Chapter Text
In the back of a taxi cab, you pressed yourself between the stiff leather seats and the hard plastic car door interior to lean your head against the glass of the half-open backseat window.
Gusts of air pushed inside the taxi, licking the apples of your cheeks and whipping your hair in a ticklish motion against your face. The first intake of air that you breathed through your lungs like a lifeline when you were escorted out of the Juvenile Detention Center was like finding an oasis in a cement jungle. It was refreshing at first, sure, but the irritation settled deep in your stomach and the gnawing itch under your skin desperately needed a nicotine-infested drag of air to be soothed.
You glared daggers at the man sitting in the taxi's passenger seat. You figured that the itch that permeated down to your bones could be soothed if you squeezed his throat from your place in the back seat, but that impulse was against every piece of rational judgment you had. You slumped down in your seat, slowly pressing your foot against the back of the man's seat. This was the current extent of your disobedience.
"Are you getting antsy back there, [Lastname]?" He asked, his gravelly voice a sound comparable to nails on a chalkboard. His question was accompanied by a smug glance at you through the rearview mirror. You knew he was mocking you.
"No, Sir," you answered sharply, crossing your arms and digging your nails into your skin.
You could see a small bead of sweat roll down the back of the taxi driver's neck, no doubt put off by the tension that lingered in the taxi like a sickness.
The taxi ride was over when the driver pulled up along the curb of an entrance to a market plaza. The moment the car came to a stop you scrambled to get the hell out of the backseat, you idled along the sidewalk tapping your foot impatiently against the cement and watching tensely as your traveling company strolled to open the taxi's trunk and pick up his bag.
"Don't go running away from me now, [Lastname]," he commented, mocking you laughingly, "You won't make it far anyways."
It was the truth, if you made a feeble attempt to make a run for it, all it would take the man was a quick call to some higher up and you'd be back where you dreaded most, juvie. After all, the man with you was your parole officer.
The taxi drove off into the horizon, as your parole officer—Mr. Taniguchi—stepped up onto the curb and began walking ahead of you.
"You got all your luggage, [Lastname]?" He chuckled, you wanted to kick his face in. The only possessions you had to your name were the clothing you had been arrested in months ago and nothing else.
As you walked into the marketplace you glanced fleetingly at a graffitied, boldly scrawled sign at the entrance. You didn't have the chance to read what it said as you trailed behind Mr. Taniguchi.
There were dozens of shops lined in pretty rows as you passed by and lots of people going about their day in their quiet little town. It was early in the morning but the place was still bustling with commerce, you were suddenly reminded of how penniless you were.
You came to a stop in front of a restaurant that read 'Yakiniku' across the storefront's banner. A woman, maybe in her forties was sweeping the restaurant's wooden floors when you and Mr. Taniguchi stepped in through the place's sliding door. The woman glanced at you and her face brightened with an enthusiastic recognition.
"[Name]!" She dropped the broom in her hands to rush towards you with a crushing hug.
"Auntie," you greeted, reciprocating the hug with an awkward pat against her back.
The sweetness of the reunion was short-lived when your aunt turned to politely greet Mr. Taniguchi with a demure bow.
"Mr. Taniguchi, thank you very much for looking after [Name]," you rolled your eyes at the incredibly misinformed comment but stayed quiet.
"Please sit," she quickly offered him a seat in the restaurant and passed him a menu, "Feel free to order anything. It's on the house of course!"
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Inoue," he adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses and scratched at his unshaven stubble as he scanned the menu. You and your aunt sat across him at the table. "As you may know," he started passively, "[Lastname] might've been released from juvie but she's being placed on parole to better facilitate her rehabilitation into a valuable member of society."
"I-Is that so," she responded tensely, "[Name] must've caused a lot of trouble back in Tokyo. I'm truly sorry!" She apologetically bowed to the man. You watched the interaction with an irritated frown.
"See what you've done, [Lastname]?" Your attention snapped back to the man across from you. "Having your aunt, who so graciously offered to take you in when your own parents refused, apologize on your behalf? What is wrong with the youth of today, I tell you," he shook his head in performative disappointment. "You'd better thank her!"
