Work Text:
March, 2009
It is already an alarming aberration that Mine is not, for once, early to their scheduled meeting.
When he does arrive, it’s with a stiff, curt bow and a shuffling walk, not at all like his usual prideful stride. Kashiwagi doesn’t need to be a psychic to tell that the man is beginning to fray at his ends.
“Good afternoon, Kashiwagi-san.”
“Mine, take a seat,” he directs, offering up the office couch across from him. Between them, an austere white envelope sits on the lacquered table, the seal already broken. Kashiwagi takes a bracing draw from his cigarette, summoning up the deep stores of his resolve.
“Before I say anything,” he breathes out, “just know that my duty right now is not merely as the captain of the Tojo Clan, but as a longtime acquaintance of the Sixth Chairman. It might be presumptuous to say that we are friends, but I have known and cared for the Chairman since he was very young, and I feel as if I have some right to say that I’m responsible for him, too. But I’m getting ahead of myself—I brought you here to discuss the contents of Daigo’s will.”
Mine’s eyes, more shadowed than usual, widen a fraction.
“Daigo-san is not dead. For what reason should we need to discuss his will?”
“It was not my idea. I was contacted by the executor of his will—Yayoi Dojima. She says that she was given explicit instructions to review it should Daigo ever become incapacitated, and that some of the information is pertinent to succession. Ahead of tomorrow’s meeting, it was agreed that you should know as well.”
Kashiwagi gnashes out his cigarette and reaches for the will, unsheathing the letters within, neatly printed in Daigo’s diligent hand. He rifles idly through them, having already memorized each word.
Since the events of two nights ago, he has been plagued by melancholic visions of the Sixth Chairman as a young boy, paraded about by his father at family gatherings, barely taller than Kashiwagi’s belt-line. Small, pale hands clutched around his mother’s obi—hands which grew to support the weight of the entire Clan. It takes all his focus to reorient his mind towards the present; he cannot let despair take the form of reminiscence.
“And the other officers?” Mine asks, “Should they not also be privy to Daigo-san’s intentions for succession?”
“No,” Kashiwagi says simply. “Put simply, in the event of Daigo’s deposition, he made one thing clear: there would be no succession. The Tojo Clan would die with him, its assets would be dissolved, its families would scatter. There is no contingency plan.”
To the untrained eye, a man like Mine Yoshitaka might seem unflinchingly stoic, but Kashiwagi has spent enough of his life amongst gangsters to know the truth—every person who falls into this path is ruled by great passions. Hunger, jealousy, admiration, hatred; they all dance plainly on Mine’s face, in his tightly-controlled body, within the fiery flickers of his eyes. In this moment, one emotion predominates: betrayal of the highest order.
“What?”
“I was just as shocked as yourself and Lady Dojima. She was perhaps even more dismayed than us both.”
“How can that be? Daigo-san, allowing the Tojo Clan to collapse? Letting the Omi Alliance into Kamurocho? At a time like this, no less—”
“Slow down, Mine. You said it yourself, didn’t you? Daigo-san isn’t dead yet. In all likelihood, he wrote his will with no intention of dying soon. I have faith that he will recover, and soon we may have all our questions answered. But as it stands, this is the state of the matter.”
Kashiwagi stands and paces towards his office windows, taking in the panoramic view of Kamurocho, soaked in an orange sunset. He’s spent so long staring at the district as a series of territories, partitioned by petty squabbles, borders constantly chafing against one another. He can’t remember what it was like to simply walk down Tenkaichi Street and be dazzled by its light.
“The question of succession will inevitably arise in tomorrow’s meeting,” he continues, “and when it does, you must act as if we never had this conversation. I will propose bringing in Kiryu-san to unite the Clan against the coming turmoil—I can’t trust Hamazaki and Kanda to listen to reason, and so the threat of force will have to do. Is that understood?”
In the window’s reflection, Kashiwagi watches Mine’s jaw tense and work around his frustration. “Yes, Kashiwagi-san,” he says obediently.
