Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12858567.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Overwatch_(Video_Game)
  Relationship:
      Hanzo_Shimada/Original_Female_Character(s), Genji_Shimada/Original_Female
      Character(s)
  Character:
      Sojiro_Shimada, Genji_Shimada, Hanzo_Shimada, Angela_"Mercy"_Ziegler
  Additional Tags:
      Hurt/Comfort, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Yakuza_Hanzo_Shimada, Yakuza
      Genji_Shimada, Fluff_and_Angst, Fluff, Forced_Prostitution, Implied/
      Referenced_Underage_Prostitution
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-29 Words: 74227
****** Hanzo’s Butterfly ******
by jarethsdragon
Summary
     When Genji tricks Hanzo into going into a human auction and making a
     purchase, Hanzo is must navigate his way between duty, honor, and his
     heart. And with Genji partying his life away, Hanzo’s choices become
     more serious as he rises to become the master of his clan.
     WARNING: References to dubious consent and to human trafficking. This
     is a fantasy story and both of these are wrong.
Notes
     WARNING: This work references dubious consent and human trafficking.
     This is a fantasy work that takes place when Hanzo and Genji are both
     yakuza and so there is lots of references to violence, sex, and lots
     of crimes.
“So, you see, Honored Sirs,” continued the musical, sing-song voice of the
effeminate man as he folded his antique fan of carved wood. “This is the end of
our little tour. I believe that you will agree that we provide a rather unique,
and, if I may say so, wonderful little service.”
Genji, looking lanky and cocky beside the towering block of his older brother
looked around and flicked his hand through his short, glossy green and black
hair. The final room was dimly lit, with a sunken floor of elaborately
patterned wood. Here and there were pools of light highlighting carved marble
columns with various works of art—a stained glass butterfly in remarkable blue,
a orange and black Greek vase depicting naked women drawing water, a pale
alabaster nude of a woman with a remarkably saucy smile on her face, and other
pieces. In three corners of the sunken floor were rather strange looking tables
with two levels—one at the normal height for a man to sit in one of the
elaborately carved chairs and another level close to the floor—with linen
tablecloths and small lacquered bowls with flowers floating in them.
“Quite interesting,” Genji agreed while his older brother hung back in the
doorway.
Genji found the walls the most interesting. Unlike the traditional Japanese
walls that were made from paper, these walls were elaborately plastered and
painted with sensual frescos of women and men in some sort of celebration with
fruits and frolicking. Not that they were unusual—the entire place had artwork
and elaborate paintings of women in various forms of undress—but these were
punctuated with large iron squares that had heavy iron rings hanging from them.
Under each ring was a embroidered velvet pillow in some dark lush shade—scarlet
rich as wine, sapphire brilliant as a blue bird, emerald like money.
And that was what this place was about—money and lots of it. Money that flowed
like tidal waves. Money to get what you wanted, when you wanted it and exactly
how you wanted it without a lot of ‘why’ and ‘how’ getting in the way.
Genji glanced at his older brother, Hanzo. Hanzo was looking both elegant and
somehow deadly in the dark gray Armani suit with the spotless and gleaming
white tailored shirt. The sort of elegant covering that stretched over his
heavily muscled frame while only highlighting how very deadly the man was in
the most tailored and civilized and expensive way possible.
Of course, the Shimada clan had money—you couldn’t do any of this without
money. But, they also had power too—and that was the thing that this man wanted
to buy from them. Power to do what he wished with no one to answer to.
Both brothers had been invited to this place. It had been completely luxurious
outside, of course, but had appeared to be an expensive private residence with
a driveway that conveniently curved into a bend around the house so that
visitors were hidden from the view of the street. The gardens had been trimmed
and manicured like a pampered lady’s hands—discreet pathways winding in and out
of shadow and pools of lights with feathery ferns and exotic orchids and
delicate bonsai in hand glazed pots. There were pools of light and pools of
shadow in the nighttime garden like shades of meaning in a sutra.
At the front, their driver had opened the heavy doors to their limousine for
them. Body guards had naturally stepped out as well, watching for threats like
oversized bulldogs. A butler in a formal uniform of black and white had been
standing at the red lacquered doors waiting for them. He hadn’t even asked for
verification of their identities—just opened the doors that were carved with an
immense dragon and Phoenix—and led them into a salon with blue walls and a
frighteningly extensive collection of butterflies in hand rubbed frames.
There, Asahi had received them. He was a slender man with long fingers and a
thick wad of glossy black hair contained by an elaborate gold and black piece
of cloth and an entirely unnecessary and overly ornate gold hairpin. He wore no
less than 4 layers of kimono—each piece was scarlet, black, or white and stiff
with golden embroidery—that made him look like an expensive chocolate truffle
or an over-wrapped gift. Two golden rings adorned his carefully manicured hands
and he wore two golden earrings. Somehow he seemed to be a combination of the
past with his kimono and a decadent future that was gilded golden.
Two women in plain black kimono and obis with hoods had brought out small trays
with tiny square cups of exquisite sake and took their outer coats to some
hidden closet. The hoods had covered their faces as though they were the
shrouded scene shifters in some kabuki play and the kimono had lent only the
barest hint of their figures. They were silent shadows, bringing forward their
trays and then vanishing like specters.
The each took a small, refined sip of the intoxicating brew, briefly
acknowledging the other men’s rank. Asahi then, with a delicate, sing-song
voice, began to explain exactly why his…services were so unique and why he
required the assistance of the Shimada clan.
He sold women. And some men who were so pretty and slender that they could be
women.
That part wasn’t special. Genji had laughed shortly—many different places
provided women or men or both for a price. Hanzo had only managed to look
faintly bored, glancing around at the sumptuous decor briefly before carelessly
discarding his drink on a side table. Asahi chuckled then—like an amused little
boy—catching their air of disinterest, and suggested a small tour.
Then it had come to light. Asahi didn’t just sell people—he sold, as he put it,
customizations. For the right price, he would make practically any vision of
erotic imagination a reality with a demure and humble mien and an attitude of
subservient compliance. There was literally nothing, he claimed, that gave him
as much pleasure as making others’ sensual fantasies walk out on their arm.
They had toured the various rooms, and the fluid procession showed each stage
of the training and customizations. In the first room, there were the new
subjects—Asahi called them “caterpillars”—who were scared and timid and only
beginning to be trained as courtesans. That room held thick walls and any
number of toys and prods to teach them the business of pleasuring men and
women.
They traveled down the hallway surrounded by painted dancing maidens and
odalisques. Several doors were on each side, with thick reinforced glass
windows showing a small dormitory, a rather crowded room where no less than
seven were learning to do the ritual of the tea ceremony, a currently empty
room with musical instruments and thick wads of music stuffed in folders and on
stands, a strange room where no less than twelve were exercising and stretching
at the barres attached to the walls or pumping up and down with pushups and
sit-ups and sweat poured off their bodies and dripped to the glistening floor
below.
Genji peeked in at the next one and cocked a ruthless smile. Asahi glanced
inside and smirked. “Ahh, yes. An…unfortunate room.”
Hanzo sauntered up and glanced inside. The room itself was almost completely
dark with a single pool of light showing the back of a curvaceous girl tied in
a most complicated way with her limbs in the most tortured of positions. She
had dark red lines on her back as well, and in the dim light, whips, canes and
other devices hung in tidy rows on the wall.
Asahi sighed heavily, snapping open the wooden fan and whipping it back and
forth under his chin. Tendrils of his hair floated in the slight breeze and he
shrugged nonchalantly. “It is unfortunate…. Every so often, one of the
caterpillars has difficulty becoming a lovely butterfly.” One hand gracefully
gestured towards the door. “A few more hours and she will be a little bit
better…behaved.” His face turned a bit and he cracked a bit of a smile as he
waved a keycard in the air. “Unless one of you would prefer to help her along
her journey?”
Genji grinned and seemed about to agree before Hanzo spoke. “Carry on.”
Asahi nodded gracefully. “As you wish, of course. If you would like to….visit
any time…..” He gestured towards the door again with a smooth smile.
Genji’s eyes rolled sarcastically and Hanzo grunted shortly.
Asahi only nodded impishly and led them through the door at the end of the
hallway. This room was gracefully furnished with a number of small tables and
chairs surrounding a raised runway. Blown glass bulbs held unlit candles on the
tables with spotless white damask cloths. Each tablecloth had a slit about four
inches wide where a heavy ring was set into the table leg. The room had
recessed lights and Asahi turned them all the way up to lead them through.
“Of course, gentlemen,” Asahi explained airily. “This is where the caterpillars
are reserved. There is no auction tonight, but, if you are interested in
a…partnership, I can guarantee you seats at the next one.”
“Reserved?” Hanzo grunted.
Asahi laughed. “Yes. My guests reserve their caterpillars and then give us the
details to ensure that they are perfect, beautiful butterflies.” He gestured to
the empty room. “Once they are reserved, then my guests…. Well… let me show
you.”
Again they were led through a hallway. This one smelled of antiseptic and
alcohol and was exceptionally wide. Heavy benches were bolted to the floor and
stainless steel rings were were hung at regular intervals. Again doors led off
each side, showing three operating rooms and two rooms that were curtained off
cubicles with beds that showed only bare feet.
The last room had no window and Asahi paused for a moment to pull out some
delicate keys. “This way, if you please.”
This room was entirely old-style Japan, with thick tatami mats and sliding
shoji. A raised square of marble was in the middle with a spotlight pouring
down on it’s pristine whiteness. Thick cushions of brocade were on the floor. A
single squat table had a thick, creamy candle and a carefully placed pair of
heavy, hand-rubbed wooden fountain pens. Hanzo could see that the pens were
carefully varnished and the light and dark wood grain gleamed in the light.
Asahi gestured at the table. “This is the best part, of course.” He smiled and
snapped shut the fan before tucking it into the elaborate obi around his waist.
“Please, sit.”
Genji strode up to the cushion closest to the table and plopped down. Hanzo
knelt down to study their strange host as he pulled out a thick sheaf of papers
to show them. Genji snatched up the first copy and Hanzo could see him
practically licking his lips as he began reading.
Asahi silently passed Hanzo another copy for his pleasure. “As you can see, we
are able to provide almost anything that you might desire.” Hanzo’s eyes
flicked through the rather dry looking forms. “And you can specify almost any
combination to get the most perfect specimen for your desires.”
Genji chuckled dryly, flicking through the pages. “Enlarged breasts—“
“Practically standard,” Asahi sighed. “You can, of course, specify how large….”
“Milk/lactation?” Genji giggled. Hanzo rolled his eyes impatiently.
Asahi shrugged. “It is not my particular fetish, but some enjoy it.”
“A tail?!”
“If you wish.” Asahi shrugged eloquently again. “What color would you like the
fur?”
Genji grinned wickedly. “What about scales?”
Finally, Asahi’s narrow eyes widened fractionally. “That would be more
unusual.” He began fanning himself again. “But I am assured that with proper
preparation, we can accommodate it.” He grinned slyly. “So has one of our
caterpillars captured your attention?”
Genji was about to say something, but Hanzo sighed out, “Whether or not they
are addicted to the drugs of choice? Eye color? Hair color? Bald?”
“A simple matter of electrolysis and then transplanting the hair color you
desire—if any.” Asahi grinned. “And the eyes are another simple operation.” He
gestured towards the marble square. “Quite a bit can be done with nanites or
prosthetics. Omnic technology. Cybernetics if necessary. The waist can be
restructured and the hips augmented if you like curvy or bits removed if you do
not desire them. All of this is done to your taste.”
Hanzo grunted again, his eyes glancing at the seemingly endless choices and
tiny checkboxes. “And, of course, that—“
Asahi interrupted smoothly. “That is where we might need…a little help in
making sure that we are not interrupted.” He shrugged again. “We can obviously
not afford to have such delicate medical procedures interrupted. Nor can we
afford to have medical boards and such questioning our every little procedure.”
Hanzo grunted. “And the police?”
“Definitely not the police,” Asahi chuckled. “But—,” He gestured towards the
wall that led back down the passageway. “—We have ensured that the chief of
police has a…vested interest in making sure that our little operations go
smoothly.” He laughed again at the raised eyebrows of the Shimada brothers.
“The poor little caterpillar in the punishment room is his.” Asahi giggled
again softly. “His daughter—at his request.”
Hanzo felt his mind rock back, even if he stayed perfectly still and straight,
motionless. He glanced down at the mind boggling list again. Every trait about
a person could be altered until nothing was recognizable. Asahi even pulled out
a slickly printed book showing previous “caterpillars” as they became
“butterflies”, burbling on about every one was tracked with tiny microchips and
casually dropping the shocking names of previous customers and their
requirements.
Genji was reacting like a small child in a toy store, gleefully paging. Perhaps
he was considering making a purchase? Hanzo groaned in his head, anticipating
the reckless behavior that was sure to come. Which would, in turn, bring his
father’s wrath down on them both. Especially him, since he had always been
tasked with keeping Genji in line.
Asahi only smirked and nodded at Genji’s comments, as though it was an everyday
occurrence. Of course, here, it probably was. Hanzo sighed and carefully placed
the pile of papers down again.
“—if we can come to an agreement,” Asahi was chirping. “Then, I would be most
happy to offer up a butterfly for the Shimada household.” He slid a glance to
Hanzo’s stiff form. “And, of course, discounts on future purchases in addition
to the usual protection fees.” He nodded to himself. “I would be happy to begin
the paperwork, if we are all in agreement…?”
Genji opened his mouth and Hanzo clipped out, “I think—.”
Genji growled and stared at his brother, glancing at the paperwork
meaningfully. “Perhaps we should talk about this—?!”
Hanzo pushed the papers a bit more towards Asahi. Genji had that mutinous set
to his mouth that said that he was already plotting how to go around his
objections. But really, a whore was a whore was a whore….
Asahi took a stealthy glance at them and smirked. “Why don’t you gentlemen come
to the auction tomorrow and see if there is someone who catches your eye?” He
smirked again slyly. “There is no obligation to buy, of course, but it might be
amusing for you to see how these things work.” He shrugged a bit. “And, of
course, we have many interesting people who attend, so it might be something of
a…networking event as well.”
The rest of the tour was swift, mostly rooms that were for financial affairs,
deliveries and such. Then they were back in the blue parlor, which seemed
almost boring and prosaic compared to the rest of the compound.
And, as a young man will, Genji was all full of comments. He even still held
the list of “customizations” and continued to point to various things. Hanzo
listened with half an ear, his mind already on the next meeting, the next deal
and not really paying attention to the other brother. Hanzo expected that there
would be a “butterfly” in the Shimada compound before too much longer, no
matter what his objections were.
Still, it was worth trying. “No, Genji.”
Genji frowned and then cocked a sly smile. “I didn’t say a word.”
Hanzo sighed. “You were going to.”
“Would I do that?” He grinned at his older brother, his eyes wide and innocent
in a calculating way.
“Every time.” Hanzo pulled out more papers and began to study them. “We don’t
need another body to trip over—“
“I’d make sure that she wasn’t being…tripped over.” Genji pulled his papers
closer to his chest. He flicked a pen out of his blazer and began jotting down
notes. “It might be…fun.” He stuck out his tongue impudently. “And—!”
“And nothing, brother,” Hanzo chuffed. “You need to focus more on the business,
rather than….” He gestured uselessly. “Your pleasures need to take less
precedence.”
“And you need to get that stick out of your ass and have some fun.” Genji
puffed out a bit of air, glancing at his stiff sibling over the papers. He
cocked his head, thinking deeply. Hanzo glanced over at his sudden silence with
a faint look of alarm. “What if we could work out a deal?”
Hanzo openly stared at his brother. Genji was always picking at the angles,
trying new tricks all the time. No matter how he anticipated his tricks, Genji
always found a new angle to pick at. While it made him a challenging chess
opponent and an invaluable ally when it came to finding chinks and weaknesses
in others, it also made him a most troubling sibling to try to manage.
And didn’t the entire Shimada clan know it? The various lieutenants were
already snickering at their almost legendary spats. It was causing endless
friction and tiny splits—like hairline fractures in a piece of porcelain that
were barely visible, but there nonetheless. Hanzo sighed, looking blankly at
the papers in his hands. How much longer could it go on before factions
formed—some drawn by Genji’s easy but capricious charm and others staying
faithful to him as the head of the clan? The younger, more rebellious already
favored dealing with Genji, and as the hereditary head of the clan, the more
conservative and traditional elders preferred him. When his father finally
died, what would become of the unity of the Shimada clan?
The elders had begun approaching him, trying to drop casual hints that he
needed to be firmer with Genji. Some few had wrapped up their concerns in soft
conversations that maybe the younger man needed a wife to help him settle down.
Others had suggested drugs or therapy or offered to mentor him. Hanzo stopped
himself from snorting at the thought—Genji had plenty of women and did not need
to be influenced by anyone else. And he certainly didn’t need to be drawn into
the various power squabbles with the lesser yakuza.
Hanzo sighed heavily, putting the papers down in his lap and not seeing the
lights flashing past the windows. Perhaps he needed a bit of a carrot to help
guide Genji down the aisle of duty. If an overpriced piece of flesh would help,
it might be worth the price….
And so he took a deep breath and stared at the slope in front of him, slick
with excuses and excesses. Staring ahead without seeing anything—the roof
mounted tv screen blurting the news and stock reports, the ape-like shape of
the body guard in the passenger seat in front of him—he nodded slightly.
Genji caught it—that slight movement that sent them over the edge towards an
unknown and dark abyss—and smiled wickedly. Hanzo only sighed, watching as they
began sliding down the slope.
“There are conditions.” Hanzo growled, his teeth clenching.
Genji snorted irreverently. “Aren’t there always?” He looked down at Asahi’s
papers thoughtfully. Hanzo slid him a sideways and startled glance. “So what is
it this time?”
Hanzo put aside his papers. This was more important. Maybe it was a way to help
get Genji in line, and that was far more important than anything else if the
unity and power of the Shimada clan was to move forward. He slid up the privacy
screen and quietly asked the big driver to just drive around the city until
told otherwise. Then he and Genji were alone in the back, watching the city
flash past.
Genji was already distracted, staring at the sidewalks and the buildings moving
past them. The lights of the storefronts glittered across his sharp features
and he would occasionally smirk at the women on the darkened street corners.
Hanzo sighed. Genji was probably only minutes from signaling the driver to pull
over and haul in the first relatively attractive woman he saw. He could spend
hours training with swords or guns. He could play games on his tablet for hours
and could spend days trying to figure out puzzles.
Why couldn’t he focus a little more on the family business?
Hanzo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to hopefully ward off
a headache. While Genji had been sleeping off a party that morning, he had
slipped into his brother’s office and looked at his desk. The sole reason that
Genji’s desk was neat half the time was because Hanzo himself put the papers on
Genji’s desk and out of habit put them into a single, neat pile—a pile that was
undisturbed.
Last night, Hanzo had sighed and sat down heavily in the overstuffed chair.
“What are you doing, Genji?” He had looked at the papers and folders. “This
should have been dealt with already.” He looked at his neat notes, the
fluorescent green little papers that highlighted his questions. “Genji, you
should…. Damn. I will just do it myself.” He had tapped the keyboard of the
thin laptop in front of him, making random guesses at the login information.
“Now…what would a womanizing and mischievous, crazy man make his password?”
He had laughed softly as the next guess ended up being correct. Being up all
night himself, trying to resolve a small problem with the Bell Crickets gang,
he felt strangely giddy in his exhaustion. The servants were in bed, and he
really didn’t feel like trying to explain—again—why he was ordering coffee in
his brother’s office. Especially since they had all heard the loud and extended
arguments that Genji was absolutely, positively not going to be allowed to be
lazy and worthless and had to pay attention to the business. Then they had all
heard Genji shout back at him again that he needed some other hobby than trying
to run his life. Then the loud shouts and eventual punches and kicks.
If an overpriced piece of flesh—something he could mold and get attached
to—could help him, maybe it was worth it. Hanzo caught the slight flicker of
movement of his brother’s finger towards the intercom button and cleared his
throat.
“There are conditions.”
“Of course there are.” Genji scowled, despite his upbeat tone. “So let’s get
down to the bargaining points.”
Hanzo felt exhaustion creeping around him. He couldn’t keep doing his and
Genji’s work. No matter how much he trained. No matter how he tried to
rationalize or excuse Genji. No matter how much he might want to, he simply
could not do it much longer. Finally, he sighed, “Just one.”
Genji smirked, already sure of his victory. “No.”
Hanzo rolled his eyes and pulled open the tiny refrigerator. Pushing aside the
copious bottles of Genji’s liquors and beers, he dug out a bottle of sparkling
mineral water. There was purity and calm in the icy liquid and the buzzing
bubbles sliding down his throat. Finally, with a glare, he snapped back, “So
what were you thinking?!”
Genji smiled wickedly. “Oh, just two.”
“Two? Is one not enough?” Hanzo glared at him. “The kanji for chaos is two
women under one roof.”
“Oh, I agree. Don’t worry—I have already have tried two in bed and it was only
fun for a few hours.” Genji smiled at his brother’s stormy face. “So I only
want one.” He looked at the papers again. “The other one is for you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then no deal.” Genji shrugged carelessly and began watching out the window as
the limo slowed down for a stoplight. “Now, how about you be a good pain in the
ass and let me have the limo. There’s a seriously hot blonde a block down.”
Hanzo groaned. “Fine…we will…consider one…for me.”
Genji grinned. “Wouldn’t want mine to be lonely, would we?” Hanzo nodded
stiffly and waited for the limo to start again as the light turned green—a
subtle nod that he’d at least continue talking. “So I get to pick one out with
all the extras—and then we get one for you—.”
“Not a chance.” Hanzo snarled, folding his arms over his chest. “But, in return
for this…little favor…you need absolutely to be putting your time in at the
office.”
Genji’s eyes rolled. “Well…I suppose that this is where you lecture me about
being responsible.” He folded his arms over his chest impatiently and glared
slightly. “So, let’s hear the speech and get it over with.” He sighed. “And
let’s at least give me a cap on working hours. I’m only young once.”
“She is only…entertainment.” Hanzo leaned back further against the seat.
“Nothing serious.” Genji sighed loudly and was about to say something before
Hanzo interrupted. “It’s too important that you are available for marriage—!”
“To some other yakuza’s moon-faced daughter? No thanks! Geld me now if that’s
my only option.”
“Genji!”
“I mean it. Just geld me and get it over with.”
“Be serious.”
“I am!”
“No…you can choose to marry or not—.” Hanzo caught his brother’s gleaming eyes.
“—but you have to appear to be eligible and available.” He shrugged. “It helps
in making people feel like there is the potential to make a match and then to
get—“
“Never mind.”
“So she is only…entertainment.” Hanzo’s voice coughed hoarsely. “She stays in
your apartments and does not come out.”
“That’s the idea.”
“And you put in—let us say 8 hours a day. That is fair. Maybe a few more in an
emergency.”
“Brother, we are the most powerful yakuza clan in the country. What kind of
emergency could there be?”
Hanzo growled in his throat. “What are you going to do if I am not behind you
to clean up your messes?” He jerked his hand angrily. “And no children.”
“Aww..shucks. Here I was looking forward to the patter of little feet.” He
cocked his head angrily. “Why don’t you get a life?!” Then Genji growled in
return. “Just get one for yourself.” He lounged back lazily. “I can’t wait to
see you without that stick up your ass.” Then he cocked his head back against
the window. “You’re gonna flip out the first time she—!”
Hanzo only sighed. “So we will go to the damn auction tomorrow night.”
“It will do you good to get out and have some fun.” Genji rubbed his hands in
anticipation. “At last we get out and party!”
Hanzo only nodded angrily and signaled the driver to return home. He glanced at
Genji, “And I will expect you to finish the paperwork on your desk and finish
collecting that protection money from the northeast blocks before we go.”
The next night, the Shimada brothers were driving up to the expensive house
with the scarlet door. They had watched a few other figures climb out of
equally expensive limousines or Bentleys or Porches. One or two of the heavily
guarded figures were business associates with the Shimadas—yakuza from other
families or clans or particularly successful fences or informants. Others were
unfamiliar faces.
Asahi was just inside the door, greeting everyone coming in. He was even more
elaborately dressed—in silver, gray, teal and navy and not less than 6 layers
of kimono with two silver hairpins and bracelets and rings with an ivory
ribbed, lacy fan. He smiled and laughed a bit as Genji sauntered in and then
Hanzo stalked in angrily.
“So good to see you gentlemen,” Asahi smiled in a cat-like way. “Take these
cards and you will have the best seats in the house.” He passed them small
ivory cards with a gold figure of a butterfly on them. “Do enjoy yourselves.”
Guests were served tiny ceramic cups of sake and little carved bits of
food—melon balls, strawberries carved to look like roses, star shaped toasts
with crumpled fresh cheese and other nibbles—by black masked and robed
anonymous figures. Genji slammed back his sake and took another cup. Hanzo
grunted at black figure and whispered to her. She nodded with a bow and
reappeared a few moments later with a crystal tumbler.
Genji swerved back to stand beside Hanzo. “Come now, brother,” he whispered
quietly. “The night is too young to have sober pleasures.”
“Hardly sober,” Hanzo grunted, nodding at another yakuza across the room. He
raised his tumbler carefully and Genji grunted at the smell of tequila.
“Tequila? You’re going to be going home with at least one butterfly tonight.
Maybe even more than one if you keep drinking that stuff.” He grinned and
toasted his older brother in return. “Your tastes have improved.”
“I will not be needing this,” Hanzo sighed, trying to wave away another
wandering server with a platter of sake cups. Unsurprisingly, Genji intercepted
another little cup and slammed it back. “You do not need it either.”
Genji only laughed and began to wander away again. Hanzo took a cautious sip.
The little figure had listened to him carefully. There was a wet rim of tequila
and the ice cubes had been rinsed with the noxious stuff but then it was filled
with mineral water. It was an adequate mask to make it appear that he was
drinking as much as anyone else.
He watched as Genji set his cup down on a tray as it floated past. “You do not
need to continue drinking the alcohol,” Hanzo scolded softly. “There is plenty
at home, first of all, and secondly alcohol has been known to cause one to
make…unwise decisions.”
“Which is why you should drink more,” Genji replied. He casually glanced over
the room. “You should make at least a few bad decisions every now and then to
get it out of your system. You’re only young once too.”
Hanzo was about to make a retort, but Asahi’s voice echoed over the room,
“Gentlemen, my truly great friends, it is now time for us to spend the evening
enjoying the grace, the beauty and the potential of my collection of
butterflies as they take flight to you.”
Asahi led them through a delightful interior garden directly to the runway
room. That room was now tastefully darkened and the creamy candles were lit and
each table had orchid and lily blossoms around the candles. Small scarlet
napkins were placed at each table and there were tiny tablets with little
gilded pencils at each place.
True to his word, the moment that Genji and Hanzo showed their butterfly cards,
they were carefully escorted to the table at the very end of the runway. A tiny
Oriental woman in heavy makeup and dark kimono immediately came up and
whispered that she was the assigned server, took their orders and promptly
brought them yet another set of drinks.
Hanzo grunted as he was brought a tumbler—this time full of tequila,
unfortunately. The bartenders must be getting backed up, as every man seemed to
be intent on getting fresh drinks. Genji was brought a martini glass with some
obscenely named drink in it and a long pick loaded up with cherries, lemon,
orange and apple bits.
“Excuse me, Miss?” Genji whispered, watching as everyone was being seated and
settled with new tumblers and cups and glasses. At one table, a rather rheumy
looking individual who constantly dabbed at his nose and sneezed into his
handkerchief ordered an entire carafe of sake as he fondled his server openly
and with no shame. “So where are the girls?”
She affected a giggle—an obviously fake giggle. “Honored Sir, the girls are
brought out singly. A reserve price is announced and you write down your
offering base price on the tablet. The papers are collected and then the cocoon
is awarded to the winner.”
“But what about—?!”
“Oh, the winners are taken back to another room with the cocoons and then you
can set up the customizations that you want and the upgrades are charged to
your account when your butterfly is ready.”
Genji frowned a bit, suddenly a little less into the events. He only nodded. “I
see. Thank you, my lovely.”
She smiled at Genji’s thick charm, causing Hanzo to roll his eyes impatiently.
“Of course! If you need assistance at any time, Honored Sirs, then I am solely
at your service.”
She bowed and backed away hurriedly, offering a smile to Hanzo’s grim face.
Genji picked up the pick of fruit and nibbled it delicately. Hanzo frowned
harder and sighed heavily. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“Are you?” He grinned, ignoring his brother's glowering face. “I'm holding you
to our bargain. I get one and you get one.” He took a sip of his drink,
smirking at its taste. “And then I’ll slave in the family salt mines.” He
smiled and rolled his eyes theatrically. “But only if you get one, too.
Otherwise it's off.”
Asahi came walking up the runway. His heavy kimono shushed behind him in the
sudden silence and the runway floor lit up with flowing blue and white waves
with his footsteps. “My friends, I welcome you to my house. We have a selection
of twelve today.” He nodded at the smattering of applause. “I hope that you
will enjoy the food, the drink and the endless beauty that is…tonight.”
With a swish of heavy fabric and a snap of his fan, he walked to the back of
the runway. Genji snorted as the runway lights changed from wispy blue and
white to bursts of creamy butterflies and falling pink petals.
Asahi waved offstage and a naked female come out from behind the curtains at
the top of the runway. She had lovely blonde braids starting at her ears and
flowing down her back and shy blue eyes. The only things she wore was a pair of
white lace elbow long gloves and a pair of white high heel sandals with thin
straps. She walked down the runway gracefully and then knelt down facing the
audience in a spotlight.
“This is our white butterfly tonight,” Asahi smiled. “We have a reserved price
of 4000.”
Genji leaned over to Hanzo. “A whore is usually worth more than that, right?”
Hanzo nodded, not particularly thinking about how he knew this kind of esoteric
trivia. “Asahi must be counting on the upgrades bringing in the money.”
Genji and Hanzo both waved away the black clad figure with the teak box, noting
as others folded small papers and put them into the box as it came around. No
one was particularly shy about this either—it was very comfortable as though
they were purchasing paintings or just watching as the teak box made its way up
to Asahi. Asahi nodded solemnly and pulled out the handful of papers before
nodding over them and saying “Congratulations on the purchase of our white
butterfly, Honored Sir.” He leaned over and showed the paper to a black-clad
person who came down the runway and led the woman down to a table.
Asahi nodded as the woman was leashed to the table and the teak box was
emptied. The runway changed again to blue butterflies and white petals and a
new woman appeared. This one was a charming red headed woman with an attractive
Oriental face. She had the obligatory high heels and a belt with a gauzy blue
train trailing behind. Asahi smirked and remarked the reserve price casually.
Hanzo noted that Genji put in a hastily scrawled bid before dropping it into
the teak box.
Hanzo sat stiffly through four more “butterflies” including a set of twins,
noting as Genji bid for each. The others were a rainbow of colors and faces,
almost universally slender and graceful and put into very little more than a
variety of gloves and high heels in a multitude of colors. It was all
unexpectedly calm—no more energy and pulsing, scathing sensuality than a
lingerie fashion show, minus the lingerie. And that this was for keeps, rather
than harmless flirtation.
The green butterfly made Genji sit up. Hanzo yawned behind his hand, mentally
planning the most grueling workout he could think of, but was amused that this
was the one that caught his brother’s interest. She was a petite girl with a
sweet looking heart shaped face and slender to the point of appearing
abnormally young and wearing a green lacy scarf trailing down her back and
short auburn hair and glossy dark eyes. The elder brother was slightly amused
as Genji muttered something softly to himself and entirely focused on her,
leaning forward with interest.
Genji had a figure written out almost before she knelt at the end of the
runway. Asahi casually mentioned a higher amount and that the “green butterfly”
was a virgin. It was said in an offhand way, as though he were pointing out an
interesting flower or a peculiar cloud. Genji glanced around and saw the number
of little pieces of paper were being dropped into the teak box, then abruptly
changed his bid, scratching out his original figure and writing another one.
Hanzo sighed heavily, unsurprised that Genji’s bid—whatever it was—was the
winning bid. The female was led to the table and a steel cable leash attached
her to the table. Hanzo stared at her for a moment, trying to process what he
saw.
Her hair was flowing loosely down her back, but seemed to be oily and almost
lank. Her eyes were glassy as she looked up at them both in short glances and
she seemed to be trembling. Hanzo felt a bit squeamish—she had been given some
kind of drug to help her through this. Undoubtedly Asahi would have some
prosaic explanation for that too since he seemed to have a gift for such
excuses.
Frowning, he glanced at the next one—the purple butterfly—who was a strong
looking woman with very closely cropped hair and dark skin like coffee. She was
definitely giving absent, glassy looks and had obviously been given
something—Hanzo would bet his bow on it and not sweat a drop.
Genji sat back and relaxed and seemed to be rather content with the situation.
He also didn’t spare his “butterfly” another look, which seemed rather out of
place given his initial enthusiasm. Instead, he simply sipped his drink and
watched idly with a small, satisfied grin on his face.
Hanzo frowned and took a cautious sip of the tequila. Genji had become more and
more distant, more unfathomable, as he had grown. When had they gone from
brothers who could predict each other’s moves and thoughts to being so distant?
When had Genji become so….
Different?
They had gone through almost every color in the known rainbow—white, yellow
(the twins), orange, red, green, blue, indigo, purple—at this point and Hanzo
wondered what would happen next since none of the “butterflies” were offered
names. It was a rather trivial point to ponder, but he was obliged out of duty
and protocol to sit quietly and complacently. He had planned his workout,
exactly what tasks to assign to Genji and how he would forbid him from having
his “butterfly” unless those tasks were accomplished. There was nothing else he
could plan out, so he was stuck with little idiotic details to ponder until
this was finally over.
What had the world come to that men—powerful men with fat bank accounts—were
willing to buy from a place like this? These were men who could practically
snap and get anything they wanted. Instead, they were offering a wad of money
to get them gift wrapped and dropped into their lap.
What happened to the thrill of the chase?
He sighed heavily. Even Genji was buying into this modern notion of just going
out and buying without thought. The Shimada fortunes that were gained with
blood and sweat and effort were not dented in the slightest by Genji’s
excesses—new cars, new clothes, new toys—but it did seem to be that something
was lost when it was charged to an account rather than earned.
Asahi gestured idly at the runway. “Eight butterflies out of twelve have flown.
Let us take a moment to pause for refreshments before the rest of our
butterflies spread their wings. Those who wish to celebrate their butterflies
and gild their wings may join me through the gardens.”
Hanzo stood stiffly as their personal server escorted Genji and the “green
butterfly” away. He started to follow, but another server led him the opposite
way, giggling that only “collectors” could go to the other room. Rolling his
eyes, he allowed himself to be drawn away and shown through the house to the
bar and lounge area.
Genji was alone and back at the table before Hanzo was allowed to return. He
seemed to be very satisfied with himself as he looked at the runway one more
time. Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Satisfied?”
“I anticipate being very satisfied,” Genji nodded, a little strangely
distantly.
Hanzo snorted again. “Can we please go home now?”
“Quiet. Asahi is beginning again.” Genji cast a cynical eye at the elder
brother. “And you don’t have yours.”
Asahi did come out again, looking refreshed and calm. “How lovely that eight
butterflies have gone to collectors. And yet four remain.” He nodded at the
audience’s short applause. “So let us see our butterflies take flight.”
Genji leaned over and whispered, “Fusty windbag.” At Hanzo’s nod, he continued
softly, “Now we must find yours.” He whispered in a singsong. “And you’re gonna
freak.” With another idle sip of his drink, he continued, “Do you even have any
idea what to do with a willing woman?” Hanzo rolled his eyes, not wanting to
even answer that and Genji kept grinning like an evil cat. “Have you even had a
woman?”
“Stop, Genji,” Hanzo snapped.
“Not until you get one of your own.” Genji waved idly and their server appeared
with another martini and long pick of fruit. “Do you want a blonde, a brunette
or redhead?”
Hanzo shook his head. “Not for me.”
“You agreed. It’s all over if you don't hold up your end.” Genji sat back with
a satisfied air. “And I’ll be a free man.”
Hanzo stared at his brother blankly. Then he recalled the ridiculous bargain
and sighed. He was likely not going to get out of here without making a
purchase. Groaning, he finally took a heavy swallow of the smooth and biting
tequila.
The pink butterfly was another blonde with startling blue eyes and an
unmistakably beautiful masculine face. There was a “jade” butterfly, then a
“gold” butterfly who was suntanned, golden haired and gorgeous. Hanzo felt
absolutely nothing for any of them, even though Genji seemed actually
interested the gold one. He sighed and shook his head at his younger brother,
who seemed to be just about to sneak in another bid.
What would he give to have Genji obey the rules? Anything. What would he pay to
be sure that his younger brother would be responsible and respectful? Anything.
Anything and everything—he'd give it all to get his brother to behave.
Then the last one came out as the word ‘anything’ was echoing in his head. She
was shorter and curvier than the others, coming out in black lace gloves and a
black lace mask and stringy sandals with laces that wound up to her knees. She
had lightly tanned skin and thick black hair with the strangest hazel eyes.
Hanzo watched as she swayed up the runway and from her clear gaze sweeping the
crowd, he could tell that she was not in a drugged fog as the other had been.
“At least bid on this one since she’s the last—and you promised,” Genji
prodded. With a dark smile, he said, “Or I will bid for you.”
She met his gaze casually. He was right in front of her, obviously, but she
gazed clearly into his eyes. He was sure she was looking directly at him
specifically. It was unsettling after being surrounded by females—if one didn’t
count the pink butterfly—that refused to meet anyone’s gaze. But she was clear-
headed—at least, by comparison—and looked directly at him.
Her gaze was simply…asking. It wasn’t the practiced, blank gaze across the
room—but directly at him, asking something so clearly he could almost hear the
words.
He moved without thought, caught in her gaze. Then there was the lovely server
at his elbow, asking if he would like to add his bid to the box. He couldn’t
even recall whatever it was that Asahi had said was her reserve price.
Instantly, he felt sweat prickle his palms and his forehead, prompting Genji to
laugh and grab the paper and stuff it in the box.
The servant whisked away the box before he could protest. Asahi was smiling
slightly like he always was, watching the box make its way to the front.
Blindly looking at his tumbler, Hanzo did not want to see everyone else bidding
on her. With another sigh, Asahi opened the box and reached inside.
There was only one paper in the box.
Asahi’s eyes looked up with an act of mild, curious surprise. “Why, our
precious black butterfly has been collected.”
The girl’s eyes went wide for a moment as the escort led her off the runway,
but they locked on to his eyes again with a gleaming smile, ignoring Genji’s
little smirk and flashing eyes. He smiled—a little—and suddenly she finally
flushed and glanced down, faltering a little as she was led to the iron ring in
their table. She knelt without protest or sound, except a heavy sigh.
Asahi smiled and gestured to the room. “Thank you, great friends, for joining
me. I hope that you have collected the butterflies that you desired and, if
not, then please leave a number for us to let you know when we have more
caterpillars ready to become…butterflies.”
Everyone clapped politely. Asahi repeated his invitation to the new owners and
Genji was ushered away as Hanzo was led to a new room. Everyone was
smiling—butterflies and “collectors” alike—except Hanzo, who was stone faced
with his black butterfly.
The four owners were ushered into tiny cubicles with a nerdy looking men in a
white coats in each one and shoji doors sliding swiftly and silently shut.
There was another squat table with a familiar ream of papers, wooden pens and
three cushions.
“Ahh, the black butterfly,” the strange man began. “How nice—!”
The shoji opened unexpectedly and Asahi glided inside without invitation.
“Please forgive me for interrupting, Doctor. But I would like to do this
myself….”
“Of course, Asahi-sama,” he nodded.
Asahi let the man leave and knelt gracefully down at the table in the doctor’s
place. Absently, he asked, “Do you want to have something else to drink,
Honored Sir?” At Hanzo’s short shake, he shrugged. “As you wish. Now, let us
take care of this paperwork and conclude our mutually enjoyable evening.”
Asahi absently pulled out a creamy slip of paper and Hanzo felt himself start
to sweat. What had he written? Hopefully nothing too extreme. But even the girl
seemed to be curious in that little slip of paper and Asahi only folded it in
half and carefully slid it into a chest pocket with a catlike smile.
Asahi giggled and pulled out the papers. “So, we will begin our design.”
“She is beautiful as she is now—!” Hanzo snapped.
“She will be beyond beautiful when you are done with her.” Asahi smiled smugly.
“And I will very content to know that I had some small part in your future
happiness.”
The girl was very curious about the papers, which Hanzo supposed was natural
since those papers would contain the plan for what would happen to her. She
looked up briefly at him and then again at the papers, but at the slightest
movement from Asahi, she folded her hands and bowed her head meekly.
Asahi smirked in approval. Then, with a flourish, he offered a pen to Hanzo.
Hanzo took the pen, silently admiring the heavy, solid weight of it. His mind
instinctively calculated the weight and heft in his hand—evaluating its
possibilities as a weapon. The other man turned the papers around, and pointed
to the first line.
Hanzo shook his head shortly. “Give us a few moments.”
Asahi’s eyes gleamed and he let out a chuckle. “For a man who wasn’t sure
yesterday that he wanted to have anything to do with one of my butterflies, I
am quite interested to see what changed your mind.” He grinned slyly. “Your
brother was not so—.”
“Never mind what my brother said or did,” Hanzo interrupted. “Just give me a
moment to talk to her.” He cocked his head. “She can talk, can’t she?”
“Oh?” Asahi smirked, picking up his pen and flipping to a page. “Do you want
her to or not?”
“Yes!” Hanzo snapped, completely aware that she made some little sigh that
seemed to be relief.
“I see,” Asahi smiled, making a check on the page. Then he glanced at Hanzo’s
murderous glare. “With your indulgence, I will check on my other collectors and
be back in, shall we say ten minutes?”
Hanzo could only nod and glare at the flamboyant man as he stood and glided
out. The woman didn’t move, but she did at least glance up at him before
returning her gaze to her hands. Hanzo’s heavy hand slammed down on the papers
and he scooped them up.
The papers were no less disturbing, particularly since he had a living,
breathing woman that would be affected by his choices. He glanced at them and
then at her.
“Do you have a name, female?” he demanded. She only shook her head and he
groaned. “Do you want to make any of these choices or—?”
She whispered so softly and delicately that he was straining to hear her. “All
of the choices are yours, Honored One.”
“So you do not care if I puff you up like a pastry?”
She bowed low, her head almost touching the table. “Whatever you wish is
yours.”
He glared at her. Then, as he paged through the papers, he asked in a bland
voice, “What would you change about yourself?” She looked at him in a quick
glance. “If you have things to change, then we will go through this charade.
Otherwise, we’ll stop here.”
She nodded slightly and her brow puckered in thought as she glanced up at him
again. “Yes…. I would make changes.”
He glanced at her. “Why?”
“Because I must be beautiful and pleasing.” At his frown, she said softly. “If
I cannot please you, then I will have nothing….”
He frowned. “What do you think will happen, girl?”
She shuddered, looking up at him fearfully. “What will you do to me?” She
glanced down. “Will you set me on the street? Or-or-or sell me to someone who
will?” She folded her hands nervously, wringing them. “I must be pleasing…or
else…. What will I do? I don’t have anywhere to go!”
She looked up at him fearfully. He shook his head slightly. Flipping the pen in
his hand, he started efficiently at the top. Truthfully, she wanted very
little—or, it might be a lot considering the extremes that this place went to.
She wanted to be thinner. She wanted to be able to talk. She wanted to be
stronger. She wanted to be faster.
Hanzo smirked at that. Training would take care of that. He could easily…. He
shook his head a little at his own wandering mind.
He put down the papers, making various notations. She looked at him
curiously—questions burning in her eyes. When he flipped to the next page, his
hand shook and finally he just put the papers down and turned them towards her.
“Can you read?”
Her eyes lit up and she nodded. “But I haven’t read anything in a long time.”
He flushed darker. “Can you read this?”
She glanced down, not touching anything. “Oh!” Her eyes crinkled and for a
moment she smiled and then, glancing up at him suddenly her face went blank. “I
suppose that….well, it’s your choice.” She cocked her head curiously. “I
mean…your choice…. To have…a child.”
He frowned. The form only had “yes” or “no”. Assuming that whatever he chose
was permanent, he marked, “yes”. There was a number of following questions, and
he stumbled through them. He hadn’t ever considered such personal and feminine
matters—just assumed that eventually he would marry and his wife would
eventually have kids.
By the kami, this was suddenly very complicated. He was eventually going to
have to settle her permanently somewhere somehow. And he would have to keep her
at the estate, under wraps, for all the time that she was with him.
