Chapter Text
To be honest, he hadn’t really believed it when he first saw her.
After all, it was funny what wishful thinking could do sometimes. It had been long enough that she’d stopped constantly occupying his thoughts and worries, his dreams and nightmares, only surfacing now and again as a pang in his chest whenever he came across something that reminded him of her. It didn’t need to be much either - innocuous things like the smell of takoyaki or the glint of a watch-face, strapped to someone’s wrist. Or… not so innocuous things. The quiet sobbing of a woman. A high-pitched shriek of terror. The sound of a silenced gunshot, muffled just enough to steal away a life.
Recollections of her still haunted him. Majima would never admit it, but for a while, he’d seen glimpses of Makoto everywhere - small women, short-haired women, women with canes, women in orange coats - on and on until he was finally able to force himself to be distracted with other things. Things like regaining his footing in the Tojo Clan, or establishing his reputation as the Mad Dog, things that he could never have beared to involve her in, that reminded him of why he’d willingly let her go. Things that helped him chase the ghost of his own feelings away.
So no, he didn’t believe his one good eye when it saw Makoto in Kamurocho, walking down the street. Not when he’d caught sight of her so abruptly, so perfectly, the sea of pedestrians parting just enough that he could pick her out of the crowd, as if it had been pre-arranged. Not when she looked just as he remembered her, as though no time had passed since the very moment he’d walked away. Not when his week up to that point had already been in a downward spiral, caught in the tailspin of one mess after another and careening him towards burnout.
Majima was used to disasters in his life coming in all at once, but even this had been a bit much. Petty collection runs stacked too closely together, amounting to little more than the boss yanking on his leash. Squabbles with some third-string family over territory and protection money, the shitty, exhausting kind of squabbles, because they were also Tojo, and he was expected to show some amount of restraint. And the absolute worst thing: a failing soapland dumped in his lap with orders to make it profitable, by any means possible.
Not that he’d ever frequented those kinds of places to begin with, but it was hard for him to even pass by the facades of those shops nowadays. The cloying and sometimes desperate beckoning of the women who worked the trade, trailing after him whenever he passed by, was enough to make his skin crawl. He couldn’t help it. All he could ever think about, all he could ever wonder, was whether any of them were there by choice, what kind of abuses they might be putting up with behind closed doors, whether they’d been sold into it like -
He usually managed to stop the thought there, before it killed him. Usually, but not always.
…And so, getting passed a soapland that was hemorrhaging money with the orders he’d been given was the equivalent of getting passed a bomb. Either he scraped up some magic to make the place profitable by means he could stomach, or he would lose a pinky, and probably still come face to face with a reality he only ever fathomed in his nightmares. No matter what, it was sure to blow up on him.
And so - so why wouldn’t his own mind play tricks on him too, when he’d been hit in all the places that hurt most? Why wouldn’t his own eye deceive him when his thoughts had already been drifting towards her? Why wouldn’t life just go ahead and deal him a nice helping of psychosis on top of all the other shit it dumped on him?
But then he blinked, and Makoto was still there, walking towards him. The sound of her cane tapping along the sidewalk somehow rose above the murmur of the crowd. Even his most vivid daydreams would never have accounted for that, and the realization that this - this was real settled in his stomach like a stone.
Because of course - there was only one outcome shittier than his mind hallucinating in broad daylight, conjuring Makoto in front of him. It was her actually being there.
She was beautiful. She always was, had always been - beautiful enough to make his heart ache merely at the sight of her. Her hair was still short, at the exact length she’d kept it the last time he’d seen her, dark and glossy as it caught sunlight with every bob of her head. Majima was transfixed.
Steadily, she was drawing closer and closer, set on a course destined for collision if he didn’t step out of her way. For one agonizing moment, all of his thoughts warred with each other. Greet her, call out, it isn’t too late! …Be silent, move back, it’s not your place.
All Majima had to do was hold his tongue and let her walk past him. It was… it was the right thing to do. As he’d done before, he simply had to do it again. Again, again, he just - needed to let her go again.
