Androgyny: Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1:

Brief Respite

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The money he received was twice as much delivered to him last, but it wasn’t the amount he wanted. He had expected more with the goods he managed to get. Small things but were still needed necessities.

Katamari Yodda had already given them a whole month’s allowance to make up the number he demanded.

They managed to reach the quota, in exact amount. With the wares he had embezzled from the black market, he had calculated on getting more. He was being duped.

This was not what he wanted.

He had dropped them as infants and toddlers when he found them troublesome, and only once again herded them with the sole purpose of gaining him some profit to live through his social standards, which was, to others, to find the simplest of comfort in what one might call a dump, but to the Scoundrels, it was already enough to even find such a space in their overpopulated territory. They would rather grovel than ask for help. But Katamari Yodda had other comforts in mind that he wanted. He had high ambitions and that didn’t include spending big money on people who wouldn’t even serve his purpose.

None of them had saw the slap coming, they had expected it, but hadn’t seen it, until their Sento lay sprawled on the floor, looking stunned. One would have thought she would be used to it, but the look of sheer fury and shock mixed together in the gray depths of her eyes said so otherwise. The imprint of Yodda’s right hand started to swell on her cheek, a glaring crimson color as she held a hand over it.

There was also a mix of rage and temper in a pair of hazy dark depths as Gira glared at the man who had strode into the dressing room in a fit of pent up anger and lashed out the first person he saw when he shoved the door open. Sento just had the misfortune of standing there when he came in. Only the look in Sento’s eyes held Gira back from making any move. She didn’t like it if anyone butted into her business.

“You little punks think you can cheat on me!” Yodda raged, his thick face beet red with uncontrollable anger, a fist raised threateningly when Sento snorted.

“What now?” Seireki asked, stepping in between Sento and his fist.

“Shut up, you piece of shit! You were supposed to teach them what I taught you!”

Defiance showed in a pair of eyes very much identical to Sento’s. Fists clenched at the sides as she stood before him, holding back her own share of anger at the man who forced them into this kind of living. “You never taught us anything, otosan.” She said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Takajirou Murasaki held her breath when she saw the quick reflex of Yodda’s arm, hitting Seireki across the face. Her head whipped around at the force, her short coarse dark hair flinging stiffly to the same direction, but she still stood, determined to keep him from doing any more harm on anyone where she was concerned.

Sento scrambled back to her feet but Seireki held her back from adding any more fuel to the fire. They all knew, just one word out of the headstrong girl, she could rekindle a dying spark back to a raging inferno. She never saw to it to hold herself back. Only Seireki would dare cut in between. And only Seireki was the only person she would never lay a hand on. God knows how many harm she had gone through for Sento.

“Where’s my money, bitch! Are you behind this?” He demanded. “There were a hundred thousand worth of goods I brought in you gave me a measly half the price I expected.”

Seireki barely blinked. “You said you wanted us to reach half. The risk of releasing all the goods at the same time was too high, and pricing them in the numbers you wanted would have drawn too much attention. It was either we sell cheap and get rid of them. The underground dogs are bound to sniff their own merchandise if we bring all of it into the open.”

“I don’t give a damn if there are risks! I want it all!”

Murasaki cowered behind the door at the outburst, her nerves on end.

“We’ll give you your goddamn friggin’ money on the next release.” Seireki replied, unwavering, eyeing the veins popping on the man’s temples and neck. Any more strain on his temper and they’d be bulging from his skin.

Gira took the opportunity while they argued to edge closer to Sento, gently turning her face upwards for a brief inspection before letting go and knew without a doubt that the two sisters were going to have their shares of black and blue tomorrow. Yodda just never gave a damn if it were women or children as long as it was himself. He took a quick glance at Seireki who still held her ground. Unlike her sister, Seireki’s face was a mask of indifference, hiding anything she may be feeling at that moment, while Sento was scowling hard at Yodda.

They were two unlikely sisters yet still the same. Seireki would do anything to keep her sister from any harm and Sento would do anything to protect her. At least their goal was the same. Each as concerned for the other.

