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What drives a man to absolute devotion?
It’s a question Mine has been trying to answer since his childhood, but he’s only ever found examples, not explanations. In the corporate world, devotion is a prop word disguising its reality—greed. Yes-men present constant bids of trust, but they never promise never true devotion. There’s never faith in a contract working, it’s a calculation of zeros and if there’s enough to follow through on their word or not. Most people don’t know absolute devotion, they know money and how that can get them everything they want. It’s all one elaborate chess game when it comes down to brass tax, and once Mine learned the gambits, earning money became child’s play.
Perhaps, he considers for some time, that devotion spawns from willpower. Convincing oneself of a goal, a lie on top of a lie. It’s the most fragile form of faith—snaps easily under pressure—but he’s met men whose willpower develops under the strain and by proxy, become too stubborn to reason with. It’s still not even an absolute, either.
What drives a man to kill?
Jealousy and hatred in spades, of course. The kind that poisons the heart to such a degree that it’s irrational. Greed for power and control—this is the form of multi-millionaires who ignore safety and get their employees killed. But that is passive, and not a drive alone.
What drives a man to kill, to protect another?
Where does that devotion come from? How does it manifest? How, and in what ways, does it blind? How can a troupe of men devote themselves so fully to protecting their boss? Who is that man? Is he the source of the devotion, like a wellspring?
What Mine discovers when he joins the yakuza is that rituals don’t mean anything without truth in the action. Kanda was dead the moment Mine presented him with cash, every single yen another second spent on his clock. Yet, all around him, are people who treat bonds as their holy book. In the violence of this life, Mine begins to see devotion from their point of view. It’s all faith to be saved. The Golden Rule—do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
That rule couldn’t be true with the Tojo Clan’s sixth chairman, Daigo Dojima.
Too important. His life can not be traded and that fact alone… how did the entire structure not collapse? Baring greed gluing fools together, it’s as irrational as religion to be willing to die for one man. Perhaps it’s that very reason that Mine can’t bring himself to respect anyone within the Tojo Clan. Not at first.
It’s only when the Chairman puts his life on the line for him does his question begin to have a response.
Considering the circumstances at the time, Mine thought Daigo would flinch when offered money as Kanda did. Absolute bonds of the yakuza shatter easily, it’s how he got into the mess with the seconding acting patriarch of the Nishkiyama family to begin with. And as he laid there by the docks, the ex-patriarch’s fists slamming mottled bruises into him and cracking bones, Mine was ready to die resigned to the fact that he never got his question answered. Then Daigo appeared to pay a billion yen for his life as well with a bullet that scraped his rib cage.
Hand clutching his bleeding side, Daigo looked down at him and asked if Mine was alright. When the ex-patriarch turned his gun again on Daigo, Mine understood then that he had been wrong. He knew it in his heart before he even got Daigo’s response later, recovering from the stray bullet.
Months later, after sharing sake, getting his irezumi done as fast as possible, evenings at their bar, selfless decisions, and Daigo knocking on death’s door, does Mine truly understand devotion. He reviews his answer in the grey predawn light filtering through the hospital window.
Mine. What are you doing here? Are you hurt? That was a close one, huh? But… it’s all okay now.
The door to his room creaks open, signaling another round of nurses examining him. He waits for them to call him back to bed to let his bullet holes heal properly, bored to such a degree that challenging authority sounds like fun. The firm tones of the staff don’t say anything—whoever’s slipped into his room is here with a message outside his health. Half expecting any one of the people he’s fucked over to stand there, blocking the exit, Mine shifts his gaze over to the visitor.
It’s Daigo.
He looks fresh in his charcoal suit and striped lemongrass green tie. His hair is slicked back in a nice shine as opposed to the days when it withered with dull grease and bent locks. His skin has a tanned look to it—had that always been there? Mine’s memory is stuffed with the hours he got to linger by Daigo’s bedside, observing the pallor of his skin and gant body. Here, he walks in appearing full and healthy. A snapshot from the time before Mine threw his life away.