The first step was the hardest he’d ever taken. Then the next. But once he’d moved, the rest came easier. Majima shuffled back, off the sidewalk, until he was standing with his back pressed to a building, waiting, watching, as Makoto walked by.
It was strange how everything seemed to slow to a crawl the closer she came, strange how it was over in a moment when she finally passed. All the while, Majima tried to burn the image of her into his memory. Why? When he’d clearly done so already, when she already looked as though she’d stepped straight out of one of his memories? Why? When thinking back on this moment later was only going to hurt him? Why? When doing so was only going to make it impossible for him to ever forget her, to ever stop -
Makoto paused in her stride, just a little bit past him. Her head perked up. She looked back. She looked back towards him.
Majima’s heart jumped up to his throat. He tried to swallow it back down but couldn’t. His breath stalled in his chest. He waited.
Just over the heads of passersby, he could see Makoto tilt her head with a frown, brows pinched just together as if she were confused. Then… then she turned away and walked on. And Majima let her.
He stayed rooted to the spot, watching as she slowly but surely disappeared into the crowd. He stayed a little longer, until even the tap of her cane, real or imagined, faded away. He stayed until he was certain she was far, far away.
Then, with a heavy sigh, Majima stepped away from the building. He walked on, ignoring the ache in his chest.
…
Life was mocking him. It had to be.
Otherwise, why would he see her again?
It was somehow worse this time than just spotting her out on the streets, worse than being at war with himself, struggling to hold fast to his own convictions. It was… so much worse.
All the stress of trying to pull that soapland out of the red - among other things - had piled up too high. He could physically feel himself winding up, taut like a spring on the verge of snapping, and Majima knew he needed to blow off steam before his Mad Dog persona went irrevocably off the leash. So he did the only thing that worked these days: he went prowling. For dumb thugs and wannabe gokudo stupid enough to pick a fight. For belligerent drunks harassing women in dark alleys. Or, and he was hoping for this one the most, for Kiryu - ideally preoccupied with something so he could have the satisfaction of ambushing him at the worst possible moment.
And the thought of a good fist fight, of throwing down with someone who could actually keep up with him, had lifted his spirits. Just the prospect of letting loose for a bit had him full of anticipation. And as if god was, for once, listening to his wishes, Majima did find Kiryu, preoccupied with something. With someone.
He spotted him through the window of a cafe… sitting across from Makoto.
It was - it was almost dizzying, how many different emotions washed over him then. He was shocked to see her again, so soon after the last time. A stupid shock, when he considered that she had already been in Kamurocho and likely hadn’t gone for just a day trip. Inexplicably, his heart still soared at the sight of her, soared like it had never known heartbreak, like it didn’t go plummeting to the ground every time the very thought of her passed through his skull.
And, even more inexplicably, he felt his insides twist together, in gut-wrenching betrayal.
Whose betrayal? It… it couldn’t be Makoto’s, not when she didn’t know him and never would, not when she owed him nothing. Kiryu’s, then? Because Majima had been betting on him for some sorely needed stress relief? Because he could no longer drag him into a fight with Makoto around? Because he was sitting in a cafe, chatting with her as if he wasn't a yakuza, as if she wasn’t in danger just by associating with him, when Majima had thrown away everything to keep her out of their world?
Why should Kiryu get to sit down with her, in public, like they were just two people on a date? Why was Kiryu the one talking to her without a care in the world, when he - when they -
Kiryu looked out the window and spotted him. Majima’s thoughts fizzled out into nothing. He turned on his heel and walked away as fast as he could, moving so quickly it would’ve been less taxing to just break out into a run. He didn’t think about where he was going or why, he just - he needed to be away.
But that was the sound of footsteps, chasing after him. Majima closed his eye and tried to take a deep breath, as a voice called out behind him, “Majima-nii-san!”
