Chapter Text
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Katsugi (noun): shouldering, carrying, raising, bearing.
Katsugi is a noun form of katsugu, which means “to carry on your shoulder”. So in katsugi waza, you life your shinai towards your left or right shoulder instead of above your head.
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Akemi's outfit would be completely unacceptable back in Kyoto. Short, tight, blood red, her cleavage on full display-- Akemi looks nothing like either the dutiful Yakuza daughter or the med student overachiever that are the warring counterparts of her identity...
But it’s summer break, the first summer of Akemi's life that hasn't been filled with "family" functions or cram schools or internships. Next year, she'll begin her residency in Florida under a new name and a social security number she’d bought for a hefty price.
Even though she's spent the last eight years in New York, she's only been out maybe a dozen times, always at the behest of Ringo. It's not any different this time.
"You finally have some time to enjoy yourself. Live this life you worked so hard for," he'd said.
Ringo knows her better than anyone. Is the only person who's ever been able to change her mind– and Akemi has always been stubborn. Like her father.
The same stubbornness that had elevated the Tokunobu clan to the one of the four great Yakuza families in Japan is what allowed Akemi to escape it. She’d crossed an ocean so she could become the opposite of her father. Someone who helped people. A doctor.
Or, if she wanted, for just one night, an ordinary girl on her way to a club in a dress that was way too small and unsuitable for the weather. Ringo will let her borrow his leather jacket, and besides, he’s picking her up in his car. She can hear him honking the horn for her, so she steps out into the not quite warm spring air.
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The phone rings in the dim apartment, interrupting its owner as she sits at the table, a katana laid out beside a bottle of polishing oil. Sharpening stone in hand, she finishes the remaining strokes with a satisfying vibration, before wiping it down with a lambskin cloth.
She shakes her head and lets the answering machine pick up.
[ We are calling to inform you about your car’s extended warranty- ]
She growls and rolls her eyes. Try as she might to keep her status updated on Do Not Call lists, there’s always some scam or gaudy advert that weasels its way in.
She stands, tall and slender, then strides into the bedroom, where she picks up a pair of slacks, a button-down and suspenders, and heads into the bathroom. The club, O, would be opening up soon.
12AM
Lace-up boots splash in the shallow puddles of a recent rainfall, as footsteps carry her to the famed nightclub, O. Music spills out onto the streets from inside the three-story building, along with colorful and strobing lights. The orange lenses of her glasses filter everything.
Easily dodging a few drunken and unsteady passersby, she wears her sword inconspicuously at her hip. Any other night, such a weapon would draw much attention- but this event gives her a perfect alibi.
Walking past the entrance and into the back of the long line of patrons, she takes a deep breath and waits.
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“What’s the matter?” Akemi worriedly checks her makeup in Ringo’s sideview mirror. It nearly falls off when she tries to adjust it.
“I told you. It’s a masquerade.”
She notices that Ringo is wearing a mask, not what she’d presumed to be a hat, on his head. Probably so he can focus on driving.
Akemi shrugs.
“So what? They’ll have masks there, won’t they?”
Ringo sighs heavily, then gives her a once over. “Take off your stocking.”
“What? No!”
Ringo folds his arms, his prosthetic hooks resting on each bicep. “Trust me. I’m the fashion student.”
Akemi sighs and reluctantly hikes up her skirt in order to unhook her garter belt.
Ringo’s voice startles her. “Are you wearing a fucking knife?”
Akemi looks up and blinks. Right. Ringo doesn’t really see this side of her that often. “Just in case,” she says, then slides her fishnet stocking down her leg.
Ringo shakes his head. “What about security?”
“What about security? O just has four bouncers at the door. They're not going to pat me down. They don't have cameras. There's not even typically anyone at the back.”
“Who checks that kind of thing?!”
Akemi shoots him a warning look. He knows about her family, but he doesn’t. He’s from Kyuushu. “Let me have my little ways, Ringo. We’ve talked about this.” A bit too much, for Akemi's taste. It’s a subject she lacks patience in. She peels her stocking off and and hands it over to Ringo, then moves to take the other one off– but Ringo stops her.
“I only need one.”