Daigo wanders directly to the back of the room and leans against the empty table against the wall. Over his lap, he holds his black wool coat and lets his legs cross at the ankle. Silent, they watch each other for a few moments. Daigo isn’t smiling, but there’s a bright spark in his eyes that gives the illusion that he’s happy to see him. Losing his nerve, Mine looks back out the window, finding a stripe of pale yellow horizon below a blanket of slate grey clouds.
Daigo takes a deep breath of stale sterilized air. He holds it for a moment and Mine can almost hear him root around for the right words to say. Understandable. Mine didn’t know he was going to get the chance to talk to him again either. Even after he woke up, there’s been three full days of silence from the Tojo Clan and the hospital staff refuses to let him have his phone back. The only right he’s won was visiting Kiryu when he woke up from his attack, and even then the discussion avoided talking about the Clan outright. There’s a silent embargo imposed on Mine.
Cut off from the outside, work or otherwise, Mine has only been able to spend his time sleeping. Every time he does, he half-dreams of talking to Daigo again, but the memories always blur into moments from the past. Opening with a smile and sharing a drink and a story. A warm hello, over the phone or standing side by side. He fantasizes about coming clean, getting on his hands and knees, and cutting his own heart out—metaphorically. They’re the same wishes that comforted him while Daigo was asleep.
Lacking the words, Daigo lets his breath go with a sigh.
Mine taps his fingers against the short window sill. “Do you remember when we first met?” Ah, he sounds desperate. He clears his throat and straightens his back. He wants this to come out as the truth that it is, not as a coward’s deflection.
Daigo nods once. “Yes, I do. I remember asking you why you joined the yakuza.”
“Yes… and while that was the first time we met, it wasn’t the first time I saw you.” Daigo squints and moves his arms up, over his stomach and letting his coat lay awkwardly over his black slacks. “The night I got ousted from my old company’s R&D department, I was walking down the street when a shootout happened nearby. I hid and waited for the gunshots and yelling to subside. When the police arrived I saw you standing outside your car with nine dead men surrounding you.” Daigo’s eyes widen somewhat, but the rest of his body stills, idle movements ironing out into stone-cold silence.
Mine tilts his head back and closes his eyes, fully immersing himself in the memory. That pickax strike of awe and opportunity, a new guiding flame in his heart, and everything he did to follow that light. “It was not the first time I wondered if someone held the answer to my question, but I took my chance with you and with organized crime. The truth is, I joined the yakuza because I wanted to know if I could put my trust fully in another person. Is there such a thing as absolute devotion? Can I place my faith in others? With you, I found my answer.”
Daigo continues to watch with bright eyes and a mellow frown. No matter. It’d be worse if revelation crossed his face for how obvious Mine’s devotion and trust has been. Making that emotion plain when he finally found it seemed like an insult and as such he has always been able to say it with his whole chest. For that, there is no doubt. But now, Daigo knows the whole depth and true value Mine places on that trust. Now he knows him more than anyone else could and would ever.
He can’t divorce his previous actions from himself. Not when he knows if Daigo were to leave like that again, he’ll experience just as much hurt as it did the first time. Though Mine tries to obfuscate his attraction to Daigo, it’s as bright as a star and without him, he’s lost in the darkness.
What’s that turn of phrase? Absence makes the heart grow fonder?
When Mine turns back to Daigo, he finds him with his head tilted down, eyes drawn closed tight, and jaw set firm. Mine’s brow furrows and the following words fall out of his mouth. “I know that I can never be forgiven. The Tojo Clan doesn’t want traitors among the ranks. If you could provide me with a knife to officially take my leave, I would be grateful. The nurses won’t allow anything sharp in here.”
Daigo’s lips purse and he shifts from idle contemplation to a full-on scowl. Mine recognizes the anger mostly from the times he’s entered the Chairman’s office after a long meeting with officers at the end of the day. Complex and bitter and impossible to place the true source.
