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Despite his rather short life, Kaiji had already found himself in all sorts of circumstances that no functioning adult of his age should ever face. He was no stranger to begging - only to see the notes get swallowed up by the pachinko machine one by one; he saw little shame in sleeping next to overworked salarymen who’d missed their train and homeless folk who smelled of regret; he’d been beaten and frequently fought back.
Except for today.
Except for any day that involved Ichijou.
And it really didn’t matter how many days were like this - with him, he could never quite get used to it.
A heavy kick to the stomach brought Kaiji back to reality - a very unfortunate place to be in, face-down in a puddle of something pungent in the middle of a dark alleyway; instincts commanding him to curl up immediately only to be stomped on the ribs, the young man’s defenseless yelp getting caught in his throat.
Not like any of it mattered to his attacker.
“Enjoyed calling those kans, huh?..”
Fully aware of the busy street just around the corner, Ichijou took great care to not raise his voice, hissing so quietly he barely heard himself from beyond the blood pumping in his ears - but he knew that Kaiji heard him loud and clear, every word getting etched into this stray mutt’s brain, another token deposited to fund a future sleepless night.
Another stomp to the ribs that he’d been holding onto with scarred fingers - and in response a barely audible whimper bubbling up in the puddle of leakage from a nearby trash can.
God, he was so fucking pathetic.
“We’ve got nothing because of you! Nothing!!! I worked three shifts in a row every day this week - and because of you we have nowhere to go tonight! Nowhere!!! ”
Kaiji didn’t respond, balling up to ready himself for another kick - but it never came. Instead, Ichijou leaned against the wall, biting his lip to restrain the tears.
“So much for legendary gambler… You’re legendary at gambling away other people’s lives, that’s what you are. That’s all that you are…”
A lit cigarette landed near Ichijou’s feet and he looked up - only to meet eyes with one of the employees of the mahjong parlor from which the two of them had just been kicked out. The man looked just like any bruiser in this type of establishment would - wide shoulders, cold gaze, nondescript face perfect for leaving no impressions on patrons who could bear grudges. Not like it could ever work with Ichijou - he’d noticed the man during their match, whispering something to his boss while Kaiji was too engrossed in shuffling the tiles together with the other players.
Must be a good selling point for this desperate parlor - to be the place where a former Teiai casino manager and a legendary gambler lost everything down to one yen after dealing into a hand which Kaiji’s recklessness had elevated into a counted yakuman.
This thought was weirdly more comforting than thinking what might’ve happened to Ichijou’s own entourage. At best they were swiftly re-hired as blacksuits, at worst - disposed of. After all, the casino was no more - not after the Bog’s nature was exposed, not after Ichijou’s fits tainting Teiai’s reputation as a whole, not after him pitifully accepting the draw.
If only he hadn’t accepted that draw… If only he kept fighting back.
He could’ve won, there and then.
All that he had to his name now was a backpack with the change of clothes and the pitiful shaking leech coughing out bile and shaking on the ground, soaking in all the weird fluids that a shady alleyway could offer after many rainy days.
_____
“The chairman is most displeased, you know”
Kurosaki ran his fingers through Ichijou’s hair, observing in the mirror his former protege’s expression - the man would only blink whenever the scissors snipped behind his head, staring straight ahead at the oakwood dresser, not even moving a muscle whenever a red lock slid down his shoulders and fell onto the floor.
“He’s under the impression that I’m fertilizing the flowerbeds in your garden, isn’t he…”
Ichijou’s voice was barely recognizable, coarse and hollow, betraying the fact that he’d stayed silent for a long while till now. Not like he had any choice, having traveled here tied down and stuffed into the trunk of Kurosaki’s car. All the fight he’d had left in him got shaken out on their way here - and even now, it seemed like Ichijou was preparing for the inevitable.
The disgrace of losing to Kaiji would’ve been punished somewhat fairly - by Hyoudou’s standards anyways. Possibly an eternity underground.
A show of weakness such as accepting the draw though was a different story punishable by death. Forgoing this outcome would bear unreasonable risks even for Kurosaki - and yet the man seemed firm in his decision to give Ichijou a hand for one last time.
“That he is. It’s not like he’s going to check. By next week, he’ll forget you exist… You’ll just have to survive that week. You can do this for me, can’t you?”
As another lock slid down onto the floor, the man in the reflection finally looked up, his mouth agape in disbelief.
“...For you?.. Kurosaki-sama… what could you possibly mean by “for you”?..”
“Why, you’re definitely smarter than somebody who’d ask such questions. You know exactly what I mean”, the man’s voice was gentle and his hands were soft, brushing off remaining hairs from Ichijou’s neck, now barren with his mullet chopped off. “Why would I meaninglessly dispose of my favored subordinate after nurturing him for seven years? Just wait for the heat to blow over - and then I’ll have a special project just for you. Something… very much personal. A week, can you do that for me?”
Ichijou’s mind was racing, struggling to process what he’d just heard.
He was getting a second chance.
