Chapter Text
Fuyuhiko turned the handle, and the door exploded out towards him. He felt his body arc through the air, briefly weightless, before thudding down on the carpeted floor. As his eye refocused, blinking away fuzzy shapes and colorful glints, a dark spire behind a blurry mass began to take shape. His aching head fought to determine its identity, landing on a multitude of indeterminate possibilities: a flagpole rising from an amusement park castle; the headstone at the crest of the hill, visible from his bedroom window, where Natsumi rested; a spike of fuzzy, brunette hair riding the head of an old acquaintance. Then the mass bent down towards him and took the form of a familiar, bespectacled face, the spire behind her focusing into the sheath of her bamboo sword.
He became aware of the sharp pain in his ribs as he felt his body lift in Peko’s arms. “It was a trap, Fuyuhiko,” she said. Bullets whizzed past her and into the wall, sprinkling debris across her legs. Her voice remained stoic. “I will get us outside and to a safe location.”
Gruff voices shouted out from down the hallway. “He’s still alive! And she’s got him!” The gunfire subsided, replaced with furious footsteps of what sounded like a dozen men sprinting towards them. Peko took off running down the hallway, every step of her quick feet sending an acute jolt to his body.
Fuyuhiko just grunted. He coughed, sending another sharp pain across his chest. “What…what the fuck happened?” He reached his arm across to grab his side, his fingers finding the warm wetness of fresh blood.
“I told you already. We will debrief once we are safe,” she replied. A door in front of her burst open, and she ducked down behind a cleaning cart stacked with towels and cleaning supplies. “Can you cover for me?”
“On it.” Fuyuhiko blinked away the remnants of his daze and reached his other hand into his inside pocket. Out came a pistol, which he aimed through the cart, between a canister of bleach and a spray bottle, and settled on a pair of black trousers creeping towards them. With some quick pulls of the trigger, Fuyuhiko felled him, and Peko deftly jumped up and hopped over his twitching body.
“They’re getting away!” someone shouted behind them. Peko dashed through the front lobby and spun around and slammed her back through its entrance, and Fuyuhiko's nose scrunched up at the smell of the outside air. The parking lot was empty, and she hurried into the darkness of a nearby alleyway, the shouts and grunts from the building gradually fading into silence.
“I believe we’re safe here,” she said, her feet slowing to a gentle walk. Her heavy breaths began to relax as well. “How hurt are you?”
“Just put me down,” Fuyuhiko snipped, and she immediately stopped and bent over. He unfurled himself from Peko’s arms, still gripping the side of his body. Peko opened her mouth to speak, and he rushed to say, “I’m fine. I can walk from here. Just tell me what happened.”
“They ambushed us,” she said plainly. “The door must’ve been rigged to explode. You were the one unfortunate enough to open the door.”
“Bastards,” Fuyuhiko muttered. “How the fuck did they know we were coming?”
“It’s unclear, but for now we should—”
“Report back and regroup, yeah, I get it,” said Fuyuhiko. His face grew hot, and his free hand clenched into a fist. “You don’t have to tell me every time.”
Peko did not respond. He let his head hang low, his eyes boring into the pavement. “Was the target even in there?” he eventually asked.
“It was hard to tell through the smoke, but I did not see anyone in the room that you opened.” Peko stepped forward. “Fuyuhiko, before we go back, please let me attend to your wound.”
“I’m fine ,” he snapped. “I can walk back. You don’t have to worry about me.” He took a step, and a pang shot through his body as if to humble him. He bent over and took a seat on the ground. “Just…just give me a minute.”
“Okay,” Peko replied. She sat down next to him in silence. He kept his eyes trained on the ground, and he knew she was biting back some words. The heat in his face only intensified; he couldn’t tell if it was because of anger or pain anymore.
Then a hand gingerly rested on his shoulder, and he felt both feelings subside. He looked up to Peko, who was facing squarely forward, and with an expression as blank as always. Fuyuhiko opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself, and he got up to his feet with a sigh.
Fuyuhiko’s anger persisted the whole night, but before long, another emotion also kept him company: embarrassment. Another plan gone to shit. First it was the shipment that the police intercepted. Then it was the time they lost a member in a highway shootout. The night they tripped the bank alarm. The getaway car’s flat tires. And now it was this mission, with the failed attempt to kidnap a rival gang’s leader from his hotel room.
He lay on his bed in the Kuzuryu family home, staring at the dark ceiling. Moonlight shone through the window, illuminating his body in a silvery glow. He touched his side where the bullet had passed through him; the bandages were soft and dry. It was the blessed sort of injury that a quick visit to the clan’s medic and a modicum of painkillers easily remedied. At least he had been the only one to get hurt, he thought to himself. The thought of Peko getting shot made his whole body tense up, and he punted the idea from his mind before it could take hold of him.
Fuyuhiko’s eye wandered out of the window, towards the headstone in the family graveyard. The moonlight reflected off of its polished marble, and its shine matched the stars above the hill. He suddenly remembered the weird visions he saw after the explosion, among them the headstone and that weird spiky tuft of brunette hair. Fuyuhiko couldn’t help but sigh as his mind wandered over to Hajime, somewhere out there having a fun night with his old friends.
