Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Handler liked to compare him to a supernova.

Statistically almost impossible to exist, outshining his compatriots at every turn. His every move, every target, every crimson drenched body caused rippling effects through society. An interplanetary being emitting gravitational waves. There were many a comparison to be made and Handler liked to find a new one after every completed mission, a cosmic praise hanging on the man’s tongue, ready to be delivered upon completion.

And all Satoru Gojo had to do to receive it, all he ever did in his life, was complete the mission.

He had four forgettable years of his life before he met Handler. The man had been tall then, looming over the white haired toddler cursed with those seemingly glowing blue eyes. Satoru had outgrown the man steadily through the years, but it never felt as if he could escape the man’s shadow. Handler would always loom over him. Training and education had arrived in his life hand-in-hand, filling his days with monotony of knowledge and the agony of learning fighting style after fighting style. He hadn’t been alone. Handler oversaw his progress, but he had classes with other instructors.

And the other recruits.

That’s what they called them back then. Recruits. As if children below then had made the decision themselves to trade their home for hell, warm kisses for harsh blows. In his first year, Satoru learnt the lesson quicker than others. Silence and obedience would ensure survival. Learning that lesson kept him alive the first year. It kept him going when the first recruit buckled under the pressure and was taken for reconditioning. It kept him going in his third year when he saw failed escape attempt after failed escape attempt. It kept him going when he completed his first official mission and returned to Handler with the head of a foreign attaché in his duffel bag and confidential files in his free hand.

Silence and obedience saw Satoru fly past the other recruits in little to no time. The instructors were pleased, Handler especially so. Satoru was his pet project, the one that he plucked from a family that was apparently important but not enough for Satoru to have any memories of. Rather, his memories were full of enemy weaknesses, contingency plans, ways to fashion any item into a weapon. He followed orders given, never letting himself think too much into what he was tasked with. You simply remain silent and obey.

Questions meant reconditioning.

Mission after mission had sent Satoru across the world, from a poisoning in the hustling raucous rooms of Wall Street to going into hiding for a week in the silent contemplative Himalayas. But now he was home, in Japan. It was one of the very few things he knew of his own past, something that couldn’t easily be wiped or doctored by Handler and his bosses. When he had arrived at the airport, it was somewhat disconcerting to see so many faces like his own, but also to stand out amongst them all. Bright blue eyes and even brighter white hair standing out like a lightning bolt amidst a sky of inky black strands.

But he powered through, making his way from the shipping dock to the hotel room arranged by the organisation. He had no expectations, having been sent to five star rooms and carved out holes in rancid alleys, so Satoru was pleasantly surprised to find a simple but cosy room. There was a single bed with blue bedding tucked into the right corner next to the door, and on the opposite wall was a mounted TV. Beside it was a door, presumably to the bathroom but Satoru paid it no mind.

He had to prepare.

Gently placing his duffel bag on the bed, he opened it up and pulled out his dossier. The pay for the mission had far exceeded his previous jobs, and Handler had mentioned that they only had two possible candidates who could be expected to complete the mission. Satoru had been one of them and the Handler had been the other. That was enough to surprise him, although Satoru knew his Handler was exceptionally talented despite retiring to oversee Satoru’s training. He was the man’s apprentice and protégé as much as the man was his instructor and keeper. But Handler had declined the mission, stating Satoru was performing better than Handler had in his prime. It was enough to convince Satoru to accept the mission. Not that he had the option to refuse.

Ripping open the binding, Satoru carefully laid out the sheets of the dossier onto the bed, his eyes skimming over the mess of symbols and glyphs in varying Cyrillic and Hanja. It was one of the organisations many codes they had in motion, each one relevant to varying levels of intelligence. It had been a while since Satoru had come across this particular code and cipher, the last time involving a dead baker, a poisoned batch of muffins and adverting a coup that would’ve led to nuclear war.

That’s how the organisation worked. Coded orders dispatched to the person with the most applicable skill set. Orders to take out simple, innocuous targets whose death would advert the most cataclysmic of events. Rarely ever did they work in a manner of public scrutiny and awareness. Even Satoru didn’t know the name of the organisation or Handler. If captured, there was little to nothing Satoru could divulge, even if they managed to wear him down enough. His tenth year had been very in depth on surviving torture and negotiation tactics.

Satoru sat himself cross legged on the bed, slowly decoding the pages as he read through them, the orders becoming more and more clear. And now he knew why this order was so sensitive. It was against the playbook. A prominent figure.

Satoru had heard of Uzumaki Inc., you would have to have been a hermit to not have heard of the notorious company. On paper, they were a multi-avenue production company, making anything from the newest satellite technology to irrigation systems that improved farming. Recently they had begun to buy up building space in many major metropolitan areas, hinting at a new branch of the company focused on the entertainment industry, with some news columns hinting at the company somehow opening up film studios despite it being a completely different business model to their previous avenues.

But in whispers and hushed conversations, Uzumaki Inc. had a very different reputation. Racketeering, bribery, arms dealing and numerous accounts of violent crimes, most recently was the casino fire in Las Vegas two months ago. Authorities had ruled it as arson, and Uzumaki Inc. had secured a seven figure settlement in insurance. Handler and the organisation was growing worried that Uzumaki Inc. was upsetting the balance of power. And they weren’t the only ones. Satoru had overheard conversations of lesser recruits having to eliminate splinter cells of the organisation as a means of testing the recruits abilities and taking down threats. Two birds with one stone.

