghetto blaster into the low, dirty wall, smashing it silent. "Show's over!! Get outta here!!" Then he pulled the girl away by her wrist. As she passed Majima he saw that she was sobbing silent tears.
Funny, the roads life takes you down! Like when it takes you down the exact same roads as a disgusting middle-aged asshole, violently dragging a weeping girl after him. And it's also pretty fuckin' funny -- predictable, but funny -- when those roads lead to the alley just off the Champion District. Majima grit his teeth as he walked under the little metal sign. Hate to set foot on Bro's turf these days, but, duty calls. He ground his steel-capped shoes into the grit of the asphalt as he approached. Guy didn't seem to like having an audience, well, here's yer final warning, douchebag.
But the douchebag didn't notice. "--givin' it all that shit again?? Huh?? After everythin'?? You ungrateful little bitch!!" The girl was down on the dirty concrete, looking up at her 'Uncle' with huge, wet eyes. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat over and over, and her little body seemed to tremble with each attempt at calming her breathing. "If you're gonna spend all your time paradin' yourself around like a fuckin' playboy bunny you might as well be getting paid for it!" Majima's nose wrinkled. Wherever this was goin', he didn't like it, and he clenched his fists until the leather squeaked. "Get yerself a job if you're that desperate for attention -- after everythin' me and the missus has done for you -- god knows we could use some money!"
"Uncle," the girl struggled to speak through her panicked breath, "It's my… dream… I just--" Uncle Slug raised his fist in the air, and the girl wailed and cowered. "Please, no!!"
In a moment Majima saw her again. This frail, cowering girl, just for a moment, she was Makoto, crying and pleading with the bat tat bastard, begging him not to hurt her anymore. And when Uncle Slug brought his fist down with all the force and violence it could muster, it landed snug in Majima's palm. "Woah, careful dude," Majima said, tensing his fingers around Slug's fist, "ya all but hit this li'l girl who's not even half yer size."
The trembling of Uncle's arm as he tried to get free from Majima's grip, the subtle sound of him gritting his teeth as he strained, the faintest hint of a middle aged man shitting his pants -- actually, no, that was probably just the Champion District -- twisted out a little smile on Majima's lips. Behind him, the poor kid broke out into relieved, hyperventilated sobs. Uncle's nose wrinkled and he showed Majima his teeth, "The fuck're you?? Stay out of it, I'm not in the mood for this!" Majima raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, aww my bad!, except not, and when he suddenly released Uncle's fist, the guy staggered backwards into some fly-tipped waste.
Majima ground the soles of his shoes into the dirt, standing firm between the girl and her uncle. He kept his eye fixed on the pile of garbage in front of him (busy extricating himself from a heap of old newspapers and rusted bicycle parts) and said, "You okay, kid?"
He didn't get a chance to hear her answer. Majima felt the air around his left ear warp in the wake of something, and he'd raised his arm and knee against the projectile before he'd even had a chance to register it. A box of old rusted metal components struck him and they rang as they spilled through the alley. "Now I get it!" Uncle spat at the ground as he spoke, "Mirei, you little whore!!" Majima heard the girl whimpering at the sound of her name, and he crinkled his nose to hear her being insulted by an adult.
"Come now," he said, his intonation playful, "Thaaat's no way to talk to a li'l lady now is it?" Majima paused, and then with his best growl he added, "Is it, Uncle?" The three of them were stock still, waiting for a break in the tension, and Majima's fingers twitched, hovering over the case of his dagger, tucked away under his belt.
And then, laughter. Thick, thunderous, derisive laughter. Disgusting laughter. Majima pursed his lips in a scowl as Uncle wiped the laughter tears from his eyes. "So, this your tough little boyfriend, huh? Your little prince charming, huh? Stupid bitch," he said. The amusement had gone from his voice. "Think he loves you? Huh? YOU?"
"Oi," Majima clenched his fist around the sheath of his dagger, "All's I am's a concerned passer-by, but I don't pass by when girls are gettin' beat on by grown ass men!" He drew the dagger out from his belt, slowly, slowly, and a little gasp went up behind him.
"Sure y'are," Uncle laughed again, "Plenty o'guys got your kindsa desires, don't try to act the saint about it." Man, this chick's uncle had all the charm and courtesy of a baseball bat to the nuts. "Dumb little whore, if you're gonna give yerself up like that at least charge for it!" That's enough. Majima heard the trusty sound of the Demonfire scraping as she left her case--
Majima wheeled around, looking at down at his left foot. A pale hand gripped his ankle. "Please," the little girl, Mirei, said out of even paler, trembling lips, "please stop!! Please!!" Her eyes were almost obscured by her swollen, red face, and her long eyelashes were saturated with tears.
"Ain't that cute, worried about yer poor little lover boy?" Uncle snorted. He cracked his knuckles and approached them. "Don't worry, you can have your fun with her, soon as you pay me for her!" Majima couldn't turn his face away from Mirei. There was the same fire in her eyes as when she danced, but with all of that conviction, her small soul was begging him. Her hand on his ankle felt like the strongest chain that ever held him captive.
"Kid, don't worry about me," Majima hissed, "I'll be fine, jus get outta here!" But her grip increased.
"Please," she said. And she lowered her head, crawling closer to him. She wrapped both her arms around his shin, "Please, I'm scared… I'm so scared."
She was like a thunderbolt. Pain throbbed through him, shooting out from his core and shuddering out to his fingertips. His jaw ached like a motherfucker, his head felt worse than after the strongest fights and strongest drinks he'd ever put himself through, and he felt weak then, weak like he was back then. Powerless like he was back then. I was so scared, Makoto sobbed into his shitty Cabaret Grand tuxedo trousers, and now, four years on, exactly like that time, Majima remembered. Remembered that he, too, was fucking terrified. And the memory of that fear hurt like a sunovabitch.
He slid the dagger back into his belt, and stood, paralysed by her touch. Through sobs she appealed to her uncle, "I don't know this man, Uncle! I promise! Please, let's just go home!" She climbed to her feet, steadying herself against Majima, and then finally, she let go of him. She wiped her hot tears onto her sleeve and stood between Majima and her uncle. "I wouldn't leave you and Auntie, I swear it, I swear it! Please, let's go home!"
Uncle grunted. "Fine, whatever." But he waited for Mirei to turn out of the alleyway and grabbed Majima by the collar, "next time I catch you sniffin' around Mirei, you better have the money to pay for her, ya little perv!" and he spat as he released Majima with a shove.
