PART THIRTY-THREE !
her true intentions i.
—YEAR, JUNE 2008
HANMA SHUJI IS A RECKLESS MAN, and yet when he isn't fighting skin and bones out on the grimy alleyways, he takes a portion of his free time frequently visiting his dear friend's grave with a plastic of beer and cigarette packets, ready to spend a solemn moment withering his lungs and a fraction of his mourning away.
today, however, would've been another casual and perfect visit—if it weren't for a random girl appearing from the corner of his view, her clacking of expensive boots a vexing irritation down his ears.
Hanma heaves out a sigh, lowering his burning cigarette stick and closing his eyes, waiting for your footsteps to fade further into the empty graveyard, though, he was caught surprised when he felt your warming presence beside him.
he takes a moment to drink you in, molten marigolds sliding from the tip of your boots to your head, a flash of recognition crosses his eyes when he peers at your familiar dark gaze and the inky butterfly tattoo on your collarbone.
she looks like a harmless little butterfly. ah, you were Izana's chick from two years ago.
"who are you?" he plays pretend.
he watches closely as you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes, shooting him a small smile. "just a person who wanted to visit her brother's grave."
your answer irks Hanma. he has heard a plentitude of rumors surrounding you, from incoherent conversations between the heavenly kings and Izana himself—so it's no surprise that even Hanma knew rumors about your diseased older brother, Marise l/n.
he snorts. "older brother i presumed?"
"no, my younger brother."
he stops laughing, darts his gold eyes to you.
he quirks a brow, and it was your turn to snort at his puzzled look. you take a few steps towards the grave in front of him, lowered your head and clasps your hands together in a prayer. after awhile, you spin and take a seat beside him but Hanma makes sure to keep a huge gap between you two: showing his clear suspicions but you seemed unfazed with the burning glares.
you try to ease his suspicions by saying, "i already visited my older brother awhile ago, in a different graveyard than here."
for a long moment, Hanma tries to piece together your answers: already visited your older brother awhile ago, in a different graveyard. here for a younger brother—then for a split fracture, Yasuhiro Muto's words play like a rewinding tape in his head,
"she kinda reminds me of you, Kisaki." Mucho finalizes his words, almost shocking the blond in his spot. "placid smiles and playing victim, then turning vile to the bone when she's pushed past her reasonings..."
"so, Kisaki Tetta is your younger brother..?" he makes a wild assumption.
you hum at said wild assumption. hummed.
an unbridled fury coils within the boy's heart. don't fuck with me. "care to explain? don't think you can try to manipulate me. i know who you are, heard a few things about you from those Tenjiku bastards so if you even dare try to make a fool out of—"
"my mother was a whore."
Hanma stops his ramble, your voice is soft but it pierces through the thick air so easily. enough for the dancing breeze to seize its conquest, all that's left in the atmosphere is a boy, a girl, a gravestone in front of them, and the scent of burning cigarette smoke.
"your...mother?"
you turn your head in his direction. "i never got the luxury to meet her, she died when i was a toddler so i barely know her. i've only found out recently that she's a whore, with my older brother's biological father and my biological father." you spoke with a casual undertone, reaching out to grab a can of beer from Hanma's little grocery plastic between you two.
the beer can clicks and hisses open, "my biological father is a Kisaki." you take a gullible sip, resting your gaze on the boy as you map out the emotions contorted in his face.
when he notices you staring, his eyes reel back to boredom, he clicks his tongue giving you a wry smile. "why are you telling me this?"
"you're the only one close to my otouto, Hanma Shuji-san."
"so you already know who i am?" Hanma tilts his head, sizing you up once and for all. vile and selfish: like what Mucho had said of you. you weren't here to visit your blood-related younger brother, and Hanma should feel offended, knowing his friend's family member didn't come to visit him but he feels something familiar burning in his gut.
he licks his lips, "what business do you have with me, y/n l/n—or better yet, Kisaki-san?"
you halt for a split second, finally scowling up at him. "just call me y/n. i'm not officially a Kisaki, and l/n is my mother's family name." you wave a hand. "and i'd rather not make my family issues more confusing for you, Hanma-san."
"alright then, but you came to me for help about your family."
"quick-witted of you." you praised him.
he sends you a vile grin. "i guess you can say i have a uhh, a talent, for picking up true intentions. believe me, it's such a useful tool."
"tool." you lick your teeth. "from what i've heard you consider yourself a tool as well."
Hanma refrains the urge from rolling his eyes at you. "you wanna hire me, doll? forgive me but as of now, my terms of service is raised to a significant degree, i don't think even someone as rich as you could afford."
"then, would you be willing to help if i gave you an insight on something?"
Hanma doesn't say anything, that allowed you to continue. "Tetta Kisaki's cause of death was from a vehicle accident." you state dully at the gravestone of your brother. "a truck, quite a tragic accident really. the driver faced such heavy charges since he's at fault for being behind the wheel—"
"get straight to the fucking point—"
"the truck driver and the truck was filled with unwarranted and proscribed drugs. illegally shipped in from Korea."
there is a pause. "huh?"
"that illegal drug transaction led back to a company named Quoia." you reached out, twirled a piece of his long blond-black hair away from his face and continued,
"you care about Tetta, right? wanna get revenge? then, if that's the case we will have the same agenda, because my goal is to take down that company."
