PART FOURTY-EIGHT !
all's fair in love and war.
this chapter contains panic + anxiety attacks and an explicit mention of torture, do read at your own discretion.
SOMETHING FELT WRONG. you can feel it deep within you, like your sanity is being hanged on the gallows, your mind detaching, cutting up into small ribbons of nonsensical mania. you cannot describe it. but you're aware that something within you had changed significantly. your nightmares growing hungrier is one thing, another was the medicine that was suppose to help you, but it only turns into mind poison.
you feel a mattress beneath your back when you awaken.
then fingertips. you feel two soft fingertips caressing through your hair.
you stir in the moment, frowning at the bed cushioning you, the heaviness that settled in your bones and the ache on your abdomen.
you hear someone call your name like a psalm.
"shh." comforting fingers are on your hair.
"you're okay now. no one's gonna hurt you here." your eyes open to a pair of golden eyes—so soft and buttery, like dandelions—staring right back at you.
"...Hanma?" it's Hanma.
"hey." his voice is husky yet so achingly gentle, a smile fluttering on his lips. "it's me."
despite the pain in your body, you sit up and pull him into a tight embrace. Hanma reciprocates the action immediately, burying his nose in the crook of your neck.
God, oh my god. he's here. Hanma's here and he's alive.
his large hands wrap around your torso in craving, fingers going under your shirt to soothe your skin there. his lips pressed against the side of your temple, "it's okay now, i'm here."
"you were dead." your voice is a breathy crack of smoke, a tangent. "i thought you died."
"i'm sorry." Hanma plants another kiss on your warm skin, rocking you both in a slow manner.
you pull away to have Hanma's cheek on the palms of your hand, your thumb lifting to press against his face, the tip of your finger running down his jaw—a forming stubble pricks your skin—then you swipe under his piercing golden eyes, examining for any mishaps and anomalies. when you only spot a few bruises and mild burns, you drop your hand and lean your head on his shoulder, letting out a tangled sigh from your chest. Hanma palms the back of your neck, nuzzling into your hair and you both simply stay like that, measuring each other's breaths, counting the heartbeats between you two.
he sits there, enjoying the rare pleasure of your touch that you don't show too often to him, never to him.
he takes your hand when you finish, splays kisses all over your palm. then his eyes shift to your body, he frowns.
"you're thinner." there's an undertone of anger in his baritone. "and your nightmares are getting worse."
"nothing serious."
"they hurt you." his hand is firm around your own.
you shake your head. "they found out."
"i know." Hanma combs his fingers through your hair. "...i heard about what happened from Imaushi."
Wakasa. the name sends a wave of panic through your whole chest, and Hanma is quick to see the change in your demeanor.
"you okay?"
"...do you know what happened to him and Kakucho?"
you are met with Hanma's reluctant silence, "we've been chasing after a criminal syndicate for the longest time, you already know what happens to people like them when they disobey."
you hated it, how your chest ached so painfully at the thought. "unfair." you stress through a weak voice.
you turn away from Hanma to gather your thoughts. your chest cannot help but ache so badly and fuck—tears are threatening to spill from your eyes just at the thought of Wakasa or Kakucho, and the thought that those two will be hurt because of you. it's always because of you.
you want to cry.
you gasp softly, chest tightening suddenly as the panic chokes your throat.
"hey." you hear Hanma call out from your side when he sees the barest of reaction from you. he proceeds to reach out and run his hand up and down your arm, to ground you to reality—to keep you with him and away from your unmerciful thoughts.
"darling." Hanma's talking to you. "stay with me. i've got you, okay? they won't die, they're gonna be alright—"
you're not paying attention to him.
apprehension bleeds through your veins and you're getting light-headed.
something's wrong.
it's happening again, you can't breathe and your eyes are spinning, unfocused. you cannot tell who's in the room now, your heart is racing and your head is dizzy; it's your fault they're getting hurt. it's your fault Mars and Uncle Mamoru are dead. it's your fault for Marise's demise. Hanma, Senju and Ryusei almost died because of you. Ran's pained expression because you lied. you lie and hurt—a walking fucking catastrophe.
you vaguely feel someone firmly grab your arms, pulling you to a chest, ears pressed up against their erratic heartbeat. they hold their hand on your head, keeping you safe, tucking you away from the world.
breathe, you remind yourself. in, out, in then out.
slowly, your heart calms itself. your vision steadies and your ears are open to the voices surrounding you. you shift your gaze to see Hanma leaned close to you, his eyes brimming with worry. beside him was Senju, her lips tugged in a frown, then you recognize the person holding you close,
you pull away to look up at Ryusei's dark eyes, light hair—like a shade of salmon against the fluorescent lights—he rubs his thumb against your hair when he sees you finally responding.
his lips flatten. "you okay?"