It was dark, but a broken ceiling light flickered and reflected on the scuffed lino of the floor. A wide hallway, so wide the enclosing walls seemed to recede into shadows on either side, and yet he felt them. He felt the walls around him, hiding in the dark. And she was there, collapsed to the ground, her fists pounding uselessly against a heavy double door. No light snuck through the cracks of that door; the thin slits of reinforced windows in each panel illuminated nothing on the other side, but she wept. "Why…?" He tried to take a step towards her, and yet, she seemed so distant. "Why…?" He tried to call her name, but his voice caught in his throat. She turned, though, Makoto turned, and her unseeing eyes were blazed white and her face streaked with tears. "Why did you try to save me?" she demanded of him, and Majima felt that old familiar fear grip his heart. "All I wanted was to see my brother again. So why? Why did you try to save me?" He opened his mouth but the words wouldn't come, and he watched her, sobbing and wailing, begging for an answer he didn't have. The doors behind her had opened, and a huge, dark shadow embraced Makoto from the dark. A large, thick hand smothered her face, but she didn't struggle. In the blackness, there was a face looming above Makoto, a face Majima couldn't see, but that he knew regardless. A face framed in lank, dark hair, spilling down to the shoulders. Makoto didn't struggle.
He gasped awake, sitting forward to take in huge lungfuls of the stale smoky air of his apartment. He placed his hand over his chest -- clammy from sweat -- and waited until his heart rate slowed. His eye slowly adjusted to the setting of his room, and yet, he could only glance with caution at the corners, drenched in their shadows. His husky voice surprised him as it tumbled, unbidden, from his dry lips: "Brother came for her at last."
That one pathetic tree in public park 3 had its leaves turned to red by the cold. Sure enough, the passing of the weeks made wearing nothing but a jacket sorta uncomfortable, but then again, sorta uncomfortable was a privilege in this shithole of a life. Majima bit down on the end of his cigarette. Is it cold in jail, bro? Stupid question. Sorta uncomfortable would be a privilege there, too. He flicked open the cap of his lighter, scratched at the ignition wheel and watched the sparks shoot off then fade without catching. Then, in time with the soft fizz of the the wheel striking and lighting up, a scream. Majima turned his head towards the alley, careful not to move the hand that clasped the lighter. NO!! I WON'T GO!! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!! Majima wrinkled his nose and flicked his lighter shut. Ruinin' a guy's fuckin' smoke like that.
"Sweetheart I promise," this time, it was a guy's voice, and as Majima rounded the corner in the alleyway, he saw him. Young, built. Majima raised his eyebrows and looked the guy over. White vest lookin' a little too tight on 'im, but no sign of any tats. Huh. "I promise you, it might not be as bad as you think!" And in front of the burly guy was a tiny girl, hair all done up special-like, dyed light brown. Her shaking hands covered her face.
"I'm not going," she said, he voice muffled by her hands, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" Majima stood back a little ways and glanced over the scene again. Guy was leaning over her, but she had space to run. Girl didn't look hurt, neither. The fuck, just a lover's li'l spat?
"You're that scared of him?" The guy's shoulders dropped, and Majima dug his heels into the ground. "Darlin', don't be scared! I get that you've never done anything like this before, but it was always gonna happen, right? Why not now?" The girl flinched, but she didn't speak, or even move her hands away from her face. "Like I said, I'll take you there, I'll be there the whole time if you want! Get it over with?"
"No… I don't want to…" Majima listened and grit his teeth.
"C'mon, sweetie, we shouldn't keep him waiting--"
"Sounds like a big scary man! Oooh I'm spooked!" Majima let his lips curl up and bared his teeth in a sick smile. He swaggered down the alley toward the guy in the vest, "well, if missy here don't wanna dance with 'im, I'll go!" He snickered, and the guy looked at him with his face all screwed up, just like one of those li'l flat-faced dogs you see on the laps of hot chicks.
"Who the hell are you?" he said, and then he frowned down at the girl, "Listen, I don't know how much you've heard, but this is a private conversation."
"Yeah, no shit," Majima dug into his earlobe with his finger and scratched, "So private, ya seem t'be talkin' to yerself there, big man." The guy groaned, and then he looked down at the girl, who was peeping out from behind her hands. And then she gasped. Wait a sec, we met? --was what Majima might've said, but the guy got there first.
"Do you know this creep?" he said this to the girl, but he didn't move his eyes away from Majima. 'Creep' was a little unnecessary, though. "Forget it, let's go talk somewhere more private, yeah?" Majima stepped forward and dug his fingertips into the guy's tanned, taught shoulder.
"Not so fast," he growled, "I ain't aboutta let ya take this li'l miss to yer client or whatever." The guy shrugged him off with a violence -Majima knew- only a strong guy could manage. "Ohhh?" Majima said under his breath. It makes up for the smoke, at least. The guy squared up: big, bronzed shoulders, glinting with sweat, and traps rounding up as he flexed. Majima had his full attention now, yeah, his full chest, straining under that poor little white vest, pointing proudly towards the opponent. Big ol' veiny hands clenched up in a traditional sorta guard, and some tasty lookin' arms that sure looked the part. "I'm gonna enjoy this," Majima couldn't stop himself from giggling.
And there it was! First big flash of the guy's right fist, like a big meaty blur, partially obscured by the whole not-having-an-eye thing, but it was disappointingly slow. Majima ducked out of the way, underneath, and the guy's washboard abs (he assumed, under that tighty whitey vest) were all sittin' there unguarded like yesterday's bread rolls! Majima clenched the leather of his glove and focused the heat into his arm. Poor sucker didn't see it comin' neither, and he wheezed as Majima tickled his solar plexus. Well, it would barely have tickled Brother.
Guy staggered backwards, mouth hung open uselessly and droolin' like a dog. He clutched his stomach and stared at Majima with panicked eyes. "Aww, sucks," Majima said, straightening himself out, letting his arms fall lazily to his side, "ya looked so full o'promise, kid, but whatever ya are, yer no fighter, I guess," Majima scratched his nose with the back of his hand, not yet yer not. The girl, who had been watching Majima with huge, watery eyes, suddenly gasped and scrambled to her feet.
"Katsuya-san, are you alright?" she rushed to his side and patted his big shoulders for comfort. He wheezed at her, which I guess was an answer. She scowled at Majima, "Why did you do that? What's your obsession with me?"
Majima squinted at her, but he got nothin' from it. He shrugged out an arm.