You could feel that itch under your skin spread, you were gritting your teeth so harshly you felt you might crack the bone from the force. But you surprised yourself and relented, placing your palms flat against the table and touching your forehead against the wood. "Thank you, Auntie, for taking me in even after everything I've done..." You wanted to bite your tongue clean off. You heard Mr. Taniguchi snicker.
"As per the conditions of your parole, you've been sent to this town to keep you away from your bad influences back home. You've also been enrolled in the town's closest high school, Furin, to resume your education. Even though you should be a second-year right now, the fact that you've been locked up means that you never completed your first year of school. You're being held back, but consider that a worldly consequence for your wrongdoing..."
"Furin?" Your aunt asked, confused, "But that's an all-boys school?"
Mr. Taniguchi tsked-tsked disappointedly, "It couldn't be helped. All the co-ed and girls schools in the area refused to take her in on account of her criminal record. Furin was the only place we could pull some strings to get her admitted." He crossed his arms and pretended to look regretful, "I tried to arrange for another way but nothing could be done. With Furin being an infamous delinquent school and all I tried my best to have [Lastname] put somewhere where she could be without all that temptation, but alas..."
You knew this town sounded familiar, even from all the way in Tokyo you had heard rumors about the kind of place Makochi was. This was the town infamous for its delinquents. Apparently, fights would break out year-round, even on holidays and New Year's, it was something of a Mecca for delinquents. You almost scoffed at the thought. No way some little city kids were tougher than the delinquents in Tokyo, but that was beside the point. You were being set up! How the hell could anyone expect you of all people to resist the call of delinquency if it was in your own classroom!?
"I'll be coming to visit once a month to see how your rehabilitation is going." He said the next thing with a heavy stare right through your skull, "And do not forget, the moment I hear that you've gotten into a fight, joined a gang, or started causing trouble, you're out."
"Understood, Sir," you replied dryly, keeping a sneer from showing up on your face.
The man looked you up and down like he knew something you didn't, "I'll have you know, I've seen lots of troubled youths like you come and go during my time as an officer. I can tell just by looking at you, you're the type that won't last a month." You didn't dignify that comment with a response.
He placed the menu down on the table and stood up from his seat, "Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Inoue, but I don't have much of an appetite right now." He walked towards the entrance, sliding the door open. He looked back at you with that same smug look, "I'll see you very soon, [Lastname]." When he was finally out of your sight you nearly bashed your head into the wooden table out of sheer frustration.
"Ugh, what a patronizing bastard," your aunt grimaced, getting up to wipe down the menu he touched. "It'll be nice to have you around, [Name]. It's not as fancy as Tokyo but I'm sure you'll like it here."
"Thank you, ma'am," you answered back, uncharacteristically polite, your tone made your aunt chuckle good-naturedly and she pat you harshly on your back with a boisterous laugh.
"Don't 'ma'am' me, kid! C'mon, I'll show you where you'll be staying," She led you outside through the restaurant's backdoor and the two of you stood in front of a small apartment unit. It had a small, gated backyard with overgrown grass, weeds, and cracked cement. The apartment itself had an AC unit sticking out from a small, ground-level window, against the backdrop of yellowing and peeling plaster. But, it wasn't a solitary confinement cell made with pure cement and no windows so, actually, you were elated.
"It's nice...?" You started strong but trailed off at the end.
"You'll get used to it," your aunt patted you on the shoulder. "It's a room we used to rent to an employee who worked here before you. But don't think you're going to be living for free! You'll be working with me and your uncle in the restaurant. I'll deduct the rent from your paycheck, the rest is yours to spend however you want."
You scratched the back of your head, soaking in the info with a slight furrow of your brow. You were once again reminded of the suffocating itch in your blood.
Your aunt observed you closely from the corner of her eye. She had been warned prior of the extent of your criminality and the supposed impulsiveness of your violent nature, but she couldn't seem to find a single thing about you that would suggest you were half as bad as what was in your record. She smiled fondly for a moment, maybe you really were committed to turning over a new leaf.
