Worthless Pride

SEVENTEEN YEARS EARLIER.

“Do you wanna be my friend?”

Your words rang in his head like a broken record as they had been for the past week and a half. His expression was set into one of confliction as he watched you and Rindou crouch behind a bush a few yards away, spying on your caretakers, Miss Yua and Mister Ayato, who were having brunch out at a fancy restaurant on Keyakizaka street.

He hadn’t believed you were being genuine at the time--he really, really hadn’t, nobody does anything for people like them out of the kindness of their hearts. And though he supposed you hadn’t given him reason to think you weren’t being genuine, Ran couldn’t just take your words at face value, not when both his life, and more importantly, Rindou’s, banked on him being smart with decisions.

He had already messed up once and it nearly cost Rindou his life, it would have cost him his life if you hadn’t of shown up when you did. He couldn’t slip up again.

He grimaced when he watched a wide smile spread across Rindou’s face, something unwelcome tugged at his chest as he saw Rindou lean in close and say something quietly to you before the two of you burst into giggles that you desperately tried to smother with your hand.

He had never seen Rindou so happy before. 

Sure, he had seen his brother smiling and laughing before but never… like this. He smiled when the two of them won a fight, he laughed when someone who barked too loud got what was coming but it wasn’t… this. It was always restrained, mocking, he had never seen Rindou let loose like this before.

And a part of him hated it. 

No. That was a lie, he didn’t hate it. 

There was nothing Ran wanted more than to see Rindou happy and safe. He hated that he wasn’t the one making Rindou so happy—he was his brother, the one that was supposed to be taking care of him. And Ran felt like a fucking failure watching Rindou with you, knowing damn well that he had never ever seen his brother this happy before--knowing that he would never have been able to give him this on his own.

And he knew that it wasn’t him, per se. Rindou loved him, Ran knew that, but it was hard to be happy and carefree when every day was a question of whether or not Ran would find a stall to steal food from or if they would have to go hungry for the day, of whether or not they’d find somewhere warm to sleep for the night or if they’d be stuck in an alley, praying that a gang didn’t stumble upon them while they were sleeping. 

His chest felt tight when he watched the two of you peak over the bushes again, completely missing the way that Yua and Ayato shared an exasperated look, clearly aware that the two of you were spying on them. He swore he was going to be sick when the two of you darted back beneath the bush, whispering to each other and giggling again because it wasn’t fucking fair.

And Ran should be happy. He should be happy that Rindou was happy, that the two of them actually had a roof over their head and more than enough food in their stomachs for the first time in years but he wasn’t.

He wasn’t because he felt like he was losing his brother. And deep down he knew that that was untrue but he couldn’t help the fear that crept through him every time he saw the two of you together. It had always just been him and Rindou—since they were kids at the orphanage, abandoned by their parents, on the streets after fleeing the orphanage when someone tried to adopt Ran but not Rindou. And it wasn’t like you were trying to make him feel that way—you always asked him to come along with the two of them whenever you guys went out but Ran just couldn’t bring himself to. 

This wasn’t something he was going to let himself get used to, he reminded himself. He and Rindou would be back on the streets sooner rather than later, it was only a matter of time before Yua and Ayato confronted him about Rindou being healed and they had to go back to worrying about food and shelter and surviving through the night. He couldn’t let himself get used to it. He couldn’t. If he got used to it, he’d be dull getting back on the streets and he could get Rindou killed.

“Y/n, Rindou,” Yua said sharply and Ran barely smothered the smile that twitched at his lips when he watched you and Rindou startle, sharing a look, peeking over the bush to see Yua walking toward the two of you and then scrambling to your feet to run away, Rindou grabbing your wrist and pulling you along after him. His eyes followed the two of you until you turned down the street in the direction of the park by your school and then another heavy feeling settled on his chest once the two of you disappeared from sight. 

A part of him wanted to chase after the two of you, he could feel his body begging him to move after you, join you guys at the park but his feet felt like they were glued to the ground. His nails dug into his palms at his sides, his lips pressed together tight. 

Go after them, he told himself but the more rational part of him kept himself from acting on his thoughts. You can’t, don’t let yourself get attached. This is only temporary

He let out a sharp breath, looking down to the sidewalk.

“Ran,” he heard Yua call, and his gaze darted up, body stiffening as his gaze met hers, “Come here, boy.”

Ran hesitated, Yua’s eyes narrowed, Ran sighed, glancing up and down the street once before crossing over, hands stuffed in his pockets as he made his way toward where Yua and Ayato were standing near the table they had been sitting at.

“What?” he asked, and internally winced as his voice came out far more hostile than he intended. Yua raised her eyebrows at the tone, Ran looked away.

“Your brother is finally up and moving about,” she noted, “he and y/n are quite the menaces together.”

Ran inhaled deeply through his nose, here it is, she’s going to ask us to leave, I knew it, I knew it-

“This your way of telling us we’ve overstayed our welcome?” he spit out, hands clenched tight at his sides, mind already racing as to try to figure out how he was going to break this to Rindou, where they were going to sleep for the night, and how much food they’d be able to take with them without it slowing them down in case they had to run from Shimada’s crew. 

“The opposite, in fact,” Yua clicked her tongue sharply and Ran looked back up at her, suspicious, “you and your brother have been living on the couches in the main room, don’t you think it’s about time we set up bedrooms for the two of you?” 

Ran’s world went still, eyebrows furrowing as he processed her words, blood roared in his ears and his heartbeat sped up dangerously. 

“What?” the word slipped from his lips before he could stop it and while he hated how weak his voice sounded, he hated the hope that had unconsciously sprung in him at her words the most. 

“You heard me, child,” Yua said and Ran could only stare at her, waiting for her to repeat herself--although he had learned over the past week and a half that there was nothing that Yua hated more than repeating herself. The older woman let out a breath, “Shall we set up bedrooms for you and Rindou?” 

“You’re letting us stay?” his nails dug into his palms, “but-I don’t understand, why-” 

“Stupid boy,” Yua tsked, “did you really think we would willingly let you and your brother go back to living on the streets?”

“But-”

“Isn’t it nice not having to worry about food and shelter?” Yua asked him and Ran’s mouth was dry as he nodded, “Then why question this?” 

“You won’t change your mind?” Ran asked quietly and Ran hated the way that Yua’s gaze softened on him, he hated the pity, it made him feel sick.

“No, child. We won’t change our mind. You’ll always be welcome here.”

Ran’s breath caught as he studied Yua’s face carefully, trying to make sure that she wasn’t lying for whatever reason and his eyebrows knit together and his bottom lip trembled when he realized that no, she wasn’t lying.

Oh.

Ran bit his bottom lip hard, trying to stop it from wobbling, rapidly blinking away the tears that had sprung to his eyes at the realization that maybe, just maybe, he and Rindou might have somewhere to call home that wasn’t under an overhang in an alley. 

Don’t get used to it, the more rational part of him warned, it can change in an instant. Don’t let your guard down.

Ran let out a shaky breath, “One,” he said, thinking back to what Yua had originally been asking.

“Hm?” Yua asked and Ran flushed when he realized that she probably had no idea what he was referring to.

“One bedroom for us,” he said quietly, “don’t separate us.”

Yua eyed him curiously once before nodding, “One bedroom, we’ll set up the spare by y/n’s room, sound good?” 

Ran nodded, scared to speak because he felt as if his heart was lodged in his throat and if he dared open it, the dam would break. Yua waved her hand at him, “Now shoo, those brats already ruined half of our brunch with their antics, go make sure they’re not terrorizing some other poor child, won’t you?” 

And Ran could only nod again, turning on his heel without a word and taking off down the street in the direction that the two of you had disappeared, intent on finding Rindou and letting him know what was going on.

Don’t let your guard down, he reminded himself as he turned the corner, catching sight of you and Rindou hanging on the swing set, it can all change in an instant.

--

PRESENT DAY.

You couldn’t breathe. You weren’t sure how long the two of you had just been standing there looking at each other--Sanzu had wandered away at some point to leave the two of you alone. Ran had yet to say anything other than your name but you could read every question running through his head: Why did you leave us behind? Why come back now? What changed? 