"Who are you anyway? A fan? Some kind of stalker?" She looked at him so earnestly out of her red, puffy face that he didn't even have the heart to scold her for her cheek, even if she was full of herself. "T-this is the second time you've tried to save me--"
"Wha?" Majima furrowed his brows and tapped a thoughtful finger between them. Second time? Second time? This chick? "Sorry li'l missy, I don't remember that, but yer welcome, I gu--"
"I never asked for your help!!" She stomped her cute little ankle boot hard to the ground and clenched her fists. Majima held his hands up, shrugged, and took a step back. "And YOU," she turned again to the guy she'd called Katsuya, "just… just leave me alone." Her tears startled her as they shook her voice, "Just forget about me!!"
Poor bastard Katsuya wheezed, "Mirei-san..!!" but she breezed past him, her fashionable little heels clattering away down the alley. Majima tilted his head to the side as he watched her speed away. Mirei? Mirei? "Satisfied now?!" Katsuya had regained his equilibrium, at least enough to shove Majima's shoulder with his large, calloused hands, "I went through so much to get her that audition, and now she's just gonna give up on her dream, just like that!" Katsuya grit his teeth, scowled, punched a stack of beer crates and watched them scatter.
"Wait, audition? That some funky-ass euphemism for sex trafficking?"
Katsuya looked at Majima, nostrils flaring so wild you could see the little hairs inside, even if you only had one eye. "What the fuck are you talking about, man?? I got her an audition at the company that represents me," Majima nodded along in a hollow gesture, pursing his lips as he tried to connect the dots. "A talent agency!" Katsuya threw his hands out impatiently, "God!"
"Talent agency, huh…" Majima echoed, deep in thought, "oh TALENT agency? Like idols n' shit?" That girl, back in summer, singin' her little heart out, and then cryin' her heart out in some shitty alley, that girl. That Mirei. He sighed, and yeah he couldn't save her. He could still feel the ghost of her hands around his leg as she begged him -- as Makoto had begged him, back in Sotenbori. "I remember now," he muttered.
"Yeah? Fan-fucking-tastic. Doesn't change the fact that you've tanked her dream, so thanks for that!" Sensing hostility from this one, sheesh. Poor guy was just about turning red, his clenched fists popping up the veins in his arms.
"So, if she's an idol in the makin', what's that make you?" Majima glanced over Katsuya's flexed, reddened muscles, just sparkling with a faint sweat from their fight, "Some kinda bodybuilder? Male model? Or what?" Katsuya grunted, but his shoulders relaxed down about as far as those mean traps would allow.
"No, I'm-- well, maybe you're right, depending on who you'd ask. I'm a stunt double in action movies. But one day soon, I'm gonna get my big break," He laughed self-consciously, and Majima hummed audibly as a sign of respect. Yeah, makes sense. Although, puttin' this kid through the ringer a few more times, seein' him come out the other side of a few more street fights, THAT might just give that body o'his the edge-- "Hey, enough about me! I need to find Mirei-san!" Majima focused and realised Katsuya was looking at him with a restless, searching look, "I gotta get her old man to sign her contract somehow!"
Majima blinked slowly. "Old man? You mean that old slug of an uncle?" Katsuya opened his mouth, frowning, like he was looking for the words to a question, but Majima cut him off, "More 'n that, what's this contract? Think yer gonna have to fill me in a bit there, Sylvester." Majima clapped his hand around those beefy shoulders (Nice.) and began to lead him out of the alley.
"W-what, where're we going?" Katsuya spluttered, finding it harder than expected to wriggle out of Majima's grip, "listen, we have to find her--"
"Li'l missy was pretty steamed up, and I personally need me a drink, so you're gonna give her some space and give me the lowdown." Majima patted Katsuya's shoulder and pushed him onwards. Then he stopped, "Wait, you're old enough to drink right, kiddo?"
Katsuya huffed, "I'm 24!" Majima nodded. "Wait, no! I can't drink with you! It's like 2pm, and besides, my trainer wants me off that stuff until I pass my next audition!"
"I get it, yer too young to handle yer drink, s'no big," Majima spoke evenly over Katsuya's protests to the contrary, "Tell ya what, I'll getcha a Cheery Meal from Smile Burger instead. C'mon kid, haul ass!"
In the line at the Smile Burger, and Katsuya stood there with his lips pursed and his fists clenched insisting that he 'didn't WANT a CHEERY MEAL!' So Majima walked over to the counter and ordered, "Two Cheery Meals and a black coffee, for here, please sweetheart." They sat at a table in the window, with the whole world of people who never learned not to take themselves seriously passing them by and gaping at two grown men enjoying a Cheery Meal together. Katsuya sat, shielding his face with his hand, and looking redder than ever before. "Hey, know where we are? Smile Burger - Home of the Free Smile! And I just bought ya a Cheery Meal and yer still scowlin'?? Kids today."
Katsuya took a brooding sip of his Smile Shake. "I never asked for a damn Cheery Meal!"
"Yeah, but ya look like a dog chewin' a wasp. Never seen a guy so in need of a Cheery Meal!" Majima rustled about in the little cardboard box and fished out a small plastic bag, "Man, check it out!" he said, holding it up to the light, "It's RoboCook! Bleep bloop!"
"I'm starting to understand why Mirei-san ran away when she saw you, my God." Katsuya drew his hands slowly down his face, dragging his eyes open in despair.
"What'd you get?" Majima asked. Katsuya squinted at him. "Yer Cheery Meal toy! What'd you-- oh forget it. Ya wouldn't know fun if it bit ya on the ass. Eat a nugget and chill, would ya?" Katsuya sighed as loudly as he could manage, and glanced anxiously out the window at the people passing down Nakamichi Street. "Why're ya so worried about this gal, huh?" Majima said, through a mouthful of burger.
Katsuya didn't tear his eyes away from the window as he spoke. "She's the real deal. That's it, I guess? She's just. Meant for the showbiz world. Not like me, I'm definitely a work-in-progress, but she's just got it." He sighed again, and fogged up the window in front of him. "I just don't get why she's flaked out on me like this." He looked back at Majima, who did his best to look serious with his cheeks stuffed with Cheery Meal. "She was so happy when I told her she got the audition, she couldn't stop crying! And I helped her prep for weeks, even shouted her a new outfit, not that I could afford much of anything, but she really shone… and then she gets a contract, and suddenly she doesn't want it?" Katsuya shook his head slowly. Then he threw a nugget into his mouth and chewed like it was the worst thing he'd ever tasted. Big baby.
