Chapter Text
Kiryu hated telling people the news.
The one nice thing about being prohibited from seeing any of his old friends or family ever again was that he hadn’t had to have “the conversation” too many times. Most people he would have told before didn’t even know he was alive, or if they did, he didn’t have a way to contact them anyway. And the entirety of the Daidoji seemed to know about his test results before even he had, so it wasn’t like he’d had to force himself through the conversation with Hanawa or, gods forbid, that bastard Yoshimura.
That wasn’t to say he hadn’t told anyone at all, though. Despite his circ*mstances, he’d made a handful of connections these past few years - mostly people who knew him as Joryu, or Suzuki, or any of a number of temporarily-assumed identities that had become necessary through Daidoji work.
He’d found, with practice, that ripping the bandaid off was easiest for everyone. If he kept a neutral expression and delivered the news like he was talking about sports or the weather, most people took it about as well as could be expected.
Of course, Kiryu had neglected to identify one fatal flaw in this plan: Kasuga Ichiban was not “most people.”
Shock and horror warred with each other in his expression as Kiryu fumbled his way through his explanation, single-handedly dragging down the mood. The spacious hotel room suddenly felt stiflingly cramped. Both Kasuga and Tomizawa listened in silence for as long as they were able to stand it, then launched into questions when they could no longer help themselves.
Throughout it all, Kasuga looked devastated. It wasn’t that Kiryu had never seen him upset before - though Kasuga was typically cheerful and easygoing, he rarely hid his emotions, good or bad, and Kiryu had seen him at one of his lowest moments shortly after they’d met. But it felt different, knowing all that sadness and anger was for him this time. He felt… undeserving of it, somehow.
Tomizawa looked nearly as troubled by the news as Kasuga, even though they hadn’t known each other for long. Still, his tone was hesitant, uncertain, when he offered, “It’s just… you seem like you’re in good shape to me.”
Kiryu gave a wry smirk. “Well, I know how to push myself.” That was an understatement, back in the day, when he’d fought through bullet wounds and concussions. He’d hardly done anything so difficult today; taking down a gun-wielding dirty cop and his lackeys wouldn’t have made him break a sweat in the past. Now, he needed all his willpower just to keep his voice steady and his posture straight on the hotel’s lumpy chair.
It was stupid, prideful, but he didn’t want to have this conversation if he couldn’t look them in the eyes while he said it. He could only imagine how much worse the looks of horror and pity on their faces would have been if he’d been a trembling wreck.
When Kasuga suggested seeing a doctor, Kiryu nearly laughed. He’d seen more than enough doctors to last him a lifetime in these past few months alone, and that was setting aside all the time he’d spent recovering from near-fatal injuries over the years.
He folded his hands in front of him, elbows braced on his lap. He finally allowed his gaze to slip down as he said, “I just don’t think retirement’s in the cards for me. Sure, maybe I could stop and settle down. But I’d rather put what time I’ve got left to work.”
Whatever reaction he’d expected his admission to inspire in Kasuga, he didn’t get it. Instead, something in the younger man’s expression snapped, and abruptly he was bristling with poorly-contained fury. “Yeah, and how’re you doing that? Running around on the Daidoji’s leash? Instead of that, how ‘bout you stop running away from reality?”
Kiryu clenched his jaw so tight he felt a faint creak. Suddenly he was standing, staring Kasuga down by getting in his face, instinctively jutting his chin and laying back his shoulders as if communicating, who do you think you’re talking to?
As soon as he thought it, he shied away from it. What was he doing? Posturing for dominance like an animal?
Kasuga was worried about him. He’d just been told that someone he knew was dying. Of course news like that might be overwhelming, might make him say the wrong thing. And Kiryu was, what, trying to intimidate him? How childish. How utterly petty. If this was how he was going to act, he might as well admit that he wasn’t the man he used to be.
His anger banked if not quite dissipated, Kiryu felt shame creep in to replace it, twofold as Kasuga’s expression went from frustrated to wide-eyed, cowed into silence.
Space would help. They both needed some space.