 “There is no next f*ckin’ release, you punk!” He pointed out. “Oh, you think you’re smart, eh! You may be good at organizing everything, you little b*tch, but don’t think I didn’t notice how you can easily falsify the lists I made! Those goddamn merchandise were all sold at the right time at the right moment without getting any of those underground bastards on its scent!”

Murasaki gave a start, her eyes jerking towards the two at Yodda and his allegations. She had known of the shifting and replacing of certain numbers done by Seireki, Sento and Gira in the records Yodda had provided to keep track of the goods, but there were just too many to have been noticed were missing from the stocks. Keeping her mouth shut had been wise at first or get Sento on her case again without Gira already making the trouble of getting between her pants at every opportunity.

She was only doing what she was told to do, and that was to mind her own business.

It resulted to this.

The visible stiffening of the trio’s shoulders, however, answered his accusation, making him sneer.

 “I’ll get that money if it’s the last thing I do!” Yodda roared, slamming out of the room.

The leather belt came down again and again, the slinging sound slicing through the air as Yodda furiously lashed out. His temper was to the extent of its limit and just about everyone knew how far he would go when he was mad. Raving mad was more like it.

He was sparing no mercy at the three cowering girls on the floor, the younger one at the far back where the two were shielding her from the attack. The first few strikes hadn’t missed her though; Murasaki still felt the searing pain on her arms and cheek where he had caught her by surprise. Sento had jumped in to her defense, surprising both her and Yodda at her action. She had staggered backwards and then Seireki was standing in her place, taking the brunt of it.

The older girl refused to budge when Sento tried to push her away. Both of them could now see the appearing red welts on her arms, one on her face, but she took it all in as if they were nothing to her. Sometimes Murasaki thought Seireki was already unaffected of any abuse since she had been experiencing it all her life.

As for Gira…

“Let me in, you crazy bastard!” He yelled through the locked door while pounding on it hard with his tightly clenched fist, the rotting wood rattling on its hinges.

Yodda had locked him out before he could even take a step through the door. Sadistic or not, Yodda did show a sign of wariness when Gira was around and he was more careful of his actions, maybe that was why Gira refused to stay absent from Sento. The old man was afraid of him, not completely, but at least he was a little careful.

Messing with Kazuhide “Hyô” Gira meant messing with his gang of delinquents. His word was their commandment.

“Open the door!” Gira pounded angrily until the hinges started to crack and the door shook loosely from the frame. “F*cking bastard!” He growled under his breath, the sound like that of a panther ready for battle against its enemy, showing no mercy.

He backed up a few steps and with one sure force, kicked the door down completely off its hinges and sending it nearly crashing on the wall across from it. He stalked in, ready for war but only scowled at a panting Yodda on an old couch that occupied the room. The three were still on the floor, Sento choking back the words she wanted to scream at Yodda’s face. She had her swollen arms around Seireki, who was heaving, her arms crossed over her chest but not touching the broken flesh. Behind them was a trembling Murasaki, hugging herself into a tight ball.

“F*cking, stupid bastard!” Gira yelled at Yodda who wasn’t the least bit concerned. “It makes you feel good to hurt women, doesn’t it? I’ll make you feel something else!” He yelled, lunging at Yodda.

Dark brown eyes grew wide as he saw Gira leap at him. The younger man more agile and fast than his thick, overweight body. He barely eluded the outstretched hand that was aiming for his neck as he rolled away from the couch, to the floor and scrambled back to his feet.

“Come back here!” He bellowed his rage, blinding him from noticing when Yodda reached for a microphone stand, his stance ready to swing.

He lunged again and the base of the microphone stand would have met his head if someone hadn’t grabbed him from behind. A pair of swollen arms had circled themselves over one shoulder and the other below one arm and held at the wrists for a firmer hold and pulled him back with full force, sending them both falling down backwards. The microphone stand swung a wide arc but swiped at nothing but empty air. The force of his swing sent Yodda to take an unbalance step around; he stumbled, hitting his head on a large speaker.

“Baka…” Whispered Sento in Gira’s ear, her grasp on him tightening briefly before relaxing but she didn’t let go. Her head was slightly bent over his own; the coarse dark locks falling to cover whatever expression was on her face. “Leave out of this.”

Gira moved, standing up, offered his hand to her and pulled Sento on her feet. The scowl returned on his face when he looked over at a dazed Yodda. Everyone else had started moving around, all of them ignoring the man on the opposite side of the room.

