Chapter Text
Law school is all fun and games until you have no money, and are essentially coerced into alcoholism by your peers.
The funny thing about law school is that every single social event or mixer is always at a bar- hell, at this point you could make a ranked list of Yokohama’s top 100 bars. The not so fun part about it, is how much it all adds up. Going to school full time and only having limited hours to work a part time job with shitty pay, paying for the outrageous tuition (you had worked your ass off to get into one of Japan’s top law schools), and spending all your money on booze to keep up social appearances, was starting to take its toll.
It was on one of these nights, one of those hot summer nights, where you met up with a couple of buddies from class to sit back and relax on some good old barstools. You found yourselves in downtown Yokohama. It was a bar you surprisingly hadn’t tried before. It was near the wharf, some back alley street. Seemed to be a hidden gem. The leather on the seats was actually well-maintained and not ripped through. It was pretty clean- the floors practically sparkled, and there was a lively atmosphere. The atmosphere was probably aided by the addition of you and your friends into the establishment, but that’s a minor detail.
Overall, not too shady, and they poured a good drink. What was there to complain about?
You eventually found yourself digging furiously into the bottom of your purse, scrounging up whatever spare change you had laying around to pay your share of the tab. You manage to grab a handful of bills and place down the crumpled pile onto the bar top. Your friends shoot you a quizzical look.
“Don’t worry about it, I just forgot my wallet.” You lied. Waving your hand to dismiss their concerns.
You stare longingly at the bottom of your glass, already nearly empty. This was only your second drink of the night, but it’s all you could afford. Which was probably for the best. Being cut off now prevents you from drowning your sorrows at the bottom of a bottle and melting into the bar top. You’d rather never have to leave and face the world, so fusing to the table didn’t seem like the worst option at the moment.
Your misery escalates. Were you really so penniless that you couldn’t even afford a few cheap drinks? Your finances have you in the grip of despair, leaving you unable to socialize. The words of the people around you meld into one big blob. The air in the room is hot and stuffy, and is full of endless and meaningless chatter. Your friends drone on and on about stupid shit.
Would it have been interesting if you hadn’t been so depressed about your situation? Yes. Would you gossip along with them? In a heartbeat. Tonight, however, you were totally not in the mood.
It was internship season. The stress of interviews and gathering up materials for your resume and portfolio, as well as competing against your own friends for the best spot at local law firms, was starting to catch up to you.
The night started off nice. You took a luxuriously long shower, got all dolled up with some new perfume and a super cute dress. You were honestly starting to believe that the self care and prep work for a night out would always be more fun than the event itself. What a drag.
You spend a good hour or so wallowing in your own misery, unable to feel anything but pity for yourself. After a while, your internal monologue helps give you a new perspective. Well, more like a slap in the face to stop being such a bitch and face reality. Why were you being so fucking negative? You were out with some of your closest friends, enjoying the great indoors as an escape from the oppressive summer humidity and heat, and the alcohol you were nursing was starting to give off a nice buzz.
Fuck it. If you’re going to be a broke and fully fledged alcoholic in a few years anyways, might as well have fun with the friends you have whilst you still have them.
You basically puke up a social butterfly, metaphorically of course. The switch in your attitude was flipped. This was absolutely going to drain your social battery and leave you miserable for the next 48 hours, but that was your future self’s issue.
Maybe it was the alcohol, the summer heat, or just the determination to not let yourself sink further into a depressive state, but you actually ended up having a fun night. Chatting with your friends, relenting not to drink any more (due to insufficient funds), and laughing. It felt nice to laugh, to really laugh. It had been a while. Your mood had significantly improved and you were starting to like life again. It was a nice escape from the reality of your unfortunate financial situation.
After a few hours, the bar began to clear out, friends departed, you gave your hugs and waves goodbye. But your night wasn’t over just yet. Some immovable force was compelling you to stay. (You had to drive home, so you wanted to sober up completely before leaving.) Not to mention your social battery was kicked into overdrive. You were still revved up for some human interaction- or you wanted to be left entirely alone. You couldn’t tell. You were entirely on the edge of your seat, brain fried, tired, and a little tipsy.