"yeah, sorry."
"it's fine." he lets you go and you let out an exhale.
"sorry." you taste the words again, this time directed towards Hanma and Senju who still had worried looks on their faces.
Senju is the first to speak, she shapes your name on her lips but you raise your hand to stop her.
"don't."
"y/n—"
"please. i don't want to talk about it." i don't want to talk about my issues, but you refrain from mentioning the aforementioned.
Ryusei sighs, lifting his hand to brush sweat-coated bangs away from your forehead. "you want to take another hour of rest? we don't have to rush."
you shake your head, sending the three a small smile. slowly, you've beckoned for Senju to come close. when she's within reach, you pull both Senju and Ryusei into a hug, wrapping them up in your arms. they still dress a few wounds and burns, but they're alive, just like Hanma.
"thank you for being alive." you murmur, then pull away to look at all three of them.
"how did you three get out? i thought you..."
"died?" amusement glints in Hanma's eyes then it droops. "when...that brawler pulled you away from us and set the building on fire, someone came from the other door through the burning and untied us all," Hanma tips his chin in Senju's direction. "she inhaled a lot of smoke but all three of us escaped safely, with burns of course but still alive."
you reminisce on his information before asking, "who saved you?"
"am i interrupting?"
an unfamiliar voice, your head spins in alert. just over Ryusei's shoulder, standing by the door was a bulky man with crossed arms over his chest.
Shiba Taiju.
"Shiba." there's an aftertaste of bitterness in your tone, eyes flickering towards Ryusei who catches the look of mild repugnance in your face.
Taiju is standing on the doorway of the room, he's in casual attire with a tee that clung to his upper-toned body like second skin. his usual short, sleek back hair a bird's nest of ocean hair.
"we meet again, miss y/n." he subtly tips his head sideward. "do i get rewarded for saving the renowned third most indispensable person in the entirety of Tokyo?"
you cannot tell if he's being serious or mocking.
"she's still unstable, if you want to talk business please do it later." Hanma comes to your defense immediately, frowning back at the larger male who does nothing but scoff at Hanma's statement.
"that's right, she's unstable, hence i need to talk to her about this now because let me remind you who's bleeding money here for your medical services and keeping you all sheltered here?" Taiju bites back, harsher than intended. but it gets the job done and Hanma's lips flatten into a scowl.
you catch on to Taiju's words, "wait for me outside."
Senju is exasperated, running fingers through her pink hair. she hisses. "you can't be serious, you just—" you just had a panic attack, her eyes says it all.
i know, your eyes respond.
Senju looks deep into your irises with her narrowed pelagic ones—you try to refrain yourself from flinching under her scrutinizing gaze. because all you remember looking into those electric eyes are Sanzu's borderline mania and hatred pinned towards you.
"i have a lot to talk about with Shiba, you can wait for me outside, if i need something i'll be sure to yell it out."
three pairs of eyes are on you, each mirror a look of reluctance. Ryusei is the first to take action, standing from the spot he took beside you moments ago, Senju trails behind and Hanma is the last to leave.
in the background, Taiju rolls his eyes. "i won't hurt your little leader, Reaper." he juts his thumb out the door, "now get going."
"damn prick." Hanma tosses a wayward comment Taiju's way as he exits the door with the others, but the larger male is less than impressed, shutting the door behind him without another word.
"first, i'd like to thank you, Shiba-san. for saving those three and me."
Taiju's silence is long. "i didn't expect that reaction from you, i thought you'd be more resilient and stubborn."
"i'm tired, fed up and wounded enough as it is. let's get straight to the point, Shiba. i have no motivation to play politics with you and i figured you businessmen are no saints with golden-hearts, so what do you want in return?"
there's a hint of a toothy smile in his expression, he straightens from the wall, grabbing a chair and taking a seat at your bed side.
you do nothing but glare at him.
"you know what? i like you." Taiju starts, "and here i thought you're nothing but a spoiled brat with a superiority complex, like Kisaki Tetta, guess i shouldn't have underestimated you."
"i appreciate the compliment." you say. "very oscar-worthy, it truly moved me to tears."
Taiju lets out a laugh, tipping his head back, exposing the columns of his throat.
"looks like we can get along then. Misaki, that's the name of your little group, isn't it?"
"unofficial." you spite.
"it fits you." he shrugs softly. "since you're blood-related to Kisaki and have the same hiragana symbols as Marise and Mars—Misaki." you can tell there's an undertone of malice in Shiba Taiju's tone the more he converses with you.