“I’m gonna hit the shower,” he announced, brushing past Kasuga on his way to the bathroom. “When I’m out, we’ll rock-paper-scissors, see who gets the floor.” That way they couldn’t lose on purpose for his sake. If Kasuga had anything else to say, Kiryu didn’t stick around to hear it.
He let his emotions slip away under the spray of the too-weak water from the hotel showerhead, and when he stepped out of the bathroom, none of them brought up the conversation again.
~~
The mission went on. They toured through District Five and the Barracudas’ hideout, then fought their way through it. Kiryu made vague promises to rely on his companions a little more when he needed it and tried not to feel too annoyed when he felt the weight of Kasuga’s stare on him during battle. Amidst the chaos, the Fujinomiya girl who’d stolen Kasuga’s passport ended up joining them, and Tomizawa got the chance to chase away the demons of his past in his confrontation with Dwight, the man who’d effectively ruined his life all those years ago.
From there, they’d gone back to gathering information and hunting for Akane, which eventually brought them to Palekana. Being inside an orphanage again made something deep inside Kiryu ache, though he tried to keep his composure. It wasn’t Morning Glory, he reminded himself. These weren’t his kids. But with the warm sun baking down on him and the smell of the salty ocean breeze in the air, there was nothing he could do to prevent his brain from making the connection.
If he was a little more melancholy than usual for the rest of the day, the others were kind enough not to mention it, though they definitely noticed. Later, at Revolve, Kasuga gently yet unfalteringly cajoled him into a few rounds of karaoke, and gradually the pang in his chest lifted. He was actually having fun, even if he had to hand over the mic whenever his lungs felt a little too tight and his breaths came a touch too shallow for comfort.
And then, halfway through a duet, he realized exactly what he was singing and exactly how long it had been since he’d sung that particular song, and the ache returned.
He made himself finish the last few bars, then gracefully bowed out, retreating to the bar.
“Come on, how about another, Kiryu-san? I’ll let you pick the song this time.”
“Sorry. I need a break. These days, I’m a little too tired, Kasuga.”
He tried to ignore the obvious look of disappointment on Kasuga’s face before the other man managed to smooth it over with a broad smile.
“Hey, no worries!” Kasuga clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then how ‘bout… ah, Chi-chan! Come on, sing with me!” His attention turned to Chitose, who had her hands out as if to ward him away and was shaking her head bashfully, but before long she was laughing and letting herself get tugged up to the mic.
Relieved of the spotlight, Kiryu leaned back against the bartop.
His excuse wasn’t entirely truthful. Sure, he got winded a little sooner these days, but it was still just singing - hardly a workout. But that last song…
He’d insisted, a few days back, that he was “dying, not old.” But maybe he really was an old man, because he couldn’t seem to get his mind out of the past. He was seeing ghosts everywhere these days.
It wasn’t fair to Kasuga. Really, they were nothing alike. Kasuga was easygoing, got along with everyone, and readily offered his forgiveness, even for serious betrayals or horrifically bad first impressions. By contrast, Nishiki had been prone to sullen moods and tears. Even when they were young, Nishiki had always been quick to hold grudges, slow to forgive and forget, even if he rarely showed it.
Despite their differences, though, Kiryu caught glimpses of his oath brother in Kasuga again and again. And singing a duet of Judgement with him, like he’d done so many times with Nishiki when they were two idiots drunk off their asses huddled together in the back corner of Serena or some other dive bar - all at once, it had felt like he was with his kyoudai again.
He missed Nishiki like a wound that had never scabbed over. And he knew he was a fool, because if Nishiki walked through the door like nothing had ever happened, the Nishiki of his memories in the flashy suits or even the one who’d become a stranger to him after so many years apart… well, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d forgive him for everything in a heartbeat.
But Kasuga wasn’t Nishiki. And Kiryu couldn’t bear to pretend that he was. Not even for the length of a single song.
I’ll see you again soon, Nishiki. When this is all over. It wouldn’t be long anyway.
~~
When he'd agreed to go to Hawaii, he hadn't realized how much it would remind him of Okinawa.
