Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo.
International Catholic Hospital.
6 P.M.
Takeuchi
“You show more promise than what Ren has said,” Miwa Yasuo’s weak hand moved for the water glass at his bedside table. He was unable to reach the cup, much less take hold of it, and his arm fell once more back onto the mattress beside him. His audience, one young Takeuchi Daijiro, paled to see that arm out of the safe coverings the rest of Miwa’s body was masked by. Miwa had been badly burned in a jet plane explosion; that he’d lived at all was a miracle, but so was his waking from coma he’d spent the last two months in. Due to medical advancements, they’d managed to stop his muscles from atrophy, but it was still questionable if he’d ever live a normal life again. Not that the Tokyo Godfather’s life had ever been normal.
Since his twenty-first year Miwa Yasuo had dominated the Tokyo Mafia, known worldwide as the Yakuza, after the assassination of his crime-boss father. The battle for control had been bloody and hard fought, and with that sort of christening into his reign it wasn’t hard to imagine how bloody the rest of his years would be. Still, there had been quite a lull in opposition for the past seven years—since the assassination of Yasuo’s wife—and so no one had expected the attempt on Miwa’s life. It was, as the boss said, partially his own fault and partially a poor choice of bodyguard. Daijiro’s father agreed.
Takeuchi Ren lifted the delicate glass for his boss, saying nothing and not catching the man’s eyes as he put it to Miwa’s lips. The three in the room remained silent until Yasuo’s fingers lifted to signal that he’d had enough. Ren replaced the glass at Yasuo’s bedside and once more took up his position in the corner.
Ren and Yasuo had been raised together, like most of the Yakuza’s upper tiers. They were all “legacy” Yakuza—it went back as far as ten generations in a few instances. Yasuo, the prince, and Ren, the ever loyal dog at his heels. It was a hard truth to face about his father, especially for Daijiro whom worshiped him, but the truth was something the teen in question always tried to face.
For the past two months, Ren could have taken over the Family and started a new regime of the Tokyo hierarchy. Perhaps, under his leadership, they would even take over Kyoto—the only other Japanese Yakuza base that ranked as high in profit as the Tokyo venues. Each major city or district had their own rulers, and though alliances were occasionally made they were almost always broken. Daijiro was of the mind that Kyoto’s treaty had finally snapped.
His father wouldn’t have anything of it, however. Whoever had planted the bomb had had two potential outcomes in mind:
The first was that they would kill Yasuo outright, along with several of his top generals whom had been on hand that day. As the only known heir was a twelve-year-old girl, there would be a long period of in fighting between the Family members to either marry her or completely debunk her claim and take control themselves. During that confusion it would be easy to swoop in and take out the individual “squadrons” one by one.
The second thing that could have come from the assassination attempt—the one that had almost succeeded—was that Yasuo would live, but be so badly hurt that his Family members would lose faith in him. Indeed, Ren had spent a good portion of his time cleaning up messes and using all of his powers as Yasuo’s head general to keep the lesser generals and street-workers at bay. Within the first week there had been offers to Ren of great things, if he would just kill Yasuo in his sleep… or allow him to be killed. Because of such, Ren had spent all of his time here at the hospital, supervising the situation.
Once Yasuo had woken, though, all whispers of treason stopped. At first Daijiro had questioned this, but now that he had been called before the man the doubts faded. Withered and bent as he was, Yasuo still had a strange sort of force behind him. That he was now dependent on others to do everything for him, even help him to the restroom, did not seem to phase him. The eyes that glittered behind his bandage-wrapped face were hard and uninviting, and the voice that came from his slender, broken chest was as powerful as a bull-elephants trumpet. There was no denying that he made a more fearsome image sitting in this hospital bed than he’d ever made from behind the desk of his fiftieth-floor office. The attack had ultimately failed, despite who ever was behind it.
All these observations had taken only the brief duration of Yasuo’s drink and the man soon continued, “your father thinks highly of you, but not highly enough, I think.”
Daijiro tried not to fidget at the unaccustomed praise. He gave a slight bow instead to thank the man for his compliment. From the corner of his eye, Daijiro saw Ren nod approvingly. The movement was brief, the barest downward tilt of his chin, and then it’d stopped. Despite this Daijiro knew what he’d seen and took heart from that. “So, Takeuchi-kun, I’m certain you know of my bodyguard’s… unfortunate end?”
At once Daijiro nodded. There was a disapproving shake from his father’s head, and so he elaborated. “Suichi was negligent, Miwa-sama. He should have organized guards and double-checked security on the jet before and during flight preparation, but he was lax in his duties. Rather than keep in contact with those parties he assumed that everything was in order.”
Yasuo didn’t nod, he likely couldn’t, but there did seem to be an air of approval from the man. “Assumption,” He agreed in with an age-inappropriate wistful-ness, “Is the number one murderer on this planet. One assumes that the other driver will pay attention to the stoplight. One assumes their food was prepared with proper caution. One assumes that if the world looks peaceful and pleasant, it actually is.
“Suichi did not understand this.” There was a dramatic sort of pause and Daijiro was very aware of being studied. He wondered if Yasuo could hear his heart thumping against his rib cage, or the see the way his palms had begun to sweat. “You will move in with her tonight.”
For a moment, Daijiro wasn’t certain what Yasuo meant. It had become blatantly obvious what job he was being interviewed for, though neither man had mentioned why they’d called the teen there that afternoon. At least, Daijiro had thought it was obvious.
Now that Suichi was dead, Yasuo needed another permanent bodyguard. He had backups, of course; one person couldn’t watch another at all times, all hours of the day. They would need breaks, for one thing, and the subject and guard were bound to get sick of one another, no matter how non-personal the guard should be. To his knowledge, Yasuo had yet to replace Suichi. “Her” threw him off completely until, with that signature, sickening dread the storm came crashing back around him.
The brat!
“Sato-san is being promoted,” Yasuo began to explain and then coughed. Ren stepped forward to offer him more water, but the Godfather gestured against it. Instead, with another roll of the withered man’s fingers, Ren took up where Yasuo had left off.
“Sato-san is being promoted,” He parroted, finally meeting his son’s eyes. There was no sympathy there, or even pity, for the dreams he knew his words were shattering. “He’s ill-suited to the care of Izanami-sama, regardless, but his talents would still be of good use in Yasuo’s guard. You are to replace him as her personal guard.”
Daijiro was aware of the silence spreading through the room, but for the first time in his life couldn’t think of a way to stop it. Being accepted into Yasuo’s guard was one thing—that would put him in direct contact with the man on any given day, and give him a chance to prove that his skills were better served elsewhere. Though Daijiro had no wish to leave the Yazuka, neither did he want to spend his life as another body thrown to fire. His life-long plan—he could remember having dreams of it as young as six—was to be an investment banker. He would work his way into the financial backbone of the Family and, from there, ride the spinal chord to the top.
“I-I… ,” Daijiro cleared his throat to stop the stammering and bent himself into a respectful bow when he realized how long the silence had stretched. “You honor me, Miwa-sama. I promise you that your daughter will be safe in my hands.”
As he raised himself, there was a sign from the Godfather’s hands, but Daijiro couldn’t fathom his meaning. A clearing of Ren’s throat and pointed look struck it home, however, and Daijiro turned himself on his heel to leave the room.
