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Chapter Forty One
Requital
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He hated playing nurse.
It seemed like all he ever did was play nurse. Wild had promised him months ago that he would receive a mask soon, just in a few weeks, maybe next month, and still the time dragged on. The defeat of the Serows left a gaping hole in yakuza society, as with Rikuto’s hatchet men gone, there was no one else to fill the void, and the power structure among the various families began to fall apart. Cross-family conflicts were frequent and often dragged the rest of Japan into them.
However, the most infuriating part of this all was the wolf mask being perfectly available, and Wild still refusing to give it to him. He had gone along with everything the leader of the Renegade Masks had demanded of him, and still this mask — which he was certain not even Wild knew what it did — was forever withheld.
What prompted his frustration in this particular instant was the sight of Hie crumpling like a house of cards under the unrelenting pressure of the scream that thundered through the air. Its target was Wild, yet finding his mask insurmountable kept adding on the pressure, the old lungs in the practically deceased body of Shellac seemingly never running out of air.
As Wild charged the figure, Shellac drew the sword off of his forehead for a moment before slamming it against his skull, launching Wild into the air and smashing him down into the soil again, which bubbled and swam as it carried him beneath the ground. The torii gate behind the menacing figure framed the terrific power at his disposal, and he watched through drooping eyelids as Wild’s writhing fingers disappeared in the grass.
Hie tried to stand, but another screech from the old samurai knocked him to the ground. Furious, the young man got up from his prone position and burst through the treeline, bolting towards the decrepit figure only to slide on his knees as he gripped the sides of his head, the unrelenting pressure halting his advance.
He glared up at the ancient entity, who wavered back and forth in sickly fashion as if nothing around him truly existed. His aged mouth moved, but it was impossible to determine what he was saying, his voice lost to time beyond the incoherent screeches he let fly at all that moved against him.
A glance back at the ground reinvigorated his spirits, and seeing Shellac once again moving the sword against his brow, he lunged for the blade.
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“That sucks.”
Wild raised his eyebrows, sank his jaw, and rolled his head towards his shoulder to glance at Tone with a light smirk trying to hide amongst his features. “I’m serious, boss. This is one of the worst plans you’ve ever had.”
“Why is that, exactly?” Wild turned further, completely ignoring the road in font of him. “I think it’s rather ingenious. We get there, talk to him, and-”
“And he, being a highly decorated and impossibly talented military sniper, sees us in the parking lot and shoots us dead before we have time to react.” Tone grumbled. “He’d shoot her first because he’s familiar with Hie’s mask. Then he’d shoot me, and then he’d run away before you have the chance to catch up.”
Race had forced Wild’s eyes back onto the road by slowly pushing his shoulder until it turned him the other way again. “Tone, I already said we’d be getting there before he comes back. He doesn’t carry his rifle with him everywhere, and he wouldn’t be able to assemble it fast enough once he gets in the doorway. I know his schedule like the back of my hand, and he’s never changed it.”
Tone’s eyes landed on Race for a moment, looking for some sliver of solidarity for his argument. The hoodie she wore was far less form-fitting than his own, and she constantly kept the sleeves pulled up enough to allow her hands the freedom to move. The glance he sent her was returned as subtly as possible, and despite the deadpan lids that framed her side eye it seemed to ring with the slightest twinge of pity.
It was impossible to tell if that was meant for him or Ren, who sat directly aside him and rested his sleeping head on Tone’s shoulder. Every day Wild proclaimed how the kid was looking more and more lively, but Tone often wondered if he wasn’t growing more pale instead, oftentimes acting like a sick child much younger than he appeared. His body was incredibly weak, and no amount of positive words from Wild could erase Tone’s assuming chronic fatigue syndrome to be the cause.
Of course, Wild refused to even consider diagnosing it properly, fully convinced it was something that would pass given enough time, and Tone’s suggestion of chocolate mixed with rituximab was discarded outright. But as the minivan idled to a halt, Tone lightly tapped the back of Ren’s hand to wake him up, hoping he wouldn’t be forced to carry him around again.
“Better leave him in here.” Wild sighed, glaring in the mirror at Tone grasping his heart and making an exaggerated sighing motion. “Race, I want you inside, but you can keep coming out every now and then to see how he’s doing. Ren, you okay to stay here?”
“Too heavy.” Ren mumbled, only mostly awake as he looked about the vehicle interior, as if he did not remember getting in. “I’m stay here. Too heavy.”
With a sigh, Wild exited the vehicle, followed in swift fashion by Race and Tone. The apartment building was quite dilapidated, and the few occupants still residing inside were all impoverished and, in Tone’s mind, all addicted to something or other. The creaking stairs were ascended as gently as they could be in their condition, and with two massive strides Wild departed the stairwell and stopped at the door.
Race put the hairpin back in her pocket as the door swung open, revealing a decaying room caked in cobwebs with a few dead plants set in what would have been quite ideal places, had they been living. Dust floated about aimlessly in the air, illuminated by the light of the moon shining through the window. A note was left on the table by the window, and with an uncertain air Tone slowly lifted it and began to read.
