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There’s nothing else but the pain riddled through his body. His ears are ringing, but it’s dark again—the helicopter must have left.
Amongst the shards of glass he can feel the gathering pools of blood beneath him, who knows how many exit wounds there are.
Kiryu’s alive— thank goodness, he can barely make out the man in his hazy vision but he needs to move quickly,
“I need you…to find him,” he struggles to breathe out, holding the portrait of him in his hand, “Can you do that?”
“Of course—” Kiryu says quickly, his eyes still wide from shock.
His own eyelids begin to grow heavy—and that’s when he knows it’s over. He begins to let go, and in his last breaths he can hear Kiryu calling his name.
Kashiwagi closes his eyes and the darkness encompasses him.
His head hits the wall and the room spins.
He already feels the part of his head that slammed into the concrete tear open, the blood starting to stream down the side of his face. He’s only able to place a hand against the wall to push back upon, supporting himself for a brief second before he catches a knife flying into his vision.
A part of his palm slices open trying to stop the tip inches away from his eyes. Hands shaking as the man in the bright suit grins, pressing harder against his grip.
“You’re still puttin’ up a fight, kid?” the man asks, as if he hasn’t put up with enough jeering from him. His head is still ringing, unable to make out the rest of whatever the man says next.
A hand grabs his neck, forcing him to stay pinned against the wall. He instinctively grabs the wrist of the red suited man, a sickening grin growing on his combatant. A knee is jabbed into his stomach that makes him gag, then it happens again and again and again—until the rush in his head dies and the sharp pain is all he can feel.
“Haw? Where did all the ferocity go?!” the man questions, “Ya done playin’ then? Shame—ya really got me goin’ there, ya little shit.”
The grip he has on the man’s wrist still isn’t enough to release the force holding him against the wall. With a glint of the ceiling light reflecting off the knife’s metal it slowly inches forward, driving a deeper cut into his aching palm and piercing the skin right beneath his eye.
“—Though, looks like you could use a little somethin’, how ‘bout I fix that for ya?”
His gritted teeth separate into a scream as the knife drives into his face, his other hand moving to keep it plunging further. But as his agony is cut short by the hand crushing his neck. The blade slowly drags across his skin, forming a deep crevice full of blood. The last of his strength pulled into trying to push it as far away from him as possible. Forcing himself to grit his teeth once more, already tasting the blood seeping down into his mouth.
His eyes then screw shut as any sort of farce of intimidation won’t get past this guy. He’s already seen past it anyway. One that only leaves the truth of a kid who’s in over his head of ever making it past his twenties.
A gunshot.
He hears the knife clatter to the ground, and he can suddenly breathe as he cracks his eyes open. The man’s hands are now at his side, a deep red blending into the shade of his suit.
He’s able to stumble off the wall, unsure if the red he’s seeing is anger or the blood. But throwing a kick into the man’s stomach is able to knock him into the ground, and he almost wants to punch the fucker to death before he’s jerked away by his arm.
He almost goes to throw another punch before he realizes he’s being hoisted onto someone’s shoulder. Turning over he sees the lieutenant who led them into this charge in the first place.
“Sir—”
“We’re getting out of here. Stay awake.”
“Wh—where’s everyone—“
“—They’re either dead or went to call for backup, we’re getting out of here.”
He hangs onto Kazama with the last of his strength, and when the cool air of the night stings the wound on his face all he can think as they shuffle over to one of the trucks—
Why would Kazama save an idiot like him?
The first thing he’s alert of is the tube shoved in his throat he instinctively chokes on.
His eyes shoot open and the blinding lights in his room immediately make him shut them close. He tries to bring his hands up to tear the tube out of his mouth but—
He can’t move his arms. Why can’t he move his arms?
The heart rate monitor—he’s in a hospital—it’s starting to increase in pace.
He...he lived?
He hears people enter the room and the cacophony of sounds overwhelms him. Opening his eyes a little he can spot a multitude of medical personnel in the room crowding around.
It’s hard to keep eyes open for long though, it’s taking all his strength to even maintain consciousness.
The bleary lights blind his eyes again, he squints and he can handle looking around better. Though half of his vision is blocked by the gauze on his face. No...no tube here.
He shivers a little, the only thing covering his chest and arms are bandages. At least he can move his arms now, though the lighter cuts on his skin are starting to irritate him. Any movement to his face aches, but at least the cocktail of painkillers he was on has worn off for the most part.
He manages to sit up, his head spinning at the elevation change. It seems like the rest of the room is empty, save for a bottle of water and what looks to be his bloodied shirt and jacket on the countertop.
