Jakunen Mirai
Chapter 7: Twah!
***
Kazuya stood there, tapping his foot, staring into his wardrobe.
He’d heard passing comments later that afternoon about everyone in the Mishima
company constantly wearing dark, drab, depressing colours…mostly from a group
of American visitors. American visitors that not only expected him to not
understand a word of English, but didn’t even recognise him as the ‘Big Boss’
of the company they were talking about. Instead of loudly informing them of who he was, he simply stood back innocently; trying to look
busy, and just listened in. After all, contrary to public opinion, Kazuya was
not a loud, arrogant, obnoxious man. He had always made a definite effort to
look confident, but it came naturally with his face; thus, he ended up looking
arrogant. He also had a very, very loud voice when need be. So people assumed
he was just that; loud, rude, obnoxious, arrogant. No one really knew how much
he hated himself, wanted another life perhaps. When his attention wasn’t called
upon, he preferred to be somewhere in the background. Certainly it was a
difficult task, being only an inch under six foot
tall, and having a preference to more outrageous hairstyles and suits with a
little splash of colour.
And speaking of colour, now that he stood in front of his
wardrobe, he could see none. He sighed, folded his arms over his chest, and
tilted his head to the side. Dark blues, dark greys, black. That was the extent
of his clothing. Blah, how utterly boring.
Like you, Kazuya. Hah.
Both his eyebrows rose. Then he frowned, but smirked slightly.
“Fuck off, Devil.”
Blinking a few times, and hearing nothing more, he guessed he
hadn’t completely tamed the demon spirit that lived off his soul. Then again,
the spirit didn’t seem to be present in him any more, just the residual
effects. Such as, the lasting ability to morph into that beastly figure, but
with his own mind and control, not the Devil’s consciousness taking over. Then
he realised that voice had to be that internal…thing…that so often tormented
him. The scars from his father’s constant verbal abuse were still roar in his
mind, and often bled.
He shook his head about, and sighed again. Pity he never watched
many movies; there were always plenty of counsellors in them, offering advice
he could probably use. There was always the common sense and logic answers to
mental wars; let the logic take over. But, of course, whenever he tried to help
himself, that stupid voice always jibed, you
don’t deserve it. The hardest part for anyone was always to convince yourself
it was all lies. You had to stop believing the lies. Bur first of all, you had
to learn they were lies.
The conflict in his mind began to spike a little. He heard his own
voice, and the memories of his father’s voice.
I’m human, just like
everyone else, he told himself.
You’re weak and
worthless, Heihachi scolded.
I’m stronger than any
human alive, he reasoned. I
defeated that bastard Heihachi. I could beat anyone.
Your victory was luck,
baka, came Heihachi’s voice again. Your will is weak. Look at how your emotions
take you over.
Kazuya winced at the reminder. But then Jun’s voice joined the
battle. Emotions are a source of
strength, not weakness. They offer a barrier against cold logic, and make you
more human. The memory of her actual words was soothing and sweet.
But once again, the memories of Heihachi’s cruelness echoed about
in his mind. You were born weak. You will
always be weak. You are not worthy of anything. You don’t deserve the air you
breathe.
Frustrated, Kazuya finally stepped over the line. They were all
lies. All lies! He knew he was worth more. People gave him the respect he had
earned without him even having to be there. He’d made this company the most
powerful in the world. He’d changed so many lives for the better that Heihachi
had made miserable in the first place. Surely he deserved more than this…shit!
I don’t answer to you,
Old Man!
He smirked. That felt so good to say…and the memories finally fell
dormant. That does it; he’ll treat himself for the first time in his life to a
little entertainment. He looked back into his bland wardrobe, and pulled out a
few items. A few fond memories filled his mind as he pulled out a long leather
overcoat he hadn’t worn in years. This was the coat he was wearing when Jun
gave him his first kiss. It was so long ago, but he’ll never forget. He decided
to keep with the dark pants he was already wearing, but pulled down a dark blue
shirt – it was a much stronger blue than anything else he had to wear – and a
pale yellow tie. A very similar outfit to the one he wore so often a couple of
decades ago. Tossing the clothes down on his bed, he decided he’d go to a
classy bar or tavern in central
Ten or so minutes later, he wandered downstairs and into the
kitchen, where a small notice board stood, nails driven into it at regular
intervals, with keys dangling from a few. Of course, the Mishima family had
quite a collection of road vehicles, including a few limousines. He looked
outside into the garage area, spotting two black limos and a few sporty
cars…none of which really attracted his attention. Taking a ride in a limo
meant having to wait for the stupid driver to get his backside in here…he hated
the man anyway. One of Heihachi’s previous employees of course, and had no
sense of humour. The sports cars were a risk; people liked stealing cars like
that. So, he picked up the keys to his favourite vehicle, and wandered into the
garage, locking the door behind him.