Genji would never let him hear the end of it.
After a discrete knock, Asahi came in, humming happily to himself. “Have you
made some decisions, Honored Sir?”
“Indeed,” Hanzo nodded. He flicked the papers towards Asahi. The other man only
smirked and took the pages up. He flipped through them, nodding to himself. His
eyes lit up in amusement and he smiled secretly over the pages. “Is there
something wrong?” Asahi only grinned at them and chuckled in response. “I
believe that it is your claim that I can have anything that I want.”
“Of course, Honored Sir,” he smiled. “It will be precisely as you wish.” He set
down the papers and stamped the top page with a carved jade block stamp. Then,
he smiled again, picking up the ivory sheet of paper from its pocket and
holding it up like a charm. “Now, shall we discuss this?”
Hanzo frowned, his eyes narrowing.
Asahi smirked, endlessly smiling. “I see that you recognize this…..” Hanzo
nodded and the slender procurer kept smiling.
Hanzo was about to make a sharp retort but then a soft growl sounded. They both
stared at the woman, who was flushed purple and staring at her hands miserably.
Hanzo smirked and turned back towards Asahi.
Asahi was, at last, frowning. It was the first time that Hanzo had seen the
other man not smiling, and, judging by the miserable fear on the woman’s face,
his displeasure was terrible indeed. The woman did not even look up but Hanzo
could see her tremble ever so slightly.
Finally, Asahi looked back placidly at Hanzo. “It seems that this caterpillar
is not yet worthy of her wings.” He gestured shortly. “If you would prefer a
more…civilized…one, I will be happy to take this one back and show you the
current stock—.”
“No,” Hanzo grunted. “This is the one that I want.”
Asahi finally looked at him and the little paper as though measuring its worth.
His scowl was terrifying as he glanced at her, but when he looked at the paper
in his slender fingers he seemed to reconsider whatever her was about to say or
do. Finally, his humor seemed to be restored. “I can see that.”
“Just feed her,” Hanzo growled. “And nothing else!”
Asahi shrugged. “If that is your wish,” he smirked. “But we cannot have ill-
mannered or rude caterpillars. I would highly suggest that she be…reminded of
the good fortune of your favor in order to make her yet more beautiful.”
Hanzo frowned again. “She is beautiful now.”
“Of course,” Asahi agreed placidly. “And there is yet more that she could be.”
He looked at one of his rings and the smooth round stone in it. “I would only
suggest that a bit more time, a bit more polish, and she could be the
spectacular butterfly of your dreams.” Asahi looked at her and the papers once
more. “After all, there is much beauty not of the flesh, but of the submission,
of the will.”
Hanzo sighed impatiently. “Just feed her.”
“And these few small…modifications?” He raised the papers. Then he gestured
again and the woman rose silently and went to the door. “What if we discuss
this quietly?”
Hanzo watched as she slid open the door. Another of the black robed servants
was there, to take her steel cable leash and slide the door closed. The
footsteps faded away. He looked at Asahi impatiently. “So what is the cost?”
Asahi snickered. “Oh, I believe that this is covered in the contract.” He
spread the papers out, reiterating the selections—she was to be drug free, she
was to be hale and healthy, she was to be given a long term birth control, but
not sterile. Asahi again gestured to the pages, sighing theatrically, “But
there are so many wonderful things that can be done! A thin waist that you can
span with your hands? A lush, soft set of breasts to fill your palms? A bubble
butt to slap? Perhaps hair that is blonde and down to her waist?” Hanzo felt
his teeth aching as he locked his jaw. “Why don’t you tell me the approximate
measurements and we work from there? The little caterpillars can be a bit,
well, timid in wanting changes….”
“Anything you do could stop her from—.”
“Ahh yes, you want a child eventually,” Asahi nodded. “I saw that on the last
page. How convenient! A ready-made heir without the entanglement of a political
marriage.” He smiled again. “Very wise.”
Hanzo was about to retort that he didn’t want a child at all, but Asahi had
satisfactorily explained things to himself and obviously wasn’t inclined to ask
questions. Or allow a pause for comment.
Asahi pulled out the pen. “Of course, these can be done without…oh, shall we
say, plastic surgery. A little hormonal cocktail and some nanites and she’s
ready.” Hanzo grunted and Asahi pulled out a page to write notes. “So what
measurements do you like?”
Hanzo sighed crossly, wanting only to be home. “Her figure is—!”
“Alas, unfinished,” Asahi wrote down some numbers. “This what I think we can
reasonably accommodate without plastic.” He licked his lips. “She will be
divine.”
“And can this be done—?”
“She will be able, when you are ready, to bear whatever children you wish,”
Asahi promised. “Although with such a handful, I would suggest spending some
time enjoying her.”
“Anything else?”
“Her eyes,” Hanzo said quickly.
“Hmm?”
“Make them grey.”
“Ahh..gray like the storm.” Asahi nodded. “She will be beautiful with such
startling silver eyes.”
“And don’t cut her hair.”
“Not a one. But could I assume that laser hair removal for her legs and those
other necessary areas? Such a perfect jewel should not be less than perfectly
cut.” Asahi looked at him with a smile, taking in his nod. “Of course—it avoids
any less than perfect days that females seem to have.”
“And healthy enough—.”
“Healthy enough to bear a hundred children if you wish.”
“A hundred?” Hanzo chuffed out a stiff laugh.
“As many as you could wish,” Asahi nodded. With a smile, he tabbed up the costs
and named a sum that would have been breathtaking to anyone else.
“And the initial price?” Hanzo snapped.
“We’ll…discuss it later.” Asahi folded the paper and put it in a pocket hidden
by a fold of his kimono. “I must confess that I was not truly able to see such
beauty and potential as you have seen in her.”
“She will be magnificent,” Hanzo parroted tonelessly.
“I must agree,” the first man sighed happily. “And your brother as well. Both
of you are to be congratulated in such fine butterflies.”
They walked back to the front parlor, Asahi apparently content and smiling and
Hanzo glaring. Black robed servants shuffled around them, cleaning up and doing
whatever it was that needed to be done after an event like this.
Genji was lounging on the couch, the “green butterfly” half in his lap with her
head on his chest and wrapped in Genji’s suit coat. She was fully asleep,
sighing and a half smile playing on her lips. Genji was leaning back, his eyes
hooded and somehow still giving the impression that not a single thing escaped
his notice.
Hanzo grunted sharply, familiar with the half-sleep techniques that Genji was
employing to allow his body to rest, but to remain alert in case of attack.
Undoubtedly, Genji would be wakeful and ready to go home, but would want a few
hours in private before training.
“And you, Honored Sir,” Asahi greeted cheerfully. “Is there nothing that we
could do for your little butterfly?”
“She,” Genji replied softly in a firm, no nonsense voice. “Is already perfect
for what I want.”
“Ahh,” the procurer smiled. “Is this true love at first sight?”
Genji grinned recklessly. “Perhaps. True lust at least.”
“I am so happy for you.”
Genji looked at his older brother’s strained face. He could look positively
demonic if he was tired or had reached the end of his patience or if he was
sick of someone he couldn’t directly kill and from his scowl, currently he was
all three. “So, where is the little black butterfly?”
Asahi giggled carelessly. “She will stay with me a few weeks to get—.”
“Do you not have work to do?” Hanzo interrupted, glaring at Genji.
“Ahh,” Genji smiled. “My dear brother, reminding me of my duty.” He smirked
down at the sleeping woman in his arms. “I have business and pleasure to attend
to, yes.” He shot his brother a dry look. “Then I suppose that we will be
returning.”
“In a few weeks. And should the Honored Sirs conceive of some toy or tool of
training that they desire, or if you wish to expand your collection, then I
must insist that you return and allow us to indulge you.”
“How long?” Hanzo snorted, pointedly turning away from Asahi and putting on his
coat with deliberate movements.
“For the little black one? Three weeks is most generous, but if Honored Sir
is…eager for such a priceless butterfly, then it can be accomplished in less
time. Say, two weeks?”
“Three weeks,” Hanzo grunted.
“Then three weeks from tonight. If you would care to arrive before 6:30, then
you will be before the auction crush. Unless you care to attend again?”
“No, I do not think so,” Hanzo snorted.
Genji nodded, scooping up his girl in his arms. She stirred briefly and glanced
sleepily at the men before burying her face into his chest. The Shimada
brothers were presented with their overcoats by nameless servants and the
limousine was already parked outside, the door open and the engine running.
For some reason, Genji was mutinously silent during the ride home. There was a
defiant glare in his eye as he looked at his brother and his arms wrapped
protectively around the girl as she slept. It was unsettling that he was curled
protectively as far as possible from Hanzo. Rolling his eyes, he closed his
eyes against the raging headache and the ache in his jaw.
Predictably, Genji and the girl disappeared almost the instant that they
stopped at the Shimada compound. Hanzo grunted and stalked through the shadowed
hallways. It was entirely too late to be up for most folk, and paperwork was
undoubtedly piling up on his desk, but after the needling of Genji and the
grating laughter of Asahi he felt the need to simply go to the dojo and bury
his aches into a workout, then a visit to the compound onsen and at last a deep
sleep.
The workout was the explosive combination of almost impossible moves that he
had created in his head. His technique was flawless, flowing like rainwater
from one move to the next in a death defying series of leaps and falls. His bow
seemed to float around him and between his hands as he fired arrow after arrow
into the targets scattered around the room. The bamboo shafts shattered as
arrows split and the feathers floated to the ground. Dark dots of sweat dropped
to the smooth slate floor as his shadow flickered between pools of moonlight
from the skylights.
The dragons erupted and flowed out into the space, roaring and spinning, and
then Hanzo danced on them. It was no longer a mere kata, no longer a flawless
routine, but instead it was a dance that ripped his mask away and his soul
shone through.
Then, in a final explosive series of kicks, he spun to a panting stop with four
arrows quivering in four targets in separate directions in the room. The dance
was over, the pounding music of muscle and strength and kicks and punches and
his own breathless shouts was over and he was kneeling in an empty stone walled
room. The next sound was a soft pat of a drop of a thick bead of sweat hitting
the floor.
Then there was a slow, lazy clap in the darkness. “You are improving, Brother.”
Hanzo snapped upright. Glaring at the lanky shadow of his brother in the dark
corner, he grunted, “I did not expect to see you to so soon.” He raised a
brotherly eyebrow and began unwrapping the heavy lengths of cloth from around
his hand. “I thought that you would be with your little…butterfly.”
Genji stepped into a pool of light, dressed in his usual gray ghi pants, a
random and irreverent t-shirt and his unfastened ghi jacket loose on his
shoulders. “She is sleeping.” Genji glared at him. “What about your butterfly,
Brother? Where is she?”
“She is….” Hanzo flushed angrily though he could not say precisely why. “It is
not your concern.”
Genji rolled his shoulders and the sword strapped to his shoulders was suddenly
cradled in his hands. He glared at Hanzo, looking at him with some mix of
disdain and anger. “Did you welch on our bargain?”
Hanzo looked at his brother curiously. For a moment, Genji’s voice seemed to
have some small half-note of relief with that accusation. He glared at his
brother’s dark, accusing eyes. “I would never do something so dishonorable as
renege on an agreement.”
“So you did buy her,” Genji said with a distinct note of satisfaction. Then he
turned stormy again. “But where is she?” His eyes turned hard as stone. “Don’t
tell me—!”
“Tell you what?!” Hanzo growled at his brother.
Genji blanched, his face growing pale and his eyes burning like coals with
fury. “What …what are you doing?”
“Nothing except arguing with you,” Hanzo growled.
“What about her? Doesn’t she mean anything?”
“Your butterfly?!” Hanzo sneered. “She does not mean anything to me except as a
means to get you to do your duty.”
“No! Yours!” Genji toyed with the scabbard angrily. “What the hell are you
doing?!” He paced around angrily. “When I said to get a girl to have some fun
with, I never anticipated that you were…. By the ancestors, you really meant
it—you’re getting her overhauled like last year’s car.” Genji snarled, “I never
imagined that you’d—! I can’t bear to look at you.”
“You drug me into this!” Hanzo roared angrily him. “What the hell did you think
I was going to do?!”
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” Genji spat. “You disgust
me, brother.”
“Why? For doing exactly what you did?!”
“I didn't do anything to her! I brought her home and that’s it.” Genji growled
low in his throat. “Whatever the hell you are doing to your butterfly….” He
cursed fluently. “No—she is a woman and doesn’t deserve to have anything like
that happen to her.”
Hanzo roared and his dragons sprang to life, punching through the air and
glowing in anger to obliterate his target. Of course, it was Genji they were
flying towards and the dragons turned aside at the last moment.
“You don’t deserve her or any woman,” Genji whispered. “Not if you can’t accept
them as they are.” Hanzo growled again. “I can’t believe you.”
Hanzo whipped around to leave. “I do not know who you are. You know how
important duty is. You know what we do and how we do it. We are the most feared
and powerful clan in Japan and you are going to destroy it all if you do not
start acting like a proper Shimada.”
Genji growled, throwing a dagger just over Hanzo’s shoulder and into the
doorway beyond. “I may be your younger brother and you may be in charge of the
Shimada clan, but you aren’t king of the world. You aren’t a shogun issuing
orders to the peasants.”
Hanzo paused, staring blindly at the knife in the doorway. A few inches over
and it was debatable whether or not even the dragons could have saved him.
Genji sighed. “Brother…. Do you remember? Do you remember how when we were
kids, we talked?” Hanzo said nothing, his broad shoulders rolling. “We talked
about how we knew this was wrong. We knew that the…the drugs and the weapons
and the deals…. We knew then that they were all dirty. That we hurt people.
“Don’t you remember? We would go to the alleys and play with the other
kids—those kids who lived in those shelters. We’d go and play with them and
we’d all pretend that we were a big family eating mizu yokan for New Year’s
celebration. You’d be the daddy and little Yui would be a mommy and me and the
rest of the kids were all aunts and uncles to Ichika and her doll. And we’d sit
there, all in the back alley with pieces of cardboard for plates and boxes and
paper cups of nothing pretending to be celebrating the New Year with a big
family….”
“I remember, Genji.”
“And don’t you remember that it was always fun, chomping at the air and telling
Yui that these were the best sweets and noodles? How everyone talked to Ichika
and tucked in the dolly?”
“I remember.”
“Do you remember? Do you remember how Yui’s mother got so sick? That she was
hooked on heroine and strung out all the time. That Yui always hung on to you
because she thought that the moon and sun rose at your command because she was
so scared to go home? She was scared that her mother might be seeing horrible
things and start chopping at everything with a knife again?”
“I remember,” Hanzo sighed. “I…remember Yui.”
“And how Ichika disappeared? Do you remember what happened to Ichika?” Genji’s
voice broke even though Hanzo didn’t say a word. “Ichika was sold to one of
those places. A smooth piece of shit like Asahi told her parents that he’d pay
off their drug debts and get them out of the gangs. And that crap took Ichika
and we never saw her…until—.”
Hanzo swallowed, his throat closing. They hadn’t seen Ichika again until years
and years later and the Crystal Phoenix gang decided to hold up a Shimada
shipment of weapons. The usual crossfire of weapons happened and, when the dust
cleared, he almost hadn’t recognized Ichika’s ravaged, bruised and battered
body with it’s harsh tattoo branding her a Crystal Phoenix and the damning
bruises and scars showing months, if not years, of hard drug use.
Genji’s voice was softer, almost as though it were bruised. “And Aiko? How a
prostitute gave him AIDS? How he tried for weeks and weeks and just got sicker
and sicker? Or Yoshi and how he got caught in the crossfire and we didn't know
we were firing at him until the news report the next day?”
“Get to the point, Genji!”
“I am!” Genji's voice snarled. “Do you remember that night? How we swore that
we didn’t want anyone to hurt like we hurt we found every one of them?
“Do you remember, Hanzo? We looked around at the Shimada clan and we decided
that we’d stop this. We were going to stop this madness. We were going to get
to the top. We were going to take this apart from the inside. We were going to
go straight and we were going to stop the drugs and crime and prostitution and
the deals and the weapons. We were going to stop all of this!”
Hanzo growled. “You know that I remember all this.”
“What happened to that, Hanzo?” Genji cried out. “What happened to my older
brother who was going to get to the top, no matter what, and then rip the
Shimada clan down to the ground?”
“Do you have a point, Genji? Things change. Things are different now.”
“Things are…different?” Genji gaped. “How can things be that…different?”
“We grew up, Genji. This is an international organization. We—.”
“We are criminals. We aren’t on the good side of this.” Genji puffed out a
breath.
“And we would be dead in a heartbeat if we did anything else.”
“Everything we do hurts people. From the weapons to the drugs to everything
else.” Genji frowned. “It hurts everything and everyone like…like a cancer rips
apart a body.”
Hanzo finally turned around and looked at Genji. Genji’s eyes were glistening
bright. “It does not matter if we try to do anything. Nothing will change.”
“So you’re going to get richer and richer and dirtier and dirtier and just
shrug and say nothing will change?!” Genji’s stance dropped abruptly, his eyes
narrowing and the sword singing out of its sheath. “You are just..just another
Shimada. Just another dirty, criminal Shimada thug.”
“I am not!” Hanzo growled. “I am not some filthy street thug.”
“No…you’re worse,” Genji howled back. “You don’t care about anything. Or
anybody.” He grunted. Looking at his brother with disgust, he sheathed his
sword and turned away.
“I…I care about you, brother.”
“Oh? And why is that? Because I’m another Shimada? Because I’m your brother?”
Genji looked over his shoulder. “Because I’m a really good ninja and can
accomplish what others can’t?”
“You are my brother. I cherish you.”
Genji sighed. “I didn’t come to fight my brother. I came to tell you that I
need to move my office to the other side of the building for a few weeks.”
Hanzo grunted. “My girl is….” He whirled around and faced Hanzo. “She…She’s
fourteen. Just fourteen and has been through hell. She is…she’s going to be
sick—.”
“Withdrawal, Genji.” Hanzo puffed out some air. “It is called ‘withdrawal’.”
“Yeah, while your buddy Asahi and you were going over your sexual wish list, I
was talking to Mai—.”
“Mai?”
“The ‘green butterfly’. You might remember her. She’s the fourteen year old who
got sold to Asahi who came home with us tonight.” Genji’s voice growled. “She’s
been given enough drugs to drop a horse and is going to need a few weeks to
clean up.”
“Then what?” Hanzo growled back. “What are you and Mai going to do then?”
“I…She’s going to…to….”
“You do not know.” Hanzo looked at Genji with disdain. “You do not know what
you are going to do next. You do not know what to do without the Shimada
organization supporting you parties and your clothes and your cars.” He frowned
at Genji’s back. “You need the organization.
“What are you going to do without us, Genji? You do not have money on your own.
You do not have any skills that anyone else wants. Are you going to chop
vegetables at a restaurant with that sword?
“Genji, you can spout all day about how you want to change the world and how
you are going to remake it in your image of what is right and wrong. But you
are going to go nowhere and do nothing without the money that I make in this
organization.” Genji opened his mouth helplessly. “I made the money for your
sword, for your clothes, for this house…even for Mai. I did it moving all dirty
money and weapons and drugs that you have decided you want to take apart.
“So what are you going to do, Genji? If you do anything, you are going to face
the full fury of the Shimada clan. If you turn against me, then you turn
against all of us.”
“Good to know the odds.” Genji stared at his sword. “At least then I won’t be
surprised.”
“You will face every single one of the Shimada. The police and Interpol won’t
even get a chance at your carcass. Every single Shimada will hunt your scent,
no matter where you think you can go and wherever you think you can hide.”
Genji was silent. “And Mai will be the first hit. She will be the very first on
your line for destruction. Do you think anyone will stop for her? Just to get
to you, do you think that a single one of the Bell Crickets, the Shimada, the
Ice Foxes or the police will stop at anything to get to you?”
Hanzo turned away again, tossed a look over his shoulder. “Good evening to you
and your butterfly—Mai.”
Genji looked at him sourly. “I would wish you and yours a good evening—only
someone left her behind.”
The next morning their father summoned them both for breakfast. Hanzo smiled
stiffly as the older man began his normal lecture of How To Run The Shimada
Clan, wondering where his younger brother was as the servants tended them and
the empty chair at the table.
“Where is your younger brother, Hanzo?” his father asked sharply.
“He…he is—,” Hanzo began.
“He is likely still asleep,” his father interrupted. “You should take him in
hand while there is still time to mold him into a proper Shimada.”
A servant came in with fresh hot tea. “Master Genji is just waking up. He sends
his regrets.”
Hanzo sighed, not entirely unsurprised. “Where is my brother now?”
“He is in his office,” the servant muttered. “Do you want me to fetch him?”
Hanzo glanced at his father’s face. The older man seemed to—for a moment—be
surprised. Then he shook his head. “I will go to his office instead. There are
a few things we need to discuss.”
His father grunted. “I suppose that you’re off as well? Does no one have time
to pay proper respect?”
Hanzo wiped his mouth on the thick linen napkin. “With all due respect, I will
go to my own office and continue your legacy of hard work and advancing the
Shimada clan.”
Just as the servant said, Genji was in the office and on his cell phone. Hanzo
felt somewhat relieved with that concession, although his casual attire—his
coat tossed carelessly over a chair along with his tie and his shirt sleeves
most casually folded up above his elbow and the top few buttons undone—left
much to be desired.
Hanzo dropped a short, shallow bow in greeting. “Good morning, Genji.” He
looked around. Somehow the office seemed to breathe chaos as papers were
stacked haphazardly all over the place. There was a slightly irreverent
dartboard on a wall with several small throwing knives in it, opposite the
tasteful abstract oil painting on the opposite wall. “It is nice to see you up
so early. But do you have to be…undressed?”
Genji glared up at him with dry and bloodshot eyes. He covered the mouthpiece
of his phone. “Did you need me?” Hanzo gestured for him to continue his call.
“Tell you what, I’ll call you back.” He tossed the phone on the desk. “So, what
do I owe the honor of your visit? I’m about to leave to collect the protection
money from the far eastern side.”
“Not looking like that,” Hanzo gritted out. Picking up the tie, he yanked up
his brother’s collar and fastened the top buttons. “At least pretend that you
care about your image.”
Genji snatched the tie out of his brother’s grasp and settled it around his
neck. “I got it.” Folding down the collar smoothly, he began fastening his
sleeves. “You don’t need to stand over me like a mother goose.”
Hanzo folded his arms impatiently. “So where were you during breakfast?”
Genji grimaced, clumsily trying to get the buttons on his wrist fastened. “I
got something here.”
Hanzo looked over at the desk. There was a cold cup of tea and a plate with
half a doughnut on it. “I see.” He felt a small smile on his mouth. “But….”
“But nothing,” Genji snapped. His other cufflink was…somewhere, right? “I’m
here. I’m working. I’m getting ready to go out and continue working.”
“You know that if you simply wore them, you would not be missing your cufflink
when it was time to go out?” Hanzo asked placidly. “And how is your butterfly
this morning?”
“Mai,” Genji corrected, shifting a pile of papers aside only to have them fall
over. “Her name is ‘Mai’.”
“Mai,” Hanzo murmured, as though tasting it on his tongue. “What prompted that
name?”
“Because that’s her name, Han,” Genji snapped as his cell phone buzzed again.
“I thought you preferred ‘Bambi’ or ‘Tina’ or…,” he shuddered. “‘Nicole’.”
“Nicole was a perfectly lovely girl,” Genji grumbled, pocketing the cell phone.
“And Mai was her name before Asahi even got involved.”
Hanzo shrugged. “I suppose it’s a nice enough name.” He looked on as his
younger brother shuffled some more papers around and finally found his missing
cufflink. “So…why her? What was so special about her?”
Genji slipped the cufflink in and went to pick up his jacket. He shrugged into
it carelessly. “What was so special about yours?”
Hanzo looked at him curiously. “I…I suppose to each his own. It is—.” He
paused. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.”
“Yui,” Genji said suddenly. “Mai looks like Yui.”
Hanzo sighed out a breath. “So that is what has been going on.” He smiled in
patronizing understanding as Genji looked at him in confusion. “That is why you
have insisted on bringing up—.”
“Don’t even say it,” Genji hissed as he plucked some keys out from under a
motley collection of pens, thin knives, two gun clips and two address books.
“It’s just…. I felt sorry for her. Yui was about her age the last time we saw
her alive.” Genji's hands curled into fists unconsciously. “I couldn’t save
her. We couldn’t save any of them….”
Hanzo said nothing. Only watched his brother leave. It was a bit of a relief to
know what maggot had been chewing Genji’s thoughts. At least now, he was better
prepared to deal with the younger man. He went back to his office thoughtfully.
At noon, he was relieved to see Genji was back in his office, tapping keys and
listening to his cell phone.
He had barely gotten to his own desk when a servant came in with a tray for his
lunch. Hanzo nodded, taking a call. The servant fluttered around, fiddling with
the napkin and pouring the tea.
Covering the phone, he glared at the hapless inferior and whispered harshly,
“Is there something wrong?”
“Master Genji, sir,” the servant whispered in return, mindful of the phone. “He
is no longer in his office.”
Hanzo puffed out a breath. Didn’t that just figure? He couldn’t keep it up a
full day. “In a moment. I will deal with him after this call.”
But by the time he was done, the servant was back with a completely unnecessary
fresh cup of tea. “I’m sorry, Master. He is back. Perhaps—.”
“Perhaps you just missed him,” Hanzo grunted.
“I will keep an eye on his office, if you like?”
Hanzo looked at the cold lunch. Somehow the chicken and broccoli didn’t seem so
appealing now that it was, at best, lukewarm. “If you must.”
“I will be happy to tell you when he….”
Hanzo sighed. Just what he needed—a spy inside the estate. Rolling his eyes
slightly, he nodded. “Just text me.”
The servant nodded nervously, bowing repeatedly. “Of course, Master Hanzo.
Whatever you say.”
Hanzo grunted, dismissing both the servant and the problem from his mind. If
anyone was that worried about Genji coming and going, they could deal with it.
Unfortunately, about an hour and a half later, there began a series of texts:
“1:25 - Master Genji is missing. His assistant doesn’t know where he is.”
“2:49 - He has returned to the office. His assistant still doesn’t know where
he went.”
“3:17 - He received a call and left again.”
“4:09 - He has returned. No explanation.”
“5:02 - He told his assistant he was getting dinner in his apartment.”
“5:49 - Returned.”
“6:43 - Told his assistant to mind his own business.”
Hanzo grunted shortly. His own day—11 plus hours by his own count—was shortly
going to be finished, in time for dinner and a quiet workout in the dojo. He
set the last of his papers in their folder and locking the folder in his desk
drawer. He logged out of his computer, folded up the charging cord neatly and
tucked them in their leather bag.
The servant came bustling in again, holding yet another cup of hot tea. Hanzo
grunted and was about to wave him away when the nervous man spoke, “Master
Genji has…a message for you.”
“Oh?”
The servant bowed anxiously. “Yes, Master Hanzo. He said…that if you wanted to
know what he was doing, then you should ask him.”
Hanzo couldn’t help but laugh at Genji’s impertinence. “That does sound like
Genji.” He waved at the man. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes, sir, Master Hanzo. He said he was going to go collect the money tonight
and to not worry about it. That he…regrets his absences but they was
unavoidable.” The servant looked at Hanzo with confusion. “He said that…his
butterfly needed his attention.” The servant looked confused and then shrugged
a little in confusion. “He said that you would understand.”
Hanzo sighed and nodded. “I do. Thank you.”
The servant smiled nervously setting the cup down only to pick it back up
again. “Will…will there be anything else, Master Hanzo?”
“No,” Hanzo sighed, reaching for his cell phone. “That is all. Good evening.”
The servant bowed out, taking the cup of tea with him. Hanzo grunted, looking
over the office again. The papers were locked up, the books neatly in their
shelves, all of the electronics shut down and neatly stashed. Hanzo couldn’t
resist one more task—texting his brother. “Where are you?”
“@ the office. U?”
“I am getting ready to go to the dojo.”
“Nice. <3”
Hanzo chuckled wryly. “And you?”
“On the clock 2 8:34 tonight. At least.”
“So late?” Hanzo snorted at his phone in the empty office. “Busy day?”
“Mai needed help. Detox sux.” A pause. “She needed me, Han.” Another pause.
“Can’t wait to see how you do.”
Hanzo shook his head a little wearily. “Anything I can do?”
“Just time. Breaks for her. Will do my part—just need time.” Hanzo was about to
put away the phone when another text came in with a merry chirp.
“Don’t spy on me. If you want to know, come ask.”
Things were tense and silent the next day and the next. True to his word, after
his office was moved, Genji was diligent about putting in exactly 8 hours
working a day. It wasn’t all at once—the servants and attendants were faithful
about reporting his movements—because he was called to his apartments many
times a day to soothe the girl that no one else was allowed to tend—but it was
at least 8.
Genji’s parties and reckless ways were curtailed as well. He went to work and
to his apartments. Every email and meeting was attended to swiftly and curtly.
Hanzo was somewhat soothed as Genji seemed to finally be settling down. Even
the elders and rank and file of the Shimada clan were starting to unite and
believe that Genji and Hanzo were living up to their expectations.
Then, several weeks later, Hanzo was nursing a lovely ceramic mug of hot, sweet
green tea and a fresh, hot sata andagi over a thick parcel of papers for a new
company he was going to purchase when his phone rang.
“Hai.” His voice was smooth and deep, relaxed.
“Honored Sir,” Asahi’s voice sing-song floated over the line.
“Asahi-san,” Hanzo grunted. “What do you want? Another auction?”
Asahi laughed shortly. “Why, Honored Sir, I had no idea that you were so
interested in expanding your collection of butterflies! If you wish to attend
another auction, you need only tell me.” He let a little laugh escape and
instantly Hanzo felt his teeth clench. “I only wanted to inform you that your
little butterfly is at last ready.”
Hanzo blinked a little. Had really three weeks passed so swiftly? He checked
his calendar and, in fact four and a half weeks had passed. “Really?”
“Hmm…. Indeed, Honored Sir.” Asahi let out a breathless giggle. “And may I say
that such a beautiful butterfly has never before graced my house. You would not
believe the wonder—but I forget myself. If we may arrange a meeting?”
“Tonight?”
“As you wish, of course. At any point, you are welcome to come to my house.”
“I will see you—,” Hanzo heard a knock a the door and grunted, hearing someone
slide the door open. “—at eight o’clock to pick her up.” Hanzo’s eyes flicked
up and he saw Genji—proud and wounded and weary—standing in front of his desk.
Genji’s eyes glittered with something that Hanzo could not name and he missed
whatever Asahi simpered on about. He told Asahi good-bye and then hung up.
Genji stared at him silently. And Hanzo sighed, “What do you want, Genji?”
“You’re going back to get her?” At Hanzo’s short nod, he puffed out some air.
“At least that is good.”
“Good?” Hanzo smirked. “My thanks for your approval.”
“Smart ass.”
“Why is it so important to you anyway?”
“You aren’t going to leave her there.” He frowned as he glanced at his cell
phone. “I’ll tell Mai and go with you.”
“You will go tell Mai?” Hanzo frowned. “Is it wise to tell a—?”
“Don’t even say it,” Genji growled.
“It cannot be wise to tell a prostitute everything,” Hanzo protested. “Besides,
I am hardly a child to be led about by the hand.”
“I can’t wait. She’ll be done with dinner then,” Genji continued. His eyes
twinkled, but not with mirth. “I can be here at 7:30.”
Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Do not—.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to see this,” Genji smirked sadly. “Besides, I’ve got to go.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see exactly what kind of woman is the woman of your
fantasies.”
So, at 7:30 Hanzo neatly put his folders and papers away, shut down his
computer, locked his drawers and got his coat. Genji was in the hallway, in a
neat silver pinstripe suit. They walked out to the driveway and the waiting
car.
Genji slid in and cocked his gun.
“Expecting trouble?” Hanzo asked.
“No,” Genji lied. Even Hanzo knew he was lying. Sighing, he pulled out a
discrete gun and tucked it into his shoulder holster. But then Genji caught his
eye and shrugged. “But I am thinking that you’re in trouble.”
They drove up to the house without comment. The same formal butler opened up
the door and Hanzo couldn’t help but notice that Genji was immediately tense.
They were escorted to the front salon and left as the butler went into the back
to get Asahi.
“So what happens next?” Hanzo rumbled.
“Don’t know. I told them I didn’t want them to touch Mai and that I’d start
shooting if they did. I had Kiko watch over her at the weird double-decker
tables and snatched her while you were dickering with Asahi.”
Just then, Asahi burst in with white and silver kimono. “Forgive me for not
being here the moment you arrived. There was a lovely little caterpillar who
needed a bit of extra encouragement to succeed.” He smiled and folded his hands
dramatically. “And of course, Mister Shimada, your lovely butterfly is
absolutely adorable.”
Hanzo only raised an eyebrow and settled in the patient, stoic posture that
people generally reserve for waiting out temper tantrums. He used silence as a
weapon as surely as the thin, razor sharp knives that he had tucked in wrist
sheaths underneath the several hundred yen tailored shirt and the multi-
thousand yen suit. Genji also settled in to wait, smirking as his brother’s
overpowering personality filled the entire room.
Asahi obviously didn’t have the same understanding and simply giggled. Then,
with what appeared to be a happy sigh, he smiled and began again, “I do not
believe that such a lovely butterfly has graced my halls in some time.” He
gestured towards the interior gardens. “If you will come with me, Honored Sir,
then we will go forward with our celebrations.”
Hanzo waited a long moment, allowing silence to keep Asahi slightly
uncomfortable. Then, ever so slightly, he nodded stiffly. Asahi grinned and
turned away slightly and Genji and Hanzo both moved forward. Asahi’s eyes
widened at the unblinking and direct stares of the brothers, before he shrugged
and led them both through.
Asahi stopped at the room with the marble stage. With a theatrical pursing of
the lips, he sing-songed, “Only one at a time, Honored Sir.” Genji glanced
inside at the empty room and its plain furniture of cushions, the single low
table and the marble square glowing in the spotlight. He nodded shortly at
Hanzo who walked in, before lounging against the door. “If you please, Sir.”
Hanzo knelt on one cushion, watching as Asahi fussed with his robes and knelt.
The slender man opened his lips and Hanzo interrupted shortly, “Where is she?”
Asahi put his hands into his sleeves and then pulled them out. “Just a moment,
Honored Sir.” He paused. “She is walking down the hall as we speak.”
A squeak of the floorboards sounded almost musically and within a moment, Genji
opened the door. Hanzo noted the slight flush to his brother's cheeks and how
his eyes were studiously downcast, looking away from her. Then, with a quick
glance to Hanzo, he closed the door.
Somehow the little black butterfly was almost unrecognizable to Hanzo. Her
curves were amazing, her breasts full and flawless globes. Her waist was
tapered in to make a man’s mouth water and flowed into beautiful hips. Her hair
was clean and silky and shiny and her long fingers were tipped with shiny nails
with a clear varnish. With those high-heeled sandals, her legs seemed endlessly
long and her skin was like buffed porcelain.
Hanzo took a deep breath in his belly, clearing his head of cobwebs, as she
stepped up on top of the marble square and into the unforgiving brilliance of
the spotlight. With slight gestures, Asahi had her slowly turn, showing every
inch of her skin. With every posture and move, Asahi showed off her beauty.
Hanzo wanted, desperately, to touch her skin to see if it was actually as
polished as it looked, but instead, he allowed Asahi to continue the show.
Finally, the girl was allowed to stop. A light sweat glistened on her skin.
Asahi was still trilling on and finally Hanzo was finally listening, “—and I
believe that you can see how she glows now.” He smirked. “And the black
butterfly is now ready fly to…your arms.”
Hanzo did not allow the slightest crack in his expression or posture. Instead,
he just looked her over as she stood in the spotlight. So far so good—she had
no obvious bruises or scratches. She had been responsive to Asahi’s
signals—whether they were hand gestures or trigger words. Her hair was clean
and glistened in the harsh light. For the moment, she seemed to be in good
health and free of the grip of whatever drugs she might have been given.
He grunted and said, “Show me her eyes, Asahi.”
“Ahh…yes, you did request gray eyes. Little butterfly, you may raise your eyes
now.”
Hanzo studied her carefully. Her eyes were now clearly gray, a pale gray that
reminded him of storm clouds. Somehow, despite all of Asahi’s training and
whatever she had been through, her eyes sparkled slightly. There still was
something in them—a question or a desire that he wanted to answer—but, they
were clear and met his own gaze without the slightest trace of drugs.
Hanzo paused again, stone faced, and then finally snapped and pointed to the
third cushion. She glanced at Asahi and then at his slight nod, she glided off
the marble and to the cushion. Her cheeks flushed slightly, glancing up at him
with a crackle of chagrin as she knelt, folded her hands on her thighs and
dipped her head modestly.
Hanzo finally looked back at Asahi with a slight nod.
Asahi nodded slightly in return. He tucked his hand inside his sleeves again
and nodded in return. “And you are at last pleased?” Hanzo nodded. “How
wonderful. You have a truly beautiful butterfly.” He smiled as Genji slid open
the door and a black robed figure brought in a shiny black-lacquered tray with
an unopened bottle of high-end tequila next to a tumbler filled with ice and a
carafe of sake with a tiny, thimble sized cup. A small bowl held narrow wedges
of limes and lemons. As swiftly as the figure appeared in the door, the tray
was set on the corner of the table and then the figure retreated.
Asahi pulled out a pile of papers and a leather folder. “Let us take care of
the uncomfortable bits and then, have a happy drink to new the new butterfly.”
The papers were prosaic—a list of codes and brief, 80 character explanations
and then a number. There was a line item of a “SHMD discount - 15%” and it took
off the correct amount, undercutting Asahi’s initial figure by a few thousand
yen.
“All of the paperwork appears to be in order, Honored Sir,” Asahi smiled. “If
you would care to explain how you intend to—.”
“Butterfly,” Hanzo snapped. “Go to the door and tell Genji to bring in the
suitcase.”
The woman rose quickly and went to the door. She knocked softly and Genji
opened up almost immediately. She spoke softly and Genji nodded, glancing at
Hanzo before going out. She closed the door gently and then returned to her
position on the cushion.
Asahi was content to wait for once in silence, only pulling out yet another one
of his carved fans to begin waving it back and forth gently. After a few
minutes, Genji knocked sharply and then entered a second later with a heavy
metal suitcase. With a graceful flourish, he moved to the corner of the table
opposite the drink tray, set the suitcase on the table and then opened it.
Asahi’s eyes widened slightly and his fan fluttered in his hand as the bearer
bonds were displayed in the suitcase.
“I believe that you will find the full amount here,” Hanzo said softly.
Asahi smiled and glanced over the bonds. “I do believe that you are correct,
Honored Sir.”
Genji closed the case, snapped the locks closed and stood over the case. Hanzo
looked at the paperwork patiently. Asahi smiled and turned to the last page.
Pulling out the carbon copy papers that looked on the surface like a standard
sales contract for what was listed as a “Exotic Butterfly - Custom Display +
Appearance/Mount” and boilerplate legalese listing Asahi Yamato as the seller
and Hanzo Shimada as the buyer. The price was listed on the bottom and Asahi
signed with a flourish. Hanzo signed in a firm, spare hand and as Hanzo spun it
around back to Asahi, Genji pulled a key out of a hidden pocket and tossed it
on top of the contract.
“How marvelous to do business with such discerning and discrete gentlemen,”
Asahi smiled. “Shall we have that drink? I believe that we need another sake
cup.” Without waiting for an answer, he waved his fingers and the dark haired
woman stood and quietly slipped out. Within a credible three minutes, another
tiny cup for sake appeared. “Why don’t you pour, little butterfly? Your
collector will have the Casa Dragones, I believe.”
Her hands drifted over the bottle and she wrapped her fingers uncertainly
around the neck of the bottle. She bit her lip adorably as she wrestled with
the tight silver top. It freed itself with a loud pop and she let out a little
squeak at the sound. Asahi shot a half second glare at her, but shrugged as she
began pouring into the prepared tumbler. She slid it in front of Hanzo with a
half smile that echoed Asahi’s expression. Then, with more confidence, she
poured the sake with what was apparently the expected grace and slid it in
front of Genji.
Genji shot her a smile, but refused to take it. She paused, with an uncertain
moue, flicking a glance up at the younger brother. He kept his stance, watching
things carefully and shook his head slightly.
She nodded slightly and then poured sake again, sliding it in front of Asahi.
He looked at her distantly, his smile not wavering. Replacing the carafe, she
knelt again, but not before catching Hanzo’s gaze for a fraction of a
second—gray meeting chocolate.
Asahi reached for his sake cup, and then looked at the brothers. “Would you
care for some other drink?”
“Genji is…,” Hanzo started.
Asahi was already nodding and smiling. “Of course, he’s working. And you?”
Hanzo pushed the drink towards the woman. “Why not let her have a taste?”
Asahi’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Spoiling the little butterfly, already?”
Genji snorted. “Testing for poison.” He nodded at the woman. “Drink up. Then
take a piece of ice and suck on it.”
She took the cup as Genji ordered, her gaze flickering again at Hanzo for his
nod of approval. After only a few hesitant swallows, she finished the tequila.
With timid fingers, she pulled out a piece of ice and sucked on it for a few
moments. Then she set the glass down again.
“Now pour a drink for your collector, you silly thing,” Asahi giggled. “Before
he simply perishes from thirst.”
She nodded and poured again, sliding it in front of Hanzo. He frowned slightly
and the little glance she had given him with a tiny grin suddenly flattened
nervously as she pulled back to her cushion.
“To a most exacting and discerning collector,” Asahi smiled, toasting with his
sake. Hanzo picked up the tumbler, regretting his order at the auction since
obviously that was now his “regular drink”, and tipped it slightly towards
Asahi. With flare, Asahi took a sip, watching with as Hanzo sipped the tequila.
“It is always a pleasure to conclude such business.”
His hands reached out to the key and, with Genji and Hanzo both silent, he slid
it into whatever pocket he had up his sleeve. He smiled again, his eyes cat-
like, and passed the leather portfolio to Genji. “Again, I am honored, Sir.”
With a little smirk, he took the handle of the suitcase and everyone stood,
except for the kneeling woman. “But, alas, we are busy. A new collection of
caterpillars takes so much time to have them blossom into butterflies.”
Asahi gave a little bow and then glided out of the room. Genji’s eyes followed
him with suspicion, while Hanzo only grunted again. Hanzo puffed out some air
and turned to the door, exchanging a curious look with his brother.
“So are you going to actually take her home with us?” Genji smirked as he
handed his older brother the portfolio. “Or just leave her on her knees here?”
Hanzo started and jerked to look at him. “Take it from me, she’s not a mind
reader and she’ll take you literally on anything that you say.”
Hanzo sighed shortly, closing his eyes as he felt a headache forming. “Stand
up, Female.”
She stood up hesitantly, closing her eyes and shaking her head a bit. Genji
smirked, and said, “I don’t think your butterfly is used to tequila.”
“Just follow me,” Hanzo ordered shortly, his hand gesturing angrily.
She was silent as she followed him through the building and it wasn't until
Genji coughed hesitantly that Hanzo realized—belatedly—that she was not exactly
dressed to go outside. He stood for a moment and she lowered her eyes at his
hard gaze. With a grunt, he took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her,
which caused Genji to nod his approval.
Peculiarly, as she stood in the vestibule wrapped twice over in his suit coat
like a tiny child playing dress up in her father’s clothes, she didn’t have the
slightest reaction to being naked or clothed. When he turned to face her and
the hand tooled shoulder holster gleamed in the light with the mother of pearl
stock of his gun shimmering like a beacon, she only glanced at it without any
sort of indication of judgement or slightest flicker on her placid face.
Hanzo’s Adam's apple bobbed uncertainly at her cool gaze. He was used to women
watching him—from terrified gang whores to various family of “business
associates” to the eager barracudas who trawled for wealthy men to show them a
good time to the casual double takes from women on the street. He had seen
every feminine reaction from ravenous lust to the coolly feigned interest to
fear and everything in between.
But this was…no reaction at all. She stood there wrapped in his coat and paying
polite attention to him. She didn’t blush or try to cover herself with her
hands. She didn’t giggle nervously or flinch and stare at the gun in fear. She
didn’t even look at Genji. He was prepared for just about any reaction that
anyone else had given him and none of those shown on her face. The only thing
that she showed was a slightly anxious look when he frowned.
“Shall we go?” Genji smirked.
She didn’t turn. She didn’t nod or shake her head. She didn’t even seemed to
have heard him. She was not even paying attention to anyone else in the
room—even when the butler came through silently to stand by the front door.
