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The wall behind the goal lit up bright red again for the sixteenth time that night, the buzzer unable to be heard over the raucous cheers from the Raven’s fans flooding the stands. Blobs of red and black rippled through the stadium as the point was celebrated. The section of orange in the stands seemed so small and lifeless in comparison.
Getting any kind of reaction out of Nathaniel was a challenge that almost no one could meet but watching the Foxes stumble and fumble across the field from the expanse of windows in the guest box tower left him seething, hand fisted tightly in the white handkerchief he’d been using to wipe his face. The deep pit of frozen anger in his gut felt like it had been set on fire, melting faster than he could refreeze it. It was ridiculous and embarrassing to even watch the game.
“Enjoying the game, Nathaniel?” A man asked softly in Japanese, right by his ear and placing a hand on the middle of his back.
Nathaniel didn’t jump but it was a close thing. It was near impossible for anyone to sneak up on him but he’d lost himself so thoroughly in the game that he hadn’t heard Ichirou approaching.
Ever since he had made the choice to protect Kevin, Nathaniel hadn’t been able to get the damn sport or the idiot Foxes out of his head. It was consuming his every free moment and even those that he should have been focusing, too. He’d managed to find and watch every single match the Foxes had played since David Wymack started the sad excuse of a team.
Their faults and failures were obvious and enraging. Their occasional triumphs felt like a drug to Nathaniel. When he watched the game where Andrew Minyard only allowed five shots in before shutting down the goal, it made him feel almost dizzy.
“Apologies, my lord,” Nathaniel answered, bowing his head slightly in greeting, “I was lost in thought.”
Ichirou tsk’d, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “You are a wonderful liar as always, Nathaniel, but you can’t fool me.” He plucked the handkerchief from Nathaniel’s clenched fist and inspected the blood staining the fabric.
“It wasn’t a lie,” Nathaniel answered somewhat petulantly, “I was lost in thought.”
Ichirou laughed quietly, “Of course, not a lie. You know better than to lie to me. It was - how do you always put it? - a diversion from the truth.”
“They - the Foxes - are horrible.”
“I’m not familiar with the game, so I don’t have much of an opinion.”
Nathaniel turned his head towards Ichirou with a slanted, unimpressed look, “I’m sure you’re familiar enough to know that fourteen versus zero means they’re getting their asses handed to them.”
Ichirou grinned and reached out towards Nathaniel’s face, using one hand to hold his cheek steady and the other to wipe at stray blood on Nathaniel’s cheek with the handkerchief, “Why the sudden interest in the sport? We’ve been here for countless matches and you’ve never been distracted during business before.” He leaned in closer and caught Nathaniel’s eye, “I noticed you took that man’s finger off at the second knuckle immediately instead of the first, like you normally do.”
“I was trying something new. Shaking things up, keeping it fresh,” he answered, trying to divert the incoming informal interrogation by indulging in Ichirou’s enjoyment of his dry humor.
After he’d been taken back into his father’s care to be groomed into the Moriyama’s next Butcher, Nathaniel had begun to be acquainted with Ichirou on the grounds of solidifying his allegiance to the man early on. The long-term plan as laid out by Lord Kengo and his father was that Nathaniel was to be trained for Ichirou, to become his right hand, with both men taking up the positions at the same time when the Lord passed one day.
Both in America and Japan, Nathaniel was stationed along Ichirou’s security detail once he was deemed prepared enough to handle a minor threat. In America, these tasks would usually involve his own father being close by to scrutinize every perceived mistake. But in Japan, Ichirou had a way of convincing the other guards to give them some space.
Ichirou took to Nathaniel quickly and easily, always brightening when he’d see Nathaniel. The two were fifteen and twenty-one the first time they met. Their relationship was unconventional: master and servant, attack dog and owner, and something almost like friends. Outside of watchful eyes, Ichirou showed Nathaniel a tenderness he’d never experienced before. Underlying it all, both men knew the other could kill him in the blink of an eye, if they chose to. All that kept either of them from doing so was a silent agreement and a bond formed over years.
Nathaniel wasn’t under any kind of impression that
Ichirou wouldn’t have him killed if necessary for the Moriyama empire but Nathaniel knew he would be given enough respect that whoever was killing him would be a challenge for Nathaniel’s skills. He’d never been able to find what the breaking point would be for him to kill Ichirou but he was sure there was one somewhere.
Since Nathaniel usurped his father’s position in the family much earlier than expected, his service was primarily under Lord Kengo but was often loaned out to Ichirou for his business as well since it was all the same in the end.
Killing the Butcher was not taken lightly but after Nathaniel escaped from or killed everyone that came after him in retribution while he waited for a meeting with the Lord, he had proved himself enough to be given a chance. Not cracking under the intense torture he was put through when someone finally caught him sealed the deal for him to assume the position.
Nathaniel knew Ichirou had also vouched for him, convincing his father how valuable it would be to have someone so skilled yet so unassuming as his Butcher. Nathaniel was small, fast, young, conventionally attractive (per Ichirou) and blended into a crowd effortlessly. People either wouldn’t notice him or would be enamored by him, gravitating closer until he could strike. It would have been terribly inconvenient to test out new Butchers when they had someone qualified and loyal right in front of them.
“Riko is playing dirty,” Nathaniel said suddenly, the words coming out before he could stop them.
“In the game? I would assume so. Violence gives an edge. You know that better than most,” Ichirou answered with a small laugh, tucking the bloody handkerchief into his pocket.
“Not in this game. His own against Kevin Day and he’s getting sloppy.”
Ichirou tilted his head slightly to the side and raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”
Nathaniel weighed his words carefully, not having planned on broaching a conversation about his new hobby with Ichirou but the Foxes had begun to consume his thoughts, “He attempted to have the striker, Seth Gordon, killed. Had freshman lackies force him to overdose in a club bathroom,” he turned his attention back to the game to avoid looking at Ichirou, “Anyone could have seen what they did and I believe the backlash that would have come against the Ravens would have been detrimental to profits if the idiots succeeded.”
Ichirou hummed his understanding. After a few moments, he asked, “And why, Nathaniel, are you aware of such specifics?”
“I heard of a threat to one of the Foxes and assumed Riko would be going to Kevin. I followed to the club my intel said they would be at. Instead it was Gordon. I was attempting to protect the family’s investments in both the Ravens and Day.”
“You saved him.”
Nathaniel wrinkled his nose at the accusation, glaring at the young Lord from the corner of his eye, “It was a necessary action to ensure the consistency of profit.”
Ichirou huffed a laugh and gave Nathaniel’s shoulder a small squeeze, “Don’t go soft, Nathaniel. And remember where your priorities and loyalties lie. I’ll allow you to continue this new hobby involving yourself with Kevin Day’s life until a time which you let it distract you. You only get one strike before there will be immense consequences. Remember that.”
It wasn’t a threat, simply a fact. Nathaniel felt something prickle at the back of his neck, thinking about how easy it was for Ichirou to sneak up on him when he had been focused on the Foxes.
Nathaniel turned and bowed slightly to Ichirou, “Of course, my Lord. Thank you for granting me this indulgence.”
“We will be leaving in five minutes. Enjoy your silly sport until then, Nathaniel,” Ichirou told him with a smile before turning and walking back into the other room to check progress of the clean up and disposal.
He turned his head back to the game just as Andrew blocked Riko’s shot and sent it flying almost to the other goal. That same dizzy feeling swept through his body again. He clenched his hands into fists to stabilize himself.