Chapter Text
It was unwise for him to spend too much time in plain sight outside, both for his own safety and for the continued anonymity of their organization. Chisaki had sent Chrono on too many missions to snipe rivals leaving their homes for him to ever feel fully comfortable outside, exposed, not to mention susceptible to the germs of the outdoor world.
Nonetheless, that evening Chisaki found himself climbing up the bare metal stairwell up to the top floor of the Shie Hassaikai compound and then up the emergency ladder to the maintenance hatch that led to the roof. There weren't many people who went this way – if things on the compound broke he much preferred Overhauling it back together to bringing in a repairsmen. The Shie Hassaikai kept just about every tradesperson in Esuha City under their payroll, but all the same. You could never be too careful about who you welcomed into your home.
He pushed up the latch and climbed out onto the flat gravel roof of the former office building. The sky above him was overcast, the city lights painting it a sickly dark orange, the sounds of traffic humming in the near distance. It was just a little chill.
He saw Hekiji’s broad silhouette leaning against the balustrade on the other side of the roof, and made his way over after thoroughly brushing the dust off his pants. He leaned over next to the older man. Hekiji glanced at him – at least, he might have, it was hard to tell if his eyes were open in the dark, and moved to crush his smoldering cigarette on the railing on his other side.
“You don't have to,” Chisaki said. “As long as it’s outside.”
Plenty of things aggravated him about the outside world, and he knew that couldn’t police all of them. He might as well let his men have their little pleasures while they could. Besides, the scent of tobacco that made it through his triple-layer surgical mask brought back memories of the Old Boss popping a cigar after a long business meeting, savoring it like a fine wine while he put his feet up and talked shop with Kai and Hari. Chisaki didn’t mind it overmuch.
Also, it was a little funny that a former Buddhist was nurturing a chain-smoking addiction. Rappa would lose his head if he knew.
“What brings you up here, sir?” Hekiji asked, his voice soft and solemn as ever, letting his cigarette hang from his fingers.
Chisaki hummed noncommittally. “Getting some air.”
Hekiji leaned his head back, letting smoke furl out of his mouth. Somewhere on the next street a car gunned its engine and they leaned in companionable silence.
“So it’s not about today’s business, then?”
“I’m always concerned with the day’s business,” Chisaki said, looking out over the silhouette of the city. “I do wish that I had more time to spend actually doing work instead of playing politics with Shigaraki. Babysitting.”
“Perhaps you have new sympathy for my situation with Mr. Rappa,” Hekiji said placidly. Chisaki huffed.
These were the levels of jabs that Chisaki allowed the 8 Precepts to make of him; he liked to think that they understood that any more disrespect would earn them punishment. Hekiji, though, he gave him a little more leeway, a touch more respect, for his age, his aura of control, and for how much he reminded Chisaki of the Old Boss sometimes. Something about the broadness of his jaw and his dignified graying hair, the rumble of his voice, made Chisaki feel a little like a child. And besides, he was the newest member of the Precepts, and had the least to lose by stating his mind plainly.
“If I could pick your brain,” Chisaki started. Hekiji did look up now, he saw a flash of light reflected on his otherwise shadowed, unmasked face. “What do you think about this arrangement with the League? Do you think it’s wise?”
“I haven’t known you to be a man to doubt yourself, Young Boss,” he responded.
“You haven’t known me for very long, or very well.”
Hekiji inclined his head. “That’s true. Do you not want the advice of someone better acquainted with the Shie Hassaikai, though? Chronostasis or Mimic?”
“Not right now.” He pursed his lips under his mask. “Their emotions would get in the way of them making an objective assessment of my plans.” His two right hands had made no secret of their disgust for the League of Villains, and more specifically, its insolent young leader. They were both so quick to defend Chisaki’s honor that they wrote All for One’s upstart successor off as little more than a disrespectful twit. After the meeting between the League and the Shie Hassaikai earlier that day, staged in the compound’s generous dining room, they’d had to bodily pull Mimic off of the League’s leader after he’d made one crack too many about Yakuza honor. It had been a mild fiasco.
And Shigaraki was a twit. But perhaps he could be a useful twit.
“Also true.” The former monk took another drag. “I’m honored that you’ve solicited my opinion, then. And that opinion is that it’s impossible for me to predict the outcome of our potential alliance. And not knowing what your plans had been before the Hero’s Raid, and what your plans are now, I couldn’t say whether they’d redound to our efforts. Things will happen in the only way that they can happen, and we all must simply watch them play out.”
