Chapter Text
Akaza’s fist crashes into the other man's face. Thunder echoes inside him, drowning out the cheering and yelling around them for a second.
His heart stops beating the moment when his knuckles connect against his opponent's cheek. He releases all the raw emotion inside him. It feels like letting out a breath one has held for way, way too long.
All the colors are washed away by the harsh light right above their heads, illuminating the ring and creating stark contrasts on their features.
The crowd is a faceless mob. Losing themselves with him in the adrenaline rush of violence and triumph. Loud voices, deep and growling surround him.
Akaza breathes in deep, inhales the taste of copper and sweat.
He watches his opponent, a man maybe some years older than him, struggle to get up from his position on the ground.
Akaza knows that he won‘t be able to gather himself. He waits for the judge to count down to zero, then leaves the ring. That was his last fight for tonight and he forces himself to calm down. He wants to keep fighting. His blood thrums and boils in his veins, hunger twists his stomach.
He weaves through the crowd who parts for him and takes the drink handed to him with a curt nod. Looking back, he sees Gyokko stepping into the ring, unmistakable with his flashily dyed hair and green lipstick.
Quickly, he changes his shirt, checks his belongings and curses to himself as he has to change his trousers, too - the splatter of blood just a little too obvious.
Making his way out of the dimly lit cellar that houses their little establishment, he scans the crowd for familiar faces. Akaza watches a Lower Moon, who is Gyokko’s opponent tonight, ready himself. The Upper Moons, to which he belongs, only fight from time to time, as they get more important tasks to fulfill. He sighs at the thought of the earlier days where Muzan still allowed him to have fun to his heart’s content.
After the people discovered how strong Akaza is, his boss started pulling him back from the ring, only giving him permission to fight about two times a month to grow the audience and their willingness to bet on him.
Only two years have passed since he took up this job. He has made quite the name for himself in the meantime. With his seemingly endless stamina, speed and recklessness, he rose through the ranks like a monster.
Akaza lets out a breath as he steps out into the warm air of the summer night. The stink of tobacco, sweat and beer gives way for the smell of trash in back alleys and wet asphalt.
He closes his eyes to enjoy the quiet for a moment. Avoiding the main streets where the people who have missed the last train were still going strong, he jogs his way home.
He sets a leisurely pace, using the exercise to cool his head, loosen his muscles. He feels the bruises forming on his skin, the ache in his knuckles and lets them pulsate in waves through his body. After years and years of fighting, he knows that this is the best way to deal with pain. Just let it wash over you and wait for it to lose it’s edge, to die down.
Just before he arrives at his apartment, he enters the convenience store to stock up on some food. He also gets himself a bottle of water, only to empty it right after he finishes paying, throwing it away before he leaves the store.
When he comes home, closing the door behind him quietly, the first thing he does is air out his apartment. It takes three tries to successfully slide the window open. It’s four in the morning and slowly, the adrenaline in his veins is dying down. He throws a glance at his phone. No new calls or messages.
Akaza doesn’t turn on the lights in the living room, enjoying the darkness instead. He takes a quick shower to get rid of the blood and sweat. Standing in front of his mirror, he inspects his body for bruises and scratches while water drips down from his hair into the sink. The tiny light above his head flickers, almost goes out.
A cool summer breeze brings the smell of rain into the room and he lets himself fall into his bed with his hair still wet, wearing only a pair of loose trousers. His knuckles feel warm and a dull, thumping pain beneath his left scapula makes every breath ache. He drifts off to sleep listening to the faint sound of cicadas somewhere outside of his window.
An obnoxious, loud beeping sound rouses him from his sleep. Realizing immediately where it comes from, he scrambles for his phone. The number on the display is an unknown one.
“Akaza,” a male voice on the other end of the line says and nothing wakes him up as fast as hearing his boss say his name in his usual sombre manner.
“Good morning, Muzan-sama,” he gets up from the bed and walks over to his kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.
“The number of people who come to watch you fight is growing steadily. You’ve done well yesterday.”
“Thank you, Muzan-sama.”
“I’m calling to remind you of the second fight this month, and also to ask if you remember Tamayo?”
Akaza’s mouth twitches into a smile. He looks forward to the next fight. It’s supposed to be him against some newcomer, Kaigaku or what his name was. The kid looked promising.
“Yes, I do. Was she found?”
“Two of our men recently tracked her down. She disguised herself cleverly as a doctor, working at a school.”
Akaza already knows what will come next. Tamayo is a traitor. The only one currently alive and up until recently, whose location was unknown.
