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You liked when the weather was like this- not too hot, not too cold. You could walk home from school after your club just before the sun set in peace, avoiding the group of girls that would tease and pick on you for being a foreigner. It didn't matter to them that you had grown up here, in their eyes (and many other of your classmates' eyes, you noticed) you were too different. It made you sad sometimes, sure, and growing up you longed for something more than just a few acquaintances at school- but your mother had taught you not to take too much notice. Kids- Girls are mean this age, Y/N she would say, brushing off your complaints. She would then remind you that you were perfect just the way you are, which you always thought was a little too caring; maybe even uncharacteristic for her. It made you cringe a little whenever she would recite this mantra to you, but you had heard it so often that you stopped bringing up any other mean comments your classmates had made.
Although in your final year of school, at 18 years old, the jeers of your classmates still persisted. So there you would wait, at a wall off to the side of your school, people watching until you had decided enough students had filtered out. If opting to leave a little later than the rest of the students meant saving some more teasing on the way home, it was worth it. It wasn't like you were in a rush to get home anyways- your mother worked long hours to support the both of you, often leaving early in the morning whilst you were still in bed and coming home late at night when you had gone to bed. You only really saw your mother one day of the week on her day off, so mostly, the house felt like your own.
Annoyingly, tonight, the group of girls you weren't particularly fond of were also not in a rush to leave school as quickly as you were, and by the time you had deemed it safe enough to leave, the sun was already setting. It was drilled into you as a child to always be home before the sun had fully set, living in the city. Typically, your walk home was a boring one:
Out of school.
To the train station.
Catch the metro into the city.
Out to the main road.
Alongside the main road.
Navigate through a couple of alleys.
Stop off at Poppo in Tenkaichi Street for any dinner ingredients.
And finally, straight down Nakamichi Street before you could turn and cross the road to the small apartment block you lived in.
It didn't take long, maybe 20 minutes all together, but tonight, by the time you had grabbed your missing ingredients from Poppo the sun was almost set. The route you knew like the back of your hand became unfamiliar and almost scary. Everything just looked different in the dark, a complete 180 to the route you usually found boring and quick to pass. The temperature in the air had dropped to a non-pleasant chill and you picked up your pace, eager to get home before the nightlife picked up and it became difficult to navigate. In the past- in one of the winter months when the sun had set a little earlier than usual, you had spent too much time being indecisive choosing what to have for dinner, and on your way home had ran into a few drunk men that had shouted some particularly vulgar things after you. The awful words still haunted you years later, and you could remember the way your gut dropped that night- it made you feel horrible, even today. You were only 15 at the time, just barely grasping what those men had meant by that when you were cat-called, and had rushed home quickly in a panic. You remembered crying in your bed, wishing your mother wasn't working so late so that you had someone to confide in. Part of you knew you wouldn't really be comforted, (probably scolded) so after the incident you took getting home on time far more seriously.
The streets began to light up neon, sparkling in front of you as the sky grew darker and the crowds heavier- drunker. Your bag swung by your side and you picked up your pace. Definitely out far too late, you cursed to yourself as you glanced at the watch on your wrist. Simple, but you liked it. An old style watch with a thin brown strap and rectangular face that you had seen in the window of Ebisu on a particularly boring walk home. You had squirrelled away grocery money for a month, relying on solely instant noodles and cheap convenience food to buy it. A fairly large group of women and men in front of you were tightly knitted together, loud, babbling, bursting out with laughter every now and again in a drunken stupor as they walked far too slowly for your liking in front of you. It amazed you how quickly the crowds picked up in Kamurocho, and by the time you had decided to try and overtake the group you found that couldn't navigate your way around them anymore. The crowds made you nervous. You knew not only that there were drunks about, but also something much scarier who you definitely didn't want to run into.
Yakuza.
Just as the crowds started to brush against you and push you around, you spotted it- your saviour- the small slip of an alley that would get you onto the slip of Nakamichi, your home stretch.