And you opened your mouth to say something--anything. 

‘Hi’

‘How are you?’

‘I’m sorry’

But you felt like a kid again, flustered and embarrassed and unable to tell them that you had no ulterior motives for chasing after them, you only wanted to be their friend. You felt your bottom lip tremble, and you wanted to scream and you wanted to cry. 

Breathe in, breathe out, you could do this, it’s just Ran. 

But it wasn’t just Ran, was it? It was crazy--it really was-- you could stand in front of thousands of people giving speeches on biometric research, you could go toe-to-toe with the old members of the Board of Directors who looked down on you for not only being young but also a woman, but standing in front of Haitani Ran again had you tongue-tied.

You tried again, lips parting to greet him but the words died on your tongue yet again. 

Get a hold of yourself, you wanted to shout at yourself, stop this. 

But Ran reached out, one hand curling around your bicep to tug you forward into him and your throat felt tight when you felt his arms wrap around your waist. Oh, you thought to yourself, body moving on its own as your own arms wrapped around his shoulders, face burying itself in the crook of his neck. You inhaled deeply, tears springing to your eyes at the familiar scent--god, you had missed him. 

Your nails dug deep into his skin through the thin dark dress shirt he wore and the hold he had around your waist was almost painful, squeezing you so tight that you swore he was going to snap your back but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

His breath was hot next to your ear and you felt dizzy and overwhelmed, your head felt light and you wondered, briefly, if you were going to pass out. How embarrassing would that be, you thought to yourself dryly, tears wetting his skin, first time seeing him in eight years and you faint when he hugs you, you’d never hear the end of it. 

“Ran,” you began and you hated how your voice wavered, “I-”

I’m sorry.

I should have kept contact. 

I wish I had stayed.

I don’t deserve this.

“I missed you so much,” was all you could manage to get out, voice cracking over the words and muffled against his skin, nails digging deeper into his shoulders as his arms tightened impossibly more around you. 

Ran let out a shaky exhale at your words, “Missed you too,” he said, and his voice was weaker than you had ever heard it before--your chest ached, “so fuckin’ much.”

And you weren’t sure how long you stayed there tucked in his arms but it wasn’t long enough--you could’ve stayed there forever, if given the chance. But he pulled back and your throat felt swollen as your arms dropped back to your side.

“What are you…?” his voice trailed off, he frowned, shaking his head, “Let’s sit down, yeah?” 

He didn’t wait for you to respond, nodding for you to follow after him as he made his way toward the back end of the roped-off area of the club. Your eyes stayed trained on his back as he led you to a booth in the back and you watched as the three people already sitting there, two women and an older man fled when they noticed Ran’s approach. 

Your brows furrowed as they scurried past you but Ran didn’t give you time to dwell on it, sliding into the booth and motioning for you to join him. You sat next to him, turning your body toward his and leaning your shoulder against the cushioned back of the booth.

Ran shifted toward you, arm flung over the back of the booth, so close that your legs were pressed against each other but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Part of you was still unsure if this was actually happening, and the contact with him was keeping you grounded, reminding you that yes, he was here and yes, you were together again.

He tilted his head to the side as he studied you, and you felt obscenely self-conscious as his lavender gaze swept over your body—you hated it. And you waited, you waited for the anger, the barrage of questions and spiteful words, but all he did was ask: “How have you been?”

And you faltered, because you had been bracing yourself for the onslaught and were unprepared for such a simple question and your hands trembled. You were grateful that a server came around when he did, asking the two if you wanted anything from the bar. Ran only lifted his half-empty glass of rum in response and you asked for a martini before turning your attention back to Ran.

“I’ve been okay… busy,” you said, and you barely caught the mirthful expression that swept across his face at your words. You winced, looking down, “How about you?”

Ran gave you a wry smile, one that made your heart feel full for the first time in years because fuck, you had missed it, you had missed him, and you had missed Rindou. “Also busy,” he chuckled, “this was the first night off we had in a while.”

“What do you do for work?” you asked curiously, missing the brief, wide-eyed expression that flashed across his face at your question as you thanked the server for your drink, turning toward him and raising your eyebrows as you took a sip of your martini.

“Work in investment mostly,” he raised his hand motioning around, “Rindou and I bought a lot of the clubs out in Roppongi, spend a lot of time managing them now.”

Your eyes widened and for a second, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips at the knowledge, leaning in to grab his hand and squeeze it, “I’m… I’m really happy for you, Ran, I-you have no idea. I always knew you and Rin would make out well. I’m so proud of you guys.”

Ran stared at your intertwined hands with an unreadable expression, and you faltered. Too forward, you realized, going to pull back, but Ran’s grip tightened on your hand when you tried to pull away, squeezing gently.

Your shoulders relaxed and for a moment, the two of you just sat there, “How is Rin? Is he here?” you asked.

“He’s around,” Ran said with a shrug, “He’ll show up, I’m sure.”

You frowned and nodded, unsatisfied with the response, but you turned your attention to the tattoo decorating his throat. You reached out with your free hand instinctively, cupping the side of his neck and tracing your thumb over the tattoo. His throat bobbed beneath your touch, “You got a new one,” you murmured, your brows furrowed, “The pink-haired one, he had the same.”

Ran hesitated, and your eyes flickered from the tattoo back up to his face, “It’s just something our group got after a night out drinking. Nothing special, drunken bets gone wrong.”

He’s lying.

Your eyes narrowed.

Why is he lying? 

But as you went to pry, Ran spoke up again, changing the subject, “How’d you even know we were here?” he asked and you paused.

What?

Blinking twice, you frowned, “You texted me,” you said slowly, watching as Ran’s brow furrowed and he reached into his pocket; watched as realization set into his face and he looked past you back toward the bar.

You watched Sanzu grin widely next to a man with a scarred face and half-unbuttoned dress shirt and tattooed chest. He lifted his hands up, revealing two phones, and slowly you put together what had happened.

Oh.

Your throat felt tight and your face heated up when you realized that no, Ran hadn’t actually wanted you here, it was one of his coworkers interfering for entertainment. 

Fuck, you thought, moving to pull your hand away from Ran’s but his grip on yours only tightened. He shifted closer to you, palm coming to the back of your head to force you to look at him. His face was so close to yours that it nearly made your heart falter, “Hey,” he said gently, “I’m glad you’re here.”

And your lips parted to say something, anything, but no words came out. 

He had changed, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. The Ran you had known all those years back was aggressive, mocking, sometimes even outright cruel—never to you, of course, but always to those who had done you or Rindou or him wrong, and you had done him and Rindou wrong, done them wronger than anyone else in their entire lives. You came to the club expecting a confrontation with him, knowing it would end up being a blowout fight, and you weren’t sure how you felt that you weren’t receiving it.

Because yes, it meant he had grown as a person, and that was good, you were proud of him, it had always been something you had nagged him to be better about. But at the same time, he had changed—and it made your chest ache because he had changed and you were at a loss as to how to continue with someone who used to be one of your two closest confidants, your best friend. 

And it hurt even more because you knew you had no right to be upset as it had been no one’s choice but your own.

“What are you even doing back here?” Ran asked, drawing you from your thoughts, leaning back against the couch again, fingers tracing patterns over the back of your hand, eyeing you curiously, “Rindou and I had honestly given up on you ever coming back.”

You chose your words carefully--you didn’t even know why you were back but you probably shouldn’t admit that to him, “To oversee the ongoing acquisition of-”

“Fujitsu Limited,” a smooth voice interrupted, and your eyes darted to the side, narrowed, taking in the new arrival--sleek white hair shaved down on one side, wrists and neck decorated with golden jewelry, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he eyed you curiously, “I must say, l/n-san, you really did a good job of boxing me out of that one. I thought I had that buy-out in the bag.”

Kokonoi Hajime, you recognized the man from the information you had requested from Yamamoto--Japan’s most eligible bachelor, self-made billionaire. You hadn’t even realized he was pursuing Fujitsu.

No wonder your uncle had been pushing for the hostile takeover so insistently, you realized, mind running fast as you considered Kokonoi Hajime’s words. Kokonoi was his biggest rival in the business world, always trying to upstage him, undermine his deals--if Kokonoi had been trying to buy-out Fujitsu Limited, it was no surprise he had you sweep it out from under him.