“Is that what you want?” Daigo’s voice stews dark and moody. It drowns the room in a thick grey cloud.
“I need to take responsibility.” Daigo pins Mine with a look that matches the thunder in the air. Unflinching under the examination, Mine continues, “You and Kiryu gave me a second chance. I can’t let it go to waste.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Daigo uncrosses his legs and squares his shoulders. His phase of anger has passed, replaced with concerned curiosity. “Is leaving the Tojo Clan what you want?”
Mine squints at the question. “There’s no other option, Chairman. To take up any role in the Clan would be an insult to its members at this time.”
“And what about your men?”
“I’m not Majima-san. The hurt I caused them didn’t strengthen our bonds.” Mine folds his arms over his chest, the fabric crumpling in itchy angles. With consideration to his extended stay, they gave him mint green hospital pajamas and he never hated wearing anything more. Daigo spent a week wearing this. Mine wanted to retroactively berate whoever was in charge—again—for such uncomfortable attire.
Daigo shakes his head with a sour frown. Wrong answer. Perhaps it was a mistake to bring up anyone within the Clan right now, considering the silent embargo. His response spurs Daigo into setting his folded coat on the table and pushing off it. Then, matching Mine, folds his arms. He stands there, face knotted in thought, on the verge of pacing. “I spoke to Kiryu-san about everything. I haven’t visited you until now because I had to get the full story. I asked him if you were the traitor to the Tojo Clan.”
Mine lets his hands fall to his sides and steps closer to Daigo. The pulse oximeter and the IV attached to his hand sway in the motion. He has a sudden urge to swallow glass despite his room being stripped of anything dangerous, not even allowing plastic cups.
“He said you would never betray me. I wasn’t sure at first, but I believe him knowing what I know now. But everything you did, Mine…” Face hot with shame, Mine turns away, aiming for the window but only getting the bleached wall. A stone forms in his throat at the doubt in his Chairman’s voice and he bites his inner cheek, drawing blood. Daigo sighs and an unnaturally bitter tone seeps out into his voice, filling vowels with watery emotion. “It made me doubt you. I hated that fucking feeling and I never want to feel it again.”
“…Understood, sir.” Mine whispers, turning back to Daigo with his chest heavy and buzzing. Giving into the imaginary weight, Mine leans forward to bow. Not much of an apology, but he has the rest of his life to make up for it.
“Hey, don’t—stand up and look at me,” he punctures the point by walking up as Mine rises and stops less than an arm’s length away. At this kind of distance, Daigo could easily reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t. His eyes still have that stormy look about them, frustration, yes, but more than that. Shimmery. With hurt.
Daigo pins him down with this gaze like Mine is a butterfly in a display case. “Leaving the Clan won’t get you redemption. That’s not taking responsibility for your actions, not that alone, at least,” he rumbles and he squeezes his own thick biceps when he folds his arms. “You criticized Kiryu for leaving his position as Fourth Chairman and now you’re giving up on the Tojo Clan? You’re foolish to assume all your men disrespect you, but smart to know that not all of them are happy with you. But fuck them, you understand me?”
There’s a fast shift of fabric and before Mine realizes what’s happening, Daigo’s hands land on his shoulders, the warmth cutting right through the starchy hospital clothes. The pressure from his fingers agitates the recovering hole in his shoulder and Mine winces, reflexively bringing up his hands to take off Daigo’s, but he stops halfway through the motion. His hand jumps away from Mine’s wound anyway.
“I—shit. Sorry,” Daigo winces, the bite of determination in his eyes immediately fizzling into a soft mournful gaze. A too familiar sight.
But to Mine, that look is more than welcome. He has often caught himself watching the Chairman from across the room, noticing his eyes full with that kind of remorse, but never with the context. On occasion, he’s asked if everything was alright, but Daigo always sighs, rubs his eyes, and smiles at Mine.
