Chapter Text
Mori Ōgai considers himself a man of great patience.
He sits with his fingers interlaced, chin resting across his knuckles. His red scarf looks like a spill of blood draped across his shoulders under the dim lighting of his office.
The waiting game was one of his favorite games to play, after all.
The careful scrrrtch scrrrtch of a crayon from the foot of his desk can be heard. Elise-chan, sprawled across the Persian rug, works away at the jet black crayon with an uncharacteristic focus.
He had waited.
Waited for the Port Mafia to fall to pieces. Watched as the old boss made his agonizing descent into madness. Issuing rudderless and increasingly violent orders. Demanding reckless expansion that had plunged Yokohama into a state of chaos and warfare.
Had waited for his predecessor’s madness to consume him. For his illness to fester into ruthless paranoia, and for the escalation of executions for all he suspected as traitors to reach its gruesome climax. Had waited until the very moment this man’s orders threatened to burn Yokohama into the ground.
And while he himself had secretly assassinated the old boss, that in itself was not the entire story.
He had waited until they needed him. Until they had realized that Yokohama would not remain standing without his rise to power.
Dissent had been inevitable, of course. The old boss had many who remained loyal in the aftermath. But in waiting for the madness of his predecessor to reach its peak, Mori had ensured that in his unfortunate passing, the Port Mafia had been riddled with uncertainty. Uncertainty as to whether the fall of the former leader had been necessary. Left in question his rule and methods.
A familiar game. One he found himself playing once again, presently. Only instead of the paranoia of a dying old man, he awaited a different sort of madness. In the desperation of a falling peace.
Mori smooths out the thick, crisp file on his desk. Not one of the usual ledgers, of black-market trades or assassination targets. This file held names. Information. And a bright, vibrantly colored brochure for UA High School.
They had declined his offer, of course. As any shining pillar of society would, when offered protection by the shadows. But the whispers of the underworld were not to be ignored. And the Unforseen Simulation Joint may very well live up to its namesake, one day very, very soon.
And much like the Port Mafia had, they too will see how much they truly need him.
“It looks messy, doesn’t it?” Elise asks, looking up at him for a moment. Putting down the jagged black she had been scribbling with in favor of a grey crayon. Beginning to scribble tight circles around the neck of a character clad in black with an intense focus. “The big bird is going to break the man in the scarf, Rintarō. I can hear the bones snap from here.”
Mori doesn’t flinch. He stands and walks over, peering at the drawing for a moment. Watching as she smudges over the face of the man with the scarf with the bright red crayon she adores so.
And then, with vigor, snatches up a deep eggplant purple. Starting on the heavy arm of a monster.
He pats her on the head. “It is a detailed piece, Elise-chan. But don’t worry. I’m sending two very special people to make sure the ‘broken’ things still serve their purpose.”