BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR….
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR…
Let's just get this over with…
"Hello." Watou said to the phone, hanging boredly inside of the elevator.
"Ayyee…" A teenage voice called out, gritty and sharp. "I called you ten times."
That wasn't funny, Watou thought. "And you actually counted that?" he asked.
A long sigh crackled through the phone, the speaker behind it was clearly bored. "Yeah, I counted that." He said. "But hey— listen, don't hang up. I just wanna talk a bit, alright? Since we both came to an agreement and all…"
"Agreements don't mean you can waste my time."
"I know. I know. But listen, I've changed my mind…" he paused.
"You can have your friend's Gitae Wang back."
His eyes widened in the room.
Floor 13…still a way to go. "What?"
The person on the other end replied, "Yeah, have him back. He's no fun no more." He let the silence drift by with an audible grin. "Thing is, I was expectin' you to come by and take 'em quick. Well I guess not. Have your guy back, and go home. He's out on the piers."
What really happened back then,
The air was still, cold with tension. No lights flickered inside the school, aside from the moonlight that entered the halls.
BANG.
"AGHH..!!!" the man faltered instantly. The bullet stabbed into the flesh of his right thigh. He cried in pain, his mask all broke. The one who shot him still glared at him like a cold and mindless killer. A killer with a casual smirk.
Hirose Takashi— his silver-white hair glew under the moon light, as his clean face betrayed no emotions that he was feeling. He lowered the gun slowly, walked closer to the writhing man, the boys in front of him— intimidated to the brim.
He shot another bullet—BANG—this time to the other thigh. "H—AHHHH!!!" it was agonizing, frustrating.
"Hey, you mind givin' me your phone?" he crouched to him, asking him ever so casually like he could do that. Then, as if getting impatient he just whispered: "Whatever." Then searched every pocket until he got the phone…
"There it is," he said in casual victory. The next thing hat he did was tap around on the screen, scroll through call records until he could find one number that seemed like what he was looking for.
He shot eyes to his crew, jabbing his head toward the pained man, asking them silently to take him away. A few came up front and began dragging him.
Even Kasuga was afraid.
As a twenty something man, he was afraid. Even as a teacher. He's known for crossing lengths. But the way one, singular, younger male did something he shouldn't himself…
Was so mundane.
Hirose whistled, picked the call. He put the phone upto his ear, waiting for the other end to respond.
"You got him?" Watou began first. Then Hirose replied:
"Hey, y'know that one company that goes by the name of Ground Slam? Wu Sha's right there."
Back in the present—
—"So, forget about the conditions. You can have him. For free." His tone was as normal as it would be when talking about something mundane. Watou didn't answer him. He didn't say anything else after that. He was…confused. Confused about the kid's whole demeanour, and his casual phone call.
"You there?"
He moved his phone slightly away from his ear, sighing. He pulled it back, then answered, "Is this a bait?"
"He's all yours." Hirose simply replied.
The elevator finally dinged at floor 1. The doors groaned open. Watou walked out out of memory.
"I'll be there. Alone." He then said to the phone. "Got it. See ya." The call ended.
He simply put it back inside of his jacket's pocket. Walking the rest of the hallway down with a blank stare over nothing. There was one question that just lurked within Watou's honed-mind.
What does this Hirose even want?
Somewhere else around Nagasaki, downtown…
"Yo, Iwado…You gotta see this…"
"What?"
"Look. We're here. In Nagasaki!"
"Yay."
Yay!
The slick-black sports car parked on a parking space, sleeping as it waited to be turned back on. Then there was Takehito Katou. Katsuragi Iwado. Standing in front of a…
Giant arcade. "Wait, I think we're supposed to look the other way." Iwado said. "Oh yeah. Good idea."
They forgot the car— and just walked the rest of the way to…nowhere. One guy had a look around with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder like a yakuza, the other with a scabbard— long for his size, walking so casually around with it like he was going for a convention. And many seem to give glances at them for it. But yet they kept a straight face even then that.
The neon lights brushed around the entire city in every generic colours that you'd see. Purple, green, red, white, blue— black— "You said you're gonna go meet your sister along the way, right?" Katou asked him.