He walked to the end of the large garage, and stopped beside a sleek, silver Suzuki Katana. He’d bought the bike himself
a month or so ago, soon after he had the Zaibatsu back – in preference to
another car, since bikes are easier to get around in, and this little
beauty…though it was a super sports, it was very street worthy. He picked up
the black full-face helmet and placed it over his slicked-back raven hair,
which had been smoothed down flat for once, since it wouldn’t be a good thing
at all if he’d crammed a darn bike helmet on top of his usual spiked-up
hairstyle.
As he kicked back the kickstand and turned on the ignition, the
garage door before him automatically opened. Hey nice…that’s an improvement
since his earlier days here. Smirking to himself at a few memories of Lee (who
often suffered a few insurance issues when it came to the rivalry between the
two brothers – Kazuya usually armed with a set of keys, and Lee with damage to
his precious paintwork), he set out down the long driveway out of the estate,
and headed down the road toward Tokyo, which was only a few kilometres in the
distance.
He felt a lot more comfortable behind the reflective mask of the
helmet. He was just another member of the commuters on the road, disguised
further by the darkness of the night. He’d been taught to be a courteous
driver, and unlike Lee, kept to his own lane, despite the temptation to weave
in and out of the traffic on the powerful bike. The ride in through the main
streets was oddly pleasant; the city central was littered with people and
bright lights, plenty of action, and an air of goodwill that wasn’t often
present in the work environment. Fairly soon, the street merchants and buskers
faded into hotel facades and shopping centres, and Kazuya’s eyes began wandering,
searching for a pleasant enough looking place to quietly spend the evening. Any
social activity, even if he was merely present, was a treat for him.
*
Sheree grinned as Tetsuo quaffed yet another shot of…something.
He’d had girlfriend trouble lately, and needed the support offered by the
alcohol…but perhaps not that much. The other people around the table were
supportive of the youthful Japanese man, but were here more or less for a good
time. After all, it was Friday night. In this place, Sheree felt more
comfortable. She had an Australian man on her left, and an American woman on
her right. Opposite her was another British woman. The other six people sitting
around were of oriental descent, one of the young women being Chinese, the
others being Japanese. They’d all met each other by chance, formed little
friendships amongst two or three, and finally, all the links were dug out, and
they all joined each other in the classy tavern in uptown
Yuki looked over at Sheree and smirked over her tall glass of
orange juice. “Tell me, my friend…what’s bothering you? You’ve been shaky the
whole day, since lunch time.”
The blonde woman glanced back at her companion and shrugged. “I’m
fine. Nothing’s wrong.”
One of the Japanese men sitting opposite her
shook his head and sighed. “You look like you’ve been chased up and down
the halls by a ghost, and you say you’re alright. I saw you coming back to work
this afternoon, and you looked like you were about to drop dead.”
She scraped her fingers through her blonde tresses and shook her
head. “I just had a strange run-in today, okay? A few
important people. You know what large focuses of power in one place do
to me. Stress me out.”
Tetsuo looked up dazedly from his shot glass, and added to the
conversation…in a somewhat slurred manner. “Sheree sweetie…as long as it wasn’t
T.H.E. head guy around the place, you’re fine.”
The American woman petted her shoulder and grinned across the
table at Tetsuo. “Ya know, after all the shit that’s gone on inside the company
lately, who could know what the head guy looks like? If he’s anything like his
father, we’d know who he is…but I ain’t seen nothin’ of the
man.”
Sheree sighed. “It WAS the Big Boss I crashed into. I met him
outside the lift before I went up.”
Every eye around the table snapped towards her. The other English
woman was the first to break the ice. “Is he hot?”
All Sheree could to was slap her forehead
with one hand, and go bright red, trying not to laugh herself to pieces.
“Well? Or is he an ugly old fart like his Dad?”