“If I may be honest…” Kashiwagi muses, “I’m not entirely surprised that he would pursue dissolution. Daigo—the Sixth Chairman, I mean—he’s not like you or I, on a basic level. He was born into the yakuza. His fate was intertwined with this world from his first moments. In terms of the disillusionment he must have experienced since then, it’s impossible to imagine. That isn’t to say that he hasn’t served faithfully as Chairman, rather, I’m deeply impressed with his leadership thus far. But he has always craved something of an honest life, too. And, it’s not as if there is absolutely no contingency plan for the Clan, only that there is none for it to continue in its current state. Half of Daigo’s will is a mass rehabilitation plan for former members and officers.”
Kashiwagi, diplomatically, neglects to mention that he himself has developed a similar program. The Honest Living Association has been his pet project for the better part of two years, and he’s quite pleased with its oddball myriad of graduates.
“I won’t fault you if you find it difficult to accept. But at the very least, if worse comes to worst, you haven’t spent that long away from civilian life, right, Mine? There is still a place for you in normal society.”
When he turns around, he can tell that Mine is swallowing the bulk of his true feelings. The young Hakuho patriarch sits hunched over his knees, with his hands clasped firmly together, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Although his emotions are far from inscrutable, his intentions remain enigmatic. In the first place, Kashiwagi has yet to discern what would motivate a successful financier to enthusiastically embroil himself in the yakuza, wherein the greatest share of his profits would go directly to the Sixth Chairman. For all that the wealthy do to evade government taxes, it seems absurd to willingly submit to a far more punishing system of tribute.
Ah, no, Kashiwagi catches himself. He already has the final piece of the puzzle. The great font of all foolishness. Once he thinks to look for it, he finds it hidden all over Mine’s expression, like bloodstains on a sleeve.
“Yes, Kashiwagi-san,” Mine mutters again, clearly adrift in his mind.
“And there’s one more thing,” Kashiwagi starts, fishing out another cigarette from his breast pocket. “Concerning the Sixth Chairman’s next of kin, and the distribution of his assets. His mother, naturally, would be in possession of the bulk of his holdings. He has also arranged for significant proceeds to benefit Kiryu-san, and his orphanage in Okinawa. Several old friends and acquaintances are also named in his will, with whom I’m not personally familiar. More importantly, in Daigo’s will, his mother is written as his immediate next of kin. In her absence, he wanted his next of kin to be his fiancé… Mine Yoshitaka.”
In the smothering silence of his office, the sound of his lighter is as loud as a gunshot. Kashiwagi savours his first drag, the heat and flavour of it grounding him in place. These past days have been amongst the longest in his life.
“You don’t deny it,” Kashiwagi pushes onward, unfazed by Mine’s stillness.
“…No.”
“Do you intend to be legally married?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I will renounce my citizenship. There is an immigrant investor program, in Canada, through which I have already acquired eligibility to obtain—”
“Are you a fucking idiot?”
The hard, defiant glint in Mine’s eye is his only answer. Kashiwagi sighs and rubs his face, finding a momentary reprieve in the darkness.
“I’m sorry,” he quickly adds. “It’s not my place to inquire, but I will, for your own sake if not Daigo’s. I was certainly aware that he had a level of favouritism for you that went beyond the typical regard of a superior, and you should know that your own admiration for the Sixth Chairman is well known amongst your subordinates. However, I doubt that any of them are privy to the true extent of your relationship. Is that correct?”
“To the best of my efforts, it is,” Mine says. His posture has taken on the defensive solidity of a fortress, expression guarded.
“Not even Yayoi-san was aware. So, I take it neither of you sought her consent.”
“It was on Daigo-san’s orders that I leave her out of it.”
Kashiwagi can’t help but nod in agreement. “Well, leave it to Daigo to know his own mother. That was prudent of him, you would have had no hope of obtaining her approval. Shit, what a mess. How long has this gone on?”
“Since early last year.”
“And how long have you been engaged?”
“Now, six months.”
Mine doesn’t seem eager to volunteer more information, each word needing to be surgically extracted from his mouth. No matter—it isn’t Kashiwagi’s first time doing damage control for young punks.
“Look, Mine, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not naïve. The yakuza, despite its appearances, is practically a haven for guys like you, whether they like to admit it or not. My issue is that you’re trying to go take a legal route with this, with Daigo’s position as it is, and with the Tojo Clan in our current state—”
“Of which I alone am responsible for supporting,” Mine spits, “The Hakuho Clan is more than prepared to weather the financial consequences of instability during the Sixth Chairman’s recovery period.”