You knew the alley well. It was a long one, but definitely came in handy if Tenkaichi Street got a little too busy on your way home. It was often a shortcut for you, and tonight, it looked perfectly quiet. A break from the overstimulating crowds. Stomach grumbling and mouth watering at the idea of a home-cooked beef bowl (plus the last of the hazelnut biscuits you had baked the other day), you quickly made up your mind to divert from the crowds into the alley. It wasn't well-lit this time of night, but you knew that as soon as you turned the corner in front of you, you would see the opening into Nakamichi further down the stretch- which was more than enough for you to pluck up the courage to continue onwards. Loud music seemed to thud through the walls from cabaret clubs either side of you; music not quite to your taste but arguably much better than total silence in the alley. When you finally rounded the corner, the buzz and hum of nightlife seemed to welcome you with open arms. In the back of your mind you heard your mother's voice scolding you for taking the shortcut this late but ignored her. The opening was right in front of you now, and it was time to dig around in your bag for house keys.
Routine.
Habit?
Not a good habit.
A strong blow to your chest sent you flying backwards, knocking the air out of your lungs as you hit the ground heavily. Asphalt scraped and shredded your palms as you tried to catch yourself before your back or your head made contact with the ground too. The sudden powerful contact startled you, and when you tried to take a breath in you... couldn't. The Poppo bag went flying, groceries scattering and rolling into the dark corners of the alley that you couldn't see, and you scrambled to your knees, trying to gulp the air like it was water. You tasted cigarette smoke, and flicked your head up to the source- what had hit you just moments ago.
A well-dressed man stood before you- no- three well-dressed men. The main one, a purple-suited man with slicked back hair and a golden pin in his suit lapel grinned at you maniacally, and in that moment as you sat crumpled on the ground, you truly felt like a predator with it's prey. Yakuza. His hands lay heavily in his pockets, demeanour smug like he had just caught you doing something you shouldn't. Your stomach churned and you felt queasy with sheer terror. The man didn't fail to notice the colour drain from your face, nor the tremble in your bloodied hands as you struggled to meet his gaze, trying your hardest to spit out an apology quickly for not watching where you were going and bumping into him. In a sick way, it entertained him, to make you feel like you were beneath him.
"Heeey cutie, where are you off to so fast?" One of them chimed, sick jubilation creeping in his tone. "It's rude to bump into someone and not apologise, ya know?"
"So rude, you'll just have to make it up to us!" A second man agreed, matching the tone of his friend.
"M'sorry- I wasn't looking and-"
A roar of laughter cut your pathetic tirade short, making you flinch violently as the men began to mimic your feeble tone. The three in front of you threatened to take a step closer as you began to scuttle backwards, your back hitting something that wasn't behind you before. Your heart jumped into your throat, catching your words as you realised you were surrounded, with no way out. There were more men than you could see, now five, maybe even six. Before you could even apologise and beg for forgiveness and to let you move on, the fat fingers of the purple-suited man grabbed your cheeks and yanked your chin upwards to look at you. The men around you cackled cruelly as you cried out, jolting forward and scraping your knees on the ground, tears pricking in your eyes before rolling down your cheeks.
"Ohhh, so cute, a foreigner girl!" The man grinned, using brute strength to wrench your head backnthe opposite way to face his friend, to observe you like nothing but an object. He ignored your cries and your babbles for him to stop, and held you in place with his grip. "Whatcha think? A sweet face like this would turn up a pretty penny on video, hm?".
You froze at his words as the men around you made sounds of agreement. You were studied for a moment, eyes scanning your face; your body up and down like you were nothing more than a piece of meat before being pulled to your feet harshly. Blood trickled down your knees and into your socks, your cheeks soaked with hot tears and you trembled, but you could do nothing but freeze up, breath caught in your chest as you felt yourself being manoeuvred. Why couldn't your body listen to your brain?! It was screaming at you to fight back! A slimy hand found it's way around your middle, creeping up under your shirt and snaking a warm and damp palm onto your flesh as you were pulled into a different man's side. You stumbled as the group pulled you along.
"How's about we head to this hotel near-by, cutie? We know exactly what ya can do to make it up to us."
More echoes of the mens laughter cracked through the walls of the alleyway, openly and unashamedly scheming about the things they would do to you, your brain screaming at your body to do something- anything than just freeze up. The hand on your waist began to crawl further up your body, and the man it belonged to began to whisper something vile in your ear until abruptly, both the touch and sound stopped. You realised quickly that the group had stopped in their tracks, the scraping of metal against ground interrupting their lively jeering.