Either way, Uzumaki Inc. were growing in prominence and if they cornered more of the market, it would be harder and harder for the organisation to operate in the shadows without the two somehow butting heads. So Satoru had been assigned the simple mission of taking out the new head of Uzumaki Inc., despite the man’s newfound fame.

And the man heading up the new suspicious but successful change, was the previous owners son.

Satoru wasn’t naïve enough to be unaware of his own body and interests. Many of his missions had strayed from the blade and bullet and fell into the realm of seduction and honeypots. He knew what he liked, and how to fake it when he was disgusted. It wasn’t hard for Satoru to become whatever his partner wanted. He knew his features were aesthetically pleasing, and when paired with Satoru’s analytical mind, he could become the dream of any target. But he never felt the same way for the target. Never had any of them stirred a single feeling in him.  

But then he looked at the image of his target, at fox-like purple eyes and long inky black hair cascading down broad shoulders.

Suguru Getou, CEO of Uzumaki Inc., and the next target of Satoru Gojo.

This would be an… interesting mission.

Chapter Text

After his countless years performing missions, Satoru had developed a routine to maximise a successful outcome. It was simple but necessary to observe the target prior to confronting them. Learn about their behaviours, places they visit commonly and places they don’t want people knowing they go to. Understanding the things that make them tick, what incites anger and what draws a tear. Learn their secrets and terrors, their joys and sorrows. The more you know about the target, the easier it will be to take them out. It was typically a simple task. Even when his targets were more renowned or powerful than others, they rarely worked in circles so similar to Satoru. There were always blind spots for Satoru to hide in or weaknesses for Satoru to exploit.

But the more research he did and the more he read, the less and less that Satoru felt his target was like his previous ones. Educated at the finest institutes money could afford, somehow trained in more fighting styles than Satoru. While Satoru was lithe and nimble, the target was broad and built. While Satoru would happily hide out in a twisted maze of vents and acrobatically descend to strike, the target looked like he could enter a room through the door and still take the enemy down alone. A bullet versus a bulldozer. He had graduated university and immediately begun working for Uzumaki Inc., and only two years later, had been announced the CEO after his father’s passing.

The more he looked into it, the less Suguru trusted the situation. Cursory internet searches would tell you that the previous CEO allegedly suffered from liver issues in the last few years of his life before finally succumbing to liver failure. The man could easily have afforded a donor liver but apparently had refused. Looking deeper however, through short conversations with contacts and informants, Satoru begun to put the picture together.

A prescription for untested medicine, bought under a fake name.

Accounts where money had been slowly moved about.

Geto had stolen the company out from his father’s nose and then murdered the man. Satoru would be shocked if he wasn’t so impressed with the plan. Nothing seemed out of place. To the common investigator, it truly was a natural death. But Satoru was at least sixty three percent certain in his own conclusion, and part of him wanted to find out more, to get to at least eight two. But the mission took precedence.

It was time to move past the simple stage of research.

It was time for observation.

---

Most of what Satoru knew about human interaction had come from his time performing observation. Handler had introduced him to this side of his job when he was around thirteen. Beforehand, he’d been relegated to training and only coming in to deliver the final blow after the information gathering had completed. But Handler had deemed him ready to learn the finer arts of the trade and Satoru had soaked it up like a wet sponge. From his first time, he knew the world was so different than he expected.

Louder. More colourful. So, so bright and colourful. Often, when he was younger, the immense exposure to the constant stimulation had left him with migraines so fierce he wavered enough in training for the other recruits to finally land blows on him. That’s when the glasses had been introduced. Most people looked at him strangely during his observation phase, especially when it would be heavily overcast and raining, but there was the gangly white haired man with sunglasses on. They were the only reprieve in the sea of assaulting light. Handler assumed the exposure made him blind, but he couldn’t be more wrong. Something about the light outside made everything just seem more. More defined, sharper, things that were far away were somehow too close. It was disorienting during the day. But at night…

The glasses came off and those glowing blue eyes hunted.

But now wasn’t the time for that. It was still the observation stage.

Discretion was paramount at this time, hence the muted wardrobe he donned that morning. Jeans and a grey hoodie with a thick coat to keep out the winter chill, hood flipped over his hair. He stuffed his feet into his walking boots and patted his pockets, ensuring everything was in place, before setting out into the brisk morning.

The wind chipped at his face as he weaved through the bustling crowds of people starting their day and heading to work. Too many voices, too many smells, all of it cloying and feeling like cotton being rammed into his mind. But at least it was a familiar pains. Those were always a comfort. He trudged on, following the predetermined path he traced on city maps the night before. While most of their capital and efforts were being poured into film and television, of Uzumaki Inc.’s new venture into the entertainment industry also included a hefty boost to many a metropolitan area’s nightlife. In Shibuya alone, Satoru had noted three bars, two nightclubs, and plans for a karaoke lounge in the works. There were even talks of them funding a few of the more… illicit shops where drunken businessmen ignored their marital bonds.

Satoru cringed at the thought of visiting the establishments, but each of them were possible avenues of investigation, each of them places that the target could be visiting. The dossier intel had suggested the new CEO was strangely present in his company’s work, making deals that were both big for the company and impacted the finer minutiae. He pushed his glasses higher and wrapped his coat tighter before heading to the first establishment on his list. The construction sight of the karaoke bar.