The most miraculous one - to work directly for Kurosaki without ever having to deal with the chairman again.
He would get a chance at life. A chance at freedom…
And just as Ichijou turned around to thank his benefactor, with a sharp thud his world went dark.
______
“So he cut your hair and he broke your nose for a disguise - and now you’ve been washing dishes here… for a whole month?”
Restraining himself from slapping the uninvited customer with a wet towel, Ichijou stayed silent for a while before letting out a deep sigh.
Out of all the people he could’ve met on the streets, it had to be this guy. This incorrigible loser waist-deep in the dumpster behind the restaurant Ichijou worked at, fishing for scraps until getting hit on the backside with a broom. Were it the early hours of the morning, Ichijou would’ve probably called the police or just beaten Kaiji silly - but after twelve hours of manning the shop all alone, the last thing he wanted was confrontation.
No, scratch that.
The last thing he wanted would be to hear this scumbag’s life story.
Luckily, Kaiji was at first too busy fawning over a heap of leftovers - and then asking Ichijou questions which, though intrusive, provided a welcome distraction from mounting fatigue, just what he needed to clean up and clock out.
“...It was supposed to be just a week. I guess sorting out the mess you’ve made is not that easy. Either way, I’m stuck here, waiting for something to happen”, wiping the soap off his hands, Ichijou pursed his lips in displeasure, observing just how coarse and cracked the skin on his fingers had become. “What’s in it for you, huh? You got your draw, now just keep wasting your life away running amok like you’ve been doing - that’s what your ilk does best. It’s not like your underground buddies will be very happy to see you back; you might not even live until lights are out if you end up back down there”.
Something changed in Kaiji’s face, profound sadness washing over it and smoothing sharp features - before he hastily brushed his hair upfront, trying to hide the tears streaming down concave cheeks.
“...You… could say that again…”
Ichijou kept looking at him - shoulders shaking under a plaid shirt that had certainly seen better days, tear drops hitting the empty plate Kaiji had just licked clean a few minutes prior. Despite a brief display of hospitality, he didn’t feel any particular pity towards the man who had taken everything from him - his position of the casino manager, his prized Bog, his beloved assistants, hell, even the elegant curve of his nose. Everything that Kaiji had been going through was merely his own punishment for the weak-willed request for a draw.
No pity to be spared here.
If anything, Ichijou appreciated seeing him be such a mess.
And so he sat down across the man, sliding over a cold can of beer.
“Equal exchange. You’ve heard me out so far, now it’s your turn. No shoulder to cry on though, I’ve seen where you’ve just been”.
Having finally mustered up enough courage, Kaiji lifted up his face - and only then was Ichijou a bit taken aback.
In those eyes full of tears there was not a single trace of a grudge. Only sorrow, deeper than he’d ever seen even from the regulars who’d gamble away their life savings and company’s money.
The kind of sorrow only somebody who’d irreparably ruined somebody’s life would feel. A sort of survivor’s guilt.
As Ichijou listened to his voice - shaky, interrupted with hiccups from crying and nervous gulps of beer, - the picture began to flesh itself out, blossoming with ugly colors. The very fact that Kaiji had betrayed the trust of some scumbags underground was bad enough - Endou joining them and now missing a kidney was a cherry on top of a shit cake. Or was it Sakazaki doing time for robbery and helping his boss cover up ill-gotten gains? Either way, Kaiji’s moment of weakness had earned him relative freedom - but in doing so, he’d sank a lot of people, climbing up their heads.
Ichijou could barely restrain himself from grinning.
Wasting seven years of his life was worth this very moment.
“Kurosaki-sama was right, you really do outclass me. That’s some way to ruin people for sure… Especially with your reputation of a savior”
He’d prepared to catch hands in advance - but didn’t quite expect that instead he’d be splashed in the face with the remaining beer as Kaiji threw the can to the ground, standing up so suddenly that the chair hit the floor, loud enough to wake up even the half-deaf restaurant owner sleeping a couple stories above them.
“Don’t give me that crap! I’ll get them out! All of them, do you hear?! I’ll get all of them out! I won’t leave them to di…”
“Okay-okay, pipe down!”, last thing Ichijou needed would be to have his only safe workplace compromised by this little outburst, and so he retreated, frantically wiping off beer with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “I get it, but… That’s not me who should be hearing that, right? Why don’t you, I don’t know, go and gamble like you do, take out loans to buy out at least somebody - why do you just waste away going with the flow dumpster-diving at random restaurants?”
This seemed to strike a cord. As if with a snap of fingers, Kaiji immediately relaxed his stance - and smirked, crossing his arms.
“...Who said it was random restaurants?”
He didn’t need to repeat himself - realization had struck Ichijou right there and then.
Kaiji was looking for him.
In his twisted view of the world, the only correct course of action in order to redeem himself would be to team up with somebody - preferably former nemesis, the one with whom the battle wasn’t finished yet.
Ichijou might’ve been hidden from everyone in Teiai except Kurosaki - but he couldn’t hide from a person who’d lost so much he might as well no longer exist.