She couldn’t answer, she was in the hysterics. Kazuya,
and old fart?! Hell naw.
“I’m really serious this time. I wanna know! Is he an old bag…or
is he sexy? Or just okay…?”
Yuki giggled too. She’d seen him once or twice, hadn’t paid much
attention to the face…just his body. He was definitely well muscled. Or fat-chested. Hard
to tell from under a suit. “Or is he a fag?”
Sheree shrieked with laughter and slammed both fists down on the
table, taking a gasp of air. “You’re not helping!”
Everyone laughed sedately with her, waiting for her to calm down.
Finally, she took a gasp of air again, and panted. “Okay…to tell you the truth,
I really don’t know how to explain him. He’s just…well damn. The air around him
is electrified or something. He’s got a really deep voice though.” Inside she
was kicking herself. She wanted to tell the whole world about how damn
attractive he was. At the thought, she blushed.
Most people decided to back off a little, and not pressure her too
much about it…to avoid embarrassing her. It was obviously one heck of a fun-in
to do that to her.
*
Kazuya pulled off the main street, and parked the bike outside a
quiet looking tavern. It’d been such a long time since he’d gone out into this
sort of place. Heck, Jun was the last person he’d gone anywhere special with!
Ah, Jun…he could remember how heavenly it felt when her chin rested in just the
right spot on his shoulder. He missed her.
He pulled off his helmet and locked it down on the bike, slicked
his fingers through his hair – which he hadn’t bothered to style at all – and
silently stepped into the bright room. Seemed fairly lively
inside, people sitting around tables, laughing, sharing drinks. The
entire atmosphere of enjoyment lifted even his spirits a little as he made his
way towards the bar. Along the way he found an unoccupied table in a less
populated area of the tavern, and sat down there. If he stayed here a few
hours, he’d allow himself one drink. After all, driving a motorbike was always
harder than a car, so driving with a buzz was out of the question. Pity though,
a lot of the drinks on the stand-up menu on the table looked pretty nice. Then
again, he knew how to make one drink alone last hours. He’d just pass the time,
relaxing in the friendly environment. And since this place was one of the
classier, there might be a live band later on in the evening or something like
that.
*
No one at the group had noticed any newcomers to the tavern since they themselves entered. They had better things to do, like
have fun and talk to each other merrily.
“So, uh, what now?” Since eyes
were off Sheree now, they needed another source of entertainment. The American
woman gazed off into the distance a moment, dreaming of late-night parties in
She nudged Sheree in the side, and spoke in English. “Lookie at that fellow over there.
Looks awfully lonely, doesn’t he? Ya think we should invite him to the table?”
Sheree looked where her friend was pointing, and gasped. As he
shifted his head slightly, his hair fell forward, revealing that scar she’d
grown to recognise so easily this day. “That…that’s…”
The others turned their attention to her once again. Yuki didn’t
recognise him, so she was of no help there. “What is it, Sheree?”
Sheree shook her head, blushing shamefully at her reaction. “It’s
him. Kazuya Mishima. Our boss.”
The other British woman, peered over her shoulder as discreetly as
she could, stared a few seconds, then turned back,
grinning. In strong cockney English, of course, she gave her opinion. “You know
Sheree…you coulda told us he was fuckin’ hot to start
with, silly girl…” Sheree blushed even more, but the rest of her went quite
pale.
“It’s alright with him not noticing us and us being in quite a
group here…but wait till you meet him face to face, on your own. He’s taller
than he looks, sitting down…”
One of the Japanese men nodded his head. “I would be awfully
nervous meeting the head guy himself. I mean…massive focal point of power. That…and the payroll.”
*
Kazuya blinked a few times, and paused. He thought he heard his
name, for some bizarre reason. Shrugging it off, he sat back in his chair, and
looked about the crowd. They all seemed so happy, so relaxed. He was used to
being excluded from society, so simply being able to sit in on the atmosphere
was a treat on its own.
But suddenly something didn’t seem right. He got this sudden
feeling of dread washing over him, making his blood run cold. The self-defence feeling of disaster, and the desperate need to
leave. He ignored it, and waited to see what would happen however. No
need to panic for no reason.
Then, before he knew it, people started shrieking and several male
voices boomed through the place.
“Everybody freeze! Hands behind your heads!”
A group of around eight armed men had stormed into the place. One, armed with a
black Desert Eagle, walked forward toward the bar, or more directly, the bar
cashbox. Ah, pack mentality, Kazuya thought to himself.