Iwado gave him a glance, sword still in hand. Then he turned back to the pavement then said, "Yeah. I wanna see how she's doing. It's been a long time."
For a second, Katou just thought about it…
He sighed…not at what Iwado said— but at realizing just how weirdly they operate…"Sure…" he said, lacking every enthusiasm. His shoulders spilled.
Nagasaki was— in a way, was a distant cousin to Tokyo. It didn't have the vibrance and the chaos Tokyo does around crosswalks and pavements, sure. But it's got enough for anyone to love the place. It's clean, vibrant, feels like walking through a simple and yet a complex city. And these two loved simplicity. 'Specially when simplicity gets a complex design hint to it as well.
Trains passed by, and cars lively drove around. Some horns beeped, conversations flowed into the frosty air— filled with either cheers and excitement, chaos and resentment, or casual and disturbance.
"Juice?" Katou nudged him with the small square box. "No thanks." Iwado waved his free hand.
"Feels like we're Yakuza or something…"
"The Yakuza lost their edge ages ago, man." His voice muffled through the straw, eyes half-lidded.
"That's not what I asked…"
They stopped in the middle of a bus stand. They waited for a bus. A bus came. Iwado went in with his friend's sword in hand, "See ya."
"See ya" Katou waved. The vehicle slowly drove away then after, with Katou watching it go and then suddenly stop in the middle of the traffic.
Wait..I could've just dropped him by with my car, couldn't I? he asked that question regretfully to himself. Deep inside, he fell asleep.
Iwado meanwhile, was sitting at the very back…his posture straight, his hands slumped over his knees, and that sword inside of a sheathe sitting beside him like it's fallen asleep. He had a stare, the stare that looked like he was smiling— while at the same time, burdened by a huge pile of BOREDOM, DEPRESSION, and EMPTINESS. That's a lot of things to carry in one container. But he probably couldn't care less.
…I'm bored.
I'm as bored as I can be.
It's been like this since college. I've had no friends to really go around and do things. Just sitting on a chair, studying, waiting for the day to pass by. Back then, I had a couple games to play.
But, work came…Aaand, I can't play no more. Or maybe I could? I…probably just don't use the time I get on breaks to really game.
I'm still trying to be cool. You know? A cool kid. You know the types at school. Wait, what am I talking about?
Being silent isn't cool at all…
But I like how quiet this bus is. Makes it easier to stay in here. Should I check the view outside?
Hm?
While he was lost in his thought, the bus stopped by for more passengers. The doors slid open, and came in some brash man. Some unwanted attitude.
They laughed, they spat, they screamed each and very word they said, and they wobbled way too many times for just a single foot step. And though the wacky chaos erupted inside the bus with the fewer passengers noticeably disturbed— At the very back, Iwado was still quiet. Very quiet. Sitting carelessly still, so carelessly none of them paid attention to him. None of them thought about approaching him.
I'm so bored…
His hands were still limp like noodles, posture straight like the oddly placed pole in front of him. Face so aloof, you couldn't make out if he was happy nor sad.
Then there were those punks in front of him—
"AND HE WAS LIKE: BRO, DON'T PUNCH ME PLEASE! NO MORE! NO MORE! I CAN'T TAKE IT, I CAN'T TAKE IT! NO MORE PLEASE!"
"AND I WAS LIKE…"
Yeaaah…Feels so like it…Like a highschool kid meeting drunk guys. That's what I feel right now.
Can't say I don't like it.
Twitch, twich…Iwado's limping hands twitched—
Then all of a sudden, the bus stopped again. From the very front, he could hear his name getting called out like a roll call, Mr.Iwado!
Iwado was disappointed. He grabbed the scabbard again, carefully moved past those men, then went out peacefully. Once he was on the ground again, the truck crawled away behind him. Iwado stared at the bus stand's glass wall, like he was looking into a mirror. A lazy demeanour in the way he stood, lids half closed, lips shut tight, and shoulders lumped over.
He really shouldn't be walking around like this, but he did. The sword was resting on his shoulder, holding it as he walked past building after building.