"But enough about that," she started, walking you back into the restaurant. "I'll give you the low-down about the job in the afternoon on your first shift, for now, you have your school orientation to get to!" She felt a bit of nervous sweat drip down the side of her temple. The Furin boys were good people, she knew that firsthand, but even if it was in the name of protecting the town, you would get arrested for fighting if any police happened to find out about it. Oh well, she could only hope you had decent enough impulse control.
Your aunt maneuvered to a small storage closet in the back of the restaurant. She looked around for a moment or two and pulled out a sizeable delivery box. "Here you go, it came in the mail the other day! Your first day of school! How exciting!"
She handed the package to you and you placed it down on the floor and squatted down to open it. You practically pried apart the packaging tape, which crumpled the box, and stretched your arm inside of the package. You pulled out a piece of black fabric, a jacket, more specifically a gakuran jacket—it was a school uniform.
Your aunt—you hadn't noticed she left the room while you were focused on the package—strolled past a corner in the little hallway you were in while carrying a skirt in her hands. "It's a little bit dusty but this should work!" She presented the skirt to you with a proud grin, "I figured you'd need a skirt to go with your uniform! This was my uniform skirt from when I was in high school back in the eighties! It might fit a bit long but that was the style back then! So retro!"
You slung the gakuran jacket over your shoulder and stood up from your place on the floor, taking the skirt in your hands as you did so. It did fit a bit long, but that was more than okay. Maybe you weren't able to get in fights or anything like that but at least this way you could still commit to your sukeban aesthetic.
When you changed into your uniform—the only undershirt you had was the one you infamously got arrested in—your aunt gushed over how cute it looked. You didn't make much of a fuss over her snapping a quick, albeit awkward photo of you, to 'commemorate your first day of school' or whatever. It made you feel good that there was at least one person around who had some faith in your chance at rehabilitation and turning over a new leaf. Truth be told, her excitement made you guilty, like her joy was a knife twisting right in your gut. You had even less confidence in reinventing yourself than your parole officer did. You would try like hell to avoid getting caught, though. Goddamn it, you needed a cigarette bad.
"Here's a couple of yen," your aunt dug through the pocket of her apron, "Buy yourself a little breakfast before school starts." She transfixed you with a stern stare and a firm clasp on both of your shoulders. "[Name], the delinquents in this town aren't the type that you're used to dealing with. But, unlike them, you can't let anyone know you've gotten into a fight. Please be careful." The earnestness in her gaze made your stomach drop, you could not think of anything to respond.
After that, you went on your way. You had decided to take off the jacket, folding it and tucking it under your arm instead. You knew better than to showcase your by-proxy gang association out in the open if you were trying to avoid conflict. The yen coins in your pocket sat heavy. Before you could make it to school you needed to buy a pack of Seven Stars.
God came to you in tangible form when you passed by a store with the phrase 'Cigarettes' scrawled on the storefront's banner. Score! You hadn't eaten a single thing since your release earlier that morning, but your appetite was nothing in comparison to the slight tremble in your fingers as you imagined flicking the ignition of a lighter and lighting the end of a cigarette.
It was a miracle that the guy behind the counter sold you a pack of Seven Stars and a lighter considering you were obviously underage, but you did not care to question the ethicality of his business practice.
You began making your way to Furin, a slight tremble in your fingers as you tapped the package a couple of times against your palm and popped the box open, sliding out a single cigarette before placing it between your lips. You shielded the tip of it with a practiced, mindless diligence and ignited it with your lighter's open flame. The first drag burned and you failed to suppress a slight cough. Smoke filled your immediate vision, every bit as alarming as a smoke signal, but the smoky taste of tobacco filled your mouth and settled deep under your skin, dulling the burning itch just enough to make it bearable.
You technically should've kicked this habit of yours while you were in juvie. Maybe you would've, but in your first week, you had met a girl known for managing to smuggle in the contraband and trading it to girls for little favors. You had found a very straightforward way of 'convincing' her to give you as many cigarettes as you wanted without any favors involved, but that was a memory for another day. Actually, it was your convincing nature that labeled you a troublemaker even in juvie and got you sent to solitary for a while.
Just the memory of that hell made you break out into a cold sweat, you quickly took in a long drag of nicotine to distract yourself from the memory. That was the reason you were absolutely compelled to never go back again. You could not last another month with the violent withdrawals you experienced. That put an end to any fantasy you had of quitting cold turkey.