There were four of them against him, but their fear of one man held them back. Seireki, Sento, and Murasaki… theirs was psychological. Inflicted on them at a very young age that it developed into something they couldn’t face yet. As for Gira, he could get him anytime but it was none of his concern. Sento had made it clear to him since the beginning.

“Kuso…” Gira cursed under his breath, leading all three girls to the single bedroom at the back, the hazy murkiness of his eyes hid the ominous glitter in the depths as his sight never left Yodda for one moment until the door closed behind them.

Awhile later, they heard the lock on the door click. He had locked them in again and Gira could only roll his eyes at the attempt to the keep them there, turning his attention to the present task at hand. Patching them up was beginning to be one of his few hobbies, probably the only hobby he was getting good at. There wasn’t a day he wouldn’t notice a bruise or two on their skin, little or not, they always had a mark to carry around. And to top it all, they refused to leave the very person who did this to them.

Lithe fingers strummed the strings lazily, picking up a droning tune that sent shivers up and down one’s spine. The sound eerie yet lyrical in its own way. It went on for a few more minutes, releasing the tension in the small room until the occupants seem to relax.

All signs of bruises and welts on their skin had long started to fade but still evident. It had been a week since that night and Yodda hadn’t showed up then. They wanted it that way. No one to dictate their lives, no past demons haunting after them even on broad daylight and no fists coming down to hit them for every wrong move.

Katamari Yodda had made his appearance scarce. Not once had he shown up to check on them for the past week, let alone beat them again as he always did. His absence was making them tense, their nerves high strung. There has got to be a reason for it all. He always made plans to gain him profit through them, that was why the band existed in the first place but so far they had made a deliberate mess of it, and he was none the wiser to have figured that out. Yet, he wasn’t stupid either.

He made their lives a living hell, they were sure not to make it easier for him as well. But their defiance did have its consequences. And one of those was what happened a week ago.

The sounds stopped, fading slowly. Murasaki glanced up at her companions. Sitting on the windowsill were Gira and Sento, taking comfort in each other. He had his arms around her, holding her upright as she stared into space. At the far corner of the room, alone on one of the large floor cushions, was Seireki. She lay unmoving and calm, a sign that she was sleeping again after staying up all night while keeping guard. She and Gira were supposed to have taken turns but she never woke him up. That much was obvious since she had been asleep after they all woke up and Gira was in his usual restless self.

A scrape from somewhere outside startled Murasaki and she saw Sento move away from Gira’s arms as he leaned outside the window. He yelled to someone outside, his voice muffled in the crisp morning air.

“Coasts are clear. There’s not a hair’s sign of that old toad anywhere.” Gira announced when he drew himself back in, shutting the window.

“Good, ’m starting to miss Smiley.” Sento said, slurring slightly as she stretched out her arms above her.

Murasaki saw Gira grimace. She had only met “Smiley” a few times and the guy was completely unnerving. She swore that he only had one expression and that was smiling all the time, twenty-four seven.

The sound of shifting at the corner of the room diverted her attention. Seireki was already up and moving, Gira’s announcement having awoken her.

“What now, Seireki?” Sento asked indolently, rubbing one eye.

“Nothing. I’m going to work.” Seireki answered, picking up her bull cap beside the cushion she had been sleeping on and put it on, completely hiding her short dark hair.

“Can I come with you, Seki-san?” Murasaki found herself asking before she even realized it. She glanced at Sento who had raised an eyebrow at her. “If you don’t mind.” She mumbled. Anywhere was better than staying there alone in case Yodda came back. And being in Sento’s company was enough to set her nerves rattling, no telling when the older girl will pounce on her.

“Suit yourself. Gira, set your dogs on alert.” She replied, walking past them for the door.

“You can count on it.”

“You know where to find us, onesan.” Sento called after her as they walked out of the room. Seireki’s answer was to raise her hand.

The entire walk went in silence, the other in complete steady pace as her companion as they walked quietly down the road. Their long legs able to carry them faster and easier than any of the medium height locals, making their way down the empty road.

The Commoners were the second populated classes in Garden but none would see them dallying about. Their life was all about hard work.