Alone they are weak, but together they feel strong.
He was born with the desire to fight and win. And when one of the
pack members began to harass nearby people with his knife, threatening them and
enjoying their screams with sadist pleasure, it was just too much.
*
Could the evening get any worse? First of all, several run-ins
with her company’s CEO…not even her department boss…but the big guy himself…now
she crashes into the same guy at her favourite bar…and now some idiots are
trying to rob the place? Oh well, works better than a bank, supposedly. Might
as well just nicely stand back and let them do whatever, and they won’t hurt
you.
*
Kazuya leapt forward without any warning whatsoever, and almost
literally crashed right into the biggest member of the gang that was there,
pummelling him to the ground in an instant, and snatched his weapon. He stood
back, holding the gun in one hand. How guns revolted him
so much…but he held it, even though he felt it crawling about against his skin
despicably. Now that their strongest member was down for the count, Kazuya had
control over the situation. And quite intelligently, he stood side-on from a
slight distance, since there was another of them behind him.
“Drop your weapons.”
They didn’t seem perturbed by Kazuya’s threat, though inside they
were beginning to wonder whether this was such a good idea. The one that was
heading towards the cashier turned, and tossed the Desert Eagle aside.
“Ah, so you want to play the hard way, eh tough guy? Alright…we’ll
knock you out, and continue what we started.”
He couldn’t help but smirk ever so slightly to himself. Cocky fools.
If only they knew who he was…King of Iron Fist, and last survivor of the
Mishima clan. The first dived at him, tossing the Desert Eagle aside, and swung
out at his face with a previously concealed knife. But he was a mere amateur,
and Kazuya was beyond professional. He ducked to the side, and delivered a
short punch to the man’s stomach…or what would seem to he a short punch…but he
fully extended his arm, despite the close range, and with his universally known
unnatural strength, flung him halfway across the room, and sent him skidding
along the ground on his back. He spun around just as another burly figure
leaped at him with his fists forward. Bad, bad attack.
Kazuya simply sprung a short way off the ground with one foot, and delivered a
powerful uppercut with the opposite knee, setting his opponent airborne. As he
came down, he assisted gravity…swinging his leg high as the man fell in range,
and slammed his heel down on the man’s back, forcing him to the ground with
impact enough to more than wind him.
*
Well, this was an interesting turn of events. Now her boss was
kicking serious ass, and saving the tavern from a robbery. Damn, she should
have known he was such a skilled fighter. And he looked so deadly
attractive…and flexible.
Ugh, dirty thoughts! Sheree scolded herself for that. As the
second man was defeated, she gave a little whoop of joy. Following that, a few
others in the crowd cheered too, as he slammed a third man into a wall.
But then she noticed something odd. A black
figure shifting about at her side. Looking down, she realised it was the
leader of the gang, reaching out for his gun. He stood, and aimed directly at
Kazuya’s head.
Sheree shrieked, and leaped at the man, despite all her inner
rebellions. She wouldn’t allow the poor man to be killed after such a valiant
effort.
“No!!”
She managed to grab his wrist and pull it up, just as he fired the
weapon.
*
Just as the third gang member was thrown against the wall, Kazuya
heard a shrill shriek from a woman, and a weapon being fired. Immediately his
attention was drawn toward the commotion, and he whipped his head around to see
what it was all about. As he did, his eyes widened; a bullet whizzed by his
ear, hitting the wall right next to him…it’d only missed by a few millimetres.
But he was also being attacked from another direction, since the gang didn’t
seem to be very well coordinated within themselves. He
felt a spiking, burning pain as something sliced through his cheek, and thudded
into the wall on his other side – he couldn’t help but cry out at the sudden
pain. Then, as the burning subsided after a second, he felt heat stream down
his face. Blood.
His eyes filled with a slight hatred, and ferocity unseen by most
for a very, very long time.
“Kisama ka…”
The culprit backed away as Kazuya slowly and menacingly approached
him, raising a fist, and threw a false strike. Then, at just the point he was
expecting, the man ducked. Kazuya swung a leg up and over the head of his
previous attacker, caught the neck with his ankle, and threw his leg down with
all his might. The result; the famed BitchKicks
attack, which promptly sent the man flying into the ground, knocking him
unconscious upon impact.