“Kiryu-chan,” he greeted, projecting a voice much more cheerful than he felt. He took a moment to force a grin onto his face as the footsteps slowed to a stop behind him. “Ya shouldn’t jus’ walk out on a lady like that.”
Kiryu was frowning at him when Majima finally turned to face him, his grave face made even graver by his confusion, as he asked, “You… didn’t need something from me?”
“Oi, oi, ya think I’m thick enough to crash a date?” he asked. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He pushed through it to feign offense. “Even I got that much tact, y’know? It can wait.”
Kiryu sighed, shaking his head. “It’s not… never mind. Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure!” he crowed, walking in a slow circle around him, trying to mimic his normal, predatory gait. “Why wouldn’t I be? Ya doubtin’ me, Kiryu-chan? Huh? Or what, ya lookin’ for an excuse to step out on the bill?”
It was hard, for some reason, remembering how he usually acted around Kiryu, around other yakuza. The volatile, devil-may-care persona he wore like a second skin just wasn’t quite fitting right today. Majima could feel himself struggling through it, even as he went on.
“S’not very gentlemanly, y’know. Stickin’ the gal with the bill. Really, didn’t think you were that kinda guy, Kiryu-chan! Honestly, got me shocked!”
“It’s not like that, Nii-san,” he sighed again. It was pathetic how his focus seemed to catch on Kiryu’s denial, but Majima would shelve that thought to scrutinize never. In the moment, Kiryu was still staring at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion as he reiterated slowly, “So you really don’t need anything from me right now?”
“I said no already, didn’t I?” he snapped. “Jus’ get back to what ya were doin’. Go.”
Majima had already abandoned all hope of a good fight to keep him for the night, but damn if Kiryu wasn’t making it hard. All his irritation, all his rage seemed to spike just looking at him and his oblivious face. Didn’t he understand what he was doing? The kind of torture he was putting Majima through? He needed to hurry up and get back to - to whatever he’d been doing, with Makoto. The sooner, the better so that she could -
“Majima-nii-san,” he started hesitantly, and Majima could feel his blood pressure rising at the fact that Kiryu was still here, “are you… all right?”
No, he wanted to scream, I’m not. He wanted to throttle Kiryu right then and there. He wanted to curl up and die on the spot. He… he wanted Makoto… not to be walking up on them at this very moment.
“Kiryu-san?” she called out, squinting at him as if she were trying to make sure she had the right person.
And oh, if just watching her from afar had been hard, hearing her again was so much worse. Something inside of him just ached, hearing her voice, like an old wound stretched too far. Majima clenched his hands behind him to hide their faint trembling, feeling ridiculous for being so affected, for suffering in silence like this when no one else had any idea of what was going through his head.
“Makoto-san,” Kiryu said, with muted surprise and palpable concern, turning to face her. “Weren’t you going to wait in the cafe?”
“You sounded so frantic, I couldn’t help but worry. Is… everything all right?”
“Yes,” he said, glancing back towards Majima the way one glances at a wild animal they’re not certain won’t attack. “I think so. Sorry to have worried you.”
It probably wasn’t too late for him to run. Majima played with the possibility in his head - whether just booking it out of there would make anything better. It would seem strange. It might make Kiryu suspicious. But he’d cultivated his wild reputation enough to cash in, hadn’t he? What was a little more erratic behavior in the face of what was inevitably going to cause him an extreme meltdown?
“...I guess I should introduce you,” began Kiryu, running Majima’s panicked train of thought straight off a cliff as all of his cognitive functions descended into hysteria, “Makoto-san, this - ”
Whatever Kiryu said next would forever remain a mystery.
Majima ran.
…
The next time he saw Kiryu was later that day, long after the sun had set, when the clocks were just minutes shy of turning over. He saw him far too soon for his taste, and in a bizarre role reversal that might have been exciting if it hadn’t been such an exercise in abject misery.
Because Majima was the one being ambushed this time, cornered in a bar at the bottom of a bottle by the last person he wanted to see right now. And, infuriatingly good guy that he was, Kiryu had the nerve to sit on the bar stool next to him, on his good side so he couldn’t miss him, and just… wait. Wait and sip on his whiskey in silence, without saying or doing anything.
