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-"I love love stories. No matter how dark."-(Abbie Cornish) He loves love. It's a simple as that. He loves couples coming together. He loves to see relationship blossoming against all odds. He loves seeing families enduring, growing and surviving hardships hand in hand. He loves those famous forbidden romances - a tale as old as time - two houses feuding. He loves to see old couples walking together, aged and grey - their affections defeating time itself. He loves sibling love and familial love and carnal love and love in any shape, way or form. Love for one's country and clan and organization and line of work - love of blood. Patient love, angry love, calm love, vengeful love, safe love, soft love. The Romeo and Juliet archetype. Just love. The Yakuza thrived off of it. So when he's agreed to meet her like this, impromptu and unofficially, going against his usual habits, norms and rules, the darkness of the back-alley comforting, sheltered and familiar, lit only by the dim neon red screen of his phone and the confirmation message he's received from her hours before, he managed to feel both foolish and somewhat eager during his waiting process, tending to prefer to be there early then be expected for too long a time and deemed unprofessional - he was well aware of what she did for his brother at the academy, triggering something of a begrudgingly sort of respectful emotion he couldn't quite place out of him - usually a common reaction with his little brother and whenever someone did something genuinely kind or positive for him - even vaguely nice - ever so slightly admirable - against his better judgment and desire, something peculiar would happen to his heart and he would have the insatiable, unstoppable need to dish out rewards, barely preventing himself from seeming overly soft or generous. The text "I"m coming.", serving as a reminder, that yes, in fact, he was in this situation now primarily because of this terrible, incurable fault of his. He wanted - had to repay whatever payment was due in equal measure. He tried to ignore the girl's proposition's under the logic that this was all beneath him. He was a man with a reputation to keep, a man with a schedule, a man with strict ethics and a code. But, that night he could barely think or sleep, as if though guided forth by a force stronger then him. He really should know better next time - then to get tangled up in some juvenile adolescent gang drama. What would his onw superiors, his comrades, his associates and his Oyabun say if they saw him now? Nothing good, he was certain - they'd say that he was embarrassing his clan and himself as well. After his second cigarette was finished, she's finally arrived like a deer caught in the headlights.
-"I got lost."-
She said seriously, instead of a greeting. Appearing confident enveloped by the light of the main street. But still for all accounts very much a child - a child in over her head. Out here, nearly goddamn missing the agreed spot they chose, but hiring a man like to do her a favor? She was either stupid, cocksure, enamored with some cheesy crime drama starring a bunch of pretty boys with bangs and guns she's been binge watching or utterly insane. Or all of the above - he couldn't believe he was doing this - he felt so irritated with himself.
-"Before you say anything, it's best to mention; this is strictly between you and me and it should stay that way for discretion's sake. You did me a favor and I'm doing you one back on my own turf because I'm feeling generous. I don't like feeling indepthed to anyone or anything, so, if you have a price, it's best that you name it now. I've places to be."-
He quipped jumping straight to the point and not waiting for her to be able to add anything, partially lying about having somewhere else to be - making sure his night was clean, uvenetful and uncompromised just for this meeting alone without having to jeopardize the importance his clan had or let it be placed upon a lesser spot then this charade right here - not even trying to hide how unimpressed and inconvenienced he was even though he personally agreed to let this all take place tonight, nonetheless - wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible and move on before it gets even more out of hand - after all, he was the adult here - he had a certain responsibility to maintain - leaning off the brick, derelict alleway wall he was using for support and sauntering towards her slowly, leisurely with his hands tucked in his pockets, his black blaiser swung over one shoulder - phone still in hand - she looked like a commonplace school girl - petite, dark hair, dark eyes, pale face, hair pulled back in a ponytail, a skirt - typical - not a remarkable beauty but nothing to scoff at either - perhaps the one thing that set her apart fro all the other's he's seen though - this was one was unafraid. Entirely undaunted by this setting, the dead of night or him. He's dealt with the occasional kidnapping, extortion, money laundering scheme, trafficking transfer, hijacking, street showdown, interrogation of captured rival associates and hostage situation - yes. His business was no charity work. But, each and every one of them was terrified beyond comprehension. Begging and screaming and struggling and crying. Not this one, though. This one stared him right in the eyes. Ayano Aishi - age seventeen - birthday, April the 1st - blood type AB. The rest of his intel on her included phone numbers, addresses and even credit card codes. Even where her parents kept the spare keys to the front entrance of their family home in their vacation absence. He's done his detailed background check upfront - he liked to know who he was dealing with, when and why.