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Right next to the ocean, the smell of the sea breeze seemed to permeate every corner of Honolulu they trekked through while trying to find leads on Akane. When they weren’t waiting out the periodic downpours, the sun and heat were just like they’d been in Okinawa. And walking along the sand or doing a little fishing off one of the bridges felt as natural now as it had back then.
In the moments between ducking under the waves in the ocean and kicking back to the surface, while his eyes were still closed to keep out the abrasive salt water, he could almost believe he was back there. Each time, his brain tried its hardest to convince him that when he looked out over the shoreline, he’d see a familiar beach, and the little shīsā statues stationed at either side of the open gate that led to Morning Glory’s porch. And then he’d open his eyes, and the illusion would be dispelled.
No matter how much that hurt, he couldn’t bring himself to tamp down on that little spark of recognition in his chest before it could take root every time. The only thing worse than thinking about Okinawa was not thinking about it.
Of course, it was sort of hard to forget about that period of his life when he was being served a drink by one of the men who’d played a starring role. And who he’d thought had been dead. Then again, he wasn’t really one to throw stones in that regard.
It had been a shock, the first time he’d walked into Revolve and seen a familiar face behind the bar, albeit one he’d assumed he’d never see again. By the expression on the face of the man he’d known as Andre Richardson, the feeling had been mutual. They’d both frozen, eyeing each other up like stray hounds in the tense beats before they lunged for each others’ throats. And then, surprising even himself, Kiryu had abruptly decided he didn’t care.
He didn’t know how the man had lived or why he was here, of all places, running a bar in Hawaii. He didn’t know if it was fate or Daidoji intervention or plain, dumb bad luck that had brought them together again. What he did know was that he was tired, and the air conditioning of the bar was a relief, and more than anything, he wanted a drink.
So he’d approached the counter like any other patron. The bartender remained tense and untrusting, grip tight on the neck of a bottle he’d been holding before their gazes had locked, until Kiryu had settled on a barstool and ordered a drink.
He’d gotten a blank stare in response, tinged with disbelief. Then, without ever fully turning his back, the bartender had served him.
Kiryu had taken a sip, considered, and nodded his approval.
Richardson didn’t quite relax, but he unclenched his jaw long enough to bite out a few words. “Heard you’d died.”
Kiryu was surprised to hear Japanese, not English, from Richardson. Well, it made things easier, at least. “Yeah. Same for you.”
Richardson had nodded and refilled his glass. And that, more or less, had been that.
A quiet life of bartending was, Kiryu assumed, a significant step up from international arms dealing. And who was he to begrudge anyone a late-in-life career change?
The bar was one of the less crowded spots in the area. Kiryu didn’t know whether Richardson simply wasn’t in a position to turn away a paying customer or if he was as willing to leave the past in the past as Kiryu was, but he never tried to throw Kiryu out. They’d developed something of an understanding - a truce, if not a true kinship. He’d even been welcoming when Kiryu had brought Kasuga around, offering him the upstairs room to stay in whenever he needed it and treating the rest of their ragtag group with the same hospitality.
It may have only been Kiryu’s imagination, but the bartender seemed pleased with the new development. It was nice that the place felt a lot more lively now than it had when Kiryu had first poked his head inside. The energy of Kasuga and his friends went a long way toward brightening the place up - Kasuga tended to have that effect.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the man in question walked down the stairs.
“Oh, Kiryu-san, I didn’t expect to see you here so early.”
Kiryu shrugged. It was hardly early, nearly afternoon really, but that’s where a night of drinking and singing would get you, he reasoned. Better Kasuga woke up an hour or two later than usual rather than him fighting off a pounding hangover. “I haven’t been here long.” It wasn’t quite true; he couldn’t seem to get a good night’s sleep these days, and had been waking earlier than usual for no particular reason for a while. But they didn’t have a ton of leads right now anyway, and nothing time sensitive, so he hadn’t seen a reason to wake anyone else up before they had the chance to sleep off the damage from the night prior.
Kasuga’s gaze caught on the glass pressed between Kiryu’s palms where it rested on the bartop, a little furrow in his brow. Kiryu huffed. “It’s iced oolong tea,” he answered without waiting for the question, with a raised eyebrow at Kasuga’s bashful expression. “A little early to start drinking, I think.”