"If that's so, maybe somethin' came along to make li'l missy change her mind?" Majima poked the head of the little RoboCook figure so it looked like it was shuffling across the table, "Happens a lot in my line o'work… 'specially when ya got a mean Old Man callin' yer shots."
A sharp knock on the window made the both of them jump, and Majima yelled "FUCK ME!" far too loud for someone enjoying a Cheery Meal in the middle of a family restaurant. Majima caught his heart from leaping out of his chest and breathed deeply. Katsuya scrambled to his feet and headed to the door, bowing at the guy who made them both shit their pants. Not literally.
"Katsuya-kun, how did it go?? Did she agree? Do you have the signature??" Majima looked over his shoulder at a sweaty-looking, mousy guy in an out-dated blue suit and a lavender tie.
"About that," Katsuya said, lookin' kinda mousy himself as he fiddled with his big clumsy hands, "there was a hiccup… and she kinda… Mirei-san ran away…" he glanced at Majima and back again, as if waving a big flag sayin' "this shirtless, leatherclad badass with an aura sharp as a knife edge is the hiccup" and expectin' Majima not to freakin' notice. Majima clicked his tongue loudly.
The blue suited guy took one look and started. "Who are you supposed to be?" he said, before his common sense caught up with him and he stammered, "I-I, uhh, I-- no--"
"Ziggy fuckin' Stardust, whaddya think," Majima said, putting all his weight on the table and standing up in a quick, lazy, sweeping motion, "and who in the shit're you?" He swaggered over to the poor guy and loomed over him, tilting his head in the way only real delinquents know how to do and have it be scary. Then the nice lady at the counter cleared her throat. "Huh?" Majima turned so he could read her expression. She had that classic Smile Burger employee perma-grin, but she nodded to the door, eyes wide, as a signal. She also raised the handset of a phone that had been hidden behind the desk and pointed to it. "Aw, shit, sorry darlin'," and Majima spread his arms to buffer Katsuya and this other dude out of the glass doors, only reaching out to grab his little RoboCook toy from the table and pocket it.
Majima flopped down onto the creaky little bench in Public Park 3, relaxing his arms and legs so there was no space for either Katsuya or this guy in the blue suit. They stood up together by the climbing frame, wringing their little hands and muttering like two giant meerkats having a conversation. The blue suit said, "K-Katsuya-kun, I don't know… should we really talk business in front of this ya-- this man? I-is it safe?" and Majima scoffed loudly. I'm half blind, not half deaf, numbnuts.
"I don't know, Mori-san, but I think he wants to help…" Katsuya looked over with a cute, big dumb puppy look, asking for assurance, "Mirei-san seemed to know him."
Mori twisted his brow into a look of horror, "Oh no, how does that sweet little girl know a guy like--?"
"Majima." He sat up from the bench and squared his shoulders a bit, "Name's Majima Goro. And I ain't know that li'l miss all that well. Just had some business with her Uncle one time." Mori gulped audibly at the mention of the kid's uncle, so Majima pressed on, "Say, now we ain't so different after all huh? Now you're the ones who have business with Uncle Slug! I'm right ain't I?"
Silence -- relative silence -- passed between them. Katsuya mouthed, Slug?, while Mori stammered, "s-so her guardian k-knows th-this yakuza?? Oh no, oh God, oh no no no, this is bad, oh no, oh God," and reached for some kinda medical inhaler doohickey in his breast pocket and sucked on it.
"Yeah, thought so. So, why're ya botherin' with that old Slug at all? Li'l Miss can sign her own name, can't she?" Majima watched these two civvies frown at each other. He tilted his head.
"Well, no, she can't." Katsuya said at last, "Mirei-san is only 17." Majima glanced upwards and thought about the barriers he had when he was 17. Or lack thereof. Or wait, is that only when your work isn't above-board and legal?
"Strictly speaking," Mori said, voice hoarse from suppressing a heart attack or whatever, "her part of the contract is fine. There's just… paperwork, and we need her guardian for that." Majima pursed his lips and considered.
"Sounds like a pain in the ass," he muttered, but, heaving a sigh he sprang up from the bench, "Alright, tell ya what. I'll put a call in to my boys, we'll have Li'l Miss Runaway found 'fore ya can say 'thanks for savin' my ass' -- but ya know, wouldn't hurt to say it anyway!" Majima cackled as he let himself into the little phone booth in the corner of the park and tapped in a number. "Meanwhile, you guys got business with that old Slug, yeah--" the phone line rung off, so Majima pulled the handset close to his lips, "ay, one sec there sugar tits, daddy's having a conversation here,"-- He looked back at Katsuya and Mori who were exchanging some Looks. "As I was sayin', ya want that Slug, best bet's the Champion District. Betcha anythin' that's where yer golden goose lives. Drop her name in the dives down there, see if ya don't reel in a nice juicy Slug." Majima tossed his gloved hand out towards the two civvies as if to say, Okay, we're done, off ya go! And turned back to his phonecall, "Sorry about that babe. …Yeah, numbnuts, it's yer boss! Who ya even think has this number??"
Majima gingerly lit the end of his cigarette on the flames from the barrel-fire in the middle of West park. He cast glances over at the shadowed entrance to the Ladies' half of the public shitters and waited. Hardly the most glamorous dressing room for such a touted up-and-comer, but, Majima sniffed, makes sense. His guy Kitano phoned in with a hot tip, 'A pretty lady with a nice dress on and fancy heels and makeup just went into the bathrooms in West park -- that sound like her, boss?' and when Li'l Miss Mirei stepped out, hair all brushed out, makeup all scrubbed off as much as the cold water from the faucets would allow, back into some ordinary sweatshirt and leggings combo, Majima smirked. Guess Kitano's a shoe-in for employee of the month.
Mirei gasped to see him again, and just like that, her carefully cleaned face turned red and puffy with tears. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" she whimpered, "Mori-san and Katsuya-san and you… please just forget all about me…"
"I don't think that's happenin', kid," Majima took a long, savouring drag on his barely-smoked cigarette and then flicked it into the barrel-fire. He exhaled slowly and watched the smoke billow upwards into the air. "Yer li'l buddy… Kacchan?" (Mirei muttered, Katsuya-san, as if to correct him) "and whassisface, they're goin' on like yer the damn crown jewels, sayin' yer the real deal n' shit," he glanced at her to see her reaction, but she seemed to shiver and turn her puffy li'l face away. "And Kacchan said he put his whole ass on the line fer ya, gotcha that audition, n' them threads, plus who knows what else?" He waited for a response, but she was immovable. Damn, Girlie, work with me here! "I dunno, kid, this sounds a lot like yer one big shot at ya dream, you sure ya wanna just forget about it?"