A noncommittal answer. “How Buddhist of you.”
“And whether or not it’s a wise decision for the gang, well. I don’t think it is.”
"Explain."
“Shigaraki, as I’m sure you’ve noted, hasn’t proven himself to be competent, diplomatic, or particularly pleasant to be around. His compatriots are just as disrespectful. It rankles one to see the youth of this world so misled.” He turned a little to look at Chisaki, with a well-worn, fatherly air about him. “But perhaps, in those respects, he would not be a bad match for you.”
“You just want to make me suffer by babysitting him.”
“I can’t say that I’ve enjoyed my partnership with Rappa. But I have learned. And I think myself a better and more patient man for it,” the older man said with a saintly affect. “I’ve learned to tolerate and appreciate his simple, blunt honesty. And I’m much faster at blocking punches. Young Shigaraki has the most to gain from a partnership with you, Overhaul, provided that the two of you don’t destroy each other before it ends. He doesn’t have the privilege of your experience and intellect. But you may consider it a training exercise for yourself. Start with a weak-spirited partner to bend to your command, and one day it’ll be the Prime Minister that you’re bringing under your heel.”
Well, that hadn’t been the direction that Chisaki thought that the monk was going. Ah, he was a yakuza after all, even though he was only a recent recruit. He had a recommending bloodlust.
Chisaki nodded. “That’s certainly… a unique perspective.”
“Ah, thank you for your condescension, Young Boss,” he responded. “I trust your judgment implicitly.”
Chisaki stood up, brushing off the elbows of his jacket and taking a brisk breath of air. It wasn’t safe to linger up here for too long and he didn’t want to smell like smoke. “Well, good-night, then. I’ll see you at morning meeting.”
Hekiji lifted his smoldering cigarette and bowed his head as the young capo turned to leave. “Oh, and boss-“
“Mm?”
“You’ve heard the aphorism about children pulling on each other’s pigtails, yes?"
"Mm."
"Consider Shigaraki’s disrespect through a different lens. See if that changes things. It might prove to be useful.”
Chisaki made a noise of acknowledgement. He thought of Shigaraki’s inane insults, how much pleasure he took in trying to disgust and discombobulate. He was still so much a child, perhaps it was counterproductive for Chisaki to judge his actions like he would a peer's. As long as Chisaki needed something from the villain he needed to reason with him on his level, as low as that level might be. If propping his feet up on the table and picking his skin onto his couch was how Shigaraki tried to get his attention, well, he’d get it.
It was something to think about, at least, as he climbed back down through the maintenance hatch into the cool damp darkness of the compound.
“Since you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence, albeit an hour late, we can look over some potential collaborative initiatives for our organizations,” Chisaki said, slipping an embossed leather portfolio across the table and picking up his coffee cup. He was determined to keep a cool head today. Shigaraki enjoyed trying to get under his skin, and it was embarrassing how easy Chisaki had made it for him. Now, though, they would talk business, like men. “For starters, how our existing supply lines can benefit your bioengineering experiments. Reviewing the information your manager's provided us, there are a couple of areas where our prior investments could benefit yours.”
“Why don’t you take me out anywhere, huh? I thought you yakuza had the whole town under your thumb. You don’t care enough about our partnership to spend a little extra on lunch? You're a cheap-ass date.”
“We do, but my being seen in public with your behavior would be a discredit to the Shie Hassaikai.” Chisaki said as he lifted his espresso to his lips, his mask removed in a calculated gesture of openness. “Besides, you’re a little... noticeable.”
From behind the pickled hand he wore on his face, Shigaraki shot him a smirk. “That’s a lot coming from you. Why’d you make all your lackeys dress up in those masks?”
“For myself, I say that it keeps the filth out of my face.” He took a sip. Black, strong, entirely utilitarian. “For everyone else, it provides a sense of community. You can look around and tell exactly who you can rely on as a team-mate and brother.”
Shigaraki snorted. “Don’t start that shit about the yakuza being a family. You treat them just as expendably as any other crime lord.”
“I don’t treat them expendably. If they get injured or die on my orders, I regret it deeply.”
“Yeah, because it’s inconvenient for you to lose your cannon fodder. You don’t really care about them as people, except maybe the guy with the hair and the puppet.” Shigaraki's eyes narrowed. He was angling for a fight.