“Right, right.” Kasuga rubbed at the back of his neck, looking more relieved than Kiryu felt was warranted. He was about to protest that he hadn’t developed a hobby of day drinking when Kasuga’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, hang on a sec, I’ll be right back!” Without another word of explanation, he charged back up the stairs, leaving Kiryu blinking.
He didn’t have to wait long. Kasuga returned, this time carrying a bouquet. The flowers looked a little wilted, a few of the white petals had gone a shade more brown, and one stem stuck out to the side where it had been bent or perhaps snapped at an awkward angle. But it was still presentable enough to make for a nice present. “Who are those for?”
“You, actually.” Kasuga held out the flowers, grin genuine and easy as it always was when picking up something for one of his friends. It wasn’t the first time he’d bought something for Kiryu, but usually it had been small things around town sold at souvenir shops and corner stores. Not flowers.
Kasuga misread his pause. “Ah, sorry, they got a little banged up. I meant to give them to you yesterday because you seemed kind of down, but then we got so busy with karaoke that it completely slipped my mind, and I… well. Here.”
He gave the bouquet a little shake, proffering the flowers again, and Kiryu took them on autopilot. The scent was faint, but instantly recognizable. “Oh… hibiscus,” Kiryu murmured, tracing the edges of a petal with the pad of his thumb. He shut his eyes and let himself breathe deep for a moment. Far off, he swore he heard the steady, distant crashing of waves and high-pitched shrieks of laughter, though they were certainly too far from the beach.
“Thank you.” He was surprised to find his voice was a little choked up when he opened his eyes again, and cleared his throat. “They remind me of Okinawa. I used to see them all the time when I lived there.”
‘Oh, I didn’t know. That you’d lived in Okinawa, I mean.”
Kiryu nodded. “I suppose not. It’s… just another place I can’t go back to now. But I used to run an orphanage there.”
Behind the counter, the bartender abruptly seemed to have found a glass that needed polishing at the farthest end of the bar.
Kasuga looked like he’d found the missing piece of a puzzle he hadn’t even known he’d been working on. “Oh! Then yesterday, when we…” He trailed off, surprise tapering into uncertainty as suddenly as it had come.
Kiryu sighed. They had been planning on going back to Palekana’s orphanage today to ask around a little more. If he didn’t say something soon, Kasuga might call the whole thing off. And they didn’t need to do that, not if it was only to avoid upsetting him. “If you’re worried about going back today, it’ll be fine. Come on, I’m not so senile yet that I don’t know one orphanage from another.” He tried a light laugh.
Kasuga didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t argue either. “If you’re certain, Kiryu-san.” He worried at his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment, then finally nodded. “I’ll message Tomi and Chi-chan, see if they’re up yet.”
“Good idea.” Depending on how well the two of them tolerated their alcohol, Kiryu likely had at least another hour to settle his thoughts. He’d be fine.
He had to be fine.
“And Kasuga… thank you again, for the flowers.”
~~
He needed some air.
The others had been busy enough discussing any possible leads on Akane with the orphanage staff that they hadn’t made a fuss about his paper-thin excuse. If they’d had more attention to spare, they might have noticed the downturn of his expression, the minute tremble of his hands which he’d fought to quell. But they were focused on the task at hand - focused like Kiryu should have been too - and so he’d been able to slip out of the room and all the way out to the garden without drawing scrutiny.
It was overwhelmingly humid outside. If he’d really been in search of fresh air, he wouldn’t have found it out here.
Still, he didn’t head back. Not yet. Just a few more minutes and he’d work up the nerve. He only needed a few-
Something collided with the backs of his knees, sending him stumbling forward. It was only decades of experience that let him right himself without toppling over, and only atrophied muscle memory that tamped down on the reflex to respond to the attack - some part of his brain that registered the height of his presumed attacker and the little “oof” noise and recognized that it was no threat.
With so many kids underfoot at Morning Glory, always leaping before they looked, he’d been run into more times than he could count. It seemed children in Hawaii were no different.