As of now, Muzan is one of the wealthiest men in the underground world. Through hand-picking all of his subordinates and getting rid of those that lack the grit to work for him, he has built himself an organization just as ruthless as himself.
The syndicate of which he is part of is a sophisticated one. Combining the forces of multiple yakuza, with ties to the golden triangle. They aren’t as disturbed by internal fights as their Latin counterparts but rather unified in their pursuit of gargantuan profits.
There are the henchmen, the lowest class, interchangeable, easy to replace. And then there are people like him who - or did, in Tamayo’s case - belong to the inner circle of Muzan’s organization. They are not let off the hook that easy.
When a person becomes one of Muzan’s generals and enters the rank of an Upper Moon, they get a USB-stick of sorts. It comes in all shapes and sizes and contains fragments of transactions, and contracts - in short: evidence.
The thing about it is that all these pieces are completely useless on their own. Akaza doesn’t know how many of these memory sticks one needs to collect for the pieces to start making sense, or until enough evidence can be decoded to apprehend Muzan.
The reason Muzan has been trying to find her is because she stole the memory card from another Upper Moon when she left - which makes her the only person in possession of two of those. Even though it has been years, she never went to the police. Nobody knows if it’s because of her fearing punishment for her own wrongdoings or because of the lack of evidence.
Akaza still remembers the day Muzan officially declared him a member of the Upper ranks and glances down at the thick bracelets wrapped around his ankle. The beads have the form of Kannon’s head, smiling gently. He was ordered to wear them at all times. One of these beads contains a tiny memory card with gigabytes of data. He can only guess what exactly is saved on them.
“She fled in a rush just before they could get to her but Susamaru and Yahaba couldn’t find the two data chips. When she left us, one was stored in a little daruma and the other was inside a thick, expensive brooch, it is unclear if she left it that way or if she changed it,” Muzan’s voice was calm as always but Akaza senses annoyance.
He walks up to the window to close it. Outside, the world has woken up. Four hours of sleep have not been enough and he contemplates getting himself a coffee.
“According to their report, two kids were with her when she left. A boy and a girl, around fifteen years old, both wore the school uniform of the Kimetsu Academy, where Tamayo worked. The three of them left together and later split up. They weren’t able to track either of them down,” now, disdain bleeds into Muzan’s voice more clearly.
“What exactly happened?”
“These two idiots were too eager and closed in on her too fast. With the kids there as witnesses, they hesitated too long and they were able to get away,” Muzan recounts.
Akaza hums, downing another glass of water.
“I want you to find these kids first. Maybe Tamayo told them something. I highly suspect she gave them her fragments without them even knowing so that even if she is captured, they could go to the police in her place,” a little sigh could be heard on the other end of the line.
“On the other hand, it wouldn’t suit her character to endanger kids like this. But I feel like she has come to a point of desperation where she would do anything to see me behind bars,” Akaza quietly listens to his boss talk. The Kimetsu Academy, huh? Funny to know that after years of searching, Tamayo hid herself right in front of their nose.
“I will do my best, Muzan-sama,” he says.
“I expect nothing less, Akaza.”
The kids, turns out, are siblings. Kamado Tanjiro and Kamado Nezuko, fifteen and fourteen years old respectively. Akaza can’t help but chuckle. Mountains worth of important evidence that could be used to bring an empire of organized crime to its knees in the hands of children.
There are files in her cabinets. She has worked for the school for almost two years now.
It takes him quite a while to go through everything but he finds the profile of the boy called Yushiro, class 3-B. In her calendar, she has made notes of when his chest pains got worse. He quickly identifies the Kamado siblings and Yushiro as the students that seem to have been closest to her.
It’s eerie. He doesn’t turn on any lights and in the fading light of the day, Akaza tries to find a word for this strange feeling of intrusion. The rooms are quiet and dark. Everything is frozen in time. There is food in the fridge, open books on the desk, a pencil without it’s cap next to it. She left in a hurry.
The apartment is very clean and orderly, only little parts of it seem almost disturbed. At the entrance, shoes are in a disarray. In the otherwise unperturbed kitchen, a single drawer wasn’t closed completely. Inside are cans of dried, loose tea leaves and by rearranging them he notices that another tin could have easily fit inside. He snaps a photo of it.
He looks for the daruma and the brooch but they’re nowhere to be found. He spends the day inspecting every item that could be used as a storage, shakes and knocks against them to see if they are hollow on the inside.
