Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a day like any other.

On a warm spring afternoon, they'd gone out together as a family to his school festival, nine-year-old Kyoya running from attraction to attraction, his parents following at a more stately pace but always keeping him in sight.

"Mom! Dad! Here, here!" he called out, practically bouncing with excitement in front of his classroom. Laughing, they caught up to him, following him into the room as he tugged at their hands.

The walls were covered with the students' essays, and Kyoya paused by his, his chest puffed out with pride. Indulgently, they bent over slightly to read what he had written in his neat but still childish hand.

My Dreams

When I grow up, I want to be a great person like my dad. Dad is a hero, fighting the bad guys who are making people sad. He's like a policeman or fireman, except he's even cooler than that! Dad and Mom both love Namimori and want to make this town into a happy place for everyone, and I want to help them. They also love me very much, and I love them, too.

He beamed up at them as his mother knelt to hug and kiss him while his father ruffled his hair. Their pride practically emanated off them in waves, and Kyoya was the happiest that he could ever remember. After the festival, they'd gone to his favorite family restaurant, where he ordered a hamburger steak, still chattering away happily about school: how he was the top student in his year, how his teachers praised him for his work, what he was learning in class now... His parents had been smiling throughout his monologue, sometimes asking questions to encourage him to keep speaking.

But the day had to come to an end eventually, and the setting sun found them walking back to their house, Kyoya hanging onto his parents' hands and occasionally just completely lifting his feet off the ground so that he could swing between them, making all three of them laugh. By the time they arrived home, he was completely exhausted from running around all day, barely able to change into his pajamas and brush his teeth before he fell into his futon. The last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him was his mother sitting beside him, softly humming a lullaby.

It was completely dark when a loud crash woke him. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes sleepily, he called out, "Mom? Dad?"

But there was no answer, though he could faintly hear voices elsewhere in the house. Still only half-awake, he followed the sounds to the brightly lit living room, freezing in the doorway as the sight unfolded before him.

Men he didn't know were standing all around the room. His father knelt in the middle, his face battered and dripping blood onto the floor from a broken nose, while his mother sobbed quietly in a corner, held back by two men. A couple of the other men had wooden baseball bats... and guns. Kyoya started to shake as he recognized the weapons he'd only ever seen on TV before. Too scared to step into the room but too afraid to run away, he was frozen in place, at least until one of the men standing by the doorway looked down and saw him.

"Well, what's this?"

As he bent down, his movement caught the eye of Kyoya's mother, and he saw stark terror spread across her face as she recognized her son.

"KYOYA! RUN!" she shrieked. As if a spell had been broken, Kyoya turned and obeyed, his bare feet pattering on the smooth wooden floors as he blindly sought an escape. Suddenly, his familiar home was filled with strange shadows that jumped out of him, making him flinch in the dark corridors, all too aware of his pursuer behind him with steps like thunder. He'd just shoved open the sliding door that led to the garden when the man caught up, seizing him around the waist and swinging him onto his hip with ease.

"No! Stop! Let me go!" Kyoya yelled, pounding against his captor's back with his small fists. The man didn't even try to silence him--they lived too far away from anyone else for the commotion to be noticed--and returned the way they had come, eventually dumping the child in front of his mother. She grabbed him immediately, curling herself around him protectively and pressing his face to her chest as he squirmed, trying to turn around and see what was happening.

"Come on, you don't want to do this in front of your wife and kid, right?" a voice asked, harshly mocking. "Just give us the data and we'll leave, no harm done. It's not like we like doing this either, you know."

A few of the other men chuckled, covering up his father's quiet response, and Kyoya felt his mother cringe just before there was a dull, wet, thumping sound that was repeated several times. It sounded just like when they smashed watermelons on the beach.

"Change your mind yet?" the voice asked, sounding slightly winded. The only response was a groan and panting, and the voice sharpened. "Hey, bring me the kid."

"No!" Kyoya was pressed even harder against his mother's chest, half-smothering him, as hands reached out to grab him, trying to pull him away. Now he began to cry as his limbs were pulled roughly, twisted behind his back or jerked as if they were trying to rip him apart, but his mother still clung to him.

"Take me instead! Please! Leave him alone!" she begged above his wailing.

The voice clicked his tongue, then replied, "Fine, whatever. Shut the kid up."

Her hands ran through his hair, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead, murmuring quietly, desperately. "It'll be okay, Kyoya. Be quiet, shhh, shhh, shh. It'll be okay."

"Hurry it up," the voice snapped, and they were suddenly wrenched apart, the absence of his mother making Kyoya start crying again, until one of the men casually backhanded him in the face, the sudden pain shocking him into silence as the taste of blood filled his mouth. He subsided into small whimpers, his hand pressed against his burning cheek, as he watched his mother forced to her knees next to his father. The man who seemed to be the leader of the gang tossed aside his bat and reached into his pocket, pulling out a switchblade that he flicked open before crouching down in front of Kyoya's parents.

"You've got such a pretty wife, Hi-ba-ri-san," he taunted, resting the blade against her face. "It would be a real pity if something happened to her, wouldn't it? Looks are everything to a woman, after all. Do you think you'd still love her if she was all scarred, without her nose and ears? Would she still love you, for letting it happen to her?"