All at once the adrenaline you had collected throughout the night exits your body. You dramatically face-plant into the bar top. An exasperated sigh leaving your mouth. Reality mixed in with the pressures of society and the nagging words of your friends from the evening filled your head.
“Wow ok drama queen. You alright?”
You pick up your head just as fast as you had let it fall. Turning to the side to address the voice that came from beside you. You had been so caught up in your own bullshit that you hadn’t even realized anyone had been sitting next to you. Well, you had sensed a presence for the past hour or so, but hadn’t paid much mind.
You pick up your eyes to mee the face of a man unknown to you. Your heart sinks. Damn he was cute. Fiery auburn hair, and very well dressed for a back alley bar like this… Decorated with an extremely tailored vest, white button down with sleeves expertly rolled up to his elbows, and a funny hat. Well, not funny. It was actually really nice. Classy. Too classy for a joint like this.
“Woah- hey, sorry. How long have you been there?” You reply, after spending a second or two taking in the sight of him.
He chuckles with a snooty air about him. “I don’t know, around 45 minutes or so?”
“Wow I am so sorry I didn’t even notice you. Sorry, I’m over here acting like a fool.” You sobered up quickly to engage in a conversation with this mysterious stranger. Mentally kicking yourself for your embarrassing public display you and your friends had put on for the past few hours, and how the only thing you could seem to manage to spew to the man was the word sorry. You were now suddenly hyper-aware of all your actions around this guy.
“Your friends are quite the bunch aren’t they?” He adds.
“Oh? Yeah. That’s one way of putting it. I’d call it utterly exhausting. Well, you don’t need me to tell you how they affect me. You’ve seen it for yourself.”
“Obviously.” He snickers.
“Oh, I’m sorry, do you enjoy watching the suffering of others?” You snap back, a little offended and insecure, even though he was clearly just messing with you.
He picks up his wine glass with a gloved hand, swirling the deep red liquid before taking a sip.
He speaks, “Not particularly, just helpless girls that get ditched at bars by their friends.”
“Hey! I did not get ditched . Just decided to stick around a while cause I gotta drive back home.” Rule #1 when talking to strange men. Don’t ever tell them that you’re completely alone, even if it’s true.
Well shit. Guess you gotta get out of there as soon as possible and hope that he’s not a stalker-type.
You really did not need the added stress and inconvenience of some random guy following you back to your apartment and murdering you.
“Sure whatever you wanna think sweetheart.”
You quickly forgot the notion of leaving. You could’ve puked,
or came
, right then and there. Sweetheart? In that damn snarky tone? By God he struck a cord deep down inside you. Normally you were indifferent to some offhanded pet name a guy gave you, but this man really struck a nerve.
Maybe it’s because you were at the lowest point in your life recently… But a little sweet talking from a handsome stranger while you were at rock bottom wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Your face briefly flushed, but you attributed the rush of heat to the alcohol still coursing through your veins.
You decided to play into this little flirt game, (what did you possibly have to lose at this point?), a sudden bravado you had never tapped into before suddenly consumes you.
“Ok and I don’t see anyone accompanying you right now.” You retort, rolling your eyes with your words.
“Can’t a guy just enjoy a nice glass of wine after he gets off from work?” Your face paled. Yeah that was a totally reasonable thing to do. Checkmate.
You scoff, “Yeah I guess I can’t argue with that. But maybe I wanna hang out here and drown my sorrows by myself for a bit longer.”
“What’s got you so stressed anyhow?” He questions.
You were surprised he continued to pry into your personal life. You didn’t even know this guy’s name, yet he was oddly concerned with your well being. I mean, I guess any stranger who had any shred of humanity and had been sitting next to you for the past hour watching the moody roller coaster your friends had caused would also be decently concerned. Fuck it. You’ll tell him. Free therapy session with a random guy in a random bar? Why not?
“Ugh it’s all just so sucky right now. It’s internship season, and my best friend is applying to the same firm as me, PLUS there’s only one spot. I have virtually no money, and I don’t have enough time in the day to study properly and work a job. Just fucking sucks.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. The weight of all your troubles being lifted off of your shoulders and onto someone else’s ears was a relief you didn’t know you needed.