Briefly, you wondered why he didn’t do it himself--you were sure your uncle would’ve jumped at the chance to humiliate Kokonoi himself. If he didn’t… maybe he couldn’t, you realized. You’d have to talk to Yamamoto, figure out just how influential Kokonoi Hajime had become. 

You smiled easily at him, “Kokonoi-san, no hard feelings, I hope. Business is business, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard lots about you.”

Kokonoi’s smile was thin, it didn’t meet his eyes. “Of course not,” he said dryly, amusement twitched at your lips at the thinly veiled irritation in his eyes, “it’s a pleasure to meet you as well--and please, call me Hajime.”

Interesting maneuver, you noted, taking the hand he had outstretched to you into your own, shaking it, “Call me y/n.”

Kokonoi hummed, looking between the two of you and then down at your intertwined hands, “I’ll leave the two of you be,” he murmured before meeting your eyes one last time, “I hope we get another chance to speak.”

You let out a soft noise of agreement, watching him walk off in the direction of where Sanzu and the other man were standing by the bar. You turned your attention back toward Ran, who had been watching after Kokonoi with a frown. 

The frown disappeared when he realized you were looking at him, “Kokonoi Hajime, huh?” you asked.

“Yeah, we were in Tenjiku together all those years back, and then Kanto Manji Gang,” he said and your eyes shot open at the knowledge. You had never gotten too involved with the more violent half of their lives, mostly because of their own insistence--you had only ever met a small group of their friends, some boys they had met the first time they had been sent to juvie. “How do you know him?”

You laughed, “Who doesn’t know who he is?” you asked dryly, “I don’t even pay attention to much that goes on in Tokyo anymore but even I know who Kokonoi Hajime is. Not to mention that he’s had my uncle up in arms for years now. He’s never been so pressed over a business rival before, I swear.” 

“Fair enough,” Ran grinned as you took the last sip of your martini. He looked behind you, motioning for a server and you watched in amusement as you were brought another drink.

“Tryna get me drunk, Haitani?”  you teased.

“And what if I am?” he asked, knocking back another swig of his drink before leaning in close and brushing some stray hair out of your face with his free hand, “That alright with you, doll?” 

You raised your eyebrows at the pet name but Ran only winked at you--you liked to think that it was the alcohol making you feel so hot but you weren’t so sure. You pushed it away, “I-” you began but your voice faltered at another familiar voice.

“Ran, the fuck you doing? You we-”

You turned, eyes wide, and you swore time stopped when your eyes fell on the new arrival. You didn’t even recognize him at first--thrown off by the purple, black-streaked mullet but the droopy lavender eyes were unmistakable.

“Rindou,” you breathed out but you faltered as the irritated expression shifted into a furious one.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Rindou spit out and you almost physically flinched at the vicious tone, “Nah, you’ve got some nerve sho-”

“Rindou,” Ran’s voice was sharp and Rindou shut his mouth instantly. You inhaled shakily at the glare that Rindou set on Ran before his gaze dropped to where his brother was still tracing patterns on the back of your hand.

You pulled your hand back immediately and Rindou scoffed loudly, muttering something you couldn’t quite catch under his breath before turning on his heel and walking in the opposite direction.

Your heart was in your throat as you watched him disappear into the crowd of clubgoers and a part of you wanted to get up and chase after him but Ran grabbed your wrist before you could even move to stand, “Don’t,” Ran murmured, “It won’t go well. He’ll come around, he just… wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. You know how he gets with surprises.”

Yeah, you did--your lips nearly twitched up as you remembered Rindou’s sixteenth birthday, when you and Ran had brought him home a pet snake, remembering the loud shriek he had let out in response and how he refused to talk to the two of you for a week following the event. The smile fell quickly as distress began to set in, regret over leaving, longing for things to be the same. 

They never would be.

“Yeah,” you said aloud but the word sat bitter on your tongue, “maybe.”

“He will,” Ran promised, but you weren’t so sure. Haitani Rindou held grudges like none other.

Your chest felt tight, you were having trouble breathing and the club was suffocating--you had known this was coming, and it was the least you deserved for abandoning them as you did but fuck. And the more you thought about it, the more distressed you became.

You had to step away, get some air before you fell apart. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Relax, you’re okay.

“Ran,” you hated how your voice shook, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick.”

“I’ll walk you,” he offered, standing up with you, “The one out here is always stuffed full, I’ll take you to the one in the back, yeah?” 

You nodded, grateful, and your mind raced as he pressed his hand against your back, leading you away from the booth.

What would you even say to him? You couldn’t stop picturing the glare he had given you, god, he had never looked at you like that before. Never, not even when you and Ran had gone out of your way to piss him off when you were younger just to see his reactions. 

Stop thinking about it, you thought desperately, only making yourself more upset, but you couldn’t. 

The music was muted as the two of you made your way down a side hall connected to the roped-off section of the nightclub and you were acutely aware of the large palm splayed across your lower back, of the thumb rubbing gentle, soothing circles into the small of your back and you were grateful for it because the physical contact was keeping you grounded.

Was it?

You weren’t sure, actually, a dizzying feeling sweeping over you as he rubbed another circle into the small of your back, thumb dipping lower this time. You took in a shaky breath--maybe it wasn’t keeping you grounded, you reconsidered as you eyed Ran from the corner of your eye, head fuzzy at his lingering touch, a touch that remained just a bit too low for you to consider friendly. You had half a mind to smack him but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Did he even realize what he was doing?

He had to. You watched as he stared ahead, a conflicted expression dressing his face, lips turned down, and you realized maybe he didn’t notice, he seemed too lost in thought to realize. You could see the bathroom down the hall ahead and you stepped forward, away from his touch to try to rush toward it, mind racing.

But his hand darted out immediately, curling around your bicep to tug you back toward him. Your eyes widened at the movement, stumbling back toward him. He steadied you, turning you around to face him and you watched as his gaze drifted down. For a second, you barely resisted another urge to slap him because you thought he was ogling your chest but you realized that he wasn’t staring at your chest, he was staring below it, in the area of your solar plexus.

“Let me see it,” Ran’s voice was hoarse as he spoke, his eyes didn’t leave your body.

Oh.

You didn’t respond verbally, instead, your hands drifted to the hem of your shirt, carefully rolling it up to just below your breasts. Ran inhaled sharply, hands sliding up your sides to trace his thumbs across the tattoo decorating your skin beneath your breasts, and you swore his touch was setting your skin on fire. If you had thought you felt dizzy and fuzzy before, it was nothing compared to how you felt now with his fingers running along the black lines painting your skin--a pattern, while significantly smaller, that was identical to the combined pattern of the one lining the left side of Ran’s body and the right side of Rindou’s.

His grip tightened on your sides, thumbs pressing hard into the center of the tattoo, you winced. “Why didn’t you come back?” his eyes didn’t leave the tattoo as he spoke, “Why didn’t you bring us with you? At least say goodbye? You just fucking abandoned us, y/n, you promised-”

Ran inhaled sharply, cutting himself off, your throat felt tight. You knew this was coming--you knew it--but you still didn’t know what the fuck you were supposed to say. You couldn’t tell him the truth, that you had gotten involved with shady shit and didn’t want to drag him and Rindou into it because you knew him well enough that all he would do is get even more angry at you for making the decision for them, for treating them like children--because of course if they had the choice, they would have come with you.

And they would have ended up getting themselves killed.

“It’s none of your business,” the words slipped from your lips before you could stop them and you nearly flinched at the furious expression that crossed over his face, the way that his grip on your sides became painful. 

“None of my-?” he began, voice laced in disbelief, “Are you fucking me right now? It’s none of my business? All of these years and you can’t even fucking bother to give us an explanation? Do you know how long-?”

Ran inhaled deeply, hands dropping from your sides, one coming up to run through his messy hair, taking a step back and a deep breath as he tried to calm himself down. “Fuck,” he said under his breath before his voice rose, “Fuck, y/n, what the fuck?” 