However, with the sudden attack of anger, Kazuya didn’t notice the
first man he knocked out had awoken, and wasn’t pleased with his presence
either. The burly figure grabbed the much smaller Kazuya by the neck, and threw
him across the room.
*
With a sharp jab into a tender part of the neck, Sheree forced the
gang leader to involuntarily drop everything…including the gun…then disabled
him as soon as she could with a well-aimed kick into the groin with her rather
pointed-toed shoes.
The next thing she knew, she was hit with a very large object, and
thrown into the ground.
After a moment of panic, she looked down to see a little blood on
her shirt. The object – still lying on her from the impact – was Kazuya! After
a second, he growled and rolled off her, and sprung to his feet. His cheek was
bleeding pretty badly, and her shirt was splashed with the crimson liquid.
He flew right back into the fight again of course, but she sat
there on the ground, trying to recover. When he slammed into her, she felt like
someone had thrown her into a brick wall. And for the two seconds he was on top
of her, she could feel that muscle of his, moving so fluidly beneath his skin,
as he got his bearings and pulled himself up again. She blushed heavily as she
realised how that would’ve looked…her face up, him face down…ugh, let’s not go
there.
The action had turned in favour of everyone else in the tavern;
the gang had lost control of the situation, thanks to Kazuya’s intervention.
Yuki and Tetsuo reached down and pulled Sheree back onto her feet.
“Are you alright there? Speak to us…you okay?”
She just nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine…has anyone dialled the police
yet?”
No one had. It didn’t seem quite necessary…one man taking out six,
after all.
*
His cheek was burning, but he ignored it. It wasn’t a deep wound,
even though it was right on top of a scar that was already on his face. Five of
the six gang members were standing before him, definitely not feeling sure of themselves now. Kazuya felt that Devil Gene inside him
burning almost as much as his cheek for a moment, willing him to transform. But
he didn’t particularly want to, since that wasn’t a very nice public
image…besides, there was no need. He was simply used to this point in his
body’s exertion for the real activities to start. But then he felt a grin creep
across his face. As much as it hurt for his cheek to be stretched after being
sliced, he smirked. Then, with almost no effort, his eyes began to glow a
bright golden yellow…thankfully he was in such a position that no one but the
gang would see. And the reaction was a beauty. They all seemed to suddenly
truly fear him. Now this was more like it! Kazuya was accustomed to fear.
Though he didn’t appreciate it most of the time, in situations such as these,
fear is a useful element for him to bring out in people.
The gang members seemed to simultaneously reach the same answer to
their dilemma – just as Kazuya raised a fist – and turned tail to run out onto
the street, away from their opponent. But just as they did, a large number of
police cars screamed up in front, skidding to a halt in front of the tavern…and
closed the gang between them and the tavern.
Kazuya’s eyes returned to their normal colour, and he folded his
arms over his chest, before walking back inside. He headed back over to his table
calmly, reached down, picked up a paper serviette, and wiped some of the blood
off his face and neck. Outside, the police began rounding the gang up,
handcuffs and all, into the back of the paddy wagon.
*
Sheree regained her composure, and had managed to dab most of the
bloodstains out of her shirt. Of all the people in the room, she guessed she
was the only one that was trained to be a nurse, and as the last gang member
was rounded out of the place, she walked over to the counter, retrieving a first-aid
kit from the bartender. Of course, she quickly made sure that everyone else was
alright, before going to the patient who needed the most bandaging up. Turned
out one woman needed a nail file, because her fingernail broke in the
commotion, and someone else needed a bandaid – but other than that, nothing
serious.
*
Now that the action had ended, there were a few police officers
inside, questioning a few bystanders and the bartender…nothing that concerned
Kazuya. He just sat down, fiddling with the blood-soaked serviette. Then, much
to his surprise, his field of vision was suddenly assaulted with a white
briefcase-like thing being plonked down on the table in front of him.
*
She saw his eyebrows rise at her sudden arrival, but smiled as she
opened up the first-aid kit in front of him.
“Don’t worry, I’m trained in first aid.
We’ve got to patch up that wound in case it gets infected.”
She smiled even more when it turned out that Kazuya was really
just the typical brave male...and probably just a little scared of the good ol’ needles and anaesthetics. “There’s no need.” She should
have expected a reply like that. Then again, it didn’t seem things like that
really bothered him. Maybe he just wasn’t used to the attention. Or, then
again, with the many scars he already had all over his body, he was probably
used to being diced up.
