Chapter Text
The story of the marionette and the reaper had only just begun.
When you blinked and suddenly Musashi Shrine was no longer there, you knew instantly that you were seeing a glimpse into the future. Because inexplicably, Hanma was on his knees in front of you, glaring up past your shoulder with a cold, vindictive glint in his eyes that made something in your chest stutter. It was daytime. This had to be a vision.
Then he doubled over and coughed, and blood splattered to the pavement.
No.
You wanted to reach out to him, and you realized when you turned your head around wildly that this was more like a dream than the usual sensation of lingering in a memory. You weren’t actually present, and your disembodied view of the world allowed you to look freely around. Hanma's crumpled form was surrounded by dozens of brawny thugs in biker jackets, one of which kicked him mercilessly in the stomach. He flew back several meters, crashing into a utility pole. He did not get up again.
No.
Hanma was strong. Stronger than anyone you knew. How could he be getting himself knocked around by a bunch of delinquents so easily? How could he get himself this badly hurt?
You couldn’t let this future happen.
Your gaze swept around the dingy street trying to find something to anchor yourself, your eyes zeroing in on the street sign at the nearest intersection, committing the name and shape of the road to memory. On the other side of the street, a nondescript coffee shop occupied the corner. Next to it was a small grocery store. A bus stop. A newspaper stand.
Newspaper! Just as your gaze raked across the front page of the local daily paper, dated January 2nd, 2006, you felt solid ground at your feet once again, and you were back at Musashi Shrine engulfed in the darkness of the night.
"Hey," Baji said anxiously, as you sank to your knees in both worry and relief. "What's wrong with you?"
The countdown had ended, and the crowd’s cheering felt hollow and distant in your ears. It was new year's day. That meant this was a vision of something that was going to happen tomorrow.
Baji called your name, pulling you up from where you had slumped to the floor. "What did you see? You had a vision of the future, right?"
It was hard to hide things from him. You nodded wearily, grounding yourself with the bustle of the festival, the feeling of the winter air on your skin, and Baji's dark, probing gaze.
"I'll tell you guys later," you promised him in a shaky voice. "Let's go check out the booths and activities with everyone else."
And you tried your hardest to focus on the New Year celebrations to keep your thoughts occupied. Eventually, your worries faded somewhat in the bustle and festivities beneath the glow of the warm, lantern lights. It was easy to forget, just for a moment.
All these delinquent teenagers trying to play kid's games was an amusing sight. Mikey was the only one that really passed as a child, and the vendors balked at the sight of Draken next to him, tall and lanky with his tattooed scalp making him look like an actual gangster. Chonbo, with his face tattoos and intimidating glare, tried to win you a prize from the ring toss booth. He failed miserably. The lady that manned the booth gave him a prize anyways, terror etched into her expression and you almost felt bad.
Kazutora and Chifuyu challenged you to a carnival shooting game, and Takemichi took one look at the toy cork gun, paled, and tried to distract you to play something different. You watched Baji play a round of goldfish scooping, feeling amused when he gave up in frustration and tried to grab the slippery fish with his bare hands like an idiot. He didn’t need fish anyways, you reasoned with him.
“They’re not for me,” he said to you, all wide-eyed and serious. “I’m going to feed them to stray cats.”
The booth owner glared at the two of you upon hearing that, scandalized.
For several hours past midnight running around the New Year festival with Toman, you could forget about that troubling vision of the future and focus on having fun with your friends. But that night after Baji dropped you off at your house, you found it impossible to fall asleep, as your thoughts wandered back to the memory of Hanma all battered and bloodied on the pavement.
You didn’t want to – couldn’t – let that future play out. No matter Hanma’s intentions during the Halloween conflict, the fact remained that he did not kill Baji. He went easy on you when you’d fought him at the church. He had warned you of Mikey’s descent into darkness. Those were not the actions of a person that had only intended to use you. And regardless, even if he had never cared for you all this time, you still cared about him. You cared, at the very least, about whether he lived or died. Even though the two of you parted on sour terms, you felt like you owed him a warning for what was to come.
A warning, you reasoned to yourself. That was all.
-
The morning of January 2nd, you found yourself camping out at the front of the coffee shop near the intersection where your vision had taken place. You didn't have the faintest idea of when a fight would break out, so you had no choice but to arrive early.