Walk away, you told yourself, taking a step away from him to do just that but Ran was faster, hand shooting right back to your upper arm, dragging you back to him. Your back hit the wall with an ‘oof’ and Ran’s free hand came up to curl around your jaw, forcing you to look at him. He leaned in close, too close, you couldn’t breathe, your his met his livid lavender ones, “Stop fuckin’ tryna run away,” he spit out.

There it is, you swallowed thickly, the loss of temper that you’d been dreading all night. 

“Let me go,” you said, keeping your voice steady even as your head went light, overwhelmed from him being so close--you could smell the rum on his breath, you could smell the faded cologne on his collar. It was hot, too hot, hotter than it had been while you were walking across the club through the crowd of sweaty people and you weren’t quite sure how that was possible since you were standing underneath the air conditioning.

“I’m not letting you go,” he said, “Not until you give me an answer.” 

“Let me go, Ran,” you repeated and you watched as frustration flashed over his face.

“Why? So you can fucking disappear again? What the fuck is wrong with you, y/n? I just want-we just want you back, fuck. What the fuck did we do wrong?” he demanded, voice wavering and you hated how desperate he sounded--Haitani Ran never sounded desperate.

Your throat was dry, and your voice was weak, “Ran, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why?” he pressed, “Why the fuck did you leave? Tell me.”

“No-” 

“Fucking tell me,” his voice was loud, you grit your teeth, you were going to pass out--the heat, the alcohol, him being so close, it was too much. Get him away. 

“I CAN’T!” you shouted at him, hands shoving hard at his chest to push him away, and you leaned back against the wall, breath shaky as you tried to regain control of yourself. You watched distantly as his entire demeanor shifted--his lips pressing together tight and his jaw clenching, the anger in his eyes shifting into one of concern, his hands falling limp to his sides from where they had been holding you in place.

“Why? Are you in trouble?” His voice was still heated, but not as aggressive, his words barely registered through your head as you tried to clear your thoughts. Your eyes shot open as his hand returned to your jaw, grip significantly gentler than the one he had on you previously as he forced you to look at him, voice urgent, “Y/n, are you in trouble? Talk to me.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head, “No, Ran-”

Were you in trouble? Maybe, but you had been in constant danger since Izanami started making it big in the tech industry. Even if you were-

“We can help, y/n, we can help you if you’re in trouble,” Ran said, “Just tell-”

“You can’t,” you said, eyes opening to meet his, swallowing at the intense stare trained down on you, “Ran, you can’t-”

“We can,” he insisted, grip tightening on your jaw, thumb tracing over your skin. And you wanted to cry because this was exactly what you feared would happen, you knew this would happen. You shouldn’t have reached out. “Rindou and I, we’re not the same helpless street rats anymore, we-”

“Ran, stop-” you said, trying to turn your head away from him but his grip on your jaw tightened, forcing you to keep your eyes on his. You shut them, trying to avoid his gaze.

“Look at me.” he said harshly and your eyes reopened on instinct, gaze meeting his dark lavender one, “We can help you, just tell us-”

Exactly what you feared, you thought again. He wasn’t going to let up, especially now that he thought you were in trouble. You shouldn’t have come, you shouldn’t have come. You fucked up, you really, really fucked up. He was still talking, you could hear him even though his words weren’t really registering, you could hear him all but begging you to explain what the fuck you’d been up to the past eight years, to tell him so he can help you.

Shut up, you could feel your willpower crumbling because you missed him, you missed him, you missed Rindou, you wanted nothing more than to go back to how things had been before you left, and he was so close, he was so close it was suffocating, you couldn’t breathe--or you could breathe, but all you could breathe in was him, and his cologne, and the stupid rum he had been drinking earlier, and you needed him to shut up.

“... let us help you, y/n, c’mon, we-”

“Stop it!” you said.

“No,” Ran spit out, and he was too close, he was leaning in too close, his lips were practically brushing yours and you couldn’t think straight.

“Ran,” you breathed out, pushing weakly at his chest but then his lips were on yours and your mind went blank--you weren’t even sure which of you had leaned in first, you didn’t think it was you but your head was too hazy to recall it correctly. Push him away, this isn’t right, you told yourself, but even as you thought that, your hands were rising to cup his cheeks, dragging him closer.

This isn’t right, you told yourself again as your fingers traced along the smooth skin of his cheekbones, body moving on its own as you tilted your head to the side, as your lips parted when Ran’s tongue swept over your bottom lip. You knew it wasn’t right and you weren’t sure why you weren’t pushing him away. 

It’s the alcohol, you tried to convince yourself as one of your hands slipped behind his head, intertwining your fingers with the purple strands of hair. And maybe it was, in part at least--both of you had been drinking and you missed each other and-

Your thoughts were interrupted as Ran groaned into your mouth, hands sliding down your sides to wrap around your thighs and you gasped in surprise as he lifted you off of the ground, pressing you hard against the wall. Wrong, wrong, wrong, you wanted to scream, stop yourself, but you couldn’t let go of him. Your grip on his hair tightened and Ran’s lips moved against yours with a sort of desperation that had your skin crawling in the best and worst ways, as if he were begging you to stay through his actions where his words had failed, tongue tracing the inside of your mouth, teeth scraping your bottom lip as he pulled back, panting heavy, lips still brushing yours.

“Missed you s’much,” Ran gasped against your lips, grip tightening on your thighs, pupils blown wide and lavender eyes dark as they searched yours. “God, I missed you so fuckin’ much.”

And you nodded, you could feel the tears pooling in your eyes, “Missed you too,” you said, fisting his hair tighter, “I missed you too, Ran.”

And you had no right, you knew you had no right. You were the one that had stopped talking to them, ignoring their messages and calls. You had no right-you were doing what was best, the thought slapped you out of drunken, lust-induced haze as Ran leaned back into you, lips pressing back against yours. What the fuck were you doing? 

Just as you were going to push him back, you heard someone clear their voice from down the hall. Ran drew back and the two of you looked over and your heart dropped in your chest when you saw Rindou standing where you had come from, the anger gone and an unreadable expression replacing it as he watched the two of you. 

You shoved your hands against Ran’s chest, dropping back to your feet, “Rindou,” you called, taking a step toward him, but his lip just curled up as he turned on his heel and stormed back the way he had come from, you barely caught the hurt look that had flashed across his face. Your chest squeezed painfully as he disappeared from sight, taking a step away from Ran.

Fuck, fuck, what were you doing?

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him, straightening out your clothes as you took another step away from Ran, who was still looking after where Rindou had disappeared to, a conflicted expression on his face. His gaze darted back over to you when he noticed the movement.

“Y/n,” he began but you shook your head, trying to ignore the pained look that came over his face when you held your hands up as he stepped toward you, stopping in his tracks.

“I should go,” you said, voice hoarse, “I’m sorry, I-“

Your voice wavered, you had too many things to apologize for and you were too frazzled to say it all right now. Is it smart to see them again? 

You knew the answer to that but you also couldn’t help the sick feeling that spread through you at the thought of not seeing them again. You’re being stupid, eight years you went without them to try to keep them safe and you’re ruining it.

And you knew it was true even as the words slipped from your lips, “I’ll text you, tomorrow or the next day, promise.”

And Ran only scoffed, lips still swollen and a dark look in his eyes as he looked at you, “Heard that one before.”

Ouch.

“I promise,” you repeated again, even though you knew from the look in his eyes that your promises didn’t mean much of anything to him. 

You turned on your heel and made your way back toward the main area of the club so you could leave, ignoring how he called after you once he realized you were really leaving, lips and skin still burning everywhere he had been touching, hands shaky as they curled around your phone, unlocking it to shoot your location and a message to Mina.

03:58 pick me up please 

And when you reached the entrance of the club, the cool, fresh air causing realization hitting you like a truck, you barely stopped yourself from crumbling, teeth grit as you inhaled sharply, leaning back against the wall as the tears built up in your eyes and spilt over—overwhelmed from seeing them both again, from the argument, from what had happened between you and Ran, from Rindou—god, Rindou, he-

A black car skidded to a stop in front of you, a window rolled open, familiar yellow eyes, mellowed over the years, peered at you through the dimly lit car, “What happened?” he asked, voice low and to the point, “You’re supposed to tell me when you go out, you can’t-“

“They were here,” and you hated how your voice broke over the words. You were better than this. Control yourself. You’re not a kid anymore.