She blinked slowly, exhaling hard out of her nostrils. Then she turned her little reddened face up towards him. "I will never give up on my dream. Never." Her pretty little brow crinkled angrily and Majima started and glanced behind him. Nope, that look's fer me. Shit. "There's no, 'one big shot'. I can try again whenever I like, so don't think you can manipulate me." Mirei gave a short, derisive laugh, "I'm so used to it now, I can spot it a mile away. That won't work on me."
Personality 180 much? "Alright, I hear ya, my bad," Majima scratched at the back of his head, "but if yer that set on it, why are ya lettin' this chance go? Thingy and Kacchan --an' me, I guess-- they're bustin' their asses to help ya. Why're ya shuttin' them out?" He watched Mirei, and she trembled… probably with anger, so he spoke fast, "an' yeah, I get it, you want it bad enough, someday yer gonna make it happen, but dreams -- they need a lotta folks to make 'em come true, y'know. It's never one person all on their lonesome, ya gotta find the folks that want yer dream to come true, and hold tight to th--"
"I can't give them what they want!" Her sharp voice echoed off the park walls like a thunderclap, and the town seemed quieter in the reverberations. Majima's mouth hung open uselessly like some kinda flytrap. Mirei caught her breath, and she spoke in a hush, "It's so much more complicated, because I'm not 20 years old, I didn't know-- I just wanted to get away as soon as I could-- but now I know I can't do that." She wiped her red eyes with her knuckle as if to deter tears from forming there. "It's not giving up… I won't… I just--"
Majima reached out for her little trembling shoulders and walked her over to one of the mildew-covered benches. They sat down, he, splaying himself out for maximum comfort, and she, perched tentatively on the side, as far away from him as she could manage. He let her cry for a little while, patting her between the shoulder blades now and then, until her breathing calmed and he felt like he could peek at her face. "Listen, whassisface told me about the contract stuff. Says it's a done deal on yer part! He just needs yer folks to give him some paperwork, n' it's done."
Mirei sniffed, "My birth certificate, right?" She laughed hollowly, or were those more little sobs, "I told you. I can't do that. I'm not even sure I have one."
"Well, yeah, didn't seem that ol' Slug of an uncle was all that organised, if I'm honest," Majima scratched at his temple.
"That's not it," she said, "I'm not sure my birth was even registered," she chuckled at the end of this sentence, as if it was a silly little happenstance. "That's why I can't do it now-- I'll just have to wait and find some other way."
Majima watched the back of her little head, as she tried to master her tears and her shudders. "You said ya wanted to get away. From that uncle of yers?" She didn't respond. Didn't need to. "Lemme ask you somethin', kid. First time we met, I was ready to teach that uncle o'yours a lesson for layin' his hands on ya. You stopped me. And it's been buggin' me ever since. Why?"
She sniffled, wiped her eyes one last time, and then she leaned back to look Majima in the eye. "Well, let me ask you something. What do you think would have happened after you left?" He thought about this. "No, I mean, let's say I let you beat on my uncle. Then what happens? You'd go back into the shadows, right?"
"Heh, that's a bit of a dramatic way o'puttin' it but--"
"I'm not wrong, am I? You'd go along your merry way, patting yourself on the back for being all heroic, and meanwhile I'd have to go back home with my uncle. My uncle who is beaten and humiliated, and even angrier than he was before. What do you think happens after that?" Her voice was so calm and cold that Majima felt himself shudder. "I don't have to paint you a picture, do I," she said, but as she did, she rolled up her left sleeve. Her arm was painted blue and purple with horrible welts. "I didn't want you to get involved -- that is, I didn't want you to start something you couldn't finish."
Majima felt his face contort and he growled, "That asshole…!" but somewhere in his heart he was angry at the spectre of himself, the one who felt like a big man for saving a little girl, only to set her up for more pain. He heard Sagawa-han's voice in his ear, clear as a bell, 'You never learn, do you? Majima-chan?' He bit down on his teeth and clenched his fists.
"It's okay," Mirei said, and Majima realised she was comforting HIM. What a fucked up world. "Honestly, I'm used to it by now, and after I sent you away, my uncle was in a pretty good mood so… it was one of my better nights."
Majima shook his head, "That ain't right. Girl your age shouldn't be livin' day-to-day like that." Doing whatever it took to survive, absorbing the beatings, becoming numb to the words. Pulling himself away from his sense of self so the humiliation alone didn't crush him, never mind the guilt. Eight years on and even now he wakes in the night, feverish from the horrors of what they did to him. There were little creases under this girl's eyes, too.
Mirei flashed him a smile that was so polished that it was almost dazzling. She couldn't hide the redness of her tears, but if it weren't for that, anyone might have been fooled by her sweet smile. She just looked like a confident girl in the prime of her youth. We keep our bruises hidden behind that shit, a goofy joke or two, a pretty smile.
"Thank you," she said, "I really… can't remember the last time anyone ever took notice of me… worried about me. But it's alright, I can't get you or Katsuya-san or Mori-san involved in this." She stood up and patted down the back of her leggings. Like that she coulda been the tallest woman on the planet, her back looked so defiant and strong. But it wasn't, not really. Maybe that's what the Hannya looks like to others, too.
"They're talkin' to yer uncle, kid," he said. He watched her freeze to the spot. "Kacchan and the suit, they headed out down the Champion District 'bout an hour ago. Askin' him to sign yer consent forms." She wheeled around, wide-eyed.
"What…?" she shook her head, slowly, "W-why would they…? I told them--" Majima sighed and stood up. "We have to stop them!" Mirei dashed off down the little slope towards Shichifuku street, and Majima hurried to his feet after her. He ran fast and had to dig his heels into the concrete to avoid slamming into her at the bottom of the slope. Mirei stood, her hands over her mouth, looking at an ambulance parked up on North Senryo. "Oh no…"
A stretcher held by two paramedics came outta the damn wall -- wait, there was a tiny alley, wasn't there? -- not from the direction of the Champion District at all, but on the opposite side. There was a whole lotta commotion at the top of the road, but Mirei wasn't frozen to the spot for too long. She ran over to the paramedics. "Mori-san! Mori-san, I'm so sorry!" She clasped at his little stiff hands, and he looked at her out of a very swollen and bloodied face.