Hanzo swallowed heavily and then turned to go. The girl followed silently,
watching him with a persistence and thoroughness he found a little
intimidating. He could barely hear her shoes tapping on the smooth stones of
the driveway. The bodyguard held open the door for him and the driver held open
the opposite door for Genji. The girl trailed behind him, to the amusement of
the big man at the door. Hanzo forgot her for a moment and was about to slam
the door himself when he caught another glimpse of her. Grunting, he slid over
and, after another awkward moment, patted the seat.
She slid in quietly, staring at her hands as the car rumbled out of the
driveway. Genji lounged in the corner, watching them with a grin on his face
that seemed to be ready to break into a sarcastic smile. Hanzo looked over at
his brother and frowned slightly, not feeling the slightest amusement. He was
about to give the girl one of his usual, trite excuses that he offered whenever
Genji was being irritating or embarrassing, but then he saw that the coat had
gaped open, offering a shadowed view of her breasts.
“Cover yourself,” he grunted at her.
That startled her. She looked up at him strangely, curiously, as though she
were puzzling out what he had just said. Then, with a silent nod, her slender
hand slid out of the long sleeves and clutched the lapels closer to her.
The Shimada estate’s stately drive through closely cropped lawn and past
spotlit trees failed to soothe Hanzo. Genji handed him the portfolio without
further comment, just a sarcastic smile, and went to his apartments silently.
Hanzo felt his headache spreading. Grunting, he led the girl to his apartments
and shoved her inside. Lacking a better idea, he locked her inside the
apartment, and went to his office.
Several hours later, he had cleared his pile of paperwork and had issued all of
the necessary orders—collecting protection money, finding the few rogues and
snitches that dared cross him, called his contacts for various favors, and
delegated a few tasks to Genji. He was too efficient for the backlog of work to
take him more than a few hours.
Which left the leather portfolio on his desk. He stared at it. It was a plain
brown leather thing, with not the slightest hint of what it contained. He was
almost afraid to ask—would it be some kind of lurid advertisement for Asahi’s
peculiar services or a catalogue of other caterpillars or some kind of
paperwork on what he could do?
But morbid curiosity was a luxury he did not allow himself often and there was
not any reason that he couldn’t look through it. So, with a cup of really hot
tea at his elbow, he opened it, resolving to burn it if it was some kind of
advertising gimmick.
But, instead it was a series of pictures of his…butterfly. One was a picture
right at the auction with the silly lacy outfit in black. There was a printout
of her “Initial Measurements”, along with a picture of her, again nude, against
a grid showing her measurements. Then there was a series of her in various
poses, highlighting her “training”. A flamboyant font printed out what was
supposed to be catchy captions—“See how she strains at the ropes” and
“Butterfly’s Butt”—and small cards with what appeared to be grades on every
individual fetish he could readily think of. Interspersed with these were
reappearances of her against the grid, where he could clearly see her curves
becoming more generous and lovely. There was even a pair of close ups of her
face, where he could see her eyes before and after whatever it was Asahi did.
He could not remember the office being so hot. Or so dry. He supposed that it
was the air conditioning so that the computers were okay. He took a deep drink
of tea, hoping it would clear up the lump in his throat. The last photos were
breathtaking as she posed in what amounted to straps of leather and a lacy
mask.
Flushed and annoyed at the unwelcome response to the photos, he closed up his
office and stalked down the halls towards his apartments. Sighing, he told
himself that he needed this reminder to maintain zanshin—a mind that was calm,
at peace, and ready. This was, in fact, not an inconvenience, it was, instead,
a timely reminder that he needed to be constantly vigilant and mindful of his
own weaknesses.
Considerably calmed with that realization, he walked into the apartments with
almost a grin on his lips. His apartments were an oasis of calm—soothing slate
blue walls, austere examples of calligraphy on the walls, the furniture in the
Japanese style precisely placed to in accordance with feng-shui to grant him
peace and good luck.
He peeled off the leather holsters and walked to the weapons safe in the
immense closet in his sitting room. This was simply the universe attending to
his benefit. He opened up the safe and slid the weapons into their precise
places before noticing that his jacket was hanging neatly just beside the safe.
That was not where it was supposed to go.
Taking the jacket out of that closet, he walked to his bedroom. Everything was
in its place—even the gold cufflinks and Rolex on his dresser. The bed was
spotlessly pristine—the sheets and corners crisp. He took out a mahogany hanger
and slid it into the jacket and hung it in the bedroom. Taking a deep breath,
he was ready to shower when an unfamiliar, unexpected and entirely imprecise
sound tinkled through the doorway to the bathroom.
But even that didn’t puncture his aura of calm. She was here to enhance his
discipline and for that, he was almost grateful. Then, with what might have
been called a grin on his face, he went into the bathroom.
His butterfly was kneeling in front of the toilet, scooping water out and
drinking it.
That shattered his calm. Now, everyone knew that, despite the unsavory
location, the water in the toilet was ultimately clean enough to drink in a
pinch. But to have the naked woman choosing that over using the neat stack of
paper cups on the sink grated his nerves.
He coughed harshly—the sort of cough that caused grown men to shiver and
instantly direct 100% of their attention to him.
And she did suddenly become riveted to him, scrabbling into a kneeling posture
with her hands folded on her legs and her eyes modestly downcast and her face
washed out white except for the spots of color on her cheeks and the tips of
her ears.
“What did you think you were doing?” he demanded in a soft tone.
Her eyes screwed tightly closed and, ever so slightly, her knuckles were white.
He thought he saw a slight shudder. Then, in a soft, hesitant voice, she
answered him. “A-a-a drink, sir…. Master.”
“There are cups,” he said, pointing to the white sink set in dark granite.
“They…yours…I-I-I…I didn’t think—d-don’t d-deserve..—.”
“Come here,” he ordered in that same soft tone. Taking one of the cups, he
filled it with water and pressed it into her hands as soon as she stood. “Now
drink.”
She flushed and drank deeply. With a quick glance, she looked around the
bathroom again. There was absolutely no clue what he expected, and finally, she
placed the cup on the counter.
“Throw it away, girl,” he growled. She nodded and watched it fall into the
empty can. With a grunt, he gestured to the bedroom. She nodded and followed
him out. He was mildly amused that she was stepping exactly where he stepped on
the lush carpet. As soon as she was clear of the doorways, she knelt again,
clearly listening and paying attention to his every motion even though her
posture suggested she was trying to be a piece of furniture.
He unfastened the belt at his waist and heard her quick intake of breath.
Glancing over at her with surprise, he saw that her hands were definitely
knotted together and she had gone ghostly pale again. For a moment, he wondered
what had set her off and then looked at the belt in his hands.
“Tell me, are you going to gasp every time I remove my belt?”
She seemed to think about it for a moment. Then, with a soft shake of her head,
she whispered, “Only when I have displeased you, Master.”
He grinned wolfishly. “Ah. And what horrible sin did you commit?”
“I did not think you wanted me to use your cups.”
He nodded and hung up the belt. Beginning the tedious process of unbuttoning
his suit shirt, he kept an eye on her. “And why would I not want you to use the
cups?” He cocked his head and added, “What am I to call you anyway?”
“Whatever you please, Master,” she said in a musical tone that seemed to sing
to him that it was the pat, rehearsed response.
“Surely you have a name?”
“Only whatever name you give me,” she replied with that same practiced, musical
tone.
He rolled his eyes as he dumped the shirt in the clothes hamper. “So is there a
name that you like?” She shook her head slightly. “Then I get to name you?” She
nodded. “And if I decide to call you something else? Something…offensive?” She
glanced at him curiously. “If I decide to call you—,” he paused trying to come
up with something suitably insulting and failing. “‘Slut’ or ‘Whore’, then you
have to answer to it?”
She nodded, her hands gradually relaxing and some color coming back to her
cheeks. Then, on impulse, she added, “Whatever you please. I’ve been ‘Whore’
and ‘Slut’ and ‘Slave’ as well as other things.”
“And what else do I get to do?”
“Anything you wish.”
He sighed. He hadn’t honestly expected anything else, but it was a bit
irritating nonetheless. “Very well. Do not complain to me if you do not like
it.” He picked up a t-shirt and slid into it. “So what do you think we should
do now?” He grinned at her and held up a hand. “No, let me guess. ‘Whatever I
want’.”
She looked up at him, her breath catching a bit. “I…I would like to know my
rules, Master. I-I-if it pleases you.”
“Rules?” He thought for a moment. “Do not get in my way.” She nodded solemnly.
“Do not touch my weapons—ever.” She nodded again. “Do what I say, when I say
it, and do not argue.” He paused a bit and then added, “Do not leave the
apartment.”
He turned his back to her and slid off the suit pants and into a pair of
comfortable sweatpants. “I am busy a lot, so I may not be here for a few days
at a time.” He turned back around and found her watching him closely. Folding
the pants, he put them on a hanger over the hamper. “You are not to leave for
any reason and do not touch a thing unless I tell you.”
She nodded in agreement, curiosity in her eyes. “But am I not to clean?”
He smirked. “There are staff to do all that I need. There is no need for you to
spend your days cleaning.”
“Then I am to attend you?”
He about choked. “I am…. I am fine.” She cocked her head in confusion,
reminding him uncomfortably of Yui and Ichika when they were filled with
questions. “I do not need…attending.”
Finally, she looked up at him, her gray eyes amazing and boring into his.
“And…am I going to be punished?”
He laughed shortly. “Obey me and you will not be punished.” Then the demon
inside him laughed and he added, “But, of course, I will punish you if you need
it.” She nodded surprisingly and then, slowly, crawled past him to the belt.
With a questioning look, her finger touched it. Shuddering, she looked at him
and then the belt again. Impatiently, he growled, “And you will wish for
something as sweet as a beating if I have to punish you.”
“T-T-Then, should we put the belt where you can reach it easily?”
He choked again and sucked in a breath. “I like it where it is.” She nodded,
kneeling again, glancing up at him. “I expect you to ask questions if you do
not understand, but only when we are alone.” He frowned and cocked his head.
“And absolutely do not take any orders from Genji—he will get you in trouble if
he can. In fact, just do not talk to him. That is easier.”
“How do I—entice you?” She looked at his shocked face. “I am here to please
you.”
“Do you want to entice me?” He laughed. “And do not dare say ‘if it pleases
me’.” Her mouth closed with a soft sound. “Is intimacy that important to you?”
“I am supposed to please you,” she said solemnly, like a child repeating from
rote memory history facts. “If I do not, then….” She shivered. “What happens?”
“I will correct you,” Hanzo repeated firmly. “Then we will see what happens.”
She nodded seriously. “I don’t want to be….”
“You will not, if you listen to my rules,” he offered with a generous smiled.
“I will not hurt you unnecessarily.”
She frowned slightly in confusion. “And…you will…for pleasure?”
“Pleasure?!”
“Of course,” she nodded seriously. “When you wish to be pleasured by my pain?”
Hanzo felt suddenly overheated and his face was blazing. Had he not gone
through that little damning portfolio, he would have been utterly flummoxed.
Lacking a response, he muttered, “We will see what we both enjoy.”
She nodded again thoughtfully. “I will endeavor to please you with my pain.”
He sighed. “Why not go find something to do while I take a shower?”
She smiled widely. “I can bathe you!”
He chuffed out a laugh. “Not tonight greedy little butterfly.” He nudged her
with his knee and she moved further out into the bedroom as he went to the
shower. It was a blessing to have hot water and great billows of steam to sink
into. His body—undisciplined as he apparently was—was hard and hot in
anticipation. Unfortunately, he was having a difficult time with his mind as
well—it kept drifting into exciting little fantasies that were dark and
dangerous and titillating all at the same time. All the shameful erotic
fantasies he hadn’t even dreamed of actually doing—leather straps and rubber
toys and sharp strikes—kept drifting in his head.
Thankfully, he had another tap—cold as icy as the steam was hot. The water
helped him cool off—at least enough that he felt he could go back into his
apartments. The towels were bothersome—not so soft that they managed to ease
him through this unexpected ache in his loins and not so rough as to distract
from it. But, he was dressed and decent and able to face her again.
She was peeking into the sitting room, her lovely butt facing him.
Surprisingly, there were two small lines on her back, one on each side of her
spine that he could see now that she wasn't in a blinding spotlight. Her hair
had grown some, drifting down her neck and hitting her shoulders. The lines
were thin and very light—almost invisible—and just when he was considering
asking her about it, he saw that her shoes were off and the faint dark spots on
the soles of her feet.
“What are those?” he breathed softly.
She let out a little squeak and whirled around to face him, her face flushed as
she knelt.
“The bottom of your feet, girl,” he said.
She flushed even darker, and whispered, “I was…not fully pleasing, Master. I
was still learning.”
He grunted. “Did he do that to you the night of the auction?” She didn’t look
like she was going to answer, but after a pregnant pause, she nodded shortly.
Sighing, he spread his hands innocently, “I told him not to punish you.
Just—just to feed you.”
She glanced up at him and took in his glaring face and then nodded. Then she
put on a brave smile, and replied, “It was…most generous of you to think about
me after the auction.”
He grunted, still disbelieving. “I suppose that you have not eaten this evening
either, have you?” She looked up at him, wide-eyed, and shook her head. “Then I
will ring for one of the servants to bring you a snack.”
The maid on duty brought him a tray of two rice balls, a cup of warm green tea,
two small candies, and an apple. She yawned slightly as she passed him the tray
and shuffled back down the hall. He closed his door, coming back into the
bedroom and setting it on the bed. It as amusing that her eyes were wide and
entirely focused on the tray. He lounged on the bed, debating what was the best
thing to start with. Picking up the tea, he took a tiny sip and let it spread
on his tongue. Disappointment flickered across her face, and he waited a
moment.
“Sometimes it is drugged or…poisoned,” he explained, swallowing the tea. “This
is fine.”
She crawled up to the bed, mewling softly as a kitten. He smiled and beckoned
her over, crooking four fingers in the come hither that his sensei often used
on him. She knelt beside him, close enough that her fingers could ghost over
his leg. He put the cup to her lips, allowed her to take a sip, and then pulled
back.
She savored the tea, her eyes closing in pleasure. Her hands dropped a little,
brushing his leg, and then pulling back suddenly. “Thank you, Master.” She
glanced at the tray nervously, her hands fluttering like baby birds. “May I
have more?”
He picked up the rice ball, sniffed it. She cracked a bit of a smile,
apparently expecting a game, and licked her lips, and whined softly. He took a
nibble of it and waited—if it was poisoned or drugged, his tongue would tell.
It was really a shame this wasn’t a game, but it was what it was. Finally, he
nodded and brought it to her lips. She was immensely pleased, sighing and
shivering as the savory bite filled her mouth. Timidly, she put her hands on
his knee, flinching a bit when he glanced at her and setting them back on the
side of the bed.
In the end, he fed her the apple, half of a rice cake, and then she whispered
that she was full. He frowned—it was hardly a meal. He picked up the candy,
unwrapping the crinkly gold foil and waving it at her. She backed up a bit,
flushing, and whispered, “I am so full, Master.”
He grunted and shrugged. “What do you normally eat?”
She licked her lips, catching one rice grain and savoring it. “Nothing so
delicious.” He smirked at her. “But we are….” Her voice trailed off
unexpectedly.
He frowned. “If you are satisfied, then we should sleep.”
Unexpectedly, she nodded solemnly and went to a corner of his bedroom and
curled up, just like a cat. She was looking at him through heavily lidded eyes
and yawned prettily. Grunting, he slid down on the bed and turned off the
light.
He was resting deeply, content and at peace, as the day dawned. She was still
curled in a ball against the corner of the bed, sleepily yawning, as he sat up
and stretched. She whimpered a little as he stood up and managed to get upright
before the knock at the door sounded.
He answered the door, taking the pile of papers and his normal breakfast tray.
Sitting at the desk in the sitting room, he picked up the chopsticks and began
eating the grilled fish and rice. The paperwork was the normal stuff, lists of
accounts, a printout of a schedule showing his meetings today. It was going to
be a blessedly normal day.
It wasn’t until he was sipping the miso soup that he remembered the girl. She
knelt in the doorway, peeking out cautiously. He smirked at her, beckoning her
closer and was gratified when she did crawl to him. She gobbled up the scraps
of his breakfast—the last swallow of soup, the crumbs of the steamed rice, and
the last bite of natto.
Surprisingly, she seemed satisfied with that, backing up to allow him to rise.
She gamely followed him around, watching as he got dressed and carefully noting
where the dirty clothes went, where the clothes were hung, even where his socks
were. Hanzo was disconcerted at first, she seemed to be taking an advanced
degree in exactly what his preferences and routines were. Then he remembered
that she was there to help him with his discipline, and he smiled again.
Things would work out well. Genji had his little butterfly and seemed to be
settling down. He had a satisfying day ahead. He would move some money into the
accounts so that his and Genji’s little purchases were covered. He would spend
a few hours with his bow hitting targets and then some time with the free
weights. Then, he’d have the cook fix his favorite sushi and some chicken with
some broccoli and mushrooms. Maybe he’d spend the evening meditating….
Of course, the day went awry quickly. The accounts did not balance as they
should and were short. There was a police case open on one of the company
fronts the Shimadas managed. Genji was sleeping in and missed their first
meeting. The accounts were filled again with a rapid infusion of money, but
there was still an unexplained deficit that amounted to tens of thousands of
dollars. He hadn’t managed to get in more than a half-hour of target practice
before Genji stalked in and began slicing the targets with his sword.
“What are you doing?!” Hanzo demanded.
Genji growled unintelligibly and then smashed another target. “The Crystal
Dragons took out Sami.” Hanzo looked at him with a little more of a blank look
than he intended and Genji growled. “Sami was managing that laundry by the
club. He wasn’t doing anything! Just folding some laundry.”
Hanzo sighed, lowering his bow. “Sami?”
“Sami’s been in charge of that place for years. He paid his protection money
the 15th every month and never gave us trouble.” Genji destroyed another
target. “And the Crystal Dragons just had to have that corner!”
Hanzo sighed heavily. Genji was getting over emotional again and he shook his
head. “We will put someone in his place.” Genji just glared at him. “And we
will….”
“Never mind,” Genji snapped.
Hanzo frowned. “Cool off. Go to your butterfly and when you are calm again, we
will get the laundry back.”
“It’s not just the laundry,” Genji snapped, glaring at him and rocking the
sword in his hands.
“Then what is it?”
Genji just sighed. “I’m going out.”
Hanzo watched him stomp away dispassionately. Finishing his own workout was
accomplished with his usual efficiency and he stalked back to his apartments.
His clothes felt sticky and smelled sweaty and he wanted nothing more than a
shower and to get some food.
The girl followed him around again, watching as he took off his clothes and
turning away at the last moment before he kicked off his pants. He grabbed a
towel and was not surprised as she scrambled behind him, putting the dirty
clothes in the hamper and carefully setting things where she had seen him put
them. He nodded shortly at her in approval as he finished his shower. “I am not
going to be here for dinner.” She watched him attentively but said nothing. “I
will have something brought to you.”
Fifteen minutes later a servant appeared with a lacquered tray and a dinner.
Hanzo put the tray down on the coffee table and waved her over. The girl crept
to the tray, her nose twitching slightly at the savory scents in the air. Hanzo
snorted at her face and she shied away bashfully. It wasn’t until he was
sliding a hidden knife into a wrist sheath and pulling out his bow and quiver
from the weapons safe that he noticed that she was simply looking at it.
“What is wrong, girl?” he snapped. She looked up at him and then back at the
tray a bit mournfully. “Is this not good enough?”
She looked up at him bashfully. “And you are not worried a-a-about poison?”
He nodded and stopped long enough to taste each small dish—a sip of soup, a bit
of rice, a nibble of the beef—and went back to his weapons. He saw her still
staring at the tray. “What’s wrong now?”
“Do I have your permission to eat?” She looked up at him with a dewy and
pleading look. “O-o-or is this a test of some kind?”
He stared at her for a moment as her words washed over him. “What? My
permission?” She glanced at the tray and nodded. “This is something that you
are tested on?” She nodded again and he rolled his eyes with a growl. Asahi was
one sick chikushou. “Go ahead and eat, girl.”
He watched as she reached for the soup and sipped it with a shiver of pleasure.
He couldn’t help but smirk at the pleasure on her face—her closed eyes, her
smile and the way she leaned back fractionally. She enjoyed even that small sip
of soup so much he wanted to simply watch as she ate.
Pity he was busy tonight.
He picked up his bow and slung the quiver over his suited shoulders. With a
pensive shrug and an absent nod towards the woman, he left the apartment,
locking the door behind him. Genji’s text came through as he was climbing into
the chauffeured car.
“EAT in 35 min.”
Hanzo frowned as he replied. Then he decided to simply call and he heard
Genji’s greeting, “Hey, this is Genji. If this is an emergency, press 1 and
leave a message. If this is not an emergency, press 2 and leave a message. If
you don’t know, press 5 and leave a message. Just leave a message after the
gunshots.” Hanzo was about to say something but Genji’s voice came back. “And
if this is Hanzo—just go away.”
Hanzo growled into the phone. “You had better be at the laundry in 30 minutes,
Genji. I do not care what you are eating.”
Five minutes later, Hanzo’s phone rang. Without preamble, Genji started, “Wrong
message. I’ll be there, Han.”
“On time?” Hanzo grunted.
“Am I ever late? Don’t answer that. I’ll be there. I’m leaving now.”
“You are only now leaving? You will be late.” Hanzo sighed. “We need you
Genji.”
“I’ll just go twice as fast. See you there.”
The laundromat was lit up—the large neon sign shining and the large fluorescent
lights showing the empty washers and dryers—but no one was in there except for
two thin teenagers pounding on the old arcade machine in the back and a pile of
blankets and empty candy wrappers from the busted snack machine.
The large, sleek black car pulled into the parking lot and Hanzo stared at the
old building as his driver stepped out and came around to his side. The body
guard was already drawing his weapons, unafraid and content with any
possibility and outcome. The teens spotted the huge guard, they ducked behind
the game machine and pulled out a cell phone.
Hanzo climbed out and leisurely pulled out his bow and knocked an arrow. With a
leisurely shot, he fired through the glass storefront and the arrow’s head was
buried between the edge of the back door and the doorframe. One terrified
teenager with a purple Mohawk and strange makeup ran to the door and pulled on
the knob and then the arrow futilely.
Hanzo’s guard went up to the glass door and opened it silently. He walked
inside silently as well, watching the two teenagers as they fumbled to pull out
a switchblade. “You are not who I was looking for.” The teenagers only growled
in reply. “I am looking for the head of the Crystal Dragons.”
One of them coughed and shouted, “You don’t know the Dragons, man. You’re dead.
You’re a dead man.”
Hanzo heard the quiet chuckle of his body guard as the man cocked his weapon
and fired at the wall over their heads. “I would suggest that you summon the
boss, then. Before my associate decides that you are not worth keeping alive
because of your utter uselessness.”
The teenagers whined and waved the tiny blade at them again. “You’re crazy man.
The boss is gonna kill you.”
“Just summon him,” Hanzo said cooly, pulling up the bow and sighting it. One of
the teenagers began crying into a cell phone. “And do not make me wait too long
or I may…let go.”
They gabbled into their device. “Boss…you’re not gonna believe it. The
Shimadas—they’re here. What do you mean who is it? It’s him and he’s pissed.
He’s got the arrows and everything. Look—just come over. What do you mean
where’s the other one? There’s two of them?!”
Hanzo felt a prickle down his spine. If Genji was here, there would be two of
them. He was about to send the body guard around the back, when he heard the
sound of a loud motorcycles peel into the parking lot. He sucked in a quick
breath and glanced at the line of dryers next to him.
The Crystal Dragons must be close if their backup had arrived so quickly. He
kept smiling at the teenagers, ready to fire. His body guard slid closer, going
shoulder to shoulder as the others came bursting in, spreading out in the
laundromat.
One leather clad individual came forward and took off the helmet. The scarred
woman growled at him and pulled out a gun. “Okay Shimada, we own this corner
fair and square and you have five seconds to go out that door and not look
back.”
Hanzo was about to seriously consider retreat when a gleam caught his eye—a
gleam of razor sharp katanas behind a leather clad biker with a full face
motorcycle helmet. He cocked a smile. “Are you sure?”
The woman got out half a snort before the katanas sang out and cut four of them
down. The bikers swung around at the bloody sounds only to see the swords swung
up again. Hanzo ignored the whiny teenagers and let his arrows fly before
rolling behind the dryers. His bodyguard was already down, peeking around the
machines and firing.
Genji’s voice rang out as there more bodies hit the ground. “Knock it off,
Brother! Just shoot them already.”
Shots were fired and Genji grunted as they hit his body armor. Hanzo growled
and began firing at the Crystal Dragons. Blood exploded in fine, red mist as
they went down from sword cuts and bullets and arrows. When they tried to face
Genji and his swords, Hanzo would pop up from behind the dryers and washers
with arrows. If they turned to fire at the archer, the swords cut them down
behind as the swordsman seemed to leap from the walls.
Hanzo drew a deep breath as another body hit the ground and popped up to see
only the swordsman still standing. He laughed and lowered the bow. “Do you
always have to make a dramatic entrance?”
Genji pulled off the helmet and smiled stiffly as he picked at the wires
connecting the helmet to his high tech body armor underneath his shredded
leather biker’s suit. “Because it adds to the romantic tension?”
Hanzo pulled a face. “The what?!”
Genji pulled a bandana off of a mangled body and wiped his swords off as the
bodyguard began collecting the discarded clips. “Never mind.”
Hanzo grunted. “At least you did finally get here.”
“In time to save your ass,” Genji crowed wickedly.
Hanzo grunted again. “If you had been here on time, we might have gotten this
settled a little sooner.”
“Hey, I’m here. You’re here. We’re in singular pieces.” Genji cringed a little
as a small folding table crumpled under the weight of the bodies on it with a
crash. “And…the laundry just needs a little cleaning.”
Hanzo grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him out the door. The driver and
bodyguard were already back in position at the car with only a small scratch on
one shoulder. He leaned back against the soft leather with satisfaction. The
younger Shimada walked out quite calmly, sheathing his swords and tucking them
beneath a “borrowed” leather jacket before putting back on his helmet and
straddling the motorcycle. With a casual wave, the bike growled to life and,
with a squeal of tires, disappeared into the dark streets.
Hanzo flicked a wave at the rider’s back and checked his phone. Three messages
shown on the screen—one from a pizza delivery advertising a buy-two-get-one
special and two from his father. The driver began following the lazy lights of
the motorcycle as he paged through the news idly. Hanzo frowned as the
motorcycle turned off and parked at a corner.
The driver slowed down and over the intercom his voice crackled, “Do we follow
him, Sir?”
Hanzo groaned and replied, “Yes. But from a distance—he may need assistance.”
Four times the motorcycle veered to one corner or another. Four times the biker
pulled off and greeted loitering punk kids, only to lure them into a dark alley
and then come out alone and then take a can of spray paint out of the
motorcycle saddlebags and scrawl out the signs of the Crystal Dragons painted
on the walls or sidewalks.
His phone lit up once with “Are you following me? 4 Rls? Rly?” before going
dark. Hanzo debated a reply, trying to figure out a response. Ultimately,
though, the biker gave up and took the exit off the freeway to the Shimada
estate.
Hanzo sighed as the car pulled up to a stop. The driver came out and opened the
door with appropriate ceremony. “Good to have you still here, Sir,” he grunted
out.
“Get to a doctor,” Hanzo muttered in return. “You do not want that becoming
infected.”
“Yes, Sir.” Hanzo nodded again absently. “And your father wanted to see you,
Sir.”
Hanzo walked down to his apartment and stopped long enough to put on a fresh
change of clothes. His butterfly was in the bathroom and he could hear her
bathing, could see a little sliver of a slender leg in the tub reflected in the
mirror where she hadn’t quite closed the door. Annoyed for even delaying to
look at her, he put the dirty shirt and pants in the hamper before she saw them
and pulled on the clean pants as silently as possible.
“Master? Is that you?” called the female voice from the bathroom.
“Just stay there,” he growled back. “I have to change and leave in a minute.”
There was a splash in a reply. “Just stay there and bathe.”
“A-a-all right,” she replied.
His father, Shimada Sojiro, was taking tea with his two brothers—Hanzo’s Uncle
Sora an Uncle Kaito—in one of the sitting rooms overlooking the gardens. The
three older men watched him intently as Hanzo came in. His father looked down
his nose at him as his eldest son sat down at the table.
“And where is your younger brother, Hanzo?” asked Sojiro.
Hanzo bit his tongue to avoid saying, “Out slaughtering random gang members”
and said instead, “He was in front of the car on his motorcycle when I returned
to the estate.”
Uncle Sora—the elder of Sojiro’s brothers—looked at him with some mix of
disdain and boredom as he sipped his tea. “Do you not know? Is it not your
responsibility to watch him?”
His father nodded as Hanzo gritted his teeth. “You must take responsibility for
him, Hanzo.” His father took another sip of tea. “You should make him a more
responsible person. Take charge of him and make him into a proper Shimada.”
“You need to be more careful and more disciplined,” added the other uncle.
“After all, you did lose the corner laundry, did you not?”
Hanzo stared at the three men for a moment, struggling to get control of his
temper. “The problem with the laundry has been resolved—.”
“It is important that you understand that we must maintain control of our
territories to prevent other gangs from taking advantage and becoming more
powerful,” his father added. “It is your responsibility to make sure that our
territory is united. That our control is unchallenged.” The uncles nodded in
agreement. “Any loss or weakness will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”
Hanzo nodded. “I understand, Father.”
“Do not be afraid to be more ruthless,” his father continued. “It will increase
your discipline. And it will help you bring Genji in line.” Another sip of tea.
“He was at the laundry tonight, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And the Crystal Dragons?”
“They were defeated,” Hanzo murmured.
“And the laundry belongs to us again,” murmured Kaito.
“Yes, Uncle,” Hanzo said again.
“Do not let such a mistake happen again,” Sojiro said. “We must maintain
control at all times and not go running off back and forth. Definitely not
running around killing random gang members out of…some kind of immature temper
tantrum. It attracts attention.”
“No, Father.”
“Then that is all,” Sojiro sniffed, his voice hoarse as though it was failing.
Hanzo stood and left the other men to their tea. Where on earth had his younger
brother run off to now? He growled as he thought about the ways he wanted to
throttle the younger man. To make matters worse, Genji was lurking in the
hallway, waiting for him. “I do not have the time or energy to listen to your
tantrum,” he grunted.
“Yeah, well, deal with it,” Genji snarled back. “So, where’s your butterfly?”
Without waiting for a reply, he asked, “What’s her name anyway?”
Hanzo heard her reply in his head, “Whatever you wish”. “She is not your
concern,” Hanzo said shortly. “Besides, you have duties to attend to.”
“Don’t I know it,” Genji muttered. “So Mai and I are watching a movie and
wanted to see if you and Blackie wanted to come over.” He cocked a head. “And,
I wanted to see if you had some information on whatever Asahi did to these
girls.”
Hanzo sighed dramatically. “I know as much as you do.”
“Blackie knows more.”
“That is not her name.”
“It is until you actually, like, pay attention to her and give her one.”
Hanzo grunted, folding his arms. “I do not appreciate that tone.” He sighed. “I
suppose that you are not going to let this go.”
Genji smirked. “I need to blow off some steam. You need to blow off some steam.
We can get the girls together and be absolutely safe and under your watchful
and completely unnecessarily overprotective eyes.”
“If you need to relax, then go to the dojo.”
“Mai is much more relaxing.” Hanzo grunted. “And I want to see if Blackie has
actually survived you.” Genji tilted his head thoughtfully. “Or, since the
stick up your ass is particularly large tonight, maybe you need to go to her
and let her do her sexy thing.”
“She is fine. I am fine. We are both fine without your interference.”
“Just let her out once, Han,” Genji pouted. “I’ll even put her back before she
turns into a pumpkin.” He smiled widely. “Mai was excited that there was
another butterfly here. Seems like there might be a bunch of stuff for the
butterflies to talk about.”
“No.”
Genji smirked. “Did you know that the butterflies know Shiatsu and Swedish
massage? And, some reflexology.” He cocked his head the other way. “Part of the
normal training, apparently. Wanna take a bet on what else they know?”
“No.”
“You say that word too much. Tell you what. I’ll bring Mai over in about 10
minutes, let them talk a bit, meet the little lady—.”
“Now you sound like a cowboy.”
“—And we’ll sit in your sanctum sanctorum and not have a lick of fun.” He
walked away with a wave. “See you in 10 minutes, big brother.”
Hanzo gaped as his brother retreated down the hall. Gritting his teeth, he
jerked open his door. The girl scampered to kneel in the doorway. He glared at
her and she took one glance at his face before scrambling backwards and out of
his way. He grunted at her and went to take a short shower. Genji was likely on
his way already and wanted them to watch some asinine movie. Why the hell
wasn’t that damned girl dressed?
Thankfully, the staff had come in and cleaned and his rooms were their usual
spotless selves. The tray from breakfast had been removed, the trash emptied,
and so on. The bed was made and the clothes that had been laundered was
returned and hung neatly in the closet. He sighed heavily, the cleanliness
easing his tension to a more bearable level, as he made his way to the bathroom
and took off his shirt.
Things were gradually making him unwind until his hand hit something…damp and
squishy on the cabinet. Looking down, he saw a paper cup. The usually crisp
paper was damp and pliable and had obviously been sitting there some time.
Stomping back to the bedroom, he found her in the same corner she had slept in.
“Do I really need to tell you that I want things to be clean?” He pointed at
the cup on the counter. “Clean up after yourself!” He started to bellow in
frustration. “Now!” She scrabbled past him, half crawling, and tossed the cup.
“What is the meaning of this?!”
“I was using the cup,” she mewled.
He opened his mouth to shout at her as she cringed backwards, but then
something caught his attention. “Cup?! As in the singular?!” She sobbed and
cringed from him. “What the hell?! I want you to clean up after yourself and be
responsible for once and not make trouble for me.” He took a deep breath. “You
are headed for the first damn street corner that I can find if you do not
straighten up.”
She sobbed and his anger grew as she wept. Finally, as he glared at her, she
crawled past him on her belly and took his belt out of the closet. With sad,
solemn ceremony, she spread it across her palms and held it up to him.
Hanzo stared at her with narrowed eyes and hearing his teeth gritting in a
loud, rapid tapping. “What the—?!” He crossed his arms, his hands in fists.
“What are you doing?!”
She kept sobbing, her body shaking and raising the belt higher. “Forgive me,
Master. P-p-please forgive me.”
Hanzo growled and for a moment, he just saw red. He felt like a demon, all hot
rage and blood red in his eyes. Snatching the belt, he folded it in his hand
and swung it with a whistling hiss. It was nowhere near her, but she jerked
wildly anyway. She took one shaky breath and knelt at the corner of the bed,
gripping the bedpost and burying her face in her arms. Hanzo gave another
wordless shout and let the belt swing and slap against the bed with a loud
crack. Enraged, he swung backwards with a guttural snarl, listening to the hiss
of leather through the air before bringing it back across his hands.
Then the most unexpected sound was behind him—a soft, feminine cry and a sharp,
masculine grunt. He glared over his shoulder and saw Genji standing in the
bedroom doorway, holding a gasping Mai in his arms. Genji’s stare was
murderous, shooting daggers at him and pushing Mai behind him protectively.
Hanzo felt frozen, looking at them. The apartment was suddenly cold and airless
and he felt every muscle cramp in place. A glance at a mirror showed a damning
scene—he was standing shirtless over the naked girl kneeling at the corner of
his bed with a belt swinging. He unfolded the belt and hung it up in his
closet, shame coloring his dusky cheeks.
Genji glared at him, blocking his view of Mai. All Hanzo could see of her was a
cute pair of green satin short pajamas with black lace on the edges. Genji
looked at him viciously and pulled her further behind himself as Hanzo stared.
Finally, he spoke, “Catch you at a bad time?”
Hanzo couldn’t help but gape. His girl’s heavy sobs echoed in the bedroom and
the other girl just let out a terrified little mewl. Finally, he took a deep
breath, a flame on his cheeks. “We will be with you in a minute.”
Genji just crouched there and stared, watching him carefully. With a growl,
Hanzo shoved him out of the bedroom and shut the door. Apparently, this was not
the right answer because his butterfly shuddered—actually, shivered—and curled
up tighter into a ball while gripping the bedpost with her knuckles white. She
took a deep breath to match his and braced herself for whatever he was going to
dish out.
Not a word—she didn't say a word. Didn't resist or raise her arms—just accepted
on some profoundly hopeless level that he could do what he pleased. And that
she deserved it.
“Come out,” he sighed heavily. He hadn’t even really been angry at the girl—her
using just one cup all day was nothing. He had been furious with so many other
things long before he had gotten here. As the Americans said, it was the straw
that broke the mule’s back. Or was it “camel”? He shook his head impatiently.
“Let go of the bedpost.”
She did, dropping her hands and instantly knotting them in the carpet. When he
reached one hand to her back, she hissed in a shrieking breath. But, aside from
her shuddering, she was still.
He marveled over that for a moment. She had every reason to believe he was
going to beat her. He certainly hadn’t done anything today to convince her that
she was not in mortal danger. But she stayed firm, she tried her best. He
whispered to her, “The belt is away. I will not beat you.”
At first, he thought she didn’t hear him, but gradually one gray eye glanced up
to test his words. When she saw him, she shuddered again and, watching his
every breath as carefully as a mouse watches a snake, she uncoiled and knelt
up. Some form of feminine pride asserted itself, and she wiped at her face with
her hands and brushed her hair back.
“I will not beat you,” he repeated as gently as he knew how. “Now come out
and…why are you not dressed?”
She looked up at him, wiping at her face again. “W-w-what do you want me to
dress in?”
He stared at her. He wanted her in an evening gown of yards of black velvet as
dark as sin and decorated with small crystals that flashed like her eyes. He
wanted her in one of the frothy little outfits that screamed for attention from
the billboards as they advertised underwear stores. With a start and a grim
laugh, he realized that he literally had nothing for her to wear. Taking out a
spare white t-shirt, he tossed it to her.
She scrambled to slide into it, kneeling again as fast as humanly possible.
Hanzo almost groaned. With her hands folded together in front of her waist and
kneeling up, she looked like a heartthrob model from one of those dirty
magazines Genji occasionally bought. He beckoned to her and she crawled up to
him, shuddering and shivering as he patted her head and let his hands go down
her back.
“Wash your face,” he said softly. “It appears we have guests.”
She bounded like a wet cat and went to the sink to wash her face. It was mildly
soothing to see her do something so mundane as washing her face, and then
amusing as she carefully scrubbed every portion of the sink and countertops and
then put the washcloth in the hamper. She poked everything at least twice until
it was precisely how he had placed it this morning. If he hadn’t seen her in
there, he might have believed that she hadn’t been in the bathroom at all.
Beckoning to her again, he reached for her wrist with an exaggeratedly slow
motion. Her wrist was so small, so delicate, in his huge hands. It was like he
was holding on to Ichika’s doll, his huge fingers wrapped around the thin cloth
arm. He sighed at that and lowered his voice to a soft and hopefully gentle
tone. “My brother, Genji, and his…butterfly are waiting to watch a movie with
us.” She stared at him solemnly with bloodshot weeping eyes without saying
anything. “I…I am sorry. I did not mean to lose my temper so.”
She nodded carefully at his apology. Her posture and face said she was again
happy and bubbly, but her eyes said that she was weighing his words against his
actions and that did not sit well with him.
“We will watch for a little while, then go to bed.” She nodded again and Hanzo
sighed. He slid on a shirt himself and took her by the hand. “Hopefully it is
nothing too…bizarre.”
They walked out to the sitting room. Genji was on the couch, holding on to Mai
tightly as she whispered urgently to him. She shot him a wary look and Genji
whispered into her ear. With a nod, she scooted over, allowing Genji to make
room for Hanzo. Genji silently cued up a silly Godzilla movie and Hanzo
inwardly groaned. Genji was addicted to Godzilla and anime movies and if the
wide, eager eyes of Mai were any indication, she was eager to watch as well.
His own butterfly knelt on the floor beside the couch, watching somewhat
blankly. As the scene shifted to a picnic with huge dishes of sandwiches,
salad, cheesecake, chips and fruit, his butterfly—he really did need a name for
her—shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Hanzo patted her absently, hoping
she’d unwind enough to lean in a little the way Mai curled up next to Genji.
Sighing, he kept stroking her hair and ignoring the rubble and rubber clad
monster.
Godzilla had stomped on the Tokyo Opera House when Genji paused the movie to
take a call on his cell. He soothed Mai with some indistinct excuse and stepped
into the hallway. Hanzo stood, grunting at the girls, and went to make a call
on the house line. After such a beastly show of rage, he felt…a twinge of guilt
and decided that asking for a servant to bring some snacks was the least he
could do. He wondered if they would eat something as prosaic as popcorn or if
he needed to get them something…more substantial. Perhaps as little as she had
eaten, she would like more of a meal?
Genji had come back in and was reaching out towards the kneeling girl. She had
fallen over, sliding further and further away as he crooned to her. With a
grunt, he hung up and stalked over to the couch. “What do you think you’re
doing, Genji?”
“Trying to talk to her,” Genji shrugged.
“Do not.”
“Hey, I’m a nice guy. Right, Mai? Tell him I’m a nice guy.”
“He’s a nice guy,” Mai parroted.
“Do. Not. Even. Start.” Hanzo sat down on the end of the couch again, pointedly
beckoning and satisfied that the girl returned to kneel beside him. “I have
ordered some food—snacks.”
Genji looked at him curiously. “The great Shimada heir—Hanzo
Shimada—has…ordered snacks?” His tone was disbelieving.
“It is not that unheard of,” Hanzo grumbled. “Besides, my butterfly needs to
eat.”
Genji cleared his throat and seemed on the verge of saying something, but
instead just turned back on the movie. The snacks were a welcome distraction
fifteen minutes later and Hanzo took care to choose nutritious morsels—pickled
vegetables, sashimi, fruit bits and white tea. He tasted each of them before
passing her bites. His butterfly did apparently have the appetite of a bird and
he didn’t want her to suffer from lack of nourishment. As he popped a morsel
into her mouth, he chose to ignore Genji’s covert staring.
Some time later, Godzilla went back into the ocean with a metallic roar and
Genji had Mai curled up in his lap. Hanzo kept petting the other girl and,
sometime during the movie, she had managed to slide to the couch and lounge
more comfortably against it. Genji laughed softly and stood up to carry Mai off
and Hanzo was a little dazed as the butterfly suddenly knelt again in her full,
“formal” posture.
Turning off the television and the other equipment, he watched as Genji waltzed
out, nodding his goodnights and closing the door softly. It was late and even
he wanted to sleep. With a grunt, he made his way into the bedroom to stretch
out on the bed. He heard soft sounds and saw her picking up the napkins,
setting things on the tray, picking up the tiny bits and pieces that littered
his coffee table.
“Girl,” he called. “Just come in and get some sleep.”
She let out a yip and glanced guiltily over her shoulder. Then, with a brisk
brush of her hands, she stood and came into the doorway. Hanzo’s eyes went wide
as the light from the sitting room outlined her body through the thin t-shirt.
Growling in his throat, he spread his legs unconsciously. If he had any good
karma left, he would trade it all so she would come over and climb on the bed
between his legs….
And, she didn’t. She turned off the light, took off the t-shirt and carefully
put it in the hamper. Then, after a hurried glance, she went to her corner.
Hanzo almost whined at seeing her curl up in that wretched corner again. But
she was there to test his discipline, he reminded himself. Not to engage in a
glorious, black-hearted rut with.
Discipline, he reminded himself.
Self-control.
Patience.
Discipline….yeah….right. Discipline.
The black night dawned into a stormy new morning. The mighty Shimada heir had
spent the night in dreams so shameful in their sexy, dirty way that he blushed
and gritted his teeth to even think about them. He had slept almost sitting up,
his legs splayed grotesquely lewdly. Stretching and hearing his joints crack,
he stood blearily.
It was a dreary day, the sort that his mother had made him enjoy because she
would bring him and Genji tea and cookies in bed before they had to appear at
father’s breakfast table. The sort of day where it was a pleasure to sit and
handle the papers and the books and have the rain tapping on the windows.
Sighing, he glanced to her corner, where she was curled in a knot, her arm
folded under her head stiffly. He tried to get out of bed silently enough that
she could sleep, but his apartments were so quiet that even the sheets shifting
seemed to rattle.
