Chapter Text
All it takes is one step.
One small step and he’s going to unlock the next level.
The only catch is that Chiguma has to do it all by himself, without relying on anyone for help.
…Oh, alright. He can have a little help.
The round yellow tablet bubbles upon contact with his tongue. He gulps it down quickly with a mouthful of water, shivering at the sugary-sour aftertaste; it tastes like one of those gummy rainbow strips he bought in bulk some years back, chewing through bag after bag until he got sick of the flavor. The candy takes about five minutes to take effect, enough time for Chiguma to check the cameras and ascertain that—one, the route is clear, and two, his objective is still in the area.
Good.
His target hasn’t moved from the couch in the first receiving room, engrossed with something on his phone like he usually is as he waits out the long, official meetings so often required by the new order.
Sometimes Jiro comes around to chat, on the rare occasion that Jiro’s presence is not required as Saburo handled negotiations. Today, however, Chiguma’s target remains undisturbed as both Yamada brothers are holed up in a meeting room, busily poring over the terms and conditions of the Akika’s contract with Shibuya. Mitsuki and Gentaro are presently in attendance, giving Chiguma some leeway to take his eyes off the monitors, assured that the young masters of Ikebukuro will remain safe for the time being.
Safe.
Chiguma never thought there would come a day where he’d be using the word in relation to Ikebukuro without a hefty layer of sarcasm. There’s no hard reset that can undo years upon years of reiterating the dangers of no man’s land to himself (and to what few others he could persuade), so Chiguma can’t be faulted for needing some time to adjust.
Nearly three months have passed since the explosive comeback that sent Tokyo’s underworld reeling, fiery retribution delivered to those who had vaingloriously taken over the ward and subsequently driven its reputation to the ground. Sure, their plan was suicidal, and it had Chiguma constantly on the verge of a heartattack in the two weeks leading up to its execution, but the only thing that matters now is that it worked.
It worked too damn well.
Ikebukuro has come under new management, and those who swore fealty to it would have nothing to fear.
Chiguma worries, anyway.
The Akika dropped by about a month ago to tell him he’s being ridiculous—along with some other choice words that the Phantom of Shibuya (plural) have been holding close to their chests over the past dozen years. It’s good to finally air out those grievances (healthy, any reasonable shrink would say) but the verbal lashing Chiguma expected doesn’t come. It’s actually scarier that they’re being so civil with him after everything that has transpired, after all of the lies, manipulation, and mis(sed)communications. Maybe they already decided that any apology from Chiguma is meaningless? Chiguma offers it anyway. Mitsuki and Gentaro huff. A brisk ‘tsch’ comes from his cousins and the next thing he knows, he’s being hauled off with an unimpressed brunet on each side, gripping his arms.
Wordlessly, they drag Chiguma away from his den. If they meant to execute him, Chiguma honestly would’ve welcomed it. There’s plenty of room in here to hide his body and he rarely has visitors, anyway, but instead the Akika head for the front door and that’s—
“No! No, no, nonononono stop, don’t make me, I can’t—”
Chimes ring as Mitsuki and Gentaro march him out the door. “Quit whining.”
Chiguma’s voice cuts off.
For a minute, the Akika bask in triumph. Ikebukuro is teeming with life, bursting with color. It’s perfectly safe now and Chiguma has been holed up in his house for too damn—
“Kuma?”
He’s not breathing. Chiguma’s whole body has frozen up and no amount of springtime sunshine could thaw him out. Gentaro shakes his head in pity; Mitsuki swears they’ll keep trying until Chiguma finds his balls from whatever nuclear fallout bunker he’d stashed them in.
Hours later, crumpled under thick blankets in his bed, Chiguma finds relief in being left alone. (For now.)
As it turns out, all Chiguma needed was unrestricted access to the entire ward’s surveillance system, a blister pack of designer candy, and a safe S.M.A.R.T.1 objective to fulfill.
The rapid hammering beneath Chiguma’s rib cage has settled to an even pace. He swallows, wiping sweaty palms down the front of his hoodie—freshly laundered and carrying the comforting scent of a certain 2D idol’s eau de parfum. He takes a deep breath and puts one hand on the front door’s bitingly cold handle. Metal and wood chime together in unscripted harmony, he imagines it to be a musical cue for unlocking a secret mission as he pushes onward. Sunlight and city sounds stream in, hitting Chiguma directly in the face. He blinks.
Today is the day that Chiguma Marume makes a friend