"Mirei-san," he wheezed, "I thought I could persuade him… if he knew how much potential you have… I didn't know…" Majima watched her back, so strong just moments before, once again buckle under the events of the day. "I wanted to… represent you… so much… I'm sorry…"
Majima rushed over to the clamour of rubberneckers and a gaggle of confused foreigners who were speaking in their own languages, but everyone spoke in a sharp, panicked tones. "Oi, Mori! Where is he?" Majima growled, "Let me--" but the paramedics demanded space, and carried their patient away. Majima headed for the tiny alley, but something pulled him back. A small hand, in his.
"Please, don't." she said, "please don't make this any worse." He stood still, waiting for her grip to drop, and when it did, he walked into the alley. He followed it around a corner, when he found the way blocked. It was Katsuya, wheezing in the middle of the road.
"Kacchan?!" Majima bent down to reach for the guy's bruised face, "He got ya too? Where's he at, I'll--"
Katsuya snickered. "Don't. I know you're a tough sonofabitch, but don't." He squinted out of one black eye at Majima, "That's the second time today I've got my ass beat by a stranger over Mirei-san. Starting to get a complex about it," Katsuya accepted the hand Majima held out to him, and hefted onto his feet with a pained grunt.
"The hell happened?" Majima cast a furtive glance down the strange, dark alley behind Katsuya, but in truth he had no idea where in this maze any of this could've happened, "What're ya doin' in a place like this?"
Katsuya clapped a steadying hand on Majima's shoulder. The weight of his body leant on Majima, pushed him, as if to steer him back out of the alleyway. Majima dug in his heels. "It's an immigrant community. She lives here. Her and her Aunt and Uncle, in this crappy little apartment." Majima raised his face -- at the end of the alley, back in the light of North Senryo, Mirei stood watching them. He caught her eye, and she cast her eyes down to her feet. "I get it now," Katsuya said, with a humourless laugh, "why she was so frightened at the idea of giving over her documents."
"She's not sure her birth was even registered…" Majima muttered. "But what the hell did Mori say to wind up in an ambulance?" Katsuya took a staggering step forward but Majima held him still, so he had to lean on a grimy air conditioning unit to stop him from toppling over.
"Mirei-san's old man wanted money-- he said he'd sign her forms so long as any money she makes went straight to him. Only to him." Katsuya raised his eyebrows and Majima sighed and facepalmed, "Yeah, course he did, right? But Mori stands up and says the company doesn't do that, that it would be wrong, and that her uncle should think about Mirei-san's future, all this," Katsuya clicked his tongue.
"Might as well just presented his ass for whoopin'," Majima obliged Katsuya with a step out towards Mirei, "Ballsy li'l shit, though, gotta say."
"Majima-san, we have to help her." Katsuya's face looked even darker and bruised as he glanced down at the trash-strewn floor below, "we give up on her now, and she'll be trapped with him. She'll never be free." Flashes of the dingy and neon-blurred streets of Sotenbori, the familiar faces of vagrants that watched him unblinkingly, stale cigarette smoke and Sagawa-han's cold hands, always so cold on his shoulder, on his throat.
"Yeah," he said, like his hands still felt the chains that tied him to that warehouse beam, "the kid don't deserve this."
They staggered out into the light, and Mirei, her little hands trembling, traced her gentle fingertips over Katsuya's bruised arms and swollen eye. "I am so, so sorry…" she said, inhaling sharply to prevent her voice from quavering, "This is my fault! Please, now you have to forget all about me…!" Katsuya winced, his breath seethed sharply through his clenched teeth, but Majima just watched the girl. It was like watching a flower close up for winter. A calm settled over her, and she drew her hand away. She didn't tremble, didn't sniff or sob. She straightened her back, pointed her little nose defiantly into the air. Mirei walked with an impossible poise, past the two grown-ass men, with the air of a queen. Like they belonged to different worlds, like she never even saw them.
"None o'that was yer fault, kid," Majima said. She froze in the alleyway, but her frame didn't falter, not even when he said, "You deserve a better life than this."
Her shoes clacked with precision, with determination, as she disappeared into the shadow of the alleyway. "Wait, Mirei-san!" Katsuya stretched out a hopeless hand towards her slender back, "You're not just gonna let her go, are you?" But she had been swallowed by the darkness even as he spoke. "We have to do something! Majima-san!"
It was hard to stop himself from sighing, harder still to stop himself from dashing after her. 'What do you think would have happened after you left?' Majima couldn't get the image of her weak, tired smile out of his head. He hefted Katsuya's bulky arm higher on his shoulder and braced his hand around Katsuya's waist.
"Yeah, we're gettin' you patched up 'fore anythin' else. Can't let yer moneymaker stay swollen up like that."
"To hell with that!" Katsuya tried to struggle free, but Majima held him fast, "She needs us! Forget about me!"
Majima chuckled, "You kids are jus' two peas in a pod aren'tcha?" Katsuya tried to protest but Majima cut him off -- "The kid's doin' what she has to right now so you don't end up like the Suit. Don't let her bravery go to waste." They'd shuffled awkwardly towards the nearest taxi stand, bearing the murmurs of passers-by, and exchanging barely a word. Before Majima closed the car door, he looked in on Katsuya, still grinding his teeth from the pain.
"Kacchan… I'm gonna need ya to tell me where in that rat maze she lives."
Majima dug his gloved hand under the collar of his shirt and scratched. Shirts are fuckin' claustrophobic! But he checked what he could of his reflection in a dingy window of a Chinese restaurant. Dressed up to the nines, like the old days at the Grand, and it felt like shit. He found his way through the concrete labyrinth, up to a small, busted-up door, with nothing to identify it but a shadow on the old paint where a number used to hang. He inhaled, and knocked, careful not to bust right through a patch held together only with duct tape and a prayer.
Muffled yelling started up in the house, and it wasn't in Japanese. The door ripped open, and the Slug poked his head out of the gap. "What!" he said, before he'd even had time to register who he was talking to. "Wait a minute… it's you, isn't it? The little whore's boyfriend!" Slug leaned back and chuckled with satisfaction, "And what do ya want? Found ya way back here after runnin' with yer tail tucked between yer legs? Hah, must've found yerself some balls on the way."