Before Daigo backs up out of the thinning space between them, Mine’s cold hand grabs Daigo’s warm one and tugs it press against his bicep. With his other hand on his good shoulder, he’s a step away from a hug. The jolted contact has only drawn them closer—has Daigo always worn this cologne? And—is he blushing? The fluorescent lights pale all the colors in the room, perhaps it’s just a flush of embarrassment.
Daigo swallows and the sound stands out in the quiet room. The thumb on his good shoulder rubs against the fabric. “I know for a damn fact you care more than you let on. We’ve known each other for a while now and I know you want the best for this organization. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here. So, I’ll ask you again, and don’t bullshit me this time.” Daigo lowers his gaze. “Do you want to leave the Tojo Clan?”
Silence, for a full, static-filled moment. The admission buzzes Mine’s lips. “…No. I don’t.”
When Daigo was shot, Mine threw himself into the work the Chairman left behind. Chiefly, the Okinawa project, but it also meant the mantle Daigo would have to leave behind. Especially considering the ultimatums Black Monday was presenting him with. It was work he took no pleasure in even knowing damn well more of that pain awaited him in the end, but he kept on, burning everything around him in a path of destructive consumption.
He was content with his life before Daigo was shot. Familiar with work that he was good at and people could properly respect him there. However, that life faded with the life of his love and the only option left was to have it all.
A system built on the back of devotion, it’s in his blood to answer to the Tojo Clan. Or, at the very least, Daigo Dojima.
“But,” Mine closes his eyes and licks his lips. “I cannot go back to work as I could before. I left behind a mess, Chairman, and I left no hope for myself during my process of scorched earth. What I want is illogical here.”
Daigo gives a slow hum and silence takes them both over. Mine opens his eyes again, observing Daigo’s onyx-colored eyes looking at him with… ah, Mine doesn’t know the name. Affection? That sounds too polite and only describing it as ‘soft’ is wholly unqualified for the depth it’s reaching into. The look itself is an embrace and Mine’s fingers twitch with the selfish desire to step into Daigo’s frame and take that physical feeling for himself.
For now, he savors the hands on his arms like a well-seasoned sea bass on the tongue and holds his own arms in front of his stomach. He doesn’t wait for the moment to end, he rests within it. But it does, eventually, come to a close.
Daigo’s hands slide down, both palms finding his elbows, and his eyes twist away from Mine’s, landing on an invisible spot around his collarbone. Whatever he finds there gives Daigo the will to speak again, his voice back to that feathery state. “Mine. You mean a lot to me and I don’t want to lose you any more than you want to lose me.”
The words hit his jaw hard enough to make it drop before Mine gets a hold of himself and keeps very still to hang on every word out of his Chairman’s mouth.
“I found out about your conversation with the bartender at our bar and what you did with the reserve bottle I set aside for us. When I left the hospital to find out the truth of what you did I tore myself up wondering if I had ever met the real you and if your behavior… was that. It’s not, I know, I feel stupid for thinking that too, but being scared out of my mind doesn’t let me think very rationally.” Daigo flashed a wry smile. “You’re a big damn idiot, Mine.”
Though the words are said with a hint of humor, Mine skips past the suggestion and clings to his mistake of making Daigo doubt himself. “I… I’m sorry,” he mutters, giving another partial bow, conscious not to crash his head into him.
“Damnit,” Daigo frowns and the hand that jolted away from Mine’s shoulder earlier leaves his arm and rests on the side of his neck. “That was a shitty thing to say, ignore that last part, please. It wasn’t very funny,” he groans, sour, and he’s close enough now for the sounds to nearly reverberate in Mine’s head. It’s a wonderful melody. Pressing his hand into the pale skin of Mine’s neck, Daigo urges him up. Mine follows the instruction and rises, but Daigo’s hand doesn’t drop off.
It’s a secure and comforting hold. Steady and stable. If Daigo really wanted, he could pull him even closer with this warm touch with ease. Mine foolishly braces himself in anticipation of that dream happening.