"You'll kill us anyways, after you get what you want," Kyoya's mother spat. "Just get it over with. We won't tell you anything."

She flinched as the man dragged the weapon down the side of her face, leaving a thin red gash across her cheek, but she continued to stare at him defiantly. The man snorted, getting to his feet.

"Brave woman. But let's see how long that lasts. Hold her down." He began to unbuckle his belt, his comrades grinning as they dragged the woman down, piling on to stop both Kyoya's mother and father from struggling. Kyoya didn't understand what was happening, but he saw the look on his mother's face, and he ran between her and the man, spreading his arms wide to protect her.

"Stop bullying Mommy!" he screamed, tears and snot running down his face as he shook like a leaf. The man's face twisted into an expression of disgust and annoyance.

"Someone take care of this brat," he ordered, and another man stepped forward, hefting his bat in his hand.

"You got it, boss." Like a cleanup hitter getting ready to smack a home run, he drew back and swung, the sharp crack drowned out by the shrill screams of Kyoya's mother and the hoarse cries of his father. Kyoya collapsed, and the last thing he remembered was the feeling of a foot in this stomach, kicking him out of the way.

He awoke with a splitting headache to a room full of people and bolted upright, screaming, "MOMMY! DADDY!" Startled, somber faces turned to look at him, and a woman in a police uniform walked over to him, wrapping her arms around him soothingly as he kept screaming for his parents. Bright sunlight was falling into the room as other men and women walked around, taking pictures and putting things into labeled plastic bags. The policewoman cradled his head, then drew away in shock, her hand tacky with blood.

"We need paramedics!" she called out, carefully lifting the boy into her arms and heading toward the door. Draped over her shoulder, Kyoya continued to scream, his eyes fixed on two lumps in the middle of the room, covered with white sheets.

A week later, Kyoya stood in the Namimori graveyard, watching as two caskets were lowered into the ground. His head was still wrapped in bandages from the surgery to repair his fractured skull, the doctors having proclaimed it a miracle that he'd even survived. The young boy's eyes were dry as he stared at the marble headstone, dressed somberly in black and surrounded by adults.

Shock, they whispered when they thought he couldn't hear them, shaking their heads sympathetically. Poor boy. Who could have ever imagined it? They had seemed like such a perfect family. But everyone has their skeletons.

The case had been wrapped up quickly: a murder-suicide. Kyoya's mother had found out about his father's affair, and in the midst of a passionate argument, he'd killed her. Consumed with regret, he'd then attempted to kill his son before taking his own life. The boy's story was nothing more than the result of head trauma and a completely understandable psychological refusal to accept the truth. So he'd invented a wild tale of home intruders, blaming nonexistent ghosts for the crime while repressing his memories. The officers in charge of the investigation hadn't even bothered to write down his account, sitting patiently with him for hours in the hospital as they tried to explain what had happened to him.

But he knew. His parents had been slaughtered by that pack of animals: weak, undisciplined cowards too afraid to do anything alone. And they'd had enough influence to cover up the crime, so that the only thing that was published was a short obituary listing his parents' names and ages, and the fact that they had been survived by their child.

Heroes didn't exist. But that didn't mean that he couldn't get revenge.

Chapter Text

Ever since that night, Hibari had never had a good night's rest.

Other than the week that he'd been in the hospital, woozy from the painkillers that had been constantly fed to him and barely aware of the world around him, he'd never slept for more than a few hours at any given time. At first, the nightmares--the memories--would wake him up in an empty house, screaming for his parents who were no longer there, and then he'd spend the rest of the night huddled in the corner, flinching at every shadow. For a long time, he feared that the men would return, but as time passed uneventfully, he grew more convinced that they didn't care. That they didn't think a mere child could be any danger to them. And they were probably right.

By all rights, he should have probably been taken away and moved to an orphanage, but a distant relative had been found who was willing to become his legal guardian. They'd spoken briefly on the phone, eventually coming to an agreement: since Hibari refused to leave his childhood home and Fon had special circumstances that made traveling and raising a child difficult, a housekeeper would be hired to watch over him, paid out of the fortune that he had inherited from his parents. Initially, she would come early in the morning every day and leave only when he was about to go to bed, but his growing preference for solitude and independence quickly asserted itself, so that she would eventually only come in the afternoon when he was at school, to clean and prepare his meals.

In school, his teachers also noticed a drastic change in his personality. Though he remained a good student, the previously outgoing and energetic child became withdrawn, appearing as though he was actively avoiding his classmates. Any attempts to speak with him outside of his assigned schoolwork were met with a stony wall of silence, and the many phone conversations that they had with his guardian did nothing to improve the situation.

In fact, the only activity in which Hibari demonstrated any initiative of his own was in his new studies of martial arts. Every evening found him at one dojo or another, practicing karate, boxing, kenjutsu, and a number of other combat arts with single-minded focus until he could barely drag himself back home. The physical pain was a welcome distraction, though it was short-lived as his body accustomed itself to the new routine.