“That’s not what I meant. Do you think that money and power makes you untouchable? Open your eyes, Mine. If your affair becomes common knowledge, Daigo would suffer the most out of all of us. The Tojo Clan’s Sixth Chairman marrying his male subordinate? Good god. They already call him a spoiled weakling, princess, bocchan—you want them to add cocksucker to the list?”
Kashiwagi forces himself to breathe. His temper is getting away from him, and he’s overcome with a memory of the boy Daigo, hiding behind slates of shoji in the Dojima Family estate, the soft insides of his arms beaten black and blue. It wasn’t Kashiwagi’s place to advise Chairman Dojima on how to raise his son, but even a hard-boiled gangster like him didn’t like to see children unnecessarily brutalized. Grow up quick, he willed his towards the young master, grow up big and strong, then you can fight back all you want.
But even in his undelivered assurances, he didn’t have the courage to tell the boy that there were some battles that could never be won, and some wounds which could never be avenged—only suffered with dignity. He figured, while watching Daigo blankly roll down his sleeves, he must have already figured that part out.
“And before you propose some rash action like purging our ranks of dissenters,” Kashiwagi barrels on, “at least tell me this: what did Daigo say?”
“What did he say to what?”
“When you proposed. I know it had to have been you, Mine.” You’ve got that fanatical glow on you right now, Kashiwagi thinks, the one that rushes to claim whatever he wants.
Mine closes his eyes and brings his hands to his forehead, as if in prayer. “Is there any hope of me leaving here without ever speaking to you again?” he asks, startlingly impetuous.
“No. So, you’d better just get on with it.”
“…He was not happy at first. He was worried about the logistics, about my citizenship, about his mother. About the Clan. He called it absolutely impossible, and meaningless to boot.”
“At least one of you have your head on right,” Kashiwagi scoffs, rolling his cigarette between his lips, settling his nerves. “So, you didn’t let up.”
“No, actually, I… I didn’t do very much else, in the end. He came around to it suddenly—I don't know what caused it. I began the process of obtaining foreign citizenship right away, in a country with adequate business ties to Japan and equal marriage rights.”
“Why is it so important to you? None of this would be as consequential if you left the law out of it. Hell, if you waited long enough, you probably could have retired somewhere together without much of a fuss.”
“Your opinion of me is low enough, Kashiwagi-san, without forcing me to disclose more.”
Kashiwagi sighs, disarranging his hair. He elects to return to his seat across from Mine, putting them on level ground once more. “You’re mistaken. If anything, I have more respect for you now than ever before. In this world, a man pursuing his heart’s desire is a mark of honour, but surely you must be aware of the dangers at hand. There’s a reason that only you and I know the location of Daigo’s hospital bed. So I’m asking you again: why is it so important to you? What do you want out of this?”
He was a poor excuse for a father figure, but in the absence of Yayoi, he could at least give Mine the opportunity to seek the consent of one of Daigo’s long-time associates.
Another memory returns to him unbidden, of Daigo in juvenile detention, on the precipice of his eighteenth birthday. Kashiwagi had been tasked with paying the boy’s bail and bringing him home while Sohei and Yayoi were out of the city, not that they would have been interested in attending to the schoolboy scuffles of their only son, anyway. He’d found Daigo leaning out of the bars of his cell, gaze fixed on the massive CRT TV mounted in the corner of the police station, tears streaming down his cheeks. A regional baseball series had just ended in narrow loss for Kamuro West, shuttering their chances at competing in the Nationals.
Any worries that Kashiwagi may have had for the young heir were dispelled in an instant, watching him cry over a relatively trivial game of baseball, baring his tears without shame. Completely unlike his own father in his hardness, his inflexibility, his refusal to see tenderness as anything but weakness. Daigo’s heart was open and it loved fiercely—these were the qualities which made him a uniquely conciliatory leader, and inversely, make him vulnerable to the pit of vipers he now lords over.
Kashiwagi wonders if it was this very sincerity which drew Mine in as well, not that he can presume to know the first thing about an elopement between two men. In retrospect, he’s able to credit some of his old suspicions about Daigo’s highschool girlfriends, all of whom he retained for less than a month each, and then afterwards declared himself a committed bachelor. Shame blooms in his gut—he’s embarrassed to have been so unaware of the extent of the Chairman’s burdens. Does Yayoi know? Did Sohei? Was that why they were so harsh on him, if they weren’t merely absent? It really is a testament to Daigo’s strength of character that he refused to grow cruel, at least to anyone else but himself. When he wakes up, Kashiwagi owes him a heartfelt apology and a bowl of somen.
