A/N: So, I'm not dead, if you were wondering. I was busy with school and things, and writing this lovely story of mine. I write it in a notebook first, if I just wrote it on my computer more chapters would be up by now.
I do solemnly apologize for making the five (Maybe slightly less) of you wait for so long, so here's the actual first chapter in an attempt to make up for by past transgressions!
By the way… I FINALLY RECEIVED A REVIEW! I almost had a heart attack when I read it. Of all the stories (Fanfictions and originals) that I've posted, that review was the best I've ever gotten. You see, my lovelies? Reviews make me work faster!
To my lovely reviewer, thank you so much! And as for the question you asked, would it be alright if I gave you the answer through PM? It really has nothing to do with the plot, but there are people out there who would be upset over the slightest spoiler given to them, and I'd rather not lose the five or so readers I have of this story. Again, thank you so much!
Before you read, if you see any term marked with a *, I'll explain it at the end of the chapter. Also, when I posted this on Writer's Café, all of the long dashes (—) turned into quote marks (") for some reason, and I'm pretty sure I edited all of them out, but if you find any, please tell me. Enjoy!
A Murderous Enterprise
Chapter 3—The Beginning
A young man approached a strip mall, his eye twitching in frustration at the rambling of the slightly younger male walking alongside him. "Kiyohira," He sighed exasperatedly. "What in Inari's name are you talking about?"
The younger man paused, disappointed that the other missed out on his grand speech. "Aw, Tetsuya, I don't want to say it all again!" Upon receiving a sigh, the twenty-seven year old pouted much like a child a quarter his age would.
The duo squinted against the bright lights of the optometrist's office as they walked in. "Tell me, Kiyohira, why did I agree to come with you again?"
Taking the offered paperwork from the receptionist at the desk, Kiyohira led Tetsuya to a row of empty seats. "Why? Don't you love me, Tetsuya?" He grinned, diverting his gaze to the paperwork before catching the other's glare.
"Not particularly," Tetsuya muttered, slumping against the uncomfortable waiting room chair. He glanced at the television in all of his half-intrigued boredom. The news was—yet again—covering the recent serial murders that had struck the Shibuya area. Another murder had occurred the night before.
The police were stumped; every victim had been an outstanding citizen, a contributor toward the betterment of the world. They couldn't figure out who would want them dead. Worse still, they couldn't figure out who was next on the killer's agenda.
"The police," The reporter began, "Have reason to believe that the yakuza is involved in these heinous crimes,"
Kiyohira scoffed, looking up from the paperwork. "They honestly believe we have the time to kill those that have nothing to do with us," He murmured thoughtfully. "And you call me a moron, Tetsuya," He laughed and continued filing out the forms.
The report piqued Tetsuya's interest. Just who did that serial killer think they were? He couldn't allow the yakuza's name to be sullied by false accusations. He knew he'd have to investigate himself, and exterminate the pest.
"For the last damn time, Kiyohira, no, I will not hold your hand!" Tetsuya's exclamation earned the pair several strange looks from locals and tourists alike.
"Aw, c'mon, Tetsuya, I can't-" Kiyohira ran into a sign as further confirmation that with dilated eyes, he couldn't see. A few onlookers began snickering under their breath. "What the…"
Tetsuya groaned, grabbing Kiyohira's hand and pulling him away. He shook his head, feeling the other man lace their fingers together. Great, he thought bitterly, now we look like a couple. There was a noticeable red tint on his cheeks.
Satoru Matsuo heard a knock on his apartment door. Expecting his wife and daughter, he opened the door with a closed-eye smile. "Hey, honey—ah… Sorry, Tetsuya; I wasn't expecting you," He laughed nervously, stepping to the side to allow his boss and Kiyohira inside. "Uh… If you and Kiyohira are trying to come out as a couple, I think you're going about it the wrong way…" He sweat-dropped, noticing their linked hands.
Tetsuya let out another frustrated sigh. "That is definitely not what we're doing, Satoru," He let go of Kiyohira's hand, allowing the temporarily blinded man to trip over a rug. Pulling the man back onto his feet, he gestured to his eyes. "His eyes were dilated,"
Satoru nodded, although it still didn't explain why their hands were linked together in such a way. "…So, what brings you here?" He asked, helping Kiyohira find the couch and sit down.
"You've heard of the recent serial murders here, haven't' you?" Upon receiving a nod, he continued. "It seems as though the police are blaming us for the attacks, and the last thing we need is to have them on our backs. I think we need to find the killer ourselves and eliminate them,"
Satoru picked up his cellphone. "So you want to schedule a meeting with the whole division, then?" Tetsuya nodded, and Satoru dialed the first number. It wouldn't take long to summon the seventh division of the Shibuya Yakuza.
Kisho Mitzusaka jumped slightly when his cellphone vibrated in his pocket. He raised an eyebrow before answering the call—why would Satoru be calling him in the middle of the day? "Hello? Satoru-san? Is everything alright?" Kisho had developed a habit of worrying about the others a bit more than he should.
"Kisho, Tetsuya's scheduled a meeting. Be in Maruyamacho as soon as you can; the rest of us will be there soon," With that short message, Satoru hung up, grimacing as he dialed the number of his least favorite comrade.