His devotion to the arts and strict self-discipline meant that he quickly learned all that the instructors in Namimori could teach him. By the time he started middle school, he was no longer attending the dojos, instead practicing with masters that Fon would occasionally send to him while developing his own style. Hibari also began experimenting with weapons, discarding the sword and spear as impractical to carry and bare fists as too weak, before he eventually settled on his tonfa. The metal was hard enough to be difficult to deform, they were easily concealed, and simply adjusting the force could mean the difference between injury and death.

He still saw his parents every night. But at least he stopped screaming when he woke.

For the most part, his middle school years passed without anything of particular note until his third year, when he joined the disciplinary committee and a group of wannabe punks started to attend. In general, they were harmless, just mimicking the types of idiots that they saw in anime and manga and mouthing off out of the mistaken impression that it made them cool. But it irked Hibari to have to tell them off every morning for their appearances and watch them swagger around like thugs. When they finally started trying to extort their peers, however, he finally had a real excuse to step in.

"Hey, c'mon, you've got cash, right? We just need to borrow a couple thousand. We'll pay you back later, really!"

Hibari had been about to return home when he heard voices coming from behind the gym. If there was a response to Kusakabe, it was too quiet for him to hear, but he hoisted his bookbag higher over his shoulders as he went to investigate. As he turned the corner, the sight before him turned him cold with rage.

Kusakabe and his friends stood in a loose half-circle, a few of them holding wooden swords, leering at the student they had trapped against the wall, a young boy who looked absolutely terrified. His bookbag appeared to have been upended all over the ground, with books and pens scattered everywhere, and Kusakabe knelt before him, his hand outstretched expectantly. One of his friends stretched, cricking his neck threateningly, and noticed the prefect standing there, shaking. He smirked, reaching out to nudge their leader and jerking a thumb toward Hibari when Kusakabe looked up.

"Get rid of him," Kusakabe ordered, and three of his pack peeled away, advancing on Hibari and blocking his view.

"There's nothing to see here, Prefect-san. Get lost, unless you want what he's getting," one of them snapped, and Hibari's eyes fell to the ground as his hands clenched into trembling fists.

"Hey, look at him. You think he's gonna piss himself?" Another one laughed, jabbing his bokken toward Hibari, who took a step back, to more laughter. But in the next instant, Hibari was lunging forward, the gleam of metal in his hands knocking the wood aside and slamming the boy under the chin. Before the other two realized what was happening, they were splayed on the ground, clutching their heads as Hibari stood in front of them, breathing heavily. He staggered slightly, as if he were injured or drunk, as the rest of the gang advanced on him, Kusakabe in the lead, their victim forgotten. They were cautious now, now that they saw he could fight back, and when Hibari's head snapped up, even Kusakube seemed to hesitate. There was a gleam of madness and bloodlust in Hibari's normally flat black eyes, and his stance as he lifted his tonfa in front of his body telegraphed experience.

Even so, they couldn't back down, not from a fight that they had picked, so they approached the older boy carefully, trying to spread out to encircle him. He didn't make any move to stop them from doing so, just standing with an air of watchful patience, like a predator waiting to pounce. The fact that he was outnumbered didn't seem to bother him at all, and he kept his eyes fixed on Kusakabe. His unwavering gaze seemed to make the younger boy hesitate, but at the same time, foolish pride urged the delinquent forward.

"Get him."

After a heartbeat of uncertainty, they rushed in wildly, fists swinging and getting in each other's way more often than not. And in the midst of all of them, Hibari's weapons flashed like quicksilver, falling with precise blows upon heads and joints until he was the only one who remained standing among the carnage, like some ancient god of war. The few boys who weren't unconscious were groaning, clutching where they had been struck, and their victim had run away, leaving behind only a few pencils and a snapped ruler.

Languidly, Hibari walked over to the leader, nudging Kusakabe under the chin with his foot to make sure he had the boy's attention.

"Try this again, and I'll break your bones. A third time, and I'll bite you to death. Do you understand?"

It wasn't a threat, but a simple statement of fact, delivered in a flat tone that left no room for discussion. He waited for Kusakabe to nod, then turned around and walked away, stepping over the bodies that littered the ground.

From his experiences with hot-blooded people, Hibari didn't expect things to just end there, but nothing could have surprised him more when he arrived at school the next day. The moment he stepped inside the gates, he was greeted by a shout of "Good morning, boss!" and he turned to see Kusakabe and his hoodlums bowing to him.

"What's this?"

Hibari watched warily as Kusakabe approached him, smiling while sporting a black eye.

"Hibari-san, you're strong, and you've earned our respect. Please feel free to use us however you want," Kusakabe addressed him formally, bowing again. Some of the other students were staring at them, wide-eyed, and Hibari shoved the punk away with one hand.

"I'm not strong. You're just weak," he snapped. "That's why you just crowd together with the others. It makes me sick."

But his words didn't seem to upset the other boy, who deferentially took a step back to give Hibari the personal space that he clearly wanted. However, for the rest of the day, they hung in small groups at the corners of Hibari's vision whenever he wasn't in his classroom, following him around like a pack of devoted dogs. It was irritating, and when they began to follow him home after school, he snapped again, beating them all thoroughly, even though they didn't even try to fight back.