He felt a hand fall in a chopping motion on his head, "Ow." Then he turned around, a bored sense of familiarity washing over him, "Don't scare me like that—"
A strong hand latched onto his throat— squeezing it so hard that airflow began to disrupt.
"HEY." Barked in front of him was a strong man with a demeanour so unforgettably furious, so angry, that just the face alone said he wanted to kill you.
Iwado's demeanour shifted terrifyingly— it was at this moment that he had woken up, at this moment that he couldn't relax any longer— his grip on the sword went loose, the weapon clattering onto the ground before resting onto the dry asphalt— Iwado FOUGHT to escape his tenacious grip.
Back at the gym,
"YEAAAH!! THAT'S IT!!! KEEP PUSHIN' LIKE THAT— C'MON!!!"
"HWAAHHH!!!!" POW. A clean blow to the face— powered by all the noise he could make from his dry, bleed-feeling throat. Imura CUT LOOSE.
But then, he stopped.
"HEY, COME ON, WHAT'S THE MATTER?!! I AIN'T DONE WITH YOU YET!" And despite all that, the strong-standing Hideki kept pushing him into killer instincts…
His throat was dry,
his clothes were dusty,
his nose broke into a bleed again…his face endured all the punches he could ever take— like enduring a form of torture.
And despite all of that…
"Crazy…" he grinned like a maniac. But why? Why's he doing that?
Why's he grinning like this?
Why's he doing what he's doing right now?
"KEEP PUSHIN' COME ON!!!" What made him cut loose this way? What did Hideki do to him to start acting this way?
What made him as feral as he is now?
Imura tried— he tried, and tried, and tried, tried, tried, tried, and tried again. Every ounce of his will to keep moving even though his legs and fists were getting so sore that they've already begun to have enough of this. But Imura hasn't had enough, not unless he feels like they were impossible to move. He launched himself forward again— like he was carrying weights all behind him, he dodged a wild swing, as sore as a thumb— then with the fist drawn to his very back— he punched his trainer to the face like a wrecking ball tied to lead—
he fell down. So did Hideki.
By now, I'd imagine I've already dropped a lot of blood onto the mat…he huffed and puffed on the exterior, still like a defenseless prey onto the floor. Hideki meanwhile, was still and flat on his back. Eyes closed, exhaling deeply as well.
But when he could find all the strength again, he grinned too, but less than a maniac.
"Say, kid…" he huffed and then puffed, "How crazy do you think you are?"
Imura didn't respond. He wasn't sure if he had any strength to do that. Hideki meanwhile, adjusted himself back up. Still ignoring the crowd around them both like they weren't there. Looking at Imura and chuckling dry out of his throat, "Look at you, lookin' like a little kid!" he teased. Imura couldn't be bothered. He couldn't breath properly through his nose— having to huff and puff out of his mouth.
Minutes later, he found himself getting urgent medical care from a few other trainees inside. Sat over like a feverish man, he was band aided to his nose and his forearms, where scratches appeared without his realization. They must've been from the two kicks he took mid-way. Once that was done, he was escorted back into his room, inside of his bedroom, and then left alone. He zoned off with his eyes open, staring into the clear-white ceiling without a purpose while laying on his bed.
For a long while during that fight— he forgot about his own sense of comfort, the 'him' that made him 'him', and what he hated and tried to avoid so much. Like a post-party effect, all that adrenaline, thrill and bravado all came crashing down on him, putting him in a state of dread and despair…
The AC hummed out fresh, cold air, spraying the room soothingly. It sprayed past his bruised face, and his bruised body. There was no sense of comfort to talk of despite that.
I miss my friends.
BUZZZZZZZZ…the doorbell rung. It brought Imura back to his senses. He slowly fell out of his bed, his nose throbbed, he approached the door slowly while yelling, "Coming!"
He pulled the door open— and he saw a tray of food in front of him. Behind it was none other than Kaito himself. Bored and unbothered the same as always like they hadn't had a fight an hour or so ago. "Here." He moved the tray closer to him. Imura stared at it for a moment before taking it, "Thanks…"
Then, as by quiet regret Kaito said: "How're you feeling?" Imura was honest about his reply, "Not good." Resentment clear in his tone.