But your words made him pause and instead of continuing the beration, he leaned over to the passenger seat door and swung it open, “In.”

And you did as he asked without question, slipping into the passenger seat and shutting the door behind you and with the window rolled up, safe from view of unwelcome eyes, you finally let yourself break down.

—-

Your eyes were drooping shut as you made your way through Izanagi HQ the next morning, hands stuffed in the pockets of your slacks as you leaned against the back wall of the elevator, gaze trained on the number that was slowly dinging upwards to the top floor.

07:35 

You were late. Your uncle would be irritated but your uncle was perpetually irritated, so you couldn’t bring yourself to actually care. You had barely gotten two hours of sleep last night, even when you got back to the penthouse you were twisting and turning, thinking about what had happened. 

You shouldn’t have gone, even in your sleep-deprived mind you knew that, especially since you pretty much had all night to stew on it and all of the mistakes you had made--the biggest of which having been gone to see them in the first place. You should have just let it be, come back to Tokyo to oversee the acquisition and leave again. You shouldn’t have given in but you were selfish and you shouldn’t have-

The elevator doors slid open as you reached the top floor, you wiped the distress off of your face as you stepped through them and into the board room on the top floor.

You forced your face to remain a blank slate as you took in the occupants of the room, who most certainly weren’t the old coots of your uncle’s board that you had met with over video conferences several times over the past eight years. 

Your gaze drifted around carefully, eyes flickering over the occupants of the room. Of the thirteen seats at the conference table, twelve were spoken for already and of the twelve, there were only two women--an older woman with sharp, calculating eyes that had you on edge and a younger woman with platinum pink hair who eyed you curiously. Your uncle cleared his throat and you noticed, alarmed, that he was not at the head of the table, instead sitting in the seat to the right. 

“You’re late,” your uncle’s voice was as flat and rough as you remembered it. You smiled thinly.

“My apologies,” you said, making your way to the empty seat directly across from him, eyeing the man sitting at the head of the table as you did so--a man younger than your uncle with dark hair and a carefree smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“You must be y/n,” your eye twitched as the informality as you took the final seat at the conference table, eyes meeting his--they were cold and unfriendly, unnerving, really, in comparison to the bright smile  “Your uncle speaks of you all the time, how much you’ve accomplished abroad in such little time, it’s impressive, really.”

“Thank you…” you trailed off, unsure of how to address him.

“Sugawara Kenji,” the man introduced.

“Sugawara-san,” you finished and the man shook his head immediately, reaching out to squeeze your wrist. You forced yourself to not stiffen at the unwelcome touch, giving your uncle a look from the corner of your eye.

Who the fuck is this guy?

“Please, call me Kenji! We’re all friends here,” Sugawara smiled up at you widely as you shifted in your seat into a more comfortable position, your eyes met his dark ones, sharp and waiting for the correction--it was not a request.

“Kenji,” you corrected reluctantly. Sugawara shifted back into his seat, away from you, and you felt like you could breathe again. 

You looked across from you over to your uncle, what is going on?

Relax, he told you through a side-eye and a sick feeling grew in your stomach as you looked around, slowly putting everything together--you had known very well since you were young that your uncle was involved with shady business, even if you had never been told explicitly. Was he-

“Y/n,” Sugawara’s voice cut you out of your thoughts, your gaze shot back toward him, “How much has Ichirou explained concerning what has been happening these past few months?”

“I told you I have not,” your uncle said sharply and your eyes darted between the two of them, the tension thick in the room, “I did not even want to involve her.”

Sugawara’s gaze was icy, his smile was thin, “We would not have had to involve her were it not for your own shortcomings, Ichirou.” 

The room was quiet, your uncle’s nostrils flared at the comment, and you could only watch with bated breath because you had never seen someone so blatantly disrespect your uncle before, and you had never seen your uncle back down before--you tried to hide the way your eyes widened when you watched your uncle look away, ceding to Sugawara.

What the fuck…

Sugawara turned his attention back toward you, you inhaled softly through your nose before speaking, “I do not know much,” you said.

You didn’t know anything, you corrected internally, you didn’t know who any of these people were, you didn’t know what they do--though you could assume--and you didn’t know what they wanted from you.

Or that was a lie.

There were only two things they would want from you--your money or your technology, or both. 

Sugawara leaned back in his seat, letting out an exaggerated sigh. He folded his hands over the table as he trained his gaze on you and you felt distinctly uncomfortable beneath it, “My family, and our associates, have been in control of Tokyo for several generations. We help keep things… stable, to put it simply.”

Stable, you thought to yourself, listening to Sugawara’s words carefully, somehow you doubted the truthfulness of that. 

“Over the past six or so years, there’s been an organization on the rise--they call themselves Bonten, and they are disrupting that stability,” Sugawara said, and if you thought the smile that had been gracing his lips was unsettling, your blood ran cold when the smile dropped and his voice lower, “They’re tight-lipped, careful, we have yet to gather much noteworthy information on them even with all of our resources. It’s impressive, really--or I would be impressed, that is, if it weren’t so troublesome.”

An organization that evaded even all of your uncle’s resources, an ill feeling settled over you, that did not bode well.

“Much information?” you questioned and Sugawara nodded, leaning forward to tap at the touch screen controlling the smartscreen behind him. Your brows furrowed when a picture of a symbol popped up--a simple black and white hanafuda pattern.

It was familiar. From where?

“We have one informant within the organization--lower-ranking, unfortunately, because of how strict their regulations are--but they claim that the executives are set out from their subordinates by this tattoo.”

A rolled-up sleeve, a half-shaven head, an unbuttoned black dress shirt, and the throats of the two people you cared about most in the world.

No.

Your mouth was dry as Sugawara continued, “We’ll be making use of Izanami technologies and installing them around the city in hot spot areas of Bonten activity, see if we can get any of the executives finally ID’ed.”

Your world felt like it was spinning and it took all of your self-control to not let it show visibly. You felt eyes on you--your gaze darted to the side, falling upon a man with dark, blonde-streaked hair, your eyes followed his amused ones down to your hands. You bit back a grimace, discreetly slipping them beneath the table, hiding the way your fingers had started trembling as realization slowly began to take hold.

Ran and Rindou are…

“A war is going to break out,” Sugawara sighed, tilting his head back but you could barely hear him over the sound of the blood roaring in your ears, “and the odds are far too even for my liking. We need the scales tipped back in our favor…”

… in Bonten?

You had known he was lying, god you had fucking known but you had let him change the subject.

Sugawara turned that bright, chilling smile back on you. You felt sick. 

“... and that, my friend, is where you come in!” 

—-

wordcount: 8.6k

“Manjiro-nii, Izana-nii! Why don’t you ever wait up for me?”

The air was warm against your face and you could feel your clothes sticking to your skin as you finally caught up to your two brothers, panting heavily as you desperately tried to catch your breath. From the top of the hill, you looked down at where Manjiro and Izana were sparring at its base, the sound of metal clashing ripping through the serenity of the midsummer day. 

You watched as the two of them bounced back from each other, concentrated expressions easing as they simultaneously turned their heads to look at you. You crossed your arms over your chest as you glared down at them, watching Izana’s lavender eyes flicker in amusement as he sheathed his blade at his side and leaned back on his heels.

“Little one, I distinctly remember Chiyo-san mentioning your lessons in tea etiquette would last until nightfall today, something about falling behind,” Izana chided, looking up pointedly at the high noon sun, “Unless my eyes deceive me, I do believe that means you should be there now.”

You couldn’t stop the pout from forming at your lips even though you knew very well that if Chiyo-san were to see such an expression on your face, you would be dealt another slap to the back with her stick. 

“Tea etiquette is boring,” you complained, and it was. You were sure that if you had to hear Chiyo-san badger on about each and every acceptable movement and gesture, the placement of utensils during different seasons and all of the different kinds of tea ceremonies for one more moment, you would lose your mind. “I would much rather be out here with you two.”