Gradually, though, Hibari noticed that their one-sided admiration seemed to be imposing better order on his beloved school. Small incidents were quickly straightened out without his interference, and for the most part, the gang stayed out of his way. So he tolerated their existences so long as they avoided grouping up in front of him, using them as yet another tool to protect the discipline at Namimori Middle School and in town as a whole. He never dealt with any of them directly except for Kusakabe, on the rare occasions that he had to give them orders; even so, he kept a close eye on them to ensure that they didn't overstep their bounds. 

His parents had loved the town, and so did he. Even though they had been betrayed, it was only because the authorities had all been weak: afraid of violence, dazzled by money, grasping for power, or any number of other reasons. Although Hibari intended to control them himself through the same methods, he had no intention of unleashing another pack of animals that would cause even more problems for others.

And on the day that he finally finished his compulsory education, he set out to settle the score.

Chapter Text

"Unless someone is trying to run away, you will not interfere. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely, Hibari-san!"

Kusakabe and his friends stood stiffly at attention, though Hibari caught the look of uncertainty on several faces, as well as a touch of fear. It seemed like some of them were just starting to realize just how serious the situation was, that this wasn't one of their silly little games. Those ones were probably going to end up running away, but he didn't really care. As long as enough of them remained to trap these rats in their nest, that was enough for him.

When he turned to face the building, he was momentarily startled by a shout from behind him.

"We're praying for your success!"

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Kusakabe and his gang bowing to him, and the rest of them echoed their leader's sentiment: "We're praying for your success!"

Unsure of how to respond, Hibari simply nodded in acknowledgement before walking forward, listening to Kusakabe bark out commands for the others to spread out and cover the entrances. Oikawa scurried after Hibari nervously, staying well out of reach of the older boy as he carried a briefcase in his arms. Hibari had been reluctant to bring them along, but in the end, he didn't expect the police to side with a kid fresh out of middle school over a gang. It probably also wasn't right for him to have dragged these delinquents into this either; enforcing order on a bunch of children in school was entirely different than taking on actual gangsters. But they had insisted on following him all the way out here, so his only option was to take care of this quickly to limit its potential repercussions.

The building itself was nothing special, just a squat, three-story structure that looked like any other office. But Hibari hadn't only been training during all those years since he had lost his parents: with judicious bribes, he'd been gathering information on their murderers and paying off the right people to ensure that they would look the other way when the time was right, as well as maintaining their contributions to various services such as the hospital and the schools. It was fortunate that both of his parents had come from noble clans and made good investments while they had been alive: with the returns, he could do whatever he wanted for the rest of his life. Assuming he lived that long.

It wasn't that he was stupid or had some sort of death wish. He knew that it was crazy to take them on alone, but at the same time, that had always been his intention. Still, if he'd had the choice, he would have preferred to wait another five or ten years, building up his resources and gaining more strength and confidence. But circumstances had forced his hand: he'd learned that the leader of this group was going to join the yakuza, a promotion that would more than likely bring him to Tokyo, beyond Hibari's reach, both geographically and politically. Dealing with Motozawa Tomokazu while he was still just a small-time gangster in a little town was probably the only chance he would have, before the full might of a real criminal organization was backing him.

He exuded an air of confidence as he entered the building, walking up to the receptionist and leaning on the counter.

"Is Motozawa-san here? I have a proposition for him."

"This isn't a playground, brat. Get out of here," the man snapped, waving his hand as if trying to shoo the boy away. But that was pretty much the reaction Hibari had expected, and he glanced back at Oikawa, who looked ready to shit himself, and beckoned him forward. On shaky legs, the other boy approached, dropping the briefcase onto the counter with a loud thud, and Hibari reached over to unlock it, pulling up the top to reveal stacks of 10,000 yen bills. Casually, he picked one up at random and flipped through it, showing that it wasn't some sort of trick with newspaper, before tossing it back into the case and closing it again.

The man's eyes were wide with shock as he looked between the case and Hibari, and Hibari repressed a sigh at his obvious greed and stupidity.

"As you can see, I am very serious. Please convey my message to Motozawa-san."

He gestured to Oikawa again, waiting for the boy to retrieve the briefcase before walking with him to one of the leather couches in the lobby and sitting down. He watched the receptionist pick up the phone, speaking into it with an air of urgency as he kept glancing at the boy still dressed in his school uniform as though afraid he would disappear into thin air. Hibari had considered getting a suit, but decided in the end that his usual outfit would encourage them to lower their guards and underestimate him. He needed any advantage that he could get if he wanted to get out of here alive.

Soon enough, they were being ushered towards the elevators by a pair of men who were built along the lines of a bulldozer. Of course, it would have been extremely easy for them to beat up the two kids and just take the money--or so they probably thought--but the implied promise of more would keep him and Oikawa safe for now. But as Hibari had hoped, they didn't even search either of them for weapons or anything else that could be dangerous before admitting them into the head office. A young man who looked to be in his thirties lounged behind an executive desk carved out of black walnut, his shirt half-open and gold chains draped around his neck. As the two boys entered, he rose, spreading his arms in welcome as he walked around his desk.