They passed an indeterminable amount of time like that, locked in a one-sided cold war. Majima refused to break. If he stuck to his guns, Kiryu might get the message and shove off, and spare him from the conversation that he was terrified of having.
But, because nothing ever went his way, Kiryu eventually broke the silence. “Majima-nii-san, earlier today…”
Majima tensed, ready to leap onto his feet and make another break for it if Kiryu even so much as mentioned -
“What was it you needed from me?” he finished, pinning him with a concerned look.
Majima opened his mouth to answer him. His inebriated brain floundered for words, too drowned in alcohol to even string together the actual truth, let alone a coherent lie. He stopped, then squinted at Kiryu’s empty glass.
“Ya wanna ‘nother drink?” he asked instead, words unexpectedly slurred even to his own ears. “I’ll buy.”
“I appreciate the offer, Nii-san, but I’m fine, thank you,” replied Kiryu, frowning at him. He paused, hesitation creeping into his voice. “Are you all right?”
“ ‘m fine,'' he grunted, resting his cheek against the cool countertop. “Fine. Why wouldn’ I be?”
Mercifully, Kiryu didn’t answer that. Even drunk, Majima had the feeling he wouldn’t have liked whatever Kiryu might have said. But he liked what Kiryu actually said next even less.
“Do you… know Makoto-san?”
He might have already slammed back one too many drinks tonight, but he clearly hadn’t slammed back enough, because Majima’s only desire right then was to black out and exit this conversation immediately. But when he blinked, he was still woefully conscious. His brain stalled, feebly trying to gauge which answer was less believable - yes, or no. Every passing second was going to make him seem more and more suspicious, but maybe if he was lucky, Kiryu would attribute his stupor more to drunkenness than to a desperate attempt to formulate a response.
“Yeah…” he mumbled at last, cheek still plastered to the counter, “course I do. I was back in the clan by ‘88… ‘member? Who doesn’ know ‘er?”
“It’s just that you seemed very… surprised by her,” Kiryu explained. “I thought maybe you knew her personally.”
“Nah,” he lied, resting an arm over his head so he could block out what little light there was - and also so he could block out his own expression. “Never saw ‘er before. She was jus’... prettier ‘n I thought she’d be… ‘s all.”
“I see,” said Kiryu, in an oddly serious tone. For one second, Majima let himself hope that he’d gotten out of it scot-free. “But Majima-nii-san… I never said she was Makimura Makoto-san.”
Majima froze. He stayed very still under his arm and wondered whether he’d be able to smother himself with it and pass out - or at least pretend that he had. But Kiryu had fought with him enough to know whether he was just faking.
“...Guess I was mistaken,” he mumbled, after a pause far, far too long.
“Nii-san - ”
“Too many drinks, y’know?” he went on, louder than before. “Brain’s all… alcohol. It was a mistake. I was jus’... mistaken.”
“Is there a reason why you’re pretending not to know Makoto-san?”
“There a reason why you’re so chummy with ‘er?” he growled back, before he could stop himself.
The silence in the moment that followed was painful.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit. This was a bad idea. This had been such a bad idea. Why had he gone drinking? Why didn’t he book it as soon as Kiryu came in? Why was he such a goddamn mess, so hopelessly hung up over a girl that… probably didn’t even remember him?
“Majima-nii-san…” said Kiryu, all too gently.
Majima started to laugh. At first, nothing but a few, rasping huffs. Then he turned onto his front, hunching over the counter as he broke into a full-blown cackle. He had to - if he didn’t, he’d probably cry.
He was just… so damn pathetic.
Kiryu only waited patiently for his laughter to subside, as if he knew that Majima needed to get it out. Wisely, he made no move to comfort him, no pat on the back, no hand on his shoulder. Just silence and space, until, finally, he settled down.
“Nii-san, towards Makoto-san, do you…?”