Murasaki felt a cold shiver go up her spine, as she was very well aware that they were on different territory. The whole of Garden knew how the Commoners despise the Scoundrels, calling them uncivilized, barbaric and worthless. The Scoundrels lived up to those names but they knew how to respect when earned it. Living in the slum areas of Garden was the most difficult trials of living. Already the higher classes had described it as a relation to hell.

This was Liana, territory of the Commoners. They were like the bothersome vines of the garden, one minute a beautiful adornment, the next a strangling weed.

She pondered upon her thoughts on what had driven her to come along with Seireki in this strange world. They all knew that she kept a somewhat unsteady job as a janitor in the middle class territory. So far she had remained untouched, and the job provided little attention to her. Anyone from the higher class would have had their head thoroughly examined if they even dared look at a Scoundrel twice.

“Filthy strays.” Murasaki heard a man say lucidly as they silently walked pass him.

He and his companion stayed out of their reach as if in fear of getting contaminated of whatever filth clung to the two.

Murasaki felt the heat rising up in her face as she lowered her head to hide the sudden flush of embarrassment that crept up to her cheeks. Unlike most Scoundrels, she and the other members of the band made it a regular habit to wash everyday. How the higher class thought of them all as filthy was beyond her understanding. As long as one came from the slums, they were the scums of Garden.

“Ignore them, Murasaki.” Seireki said tersely but she was looking ahead of them.

She would be used to it by now, seeing as she had always come to such a place everyday a year ago. Murasaki observed the older girl from the corner of her eye. The same old bull cap she wore when going out on public, the cold, expressionless face, and the intimidating stance. Tatsuki Seireki was anything but ordinary. She wasn’t fully sure what brought out the Seireki she knew from the Seireki Sento once knew, but she had often times heard Sento mumble in her sleep that she was different.

Murasaki took a quick glance around them. They had gotten a good deal far from their own territory yet all she could see where high walls around elaborate houses. Was this how far Seireki always had to go on foot to her job? She wondered. Yet the older girl seemed undaunted after a day’s work.

“Ano…”

“This way.” Seireki replied before the question could form in her mouth.

They turned at a corner street and that’s when she finally noticed the large open gate ahead of them with the large logo on top in an arc above the name.

Jyuuken District Academy.

A school.

From the sight of the empty campus, Murasaki knew that classes were still going on. The guard at the gate barely spared them a glance when they walked in but he was watching Murasaki strangely with his eyes.

“He’s here to help. Lay off the gripe.” Seireki spoke, pulling Murasaki along.

As if that was enough explanation, the guard gave a disgusted snort before ignoring them again. Murasaki didn’t bother to correct that she wasn’t exactly a he, but she learned a long time ago to keep her mouth shut. The deceit in the gender was necessary; if it meant living through day by day without the added trouble they were always receiving from Yodda.

They came to a stop before taking another turn behind a single floor building that looked different from the rest. Once inside, she saw it was a gym, a large one.

“How much do they pay you for your work?” Murasaki asked, taking the broom Seireki handed out to her while she bent inside the closet again to retrieve a mop and an empty bucket.

Jyuuken District Academy was a big school. Probably the only prestigious school there was in Garden. If she knew correctly, it was the only school the Aristocrats has had constructed since the caste system functioned and up until now was still the highest standing educational establishment. There were others but their population didn’t even reach to a full half percent of the Commoners.

Seireki gave a dry laugh at her question. “How much do you think?” She asked.

“Same as everybody else?” She squeaked at the sudden edge to Seireki’s tone.

“No. We live in an unfair world. We should learn to live with unfair terms. It’s how we survive out here.” She answered, picking up the bucket as soon as she slung the mop over one shoulder.

She was learning all right. All at the same time.

When Seireki meant, “help” she meant it, literally. She no sooner had Murasaki mopping the floors of the gym, twice; until she was positive it shined. Murasaki never knew of a much more back aching chore, her muscles sore and her back weary from bending so long. For someone living in the slums and used to hard life, Murasaki’s hands were surprisingly smooth but firm. Already she could feel the blisters on her palms from gripping the mop handle so hard.