"And what do we have here? Izumi said that you wanted to talk business? Please, sit." He gestured towards one of the couches in the center of the room, taking a seat on another so that a low, wooden table would separate them. For a moment, Hibari froze as the familiar voice threw him back to another time. No matter how long he lived, he'd probably never forget it: that cold voice that had taunted his parents and threatened them. The voice drunk on violence that had ordered, "Take care of this brat" right before Hibari had lost everything. The cruel laughter that continued to ring in his ears long after he woke up every night.

His hands clenched into fists, nails digging deep into his palms, and Oikawa approached him cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hib-- I mean, Kyoya-san?"

He'd impressed upon Oikawa to not use his surname, since Motozawa would probably remember it and become suspicious. But the man didn't show any change in expression at the small slip-up, so Hibari took the offered seat, inclining his head slightly toward the table.

"Leave it and get out."

Oikawa looked relieved to drop off his burden, but as he walked back toward the door, the two men who Hibari presumed were bodyguards blocked his way, looking toward Motozawa for instructions. Oikawa looked back too, his eyes wide with unconcealed fear, and Hibari feigned an attitude of nonchalance as he leaned back, draping his arms over the back of the couch.

"What's the meaning of this... Kyoya-kun, is that correct?" Motozawa asked, raising an eyebrow, and Hibari sighed.

"He's just my errand boy, like your two muscleheads over there. The less he knows, the better. After all, 'Even the mutterings of a man in a well are widely known after three years,' right?"

Motozawa laughed, a sound that scraped on Hibari's nerves, and waved at his men, who stepped out with Oikawa between them.

"I like you, kid. You've got spunk. How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

"Fifteen," Hibari confirmed. "Although I'll be sixteen in two months. Either way, I'm old enough to be tried as an adult if I do anything."

"Oh? Congratulations on your graduation. So what's this about, then? You wanna join up with my team? I dunno if we'll have space for a rich boy with an attitude though, 'less you're bringing something else to the table."

Hibari smiled, baring his teeth at Motozawa. "Well, then it's a good thing that I don't want to."

The gangster laughed again, reaching out to put a hand on the briefcase and tapping the sleek surface with a finger.

"Alright, I'll bite. What do you want us to do to get this money? Beat up some bullies? Pick up some designer items for your girlfriend? It can't be that you want us to do a hit for you, right?"

Still smiling, Hibari leaned forward, letting his arms fall to his sides even though every fiber of his being wanted to put as much distance as possible between this scum and himself.

"It seems like there has been a misunderstanding. This isn't for you."

He watched impassively as the greedy expression transformed into one of shock as his words sank in. Then, far more quickly, shock turned to anger, and Motozawa's eyes narrowed as he slammed his hands on the table.

"The fuck are you talking about, you brat? Is this some sort of joke? Do you really think that you can come in here with a couple million, have a laugh, and walk out? I'm fucking yakuza!"

"Not yet, and it's a hundred million," Hibari corrected him blandly, which only seemed to infuriate the man even more.

"I don't give a flying fuck!" Raising his voice, Motozawa called out, "Kazuo! Shimpei! Where are you? Come throw this brat out!"

His two thugs crashed back into the room, although Oikawa was nowhere to be seen. Hibari hoped that that meant the boy had been escorted out, since things were about to get messy. Slowly, he got to his feet while Motozawa pulled the case toward himself possessively, and one of the men grabbed Hibari by the arm, only to blink in surprise at the feeling of something slim and hard under the sleeve.

Hibari raised his other arm and slammed it against the man's hand, eliciting a scream and forcing him to let go as his fingers were crushed between the metal. His own fingers curled up toward his wrists, releasing the ties that secured his weapons and letting them drop into his hands as he spun quickly, using the momentum to drive the steel into the second man's gut. Hibari smiled grimly at the sound of the air being forced out of his lungs as the man collapsed to his knees before turning his attention back to the first man, who was recovering and had pulled out a knife. Briefly, the boy's eyes flicked aside, ascertaining the position of the third man in the room. Motozawa had scrambled away with the briefcase and retreated behind his desk with it, fumbling inside his jacket while scrabbling for the phone, and Hibari took a few steps to the side, putting the man-mountain between himself and their leader.

The man had recovered more quickly than he'd expected, but then again, he was dealing with semi-professionals. They'd undoubtedly been in fights before and learned how to work through pain. Still, he'd been able to gain an element of surprise with his sudden attacks, and he'd have to hope that would be enough.

Block. Block. Block. The sound of metal clashing rang through the room as Hibari drove in, using his dual-wielding advantage to put the man on the defensive. He gritted his teeth as he drove one tonfa into solid muscle, feeling the reverberations in his arm, but it surely had to be even worse for his opponent. On top of that, as he'd expected, Motozawa had pulled out a gun, forcing Hibari to keep track of his position as well so he wouldn't get shot. His only option seemed to be to simply brute force this guy and his friend, and then probably deal with whatever reinforcements Motozawa had called before taking care of the leader himself. Just as he had hoped.