"Yeah, well, you're gonna have to get back up early tomorrow. Training starts at 8 morning." He then said, as if Imura had never said that.
"Sure."
The door clacked close.
Four slices of meat loaf, three small bits of…meat? Atleast that's what he assumed. A fruit salad on the bottom right— and a plastic cup of water. Nothing too shabby, and the tray was decently warm. He approached the dining table, making proper use of it now that he's seen it again, placing the tray on the table and sitting down. Once that was done, he took a plastic fork— conveniently placed on a top, wiping it smooth with a tissue before staring at his food. He wasn't sure if he had the appetite to eat all this, but…since it came, and the food was hot, might as well.
He then cut a small piece of the edge of a big piece, then shovelled it up. He thoughtlessly took a bite…
…Nothin' much. Mildly peppery, tasteless enough to be bland in the sea of other flavours in his mouth. He took a drink of water to rush it down quicker down his throat, tasteless and boring.
He tried this mysterious meat next.
Clean and smooth texture— looks like a different organ of some sorts. Liver, perhaps? He took a bite—
His eyes jolted up a little. That was different…
The flesh, it was melting… It was melting inside his mouth, the moment it hit his tongue, it was like taking a bite out of a cotton candy, chewing it although your tongue's been doing half the work for you anyway…By now you'd imagine this flesh turned into a form of gamey drink— that's what it felt like.
And the taste wasn't one to underestimate either.
If he's not mistaken, this was definitely the liver of a duck. A duck's liver. A high class one.
A foie gras. The kind that'd turn close to a velvet drink from flesh, with a taste aromatically fancy— however, placed on a tray which made it stand out like a gold coin amidst the sea of silver coins.
That made it all the more easier to swallow.
However, he still forced himself to eat whatever he could. He tried to let his mind go empty for now.
In the end, he couldn't find himself finishing up the loaf nor the salad. Two and a half slices of meat still left, while the fruits still left untouched. Plastic cup completely empty, so was the other side of the tray where the foie gras has been. He thought of maybe finishing the rest later, so he put it quietly inside of the high-tech fridge inside of the kitchen, letting the cold air breath into his food as he walked away.
TAP.
TAP.
He shut the lights off. The only one that's glowing was still the bedroom. Was he going to bed? No. PC? No.
The weights perhaps?
…No. Instead,
he stood face to face with the punching bag that was waiting to be used.
He stared at it like a curious observer, unreadable of what's going through his mind. The room was hollow with an eerie silence, until—
BAM.
the bag swung forward— Until—
WHOoo…It almost shoved him away. Imura dodged it effortlessly, way too many times to really struggle anymore. He hugged the bag tight, his muscles clenching over it. He stopped it from swinging around as loosely as it did, like he was giving it a rough warning.
The bag kept moving inch by inch.
BAM— the house echoed through the hollowness, finally finding a loud sound.
First it was a front kick— next it was a roundhouse. The front kick came out with not just power— but rage channeling into his heels. The roundhouse kick was equally as personal— angrily strong and fast as he wanted to be.
'Anger's a strong motivator,'
'Use it as much as you need,'
By now, that next slam shook the chains that dangled the bag's head. Next attack didn't come as a kick, instead, it was a weave— into a punch—
AND a punch. Two hits, one bullet personally to the liver, the other wrecking toward the skull. He clenched his teeth a tight frown— throwing two repeated knees into a heavy punch that made a loud BAM echo across the room.
This was the second closest way he could think of using his anger.
First one was during the training.
'HAH—! OH, IS THAT HOW IT IS, HUH?!'
'YOU AIN'T JUST A BOY AFTER ALL!'
No.
His head fell onto the bag, like a child embracing his mother, when even his mother didn't want him near.
Imura wondered just how long he'd have to endure the isolation of the unforgiving darkness that swallowed him whole already ever since that day.