“What? I’m not going to wear one stocking–”
“Rip it up in a couple places, it’ll look good.” Ringo reaches into the compartment between him and exchanges his hook prosthetic for a knife prosthetic– a shearing knife, to be exact. Akemi watches him work, but the mess of material in his hands makes no sense to her. She looks down at her remaining stocking, on her right leg, and takes Ringo’s advice. Worst case scenario, she’ll just get rid of the garment.
But it ends up looking good. And Ringo has fashioned a long rectangle of fabric out of the fishnet. He hands it to Akemi. She uses the mirror– which is now definitely tilted– as a guide. She wraps the cloth around her eyes. The strings of thread in front of her eyes are unexpectedly non-occlusive. It looks surprisingly appropriate– modern– but it also clearly fulfills the dress code.
It takes three tries for Ringo to get the car started, but his car always starts on the third try. The day it doesn’t it when Ringo says he’ll finally give up the jalopy he’s had since he came to the States. He parks it far away from the blazing pink O that towers above the club.
Outside of his. car, Ringo looks chic, his suit avant garde and deconstructed, his prosthetics a complement. His mask is similarly deconstructed. With Akemi by his side, a promoter scouts them and takes them to the front of the line.
It’s been a really long time since Akemi’s been on display. Ever since she got to university, she’s been in either sweats or suits, depending on the occasion. It was a deliberate choice, a rejection of everything her father had raised her to be—a beautiful thing, a possession to be leveraged or sold.
The old posture comes back like muscle memory, spine straight, head inclined just so, a graceful step. She attracts attention, especially in a crowd of Americans, especially next to Ringo, who looks like her fancy bodyguard. Especially since they’ve been chosen by the promoter to bypass the line.
Akemi’s eyes flicker over—everyone is wearing masks, half the crowd is in costume. You’d never see this sort of thing in Japan, except for maybe Harajuku. It’s too extra. Maybe that’s why the wolf in black catches her eye. As soon as she really looks, she realizes she’s caught their eye, too.
Everything stops, and turns blue—ice blue. The eyes are so bright she can see them even from here, even in the silver lines of a lupine mask. The eyes are the only part Akemi can see. The snarling muzzle of the mask makes the eyes look animal, predatory.
The figure is long, and slim, suited in sharp black lines. Perhaps it’s the posture that stops Akemi—no, it’s more like a stance. It makes sense, because the man is wearing a sword.
And staring right at her, like he knows her, like he knows more about her than she knows about herself. Akemi turns as she walks by, unable to let go of those eyes—until Ringo calls her name, and she realizes they’ve gotten too far ahead of her—she rushes after them, towards the entrance of the club.
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The looming neon O bathes the street in a pink glow.
The line moves surprisingly fast for how many patrons are ahead of her, yet Mizu’s patience is quietly waning. Club-goers begin putting on their masks, if they aren’t already eagerly donning them, complimenting each other on their outfits. Mizu is particular about her appearance and is almost always dressed to the nines in any public appearance. She doesn’t have anyone to dress for but herself, and takes a quiet pride in it.
Deft fingers detach the wolf mask from her hip, while her other hand removes the glasses from her eyes as she slips it on. She was lucky enough to find it at a specialty costume shop- it looked much more elegant than most of the novelty items there, and stylish enough not to feel too ridiculous. What’s more, it complimented her dark silhouette as much as any costume could. The shape settled comfortably against her face, a matte black visage dusted with traces of silvery blue. Mizu hadn’t grown up in very social settings, despite dealing with large swathes of people in her line of work. She takes a private delight in the opportunity to remain anonymous.
Even more so, given the task at hand. She’s waited years for this opportunity. Years of gaining information here and there, years of dead ends and trickles of clues, and then… everything is finally coming together, so beautifully orchestrated that it almost feels too easy. Especially to someone like Mizu, ever the skeptic.
Weeks ago– after mercenary jobs were cleared from her schedule and she was able to revisit a long-held personal vendetta– Mizu had tracked down a stateside associate of the Tokunobu clan. Through careful investigation, Mizu unearthed a trail of information on the only daughter of the bastard Lord Daichi.
The temptation to capture and torture the associate was strong, and Mizu could have probably pulled it off. But she wanted to strike closer to Daichi’s heart, and pride.