“Don’t finish that thought,” he snapped, finally turning to look at him. It was dark, and his vision was swimming. Even so, he could tell Kiryu wore a grim expression. Majima pinned him with his meanest glare - or tried to. “Jus’... don’t.”
Kiryu waited another moment, as though he were making sure Majima didn’t have anything else to say. Then he spoke again, asking quietly, “Were you the hitman?”
“What?”
“Makoto-san told me about someone who helped her,” he explained, and Majima could feel his pulse pick up. “A hitman sent to kill her… who chose to save her instead. She didn’t know anything about him, except that he spoke in Kansai-ben, and one of his eyes was totally destroyed.”
There was a lump forming in his throat. Majima swallowed it down and hunched even further, burying his head under his arms.
“She said one of her biggest regrets was that she never got to thank him,” Kiryu went on. “And… she asked me if I knew anyone like that.”
Majima felt his words wash over him with a pang. A strange, bitter longing pulled deep inside of his chest, luring his thoughts into dangerous territory. She’d asked about him? Was still asking about him?
Tears formed in his eye. He didn’t know or understand why and didn’t want to. Beneath the cover of his arms, Majima blinked them away. He remained silent.
“It was you, wasn’t it? Majima-nii-san.”
For a long, long moment, he wanted to deny it. Cling, desperately, to the last shreds of his own fabrication, because admitting it would mean dredging up all of the things he had tried so hard to bury.
“...You can’t tell her,” he said at last. Majima unfolded himself, sitting up straight on his stool so he could look Kiryu dead in the eye.
“Nii-san…”
He reached out and seized a fistful of Kiryu’s shirt, wrenching him closer. Nearly nose to nose, Majima spoke in a low, menacing voice, without any hint of inebriation. “If you tell her, I’ll kill you.”
Kiryu blinked twice, staring back at him without making any kind of reply.
“I’m serious,” Majima insisted, shaking him, “I will kill you.”
Slowly, Kiryu raised his hands in surrender, leaning backwards. His voice was solemn as he finally replied, “I won’t tell Makoto-san.”
Majima peered at him, trying to root out any hint of subterfuge - something difficult to do when his vision was still swimming with alcohol. Kiryu reached up and carefully pried himself from Majima’s grip, patting down the wrinkles that had formed on the front of his shirt. As if nothing had happened, he turned and flagged down the bartender, quietly placing another order. Majima was still glowering at him in suspicion, half-turned in his seat, when Kiryu finally glanced back at him. He only shook his head with a sigh.
“I won’t tell Makoto-san,” he repeated, sliding Majima a glass of water. “I promise.”
…
What a crock of shit that had been.
Majima was going to have to kill him. Not just because he’d broken his word, but so that Kiryu didn’t think he was the kind of guy who wouldn’t follow through when it counted. The next time he saw him, he was going to wring him by the neck and enjoy it. Next time.
Because he sure as hell couldn’t do it right now.
It was a good thing Makoto was partially blind and couldn’t see him trying to skewer Kiryu with a glare, because Majima was sure if she’d seen the murder in his eye, she would have turned tail and run. For his part, Kiryu at least had the decency to look nervous about it, even as he was barreling on and sealing his own fate.
“Makoto-san, this is Majima-nii-san. I… almost introduced you two the other day,” he said, gesturing with his arm towards Majima.
“Oh!” said Makoto, a hand leaving her cane to cover her mouth. “The man with the metal shoes.”
He barely clamped down on his instinctive, “Haw?” because Kiryu thankfully did it for him, double-taking as he glanced back towards Makoto. “Huh?”
She giggled behind her hand, and the sound was almost enough to distract Majima, explaining, “They must have metal or something on them, right? Your footsteps were very distinct. I’ve only heard footsteps like that a few times before.”
Panic spiked into his chest. He felt like he wanted to throw up, but - but maybe he was overthinking that statement. He couldn’t be the only guy in Japan who had a little metal on his shoes, right?