On the opposite side of the court was Seireki with a mop of her own and moving about as if she wasn’t feeling the weariness of the task. Perhaps she didn’t as she had been working this kind of job longer than any of them could keep one.

Supposing there was no hope of asking for a break, as Seireki was so absorbed in her work. Murasaki heaved a sigh and crossed over to her, having done her side. She may as well go along if they were to be done early.

“You can leave everything else to me.” Seireki said much to her surprise when she placed the pale on the floor beside hers.

It was close to being told to have a break. “H-hai! Just let me take care of this.” She replied, picking up the bucket again and taking hold of her mop.

Depositing both outside, behind the gym, Murasaki emptied out the bucket on the grass and washed the mop with the faucet there. Not knowing exactly how long Seireki was expecting her back, she took her time outside, darting glances at the buildings and expressive constructions of the structures. It didn’t look like a school.

Instead of the big fancy garden in front like most mansions she had seen from the higher class, the front yard was eloquently divided in corners and patches for trees and a bed of flowers to grow on the path side. Vehicles were parked nearby with a respective chaperone in each and they were conversing while waiting for their young employers. Marble pillars stood before the front entrance of the large double doors. The entire school building were constructed of sturdy red bricks that fitted the scenery it emitted, like that of a Western building blended with a little of the old and modern style.

Murasaki looked up at the foundation of the building with its marvelous contrast to that of any architectural standing around Garden. Buildings like these were often found in Eden. But nothing could be bigger than Jyuuken District Academy.

She squinted her eyes up against the blare of the afternoon sun and then drew back when she heard the back door of the gym squeak open. The door was a little rusty on the hinges. Seireki must have noticed too for she had placed the pail down and was swinging it back and forth, the shrill squeak a torture to Murasaki’s sensitive ears.

Seireki saw her before she could make her presence known. The other girl probably knew she would be there anyway; the soft padding of her feet on the ground had given away her exact whereabouts. Years of practice had gotten them to adjust their hearing senses sharper; it was easier to tell that way just how far before Yodda came barging in.

The dirty water and mop rinsed, Seireki brought all two pales and two mops back in, the protests dying in Murasaki’s mouth before she could utter them. They were deposited back to the broom closet and Seireki took time to take something else out.

A can of grease?

She disappeared again, Murasaki watching her go, probably back to take care of that door. Sighing, Murasaki walked back into the gym, blinking at the cleanliness of the place. She hadn’t really gotten to observe it when she left a while ago. She looked down at the floor and saw it clear enough to see her reflection, not a sign of speck on the wooden floor, not even a smudge of a shoe.

The sound of the gym doors sliding open and voices filling in startled Murasaki from her intense concentration on focusing her reflection on the floor. Two men had just stepped in when she felt being hauled back, not too roughly, but somewhat firmly. She came face to face with Seireki who was barely glancing at the filing people.

“Don’t ever show yourself to them.” Seireki advised, and then with a nod in the direction of the court, her expression hardened. “They can be real dickheads.”

She could only nod her head in reply as Seireki left again. Murasaki went after her, stealing a brief glance at the court before ducking away. There were all men in there, in jerseys and shorts, ready for sport.

“Ano… what kind of game are they playing, Seki-san?” Murasaki asked when she caught up with her.

“Hn?” Seireki looked pensive for a moment before answering. “It’s a sport called basketball that the men have found interest, even the women although they are not allowed to participate in it.”

Interested, Murasaki prodded on. “Oh? What do they do?”

There was no such sport in her old school, not that there were any other sport they had been taught about. The equipments were beyond the school’s financial capabilities since Jyuuken District Academy had caught most of the privileged kids.

 “Steal the ball.”

“Eh?”

Seireki’s lips quirked on one side. “There are two teams playing, five players each, they steal the ball from the opposing team and try to shoot it in the hoop to gain points, but there are rules to stealing as there are rules to playing.” She explained.

Murasaki nodded, imagining Sento with Gira and his gang playing such a feat. Stealing wouldn’t be a problem for them, she could just well picture out all the opposing players at their mercy with every rule in the book broken and could only send a prayer to heaven for them, but then again she didn’t even know how to pray. She gave an introverted laugh to herself for even thinking that could happen.

There was a possibility.