You were mercifully delivered from those thoughts when your attention was brought to the graffitied exterior of your new high school. It was a frenzied blur of color, owing its appearance to the boldly scrawled graffiti doodles, decal stickers, and mossy vine overgrowth all around the building's cracking façade. You walked up the steps to the front doors and noticed a list of class rosters posted out front, attached to a period drama prop. Sure enough, you found your name listed among the other first-years, specifically under the roster for Class 1.
You were sure you were already running late, so instead of rushing through the doors with any haste, you opted to finish smoking your cigarette. You thought back to the ominous warning your aunt issued you. Were these small city delinquents more intense than you'd bargained for? Maybe it was something in the water, like fluoride or lead or something.
You could imagine it now, an entire school of delinquents? That 'school orientation' you heard about was probably some code word for an initiation in their gang. You were probably going to get jumped in, hazed, the whole nine yards. But hey, if someone came at you with the intention of fighting you, you were going to respond in kind. As long as there were no civilian witnesses—you figured delinquents wouldn't be lame enough to report getting beat up to the police—you'd be safe. With that thought, you crushed the cigarette end underneath your heel and pushed the school's front doors open.
You were halfway through putting your gakuran back on when the PA system in the building switched on with a static buzz and a voice loud, but clear enough to shatter glass boomed out. You didn't think there were any speakers in the hallway, but the voice was loud enough to reverberate through the classroom's thick walls. You nearly froze when you heard the guy say a particular phrase, that he was Bofurin's Top Guy. Bofurin? So that's what their gang was named. You tuned into what he was saying after that, figuring it must be important. You zoned out just as quickly when he started talking about enjoying youth? And after he discouraged infighting? He must've run a tight ship. Unbeknownst to you, you ended up zoning out the part where he called Bofurin the town's protector. Whoops.
As you approached your classroom, you heard a loud commotion. You heard someone yell, irritated, and the sound of someone's body hitting the floor. Oh yeah, the initiation was in full swing, you could sense it. You stalled outside of the classroom for a second, making peace with the idea of breaching parole before boldly sliding the classroom door open. If someone was going to beat you up as an initiation, you wouldn't take it lying down!
Embarrassingly, the moment you opened the door, all eyes were on you. Awkward.
To your surprise, there wasn't some lame kid getting their ass beat in the middle of the classroom. Actually, the complete opposite, a bunch of guys were gathered around some kid who looked like he had only managed to bleach half of his hair in some sort of cuddle puddle. You were sure the confusion you felt was even further emphasized by the look on your face. And that confusion was reflected back at you because these guys were just as confused to see a girl—dressed in their uniform no less—in their classroom.
Whispers came soon after, but that was more or less what you anticipated.
'A girl? Does she have the right place?'
'She's wearing our uniform, so I guess it's not an issue?'
'Oh yeah, guess so.'
Your pride was a bit wounded by the blasé reception, but whatever.
With a quick scan of the people in the room, you could immediately tell you were in the presence of a bunch of weirdos. First, there was the guy with the black and white hair that was split right down the middle, just like a chessboard. There was some guy with reddish hair, tassel earrings, and an eyepatch, you figured he was some sort of pirate revivalist or a big fan of Pirates of the Caribbean. There was also a guy who was mad dogging you from the moment you walked in, he had long hair, he was lanky, and he had some of the worst posture you'd ever seen.
Right that second, another guy burst in through the door. Now this guy looked like a delinquent. He had the classic pompadour hairstyle and almost shaved-off eyebrows.
"Alright, wise guys, this way! Get your rumps outside, right now," he said threateningly.
And he was talking just like a guy from a film noir movie. He was committed to a bit! You could respect that.
"Huh?! Like I'd ever take orders from you, you're-" The chessboard guy yelled out, he seemed like the only guy in the room who thought something weird was going on.
Poor guy. You could feel it, now was the time for the gang initiation!
Wrong again!
In a blur of yelling, scolding, and a paint roller getting shoved into your hand, you had somehow fast-forwarded to covering up graffiti as a public service work.
Yeah, maybe there was something weird in this town's water.