“Oh, you’re already awake.” Kazama says, closing the door behind him,
“Where are we? ” he wants to ask, but instead the words are lost as he stares wide eyed at his superior,
“...Are you alright?” Kazama asks, eyes gazing down at the bandages across his skin,
“Yes…I think,” he finds himself responding, “Why did you help me?” he tries to say—
But the words get caught up in his throat again, and Kazama then fills the silence,
“I’ve—“ And Kazama pauses and looks to the side as if to think,
“I’ve been informed by the doctor that treated you yesterday, that your facial injury is going to…scar.” he says, “Yamanoi-san said I should apologize for it. Happening, I mean. I should have gotten there sooner.”
He can only stare as Kazama continues,
“I reported to Patriarch Dojima about the raid. All we got was confirmation that the Ueno-Seiwa and the Omi were in dealings.”
“...What about our losses?”
“It’s...Patriarch Dojima gave me a reprimand for the men lost,” Kazama looks off to the side, “I’ll make the necessary preparations to contact—“
“No—I can do it.”
Kazama’s eyes only widened slightly, but caught off guard nonetheless, “Are you sure?”
“I have a responsibility for them as well.” he admits finding his gaze drifting to the wounds on his hands, “I have to-”
Why can’t he say it?
“It’s because that’s how it went in your mind, but deep down you know how it really happened.” Yayoi tells him—hold on—
“Yayoi?!”
His eyes shoot back up and Kazama is no longer there, but instead Yayoi in her regular attire holding a cup of tea. She looks at him expectantly,
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
“Why—how-?”
“I’m here because you know what you need to do.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her face narrows, and she stands from her chair placing her cup down onto the countertop,
“You can be such a hassle sometimes you know that right?”
Yayoi slaps him as hard as he expected it would be.
The room is dimmer the next time he opens his eyes along with the tube in his mouth being removed allowing him to breathe freely. He blinks several times and the room comes to, he’s under a blanket of some sort and it takes all his will to turn his head to the side. There’s several machines probably hooked up to him and a chair. Wasn’t he just in another clinic just now?
He tries to move an arm from underneath the blanket to no avail, his arm feels numb, like all he can do is twitch his fingers a little. He swears he was using it just a while ago.
Is Kazama here?
He hears the door open and spots a medical personnel coming in and he wants to talk or ask something or anything but he opens his mouth and finds the words caught up in his throat. The meaningless grunts he’s able to alert the nurse with are rough, like he’s had a sore throat for what feels like forever. The nurse fusses over him and it’s hard to listen to her when he tries to remember what her name is or if he even knows what her name is. He thought the clinic only had a single doctor?
“Kashiwagi-san, it’s nice to finally meet you. Do you know why you’re here?” The nurse asks him, and he almost nods right away but he can tell something isn’t right, “It’s been a while since you’ve woken up, okay? So I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
Huh?
“I’ve already called Ibuki-san, he said he was coming as soon as he could.”
“...I...buki…?” He manages to say and it’s strained and broken to hell,
“Mmhm. Do you remember Ibuki-san?” she asks him and his mind goes blank on the name. The nurse’s expression doesn’t look good when he slowly shakes his head no,
“Right, I expected this might have happened.” she mumbles, “Well, do you think you’ll be able to stay awake? I should get to checking your vitals.”
He nods, and the nurse gently lifts the blanket and takes out a thin frail arm from underneath. He blinks and thinks this arm should be covered in cuts and bandages. But the same tattoos are faded on his skin. The same swirls and petals lay on his skin. He manages to twitch his fingers a little and confirms that this is his arm.
“Kashiwagi-san are you alright?” the nurse asks again, “You’ve been asleep for a very long time, it’s been quite a while since you’ve been able to move your body.”
“...How...long?” he asks, and he knows he’s not going to like the answer.
The nurse makes a face, and he braces himself, “It’s been three years since you’ve been admitted to this facility. It’s currently 2012.”
He blinks and takes a soft breath.
That doesn’t sound right.
“Kashiwagi-san?”
That doesn’t sound right…
His head snaps up as he catches himself from nearly falling asleep standing up. He lets out a breath as he grips the glass of champagne in his hand that he nearly let fall.
Perhaps he should have picked a better plan on how to spend his time at a large Tojo gathering such as this.
One where everyone fakes camaraderie as if they weren’t tearing each other apart last week. With threats on the rise of another clan along with the Jingweon fighting over the land in Kamurocho, perhaps this is worth having this gathering to unite ideals.
“You’re Kashiwagi right? Kazama’s man?” a woman asks, and he turns to see Yayoi Dojima in the flesh,
“Uh—yes, that’s me ma’am.” he responds, eyes flickering over to where her husband should be only to find he’s in talk with Kazama himself. She follows his gaze, then turning back and almost pointing her glass at him,
“So why does a man like you follow a man like that?”