She opened her eyes and sat up stretch similarly before settling into her
normal kneeling posture. Hanzo grunted again and whispered, “You can sleep a
little later. It is early and I wanted to go….” He coughed hoarsely as she
peered up at him with those brilliant gray eyes. “I wanted to spend some time
in the dojo before I started the day.”
Looking up at him, she seemed to nod uncertainly. Then, with a timid voice, she
asked, “Could…could I please come?”
Hanzo blinked uncertainly. “Why?”
She stood sleepily. “I do not want to become fat,” she giggled. With a careless
shrug, she poked her stomach. “I…should do more…..”
Hanzo stalked over to the closet and pulled out a t-shirt to toss over his
shoulder to her. Then he took another one into the bathroom to get started on
his day. She pulled on the shirt and followed him like a puppy. He pulled out a
toothbrush and smeared some toothpaste on it and caught her eyes in the mirror.
She offered him a timid smile and took out a washcloth. Flushing, he realized
that he had utterly failed to provide for her—even a toothbrush.
Genji would laugh at him for months. That the great Shimada heir had utterly
failed to do something as simple—as humane—as get the chit the basics of a
toothbrush and some clothes. What else would she need? Deodorant. Toiletries.
Maybe some perfume? Definitely some red lipstick and some shampoo. What else
did women do to become beautiful?
Not that she wasn’t beautiful already. Even with her hair tangled around her
shoulders—he should add something for her hair like a comb and some bands—and
with his shirt hanging off of her like a sheet she was beautiful with ripe
curves that could make a man forget duty and honor and every virtue if only to
have a moment with her breasts in his hands and her legs around his waist.
They crept out of the apartments—pausing as she glanced nervously at him for
his approval before following him down the dim hallways. The dojo was dark,
happily, and the skylights only offered dim pools of gray light that flickered
as lightning shone through.
Hanzo led her around the edge of the room, smirking at her small giggle. But
there was a devilish demon in him and he put her on the treadmill. Setting it
to a low speed, he smiled at her jiggling loping. She watched him warmly as he
began stretching a short distance away from her.
It wasn’t until he realized that he was staring at the giggling chest, for the
third time, that he began to get a better idea. Walking over, he turned off the
treadmill and gestured for her to join him on the mats in the middle of the
floor.
“Little flower,” he whispered wickedly. “I am going to test your limits.” She
looked up at him uncertainly, doubt blooming on her face. He picked up a pair
of small 2 pound weights and set them in her hands. She did an experimental
curl, watching him curiously. “I will start with little weights, little things.
Then I will see how far you can go.” She seemed to shiver a bit as his voice
dipped softly. “Now, let us begin.”
He started with stretches, gently pressing on her to deepen the postures. She
could keep up with him as he did the warm up stretches, her muscles already
flexible. Then he moved on to strength exercises. As promised, he started her
with light weights, gradually giving her heavier and heavier weights until she
was grunting softly and sweat was glistening on her skin. She struggled through
the punishing rhythm of pushups and sit-ups, glancing up at him repeatedly as
sweat dripped down her face.
Finally, he wanted her to run. Picking up a few small weights, he set them on
the floor across the room. Smiling, he whispered, “I want you to run here, grab
a weight and run back. Set it down and run for the next one.” She shivered a
little. “Now.”
With a leap, she began running. She did the first lap without a problem and he
appreciated her shapely running. Then he leapt to the mat, comically reaching
for her. “Do not let me catch you butterfly!” He leapt at her again and with a
little shriek, she dodged and kept running. He chased her, his longer legs
giving him an advantage.
He warmed to the chase quickly. Although, he had to admit, he had never before
had such appealing prey. The weights were quickly forgotten as she ducked
behind the treadmill and tried to slide through the machine’s open front. He
growled comically at her, his fingers running through her hair and she
surprised him with a shriek and then a laugh that was genuine and musical.
He smirked, his strides slowing down and growing more graceful as he began
circling the last weight. She let out a little, happy sound and began circling
him in sloppy ovals. Her eyes sparkled uncertainly and she bit her lip as she
thought about how to get around him.
“You need to get the weight,” he said with a solemnity he didn’t feel. “What
are you going to do?” She kept circling, ever more carefully. “Do tell me,
butterfly.”
She apparently decided to just make a run for it. He pounced on her, bringing
her body close and rolling her on the floor until she lay, shaking, beneath
him. He grinned wickedly as she looked up at him with a mix of uncertainty and
glee.
Propping up on one elbow, he let one finger slide down her leg to hook on the
t-shirt. “I win.” Dragging it up slowly, he grinned wickedly. “What are you
going to do now?” She was so petite compared to him that the hem went
practically to her neck without stretching. “How about ‘whatever I want’?”
She nodded, her mouth gaping a little as she panted. Very softly, he bent to
taste her. Just a little taste—a nibble of her bottom lip. But she was
sweet—even the sweat on her upper lip tasted sweet. Then her delicate fingers,
long and slender, drifted up to his side, stroking him through his sweaty
shirt. With a playful growl, he dropped his hips and ground against hers.
Sweetly, her hips bucked up against his, a tiny smear of moisture on the thin
material welcoming him. He pushed up to his knees, pinning her with a hot gaze,
and ripped off his shirt. Dropping on top of her again, he dipped again to her
honeyed lips. Her little pink lips that were soft and moist and were opening
just a little. She broke away from him and he was prepared to pull back, but it
was only to take a lungful of air before she wrapped uncertain arms around his
neck to pull herself up and timidly lick his neck.
With another growl, he grated his body down hers until her lovely breasts were
right there. Right at his mouth, they bobbed with the most beautiful pink
peaks.
“Aiyee! It has been too long,” he thought as those lovely dusty pink tip pulled
his lips to them as surely as a magnet pulled north. Then they were in his
mouth like sweet candies. She shivered in an electric movement.
But there was too much for just his mouth. One huge hand covered the other
breast so that it wasn’t lonely waiting for his mouth. They lifted with her
breath like they were begging him to touch them. He switched to the other
breast, watching as the nipples tightened.
But her stomach, her hips, were pushing against him like a rippling tide. He
propped up on his elbow with one hand still gripping her soft breast. The other
hand wrapped around her narrow waist, gripping like he was afraid she’d melt
away. That little twist of her hips she gave took his breath away and he
couldn’t resist pumping his hips and listening to that little gasp.
Her eyes glowed like silver stars as she watched him for another second and
then closed her eyes. Without waiting, he slid back up to her mouth, pouncing
on her with a rough shove. Instantly, her arms tightened around his neck and
her legs wrapped around his waist and locking behind him.
He laughed against her lip. “You cannot hold me,” he whispered against her.
With a buck, her legs fell open and he laughed as she pushed upward against
him. His hand drifted up to curl in her hair. He had to hold her before she
squirmed around again and he lost hold of her sweet lips.
His head swam as she yielded more and then more. He could lap sweat from her
throat and she would sigh. He could nip at her shoulder and she’d shiver. His
hands could wander from breast to breast and then down her curving waist to the
shadowed and secret honey between her legs. His hands kept roaming, measuring
her as a sculptor would measure a statue—every curve pliant and hot beneath his
fingers.
Then, timidly and carefully, her fingers crept to his waist. She touched him
back, flicking sweat aside and brushing against him softly. He laughed softly
and his lips brushed her forehead. “What a bold little thing you are. What if I
did—this?” With a quick motion, he ripped the shirt off of her. But from the
sparkle in her eyes and the soft smile on her lips, she didn’t mind a bit.
Then her hand flickered over his tattooed shoulder. The sigils and charms that
bound the dragons to him went electric as she traced them. Underneath his skin,
he could almost feel the dragons rise to meet her touch. With a groan, he tried
to move, but every muscle screamed in protest. Shivers slid down his spine and
he pressed hard against her. The dragons roared in his head, demanding and hot
and sensual and shivering as she traced the tattoo down to his elbow.
He gritted his teeth and ground his hips against her, his cheeks puffing and
panting. If she didn’t stop, he would not care about anything other than
ripping off the suddenly chafing sweat pants and thrusting into her waiting
heat until she screamed his name. Over and over until she was hoarse. He
wouldn’t care about his brother. He wouldn’t care about the disapproving
council of elders who were watching his every move and picking at his every
mistake. He would only care about that sweetness between her thighs.
The dragons growled in approval. It took something special for them to offer
approval. He had long since stopped visiting whores and having escorts
entertain him because there was always a bitter taste in his mouth—a crawling
in his skin—that it was wrong. The dragons liked order, cleanliness, and peace,
and were quick to point out things that were wrong. But now, the growls and
howls, however silent that they were, flooded his blood and all the heat went
straight to his groin. He wanted to howl with it.
“If she does not stop, then there will be no telling the animal she will turn
loose,” he thought with a trace of sadness. Her fingers slipped maddeningly up
his arms again, trilling over his tattoo and sending lightning down through his
body. “But if she does stop, I will go…mad.”
The dragons whimpered in his head and it felt like there was lightning dancing
from her fingertips as she stroked the tattoo again. Hanzo echoed their purring
delight—
—until the harsh knock on the door sounded.
“Master Hanzo,” called a servant. “You are expected for breakfast.”
Hanzo’s eyes were glazed for a moment as he looked at her. Sweat beaded on her
and her legs were almost shiny with slickness. Her silver gaze was hooded and
hot, unaware that in about 5 minutes, the servants would burst in and begin
bustling around him to start the day. With a deep breath of regret, he gathered
her hands in his and gently kissed the knuckles. “We must part.”
She was about to say something, make some protest, but her training kicked in
and she shuddered and nodded. With care, she took the rags and mopped up the
puddles of sweat as he put away the weights and shouted to the servant at the
door to come back in a few minutes.
With a rapid lope, he hustled her back into the apartment. She followed him
without protest and went back to her corner of the bedroom. As he buttoned the
shirt and slid the cufflinks back into place, he looked at her.
“When I get back, we will go shopping for a few things. You will need clothing
and—.” His hand gestured vaguely. “—things to keep clean and orderly.”
The day passed in an peaceful fashion. His meetings went well. His books
balanced, for the first time in a week. He met his father and brother for lunch
and was able to discuss the family and business without it ending in a fight.
His afternoon workout was happily explosive, making his muscles ache and sweat
sting his eyes. His targets shattered satisfyingly.
And all of it was underscored with the beautiful hum in his blood. His little
blossom was still tucked in his apartment, and waiting on his pleasure. It
would not be a hardship to pull her into his huge bed. They would order some
odds and ends online, eat a lovely meal, and settle back for some well-earned
enjoyment of his little butterfly.
He was almost convinced that his dedication and discipline could take—just this
once—a back seat.
He still needed to name her. It was a mouthful to call her a “butterfly” every
time and calling her “girl” or “female” seemed somehow a bit short and
impersonal. Women had been around him for years—if for no other reason than
because Genji seemed surrounded with at times. He had never had names for any
of those women—there had never needed to be any.
So what to call a girl with hair black as his own desire and eyes like silver
mirrors? He absolutely did not want to call her “Blackie”. That was a silly
name and made her sound like a prostitute—a cheap prostitute. “Raven” sounded a
little better, but did raven have eyes of mercury? “Silver”…that was not a
precious enough. “Takara”—“treasure”—sounded best. He could change it, he
supposed, if it turned into a mouthful.
He was anticipating the servants coming with dinner—he had ordered small bites
of the tenderest Kobe beef with cubes of carrots, zucchini, onions, and
mushrooms. There were to be rice balls the size of sake cups. He didn’t want to
weaken her with heavy drink since she ate like a literal bird—the amount
scarcely as big as his palm at times. Maybe he would bathe her first. She
probably had showered by now—she was fastidious in bathing before he returned
each day—but he would not take it amiss if he had to bathe her again.
But, there was the pounding of a fist against wood. Surprised, he turned the
corner and saw Genji hammering at his door. Flattening his silly grin, he
raised an eyebrow at his brother. “Did you want to see me?”
Genji frowned and spun around, a knife already in his hand. When he saw his
brother, he straightened and let out a strained laugh. “So…here you are.”
“I am.” Hanzo nodded absently. “You wanted to see me.”
Genji flicked a hand through his hair, a lock landing square in his forehead.
He puffed out a breath to blow it out of the way and smiled. “So…. Umm…. I was
wondering—?”
“Yes, Genji?”
“Maybe Mai and Blackie could get together? Have dinner together?”
“We did that last night.” Hanzo crossed his arms impatiently. “What do you
want?”
“Just to let Mai and Blackie—!”
“That is not her name!” Hanzo growled, trying to keep his voice level.
Genji took in a deep breath. “Look…. Han, obviously we got off on the wrong
foot.” He spread his arms wide. “I just want to…to talk.”
Hanzo grunted again. “We have little to talk about.” He shook his had slightly.
“Now…. Do you have something to do? Something to do far from here?”
Genji sighed and Hanzo heard the faint sound of regret. “I…. Brother, this is
important. I need information—I want your help.”
Hanzo grunted harshly. “No. Not tonight—.”
“I’ve done everything you wanted!” Genji exclaimed. “Everything. I just…need a
little help.”
“You have what you need. You have your butterfly. You have the entire weight of
the Shimada clan and the entire Shimada fortune behind you.” Hanzo’s eyes
narrowed. “You are a skilled ninja—perhaps one of the best this clan has ever
seen. What can there be that you need now that you cannot find or buy?”
“Please, brother!” Genji let out a frustrated chuff. “This is so important to
me—!”
“To you or your Mai?” Hanzo shook his head. “She is a distraction. She is for
entertainment alone, Genji. Do not forget your duty!”
Genji shook his head sadly, his eyes appearing ever so slightly wet and
wounded. “Brother. Just listen to me….”
Hanzo growled angrily. “No. Not…tonight.”
Genji looked at Hanzo for a long moment. Then he looked at the door and again
at his brother. He tried to smile, but it was forced. “Dare I hope that you
have removed the rather large branch from your hindquarters?”
“What on earth are you saying?”
“Have you removed stick from your ass at last?” Genji’s sarcasm dripped from
his words.
“That is the last time I want to hear that from your foul mouth!” Hanzo
shouldered past his brother angrily. “Now, will you please leave?!”
“She won’t let me in,” Genji grumbled, waving at the door. “I knocked and she
peeked out. She screamed and then slammed the door and locked it.”
Hanzo nodded in a sarcastic sense of satisfaction. “She has a good head on her
shoulders.”
Genji puffed out a breath and stalked down the hallway, out of sight. Hanzo
nodded in satisfaction and tapped gently on the wood. There was a muffled
feminine yelp from the other side. There were whispered words that he couldn’t
make out.
“Takara,” he said firmly. “Open the door.” There was a scrabbling from the
other side of the door and slowly it unlocked. The door opened a crack and a
silver eye peeked out. “There. You see? It is only me.”
She opened the door wider, letting him in nervously and glancing behind him in
the hallway. Hanzo smirked a little, watching as she gradually relaxed in
seeing no one else behind him. “I…forgive me, Master.” She flushed a little,
wringing her hands. “I…. You said.… You said not to listen to him—!”
“And so you locked him out,” he nodded with a whisper of a grin on his face.
She was very literal, as Genji had predicted. “Very…interesting.”
She looked up at him with worry still etched on her face. Her eyes were red and
she had shed tears this night. Her hands were clenched together and her
little—luscious—body was trembling. Her eyes were filled with sorrow and
misery, though there was not a single thing he could think of that should
trouble her.
“I…he’s angry with me,” she whispered, looking down fearfully. “But after the
others—!”
“What?!” He frowned and gently put his hands on her shoulders. She was trying
to look at him, but her face kept dipping and fat tears fell down her cheeks.
“What ‘others’? What happened?”
She wriggled out of his grasp and walked slowly to his desk. There was a neatly
sealed, creamy white envelope sitting on the edge and she brought it to him.
“I…I do not know.” She looked terrified and worried and…just like his mother
when his father left to do an assassination. “I did my best. They came and were
searching. I…hid in your closet, behind the hamper.”
Hanzo flushed darkly. In both the Shimada brothers’ room there was a hidden box
just large enough to hide a secret or two. But he hadn’t shown it to her.
Again, he needed to—.
The dragons in his skin came whispering in his ear. “Comfort her,” they
whispered. “You can make this right…. Make it right.”
He took the envelope silently, curiously. The vellum was heavy in his hands—a
plain envelope with undoubtedly a plain, cream colored paper inside it.
Inwardly, he cursed. How many times had he delivered envelopes with paper
bearing only the seals of the elders, summoning the unlucky or unwise to appear
before them to be rebuked by the clan? He had lost count of the envelopes, the
summons. And now it only remained to be seen, who was summoning him?
Takara was whispering softly, describing how unnamed others had come, searching
the apartments. They had been looking for him, of course, but when they had
found her, they had smiled so cunningly it frightened her. Her arms had been
twisted back, her flesh pinched and her joints locked and ground until she had
shrieked in pain. They laughed at her pain as they told her to give him the
message when he returned.
He wasn’t listening—not all the way—because he had seen this so many times
before. The summons was an unavoidable, unspoken curse that lingered in the air
like the smell of death. If he refused to show up, they would simply show up in
force and drag him to them. If he resisted, then they would only show up here
and do what they were going to do before Takara’s horrified eyes. That was, of
course, assuming that their collective ire would not be immediately taken out
on her. Or Mai. Or Genji. Or all three of them. Genji was strong and could take
whatever they dealt out, but the women might be killed.
He nodded silently, opening the envelope and seeing the equally blank vellum
with the Shimada crest watermarked on it. His father’s shaky seal was in the
bottom right corner—noting him as the one who was issuing the summons. With a
wave that was more calm than he felt, he had her sit on the couch and he put
the laptop in her lap. A few clicks later, she was in the shopping website,
with strict instructions to lock the door behind him and not come out.
“But, what am I to do?” she whimpered softly, wringing her hands.
“Not worry,” he grunted solemnly. “Go find some things.” He waved ineffectually
at his head and a vague gesture to the website. “Pick out what you need. A few
clothes.” She looked up at him with worry in her eyes. “Have a little fun. Find
something…exciting.” She nodded uncertainly and jiggled the mousepad. “My
information is in this website already. Make your list, little treasure, and I
will approve it when I get back.”
“But…what if you…don’t c-c-come back?”
“Then Genji will come for you,” Hanzo grunted. She was smart—he had to give her
that. It didn’t take a sharp wit to figure out things were bad, but she had
already figured out what might be the probable outcome. “He will take care of
you.” He offered her a small smile. “And then you can talk to him—if you wish.”
Her eyes were wide and fearful and she only nodded. “Now, my orders are to not
worry. To go shopping.”
She clicked the mouse softly and the computer let out a soft ding. He nodded
and offered her a smile. “What if I do not choose what you like?”
“You are stalling, girl,” he smirked. She looked up at him with a slight pout.
“I will approve your choices and, if not, I will…correct you.”
She nodded again, doubt on her face. “Will you be gone long?”
“As long as I need to.” He folded the paper over and over in his hands. “Do not
worry.” He brushed off his suit and straightened his tie. “Would you prefer
that I send Genji and Mai over now?”
Her eyes looked up at him uncertainly and he decided for her. Sighing, he
gestured to his bedroom. She picked up the computer and went to her corner
obediently. Hanzo set the computer on the bedside table and beckoned her over
to it. She nodded and began paging through the website again. “Do you know how
to lock the computer when you are done?” At her nod, he smiled. “Clever girl.
When you have your shopping list, lock it and then get some sleep.” He sent her
another strained smile. “And for the love of dragons, please climb in the bed!”
He made a quick call, and within minutes Genji and Mai were at his door. Mai
looked up at the fierce face uncertainly, but followed Genji’s hand to go
inside. Genji watched with a questioning look as Mai and the other butterfly
stared at each other through the open bedroom door. Mai grinned stiffly and sat
on the edge of the couch. Hanzo gestured for Takara to continue with a smile
and a wave. The black butterfly nodded uncertainly and kept studiously
clicking.
Mai leaned over curiously and then looked at Genji. Genji took a single glance
at the blank envelope in Hanzo’s hand and nodded grimly, understanding almost
perfectly what was going on. Glancing at Mai, he said in a strained voice,
“Mai, go talk to Blackie—.”
“That’s not her name,” Hanzo gritted out through his teeth.
Genji’s teeth gritted in return and he whispered, “Then what is?”
“Takara,” Hanzo said softly.
Genji pulled back a bit, looking at him curiously. Finally, he nodded and
glanced over at Mai again. “Mai…go keep Takara a bit of company.” Looking at
his brother, he sighed heavily. “I’ll—.”
“Stay out here,” Hanzo ordered quietly. “Make sure….” He swallowed heavily.
“Keep them safe.” He glanced over at the patient Mai as she stood and crept
closer to the other woman nervously. “Let them shop a bit, and make sure that
they…they are safe.”
“I’ll guard them with my life,” his brother nodded, closing the door on the two
women and locking it. He leaned his back against the door.
“I will hold you to that,” Hanzo promised grimly as a suited servant came down
the hallway.
The room that his father’s servant led him to was shrouded in darkness except
for the table in the middle. A mixture of old and older faces looked solemnly
back at him, with his aged father at the head of the black, lacquered table.
Behind the expensive suit coats and on the hand tooled belts were a wealth of
hidden pistols and brass knuckles and other weapons. Only the seat at the foot
of the table with the back to the door—the seat given to an unlucky and ill-
fated inferior—was empty.
Hanzo knew what was coming. He knew it in his bones, saw it in the grim faces
around the table, heard it in the complete silence of the room. He even knew
that two huge men were standing on either side of the door, silently. He knew
his father, despite advancing age and apparently ill health, sat watching him
stiffly, waiting.
His parent only looked at him dispassionately. Hanzo looked closely at the
older man. His father stared at him as though he were looking at a stranger, an
unknown nobody with whom he had no connection. The master of the clan looked
ancient, the dark circles under his eyes a pronounced purple and his skin paper
thin and sallow. Even though the elder’s hands were folded in his lap, Hanzo
felt secretly sure that his father’s hands would shake with age.
“We are waiting for you, Hanzo.”
Hanzo could feel nothing from his dragons. They had been silent and still since
the door to his apartments had clicked shut behind Geni’s back. They offered no
support that he could feel. But, then again, they offered no rebuke either, so
he supposed that was good.
He knew what was expected of him, though. He bowed low to the room and sat in
the open chair. He had seen this happen before. A clan rebuke was never a
pleasant thing, but his father had insisted that as the heir, he begin
witnessing the rare occasions as soon as he had turned nine. His first
assassination had been a clan rebuke. He had seen awful things in this room,
all in the name of Shimada.
His father sighed wearily. “Do you know why you are here?” Hanzo was silent.
Answers were considered a weakness, an attempt to offer excuses for the
inexcusable. “It is your responsibility as the Shimada heir to make sure that
the clan is successful. That the clan is united. That the clan is led into the
future with honor and responsibility.”
The other heads nodded stiffly in agreement.
“What do you think that you are doing?” his father demanded weakly. Hanzo
stared at him, never flinching. “First, you allow Genji to run wild. He is like
a demon, constantly, with his wild parties, his carelessness, random attacks,
and his irresponsibility.
“And his women! Hanzo, as my oldest son, you should not allow him to be so
careless, spending hours with his lovers when he should be attending to
business. And now! Now he has moved one of them into his apartments and has
been taking her around the estate. Hanzo—he should be making a responsible
marriage to one of our allies. What kind of marriage will anyone offer when his
whore lives in his apartments?! And his wild ways are corrupting you and now
you have a whore living in your apartments. What kind of marriage will that
make?!”
Hanzo remained silent, facing his father. Where were these morals when his
father was visiting prostitutes and his arranged bride was so sad and silent at
home with their sons? His father railed on about Genji’s wild lifestyle. How
many times had he argued with Genji over these same things?
Then one of the other elders—a distant cousin who was renowned for his
tightfisted, conservative views—grunted as his father ran out of breath. “Do
you not see how upset you have made the head of the clan?” His Uncle Sora took
up the master’s wrist and seemed to take his pulse. “The master should not be
made so upset! He has been so ill and now you have caused all this trouble! Why
could you have not taken responsibility for Genji and spared your father?”
Kaito snorted, “And now Genji has gone on a crusade killing the Crystal
Dragons. Is that how he should act? Can we not count on you, Hanzo, to make
sure that he does not create a bigger mess than we can handle?”
Another elder across the table with a tonsure of white hair around his bald
head nodded in agreement. “Then to have your younger brother losing money! That
is inexcusable.”
Hanzo schooled his features to show no surprise. He had found the discrepancies
in the expected numbers and the actual numbers. He had not tracked down the
source, yet, but had been confident he would. He had even considered sending
Genji after whoever was losing the money. But….was Genji…?
His father coughed roughly and spoke up again in a faint voice. “Perhaps Genji
should be punished.” Everyone nodded, even Hanzo managed to give them a small
nod. “But it is more important now to address Hanzo.”
“Genji has spent more than he brings in for months,” growled a fat cousin in an
all black suit with a crisp black shirt. “He should be bringing in at least
twice as much.”
Another cousin added, “At least bringing in more business since that corner
laundromat. He must replace what has been lost.”
Sora grimaced. “We have lost a number of businesses’ support recently. The
Crystal Dragons took two blocks. But the police have also done raids—.”
His father coughed heavily, his entire frail body jerking, and frowned. “Raids?
Raids are not an excuse. Genji is not an excuse.” He looked at Hanzo. “As the
Shimada heir, it is your responsibility. Genji is your responsibility. This is
all your responsibility. And I expect you to answer for these problems.”
Hanzo’s ears pricked at the slight rustle of cloth behind him—the two goons
usually stood at the doorway when this sort of thing happened, only coming
forward when they were needed. Two hands clapped on his shoulders roughly. He
closed his eyes slowly as those hands began peeling off his jacket, ripping it
from his shoulders before tearing off his shirt.
Mai was dozing on the couch, half-watching a cartoon of two overly muscled men
fighting over something. The cartoon was laughable, a deep voiced narrator
talking about how important this fight was to the universe, but the cartoon
marathon had gone on for a few hours and was supposed to be going on until the
early hours in the morning. Her master—who insisted on her addressing him by
his name of “Genji”—had brought them a pair of trays with a varied supper.
There was teriyaki salmon with asparagus, rice balls, bowls of miso soup, and
shallow bowls of yellow pickles. Mai had been been fed amazingly since Genji
had brought her out of Asahi’s house. Genji had laughed at her the first night,
telling her that he wanted her to have some meat on her bones.
It was peculiar, though. Asahi had been most explicit what they were in
for—extensive surgeries and injections and then servitude to someone who wanted
them for one purpose. That vile man had been lewd when her father had sold her
three years ago, telling him about the “customizations” and training, and she
had been terrified when she had been picked for the auction. The girls had been
dressed and lined up, a smarmy doctor injecting yet another borderline toxic
cocktail, making their heads swim and their senses befuddled. She had
vaguely—distantly and under the drugs influence—seen the black haired woman.
She had tried to refuse the drugs, talking rapidly and smiling as she reasoned
with them and finally when Asahi had begun the auction, the doctor had just
faded into the background.
But after the auction, nothing that Asahi had said had happened. Instead, Genji
had walked back and set some huge gorilla shaped man to watch over her. Asahi’s
little doctor had tried to approach Genji, but the tall, slender man had easily
shooed him away. She had been a bit afraid when Genji had been pulled back into
the auction room, but the guard had stayed there, standing over her silently
until he returned. Then he had swept her up off her feet and carried her to the
parlor, whispering silly things to her.
Since then, he had made sure she ate well. She had spent the entire first day
sleeping and waking up only to eat. He said it was to “clear her system”, but
she was sure that he liked tucking the sheets around her. She had finally
gotten the sedatives out of her system, waking up with energy and a sour taste
in her mouth and Genji sitting up in the bed with his laptop on his lap and a
list of things to buy for her—some pajamas, some underwear, a few books,
necessities, a lacy dress that she wore nowhere, another satin dress that was
worn nowhere, and some sweats for when he took her to the room that appeared to
be a gym. Every morning it seemed there was another box that held something for
her.
And he never touched her. He had carried her in his arms, obviously, and had
sat next to her on the couch. But there was nothing lewd or obscene—he flirted
outrageously, but it felt more like an older brother’s teasing rather than an
older man interested in fucking her. He had let her call her father, held her
when her father growled at her and hung up on her, let her cry on his rather
broad shoulder. He laughed and told her that she needed to be at least a little
older before he was “for real”.
But then he had told her about the woman he irreverently called “Blackie”
behind his brother’s back. He had hoped, on some level, to give her someone to
talk to. Someone who could relate to her experiences, he had decreed with a
ridiculous face, would be good for her. But it had been weeks before she had
been “ready”, and now the other woman was as isolated from her as much as if
she had been on the moon. His brother had not let the woman out of his
apartments at all, refused her invitations to join them for meals, anything. It
was only because of Genji’s insistence that the movie night had happened.
Mai’s mouth had run dry when her master told her to get dressed for a movie
night with his brother. Genji told her that Blackie—Takara—had been…modified.
She had thought about it, tried to imaging what someone who had been
“customized” might look like. She had pictured overwhelming breasts like soccer
balls and a pencil thin waist and a butt that you could put drinks on. Maybe
with her black hair bleached blonde and her lips puffed like a duck’s beak. She
had almost wanted her breasts to be puffed up, some kind of curves, because
Genji…well, such an almost-nice guy (if you ignored his current profession)
deserved a perfect woman. For a few brief minutes, she had been jealous that
she hadn’t been worked on.
Then they had walked into the older brother’s apartment. She had expected a
gorgeous woman—someone who dripped sensuality and would make a centerfold glow
green with envy—but ultimately figured that it would be someone in a similar
situation to her.
It was not.
Hanzo had been standing over her, bare to his waist and gleaming with a light
glow of sweat. A heavy belt swung through the air like the hiss of a snake. He
had been shouting, his voice bellowing like the roar of a lion through a
megaphone. With the snarl on his face, he hadn’t even heard them knock or come
in as he stood over the woman. She had whimpered, trying to peek over Genji’s
too tall shoulder. He tried to protect her, but she had gotten one good look at
the black butterfly.
She was breathtaking—a living, breathing homage to sexuality. But she was
naked, her knees crinkled with kneeling on the carpet. She was terrified,
curled up for a beating, and Mai had felt sudden and overwhelming pity and no
small amount of nausea. They both knew she was going to be hit, probably hurt
terribly, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Nothing anyone could do about it.
That man had shoved her master and her out into the sitting room. Then the
apartment had gone utterly quiet. She was trying to say nothing, to do nothing,
but it had taken all her strength to not at least try to get into that bedroom
and fight for her sister butterfly. Genji had wrapped her in his arms, leading
her to the couch and holding her as they tried not to listen for the sounds of
the beating.
She remembered gasping, her body futilely grasping for air. Genji had wrapped
his arms—those whipcord strong arms she liked to look at—around her and
whispered, “She—. He—.”
Mai had looked at him, tears running down her cheeks and flowing down her face.
She thought distantly she was glad that she had already cleaned the day’s
makeup off her face or she’d look like an advertisement for a leaky fountain
pen. “Please, please go and help her!”
Genji pulled her closer and buried her face against his chest. “Baby…I can’t.
He’s been pushed to the limit.” She sobbed into his shoulder as he pushed her
down to the couch. “Don’t worry. If—if she’s too hurt—!”
Mai looked up at him desperately. “If?!” Sadly, she had slipped to the floor,
kneeling in front of him. “There is no ‘if’. Did you see him? Did you see that
belt? He—he may kill her.”
Genji had sighed, his eyes wet and worried. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re safe.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t know how yet, but you’re gonna be safe
and you won’t ever have to worry about beatings ever again.” With a quick pull,
she was beside him on the couch, still cuddled close. “I won’t lose you like I
lost Ichika. Like I lost…Yui.”
Moments had stretched out and there was nothing and that scared her more
because no one knew better than her how terrible silent punishments could be.
And then the other woman came out covered only in a man’s t-shirt that covered
her entire torso and her arms down to her elbows. Mai’s imagination had run
wild as she imagined the bruises and clamps and bites that t-shirt could cover.
Mai had buried her attention in the silly Godzilla movie. Genji was almost
childish in picking out a movie he deemed “right for her age” and she had
desperately needed to have something other than Takara to think about. The
elder brother didn’t even get her a chair or a pillow, just letting her kneel
on the floor as he idly petted her. At least he ordered snacks—apparently an
unheard of break in his normal behavior—and Mai had seen that she barely ate,
her hair hadn’t been conditioned and was tangled around her shoulders.
Mai knew it was easier to eat just a little so that you didn’t throw up when
you were anticipating a beating.
The little black butterfly hadn’t said much since Genji had brought her here
and the men had locked them in together. She looked a little shocked and
afraid, but was picking out some bits and pieces from an internet site. Mai had
knelt beside her, pointing out a better comb, a more expensive nightie, a
makeup kit, but the other woman had only trembled. Shaking her head, she had
consistently put the absolute cheapest and smallest things in the internet
shopping cart. Then there was only one long t-shirt nightshirt, a single lacy
bra in black with a matching thong in such a horribly cheap pattern that Mai
itched looking at it, and a pair of yoga pants that were marked down and “one
size fits many”. Then, with a silent look, she had locked the computer and
timidly approached the bed.
Mai had sat down on the floor. “You know…he’s probably not going to mind if you
get stuff that’s actually flattering?”
The black butterfly shook her head, glancing at the computer. “I don’t want to
be a problem for him.”
“Don’t you think he’ll be more mad if he has to redo it all?”
“Hey, I’m very lucky,” Takara whispered. “I don’t want to ruin it.” She
shrugged a little weakly. “I am not getting beaten or drugged or anything.” She
had smiled sadly. “I am probably the luckiest butterfly in the world since I am
treated so well.” With a weary glance at the other woman, she added, “Maybe the
second luckiest.”
Mai had combed Takara’s hair with her fingers a little, but the other woman had
only looked at her sadly and silently curled into a tiny knot with her head on
the bed. Mai had sighed, hoping that somehow, things would work out. Finally,
after minutes of silence and stillness, Mai had given up—this was too much for
her to deal with and she 14 for crying out loud—and went to the front room to
wait. At least that monster had a working television, but it had taken a few
times to find the exact drawer he had stashed the remote in. It rubbed Mai
wrong—everything was folded precisely, put away in neat stacks, and sorted or
categorized to an agonizing extent to show exactly that only one person had
ever lived here.
An amazingly OCD person.
Mai was about to give up entirely, to knock on the door and beg Genji to let
her go back to their apartments where she could at least play on his video
games, when she heard voices. They were harsh and hurried and there was a
tremendous crashing thud out in the hall. Genji’s voice was harsh in return.
Mai snapped up and bolted to the bedroom. The black butterfly’s eyes flickered
open, but then had hooded shut. “Something’s going on out here!” Mai whispered.
The other woman snapped up and smoothed the bedsheets. Mai’s eyes flickered
with pity again as she wiped out any sign that she had been near the bed. How
terrible…. But the butterfly was quick and leapt out of the room.
They were interrupted as Genji opened the door, cursing profanely under his
breath. Hanzo’s larger form was crumpled over his shoulders, his head bowed and
bobbing loosely with a split lip dropping blood onto the carpet. His broad,
muscular shoulders and back were smeared with lines of blue and purple and
thinner traces of blood that zigzagged everywhere.
Genji’s eyes glittered with anger, and even Mai knew not to speak. He wouldn’t
mean to snap at them, but he was driven to the edge. The black butterfly, by
rights, should have been paralyzed with fear, but pushed under the other
shoulder and helped get the giant man to the bed. They laid Hanzo down on his
belly and Mai turned his head gently.
Then the butterfly was there. She took out towels, washed down the wounds,
fetched the last ice cubes from their drinks from dinner and began digging the
shredded remains of his shirt out from his pants. Mai felt his forehead—he was
in shock and his skin was clammy, but such a horrible beating could only lead
to fever. She looked at the woman sadly as that one dug in the cabinets of the
bathroom and retrieved a small first aid kit.
They used all of it—the bandages and the pain relieving ointment and the whole
bottle of rubbing alcohol. He had roused enough to take some pills with a
swallow of water, but his eyes were glassy and Mai didn’t know how he stayed
upright at all. Takara looked solemnly at his back and then helped him out of
his belt and shoes and socks. The women ducked to hear Genji’s voice rise
angrily and then hush, but Takara managed to get her master up long enough to
get out of the stained and torn clothes, holding a bed sheet between him and
Mai as he slid on a loose pair of cotton pants with a drawstring waist.
Takara guided him into his bed, wrapping the sheet around his waist. Then, so
softly that Mai had to strain to hear her, she whispered, “Please… Could your
master get us a pitcher of ice water? Some extra towels?” She looked down
gravely at the patched up back of her master, then back at Mai. “You know what
I need.”
Mai nodded dumbly. Then, with a cock of her head and a worried glance as the
outer door to the apartment opened and shut, she whispered back, “I’ll ask, but
why don’t you talk to him?”
Takara looked up at her with an ashen face. “I’ve been forbidden to.”
“Oh.”
“Please,” she insisted. “Please go ask him. We have both seen what happens if a
beating isn’t taken care of.” She looked at the costly t-shirt and brand name
shorts the other woman wore and swallowed, dropping to her knees as a matter of
course. It looked like she was…almost free. Takara’s face was chalk white at
she stared at Mai. “Please. Don’t let him die….”
“He won’t die,” Mai whispered hopefully. Her voice wavered as the other knelt.
She wasn’t free, not like…not like all this. “He won’t. He’s too strong.”
The black butterfly was already moving, collecting the tiny trash can from the
bathroom and dropping washcloths and cold water into it. She came back and
began swabbing the wounds with the cold water. She didn’t look up, just looked
at the cloth and her master’s faint shuddering. “I…I hope not.”
“Look,” Mai began reasonably as she picked up the trash—the bandage wrappers
and the cotton balls and gauze. “Tell Genji. At least, figure out how to call
him…. He’s a really nice guy.”
Takara looked at her solemnly and firmly whispered, “I can’t.” She nodded at
Hanzo’s back as she stopped to dim the lights. “I couldn’t live through that.”
Mai swallowed heavily. There was no way either of them would live through a
beating like that. It was a miracle that he had. “I’ll ask him—tell him what
you need. But you gotta promise me that you’ll talk to Genji.”
Takara knelt beside the bed. “I can’t. You know why.”
“But he’s trying to get evidence,” Mai whispered softly. Her companion looked
up—both scared and intrigued at the same time. “He wants to take Asahi down so
that no one else gets trashed like us.” She whispered in frustration, “Don’t
you see that we’re the lucky ones? How many butterflies have been sold? How
many have been ‘customized’ and died on the tables? How many of them died the
first night with their owners? The first week? You have to see that talking to
Genji is our only chance to stop that from happening!”
“Don’t say any more,” Takara snapped angrily. “If you and he are happy, then
congratulations. But…Asahi is unstoppable. And even if Asahi goes down, there
will be another perverted creep out there doing the exact same thing.” She
pointed to the door. “Now…please leave.”
Mai sighed and walked out. Genji was pacing in the sitting area and seemed
startled when she came out and slid the bedroom doorway closed. “So what are
the damages?” he asked.
There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or humor in his tone, for once. Mai shuddered,
looking for a moment at the boiling rage that streaked his face red and made
his eyes practically glow. Then she whispered, “I…what happened?”
“He was…punished by the clan,” Genji whispered. Mai was shocked into silence.
“He got out lightly—with a beating—and that’s a good thing. Otherwise I’d be
the Shimada heir and I’d be lucky to last a week.”
Mai shook her head. “But why?”
“Because,” he whispered shortly. “The entire council of elders—my father, his
brothers and their sons—have a collective forest up their collective asses. If
I became the heir, I’d suddenly have to be all duty and respect and honor and
getting married to the right girl and become the biggest target the clan has
ever known.” He seemed to straighten a bit. “But, did Blackie—Takara,
sorry—listen to you? Will she help us?”
Mai shrugged sadly. “She says it’s hopeless.”
His eyes glittered again as he looked to the closed bedroom door and back to
Mai. “Then we’ll have to prove it isn’t.” He tried to smile, but it came out as
a lame grimace. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But how will you prove the medical stuff? The illegal Omnic tech? The illegal
use of nanites? Without her help and her proof, we’ve got nothing.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mai,” Genji whispered softly. “If the worst happens,
we’ll take the money and I’ll grab some of her hair and blood and we’ll book to
Switzerland.”
“Why there?”
Genji sighed heavily. “Because if Hanzo goes down, we’ll need to evacuate and
Overwatch will probably be the only group that can help.” He tried again to
smirk. “So what does she need?”
The next days were a blurry delirium. Hanzo felt like he was drowning in heat.
His dragons roars and whispers were faint rumbles and he felt like he was being
roasted alive. Takara was close at hand, bringing him pills and endless cups of
water and clear tea to sip. She drifted in and out like a wraith.
And he was surrounded by wraiths. Ichika was back with her doll, staring at
him. Yui was there too, holding an empty piece of cardboard and shouting to
come get the imaginary sweets. His father’s voice danced around like a foul
smell and stinging swords cut into his skin. Then the little butterfly would be
close and the others would fade into darkness as she dabbed cold cloths to his
face and neck, wringing them out and applying them again.
He could hear his brother’s voice, laughing, as though from a distance. Genji
was always laughing, but now it was a demon’s howl. His butterfly held his
hand, kissing it, as his mama whispered to him that dragons only went with
superior men.
“Mother, do not go,” his whispered, his lips cracked and stinging.
“I’m not going far,” she replied. “And your dragons are here for company. What
nine year old is afraid of the dark?”
“But I do not want you to leave, Mother,” he begged.
His father appeared. “Your mother is dead. She died like a whore in front of
the offices downtown.” His voice faded out. “She was terrible—too soft on you.
Another beating will help that!”
His first archery master appeared. “I’ll beat some sense into you, whelp.”
Takara put a cup to his lips. “Please drink, master.”
He sighed and took a hesitant sip. “Whelp,” he whispered to her.
Young Genji was there, laughing and crawling into the dark clothes. “Let’s go
out and play with Yui and the others. They want to play behind the noodle
shop.”
He shook his head. “Father will go crazy. He said that if he caught us going
out again that he would beat us. He is going to lock us in our rooms if he
finds out.”
“So don’t let him find out,” Genji grinned, looking like a tremendously young
urchin in his raggedly clothes. “Come on big brother. We can’t play family if
you’re not going to play the Father.”
“No, Genji. We have responsibilities—!”
“I’ll scream right now if you don’t! The guards will come to see what’s
happening and you’ll be in trouble!”
“All right, Genji! But only for a little while.”
“What do you mean, leading Genji out to play in an alley with a bunch of
raggedy urchins?!”
“Father! No—I mean—!”
“You are responsible for Genji since your mother died. Is that too much to
ask?!” His father raised a hand to strike him again. “Maybe I should just throw
you out and keep Genji if you’re going to be useless!”
“But I am not useless!”
Mother stroked his hair. “Of course not, my son. No one said you were.”
“Father said it. He always says it! Why not leave this place?!”
“Your mother is a whore. A dead whore. And you are a worthless son who can’t
keep track of one valueless boy.”
Hanzo felt the dragons rumble painfully under his shoulder. “Genji is not!”
“He’s a spare heir,” his father yelled. “The one thing your mother did right.”
The archery master stood in front of his, smacking his hands with a wooden rod
until he gripped the bow correctly and managed to get it strung and muttering
how he should know this by now. Hanzo gritted his teeth, knowing that if he
cried, his father would give him another beating. Finally, he got it right and
pulled the string, only to see that it was wrapped around his brother’s neck.
There was blood everywhere. Takara helped him roll over and wiped it off of his
hands, murmuring softly. Genji stood, watching over her shoulder. His father
came in screaming at them all, and his mother was sobbing over his bed. He
pushed on the bed hard, only to feel the goons beating him, holding him down
again with their bamboo sticks whistling through the air.
He growled slightly as he tried to sit up and his father grunted at him. “Your
worthless whore ran away like your mother.”
He looked around and there was no sign of her. “Takara!” His voice was hoarse.
Young Genji laughed at him. “Come out and play, Hanzo. We can’t do it without
you!”
“Not again, Genji. Please. Please behave. I cannot take this!”
His father growled. “You can’t take this? Then you’ll keep on taking this until
you are stronger, better.” Again long thin bamboo rods whistled through the
air. “And we’ll get your little Takara next, boy.”
“Not her. Genji! Protect her!”
“I want to go out and play! Come on!”
“Genji—I cannot do this. You have to help me. I am so tired. Why can you not
behave just a little? Father is so mad when you misbehave.” Genji’s eyes seemed
to flicker like green gems as his dragons danced around. “There are conditions.