The next morning,
his face was blemished and brown, harsher than before due to the training he had to endure last night. A dirt-like circle around his check, above his brow, and near his lips. Combine that with the bandage surrounding his nose. Imura couldn't help but feel disappointed at what he saw in the mirror. 'Disappointed'. He couldn't help but think that maybe his hair grew just a little as well, he stretched a strand just to check that out. Then he let it fall lazily, nearly close to his eyebrows.
It's time to keep up whatever that was.
The gym brimmed with hitting pads and groans, commands and cries as if this were a military training center. When Imura walked back in, he was already met with a straight-forward invitation.
"SO, YOU READY FOR A GOOD OL' BEATIN' KID?" The man of training chaos grinned like a half moon, like he'd never been to sleep that night. His knuckles bit into the rubbery gloves that he now wore for today, his posture a gorilla-like grump. And then there was Imura, smirking like a proud man that he never was, "Sure. Bring it on." He said coolly, prepping his gloves like he was wearing brass knuckles.
A strong tussle was about to happen.
RIGHT, JAB, STRAIGHT, DUCK UNDER, HOOK, PUNCH, LOW KICK—
OVERHAND— WHOOH, HIDEKI AKIO DODGED IT BY A HAIR'S BREADTH—
STEP, BAM. A LARGE HOOK THAT MADE HIS BRAIN RATTLE INSIDE. Hideki met the mat without a soft landing…
Any onlookers around— some raised a brow with interest, some gasped, others OOOH'd.
The rookie with a babyface managed to down his own mentor at his own game. But it'd be unlike him to loosen his guard now.
Imura's one to follow orders and instructions. "Nice one, kid…" Akio spat. He pulled himself back up slowly, Imura's gaze remained tiger-like locked onto his opponent.
He lunged like he walked, like boulders chained onto his legs. He threw four consecutive blows aimed at the giant's torso, each punch coming out slow, yet with all the devastation Imura could bring. Then when Hideki opened his hands- he made a bold decision to throw a slow slap that swiped past Imura by a hair's breadth, his rough fingers cutting through the cold air. Then, Imura came back and ducked underneath to throw a swift jab to the side. Akio flinched.
He forgot the pain and spun around- crashing his left forearm onto Imura's skull-
the younger man fell, meeting the floor with an OOF and a thud.
Neither fighters that ringed around them seemed surprised. They've seen fights like this many times.
The rhythm of the fight slowed down meanwhile, Hideki, the 6'11 giant was eating and exhaling his breath. Meanwhile Imura with his disorientated mind laid there on the floor, trying to regain his senses. Akio walked around in circles, putting his arms behind his skull, ballooning his cheeks, fooing out all the air. The usual manic grin was gone. His overwhelming energy turned into a predators weakness, exhaustion. He turned back around, his hands falling on his hips, Imura was already pulling himself back up.
Akio walked over like he was being pulled down by weights, he threw a lazy, slow, kick upwards, his opponent dodged it narrowly by a chin's breadth, the sore leg spilling down like a heavy weight, useless now.
Imura fell back- his hands saved him from falling down again, sitting still with ragged breathes, silently conceding, silently begging to stop. Akio of course, agreed. That was enough.
He fell to his knees then sat. One knee up, the other knee folded behind it. He raised a hand to someone- a trainee with trimmed hair, "Water..." he asks. The man quickly rushes to get it.
Meanwhile, Hideki talked, "You got any history...in being around these parts?" he asked that to Imura, though he didn't look at him. Imura replied later, "No."
"It's only been a day. A day, kid."
"Doesn't mean that I have..."
The trainee returned with a bottle, cap already open. Akio took it, then took a long sip.
"Ahhh..." he sighed out afterwards, that hit the spot. "You brawl on the streets or somethin'?" he asked more.
Imura knew the answer...but he wasn't sure if he wanted to say it. He was ashamed to answer, "Yeah..." but he did. He felt like he had too much mess in his mind to control himself fully.
"No wonder," Akio took another sip.
Imura changed his position and sat there with his legs folded now. His head lowered down, his wet hair fell, dripping with sweat. Whatever he thought in his head was for any person to guess.
He repeatedly drew circles, infinity symbols, tangled wires with his index tip. Busily as if no one was there around him.