“What I meant is that I forgive you, regardless if you believe me or not. And I want you by my side—“ Daigo’s entire posture tightens like a screw, his face flushes, and his fingers flex around the back of Mine’s neck with steel wire tension. In an instant, the pressure is gone and his posture loosens up considerably. “—In the Tojo Clan. …They can shit-talk me as much as they want about this decision, but it won’t be anything I haven’t heard before.”
The meatiest part of Daigo’s palm sits right below Mine’s jaw and he can feel it move as he talks. “I advise against this decision, Chairman. The political pressure—“
“I know, I know, I agree with you on the logistics of this decision not being smart, but I have a plan. I’m going to give you two open doors, Mine.”
Daigo’s thumb rests on a small mole on Mine’s jaw. “What exactly do you mean?”
“The second you leave this hospital, I’m officially declaring you a civilian and no longer a yakuza. I can’t be the factor that influences this decision as it’s your second chance. You need to decide on what’s best for yourself, even if that means cutting off from the yakuza completely,” Daigo’s words are carefully picked and set in front of Mine with a firm tone. This is a negotiation between rivaling intentions. “Don’t view this option as an end, it’s a beginning. I won’t be able to work with you as we once did, but in time that doesn’t mean I can’t re-enter your life when you are ready.”
Mine… considers it, for a brief moment. It’s a life he’s lived before, but now that he knows what he can have, how could he ever go back? Then again, with everything that’s happened to him, it might be in his best health and Daigo’s best health to stay away. Additionally, his particular phrasing with ‘when you are ready’ sticks out as a promise for a future between them on this path.
The issue isn’t the work—he’s always willing to work for him and even now craves going back to that routine. He didn’t join organized crime for the fun of it, he vowed to devote his life to Daigo and if that meant the deaths of others then it had to be done. This itself is a willing choice, but he’ll let his Chairman give him this offer regardless.
They are oath brothers. Commitments to death do them apart went both ways and it’s clear that Daigo sees this backdoor as a way to save them both.
“I’m thankful for the offer, Daigo-san. However, if I refuse it?”
The corner of Daigo’s lips rises in a short quirk before it flattens, an edge expectant. Maybe Mine has gotten predictable or maybe Daigo is right that he knows him well. The latter conclusion warms Mine’s chest, but there’s a lingering desire to be known by him even further than habits and reactions. The wish gets packed into a box when Daigo straightens up.
“This is the other open door. Your return right now would face plenty of opposition, but if you proved yourself to the Clan then there would be no reason not to reinstate you. If you really do wish to come back then do two things. Find Hamazaki, he escaped before the police could get to him after he stabbed Kiryu-san. No one knows if he’s still alive or dead, but considering he escaped the Snake Flower Triad’s wrath once, I’m sure he’s still alive. Get him to come to me to talk.
“Second, the Snake Flower Triad still exists despite the death of their leader. Majima-san said that they should’ve withered, but they’re already trying to take the properties from the Nishkiyama Family and have captured key properties belonging to lower Families. Find out how they are still surviving and force their new leader to come to the negotiating table as well. I’ll keep an eye on your progress from afar. Don’t do shit that will get you killed. I just got you back, I can’t have those revengeful sons of bitches take you like they tried to take all of Kamurocho years ago.
“Your work in finally controlling the Triad should be more than enough to prove your worth to the Clan. The rest will be worked out should you take on this responsibility. Understood?”
It’s heavy work, but not impossible. Mine isn’t sure if Daigo has found out that he worked with the Triad for a brief moment, only to take Hamazaki’s plans for himself and being the reason behind his dead men getting thrown into the bay. Another thing to repent for. Mine’s never been more thankful for this way back into the Clan. “Yes, sir.”
The hand against his neck falls off and the skin itches, exposed, in the chill of the hospital room. Luckily, the warm hold returns to his arm.
“Good, good,” Daigo meets his eyes again. “To clarify, when you step out of his hospital there’s a chance we won’t be able to talk again. At minimum, not for a long time.” Here, his eyes shift to the side for a split second and his shoulders tighten. Not even Majima makes him look this nervous. “This might be a final goodbye. If there’s anything you want to get off your chest, now would be the time. I bet you might have had plenty to say while I was out.”
