Nothing personal

"Finally", Akiko said intrigued, "I can learn something about you that's interesting without being creepy."

Benjiro's urge to strangle a living thing grew exponentially, but civility won out. The two of them looked as though they were seeing a whole new side to this wallflower, like a secret door behind a wall.

"Y-you s-sure you w-want to hear th-this?"

Akiko crossed her arms and leaned forward: "Not hear about the early life of one of the most notorious underground street fighters and yakuza enforcers in recent history? You'd have to be crazy not to want to learn about something like that."

"Yeah, come on, it's been going around the school all morning", Yamanaka complained, "I want to hear things from the source."

Benjiro took a deep breath, "Aft-ter we went t-to live w-with m-my Dad, th-things d-didn't set-tle down. K-Kenshir-ro seemed to always be angry. He hung around with a lot of p-punk kids, got into a l-lot of t-trouble."

Akiko and Saori exchanged excited looks.

"H-he formed his own lit-tle gang. They g-got into a lot of fights and were g-good at it. Put m-more th-than one guy in the hospit-tal. But, he'd try to take on bigger and older gangs and end up in the hospital themselves quite often."

"Did he try and beat random people on the street up?" Saori asked

"N-no. He was violent, b-but he r-rarely went aft-ter people when he w-wasn't provoked. He'd mostly go after other punk k-kids."

Akiko crossed her arms, "Do you know where he is now?"

Benjiro shook his head again, "N-no. After a wwhile Dad got sick of his act and th-threw him out of th-the house. L-last I h-heard he went to prison and was now in T-Tokyo bust-ting heads f-for the yakuza and being their f-fiercest prizefighter."

Saori was wide-eyed and Akiko had a weird, impressed but confused look. In her head, she was trying to compute how the stuttering, shy boy in front of her was in any way related to someone so renowned for their fury. Yamanaka, just to keep things flowing nicely, bounced her eyes back and forth trying to think of what she could ask without sounding like a gossip columnist. Addressing the both of them she asked if they knew where he got his nickname "The Cyclops."

Akiko shot both index fingers in the air, "Ooh ooh, I know this one. Evidently, he lost one eye when he was fighting off a rival gang. It was just him, ten against one and one of the other guys caught him with a knife. But he still beat the hell out of every last one of them."

Benjiro clicked his tongue and compressed his lips, 'Haven't heard that one before.'

"-ens now?" someone spoke

Benjiro shook his head and tried to return to the real world, "What?"

Saori's mouth stretched out into that peculiar grin she wore all too often, "I said 'So, Mr. Edgelord, what happens now?' The school knows your little secret and you'll most likely be getting a lot more attention than you were before. At least that's what I was trying to say while you were gaping absentmindedly at this other girl's panties."

The lurch in his stomach, accompanied by the split second of Akiko turning red, launching forward and kneeing Benjiro in the side of the head, were bringing an awful sense of nostalgia. He lay on the floor, dazed and confused for a few minutes, while Akiko stormed off and Saori was doing her best not to burst out laughing. After regaining a sense of equilibrium, he tried to recount what had happened. He just hugged his knees and made sure he was staring at something inanimate this time.

'What do I do? I can't just keep avoiding everything.' he reasoned, 'But things like this rarely last too long. It'll probably just blow over in a few days before the newest and juiciest rumor gets flung around.'

...

In the city of Tokyo, in the dark, echoing ruins of a worn out brick building, unknown to the surface, there were shouts and screams of profanity being thrown out at an open ring. The patrons all held in their hands a ticket, cigarettes or a beer bottle. In the ring, two fighters were winding down the third round of an intense bout. Their energy was mostly sapped, but the hunger for victory still blazed in their eyes. The one fighter seemed deep in thought, sweeping his gaze up and down his opponent out of his one good eye . 'Cut on the forehead, several bruises to the abdomen and an ever so slight limp on his left leg.' he thought, furiously searching for an Achilles heel that would finally bring about a victory.

He may have been one of the bigger guys in the room, but with an opponent of equal size, keeping his wits about him was the only way to beat another juggernaut. He drew two quick breaths before launching forward. His opponent wearing gold shorts tucked his chin and threw a left jab. The juggernaut in grey turned sideways and fired a left cross into the man's bicep, which moved almost imperceptibly slower. Goldie tilted his upper body to perform a roundhouse kick, but Grey blocked with his elbow and drove a flurry of jabs and crosses into Goldie's midriff, knocking the wind out of him. Doubled over, Grey swung an uppercut and a wild haymaker, sending Goldie went flying before crash landing on the floor.

Not content with the fight just yet, Grey kneeled down and straddled Goldie and began raining down punches on the nearly unconscious man. His knuckles made a sickening crunch as blood poured freely and a tooth went flying from Goldie's face. It took three men restraining Grey to get him off and the referee raising his hand to declare him the winner. There were equal parts booing as there were cheers among the people that had come for their modern day gladiatorial.

His trainers looked him in the eye and told him to take deep breaths to calm himself. It took a few moments but eventually Grey's pulse slowed enough to think clearly past the adrenaline still coursing in his veins. Goldie was out cold, and was carried away, unconscious and bleeding on a stretcher. The referee raised Juggernaut's hand in the air, and declared him the victor of that nights fight. Donning his jacket and being led back to the locker room, Juggernaut took a sip of Gatorade. In walked a man wearing a dark suit and a pair of sunglasses to match.