The blonde boy who’d bumped into him looked no older than seven or eight. He stumbled back, chirping out something in English with wide eyes. He seemed startled but more curious than afraid.
Kiryu knelt down so he wasn’t towering over the boy, trying to cast his mind back to the scant few English phrases he knew. “Okay,” he landed on, with a thumbs up that he hoped got the message across. Anything he’d learned in school had long since been forgotten - not that he’d paid much attention to his lessons back then anyway, and certainly not his English classes. There’d been those strange “English lessons” he’d been convinced to take with that woman back in Okinawa, but he wasn’t so sure any of that was right given how it had ended. Then there was that time in Hiroshima, with Pocket Circuit Fighter’s son…
“Nice to… meet… Oh, forget it,” he grumbled with a sigh.
The boy blinked at him curiously for a beat. Then, without another word, he took off back inside.
Well, that could have gone better. Kiryu’s shoulders slumped, but he hadn’t quite straightened up yet when the boy came back, this time tugging a little girl with pigtails in his wake. The two of them talked animatedly in English for a few moments before the girl turned to Kiryu and said, in Japanese, “Sorry, mister. Brian said he bumped into you. He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t know how to say it.”
Oh. He hadn’t been running away, but finding a translator. “That’s alright. No harm done.” Then, after a beat, he added, “I didn’t think any of the kids here knew Japanese.”
She shrugged, scuffing a shoe against the ground. “My mom immigrated here before she passed away,” she said, only letting herself frown a little at the admission. “But everyone else knows English, so I learned both. Kind of weird, I know.”
“I don’t think so.” She blinked up at him with wide eyes. “I think you must be really smart to know two languages. Heh, maybe I should have studied more in school after all.”
She giggled, pleased. The boy tugged on her shirtsleeve, whispering something else in her ear. He was the more shy child of the two, half-hidden behind her and too timid to raise his voice even though he knew Kiryu couldn’t understand him. “We’ve got to go back inside to help with lunch, but Brian also wanted me to tell you that your hair is cool.”
Kiryu huffed a laugh, running a hand through it self-consciously. He’d stopped bothering to style it recently, around the same time when the gray had completely taken over. It had seemed pointless to dye it either. He hadn’t thought of it as ‘cool,’ but after enduring years of his own kids telling him exactly how uncool their Uncle Kaz was, it was a nice change of pace.
The thought sent another little pang through his heart, but it was gentler, more fond. “It was nice to meet you two,” he offered as the kids waved and raced back inside.
Still, he lingered, not yet ready to head inside himself.
He just needed another minute to catch his breath.
~~
Kiryu didn’t quite know what to make of Yamai, the crowbar-touting maniac who’d set his sights on them. Or, more accurately, on Kiryu in particular.
It wasn’t exactly a new experience, being targeted because of his reputation. Every punk in Kamurocho had leapt at the chance to throw themselves at him back in the day. What was new was Kiryu’s inability to live up to his own history.
He hadn’t rolled over and taken it, but it hadn’t been his best fight either. He’d been exhausted and sloppy by the time Yamai’s group had ambushed them outside the hotel, reduced to playing defense against a relentless onslaught until the others had driven back their opponents.
Yamai had been disappointed. He’d judged Kiryu against the legends and found him lacking. And really, who could blame him?
The thought stayed with him long after the fight, and it was still bothering him when they ended up at the Daidoji hideout later. The others were discussing a plan to infiltrate some casino while treating the bruises and scrapes they’d earned over the course of the day, but his mind strayed as he swiped an alcohol-soaked cotton pad against his knuckles. He stared down at the skin dully; fresh red fissures cracked through decades of built-up scar tissue, the sting of cleaning them one of the most familiar feelings of his life.
For as much of his life had been spent trying to pretend he was a civilian, the network of scars across his body told the exact opposite story. There were one, maybe two that served as counterpoints: a faint burn mark on his wrist from his early forays into cooking, a click in his knee that had never healed quite right after a spill on the sand playing baseball with the kids. They hardly seemed like decisive evidence when stacked up against a lifetime of healed-over knife wounds, a handful of puckered gunshot scars, and uncountable hairline fractures only visible under the x-ray machine.