A glint of metal-tipped shoes followed the bat being dragged along the edge of the alleyway, before a new person spoke:
"Reeeeal classy to pick a schoolgirl off the streets. Didn't think scumbags like you were still hangin' around." A different, gravelly voice interrupted the men around you. The voice had a rough edge, and a thick accent, not like any you had heard locally. You dared to lift your head and glance at the source; a tall, slim silhouette of a man framed by the neon lights of Nakamichi that had stopped at the opening of the alley. A small, trembling voice broke the silence.
"Please... help.."
You didn't recognise it, but the faces that turned toward you knew. It was your voice.
You were shoved haphazardly into the arms of another in the group, the owner of the slimy hands holding you previously seething with rage at the comment.
"The fuck are you callin' a scumbag? Who the fuck d'ya think you're talking to?!" The man reeled, cracking his knuckles in anticipation of a fight. Six on one didn't seem particularly fair, somewhere in the back of your mind. "We'll teach ya to-"
In a split second, you heard the unmistakable sound of cold, solid metal colliding with bone. A terrific crack rang out, and you realised the man had been struck at the side of his head with sheer, brute force. His body crumpled and fell heavily at your feet as the men around you rushed forward to fight in the place of their boss, almost throwing you against the wall to disregard you.
The scuffle broke out instantly. Nobody held back. The eye-patched man ditched the bat and branded a blade, glinting and brilliant as he spun to dodge a swing to the head. A wet grunt came from another, said blade launched deep into his shoulder. Blood flew through the air, splattering on the alley wall as the blade was ripped out just as quickly.
There was an animalistic instinct in the way he fought. So aware of his surroundings, precise, lithe as he seemed to bounce from man to man, stunning one and fatally wounding another. It was strangely enticing to watch, you couldn’t look away despite the brutality. The gore. It was terrifying.
There was no desire to win or lose on either side, but it was clear who would be coming out unscathed. You watched as skin split, teeth shattered and bones cracked and twisted in unnatural ways. The first man- the handsy one- was back up, now bounding toward the man who saved you. His head streamed sticky blood, and the same bat that had cracked his skull was now poised over his head as he ran toward your savour, intent to kill in a single strike.
For a fraction of a breath, there seemed to be quiet as the tall man panted, almost spent. Victims too wounded to move piled at his feet, whilst the rest scrambled for escape. He spat blood at his own feet, head flicking in your general direction to check that you were alright- as okay as you could be.
A yelp escaped your mouth unwillingly, and you covered your face as you watched the other man swing.
But that swing never connected.
Metal clattered at your feet, and instead of the cracking of metal against bone, it was concrete against bone. You dared to steal a glance, and regretted it instantly.
Your saviour had the man pinned, leather gloves tangled in his hair as he pummeled his head back and forth into the ground. The sickening sound almost sounded fake, like a cheesy horror movie with excess gore, but you could see- could smell that it was very much real.
The sounds of gore continued, bouncing around and echoing in your head as you squeezed your eyes tight shut. You didn’t want to see anymore- you couldn’t. Your heart pummeled in your ears and you swore you almost lost control of your bladder, legs shaking with the adrenaline as you pressed your ears shut to drown out the sounds.
And then- as if compelled by some magic force- the unending violence was suddenly no more. The alley became quiet, the smell of blood burned your nose and the only noise you could hear was your own erratic breathing.
“Sorry you had to see that… Couldn’t go easy on em after what I heard.”
The bat scraped against the concrete as he kicked it away from your feet, crouching before you.
“Come on. Don’t think they hurt ya too bad. Yer just a little scraped is all.” Urged the gravelly drawl. Your heart was still going 100 miles an hour and your head thumped and hurt, but you let go of yourself gingerly and met the man’s.. eye?
The eyepatch stuck out immediately. Plain black leather, with a thin strap holding it up wrapping around his high cheekbones and through his cropped hair. He had a goatee, and a little bit of stubble on his sharp jaw. His one brown eye bored into you, his brow furrowed in a slight frown as he analysed your state to decide if you were concussed or not. As he crouched in front of you, you noticed the (rather odd-looking) snakeskin jacket he wore, and the black and red tattoos dotted on his chest. The same shoes that you had seen knock a man’s jaw out of place and——
”Hey, did ya hear what I said? Yer ears still workin’ okay?