"Oi. Hey," the voice in front of him broke him out of his bubble. His head snapped up. Akio asked with a grin beneath his exhausted face, "now you know how it feels to 'switch'? You gotta keep that up, kid."
Imura said nothing.
Gladly, he didn't witness any fracture around his body. There haven't been any major damages yet, according to the one in charge of today's infirmary. For five minutes he took a break inside, the AC brushed past his bruised and clear skin, the frost drying his hair. He stared into the cyan-ish ceiling, quietly enjoying the eerie cast of AC hums and hollow quietness that otherwise flourished inside the room. Gnawing at him for all his loneliness.
Once he was left, the gym was empty. Apart from a female voice that called him from behind. It was that Jukai Reiba from before. Leaning against the wall beside the infirmary door with her arms folded. A look on her face that said intrigue.
"Yes?" he spoke softly.
"Where you from?" she asked.
"...From around here. Why?"
"You'd find faces like you in Tokyo more than here." she said dryly. Imura smiled faintly and awkwardly, not sure of what that really meant. Then she pushed off of the wall, approaching him slightly, "Say kid, you wanna hit the streets for a bit after you take a break? Get you familiar around the place,"
He pondered.
"Shhh...ure?"
An hour later, he found himself strolling around the bustling streets of Nagasaki with the same woman from before. For the first few minutes, it was all quiet. No one spoke a word. Then suddenly, once they reached downtown, that's when she started speaking.
"So, what gang did you belong to?" she asked him. Assuming he was in a gang. Imura quickly replied, "I wasn't in any gang."
"Oh?" she said, intrigued even more. "Then what, you pick fights around the streets?"
"I guess,"
"I see. You're more rotten than you'd look."
There was an odd level of resentment in what she said, in her tone. She didn't whisper any of that. It was loud and clear.
Did she hate that?
"Alright, listen kid. You're not alone in these streets. There's tons of other fighters around here doing the same thing as you. You got that?" she said all that afterwards, like she knew what his motivation was..."You're not alone in these streets. And you ought to be careful."
If only he could tell her just what he was doing all this for. But he couldn't just disclose information he shouldn't. Imura knew better than to do that.
He just nodded and kept following. Like an immature teen following an adult.
But where was she taking him?
Someone brushed past them both. Nonchalant and aloof, like he didn't care. Shorter than them both and on the phone. He was carrying a scabbard.
They kept walking.
A sharp turn left toward an alleyway, the chatter and beeps in the background went quieter and quieter the longer they went in. A thin, claustrophobic way toward whatever Imura waited to see. The ground littered with dust and planks. And stones.
"Yo," she yelled up ahead, someone was definitely there. "Yeah!" a lower pitched voice responded ahead. Someone was there.
"I got a visitor for you girls,"
"Visitor?"
A decent sized rectangular space stood before him. Jukai stepped aside, like a door revealing a person. Showing him and his bruised face. And in front of him, he saw two women with matching, gray clothes.
One gasped, a hand over her mouth, "What happened to him?!"
"Does he fight?!" the other side, equally surprised.
"He does." both of them gasped in sync.
Jukai shot a glance behind her, at him, she said, "Tell 'em your name, kid."
Imura hesitated. It was like introducing oneself during a presentation all over again. His posture straighted stiff, he couldn't move his arms fluidly. He sighed, and then said, "Kashiwada Imura..."
"Ohhhhh..."
"Kashiwada Imura?! How old are you?"
Imura hesitated again, "Nineteen...?"
"HE'S NINETEEN?!" the cheerful one was as surprised as a kid discovering dinosaur bones. She glanced at her what seems to be leader- Jukai, then quickly back at him. Jukai snorted, "Yeah! He's the same age as you."
"He looks cute AND he looks bad. What happened to 'em?" The taller one asked, a creeping edge of curiosity crept upto her. Something about this man was unique.
Jukai shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line, "You remember that Hideki from before?"
She stared at her.
Then she gasped, her mouth cupped with her hands, "Seriously?!"
"Duh."
"Why'd you join his gym at all, dude?!" the woman snapped her head back at him. Imura didn't know how to reply. Jukai just about knew that, thus saving him from ever answering that question. She changed the subject by saying, "Where's Amano at, by the way?"