Akaza feels along the walls of every cabinet, every niche, looking for a hidden safe but comes away empty handed.
That’s when he starts scanning for missing items and suppresses a groan. He is not cut out for this kind of work. Give him someone to brawl with, any kind of physical work, but not this. But he understands why Muzan made him do it. Although he lacks patience, he works diligently and thoroughly.
He notices that the thin layer of dust that had collected on top of her dresser has a blank patch in it. Somehow, the dust at the edge has also been removed. As if someone swiped over it with their finger. Something must have stood here. It’s bottom should be about the size of his palm. He takes a photo of it. It has a curious shape, a big, round ellipse and two little not-quite circles attached to it. It looks a bit like the silhouette of a Mickey Mouse’ head.
Akaza looks around some more. The door is on his right and he imagines how Tamayo comes into the room. In his vision, she walks up to the dresser hurriedly, going straight for the item that stood there, her sleeve wiping away the dust that had gathered on the edge. What could it have been?
Leaving the apartment, he sighs and locks it up again with the pair of keys that Susamaru and Yahaba found. He didn’t know Tamayo personally and he couldn’t give a single fuck about her, but living like this must have been hell. She probably can’t go to the police herself.
He should report back to headquarters.
Said headquarters is made up of multiple rooms hidden inside an illegal gambling den disguised as a massage parlor.
Walking inside, he can‘t help but sneer a little. The entrance is an oasis of peace and tranquility. The walls are clad in dark wood with soft music playing somewhere and a tiny artificial waterfall. One of their men emerges from behind the desk and leads him through a door that is labeled private as if he doesn’t know where to go.
Walking through a corridor brings him to another entrance. This time, he steps into what could almost be seen as a full blown casino.
Weaving through the crowds of yelling men, the air thrums with noise of Majiang pieces being mixed and money being spent, he scans his surroundings out of habit.
The walls are richly decorated with all things related to luck and wealth. Akaza himself has built up a little fortune working for Muzan, though he doesn’t like spending the money at all.
Everything is so red. Mirrors are everywhere to make the room seem bigger. The hall is illuminated by rich chandeliers. Drinks clink against each other and there is a glimmer of gold in the corner of his eye.
As if he has been struck by lightning, he comes to a full halt and almost runs back towards the entrance, where the help desk of the casino is situated. One of the workers looks like he wants to try and stop Akaza from going behind the counter until recognition flashes over his features and he freezes in his movements.
He goes straight for the object he had his eyes on and grabs it off the shelf.
Holding it in his hand, he almost laughs. A maneki-neko. Something you could have standing around in your home, something no one would question.
Akaza turns it upside down, pulls up the photo on his phone and compares the shape of its bottom to the one on the dresser. It matches perfectly. He puts the little golden cat back in its rightful place and makes his way to the back of the room, ignoring the puzzled looks of the employees.
The guards at the doors that lead upstairs move aside for him. He grins as he recognizes a Lower Moon who applied for a battle with him to gain his rank and was soundly beaten. The man pointedly looks away.
Stepping out of the elevator, it’s much quieter. The deafening noise from the gambling halls is reduced to nothing. It’s funny, really. He doesn’t know who was responsible for the interior design but he actually likes it. The rooms are decorated in the traditional shoin-style, with beautifully painted fusuma doors. It’s almost like a labyrinth. He sits down on one of the wooden chairs provided in the entrance area and waits for Nakime to finish her phone call.
Muzan isn’t in his office. Their boss moves around a lot, attending dinners and parties as if he was some upper class socialite. The reason why their organization is so untouchable is partly thanks to Muzan’s skill to make people submit to his will. Akaza doesn’t know if he does it using fear or his charms.
He is sure that the police have been tracking them for years but nobody has ever even come close to being able to pin them down. They were never able to even gather enough evidence for a search warrant.
“Muzan-sama probably won’t come back today. Should I call him for you?” Nakime asks as she brings him a glass of tea.
“Yes, please. Tell him that it concerns Tamayo.”
Minutes later, Akaza holds an ugly throwaway phone in his hand with Muzan's cold voice coming from the other end.
He recounts what he has found in as much detail as possible.
“I think that one of the memory cards is hidden in a tea box. It could also be a tin. The other one is stored in a maneki-neko. It stood on her dresser and I have compared the imprint it left in the dust to a real one, it matches.”
“Good, Akaza. Have you found out more about the kids?”
“Yes, I did. They are siblings of the Kamado family. The two oldest ones, Tanjiro and Nezuko. They must have been close to Tamayo. She has written notes about them and another boy in her calendar.”
