Chapter Text
The orders of the Port Mafia’s boss took precedence over everything else.
But these orders… they felt preposterous.
The rookie, sitting in the passenger seat, chewed his nail nervously as the car pulled into a dark alley. The driver betrayed no such signs of anxiety. He was an older man and the many years he spent in the mafia had lent him a calm disposition.
“He’s coming,” the driver said quietly. The rookie stopped biting his nail and sat up straight. The car door opened and a small figure slid into the back seat, bringing with him the smell of gunpowder and smoke. A large black coat was draped over his shoulders and a brimmed hat sat on his flame colored hair.
The door closed with a firm thud.
“Good evening, sir Chuuya. I hope your mission went well.”
Chuuya. The Nakahara Chuuya. Executive of the Port Mafia. The stories of his strength prevailed over the entire city. The rookie stared at the dark figure in awe.
“Oh, Haruto.” Chuuya’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion but held a tone of affection. “I didn’t expect you to come all the way out here.”
“I am always willing to take an opportunity to help you, sir,” the driver said as the car drove off smoothly.
“How’s your sister?” he asked, reaching for the water bottle they had set out for him. He cracked it open and drained the whole thing. The rookie exhaled slowly.
“Recovering well, thank you.”
The rookie fumbled with a brown envelope before holding it out to Chuuya. “Um, here are all the, um, here is all the information about the next mission.”
In the rearview mirror, he saw the black brimmed hat tilt as Chuuya appraised him.
“You’re new here,” he said, taking the envelope.
“Uh- yes! Sir.”
He heard the envelope rip and the sound of rapidly shuffling papers as he skimmed over the report.
“Fine,” he said, tossing it aside. “I can handle it. How long until we get there?”
“About forty-five minutes.”
“Good enough.” He slipped the coat off his shoulders and laid it beside himself. Then he leaned back into the soft leather seat and pulled his hat over his eyes.
The rookie stared at him, open mouthed, for a few moments. Chuuya didn’t move.
“Has he actually… um…”
“He’s asleep, of course,” Haruto said quietly. “Try not to be too noisy.”
“That was incredibly fast.”
The driver was silent for a moment, then said: “There is a joke in the Port Mafia.”
“Which is?”
“What has a bed but never sleeps in it?”
“Um… a river?”
“Executive Chuuya. He’s often working for days on end, so he sleeps in cars, trucks, conference rooms, and anywhere else where he can get a break.”
“Oh um, he seems to be very dedicated to his work.”
“He is,” Haruto said sadly. “He sleeps in this car a lot.”
Right. Of course.
The rest of the ride went by in silence.
When the car finally slowed to a stop, Chuuya didn’t wake up.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Haruto sighed and got out of the car. The rookie followed.
Three figures clad in black approached the car. Two of them carried a stretcher between themselves. The rookie opened the door and caught Chuuya’s limp figure. His eyes were closed, as if he was still sleeping. The drug in the water bottle had done its job.
As he helped transfer him to the stretcher, he overheard one the dark figures talking to Haruto.
“Good job,” he was saying. “Your work for the night is over.”
“Well, it was the simplicity of the plan that made it so effective, I suppose.” His voice was heavy. “Will he be alright?”
“I can’t say anything about that.”
The rookie folded Chuuya’s hands on his stomach. In the weak light, he didn’t look like such a fearsome personality. He just looked like a young man who worked too much and didn’t sleep enough.
Chuuya was taken away on the stretcher, leaving the two of them behind. As the rookie stepped back, he noticed the hat lying on the ground. It must have fallen off when Chuuya was getting carried out.
Haruto picked it up, dusted it off, and got into the car without another word.