If I get you a butterfly, will you at last behave? Will you take
responsibility? Will you do the right thing?”
“Only if you get one, too.”
“Just work at the business. 8 hours a day is fair, is it not?”
“I’m only young once.”
Asahi appeared with papers flying around him like feathers. “Butterflies!
Butterflies! Everyone needs a butterfly!”
Hanzo growled. “Do not hurt her. Just feed her.” The colorful man shook his
head coyly. “Do not hurt her. She wants to be beautiful. She wants to be
strong—so strong. Why are you asking me, Takara? I can barely protect Genji—I
can not help you, too.”
“I want to be strong. I want to be fast.” She seemed to be crying. “I want to
be beautiful.”
He trembled weakly. “I cannot take this. I want your body, but Asahi will not
let you go without customizations.”
Asahi whimpered and simpered. “She can be beautiful, Honored Sir. Just tell me
what she should look like?”
His voice seemed hoarse and whispery. “She is beautiful already.”
His mother patted his head, dabbing a cool cloth across his head. “Oh? Are you
getting married?”
Genji appeared, shaking and thin as a youth. “Did you see what happened? Yui
and Ichika are gone. Why did this happen, Hanzo? Are we cursed? Can’t we
protect them?”
“Cursed! Cursed!” the council of elders shouted.
“We are stronger than this. We are not going to get hurt,” Hanzo whispered.
“But everyone is gone. They are all killed. All we do is hurt people. Why can’t
we take the entire clan down? We can do it from the inside like bugs in a
tree.”
“It is complicated, Genji. There are so many people—so many angles and so many
ways to get caught and you and Mai are going to go away like Yui and Ichika and
Yoshi and Aiko did.”
“You said that we were going to do this, take it down so that no one else gets
hurt like we were.”
Takara brought him a cup of thin tea. “Master, drink, please.”
He took a sip. “It is sweet.”
“With honey, Master.”
Genji popped up. “Aiko and Yoshi are gone. I’m going to disappear too. We are
all doomed.”
“Drink, Master.” Takara’s cool hand brushed his brow.
Genji pouted. “I want to give them some real mizu yokans. Real food. Aiko
hasn’t ever had one and we get them all the time.”
“He is going to beat me again if there’s more sweets missing, Genji,” Hanzo
moaned. “I am responsible for you.”
Takara sat by him. There was one of the mizu yokan in her hands—a deep red
slice of sweetness with a golden chestnut in it. “Please, Master, this is what
you wanted, isn’t it?”
Asahi appeared, his purple and blue robes dripping with scarlet at the hems.
“Let me show you the butterfly, Hanzo!”
Then there she was again, her breasts like enormous beach balls and her waist
tiny like a wasp’s and her hips distorted. She had a hideous face—her lips
puffed like they were stung by bees and her eyes huge like a cows and her hair
sticking out in spikes covered with glitter. A tail dripped behind her and it
was covered in green scales.
“You did this to me, Master!” She sighed and wriggled, looking like her bust
was going to fall over like a top.
“Yes! You did this Hanzo!” His father laughed and coughed heavily, blood
spitting out of his mouth. “What did you think you were good for? The Shimada
bloodline must go on!” She appeared again. Her body was distorted more, her
belly swollen and the proportions even more unbalanced. “I don’t need you
anymore, Hanzo.”
“I will….” Hanzo closed his eyes, reaching for her. “Cherish my treasure.”
The room was cool and dusky dark and the blue walls seemed to be fuzzy. Hanzo
coughed, his mouth stinging with the effort. He squeezed his hands into fists
and they ached and seemed to be sluggish. Even pushing over on his side was an
immense effort.
There was a whisper of sound and Takara seemed to appear from the shadows of
the room. Hanzo wanted to smile, but one look at her stole his breath. There
were dark shadows under her eyes like purple pools and there were bags, too.
Her hair was a tangled mess, sweaty and lank, and she swayed a little
uncertainly as she walked to the side of the bed. Her hands shook as she
reached to stroke his forehead.
“Little butterfly,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and his throat was sore.
“Why are you not—?”
“I’m sorry, Master,” she flushed, kneeling down by the bedside. “Do you want
something to drink?”
Hanzo’s eyes closed as her cool hands brushed his brow and pushed his errant
hair back from his face. “That feels good,” he murmured. She let out a sound
and did it again. “My mother used to do that….”
“Your fever has gone down a little,” she whispered. She laid her head down on
the bedside wearily, petting his head. “Can you move?”
Hanzo grunted. His body did not seem to want to roll over. But the dragons were
silent and there were no more wraiths. He reached for her hands. “Do not
disappear again.”
“Again?” Takara’s head tilted a bit as her gray eyes watched him curiously.
With a bit of a shimmy, she seemed to shake herself awake. “If you can roll a
little, I can change the sheets.”
Hanzo opened his mouth to say something and then sneezed. “What has happened,
Takara?” He sniffed. “The sheets…reek.”
She nodded and went to his closet. There was a spare set of sheets and she
pulled up the old sheets around him. She put the sheets around two corners and
pulled them as tight against him as she dared. He groaned, but managed to roll
onto the clean sheets. Then she pulled the old sheets off and finished making
the bed.
“Better, Master?” she smiled wearily.
He nodded. His hands shook and he saw where thin bandages had been wrapped
around them. It was less difficult for her to get a fresh set of pants on him,
but he hissed when she tried to tighten them around his waist.
With a wet cloth, she wiped his face and hair, drawing wide bands of cooling
wet down his chest and back. She pulled away when her cloth was too warm. He
actually whimpered as she left the bedside, but she returned quickly with a
tray with a pitcher of ice water and cups, another bowl of cold water, and
small packets of pills.
“What is this, butterfly?” He tried to laugh, but his ribs felt like they were
on fire. “Are you a nurse as well?”
She looked at him worriedly. Setting the tray on his bedside table, she felt
his forehead again. “Perhaps you are feverish?” She cocked her head. “But here
are some pills. They should help.”
She tore open the package and he swallowed them, drinking the entire glass of
water. The ice burrowed down his throat, quenching the rough dryness he felt
there. He waved the glass and she refilled it. A third glass followed those
two. Finally, he felt like he was again part of the living.
“What time is it? Where is my phone?” The butterfly brought him his phone with
a worried look on her face. The screen remained dark as he tried pressing the
buttons. “I always charge this in the morning, during my meetings.” He cocked
an eye towards her. “What…?”
She frowned and shrugged a little. “You have been sick for four days, Master.”
He blinked uncertainly. “Four days?!”
She nodded, watching him. “Master…. I…. Genji—I mean, Master Genji, brought you
here. It’s been four days, as far as I can tell, and you’ve been burning with
fever.”
Hanzo nodded uncertainly. “And you, little butterfly?” She shrugged. He glanced
around, then instantly regretted it as his head swam. “What has happened to
you?!”
She bit her lip and looked up at him sorrowfully. “I’m sorry, Master.” She
brought out a small plate with three mizo yokan on it. “You kept asking about
these…. If you give me permission, I will call Master Genji….” He shrugged a
little. The sweets melted to nothing in his mouth and he took another swallow
of water. Glancing at his bandaged hands and feet, he looked at her in
confusion. “We butterflies…I know that beatings can make you sick and I…I
didn’t know if your hands and feet were hurt too.”
He nodded. “Go fetch the phone, Takara.” He grimaced. “I’ll tell Genji to bring
us some food.”
She brought him the cordless house phone silently. He rapped out some orders to
Genji’s voicemail and then tossed it to the floor. Of course, his butterfly
picked it up and put it back precisely where he normally left it.
He looked at her. Some few bruises darkened her skin and she was still weary.
“Did I not order you some things? A brush at least?” He frowned. “Genji will be
bringing us some food, and I do not want him seeing you like that….”
Her shoulders shook in a small giggle. “I…I am fine. Just sleepy.”
He let out a puff that was as close to a chuckle as his ribs would allow. “Then
go bathe and come back to bed.”
She showered quickly, as though she were out of time. Returning quickly, she
ran her fingers over his brow, uncertainly. “The fever is still there, but not
so high.”
“Did you think it would come back?”
“It did….once.”
“I am…for better or worse….still alive.” Hanzo gritted his teeth and pushed
hard against the mattress. He managed to slide over a few inches at least. “So
you can come here.” She perched on the edge of the bed, watching him. “What
happened to you? You have bruises?”
She flushed darkly. “Sometimes you seemed to be beating back demons. A few
times you told me to come over and then you pushed me back and I wasn’t
fast…enough….”
His eyes went a bit wide. “I am well enough not to hurt you now.” He looked at
the wet, tangled mass of black hair. “Why don’t you…amuse me…by brushing out
your hair?”
She started a little. “But…there’s only your comb.”
“Amuse me.”
She nodded slowly and brought out his comb. With careful strokes, she pulled
the comb through her hair, taming it into the smooth curtain of ebony Hanzo
liked. When she was done, she yanked the hair out of the comb, cleaning it
thoroughly.
Hanzo grunted and reached out. Without hesitation, she put the comb in his hand
and he tossed it on the table. “Now sleep until my brother comes, butterfly.”
He flushed a little. “I will be more careful now.”
She shook her head. “Just sleep. I’ll be close.” She looked at the packets of
pills meaningfully. “Master Genji brought those. They help you sleep.” She
scrunched her nose a bit and tried to smile. “You snore.”
He frowned. “Genji brought those?” With a weary sigh, he closed his eyes. “Then
when I get up, I will wring his neck.” One eye cracked open to see her cuddling
a pillow in her corner. “And do not ever again accept anything from Genji
without telling me first and getting my permission.”
She looked up at him with a frown. “But Master Genji brought a doctor. I
thought that it was okay since the doctor gave him two packets and then the
next ones look the same.” She yawned and curled into a knot. “I will be more
careful next time, Master.”
“Genji brought a doctor in here? With you?” Hanzo felt anger flush through him.
How dare he?!
She knelt on her knees. “You were…so sick. I didn’t speak to him, I swear. I
went to the bathroom, turned off the lights and hid. Master Genji closed the
bathroom door. I listened at the door to what they said, but I didn’t speak.”
She looked like a lost puppy and Hanzo sighed. This had only become more and
more complicated. But he could hear a soft muttering of the dragons—they agreed
with her—and that was enough for now. “Do not let it happen again.” She nodded
eagerly. “Now sleep. If you hear Genji knock, wake me up. Do not go yourself.”
He looked at her through one weary eye. “And cover yourself. Wear another one
of my t-shirts.”
Then the world spun into darkness. There was nothing for hours except the dark
and silence and the slow, silent purring of his dragons. Sleep was best for
this—sleep and to let the dragons’ energy flow through his body and gently
renew it.
Of course, such bliss could not last the night. Genji came in a few hours later
and dutifully Takara woke him up. The doctor’s drugs made him a bit dizzy and
his back and sides ached and there was a distinct buzzing of the dragons on his
shoulder, but he managed to drag himself to the apartment door and take the
tray. Takara helped him back into bed the instant that Hanzo closed the door
and sat the tray on his lap.
Hanzo’s head lolled a bit loosely on his shoulders. “I will not be awake for
long, butterfly.” He gestured at the tray. “Why not fly closer?”
She nodded and began feeding him. Her hands drifted over his forehead and down
his chest quickly and she whispered, “Your fever is back. But it’s not so
high…. Here, eat a little more and you can sleep, Master.”
“I am cold,” he muttered petulantly, taking a bite of pickled vegetables.
“I’ll get you a shirt.”
With a lot of patience and pushing and prodding, Hanzo managed to eat his
meal—most of it, anyway—and get into a shirt. His steps wobbled and he felt
kitten weak as he managed to make it to the bathroom and then flop back into
the bed. Then Takara was there, spooning warm soup into his mouth.
“Eat something,” he ordered sleepily. “I want you to eat something.”
“As you wish,” she smiled. She popped a few morsels into her mouth and patted
his brow. “You’ll be fine.”
“I know,” he muttered, feeling sleep come back up to claim him. “I have the
Shimada dragons, after all.”
Takara cocked her head at him and nodded. “I-I-I…. I saw them—your dragons.”
“Oh?” He smirked indulgently. “When?”
She looked at him, her hand flickering over his tattoo. “I-it’s not th-th-their
fault. You were…calling out and then—whoosh!” Her arms spread wide. “They came
out and curled around you.”
He grinned. “Did they?”
She nodded shyly. “They…they didn’t understand that I was a friend, I think.”
She shrugged. “They growled a little, but when I came back with more tea and
water, they—.” She giggled a little nervously. “They drank the tea and then
tried to get the sweets.”
“They like their sweets,” Hanzo muttered wearily. “Then what happened?”
“I…I guess they decided that I was not so bad and they laid on you like cats
and growled when I got up to get…well, anything.” She looked at him curiously.
“Then, all at once, they vanished again.”
Almost asleep again, she gave him another pair of pills and cleared away the
meal. Her stomach lurched and she felt ill, seeing the maze of green and purple
along his body, but she swallowed heavily and put the tray in the outer room.
Then, with resolution, she laid down in her corner to count the minutes until
she could sleep.
The next day, Hanzo managed to get his laptop and his phone and their chargers
into the bedroom. Takara kept bringing him water, her cool hands drifting
across his head and easing his headaches, giving him massages and in general
trying to be as quiet as possible. At lunch, Hanzo got her onto the bed beside
him and looked at her shopping list.
“Little butterfly,” he whispered. “Has the world gone mad in my absence? Surely
there were better things available before.” He emptied the online shopping cart
and began pulling up her searches. “See? This is a heavy comb for suitable for
long hair.”
“It costs over a hundred yen, Master,” she protested.
“It should. It is carved wood like mine.” He looked at the next item she had
searched for—the lacy bra and thong. “I do not care for this. It looks cheap.”
He clicked away and picked out another set in silk and then another set in
satin. “And then some shampoo and soap. And a toothbrush.”
He clicked away, showing her his purchases. It was a bit extravagant—a peignoir
set of satin with a gown and a matching robe, a pair of Brookstone bedroom
slippers and a pair of Frederick’s of Hollywood mules with some fluff on the
toes, hand-mixed shampoo and conditioner from some exotic company, a toiletry
kit of a tortoise shell comb, a brush, hand mirror and makeup brushes, and then
some regular items including a pink toothbrush.
She yawned softly, curled against his side as he confirmed his order. “Still
sleepy?” he asked. “Then you should take a nap. Genji will bumble in here soon
enough with dinner.” She pulled up to go to her corner, and he tucked her in
carefully with a small, satisfied shake of his head. “Stay here. I need a bit
of a nap as well.”
Of course, because he wanted to sleep, he couldn’t sleep. She was exhausted,
and dropped off almost as soon as he had tucked her in. The dragons wouldn’t
let him sleep—they were buzzing like static against his skin. They could sense
that he was still not well and his inner conflict to get back to business as
soon as possible, but until he summoned them, they could not come out. So,
they, in their silent, mental way, complained about it like a nagging fishwife.
He kept considering getting up, then his aching shoulders and then the
complaints of his dragons in a whirl of thoughts until his mind was dizzy
enough to shut down.
He slept late as the fever returned. The medicines kept knocking him out. When
he did manage to wake up enough, his mouth felt foul and he ached in just about
every muscle. He tried to work, at least to answer emails. Takara turned into a
drill sergeant, bringing him water and medicines every six hours, per the
doctor’s orders. She changed the bandages, wiping him down with cool cloths and
smearing his back with ointment.
She looked terrible. Hanzo saw her growing more exhausted the longer his fever
raged, but felt like he could only watch her. He wanted to be up, but the
medicines, and now the herbs that whatever experts his father consulted has
passed along, continued to make him dizzy and feel sluggish.
Genji showed up, causing Takara to flee into the bathroom and lock the door. If
Genji was at all contrite or embarrassed, he never showed it. He only snorted
with laughter at the sound of the lock and the sudden flicker as the lights
went off. Taking the box out from under his arm, he put it down on the foot of
the bed.
“What do you want, Genji?” Hanzo rasped out.
“That’s some thanks for picking up your mail,” he smiled.
Hanzo glared at him. “What. Do. You. Want?”
“So when will I be allowed to actually be in her presence?” He smirked. “I’m
really not a threat to her.” Hanzo rolled his eyes in disbelief and Genji
calmly took out a small pocket knife and slit opened the box. Without pause, he
picked through it. The toothbrush and other items spilled out and Genji picked
up the lacy nightgown. “I somehow don’t think that this is going to fit you.”
Hanzo couldn’t resist laughing a little. That was Genji—always quick with a
crack or a joke. No matter what happened, he had a joke about it. When their
mother died, it was Genji who had been the first to crack a smile again. Days
before he had even felt like grinning, Genji had somehow found a whoopee
cushion and was playing jokes.
But this time, as Hanzo watched him, he saw Genji frown, fingering the lace.
“Look, Han, what the hell happened?”
Hanzo took the tumbler from his bedside table. He tried to shrug, but there was
still a dark bruise across his shoulders and he couldn’t move them. “I
was…punished,” Hanzo whispered seriously. There was a soft sound from the
bathroom and he ignored it. He shot a dark look to his brother. “You know how
this works.”
Genji sighed and nodded. Even as the spare heir, he hadn’t been shielded from
that aspect of the Shimada business. Then he looked up at Hanzo, with a little
confusion. “But…why?”
Hanzo could help it. He glared at his younger brother and all but yelled, “If
you really cared about this, then you would not do half the stuff that I have
let you get by with.” He chugged the last of the ice water and set the tumbler
down with exaggerated care. “If you ever cared about anything other than
whatever party you were going to and whatever toy you wanted at that moment,
then you would do things like show up to meetings on time, handle the business
like a business and not your own piggy bank, and you sure as hell would not—!”
Genji nodded sadly. “I know. I know.” He sighed. “I’m the world’s biggest
disappointment. What else is new?” He shrugged in agreement before looking up
at his brother with a strangely hopeful expression. “But…we could change it.”
“No, Genji. You could change. You could be the son that father wants. You could
be the brother that I need.” Hanzo wanted to hit him, wanted to wipe the smug
grin off his face, but he was sure that Takara would resent her careful
poultices and bandages being disturbed. “But you have never been either and you
have never, ever cared about anything more than yourself.”
Genji looked up at him sadly. Then, with the deliberate grace that seemed to
show a broken heart, he peeled off his suit coat and shirt, dropping them on
the floor. Gracefully, he turned and Hanzo just stared.
Genji’s back was almost as littered with scars as his own. They were all
old—thin lines of raised, knobby flesh and a few that must have been very deep
because they were sunken lines. With his head bowed, he scooped up his clothes
and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah…. Lovely aren’t they?” He shrugged. “So,
you are just amazed at my good looks, huh?”
He shrugged again. “So Mai wants us to try to get together again sometime.” He
pulled on his shirt. “I’ll tell her it’s off. Maybe I’ll tell her that you’re
still laid up.” Genji looked at the closed bathroom door. “Let your little
butterfly out. I’m going.”
Hanzo watched his brother for a moment more. “What is your game Genji?”
He grunted, fiddling with the buttons. “Maybe later, huh? Mai is worried about
me. She thinks that somehow thinks that things are coming to a head and that we
need to move. And move fast.”
“What are you thinking of doing?”
Genji whirled and buttoned his shirt, tucking it in absently. “Oh…something
heroic, I guess.”
“Heroic?” Hanzo let out a short laugh. “I do not think that we are on the
heroic side.”
“Always the realist, Han,” Genji snorted. “Never looking at what could happen.”
He nodded—Hanzo had always been this way. “Nice to know the odds.” He sauntered
over to tap on the bathroom door. “Hey, Takara! I’m leaving now. You can come
out. Do your thing—maybe some Shiatsu.” He glanced over at the bed as he
fastened his cuffs as he walked out. “Get well soon, brother.”
Hanzo grunted, suddenly exhausted again. The knob rattled and Takara poked her
head out cautiously. “Come out…. He is gone.”
She did, coming out cautiously and looking around. With nervous steps, she
approached the bed and looked him over carefully. She mewled softly, her
fingers running over him lightly as she checked the bandages.
He smiled—more for her than for anything else. “I am fine. We just talked.”
She glared at the empty bedroom doorway angrily. For a moment, she just shook,
her tiny hands balled into fists and her shoulder bunched.
“Calm down, little butterfly.” Hanzo petted the bed beside him. “At least he
brought the mail.” She looked over at him and then nodded slowly. Coming over,
she knelt beside the bed. He nudged the items and the box with his leg. “Look
inside.”
She did, slowly unpacking everything and putting it where he directed. There
was a place for everything in his mind and everything went into its place. Her
face said that she was clearly humoring him, but when he tried to stand, she
instantly ran over and began to pat his body, getting him to sit down on the
bed again.
So, for the next day, he allowed her to attend him. She ran him hot baths in
the deep tub, massaged his muscles, brushed his bruises with an ice pack, and
brought him drinks. It was soothing and numbing, and Hanzo didn’t feel the need
to speak much. She looked even more lovely now that she had proper tools—a deep
red lipstick, some proper shampoo and conditioner, her own toothbrush and
combs—but she still was weary with all the care he needed.
He felt it too. Every strike he had suffered ached and not one of the bastards
had pulled back a lick. He was lucky though—nothing was broken. Maybe they
realized that Genji would hardly be an improvement as the Shimada heir.
She did curl up next to him though, as he slept for another hour or so. He
couldn’t help but grin as his hand glided down her satin covered waist. She
could rest here as long as she wanted. If only his entire torso didn’t hurt. If
only…. If only….
He woke first. If only the herbs and medicines didn’t taste so terrible, maybe
his mouth wouldn’t taste so foul. He had to be slow, but he managed to get up
without the butterfly doing more than turning over. Brushing his teeth was
quietly accomplished and he realized that, for the first time in what felt like
a long time, he was actually hungry.
Despite the late hour, he staggered to the house phone and managed to order a
meal. That woke her up and she sat up, her hair mussed and her face sleepy. “Is
there something wrong, Master? Can I help?”
“Go back to sleep, Takara,” he muttered. “I am just hungry.”
“Oh,” she muttered. “I can…maybe massage you?”
“No,” he smiled. “Just get some sleep. If you are hungry, then I will wake you
up when it gets here.” He glanced at a small electric clock. “It is still very
early in the morning.”
She nodded slowly and laid back down. He picked up his remote, determined to
find something worth watching. The earliest news reports were on, droning about
the weather and stocks. There had been a shooting. There was a new model of car
that was coming out.
The food could have been sawdust for all he cared, but when it arrived, it
looked amazing. There was a sweet pudding with chia seeds and fruit compote,
some cut up melons, and a sweet-tart orange juice along with a pot of hot tea.
“Takara,” he whispered. She didn’t stir and he limped into the bedroom with the
tray. “Takara.”
She stretched and sat up. “M-m-master?”
“Are you hungry?”
She slid over in the bed. “I’m not hungry, but I’ll sit up with you.”
He wobbled to the bed. “It is not much. Breakfast will be along in a few
hours.” With a relieved sigh, he sat down. He popped a melon ball in her mouth
and she ate it almost without being awake. He took a bite of the chia pudding.
He didn’t favor it, but Genji swore that it was healthy to eat. The berry
compote looked darkly red and he smirked, comparing it to her lips.
She cracked open an eye and smiled. “What? Is there something I can do for
you?”
“Just looking at you,” he admitted. He took another bite. “Are you sure that
you aren’t hungry? You have not eaten much….in….” He cocked his head. “Ever.”
She giggled and twisted on the bed. “I am fed well.” She shrugged, looking up
at him at first with a smile and then, with his serious look, she shrugged.
“I…just don’t…have an appetite.”
He snorted, taking another bite. “I suppose that this is an effect of….?” He
flushed. There was no gentle or genteel way to allude to what might have
happened to her. “Asahi?”
She suddenly was solemn, watching him carefully. With another half shrug, she
nodded. “I suppose so.” She let her hand almost touch him, her gaze flickering
down to his leg. “It’s a little hard to remember because it seemed like all of
it happened at the same time.”
She let out a sleepy chuckle. “I am…at peace, with it…I-I guess.” She glanced
up at him with a smile. “I am happy with you and the little you demand of me.”
He snorted. “As long as you find me beautiful, then I am content.”
He smirked in male satisfaction, picking at the pudding. He finished that at
least, his sweet tooth overwhelmed. Setting it aside, he curled around her and
managed to drop off to sleep. But it was too short a time before he heard
pounding on his door.
Grinding his teeth, he pushed himself up. One hand dropped to Takara’s waist,
and he murmured for her to stay in bed. She nodded and only shot a dark look
towards the door, causing him to let out a small laugh. “I will get rid of
them.”
He closed the bedroom door with a sigh. Limping over to the door, he was about
to start shouting when he saw one of his father’s most trusted servants bowing
low and sweat or tears running down his puffing cheeks. “Master Hanzo…. Please
come quickly! It’s…your father.”
Adrenaline poured into him and he wasted no time getting dressed before
following the older man down the hallways. They finally turned into a large
bedroom. His father was laying in his own opulent bed, his body shaking and
frail and somehow a hundred years older than he had ever remembered seeing him.
There were matching dark cherry nightstands with drawers on each side of the
bed, two large bookshelves, a desk with a silk upholstered chair under it. The
second closet was not quite closed. There was a mahogany cane carved to look
like a twining dragon beside the bed.
“My…s-s-son,” he whispered. “It is good to see you.”
Hanzo bowed slightly, gritting his teeth as his muscles groaned in agony.
“Father.”
“You are…looking well.” His father motioned and the servant disappeared. “I…am
glad because the punishments are not meant to be easy.” Hanzo nodded slowly as
the servant reappeared with a chair. Sitting down, he looked vaguely at the
ancient room. “But where is your brother?”
Hanzo sighed heavily. With a wave, he sent the servant out to fetch him. “Most
likely he is sleeping.”
“Ahh…with the whore,” his father grunted and reached for his cane to lay it on
the bed beside him. “At least he is interested in a woman enough to try to give
me grandchildren.” He shot a dark glare at his eldest son. “You
are—eventually—planning to have a woman of your own, aren’t you? Not just an
over-priced nursemaid like that whore?” He wrinkled his nose and weakly shook
the cane. “You aren’t….interested in men are you?”
“No,” Hanzo shot out. He knew that there were those who liked that, but he
definitely didn’t swing that way.
His father nodded with satisfaction. “I suppose that is an improvement,
although I’d be happier if you were married. My friend Yuki has a daughter—.”
“No, Father,” Hanzo grunted.
“Ehh, she is a bit homely, but it would be a good marriage,” his father sighed,
his eyes closing.
“What did you want to see me for, Father?” Hanzo snapped, folding his arms and
fighting sleep himself.
“Ehh…when Genji gets here,” his father sighed as he laid back in his pillows.
Ten minutes later, Genji was led in to the room. Looking weary himself, he was
also given a chair. His father didn’t bother even speaking to Genji, just a
whisper to tell the servant to leave them for a few minutes.
After a few more moments, the eldest Shimada seemed to wake up a bit and
whisper, “My sons. I…I needed to see you before—.”
“Before what, Father?” Genji asked anxiously.
“Before that quack of a doctor decides I’m dead.” He cackled a bit hoarsely,
his breath thin and fading. “I wanted to at least pretend that both my sons are
going to carry on the Shimada traditions.” He sighed in a deep breath. “Since
you both seem bent on destruction, I thought I would try…one…more time.”
Genji shot a worried look at Hanzo, then seemed more anxious when the servant
came back in and pulled a rolling cart holding a bunch of monitors out of the
second closet. The servant untangled the wires and began plugging them in and
attaching them. “Master, you must rest. The doctor will be here soon.”
“Yes. Yes.” The father seemed to be grouchy suddenly at all the wires snaking
suddenly everywhere. “The quack will be here soon.”
He looked balefully at his sons. “I suppose that you’re both glad to see all
this?” He sighed as the beeps began ringing in the room. “You’re both glad to
see me sick and going to die? There’s a reason I didn’t tell you, you know.”
Hanzo shook his head slightly, trying not to gape at the monitors’ irregular
beeping. Genji didn’t even manage that, just watching silently.
“You both are my only family.” Sojiro’s eyes seemed to glare angrily. “I don’t
see how, but you are both all that is left.” He chuffed out a laugh. “The only
thing your mother did right was to have two of you. I wish I could be proud
of—o-o-.” He began jerking in a hacking, barking cough. The monitors jerked all
over the place and Hanzo rose a little to see what was happening.
His elder slapped his hand away. Hanzo jerked, more out of habit than anything.
At one point, that man on the bed would have sent him bowling head over heels
with one his his strikes. But now it was a child’s pat—a baby’s slap. The older
man glowered at him, “I don’t need you poking and prodding at me, Hanzo.”
Genji rolled his eyes and stretched out a bit. “If all you’re going to do it
scold us, then I’m going back to bed….”
“You will sit there and listen to me,” the elder fumed in his thready, whisper
soft voice. “Just as I and my brothers sat when my father needed us.” He rolled
his eyes at Genji. “You need to learn more respect for your elders—including
your brother. You should be prepared to follow him into any thing he says.” He
swung ineffectually again. “At the very least, you should be prepared to get
married to whoever he says so that there will be another generation of
Shimada.”
Hanzo chuffed out a snort. His father glared at him. “You should be more
respectful, whelp. You don’t deserve to hold the Shimada dragons. If I could
get out of this bed, I’d take them back!”
Suddenly the old man went utterly pale, and one wraith thin hand gripped his
chest and the other knotted in the blankets. Alarms on all of the monitors went
off, creating a cacophony of beeps and buzzes. Apparently, the servant was
listening, because he came in and dug a tiny pill bottle out of a drawer. There
was a scuffle with the top and pills scattered across the blankets and Genji
leapt up to try to find one.
Hanzo sighed, for once glad he could barely move. One pill flicked towards him
and he picked it up. The servant sighed with a forced smile on his face and put
it under his Master’s tongue. Agonizing seconds later, the older man was able
to relax against the pillows.
“I suppose that you’re good for that at least,” the Shimada master finally
sighed, looking at Hanzo. “It’s a piddling enough thing to do right.”
The servant flushed slightly. “Please rest, Master. The doctor will be along in
a half hour.”
“Call him again! Tell him to hurry!” The servant bowed out with a patient
expression. “I swear—I’ll die before that doctor gets here.”
Genji couldn’t resist a joking tone. “You won’t die. You’ll live forever.”
“You should be respectful,” the elder reiterated. He paused for a moment and
then glared at his sons. “So. Where are they?”
Genji looked at Hanzo in confusion. Hanzo just shrugged and then asked, “Where
are who?”
“Those whores, son,” he sighed. “Where are those whores you purchased?” He
picked at the blankets irritably. “Don’t you dare tell me you are ashamed of
your father and are going to hide the women away! Just because I’m old and
sick!” He glared at them again. “You’re going to both be old and sick one day
too—if you live that long.” He waved at them. “But those are the closest I’m
going to get to grandchildren. I expect you to bring them so that they can give
their respects!”
Genji and Hanzo both sighed heavily as the elder flopped backwards against the
pillows again, exhausted. They both murmured excuses and stepped outside. The
servant was hovering at the door, looking at them anxiously. A young man with a
blinding white coat came down the hall, carrying a leather bag. The servant
introduced the doctor and led him inside.
Immediately there was a barrage of abuse spilling out into the hall as the
servant closed the doors. Genji looked up at him, a weary, wary twinkle in his
eyes. “He’s going to live forever on vitriol alone.”
Hanzo groaned. “Now is not the time for jokes, Genji.”
Genji nodded, his head tilted slightly as a nonstop angry tirade seemed to
permeate the halls. “I’m not bringing Mai here.”
Hanzo nodded almost unwillingly. “I would never tell you to do that.” He puffed
out a breath. “Did you know anything about this?”
Genji’s eyes glistened slightly as he shook his head. “I had no idea.” He
puffed out a small laugh. “Some ninja I am, huh?”
Hanzo let out a soft chuckle at that. “He would die a thousand deaths and kill
us all to prevent a single person who did not need to know from finding out.”
Genji nodded. Then, with a small tilt of his head, he asked, “So…Han…. Would it
help? For me to—?” He made a comical gesture of shuddering and appearing to
almost die. “Get married?” He seemed to gag. “I mean…. I’d hate to get tied
down like that, but I hadn’t….thought….”
Hanzo shook his head. “Let me see what the doctor says. This may be nothing.”
The doctor, when he finally came out, was flushed red and seemed to be about
ready to throttle his patient. Hanzo had been pacing the hallway for what felt
like forever and almost pounced on the sweaty, weary man.
“You are the oldest son?” he asked and then answered himself. “Of course. So if
we could sit down somewhere?”
Hanzo led them to a small room, well away from his father’s apartments. “How is
he, Doctor?”
The doctor sat down with relief. “Well, if it were anyone else, I would advise
the family be gathered and for final arrangements to be started.” He seemed to
be about to make some other remark, but stopped instantly at Hanzo’s grim face.
“He is not a well man.” Hanzo nodded. “There are numerous heart issues and they
are complicated by various other ailments and his recent bout with pneumonia.”
Hanzo kept a straight face as the doctor droned on, describing the various
ailments—the recent pneumonia and heart problems, the low level allergies that
had to be treated with asthma steroid treatments, the back problems. It was
mind boggling—the doctor had been treating him at home—right under their
noses—and they hadn’t even suspected how bad it was. Genji would be appalled at
how much they had missed. Hanzo couldn’t bring himself to care that much.
The doctor wrapped up with a detailed litany of medications—nebulizer
treatments, pills and potions, liquids and resting. Hanzo barely was able to
process some of it, and felt peculiarly grateful that the doctor was handing
him written copies of everything. It was somewhat terrifying to see all the
diagnoses and the schedule of medicines and realize how sick the old man was.
The doctor nodded and wrapped up, his cheeks flushed and obviously grateful
that the visit was almost over. He was still talking, passing his business card
to Hanzo. “…and I would suggest that you or your wife spend the time that
remains with him.”
“Wife?” Hanzo choked.
“Well…I’m sorry. I just…assumed,” the doctor murmured. “If I can answer any
other questions, please—call my office.”
Hanzo resisted the sudden urge to laugh at the doctor’s thinly veiled
insistence that he be called at the office. “T-Thank you.”
The doctor bowed respectfully and a servant escorted him out. Without a better
plan, he went back to his apartments to study the paperwork. Takara peered out
at him from the bedroom. The apartment had been cleaned, the bed made, all the
thousand little things to make his suites clean and comfortable—and he was
hoping to find some measure of peace.
“Master?”
“Takara,” he sighed heavily. “Not right now.”
She only nodded and perched on the couch. He read and re-read the instructions
and recommendations. Finally, when a servant brought him tea and a lunch, he
stood up to stretch.
“Master, may I ask what happened?” She peered over him curiously. “Is there
anything that I could do to help?”
“Takara,” he smiled only a hair stiffly. “I would not ask this of you.”
She cocked her head. “But…? Am I not supposed to serve you?”
He grinned. “Yes, but—.”
“And would I be able to help?” She glanced nervously at the doctor’s notes. “I
could sit—.”
“Takara,” Hanzo muttered. He had to admit that he was almost convinced himself.
She looked up at him and then shrank back a little. “Thank you, but now is not
the time.”
She nodded and went back to pottering around. There wasn’t a lot for her to do
in the apartment, he finally noted. Perhaps having Mai come around wouldn’t be
a bad thing…. And wouldn’t Genji just howl in triumph if he followed the
younger man’s suggestion? Genji got an unnatural high out of besting his
brother.
The day passed slowly. He could barely concentrate on his business because of
the numerous calls and questions for the doctors. He couldn’t concentrate on
the doctors because of the pressures and problems with the business. Even Genji
couldn’t help but interrupt—asking for dinner (again) and for an update on how
father was doing.
Then the final straw fell that afternoon. The long-suffering and faithful
servant knocked at his office door. With a graceful bow, he said, “Master
Hanzo, there is one more thing that I would ask of you….”
“Yes?” He raised a brow curiously. “What is it?”
“I need to leave,” the man muttered. “It’s not for me—it is my own father.” He
nodded a little solemnly. “Before, I had been able to go home to tend him. My
wife is with him during the days, but I am there in the evenings. Our sons are
at school, you see—.”
“Yes,” Hanzo said.
“—and it’s just—. What did you say?” the manservant replied. Surprise was
etched on his face. “I…I never…. I don’t know what to say. I haven’t….”
Hanzo smiled grimly. “Take a few days off. Tend to your father.” The other man
smiled, bowing. “You are fond of him?” The smaller man nodded, grimly grinning.
“Then take the time that you need. Come back when you are able.”
Bowing deeply, he replied, “With all due respect, who will sit with the Master
then? The doctor said that he must be watched.” He knit his brows. “I suppose I
could ask one of the cousins….?”
Hanzo bowed grimly in return. “I will find someone to sit with him. Do not
worry.”
“Of course, Sir. Master. I had no doubt.” He paused. “But the Master is
powerfully worried and is….touchy.”
“I will find someone,” Hanzo replied. “And you will return when you are able.”
It was peculiarly satisfying to see the man out of the office. But it also
meant that he needed to find someone with the patience of a saint and the
ability to take an immense amount of abuse. One of the cousins could—maybe—be
called in with such short notice, but he’d really prefer not to call them
sheerly because of the endless bickering about favoritism and power struggles
it would cause.
At lunch, he walked back to his apartments, his head as full of figures as his
hands were of papers and notes. Takara had his lunch laid out on his desk and
was, by the sound of it, was taking a bath. Sitting down and nibbling on a rice
cake, he looked over the reports again and began checking his emails.
He heard a door open and could smell the vanilla of her soap and the soft damp
air. She padded around, pulling on the robe. Her voice was soft and sweet.
“Hello. I didn’t hear you come in.”
He grunted and could only trust himself to look up in a glance. With a smile,
he replied, “I have only been here for a moment.” If he looked longer, he knew
that he’d never get his work done. “Sit and have a bite.”
She came over gamely enough, but one look at his face and she knew that
something was wrong. “Can I help you, Master?” She reached out and rubbed his
shoulders firmly. His muscles relaxed under her fingers, even if his mind
couldn’t manage to. “Is there anything I can do?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say “no”. He really did want to. But he
needed only a day or two and he couldn’t think of anyone else to immediately
fill the servant’s shoes. “There is…one thing….” Her face brightened and she
smiled at him silently. “I would not ask it of you…. And this is the last thing
I would ever think of asking of you, but I need someone to sit with my father.”
She was nodding before he finished and he grinned grimly. “He is old…and sick.
He needs someone to sit with him during the day.” He laughed a little, feeling
a weight lessen on his shoulders. “He was not pleasant, even in the best of
times. And is positively abusive now.” She was paying close attention to him,
and he took a deep breath before continuing. “He will never say a pleasant word
to you. He will insult you, call you names and curse you with foul words and
language. There will be no pleasing him.
“There is honestly not much that you will need to even try to do. If you can,
keep him calm and make sure that he takes his medicine. If there are problems
or alarms, then you are to call the doctor and then me. No one else.”
She looked up at him earnestly. “And this would…help you?” She glanced at him
worriedly. “I mean….” She flushed again, looking away. “I do not want….” What
she did not want to do, she never said, but she did nod again. “I will do what
you ask.”
And so, despite his own reservations and his vows that he’d never let her out
of his apartments, he led her down the hallways. She was in a hastily ordered
gray kimono and a plain ivory obi, her hair pulled back in a plain ponytail. He
slid a small cellphone into her hands. “The doctor’s phone number is programmed
in. Just press and hold 1. Then my phone is programmed into 2.” She nodded
patiently. “Try to keep him calm. Give him his medicine every four hours. Then
a nebulizer every six. The pills for under his tongue are for emergencies. They
are all in the table beside the bed.” He offered a grin. “Do not worry—they are
all labeled.”
Then they were at the room. Already they could hear a maid wailing as Sojiro
Shimada screamed at her. Hanzo smiled at her briefly, watching as her eyes
widened a little and then settle into a calm expression. She looked up at him
for a moment and he expected her to turn tail and run. He smiled thinly, over
the continuing shouts, and sort of nodded at her. “Are you sure?”
She looked at the door with wide eyes and then resolutely back at him. With a
small nod, she put her hand on the doorknob. He sighed and smiled at her. “You
will be fine. If he is getting to be too much, call me and I will try to
arrange someone to help you.”
She was suddenly composed. It was frightening, a little, to see her settle
behind a frozen and placid mask after she had been so animated. Pocketing the
phone, she waited for him to open the door. “If you have a chess set or a
samisen, that would help, I think.”
“I will have whatever you need sent to you.”
And with that, he opened the door. His father was still on the bed, cords and
wires snaking around in coils. The maid took one look at them and bolted out of
the room. “And I suppose that this is your whore, Hanzo?” He glared at her.
“And I suppose that you’re dumping her here—.”
“Father,” Hanzo interrupted shortly. “She is here to sit with you while—.”
“—While you gave that fool a vacation! Right when I needed him most!” His
father’s face screwed up angrily. “And now you are dumping her here—!”
She laughed musically. “But Master! You must be mistaken. Your father sounds so
well that I cannot believe that he is sick.” She laughed again softly. “I think
that he doesn’t hardly need anything—.”
“Stop it, you whore!” His father glared at him again. “I am a very sick man!”
He took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. “I need—.”
She looked at him with all of the appearance of eager attention. “Yes?” Then,
without waiting for him to reply, she said. “Well, if I’m here, I could at
least play a game of chess with him. I mean, since he is so well, and all.”
“I am very sick, Hanzo,” his father gritted out furiously.
“Oh?” Takara asked with plain concern. “If you are so sick, I suppose we do not
need the chess game. If you are so sick, then you will need to rest and take
nasty medicine and be very quiet.”
“I am not going to be told what to do by your prostitute,” his father puffed.
“I am perfectly fine.”
Hanzo kept a straight face by will alone. His father was plainly flummoxed
between protesting that he was well and that he was sick. To spare him further,
although he wasn’t sure why he should care, he nodded at Takara. “Will there be
anything that you need?”
She poked around the table and found the notebook that had notes of his
medicines. “It is going to be time for your medicine soon. Do you want to start
a chess game before then?”
“I will not be told what to do—!”
“By a whore. Yes, we heard you quite clearly.” She forced a smile and began
fiddling with the bottles. “Should I get you some water?”
“You will address me with respect! Call me ‘Master’ when you address me.”
“Yes, Master.”
Hanzo held his breath for a moment. “I will…send a board and pieces. A
samisen.”
She nodded and went around the room, carefully preparing the medicines. Then
she poured a cup of water. “Would you like water or perhaps some tea?”
“I will not be ordered about like an invalid!”
“Oh? Then you are well enough to play chess with me?”
Hanzo crossed his fingers and left quietly. Grabbing the first servant he saw,
he ordered the games and instruments, water and tea to be delivered. Marginally
relieved, he went to his office to continue working.
Several hours passed as slowly as they possibly could. Once or twice, he was
convinced the clock was moving backwards. He got a text from Takara’s phone
several times—every time she gave Sojiro medicine—and he each time he was
gradually more convinced that, at least temporarily, things were handled.
Then Genji came in. A fight was brewing downtown and he was needed immediately.
Hanzo dealt with the problem and then drove back as fast as he could. The last
thing he needed was for Takara to crack under the abuse.
The hallway was echoing with shouting when Hanzo came to the apartments. He
swallowed heavily and opened up the door. He was sure that Takara would be
weeping and cringing in the corner. Instead, she sat beside the bed with the
shamisen, plucking out a pleasant melody. She stared blankly at the corner of
the bed as her fingers worked the planchette. The man, even with his eyes
closed, kept growling abuse at her and she kept playing blankly. The chessboard
was set aside on a tray.
As soon as the door clicked behind him, she looked up quickly and smiled. With
a quick movement, she put the planchette in her lap and began to take apart the
instrument.
The moment she stopped, his father opened his eyes and grunted at him. “So you
left me alone with your whore.” He glared at her and poked her sharply with his
cane. “I was listening to that and I want you to keep playing.”
She looked up at Hanzo wearily. “Do you need me, Master?”
“Keep playing,” he replied. “At the end of the song—.”
“At the end, nothing,” the elder barked, poking her with his stick. “Keep
playing.”
Hanzo’s eyes narrowed slightly and he crossed his arms. Fortunately, he was
saved from replying by a servant coming in with a tray of dinner. Hanzo
gathered up the chess board and the servant nodded his thanks and left the tray
before leaving in embarrassing haste.
“Father,” Hanzo greeted with a shallow bow.
“Ehh, so what do you want?!” His father waved dismissively. “If I were ten
years younger, I’d take her from you. If I were twenty years younger, you never
would have—.”
Takara cut in. “If you were twenty years younger, I would be an infant and
you’d—!”