"you.." Taiju is no longer smiling. "you're responsible for all the issues that's been happening, you know? the recent crime spikes, the unusual activities of Quoia, the insubordination within Bonten, you're quite the catastrophe aren't you?"
"and?" you ask. "what's that got anything to do with you?"
you are caught surprised when Taiju bends, enough for his face to invade your bubble. you have half a mind to kick him away but you are in no position to be acting out, you bite your tongue.
"oh, it has everything to do with me." he states.
"i own a few businesses in between the partitions of Quoia's agreed territory, heard a few rumours that after the death of Syouma Makoto's daughter, he hasn't been active as a leader and has been purchasing a lot of opioid drugs, tinkering away the organization's funds as it is."
Syouma's been inactive? your eyes widen. so killing Mars was...
"that little stunt you pulled with Mars Makoto was effective." Taiju voices out. "so after meeting you for the first time in that party, i decided to come into some sort of agreement with you."
ah, there it is.
"so you want some sort of benefit from this?"
"i trust your plans against Quoia will play out in the end, so far the odds are in your favor. both Quoia and Bonten still believe that Hanma and Ryusei are dead, you have the advantage in this, and if i provide you services," he reclines back in his seat, avarice glowing in his irises. "i want some of Quoia's collaterals as a reward for helping you."
a gamble, really.
Taiju Shiba is betting on your horse—implying that he believes you would be able to win against Quoia. a risky investment that could reap great rewards on his hand, but if he chooses wrongly and you end up dying from Quoia, the only thing Shiba would lose is a few yen from his overflowing cash banks. somehow the thought of Taiju using your goals and personal revenge to his gains—it angered you, but who are you to be mad?
you wasted many years with Hanma chasing after Quoia ever since you were eighteen and play-pretending with Mars. you know something's wrong with you, and you know that you don't have anymore time left.
it's not the time to be stubborn.
"the moment your resources are proven useless to me, we are done."
Taiju's smile is wide, because deep within his yellow eyes he sees it, the hint of unbridled madness in your pupils.
he grasps your hand in his calloused ones, shaking it.
"you made the right choice, Kisaki-san." he tells you. "now let me help you win this war."
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his abdomen felt like it was first burning coals, skin sulfured then dipped in ice cubes.
Kakucho felt numb yet in so much pain, he had lost count on how many times a boot drives itself into his black-blue beaten up belly. he finally sputters and heaves, saliva coalescing with dark blood spat onto the cold ground and he shivers, sweat quick to soak up his hair like dewy raindrops.
he doesn't think he can take another one, he doesn't even remember how long he was tied; whipped raw and being beaten blue.
"get up." his beater orders. but contrasting to his words, his voice is too gentle, too cracked and broken—like he's apologizing to Kakucho.
Mocchi's jaw is hardened and body rigid. he tries again through a strained voice. "get up, Kakucho."
of course he'd be apologetic. Mocchi feels nothing but wretchedness and sickly guilt at being the one to constantly drive Kakucho into a beaten state of broken orchestra. it's a cruel situation to be ordered against your will to punish your friend till he's half-dead.
beside the two, another disgruntled cry catches Kakucho's attention. he barely looks, his eyes unfocused on Wakasa's direction—just as equally disheveled and bruised, mouth wrapped in a cloth. Benkei sends another whip to his naked back, cracking a red line against his skin. his blond-purple head drops against the pillar in front of him, his whole body shaking, finally succumbing to its injuries.
"that should be enough." Kokonoi grits out between his teeth.
Kakucho cranes his head to look, there's sweat perforating the whites of Koko's pearly hair, then silver-red eyes blur over the other executives in the room. the Haitanis are shell-shocked and with gritted teeth, Sanzu was leaning against the wall, a look of indifference. and Takeomi is next to Koko, sending him a look of warning at his verbal complaint, but he wasn't having it.
"that's enough punishm—"
"another hour." Mikey sliced through his statement.
the room grows cold, maybe uncomfortable and unbearable. no one dares to speak, Benkei practices,
"but Mikey. they will d—"
"this punishment is nothing but merciful." Mikey is relentless. "or will you disobey me and join them on the dirty ground, Arashi, Kokonoi?" his dark eyes are hard, and the two shift under the blunt threat.
beneath the apathetic cones of his eyes, Mikey is beyond enraged. his fingernails digging into his palm as he steps forward, finally.
"fine then." he grits out. "Mocchi, Benkei, drag those two to me."