Manjiro scoffed loudly, “Well you can’t be,” Manjiro turned his head up, looking away from you, and you scowled at your twin, both of you ignoring the exasperated look that swept across Izana’s face, “Go back inside with Emma.”

Izana clicked his tongue sharply, “Manji-”

“You only don’t want me out here training with you because you remember what happened the last time,” you accused, and you knew you were right from the flush that spread across Manjiro’s cheeks. It had been nearly half a year since you knocked him down after sneaking out of etiquette classes and following them to this very same spot. Admittedly, you had fought dirty, but Manjiro was not a person who took defeat well and he refused to let you join them again.

“You threw dirt in my face,” Manjiro snapped, “If you’re going to fight like one of those despicable shinobi, then you shouldn’t be sparring with us anyway.”

“I do not fight like a shinobi!” you gasped, eyes wide as you drew back, “Don’t say that!” 

“Manjiro,” Izana sighed, looking between the two of you, expression exasperated. Manjiro pressed his lips together and looked away, you glared. “Little one, you need to return to your etiquette lessons. You’re coming of age-”

“If you make me go back, I’ll tell Shinichiro-nii that you’re sparring with steel! Don’t think I didn’t hear him tell you specifically to only use training weapons!” you said loudly, hands fisted at your side.

The last thing you wanted was to be reminded that you were, in fact, getting to the age where you’d have to start taking all of your etiquette training seriously, where the council would start beginning discussions of marriage arrangements. 

Nausea built. You pushed it away.

“Of course, you would do that, you snitch!” Manjiro said angrily, Izana let out a puff of breath, moving between the two of you as Manjiro took a step forward. “Move Izana! If she wants to train with us, I’ll spar with her.”

“No,” Izana’s voice was cold and sharp as he glared down at Manjiro, “Get ahold of yourself.”

The glare directed toward you by Manjiro nearly had your hair standing on end, fight or flight instincts rising sharply. His temper was getting worse, you realized, swallowing thickly as you remembered what had happened a few weeks ago when you and your siblings had gone into town, a cool chill swept over you. 

Manjiro would never hurt you, you told yourself but you hated the doubt that crept through you, remembering the blood splattered across your face and staining your clothes as you held the limp form of a boy barely older than you, watching him wail and scream clutching at the bloody, broken left side of his body.

You watched as Manjiro’s tense shoulders slowly relaxed. 

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Can I at least watch?” you pleaded as a last-ditch effort not to be sent back to your lessons. Manjiro let out an irritated breath but Izana only sighed.

“Chiyo-san will know to come out here and look for you,” he warned and your eyebrows knitted together.

“She won’t even realize for another hour at least,” you said, “It wasn’t just me and Emma today in lessons, she brought in all the other girls from the extended parts of the clan.”

“And you don’t think that she’d pay even more attention to making sure you don’t slip away,” Izana clicked his tongue again and you shifted uncomfortably under his stare.

“Well-”

“Hime!” a familiar voice shouted from the direction of the estate and you jumped, Manjiro snickered, Izana chuckled.

“I told you, little one,” he murmured, and you turned just in time to see Chiyo-san’s short-form storming in your direction, expression twisted into one of frustration and irritation. You had half a mind to bolt in the opposite direction, knowing the older woman wouldn’t be able to catch up to you, but you decided against it--it would only bring you more trouble later.

“Hime, how many times must I ask you to remain in our lessons?” Chiyo-san demanded once she approached you on the top of the hill, “Do not make me go to Shinichiro-dono about this, he is busy enough trying to handle clan business after having been so suddenly thrust in as clan head.”

Guilt pooled in your gut and you shifted uncomfortably under Chiyo-san’s sharp gaze, both Manjiro and Izana’s laughter quieted down at the reminder of your father’s recent assassination.

“I apologize,” the words were bitter on your tongue. You hated apologizing. But Chiyo-san’s eyes softened and she let out a quiet breath.

“Sometimes I forget you are all still children,” she murmured to herself, so quietly you barely caught it, “Come, hime, we must return to your lessons. I will release you early tonight.”

You sent one last look of longing back toward your brothers before Chiyo-san motioned for you to follow her back into the estate. You desperately tried to force the pout that was building on your lips, hyper-aware of the thin stick held in Chiyo-san’s hand, dangling loosely at her side.

And you had thought you had succeeded in wiping it away until Chiyo-san stopped suddenly, right before the entrance to the main family estate.

Just as you were about to ask her why she stopped, she turned to you. Chiyo-san grabbed your chin harshly and you swallowed thickly as your eyes met her dark ones--but there was no anger, no hostility, only worry, “Hime,” she murmured, “‘the nail that sticks out gets hammered down,’ you must remember that.”

You frowned, confused and unsure of what she meant. 

“But-”

“Come, hime,” Chiyo-san interrupted, gently urging you along through the doors of the house, “let us return to our lessons.”

Reluctantly, you followed, sparing one last glance back at the direction you had left your two brothers in, distantly hearing the clash of metal as they continued their spar until the door shut behind you.

---

‘The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.’

Your lips were tugged down as you watched Izana and Manjiro spar at the bottom of the hill, hands folded in front of you. Your eyes traced your twin’s movement, watching as he brought his blade down on Izana’s, watching as Izana grit his teeth, arms flexing as he blocked the intense blow. Sweat beaded at his forehead, his breath came out faster, heavier. 

He was tiring.

“Manjiro is going to win again,” Shinichiro murmured from where he was standing next to you, dark eyes flicking back and forth as he watched Manjiro and Izana exchange another round of blows.

“Izana will never beat Manjiro so long as his lungs are weak,” you said quietly. “He has the technique but lacks the stamina.”

A loud clash, a blade gone flying. Frustration swept across Izana’s face as Manjiro placed his blade at his neck, signaling the end of the spar.

“There’s nothing we can do about that,” Shinichiro sighed deeply, “we’ve brought in the most renowned herbalists and physicians in the entire region and they’ve all given us the same answer.”

There’s nothing that can be done. 

“Again,” Izana said sharply, moving away from Manjiro to pick up his blade. Manjiro shot a look up toward where you and Shinichiro were standing. Shinichiro nodded. Manjiro readied his blade again.

“It’s only going to upset him more when he loses again,” you noted, referring to Izana as you watched him block another heavy slash from Manjiro. 

“He hasn’t been sleeping,” Shinichiro replied, “He’s been out at all times of the night training to try to build his stamina. I’m hoping this tires him out enough to get a good night’s rest.”

You sighed, watching as Izana’s jaw clenched as he let out a flurry of fast attacks against Manjiro--slower than his last batch; watching as anger flashed through his face when Manjiro blocked them with ease. 

“You have to choose, nii-san,” you said so quietly that you weren’t even sure if Shinichiro heard you until you noticed the grimace that flew over his face, “These times are dangerous. Death is always a threat. The Shibas are growing bolder in the southeast, and the Teranos are just waiting for their opportunity in the northwest. We-”

“Neither of them will make any real attempt so long as we’re allied with the Akashis. They fear shinobi-”

“As they should,” your voice was sharper than you intended, you forced yourself to take a breath. Soften. “It’s dangerous to trust the shinobi, the other noble clans look at us and see fools.”

“When have we ever cared about what others thought?” Shinichiro asked, eyeing you from the corner of your eye.

You let out a breath, covering a scoff, “Appearances can cause and end wars, or deter them. Perhaps you should have spent more time in Chiyo-san’s lessons than frolicking with your shinobi friends.” 

Shinichiro sent you a long look, a warning, “And what would you propose I do?” he asked, his sharp look fading into a more helpless one--changing the subject back to the issue of Manjiro and Izana. “No matter who I choose, everything will change and-”

“Nii-san, if you don’t choose and something happens to you, our family will be torn apart,” you forced yourself to keep your voice steady, ignoring the way your fingers shook as you reached your hand out to catch a spare petal falling through the air from one of the nearby cherry blossoms. “Izana-nii will never respect a decision made by the council, and we both know who the council will choose to be the next clan head if you’re unable to make the decision.”

Shinichiro let out a frustrated breath, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through his hair before dropping his hand back to his side. The council was the only reason this was even an issue--they were the ones that refused to accept Izana as an actual member of the clan despite the fact that he had been raised with the main family his entire life, had been raised thinking that he was your blood.