Having gathered his words, Mine lifts his head high, eyes alight with resolve.
“No matter what you or Yayoi ane-san have to say, I have no interest in annulling the engagement,” he declares. “If you have to know—no, it’s not enough to have Daigo-san’s affections in private. The next time we exchange cups, I want it to be for an oath of marriage. I want to be his family, without metaphor. I want to stand by his side in the sun. I don’t want to be the third or fourth person who is called when he gets shot—I want to be the absolute first. I don’t want to wait outside his emergency room when I could be inside it. I don’t want his gravestone to exist at all if it isn’t next to mine. The very idea makes me sick to my stomach. And I don’t want incompetent nurses to attend to him when I could do just as well. I don’t even want him to die unless I’m the one pulling the plug. Least of all, I don’t want the only way that his mother finds out about us is through a single line in his final will and testament, how insulting is that? How much more of this am I expected to tolerate, Kashiwagi-san? The truth is, I wanted Yayoi ane-san to know, with or without her approval. I want everyone to know. I don’t care if it’s Hamazaki, or Kanda, or the entire Omi Alliance, I’ll slit all their throats if they have something to say. They’re welcome to call me a fanatic, call me a faggot, a pansy, an ass-kissing homo, damn it all—I’ll execute them one by one and rinse out their captains too, I’ll put their heads on spikes at the gates of our wedding. If looking at us makes you gag, then I want you to choke on it and die. That is the kind of proposal I made to Daigo-san, and I won’t withdraw it until my last day on earth. Is that adequate for you? Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Mine’s diatribe leaves him breathless, veins jutting out of his forehead, eyes wild. Like a cornered animal, Kashiwagi regards him with a mix of pity, wariness, and a begrudging sense of gratitude. For all that Daigo surely must have hidden away to survive, at the very least it can’t be said that he wasn’t cherished by another—deeply, earnestly, to the very brink of madness. Without needing to ask, he is sure that Daigo is Mine’s first relationship, obvious in the way that Mine sounds just like a schoolboy saying his name. Where is the ruthlessly pragmatic Hakuho Clan patriarch that Kashiwagi first met? That impression of him seems like a joke now.
He finishes his cigarette and crushes it out thoroughly, settling back into his seat.
“That’s enough, Mine. It’s all well and good to fight for your betrothed, but for your credibility within the Clan, you have to get a grip on your emotions. I need you to be a voice of reason at my side while the Chairman is healing.”
“…Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all. Don’t try to make a copy of Daigo’s will, or I’ll know. See you at the officer’s meeting tomorrow.”
With the air of a defused bomb, Mine bows and stands to leave Kashiwagi’s office, but not before he pries one last word in: “And Mine, about this… If I could offer you some advice: when Daigo wakes up, you ought to tell Yayoi-san as soon as possible. I have been in the Lady’s confidence for long enough to say that she won’t be pleased, at least not right away, but she has a certain adherence to ceremony that will probably overcome any prejudice. If you tell her that you want to have a wedding, she’ll begin planning it right away. After that, she might start asking about heirs.”
Mine doesn’t turn to look back at him.
“I would give anything to be able to think about such a future right now, Kashiwagi-san,” he says, pure anguish sounding scratchy and low in his throat.
“You are both fools of unthinkable proportion, but in one’s first love, it is a great privilege to be stupid. If it wasn’t clear, you have my blessings.”
It’s just barely enough to make the man flinch.
“Thank you,” Mine says like he’s dispensing of it, before disappearing in a rush.
The last blips of vermillion sunlight sparkle over Kamurocho as Kashiwagi sits in somber reflection, craving another smoke against his better sense.
Last he heard from the trauma doctor specially appointed to Daigo’s care, the collapsed portion of his left lung is expected to make a full recovery so long as no further complications arise. There is, however, no timeline on when he might regain consciousness. In his worst nightmare since the events of two days ago, Kashiwagi imagines Daigo comatose and intubated for years on end, trapped in a state of waking death, denied of certainty. Weak, prone. He shudders to think of it.
With dusk falling over Kamurocho, he realizes that he still has work to do, and lights another cigarette.