A can met the wall of Tsuruki Shirokawa's Shibuya apartment. He picked up the can with a frown; his can opener was broken, and he was hungry. Hearing his cellphone ring, he pulled it out of his pocket and quirked an eyebrow. The only one who would call his cellphone was… "Satoru?" The division's doctor and planner would only be calling him if someone was hurt, dead, or Tetsuya was calling them together for a meeting. Doubting the first two had happened, he continued with his assumption. "Is Tetsuya on a power high again?"
Satoru growled into the phone. "If I were Tetsuya, I'd have made you commit yubitsume by now, you cocky son of a bitch. Be in Maruyamacho in ten minutes, and you'd better do it without another sarcastic comment. Understood?" Back in his apartment, both Kiyohira and Tetsuya cringed.
Wincing at the blow to his ego, Tsuruki dared not push Satoru any further. "Maruyamacho in ten? Got it, thanks," He hung up, his expression revealing how truly wary he was of Satoru. He set the can down and left.
Soft tapping noises echoed through a small, dimly lit office as Shiko Iitaka read through various news reports. Tetsuya wasn't the only one curious about the Shibuya Serial Killer. Hearing his office phone ring, he tapped the speaker button and continued typing. "Yes?" He answered boredly.
"Busy today, Shiko?" Satoru's tone reflected his frustration from talking to Tsuruki moments before. "Tetsuya's called a meeting. Can you and Tanosuke be in Maruyamacho in ten minutes?"
The typing ceased. "Yeah; we'll head out now. Thanks for the heads up, Satoru," He hung up, leaving the office in search of his partner. "Tano, where are you?" He called.
Tanosuke Ishida poked his head out from an adjacent doorway. "Need something, babe?" Shiko grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the front door. "Where are we going?"
"Maruyamacho; Satoru called," Passing by the coat rack, Shiko tossed a hoodie at Tanosuke and grabbed his own jacket. "It's cold outside," Was the only explanation he gave.
Tanosuke pulled the hoodie over his head, walking outside. Shiko wasn't lying—it was cold. He grumbled about it under his breath as he walked toward his car, shoving his hands in the pocket. Tanosuke really hated the cold. They were soon en route to Maruyamacho.
Sighing, Seitaro Miyajima set his newly-cleaned shotgun back in the case it was to be locked away in at all times. Like the rest of the gun owners in the division, he felt the gun laws were a bit ridiculous. He'd just locked the case when his cellphone emitted an unholy screech. Making a mental note to change the ringtone, he picked up the object and answered the call. Satoru wasn't fond of social calls, especially not where his fellow yakuza were concerned. They spoke only briefly, and Seitaro looked for his keys for a moment and left his apartment.
A businessman walked into his apartment building, greeting the woman at the desk with a warm smile. On the way up to his floor in the elevator, he has a pleasant conversation with the other occupant. He was a very well-liked man. He strode to his door, unlocking it and sighing. He was finally home. The door swung open, revealing an immaculate apartment. Many would think his home reflected his personality—warm, neat, and welcoming, but it only mirrored his façade.
He set his briefcase down and hung up his jacket, retreating to his home office. The neat, polished, gleaming, orderly feel of the rest of the home ended at that doorway. The walls were lined with paper, the desk was so cluttered most wouldn't know what color it was, and haphazard stacks of information towered high in every corner of the room. He lowered himself into the office chair, turning on his computer monitor. The bright screen bathed the dark room in a soft light, and several images appeared affront the man's scrutinizing gaze.
Among the first of the images was a photo of a young woman. She'd made several significant contributions to Japanese society, and had started a charity to pay for the medical care of underprivileged children suffering from cancer. She'd even paid to have a children's hospital built in the area. A truly amazing person, indeed. The next image was of a heart surgeon, one who'd saved countless lives and started his own charity for the treatment and sheltering of abused animals. All of the pictures were of that kind; Japanese citizens who'd made huge contributions to society and those in it.
The man clicked on the first image, hyperlinked to a file that contained a sizeable amount of information on his next victim. He felt his hatred of her grow with every word he read—it was almost as if she wanted to be killed, putting her personal information out in the open like that. He printed a copy of the information and began to scroll through news reports pertaining to his work.
One in particular caught his eye, and he began to read. He was silent for a few moments before having to cover his mouth to muffle his laughter. "I'm connected to the yakuza?" He scoffed. I don't think these sycophant reporters could be any farther from the truth," He finished reading the report with only a slight smile.
He sighed blissfully, remembering his masterpieces, the good that came out of those awful people. They had no right controlling society, and he was going to erase their influence permanently.
-/-/- End Chapter Three -/-/-
A/N: So, as for yubitsume, I will reveal its meaning in detail in the next chapter, but if you want to Google it now, that's fine as well. If you already know, good for you! There are a great many intricacies of the yakuza that will be explained as we go through this story, and yubitsume is only one of them.
Well, as always, I hope you enjoyed this installment of A Murderous Enterprise, and if you find something that you want to comment on, or if you have any questions, feel free to ask me! Reviews are good for the soul (well, the one I had before writing this sin), and are always greatly appreciated! Happy Holidays to all of you!