“How big is the possibility that Tamayo gave them the items?”
“I can’t say for sure, Muzan-sama. But given that she hid them in everyday items it could very much be that she gave them to the siblings as gifts without them suspecting anything.”
“Find those children. They may be young but let’s not underestimate them, kids these days may be bratty, but they are fast. One phone call to the police is all we need. If they really are in the possession of the evidence, get it off of their hands.”
“According to Tamayo’s files, they are a family of seven. Breaking in could prove difficult without alerting at least one of the kids.”
“I see. Then try talking to them first. Get them to spill if they have it or not. Then we decide how to go about this.”
“Yes, Muzan-sama.”
It isn’t hard to track them down.
He stands at the entrance of the little convenience store on the opposite site of the street and watches the children come pouring out of the school.
Even in the flood of people he spots them next to a blonde boy. Although there can’t be more than a four years difference between them, he feels centuries older than those kids, watching them smile and walk home wearing their uniforms.
He follows them at a comfortable distance and puts in his earbuds. He is wearing casual looking clothes, blending in with the trove of young people.
Even with the gap between them, he can hear what they are talking about, albeit faintly.
“Do you think they were dangerous?” The boy with the burgundy tint in his hair asks. Kamado Tanjiro. Around 165cm tall. He has a sturdy build for a fifteen year old. His sister is next to him.
The boy who is walking with them, the one with the bleached hair, only lifts his shoulders.
The path they’re walking down borders to Akaza’s right hand side on a wall that someone has built around their home.
“I can’t say. It definitely sounds weird,” he readjusts his backpack. “As long as no one is following you around it should be fine.”
”Tamayo-san hasn’t been at school since then. I have a bad feeling about this,” the girl says.
Tanjiro nods. “I’m worried about her, too.”
“She is an adult. She can take care of herself. I mean, if it’s really something dangerous, she can call the police anytime.”
Akaza almost laughs at this. No matter the generation, kids will always just be kids.
Apparently, Tamayo hasn’t contacted any of them since she left. The blonde kid - Zenitsu, they called him - bids his goodbyes when they arrive at a crossing.
The girl, Nezuko, throws a glance over her shoulder that lingers just a second too long on him.
“Onii-chan,” she says to her brother, linking their arms. “Aoi-chan didn’t come to school today because she fell sick. I wanna pay her a visit and check up on her. And I am supposed to tell her what we got for homework today.”
“Aoi-chan? But wasn’t she - “
“I really wanna see her, Onii-chan. Please?”
Akaza feels his lips twitch upwards. The girl is smart. It doesn’t matter whether she is relying on her gut or if she made a logical connection somehow but he likes how she made a decision like this without an ounce of hesitation.
“I thought I had seen her - “
“Hey you two,” Akaza decides to pipe in. “Wait a second.”
They both freeze on the spot and a look of alarm flashes over Nezuko's features.
“I have a few questions for you,” he starts, stepping closer.
The siblings stand next to each other, Nezuko’s hand is still grabbing Tanjiro's uniform tightly.
He hears Tanjiro breathe in deep and watches his expression change from helpful and open to suspicious. This kid can’t hide his emotions at all.
“I am looking for a woman named Tamayo and I heard you talking about her. The neighbors told me that you were with her when she left her apartment, where she was last seen. The only thing I want to ask is if she gave you something? A gift perhaps?”
The two throw each other a quick glance.
“She hasn’t picked up her phone in two days. I’m worried,” he adds just for good measure. He knows that they don’t believe him but messing with them is too fun.
“Tamayo-san told us that people will come looking for her and that we shouldn’t trust them. So, who are you?” Nezuko asks, sounding surprisingly grown up for a girl this tiny.
“She didn’t give us anything,” Tanjiro adds and Akaza almost laughs out loud at how obvious that lie was.
“Yes, she did. What was it? Let me guess. A maneki-neko and a can of tea? Am I right?”
“How do you - “
“Because I know her. These things don’t belong to you. I don’t know what she told you two as an excuse but it’s for the best of us all if you just give them to me,” Akaza tries his best to sound as calm and reassuring as possible. “Trust me on this. I’m saving you a lot of trouble.”
He takes a step forward while the siblings simultaneously take one backwards.
In that moment, a hand clamps down onto his shoulder and Akaza turns around.
“Leave the kids alone.”
A young man stands in front of him. They’re about the same height. He is wearing a clean and crisp looking dress shirt and golden hair falls in waves around his face. A messenger back is thrown over his broad shoulder. His expression is serious.