It wasn’t too hard to find, a building covered in tarp with builders filing in and out of the open flap, not to mention the scaffolding around the building that was also plastered with advertisements of the new business coming soon. Satoru meandered outside the konbini opposite the site, eyes shifting between the workers the packaged foods he had never tried. Some of it caught his eyes, other made his stomach turn. But rather than think more about what strawberry mochi tasted like, Satoru had to focus on the sleek black sedan that crawled to a stop beside the worksite. The driver cut the engine and exited the vehicle, revealing a blonde man with a bored scowl. Satoru was a tad surprised to see someone of Danish descent in the country, more so by the man’s odd apparel. A tan suit with a deep blue shirt, a yellow tie splattered with black dots, and strange green glasses without legs that seemed to more sit in the crevice of his tired, tired, eyes.

Nanami Kento.

Satoru schooled his shook immediately as his mind finally recognised one of his target’s closest companions. The man, as always, appeared as a perfect citizen on paper. Lived life as a successful salaryman, known by his coworkers as the quiet man who just saved up for retirement, till a surprise move and promotion to Uzumaki Inc.’s CFO. But intel suggested something far more interesting. He was the man known for keeping the organisations ties with Europe secure as well as the one who handled majority of the foreign dealings, primarily within the arms capacity.

Satoru remained facing the konbini, watching the man move through the reflection. The man was shorter than Satoru, but even he could see the man’s corded arms and muscled back through the tan suit. Confrontation without weapons would be more difficult than necessary but Satoru was confident if push came to shove, the man would be no issue.

The real issue came when Nanami waited beside the passenger door, and it opened. Satoru was fairly certain he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

The photos did not do the man justice. His shoulders strained against the black shirt stretched across his broad back. It was tucked into black trousers, suspenders framing the man’s chest. His long inky locks were tied up in a professional bun, his ears gouged and purple eyes lined with kohl. Satoru was momentarily stunned with the man that he almost missed the twin holsters on the man’s waist before he donned a blazer. Almost.

He watched through the reflection as the target spoke with Nanami and the two entered through the open flap in the tarp. Luck was on his side, his target had somehow arrived at the first location he had targeted.

And left his vehicle unattended.

Slipping a hand into his pocket as he crossed the street slowly, never daring to look as if he was rushing, Satoru grasped the small tracker and made his way over to the sedan. He glanced around and when he was sure no one was looking his way, Satoru carefully threw the tracker at the car as he passed it. The gentle thud indicated his success, and he dared to look back, seeing the small circular device stuck on the base of the rear bumper.

He strolled back through the city to his hotel, discarding his coat and shaking at the sudden warmth of the room. Pulling open his laptop from the duffel bag, Satoru booted open the program for the tracker. They were standard issue for the organisation, but he had made some modifications to his own to increase their range and made them much more durable. Too many trackers had fallen susceptible to harsh weather conditions. He waited patiently, pondering what the Handler would allow him to purchase for food in the evening, until the program let out a soft chime and a map popped up on the screen with a red dot.

Target acquired.

---

“You saw him?”

“Of course.”

“What’s our next course of action,” Nanami asked.

Suguru hummed thoughtfully, fingers brushing against the beautiful face caught on his car’s external cameras. The tracker had been targeted by his scanners upon entry to the garage and they’d immediately transferred it to another vehicle as Shoko scoured the footage. Nanami had brought the image, along with the news that their attempts at finding him in their various databases had run fruitless. No priors, no appearances on social media. A ghost. A beautiful, ethereal ghost at that.

“Let him come. I’m interested to see where this goes.”

Nanami tutted and raised a brow. “Even if it means an attempt on your life?”

Suguru smiled. “Especially then.”

Chapter Text

Satoru tossed his evening meal trash into the bin outside the hotel before heading in. Handler had transferred him some minimal money and detailed his required caloric intake for the meal, leaving him with little options but the wet and tasteless salad that would’ve probably been made somewhat more manageable by the dressing if he’d been allowed to have it. His stomach growled for more, but it knew it wouldn’t get what it wanted. Satoru was more than used to sleepless nights trying to stave off the agonising ache that would grow in the pit of his stomach. It was easier when there was a task to be done, and it was an interesting task indeed.

Shortly after the tracker had booted up, the location shifted. It wasn’t dramatic, from one city to another, or even from one end of a road to another. Rather, it was simply a shift in four feet. The tracker had led to a non-descript parking garage that was relatively close to a number of Uzumaki Inc.’s establishments and had descended to a level lower than the plans said there were. It resided there for approximately two minutes before it made a move. Simply four feet, but a four feet that suddenly had the tracker at a car within the space of the parking garage. But Satoru already had the information he needed. One of the garages frequented by the target.

Suguru Geto.

Rarely had a target ever caught Satoru’s interest in such a way. Most of his targets were unimpressive individuals with meaningless lives. Observations had been spent watching the monotony of domesticity, the amount of lies spouses traded and back-alley deals that business relied on. Humans were rarely ever the creatures they presented to the world. A society of masked monsters, each just hoping their mask is good enough to pass. Satoru was one of the few in the world who had many masks, interchanging between a personality and life as need be. Never knowing the creature underneath for long enough before donning the next mask. And then there were those, those few people in the world, who cast aside their mask. Who let their monster roam freely, fangs bared and claws unsheathed, daring any to face them.

His target was unapologetic in every action. He never publicly called out news outlets for their suspicions of him, never claimed libel when his name was smeared in publications, just simply smiled and waved to the press who would flock to him after every new headline that broke. Everything about him seemed to call out to the world to investigate him, to dare and find something amiss with his façade. Never one to deny the atrocities but never one to be caught doing them. It was terror and awe wrapped in a chiselled jaw and smouldering gaze.

All in all, it left Satoru eerily unsettled and curious. And strangely, he felt a strange affinity. No one manipulated their masks as effortlessly as Satoru. Until now it seemed.