Of course, no observer would need to go that far to know how much of his life had been spent fighting for the right to live it. The evidence was tattooed in faded grays and golds across his back.
The thought didn’t fill him with shame or disgust. He fought because it was what he was good at - or what he had been good at, at least. Normally, he’d be content to leave the planning to the others, and to play his role as the muscle.
But now…
“Everything alright, Kiryu-san?”
Kiryu startled. Kasuga had seated himself on the couch next to him, and was politely waiting for a response.
“Just some scrapes. I’ve had worse.”
“Glad to hear it!” Kasuga’s contagiously-bright energy dimmed a little. “But, uh, I didn’t mean just physically. Are you holding up alright?”
Kiryu suppressed a sigh and reminded himself that Kasuga was only trying to be considerate. “I’ll be fine.”
Kasuga’s expression pinched. “You know, I consider you a friend, Kiryu-san. I hope you think of me as one too.” Before Kiryu could respond, he continued, “And I’ve got my friends’ backs. Yours included.”
“...Where’s this coming from?” Kiryu asked, not having to feign his confusion.
“Last night, at karaoke. It was something about that song, right? I noticed you were kind of out of it after that.”
Oh. So he hadn’t been as good at deflecting as he’d thought. He frowned, unsure of how he felt about being seen through so easily, other than the pinprick of guilt at making Kasuga worry.
Kasuga took his non-answer as an answer itself. “I… guess I can’t make you talk about it if you don’t want to. But if you ever change your mind, just let me know. That’s what friends are for, right? So I’ll be around to talk anytime you want.” And with a reassuring pat to Kiryu’s shoulder, he was off.
Kiryu found himself staring at the space he’d vacated, brow furrowed, and not entirely certain how he felt. Knowing he’d been so obviously bothered by something as trivial as a song was embarrassing. And it was hard to picture himself having a heart-to-heart with Kasuga, or anybody for that matter, whether it was about Nishiki, the visit to the orphanage, his diagnosis, or anything else. The very idea left him feeling weak, even as he knew that he wouldn’t begrudge anyone else for wanting to share their problems over a drink or two.
But it was different for him, wasn’t it? Hadn’t it always been different? People he barely knew had always come to him for help, not the other way around. And that had been fine - he’d liked feeling useful in that way, feeling needed, whether it was one of the kids or someone he’d never spoken to before looking for any friendly face during a (typically strange but mundane) crisis.
He didn’t need to talk out his problems. He didn’t need to burden anyone else with them, and they wouldn’t miraculously go away once shared anyway.
But, he supposed, it was kind of nice to have the option, offered so freely.
He doubted he’d take him up on it, but maybe when this was all over, they could at least share a drink.
~~
The forest had been set ablaze. Thick clouds of smoke and heat flooded his already-struggling lungs. This wasn’t a fight they could win, not while attempting to safeguard an injured Wong Tou. Nor was it a fight they could afford to lose, not when the safety of a little girl rested on their ability to find her before any other pursuers.
They needed to escape, and they needed a distraction.
Kiryu wasn’t too stupid to realize he was the weak link here. And that Yamai, who was so fixated on him, would give chase if he tried to leave with the others. Thinking about it that way, there was really only one decision to make.
He had to trust that Ichiban and his friends would find Akane and Lani, with or without him.
He managed to stay on his feet until the others were safely in the car, speeding out of the burning grove. Then the burning in his lungs became too much, and he dropped to a knee, choking up blood.
The last thing he saw was Yamai’s disgusted sneer - what a disappointment, what a letdown, how far the once-great dragon has fallen - right before the crowbar connected with the side of his head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1988
Sitting quietly at a friend’s bedside was not an act that Kiryu was unfamiliar with.
There were differences this time around, to be sure. He’d traded the sterile white walls and extensive, state-of-the-art monitors of a hospital room for the cobbled-together medical supplies and repurposed gurney crammed into an abandoned building, tucked deep in the alleys of Little Asia. There were no flowers, gifts, or cards. He was alone, where he usually had Nishiki at his side.