“This is none of your business,” Akaza says, keeping his voice as unsympathetic and cold as possible.
“I am his teacher and yes, it is my business if my students get harassed.” His voice is weirdly loud, his words echo through Akaza’s chest and the faint possibility of a fight almost makes him grin.
His heart rate is picking up and he feels his body steeling itself for a confrontation. All he needs is flesh beneath his palms and bone grating against bone.
“I’m just asking them some questions, can’t you see?”
The man in front of him takes a step to his right and out of instinct Akaza does the same. They circle each other until their positions have been reversed. Kyojuro stands between him and the kids.
“Kamado, is he giving you trouble?”
The siblings look relieved to see their teacher. “Rengoku-sensei!”
Akaza can’t help but stare at the man. Rengoku, they say? A curious name.
He seems... bright. There is no better way to describe it. He has never seen anything like this. The man radiates an intense energy. He is watchful, fearless and ready to put himself on the line. Akaza can’t sense an ounce of hesitation.
Most of the time, people avoid fighting. They flee, they duck, they try to talk him out of it.
It’s different with Rengoku.
Although he senses a certain unwillingness to fight, Akaza can feel that it is more because he doesn’t want his students to witness this kind of violence, not because he is scared to use his fists. There is a readiness to protect with any means necessary and something inside Akaza hurts.
He feels excited. Not just that he didn’t get enough of a fix out of his usual fights but this is a pleasant surprise. He hopes he’s not wrong with his assessment. He loves street fights for their unpredictability, an explosion of violence in the middle of the day. Anywhere, anytime.
Who is going to deliver the first blow?
“This man was asking us where - “ the older brother, Tanjiro starts but is quickly interrupted by his sister.
“He’s been following us! He won’t leave even if we ask him to!”
Rengoku nods and turns to him.
“I won’t repeat myself more than necessary. Please leave.”
So polite.
Akaza laughs. The girl’s got brains. Nobody else except for them and the little blonde kid knows of Tamayo’s situation and instead of dragging their teacher headlong into this mess, she has decided to keep him out of it by not telling him the whole truth, cutting off her too-honest brother.
“I am allowed to ask questions.”
“Not if the ones questioned are unwilling to answer.”
“I like you,” Akaza says, being honest. “What’s your name?”
“Rengoku Kyojuro.”
Joy makes his heart leap. So honest. He loves talking to interesting people. The only thing that is even better is fighting them.
“My name is Akaza. I am interested in the whereabouts of a woman called Tamayo. She worked as a doctor at your school, I am sure you were acquaintances.”
Kyojuro's left eye twitches slightly when he hears Tamayo’s name.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I have been unable to contact her lately, so I wanted to try and see her in person.”
Rengoku turns his head to the kids and although no words are spoken, his expression when he faces Akaza again is determined.
“Leave right this instant. I won’t ask again.”
Akaza is delighted. A car drives past them and the traffic light starts beeping. It’s a relatively peaceful afternoon. No one to be seen on the streets except for a man walking his dog, facing the other way.
He throws the first punch.
The siblings both wince and stumble backwards while Kyojuro dodges his fist to the side.
“Go, you two!” He yells.
Tanjiro looks more than conflicted at this, taking a step forward as if to join the fight.
“Don’t you dare interrupt, kid,” Akaza warns. He can’t help but grin. “You’re too weak for this.”
Kyojuro’s gaze is burning him up. Focus and a clear mind are essential for a good fighter. But so are instinct and a certain amount of blood lust. Akaza loves the feeling of meeting a great opponent.
“There is no need for violence but if you intend to hurt my students, I’m not going to hold back.”
“Hold back? Worry about holding your ground first.”
With this, Akaza attacks again.
Kyojuro’s reflexes are quick and sharp, blocking every single one of his punches.
He is still on the defense and Akaza takes the opportunity to close in, getting up into his face.
In the same moment as he grabs Kyojuro’s arms, intending to throw him onto the ground, the other man mirrors his movements. Stemming his feet against the ground and using Akaza’s momentum, he pushes him away.
The kids are still there, lingering in the back.
“Rengoku-sensei!” Tanjiro’s voice is high and loud. Akaza can tell from their expressions that Nezuko knows it’s for the best when they run, but their childish sense of righteousness won’t allow them to leave their teacher behind.
An idea pops into Akaza’s head and he leaps forward, bridging the distance between him and the kids within seconds.
He watches Nezuko pull her brother out of the path of his blow but this isn’t what makes him laugh out loud.