He wanted to know more, to learn all the tiny secrets and shames of his targets, and even silly things, like the foods he eats, the things he does to pass time. So, as he was in the elevator heading up to his room, Satoru made the decision to spend the late afternoon looking into Geto’s childhood and teenage years before going out to visit one of Uzumaki Inc.’s nightclubs to see if he could learn more about the finer workings of their business model, maybe overhear some valuable conversations. The private booths were bound to be visited by some of Geto’s more specific clientele, any good CEO would show prospective clients a good time, get them buttered up and loose lipped on house-provided booze to make a cheaper deal. It was a sound strategy that anyone could see through, but countless of people fell for it nonetheless.

Mentally taking stock of the few clothes he had packed and thinking of what he could finagle into a nightclub worthy outfit, Satoru didn’t bother to listen through his door before entering his hotel room, but he heard the tell-tale creek in the ceiling above him nonetheless. He dove forward, rolling and immediately springing up to turn and face the figure who dropped down from the ceiling. He had little time to take in the figure before a fist was flying his way. Satoru deflected the attack and pressed forward, taking advantage of his opponent’s momentum to grab their forearm and with a surprising display of strength, haul the enemy over his head and slam them down to the ground. Satoru immediately ground his heel into their neck, pressing harder when they let out a choked chuckle.

“Good thing you ain’t going soft kid.”

Satoru’s eyes widened and he immediately cowered back, flipping the light on as Handler coughed and stood back up. The man looked the same as always, raggedly dressed in his loose fitting white pants and the skintight black t shirt. His strange red folding staff was neatly holstered on his waist and the man’s eyesore of a purple suitcase was on the bed. Satoru had no idea why the man insisted on carrying such a horrid thing, but he would admit, the suitcase could seemingly fit all of Handler’s array of weapons.

“I wasn’t aware you were in the city sir,” Satoru said numbly, opening up his window in anticipation. Almost immediately as he done so, Handler reached into his pockets and pulled out a cigarette. “Please don’t say you’re taking me one of those outings again.”

Satoru tried not to cringe at the smirk on the man’s face. The last ‘outing’ had involved a morning watching his Handler fail miserably when betting at the horse races, then struggling to keep up in an early afternoon drinking game with the man, followed by a ‘training exercise’ consisting of Satoru running across rooftops to dodge the man’s modified sniper rifle that released incredibly annoying paint pellets. The drinking and gambling may have been uncomfortably horrid but the latter part of the day was somewhat enjoyable, although he’d never let the Handler know, the man would only become insufferable if he learnt Satoru had fun with him.

“Don’t worry kid, no fun times today. I’ve got other shit going on, someone I need to check in on, but I’m also here with an update,” Handler said, pulling another dossier from the front pocket of his suitcase, a considerably thinner one than the initial mission dossier. “If I had my way, the target would already be dealt with by now and the two of us would be relaxing on a beach somewhere.”

“Mountains,” Satoru corrected, taking the outstretched dossier. “We went to the beach in Chile three months ago, you promised mountain hiking next time. I’m holding you to that. I haven’t seen snow in too long.”

Handler cringed at the mention of the cold before turning to the small minifridge tucked under the television, his grimace only growing at the lack of alcohol available, leaving the massive muscular man holding a dainty pink carton of strawberry milk. Satoru didn’t even try to smother his smirk at the image stood before him.

“Quit it. It’s good milk, my kid likes the brand.”

Satoru liked whenever he learnt more about the Handler’s mysterious son. He was pretty sure the boy was around two, based on when Handler had begun mentioning the boy plus the small break he took from work beforehand where Satoru was under the tutelage of some interesting teachers who had once taught Handler themselves. Handler had even showed Satoru an image at some point, of the tiny baby boy who looked just like Handler except his hair seemed to spike more than lay flat. He hoped that one day, if it could ever be allowed, that Handler would introduce Satoru to the boy. He think he would get along well with Megumi.

He finally laid out the sheets from the dossier, his eyes widening slightly at the turn his mission was to take. Satoru read through the information twice before finally looking up at Handler. “Really?”

“I didn’t agree to it kid. And I hate to say it, but you get looks no matter what. Might as well make the most of it.”

Satoru rolled his eyes and instead focused on the details of the dossier. It seemed he’d be making contact with Miguel sooner rather than later. As a possible new waiter at one of Uzumaki Inc.’s clubs. “I don’t even have–”

“I’ve got three suits plus a few more… interesting outfits. The club has a few themed nights, staff are expected to go along with it. So get through the objectives soon, unless you want to be working on their fetish-gear night.”

He flushed and hurriedly buried his face in the information about the other staff. Miguel seemed to call the shots but there were around two dozen employees overall running the club, plus contractors and people who were on part-time contracts. “Don’t I have to get hired first?”

“That you do. Get dressed, your interview is in twenty minutes. And wear something better than that,” Handler said, sneering at Gojo’s rain-soaked jeans and hoodie.

“As if you’re one to talk,” Satoru quipped back. “I’m surprised people even let you into buildings looking the way you do.”

“A little sweet talk here, a little threat there, any door is open for me. Now hurry up, I don’t want to miss the races.”

---

Leather wasn’t necessarily what Satoru was expecting, but it was thankfully tamer than he had anticipated. A pair of black leather trousers that hugged his legs absurdly tight, with slits running from the ankle to the waist, connected with a series of crisscrossing black lace. A small set of chains hung over his bare abs, highlighting the light blue gem pierced into his navel, courtesy of Handler ten minutes ago with the man’s piercing gun. He would have to deal with the winter chills on his bare arms considering the silver mesh crop top that did little to cover anything.