Akemi. The little princess was privileged enough to travel stateside and pursue an education, the records showed. With clean hands and a clear mind. Perhaps Daichi let her leash out so that she could be sated on her thirst for knowledge, fattening herself in self satisfaction. It was impressive, really.
And the demon in Mizu was that much more eager to strip her of that opportunity.
She’s going to make make his daughter’s life hell, and when she’s finished with her, she ‘s going to draw out her father.
Mizu and Daichi are both sinners, but she intends to make the oyabun of the Tokunobu clan pay for his in full. Mizu is fairly insensitive to greed and corruption in the world, but that bastard was responsible for the collapse of her personal corner of the universe.
She slips her glasses into her pocket, straightens, and stares ahead, letting out a light sigh as she observes everything around her. She cultivates an air of vague disinterest.
She feels, before seeing, the woman who would walk past in just a moment, a fire beginning to smolder in her breast. The loud call of a promoter signals everyone to make way, leading a chosen few past the velvet ropes and weaving through those loitering outside of the line.
Mizu turns without thinking, eyes drawn like a magnet. Locked onto a gaze darker than hers, yet bright with recognition and… just as tethered to Mizu herself as she is to those eyes.
A young woman whose face had stared back at her from low-res photographs on the four walls of her apartment a thousand times before… now it was here, in the flesh, not even five feet away.
In that moment, it feels like she knows. Mizu is not often unnerved, and she tells herself she isn't now, knowing it is a half truth at best as her posture goes rigid, her breath catching in her chest.
She sees in those eyes, opportunity… and, something she cannot yet put a name to. Yet.
And just like that, the spell is broken. She’s staring at the back of her head til it disappears into the crowd.
Mizu blinks, and stills the urge to bolt somewhere to find a back entrance. That would be guarded as well, especially on a night like this.
No matter.
Her prey is in the four walls of the club, and that is more than enough for her purposes.
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Akemi wishes she’d brought earplugs. It's way too loud in this club. It's impossible to hear anything Ringo is saying– she keeps shaking her head at him when he talks. Finally, he makes a drinking motion with his hands, and Akemi nods.
She looks around her as she waits for Ringo. American girls don't dance like Japanese girls– they sweat under the lights, let their makeup run down their faces. Mizu stares at them, a little transfixed. It's raw, muscle under skin… beautiful.
She remembers those eyes, the dark figure in line, wonders if she'll see him in here. Wonders if he’ll hunt her down.
But then, Akemi’s never been into men. So she shakes off that too-long look, accepts a drink from Ringo, and studies the crowd, trying to figure out how to move so she at least didn't stand out like a sore thumb.
It’s so loud, she can feel, not just hear the music. That helps a little– hard not to keep the rhythm when it’s in your bones. The second she and Ringo enter the crowd, it’s not an option not to dance. So she does her best. At first, she imitates the people around her– then she starts to get it, the way the shoulders go, the hip rolls, the beat– she and Ringo are ensconsed by dancers, and have both done very well not losing their drinks.
Ringo toasts Akemi, and she toasts him back. They dance, mostly with each other, but they open themselves to everyone around them… Akemi has a low-key goal of going home with someone, but being a femme Asian woman makes it hard to go home with who she wants to– white guys in particular tend to get in Akemi’s way.
Not even fifteen minutes in and some guy in a tiger mask is dominating her attention. It doesn't really matter. If she ends up dancing the night away with Ringo, it’ll be the most fun she's had since she remembers.
Besides, the guy’s a pretty decent dancer– she's pretty sure he's foreign, maybe Asian like her, from his movements. He doesn't get into her space, like the Americans. When she copies his movements, he smiles.
Ringo’s been distracted by some girl. Akemi shrugs, follows tiger mask into the crowd– when he goes to place a hand on her waist, she stops it with a hand on his wrist– the dancer takes the hint, thankfully. Seemed to only be pulling her to guide her–
Tiger mask bends closer to Akemi’s ear– she hears: “too loud” and nods in agreement, and follows him off the dance floor. When he guides her down a corner and gestures towards a door, she shrugs. She’s not about to follow a stranger into an unoccupied room at the club. So she just looks at what the door reveals, curious.
The thing is, it's a billiards room. And pool is s Akemi’s weakness. Pool halls were the center of the best and most peaceful times of her childhood.