Mine bites down on his inner lower lip and squints at the odd conclusion. “What makes you say that?”
Daigo stills and his eyes widen. An incredulous half-estranged smile bends his lips. “You—? What do you mean, ‘what makes you say that’? You could die out there and how unfair is it to be unable to say potential last words to someone you care about? Did you not think about the last words you said to me before I was shot?” There’s a spark of anger in Daigo’s eyes underneath watery shock and the tension in Mine skyrockets, fully regretting his attempt at a tease. He doesn’t have the same charisma as Daigo has to pull something like that off. “I remember them, at least.”
Before Daigo rambles more with rising temperature, Mine brings his hands up to hold his firm shoulders. “Daigo-san that’s not what I mean,” he frowns at himself and squeezes firm deltoids. “That was a bad joke, I apologize. There’s no need to exchange final words because I know I’ll see you again.”
As steadily as it came, the twist of fear in Daigo dissolves into relief. He isn’t laughing, but he lets out his tension with a sigh. His hands have drifted off of Mine’s arms and settled onto the sides of his chest. The touch is both electrifying and dizzying, and above all—closer and better than the gentle rest on his arms and shoulders. Mine’s greed knows no bounds it seems, he nearly drops his hands to mirror Daigo’s hold.
Unphased and sounding more relaxed, Daigo responds, “You had me going for a second there. I think you’re still too cocky for this situation, though.”
To prove Daigo’s point, Mine laughs with a closed mouth, matching it with a smile. “I am, but I’ll curb it before I leave. We still have to share that bottle of Woodford Reserve bourbon, I won’t give up until we do.”
Without either noticing, the space between them has thinned to the point that the only way they could be closer is by hugging. Daigo rubs circles into Mine’s bandaged ribcage—how would that same hand feel without the starchy fabric there to muddle it?—and Mine lays his hands just so that it covers as much ground as possible on Daigo’s shoulders. His forearms rest against his solid chest and move with the flow of his breathing.
“Considering our line of work, it might be best to leave that bottle for decoration purposes rather than pop it open,” Daigo murmurs, his palm warming Mine’s chest like a fireplace. “It’s more of a promise that way.”
“Perhaps,” Mine hums, distracted by how Daigo’s suit feels under his forearms. “I’d still like to share a drink with you again, but I’m patient.”
Daigo’s eyes pin him again, bright and searching. For what, Mine isn’t sure, but he hopes it’s for his resolve.
Conversation between them fizzles out, both having said exactly what they needed to say. The levity between their more casual conversations was something that Mine missed the most. The possibility of losing that forever drove him to causing incalculable harm, but with it back and with the promise of having more of it again in the future was better medicine than anything the doctors have given him. He can be more patient this time to return to Daigo’s life. No matter his decision—yakuza or civilian life—Daigo would be there waiting for him at the end.
With as much hesitance as Mine craves, Daigo slowly draws away. His palms slide down, pressing the ugly shirt into his skin, before the pressure then disappears. Mine follows suit and apologizes in his head for taking as much as he can to touch before the acceptable limit hits. He brings his hands back to his side. It’s partly the IV in his hand, but he has to suppress a shiver from the chill of the room.
Daigo takes a step back and sighs. His eyes can’t stay still in his departure, catching that invisible point at Mine’s collarbone, to where he left his hand on his neck, to the lower half of his face, to his eyes. All with that bleeding heart gaze. The urge to pull him back, hold his face, and press his lips against that kissable pout is strong enough to manifest, but Mine has enough strength to hold back.
His Chairman wanders back to the table and picks up his coat, folding it over his arm. He walks back to the door and grabs the metal handle. Back straight and shoulders set wide, he’s delectably confident in his step, a contrast to the way he idled into the room before. This reunion—they both have craved and needed it. Mine follows suit and adjusts his stance to something more proper, attempting to look more formal than what his clothes allowed him to be.
