Work Text:
“Yakuza. What does one think when they hear that? No, that sounds cliché.”
Kiryu sighed into his hands and looked up to his suit hanging on the opposite wall, nightlife stealing glimpses at the rise of a dragon.
Tomorrow’s the day, huh?
He shrugged on his suit, looking himself over in the mirror. He wanted to believe he's mature enough to handle this. He even told Kazama that he was ready and wanted to dream big.
But he was still a kid. Eighteen does not magically make him a dragon.
Experience and time does. Nishiki didn’t get it.
He sighed, “Mom...You taught me to have a love for books when I was young. I later discovered the peach kid book in my pocket when the day happened. You wrote in it that you will always love me and my love for books. Yet…”
He glanced at his night stand. On it, a dejected excuse of a notebook. It was a strange one, he observed, as he ran his fingers along the spine. The cover was normal. Weathered brown, one that felt of water, salt, and...ketchup? A dark red smudge was at the corner cover that waved to the ceiling.
-
Majima tossed it at him, when they met in Shibuya for the first time (over cans of tomato juice that Majima bought). He said nothing to Kiryu as they both silently sipped their drinks, and before he realized it, a notebook whacked Kiryu’s forehead. The Japanese yakuza, eventual-pirate, chuckled, walked into the Shibuya crowd, with a hand waved back and yelled, “Y’know...this world sucks.”
...Kiryu, at any rate, rifled through the blur of ink and pages. Japanese dialects? He recognized one as Okinawan. No, wait, there were some in languages he had never seen before, in big curving loops. A dialect of English that looked alien. He ran his fingers down the trenches of ink, curved in time. Huh, that was a good one. Kiryu nodded to himself.
One of the Japanese entries that he could read said, “Take me to a world where I belong.” Kiryu wasn’t sure who this was. Maybe he should add his own entry to this. He got a pen from his tailored suit and wrote on a blank page, “Where do I belong?” Purple lights outside lit up his question.
No, that’s not what it wants to hear. He slammed the book down next to his hanged-up suit and heard pounding, laughter, and...carrots? He didn’t hear that... he smelled carrots. Next to his suit, a wooden door appeared.
….In the most nauseating shade of pink. Sakura pink. On that day, mom...
“Hrngh.” Kiryu picked up the book, left his suit behind, and walked in groaning, “I hate this world too, Majima.”
-
“Rice Shower! See you tomorrow, OK?!”
A sakura-pink girl with long ears sticking out of her head was waving at a black haired girl with...a hat clipped over one eye?
Mom, maybe I should stop picking up random books.
Kiryu found himself behind a tree, witnessing a bizarre scenario of girls racing around a horsetrack, and then hours passed by of him watching the pink haired girl watch everyone else pass by. She was waving from her bench cheering each of them on, and as each girl passed by, they smiled. There was something behind those smiles.
“Hm. I see.” Kiryu said.
-
As the last girl galloped away, the pink haired girl got up and perked her ears up.
“One….two more kilometers. No, they can’t hear me anymore.” She said with a bright smile.
Kiryu whispered, “Hear wha-”
“WAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
He grabbed his head and ears and saw that the girl was hunched over the grass wailing and beating the turf at the same time. Honestly, it was impressive.
Was I...like that too when I asked Kazama?
The girl hiccuped, “I JUST….I JUST….WAAAAA!”
Her crying became louder until she heard footsteps approaching. She rubbed her eyes fast, took a sip of her water bottle, and folded her face to smile, “Oh, Ojisan! Were you here to watch the others race today?”
“You really expect me to ignore that ghastly wail?!” Kiryu exasperated.
-
“Here.” Kiryu handed Haru (he learned her name was Haru after trying to persuade and calm her down for an hour amid the newest soon-Yakuza provoked wailing...and punching the grass again) a canned carrot juice, the woman on the front was a horsegirl smiling with pride over her carrot. He was surprised to see that his yen worked in this world.
“So, are you OK to talk about what happened?” Kiryu gently said, like a father.
“Sniff.” Haru let the hiss out of her can and chugged. She hiccuped and coughed, nearly reversing her drink, which was her cue to speak.
“I never won a race. Ever.” Haru sighed.
Kiryu remained silent, watching sunset touched clouds go by.
If I speak, she might start crying again!...I’m still listening, Haru!