"Sir," Majima began, realising the finery brought out his old customer service voice, "My name is Majima Goro. I have something important to ask of you, about your daughter." Slug cocked the most dubious of eyebrows and glanced over his shoulder into the apartment. Mirei was stood there, in ill-fitting, stained clothing, white as a sheet, staring somethin' fierce out at Majima. "Please, sir, if I could come inside…"
Mirei stumbled over to the door, "W-who is it, uncle? I don't know this man -- you can leave now," she said, with unmistakeable venom, "what if he's a cop, w-we'd better--"
Slug laughed with a hearty derision, loud enough to drown out her voice, "Think they'd let Patch here on the cop squad? Nah," and he pulled the fragile door open wider, "let's hear the nice man out, shall we?" Mirei shook her head, her eyes wide and bloodshot with terror, but she didn't speak. Majima watched her.
"I think I'd prefer to speak to you man-to-man, mister…?"
"Park," he smirked, "you must have somethin' real interestin' to say… get on outta here!" he threw his hand dismissively at Mirei, and she flinched like she feared he would hit her.
"Mirei-san," Majima said, catching her eye and holding her gaze as best he could, "Go and pack up your things." Park's ugly face twisted into something even uglier.
"Now hold on--"
"Sir," Majima reached for something tucked into his breast pocket, "I would much rather discuss business with you in private."
They stepped towards the one cheap table, and Park swept the tabletop of stale extinguished cigarettes, crushed beer cans, tissue paper and orange peels, off onto the floor with a little metallic rain. He gestured to a stack of old magazines on top of a beer crate, and Majima perched upon it gingerly. Park settled into the only chair in the entire apartment, and even that was speckled with rust and groaned under his weight as he sat. "So," Park said, flicking a fresh cigarette into his mouth and lighting it, "start talking."
Majima glanced at the doorway through which Mirei had disappeared. "I know she didn't mention me to you, but I am Majima, and I am your daughter's boyfriend." Park laughed with his full throat and coughed little tobacco clouds into Majima's face. Stingin' a guy's one good eye like that. "I came here today… for your blessing."
"Blessing? You think I'm the Buddha or something?" He smirked, but his eyes were sharp.
"I want to marry her," Majima said. The words dropped into the room and seemed not to make a sound. They didn't echo in the stillness that followed, but they were hollow, and Majima felt hollow, too. It was like someone else had spoken. It was like he was watching himself on TV, sayin' something so bullshit with every speck of sincerity he had. He hardened his shoulders to stop himself from shuddering. "And I want your blessing."
Park reached across the table for Majima's exquisitely folded tie. "I paid good money for that little good-for-nothin' bitch, and right when she's finally lookin' like she's worth a damn, you wanna take her from me?" His cigarette was clenched furiously in his teeth, and in some danger of burning a mark right on Majima's cheek. "I don't care what a sick fuck like you wants to do with an 18-year-old kid… I told ya that last time. I just wanna see a return on my 'investment'."
Those thick, nicotine-stained fingers slowly uncurled, and Majima used all of his athletic ability not to totter off the stack of junk he was using for a chair. He pulled down on his shirt and jacket, and swept off his shoulders. Then he reached for his pocket. "10 Mil," Majima said, lightly tossing a brown envelope over the table, "That's yours. Check it if you want." Park thumbed at the opening and peeked inside. "That's just for your inconvenience. For raising her." The ugly hulk of a man licked his lips with glee and Majima felt sick inside. "I have another 10 Mil right here for you," he waved another envelope in the air, "if I can get you to sign our marriage consent forms."
Park's bulging eyes were shining, "Well, did you bring them?" He patted his hand around frantically on all the surfaces he could reach before he said, "You got a pen?" Majima did his best to stop his face from twisting in anger and disgust. He produced the documents. Then a pen. He pointed with the tip of the pen where the relevant sections were. Park grabbed the pen hungrily and scribbled on the paper.
"Done!" he said, looking with the expectant eyes of a ravenous dog. Majima threw him the 2nd envelope.
"There is a third envelope for you, if you turn over the girl's birth certificate," Majima said this calmly, but his stomach churned -- "Mind if I smoke? I can wait here while you find it."
Park stopped, and turned his huge bug eyes balefully on Majima, "Another 10 Mil? For a paper?" Majima nodded, careful not to make his gloves squeak as he clenched his fist under the table. "Shit! Like I know if she has one! Y'see, her parents were really into the Jing--- well, let's say, they were involved in your kind of business," he paused, raising his eyebrows at Majima to make sure he was understood, "but things got bad for 'em around 10 years back, they had to up sticks back to Korea in a hurry-- we barely had time to discuss it--"
"Get to the point," Majima said, his queasiness shaking him out of his old Manager persona.
"The girl was born here, so she had to stay. She was about 6 by then, hardly thought about whether a Mafia shitheel bothered to register her birth, you understand?" Park chuckled nervously, and Majima felt a great crack in the veneer of his patience. "I doubt I have some dumb piece of paper--"
"That's a shame," Majima said, making a show of tucking the last envelope back into his pocket.
"W-wait!" Park's eyes were wide and lovesick as he stared at the fold of Majima's suit where the pocket hid. "There's a fella in the Chinese restaurant downstairs, he helps folks like us get our paperwork in order! He might know if--"
"I see," Majima nodded, "Then I should give this last envelope to him?" Park howled with frustration and kicked his chair back.
"Wait here!" he growled, and then he yelled something in Korean. A small, lowly woman appeared from the only interior door. After some more barked instructions, she nodded, and stood in the open front doorway, glancing after her husband's retreating figure. The woman didn't even want to look at Majima, which made the whole rift of the language barrier a little easier. But waiting felt awful. Majima felt his skin prickling, like the reality of what he'd just done scuttled over his skin like a swarm of spiders. Finally, loud metallic thuds and huge wheezing gasps brought Park the slug breathlessly back into the room. Well, it's hard for a slug to move quickly. "Here," he said, offering Majima a paper he had clenched in his sweaty hands, "they gave… he had… they gave it… for safe… safekeeping…" Park took in a huge lungful of air, "I guess when they knew… she had to stay… they left it here… thank fuck…"
Thank fuck. This horrible man, relieved that his adoptive daughter had legal documentation, since it was now worth 10 Million to him. But, Majima glanced it over, this was going to help save her. This was the ticket to her dream. He was still looking at it as he idly lifted the last wad of cash from his jacket. Then he folded it together with the signed consent form. Then he stood up straight and tended his palm to Park. "Pleasure doin' business," he said, and he leaned close to Park's ear, "I don't wanna see you anywhere near the girl ever again, 'cause if I do, it won't be cash n' a handshake I leave ya with."