Satoru didn’t care about his exposed skin, he had no qualms or self-conscious thoughts about his body. Rather, he was uncomfortable without any weapons on his person. The clothes were too tight, pockets too small, to conceal anything. He’d be going in unarmed, but thankfully, not defenceless.

“Fifteen minutes till we leave kid. And you’re going to have to do makeup to. They prefer their twinks dolled up.”

Satoru rolled his eyes and shoved the door open, silently chuckling when the handle hit Handler’s gut. The man merely tossed a bag at his face in retaliation but Satoru caught it with ease, plucking the shimmer gloss and eyeliner from the bag and hurriedly applying it in the bathroom mirror before following the man out the hotel.

The drive was short and silent, the mission details running through Satoru’s mind on a non-stop loop. He was to make contact with Miguel, pass the interview and begin working for the nightclub in hopes of learning more about Uzumaki’s clientele before taking out the target. Satoru did little to question the organisation’s orders, he learnt long ago not to, but he could surmise they wanted more information on how Uzumaki Inc. dealt their deals and cooked their books.

The club in question was a new queer nightclub, catering to a more expensive customer pool. Handler brought the car to a stop outside the venue and Satoru took a moment to admire it. A large three story building of black painted bricks lined with tall industrial style arched windows. Neon lights and thrumming bass came from within but Satoru’s gaze was fixed upon the carving that garnered the club its namesake. A masterful piece of art curled around the building’s façade, a beautiful testament to the artist’s skill. The tail began at the roof, curling around a tree in what was probably a roof top garden. It led into the thickening body that curled and arched between the windows, with thick clawed legs gripping onto the window ledges. It finally came to a culmination with the gaping maw of a dragon holding the open double door entrance to the club. And while the carving in of itself was masterful, what truly caught Satoru’s eye were the dozens upon thousands of shards of coloured glass inlayed in place of scales. Rainbow fractals pooled the ground, and he finally understood the name.

The Rainbow Dragon.

“I’ll wait here for twenty minutes in case you screw the interview up. If not, I’ll be back sometime in the early morning. Understood?”

“See you in the morning.” The interview would be child’s play, of that Satoru was certain.

Chapter Text

Satoru had braced himself for the volume, but it was still a deafening roar that shook him to his bones. Sensory issues be damned, he had a mission to accomplish, so he shoved down the uncomfortable wriggling ache growing in his head and focused on his objective. He didn’t bother paying attention to the crowds of people, it was just throngs of people with the salary to afford cheap tickets for the various rooms, most of them probably chomping at the bit of watching the new band performing that night. Rather, he weaved his way around them, ignoring the wolf-whistles and comments directed at him as he passed. If anything, they were an indication the outfit was the correct choice for the venue, but Satoru just wanted all the people leering at him to get back to their cheap drinks and terrible music taste.

He finally caught sight of the bar and made his way over, batting his eyes at the group of college aged girls lingering around the bar. They all broke out into a fit of giggles and blushes, clearing immediately for him to rest against the bar. All it took was a look and people would do as he pleased sometimes. Maybe Handler was rubbing off on him. Rather than focus on that worrying thought, Satoru instead raised a hand to flag down the bartender. He was a short guy, at least a full head shorter than Satoru, with a fluffy brown bowl cut and wide earnest eyes. 

Haibara Yu.

The man could have pulled the wool over the eyes of anyone, with his sunshine smile and bright, enthusiastic laugh, coupled with his constant jokes and uplifting attitude. No one would ever think the man was the main procurer of intelligence for Uzumaki Inc., heading up the entire digital empire of the company. He was a childhood friend of Geto, and the target had been the one to introduce Haibara to Nanami. But it seemed Haibara moonlighted as a bartender at Rainbow Dragon, something Satoru was not privy to until just then, but the man had thankfully been listen in the close allies of Geto.

“What can I get you?” Haibara asked, wiping down a glass and fixing Satoru with that cheery grin, one that Satoru returned with his own smug one.

“I’ve got a meeting with Miguel he should be expecting me, I’m Toru.”

“Ah, the new hire! Unfortunately, Miguel had to step out to run an errand with the owner, I’ll be handling your training, I’m Haibara.” He waved Satoru round to the other side of the bar, calling one of the people drying glasses to cover his section while guiding Satoru toward the door labelled ‘Employees Only’.

As soon as the door swung close behind him, the deafening roar of the club was muted to a low throb. Now from behind the bar, Satoru got a better look at Haibara’s outfit, a simple pairing of tight black skinny jeans and a tank top with gashes across it, topped with a stack of chains around his neck. The room itself was nothing fancy compared to the rest of the club, just a few sofas and bean bags lining the walls of the cosy space, with fairy lights strung on the ceiling and a few coolers situated amidst the throw pillows and rugs covering the floor. Haibara flopped onto one of the grey bean bags, motioning for Satoru to do the same.

He simply perched awkwardly on the opposite deep purple cushion large enough to hold his entire frame.

“So I’ll be honest, we are super short staffed at the moment. You’re pretty much a guaranteed hire as long as you’ve got the necessary skills. Have you ever worked behind a bar before, or even serving?”

Satoru did have some experience behind a bar, most usually slipping untraceable poisons into unsuspecting targets’ drinks, or serving pipe bombs hidden under cloches for dignitaries who needed cleansing.

“Some experience. But I’m a fast learner. I am better at serving than bartending though.”