Daigo turns his head back and flashes a smile. “Can you indulge me?” He tips his chin up in a coy, questioning way. “Say something sweet? Something better than, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’.”
Have a good night, Chairman.
Mine nods. “I’ll live for you, Daigo-san. This isn’t final.”
“Now that begs irony.”
Mine can’t help the chuckle that stumbles out of his mouth, the tones low and earnest. It shoves some invisible weight hovering over him away, where he can nearly hear it thud to the floor. Daigo breaks out into a wider smile and his eyes brighten. “Alright,” Mine straightens himself up. “I’ll leave you with a promise. The next time we meet, I’ll get something off my chest that I’ve been carrying for a very long time.”
Daigo quietens, his smile mellow and eyes piercing right through him. There should be a snake of paranoia weaving up his spine under his attention, but Mine doesn’t get the crawl. In fact, he could take a full breath under Daigo’s steady, pure gaze. It’s an exposing look, but there’s no gut reaction to flinch at it. A warm heat settles in his belly. They both know what Mine is offering here and neither is afraid of it.
Simmering in the knowledge, Daigo hums. “You’re crueler than I thought you were to leave me on a note like this. I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say.” He smiles and opens the door. Back turned to Mine, he continues. “The answer is ‘yes’.”
And then he leaves. When the door shuts the temperature drops and the light from the overhead lamps burns Mine’s eyes. Dutifully, he returns to his bed and waits for the nurses to come and scold him for getting up again. He gives a glance to the window and sees that it’s covered in rain.
“Excuse me,” the nurse swivels her painted face back to him, a twitch of annoyance on her lips. Mine points to the umbrella next to his bag of clothes. “This isn’t mine.”
“It was marked under your belongings,” she shrugs and walks away scrutinizing her clipboard. Mine opens the largest plastic bag and finds his red suit, black shirt, and gold tie. A separate bag has his belt and shoes, and in a tougher plastic pocket holds his keys, wallet, and phone. He sets that bag aside for now and takes the time to get changed in the other room.
Putting on each piece is like attaching armor. On a normal day, he builds the layers of his look with confidence, all the way down to his skincare routine, but this dressing is much rawer. Encumbered by the bandages restricting his movement and feeling exposed under pale bright lights, Mine struggles to slip back into the routine that he knew like the back of his hand. He needs to get home and take a real shower as soon as possible and pass this suit off to a dry cleaner. The stale smell of his cologne and sweat burns his nose despite how faded it is.
When he’s all dressed up with nowhere to go he grabs the last, and smallest, plastic bag. He stuffs his wallet and keys into their appropriate pockets and notices that his phone battery sits detached. Mine grabs both pieces, tosses the bag, and returns to the counter where the nurse gave him his stuff. The black umbrella lies there, patient for him. He’s complete now, settled back with all his belongings on him, save for his Clan pin that’s missing from his lapel. Discharged at last, he grabs the umbrella and follows the exit signs out, each step a familiar steady click.
There’s something still missing and it isn’t the pin.
It makes sense to feel changed, especially after a suicide attempt and hearing Daigo’s deal, but this yawning emptiness envelops him. It hides in the threads of his suit, shifts the colors of his bruises, and weighs both the phone and the battery in his hand down more than it logically should. He might have let this feeling consume him when it came back sharp and starving when Daigo fell into his coma, but now the wild anger has grown patient. As consuming as a black hole, it’s been growing as he’s climbed corporate ladders and developed his network in the yakuza. Its zenith is over, but it still remains, still hungry.
The moment Mine steps outside, a wave of cold air hits his lungs and he breathes in the smell of grime and petrichor. Now this is his actual medicine. A rainy morning in March trims decaying thoughts out of his brain, the void fades into the background, and it shocks his system enough that he can finally think clearly for the first time in days.
The hospital parking lot isn’t familiar—thankfully—and while he’d like to forget this visit it’s foolish to. All the times he’s walked out of here and stepped into a car, he’s never lingered around. But this scene, of rippling puddles over a concrete lake, should stay as a reminder to himself to never fall this far again. There’s no time to waste, he ought to make a decision, but right now he needs to replace his suit. His first step is calling a taxi.