Idiot. You’d been staring at his eyepatch for too long.
A slow couple of blinks told him that you were okay, maybe just in shock. The scraping of asphalt against his shoes was harsh and unpleasant as he stood, offering you a gloved hand as he pulled you to your feet. Your shoes felt heavy and clunky and the biting metallic smell of your own blood made you feel nauseous almost instantly, stumbling over your own feet and grabbing the man in front of you before you fell again.
“Woah- hey. Yer fine, yer just–”
Hot tears started streaming down your cheeks before you even started to speak- violent shudders wreaking through your body as everything came crashing down on you at once. The raw violence. The gore. The reek of blood. What they were going to do to you.
It was like your heart stopped. “No-nobody would’ve- would’ve known-” The harder you clutched, the harder he held on, steadied you. “Wou-would’ve even noticed that-” You could still feel those slimy fingers dancing their way up your shirt. “Noticed if I- if I was mi-missing. No one would notice- I—”
‘Hey- They’re gone, s’alright now I-”
You interrupted him with a heaving sob, curling up in on yourself and shuddering violently. The realisation came crashing down like a tonne of bricks and you staggered, almost falling to your scraped knees again. You thought about your mother, who would’ve just come home later that night, and gone to work the next morning without checking up on you. When would she have noticed? Would she have noticed?
You spiralled in the alleyway. It was true, you knew it. Those men would’ve taken you- and nobody would’ve known. Kamurocho hummed on either side of you, the cold sensation of the night numbed the weeping cuts on your knees, but not the weeping coming from your mouth.
Those arms kept you steady and let you cry. And he just held you there. You should’ve felt scared, terrified even, after the brutality you had just witnessed and what this man was capable of. Instead, you didn’t want him to leave. His hold was reassuring, gentle but firm when you probably should be in fight or flight, running as far away from the yakuza as you could. The bustle of Kamurocho found you again as people started to pass through the alley again and brush against you both, bringing you to your senses, finally. Cold seeped through your bones and you started to shiver, and you couldn’t look at the man out of shame.
“Hey, yer shiverin’.”
He shook you gently; urging you to look at him, and you did, gingerly. Pity was all too evident on his face. You felt embarrassed when the tears didn’t stop streaming down your cheeks and you thought he might’ve felt awkward, unsure if you were going to fall if he let you go.
“Yer gettin’ cold, no use gettin’ sick either, huh?” He offered, trying his best to sound reassuring. It seemed to work as you felt tears slow and your cheeks become somewhat dry and finally shake your head no to his rhetorical question.
It was true, you were very cold- just hadn’t noticed it before because of—- you didn’t want to think about it. It took you a second and a thick gulp to swallow your scared tone before you could even think of the words to say to him.
“I- I want to go home…?” Almost as if it was a question, like you were asking him permission.
The man cocked an eyebrow at you quizzically, before slowly unhooking his hands from around your arms, lingering for a second or two to make sure you could stand on your own. You suddenly felt like you could breathe easily again, and the heavy weight of panic slowly dissipated from your chest.
“Alright… ya gonna be okay to get home?” He asked, slowly.
You nodded, eyes returning to the floor to scan where your shopping had fallen and scattered. He watched you pick it up awkwardly, unsure if he should stay or go.
An orange here, your packet of minced beef there, and a huge chunk of someone’s gum and tooth, laying in its own solitary pool of blood right next to it. You decided to leave the beef; staring at the chunk for too long made bile rise up in your throat and you just weren’t hungry anymore.
“Will they come back for me?” You asked quietly.
A pause, then a scoff.
“They’d be idiots if they did. Probably already cryin’ to their patriarch.”
You stared at him, he was smirking a little bit, obviously taking pride in his victory. But he didn’t answer your question.
“Can you promise me they won’t come back for me?”
“No… Suppose I can’t.”
You both paused for a moment, the silence awkward if not for the bustle of the nightlife. Your hand tightened around the handle of your shopping bag, and before your heart could begin jumping from the anxiety again, he broke the silence.
“I’ll walk you.”
——
You didn’t sleep that night. At roughly 1 in the morning, she stumbled in. You heard her rustling around in the fridge for a quick dinner before you heard her footsteps pass your door. She didn’t pause by your door, didn’t check for you; just headed straight for her room.