His face fell into annoyance almost the same moment his eyes landed on the note, pocketing one hand and extending the note over his shoulder with the other. Wild gently claimed it and gave a snort at the contents, patting Tone on the shoulder as he moved into the light to read.
“To whoever finds this… I have set up money to pay for this apartment for the next three years, use it as you wish… I should’ve guessed.” Wild sighed, pocketing the note and folding his arms in disappointment. “He’s a crafty old weasel. I suppose we’ll need to track him down some other way, if he’s even in Japan at this point.”
Tone glared out the window. “If I hear one comment about how I need to learn Japanese-”
“Well you should.” Wild grinned, leaning in to make the situation much worse before the room collectively turned towards the door. Almost instantly Wild threw out a hand to prevent Race from disappearing, with her rolling her eyes in as exaggerated a manner as she could and retreated into the shadow of the corner. Wild somehow disappeared his entire lanky body behind the recliner, forcing Tone to sink into what little shadow the wall with the window provided.
The door opened to reveal a short silhouette, his perfectly round glasses reflecting the limited light. He fiddled with the lamp for a moment before giving up, walking forwards and holding something close to his chest. He had not made it three steps into the room before Ren dove into his spine, knocking him to the ground and pulling his arm behind him by the wrist, with one heel against the base of his skull.
“That’s enough.” Wild snapped, standing up from behind the chair and almost stepping directly over it as he approached the pair. The youth was quite startled, feeling his chest to see if his heart was still intact before Wild pulled him up by the shoulders and set him on his feet. “Hey, are you okay? I hope we didn’t spook you too bad.”
“Uh,” He stammered, nervously brushing his wavy black hair out from behind his glasses as he stared up at the oni mask. “Y-Yakuza?”
“No, no.” Wild pointed two fingers at Ren, and Tone moved to intercept him as he slumped against the wall. “We’re something of a vigilante group. We’ve been trying to find the man who lived here, if you know anything about his- Race.”
“…Chinese?” The youth mumbled, realizing a moment too late that Race was standing behind him. She dutifully turned his wallet over to Wild, who took it with a scowl and glanced at its contents, his disapproving expression melting away in an instant.
“Khan?” He looked back down at the youth, who stared up at the intimidating figure with clear concern written across his features. “You his kid or something?”
“Nephew,” The nephew nervously rubbed his forearm. “I was hoping I could find him. My parents just passed a couple months ago, and… I, uh…”
His eyes eventually landed on Tone, who had abandoned Ren in favor of glaring with a boiling furious fire in his eyes at Wild, who snickered and took off his oni mask in response. “Listen, uh… Ru.” He handed the wallet back to its rightful owner, a tired smile spreading across his face. “I was hoping your uncle would help me combat the yakuza, but it seems he’s been gone for some time. If you’re trying to find him, I’ll help you out any way I can.”
“Oh.” Ru’s face brightened considerably. “Do you know where I could stay? I only just got off the plane, and it took all of my savings to fly over here, and-”
Ru jumped slightly, looking back as Tone’s fiery stare seemed to triple in its intensity. Wild gently turned the youth around by the shoulder, gesturing him out the door and whispering a few reassuring words under his breath to help make Tone not look like he was about to strangle him to death. Race slowly picked herself up from the wall, brushing only the most visible cobwebs from her shoulder and instantly disappearing.
With a sigh Tone lifted Ren up in his arms, whose eyes were beginning to roll back into his head. With a despondent look back, he wormed his arm out from underneath Ren’s spine and, touching two fingers on the door, pulled it shut.
—
It was a shout that tore the grass from the soil.
The old mind that pushed blindly against the sword had to guess its aim through eyes that barely functioned, but the young man’s mind was far clearer. No centuries of age slowed his reason, no withered hands and misty eyes holding him back.
It was a shout that, despite the old Shellac having far greater mastery of the blade, tore into his very being and ripped it to shreds. He could feel his soul shudder and shrivel at the force of the attack, and with no indication of Wild returning, the young man had no reason to hold back.
His hand ached. The blade had bit deep when Shellac tried to pull it away, and he could feel the stinging cold of the steel touch his bones. But nothing could stop him now; any delay could mean Wild’s death.
As the last bit of air left his lungs, he looked down at the shriveled remains of the old Shellac, whose body had wrinkled like a dried leaf and crumbled like burnt paper, holding only a vague resemblance to the wicked man it was before. Hie was on his feet in an instant, the ground which Wild had descended into exploding from his efforts to clear it.
“I could hold my breath just fine,” Wild dusted his sleeve off as he climbed out of the newly-created hole. “It’s a question on if I was going to be lucky enough to-”
The world fell into silence as the young man softly stood, still clutching the katana, a crimson stream flowing down the handle. Dripping onto Shellac, the droplets seared a hole through him in an instant, the disfigured remains dissolving as it made contact. Wild slowly walked forwards, setting a fatherly hand on the trembling shoulder in front of him.
“Not luck.” The young man muttered, eyeing the blade in his palm with a gaze stronger than steel. “Never luck.”
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