“That’s fine with me, I’ll set you up on a temporary basis. You’ll be shadowing me and some of the other employees until Miguel gets back for final approval. Should be tomorrow or the day after. We typically get in at four in the afternoon to set up the music equipment and lighting, then prep the bar and do a preliminary check of the floors for anything missed in the morning clean up. After that, we have dinner, greet the musical acts and performers for a dress rehearsal and tech run through and then we open doors at ten. Understood?”

“Perfectly.”

---

Satoru had been working at the Rainbow Dragon for almost a week, mostly keeping to himself in that time, but somehow he still raked in an insane amount of tips each night much to Haibara’s joy and his own confusion. Satoru knew he was somewhat attractive, but he barely said a word to the club’s patrons as he walked around with shot glasses for dancers to grab or served bottle of champagne to the private booths with the elite clientele. Those specific moments were ones of importance. He had steadily gained more and more information about Uzumaki Inc.’s criminal connections, including a dozen or so known business fronts to smaller mafia groups and a few elected officials who most likely were in Geto’s pocket.

The second day of his new job had involved catering to the whims of drunken socialites celebrating a trust fund kid’s twenty fourth birthday. Satoru had been trying to keep his head down and simply hand out flutes of champagne and canapes specifically for the private lounge booked out. He had been prepared to keep his head down and simply go about the job in hopes of getting back to a man at the bar who was currently in debt with the target, when Satoru caught a cheer of the name who’s birthday it was.

Naoya Zenin.

Satoru stifled his shock at the man’s sheer arrogance and presence. It was no known secret that hostility between Uzumaki Inc. and Zenin Corp. had been mounting in the last decade, both businesses battling for domination of the war in day of business and the battle in night of territory. No ruling party had been able to touch either business, but since Geto had taken over Uzumaki Inc., their success had far surpassed that of Zenin Corp., much to the board’s chagrin. Where Uzumaki adopted a youthful face, Zenin Corp. was ran by the elder members of the eponymous family. There had been talks a decade ago of instilling a new face of the company, but Satoru’s research into who it had been led to a dead end and mentions of a black sheep in the family, who’s name escaped all records.

But after the striking success of Geto’s appointment for Uzumaki Inc., it seemed Zenin Corp. had decided they too had to update with the times. And there, standing on the table as he upended a bottle of champagne into his awaiting mouth, stood the apparent unspoken heir to Zenin Corp., Naoya Zenin. He was surrounded by equally ignorant drunken fools, all practically reeking of disdain for anyone outside their tax bracket. That is, if their parents paid their taxes for a single day of their lives.

So on that day, Satoru shoved his squeamish urge to gag around the gaggle of ditzes and instead strode forward with a smile to snatch any snippets that should fall out of their drunken lips. And despite Naoya’s sleazy attempts to keep Satoru close, Satoru managed to evade stray hands and dirty comments until he finally heard something worth mentioning.

“C’mon baby, you know you want it,” Naoya slurred, his sickly green hair plastered to the sweat on his brow, the sight alone enough to make Satoru feel like heaving. “Make the birthday boy happy, and this future CEO will take care of you. Pretty little thing like you deserves more than this shit heap.”

The man swung his hand around to gesture at the ornate décor of the room Satoru had come to appreciate during his time at the Rainbow Dragon, narrowly avoiding the swirl of whiskey flying out of Naoya’s glass as the man fell back into his seat, scowling at the jeering laughter of his peers. Satoru filled his tray with empty glasses and hastily made his retreat, pleased to know the rumours were true. Naoya was to be the successor of Zenin Corp. and made the ballsy move to celebrate his birthday right inside the pet project of his direct competitor.

Satoru had to hand it to the pig, it was a powerful move to make. He could already read the headlines of tomorrow’s business magazines, the issues as rife with gossip as their socialite trash filled compatriots lining the news stand shelves. They would be slating Satoru’s target and definitely be lauding Naoya for his confidence.

That had been Satoru’s assumption until that afternoon he walked in for work. It had been three days since Naoya’s birthday event, but there was little to no news about the event within the business sector. Social media had discussed the event, but only so much to the extent of wishing Naoya well for his special day. It was as Satoru was in the bathroom applying eyeliner that things begun making sense, as his phone buzzed to alert him of the news.

BREAKING NEWS: Geto Suguru, CEO of Uzumaki Inc., is reported to have purchased majority shares in Zenin Corp., signalling a possible future acquisition of the two rival companies. Click here to learn more about the developing story.

And what a masterful counter-move that was.

Satoru had to hand it to Geto Suguru. The man knew how to conduct business.

---

“So you’re the one that’s had customers coming back every day,” Miguel said, sizing Satoru up.

Three weeks. Three weeks of handsy drunkards, vomit in the strangest of places, drink orders more confusing than Handler’s training regiments, until Miguel finally showed his face at the Rainbow Dragon.

“Pleased to meet you. This club is… it’s something else.”

The man laughed, clapping a hand on Satoru’s shoulder and guiding him away from the bar where he’d been polishing glasses and up the stairs running up the wall. Satoru had only been on the second floor a few times, it was where the sound and light systems were controlled from, and there was a second employee room, with a  few beds for the employees who lived too far out to sometimes head home between shifts. Satoru had only been in the room once to scope it out when he had been mentally mapping the entire layout of the club, scoping out any possible bugs and escape routes in the room. Strangely, there were bugs in all the rooms and dance halls, except the employee rooms, and the same for escape routes. Instead, both employee rooms utilised discreet locking systems Satoru had come across on a mission in Malaysia. Made to appear as a simple locking mechanism, it actually created a vacuum seal as well as activated additional security measures Satoru had never had time to test. Needless to say, the employee rooms were more glorified panic rooms than anything else.