And of course, the person laid out before him was not Nishikiyama Yuko, who he was so used to seeing, but Tachibana, his boss, and someone who up to this point had never allowed Kiryu to see him as anything but strong and in control.
It felt disquieting, like a core pillar of the world had crumbled away, to see the usually unshakable man pale and drawn, the only sound in the room the quiet mechanical whirr of the dialysis machine. It hardly seemed possible for Tachibana to be so weak, so vulnerable, that he hadn’t even regained consciousness as Kiryu and Oda had transported his limp body back to the makeshift hospital room, likely barely in time to prevent lasting damage.
He hadn’t known. Why hadn’t he known? Why hadn’t Tachibana told him? If he had, maybe he would have been able to get them both to safety before things got this bad.
Then again, if Tachibana hadn’t had to rescue him, maybe he wouldn’t have needed to delay his treatment. If Kiryu had just been a little faster, a little stronger, maybe neither of them would have had to suffer. Tachibana had made it clear that he was still keeping his cards close to his chest - that he couldn’t yet trust Kiryu enough to tell him everything. Maybe it wasn’t such a surprise that his physical health was just another thing he didn’t feel he could share.
He’d told Tachibana, in the car shortly before the other man had collapsed, that he’d been an idiot for not seeing how many people had supported him so far. That trying to play the lone wolf had only taught him how many people had been behind him this whole time, but that getting them involved had only put them in danger.
Now, Tachibana’s response echoed in his head.
”Unlike you, I have no friends who would risk their lives for my sake. In the end, those who have gathered around me have done so to use me in return. You describe yourself as an idiot. Well… I suppose I too aspire to be such an idiot.”
Kiryu had almost thought he was being mocked, if not for the sincerity and shades of bitterness that colored Tachibana’s tone. “Tachibana…”
”Those who would risk themselves to protect you are aware that you are not a man motivated by personal gain. What’s more, once you’ve decided to trust someone, you do so blindly, recklessly, heedless of the costs. That sort of person is exceedingly rare… especially in this day and age.”
Tachibana’s hand had shook against the steering wheel, a tremble Kiryu hadn’t known enough to recognize as anything more than uncertainty or lingering nerves from their prior close call. He’d continued, “I regret to admit that I am still unable to risk my own life to protect yours. However, I can place my trust in you, and my life in your hands.”
For the first time, sitting in that car, Kiryu had felt some measure of sympathy for Tachibana. From the moment they’d met, he seemed to have everything - wealth, to be sure, and as much power as one could claim for themselves in a city so firmly under the Dojima Family’s thumb. But a life without true friendship, lived every day looking over your shoulder anticipating betrayal, seeing others only as tools to be used and discarded when they were no longer of value… it was hardly a life at all.
And yet Tachibana had said he trusted him. Him, of all people. Perhaps not enough to willingly admit to his own weakness, but it was something.
Then again, there was so much Tachibana hadn’t told him: the dialysis, his history with the Chinese mafia, and even his own heritage, not to mention whatever reason he had for pursuing the Empty Lot. Because Kiryu was certain that the drive for mere money and power was not enough to warrant pushing himself to this extent, not alone.
He couldn’t have said he didn’t understand, as much as it had taken him off-guard to find out how much he’d been left in the dark. There was even a little part of Kiryu that couldn’t help but admire the way Tachibana had remained so stoic in the face of it all - even though treatments like dialysis were nothing more than a stopgap, not a true cure. Even though one day, without the citizenship status to so much as get on the waiting list for a transplant, his failing kidneys would give out entirely.
And yet Tachibana had given the Empty Lot situation his full attention. He’d come to rescue Kiryu, even if he said it had only been because he still needed Kiryu as an ally.
Kiryu ultimately decided to push down the little squirm of hurt at being left out of the loop yet again. So Tachibana trusted him, but not enough to reveal everything? That was fine. Kiryu would just have to prove himself worthy of that trust.
Maybe, one day, he would become the kind of man who Tachibana could consider not just an ally, but a friend.