Keeping under the awning and out of the rain, Mine tucks the umbrella under his arm and opens the back of his phone before slotting the battery back in. He snaps the plastic case shut and clicks the front dial in an attempt to wake it up faster.
The screen pauses with a dull black shade for a few seconds before his phone begins buzzing and chirping like a wasp nest fighting off a sparrow. Emails and missed call alerts shutter and lag his screen and the void begins to lick the back of his neck again. When the noise settles down he opens his inbox, starting from where he left off.
A series of subject lines about a stock trader meeting with European creditors—all of them pissed and forwarding their complaints to his CFO and shareholders. More following emails about other meetings he’s missed, all similar tones.
A few emails from various members of his Clan, all asking for updates on if he was alive or complaints about his Lieutenants.
Subject line—Please Read This. from Katase. This, he properly opens and reads as the rain pours off the awning and clatters to the ground. The email is unusually unstable coming from someone as precise and organized as her, but the spotty punctuation carries the raw concern she has. Each paragraph is a thick apology as she intercuts with updates about trying to answer for his absence. Hakuho Clan members hounding her, her getting forcibly transferred without warning to work directly under the Chairman, and her haunting wonder if he was still alive.
That’s why they embargoed him… Daigo planned to offer him this exit the moment they caught him by the ankles before he dropped with Richardson. A chance to burn his past and step back into the world an entirely new man with an entirely new name.
She ends the email without a salutation, only a request. Please come back.
Hands shaking, Mine continues down the list of emails, watching the subject lines get more and more disparaging. Some—the ones from his company—bend the anger into corporate double talk but it’s obvious they want answers from him. The ones from his men and other yakuza connections want his teeth and fingers. The Nishkiyama family has been sending him death threats ever since he severed their patriarch’s head—their spitting emails aren’t surprising. Neither are the ones that bleed in from his company.
Supply Chain Issue, Please Respond
Euro Creditors—Required Response
URGENTLY ANSWER—Shareholder Meeting (4)
I hope u felt your bones break when you fell
Your Company Needs You (URGENT)
where the fuck are you
WARNING! Answer My Calls Chairman
CFO In Shareholders Meeting
Missing or funeral? Are you alive?
On the Shareholders Decision—It Was A Pleasure Working With You
CC: Shareholders Decision | Chairman Position
If you’re not dead traitor you better have killed yourself
Senior Director’s Goodbye | Letter of Resignation
AUTOMATIC MESSAGE: Thank You For Working With Us!
Mine snaps his phone shut.
The rain falls down in a steady beat, adding to the percussion of cars trudging through traffic nearby. The wall of water plummeting off the awning distorts his view of the row of buildings across the street. Through the gaps of fat streams, he sees a single pedestrian stumbling out of a building with his coat pulled over his head. He jogs around dips on the sidewalk and makes his way to a corner store on the far edge of the street.
Civilian life… almost insultingly basic now. Not without its merits, of course, most people didn’t have to worry about if the people they trusted would throw them to the wolves or not. Trust comes naturally to people, but it’s just as natural to break it as well. A competitive world is ruled by knowing how to destroy trust at the right time. Daigo once warned him that the yakuza was a den of thieves and his behavior only opened himself to resentment, even from his own men. Mine thought the advice was unnecessary, after all the corporate world was the same.
The difference between the two worlds is not the kind of men that filled roles of power. It’s with an unfathomably stubborn attitude in believing in trust in others. Pure trust. Devotion not to an idea but in an individual. Faith that he has value as a person beyond any measurement of wealth or status. Daigo sees that—that his admiration, belief, and devotion are not a lie.
The desire to connect with others… it’s been a long search but he won’t turn away from it anymore.
Mine opens the umbrella and walks into the downpour, his tired feet carrying him across asphalt wetlands and into a life he’s going to earn his own, new, way.