And she’s damn good at it.
“Wanna play?” Akemi asks the stranger in the tiger’s mask. She realizes she hasn't heard him speak yet.
She heads over to me the row of pool cues anyways. Picks her stick, heavy and short. “Come on,” says Akemi. “Bet you a hundred bucks I'll win.”
“No need to bet,” says the man in the tiger mask. Akemi freezes. She knows that voice– but he’s taking his tiger mask off. “I know you'll win.”
“Taigen,” gasps Akemi.
He’s so different than he was the last time she'd seen him, a high school senior, with a school appropriate haircut, a slimmer physique, and clear skin.
A tattoo of a dragon pokes out of his t-shirt, a nod to the family business–her family business. He’s thick with long-hewn muscle. His hair is long– he wears it in a top knot. He's wearing exactly the kind of shiny suit they used to make fun of when they were young.
It makes sense. He’s her father’s wakagashira now, his second-in-command. The day he told Akemi he was going to work for her father was the last day they spoke.
“Taigen,” Akemi repeats. “What are you doing here?”
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It’s as chaotic inside as expected. Knowing her target is so close, while she’s held up by the crowd, feels like drowning. Mizu keeps her stoic facade as the crowd draws nearer to the bouncers, but she feels something start to stoke the anxious spark inside of her into a fire.
She makes it past the entryway before it ignites. Past the first bar the club opens up to a vast dance floor, nearly every inch of it covered with people. The music pulses in her ears and in her ribcage. Partygoers bump her shoulders as they skirt past.
If she desired, Mizu could cut them all down. It would make her mission easier. But that wouldn’t be the thing to do. Especially knowing that Yakuza from the Tokunobu clan could be nearby. Mizu was more than efficient at tracking, but it would be foolish not to assume that others could be tracking her.
Stopping at the corner of the second, bigger bar, she backed into a small pocket of space to gather herself. Her heart was racing. Every time she blinked she saw those imploring eyes.
Mizu’s eyes squeezed shut as if to wrench it from her vision, and she took a deep breath. Held it for a few seconds. She imagined the anxiety within her (a rare element for the swordswoman) as flecks of golden dust in her lungs, swirling around. And with a slow and thorough exhale, she breathed out, through the snarling maw of the wolf. She opened her eyes, and steadily scanned the crowd, patrons moving together like some giant beast.
A hand traced her shoulder. Gripping her sword, she declined to sheathe it as she turned, meeting the masked face of a woman dressed as an exotic bird.
“Hello handsome, can I buy this wolf a drink?” She was forward, only looking to flatter. Mizu’s eyes stared dully back and she calmly brushed the woman’s wrist away. Words weren’t needed; it was too damn loud in here anyway.
She would start on the outside, scanning outlines, silhouettes framed by the strobing lights and swirling colors. This may take a while, and patience was needed now more than ever. Mizu was never sloppy, but she felt the potential, the eagerness as a beast breaking its containment. If anything could make her trip, it was Akemi.
Standing with her back against the wall, she caught sight of the taller companion that was with her when they headed to the front. Gaze sharpened, and she saw her. Talking to a man wearing a gaudy suit and a tiger mask. The body language read that she did not know him, but she was apparently interested enough to follow him. Mizu held her breath as she watched, where they soon disappeared into a hallway, no doubt to another room within. Mizu straightened, grip tightening on her sword. Her eyes narrowed, and she followed. There was no need to rush now. She would tread carefully, with the surety that each step would carry her further to her task.
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Akemi can’t help it—she’s glad to see Taigen. After all, he was her oldest friend, her childhood sweetheart who didn’t hold it against her when she figured out she was gay, kept her secret for her—even after he joined her father, even now. He gives her one of his old bear hugs, lifting her off the floor—even with five inch heels on, Taigen still towers over Akemi.
“I thought you were supposed to be in med school,” teases Taigen, gesturing at Akemi’s club wear.
“I thought you were supposed to be committing crime with my father,” says Akemi, folding her arms. She’ll always love Taigen, but the old betrayal still rankles. Half their friendship had been dreaming their way out of the world they were born into. She’d even had a plane ticket ready for him. It would have been that easy, not to become a scumbag like her father.