“Huh?” he responds, trying not to sweat that his boss’ wife is striking up a conversation, “I don’t know what reason you need for swearing up with your husband, ma’am.”
“You idiot, I’m talking about Kazama.”
“Oh. Well I—” and the words get caught in his mouth, not knowing what to say,
“You what?”
“After that one raid I suppose he left an impact.”
“What, because he didn’t leave you for dead?” she sips her drink, “There’s got to be more to it than that .”
“I…don’t know. It just ended up that way.”
“Hm. I see,” she looks away towards the middle of the room away from the wall they’re standing near, where Kazama and her husband are in talks, “You know...rumors say he gave you that scar.”
“What—?”
“You walk in that building with a clean mug and he walks you out with a cut staining your teeth red.” she smirks, “News tends to spiral.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Ooh—here’s another one. I heard some of them talking about your scar being a punishment so you’ll know your place every time you look in the mirror,” Dojima prods, “Fingers weren’t worth it, hm?”
“Ma’am I—Why are you asking?” he finds himself saying, feeling the slight twitch of one of his eyelids he has to simmer down,
“I watch things, and I notice when things change.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your superiors don’t have a filter when talking about their subordinates, I’ve noticed. Especially sloppy ones.” she begins, “I’m surprised you haven’t lost any of your fingers yet.”
He’s silent, the champagne in his glass nearly empty. However Dojima looks amused, a corner of her mouth tugged upwards as his own brow furrows,
“The new blood say you're weak, the older crowd say you put out your fire and become a lapdog.” she looks at him expectantly, “People used to describe you like a beast in a fight, the amount of force you tended to use to collect was indescribable. Your reputation was almost demonic, no?”
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating—”
“Then Kazama comes along, you get a scar, and suddenly you’re on the straight and narrow. Almost like he took you to target practice and all you need now is a single shot,” she swirls her drink as her eyes flick back to him, “So, why does a man like you willingly follow a man like that?”
He remembers what distracted him that night. His own hand shaking at the kickback of the gun and the man he just kicked onto the floor. He pauses for a second at the now still corpse against the wall before someone grabs the back of his shirt. Another man’s red suit catches his eye, the real beast in the room cornering a scared prey.
The blood staining his own hands doesn’t seem to blend in with his skin, and it reveals the facade he’s been using to survive amongst the dangers that plague this town.
Instead of fighting with a fiery rage he was known for, he came to realize he was just some scared fucking kid.
Why did Kazama save him after that?
“I feel like I owe him.” is what he wants to say, “How he holds himself, his ideals, it’s admirable.”
But the words don’t come out.
“...I just do.” he responds instead and he watches her expression sour a little, “Feels right to follow him more than anyone else. Er—I apologize—no offense to uh…”
Dojima then hums, “I’ll let you get away with saying that just tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be asking that right now,” she remarks, “Besides, despite how you look, you don’t seem like the type to have that hard of a backbone yet.”
He squints, “Really.”
It makes Dojima bark out a laugh, nearly spilling her drink,
“Oh, the face you just made!” she says through her laughter, “Kazama-san was right, the scar really gives you presence.”
“Kazama-san said…what about me?”
Dojima sips her glass before recounting, “It was maybe, a week or two after the raid we happened to run into each other after a meeting. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was rather worried about you following him after everything.”
“…Was he?”
“It’s just something I sensed while he was talking about you,” she says, “To think you’re the one that managed to crack him. Or perhaps, made him realize he’s changed already.”
Dojima goes to finish her glass as he stares back toward Kazama.
Changed?
How?
He catches Yayoi waving over to a caterer and grabbing another glass, she then tilts her head almost as if to get a better look at him, “...Though, did he really give you that scar?
“What? No—it was some Omi guy, not him. He was just the person who carried me out of there.”
“So that part of the report was true then,” she muses, giving him a slight smile, “It really gives you a striking look.”
“It’s not like I can cover it up,” he grumbles, “But is that question why you came over here—ma’am—?” he quickly adds before this gets too casual.
Dojima takes a tentative sip from her drink, “Partly. But also you’re quite the wallflower, you know?”
“Oh.” Nevermind.
“I honestly thought you’d either hang around Kazama or anyone else in this family, but I couldn’t tell if everyone’s intimidated by your face or you’re intimidated by everyone else.”
“And if it’s the former?”
“Then everyone’s just witnessed you make a patriarch’s wife laugh for the only time of the night and if it’s the latter, you really need to get some friends.”
“I don’t think somebody outside of the yakuza would willingly become friends with someone who’s obviously a yakuza.” he makes a vague gesture to his face, “And—er, in the yakuza it’s…”
“Understandable.” she remarks with a knowing look, “You make for...interesting conversation though.”