You cringed at the reminder. It’s ill to curse the dead, you told yourself, but you couldn’t help the vile words rise to mind when you remembered how your father had destroyed any stability the clan might have had when revealing on his deathbed that Izana was not actually his son--instead, the son of one of his mistresses and another lover of hers that he had brought in--forcing Izana from the respected position of second-in-line after Shinichiro to the black sheep of the clan, reviled and looked down upon by the other clan members for his lineage, spearheaded by the council themselves.

Another clash, a grunt, your gaze flicked from Shinichiro back to the spar at the bottom of the hill, watching as Izana barely deflected a blow from Manjiro.

“There’s no telling he would accept the decision even if I’m the one that tells him,” Shinichiro said, teeth grit, “and if…”

You tuned him out, zeroing in on his words and what they meant. He would choose Manjiro. You frowned, anxiety briefly sweeping through you as you remembered that day years ago—the blood, the screams.

“You disagree,” it wasn’t a question, you looked back up at your eldest brother, noting the curious look on his face as he regarded you, “you think Izana should be clan head.”

You opened your mouth to speak. You paused.

The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.

You bit your tongue and looked away.

“You can speak freely with me,” Shinichiro sighed.

You kept your mouth shut—perhaps, but not while others were around, your gaze flickered to the elders of your clan who were gathered to watch the spar several yards away. Shinichiro’s eyes followed yours, irritation swept across his face before it returned to a blank expression.

“They cause too much trouble,” he said, voice low. “make everything more difficult.”

You spared your older brother a short glance. It was true, the only one that despised the Sano council more than you was probably Izana himself. They were vicious old coots who were so stuck in the old ways that they refused to see the benefits of any other possible path, even if it could help the clan in the long run. And they were so, so unnecessarily cruel to Izana and your younger half-sister, Emma, whose mother was not only a foreigner, but a whore at that. 

Your lips tugged down at the thought of your younger sister, eyes turning to the side toward where she was standing with a few other girls her age--some of your distant cousins, if you remember correctly--underneath the shade, giggling and watching your brothers spar. 

Behind her, one of Manjiro’s retainers stood tall--Draken, the orphan from a nearby village that Manjiro had met and taken in when you all were young. Your eyes drifted around momentarily, looking for Manjiro’s second retainer but gave up quickly--Sanzu Haruchiyo was not found unless he wanted to be. You were sure you had only actually ever seen a glimpse of him once despite his years of service to Manjiro. Kakucho, Izana’s oldest friend and retainer, hovered at the edges of their spar, forehead creased in worry for his liege as he dodged another blow from Manjiro. Your thoughts turned to your own retainer briefly, wondering how he was faring but you shook your head--he would return soon.

“There’s nothing that can be done about it,” you murmured quietly, returning to the subject at him, “they have as much power and influence amongst the rest of the clan as you do, nii-san.”

And it was unfortunate, really, because Shinichiro was right, all they did was cause issues under the guise of doing what was best for the clan. But there was nothing the members of your clan valued more than tradition, acting against the council was tantamount to social suicide, even for a member of the main family like you or Manjiro, even for the clan head. 

“They’re holding us back,” Shinichiro said, “they-”

“Shin,” your voice was sharp--too sharp, again--you took a deep breath, calming yourself. Next to you, Shinichiro’s tense shoulders relaxed, his jaw unclenched. 

“You’re right,” he said quietly, even though you had said nothing more than his name, “this isn’t the place. But something is going to have to be done, one way or another. Things can’t go on like this.”

You eyed Shinichiro from the corner of your eye, lips parting to respond but paused when you heard a familiar voice sound from behind the two of you, “Sano-sama, hime.”

Your lips involuntarily tugged up as you turned to face your retainer, Haitani Rindou, taking in the bags underneath his droopy eyes as he dropped into a deep bow in front of you and Shinichiro, only rising when Shinichiro raised his hand to wave him off. Your eyes met his as he stood back up straight, giving you a small, tired smile. 

He was exhausted. 

Rindou was good at hiding how he felt--emotionally and physically--but you knew him better than that. He had been your retainer for over ten years now--since the Haitanis had waged and lost a minor war against the Bajis and sent their youngest to the Sanos as insurance that they wouldn’t try something again. Your father, while he had been living, treated Rindou as little more than a hostage, but Shinichiro treated him as a ward, entrusting him with your safety and making him your retainer, all but giving him a place in the main family, and through that, he became your closest friend.

“Rindou,” Shinichiro greeted amicably before turning his attention back toward you, “I’m going to go down the hill to speak to our brothers.”

Nodding once at Rindou, Shinichiro leaned in to press his lips against your forehead--a habit he had never quite grown out of since you were a child no matter how many times you told him that you weren’t eight anymore--before turning to walk down the hill toward Izana and Manjiro.

You turned your attention toward Haitani Rindou, instinctively reaching out to squeeze his wrist but your hand faltered, remembering where you were. Your hand dropped back to your side, gaze shifting to the side where two of the elders of your clan were talking quietly to one another, eyeing you and Rindou suspiciously.

You straightened your shoulders, soft smile dropping as you turned your attention back to Rindou ignoring the look of distaste that spread across his face as he looked at where the elders were watching the two of you. The last thing you needed was rumors spreading about you and your retainer. His gaze returned to you, lavender eyes softening as they met yours, pale hair slipping from the usually neat bun he had it tied back in.

Your eyes traced over Rindou’s form, taking in the blades sheathed at either side of his waist, the light-scaled armor decorating his body, still stained with blood.

“How did the mission go?” you asked him, walking in the direction of a nearby sakura tree, intent on standing underneath the shade, the late summer heat getting too much for your body to handle--you could feel the sweat beading at your forehead.

“Successful,” Rindou said, walking a pace behind you, one hand resting on the hilt of one of his blades. You forced yourself to keep looking forward as decorum insisted despite how much you longed to look back to make sure he was okay--he was limping, you could see that much at least from the corner of your eye. “Took longer than expected though. The tip we received ended up being a bigger plot than we had originally planned on dealing with. We weren’t able to get hard proof but we’re pretty certain that they were shinobi from the far east employed by the Tachibanas.”

Your lips twisted into a deep frown at the name. Of course it was the Tachibanas. Shinichiro started moving into the silk trade a few months ago after the Kawatas captured territory along the Sendo border. We should’ve been more prepared for this. You warned him, you-

“It’s okay,” Rindou’s voice was quieter as the two of you reached the sakura tree. It was barely cooler under the shade, but at least the sun was no longer beating down on you. Standing on the opposite side of the tree and out of sight from the more prying members of your clan, Rindou stepped closer to you, reaching out to squeeze your bicep lightly. “We took care of it, and now we know what to watch out for.”

You were not as convinced. Your clan and the other three major clans of Kanto looked down upon the Tachibanas for their lack of militaristic strength but you knew better than to look at it with such a tunneled view. The Tachibanas were dangerous but no one took them seriously because of their status as a merchant clan, and that only made them more dangerous because everybody underestimated them. 

But you knew better--the Tachibanas knew how to utilize their masses of money, and they knew how to scheme and work the webs of politics like masters of the art. The Tachibanas always got what they wanted and that terrified you. They weren’t ones that spent their coin on half-assed jobs and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else you were all missing.

“What are you thinking about?” Rindou asked, and you let out a soft breath, considering what to say but Rindou spoke again before you could choose your words, “You don’t think that was the end of it.”

And for a second, you were reminded of just how grateful you were to have Rindou in your life. He was always able to tell what you were thinking without you having to say anything, and unlike other members of your clan who doubted your intelligence because of your gender, he always took your words seriously. 

“The Tachibanas are not to be underestimated,” you murmured, “they don’t slip up. Everything they do is for a reason.”

Rindou eyed you as he took in your words, “You don’t think it’s possible that the men they hired messed up?”

“The Tachibanas do not hire amateurs,” was all you said in return and Rindou inhaled sharply, leaning back on his heels.

“I’ll mention it to the other retainers,” he promised, “we’ll keep an eye out.”