“A baby whore!” The older man laughed and ogled her unpleasantly. “As well as
you turned out, then I’d have bought you and f—!” He coughed suddenly. Takara
dutifully came over and poured more tea and offered it to him. He pushed it
away in irritation. “Meh…when are you going to bring me some sake?”
Hanzo flushed and covered his face with his hands. “No sake.”
Takara forced a smile. “When the doctor says that you can have some, we will
drink together.” She pressed the cup into his hands. “Then, I will bring you a
whole bottle, if you like.”
The elder grunted angrily as she returned to the instrument. “Quack. He’s
trying to keep me alive so that he makes money.”
Takara took the shamisen apart and put it aside. “I will see you tomorrow,
Master.” Standing resolutely, she walked over to Hanzo. “You needed me,
Master?”
Hanzo nodded, ignoring the continuing heckling of his elder. “It is time for
dinner.”
His father growled as a white dressed nurse bustled in with a bag holding a few
books and some knitting. “Who needs you, you…you medical prostitute?” The nurse
gasped, her face flushing. “The whore with the silver eyes. I want her to
stay.”
Takara gave the other woman the notebook, showing her the last times of
medication. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Of course, ma’am.” She bowed to Hanzo and to Takara and sat down with a
harrumph.
Hanzo led Takara out, muttering their good-nights. He closed the door firmly
behind them, then turned to her. She looked up at him a little sadly and he
nodded. “I am sorry. He has….just gotten worse with age.”
She nodded and followed him down the hallways. He led her to their apartments,
where she plopped down on a couch with a dumbfounded expression. Their own
dinner arrived a few minutes later and Hanzo sat it down in front of her.
“You must eat, Takara,” he said softly.
She looked up at him blankly. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”
“I know,” Hanzo nodded, pouring a cup of tea. Her face screwed up and fat tears
rolled down her cheeks. Draping an arm around her, he pressed a rice cake to
her lips. “Eat. Rest.”
She let him lead her around, feed her, undress her, and tuck her into bed
without protest or comment. There was nothing else to be done—just eat and rest
and get ready for the next day. She slept next to him, still curled into a
little ball.
The next morning, almost before the sun rose, Hanzo’s cellphone went off. He
ignored it, blindly declining the call. Then it rang again. And again.
Frustrated, Hanzo sat up and answered it.
“Where is that silver-eyed whore?” His father’s voice cracked like a whip. “I
want her here now. Breakfast is about to be served.”
“Takara is her name,” Hanzo grumbled impatiently.
“Who cares about her name? I want her here.”
Hanzo puffed. “We have not gotten up yet.”
“Lazy! You are too lazy and I never toughened you up enough. I should have
beaten you more.” His father’s voice went breathless for a moment and Hanzo
heard the night nurse’s voice in the background. “I demand that you bring her
now.”
Hanzo hung up. Takara growled a little and sat up. “What was that?”
“You have a command performance,” Hanzo muttered, rubbing his eyes.
She only nodded and went to the bathroom. Minutes later, she was again the
plainly dressed woman in the gray kimono. She was almost mute as Hanzo led her
down the hallway. Again, there were periods of shouting and abuse and cursing
as they came to the door.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded and opened the door. The nurse took one look at her and tossed her
the notebook with a hasty farewell.
Hanzo bowed stiffly in greeting. “Good morning, Father.”
“You lazy whelp. You’re no son of mine, sleeping in like this.” He cocked them
a glare. “But at least you brought the whore back.”
“Are you actually glad to see me?” she asked innocently.
“Go away you useless rooster,” his father grunted at Hanzo instead of
dignifying her with an answer. “You should be working now anyway.”
“Father, it is barely 6:30.”
“Nonsense! When I ran the Shimada, I was up at 5:30 most days and 6:00 on
holidays.” He looked around. “Tell that other useless brat to come by—if he’s
not too busy being lazy.”
Hanzo left them, hoping breakfast was soon for Takara’s sake. His father could
not abuse her too badly with his mouth full, could he? Work went a little
faster and his phone chimed with regular updates. Lunch came and went. The
afternoon came and went. The evening settled over the estate and the first
crickets and fireflies were coming out before Hanzo went down the hallway.
For once, it was quiet, except for the sound of a lonely shamisen. Takara
looked up when he came in, her eyes hollow and almost dull. She kept playing on
and on, her head sleepily nodding. Hanzo looked at his father—at last
asleep—and nodded. Ever so quietly, she set the instrument down and crept out.
“The nurse?” He whispered. “Where is she?”
“She came in and he threw her out.” She shrugged a little. “He told her she
would be arrested for trespassing if he saw her again.”
Hanzo gritted his teeth. “What then?”
“I told her to fetch dinner. I haven’t seen her since.”
Hanzo nodded and they went to the kitchen together. There was the nurse,
sitting with a small cup of tea and almost shaking. “Go back. He will not throw
you out.”
“I’ll stay tonight—but only because she needs the rest. He can just up and
croak, the old c—!”
“No,” Hanzo gritted out. With an angry snap, he watched as she darted back down
the hallway. Predictably, angry shouts and abuse began to ring down the
hallway. A servant hastily followed the nurse with a loaded tray of dinner.
Takara watched it all hollowly, her eyes bruised and dewy as though she was
simply too tired to cry. He led her to the apartment and was satisfied when her
eyes lit up when she saw their own dinner tray.
“Are you hungry, butterfly?” he teased. She nodded eagerly, eyes shining. “Then
get out of the kimono and we will eat.”
There was salmon teriyaki and pickled vegetables and there were several gyoza
to share. Surprisingly, she ate eagerly, enjoying every moment and every bite.
She had little to actually say, and Hanzo supposed that she had spent the
entire day talking. But something bothered him about her eager appetite. She
had eaten little, like a bird, every time he had eaten with her. Now she was
about to nip his fingers as he reached for a gyoza.
“What is wrong butterfly? Have you been craving gyoza?”
She looked up at him, red flooding her face. “I’m sorry, Master.” She looked
away. “I….”
“I get that you are hungry. But…why now—?” He stopped himself. “He did not let
you eat, did he?” She looked away and, after a tense moment, nodded. “I will
tell him—!”
“Don’t,” she whispered softly. “He’s so mad. So very angry.” Hanzo had to laugh
and nod. “I think it’s why he’s pleased with me—I don’t take breaks.”
He sighed. “So did anything else happen?”
She didn’t look up. “He’s…expecting company tomorrow.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know who it is. But he’s very anxious about it. And when he tells me
that his guest is coming, he looks at me strangely and laughs.”
That didn’t sit well with Hanzo. Even after she went to bed, he sat on the
couch as the TV muttered stock news. Something seemed bizarre, too convenient,
about the visitor. His father had never let something like out without there
being more to the story. Even when he managed to come to bed, he couldn’t
sleep.
At 5:45, his phone went off. Blearily, he answered the call with a grunt. Abuse
poured out of the phone and without even looking at him, Takara stood up and
went to wash her face and get ready. The gray kimono was still a little musty,
but she put it on gamely, along with a puff of perfume.
Hanzo pulled on enough clothes to be decent. He poured her a cup of tea—a cold
leftover from dinner the night before—and she drank it in a few gulps. He
nodded blankly at her subdued appearance. “I will get you another kimono.
Hopefully, his regular servant will be back either tonight or tomorrow.” He
tried to cock a smile. What kind of nonsense would Genji say to make her smile?
“What about pink this time? As a change of pace?”
She smiled wearily at him. “Whatever you wish.”
“I am beginning to hate that phrase.” She did laugh at that, a little. “I will
come for you at lunch—?”
“Let this go,” she protested. “You are an important man, and very busy.” She
glanced over her shoulder nervously. “I am almost afraid to leave him. I’m
worried about this visitor.”
He nodded and began to lead her down the hallways. “Perhaps it is only his
doctor?”
“He is supposed to come by too, but your father is not excited about him. He is
only worried about getting more medicine.” Hanzo nodded warily. “I’ll try to
call you.”
With that, they were there, listening as the old man berated the hapless night
nurse. Hanzo opened the door for her and she came in with that steely, fake
smile. She greeted him, seeming to ignore the sudden shouting and abuse.
“Father,” he greeted his elder with a bow. “I understand that we will have
visitors today? Will you need me?”
His father laughed, a high, grating sound that made his nerves cringe like
nails on a chalkboard. “I am having a very important visitor.” He shot an angry
look at Hanzo. “And you can be here or not.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll just take a page from the book that you’re writing.” More of that grating
laughter echoed. “Now why don’t you just run along, son? It’s my turn with the
little whore. You had her all night.”
Hanzo flinched and glared at him. But Takara was already setting up the chess
board. With a determined air, she began the game. He was laughing still as
Hanzo left.
Just after lunch, Hanzo got a simple text of “!!!!!” and he left immediately.
There was unexpected laughter in the hallway—his father’s grating laughter and
then a smooth and musical tenor. Unlike other times, he could not hear Takara’s
playing or her voice. There was nothing.
He burst into the room and there was his father on the bed, surrounded by coils
of wires and tubes. The old man was cackling with his visitor. And the smooth
voice in reply came from a gaily bedecked man in multiple layers of blue and
green kimono.
“Asahi,” he greeted shortly.
“Honored Sir,” Asahi greeted, sitting in the one chair. Takara was kneeling on
the floor with her back against the wall, her head bowed. “I had not
anticipated being called to Hanamura to create yet another butterfly so soon!”
His fan fluttered. “Is this little one all that you dreamed?”
Sojiro interrupted. “Ehh…. He can get another one.” He glared at her and she
went a sickly pale. “One that actually does please him.” He reached for his
dragon stick and poked her. “You say it again, whore. He doesn’t sleep with
you, does he? You don’t do it for him—you don’t appeal to him, do you, whore?”
She swallowed heavily and nodded, not looking at anyone. “Asahi, she is not a
disaster now, but I want a few changes.” His father lifted up a slick leather
portfolio. “There are a few things I want to talk about.”
“No,” Hanzo growled. “Takara, come here.”
His father’s voice turned shrill and wheedling. “You can have any bitch that
you want. Asahi can make you another one just like this one.” He coughed for a
bit, then continued. “I’ll take this one—.”
“No,” Hanzo repeated, well aware that he might be rebuked again for defying
Master Sojiro Shimada. “Come here.” Takara looked at the men nervously and
stood. With a polite bow, she attempted to breeze past. His father watched her
evilly, causing his son’s hackles to rise. Asahi watched her briefly, his eyes
narrowed, but didn’t do more than that. “We will send in the night nurse.”
“You order yourself a new whore and let me keep this one!” his father growled.
With a grunt, he tossed the book at Hanzo’s back. “She’s already trained—.”
Asahi nodded slowly. “I think that you will find that all of our butterflies
are so well trained. Perhaps even better trained and better behaved.” He smiled
cunningly. “I believe that there are enough caterpillars wanting wings
to…satisfy you both.”
“Takara,” Hanzo growled. “Go to the apartment.” She nodded shortly and slid
down the hallway. “If there is nothing else you need, Father—.” His father’s
shrieks and growls echoed in the hallway as he closed the door.
Walking back down the hallways, ignoring the fading shrieks, he caught up
easily to Takara’s shuffling. One of the maids that had also sat with his
father looked at her with a small sneer on her face as the butterfly passed her
and whispered cuttingly, “Couldn’t you at least please one of them?”
Takara hugged herself fiercely, tears rolling down her cheeks, as the maid
passed and turned down another hallway. She was whispering to herself,
muttering furiously. “I-I am n-n-not a bitch. I’m n-n-not a gold-digging whore.
Mean, cranky…e-e-evil old—!”
“Takara,” Hanzo interrupted softly. She started and looked up at him with a
guilty expression. “There is no reason to linger here. Come and eat lunch.” She
shuddered and nodded, falling into step behind him. “And, yes, he is an evil
man.”
She ate quickly and Hanzo summoned another nurse—a male one, this time—from the
nursing service his father used. The new kimono was in a box on the bed and she
took it out and hung it carefully. Hanzo smirked in pleasure as she stroked the
pink silk. “Do you like it?”
She nodded happily, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “Do I have to go back? If
so, I should….”
“No,” he growled. “Hang up the gray kimono and take a nap.” He gestured at the
phone. “The new nurse will be here in a few minutes.”
The new nurse was brisk and efficient and well over 5’9”—in both height and
width. Unfazed by the abuse and shouting, he took the old man’s vital
measurements and looked at the medical records. In a low voice, he agreed to
the employment and then sat down in the room like a bouncer.
Hanzo was satisfied that the new nurse would work out for all of about 3 hours.
Then he got another hurried text—“Come immediately”. Texting Genji, they ran to
the apartments. The new nurse was there, stuffing their father with the
emergency medicines and on the phone with the ambulance. But even Hanzo and
Genji knew that it was too late.
They stood by the bed, dutifully respectful and bowing to the old man, when the
ambulance arrived. It was too little, too late, but it seemed like the correct
thing to do to at least bow as he was wheeled out of the now silent room. The
servants were rushing into the hall, bowing and whispering, as the stretcher
was wheeled out, and then the room was suddenly quiet.
Genji shuddered a little. “It’s too quiet in here.”
Hanzo nodded. The room was peculiarly silent—but it still seemed to vibrate
with anger and frustration. Perhaps if he had been a more dutiful son, a better
man, then….
Genji took one look at his brother and wisely vanished. Hanzo had no
words—there were simply no words. Going to the gymnasium area, he peeled off
his coat and shirt and set them aside in a neatly folded stack. Taking up the
elaborate bow, he knocked an arrow and let it fly. The target smashed in an
echoing sound. The next arrow zipped straight into the wall and the third
shattered the second.
Hanzo stared at the third arrow as it thrummed in the wall. The new arrow had
split the old, and the branches of the old fell away to the floor with a hiss.
The fourth arrow split the third, wobbling.
Then it was silent.
He didn’t remember setting down the bow or dropping the quiver and watching the
remaining arrows spill out. He didn’t remember sitting down so heavily, staring
at the arrows in the wall. He did, distantly, hear Takara’s voice, felt the
soft flutter of the floor as she walked to him. Her hands stroked his shoulders
weakly.
The new arrow split the old one, which fell away with a hiss to the floor.
He stared at the arrows, the small crack in the wall from the force of the
bolts. Takara knelt beside him, watching silently and, every so often, nuzzling
him.
The funeral was already arranged, and had been for months. People—faceless
people—came in and went, enjoying his drinks and food and offering murmured
words. Mostly, he saw the tops of bowed heads, young and old.
He was the next leader of the Shimada. He had pushed his father out of the way
and split his arrow, which fell with a hiss to the floor.
After the burial, he returned to his apartments. Takara was watching some
television, which blared some advertisement for something he didn’t remember,
and when she saw him, she turned it off and went to embrace him.
He closed the door behind him slowly.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” she whispered against his chest. “I-I-I shouldn’t have left
him.”
“It is not your fault,” he whispered hoarsely.
She whimpered, clutching him. “I-I-I am s-sorry.” She backed up to bow deeply,
eventually simply kneeling. “I…. I don’t know what to say.”
“I know.”
“I can’t even cry for him.” She sniffed. “M-m-mostly, I… I want to weep for
you.”
He looked at her wearily. “For me?”
“For… for you.” She nodded. “A-a-and your brother. For the children that you
never were.”
Hanzo turned this thought over in his mind. With a sigh, he nodded. “Then weep
for those children, if you can. And then a little for me, too.”
She nodded, sniffling and rubbing her eyes furiously. “I wish you had the
father that you deserved.”
With that, Hanzo felt something snap inside him like a pulled tight bowstring.
He knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her like she was a teddy bear.
“I…I am too weak.” She shook her head and patted his chest softly. “I…I wanted
my father to love me.”
His few tears slid down his cheeks. Mostly, he held her and listened to her
cry. She was weary and laid in his arms until her own tears were spent. It
helped a little, and, for a moment, Hanzo felt a little relief as he mourned
the family he never had.
The very next day, he was forced to fill his father’s shoes. There were so many
details, so many problems and for a bit it seemed like the Shimada clan had
fractured into a thousand pieces like a vase thrown to the ground. Some were
loyal to him and some were loyal to Genji. Some simply hated that the old man
had dared to die at all and force change of any kind on them.
It was fortunate that Genji did, at last, elect to show up at the meetings and
to do jobs. He was grim, although his eyes still seemed to twinkle with
mischief, and he did show up in clean clothes, sober (despite rumors and gossip
raging through the estate that he had done little but drink and take his
“girlfriend” on an extravagant trip somewhere), and actively supporting his
older brother’s decisions. The clan saw that they were, at least on the
surface, united, and at last united behind them.
The days were long and frustrating. He often left Takara asleep on the bed and
returned long after she had returned to it. There was small consolation that
Genji would drop off Mai and the women would spend the days together—watching
television, reading from the small stash of books that Genji bought the green
butterfly, practicing the tea ceremony, and working out in the gym. In a
surprising twist of responsibility, Genji made sure that they had meals brought
to them before Hanzo even thought about it.
So, Takara and Mai passed the days as he and Genji struggled to reunite the
Shimada clan.
It took better than a month for him to be able to get things calmed down enough
that he was able to come back to the apartments at lunch. He found Mai and
Takara kneeling at his coffee table and staring at a shopping site on Genji’s
laptop.
Mai giggled. “Oh, that would look good on you, Takara. The green would make
your eyes sparkle.” Takara looked at it quietly. “You should really get your
master to get it for you. And I think these are the shoes….”
Hanzo was bemused at Mai’s enthusiasm and Takara’s silence. They were sounding
more like he and Genji every time he saw them together. Finally, he spoke
softly. “Genji is waiting for you, Mai.”
The women jumped at his voice. Mai slammed the laptop shut and stood up.
Flushing, she stammered, “I-I-I’ll be going.”
“He is in his apartments, Mai,” Hanzo chuckled.
Quite quickly Mai slid out and closed the door behind her. Hanzo watched Takara
with a trace of weary humor in his eyes. “So what were you two looking at?”
“Nothing, Master,” she whispered shyly.
He laughed and shucked off the confining suit. The lady bustled around, picking
up the clothes and putting them away efficiently. It felt good to be in
something as casual as his sweatpants again and Hanzo stretched out on the
couch. She finally came to sit beside him.
“I’ve—,” she flushed and then started again. “I’m sorry…about….” She waved
slightly and then was still.
Hanzo nodded, tucking her in closer under his arm. “There is little to be said.
You saw what he was.” He smirked, but it was hollow. “So what were you looking
at?”
“Mai wanted to go shopping,” Takara explained. “She brought—borrowed—the
computer and we were looking at some dresses. So, she wanted to pick something
special out since she wanted to see if she could get Genji to pay attention to
her.”
Hanzo had to chuckle at that. Genji was likely paying attention to her this
moment—the first free moment they had managed to have since his rise from heir
to master. He thought for a moment, and looked at her curiously. “Why was Asahi
here?”
She did flush at that. Frowning stiffly, she whispered, “He—your father—wanted
a few changes. Naturally he called Asahi-san to see what could be done.”
“Even though you are mine?” Hanzo growled, holding her close.
“Asahi told him that he could either make another one just like me or that they
could find another that you would like better.” She shrugged a little too
casually, like it really shouldn’t matter as much to her as it did. “Your
father said that he was in charge and that you wouldn’t fight his claim. They
were discussing that perhaps I didn’t need to be replaced at all—that you were
obviously not interested in me.”
Hanzo choked a little in embarrassment. “What?!”
She shrugged again. “If I am not what you want, then I am not doing something
right….” She swallowed heavily. “I would guess that if I am not desirable, that
I will be sold or gifted soon.”
He choked again. “Not what I want? How could you possibly think that? After
we—?” He puffed out a nervous breath. “Never think that you do not suit me.”
She looked at him strangely, glancing up into his face. “But you never—!”
He grimaced. “There has not exactly been a good time….” He grunted a bit
wearily. “I also like to do my own chasing.” He sighed deeply. “It is why I am
not interested in anyone handed to me on a silver platter.” He glanced away
with a frown. “It is the reason that I have not married either. Everyone is
shoving this woman or that woman at me, trying to get a leg up and a better
position of power. Who needs that kind of complications?”
He shrugged idly, missing her suddenly pale face. “Besides, none of this would
have happened if Genji had not dragged me to the auction. And then tricked me
into making a purchase.”
Takara gaped in surprise. “B-b-but I thought…you…wanted me? At least, a-a-
a little…?”
Hanzo scowled. “I was tricked by Genji to even going.”
Suddenly Takara burst into tears. “Why did you do this, then? Why did you buy
me if I was never going to ever be what you wanted?! Why?!” With a shove, she
stood and went to the bedroom. Collapsing against the bed, she sobbed into her
hands.
Hanzo stood carefully and went to stand in the doorway. Unfortunately, what she
had said was right—he hadn’t wanted her. Hadn’t wanted anyone else to take care
of. He distinctly remembered that he wouldn’t have even been involved in the
silly auction until Genji had somehow talked him into going.
So why had he not just gotten rid of her?
What had he been thinking?
Discipline. The universe teaching him discipline.
And, with all the discipline he could muster, he stood quietly and left the
apartments.
He staggered down the hallway to the gym. First was three quarters of an hour
on the treadmill at the highest incline so that his legs burned and his lungs
ached. There was over an hour with the weights and deep, thoughtful stretches.
Yoga came next, allowing him flexibility and strength.
At last, he had his bow in his hand and he discarded the sweaty shirt. Twenty
five target bots floated silently around the room at various speeds. The bots
were equipment with either a pod of paintballs or electrified staffs. In his
element, he darted from shadow to shadow, arrows raining down on the bots as he
darted around their attacks. At last a smile ghosted on his lips as he saw two
of the bots shatter and fall.
His dragons chattered in his head. There was something thrilling in their tones
as they whispered of their own desire to hunt. From his temporary cover behind
a column, he saw three bots drifting into a lineup. With a thrust of his hand,
he released them.
The three bots broke apart as the dragons emerged in glowing blue fury. They
clicked and nodded at each other, their tails whipping and knocking bots over
and breaking them. With what appeared to be a dragon form of agreement, they
shrank to about the size of house cats and began to leap over each other and
head towards the door.
Hanzo stared at them in amazement and was still staring when one of the bots
drifted close enough that it was triggered to attack. An electric jolt stabbed
in Hanzo’s back, burning his skin and suddenly cramping his entire body. With a
violent curse, he fell, his bow falling out of his hands and the arrows sliding
out of his quiver.
Instantly, the bots deactivated, shutting down where they were and weapons
disarming since he was no longer a “threat” according to their programming.
Hanzo couldn’t even grunt—could barely breathe and his entire body shook
violently. His muscles kept spasming, kicking his weapons and various debris
away uncontrollably.
There was slow clapping in the air. With a groan, Hanzo forced his eyes to open
and look around. Who would dare?!
Genji was leaning against the door with a teasing expression and clapping.
“Truly dizzying technique, Master Shimada. I am in awe.”
“Genji,” Hanzo growled. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, just watching two dragons go bounding down the hallway and seeing what is
going on.”
“Genji,” Hanzo panted as he drug himself upright. “Why not try to help me out?”
“I would,” Genji said gently. “But I am very interested in seeing how badly you
manage on your own.” He cocked his thumb down the hallway. “So what are they so
upset about?”
Hanzo couldn’t force his body to work. He would have to figure out who had set
up that wretched bot and its electroshock settings and probably kill them.
“Where did they go?”
“You know,” Genji continued conversationally. “I can’t recall a time that the
Shimada dragons have ever abandoned the head of the clan.”
“Where did they go?”
“Down the hallway and around the bend. Offhand, I’d say that they were headed
to your apartments.” Genji cocked an eye at his older brother. “So is there
trouble in paradise? Maybe even butterfly trouble?”
Hanzo nodded a little—the very little he could. Thankfully, Genji was willing
to come over and get him on his feet. Growling a little bit, he leaned on his
brother, trying by force of will to get his feet to move. “What would you know
about the electroshock settings on those things?”
“Just that they can be changed,” his younger brother chirped innocently. “And
that apparently you are careless.”
“I am going to kill you,” Hanzo promised.
“So the Shimada master has lost his dragons,” Genji said. “And does the Shimada
master want to go back to his apartments?” Hanzo groaned. “Or would he like to
go visit his brother for a bit?”
Hanzo found himself in Genji’s apartment with Mai serving them tea. She giggled
as Genji brought out a first aid kit and they tended the circular burn in his
back. With a twirl of her tan dress and some white sandals that made her look
especially young, she went to put the kit back away in the bathroom and give
the brothers some privacy.
“So, how are you, big brother?”
“Hurting. I seem to have a large burn in my back and my dragons are nowhere to
be found.”
“Oh really, Master Shimada?”
“Yes. Someone seems to have changed the electroshock settings on the training
bots.”
Genji took a sip of water. “Such a shame, Master Shimada.” Another sip and he
watched his brother over the edge of the cup. “And has Master Shimada decided
what he is going to do about this?”
“Kill whoever changed the settings,” Hanzo replied politely. “Would you happen
to know who that is, would you?”
“Honorable Master Shimada did seem distracted while he was training,” Genji
observed. “Whatever is wrong?”
“Takara,” Hanzo blurted before thinking.
“Is the treasured black butterfly not perfect and—?”
“Enough, Genji,” Hanzo muttered. “I do not know what is wrong with the
dragons.”
“So, Takara has something to do with the dragons running off? That is serious.”
Genji cocked a secretive smile. “Don’t let Mai know—she adores mine.” He
shrugged. “And Udon and Ramen are fond of her, too.”
“Those are not the historic and honored names of your dragons, Genji.” Hanzo
glowered at his brother. “Those are the names that you gave them when you were
a child.”
“At least they listen to me, which Pho and Soba do not seem to be doing for
you.” Genji kept smirking. “So would you rather be here or with your butterfly
and see if your dragons will listen to you?”
Hanzo growled and set the teacup down. “I would adore the opportunity to go to
my own apartments, but it appears that someone tampered with the settings. And
it appears that the person who tampered with them needs a lesson in manners.”
So, one more time, they were both bruised and battered as he and Genji lurched
towards his apartments. Genji had fared little better than he, and his black
eye glared at his brother. “So, what were you trying to teach me again?”
“Just do not mess with the training bots again,” Hanzo panted.
Genji kicked open the door and they saw the two blue dragons twining around
Takara. Much to Hanzo’s chagrin, they were purring as she scratched their
heads. With a start, all three of them looked at the door.
“Don’t mind us,” Genji smiled.
Takara stood stiffly, her face falling into solemnity. With a nod, she brushed
the fawning dragons aside and helped Hanzo to the bathroom and into a hot bath.
Master Shimada growled at all of them to get out and leave him in peace. Even
the dragons bolted, prancing through to the bathroom door after Takara as Genji
closed the door.
Two hours later, after he had repeatedly drained the tub and added increasingly
hot water, he felt well enough to stand. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he
was glad to be upright again. Between a certain hunger for something
substantial to eat and a distinct desire to break his mental silence by
recalling his two dragons, he was ready to get moving again.
There was silence in the bedroom. His dragons were curled in a friendly knot on
the bed, looking up at him strangely, almost like they were lonely. Without
complaint, they flew up in a waving pattern and then seemed to sink into the
tattoo. There was a slight, nervous purr as they were again joined with his
spirit, and then the familiar and warm feeling of being connected to them.
He pulled back on the sweatpants and went to the sitting area. Genji was
relaxed, sitting at his desk and poking at a tray with small plates and a small
cup of tea. Takara was in the corner farthest from him, staring at a larger
platter on the coffee table with yet more small plates and two cups for tea. A
large pot sat to one side, waiting to be poured.
Genji reacted first, pushing the plate of carved vegetables aside and setting
down his chopsticks slowly. “So, you are up and around Master Shimada.” He cast
an ironic look over his shoulder. “Would you kindly tell your butterfly that
I’m a nice guy and that I’m not going to hurt her or anything? Maybe even let
her speak to me?”
“Genji,” Hanzo hissed. “Just leave.”
Genji frowned. “Hey, I brought dinner and everything. Don’t I at least get a
kiss goodnight?”
Hanzo ignored his brother and sat down on the couch. Picking up a pair of
chopsticks from the tray on the coffee table, he began to take small bites.
Without even looking to the side, he gestured towards the cup. Takara leaned
forward and poured the cup silently.
Hanzo nodded to her and picked up the cup of steaming tea. He glanced at the
silent woman. “The dragons did not frighten you?”
She glanced up at both men silently. Hesitantly, she shook her head, “They are
nice. Like cats.” She swallowed, staring at the various dishes and then she
shrugged lamely. “They came out once when…when you were…ill, Master. They did
not like it when you were so feverish.” She glanced up at them, “They purr and
are…friendly—.”
Genji chuckled not even paying attention to Hanzo’s fierce glare. “Yes, they do
purr nicely.” He cocked a smile. “Mai scratches them under their chins. Have
you tried that?”
Takara shot him a surprised and curious glance, her mouth open with some reply
on her lips. Hanzo growled wordlessly and she just glanced down at her hands
again.
Hanzo took a sip of his tea. “They will not hurt you, Takara,” he muttered.
“They are actually friendly to you—.”
“Which is unheard of,” Genji interrupted placidly. “Almost.”
“—And will protect you so long as…,” his voice trailed off. He finished the cup
of tea and set it down for a refill. He shook his head and did not finish,
gesturing instead towards the dinner.
Takara glanced at them both again and picked up the remaining set of
chopsticks. Silently, she poked at a yellow pickle. She shivered as the two men
glowered at each other. Genji sighed heavily and she proceeded to ignore
everything he said as he chattered about how Mai petted his dragons. Hanzo paid
no attention to him either, just nudging bites underneath her chopsticks
silently.
Finally, Genji swung around in the chair irritably. “So are you both going to
ignore me?” He pouted a little sarcastically. “Well, then I’ll just leave you
both to ignoring each other.” He ripped a page from a pad on Hanzo’s desk and
scrawled a note on it. Standing and walking to the door, he tossed the note
towards Takara. “Hey, doll, if you ever need to talk to me, that’s my number.
When my brother gets overbearingly idiotic, you know how to reach me.”
“Go away, Genji.”
Genji left, closing the door behind him. Takara looked at the door, long after
he had gone, and long after Hanzo had resumed eating as though he hadn’t been
in the room at all. Hanzo ignored her, continuing to eat as she rose to put
Genji’s note on the desk.
He continued to ignore her as she pottered around. He went to bed, only half
listening to the nervous chattering of the dragons. Then he ignored even them
as he rolled over.
After a long, long sleep—a sleep filled with soft phrases and comments from the
dragons that flickered in and out of his dreams—he felt, for once, truly
rested. In fact, possibly the first time he had been truly rested since his
father died.
The next morning he felt like a new man. Which was a good thing as the elders
summoned him for a meeting to discuss the business. Things felt different this
time. He was now the master—the leader of the clan—and every single one of them
knew it. Even Genji appeared in a conservative, charcoal suit. All of the faces
that had been there at his rebuke, were suddenly considerably more respectful
and quite a few of them were studious about not meeting his eyes or catching
his attention more than necessary.
Unfortunately, another loss appeared had not been accounted for. Hanzo looked
at the sheets solemnly, staring at the numbers highlighted in red. Several of
the elders stammered explanations and offered excuses, but Hanzo only glanced
at Genji.
“Find out the reason for these losses, Genji,” he said.
Genji nodded, staring at him evenly. “When I do, I’ll kill him and all that
told me his name.”
“Then go,” Hanzo ordered. He looked at the other elders. “If there is no other
business…?”
Finally, one of them spoke, nervously. “O-O-Of course not, Master Shimada.
Nothing else.”
“Then we will adjourn,” Hanzo said quietly.
Everyone stood and bowed. With the minimum of noise, the elders shuffled out,
not speaking to him at all. Only Genji remained, watching him evenly. When they
were alone in the room, standing at opposite ends of the table, Hanzo studied
him.
Genji smiled, a small and sad effort. “So now what, brother?”
Hanzo glanced at the pile of balance sheets, the neat notes he had made in the
margins. He had been where Genji was—the second man’s seat, the one watching
from the wings. And now he had risen to the height of the power to sit in his
father’s seat, to wield his father’s power and to lead his father’s clan.
He had fired the arrow, become the arrow. He had split his father’s arrow and
it had fallen away.
With sad eyes, he looked at Genji. Would his younger brother be the arrow that
split his own? Would his arrow fall away with only a hiss?
“Let us go to the dojo,” Hanzo murmured.
They walked silently to the large, empty room. Genji darted into the shadows
almost immediately, pulling a sheathed katana from somewhere and rejoining him
in the middle of the room. Hanzo pulled out his bow and quiver.
They bowed to each other with solemn ceremony. Their katas had a relaxed yet
studious rhythm that allowed them to focus on perfect technique. But Genji
noticed that stubborn set to his brother’s jaw that seemed to say he had
something boiling to come out.
“Do you want to talk now, Brother?” Genji asked softly as they paused.
Hanzo knocked an arrow, dropping into a light-footed stance. Genji looked like
he also had plenty to say. “Get it out, Genji, before it destroys you.”
Genji drew the sword slowly. “Hanzo…do you not remember? Aiko? Yoshi? Yui?
Ichika?” His eyes were pained. “Tell me, Master Shimada, do you remember?”
Genji swallowed heavily, staring at the other man over the blade. “Do you
remember?!”
“I remember!’ Hanzo roared, firing the arrow over Genji’s shoulder. With a
smooth motion, he pulled another out and slid it into place. “I remember every.
Single. One. I remember all of it.” Another arrow flew over Genji’s other
shoulder. “I remember holding you late every night—every night, every
time—because if our father had caught you mourning even one of those urchins he
would have probably killed you!”
Genji flinched, sliding backwards as Hanzo continued. “I am the one who held
you. I am the one who told you we could change. I am the one who lied over and
over to our father about where you were and why there were constantly sweets
missing and everything you did. I am the one who got beaten for them. I am the
one who was responsible!” Hanzo leapt forward. “I was the one responsible. I
was the only one who did what was asked. I was the one who did what was
necessary so that both of us would live.”
Genji snorted. “And now you’re going to do exactly as our father did? You’re
going to find some female, maybe get married, force a child on her—or two or
three, just in case you don’t like the first ones—and then beat her and ignore
her and…and….!”
“No!”
“And you’re chosen heir is going to look up to you, and is going to realize one
day that you’ve killed, that you’ve maimed, and that everything you’ve built up
has hurt everyone you’ve ever cared about and a whole bunch of innocent people
along the way?”
“No!”
“And Takara? What about her? Is she going to be sent to the western estate?
Going to be sent away from here so that your little wife doesn’t have to trip
over her? Or are you going to just kill her like you’re going to just kill
anything else in your way?”
“No!”
Genji’s sword wavered and dropped. “Or, worse, you’re going to turn her loose
like a pet rat. Just drop her off on a street corner and not look back so that
she’s left with nothing but the body you gave her to get her next meal?
“And what about me, Brother? You’re going to keep me around, right? At least
until the little wife starts popping out brats so that you’ve got your heir and
a spare.” Genji laughed, turning slowly. “And the whole cycle begins again.
Winner take all and the losers dying like flies.”
“I have given everything I had to keep you alive and safe!” Hanzo shouted. “I
have fought for you. I have bled for you.” He fired another arrow wildly and it
skittered on the floor at Genji’s feet. “Everything that needed to be done, I
have done it.”
Genji looked at him sadly. “Yeah…you’ve done it. Everything and more.” He
gestured wildly. “So look around. Enjoy your power and your glory and honor.”
With a defeated shrug, he dropped the sword and it clanged on the floor like a
cracked bell. “Just don’t think about how it was all bought with blood.”
“Just do your job, Genji. If you do not like how I do things, you are welcome
to go elsewhere with Mai.”
“So that you can kill me for desertion? How nice—a convenient excuse.” He
cocked an eyebrow. “So is Takara already pregnant?”
“She is not your concern. She never was.”
“What do you tell yourself?” Genji snarled. “When she is kneeling and watching
you and wondering why on earth she is so unlucky as to be hooked up with you?
Or is it more convenient to fuck her and not worry about it?”
“She is not your concern!”
Genji laughed and the sound was more foreign than the clatter of the dropped
blade. “The gossip says that you don’t do anything to her at all. That she’s
beside herself because you never wanted her and our father did. He wanted to
beat her and abuse her and she would never, ever be able to fight back, but at
least he did want her.” That lost, grating laughter rang out again. “And our
father even brought Asahi over to talk about the alterations he wanted.”
“Everyone talks too much,” Hanzo muttered sourly.
Genji laughed bitterly. “It’s not like he was quiet when he was screaming about
what he was going to do to her since you didn’t want her.” Hanzo looked
surprised for a moment before glaring angrily. “Hey—if you don’t care, I do. I
care that even the one woman you have ever spent more than ten minutes with now
is afraid that you’re going to do something terrible to her.” Genji looked at
his brother sadly. “And you’re going to be doing more damage than you can even
imagine.”
“I can imagine quite a lot,” Hanzo grunted, for the moment furious at Mai,
Takara and Genji.
“You know,” Genji added quietly. “I think she adores you.” Genji shrugged,
warily scooting around to get the sword. “That’s the tragedy—she adores you.”
He looked away. “And I think she has adored you since the moment she saw you.
She once told Mai that she was the luckiest butterfly—that you didn’t beat her,
didn’t drug her, and that you listened to her.”
Hanzo grunted, lowering his weapon slowly but a growl still on his lips. “Tell
me again how that translates into her being afraid of me?”
“You’ve done absolutely nothing,” Genji whispered sadly. “That’s the problem.
You have done exactly what you wanted, when you’ve wanted. You’ve followed the
orders given without question and now you’re giving orders without wondering
what it costs.”
Hanzo growled, “You do not appear to have suffered.”
Genji looked up with pained eyes in his pale face. “Yeah…. I’m just as bad.” He
sighed and just nodded with a hopeless acceptance. “But at least I am willing
to think about changing. Are you?”
“Are you? Are you really willing to change? Or is it more of your bohemian
Utopian prattle that lasts as long as I pay the bills?”
“She could help you, you know.”
“At least she is quiet when following orders,” Hanzo complained. “Why not try
it? Just for a change.”
“She could help you,” Genji insisted. “She could help you see the good that you
could do. Give you hope and help you change.” He snorted irreverently. “At
least, it would do you good to relax.” Genji sighed, “At least try it, Han. Go
get something to eat, something strong to drink, and get into bed with her. She
won’t say no.”
“It is more complicated than that, Genji.”
“She would love to,” Genji went on. He cocked an evil look. “If you are worried
about her getting pregnant, then I have—.”
“Do not even finish that sentence.” Hanzo shuddered. “I do not want to know
what you have. Besides, Asahi took care of that possibility.”
Suddenly, Genji’s attention was riveted. “Oh? How? Do you know how?”
“What? No—I do not know precisely how. Only that it was not supposed to be
permanent.”
“Well, thank goodness for small mercies, I suppose. In that case, why on earth
not enjoy her?”
“Like you ‘enjoy’ Mai? You are a far worse sinner than I. She is not even of
age, Genji.”
“I haven’t touched her,” Genji protested. “I don’t intend to.” He shrugged a
little. “We’re trying to figure out somewhere that she’s safe.” Hanzo stood
there with a frown on his face. “It’s…more complicated.” A glance of hope
crossed his face. “But you could help. We could do so much…change so much.”
“Is that what this tirade is about?”
“Look, Han,” Genji said. “Let me just show you.”
“Show me what?”
“That things can change.”
“And how do you propose to do that? Start challenging all the elders and all
their families? What would that do but get you and Mai killed?”
“Let me show you by taking out Asahi.”
Hanzo stared at Genji in mean-spirited, sarcastic wonder. “What do you have
against Asahi? Did he or did he not make your dreams of feminine beauty come
true?”
“I told you, Han, I’m not going to do anything to her. I need her to take down
Asahi.” He cocked a grin. “If you wanted to make it quicker, then let me talk
to Takara—she’s the key to bringing charges because she’s a living body of
proof of what Asahi is doing.”
“Let my butterfly get drug into whatever scheme you have in mind so that you
can play knight in shining armor for a girl that you admit you are not going to
actually do anything with? Have you learned by now that we are not on the
heroic side?”
“But we could be!”
“How? How could we possibly suddenly turn this around without getting killed?
You know, without more of those supposed innocents dying?”
Genji didn’t have an answer and Hanzo stomped out. His body still ached for
action—the release of pent up frustration and energy. He puffed huge breaths in
and out, trying to regain his calm. Going to the gardens, he walked around
slowly, and found he had no choice but to think about what Genji had said and
the questions kept going over and over in his head.
Takara was waiting up for him, sort of. At least, she was awake and dressed in
the pink kimono that made her skin glow and she was sitting on the couch in the
sitting area. He couldn’t meet her eyes for a moment, but instead just flopped
on the couch and began peeling off the sweaty and suddenly tight clothes before
sliding on clean ones. She hovered around him, picking up and keeping things
neat. Hanzo tried to just ignore her—every time that he even glimpsed her out
of the corner of his eye he could hear Genji’s voice.
“Takara,” he said. She paused, looking up at him with a question in her eyes.
“Would you be honest with me?”
She stopped and stood in front of him. He glanced into her face and saw the
happy glowing mask over her expression fade. “M-m-master?”
“Are you happy here?” Hanzo peered into her eyes.
“Yes, o-of course, Master,” she cocked her head in confusion. “W-w-why wouldn’t
I be?”
“Be honest with me, Takara,” Hanzo said with a low growl. “You always seem to
stutter when you do not want to answer a question.”
She flushed, which looked strange with her pale face. “I am content to be
here.”
“Why?”
“You…you do not ask too much of me. You do not force me to take any drugs. You
do not beat me. I do not have to…to—.”
“To what?”
“To sleep with others….” She flushed even darker. “I am not asked to…do too
much.” She shrugged a little nervously.
Hanzo grunted. “Anything else?”
“No, Master.”
“And you are happy here?”
“O-o-of course,” she whispered.
“Would you do anything I asked?” He peered up at her curiously. He thought
deviously, “I want you to strip and go to my bed.” A part of him wanted her to
agree and unleash the tension in his body. Discipline, he reminded himself. He
didn’t need her to agree, of course. He was master here.
The only thing was…. He didn’t want her to disagree either. He didn’t want to
enforce his command, didn’t want to deal with the necessary punishments. He
didn’t want to be the heavy—to force her to do anything.
“Of course—if I could manage it.” At his glare, she hastily explained, “I can’t
do some things—like….”
“Like what?”
“L-like…,” she shrugged nervously. “I can’t…fire a gun?”
He laughed a little. “Would you like to learn?”
“I can’t fly?”
“Do not be sarcastic.”
“I can’t…resist you.”
He sucked in a breath. His entire imagination suddenly was on fire. Even the
dragons’ were suddenly quiet. All of the world went suddenly quiet.
Discipline, he reminded himself. She is only entertainment.
“Why?!” was the single, unified thought of the dragons.
“What?” was all he could whisper.
“I cannot resist you.”
He stood up, towering over her. The word ‘discipline’ rang in his mind over and
over. The dragons kept asking ‘why’, over and over. Unfortunately, the former
was getting fainter and fainter. The dragons’ answering ‘why’ got louder and
louder.
And he had no ready answer.
She looked up at him, watching him carefully. He was amused that she didn’t
back up, didn’t flinch away. A curl of mischief twisted in his stomach,
twisting his lips upward with a devilish grin. He looked down and crossed his
arms, which had the pleasant effect of making him appear even more muscular.
She was right there, watching him. Her mouth opened a little in a breathless
way and her eyes were thin rings of smoky gray. She trembled slightly—a shiver
running up and down her spine. Her hands flexed and a strange look crossed her
face, like she was standing hungry in a candy store.
He laughed softly. There were grown men who wouldn’t stand looking up to him
anything like that. He reminded himself—‘discipline’—and the next thought was
an echo—‘she’s only there for entertainment’.
Oh, how he wanted to be entertained.
He could do this, he reassured himself. He could let her be entertainment. He
could call her an assistant or entertainer or whatever else, but he was done
trying to resist the perfectly natural impulse to make love to this beautiful
woman. After all, he was the Shimada master and such a tiny indulgence could
not shake his discipline....
“So,” he breathed, dropping his arms and letting his diabolical amusement show
on his face. “You can not resist me?” She nodded. “Take off my shirt.”
She nodded slowly and her eyes suddenly glowed. With a smile, she reached to
his waist and pulled his shirt up. Just short of tickling, her fingers were
gentle. She leaned in close, pressing a kiss to his neck as she rucked up the
shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, just in time for her to
wrap her arms around his chest and began peppering him with delicate kisses
trailing down.