Miguel dropped onto one of the large armchairs and gestured for Satoru to sit across from him. “So, Haibara has been singing your praises. Not to mention, the rest of the crew. Quick on your feet, even quicker to stop customers from being too much. The pay, it’s enough for you?”

The way he said it, Satoru was sure there would be deliberation if he had said no. “It’s more than enough. I’m just glad to finally have found a job. I was wondering if I could increase my hours though.”

The organisation had wanted it in actuality. As soon as they discovered how much information Satoru was getting about not only Uzumaki Inc. but other targets from ongoing missions, they had demanded he return and ask for longer hours or more work, anything for him to gain further access for more periods of time. Satoru silently prayed that Miguel would readily allow his request, his stomach churning at the thought of returning to the organisation empty handed.

Few things terrified him.

The organisation remained one of the few things that would.

“Sorry, blue. Since you’ve come, our staffing issues are resolved, no free shifts.”

There went Satoru’s free day the next week.

“But there is a big event you’ll be needed for tonight.”

“Oh?” Satoru hoped this could make up for the earlier refusal.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but Uzumaki’s acquisition of Zenin Corp was successful. And the boss is celebrating here, something about ‘bridging the divide between enemies’. I think it’s just another excuse to show them he owns them now. Not my place to say. Anyway, you’ll be serving with Haibara and some Zenin hostess’. Get ready, the event starts in two hours.”

Chapter Text

“I’m just saying, if my waist was this tiny, that stud of a brick wall would maybe respond to me,” Haibara groaned, tightening the lace with another huff.

Satoru’s snorted softly, letting himself smile a bit. Even if the entire job and operation relied on his deceit, Satoru couldn’t find it in him to deny engaging with Haibara. There was something about the shorter man, an earnest eager expression always plastered on his face that made Satoru want to coddle him. No one who knew the truth of the world could smile that bright, but Satoru knew for a fact that Haibara was well aware of what lurked in the shadows and how fast danger could strike. Yet the man still found a way to pull laughs from sobbing messes, to bring calm to calamity. Satoru had known the man for less than a month, but he already understood Haibara’s place among Suguru’s inner circle.

He was their rock.

“Maybe you should actually talk to him? Instead of yearning from a far,” Satoru suggested with a soft smirk. The light in Haibara’s eyes was enough to reassure Satoru that the joke was well met.

With another tug, the corset around Satoru’s waist shrunk another inch. Haibara raised a brow, but Satoru shook his head. Most would’ve balked by now, but Satoru knew his measurements perfectly. His waist could handle a few less inches, nothing on the cards read maximum exertion so it would be fine to reach his limit. The corset itself was a gorgeous design provided by the club for the exclusive events. Haibara had gushed that this was the first even they had a male worker with a frame that would fit the corset, and Satoru had let himself be swayed by those eager puppy dog eyes. While the other workers moved with practiced ease around the lofted dressing room, flitting around doing make up or assembling their outfits, Satoru had stood and let Haibara treat him like a doll, lifting his arms and stepping into whatever he was asked.

The men were all dressed in pressed slacks and black silk shirts, each donning ties embroidered with the classical Rainbow Dragon, it’s crystal back now in hues of purple rather than the polychrome coat it usually had. The women wore thin cocktail dresses with high collars and the purple Rainbow Dragon stitched along the sides of the dress, the dragon head resting on the left collar.

However, one of the more popular girls and Satoru had been chosen for the exclusive outfits that hadn’t graced a Rainbow Dragon Gala in three years since the famed dancer Yuki had worked at the club before being promoted to a private singer for Suguru’s personal events himself. He could hear the blonde woman in the closed off dance hall doing a sound check with Miguel, and Satoru had heard how excited some of the other workers were about both seeing their friend again but also watching her perform. And while the girl was busy being dressed, Satoru himself had been chosen to wear the outfit that Yuki herself donned all those years ago. Unlike the others dressed in darker shades of purple and black, Satoru and the girl were designed to stand apart from the rest.  

Apparently the girl he was to be matching with was an up-and-coming icon in her own right, set to steal the spotlight from Yuki any day now. To be fair, Satoru could picture it, with how tall she was and how her mere presence commanded eyes to flock to her whenever she entered the room. All the other girls were fawning over her when he finally caught her name, and he nodded respectfully when she acknowledged his presence.

“Good to see you Takada-chan,” he greeted, opting to use her preferred title. “Any advice for tonight?”

“Just smile and humour the guests, most of them will spend time fawning over you, it’s normal. But it’s also how you make sure the customers keep coming back so don’t be too harsh if they get too crude. It’s all about balancing the idea of being among the guests but unattainable at the same time. Wanting us,” she said, placing a hand on Satoru’s shoulder, giving it a gently squeeze, “keeps them coming back and lining the pockets of the boss. You won’t be performing tonight, but if Miguel is pleased with your behaviour and if you have a talent hidden somewhere in that outfit, then you’ll surely be performing next year.”

He couldn’t help the blush that stained his cheeks, and Satoru understood the appeal of Takada. Even he himself, trained to control his emotions to a tee, became misty eyed and flustered under the warming presence she emitted. Everyone was a moth to a flame with her.

Suguru Geto found diamonds in the strangest of places. First Yuki Tsukumo, then Takada Nobuko. Satoru wondered who the target would find next to polish off and display to the world.