You felt sick to your stomach.
--
The next week, you thought about the man who had been in the right place at the right time. Despite the brutality you had witnessed that night, the quiet walk home, small talk and terrible jokes every now and again put you at ease and made you smile to yourself whenever you thought about him. You never asked his name, and he never asked yours by the time he had walked you up to your door.
His kindness to you lingered in your head the entire week, visible by the vague notes scribbled down in haste that left you scratching your head by the time you needed them for homework.
He needed to know that his kindness to you was not forgotten.
As soon as the school day ended, you hurried straight from your end of day club to the lamp post on Nakamichi Street, not caring if the group of girls that usually teased you and called you names wanted to do so today. A part of you was almost.. excited. You were excited to see him, to thank him for what he had done for you a few days prior, and you rushed out of school to wait on the very street you had spotted him patrolling before. You recalled the ever-so-slightly dented bat slung over his shoulder and the lone eye that scanned the crowds.
The carefully wrapped cloth box of cookies you had spent a long time making the night before felt heavy in your hands. They were plain, simple sugar cookies- a staple in your home baking. You made them at least once a month, as they were your mothers favourite, her go-to breakfast when she was rushing out in the early hours of the morning. This batch, you had taken extra care with them- used your special bunny-shaped cookie cutters, stamped a cute design on them, and made sure the oven temperature was exact to ensure they had come out perfectly. For some reason, this time, they had to be perfect. You were a little nervous; deep down you knew you probably definitely shouldn’t be hanging around in the place you were attacked a few days ago, but nonetheless, you waited, albeit out in the open this time. You were determined to thank the man who saved you, even if it was just with some home baked goods that you had spent a little too much time on.
After a while, the air grew ridged and cold. Your own nagging voice in your head told you should be at home, doing your homework that was due the very next morning that you hadn’t even started yet. The sky grew darker and the nightlife started to hum, crowds growing as people filtered in and out of bars dotted around the street. Glancing at the time on your watch, you decided to give it another 10 minutes before you cut your losses and ran home. A drunk person would surely appreciate the cookies you had made, even if you were just getting rid of them.
A minute.
Two.
Five.
Seven.
Absent-mindedly, you gnawed at your nails as your eyes scanned the crowds of people, deciding which drunk person deserved your cookies the most… and then, you spotted it- you spotted him! That unmistakable jacket, the eyepatch, the pointed steel toed shoes, the haircut. He was walking with his hands in his pockets, (missing his bat this time, you noticed) slouched a little and walking at a slower pace on the other side of the street as the crowds seemed to part around him. He was deep in thought, and you thought his eye looked... sad.
Without much thought, you darted towards that gap in the crowd, weaving in and out until you got closer. He must’ve heard you before he saw you, babbling ‘excuse mes’ and ‘thank yous’ as you passed people trying to get to him. He had stopped walking, train of thought stopped in its tracks and turned in your direction, eye fixed on you, slightly amused at your clumsy attempt of avoiding the people blocking your path, no doubt stepping on some toes and bumping into a few annoyed salarymen on the way.
When you finally approached him and met his eye, a shy smile cracked on your face. He didn’t smile back- which made you feel a little foolish- but had stopped and waited for you nonetheless. Before you could even blurt out a rushed thanks for the previous night, he tilted his head and spoke first:
”I told ya, it ain’t safe this time of night for a schoolgirl. Yer ears not work properly?” The man scolded, eyebrows raised slightly.
You flushed at being scolded like that… of course you knew better! You were old enough to know it was a stupid idea to be out at a time like this, in your school uniform nonetheless, sticking out like a sore thumb. The box of cookies felt heavy in your hands and you felt foolish (once again) for even considering making them. Your head fell sheepishly as you refused to meet his eye.
”I- I know, I’m sorry Sir.” You blurted, before going into your ramble.
”I just was very grateful for what you did for me the other night… I don’t know what would’ve- well- what might’ve happened if you weren’t there and I- well I just wanted to-“ Your hands started to shake, you couldn’t help the word vomit. You glanced up at him quickly. He was much more intimidating than you remembered him being when he had walked you to your doorstep and ensured your safety before taking his leave.
Pause. Deep breath.