-"I want a few people to disappear. Permanently."-
She added just as quickly. Without even flinching a tid-bit. Damn, the very nerve of kids these days. The Yakuza was young himself, but he had no idea. No idea teenagers nowadays approached the subject of death - Not with this sort of cold nonchalance - or maybe it was just her. When a new text message arrived, obviously pre-written, he definitely knew it was just her. A quick buzz the screen revealing names - Kokona Haruka, Osana Najimi, Amai Odayaka, Kizana Sunobu, Oka Ruto. Megami Saikou - as in, of the Saikou conglomerate!? This chick was off her rocket in more ways then thought possible. But the Yakuza pretended - had to pretend he wasn't entirely taken aback. His pride alone couldn't let him show this snot-nosed brat he had him surprised like that.
-"Some of these - big fish, kid."-
He stated simply, looking up at her from the list which was best deleted later for safety's sake. What was the background agenda here? Was this some sort of setup? Test? Trap? Covert operation? Was she tapped? Was she some sort of bizzare police operant pretending to be a teen to lure people in with the guise of innocence and naivety? Was she sent by a rival clan? All those doubts and paranoia evaporated as quickly as they arrived when he reminded himself that she was his brother's friend and as such, a person of possible partial trust, at least to him - but still. The fuck was she getting herself into with one of the biggest, wealthiest business owners this side of Japan? Sure, he was out dealing in some pretty illicit, shady things when he was just about her age - but he did it because he had to. To survive. To ensure a better future for his brother. To secure them both financially and any other way he possibly could - it's a path he was proud of, but it was the only path available for him at the time - as for Ayano Aishi, from the looks of it and the knowledge he's gathered on her days prior - she seemed to come from a relatively neat home in a relatively neat neighborhood, attending a neat school, with some wholesome seeming, commonplace parents? So, what reason could she possibly have? She should be back home, where it's safe and warm, doing her homework and fawning over some colorful, squeaky, cheesy pop starlets and imagining herself dating any and all of them, drawing secret red hearts inside of the cupboard with a permanent marker containing her initials instead of being here. With him. Of all people. He didn't understand.
-"I understand you're good at catching big fish."-
She shot back again, as if to rile him up. Stepping closer - jabbing at him. Legs spread and stance ready, as if standing her ground. So, not only bold as all hell, but openly sarcastic as well? His brother has been keeping some interesting company, he had to say. Sure, the Yakuza received some complaints about his brother hanging out with some delinquency-prone fellows. But nowhere in his right of mind would he assume that some girl might be the one he should worry about. His brother already smoked, skipped classes, was constantly in some sort of trouble or else. But, this chick was outright advocating murder of a dozen or more so people. Including a teacher and a very prominent figure in Japan's upper echelon. These weren't the 80's anymore - it wasn't an easy task for the Yakuza - not the way it used to be. Regardless, though - life's full of surprises - at least when it comes to the choice of her victims.
-"It's going to be dangerous and it'll come with a price."-
He reminded, re-negotiating, re-establishing the rules, willing to forgive her for her age and go through all of this once more purely so there would be no confusion in place, pulling out his third cigar for the evening and lighting it in front of her - if she could take a gritty, morbid debate like this and stomach it, she could most likely take tobacco fumes as well - certain she already understood the details at least to an extent. That it wont be pleasant, that it wont be fun, and that it wont be a game and that it wont be a movie murder with perfect shots, a cinematic backing, flatteringly aesthetic lighting and conveniently censored throat-slitting and a possible happy ending - people are going to die and it's going to be a mess and there's going to guts and struggling and pain and cops and news coverage and parents freaking out and layers of hell upon layers of hell. The first one would be on the house, and then from there on out, she had to understand what kind of pact she was making here. He's done this before. More times then he could possibly account for - for blood, for profit, for retaliation and for honor in equal measure. Death was a routine part of who and what he was. But, what about her? He wasn't about to take responsibility for the complete and utter mental breakdown of some angsty, edgy, possibly kooky kid in over her head. This wasn't Tokyo Godfathers. This was real life. So, yes, it would be dangerous. And it would come with a price. A very steep one.