“My name is Makimura Makoto,” she went on, oblivious to his turmoil. Makoto bowed slightly, offering a gentle smile that made his insides flop. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Majima hesitated. Both of them were looking expectantly in his direction, but every sensible bone in his body was screaming at him to book it. He did it once, he could do it again - like everything else he had done to keep her safe. And really, how could Kiryu catch him if he sprinted, full-speed, into the next district? Hell, he could probably conjure up an excuse to skip town entirely until Kiryu let this - this crusade he’d gotten into his head die.
But then, in the prolonged silence, he saw Makoto’s smile start to falter, the corners of her mouth coming down as an element of worry, or… maybe hurt, crept its way in.
“The name is Majima,” he said at last - slowly, temperately, in smooth Tokyo-ben. “Nice to meet you, Makimura-san.”
Kiryu was squinting at him with an expression that fell somewhere between intense scrutiny and baffled disbelief, but Majima pointedly ignored him, watching Makoto carefully as her eyes widened. She furrowed her brows, tilting her head as if pondering. Majima swallowed, counting the seconds until she responded.
“Sorry to trouble you like this, Majima-san,” she finally said, expression smoothing out, and he allowed himself to relax, just a little bit… until his brain caught up to her words. “I’m very grateful.”
“Grateful?” he parrotted stupidly.
Kiryu coughed, loudly as if to cover up Majima’s voice, then asked, “Will you excuse us for a moment, Makoto-san?”
She barely had time to say, “Oh, of course,” before Kiryu pulled him away.
If he wasn’t so confused, Majima would’ve taken the opportunity to let Kiryu know exactly how he felt about the preceding sequence of events, but as it was he allowed himself to be huddled under an awning, away from Makoto, who was watching them curiously from the sidewalk. As soon as they were out of earshot, they both spoke at once.
“Majima-nii-san - ”
“Okay, first off, what the fuck - ”
Kiryu cleared his throat, glancing meaningfully in Makoto’s direction. Majima, resentfully, lowered his voice, hissing out, “I’m gonna kill ya, soon as she’s gone.”
“Nii-san, please believe me, I didn’t plan for anything like this,” he told him, words tumbling out in a rush. “I couldn’t think of anyone else. Sera-san entrusted me with this, but I think my boss caught wind. He keeps trying to pull me out on other jobs.”
“Sera entrusted ya with what, exactly?”
“With watching over Makoto-san,” answered Kiryu gravely. “I would’ve done it even without Sera-san’s request, but I can’t with my boss breathing down my neck.”
“Hold up, hold up,” he said, grabbing Kiryu by the shoulder. “Why the fuck is Sera still concerned with Makoto? She in danger again?”
“I… don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know any of the details. He only told me to watch over her while she was in Kamurocho.”
“Okay, an’ how long’s that gonna be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well what the fuck do you know?” Majima snapped.
Kiryu frowned, leveling him with a steady gaze. “I know that you’re the strongest person around who’ll protect her.”
Majima had to stop and gape at him - for the sheer audacity of what he was trying to pull. Not even two days after wrenching a confession out of him so painful it was like pulling teeth, and now here Kiryu was, jamming the knife back in his gums. What gave him the fucking nerve?
Into the pause left by his stupor came a low, rhythmic buzzing. Kiryu scowled, dipping his head down to check his pager. He quickly mashed in a response and then jammed it into his pocket, looking back to Majima.
“Listen, Nii-san, I really have to go. Please, I’m not asking you to do it yourself, but will you make sure Makoto-san is safe for now?”
Majima opened his mouth - halfway between an All right, fine and a Hell no - but Kiryu nodded at him, as if he’d already agreed, and dashed off before he could get out a single word. Majima stared after his retreating form, already sliding into shock as Kiryu disappeared into the crowd and left him behind. With Makoto.
Oh, he was definitely going to kill him.
Reluctantly, he turned back to look at her. Makoto was still standing patiently on the sidewalk. She had clearly given up on watching them and was facing away from him, looking at something in the distance. Majima swallowed again and shifted nervously on his feet, trying to decide if he was really, really about to do this.