“Damn, ok.” He responds with a light laugh. “You mentioned applying to a firm? You in law school or somethin’?”
“Yep.” You reply, still reeling from your trauma dump and his indifferent attitude. It’s not like he genuinely cared or had enough empathy for your problems anyway.
Wait, no.
He wasn’t indifferent, he was actually listening and engaging with you. He could’ve just dropped the conversation, but he kept going and was actually listening . His upbeat attitude was throwing you off- but he was actually being sweet?
“Criminal defense.” You add. “I want to be a criminal defense attorney.”
He looks up from his glass at your inclusion, his ears practically perking up. “Criminal defense? Interesting.” He pauses, thinking for a moment, “I may have a coworker of mine that could provide you with an internship if you needed it.”
Your eyes widened, and for the first time since you began speaking with him, your eyes met his. Were you seeing things right? Were his eyes brown or blue? No. It was one of each. The most mesmerizing mismatched pair of eyes you had ever seen bore straight into your soul.
“Wait, seriously? You have a connection you’d be willing to lend to me?” You say with a refreshed and eager outlook on life. If this were even a fleeting possibility, so many of your problems would be solved instantly.
“Yeah. It might not be as reputable as some of the more legit businesses to intern for, but if you’re that fuckin’ desperate, I can hook you up.” He sneered.
Your eyes glimmered at his words, only about every other word he had said actually processed in your head , but you were so happy to finally have an answer to your problems you didn’t care about the implications of his offer. This was just one less thing to clear off of your plate.
“Wow. Thank you sir- er. Oh I’m so sorry, I just realized I never caught your name.”
“Chuuya, Nakahara.” He replies, still looking at you whilst absentmindedly swirling his drink, a calm and confident smile on his face.
“Thank you Mr. Nakahara, I will happily take you up on your offer.”
What the actual fuck.
You were never one to be this impulsive and accept a random proposal from a strange man at a bar. Not that this kind of thing happened to you often, but it was still very out of character for you to accept such a cryptic offer. But at this rate, you couldn’t care less. You were on the verge of being so broke that you were going to have to sell your metaphorical daughter to One Direction .
“Chuuya.” He corrects, “Just call me Chuuya. No need for formalities in a place like this.” He smiles. Oh he had totally sealed the deal. Mori was going to give him a raise for this. Scoring an (almost) lawyer that will work for minimum pay- helping to cover their tracks? Employee of the month. He shifts in his seat, reaching into his back pocket, and pulls out his wallet. He removes a business card and hands it to you.
“Give me a call, and I can set up a meeting with my boss to get things settled.” His serious tone gives off the air of a dedicated man. He was pretty blunt and to the point, definitely married to his work, you assumed.
You took the card, turning it over and back a few times, fingers gliding over the gilded embossing of his name, noting how the gold glinted in the dim lighting of the bar. “Chuuya Nakahara, Executive” it read. You glanced up at him and back to his title a few times. An executive? He was quite young. Only a few years older than yourself if you had to guess. The only executives at companies that you knew of were elderly, and had spent 30 or 40 years climbing the ranks of the corporations they were with.
“Damn, an executive? What line of work are you in anyways?” You question, studying his contradictory youth.
“Shipping management and private protection.” He says bluntly, averting his gaze. It was the same vague answer he gave everyone who asked. Though this time, his mind was riddled with guilt. You were so eager for this stupid internship that it physically pained him not to reveal the true nature of his work.
“I work down by the port, mostly dealing with negotiations.” You don’t miss how he massages his gloved knuckles as he adds that last part. However, you were still entirely oblivious to what was really going on here. You had pretty much just signed up to do unpaid coverup work for the Port Mafia.
It should’ve clicked. You didn’t even realize it, but the very bar you were sitting in was owned by the mafia. Chuuya frequented this establishment, as it was close to his office, and his tab was easy to take care of because it just came out of his paycheck. You had also been drinking smuggled booze the entire night.
Nothing about this well-kept haven was legal. The irony of a bunch of lawyers-in-training fraternizing in it for the past few hours was not lost on Chuuya- yet you had no fucking clue.
It ate him up. He just prayed Mori wouldn’t wrap you up into too much bullshit that could cause you to break the laws that you so desired to defend.