Chapter Text
The crystallized snow had no time to linger before it began melting under his zori, dampening the woven rug where he sat crossed-legged opposite the Oyabun.
"You requested to see me ".
The older male concentrated his gaze, lifeless black eyelids downturned, his waterline red with irritation from the tobacco smoke lingering in the air.
"The bakuto houses have been laden with uproar over last week's Cho-han game, Chota-san is considering our proposal to instate new management, and I am sure that you're aware of how meaningful your contribution would be ".
Yuta gulped, palms weighing heavy on the fabric of his Haori, it had barely seen two winters yet it was faintly tinted with patches of red, given to him while doing things in his line of work.
He hadn't been bothered to scrub them out, he enjoyed entertaining the idea that he'd done something that required hours of vigorous scrubbing by the riverside to remove.
"Did Asahi- san have anything to say about this?" Yuta questioned, eyes nervously scanning the room in avoidance.
The Oyabun let out a low chuckle, dusting his calloused hands of ash. He fixed his silk kimono between his knees, bringing his right hand to drop the cigar onto the tray on the floor at his side.
"He's been doing a shitty fucking job, his hand's been digging into pockets every chance he gets, kid's gotta go" He sighed, gaze softening.
"When am I to leave? "Yuta croaked
"Tonight"
the air suddenly became thicker
"I won't fail you oyabun" Yuta bowed moving towards the door in an attempt to open it, his hands shakily unlocking the wooden lock.
The Bakuto house was alive, countless Geisha roaming the halls, some stationed in rooms playing melodies on the Koto to entertain the laughing men gambling their lives away on the floor. Their bellies were filled to the brim with Sake, sweat dripping from their foreheads with anticipation as the other players place their cards on the grand wooden tables.
The place was heavily guarded due to the string of fights and murders that had broken out within the past week, making business difficult unless it was kept under control.
As he approached a familiar room, his heart began rocketing in his chest, he regretted not downing some snake wine before coming. His nerves were only in control on the outside.
A burly-looking man stood at the entrance, his hair slicked back into a nihongami. He was tall, frighteningly so.
He was also new, which meant the previous guard was disposed of probably out of safety concerns.
This was ironic.
"I'm here to see your boss " Yuta spoke in a low voice.
The guard grunted and huffed turning to walk into the room and slamming the doors shut.
He returned seconds later.
"Go "
Yuta walked slowly until a large hand grabbed at his blade through the underside of his Kimono.
"This stays here ".
He carefully unclasped the leather harness, resting the sword on the wooden floor before walking through the doors.
He was met with the familiar scent of blueberry incense filling his nostrils as he closed the door.
"Why are you here ?" a raspy voice dug through the silence.
Yuta turned to face the man, his eyes landing on the sakura painting that he was working on. His tattooed hands were covered in different shades of red and white paint, kimono opened revealing perfectly sculpted abs on a stomach scarred with war wounds.
"We need to talk, I'm unarmed "Yuta warned.
"It's fine, I could disarm you if I pleased " he flickered, setting down the paintbrush carelessly atop the canvas and making his way toward the center of the room. The place was bare, the only objects being a wooden table and a few arbitrary items.
The pair both removed their shoes before sitting face to face on the cold wooden floor. The room is alit with lanterns hanging from the ceiling.
Asahi looked like a dead man walking before he even knew he was. Youthful face tainted with the remnants of war, his long black hair tied back with a colored string to show a thin layer of sweat forming atop his widow's peak trailing down to his adam's apple. Innocence long gone, his once soft hands now firm and hard. He would trade picking flowers for painting them, keeping the nature-appreciative side of him reserved.
"The oyabun wants you gone "Yuta stated coldly, face void of emotion.
"I thought you were here to talk "
"I am, that was what I had to say. "
Yuta revealed his yanagiba blade from its hiding place in his Kimono, swiftly slashing it across his chest. The blood instantly soiled his clothes, making its way onto the floor as Asahi hunched over with a gurgled sound.
He didn't fight.
He grabbed at his chest as he collapsed.
Yuta refrained from making eye contact at all costs as he stood up to make his way out. His chest was heaving as he frantically ran through and out the doors of the room.
The blade found a new home in the bodies of a few guards as he made his exit, game pieces and money were now being trampled under scampering feet as chaos erupted from every corner while he tore his way through. The macabre scene etched itself into the brain of a screaming geisha during her tumble through the thin paper wall, a dead man's body weight pinning her small frame to the ground. His neck had been slashed open to the bone, blood spraying all over her ghostly white face.
2:34 a.m
"It is done " Yuta bowed, his long hair was now matted with dry blood and fragments of glass.
The Oyabun gave a pleased hum "You've made me a proud father ".
"Hai" Yuta responded, bowing once again before turning to leave.
His body lay lifeless in the bath as a single tear rolled down his now clean face.
Yuta was no stranger to murder but this one would predictively weigh heavy on his soul.
Memories made their way through his mind
touches ghosting over his skin, limbs entangled under the moonlight. Kimonos long discarded in a pile somewhere in the room.
He wondered if what his father said was true , if Asahi was really stealing from their shares in the den's earnings. Or if there was something more blatant in his reason for wanting him gone.
Maybe his father had noticed the way Asahi would have fresh American fruit delivered every month to their house.
Or the stolen glances shared during Yuta's kendo lessons.
Truth be told, he was sure someone had overheard Asahi violently taking him under the Sakura tree last week.
Or the week before that when he lay in bed refusing to join his father on an important meeting because he'd been tied up for three hours straight in shibari.
His inclinations were no secret, although his father expected blindless loyalty he was still a slave to his temptations.
This was why Asahi's soul was now well on its way to hell and Yuta was slowly losing what is left of his.