You ordered breakfast, and a coffee. As you waited at the table by the window near the entrance, you pulled out your notes from last semester so you looked busy, keeping your attention focused outside. There was no strange activity out there so far, and you chewed on the corner of the tasteless croissant as you watched the early morning roads fill with cars and pedestrians on their way to work. So far, nothing.
And as the clock on the wall ticked agonizingly slowly past the nine o’clock mark, it signalled that you’d already been waiting here for an hour. When the server came by to clear your empty plate and refill your cold coffee, you ordered another croissant and turned back to gaze pensively out the window.
You cared about Hanma a lot – too much, really. When he’d let you off so easily during the fight with the Black Dragons, that tiny thread of hope that he still felt something for you, you eagerly climbed, pulling yourself out of the pit of the hatred you once convinced yourself that you felt.
What did you feel? You didn’t want to answer that, and that was why you were here, washing down the turmoil in your heart with lukewarm coffee. The server brought over your second croissant, and you fumbled through your bag for your wallet to pay.
“Actually,” she told you carefully, “the gentleman from that table over there already paid for your order.”
Flabbergasted, you turned to see where her gaze flickered across the cafe. For a moment, you didn’t recognize them in street clothes. But then sharp eyes met yours, dark hair slicked to the side in a uniquely familiar style and your heart sank in your chest. What were Koko and Inupi doing here?
You wrapped your croissant gingerly in a napkin, and stuffed it in your bag along with your notes and textbook. Then you stood, making your way toward the table where the former Black Dragon captains sat.
“What’s the big idea?” you hissed, the first words out of your mouth hostile and unfriendly. Inupi pulled up the extra chair for you, and his intentions were also clear – they wanted to talk. You glanced out the window. Everything still seemed quiet and normal, but you’d never know when a fight would break out. You couldn’t waste time here, unless...
“We’re not trying to get you to owe us anything,” Inupi said quietly, as you turned back to them. “We just want to have a civil conversation.”
You glowered at him. “This had better be a civil conversation, or I’ll beat your ass.”
“Take a seat,” Koko said, his gaze just as hard as your clipped voice. “We’re not here for a fight.”
You supposed it’d be worth it to hear them out for now. You slid into the seat facing the two of them, dropping your school bag on the floor beside your feet and folding your arms over your chest.
“We talked to Mikey, I’m sure you are aware,” Inupi started. Right, Mikey had asked you for your input on whether or not to let them into the First Division yesterday. You hadn’t gotten a chance to talk it over with the captains because so much had happened that got in the way of that. The Black Dragons were the last thing on your mind, but unfortunately the first thing you had to deal with.
“Yes,” you said carefully. “So you’re joining under Toman’s banner.”
You had nothing against them, personally. Sure, they were the enemy during the Black Dragon conflict and Inupi had hit Chifuyu across the face with a metal pipe, but that was nothing new in a fight. The issue was the vision you had of Kokonoi – that conversation you would inevitably have at the doorway of Valhalla’s arcade in the future if things kept going like this.
But you reminded yourself firmly that even that wasn’t enough to go off of. That future didn’t necessarily mean absorbing the Black Dragons into the First Division would lead to Takemichi’s bad future, right?
“We’d like to join Toman under Keisuke Baji,” Inupi said, his dark green eyes solemn. “The ideals from the first generation Black Dragon gang – he and Takemichi Hanagaki are the ones that embody the hopes and dreams Shinichiro left behind.”
“What he said,” Koko said, sticking out his tongue. "So you'll let us join, or no?"
Before you even had a chance to think of a response, the loud commotion outside diverted your attention instantly, and your gaze snapped to the window. There it was, the beginning of the end. You could see ordinary passersby cowering against the building wall, staring at the scene on the road in horror.
You were on your feet in an instant. There were dozens of them, and they were high schoolers at the very least. From your vision, Hanma had been alone and they had overpowered him somehow – the glint of silver on the other side of the window caught your eye, a baseball bat spiked with nails. Of course. In a fair fight, there would be no way Hanma would lose, even against fifty men.
Your gaze flickered back to Koko and Inupi, who were looking at you in amusement and mild confusion respectively. And then you made your decision.
You took a deep breath. “Are you two up for a brawl?”