#jigen daisuke study

Like… Imagine you are a boy. A lonely boy, a boy who’s been hurt his entire life, a boy who was given a gun at the age of five and taught to kill mercilessly without hesitation. You’re constantly told you’re not good enough, that nobody will ever want you for you, that you’ll only ever be a weapon; you’re worth nothing more than that, nothing less. The more skill you have, the more value you hold; if you do a job well you’ll be worth something, if you fail you’ll probably get beat or tossed out, considered less than dirt by your own shitty father. You’re not a boy, not really. You’re a gun, and the minute you miss a shot you’re worthless. You learn that no, you can’t be a kid—being a kid is not for you. You don’t have time for stupid birthday parties or immature little kid games when you’re too busy fighting in war zones or getting shot at in Cambodia. You teach yourself not to feel; remorse and regret are pointless when you’re a hitman, and so is love—you never have childhood crushes or fancy any of the pretty girls at your school. You think it’s stupid. You’ve never been interested in girls anyway, and your father once threatened to shoot you if you ever tried the alternative, so you lock your heart away, stuff it into a box and cram it into a safe and set fifty different code-combination locks and wrap chains around it so that you can’t feel.

And then one day, some skinny rich kid with sticky fingers shows up, and just won’t leave you alone. Okay, you think to yourself. No biggie. He’s just some spoiled brat with too much time on his hands who doesn’t know what he’s getting into. But then this kid starts treating you like you’re worth something, like you’re some sort of treasure he values, something he wants to chase; and not for your quick draw, either. This monkey-faced little brat seems to only want to know more about you, and play stupid kid games with you. He’s annoying, but the trouble he gets into is fun enough, even if you always end up having to bail him out. You find out that this kid is a thrill-seeker, and much to your surprise, he considers you thrilling. You’ve never had friends before, but this feels like something else. The way he looks at you makes your stomach fuzzy with a feeling you’re not entirely sure what to think of, and no matter how many times you walk away you always find yourself drawn to him. You’re reminded of what your father threatened to do at that, so you tuck that feeling away with all the others.

But then, this bastard “friend” of yours does something you never expected; he chips away at the walls you’ve built, carefully picks the locks holding chains around your heart with nimble, practiced fingers. He pries at that safe of yours like it’s fun, like it’s some sort of challenge for him (he likes challenges, you’ve come to find) and finds out those combinations of yours with thieving expertise. And then, as if none of your past matters, as if all those thousands of walls of defence you built and security lasers you set and safety precautions you took are absolutely nothing to him, he reaches forward and places a skinny hand over your chest and takes what he wants, like he’s always done. He holds you in the palm of his hand like you’re something precious, a valued piece of artwork in a renowned museum that he’s taken the liberty of nabbing, and you let him. You let him steal you like some pretty piece of jewelry. You let him pull you from the shitty life you live with that shitty dad of yours and steal you away, even though you’re scared out of your mind of intimacy. You’re alone in the dark of that cramped little safe that you’ve locked yourself away in your entire life, and he picks the lock with a bobby pin and reaches for you and grabs your hand; and then suddenly, you’re not so alone anymore. Suddenly you’re more than a gun, you’re Jigen Daisuke, and Lupin the Third wants you like he would a priceless ruby on display in the hall of a rich man’s mansion.