The eight-aisle grocery store was not as crowded as usual, meaning business was slow today. Twenty-one-year-old Genzo Kazue stifled a yawn as he flipped a page of the magazine he was reading at the same time keeping an open eye out for every costumer that came in and out. A number of them had been coming and going but only those who could actually afford to pay came to the counter, the rest took what they wanted and left hastily. He had watched from behind the counter as his two muscular co-workers went after them and sometimes returned with the stolen goods, and sometimes they weren’t too lucky.

As the door chimes rang again, Kazue looked up and then a look of surprise crossed his slender features before he turned his head back down to his reading material. His two co-workers weren’t at all that lenient. Their dark eyes followed the gang of five as they made their way to the refrigerators at the back of the store. One of them, with the strange spiky hairdo, took a six-pack and passed it to the tall bulky guy standing behind him before taking another set of the beverages.

Compared to the brawny gang member, it would take two of his co-workers to bring him down, if not at all. His towering height was intimidating enough, too tall for a Scoundrel but then again, he had seen taller guys around once in a while. Although a Scoundrel’s average height was 5’3” for the women and 5’5” for the men. Kazue was a fair two inches taller than that.

“Do you think they’re going to pay for it?” Kazue heard a co-worker whisper to the other.

“They don’t look like they have anything on them.” Replied the latter.

Kazue sighed, flipping to another page. “They’re not going to pay for it.” He said, tucking a strand of his pale brown hair behind one ear, his eyes downcast on the magazine. “Wait another minute and they’re going to send one of their guys here and then they leave.”

Not long after he said it, another member wearing a bull cap nodded to a guy leaning against an aisle. He nodded back and pushed himself away towards the counter, walking casually as if he had all the time in the world, an uncanny smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his dark brown eyes. His co-workers stiffened when the smiling guy gave them a glance.

“Kazue-kun, you know the usual.” Murmured the gang member, leaning forward.

All Kazue did was nod, not even looking up from his magazine. The usual meant the old routine. Kazue knew them before then, when he first started working in the store. He had met them that first day. He had been too softhearted and naïve, too easy on everyone. Well, he learned his lesson…

It was his first day on the job. He was feeling relieved and lucky to have been hired despite his effeminacy. A fag as others had called him. Usually he didn’t mind, he didn’t deny the fact that he was a homosexual. Knowing this, his family had disowned him, his last boss had thrown him out the street and no one else would accept him. He had to endure the harsh treatment of those who didn’t seem to care what he was; they were more intent on what favors he could offer, physically.

At first he tried the Blue Diamond but it turned out they didn’t accept minors working in the casino. The social establishment had been his last hope and then he met the bespectacled young owner…

“Hn? You wanted to work here?” The young entrepreneur hadn’t looked sympathetic when he saw Kazue. “Sorry, but I don’t accept people below the regulated age. You have to be eighteen to apply here.”

He had thought about lying, adding a year or two to his age but he saw the knowing gleam in the clear ice blue eyes of the other man who seemed to be no older than him. An unfeeling smile lifted the corners of the owner’s mouth.

“If my calculations are right, you’re not over the regulated age. Ne?” He had asked, smiling brightly now, almost making it impossible to believe that he owned such a successful establishment. He was acting like a kid.

Kazue had lost hope then.

The owner looked at him intently again, his wire-rimmed glasses making it impossible to see what he was thinking; the light reflected on the specs covered his eyes.

“Tell you what, I know someone who’s looking for help at a decent store downtown, I think I can put in a few words for you. You can work there until you turn eighteen then I may just think over if we can employ you. Is that okay?” He asked.

“H-hai!”

That was how he landed there. His new boss didn’t seem to mind his queerness, reading the note the Blue Diamond owner had told him to give to the man, had barely even spared him a glance before starting him off to work mopping the floors. In his old job, he was wiping tables at a local restaurant.

He never paid attention when the door chimes rang, nor when the customers came in and out of the store. He was too busy mopping, restocking the goods and doing his best to notice anything until a dirt-encrusted rubber shoe came on top the stack of six-packs he was placing into the refrigerator. Startled, he had looked up and saw a leering young face looking down at him. The knitted watch cap underneath the hood provided little what he could tell of the kid. Kazue tried to pull the six-pack from underneath the foot but it wouldn’t budge.