“...No way. Not happening. I’m not going to enable your heroic delusions. Didn’t you ever hear? Heroism begins where professionalism ends. Unlike you, I’m a professional”
“Professional dishwasher, yes?”
That struck a nerve.
As if this guy knew perfectly how to counter people like Ichijou.
In more ways than one as Kaiji effortlessly dodged the first punch and caught the second one, kicking Ichijou behind his knee to bring him down.
“It was supposed to be a week, but it’s been a month. How many more months will you break your back here for shit pay and leftovers? Aren’t you better than that? Don’t you miss your high life?”
Despite his appearance, the man was much stronger. Strong enough to where Ichijou couldn’t do much without causing a scene that would surely spell the end of his disguise. Securely held in place on his knees, all he could do was glare daggers at Kaiji, hoping to see through that maniacal grin and drunken glint of a gambler sensing an opportunity.
Ichijou might’ve gotten a draw, but he’d lost this particular fight the moment he invited Kaiji inside.
What was this guy, a vampire?
“...Fine. I’ll help out whichever way I can - if you bring me that high life back”
____
That was the promise at least.
And Ichijou was the one paying the idiot tax for taking that promise at face value from a man who’d drowned so many people in order to come out on top.
Even calling Kaiji a man would be an overstatement. A man is supposed to keep his promises. A man doesn’t leech off of another, forcing him to take multiple jobs and hide in dingy hotels near casinos and parlors.
A man doesn’t spend his time facedown in the puddle of waste, crying his eyes out, possibly letting in multiple infections.
“...Get up. Let’s go sleep under a bridge or something”
Kaiji didn’t respond - not even Ichijou nudged him a bit with his foot.
Unbeknownst to him, in Kaiji’s head there was a brilliant plan hatching from a seed planted by their spectacular defeat earlier in mahjong parlor.
All he needed to see it come to fruition was a bit more time.
And a bit more trust.
And a bit more luck than both of them combined had always had.
Suddenly, the light from a busy street got dimmed by something - a pitch-black car cutting off their only escape route. Ichijou’s senses went into overdrive, commanding him to shake Kaiji back into consciousness - but as the driver stepped out, his body froze solid as well, unable to move so much as a step back.
Approaching them was the man not much different from the bruiser earlier at the parlor - wide shoulders, messy hair, square face with terribly ill-fitting sunglasses.
Not the kind of disguise Ichijou could ever be fooled by, having spent nearly a decade waking up next to this man every morning.
“...Murakami?..”
The man stopped dead in his tracks, seemingly hesitating - before giving a short, awkward round of applause.
“Congratulations, Ichijou-san. Job well done. Young master will be most pleased - we’ve been trying to catch him for a while”
“Him?.. For what?..”
Ichijou didn’t need him to elaborate any further, really.
Only one of Hyoudou’s sons was referred to as a young master.
Coincidentally the one most fond of gambles and torture shows. And one least fond of guys like Ichijou, who'd won a genetic lottery.
Just the sort of guy who’d be interested in Kaiji, now way too weakened to put up any existence against the much stronger Murakami.
“Well… Just take him away from me. I’ve had enough grief with him leeching off of me trying to win back enough to right his wrongs… It was just another moment of weakness, Murakami”
The blacksuit nodded, allowing Ichijou to take his hand, and awkwardly smiled.
“Happens to the best of us, Ichijou-san. Don’t worry… Going forward, there will be no room for these moments”
And in one swift motion, Ichijou was tossed to the ground - in the trash, next to Kaiji, the last thing before his eyes being a handkerchief soaked with K3.
“Sleep tight, manager… Young master will appreciate your new look very much”
_____
“What, another change of sheets? Third one this week!”
“Ooooh, the manager keeps having accidents~ Cute”
“Maybe he’s still not over his fancy self. Put him on a clearing duty or something, he’ll sleep on the floor without a care in the world after that”
The voices of other workers in the laundry room felt like white noise as Ichijou timidly handed over his bedsheets, soaked with cold sweat, and left a curvy signature on the form indicating he’d received fresh ones.
Here, underground, it truly was hell on earth - but compared to his nightmares the grim reality was a welcome escape.
No matter how tired he got, no matter how insufferable his team was - the dreams wouldn’t cease, and every single one of them left Ichijou more exhausted in the morning. Those foolish dreams of agreeing to a draw and teaming up with that scumbag…
And despite those dreams going against everything Ichijou stood for, they remained indistinguishable from reality.
A groundhog’s day of things that couldn’t be.
A vision of weakness he’d never allow himself.
Ichijou knew there could be only one way out of this loop - not the extra shifts at the medical, not bonding with rejects populating the dorms.
The only way of putting those dreams to rest would be to make it outside and have a perfect rematch with Kaiji.
With six months remaining until he could request a one-day pass, Ichijou had plenty of time to either plan everything down to a T or go insane from these dreams - and, deprived of any intellectual stimulation, he indulged in this gamble, not knowing that in the world above, there was somebody much more deserving of his audience waiting just as patiently.