Chisaki gritted his teeth. He’d dismissed Chronostasis and Mimic from the meeting room, but he had no doubt that they were lingering outside the door ready to leap into action if Shigaraki tried anything. There were probably a couple League members likewise posted outside of the compound, or inside of it, if they could make it through security without being caught. This meeting was one-on-one, though, man to man, one young leader to another, an attempt to hammer out the backbone of an alliance. He’d even brought Shigaraki up to the Precept’s general meeting room, which was similar in arrangement to the one in the basement but much nicer. Cleaner, certainly. He’d brought up some nice coffee too. An effort was being made.
After his plans with Eri had been.. precluded, the Shie Hassaikai had had to pivot hard into other avenues of business. There was always a market for illicits, but Chisaki had always tolerated that trade with disdain – the Shie Hassaikai deserved a more respectable foundation for their business. Ironically the battles between the League affiliates and the Pro Heroes had revitalized the reconstruction and insurance industries, which the yakuza always took a healthy cut of. Still, he was aiming higher, thinking ten steps ahead, figuring out how to best leverage their meagre hand. Hence, continuing to work with the League even after they’d sat back and watched a cadre of UA first-years abscond with Chisaki’s most valuable asset.
“You really do want your League to like you, don’t you.” Chisaki changed tack, forcing himself to project curiosity rather than mockery. “I think that they’d stab you in the back as quickly as the two you lent me left us behind. And that’s reasonable, for villains like us – why do you care if they like you as long as they’re loyal? What do their opinions matter to you?
“Unlike you, I actually like the people I work with sometimes.” Shigaraki grinned from under the hand mounted on his face. “They’re not gonna be loyal to a leader who they don’t know. It ever get sad over here, stuck with a bunch of gangsters you see as trash? No family game nights or parties in the yakuza? No communal coke benders?”
“Not on company time, no.”
Shigaraki barked out a laugh. Chisaki was mildly surprised with himself.
“Oh, so it’s fine after you clock out, alright.”
“It’s one of our most lucrative products, and we’re very picky about quality control.”
“You keep the mask on, or stick a straw through one of the holes?” Shigaraki cracked up. Chisaki himself almost never partook in what the Shie Hassaikai traded – the thought of putting those pollutants in his body made him cringe into himself – but it was expected that an ambitious kyodai knew what they were talking about when doing business, so he’d had his fair share of drug-fueled panic attacks in his youth.
“Keeping the mask on while inhaling filth like that would defeat the purpose, don’t you think?”
“What about the quirk-erasing bullets? You try those on yourself too?” Shigaraki leaned backwards, arms resting capaciously on the back of the couch, legs crossed, cultivating easy confidence.
“Eventually.”
“Once you tried them on a few of your goons first.”
Chisaki crinkled his eyes. A mask-smile.
“How did it feel, being quirkless?”
It had only been active for a few minutes, where he couldn’t use his quirk at all. He remembered sitting in the anteroom of the development room, shirtsleeves rolled up for the injection, flexing his fingers in and out at a little ceramic cup on the table that refused to overhaul. It had been a disconcerting experience that he’d put away in the back of his mind and hadn’t thought about again. But then – he looked at Shigaraki, peeling all over the nice leather, as though his body wasn’t enough to contain his quirk and he was being decayed from the inside out. The excoriations and petechiae on his neck that his matted fur collar didn’t hide and the hands, the hands of the people he’d dissolved when he couldn’t reign his disgusting, wretched power in.
Was there a part of him that secretly wanted to be cured from his sickness as much as Chisaki wanted to cure him of it himself?
Overhaul was just one tool in Chisaki’s generous armamentarium. Shigaraki was entirely Decay’s dummy, helpless puppet of an illness that he wouldn't let himself be cured of.
Chisaki leaned back too, mirroring him, and sketched on a smile.
“Liberating.”
By the time Shigaraki left, escorted through the underground maze by one of the lesser-ranked shatei, it was past 10. At least the villain didn’t seem to be angling for an invitation to dinner despite the late hour, for all it looked like he subsisted on convenience store snack food and spite, if anything. They had managed to have a productive meeting after all, and Chisaki found himself surprisingly invigorated as he ran through his mental list of plans. He decided that he’d make a quick check of the upper offices of the compound to see if Chrono was still in before he retired to their quarters and put something together for dinner; besides, there was a little paranoid part of him that wanted to make sure that no League underlings were skulking around while he’d been in conference with their leader.