You mustered the courage to look him in the eye.
”It’s not much but… thank you. I hope- I really hope you like them.”
He blinked a little, taken aback before a slight smirk crossed his features, amused. You offered the cloth parcel timidly after a quick bow, relief overwhelming you when he took it with one gloved hand. He bought it closer, eye studying the pink fabric (with cute white bunnies dotted on it, he noticed) curiously.
”What’s this?”
But, before he got an answer, you were gone. He saw your small head and the back of your uniform disappear into a crowd of giggling drunk girls, rushing off before you vanished entirely.
——
When Majima arrived at the family office from his "street patrol", he didn't fail to notice Nishida's questioning glance at the pink box dangling from his fingers. Whatever questions he might've had, he didn't voice them- as usual- and continued to fill the man in on family business he had missed whilst he was out. Something Majima didn't really care about, and that didn't really matter. Nothing urgent, nothing interesting. Nishida continued to babble, following him like a puppy into his office.
"What about the fuckwads that attacked the schoolgirl?" Majima interrupted, sitting down heavily in the leather office chair as he picked at the knot in the cloth.
Nishida paused- for maybe a moment too long- as his boss fiddled around with the fabric. "Nishikiyama Family, Sir."
Majima clicked his tongue. "Bah. Figures." Inside the cloth, a square green tupperware container (a nice one, at that). "And the girl? She get home safe?"
The man hummed, affirming. "We had eyes on her as soon as she stepped foot into Kamurocho. She went straight home after she met with you." Nishida watched his boss crack open the tupperware, eyebrows raised slightly as he peered at its contents. He shoved a leather-gloved hand in, then snapped it shut just as quickly as it was opened. Majima glanced at his hand for a few seconds.. What looked like three or four... intricately shaped cookies were shoved into his mouth, and he paused momentarily to appreciate their perfect crumbly texture and sweetness before wolfing them down.
They were good. Very good. He spotted Nishida’s glance at the box.
“I ain’t sharin.” Majima remarked, matter-of-factly, snatching the box away. He slid the box and cloth into the top drawer of his desk, hiding them before turning back to his right hand man.
“...Right. In other news, there’s a new bar in the Champion District that-”
But Majima wasn’t listening. His eye stared straight past Nishida as he continued on. He thought about the box of cookies as the delightful aftertaste settled in his mouth. They were home-made; bunny-shapes that were neat and crisp and even had little faces pressed into them. Buttery, and crumbly and cooked to perfection, not a browned edge in sight. They were even packaged delicately. The cookies were stacked side by side with layers of baking paper wedged between them to ensure they didn’t tumble around in the box and break. He couldn’t say that he knew anyone to put that much effort into something as simple as sugar cookies.
A frown crossed his face. For all the effort put into them, he couldn’t feel like he deserved them. When he had eventually noticed the scuffle, heard the cries of a young woman- a girl, you were frozen in fear. Bloodied and crying. Begging him- a yakuza like him- to help you.
If he had left the office maybe five minutes earlier, you wouldn’t have ever run into the Nishkiyama family. You would’ve been at home, cooking with the ingredients he had watched you pick up. And you wouldn’t have seen the bloodshed or the gore that followed.
I hope- I really hope you like them.
There wasn’t much point for the cookies to go to waste though, Majima eventually decided.
–
“Good afternoon, Ms. Oe.” You called sweetly, bowing to your kind (but nosy) older neighbour as you passed her on your way into your apartment block. She greeted you back, walking a few steps away before recalling something and spinning back on her heel. “Oh! Y/N-chan, you have some mail in your pigeon-hole! Don’t forget to stop by on your way up!”
You guessed letters for your mother, as usual. “Thank you, Ms. Oe. See you!”
When you reached the pigeon-holes of your apartment complex, they were littered with the same old letters that you saw day-in day-out from the same neighbours that never bothered to collect them. Yours was different, though.
Your cloth, and your tupperware. Your pink bunny cloth was sitting in your hole; number 337. The box of cookies you had given to the eye-patched man a week before.
A simple note, a quick scrawl on a piece of ripped paper lay underneath it. As you grabbed the box, it fluttered out and fell to the floor before you had a chance to grab it. It landed right way up and you crouched to read it:
Thank you. Get home before dark.