"and may i ask why are you so keen on taking down Quoia?"
your chuckle is bittersweet. "call it, revenge. for causing the death of my older brother Marise."
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"so, what's the first step?" Hanma asks, the remainder of the crepuscular dawn peeking from the horizon. you crushed the empty beer can between your hand, standing up to smooth your clothes.
"the first step." you start. "we take out Mamoru l/n."
the boy stiffens. "wait isn't that—"
"yup. he's the very uncle that lives under the same roof as me." you gaze at him with an unwavering look, a hooded storm running feral between the frames of your irises, hiding a deep history woven beneath your barebones.
"quite sickening, right Hanma-san? i was too busy mourning when i saw my brother on the news i never expected his killer to be right under my nose this entire time." murmurs you. "there's no one who knew Marise better than my uncle and i. it makes sense that he's the best person to kill him and escape."
Hanma questions, "why do you think that?"
"i overheard him talking to someone, when i was younger i assume he's talking to someone from his business, but it looks like uncle Mamoru is a part of Quoia, under the beck and call of the boss." you uncrossed your arms, lifting a hand in Hanma's direction.
"help me come up with a plan to make him face the same punishment as what he did to Marise, after that, we go through his office for more information on Quoia. that's the perfect first step for the two of us."
Hanma scrutinizes your plan once again, but nonetheless he willingly reaches out his own hand, wrapping his rough and larger one, sealing an intertwining oath between the two of you. a nineteen-year old boy and an eighteen-year old girl with a plan to court a catastrophe through the waking hours of Tokyo City, their first ode for the murdered brother.
you weren't a perfect leader—being both young and reckless—to that Hanma was there to support your clumsy decision making, overlapping his own street experience with your own strategic counterattack. you both complimented each other's lackings and for a moment you understood why your little brother Tetta kept Hanma Shuji around till his last breath,
having the reaper as an ally was by far the best decision you've came up with.
you hummed a soft melody through your dim and cold apartment, tracing the gun hidden beneath your jogger pocket. a gun that Hanma had secured for you, and taught you how to use for the past two weeks since you've joined hands with him.
tonight, the plan you've came up with had been set in motion.
you hear the door to the apartment open with a heavy creak. "hey, y/n i'm back."
"welcome back, uncle." you murmur softly, shooting your uncle a wry smile as he enters the threshold, loosening his tie with a heavy sigh.
"you must be tired." you nod towards his exhausted expression. in return, Mamoru chuckles. "this uncle of yours is getting quite old, it's no surprise i've been feeling fatigued these days."
you merely hum, watching him wander around the living room, for a split moment he made a comment about why the apartment was dark, in which you quickly brushed it off, slowly revealing the gun from your pocket and hiding it behind your back when Mamoru turns his back to you.
"say, uncle?"
"what is it, young one?"
"do you miss Marise?" you see a fraction of a second where his taut shoulders freeze. the atmosphere dips into icy silence, your uncle shoots you a closed-eyed smile over his shoulder, peeling his business suit from his shoulders.
"of course i do—"
a single click of a gun, and his whole body jumps in surprise.
"you fucking dare lie through your teeth in front of me?" a dark undertone laces your voice, the blasphemy of his answer throwing you into a wild disarray of harbored hatred.
"tell me, what did you feel when you lured Marise out the house and pushed him in that river, huh? what did you feel when you held his body beneath that water as he struggled? what did you do when he was begging, screaming, looking at you with betrayal and pain—what did you do?"
your voice ricochets through the cold home, fingers gripping the handle of the gun tightly. you let out all your pent-up emotions cascade down your skin in burning red.
"you were planning on killing me too, weren't you?"
"yes." your uncle responds, he did not flinch when you dug the barrel into the back of his head.
"well." you chuckle. "at least you're honest in the end."
"are you gonna kill me, y/n?" Mamoru starts. "if you do, you won't be able to go back from this. you'll be on the same page as me, a sinner."
you glanced at the gun in your hand, then your uncle's head, counted one to ten, breathe in and out and parted your lips to respond,
"Marise was my everything." your first statement, and he listens, he doesn't struggle.
"the day you killed him, i died with him too." the second statement, he continues to listen, he doesn't struggle.
"so, don't blame me for wanting you dead too." the third statement is accompanied with a loud bang enough to shatter everything around you, however he's no longer listening, or breathing by the time you've finished.
you tear your gaze away from the splatter of brain gore that stained the wall, dragging your whole body to your room with blood and sin clinging to your shirt. it was the first time, tonight you are riddled a sinner who painted with the blood of a family member.
i'm sorry, Marise. you stumbled into a table, colliding with it until some contents spill to the floor, you grip the edge and swallow the rising bile in your dry throat, your head is spinning and you do not know if it's the cause of the pungent blood or the high-pitched ringing in your ears. i'm sorry i've become someone who is a murderer instead.
with shaky hands, your fingers reached for your phone, you've dialed a number—tears and anxiety and misery on the edge of your eyelashes, ready to burst from the fissures of your crumbling composure.
"Hanma-san, please come over." you desperately need someone to hold.