The short girl— the cheery one flicked a finger up, her eyes lit with an answer: "Right inside that room!" her finger jabbd sharply at the door to the left. A small building that's clearly seen better days.
Imura looked at it and thought, what's supposed to be behind that door? It reeked of mysteriousness, something worth the curiosity. But could he let that curiosity be worth it now? Because meeting these women is already awkward enough.
"Oh yeah, forgot to tell you," Jukai began. She pointed at the taller one, "this here's Jasmin Rukia. And this here's Shoko." She pointed at the short one next. Shoko grinned wide with relentless energy then pointed at herself, "Shoko Honami!"
Shoko Honami and Jasmin Rukia. They were like sister-like figures almost. Atleast, that's the first impression he got from them.
While they were conversing, Imura couldn't help but notice the door move in the corner of his vision..Someone was coming out of it. He turned to take a look at it while the three were talking.
And from the shadows came out a man with blending all black clothes and hair. A pick picking his teeth while he got out, like he just grabbed a bite. "Errrr." He mumbled loudly to those women.
Jukai was to first to notice. Then Jasmine, then Shoko. "You just grabbed a bite?" Jukai asked.
He spoke in err's as a way to reply. Then when he noticed a stranger-male in front of him, he raised a brow and jabbed his head toward him, 'Rrrr?'.
"Use your mouth, fool."
"Who's that guy?"
Jukai glanced over Imura, "Oh him?" then back at the man. "Name's Kashiwada Imura…Talking to him's both easy and complex."
She whispered to him, "That's Kaiji,"
"She just give you my name?" Kaiji asked him from the distance. Imura hesitated but replied, "Uh, yeah." Straight and sound.
Not much to say about this Kaiji fellow really…He looked like any ordinary person would look. Simple black tracksuit, hair down to his eyebrows, with pores around his face. He looked as old as he talks, that'd be twenties or so. "Wanna give a little story behind those bruises, kid?" and he talks just like so.
Imura nodded his head, a hand reached behind his neck by instinct. "Uhh…" he hummed. Then he said, "I was— well, I got into a fight. Yeah.."
"A fieeght?" he said mockingly.
"Yeah."
"You mean those pow-pow types, orr?"
Imura clearly didn't understand what he really meant. "Spar."
Thus he shortly gave an answer, "Oh— yeah!" he forced hics of laugh, "My bad.."
He swiped a hand nonchalantly, "Don't sweat it." Flicking the pick away.
…
Totally a normal guy. Nothing about him really says he's anywhere to the likes of anyone associated to Ground Slam. His posture, habits, control, appearance, all scream: 'Yup, me is normal'.
Not sure what to expect from that, really.
Shoko was about to say something. But then she was suddenly caught off by his sudden, "Hey…" that called Imura out of interest. "Can I ask you a lil' something?"
Imura looked at him then said, "Sure?"
"What colours do you like the most?" What.
That question came out like a walk in the park.
"Uhh…" Imura replied, "Orange..?"
"Mhm. And?"
"Blue…?"
"Yeah, yeah," he approached him closer and closer.
"Black."
"Yeah."
"Grey."
"Yeah.
"Dark red,"
"Go on."
"And white."
"Yup, anything else?"
Imura's eyes scattered around, everyone was trying to hold their laugh apart from these two. What should he do? Laugh along? Smile? Frown? His body did the second one only for a split second. Then…he replied:
"…And deep yellow."
Kaiji nodded so intentfully to that like he was taking it all in deep within his mind…"I see."
he added, "Well, Imura, to me, you're…" he slapped his hands dramatically onto his shoulders. Imura flinched a little.
"UH-FRIEND OF MINE!" Kaiji's eyes twinkled witty.
"OH, C'MON KAIJI!" burst the two younger girls. "Wow…" Kaiji sighed at them. A gas of disappointment escaping his mouth.
Jukai slid in to help Imura with this whole conversation…She talked to him from the side, "That's Kaiji to you. Don't worry, I don't really get him either. Dude and his little…" she gave him a stink eye, "Word plays."