-"I know."-
She uttered, barely above a mere whisper, sounding completely calm and infinitely cold and comfortable in her own skin - as if though she's done this a hundred times before - as if though it was something as natural as taking out the trash, washing the dishes, waking up in the morning or breathing air - as if reading his thoughts through some insidious means and deciding to response with a sense rationale and collectedness far beyond her years, and that was all - she knew - she simply, well, knew - what was he to make of that - definitely not the answer he expected out of someone so young and small and dressed like a million other school girls in this perfecture, secretly almost looking forward to some haggling, back and forth, insecurity, undecidedness and possibly her even giving up and going back home once she realizes he's not some parlor-trick, cheap schoolyard weed-dealer with delusions of grandeur and that he is in fact, exactly who his inked hands suggested he is and that whatever his little brother told her about him, even by sheer accident, was no lie - the pale yellow neon halogen the street light above them flickered black for a brief moment and they just stood there in a mutual sort of silence - not entirely awkward, but not entirely comfortable either before his burning curiosity got the better of him. He was used to not question the orders of his superiors and just carry out whatever and whenever they ordered him to do. But, she wasn't his superior. So, he allowed himself the rare luxury of prying and exploring the rabbit hole even deeper.
-"So, why do it then? Bad grades? School gangs? Bullies? A drug problem? Proving a point? Teenage rebellion? A punk-rock murder phase? Your favorite show didn't end the way you wanted it to? Whatever teenage girls are into nowadays?"-
He found himself teasing like he seldom did. For a great many years, in front of anyone or for anybody. With the rare exception of his own brother - perhaps - mainly. Partially wanting the answer to be something unexpected and ridiculous. Because, this situation in on itself was pretty damn ridiculous in every sense of the way. Purely so he could, for one, amuse himself with it, and two - well, to amuse himself even more. Leaning with one shoulder on the concrete wall next to him and taking a long, languid drag of smoke - He hoped she would say something along the lines that it's just cool and that all the hip girls are doing it. Delinquent teenager chicks were pretty vicious and difficult, even back in his days. Who was to say that by joking, he partially wasn't right? It really doesn't get any weirder then this.
-"Love."-
She said and then it hit him. All humor gone - erased. Thunderstruck. Paralyzed in place. Right there and then, on the spot. His half-finished, sizzling cigar, extinguished. His phone discarded in his pocket - a swift nod on his behalf. He understood - he just understood, with one solitary, single word - he got it. Everything he needed to know contained in one measly, mundane movement of her mouth. Remembering his brother and this calling and this life and everything he did up until this point. And how he killed for him, did things he wasn't proud of him and became who he is for him. And threw his own life away just to ensure his brother has a shot at a decent future. A protection from the life on the street as an unwanted, impoverished orphan. A meal ticket, a fine degree, an honest career - a clean, safe home. To make sure he's never, ever cold or hungry or afraid ever again. It all fell into place as perfectly as a missing puzzle piece. She was doing it for love. So was he, in his own way. Ah, this darling, pitiful, crazy little girl - he almost admired her in a way now - not that he wanted to.
-"There's a boy - a very special boy - a boy I knew for a long time now - the only person who makes me feel - just, feel, when nothing else does - and before you ask, yes - I've tried art, sports, music, pets, hobbies, books, shows, counseling, therapy, medication, razors, making new friends, distracting myself, but nothing cuts it - not the way he does - and I would do anything, absolutely anything to have him and, well -"-
She attempted, suddenly desperate, contemplating and choosing her words carefully, as if not to deter him away when she's gotten this close to winning him over to her cause, sounding like she was on the verge of begging - a swift, sharp change from the untouchable, unshifting ice-princess she was just a second earlier, but he didn't need further explanations - honestly, whatever for - it would only prolong his stay here and staying in one place for a long time wasn't smart - what he had was enough - who was he to get in the way of love? Young love? Honestly? Who was he? Love was the driving force of his own life. His motivations. His deeds and, well, misdeeds. The reason he got up the next day in the first place. The reason he hasn't given up. The reason he hasn't yet ended it all. The reason he was here tonight, talking death-deals with a literal child with the high possibility of making a fool out of himself and spitting on his own calling. The entire world. The universe. That was love. And it was embarrassing to say - he just related. Clicked. Determined and finished, he turned to leave without a word knowing exactly what he had to do, hearing her almost gasp for air and lounge forward slightly as if to stop him, uncertain if he was going to accept her offer or not. She really wanted this badly, didn't she? He almost fancied himself a Cupid in that moment. Some sort of wretched, bloodied, caricature Cupid with a shotgun who used bullets instead of arrows and some very dark dealings, yes - but a Cupid nonetheless. Why not give her what she wants and make her day? Love isn't an end goal he could just scoff at. He would've done the same. He has done the same.
-"Good night, Miss Aishi. You'll hear from me again soon."-
Was all he said, throwing her a goodbye glance over his shoulder as a confirmation, disappearing into the darkness, contemplating all the things one does for love.