You nodded, gaze drifting back over to where Shinichiro was talking to Izana and Manjiro before bringing your eyes back to Rindou, taking note of the way he was leaning on his right side, “You’re hurt.”

Rindou grimaced, “One of the shinobi managed to land a blow on my left side where…”

… where it had never healed correctly.

You pressed your lips together, looking away, guilt pooling in your stomach as it did whenever you were reminded of that incident years ago. Rindou let out a deep breath at your reaction, “It wasn’t your fault,” he reminded you quietly, “You were just a kid-”

“So was he,” you said, voice colder than you intended as you stared down the hill toward where Manjiro was grinning up at Shinichiro, oblivious to the dark look you were sending his way.

Rindou grabbed your hand, forcing you to unfist it. You winced, not even having realized you had been fisting it tight enough that your nails were tearing through your palm.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated, letting his hand drop back to his side, “and he doesn’t even remember what happened.”

We do though, you said to yourself, remembering how you held Rindou screaming for help, spitting foul words at Manjiro who only stared at the two of you, unperturbed; remembering how Shinichiro and Izana had come running from inside of the house at your screams; remembering how Rindou still couldn’t look Manjiro in the eyes, how his lips tightened every time your brother spoke to him, how he always kept his distance from him whenever he could.

Manjiro might not remember it but you did, Rindou did, Izana and Shinichiro did.

“Rindou,” Shinichiro called loudly and the two of you turned your attention back down the hill where Izana and Manjiro had stopped sparring, now speaking to Shinichiro instead. “Come.” 

To Rindou’s credit, he did not make an outward reaction to the request, only nodding, but as he turned back to you, you noticed the grimace that flashed across his face, “Would you like me to come down with you?” you offered, even though you knew it would gain sideways looks from the elders observing the spar--women were not meant to be directly on the training ground.

“No,” Rindou said, “Stay, it’ll only be a second. I’m sure he just wants a debrief on the mission while the three of them are together. I’ll let him know what you’re thinking while I’m down there.” 

You eyed him suspiciously but Rindou only gave you a reassuring look before turning his back to you and making his way down the hill toward your three brothers. 

You sighed, leaning your head back against the tree, shutting your eyes as you tried to figure out what exactly you should do--could do, really. There would be another meeting between the clan’s elders soon and you knew they would be pushing hard for Shinichiro to formally declare Manjiro as heir, you knew they would be pushing hard for Shinichiro to find a wife and have his own heirs, and you knew that they would be pushing hard to marry you off to the Shibas of the southeast or the Teranos of the northwest. 

You nearly cringed at the thought.

It’s your duty, you reminded yourself. The only thing you could do as a woman to help further the clan was marry into a different clan to forge stronger alliances, create more intricate networks of information.

But you hated it. You did. You didn’t want to be sold off to the Shibas, much less the Teranos, both of whose clan head’s were notorious for rash acts of violence.

It could prevent war, you’re being selfish, the rational part of you screamed. The Teranos were just waiting for the opportunity to invade Sano territory and the Shibas were already pushing into Mitsuya lands, and you knew that a union between the clans through marriage might lessen tensions but…

but it also might not. The Teranos and Shibas cared for little more than territory expansion, the elders hoped that by marrying you off to one of them, they would back off Sano territory--as tradition dictates, but the Teranos and Shibas were both young clans that did not strictly adhere to the ancient laws. There was a high chance they would accept the proposal and then use you as a hostage to force Shinichiro into a corner but the elders refused to see that possibility.

They were arrogant. It would cost your clan everything, you knew it.

And you could do better for the clan here, you knew that, Shin knew that and it was the only reason why he continued to ignore the elders’ incessant demands of having you meet with the clan heads. But he could only put it off for so long, you were well past the age most women got married already.

You wanted to scream, and cry, and force the elders to see reason but you couldn’t.

The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. 

Sometimes, you wished-

Your thoughts were cut off, eyes shooting open as a chill ran down your spine. 

Something was wrong.

You could feel it in your bones. Your gaze ripped from the sky above down to the bottom of the hill where your retainer and three brothers were still standing and talking. 

You watched, slowly, as Rindou’s eyes turned toward you; you watched as a strange expression crossed over Manjiro’s face, as if he too could sense something was wrong, looking up the hill in your direction; and you watched as Izana, who was already facing your direction, shoved Shinichiro out of the way as he moved in your direction, an expression you had never quite seen before decorating his face--fear.

Directed toward you?

You blinked, distantly, you heard Manjiro shout your name but you were more focused on the rustling from either side of you. 

Your head turned too slow. You barely caught the movement on your left from the corner of your eye. 

A rush of dark clothing, a glint of silver. 

“We can get out of here. Maybe grab some dinner, head over to my place.”

You tap at your phone. Half an hour. You can make it that long, right? It’s not like it’s been terrible. You chatted with a few people you knew from the clubs you were in and endured a few painful conversations with drunk student council members. All in all, not the worst.

“Yeah, that sounds —”

“Holy shit!” You’re startled by a loud, somewhat slurred voice right behind you. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Sukuna’s brow creases as a tall blond man closes in on you, leaning in so close, you can smell the cheap beer on his breath. “Remember me? Justin? Damn, we had some good times back in the day…”

Is he serious? “Oh yeah,” you deadpan, trying to shake off your nerves and muster as much defensive sarcasm as you can. “Getting bullied by you was so much fun.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Sukuna’s grip tightens on the pint glass he’s holding. But the man leaning beside you laughs, loud enough to turn people’s heads.

“Aw, come on. Learn to take a joke. I never meant anything by it.”

Justin smiles, his hand creeping closer to your thigh. “Honestly? I always thought you were kinda hot... Figured you might like the attention back then, but maybe now…”

“Hey.” Sukuna’s voice is sharp. “Back off.”

“Huh? You serious, man?” Justin’s lazy smile has vanished, and instead, he looks confused and more than a little agitated. “It’s none of your business.”

He makes the mistake of turning his attention back to you, missing the flash of movement as Sukuna rounds the bar.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” He steps between you and your former classmate, his whole body tense with anger. “Back the fuck off.”

“What’s your problem?” Justin straightens up but balks slightly when he realizes Sukuna is a few inches taller.

“You bullied my girlfriend and now you want to get into her pants? Don’t make me fucking laugh.” Sukuna sneers, taking a step forward.

Justin staggers back, wide-eyed. “Wait, you two are —”

“Oh, that actually got through your thick skull? Good. You’re not a complete idiot.”

Sukuna grabs the front of Justin’s t-shirt, clenching his fist, and the other man actually whimpers.

“Try to touch her again, and I’ll break your fingers,” he murmurs, voice low.

Justin stammers, looking at you over Sukuna’s shoulder, “What, are you dating a — a gangster or something?”

Sukuna releases him with a shove, wiping his hand on his jeans like he just touched something foul. “I’m a marketing specialist, dickbag.”

The younger man practically runs to the back of the bar, and you can hear his friends laughing at his expense. “Dude, you looked like you were gonna piss yourself!”

Blinking up at Sukuna, you watch as his shoulders slowly relax. When he turns to look at you, his gaze is fierce but worried. “You okay?”

“All thanks to my corporate gangster.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”

You grin. “Nope. Grumpy office worker by day, studly bodyguard by night… I might just swoon.”

He huffs out a laugh and flags down Choso, who’s working the bar with him. “I’m gonna take off early. Can you handle things ‘til Toji gets here?”

Choso, who never says much but has always been kind to you, nods and waves you off as the two of you step outside.

“I’m glad you didn’t actually get into a fight,” you admit, breathing in the balmy evening air.

“Why? I would’ve won.”

“Call me crazy, but I’m in the mood for a quiet night in — not taking you to urgent care to get something stitched.”

Sukuna chuckles. “Fair enough…” He drapes an arm over your shoulders. “Do you think your classmates were surprised, that you’re with someone like me?”

“I didn’t really date in high school, so… maybe.” You glance at him, taking in the bold, black tattoos, the piercings he only wears on the weekends, the perpetually-mischievous tilt to his lips.

“If they only knew how soft you really are.”

He hums, amused. “You swore you’d never tell.”