He sat up to check the alarm clock on his nightstand: a little past nine. Once again, he found himself dreading the next part of the night, where he would report what had happened. How he had walked right into a trap, gotten blasted away, and only survived because of Peko’s strength. How he had still gotten injured, and how it could’ve easily gone way worse. How he was a failure — a complete, miserable fucking failure.
There were two sharp raps on the door. Fuyuhiko grunted and instinctively tilted his head to the ground, ensuring that he wouldn’t have to meet the eyes of whoever ended up stepping in. Even before the door swung open, though, he knew who it would be.
“He’s ready to talk now,” Peko said. Fuyuhiko grunted again, still looking at the floor. “How bad is your injury? If it’s causing you too much pain—”
“It’s fine,” he spat out. “I’m ready to talk.” He slowly got up from his bed and threw on his suit jacket, still mostly keeping his eyes to the floor. He made to walk past her, but she grabbed his arm and jerked his body to face her.
“Geez, give me a warning before you do that,” he moaned. He lifted his head, then recoiled when he found Peko glaring at him, visibly annoyed.
“Fuyuhiko, stop saying that you’re fine,” she said. “And look me in the eyes when you speak. We can’t afford the luxury of being aloof.”
“I—I’m not being fucking anything!” he stammered. The bitterness reentered his voice. “It’s just been a shitty fucking day, okay? And the shittiest part’s waiting for me outside that door.” He dropped his arms and turned away again. “We'll talk about stuff in the morning, all right? Stop worrying so much about me.”
Her voice retained its sternness. “We need to talk now. About what happened during the mission. Did you not find it strange?”
“Huh? Strange? Shitty, maybe, but that’s within the bounds of what’s been happening to me lately.”
“No. It was definitely strange.” Peko folded her arms across her chest. “Even putting aside how ready they were for our presence, they stopped shooting at us right as we were getting away. Is that not strange?”
“I mean, I guess,” he muttered. “What do you think that means?”
“I do not know,” she said plainly. “I just thought it was worth bringing up with you.”
“Well I’ve got nothing. Can we fucking go now?”
The ends of Peko’s lips tugged downwards. “Sure, we can go. But remember, Fuyuhiko. I’m part of this, too. I’m your partner in all of these missions.” She paused. “And regardless of what happened earlier today, before the mission, I’m still your friend. Treat me like one.”
Fuyuhiko mumbled. He felt more awkward than annoyed. “Okay, yeah, sure,” he said dejectedly. He breathed a deep sigh. “Do you have anything else you need to admonish me about?”
“No,” she said flatly. “Let’s go. It’s best to not keep your father waiting.”
The Kuzuryu family home was once a resort hotel that the family ran their business from. Over time, as a deeper cut of their money came from sources outside of the hospitality sector, more and more quadrants of the hotel were cut off from guests, until eventually the whole property was forbidden from all outside of the clan. Being deep in the woods and isolated, it made for an ideal center of operations.
Any visitor unfortunate enough to be brought here, after getting through the many walls and fences protecting the property, would be struck by how modest it all was. All of the welcoming charm from the building’s resort days had been stripped away. The walls were white and empty, the flooring was graying wood or stained carpet, and the furnishings prioritized functionality over appearances, from the four straight-backed dining room chairs to the yellowing lampshades that were as old as Fuyuhiko himself. The only superfluous object hung on the door to the study, where his dad conducted business: a family photo taken outside the front door to the home, with a prepubescent Fuyuhiko scowling and a toddler Natsumi beaming brightly.
Two guards flanked the entrance to the study, and Fuyuhiko gave them as much regard as he would the wallpaper as he knocked once. “Come in,” boomed a deep voice from within, and Fuyuhiko proceeded inside, Peko following right after.
Before the door could close, the two men stepped into the room behind them. “What’s your guys’ problem?” Fuyuhiko asked, immediately annoyed. “Who said you bastards could join us?” Peko shifted slightly, her arm tensing in preparation to unsheathe her sword.
“I did, boy,” boomed the deep voice. Fuyuhiko’s dad rose from his desk, instantly towering over everyone else in the room. The simplicity of his white dress shirt and black slacks did nothing to quell the oppressive aura his presence radiated; there was something in his smouldering glare and muscular forearms pushing against his sleeves that cautioned a taste for violence.
Fuyuhiko never quite knew how to feel about his dad, but he knew how he felt about being referred to as “boy”. “Stop fucking calling me that,” he muttered. “I’m a grown-ass man now, in case you forgot.”
“I’ll call you that until you earn a different moniker.” His dad slammed a fist on the desk. “Another failed mission. What’s your excuse this time, boy?”
Fuyuhiko’s whole body tensed. He had expected an upbraiding, but the conversation was starting off worse than usual. “Look, clearly we were given the wrong intel. There’s a rat here that warned them we were coming.”