His opponent's good arm swung at him, and Hibari leaned back, flinching as he collided with a solid wall. The blade scored his forehead as two arms wrapped around him with a grunt, the second man having apparently recovered. It only took Hibari a moment to realize that he was too short to smash the man's nose with his head, so instead, he drove both of his elbows back with the little leverage he had, the ends of his tonfa smashing into the man's torso. At the same time, he lifted his foot and stomped down on the man's instep with his heel, the combined attack making his captor stagger backwards. Still, he didn't let go, and Motozawa called out, "Great job, Kazuo! Hold onto him!"

With him off-balance, though, Hibari twisted himself around, forcing his leg behind Kazuo's and grabbing the man's other leg before adding his own weight to the backward motion, throwing them both to the ground. In the confusion, he drove an elbow into the man's groin, finally convincing him to let go, and scrambled aside, keeping a firm hold on his weapons.

His breath was coming more quickly now, but for the first time in years, he actually felt alive. Even though he had blood pouring down his face, even though he was facing down two adult men and a gun, even though there would be more men coming... everything just felt right. His joints felt loose and limber as he crouched behind the couch, contemplating his next moves. Shimpei should be close to going down by now, given the damage he had accumulated, while Kazuo had had his breath knocked out of him several times already.

Raising an arm, he wiped away some of the blood. A flash of movement at the corner of his eye had him diving around the end of the couch as a bang reverberated in the office. Staying low, he cocked his tonfa as he ran toward Kazuo, who had begun to struggle to get to his feet, and swung his arm, catching the man below the ear. Instantly, the man froze, then toppled backwards again, unconscious, and conveniently fell in the way of the door that was just beginning to open. A clamor of confused voices rose as the men outside shoved at it, trying to force it open.

"Boss? What's going on?"

"Get in here and take care of this brat!" Motozawa screeched, firing another shot that went wide as Hibari ducked behind the other couch. Shimpei appeared on the other side, and Hibari continued moving, using his smaller build to his advantage to duck inside the man's swing, flipping his tonfa out to extend his reach and bring it down on Shimpei's wrist. The knife dropped, and his opponent quickly moved backwards, out of his reach, while pulling out another. 

Now, though, Hibari was realizing the advantage of his size, particularly against half-trained, muscle-bound idiots. He pursued Shimpei, lowering his center of gravity and aiming for his legs. Doing so would gradually hinder his mobility and eventually bring him down to a level that Hibari could strike the final blow, as he had with Kazuo. Their walls of muscle had made it difficult to make a decisive strike, but there was a natural limit to how much the head, one of the most vulnerable parts of the body, could be protected. Encouraged, he attacked steadily, keeping an eye on Motozawa's position. The gang leader was at the other side of the room, pulling at Kazuo's dead weight to let the rest of his men in... or to open an escape route for himself. A familiar, chrome briefcase leaned against the wall next to him as he tugged at his bodyguard and the door slowly creaked inward.

"Tch." Hibari clicked his tongue, dashing across the room. But something seemed to have warned Motozawa, who turned around quickly, lifting his gun. For a second, the barrel was pointed straight at Hibari's face. But as Motozawa squeezed the trigger, Hibari whipped his tonfa around, leaning away as the gun was pushed out into the open air, the sound of the shot deafening him on the left side. Grimacing, he continued his attack, driving Motozawa away from the door as his subordinates wedged it open just enough to start squeezing through.

And then Shinpei was there, getting between them and pushing Motozawa away. But the bodyguard was clearly feeling the effects of their fight, his legs trembling as they struggled to support his weight. It probably wasn't even worth it to take him out at this point, so Hibari backpedaled, dodging the new members who were coming in and trying to encircle him.

"Him! That kid! Get rid of him!" Motozawa shouted, pointing at Hibari. He heard the clicks of guns, but he discarded that information promptly. In such close quarters and with so many of their allies in the room, their guns were simply a disadvantage. Unless they could pin him down with a clear line of fire, their weapons were essentially useless, more likely to put holes in each other than in him.

A few of the more intelligent ones seemed to recognize this, dropping their guns and advancing with bare fists or knives, only to serve as fodder for his tonfa. Unlike the two bodyguards who had been wrapped in shields of muscle, most of them needed only one nicely placed hit to go down. They were the true herbivores of the group, following the ones with power and swaggering around with the mistaken belief that they were the ones that were feared. Although there were several mixed in who could occupy him for about half a minute, their comrades got in the way more often than not, giving Hibari openings to take them down.

Even so, his muscles were screaming in agony by the time the last body fell and the room was filled with the sounds of whimpers and groans. A quick glance showed him that Motozawa--and the briefcase--was nowhere to be found, and he half-walked, half-dragged himself to the door, carefully stepping over fallen men to ensure he could keep his own footing.

At the end of the hallway, his prey stood by the elevators, jabbing at the call button frantically. The moment he saw the boy, he raised his gun again, firing a shot that hammered into Hibari's right shoulder and sent him staggering back a step before he even registered what had happened. But the next pull of the trigger fell onto an empty chamber, and Motozawa cursed, throwing the weapon to the ground and picking up the briefcase, heading toward the stairs.