He made a brisk perimeter of the ring of offices on the upper floor. These were actually used as office spaces, unlike most of the rest of the compound, designed to look like a corporate park on the outside while housing an entire gang operation inside. He had his office here on the top floor, although it served more as a repository for fiscal records and vintage Quirk training handbooks, and so did Irinaka. It was all cold white hallways, dim halogen lights and easily cleaned cement floors that his formal shoes clicked over gratifyingly. At this time of night, on a Friday, everybody else was on the job or at their homes – only the Precepts lived on-site, and even then they came and went as needs dictated as long as they reappeared when summoned.
Speaking of, Chisaki saw a cleave of yellow light from underneath Irinaka’s office door. He stopped in front of it, considering, then knocked. No response.
It was unlocked, and Chisaki slowly creaked the handle open, instinctively slipping into a lower defensive stance. He couldn’t hear anything from inside.. had whoever was in there heard him coming? He hadn’t made any effort to be circumspect, but then again, wouldn’t the light be off if someone had broken in?
He opened the door fully and strode in, hand on the hem of the other hand’s glove, already feeling the surge of adrenaline – and it was just Mimic, asleep at his desk, hunched over the big oak surface. Chisaki had to take a second before he recognized him in his full human form, big and sharp and stripped down to his pinstriped trousers and shirt, suspenders hanging limply from his sides. His spiky head was resting beside his laptop and a mess of planners and account sheets. Incongruously, he was wearing a pair of fingerless knitted mittens to keep his hands warm in the cold office.
That’s right – it was the first Friday of the month, when all the salaried members of the Hassaikai were supposed to put in their duty hours to be approved for payroll. It was in Chisaki’s online calendar as ‘Mimic Yelling Day’. Their manager would be in an exceptionally bad mood, hunting down anyone who’d done their paperwork wrong and reaming them in florid and impressively creative language that could be heard through the entire compound. For a lifelong gangster Irinaka was impressively erudite, especially when he was in a bad temper.
Chisaki watched him sleep, feeling a little sheepish. He should wake him up, or leave him to his future aching back? The generic office clock on the wall ticked softly.
So, he didn’t really like the people who worked for him, did he?
It was true, there were aspects of all of the Precepts' personalities that he thought were repugnant, and he probably wouldn’t spend time with most of them outside of business. Even Irinaka, reliably clean and cleanly reliable, had a short fuse and proudly coarse taste. He drank cheap beer, a lot of it, and didn’t see the point of dry-cleaning things that would get dirty right away anyways.
But all the same, he’d defended Chisaki from the Pro Heroes to the very last of his ability. In fact, he'd been so offended by those League whelps insulting the Hassaikai that he'd nearly gotten himself captured in the most recent raid. A firm manager, an adaptable heavy… and perhaps somebody that Chisaki should show a little more appreciation for now and then. It wouldn’t be difficult to try. He wouldn’t even have to do it in public and compromise his carefully cultivated mask of casual cruelty. He looked around the office, eyes settling on a sun-bleached tapestry with the Shie Hassaikai emblem on it. Probably a leftover from the early days of the organization judging by the cruder first-generation design. He reached out and gently tugged it out of the frame it was hanging on. It was all scratchy, unsanitary plain-woven polyester.
He rarely used Overhaul for such fine-level work, but it only took a few seconds to disassemble it and smooth it into something a little nicer to the touch, at least through his gloves. He scoffed internally at himself – what a maudlin sentimentalism this was, was this what he had already stooped to? – as he gently draped it over his manager’s sleeping shoulders.
Irinaka didn’t make any noise at all. Chisaki stood dumbly for a moment, feeling unbelievably humiliated by himself, then dusting himself off and slipping out of the office doing his best impression of someone who’d never been in there in the first place.
Would a leader who didn’t care about his men do something that embarrassing to keep them warm in a cold office?
When he got to the little common quarters that connected his and Chrono's bedroom in the next building he found a bowl of lukewarm eggplant agebitashe carefully saran-wrapped on their little cafè table waiting for him, the cooking dishes already carefully cleaned and put away, and Chrono's door dark.
Chisaki flipped idly through emails on his phone while he ate, not paying much attention to them. In some atavistic corner of his brain he was already imagining a Shie Hassaikai company retreat.