Chapter Text
The Arakawa Family headquarters was a place of pride for Ichiban, yet as he stood in its heart after hours, the dreary, empty room could have easily masqueraded as an ordinary office. Though, as Ichiban watched Sawashiro peak through the room’s blinds, he could only assume that was the intention.
Still, Ichiban found himself awkwardly glancing around the area, hands held respectfully behind his back as he waited for any word from his captain.
…But when said captain only continued to look outside the window, Ichiban cleared his throat, hoping to instigate a conversation. “...You wanted to see me?”
“Right.” Was the short response. Ok, and? Ichiban felt his thick brows furrow as silence took over the room again. At the very least, Sawashiro seemed content with the lack of activity outside, moving away from the blinds and letting the plastic flap fall down. Now, instead of the faint lights of the street lamps illuminating the office, only the lone lamp on Sawashiro’s desk prevented the room from being totally plunged into darkness.
“And this couldn’t wait until the morning?” He and Mitsuo had plans with the KBBQ joint up the street that night- getting an email demanding he report to HQ wasn’t exactly his ideal Friday night. “Or you couldn’t just call me—”
“If I could, don’t you think I would’ve done that?” The only times Ichiban could remember Sawashiro sounding anything less than irritated at the world were moments before he got to beat Ichiban for some perceived mistake, and as he turned from the blinds to face him, his biting tone was as cold as ever. It was no secret the pair had a mutual dislike of each other: if Sawashiro needed to see Ichiban in person, then sure enough the matter must have been too delicate to discuss in the open. “You never know who’s listening nowadays, and I assure you this isn’t information we need getting into the wrong hands.”
Even in the low light of the office, Ichiban could see the hard frown lines detailing Sawashiro’s face; the man was just over a decade older than Ichiban, yet his persistent glowering aged him by at least another one. Despite Sawashiro’s glaring being an all–too-familiar sight, his hardened eyes felt especially urgent somehow this time around.
Curiously, Ichiban stepped closer to the desk, hands falling to his sides as he leaned in, expecting Sawashiro to fill him in on the situation. To his fortune, he wouldn’t have to stand around in the quiet for long: “I have reasons to believe the young master could potentially be in danger.”
That was enough to make Ichiban’s eyes widen, his shoulders rising to meet his ears as he stood straight up. “The young master- what makes you say that!?”
Even though Sawashiro hadn’t elaborated yet, Ichiban could already feel anxiety wrack his body, his blood pounding in his ears and sweat begin to collect at his temple. It was seldom the junior Arakawa was ever threatened by yakuza surprisingly- perhaps it was the universe’s way of balancing out his luck that his father's reputation was too menacing to trifle with. To hear now that there was a chance he could be killed easily made Ichiban woozy.
Reaching into his suit’s inner pocket, Sawashiro produced various photographs before tossing them onto the desk. As Ichiban cautiously approached the photos, he began his explanation. “You remember the Dojima Family?”
Picking up the pictures, Ichiban looked at the man in the photos intrigued: his pristine puffer jacket nearly blinded Ichiban from his black, ripped pants and matching t-shirt, shaggy hair nearly covering the set of silver piercings decorating his right ear that matched the similarly-silver cross necklace laid over his chest. Tilting his head, Ichiban glanced up at Sawashiro with a quirked eyebrow. “Uh…” Dojima was a familiar name, yet he couldn’t muster up a coherent memory of it no matter how hard he tried. Trying to pair the name with the man in the photo especially was starting to hurt his head.
Clicking his tongue, Sawashiro turned to peak outside of the blinds once more before resuming. “I’m not surprised. They may as well be fossils to a newbie like you." Turning his gaze back to Ichiban, he squinted at the memory of the ancient family. "Their patriarch was Sohei Dojima. Surely that name rings a bell, right?”
Eyes wide, the information clicked in Ichiban’s mind: even if he was relatively young in the yakuza world, the murder of Sohei Dojima was an unmissable uproar the night it happened, especially when the murderer had been one of his own, more prominent men. With the question of who out of the way, now all Ichiban could wonder was why they were seemingly important again. “No shit- that Dojima!?”
“Exactly. That there’s his only son: Daigo Dojima. I need you to keep a close eye on him and find out what his business is.”
Looking at the photos again, Ichiban couldn’t help but feel a grin tug at his mouth: sure, the guy definitely looked bigger than most, and he didn’t exactly have a cheery disposition. But the son of a dead patriarch didn’t seem like much grounds to be so panicked- especially not when he didn’t appear to be any more than a typical punk.
“That’s all? Geez, you made it sound like this was going to be something crazy—”
“You think I’m fucking around here, Ichi!?” From the blinds to just a breath from his face, Ichiban recoiled at Sawashiro’s immediate fury: the man was a broken thermostat, being cool and collected one moment and just about ready to commit murder the next. Despite being used to his fickle temper, Ichiban couldn’t blame anyone else if they found his belligerent demeanor terrifying. “If this was just any other brat on the street, I wouldn’t have dragged your ass in here today: you were too busy shitting yourself as a baby to see the absolute mess Dojima and his boys brewed back then!”
Ichiban felt Sawashiro grip his popped collar, yanking him back into his vicinity and close enough to see his own startled reflection in his dark eyes, his tone slipping into a harsh whisper. “If that Daigo kid is anything like his old man, the young master’s life could be at stake. So don’t stand there like some smart ass acting like you know what you’re talking about!”
“A-alright I get it- just relax!” Ichiban broke free of Sawashiro’s deathly grip before straightening out his suit and fixing his collar. “He’s not just some guy and his dad was a piece of shit. I’ll check him out when I can.”
“Not 'when you can ,' Ichi: I need you to live in his shadow. I don’t want a day of his life to go unaccounted for until you can verify the young master won’t be harmed.” Whenever it came to business regarding the young master, Sawashiro became especially obsessive- not that Ichiban was in any position to complain or disagree with his devotion: if there was one thing they could agree on, it was ensuring Masato Arakawa’s well-being. He just wished Sawashiro wasn’t always two seconds away from biting Ichiban’s head off when he didn’t match his energy in the moment. Though, Sawashiro had known the senior Arakawa during his deadlier prime years: it was possible the potential consequences of his son being harmed warranted that sort of explosive reaction. Again, Sawashiro was leaning over his desk, though by now Ichiban had made healthy distance between them to prevent being grabbed again. “If so much as his nail polish becomes chipped because you half-assed this, it’ll be your head in a briefcase as an apology to the boss- got it!?”
“I told you, I got it: the young master’s just as important to me as he is to Arakawa-san! I’ll be the first one to offer up my head if any harm comes to him- you have my word on that.” Though Ichiban could barely make out the corner of Sawashiro’s lip twitching in the dark, he remained silent, seemingly satisfied with something Ichiban had to say for once.
With a nod and a hum, he fixed his posture, relaxing his shoulders and standing up straight. “I’m keeping you to that.”