Ah, hell.
He was. The alternative was leaving her on her own, vulnerable to anyone who meant her harm.
“Sorry for the wait,” he said as he returned to her side.
Makoto turned to face him, just about meeting his eyes. “It’s fine. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah - uh, yes. Kiryu had to go.” Majima cleared his throat, wondering why it felt so dry all of a sudden. “He caught me up to speed before he left. Sounds like you need a guard dog.”
“I… wouldn’t have said it like that,” she told him with a slight frown. “I just wanted to borrow a pair of eyes.”
It was probably for the best that he didn't tell her she was getting cheated on this swap, so he asked instead, “For what?”
Makoto blinked up at him in surprise. “Kiryu-san didn’t say? I’ve been looking at real estate here in Tokyo. I can mostly get by, but some things you just need to be able to see. That’s where you come in.”
“What’re you looking at real estate for?”
“I’m expanding my business,” she said, tapping her cane a few times in front of her before starting to walk. Majima hurried to follow, then slowed his stride to match hers. “It’s a massage parlor.”
“Oh, Ho - how interesting,” he said, inwardly kicking himself for his near-slip. If Makoto noticed, she didn’t show it. “So you’re opening another branch, or something like that?”
“That’s right. I’d been considering it for a while, and there ended up being a lull in my appointments, so it seemed like a good time to start scouting locations.”
“Any reason you’re looking in Kamurocho?” he asked, trying not to sound too interested - or too worried.
“It doesn’t have to be Kamurocho,” she answered, shaking her head. “I just decided to start here since the real estate is cheaper than it used to be, and I know some people.”
“But…” started Majima, before he could stop himself. Makoto tilted her head upwards in his direction, wordlessly prompting him to continue. “It’s not exactly safe, Kamurocho. It’s crawling with gokudo, you know?”
“So is Osaka,” she countered with a slight laugh, “but I’ve gotten by. And as I’ve been told, it’ll be easier to manage since Omi Alliance isn’t as strong here.”
“...Have they been giving you trouble? Omi Alliance.”
Makoto hummed, either not noticing his serious tone or choosing not to acknowledge it. “The first few times they tried collecting protection money, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. It was only once that I needed to get help from Sera-san.”
There was Sera’s name, coming up again. Why was he still involved with Makoto? Far as Majima had known, the extent of his interest in her had been the Empty Lot, and that was long gone. It couldn’t be that she was actually tied up in Tojo Clan business, could it?
Majima hesitated to ask, afraid it might come off as prying. The Makoto here and now was a much brighter, more self-assured Makoto than the one from years before, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything still swimming under the surface. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel like he was digging into her history, especially when she thought of him as basically a stranger.
“Do you mind telling me what your connection with Sera is?” he tried, settling on the least invasive phrasing he could come up with. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s just…”
“I actually thought it might be obvious when I introduced myself,” she answered easily enough, smiling wryly to herself. “Although I suppose it’s a good thing if that’s not the case. I… provided Sera-san with the last piece he needed for an important project. At great cost, you could say. So he’s been returning the favor ever since.”
What an incredibly mild way to sum up December 1988. He’d never have managed it. Although, it occurred to him - bitter and faint - that Makoto probably had plenty of experience sanitizing her past like that. The things she’d gone through could hardly come up in polite conversation, after all.
Still, that didn’t answer his real question. Majima knew full well how Makoto and Sera had been connected; what he really wanted to know was why they still were.
“So it’s extortion, then? Didn’t think anyone could put Sera on the ropes like that.”
Makoto laughed, probably just to gratify him. “Not exactly. He checks up on me every now and then and makes sure I don’t get harassed by yakuza anymore. That was his promise to me.”