Her tongue teased his navel—a quick swirl—before beginning the most dedicated
trek down further. Her fingers fiddled with his pants, undoing them and
starting to push them down as her lips kept going down further and further.
She panted a little—her breath feathering over the trail of kisses. He growled
and grabbed her hair before she kept going. “You are…overdressed.”
She nodded and stood. Her own smirk crossed her face, and her hands began
undoing the kimono. One pale shoulder with a lacy strap emerged as she began
sliding it off coyly. Giving her a laugh, he gripped the lapels and ripped it
open.
She was wearing the lacy bra and panties he had picked out. It was almost
better than when he had pictured her in it when they ordered it online. He
purred as his fingers traced the lacy pattern. As his hands came up to her
shoulders, she tilted her head and licked his knuckles.
How they managed to make it to the bedroom, he had no idea. He sat on the edge
of the bed, settling his face between her breasts as she was straddling his
lap. His fingers tangled in the bra. The stretchy material defied his attempts
to unhook it and with a growl, he ripped it instead.
She growled in return, a leg coming up to hook around his waist. Her panties
were soaked and he smirked as it trailed a wet smear on him. The other leg
wrapped around his waist and she was grinding on top of him.
“Do not be impatient,” he whispered in her hair. She didn’t seem to be
listening, instead nibbling his ear. “Hmm…I do not think that you are listening
to me, butterfly.” He rolled his hip and threw her into the middle of the bed.
“You need to be taught…patience.”
She laughed softly, caressing her breasts and watching him closely. He laughed.
Taking her hands in his own, he looked at her and whispered against her skin,
“What pleases you, Takara?”
Her eyes went wide in surprise and her mouth opened a little in surprise. “I-I-
I….”
“You do not know, do you?” He smirked. “You need to speak up, little treasure,
to tell me what pleases you.” He ogled her chest and smiled. With a smirk, he
licked her breast from the base to the tip of the nipple. “Tell me if you like
this.”
She nodded mutely. He kept lapping at her and her hands fluttered in his grasp.
She smelled of vanilla and musk as he kept her pinned down. Her legs kept
curling around him and she seemed to almost be senseless as he kept tasting
her. Between her legs was the most intoxicating scent and as he began teasing
her.
“You have a lovely, sensitive little bud here,” he whispered to her. Moving one
hand he pushed open her lower lips and let one thumb trail in circles around
her clit. “Do you know that this little bud is filled with sensitive nerves
that just scream for my attention?”
She panted and shook her head with a whine. He drug his finger over again,
smiling as her hips curled. Even her toes were curled into the sheets.
“Adorable,” he praised. “What if I kiss it?”
She whimpered. “So…hot,” she whimpered. Weakly, she pushed upward and looked at
him with glazed eyes. “But am I not supposed to please you?”
He laughed, kissing down and puffing air between her legs. “You are to obey me,
first and foremost.” He lapped all the way from front to back, grinning as she
squealed. “And for now, you are to tell me what pleases you.”
Cautiously, he pressed one finger against her wet folds. Hanzo watched her face
carefully to see her reaction. “It is not fair if you bite your lip, little
treasure.” He thrust a finger hard into her, all the way to the knuckle, and
she shook her head mutely. “I want to hear those sounds, Takara.”
She gasped, whining as he curled his finger. “I…I can’t—!”
“Can not what?”
Her fingernails gently attacked his hand between her legs. “I…I…I just can’t!
It’s too much!”
Hanzo put one hand on her mont, gently pushing her hips down and she suddenly
bit her lip again. “Careful. You are too quiet.” He pushed another finger
inside. “You should not be scared to tell me what you want.”
He knelt up on his knees, grinning wickedly as her legs clamped around his
hips. Takara’s face glowed with sweat and her hands knotted in the sheets.
Instinctively, she tried to pump her hips, and he kept one hand pressing her
down.
With a sudden yank, he pulled his hand away and was rewarded by her sudden
whine and blind scrabble to grab his hand. “Am I not pleasing you well enough?
Hmm…”
“No! No. No. No.” She panted and grabbed for his free wrist. Her legs pumped,
her feet sliding without purchase. “I…I am…!”
“You are…what?” he smiled. Once more he stroked her. “You are pleased?”
She nodded wildly. “Please! Please…more.” Ineffectively, she tugged at his free
wrist. “More.”
“What is this ‘more’?” He bent to suckle on her nipples. “Be explicit.”
“Must I beg?” She whined. He shook his head. “I want it all. I need it.” She
took an uneven breath. “You-your fingers in m-my cunt.”
Hanzo chuckled as she spared him a glance to see his reaction. Without
hesitation, he rewarded her with two fingers where she wanted them. Instantly,
her head pressed back into the pillow and her legs clamped around his wrist.
Letting her hips go, he laughed as instantly her hips began pumping on his
fingers. As soon as he curled his fingers, she let out a wail and every muscle
clamped down on him.
“Anything else?” His voice was hoarse and it hissed through his teeth.
“Focus….”
One eye stared at him and she worried her lip again. She brought one hand up to
her own breast and whimpered when he shook his head. “I…. Just a little more….”
“Words, Takara.” He smiled as he kissed her neck again. “Words to tell me what
you want.”
With a sob, she shook her head. “This isn’t how it is supposed to happen!”
“What is not supposed to happen?”
She pumped her hips two more times, twisting cautiously. Suddenly his finger
hit a sweet, tight spot and she growled, grinding into his rough wrist. Every
muscle spasmed and then locked, and a scream caught in her throat. Takara was
sure that she was almost…there. Then his thumb grated across her clit and it
rocked through her.
The scream echoed in the room and Hanzo laughed at her as her nails dug in to
hold his hand as she ground against him. Trembling, she panted and looked up at
him, her hips gradually slowing.
Suddenly, she realized what she was doing. Her gaze flickered down to her hands
as they held his wrist. Her eyes went wide as she studied the light scratches
up and down his wrists. Then she saw his cock red and straining and went a
little pale.
He grinned at her as he settled on his elbows and stretched out. Idly playing
with a lock of her hair, he asked innocently, “So now that you have been
pleasured, will you tell me what is not supposed to happen?”
She gently stroked his shoulders. With a breathless, mournful look, she
whispered, “I am supposed to pleasure you.”
“Hmm. I think that you are supposed to do what I say,” he whispered as he
nipped her ear. “Now, it is time for us to continue.” She sighed peacefully,
feeling him inch forward. “If you are ready….”
She bit her lip again and he licked both of them playfully. “But you need to
tell me what you like…. Keep talking, Takara. Keep talking.” She gasped as he
entered her the first tiny bit. “Breathe.”
Suddenly she bucked up. Hanzo hissed as suddenly he was well seated in her
pussy. Discipline. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes slightly, trying
to keep from driving into her. Her rocking, grinding against his hips, would
surely…drive him crazy.
He thrust once, hard enough that she paused, sucking in a breath to feel him
all the way inside. Softly, she moaned and pulled on his hips to encourage him.
“Talk, Takara,” he murmured against her neck.
“There. I like…to be nipped there,” she sighed. “And…I like to…oh, God, move!”
Suddenly, there was nothing held back. She came alive, bucking and whining,
begging him for touches and caresses. She was explicit, even crude, as she told
him what she liked. Ahh…the lightest of pressure across her neck and her hips
would twist in pleasure. Nipping the sensitive skin at her neck made her shiver
and then tremble again as sucking on that little bite made a mark. And there
was nothing more thrilling than the moan when he pulled her legs over his
shoulders.
The steady rhythm became erratic and he felt sweat dripping down his back.
Takara panted, every muscle gripping him and her words begging him almost
incoherently for him to…. Then her words sank in and her hips slammed into him.
Fire wrapped around every fiber of his body and he groaned to feel her clamp
down around him again. She cried out his name, wailing like she was in labor,
and he was undone. Even harder, he pumped in and out and came.
Sighing and suddenly exhausted, he withdrew, rolling to stand and go fetch a
washcloth. He expected her to be exhausted, and was surprised when her fingers
drifted over her belly to scoop up his seed from between her legs and then
bring it to her mouth. She sucked her fingers contentedly, drawing the thick
liquid up repeatedly to taste it. Frozen to the spot, Hanzo watched her.
When she did open her eyes enough to spot him staring at her, she rolled to one
side. “Is something wrong, Master?”
He started a little. “N-n-no. Nothing.” He cocked his head. “Is that good to
you?”
She flushed a little and nodded timidly. “I-I-I…like it very much. I like
sex—maybe too much” She licked her fingers and whispered softly, “I-if it
doesn’t displease you…?”
He smiled knowingly. “I have not seen a woman do it before. Let alone enjoy it.
We will have to explore all the things you like to do with your mouth.”
He cleaned them almost blindly and felt particularly satisfied when she curled
up against his side. He was about to ask her more questions, but she yawned
widely and closed her eyes. Even the dragons seemed to be content and their
yawns echoed in his head. So, with a languid grace, he tucked in the sheets and
drifted off to sleep.
The next week passed with lightning speed. He was surprisingly eager to
conclude each day and return to the apartment. Takara was happy to see him,
waiting up late into the night until he returned. No matter when he came in,
now matter how foul his mood, she was smiling and welcoming, her arms wide.
Twice he took her into the open room to exercise, playing the chasing relay and
pouncing on her at the end—where she would gleefully submit to whatever he
wanted. Even the dragons seemed content, their strength flowing into Hanzo
without reservation.
If only Genji could find whoever had stolen the clan’s money. It was a small
thing, and surely the ninja was almost on top of it, though. When that was
wrapped up, he intended on taking a few days off with Takara, maybe going
somewhere exotic. Genji had taken Mai several trips—none recently, thank
goodness—and they were fine, so surely the more reserved Takara would be fine….
The next week, bright on Monday morning, the elders were finishing up a meeting
when a cousin smiled and asked, “And is there a wedding soon, Master Shimada?”
Hanzo glanced up, crooking his eyebrow. “A wedding?”
Several of the other elders chuckled nervously, while others seemed a little
shocked. “Yes,” added the cousin. “A wedding so that we have heirs. So that the
clan may continue.”
Hanzo just looked at the cousin, waiting. His words scarily echoed Genji’s and
for a moment, Hanzo was sure that his younger brother was behind this. The
cousin’s smile turned stiff as he watched. “And…?”
“Well, my dau—my wife and I would like to invite you to dinner…. To meet my
daughter, who has come home from her school in Switzerland.” He took a spotless
white handkerchief and wiped his suddenly sweaty brow. “I am…naturally very
proud of her….”
Hanzo kept staring, and waiting. Finally, he said softly, “I will see.” He
waved dismissively. “If there is nothing else?”
Thankfully, no one else seemed to be willing to press forward. They filed out
quietly and he was glad to be done. He picked up his things—his pen, his pad of
notes—and glanced at the small bowl of flowers and the bowl of small,
individual chocolates. He couldn’t resist smiling and putting a few in his suit
pocket for Takara. He could eat with Genji, listening to the latest
intelligence that Genji would tell no one else, and then he could surprise
Takara with an early visit.
Unfortunately, all of those plans were disrupted with a buzz of his cellphone.
He glanced at the alert on his screen. The email was an anonymous one—a
randomly generated string of numbers and letters going to a free email
account—that he didn’t recognize. Flipping his thumb on the phone, he opened it
irritably.
“Honored Sir, I hope this finds you in good health and fortunes, such that you
could assist a partner with a small issue—.” He stopped there. He could
practically hear Asahi’s sing-song voice in the annoying see-saw between false
praise and ingratiating wheedling. Sighing, he replied shortly.
Asahi’s next email came almost immediately. “Honored Sir, there is still the
matter of your base price for your purchase, which I feel we would be able to
settle during this meeting.”
Hanzo rolled his eyes. There was just about nothing he wouldn’t rather do than
meet Asahi again, but at least the man had been silent this long. “Sir, I am
available to meet this evening after dinner. Is 8:30 convenient?”
The phone dinged again and he saw Asahi’s flowery acceptance in about three
times the words than necessary. Sighing, he went to his lunch with Genji.
Asahi’s dress was no less flamboyant—4 layers of green and gold kimono and a
gold hairpiece—than he remembered. The butler was just as staid and formal,
leading him into the parlor and disappearing with his overcoat.
“Honored Sir,” Asahi murmured as he bowed low. “The fortunate collector of our
black butterfly.”
“Asahi-San,” Hanzo replied, returning a slightly less extreme bow. “What seems
to be the problem?”
“As you understand,” Asahi sighed, pulling out a fan. “My services are unique
and—if I may say so, wonderfully sought after. However, there has come to my
attention a few…unpleasant rumors that certain medical authorities are
questioning the facilities here.” Hanzo nodded stiffly. “It has become more
difficult to obtain the materials for my butterflies and I find that I need
your generous assistance to continue.”
“What do you think you need from me?”
“Your most generous assistance in…convincing the suppliers to continue with our
arrangements would be delightful. And if your…associates would be so kind as to
perhaps divert the attentions of the medical investigation boards, then my very
small problems would be solved.”
Asahi pulled out a folded sheet of cream paper with a butterfly watermark on
it. Presenting it to Hanzo he offered a cat-like smile. “And, of course, in
return, I would consider the base price you bid for the lovely butterfly to be
completely paid in full.”
Hanzo let out a breath, controlling his breathing. Unfolding the paper, he
saw—finally—what he had written in his bid for Takara: “anything”.
“Of course, your father’s interest in my little shop was most kind,” Asahi
simpered, covering over the moment of silence with chatter. “It was generous
indeed that he would consider buying from the catalogue and the small
alterations to the butterfly.”
Hanzo gritted his teeth at that crude reminder. “My father is dead.”
Asahi’s face instantly fell into the perfect mask of sympathy and sorrow. “How
sad that such a gentleman has passed from us.”
“Indeed,” Hanzo muttered, wondering what Takara’s assessment of “such of
gentleman” would be. Changing the subject, he asked, “Do you know who might be
causing the investigations?”
“Most Honored Sir,” Asahi replied. “Alas, I do not know who it is that has such
an unreasonable hatred of the dear butterflies. But I am glad to provide you
with the papers to begin an investigation…?”
Hanzo looked at the slip of paper in his hand. “And that will satisfy you—?”
“Indeed.” Asahi snapped his fingers and a robed woman appeared with a folder.
“Here is the poor collection of papers that I have collected so far.”
“I will investigate this matter and see what is to be done.”
“You are most generous, Honored Sir.” Asahi grinned again. “And, of course, you
and your esteemed brother are more than welcome to attend the auctions and to
visit my butterflies any time you wish.”
Hanzo grunted and, for once, Asahi had nothing else to add. Formal farewells
were exchanged and Hanzo was grateful to get into the car and be driven off.
The investigation papers he examined on the way and they were enlightening.
Whereas an unprotected brothel would merely be investigated by the local police
and likely passed on to an “expert” who was taking bribes, Asahi had medical
boards looking at his imports, his shipments, and the credentials of those
associated with his little venture. All of the names on the papers were highly-
respected, highly-visible doctors and officials, making it less likely that
this was a normal shakedown.
It was a perplexing problem and he spent several phone calls asking his men to
do their own investigations. Surely one or more of them had a skeleton in their
closet. It was a matter of finding the loose thread and pulling it so that the
entire thing unraveled. If his men couldn’t find something—or manufacture
something—then Hanzo decided that Genji would be called in.
Takara welcomed him home, massaging his shoulders and back and then bathing
him. One by one, they fed each other the chocolates, sighing and murmuring in
their heady pleasures. And, the dragons rejoiced as they did, letting out happy
murmurs in his head. Hanzo was relaxed, content, and about to go to sleep when
his hand wandered over Takara’s bare stomach.
Just for a moment, he tried to picture her tiny waist gently swollen with their
child. She would be a quiet mother, but he had no problem imagining her with
small children—doting on the sons and daughters equally. But that was a bit
silly—she was, for all her delights, not to be pregnant and certainly not with
his children.
Another week passed and the thugs returned with depressing results. Every
single one of the doctors and officials listed on the investigation documents
was clean as a whistle. No secret mistresses. No illicit drugs. Somehow—and it
boggled the mind as to how—every single person listed was honest, hard working
and very keen on determining why a man who declared himself to be a “butterfly
enthusiast” needed Omnic technology, nanites, and various other things.
Finally, Hanzo had to admit that Genji needed to be brought into the
investigation. They met briefly for a snack with Mai and Takara, settled the
girls in with a vampire movie (a peculiar interest of Takara’s), and then went
somewhere to speak in private.
“I don’t like it,” Genji muttered as they sat in the back of the limo.
Hanzo raised the privacy screen and then turned off all of the electronics. Not
even their driver and bodyguard would be able to see in the back as they
talked. “It seems a bit too convenient.” He paged through the notes again.
“None of these people would usually get mixed up in a standard investigation.”
“How strange.”
“Indeed, Genji. I sent Yoshi-San and two others out and none of these names
have turned up anything that could be used to stop this.” Hanzo grunted again.
“Asahi has found no other names, either.”
Genji nodded thoughtfully. “I will do the investigation myself, if you like.”
“I need you tracking down that missing money. How it went astray, where it
went, and who is responsible.” Hanzo clucked his tongue. “What have you turned
up?”
Genji sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples. “The money appears to have
gone through a Chinese export company to an account in Switzerland—.”
“Where Cousin Benke’s daughter—!”
Genji’s face lit up. “Yeah… His daughter has just gotten back from Switzerland,
hasn’t she?”
“Investigate it. Get the money back.”
“Only one problem.”
“What now, Genji?”
“Whoever got it, also captured the attention of Overwatch.”
Hanzo groaned. “So we do not dare move the money back.”
“Not unless we want Overwatch on us.”
Hanzo sighed. “Then concentrate on Benke’s little family and his daughter. It
could be our best lead.”
“And if he’s innocent?”
Hanzo shrugged. “I trust you to be discrete.”
Meanwhile, Mai had come over to visit Takara while they were gone. They were
quickly busy in Hanzo’s bathroom with all manner of tubes and containers and
compacts everywhere. The auburn haired woman had several pencils and brushes in
her hands and was staring in the mirror as she carefully lined her eyes with
kohl. The black haired woman picked up the various pieces, a washcloth in her
hands as she brushed up powder and stains.
“This is so luxurious,” Mai murmured as her thin line ended on the outside of
her eye and she began to draw a tiny heart. “I mean…seriously. Where else would
we have just oodles of time to just be beautiful?” Takara shrugged a little,
smiling at their reflections in the mirror. “Not to mention tons of money to
spend.”
“You sound happy,” Takara muttered.
Mai tilted her head, making a face in the mirror. With a nod, she blonde set
the pencil down and picked up some gloss. “I suppose that I am happy.” She
shrugged and dabbed some gloss on her lips. “At least, as happy as I guess I
could expect to be….” She looked over her shoulder. “Do you remember what Asahi
said?”
“That we would be lucky to be bought?” Takara muttered sadly. “We’d be lucky to
find someone who was willing to spend money on us and that we might end up with
twenty other girls on a street corner.”
Mai nodded. “We both did all right. You have one and only one master. I have
one and only one master. No other women to get snotty that we were bought or to
boss us around.” She waved a hand at the cosmetics. “Money to do more or less
what we want to with it.”
“It’s not our money,” Takara murmured.
“We still get to spend some of it,” Mai chuckled. “All we need to do is to ask
our beloved masters.” She cocked her head at the brunette. “Don’t tell me…is he
stingy with you? He doesn’t want you spending anything?”
Takara paused. Then she laughed nervously. “Of course not. I have what I really
want and I have what I need….”
Mai smiled a little with some sadness. She set down the makeup slowly. With a
slow shake of her head, she helped the other woman gather everything up and
then she shuffled everything into a pretty pink bag with roses embroidered on
it. “Can you keep a secret?”
Takara paused, staring. “I…I…I guess. What’s on your mind?”
“I kinda don’t want to be here,” Mai whispered. “But I am also happier here
than I ever have been.”
“Oh, Mai,” Takara sighed. “We will sit and talk about it.” She led the blonde
to the couch and sat down with her. “What on earth is wrong? You were just so
happy….”
Mai shuddered and nodded, staring at her hands and nervously shuffling things
around in her bag. “I mean…we are lucky. I know we are lucky. And compared to
what Asahi told us about most of the people who could have bought us—there’s
just…I can’t get around it.”
“Get around what?”
“I mean…we were bought like puppies. We were so close to getting in real
trouble.” She shuddered again, suddenly going pale. “Remember that one sneezy
guy? One girl said he was in there every month or so.”
“Everyone said that he killed the other butterflies.”
“I know. He scared me to death. I think that if they hadn’t shot me up with
stuff before I hurled on the runway from him staring at me.” Mai looked at
Takara curiously. “How did you get out of it?”
Takara felt her cheeks grow hot. “I….” Hot tears pricked her eyes. “It was my
second auction.” She shrugged a little. “If I wasn’t bought, I’d be sold
somewhere else. I knew that it was my last chance or else I’d be in some
whorehouse where I’d be with twelve guys a night.” She smothered a giggle. “I
had motivation to get bought.”
“Yeah…but the pink butterfly was ‘motivated’ too and got jabbed twice.” She
shrugged. “It’s a wonder he didn’t fall over.”
“I told them that I’d be sick if I got more of it. And that I’d do whatever
they wanted without complaint.” Her hands fluttered nervously. “So, I did
it—whatever they wanted. It took weeks, but I did go out there without the
drugs.” She sighed and hung her head. “So, I was ready to stand on my head if
Asahi wanted it.”
“He might have,” Mai nodded, shuffling things around again.
“I wanted out more than anything.” Takara shrugged. “So I wanted to get out
and…and I was so glad that anyone bid on me. I just looked at him and he seemed
like he wanted to leave. I wanted someone—anyone!—to bid so that I didn't get
in worse trouble, but I was thinking ‘I want it to be him’—and I couldn't
believe that he did.” She looked at the other woman. “I couldn't believe
it—that out of all the women there, he bid on me. I almost cried—.”
“Then what happened?” Mai nudged her a little. “I mean, I didn't go through the
whole program….”
“I got to that tiny room and Asahi comes in and starts his act. Then…he left.
Hanzo spoke to me and…he asked me what I wanted!” Mai gasped and sat up
straighter. “I couldn't believe it either. Nothing Asahi had said was going to
happen did. And even when Asahi came back and began his little speech and
recommendations, the only thing I hadn't agreed to before hand was…my eyes.”
“Asahi? He didn't react well to that, I’ll bet.”
Takara shook her head, a dark flush to her cheeks. “No…but he was nice until
the end. Then my stomach rumbled.”
Mai moaned in sympathy. “Asahi must have gone nuts. Did he go nuts right then?
Or later when the customers were gone?”
Takara looked at her sideways. “Later. All the way down to the bottom of my
feet.” She shrugged. “It felt like the worst thing, but the worst wasn't until
the day after. Then, the doctor's came.”
Mai glanced at her. “I can't imagine what that was like—.”
Takara smiled sadly. “That’s the worst part, sometimes. I agreed to it all. I
thought I was smart. I wanted a little more curves—a bit more bust. Just in
case—you know—I ended up dropped off at a street corner. A little bit more,
just in case.” She let out a bark of hoarse laughter. “I was sure that no one
could be so lucky. I mean…it’s—there’s just no way he would want me.” Tears
began running down her face. “At first, I was scared that he didn't want me at
all. That he was going to change his mind. I couldn't figure out if he wanted
all the mods or didn't want to spend any money on me. I was trying to be smart
again, so I went for the halfway measure—not too expensive but not without his
own style. Asahi told us that we'd be more valuable if the men modified us,
right?”
The black butterfly shrugged a little. “I was so sick. There were so many
injections and drips of medicines—.” She glanced at Mai’s green pallor. “I
almost wanted to die. I was so sick and I swear, I could almost feel the
nanites crawling underneath my skin.” She shuddered and then added, “But I
didn't want to die in Asahi’s house. Not there. I'd take my chances on the
street before dying there. But every time they would give me more hormones or
another IV of stuff, I'd get sick and swear that I was not going to die there.
Not like the—.”
“The what?” Mai whispered.
Takara whispered softly. “The red butterfly.” She shuddered and glanced sourly
at Mai. “The red butterfly…didn’t make it. She…. H-h-her master put the most
enormous breasts on her and then her waist went to nothing—they took out four
ribs to make the measurements. Then she was pierced—her tongue, her nose, a few
more. She…she looked like a cartoon character, but something happened and her
tongue swelled. The doctors—I heard them—said that she had an allergy to one of
the types of plastic that was used. She couldn’t take that much plastic
and…she—.”
“She what?”
“She…well…I suppose she went easy. They had all of us on IVs and medicines, but
when Asahi decided that she wouldn’t make it, they just pulled out all the
needles and rolled her bed out. A few hours later, it came back empty.” Takara
brushed the tears out of her eyes. “I didn’t see her again. The doctors came
back the next day and said that they had reclaimed her nanites so that the next
red butterfly could use them.”
Mai nodded absently. “So…?”
“So he just replaced her—there was another red-head that the buyer approved as
a substitute and before I left, they had begun swelling her body up to get her
ready.” She nodded a little sadly, brushing tears out of her eyes. “If my
master hadn’t been so insistent, then it might have happened to me.”
Mai sighed sadly. “I had…no idea.” She shuddered. “I just got out…as soon as I
could with Genji. He took me out and I didn’t have to do any of that.” She put
the bag aside. “I’m sorry that you had to go through it all. And all alone.”
“We were all alone in that place,” Takara snarled. “All of us.”
Mai looked away. “Hard to be alone in a place with…what? Thirty or more
caterpillars?”
“Yet we were alone. We did not talk. We did not so much as eat together if it
could be helped. Every one of us went to the auction alone and none returned.
We were altered separately. I didn’t see another soul except for the doctors
and Asahi while I was being altered.” Takara glanced up blankly. “I didn’t even
know that another butterfly was here until my master mentioned it.”
“Yet…you are here with me,” Mai muttered. “We are not alone anymore.” She
cocked her head. “We are…not all alone.”
Takara smiled softly. “I am glad that you are here with me, but…I am not free.
Not like you.”
Mai flushed a little. “If you asked, maybe you would be allowed—?”
Takara shook her head softly. “Your master is very kind, Mai. He allows you to
wander the estate. He buys you what you wish.” She smiled coquettishly. “You
must please him greatly.”
Mai’s face turned red as she fiddled with her bag one more time. “I…I do
nothing to please him. At least…not that way. Mostly we sit and talk and then
he sleeps on the couch and I in the bed.”
“But…but…how can that be? For him to do so much for you and not…. Not even,
once?”
“Not even once, Takara,” Mai whispered. Then, she added gleefully, “That’s why
I think that, maybe, he’s telling the truth….”
“The truth?”
“He…he wants to take down Asahi. He wants to stop that foul man from doing
anything like this to anyone else.” Mai looked at her sister butterfly
anxiously. “And…and we could do it, I think, if we had the evidence….”
Takara frowned. “And even if you do, what kind evil would take his place?”
After a small pause, she added, “But if this is what you both wish to do, then
I hope you succeed.”
Mai smiled widely. “But would you…. Maybe, could you talk to Genji?”
Takara shook her head and began fiddling with a fluttery lock of hair. “I
cannot. My master has strictly forbidden it.”
“They are brothers, Takara,” Mai whispered.
“I know. But…my master is not like yours. He is kind—far kinder than what Asahi
told us to expect. He is…generous in his own ways, but he is the older son
and….” She shrugged lamely. “We are not like that.”
Takara gently took the younger woman’s hand. “But if you and…Master Genji are
happy together, if you can make it work, then I am very happy for you both.”
“Does your master allow you to do anything?” Mai pouted a little. “We could
walk—.”
“No,” Takara sighed. “I must stay here.”
“Just in the gardens?”
“No,” Takara sighed again. “My master wants me to stay here. It cannot be
helped. He is busy—very busy—and I must be here when he can come here and when
he needs me.”
“Only here?”
Takara laughed bitterly. “I am happier here than other places.” At Mai’s
questioning look, she explained, “I was…I sat with our masters’ father for a
while, so that my master would not worry about his health.”
“Genji said that he was an evil man—even worse than Asahi.”
Takara tried to laugh. “Yes…far worse in his way than Asahi. At least Asahi
wanted to keep us somewhat well and hale and hearty. That old man—,” she
laughed bitterly. “—he wanted to keep me for himself since my master…had…not….”
“Not...what?”
Takara shrugged a little and blushed. “You know.”
“Oh!”
“So…I’d rather be here than with his father any day.” She cocked her head
thoughtfully, not really staring at the blank television screen. “And my master
is a generous lover.” Mai laughed a little nervously. “He cares about my
pleasure as much as his own. His eyes…they shine with pride when I climax…like
he is happy that I’m doing it. That giving me pleasure…energizes him.”
Mai stared at the soft tears running down Takara’s cheeks. “You love him, don’t
you, you poor fool.”
Takara nodded and closed her eyes. “I know…I am a fool.” She waved at the
apartment bitterly. “It was the first thing we learned from Asahi, wasn’t it?
To not fall in love, because we were so easily replaceable.” She sighed
heavily. “When the master marries, I will have to vanish from here—.”
“Will you go back home?”
Takara shook her head. “I don’t have a home to go back to. I…I am made wrong, I
think. I wanted to see what sex and love was about and…I went out with a boy.
An American exchange student.” Her fists balled up. “I knew I wasn’t supposed
to, but he went out and told everyone what we did. Worse, he took a recording
of us and when it spread to my parents, they threw me out.” She growled a
little. “I ended up homeless because they would not listen, would not relent—I
had dishonored them completely.”
“So I went to a shelter. I lived there for about a year while I finished
school. Then there was nothing—nowhere to go. I heard rumors that a man was
looking to hire women as models for his business.”
“Asahi?” Mai asked and Takara nodded.
“And when I went and filled out the application, I was taken to see him. He
looked me over and nodded and then offered me some tea while we were supposed
to discuss my pay. When I woke up, I was in with another batch of
caterpillars.” She gritted her teeth, gradually growing more angry. “I was on
their drugs for so long—more than a year—and then went through the training for
another year and then a third year of trying to get off of the drugs and
convincing them that I liked sex and that I wouldn’t cause problems with the
others. Someone convinced Asahi it could be a selling point, since I was not a
virgin.” Finally, Takara sighed and bowed her head. “So, literally, this is the
end of the line—as good as my life will get. I have no friends, no
family—nothing outside of these walls.”
“Then come with me. With Genji,” Mai whispered urgently. Grabbing her
companion’s arm, she murmured, “We…we are….”
There was a soft knock on the door and it swung open scarcely a moment
afterwards. Genji popped in and grinned, “Mai…we are off the hook for the
afternoon and there’s a party this evening.” He bowed and offered her his arm.
“If your companion wants to, she can come with us…?”
Mai shook her head and picked up her bag. Over her shoulder, she said, “Maybe
next time we will make up your face, huh?” The other woman nodded blankly.
“Just…wash your face quickly before your master sees your red eyes.”
Genji was escorting her down the hallways with his usual smile when suddenly,
she darted into an empty room. He grinned at the empty sitting room and its
assortment of low tables with cushions and go boards and then nodded urgently.
Mai closed the door as silently and slowly as she could and then went to a
table and dumped out her makeup bag.
“What’s all this, Mai?” Genji whispered. “I was thinking we’d do something more
interesting than look at make—!”
Mai pulled out the little recorder from her bag and fiddled with the buttons.
Takara’s voice came out clearly as she described the red butterfly. Genji’s
hands covered hers quickly and he silenced the device with a devious smile.
“You crazy little idiot,” he whispered, dropping a chaste peck to her brow. “I
was wondering where that went and why you were so eager to go visit her with
your new makeup bag.”
“Did…did I do all right?” She beamed at him. “Will this help?”
Genji nodded, cradling her hands and the recorder in his. “This is a hundred
times better than anything that I could have hoped for.” He smiled at her
warmly. “If you weren’t such a squirt, I’d kiss you.”
Mai’s cheeks flushed happily. “You never know, you old codger. We young things
might be able to teach you a thing or two!”
Genji laughed again. “Just…hey… Just wait until you’re sixteen, huh? I’ll give
you the biggest, best sweet sixteen party you’ve ever imagined and then a
special sweet sixteen kiss.” He turned a little serious. “And don’t wait for
me, okay? You know I’m bad news and if the real thing comes along—a really good
guy and not one who’s just pretending—then you pounce on him instead, okay?”
Mai shook her head. “I’m waiting for you, idiot.”
Genji puffed out his cheeks. “I know, but I still think you’re crazy to. I’m
gonna try one more time to talk to Hanzo, then we’re out of here.”
“When?”
“Tonight,” he whispered so softly that Mai could scarcely hear him. “Tonight
we’re going out with some lovely folks to a party. I’m going to sneak out and
you’re going to go with them to Switzerland.” He shrugged. “If Hanzo is with
us, we’ll join you. If not, then I’ll make my way there alone.” He brushed a
kiss to her knuckles. “And no matter what, if anyone asks about me, make up
whatever stories you want—the raunchier, the better. I have a bad reputation to
keep up.”
“What? My knight in shining armor has a terrible reputation?”
They laughed again and then were silent, both staring at the recorder. Genji
spoke first. “You’ll be safe. They have almost everything anyway and I’ve put
the money in the account so you can go to school and make something of
yourself. Be a doctor like you’ve always wanted.” He winked. “And with this
recording and your evidence—even if we can’t get anything else—I think that we
can take Asahi down as well.”
She stuffed everything back in the pink bag. “But what about you…and Hanzo?”
She swallowed. “What if he discovers that you took the money? Won’t he be mad?”
“We’ll work something out. Cousin Benke was stealing some too, so maybe the
heat won’t catch up to me until we’re gone,” he whispered. Then he
straightened, smirked and said, “Now let’s get you ready to party, huh?” He
winked at her, which made her giggle. “And wear that nice sparkly gold dress,
okay?”
Mai nodded and slid on the cocktail dress and the black velvet shawl that Genji
provided. He was in a new suit—gunmetal grey and superbly fitted—with a dark
green tie and a boutonnière of a creamy white rose. He cocked a smile and slid
a matching corsage on her wrist. With a reckless smile, he led her out to the
waiting limo.
Mai was breathless with excitement until she realized that there were other
people in the limo as well—a large, dark skinned man in a black suit who looked
like he never smiled and a fair skinned lady with wavy blonde hair in a dark
blue dress that looked like an avenging angel. Suddenly, shy, she turned to
Genji.
“Mai—meet Angela and Gabriel. They’re going to be traveling with you.” Mai
tried to smile at the others, but the dark skinned man only snorted and frowned
restlessly as he watched out the window. The other woman poked his ribs with
her elbow but otherwise smiled back. “In a few minutes, I’m going to stop and
hop out….”
The woman spoke first. “You will have to be careful, sir.” She tossed him a
tiny device that looked like a miniature cellphone. “We do want you in one
piece.”
Gabriel crossed his arms. “You must have balls as big as church bells—leaving
the Shimadas like this.” He snorted with what might be respect and muttered
something in broken Spanish. “Desertion is a capital offense where I’m from.”
Genji rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Just get her to Switzerland like we
agreed.” He pulled a pair of swords out from under the seat and then tapped on
the privacy screen. The limo slowed down and, with another careless grin at
Mai, he opened the door and rolled out.
Gabriel grunted, grabbing the door and slamming it shut. Mai yelped as the
entire vehicle seemed to rock with the force. Angela smoothed her dress and
reached out to her hand. “Don’t worry—things will be fine. We have a monitor on
him and a locator, so we can find him at a moment’s notice.” Ignoring Gabriel
as he slumped like a dark and sinister shade, the blonde smiled and asked, “So,
I understand you want to learn medicine? I’ll be happy to get you started.”
And Mai felt like, maybe things would work out…at least for her. If only Genji
were here—then her life would be completely good.
After lunch, Hanzo had planned to go visit Takara. He had even gone so far as
to lock his office up when a servant came bustling down with a cream colored
envelope. Mentally groaning, he took the envelope when it was given to him.
As the reigning master of the clan, he would hardly sign one of these to summon
himself. So, some of them had managed to scratch together enough courage to
turn on him. Opening the envelope, he glanced at the four seals. It didn’t
matter who signed it, but it was amusing that it took four of them to scratch
up enough moxie to challenge him now. Involuntarily, his back tightened and he
automatically crushed the summons in his fist. There was nothing to be
done—only to face them again.
The room was similarly silent to the last time he had done this and bile came
up in his throat. But as soon as all the elders noticed him, as one they rose
and bowed towards him. That, somehow, didn’t make him feel better, even as he
took the chair at the head of the table. Inexplicably, the chair at the foot of
the table was empty.
Uncle Sora shuffled some papers and finally said, “Something must be done,
Master Shimada.”
He looked tightly at the uncle. “Indeed?”
The cousins and Kaito looked at Sora expectantly, nodding slightly. The elder
cleared his throat and began again. “Master Shimada. Something must be
done…about Genji.”
Hanzo’s eyebrows went up, but he said nothing more. What on earth had Genji
bungled now? Undoubtedly, he would be told, but he knew he’d rather not deal
with this.
“With all due respect, Master Shimada,” his uncle continued stiffly. “We do
recognize that things have…been different since your honored father passed, but
we cannot countenance Genji’s continual disruption.” He slid a pile of black
and white photos and a neatly paper-clipped set of receipts to Hanzo. “These
things cannot be allowed to continue.”
A cousin further down the table murmured, “It is a disgrace. Even worse, a
dishonor.”
Hanzo looked through the photos dispassionately. The first few were of Genji
taking Mai out on the estate—wandering through the gardens, sitting in one of
the immense rooms as they chatted, and then one as she lounged against a
kitchen table and he was having her taste something he had cooked with a
ridiculous “Kiss the Cook” apron on. The next few were of Genji out in town—a
few with unfamiliar women and more with Mai—as he escorted the women to parties
or out shopping.
Hanzo raised an eyebrow. “This appears to be my younger brothers doing what
young men do.”
Sora—who apparently was the elected spokesman—nodded shortly. “He is…a young
man, certainly, but if you will continue looking…?”
Hanzo sighed impatiently, paging through several receipts that showed piles of
orders for women’s fashions, designer shoes, makeup, club fees and admissions,
pairs of tickets to shows and trips. The next set of photographs showed
Genji—as a younger man, Hanzo noted absently—in various poses with multitudes
of women and men in parties and clubs. He had a few that were actually
scandalizing—hot tubs or beaches or pools or such—but most seemed to simply be
Genji doing what he wanted.
Hanzo sighed, willing himself not to groan impatiently. “Genji is a young
man—.”
“Indeed,” his uncle nodded. “But it is long past time for him to take
responsibility and to join in supporting you as he should.”
“He’s young,” murmured someone else. “There is no reason for fussing—.”
“He still needs correction. He needs to support the clan and needs to bring in
more money than he spends.”
Hanzo honestly couldn’t agree more, but that was hardly the point. Silently, he
passed the pile back to his uncle.
The elder’s face turned red and he puffed out angrily. “This cannot be allowed
to continue. If you are not aware, Master Shimada, but we have lost face with
the other yakuza because of his antics. Until you take a wife, he is your heir
and must behave well! We cannot have him consorting with…with whores and
prostitutes and—and—!”
Hanzo sighed patiently. “I seem to remember rumors of…others spending time with
questionable females.”
The uncle sputtered as one of the other cousins nodded. “I…I refuse—!”
Hanzo muttered, “Have you ever thought about when you were so young?”
Everyone tittered, more out of respect for Hanzo than out of mirth. He didn’t
laugh, only looked at them solemnly until they were silent. Sora flushed
darkly, grinding his teeth. As the muttering laughter died down, the older man
pulled another few papers out.
“Then explain these,” the older man smiled viciously.
He set the papers in front of Hanzo and had he dropped an anvil on the table,
it could not have rattled more. Hanzo slowly reached out and pulled them
closer.
“While Genji was supposed to be carrying out your orders, we do seem to find
him meeting with all sorts of people!” He looked at Hanzo with less respect
than ever.
A lower ranking elder—a distant cousin—grumbled, “We never had these problems
when your father was alive.”
Hanzo looked at the papers. The neatly typed list of dates, locations and names
and Hanzo gritted his teeth as some of the names stood out as people who were
investigating Asahi. Others were police officers—duly noted with rank and
department. In other words, it was…damning on the surface.
“These could be coincidental,” Hanzo said softly. “And I sent him to ‘assist’ a
partner with some legal issues.”
Everyone was silent, staring as Hanzo who was suddenly still and thoughtful.
The air was electric, crackling with tension. Hanzo frowned as even the dragons
on his shoulder became fretful and fractious, and they felt like static under
his skin.
His uncle cackled suddenly, breaking the silence. “Do you finally see that
Genji must be taken in hand? We must restore the honor of Shimada!”
“Honor?” Hanzo asked softly. “You speak of honor?”
The older man rose suddenly, banging his fists on the table. “I will not stand
for this insolence.” Every man sucked in his breath. “The honor of Shimada is
continually smeared every day that Genji is allowed to live!”
Hanzo bolted up, glaring at every man there. He pointedly cracked his knuckles.
“Genji is my brother.”
His uncle paled but refused to back down from the cold death in Hanzo’s gaze.
“He is a disgrace.” Slamming his fist down again, Sora growled, “I will not
take orders from someone who cannot bring one childish man into line. It is a
disgrace to you and your honored father for coddling him so. I am ashamed to be
in such a family that allows this to go on.”
Everyone muttered nervously. Another cousin stood, nodding, “It cannot go on.
If Genji is talking to the police, he must be stopped—.” He glanced at Hanzo
nervously. “But he need not die. We do not need to lose the heir apparent.”
Another man stood—Benke. All but rubbing his hands together, he nodded, “But
Genji will not be the heir apparent if Hanzo has a wife and we can expect that
children are on the way….” He glanced in a false innocence at his fellows. “I
believe that our master marrying my daughter will allow for the assurance of
heirs and another generation of Shimada.”
Several agreed and others were shaking their heads. Finally a tonsured head
snapped softly, “You’ve been trying to marry off that shrew for years. Why
would she be a better wife than a—?”
Hanzo growled low, staring at Benke. “Proud words from someone whose daughter
has recently returned from Switzerland….”
“Switzerland? What? Why?”
“Genji reported to me that some of the missing money did reappear in a bank in
Switzerland.”
Benke’s mouth opened and shut uselessly and he went suddenly pale as all of the
other elders watched him curiously. “It is n-n-nothing.” He stammered uselessly
for a moment. “No..no…. I…! It isn’t true!” Everyone silently stared at him as
he scrambled for a defense. “A…and besides…. At least she is a Shimada and not
a useless whore!”
Hanzo stared at the man coldly. “What do you mean by that?”
Everyone suddenly watched as their master’s eyes suddenly glowed blue. Tiny
glowing flickers seemed to drift from his lashes and his shoulder seemed to
have a peculiar, restless tic. With malice bleeding off of him, he slid off his
expensively tailored jacket and allowed it to fall to the chair. His fingers
precisely pushed the golden cufflinks out of his sleeve, dropped them on the
flawless table, and then folded his sleeve back.
As one, the elders stared in horror at the lowest coil of Hanzo’s tattoo. It
wasn’t much—a swirl of color, a thin line of a dragon’s whisker, a claw—but the
outlines were glowing blue and seemed to almost be cracking as they curled on
his flesh.
A small man near the foot of the table whispered, “Let’s all sit down and
just…just talk this over.” He smiled feebly and fearfully. “We have had these
sorts of things happening for…for centuries and there is no need…for
violence…?”
Everyone else sat down heavily, the chairs squealing as they were reluctantly
drawn back towards the table. Benke swallowed nervously, his bravado vanishing.
Then Sora took to shuffling papers and fiddling with the wire paperclip.
Hanzo kept standing over them, his bare arm flexing and ignoring the prickling
as the inked dragon’s nose suddenly flickered into view. “I believe that you
had something to say, Benke?”
Benke looked around and found that none of the elders would meet his gaze.
Nodding solemnly, he bowed his head for a moment of silent reflection and then
said, “I was…saying that my daughter would be a fit consort, Master. She
was—is…beautiful, polished, educated and obedient. She…she understands w-w-what
it means to be a Shimada wife and…has…known no other man.”
Hanzo snorted darkly. “Is that all you were saying? Are you telling me that you
want me to marry?”
Benke swallowed nervously again and then muttered, “I…I…. Yes?”
Hanzo slammed a hand down and the polished lacquer top cracked. “Are you
telling me what to do?”
Benke moaned softly as he flinched backward before flopping down in his chair.
“N-no! No, Master Shimada! I wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do!”