Kakucho hides his wince when Mochizuki grabs his bicep firmly, his whole body dragged against the ground. Wakasa wasn't treated any differently when he's untied, Benkei tosses him uncaringly to Mikey's clean oxford shoes.
neither one raises their heads and the silence grows like a hungry ocean. deep and billowing, drowning the whole room. and all they hear is Mikey rummaging for something in his pockets,
"sit up properly," Mikey says, tossing a clean white cloth and a small yet extremely sharp knife before them.
it hits the ground like tinkering stones and a falling leaf. everyone in the room flinches.
"atone for me." a demand. "right here right now, and your punishment will end."
fear hammers against Kakucho's chest.
Mikey is asking them to perform yubitsume. self-amputation of the fingers, a ritual of apology for disobedience within the Yakuza world.
"fuck." Mochizuki curses from behind them softly.
Kakucho swallows.
he reaches for the knife first with trembling hands. before he can get a hold of the knife, Wakasa's hand is swift to take it before he can.
Kakucho spins in his direction, watching with wide eyes as Wakasa retrieves the cloth as well, placing it neatly on the ground. his left hand is on the fabric, pinkie stuck out as the knife hovers over the tip of his finger.
"Wakasa—"
"i'll atone for my misbehavior." his words come out casual, pushing down on the knife as the blade cuts through the skin of his finger—
"so you'd still be willing to cut off your finger even after what you've intentionally done?" Mikey accuses. his shoulders are taut, his onyx eyes appear like black gemstones under the light of the room.
"you let her go." sibilates he.
Mikey had stepped forward, his shoe hovering above the knife. it was enough for him to step down and the let the blade cut the tip of Wakasa's pinkie finger.
he could if he wanted to.
Wakasa's tone remained impassive against the harsh threat on his finger when he answers, "it was what she wanted."
"who's orders are you to do as you please?"
"i was tasked to guard her and to attend to all her needs, she wanted to leave, i let her."
Mikey does nothing but laugh in ichor. "do you think of me as a fool?"
"then i'll ask you this, where does your loyalty truly lie, Imaushi?" his eyes narrow, tone turning cold. "do you follow me because you see me as your leader, or do you follow me because of Shinichiro?"
everyone in the room watches—Benkei and Takeomi witnessing with hitched breaths—as Wakasa stills at Mikey's confrontation.
he doesn't answer immediately, nor does he deny the accusation.
"i think i've heard enough." Mikey's demeanor tames a little, voice quelled from its bonfire but it still smoldered a venomous smoke.
he lets his foot up, gesturing a hand to the the two bulky man, "take these two to the cell. they'll stay there for three days, with only one glass of water and food for the remainder of their punishment."
they immediately abided, and Mikey's head is a flurry of rage, ache, confusion. he exits the room as soon as the command leaves his lips and Sanzu slips out with him, trailing so quietly behind you would mistake him for a ghostly bristle.
but all Mikey could hear was the pounding of his heart on his ears. there's a churning on his gut and his head felt like it was clouded with a storm, detached.
the platinum didn't realize he had stopped walking until Sanzu softly called out his name,
Mikey seizes a quiet exhale barely audible, "what do you think of it, Sanzu?" he asks instead.
Sanzu's mint eyes flutter, his arms obediently tucked behind his back. ever since the slap, he hasn't spoken out of bounds or did anything beyond Mikey's beck and call.
"whoever disobeys deserves to be punished, a friend or not." he says. "because that's how Bonten works."
"because that's how Bonten works." he tastes the syllables on his tongue. "i didn't create Bonten just to act like this." he created Bonten to ensure his friends are safe and happy with their own lives—and those guys, the members of Kanto Manji Gang— followed him on this path of no return, and so far, he's been hurting the very people that decided to stay by him.
and an image of you flash through his mind, the soft smile on your expression and eyes that seem to look right through his soul.
"after hearing this, will you leave?"
"why would i leave?" you start. "i never expected to meet those guys again after Izana's death. meeting them again, it feels as if i'm right where i belong."
liar. a filthy, cunning liar, that's what you were. a daughter to a bastard drug boss, a sister to an abhorrent man named Kisaki Tetta.
and he's no better. a conceited son with a dead family.
"Sanzu, please see through that those two are following their punishment." it was a measly attempt of brushing him off, but Mikey wanted to be alone.
he doesn't wait for Sanzu's response, his feet drags achingly through the halls until he reaches his office.
cold.
the moment Mikey opens the door, it felt cold and a wave of anxiety crashes through him.
his knees weakens and he cannot help but sink to the floor, fingers pulling through platinum locks. monster, he calls himself. monster, monster, monster—he's a fucking monster that should've died instead of Shinichiro, Emma, Baji or Izana.
for all of his strong flesh and cold heart. he's nothing but a withered boy with a fucked up mind. for the next ten minutes as he tries to breathe in air into his lungs,
Mikey debates about dying.
five days left.
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