Fast as lightning, Rengoku is between him and his students. And this time, the other man meets him head on.
All these years, everyone who fought against him knew him to some extent. Everyone has heard of his brutality and it either made them fear him too much or underestimate him, thinking that Muzan has blown his brutality out of proportion as a scare tactic.
But not Kyojuro.
This man, this teacher has shown more guts within these last minutes than anyone he has fought against.
There is no weakness in his stance and no hesitation in his movements when he delivers his first blow.
Pure delight makes Akaza’s chest feel tight. This is what he has been looking for. All these fights in the ring mean nothing compared to this. No one fights better than someone who has something to protect.
He throws himself into the fight, laughing.
They circle one another. He leaps forward and his fist connects with the wall behind Kyojuro’s head.
The other man is quick as a cat, ducking beneath his arm to emerge behind Akaza.
With a violent push, their positions have been reversed, Akaza’s back is against the wall and Kyojuro brings up his knee.
He steps aside and manages to grab the other man’s leg, holding him in place. The next punch is aimed at Kyojuro's throat but he dodges it.
Suddenly, Akaza is being pulled forward by Kyojuro who has let himself fall, using it to drag Akaza to the ground with him.
He catches himself on his hands and rolls aside to dodge the kick that would have fallen onto his head. Akaza is almost standing on the street. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that the kids are watching from a safe distance some meters away.
Kyojuro fights using his brain. Most street brawls are just that. Brawls. Pure, unadulterated violence and nothing more.
This is a proper battle.
“Splendid! Your technique! You have trained properly, haven’t you?”
Kyojuro doesn’t answer. They’re both back on their feet. Facing one another.
One step and Akaza’s fist flies past his ear. Kyojuro dodges to the right and Akaza feels pain exploding in his side.
He brings distance between them and feels his ribs. At least one must be broken.
Such concentration combined with raw strength.
For Akaza, nothing matters anymore. All his body wants to do is to move, feel strength coursing through his veins, connecting his limbs and head.
All he can see is this man, bright as the sun, standing in front of him. His stance is sure and steady.
Akaza decides not to hold back anymore. He would be dishonoring his opponent by doing so.
With a hysterical laugh, he lunges forward.
He drops low just before he reaches Kyojuro and swipes his feet away with a kick. The other man catches himself in time but Akaza is upon him within a second.
He grabs Kyojuro’s arm, twisting it behind his back. With a loud growl and pure strength, Kyojuro manages to get up even with Akaza pressing down on him.
Now standing, Akaza is still behind him, holding his arm and Kyojuro can feel how close it is to being dislodged. Using his free hand, he grabs Akaza’s shirt and bends down fast, pulling the other man with him.
Thanks to his sharpened reflexes, Akaza lands on his feet and immediately retaliates by pushing his lower arm against Kyojuro’s throat, driving him back towards the wall.
A boot to Akaza’s stomach brings distance between them but that doesn’t last long.
Kyojuro gasps when Akaza kicks him in the side and using the split second where he is catching himself, continues to pull his head down.
Stars explode in front of his vision as Akaza rams his knee into Kyojuro’s face. Even though he manages to turn his head just in time so it doesn’t hit him full on, blood starts pouring out of his nose immediately.
Tears well up in his eyes and yet he manages to grab Akaza and using all his force, he kicks him against the wall.
As fast as he can, he follows up with a punch and feels his fist connect with Akaza’s face.
The force of the assault snaps Akaza’s head to the right and Kyojuro hears him gasp. There is blood on his teeth and laughter in his eyes when he grabs Kyojuro's face.
In the same moment, Akaza hooks his ankle around Kyojuro’s and pushes him down, who grabs him by the fabric of his shirt and pulls him down with him.
Akaza lets himself roll to the side to ease the impact of the fall.
A loud honk interrupts them as a car screeches to a halt mere meters next to Akaza, who had landed in the middle of the street.
In the same moment, someone yells, “Stop!” Followed by a, “Police!”
Kyojuro meets Akaza’s gaze.
The other man is smiling with blood dripping down his chin. His face is bruised, his hair and clothes a mess. Kyojuro knows that he doesn’t look much better himself.
“Rengoku Kyojuro,” Akaza says, savoring his name.
Sunlight breaks through in that moment, shining into Kyojuro's face. He narrows his eyes to look at Akaza, who is kneeling just in the shadow of a building. The footsteps of the cops draw closer and it feels like an eternity.
Akaza gets up and with one last glance at Kyojuro, he runs.