He scoffs, “Really.”
“If I wasn’t standing by my husband’s side all night I’d probably be a wallflower myself till I get drunk off the champagne.”
“I suppose we’re both too intimidating to approach here then.” he says, lightening up a bit,
“Oh please, just you wait till you get some bright eyed member ready to please their superiors. Maybe you’ll get one of them hounding you with permission to call you ‘aniki’ all the time or something .”
“Are you expecting me to actually move up the ladder?”
“You better. This is probably the best time I’ve had at any of these events other than listening for whatever rumors are going about these days or participating in small talk,” and she swirls the remaining liquid in her glass, “If my husband’s planning on moving up in the world then you should think about it too.”
“Well, to be honest I don’t think I’ll make good patriarch material.”
Dojima looks him up and down and he can see the corner of her mouth quirk upwards, “Not with that haircut.”
His eye twitches, “Wh—You—!”
“All the professionalism that came with the suit is ruined with this weird fringe piece you got—did you cut this yourself?”
He furrows his brow, “Ma’am—“
“Yayoi.”
“Huh?”
“Call me Yayoi.”
“Isn’t that a little informal? Even calling you Dojima-san might be better suited—“
“That is my husband, I am his wife.”
“...Right, Yayoi-san. ”
Yayoi gives him a smirk, “Ah, that’ll never get old.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t tell yet?” she asks, and the slight shift of the lighting makes him turn back towards the gathering. Instead of the light of the chandelier above them casting light it’s more fluorescent lighting along with the sun of the late afternoon casting in from a nearby balcony.
“Well at least the suit’s better. I still don’t know how anyone takes your haircut seriously.”
Looking down, his suit’s a different cut and shade. Along with the drink gone from his hands even though he doesn’t remember ever putting it down. Gazing back toward the crowd of people it all clicks—
This...this is Daigo’s inauguration as chairman.
He must be dreaming again.
“Why is it always you?” he finds himself asking,
“Ask yourself, this is your own head after all,” Yayoi shrugs, “I could be anybody, but you unconsciously decided that I would be best.”
“So I’m technically talking to myself now then?”
“I suppose. I’m probably made of everything you remember about me, though why that night in 78’? I would have expected you’d rather not remember it so vividly.”
“You would know the reason.”
That remark only makes her smile. But the gathering goes on around him, blurry and unfocused. The only thing he can make sense of is Yayoi’s watch of her son through the crowd of people.
“You still have to return, you know that right?” she says, quiet.
He stays silent, looking towards the floor.
“Staying here doesn’t change what happened,” she says, “You're going to have to wake up again.”
He takes a breath,
“How did it come to this?”
“It’s just how our lives went, you know my answer to that question,” Yayoi grabs him by the shoulder and forces him to look at her, “You have to keep living.”
“But what if I don’t deserve that?”
“And give up the chance to lead a better life?”
…
Right.
Right.
Kashiwagi opens his eyes.
Epilogue
He’s sitting in bed resting after a physical therapy session, a book in hand on flowers one of the nurses allowed him to pick out. Adjusting the glasses on his face he’s still not used to, the sound of the door sliding opening catches his attention.
A woman he hasn’t seen in…years (right, it’s been years) walks in, hesitant. She turns to look at him and her sharp face softens as she brings a hand to her mouth. A woman he could never forget slowly inches closer, and his mouth opens but he can’t find the words to say. At most he’s not sure how she even knows that he’s here...that he’s alive.
“...Yayoi?” is all he asks, because that’s the only thing that’s going through his mind right now. That she’s here, that while he was gone she still lived through the years that he’s missed. She steps closer and lifts his frail hand off his book, which he weakly tries to grasp as tight as he can right now. He looks back up at Yayoi’s face as her eyes slowly start to water.
And Yayoi slaps him as hard as he expected.
He brings a hand to his stinging face, not before Yayoi embraces him tighter than he’s ever felt before.
“I missed you.” she whispers, and he can feel his own tears start to slide down without fail.
He’s able to wrap his arms around her, bury his head in her shoulder, feeling his glasses push up. And for a moment it’s simply quiet, something to allow both of them to revel in the presence of each other once more. It feels like he hasn’t seen her in weeks, maybe months still. But for her, it must have been a bleak few years.
“How…” he asks after a minute, “...How did you find me?”
Yayoi releases her embrace and wipes her face, finding a chair nearby and dragging it over to his bed, “Well. I suppose it’s a long story.”
He smiles, “I think I have the time to listen.”
Her face contorts however, “What is with those glasses though?”
That smile is quickly wiped off of his face, his friend’s smirk growing wider.
It’s rather nice. To be back.