Mustering the last vestiges of his strength, Hibari flung the tonfa in his left hand, sending it spinning toward Motozawa in a gleaming arc that caught him in the back. The man went sprawling, and the case fell and popped open, spitting out stacks of bills as it slid away from him. Motozawa scrambled after it, trying to shove the money back inside, as Hibari approached him with agonizing determination, shifting his remaining weapon to his other hand.

"What the fuck? Who the fuck are you? What do you want?" Motozawa demanded, clutching the cash to his chest as Hibari backed him up against the wall.

"My name is Hibari Kyoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."
[I'm sorry, I had to do it. xD]

"My name is Hibari Kyoya." He watched as recognition dawned on the man's face, followed by panic. Reaching into his pocket, Hibari pulled out a thumb drive, dropping it into Motozawa's lap. The man looked down at it with obvious confusion, then back up at the boy whose face was a mask of blood as his shoulder bled freely.

"That's your gift. What you couldn't find back then: the proof of your rotten dealings. The money is for the Inagawa-kai to compensate for your death so they won't cause trouble here."

"Wait! Wait, wait, Hibari-san! Let's talk this over! I'm sure--"

But Hibari was no longer listening. He stopped fighting gravity, letting it add to his blow as he swung his tonfa downward, crashing into Motozawa's skull with a sickening crunch before he fell to the ground. As the darkness crept in from the edges of his vision, he felt a sense of deep contentment and relief, and he fell into the shadows with little resistance.

Chapter Text

A distorted yet vaguely familiar voice pierced the fog as he lay in the middle of an earthquake.

No, that wasn't right. There were hands on his shoulders, shaking him. Unusually slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking at the feeling of something tacky on his face. But when he tried to raise his arm to investigate, a searing pain arrested his movements.

Still, the voice continued to intrude upon his senses, and Hibari's vision gradually focused on Kusakabe Tetsuya leaning over him. Hibari was struck by the desire to thrash the new head of the Namimori Middle Disciplinary Committee for disturbing his nap, but his tonfa were missing, and for some reason, he simply couldn't lift his arms.

"Hibari-san! Are you okay?"

The world suddenly snapped into clear focus, and the memories came flooding back.

"Get your hands off me," Hibari rasped, weakly pushing against Kusakabe's arms with his left hand. The other boy obeyed instantly, and Hibari managed to raise himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the wall, before turning his head to look at the man next to him. The left side of Motozawa's face had been deformed, with the top of the skull crushed and his eye socket and cheek bone shattered. The skin and muscle drooped over the ruined bone like melted wax, and it was clear at a glance that he was dead.

He was dead, but Hibari was still alive. When he'd fallen, he honestly hadn't expected to wake up again: passing out in enemy territory after killing their head was practically a death sentence.

"What are you doing here?" Hibari demanded, glaring at Kusakabe. "I told you not to interfere."

Either his glare was weaker than usual, or Kusakabe was starting to grow a spine, because the other boy stared back at him unflinchingly despite the rebuke.

"We didn't interfere, Hibari-san. After all the noise died down, we waited a while, but you didn't come back, so we came to see the situation. You took care of this all by yourself."

Hibari glanced down the hallway, toward the office. Oikawa approached him, offering him his tonfa, and Hibari slid them back into place, securing them again.

"What's the current situation?"

"Nobody tried to get out while we were watching. It's been about 30 minutes since we stopped hearing noises. This guy's dead, and there's a bunch of guys back there that seem pretty out of it. One of them shot at us when we looked in, but nobody's come after us yet," Kusakabe reported, and Hibari nodded curtly, struggling to get to his feet. All of the other boys knew better than to offer him a hand, and he eventually managed to lever himself up, supporting himself against the wall. His head spun, but he remained upright by sheer force of will.

"Hibari-san? What do you want us to do?"

Hibari leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling as he tried to clear his mind to determine the best course of action.

"Pick up the money. Hide it and this guy. I'll deal with them later. Call a cab so I can get to the hospital--"

"A cab?" Kusakabe interrupted hesitantly.

"An ambulance is too annoying. Clear out, then call the police using my name. They'll clean up the rest."

And they would. Hibari had already passed on the information his father had gathered and that he had added to with strict instructions not to move until they received a message from him. If he'd died, they wouldn't do anything, just as they had so easily forgotten all the support his parents had given them, but if he lived... With Motozawa gone and most of the rest arrested and eventually imprisoned, some of the cancer that was plaguing Namimori would be excised. It was inevitable that some of the small fry would swim away, but they'd probably drift elsewhere since their heart had been ripped out here. It would be a huge step towards realizing the dream that his parents had had for this town.

Although several of the boys were picking up the money, they all seemed to be skirting around the body, and even Kusakabe seemed hesitant to approach Motozawa. Again, Hibari recalled just how old they were, and he shook his head at himself.

"Get all the money at least. If you can't deal with the body, tell the police to get rid of it." It wasn't the best option, but it was probably as much as he could get.