Hanzo’s eyes flickered side to side, taking in the gaze of everyone in the
room. “Good. Does anyone else want to play matchmaker?”
Sora whispered, “At least a married woman over a whore, Master.” He gestured
feebly. “The ‘silver-eyed whore’ your father screamed about taking from you is
an unnecessary problem and should be disposed of. And everyone could hear him
shouting from the hallways, so we do not need to try to argue about who or what
she is.” His uncle shivered dramatically. “And we also need to deal with Genji
and his whore as well.”
“Oh?” His eyes narrowed. “You have an…interesting take on the situation…. I
suppose you have a plan for Genji as well?”
Sora only smiled in a way that suggested that he laughed when he saw people
mutilated and broken.
After an hour of useless cleaning and pottering around, Takara was content that
most everything was back in order. She felt safe lounging around, and was
looking under the coffee table for the remote when she saw a single kohl pencil
on the floor. Clucking, she picked it up, trying to figure out where to put it
so that it did not disturb the pristine clean of the room, but where she could
give it back to Mai.
A sudden idea overtook her and she went to the bathroom. With the help of the
mirror, she drew the Shimada crest on her shoulder. Posing in the light, she
thought it didn’t look half bad. Maybe her master would appreciate seeing it—a
little something different. It made her feel exotic—a little wanton like her
master was fond of calling her—and she found she liked her pretend mark. It was
like she was…like she belonged to him.
The door opened again and she pulled up the neckline so that it was hidden. Her
master would be surprised and then, who knew? Going into the sitting room with
a smile, she was startled to find Hanzo staring at her blankly.
“M-m-master?” she whispered.
“Takara,” he greeted solemnly as he sat down on the couch. He said nothing else
and she swallowed heavily, unsure of what she had done to upset him.
“C-can I help you, Master?” She crept closer, hoping to discover what was going
on. All of her playfulness drained out as she stared at his drawn and pale
face. He didn’t seem to even notice her approach, and was stone still when she
knelt beside him and touched his knee.
They were still, so still, and Takara was sure she would quickly lose the
little lunch she had eaten if the tension did not finally break. But as bleak
as he looked, she wasn’t convinced she wanted whatever was holding him back to
snap.
Finally, one hand petted her head. She smiled automatically as his fingers
stroked her hair. She whispered, “I’m glad you’re home, Master.”
“Are you?” His voice was so deep, so lost, it felt like it drained the light
from the room. He let a finger drift down her cheek slowly. “Are you really?”
She looked up, smiling, and nuzzled his hand. “I am really glad that you are
home.”
“Takara,” he whispered. She looked up at him and her smile faded to a ghost of
itself. He was as pale as death and every plane of his features was shadowed
with grief. “Are you truly glad that your akuma—your devil—has wandered home?”
She smiled and nodded and dropped a soft kiss to his hand as it brushed the
hair from her face. “Why would I not be glad that you are here?”
He did not seem to want to answer, just stared at her as he stroked her hair
and face at his knee. Finally, his lips tweaked upward mirthlessly. “So, you
are glad that your beast is home at last.”
“Then I suppose it is meet that you should face your monster.” His other hand
pulled the golden embroidered cloth out of his hair so that it fell to his
shoulders and then tossed it unusually carelessly over his shoulder. “Stand up
and face me, if that is your choice.”
He pulled her to her feet as though she was a fragile and priceless princess.
Wordlessly, he peeled off his jacket and dropped it on the couch. His eyes were
locked on hers as his shaking hands peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside.
As soon as Takara’s hand reached up, he grunted sharply and shook his head
stiffly, peeling off his clothes himself.
“You are brave to face me,” he whispered, reaching gently for her chin. Lifting
her head, he brushed a kiss on her lips. “So very brave.” With a sad sigh, he
took one of her hands and trailed her fingertips over his body. “What do you
feel?”
“I-I…I feel you,” Takara muttered.
He closed his eyes wearily. “What you do not feel…. You do not feel that I am a
monster?” She shook her head a little. “I am, Takara. I am the worst monster
you will ever face.” He drug her fingers across the tattoo on his shoulder. “I
have killed. I have maimed. I have stolen and embezzled. There has never been a
time that I have not spread drugs and violence in my wake.” Dragging her hand
down to the tattooed dragon head. “And my greatest gift—the Shimada
dragons—have assisted me.”
He drug her fingers up to his mouth again. “There have been more weapons, more
drugs, more money, and more women flowing through here than any government
wants to ever admit. It would literally cause a world-wide panic if it were
known how much comes through here.”
He pushed her hands down to her waist, breaking contact suddenly like a glacier
suddenly splitting as it floats off in the sea. “And I am master of it all.
Every single yen. Every blade. Every gun. Every joint and every gram.” He
traced her face a little sadly. “Everything you see. Everything you have eaten
and drunk. It is all mine. My responsibility. My duty.” He seemed to laugh, but
no sound came out. “And there is not a single thing I have not done to fulfill
my responsibility.”
“Master?!” She mewled, a little frightened in spite of herself.
He nodded. “Touch me as you like, Takara.” She gently traced a finger along his
chest. “It is your right to touch the monster in your bed.”
“You are not,” she whimpered. “You are not a m-m-monster.”
He smiled bitterly. “Oh, but I am. You just cannot see it on the surface.” He
shrugged. “My father would allow beatings, encouraged them, but they rarely
left a mark.”
Grabbing her hands suddenly, he pressed his thumbs into her knuckles until she
moaned and her knees began to buckle. “You see? I am a monster.” Shrugging, he
let go. “And now I must do the one thing I thought I never would have to.”
She looked at him with a confused mixture of pain and surprise as she gingerly
rubbed her hands. “W-w-what? What has happened?”
He looked at her sadly. “The elders. They want to punish Genji and as the
master of the clan and his older brother, I must bring him in tonight. Dead or
alive.” He wasn’t really looking at her when he added, “I thought…perhaps if I
was good enough, responsible enough, then I could shield him from the worst of
them.”
She must have looked shocked because he suddenly smirked at her and stroked her
face. “I need you, Takara.” She nodded and tentatively put her hand on his
chest, hoping that he didn’t notice how it shook. “If you are content to have
your monster, then you must accept the responsibility to take care of it.”
She nodded and pulled him gently to the bedroom. He slid off her clothes as
gently as he knew how. When he saw the crest on her shoulder, he smiled sadly.
“And now you want to be marked? To show the world you belong to the beast?”
She glanced up at him cautiously. “I…I l-l-liked it and…thought…you would.”
He nodded shortly. “I like it,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder. “It makes…me
feel like I could claim you.”
She smiled at him. “I am yours.” Her hands pulled his head down closer, and she
shivered as he nipped her skin. “More than any mark could make me.”
Their joining was quiet and quick, like the desperation that lingered in the
air. He was gentle with her, stroking her quietly and thoroughly as though he
was memorizing her body. His body shook whenever she touched him in return, but
he was silent and stoic no matter what she did. Even when she suckled on his
fingers or nuzzled his cheeks or softly cried his name, he was silent.
At the end, when even the last tiny flickers of pleasure were a memory, his
hands palmed her belly gently as though he was soothed by it. She kept petting
his hair silently, hoping that somehow he was relieved. Instead of relaxing, he
seemed to grow more tense, his face more solemn and regretful. “I should have
not had Asahi take this from you.” His hand almost completely covered her
waist. “It was wrong of me, my treasure, and if I had not done it, there might
be another small treasure here.” He kissed her navel. “Had we the time, we
might have seen my seed sprout here….”
She tried to smile at him, tracing his cheekbones with a fingertip. “And would
my master want a son?”
He did finally smile a little. “I would cherish your children. Your sons would
be strong and I would teach them to be fine archers. Unparalleled warriors.” He
pressed another kiss to her waist. “Your daughters would each be princesses of
the clan and they would want for nothing.”
“Your children would be wonderful,” she murmured with a faint blush.
Instead of smiling back at her, he buried his face into her waist. “I
would…would love them all and they would be my garden of treasures with you at
the middle as my greatest prize.” He sighed and looked up wearily at her. “But
that will never happen, Takara.
“As soon as Genji is brought before the elders, then I must marry and put you
aside so that I can give my clan heirs.” He looked up at her with an agonized
expression. “I had no idea how much I wanted—no, how much I needed you. And
now, for your own sake and for mine, we must part. Even if I have never done
anything else right, I will do this.”
She looked at him with hurt and confusion. He gave her a little smile, pushed
himself off the bed and went to his pile of clothes. “Come here, Takara.” She
followed him gamely, slightly amused by their casual nakedness. Pulling out a
pile of folded papers and a small, leather bound book, he gave them to her.
“These are now yours.” She looked at them curiously. “Even the elders saw the
wisdom of allowing me to send you away peacefully in exchange for my
cooperation.”
Takara felt a scream building in her head, but instead she spread the papers
out, looking at the curious lease agreement in a townhouse in a town she had
never heard of, the visas, tickets and passport listing her as “Mariko Yomata”
and a transcript from a school she had never heard of in a town she had never
been in. The little book showed a starting balance of some absurd amount. There
was even a small, gold plastic card with the name Mariko Yomata on it.
“You have six months at this address and in that time, you will need to find
work and a new place to live. No one will know that you have been mine and I
will…never speak of you again.” He looked at her earnestly. “More importantly,
no one will know about Asahi. You will be free.”
She looked up at him with worry and despair etched on her face. A few tears
fell down her cheeks. “But what about you?”
He smiled at her. “If we are lucky, I will be a treasured memory.” He looked at
the papers solemnly. “You will not see me again. I will spend each evening,
praying that you are well and have all the success and happiness in the world.”
“And what will happen to you?”
“I will do my duty. I will go to my brother and bring him before the elders.
They will dispense their punishment—.”
“No!” Takara whispered. Her face grew pale and she trembled.
“This must happen, Takara. And they have already selected a bride—my father’s
choice for me. I must marry her and we will need to have children immediately
so that my clan will continue.”
“A-a-and,” Takara stuttered. “Y-y-you love her?” She reached for his arm. “She
m-m-makes you happy?”
He let a ghost of a smile cross his face and dropped a kiss to her forehead. “I
have only seen her once—many years ago. She could not make me as happy as you
have.” His rough thumb rubbed a tear off her cheek. “But I have to in order to
fulfill my responsibility.”
“A-and you will love her?” Takara muttered.
“No, Takara,” he whispered. “I am going to have as little to do with her as I
can. I cannot give her my heart because it has already be given to you.” He
smirked sadly. “My evenings will be lonely without you until I am allowed to
die. Then I will have a hope of seeing you in the afterlife.”
“But..NO!” She tried to push the papers back at him. “I will not let you…die….
Not alone. Not like this.” She shook her head wildly. “I…I will do whatever you
need me to do. I will never leave this room again if that’s what you want. I’ll
live in a c-c-closet. But, I won’t let you be alone.” She let out a howling sob
and shoved the papers at him again. “I-I-I a-a-am not strong enough to—.”
He pushed them back in her hands. “You will, my treasure. You are strong, far
stronger than you realize. You faced Asahi and got around him well enough. You
were strong enough to face my father and his abuse without complaint. You will,
in time, realize that you are better without me, and will—I hope—escape the
damage that I will surely cause you.” He kissed her forehead. “Everything I
have ever touched has been ruined—with drugs, with weapons, with violence. I
will fulfill this responsibility to you and give you a good life—and you will
live for me.”
Stepping back, he pointed to closet. In a low voice, he ordered her firmly.
“Now, get dressed. I like the grey kimono on you. Wear it.” For a split second,
she had a faintly stubborn set to her chin, but then he snapped impatiently.
“Allow me this last command, Takara. You will be able to refuse orders soon
enough.”
She nodded, setting the papers on his elaborate desk. Despite her lingering,
she was in the grey kimono with her hair pulled back in a rubber band too
quickly. He was in his suit again, looking every inch like a wealthy
businessman. Takara knelt, picking up the gold cloth that held his hair and
holding it to her chest.
“I…I am sorry, Takara,” he whispered as he plucked the cloth out of her hands.
“I cannot even give you that. Nothing that can trace you back to me.” Out of
the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a rather plain silver hairpin. “You
should, by rights, be given my mother’s favorite pin and she left it to me to
give to the one who held my heart. It would suit you—it is a silver Phoenix
with two tiny diamonds in it—but instead, I must give you this one. There are
over a hundred thousand like this one, all over the world, but the silver
reminded me of you.”
He wrapped her in a heavy, traditional coat with a hood. Despite her tears, he
pulled the hood up over her head and wrapped a scarf over her face. He escorted
her through the halls silently, taking her at last through his mother’s
gardens, and out to the limo. Two guards sat with them as they started to the
airport.
“W-w-will I ever see you again?” she whispered again as the city flashed past
the windows.
“No,” Hanzo sighed. “Not if I…cooperate with them and if you are lucky.”
“Then, you will—?”
“I will see you to the airport. You will go to Terminal 8 and board your plane
and vanish out of Japan.” He studied the cellphone in his hands for a moment.
“I will go to meet Genji. He has told me where to find him. Then, I will bring
him in for his punishment—or do it myself.”
“B-but what about Mai?”
He nodded, but said nothing. That bleak look was back on his face and Takara
did not dare to ask him anything else.
The airport was busy, men and women walking to and fro and cars stopping and
starting for passengers to keep milling about. The bodyguard in the passenger
seat opened her door and helped her out, handing her a small carry on and
pointing to the door marked ‘Terminal 8’. Takara nodded, her head down and her
steps shuffling as she disappeared into the crowd.
Hanzo had the limo wait several minutes after she had gone into the building
and vanished up the escalator to await her plane. She made his heart swell with
pride—she did not flinch or look back, just made her shuffling way out of his
sight. There wasn’t a lot to do after that—just signal the driver to go on.
The city looked different as they wove back through the streets. There seemed
to be more garbage on the corners, more graffiti on the walls, and more beggars
lurking in the shadows. The buildings seemed more run down, less occupied and
more…. He had no words for how empty and depressing the entire city now seemed.
It seemed as though the only point of light was the blinking lights of a
departing plane heading west.
The slick and shiny car stopped where Hanzo signaled. The noodle restaurant was
all but destroyed. The small bookshop that had been beside it was a mess—gang
signs and spray paint covered it and all the windows shattered. The small dress
shop that had been across the alley was boarded up.
Hanzo signaled the limo to stop at the alley. His guards opened his door and
then the trunk. With a heavy sigh, he picked up the ornate bow and slung his
quiver on his back. Then he snapped and pointed down the street.
The bodyguards looked around nervously and finally nodded before going back in
the car and driving away
Hanzo sighed, looking at the alley. Walking away from the dim and flickering
streetlight, he watched the broken rooftops carefully. “I am here, Genji,” he
called.
There was no answer.
He kept walking, certain that his younger brother was there. Then, around a
some dumpsters, he saw it. There was a line of battered milk crates with
ramshackle pieces of cardboard and metal on top. Pieces of cardboard with
sweets and dumplings drawn on them were set on construction paper with
occasional broken pieces of plastic forks at each place. He walked around to
the head of the table and his foot kicked something.
The broken basket was mildewed and unraveling. There was a raggedy piece of
fabric spilling out and a torn rag doll lay face down in the dirt. For an all
too brief moment, he wanted to pick it up and tuck the doll back into the
basket with its blanket. Then he would turn to Yui and they would—.
Do nothing. Nothing could happen.
“Genji!” Hanzo shouted again. “I have come for you.”
From somewhere above him, he heard a high pitched voice, “Hanzo! Come out and
play!” Unerringly, he fired at the sound. His arrow hit something and it
fell—the pile of boxes collapsing almost on top of him. A small piece of
electronics—a recorder of some kind—shattered on the cracked concrete.
“Genji! I grow tired of these games.” Hanzo growled at the darkness.
“You love games!” came the reply from across the alley. “You’re the father and
we’re all uncles and aunts for Ichika’s doll. Don’t you remember?”
Hanzo fired another arrow at Genji’s voice. Another pile of rubbish came down.
“Genji! There is no time for games. We need to talk—now.”
Genji stepped out into the alley with his swords drawn. “Aww, come on, big
brother. This is a big old reunion isn’t it? Yui, Aiko, Ichika—everyone’s
here.” He cocked his head and snarled sarcastically, “Oh, yeah. That’s right.
We’re all that’s left.”
Hanzo drew another arrow. “You knew this was coming.”
Genji sighed, “I knew—.”
“And you did not care.”
“—I care.” Genji stared at him. “I was just kind of hoping that you cared,
too.”
“You have never cared,” Hanzo growled. “If you did, you would have been a part
of things, taken responsibility…. You would have listened to the elders.”
“I did listen!” Genji insisted. “And I realized that this is what happens when
we do listen to them. Look around! There were eight of us—and now there are two
left. Just you and me.” He cocked his head. “But hey, this is what I get for
thinking, right?”
“You will come with me,” Hanzo frowned.
“Where are we going?” Genji asked playfully. “I’m having fun right here.”
“You are going to come with me. You are going to face your punishments before
the elders and you are going to finally take responsibility for your actions.”
Hanzo casually sighted his arrow. “You are going to do this right or so help
me, I am going—.”
“You’re going to do what?” Genji taunted. “You’re going to spank me?” He winked
and snarled, “Kinky.”
Hanzo suddenly lowered his bow. “No. I am going to do far worse to you.”
Genji smirked and raised his swords. “You can’t do worse to me. I’ve lost the
one person I cared for more than anything—my brother.” He laughed bitterly.
“You literally can’t do worse.”
Hanzo smiled at him. “Mai.”
Genji paled—even in the dim light Hanzo could see it. “You…wouldn’t dare!”
“I would dare anything that will bring you into line,” Hanzo snapped. “I will
not take your punishments for you—ever again. You will fulfill your duty. You
will fulfill your responsibilities.”
“I will never go back to being a Shimada stooge,” Genji snarled. “Waiting on
you and just letting the tide of damage rip everything apart. That is
insanity.”
“Insanity is refusing to do your duty and thinking that you can escape
punishment.” Hanzo smirked. “But, if you refuse, there is always Mai.”
“Leave her out of this!” Genji cried, leaping up and swinging his sword.
Hanzo jumped back. The arrow flew almost without thought, clipping Genji’s
shoulder. Hanzo hoarsely called, “I will do whatever it takes—!”
“If you dare to go after Mai, I will find Takara,” Genji threatened. “I will,
Hanzo. And you know that I can do it.”
“Takara?” Hanzo snarled. “She is already gone.”
Genji stumbled a little, looking at the bleak face of his older brother. “Don’t
tell me….. Don’t tell me you killed her?”
“No!” Hanzo shouted. Genji was about to smile in relief, but his brother’s
expression was so black and bleak that he did not dare. “I lost her. Because of
you, I have lost her…. She is gone.”
“Go to her, Hanzo,” Genji prodded desperately. “You can go to her and—!”
“I cannot,” came the desolated reply. “She is gone and because of your antics,
this is now the only way to ensure that she will live.” Hanzo fired a another
shot that plowed into the wall beside Genji’s head. “You have forced me to
become your enemy.” He pulled out and fired another arrow that hit on the other
side of Genji’s head. “And now I am yours.”
“Then you must die,” Genji said softly. Almost completely silently, he vanished
into the shadows, his swords becoming glittering shades of silver before
becoming invisible.
Hanzo backed up into the shadows himself. Pulling out another arrow, he
listened carefully. The light breeze sighed through the alley and the pretend
plates fluttered to the ground. Crouching and scuttling towards a pile of what
appeared to be wooden crates, he thought he saw Genji’s silhouette against the
sky.
Taking a careful aim, he loosed the silent arrow.
Genji jumped aside, but was unprepared for the brilliant flash of light as the
head of the arrow exploded on impact. The light blinded him temporarily, and he
instinctively rolled for the shadows. He could not see, but heard another arrow
thunk behind him where his chest was.
“You could have killed me,” Genji shouted.
Hanzo said nothing, only unleashed a powerful kick knocking aside the impromptu
table and pretend feast. Running towards the building, Hanzo scrambled up a
fire escape to where his arrow was still flashing. Genji had slipped behind
something, another shadow, and Hanzo growled as he pulled another arrow.
“I know you are here, Genji,” he shouted. “I will make you face them.”
Genji didn’t reply—he would have been a fool to do so—but he did not appear to
run, either. Hanzo crept around more debris—what might have been a pigeon coop
or a greenhouse—and saw a trickle of something dark and wet on the rooftop.
“I know you are here,” Hanzo repeated as he studied the blood.
Without warning, the elder Shimada was literally blown off the rooftop as a
green dragon erupted from behind some boxes, grew to the literal size of a bus
in a few seconds, and then swooped down to pounce on him hungrily. Hanzo took
the few seconds as he flew through the air to catch his breath and blindly
slide another arrow into place. He grunted as he landed on his shoulders and
skidded across the broken cement and pavement.
The dragon danced for a moment in the air before dissolving into green sparks.
Hanzo kicked and rolled to his feet. “I know your dragons, Genji. I will find
you no matter where you run. And the moment I cannot find your sorry carcass, I
will spend every yen and every man I have to find Mai and make sure she suffers
in every way that I can think of.” He laughed bitterly. “Do you want her to
find out all the ways I can imagine?”
Genji’s voice floated over the alley. “You would never do that, anija.” Hanzo’s
teeth gritted at his brother’s assurance and the casual slang for “older
brother”. “You would never bring a teenager into our fight. She’s an innocent
girl!”
“Try me,” Hanzo growled. “You know…. I would bet she would die screaming your
name.” He shot another glowing arrow to the rooftop. “Should she die screaming
for you to rescue her? Or maybe cursing your name that she ever saw you?”
“Don’t even think it, Hanzo!” Suddenly Genji emerged from a shadowed corner and
pile of wood. “I’m warning you!”
Hanzo ducked behind something—a rickety pile of pallets—and pulled another
arrow. “I am warning you, brother.” He smirked and shouted, “I am bringing you
before the elders, dead or alive.”
Genji nodded solemnly. “Nice to know the odds.” He looked over the alley,
briefly relieved that there did not appear to be even beggars or hookers on
these blocks. “You don’t need to find Mai, Hanzo. I’m right here.”
Suddenly the green dragons blossomed into the air, spinning around each other
and plowing into the ruin of the noodle shop and turning aside slowly enough
that even the bookshop began to collapse into a pile of rubble. Hanzo leapt
into the alley, kicking the destroyed basket aside, as the building fell into a
heap.
Hanzo watched as Genji leapt down and landed lightly on the cement. The swords
glittered wickedly as the ninja crept closer. Hanzo crouched into the shadows,
waiting patiently. As the other man crept ever closer, he took his aim and then
let the arrow whistle through the air.
Genji dropped a sword as the arrow buried into his left shoulder. He cursed
eloquently, jumping backwards into a shallow shadow. “I don’t want to fight
you, Hanzo. You are my brother!” He swallowed heavily. “You are all I have
left.”
Hanzo pulled out an arrow and loaded the bow again. He jumped out of the
darkness into the alley and fired, tagging Genji’s side and burying it into the
wall behind him. “You have cost me dearly already. I would not advise adding to
the cost!” Picking up the sword himself, he growled, “I have no brother if you
cannot join me, fight for the Shimada and dedicate your life to our clan.”
A small, wounded sound echoed from Genji as his brother backed away again. “I
want my brother back.”
“You want the impossible.”
“So be it,” Genji said grimly. He pushed off the wall and dropped into a
graceful crouch. “If you want me, Master Shimada, then quit hiding behind your
bow and face me.”
Hanzo’s hand gripped the sword blade and let it bounce in the light. The silver
reflection bounced dim flashes of light everywhere. “Perhaps, you are not
thinking straight. Perhaps you forget your duty and your clan.” He crept
closer, every sense focused on the sound of Genji. “Are you going to come with
me? Come home, brother.”
“Never!” Genji snarled. “I have no home. I have no family. I have nothing.
Thanks to you.”
Hanzo gaped as Genji turned and scrabbled up the fire escape again. No home? No
family? He cursed and, flexing his arm, released the blue dragons. They
blossomed to the size of a double decker bus as he sent them to attack Genji’s
back. Genji howled as they burned away a chunk of wall and the fire escape
around him.
Hanzo felt ill as he saw them burn against his brother’s skin. Then Genji fell
backward, hitting the street clumsily. There were blisters on his skin and a
distinct smell of burned meat in the air. Sliding off the quiver and setting
down the bow, he leapt towards the other man.
Genji lifted his sword just in time to block, blood running from a cut and into
his eye. His brother’s face was so close, so angry—so completely unlike he’d
ever seen Hanzo before. For a moment, he didn’t want to block, didn’t want to
continue. Let Hanzo beat him, who cared? If he did not have his brother, what
did he have?
Hanzo sliced again, unamused by his brother’s paltry defense. “You are weak,
Genji.”
“You’ve practically burned me alive,” Genji grunted. “Why are you even playing
with me?” Hanzo stumbled back in what appeared to be shock. “Why not go for the
kill?”
Hanzo stared at Genji as the slender man began to rise to his feet. “I do not
want to kill you,” he said in almost a whisper. “I never did. I only wanted my
brother to be at my side.”
Genji scowled. “Don’t you remember? I have no brother!” He leapt into the air
and sliced down with the glittering blade. “The Shimada have destroyed my
family and my home, just like they destroy everything else.”
Hanzo stumbled back at the violent attack. Genji kept advancing, slicing and
flickering in and out of the checkered shadows. “I am the better swordsman,”
Hanzo growled, blocking the blows. “You have no chance against me as badly as
you are wounded.”
“I’ll take you to hell with me,” Genji grunted, spitting out a mouthful of
blood. “I didn’t want to fight you, but I have no choice.” He let out an eerie
howl like a wounded dog. “It’s not like I have anything to go back to anyway.”
Hanzo continued to stumble back as Genji attacked again and again. He blocked,
over and over, but his heart sank as he saw the other’s eyes glaze over. The
elder brother had seen it before—those who truly believed that they had nothing
to live for but the death of their enemies. Genji had that look now, now…as
though he only wanted to die.
With a growl, Hanzo pushed forward and the blade thrust forward with a whine.
“I will bring you back. You will see—!”
“I will see nothing!” Genji growled, panting. “I will see—only your defeat.
That’s all I want to see now.”
Hanzo kept slicing forward, upward and sideways, trying to stop Genji’s attack.
He had to defeat his brother—had to disarm him. He had seen that desperation
before—and it never ended well as the desperation drove them to kill others and
then themselves. Genji must be stopped before he hurt—. A thousand cuts
exchanged back and forth, each deeper than the last.
The younger Shimada’s blade sliced across Hanzo’s chest shallowly. Hanzo
growled, the pain fueling him as he put a foot against a triangular jut of
concrete that felt like a runner’s block. Then, as hard as he could, he thrust
up and pushed with all his might.
Genji’s scream rang through the air. Hanzo gasped in surprise at the arm lying
motionless on the ground. Genji fell back almost in slow motion, the sword
rattling in his hand. “B-b-brother—!”
Genji fell on top of the papers and cardboards, the pretend plates flitting on
top of him. He smiled weakly, cockily. “So now the Shimada curse is almost
complete…. The whole family—Aiko, Yui and all of us—are all dead thanks to the
Shimadas.”
Hanzo crept forward on the balls of his feet. “Why did you bring this on
yourself, Genji?” He lowered the sword a little to press forward. “Let me help
you. Bring you to…the estate.”
Genji laughed again, coughing heavily as blood poured out of his mouth. “I’ll
show you that the Shimada can be destroyed.” Sadly sighing, he rallied and
cried, “Ryuujin no ken wo kurae!”
Hanzo leapt back, dropping the sword and thudding against some kind of debris.
He shouted back, “Ryuu ga saga teki wo kurau!”
The green dragons and blue dragons shimmered into being almost at the same
instant and as one they breathed a single breath and plowed into each other.
The stars blinked out of the sky as the dragons lit up, attacking each other
and energy exploding above the brothers, pushing them backwards. The few
standing piles of debris shattered like china.
Hanzo rolled away and glanced around for his bow. The quiver was crushed under
a piece of something, but two arrows had survived. Snatching up the bow and the
arrows, he aimed shakily at the crumpled form of the other man. “Stop your
dragons, Genji! Or they will destroy us.”
Genji rolled a fraction of an inch, but didn’t seem to hear anything. Hanzo
cursed—if they didn’t control the dragons, they would continue fighting each
other until the entire area was destroyed. His younger brother must still be
alive—he must be—for the green dragons to manifest, but if he was not in
control, then those dragons were a menace.
Swallowing heavily, he loosed his first arrow, striking Genji in the side. His
dragons slowed, whirling into less steady patterns. “Genji! You need to control
your dragons!” Hanzo bellowed. “Genji!”
Genji’s body collapsed completely on the cement. Hanzo ducked the glowing claws
to get closer, for some reason still hoping that his younger brother would
survive. It was not possible—the simple sight of the blood on the pavement
showed him that—but he needed to stop those dragons once and for all.
His blue dragons plowed the tangled pair of green dragons into the street,
shaking the ground and crushing a pit in the middle of the pavement. Hanzo felt
a claw graze his hair and he fired again.
The last arrow was aimed to snap the shaft of the arrow in Genji’s side but a
flickering green talon deflected the arrow and it slid away. The blue dragons
latched onto the throat of a wounded green dragon and Hanzo flinched as their
heads snapped to the sides and ripped it apart. The green dragon howled and
flickered into a shower of green sparks. Genji let out a gasp of pain before
going still. The remaining dragon howled and spun in attack, scraping against
the street. Hanzo rolled away again, but the green dragon was already
flickering away and fading. The blue dragons were howling in triumph, swirling
back to his arm in a wounded grace.
Hanzo stared at the crumpled form of his brother sadly. Genji’s eyes were
glassy and unfocused, staring off into a distance that Hanzo could not see and
a future Hanzo could not imagine.
“Genji,” he whispered. “You did not need to die…. Where am I to go? What am I
to do?” He touched the chilled form. “Who am I…without you?”
In the distance, he could hear sirens and vehicles. Swallowing the lump in his
throat, he gathered up the swords and propped them up with a rock. It was
hardly the ceremony usually awarded to a fallen warrior or to a Shimada, but
there was nothing else he could do.
Hanzo stood on shaky feet. There was nothing left off the shops or the alley
where they played, nothing left of the pretend feast or the memories that might
have played here. He scrambled to the roof of another building, watching as the
flickering lights snaked cautiously down the streets.
Backing away from the sight, Hanzo ran over the rooftops, darting from shadow
to gray-black shadow. Not that he was afraid of capture or accusation, but
because he wanted simply to run. He wanted to run, to feel his muscles burn and
his lungs ache. He wanted his body to hurt and hurt and continue hurting.
Because his heart never would stop aching.
He was outrunning the soft sound of Yui’s voice as she called the pretend
family together. He was outrunning Ichika’s little songs as she put the doll in
the little basket and wrapped it in the scrap of a blanket. He was outrunning
Aiko and Yoshi as they laughed at stupid jokes and burps and farts. He was
outrunning his father’s shouting and the elders’ growls.
He was outrunning Genji’s laughter.
Overhead a plane’s blinking red lights turned west and were disappearing in the
western sky. Hanzo saw it and how it was red like tiny kisses of blood. There
was nothing behind him—only the echoes of ghosts—but there was nothing in front
of him either. Hanamura lay to the east—he could see the outermost walls from
up here—but he had no intention of going back there. The plane was headed west
and almost without noticing, Hanzo’s aching strides turned west underneath it.
Mariko Yomata glanced around at the tiny apartment, smiling stiffly as she
dusted the low coffee table. She had a tiny patio with a handful of pots of
flowers, two upstairs bedrooms, one full bathroom and a powder room. She had
moved out of the first apartment a few weeks before the end of the six-month
lease and on the strength of her work as a sales assistant in a large
department store. That first place after that was a condominium that she had
shared with a roommate and she needed only a bed, a night stand, and a desk and
chair.
Gradually, she had worked her way up. There was step after step—tiny step after
tiny step—as she was able to gain skills and experience. Now, over twelve years
later, she had her own little apartment with a tiny garden. In comparison to
some of the other apartments, it was bare with the minimum of necessary
furniture, but she wasn’t there that often.
Truthfully, she spent her days at work or studying. She studied rather
haphazardly—whatever caught her eye—and it was more to fill the time than to
accomplish a goal or get a specific degree. Mariko decided that she was not
going to even attempt to clamber up the corporate rat-race ladder—just keep
doing a good job and keep filling the empty hours. So, she took the shifts no
one wanted—holidays, weekends, and late nights—and kept busy so that the empty
apartment and emptier hours did not haunt her.
The little patio with its high privacy fence had pots of flowers now and she
had the most pointless of reasons to come home—to water the flowers. From a
fundraiser for the local school, she had picked up a pair of tin dragons on a
thin stake that she could slide into the pots. The local hardware store had a
pretty spray paint in a nice turquoise and she positioned the painted dragons
so that they floated above the wildflowers like they were flying.
She filled her little watering can and began to water the plants. The white
daisies were in bloom, as were the miniature sunflowers and the big clay pot of
tiger lilies. Going over the blooms carefully, she plucked off the dead
flowers. Sweeping the dead leaves and blooms away in a dustpan, she looked
wearily at the little garden and, in a bizarre ritual she told herself would
give her luck, she scratched the painted tin dragons under their chins.
Sitting on the cement patio, she stared at the garden morosely. The neighbor’s
orange tabby cat came through, took a look at her morose face as it brushed its
whiskers against a pot, and then vanished underneath the fence. Her cellphone
beeped and she glanced at the number. “Hello? Mr. Tanaka?” she said.
Mr. Tanaka’s voice was ebullient over the background noise and music. “Mariko!
Where are you? Did you finally decide to spend some time away from work?”
She flushed, twisting a lock of hair in her fingers nervously. “M-m-mister
Tanaka, I…. Yes, I decided to…. That is, I am not a-a-at work. Do I need to
come in?”
He laughed, the sound grating in her ear. “No! We want you to come to the club!
Finally, you’re off and I'm off and we can go together.”
Sighing, Mariko answered softly, “I-I-I’m sorry. I am busy. I-I need to go.”
“Busy? What is it this time?”
“Good bye and good night, Mr. Tanaka.” She hung up, refusing to listen to his
loud protests and questionable comments about the fun he wanted to have.
Idly, she watched a honeybee flit through and land on a flower. It was peaceful
enough to watch something as impersonal and natural as a honeybee. But there
wasn’t much holding her here—only a tiny portion of dinner to be reheated in
the microwave and then a few television shows while she read her books and then
to bed.
Maybe she did need to go out and have some fun. There seemed to be plenty of
people who did—people going to nightclubs or shows or the movies. She had been
invited by various people to do things, but it never felt right. Most of the
time, she requested shifts so she could simply avoid others altogether, but
after so many years of just working and coming home with nothing more than the
hope of being exhausted enough to fall asleep quickly, it seemed to feel empty.
She was simply melancholy, she decided. The papers had been full of the “trial
of the century” as two of the Shimada bosses—Shimada Sora and Shimada
Kaito—were being tried on a litany of charges. They were going on three months
of overwhelming details of the investigations and arrests and accusations. The
rather intimidating Overwatch had become involved, offering an almost
overwhelming body of evidence of the intimate workings of the Shimadas.
It was impossible to not to hear about the Shimadas now. Not a single solitary
person in the world hadn’t heard of them and what they had done, who they were
and what they had been guilty of for generations. No one seemed to know what
had happened to the brothers who were supposed to be in charge of the clan—or
if they did, they weren’t talking. The news agencies were now speculating as to
whether or not other yakuza gangs were going to be investigated next.
Mariko pushed herself up. Tonight was the night. She was going to forget the
wounded, chocolate eyes and the purring dragons and the rippling tattoo and
strong hands. She was going to go out, find someone that she was going to have
fun with. She was going to go to a movie and then to a bar.
Really. She was going to go out. She was going to put the watering can away and
dress up in something pretty. She was going to a store—any store—and get some
makeup. She was going to be beautiful in someone’s eyes again.
She was going to go out and get something to eat. A lot of it. She was not
going to go in and pull out one of the tiny portions of food in her fridge and
warm it in the microwave. She was going to go get something to drink—strong
stuff.
Really. This time she was going to do it. Really…. She was going to overload
whatever it was that Asahi had done to her, put in her. She was going to kill
it with a massive chocolate ice cream sundae and all the beer she could handle.
Asahi who had, barely one month after she had been sent here, had been
arrested.
As she remembered it, Asahi’s capture had been the coup of the year. Asahi had
fled Japan with a suitcase of bearer bonds and valuables and a collection of
bank books to make anyone blush. He was on board a private jet with a
convenient lack of paperwork towards parts unknown—some said, America, others
said the UK—when the plane had been forced to land in Switzerland because of
mechanical problems. Asahi had barely settled a single foot on the ground to
board a different plane when he had been surrounded by agents of Overwatch.
With the complicated extradition laws, it had been almost certain that he would
be released on some technicality or other, but then the strangest thing
happened.
An entire mountain of evidence—names, dates, recordings, pictures—had appeared
and Overwatch used all of it. The news and media outlets went into overdrive,
speculating on the ever increasing number of charges and the tawdry and illicit
details. It was rumored that one of the witnesses that Overwatch had brought
forward—a list of private witnesses who only spoke with the judge—had actually
been a part of his scheme. Of course, he was found hopelessly and completely
guilty. Literally, the charges and mandatory minimums mounted upwards of three
centuries of jail time.
She had a small clipping of an article from his sentencing framed and put on
her wall. It…helped, she supposed, to remember. Just remember enough that she
was willing to put in the extra hours so that she would never, ever be on the
streets again. She was never going to be answering advertisements for “models”
or “actresses” ever again.
She passed that article every time she went to the patio. Every time she went
to the kitchen to microwave her meals. Every time she went to do anything. She
could even see that yellowed clip of paper on the wall now through the glass
door that led to her small patio.
Lacking a better plan, she took her microwaved meal to the patio. She took one
of the candles she had in case of emergencies and lit it so that she could eat
while she watched the dimming sky. She picked at the food listlessly before
setting it aside—not really remembering what it was or really caring—and
watched the pink and orange sky over the spray painted dragon floating over the
white daisies.
There was a rustle outside the patio and Mariko sat up suddenly. “W-who is
there?” There was silence and she glanced around nervously. It was the
neighbors perhaps—or their orange tabby cat who loved to crawl under the fence
and visit. “Tiger-cat? Is that you?”
She stood nervously, scratching the dragon under its tin chin again—for luck.
Unhooking the patio gate, she stuck her head out in the shadowed hallway
between the apartment buildings. There was no orange tabby cat roaming the
buildings for scraps. Instead, there was a rather intimidatingly large form in
ratty clothes and a deep hood over its head and a battered guitar case on its
back.
“D-d-do you live near here?” she asked softly. The figure seemed a bit
startled, especially as the large orange tabby trotted around it and came up to
her purring. “Look, there is nothing here to steal.”
The figure did not respond, just huddled more and looking almost morose. Mariko
looked harder and picked up the cat, but she could see no features at all. “I
am going back inside now.” Almost fearfully, she ducked back into the patio and
locked the door. Taking the cat inside with her, she locked all the doors. She
grabbed her cell phone and glanced outside one more time, looking for raggedy
feet peeking underneath the privacy fence.
Nothing—no one—was there.
Hanzo didn’t stop walking until he was a block away from her building. The
dragons hadn’t stopped chattering in his head. They remained on his
arm—luckily—but they were insistent that she was there and that they needed to
see her. He heard her voice—heard that little stutter when she was stressed. He
had seen those amazing grey eyes.
Gabriel’s voice crackled over the tiny earpiece. “Hey, Shimada. The hell are
you waiting on?”
“Nothing,” Hanzo muttered. He was nothing anymore, not a leader or yakuza or a
brother. His family was gone—not Sojiro and his brothers and the rest of the
Shimadas but Yui, Ichika, Aiko, Yoshi. Genji was gone as well. Despite the good
doctor’s best efforts and the slick Omnic technology and the Omnic monk’s
tutoring, the younger man was…not the same.
He had seen the news about Asahi—who hadn’t? His sparse contacts had informed
him that one of Overwatch’s prime witnesses was Mai and he had been perversely
proud of her for that. But, as he lingered around in the alleys and street
corners outside the courtroom, trying to catch a glimpse of the witnesses—he
had seen Mai and both his uncles, but not Mariko. He had lurked in the alleys,
looking over the buildings from various precarious perches, but had not seen
her at all. And when it was all over with, when Interpol had carried Asahi away
to some prison somewhere, he kept looking and kept hoping that somehow she had
been secreted in and, if he waited, he would see her again.
When he had finally joined Overwatch, he had been surprised to find Mai a
resident in the medical wings and under the direction of Dr. Ziegler. The first
time she saw him, she had thrown him out of the medical wing, shouting abuse
and screaming curses at him. Gabriel and Jack had almost not been able to hold
her back as she lunged for a scalpel to drive into his black heart. She had
enjoyed a reputation of being mild mannered and sympathetic and a joy to work
with, until she had first glanced at him. He pulled back, retreating into the
quarters that he had been assigned. She continued to spit curses at him
whenever she saw him and he had learned quickly that unless his wound was
critical, he was better off attending it himself with whatever medical supplies
he could beg or borrow or steal. It wasn’t until Genji returned and publicly
told her that he was forgiven, that he was able to come in for healing and even
then he wasn’t sure of his reception. Especially if the cyborg was also
injured.
That was a hysterically ironic point. Mai had gone on to school, using the
money Genji had stolen for her, to pursue her dreamed of medical career. She
still, when asked, would provide wild (and sometimes contradictory) stories of
how she and Genji had met and what they had done together. Despite that, she
had found a Korean analyst and married him, having a son called ‘Genji’ and
twins name ‘Yui’ and ‘Ichika’ who the cyborg would regularly visit and dote on.
Only now, after over a decade of regrets and sorrows and forgiveness, had he
even tried to find Mariko. At first, avoiding her was an instinctive reaction
to avoid any more pain the way an animal avoids an electric prod. He told
himself it was to avoid leading the Shimada to her instead, and a part of him
believed it. But now, with the Shimada unraveling like an old rag doll, that
reason was no longer strong enough to stop him.
It was Gabriel who had pithily pointed out that she might simply have moved on
with her life. The large man was an enigma who preferred to allow his
past—whatever it was—to remain secret, but he did not mind poking his nose into
other people’s affairs. When Hanzo had, after many, many cups of sake and
almost an entire bottle of Casa Dragones tequila, started spilling the memories
associated with the clear drink, Gabriel had simply snorted and said she was
likely married and had kids by now. Hanzo shook his head blankly, glaring at
the man, and Gabriel took another sip of his tequila and asked him to prove the
big man wrong.
So, Hanzo went to Genji to look through the many computers. It took all of a
week to get a full report on her—mainly to get around Jack’s protests that they
did not need to investigate an innocent citizen without clear cause. She went
to school and worked. She had the credits to get a liberal arts associate’s
degree, but had so far failed to apply for graduation. She had an apartment and
neighbors who found her so quiet that they frequently forgot she was on the
other side of the wall. The neighbors and the few coworkers were all in
agreement—she had no lovers, no significant friends and was in marked danger of
becoming, as Jesse put it, a “crazy cat lady”.
So, with precision planning, he happened to be walking down the back alleys and
past her apartment as she was eating her dinner and staring at two painted tin
dragons and not even noticing that the rotund cat had brushed past her enough
to steal a piece of chicken from her plate.
“Then get it in gear, Shimada.”
He nodded silently and walked on with his bow and quiver hidden in the guitar
case on his back. He passed a happy couple—a young man and woman—who were
quietly talking head to head and ignoring the rest of the world as she looked
at a new ring on her finger. Then he passed a young man helping a pregnant
woman with her groceries. He passed a playground with small children shouting
and screaming as parents watched on and then older teens on a basketball court.
He passed another patio where an old man was holding an old woman’s hand as
they sat outside in the fine weather and drank wine together.
He followed the winding path in his ruffian disguise, and watched as what might
have been passed him by. The dragons were silent as well, adding nothing to the
emptiness. He told himself he was content that she was supporting herself. He
told himself that he should not shatter her life again—should not put her in a
position of constantly worrying and fretting about him again. He told himself
that, above all, her safety relied on his distance. He told himself he would
believe all that—someday.
Even if he no longer had to worry about the Shimadas, there were still people
who wanted him dead. Talon would still gladly use her to get to him and then to
Overwatch. He kept walking, telling himself that she would be fine without him.
He kept walking, telling himself that despite all the evil and chaos and death
he had brought into this world, he had kept his promise to her.
He was a treasured memory.
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