"Clean yourself up", he ordered, "Boss wants to see you in his office, pronto."

Juggernaut slowly slipped off his gloves and never broke his dark gaze off the man standing in front of him. The man watched in disdain as the young man got patched up and hydrated by his trainers. He changed into a more appropriate attire of a dress shirt and slacks, for meeting his employer. They made their way out of the locker room and through the echoing halls of the abandoned building out into the filthy back alley streets where a nondescript dark car was waiting for them.

The drive was uneventful, but the atmosphere inside the vehicle wasn't pleasant and it made the driver's hands perspire.

They pulled up to a bar. Inside, a haze of blue cigarette smoke permeated the air and stung the nostrils. In a private room away from the drunken rabble of the main area, there, at a table sat an older man with streaks of grey in his dark hair, a black pinstripe suit and a walking cane in one hand. He spread his hands wide and amicably said: "Kenshiro! How's my favorite fighter doing today?"

Kenshiro turned his half gaze toward the old man and rose from the bench. Despite being more than a whole head taller than his employer, he lowered his upper body in a respectful greeting: "Good to see you, boss Nakagaki. I'm doing well. The fight went on a little longer than I was expecting, but I made sure to win."

The old man grinned, "You don't have to go so hard when you know you'll win the fight."

Kenshiro shook his head, "Boss, you've seen what I can do, I don't need the fights fixed."

"Maybe not, but I need you more for than just winning fights out in that ring. To that end, I have some business I want you to take care of later on."

He raised on eyebrow: "What am I doing this time?"

The old man grinned down at his young subordinate. It was worth every cent to bail him out of prision: "I want you to go to Aichi and stir things up. It's been a while since I've expanded and I need to explore new ventures."

Kenshiro stood up, stretched out his aching back and inhaled a little, and winced at his aching ribs: "Are you sure you want me to handle this, Boss Nakagaki? I've only been with you for a little under two years."

Nakagaki stepped forward and placed his old but firm hand on Kenshiro's broad shoulder, "Of course I'm sure. Despite your youth, you're one of my best lieutenants. You're smart, ruthless and skilled in the art of the deal. Your only flaw is that you are unused to doing our line of work. This will be an excellent way to give you some experience and make a name for yourself beyond being a fighter."

Kenshiro folded his hands together and looked thoughtfully down at the ground. There was much to consider. Sure he hadn't done too bad for himself, but it would be good to be worth something more to the organization than being a punching bag. The muscular young man clasped his hands together.

"If you feel like I'm the man for the job, then I will deliver."

The old man grinned and lit himself a cigar as if to congratulate himself.

"Excellent!", Nakagaki exclaimed, "you will have two weeks to compile a list of the personell you want to assist you. Although I assume that your Silencers will be more than enough to get the job done. And don't worry about equipment, every available resource we have is at your disposal."

After some more deliberations, Kenshiro was excused to rest off his fight and get ready for the busy days ahead. During the drive back, he tossed the things Nakagaki had asked him to do back and forth in his head. Seeking after his boss's approval wasn't his goal, but the acknowledgment brought about a feeling that was similar to satisfaction. Although the feeling of Goldy's skull fracturing underneath his knuckles also brought about a sick sense of satisfaction of its own manner. Kenshiro got out at his building, but stopped when he heard someone's voice behind him.

"Don't get too full of yourself, Nojiri."

Kenshiro slowly exhaled through his nose before turning around. "What's your deal, Matoba? You've been so unfriendly ever since I started here. What?", he goaded, "Afraid of being replaced after so many years of faithful service?"

Matoba didn't let his irritation through any more than needed, but his eyes narrowed nonetheless at Kenshiro's insult.

"No, because unlike you", he countered, "I hold more value than being used as a simple errand boy. I just don't like it when upstart pricks that think a little favoritism from the boss warrants unfounded arrogance."

Kenshiro took a few slow steps forward until he was close enough that he could look down at the middle-aged man.

"Oh, please", Matoba drawled, "I've worked with people a lot scarier than you before. It's going to take a lot more than being a little taller than me to cower before you."

Kenshiro pursed his lips, tightened and loosened a fist, "I'm not asking for cowering, but I also have things I don't like. Such as those that think that youth always equates to foolishness."

Matoba raised a single eyebrow, "You should always consider time, place and audience before you speak, Nojiri."

Kenshiro raised the eyebrow above his blind eye, "The boss expects results, I plan to give them to him. We're both working towards the good of the organization, so why don't we leave it at that?"

Matoba turned to get back inside his car, but not before getting the last word, "Just remember, failure is, quite literally, not an option."

Kenshiro climbed the stairs to his building and went into his apartment. As much as he enjoyed a good scrap, a little solitude went a long way. Especially after dealing with people like Matoba.

He lay in his bed, his body aching, and his mind burdened with responsibility. But there was another, not exactly a feeling, more like an instinct. Over the years, between his childhood, prison and being with the gang, he had developed a sixth sense that only came when things were about to go wrong where his one blind eye would start acting up. That instinct bothered him, because it unfortunately became more accurate, the more danger that he found himself in as time continued.

"I wonder what's going to happen this time around", he thought aloud as fatigue overcame his consciousness.