“Ano…”

The kid just sneered. Kazue looked up from behind the kid when a big man walked over to them. His heavy hand caught the kid on the side of the head and hurled him to the wall.

“Get moving, piece of shit. I haven’t got all day.” The man growled.

“Then why don’t you do it?” Mumbled another kid from behind him. This one too, he slapped hard across the face. “Kisama…”

The first kid stood up, the hood had fallen off and the watch cap was tipped awkwardly, letting a few strands of long red hair loose…

And here he still was, after five years of employment. But he took the night job promised to him at Blue Diamond. And in those years he had seen, witnessed and remembered the atrocities of that man to his own children. One of them he rarely saw nowadays but just the presence of the other one told him things were back to normal for now.

He didn’t really know them but he was familiar with them, especially with the gang who came for some lift off the shelf stacks hoping to loot out of there for free. Their gain was his loss.

“Genzo…” Hissed one of his co-workers, the slightly shorter one, as the smiling boy walked away. “You just let them leave like that?”

Oh, no. Not at first anyway and I got more than a black eye for it. He wanted to say but instead he kept his eyes on his reading material. “You’re new here, Jiro-san, so you obviously don’t know the rules yet.” He began. He pointed a finger at the departing group without even looking at them. “Whenever those five arrive, stay out of their way.” He explained matter-of-factly.

“Easy for you to say.” Growled Jiro angrily. “Okama…”

He heard the whispered word, knowing full well that the shorter man had meant it as an insult but Kazue had learned to take such remarks lightly.

He took out a handy calculator from the open drawer of the counter top, barely sparing a glance at his co-workers who determinedly followed the group out. He’d bet his two months’ wages that they wouldn’t come back to the store. It took time to mend a broken ego.

The kick was hard and swift, sending the last man standing sprawled right beside his fallen companion. Their faces a mask of bruised cheeks and bleeding gashes. Hayato had taken extreme pleasures in inflicting the cuts, small and stinging in the open air. The smallest of wounds can wrought the biggest of pains.

“That’s enough, Hyatt-san.” Kouhei called, smiling freely at his friend playing with two small carving knives, flipping and twirling them around his fingers as if they were drumsticks.

The spike-haired devil turned with a lewd grin of his own, apparently finding his new playthings amusing. “Och, now, we was just getting to it.” He chortled, a slightly dry twang in his voice, a rather distinct accent he hadn’t gotten rid as a boy.

“Give the guy a break, Kou.” Replied Gira. “Deal with those two first.” He nodded his dark head in the direction of the trembling duo.

The two had come trailing after them the moment they left the small grocery store, hot on their heels and determination on every step. They were shorter than Kouhei but taller than Hayato by a couple of centimeters. Although they were more brawny and fuller than the two they were no match for Hayato’s knife-wielding tricks.

Kouhei went forward, squatted down before the two, the corners of his lips twitching when they flinched, helpless to move away. “Perhaps you two don’t know how it works,” He began, glancing up at the grocery store that was still in sight. “I’m sure Kazue-kun explained it to you, ne?” He asked.

The two nodded their heads.

“Good.”

“Then drill it through your thick skulls, lame brains.” Hayato retorted. “You were lucky enough we didn’t sic Torah on you or you would be standing after we send you on your merry little way.” He snickered.

Torah, the biggest member among them, was casually leaning against the wall, his brawny arms crossed over a large expanse of chest, his shoulders broad from firm muscles. He grinned, the smile nearly splitting his face. Hayato winced inwardly.

They sent Kazue’s co-workers off, kicking both out of the alleys and laughing after them.

There were people who still believed brute force would solve everything. With strength comes power, and with power comes greed. Greed for more gain, uncaring that others suffered for their actions, whether the hit was direct or not. Still, others suffered.

Sento watched the two flee as if the hounds of hell were snipping away at them. In some way, they were in hell and they were the hounds. Weren’t they referred to as such, the worthless Scoundrels?

Her eyes suddenly narrowed, feeling every inch of her body beginning to throb, remembering the bruises she had seen earlier. Some were fading, some were new. But even if they lose color, they left scars for her to feel. Deep, long and invisible marks that would ache at every memory.