“Oh come now, there’s no need for great ugly infected scars all
over your face, either. It won’t hurt…” She had absolutely no idea why she was
mothering this man so much. But she was in a position of power now, and it felt
great. She pulled out a soft cottonwool pad, and soaked it in a disinfectant
from a small brown bottle within the first aid kit. So far, he hadn’t offered
any resistance. Squeezing out the excess, she then stood a little closer to
him, then placed the wet object against the wound.
The reaction was pretty typical. His face suddenly screwed up, and
he frowned heavily, hissing slightly with the stinging sensation. “Itai…” He
didn’t seem to allow himself any more than that whispered acknowledgement of
the pain.
A mothering instinct had her press the other side of his head
gently against her stomach as she stood next to him, holding the
disinfectant-drenched cotton wool against his face for a few seconds longer. He
was surprisingly obedient. And she noticed, as he opened his eyes again, that
his left eye had oddly faded back to a more natural shade of dark brown. How
strange. As the stinging clearly began to subside, she lifted the cotton wool
off his face, and dabbed up the remaining drips of the disinfectant. The wound,
now quite a lot more visible, had almost stopped bleeding. It was well aimed
too; right over the original scar on his right cheek. Lifting his head from
against her, she leaned down and faced him so she could inspect it better. Once
again, he offered no resistance, funnily enough. She would have expected, from
someone with a reputation like him, to be practically kicking and screaming by
now. But no, he just held his face wherever she put it.
“It’s not a very deep wound.”
“I could’ve told you that.”
Sexy smartass… she thought to herself. But she ignored the remark.
“I think you’ll just need a protective layer over it while it heals; it’s not
gaping, so you won’t need stitches or duct tape…”
*
He blinked. “…Duct tape?” Were all women this strange when it came
to first aid, or was it just this one? Or perhaps it was something British
women did…but duct tape? Ow…
Something else that he noticed on the side, now that he thought
about it…the vision in his left eye seemed perfect all of a sudden. Since
G-Corp messed with him so many years ago, it’d always been slightly blurry,
which was annoying, since the vision in his right eye was fine. But now…his
vision was perfect in both eyes.
*
She chuckled. “Sorry, I have a bad sense of humour.”
He seemed almost relieved that she wouldn’t be putting great slabs
of black sticky-tape all over his face. Instead, she just put a piece of wide
bandaid-like membrane over the wound. It didn’t show up much, since it blended
into his face well. Then she began packing the kit back up again, and collected
all the used gear in a serviette to be thrown away.
Then, much to her surprise, he looked up at her a second.
“Thanks.”
She blushed, despite herself. “Well hey,
I’m the only trained ex-nurse in the building…”
He smiled, and she wandered off to return the kit. A moment later,
she sat back down on her chair at the table, while a few more people than
Tetsuo chugged a shot or two of strong liquor. She looked back over at
Kazuya…sitting there, all alone. There was a spare seat over at their table…and
after all he did tonight, the least they could do would
be invite him over and give him a free drink…for saving their lives, or their
wallets…or both.
The American woman got there first, however. She stood, and
waltzed right over to the Mishima. “You look awfully lonely, sitting here on
your own. There’s a spare seat at our table, ya know? Come on over and join in
the fun…”
*
He didn’t know what to say…someone was offering him a seat right
in the middle of the social action? He’d wished for such an invitation for a
great many years, but the closest he’d gotten to it was business conferences,
which were boring anyway. He couldn’t hold back the slight curl of his lips in
the corners. “Are you sure?”
The busty American woman nodded, and continued in her terrible
accent. “Yeah, of course I am! Come on over, have a drink…you deserve it after
that save of yours…”
Before he really knew what to say or do, she looped her arm
through his, dragged him up, and took him back over to the group’s table,
sitting down, and sitting him in the free seat next to her. Then he suddenly
felt uncomfortable; all eyes were on him. He felt compelled to speak. But it
seemed someone had him covered. The young man across
from him, obviously drunk, grinned and nodded to him. “Let me buy you a drink,
sir…” Kazuya couldn’t hold back the smile any longer. It was like a dream. People
didn’t seem to care who he was, he was a friend at the moment. Nobody’s
superior, for now, just another companion on a quiet Friday night.