When he pressed the elevator call button, the doors slid open immediately, and he stumbled inside. Kusakabe followed him, pressing the button for the ground floor, and Hibari slumped against the wall, his mind turning. Ideally, he had just wanted Motozawa to vanish without the police ever laying eyes on his corpse so there was plausible deniability. After all, to keep crime numbers low, the Japanese police preferred to simply report people as missing and bodies as improper disposal. Without any proof of foul play or a positive identification, Motozawa would have simply been forgotten.

Well, if it was just one body, he could still get it covered up. For that reason, he'd been careful not to kill anyone else in his fight: there were plenty of broken arms and legs in the office, as well as some broken ribs, but even with the influence he had been cultivating, it wouldn't extend to that much immunity from prosecution. Besides, other than Motozawa, he didn't remember much of anyone else from that night. And he definitely wouldn't become someone like Motozawa, who forgot the value of life. They were all weak, violent scum, but Hibari was hardly going to execute all of them for simply associating with Motozawa. It was enough for the rest of them to simply be sent to prison for a while. He still had plenty of opportunities to persuade them that it would be in their best interests to stay away from Namimori after they were released, if today wasn't already convincing enough.

He let Kusakabe make the call from the front desk, waiting just long enough to confirm that a taxi had been sent before starting the long, arduous walk across the lobby. His second-in-command hovered anxiously behind him, just out of reach, as Hibari simply focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He barely noticed when the other boy suddenly moved ahead of him to hold the door open, and he walked out into the setting sun that painted the sky bright red.

Fortunately, he didn't need to wait long for a car to pull up to the curb, its driver staring wide-eyed at the duo and clearly considering leaving without him. Still, money talked, and after Hibari flashed a Yukichi, the man unlocked the rear door, letting him collapse onto the back seat.

"Hibari-san, should I come with you?" Kusakabe asked, leaning over the open door, and Hibari hesitated before nodding reluctantly. He wasn't sure that he would remain conscious, so it would be better to have someone there who could explain the situation to the doctor. Immediately, Kusakabe sat down next to him as Hibari leaned forward to address the driver, holding out two bills.

"Namimori Central. The rest should cover the cleaning fees."

"You got it, sir."

The man took the twenty thousand, and Hibari leaned back in the seat, beyond exhausted and shivering slightly. He let his eyes drift closed as the car began to move, speaking quietly to Kusakabe.

"Tell the doctors that I've had a lot of blood loss and a bullet in my right shoulder," he commanded. "And that I didn't take any hits to my head."

If the other boy replied, he didn't hear it.

His stay in the hospital was uneventful, simply passing the time as he waited for his injuries to heal. He hadn't realized that he had a hairline fracture in his left arm that needed setting in addition to his other treatments, but it could have been a lot worse. The only reason he even needed to stay for a week was because of the severe muscle strain he had accumulated that made it difficult to move. A full recovery would probably take a few months, but the moment that he could walk with only mild discomfort, albeit with the assistance of painkillers, he checked himself out and returned home.

The authorities hadn't even tried to talk to him about what had happened, which meant that everything was probably going according to plan. It would still be a long process to prosecute all of the gang, but at least it would be starting to move forward. Furthermore, the Inagawa-kai had accepted his condolence money and agreed to not extend their operations to Namimori for a period of ten years, a compromise that gave him the time to ensure that they would never come, at least while he was alive.

He entered through the garden, pushing open the sliding door that led to the sitting room. An ancient dog immediately bounded over to him, followed more slowly by a raccoon with a splint on its back leg. Smiling slightly, he knelt to greet them, running his hands through their warm fur. They looked well despite his absence, probably tended to by his housekeeper, and after they had finally calmed down, he approached the butsudan, lighting two sticks of incense.

"Father, Mother. I've avenged you. I know that you probably wouldn't approve, but it's the choice that I've made. I will fulfill your dreams to make Namimori happy and peaceful in my own way, and I will always protect the weak. Please, rest at ease."

Six years ago, he had learned that strength was everything, and that violence was the greatest strength of all. Without the power to protect and enforce his ideals, all the political influence or money in the world was nothing.

This last year, he had learned that ruling by fear was a valid method. It would not do to keep the whole town in thrall since that would only contribute to unhappiness, but he could keep disruptive elements in check by ensuring they respected him and his reputation. And he was strong: last week had proved that. However, he would not be the frog in the well: he needed to challenge himself to even greater heights, to ensure that no matter what the threat, he could face it and protect what he loved.

And the animals he constantly rescued were a reminder to not forget the weak that were like his younger, helpless self. These small creatures were entirely innocent and subject to the whims of humans: the dog had probably been thrown out due to its age, while he'd found the racoon by the side of the road after it had been hit by a car. Even though Hibari didn't really care for people in general, his affection for the weak that were struggling to survive in the world with all their might reminded him to temper his violence.

He still had his nightmares, but he had also found a new purpose. He would be Namimori's guardian and disciplinarian. But his reputation was still weak, only really known to a few years' worth of students and a handful of the major playmakers in the town.

Slowly, he got to his feet, cradling the racoon in his arms and letting the dog follow at his heels as he went to the kitchen. There, he picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory.

"Hello, Principal? It's Hibari Kyoya. Please register me for my third year at Namimori Middle. I will also be staying on the Disciplinary Committee."