“Blaming someone else, I see,” continued his dad. “Sure, it was someone else’s fault. It can’t have been that you were too sloppy with your planning, too obvious with your plan of attack, too rash to consider the possibility that something could go wrong.” He stepped around his desk and stood directly in front of his son. “You’ve failed too many times for these excuses.”
Peko stepped forward. “Sir, you have my word that Fuyuhiko was stringent and meticulous in—”
“I did not ask you to speak,” barked his dad. He refused to look at her. “You are not his advisor nor his counsel. You are a tool, and it would do you good to remember that.”
“Do not fucking call her that,” snapped Fuyuhiko. “Don’t. Fucking. Call her that!” His face filled with white hot rage. He felt his fist raise higher, and before he could stop himself, it barreled towards his dad’s face.
The Kuzuryu Clan leader instantly grabbed his wrist and twisted it. “Wrong move,” he said unamusedly, then tossed him to the ground.
“Fuyuhiko!” cried Peko, who dropped down and tried to lift him by his shoulders.
Fuyuhiko could only grunt in reply. His wrist was going numb with hurt, and the day’s previous injuries were flaring up in agitation again. He wanted nothing more than to try throwing a punch again, to smash his father’s face in over and over. “F-fuck you,” was all he could muster in response as he tried to clamber to his feet, Peko still supporting him.
“Always so angry. And always so incapable.” He gazed directly into Fuyuhiko’s face. His eyes were wide and manic, his mouth curling into the slightest hint of a smile. Fuyuhiko’s blood ran cold. It looked like despair.
Fuyuhiko’s dad kicked his chest, sending him sprawling onto the floor again. “I’m through with this. Take them.”
The two guards instantly reached towards Peko, disarming her of her sword then pushing her to the floor. She shrieked and fought to push them off, but one grabbed her arms and twisted them behind her back, then bent her keeled over to the ground.
“What the fuck are you doing, you fucking bastards?” raged Fuyuhiko. “I’ll fucking kill all of you!” He tried to will his body up, but all of the injuries and blows he had sustained had finally enervated him. He reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed his gun, but before he could aim it, his father slapped his arm and sent the weapon spinning to the opposite side of the room.
Peko then let out a cry and heaved the two men off of her. Her bamboo sword clattered to the ground, and she dove for it. Fuyuhiko’s dad stomped his foot down on its hilt before she could grab it, and he struck her cleanly across the face with enough force to slam her into the wall. She lay still.
His dad turned to him again. Staring up from the floor, Fuyuhiko had never felt so small, so powerless, but still so full of seething rage. “What the fuck is happening?” he said in a snarling whisper. “Why are you doing this to us?”
“I will not deign myself to explain my plans to you,” replied his father, eerily calmly. “Just know that you have no place in the Kuzuryu clan anymore, boy. Consider this your termination.”
“Then just let us leave,” said Fuyuhiko bitterly. “Just fucking kick us out. Don’t lay another hand on Peko.”
“You are mistaken.” One of the guards, back on his feet, grabbed Fuyuhiko’s arms and tied them behind his back. “You are the one getting kicked out,” he continued. “The future of the Clan lies with Peko.” He smiled for the first time that night. “Don’t worry. We take good care of our tools.”
Before he could scream, a bandana was wrapped around his mouth, and he gagged as he tried to cry out. “Take him out front,” ordered his father. “He isn’t worth cleaning up after.” The man grabbed Fuyuhiko by his bound arms and dragged out of the study and down the hallway, Fuyuhiko gnashing his teeth and thrashing his body the whole way, red hot with rage and adrenaline. His mind had gone completely blank, overcome in a blind panic. He barely registered them passing through the front door, until the terrain under his ass changed from the wooden flooring to pebbly dirt.
Once fully outside of the house, the man threw him face-down into the dirt. Fuyuhiko heard the cock of a pistol behind him, and something inside of him snapped. I’m not fucking dying now. Not like this. With a sudden burst of strength, he kicked his feet from the ground to send him headbutting into the man’s legs, who fell over right as he pulled the trigger, sending the bullet towards the sky.
Fuyuhiko swung his bound hands across the man’s head, who staggered backwards with a groan. The force loosened the ties enough so that, with another writh of his wrists, the bandana came undone. He faced the man, who had one hand pressed to his head and the other struggling to steady his gun, and Fuyuhiko dodged out of the way as another shot rang out. He closed the distance with another dash and struck him in the chest, and the man dropped the gun to the ground.
Fuyuhiko snatched it with one hand and yanked off the wrap around his mouth with the other. The man stumbled away back towards the house, crying out “I need help!” along the way. Fuyuhiko saw several men come sprinting out of the house, and for a moment he tried to steel his resolve to charge back in. All he could think about was the image of Peko lying on the ground, helpless in the twisted hands of the Kuzuryu clan.
His legs quivered, and as another dozen men came charging the house, he realized he had no choice. He fell back into the wooded surroundings. He ran as fast as he could, barely able to see in front of him under the dense foliage. As he maneuvered through the forest, the image of Peko kept flitting through his thoughts. “I’m coming back to get you,” he whispered to himself, blinking a tear out of his eye. “I promise. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”