Majima faced the one little door. "Kid, c'mon, let's blow this joint!" She drew it open with a creak and peeked at him, "Got ya stuff? C'mon, let's get outta here!"
Mirei had in her hands, a small plastic bag, with a dirty stuffed animal and various trinkets inside. Barely any clothes, no photographs. "Majima-san… what's happening?" He clapped his hand around her shoulder and she jumped out of her skin. "Am I really… leaving?"
"Lemme ask ya, do ya wanna stay?" Her expression was enough of an answer for him, so he walked with her to the door. They were a few steps out of the doorway, when Mirei broke free of Majima's grip. She turned to the door and… and bowed at her Aunt and Uncle. And then she caught up to Majima and let him walk her out into the light.
Mirei held the pen in her right hand, and signed her name shakily on the family register. Congratulations, Majima Mirei-san, said the registrar, and she seemed not to recognise her name. Her legal name. "What's up," Majima said, as the registrar took their papers to stamp them and file them away, "got the jitters? Don't worry, it ain't---"
"No, it's not that," Mirei glanced down under her large eyelashes. She fidgeted with the sleeve of the huge, stylish winter coat Majima had bought for her since he took her away from her uncle. "I'm-- I'm not as strong with my right hand. I'm a natural lefty," she said. Majima frowned at her. "Oh, Uncle and Auntie didn't like it, said you need to write with your right in order to get by… so I, yeah…"
Majima remembered the welts on her left arm. "Oh." She nodded quietly. "Guess what ya need is not some flimsy little thing you'd get at the combini but somethin' much easier to hold," he said, thinking aloud. The registrar returned and finalised the proceedings. They were man and wife.
They stood on the steps of the local government office, side by side in the chilly winter air. She fidgeted as she stood beside him, and he reached for a smoke -- but then changed his mind. The city seemed to hush around them, despite the rushing businessmen and the blaring of car horns in the distance. "Mirei," he said, without looking at her, "you know… you know I'm not in love with you, don't you?" She didn't make a sound. "That's not what this is… yer safe, is what this is. And yer free."
There was a soft little couch in the office waiting room, and Majima, though once again suited up like an honest civvie, sank into it, spreading his knees wide so they were almost higher than his chest. He hummed a tuneless, joyful hum, and Mirei, dressed in her very best, with a fresh hair set and makeover, sat perched on the other side of the sofa, trying not to pick at her manicure. Majima smirked as he looked at her, "Aw, c'mon kid! Cheer up! Today's the big day!" She sighed and shot him a withering look. "Ooooh, if looks could kill~!" he giggled like a merry little banshee, and she just groaned and rolled her eyes. "Seriously. I'll take the lead, kid. It'll be fine." He clapped her on the shoulder and shook her loosely, and she clicked her tongue.
"I don't know why you're so excited, Goro-san," she muttered, "anyone would think you're the talent."
He sat forward and leant his elbows on his bony knees, "Yer damn right! Shoulda seen me in the golden age o' disco, I was the king o' the Sotenbori scene y'know!" She laughed through her nose and muttered, yeah, right! And he giggled at her. "I'm just happy for ya, kid! It's yer big chance, finally! What's wrong with me bein' excited for ya?"
She smiled a small, soft smile. "Alright… I just. I wish you were at least a little more nervous. My hands are shaking!" she held out her neat hands in front of her to prove it. Majima clicked his fingers.
"Reminds me! Gotcha a li'l somethin'. A gift," he reached into his jacket and brought out a thin black box. He spoke quickly before she could refuse it, "It's kinda a congrats on gettin' yer contract, but it makes more sense for ya to have it now. Iunno, might bring ya luck."
The office door ahead opened, and Katsuya -- by now, all healed up and handsome as ever -- burst out. "Mirei-san! They're ready for you!" He beamed a smile and held his palm out to her. She took it daintily and rose from her seat, still clenching the box in her other hand. Majima followed the two young talents through to a frosted door, and Katsuya knocked. A muffled voice called for them, and they entered. "Kawasaki-san, this is Majima Mirei-san and Majima Goro-san."
Kawasaki had an old-fashioned hair style, almost like a lion's mane, all done up like an American actress and dyed blonde. She had heavy eyelids and sumptuous lips, and her voice was a honeyed kind of growl when she said, "Ah yes, please. Take a seat." Majima thought Mirei's eyes sparkled to look at her. "So you're poor dear Mori-san's pet project, yes? I can tell already he was onto something," she said, with a smile that surprised Majima with how genuine it seemed. "Your contract got stalled because you're not of-age, is that right?"
Mirei opened her mouth and then looked at Majima for help. "Yeah, uhh. We had a less than supportive dad, growin' up. He wasn't exactly thrilled when Mori showed up." Majima cracked a little grin to ease things over, and Mirei nodded, nervously. "'Course I was still down in Sotenbori back then. Didn't know what my baby sister was goin' through." He patted Mirei gently on the shoulder. "But it's all good now. She lives with me, n' I'm her guardian. I'll sign her papers."
Mirei also fished a hard envelope out of her purse and bowed, handing it to Kawasaki, "My birth certificate, if you please."
Kawasaki slowly checked things over. "So your birth name wasn't Majima?" she said, casually, placing the document face down on the photocopier.
"Aaahh, yeah, uh." Majima scratched at the back of his head, "My real dad was called Majima -- Mirei is the daughter of our mom and her second husband," Saejima and little Yasuko were somethin' like that, too, "but I jus' changed her name when I became her guardian." he paused, "That a problem?"
She didn't even look up from her paperwork. "Of course not," She selected a few files and passed them to Majima and some others to Mirei, "Well, one thing I must mention is that the entertainment business can be hard on youngsters. Many of us have difficult upbringings, but it is simply not done to talk in excessive detail about it -- of course, there should be no secrets from me," she said, glancing up at them. Mirei nodded.
"About that," she said, "I was hoping to use a stage name. I'd like it if I'm known just as Mirei… is that possible?" Kawasaki leaned back in her expensive chair and smiled at her.
"That is a wonderful idea. Once you're finished signing, I'd like to discuss your working persona."
Majima watched Mirei take the black and gold gilt pen out of its box. She gazed at it for a moment or two, and then took it up in her right hand and signed her contract.