"You've never got me once, Lieutenant." Kaiji shot back. "Shut up."
He then flicked back at the lost kid in the woods. Still unsure of how to deal with the situation, "Just playin' with you, don't mind." He said reassuringly, a smirk across his lips. He pat the young man before letting him go, who said: "Yeah, fine…"
And yet, Imura's still yet to figure out what he just stumbled into. Three pitched laughters, four witty banterers, and a lot of speaking going on. He was like a lost kid in a party full of people he doesn't know— inside of a house full of university folks and unfamiliar college folks. But most of these people were his age, college folks too most likely, so that gave him some form of relief…
And well— come to think about it, he's never really had this kind of conversation going on in his life for a while. For at least, ever since his college buddy went absent…and speaking of him, where is he? Is he alright?
Then suddenly, Imura was brought back into the stage again. "Hey Imura," Kaiji called, he quickly flicked at him, although nervous.
Kaiji flicked his head toward the 'seen-better-days' building, "since you're here, why don't you come along and chill?"
He had a smile.
A welcoming smile.
And a kind of attitude that seemed as though he's already friends with him, even though he's just met.
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Somewhere around in Nagasaki,
"Ugh…you sure you haven't met her yet?" Katou spoke on the phone. Iwado was holding his with a weapon on his other hand like it was purely cosmetic. "Yeah man." He replied nonchalantly.
"Why?"
"Some dude came after me, man. I had to run last night."
"You had to run?" Katou repeated. "Yeah. I had to change fits too."
There was a visible sigh— or a groan could be heard from behind the phone. Dry and rusty, like the man's just completely out of it. "Man— y'know, if this were a fiction, people're not gonna like how you do things man."
"I don't get it…"
"I mean, imagine jumping from night to day all of a sudden, and you've still yet to make a progress. That'd be some weird writing done there, man. Oh yeah, what'd you say about clothing just now? You changed?"
"Uhhh, yeah. I had to change outfit to blend in. Simple."
"What're you wearing?"
"Pretty expensive stuff. Like…"
HTV BASKETBALL SKATES — Pretty expensive
Kamogawa forest jeans — REALLY expensive
HTV BASKETBALL SWEATER — VERY expensive, a LOTTA money.
SKATER Q's skate cap — kinda expensive
"Yeah."
Katou sighed— or groaned again. You can't make it well out of the phone. "Alright, where are you now?"
Iwado paused for a bit. Then he answered, "I'm close to where she lives. I'll call you back once I'm done meeting her." His tone calm, yet oddly sharp.
"Uhhhh, okay. I'll go and…meet up with those Kurogumi folks. Later."
"Later."
Without much other word, the phone hung up.
TAP
CRACKLE….
He was right in the middle of the more quieter parts of around the streets. And it made him…
As vulnerable as he expected to be. He already knew who were coming. Two rocky-style men. They were bad news.
Iwado turned around slowly, throwing the burner phone away. His gaze sharp, sharper than it ever was. Like he was ready to do something that didn't befit his appearance.
But what use was all that glare when two men greatly outnumbered him with their own.
A machete,
and a katana, with a look as thirsty as a wolf. As hungry as a wolf.
He's already brought reinforcements…he knew in his head.
Be careful," one whispered to the other. The guy with the machete to the katana folk, "he's better than you'd expect." He didn't pay attention to his words, neither did he care whether his man listened or not. Because he doesn't need to.
If Iwado knew the culture of these men's clothing and preference for weapons, he already knows just who they were.
The 'Kurogumi' Yakuza. And they were out for blood in broad daylight. They were out to murder in broad daylight.
To shed blood in broad daylight.
The one with the machete— quickly switched to his grip of choice— passing the sword from right to left hand— then quietly rushed at Iwado. His blade wound up close to his face.
Iwado unsheathed his blade—
SLICE, he cut through the air, daring the predator to keep running toward him.
Katou's katana glinted under the winter sun.
"Alright," he threw his sheathe away, clattering on the ground, "you asked for it."
"You totally asked for this." He said darkly. Both hands gripped onto the handle of his blade, the very edge staring them both down.