The smile has long since faded from Taigen’s face. There’s something new in the set of his features. Akemi has a good guess about some of the things he must have done by now. He sighs, and blinks, and all of the sudden, his eyes are completely cold. “He wants you back.”
All of the sudden, Akemi knows it’s very important to pay attention. “We have a deal,” she says. Not one she intends on keeping. And, apparently, not one her father intends on keeping, either.
She looks around. Only the one door, and the windows are too high for her to access before Taigen can get to her.
Taigen shakes his head. “Not anymore. Your father’s brokered a merger with the Ito clan. You’re a doctor, like you wanted. He did his duty to you. Now it’s time for you to do your duty.”
Akemi has been dodging her “duty” since she was 13 years old, when it was obvious that she was going to be beautiful. The only thing that kept Tokunobu from selling her off was the idea that a virginal, well-educated wife was more valuable than a whore he could use to placate his contacts with, like his friends did with their daughters.
Akemi had insisted that her education be overseas. She had a whole new identity waiting for her in Florida. She wonders if there was a leak, if this is why her father’s making his move now.
Akemi backs away from Taigen. There’s a door set in between the empty bookshelves that line one wall of the billiards room. “If I say no?” she says, eyes flickering towards the door they’d come in through.
“I’ve got two guys waiting on the other side of that door. Twenty three more in the club.”
Akemi nods. “So you were expecting a fight, huh?”
“There’s more going on than you know. You have eyes on you. Your father wants you back under his protection.”
Akemi laughs bitterly. “You actually believe this bullshit now, don’t you?”
Taigen shakes his head, has the audacity to give her a pitying look. “You know how this game is played, Akemi.”
At that moment, they’re both interrupted by a shout and a crash coming from the other side of the door. After a beat, the door crashes open.
The man from outside—the wolf, the one who’d been standing in line, the one who’d been staring at her— steps into the room, utterly calm despite the fact that there are bodies behind him—Taigen’s men. He steps into the room, and brandishes a blood-covered sword, pointing it at Taigen.
The swordsman speaks in Japanese, in an oddly musical voice. “She’s coming with me.”
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The second she turns into the hall, she spots the two men in well-fitted suits, the blades at their sides similar to hers. Mizu’s hackles raise, and she draws her blade. Unmistakable Yakuza. She wonders how many may have infiltrated the club.
The question is, are they for Akemi’s protection, or to kill her, or something else? Something in Mizu’s chest leaps as the thought crosses her mind– what a terrible irony it would be if her chance at revenge was lost like that– an image flashes in her mind, the woman’s body splayed on the floor, red dress stained with a darker red.
Focus.
The guards step in front of the door, hands reaching for their weapons. One manages to shout a warning into the inconspicuous earpiece that he wears, his eyes wide. She cuts in high wide arc, slicing through their tracheas and external carotid arteries before they can attack– before they can say anything further.
The door is locked. She severs the handle and thrusts to crush the mechanism inside, then delivers a strong kick to take care of the rest.
Mizu finds Akemi inside. Shocked, of course. She’s still alive.The man is leaning toward her, but he straightens defensively as Mizu walks inside. A trickle of blood that is not her own runs down the ridge of her mask. Her sword–its blade a brilliant blue, covered in red– raises and points to him. A drop falls onto the pool table that sits between them.
“She’s coming with me.”
The man steps forward with his weapon, his proud chest out, waist coiled. He’s tense. A juxtaposition with Mizu’s controlled but open stance. Mizu notices the shape of his tattoo, peeking out from between the open buttons of his shirt and recognizes it immediately.
Tokunobu.
Her eyes narrow and her head lowers like a predator.
He opens his mouth to retort, but Mizu disregards it as unimportant. Futile.
Mizu watches carefully. It’s often predictable that her opponents make the first strike, and she is waiting for just that.
But the next to move is neither Mizu’s, nor the man’s.
A knife flashes behind him in the flourescent light, Akemi’s pale fingers curled tightly around the handle. It happens quickly, her features twisted into something vicious as she sinks it into his body.
“I do know how this game is played, Taigen.”
Mizu’s eyes widen in surprise. Daichi’s prized daughter is dangerous. Heavy footfalls crowd the doorway, and she feels Akemi turn with her in unison as more Yakuza rush in, weapons ready.