Chapter Text
The request for custody had not passed yet.
Of course, there would be no denying who the better parent was. That part was a given. But what was also certain was that the Katsuragi family had provided no real reason why the custody should be approved quickly. It would cost too much money to report the abuse. It would take too long, hurt too many people, to try. And so the request for custody had not passed yet.
The truth was, this played in Kyoubate Kenji’s favour.
Kyoubate Kenji had no interest in getting custody for his son. If it happened, then it would only be a burden. Nevermind a useful punching bag, it was a mouth to feed, a child who might not accept to get a job, make money for him. It would be just as easy to throw the kid out in the street. But throwing the kid out in the street meant that, should the child survive, or be found, Kyoubate risked jail for child neglect and abuse.
Keeping the child meant nothing to him. But having the child at his mother’s house was useful. Incredibly useful. It meant that, legally, wherever Aya went, no matter how much she tried to hide, Kyoubate could always find her, because she would never abandon her child. She was too kind, that was her deadly weakness. The child would be the death of her. Because he was his father’s son.
Aya getting custody over the kid would not change that. However, what it would change was that, should the custody pass, then a restraining order could also pass. Then, Kyoubate’s whole strategy would fail entirely. No more punching bag, no more money from Aya. All because of the child.
Kyoubate had no interest in the child dying, either. What good would it do him if he could not find Aya and her money anymore?
And so that was all the child was. A useful tool. In other words, it was in Kyoubate’s best interest that the custody did not go to him, or to Aya.
The request for custody had not yet passed. And Kyoubate, to keep his maneuvering legal, would keep it that way.
Kyoubate also knew that Maki could not kill him. The child was too smart. If Kyoubate died by his hand, then it would cause trouble for Aya. And if the child committed suicide, it would destroy Aya. Maki knew all of that.
The child had inherited his mother’s kindness. That was the only thing. It was enough.
That was why, when Kyoubate found Maki sneaking into his house with the knife, he had no concern for his life. Neither of them would die tonight, of that he was certain. Bruises were fine, not too obvious.
He did not account for the fact that the child was out of his own mind. For the fact that the child had quick reflexes.
But, indeed, the child was out of his mind. And whereas it meant he would kill his father without a hesitation if he did not come back to himself, it also meant that his amazing wits were dimmed.
It was all too easy for Kyoubate to overwhelm him with strength.
It was all too easy for an accident to happen.
The whiskey glass broke. The child got hurt. But that was fine, Kyoubate told himself. He reminded himself that Aya was at in a bad state as well. She would not learn of this. She would not do anything irrational.
Right now, he realised, there was no one who would care for Maki enough to help him.
And so, uncaring for the pieces of broken glass embedded in the boy’s skin, uncaring of the fact that the boy had regained his mind, he whirled the kid into the furniture. Kicked him into the table, shoved his face into the cold hard floor.
This was the perfect occasion to teach the child a lesson, he thought. So that after this, he would not be defied again.
When Maki reached for the fallen knife again, it was with bruised, trembling hands. Whatever he was going to do with it, Kyoubate simply kicked the wrist away from it. He watched disdainfully at his son, bruised black and blue, arms bleeding, concussed. The wounds would stay longer than a day. It was not very subtle. But that was alright. There was no one left to care for now.
“Let it serve as a lesson.”
He threw the kid out.
Admittedly, he should have stayed his hand with Aya, he thought when he was left all alone in his apartment again. But an accident was an accident. Accidents happened. He thought so, like a rehearsal, as he watched over his stack of paperwork.
There would always be someone, high up there, who would alleviate the damage.
Kyoubate Kenji did not worry about his actions. Not simply because he could and would remain under the radar of the law. But also because, if he did go too far and kill someone, he knew there would be nigh a repercussion.
Kyoubate Kenji did not have friends. He had learned that the word meant nothing a long, long time ago. No, he did not have friends. He was a failure. He had bad blood.
But he did dirty work. And that meant people were willing to erase everything for him.
That was why Kyoubate Kenji was not worried about anything. He might be a failure, but he owned up to that life. That was enough for him. People did not need to be good, to have a satisfying life.
A week later, he was informed that his son had gone missing.
It had not been long since Arashi had last seen Maki.
Half a day, maybe. Something like that.
Knowing the Shijo Soft Tennis Club, they would surely organise another barbecue after the last tournament. It was exciting to think about. Arashi had been planning on inserting himself in the mix again - if only to taste those Okinawan fried noodles once more, free of charge. Although Arashi would gladly pay Maki if it meant he could have some everyday.
Knowing Maki, Arashi could not have predicted that the boy would appear in his neighbourhood the very same night after the tournament.
“Young master,” the maid called out calmly. “There seems to be a beggar taking shelter at the door. Should I chase him out?”
Arashi blinked from where he laid on the couch, stroking a lapful of Kamuy’s fur.
“Why?” he asked, genuinely uncaring. “It’s not like they’re gonna enter.”
The maid seemed uncomfortable for a moment.
“The issue is, the beggar is in a very bad state. Letting him stay there might give the wrong idea on young master’s family. People will believe that he is an abused child-”
“A child?” Arashi straightened from his slouch. “Like, my age?”
The maid, acquiesced, surprised.
“Precisely.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier? I have friends from more modest neighbourhoods, maybe that’s why.”
“Young Master, you are mistaken…”
But Arashi was already taking wide strides to the main entrance. He opened the door wide and looked in the direction of the portal.
“Hey,” he called out, “if you’re here to see me don’t just stand there and ring- wait.”
He squinted in the darkness. The figure with dark clothes was sitting under the street light. They turned when Arashi opened the door and yelled, looking surprised. The black and blue face that watched back was all too familiar to Arashi, who took a second to recognise his friend.
“Maki?! Is that you?”
“Young master, do you happen to know this person?”
But Arashi did not pay attention to the servants’ words anymore. He left the house’s doorstep - still in socks - so as to crouch next to Maki.
“Hey… hey!” he passed a hand in front of the other boy’s eyes, and was all too concerned to realise that Maki was quite dazed. “Maki, it’s me, Arashi, the great Ouji Arashi. What happened to you? Should I call a hospital?”
Maki flinched when Arashi’s hand landed on his shoulder, and he seemed to focus once more on the present moment. His gaze finally found Arashi’s, lost and confused. Arashi refrained from shaking his friend by the shoulders, instead waiting more or less patiently for anything that might count as an answer.
“Hospital… no I… I don’t have the money… why… Why are you- here?”
Arashi blinked, but pushed back his first confused response, focusing on Maki.
“You’re in front of my house.”
Maki’s eyes slowly flitted from Arashi to the manor behind them. Then, the thought seemed to click, and he let out:
“Oh.”
Then.
“Sorry.”
There was a plethora of replies Arashi immediately had to stop himself from delivering off the top of his head. Like, why was Maki apologizing, or that he was an idiot, or maybe just ‘who the fuck did this to you?’. Instead, he stood up and inspected Maki with a stern, grave expression. Then, he called the maid that had accompanied him to the doorstep over to them.
“Carry him inside, gently,” he instructed them, then to another one watching from the main corridor, “call the family doctor. Be quick.”
Anyone who played a sport knew about accidents, and they knew that concussions were dangerous if left untreated. Arashi took immediate measures, taking advantage of his parents’ absence to do as he wished. Once Maki was safely carried inside despite his unconvinced protests that he could walk, the portal closed, the door did too, and it was as though no boy had ever stayed crouched under the streetlight of the manor’s entrance.
Everything was clean, prim and proper, as it should be. Looking at the drawn curtains, no one had any reason to think otherwise.
That was how it started.