“I ran, in so many races... I have all these fans cheering for me to win one. Just one!” Haru pointed a finger to Kiryu’s face, breaking his cloud concentration, and nodded quickly, “But...I keep disappointing everyone...Myself. I want to be like Symboli Rudolf, Spe-chan. Heck...Anyone!.. I just….” Haru started wailing in her hands and hiccuping between her fingers, “I don’t want anyone to see me sad because...that means I gave up.”
“Ah...so that’s why he wrote that.” Kiryu said, shaking his head.
“Ojisan?”
“To show emotions, to family and friends. It’s hard, isn’t it?” Kiryu looked down at the grass.
Haru sniffed, “Yeah, because on Neigh, people don’t want you to trauma dump.”
“Neigh? Trauma dump?” Kiryu said while scrunching his brows.
“Oh, it’s a place where people talk and share ideas, Ojisan,” Haru took out her phone and scrolled through her feed while Kiryu looked on...deadpanned. Is this the future? Why do I get a sinking feeling?
“But, on there, people say that it’s best to be on your own two hooves, to make it on your own. If you talk about your problems, no one cares, but a photo of a carrot parfait makes everyone want to feel happy for you.” Haru sighed while putting her phone away, “I just….want to win one time. One time for people to be genuinely happy and not be like, ‘Always next time, Haru-chan!’ But I want it now though!” Haru screamed into her hands again.
A small muffled voice broke through her hands, “What if...one day, I just decide, I shouldn’t be here anymore?”
“Haru…” Kiryu awkwardly put her a hand on her shoulder, occasionally patting her head while she continued to hiccup and ruin his shirt with snot and tears.
“But you know, Haru-chan,” Kiryu directed Haru away from him and pointed to the field, “I was watching you since that girl, what was her name? Lice Shower? No? Well, anyway, when she left, I saw her face. It looked like she was sad when you told her you were OK. Those girls, you were cheering them on, and they all smiled at you. Do you know why they smiled like that?”
“‘This fucking dumb horse thinks she can race like the rest of us?’” Haru mocked, brows creased, in a way that would make Gold Ship proud.
He was not expecting that and stared dumbfounded at Haru’s sudden persona.
“What?”
“What?” Haru snickered, smoothing her creases with a sunny smile.
Kiryu put a firm hand on Haru’s shoulder and said, “Haru, can you imagine how it is for someone that wants to help you, but you don’t let them in?”
Haru shook her head.
“This world,” Kiryu waved his hand over the race track again, “is not meant to be experienced alone. When someone refuses their help, it makes everyone feel lonely, not just the sad person.”
Haru sniffed and took out her phone, “But on Neigh-”
“Haru-chan, listen to me.” Kiryu knelt in front of her looking straight into her eyes. Sakura shaped iris?
“You have to make your own opinions first before accepting anyone else’s thoughts. Otherwise, you will lose who you are as a person.”
Haru’s mouth opened slightly. His eyes...are super serious.
“Don’t live life like the rest. That will separate you from the herd.” Kiryu said while getting up and started to walk away back to the pink door.
He heard a muffled grunt and felt a thud on his back as Haru hug tackled him. “Thanks, Ojisan.”
“Oh, Ojisan!” Haru hollered just before Kiryu turned the knob of Haru’s door, “Come back when I’m just about to win a race, OK?” She grinned a winning smile. Kiryu would never forget that image, how could he? That smile was the reason he survived in prison in the future.
-
Narrator:
He barely knew his parents. Yakuza ran away, checking their backs as they screamed that they would never forget this.
What did they look like? Their voices? Their skulls were perfectly fine and not dented.
Were they kind? Mean? “Haruka? Where did you go?”
Parents that involve themselves in their kids’ lives are not afraid to show their true emotions, developing them into mature adults later in life. “Didn’t Haru-chan say she liked karaoke too?” They have seen frustration, sadness, happiness. Hope. “I….really should eat these carrots.” They knew exactly what each of these emotions meant when someone else experienced them.
‘“Only open the door if Haru, the horsegirl, is about to win.”’ The line was added directly under “Take me to the world where I belong” request.
How Kiryu navigated himself after leaving Sunshine Orphanage for the first and last time, over a dozen kids saved, and counting, managed to put on a smile, and tucked a small worn brown book in his pocket...
The cheerful pink door stood against the beach cliff.
It was not a miracle that he had empathy.
Kiryu Kazuma exited this life for a Japan that needed him.
It was a journey to an obvious end.
A can of carrot juice glided towards Haru’s hands as she finished her first live concert.