This was the first he’d heard of it. Probably for good reason. Majima had his own thoughts about Sera and his trustworthiness, but at least in this regard he’d made good on his word. And if what Makoto was saying was true, it explained why Kiryu was having a shit time of it. Dojima was a rat bastard, but even he wouldn’t have given two shits about what Kiryu got up to as long as the money was still rolling in. With Sera in the picture however, what would’ve been a simple matter of escorting Makoto around had been turned into a petty power struggle, with Dojima trying to throw his weight around and exert the last vestiges of his waning authority as a tantrum against Sera’s inevitable ascension to chairman.
Distantly, Majima wondered if Sera had accounted for this outcome, if he’d known, predicted, or even intended for Kiryu to seek Majima out as his replacement. But the matter with Makoto would be small potatoes compared to whatever else he no-doubt had on his plate. Surely even someone as meticulous as Sera wouldn’t spare that much thought to it.
“Is that why he put a bodyguard on you here in Kamurocho?”
“Actually, I asked him for Kiryu-san’s contact info,” she answered, dropping his heart in his chest before lifting it right back up again with, “since he worked in real estate for a while. I thought he’d have a good eye for these things.”
“That’s all you wanted him for?” he asked incredulously. “Not even to keep trouble away?”
“It may not seem that way, but I can look after myself well enough,” she told him with a chuckle. “I’m blind, not helpless.”
“Right,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”
Even when she’d been totally blind, Makoto had never been helpless. After all, in Sotenbori, she’d fought and struggled hard against being carried away by no less than four men, hadn’t she? Buying him enough time to reach her. Underestimating her grit had been one of his biggest mistakes, back then - and it wasn’t one he was keen on making again.
“What about you, Majima-san?” asked Makoto, looking up towards him. “Since you’re acquainted with Kiryu-san and Sera-san, I assume you’re also part of the Tojo Clan?”
He felt oddly reluctant to admit to a thing that was not only true but had also never given him pause before. “Yeah.”
“Then I don’t suppose you know anything about real estate?” She stopped, looking this way and that, and so Majima stopped too. “We’ll be arriving at the first location soon.”
“Nah, not real estate,” he confessed. “But I do know business. Might be able to help you out on that front.”
“And,” she added, glancing up towards him with a somewhat teasing smile, “you’ve at least got a working set of eyes, right?”
“Yeah…” he said, trying not to sound too guilty. “Right.”
Obviously he’d failed, because Makoto squinted at him, as if trying to scrutinize his features. “Majima-san… is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No, of course not!” he replied in a panic. Majima coughed into his hand, trying to buy himself a moment. “It’s just… not many people would call me eagle-eyed is all.”
“Oh, is that all it is?” She sounded relieved, and he wondered what possibilities had popped into her head in that moment. “It’s fine as long as you can make out things like stains on the walls or cracks in the ceiling. Those are things I have a hard time seeing.”
“How much are you able to see now?” he wondered. Then, on further thought, he hastily added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Makoto glanced at him with an unreadable expression on her face, as if he’d said something strange. “I can make out light and shadow pretty well. Like with you, Majima-san, your outline is pretty clear to me, but it’s not as if I can see your face.”
“No colors?”
“When it’s bright out like this, I can start to distinguish some of them, but it’s blurry and a little dim. Like your jacket, I can tell it’s a sort of… tan color?”
Makoto reached out and brushed her hand along his sleeve, causing him to jump a meter in the air and stumble to a stop on the sidewalk. Makoto stopped as well, drawing her hand back to her chest and tilting her head as her face pinched in confusion.
“What an odd texture,” she muttered to herself, while Majima desperately tried to get his heart rate back down. Makoto, none the wiser, looked back up at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, that was rude, wasn’t it?”
“N-no, don’t worry about it,” he stammered back. “Just… give a guy some warning first.”
“Okay, I will,” she laughed, and it was such a carefree, unaffected sound that he felt his insides twist. “I’ve gotten so used to seeing with my hands, it’s a bad habit. You’ll have to let me know if it’s ever too much for you, all right?”
“Yeah,” he managed to say, wondering just how much trouble he’d gotten himself into. “All right.”
…