But before he could linger on that train of thought, Haibara was dragging him back to do the final touches on his outfit, and it was after talking to Takada, that he saw the image the club had gone for. While the rest of the staff’s outfits spoke volumes of hushed elegance and quiet opulence, Satoru and Takada stood out from the others like peonies blooming through bramble. Takada wore a thin white gown that hugged her tall slender frame. A slit running down the side revealed the platform heels she stood tall in. The dress was backless and the neckline scooped low, to reveal glistening jewels ornately draped over her shoulders and bust. Her makeup was simple but impactful, light silver shimmer dusted across her eyes, a slight gloss on her lips. Cinching in her waist was a corset identical to Satoru’s, traditional whalebone boning holding together ornate panels of detailed artistry of a shimmering ocean waves and pearlescent detailing perfectly capturing the foam of each crest crashing into one another.

Satoru’s own corset was over a billowing silk white shirt, with the sleeves cuffed at his wrist. A long white train billowed from his back, connected to the back hem of the corset, continuing the corset’s ocean design through subtle sheer silk designs. His trousers hugged his legs tightly and also had slits running down both legs, with thin ribbons interlacing one another to keep them flush to his skin. And to his surprise, he was also handed a pair of heeled boots, no where near as extreme as Takada’s but enough for him to notice.

By the time he was ready, Haibara squealed, shaking Satoru’s shoulder as the two looked at each other in the mirror together. Satoru had to admit his friend cleaned up well, the puppyish charm working in favour somehow with the dark mystery of his outfit. But the final piece had yet to be worn, considering the delicacy of it. it was only at the ten minute mark till the doors opened that Satoru let himself open the box Miguel had handed out to all the staff earlier on. Having his face measured was a novel experience, even for Satoru, but all of the staff regularly underwent strange measurements to cater to whatever strange themed night Miguel and Suguru cooked up for the club. Carefully peeling the tape, Satoru eyes widened as he opened the flap and pulled away the protective packaging.

Nestled on a bed of soft crushed velvet was an intricate network of silver wire whirling and looping in concentric circles. Nestled within certain whorls were tiny sapphires winking back at him, almost like his own eyes. He noted six of them dotted along the brow, three above each eye. And the wiring detail, he almost got lost in it. It seemed to be an infinite never ending loop of metal, his fingers tracing over and over it to try and find a seam, some spot where two points had to have been welded together, but he came up empty. Six sapphires and infinite spirals.

Satoru was obsessed.

---

Contrary to popular belief, Suguru did not enjoy parties.

Parties meant lying through your teeth to benefactors purely because a single comment could cost funding for an entire quarter. Parties meant press using fake credentials to enter and scour the grounds for gossip like crows after carrion. But as much of the things in the world he seemed to hate, parties were unavoidable for Suguru. He had to show face to worried colleagues, pondering their futures in the face of the acquisition. It had been a sudden and worrisome move to most, namely Nanami as the man had to ensure the entire deal was financially legal. But after the brat of Zenin Corp. stained the Rainbow Dragon’s floors with her greasy mug, Suguru had no choice but to retaliate and retaliate in full force is what he did. He even now owned the Zenin family home, a silly move on their part when they were prideful enough to tie their very land to their company assets. Suguru would let them keep it however, there was no use for the Zenin estate. For now.

The car slowed as it turned on to the street, and Suguru despite his distaste for events, was pleased with the immense turnout. While the private celebration was being hosted in the roped off garden venue, news of the acquisition had brought a whole other branch of society to the nightclub, young money eager to make connections with seasoned professionals whose families had been playing the game for decades. He eyed the dozens of people lining the street leading up to the door, pleased to see security were doing a good job at filtering select guests to the main dance halls and allowing the invitees to walk through the separate pathway leading through soundproofed halls into walkway of water fountains shooting arcs of water overhead as guests walked under them into the garden. The security guards spotted his car as it approached and one of them waved people away from a set of large double external doors on the exterior wall a good few feet away from the entrance. Only when it was clear did the guard open the doors wide and Ijichi turned the car into the private garage, the tinted windows doing an expert job at blocking out the flashing cameras from people on the street.

When the doors were closed behind them, Ijichi killed the engine and walked around to open Suguru’s car door and extending out a hand. Any other time, it would’ve been unnecessary, but Suguru would do nothing to ruin the ensemble his team had spent two hours assembling. His parties were known for their extravagance and Suguru was not going to disappoint now. Most garages would typically be oily dusty messes, but with the how meticulous Miguel was with his sport car, Suguru was glad the room was spotless. He leaned against the bonnet of the car, admiring his reflection in its polished surface. He had yet to don his mask, choosing to do so just before entering the event, but the makeup team had done a phenomenal job on the kohl lining his eyes fading into violet dusting on his eyes making them pop.

He stood still as a statue as Ijichi ran a lint roller across his arms and legs, nimble thin fingers adjusting Suguru’s sleeves and hem as he travelled. This was why he kept the man close. Many assumed the bumbling fumbling man would be the worst choice for a personal assistant, especially considering Suguru’s less than savoury… dealings. But when the man was on the job, when there were no distractions, Suguru bore witness to detailed and methodical work that far surpassed work of those with flouncy words and shiny degrees.

“All ready sir,” Ijichi said, standing tall and to the side, nodding once. Suguru sent him a warm grin.

“Try and have some fun tonight Ijichi,” he said, taking one final glance in the mirror, pleased with what he saw. “Shoko should be coming by later.”

The small blush on his assistant’s cheek kept him elated until it was time to brace the masses.