Chapter Text
As the date marking his release approached, Eiji kept his emotions from spilling out, lest he gets held back by some kind of chain once again. Be it another sentence or even an hour mere five minutes, he didn’t want to wait any longer. He couldn’t wait. Not anymore. He was confined long enough to last him a lifetime and the next.
Whenever eyes were on him, he put on a stern face. He smiled just enough to not warrant suspicion.
And when he was finally let go, with no chains and no one to hold him by the arm, just himself , he had to subdue the skip in his step.
Because he was free. After five goddamn years, he finally had what he dreamt so much about.
In the empty streets, he felt his face split into a grin.
Freedom.
Freedom!
Sweet, sweet, freedom.
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Biwasaka made a call for cleaning services pretty much the second he came through the door to his own home. It was dusty, which meant it was thankfully untouched, but like hell he was cleaning all this up himself.
Still, it felt good to finally lay down in his own home. His own bed .
He didn’t want to sleep, not anymore. Not when his dreams finally came true.
(Most of them. Some of them, not yet.)
But despite his own complaints, mere moments after his head hit the pillow, his mind clouded and drifted off.
He dreamt of rattling metal and rusting iron, confining him. His bones rattle from kicking the bars, and his voice is hoarse from endless cursing. He demands release and threatens torture on the faceless figures standing around him, until he finally tears his eyes away to look around, and sees that there’s someone there with him.
He wakes up with a dry throat and a cough. In his own bed–that’s the important part.
Laughing off the headache like it was somehow sentient, Eiji fixes himself up and sets off.
He has work to do.
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No one is really happy to see Biwasaka back at the office, but if anything, that just boosts his mood. He’s finally back to doing what he loves–making life worse for everyone who dislikes him.
“You should consider getting some company.” A colleague of Biwasaka’s says during a break, puffing out cigarette smoke through their nose. There’s a ring on their finger that wasn’t there when Biwasaka was jailed. “Get a dog or something.”
Eiji’s huffs in amusement, remembering the face he saw at the end of his dream. “Was already planning on that, believe it or not.”
“Already got your eye on one?”
“I do. A very smart one.” He shrugs. “Well, a little dull, but there’s nothing time and a little training can’t fix.”
“Yeesh. I’ll be praying for the poor mutt.”
“Why so? I’m a kind, respectable owner.”
“You look like the type who killed animals as a kid.”
Biwasaka’s eye twitches. “Sounds like you’re projecting.”
“Ah, shut up. Don’t you have work to do?”
“Don’t you have a smoking problem to get over?”
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Following the confirmation that he would still be employed and wasn’t going to jail anytime soon, came the onslaught of other legal matters he’d have to resolve before going back to his perfectly normal life.
Three mountains of paperwork, about two dozen meetings and one haircut later, Biwasaka decided he could reward himself with a bit of research that involved rifling through sensitive documents, pulling of some strings and internet surfing.
Some things that Biwasaka learned about the Go-Home Club’s President; Older than he expected, but still younger than Eiji. Born and raised in the same city all their life with their parents, with whom they still share residence. Using their master’s in biology, they worked for the police as a pathologist before suddenly quitting and applying for a mortuary science degree program. They were currently employed in a funeral house on the outskirts of Nagoya. And…
Their father has recently had a lawsuit filed against him due to suspicions of unethical and abusive work conditions at the hospital he owned.
A few phone calls, and Eiji is out the door. He was in need of a road trip, anyway.
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Eiji likes to think he’s good at reading people. Well, not think, he knows , but humility goes a long way. And the President was proof of that.
They were abnormally hard to read, the only emotion they’d ever direct at him being subtle annoyance. A person is supposed to talk with their eyes, but their steel gaze said nothing. Not a window to the soul, but an impenetrable wall, guarding–no, blocking the way to their heart. There was no one protecting their heart, not even the President itself. It seemed as if they were a fortress long-abandoned, left to rot, instead standing tall and pristine as if it was still inhabited.
As if there was still a soul inside.
Not that Eiji had any interest in bygones, but he could not deny his curiosity at how an empty castle could thrive more than its own soldiers–its own king.
“Shogo asked me to.”
But soul or not, a fortress is still just that, a fortress. It’d be foolish to think a stack of stone had agency of its own.
Charisma can get you anywhere in life, but like any tool, you need to know how to use it. Half of lawyer work is twisting your words in order to get the judge’s interest and, ultimately, get them on your side. The goal isn’t to be truthful, it's to be believable.
He doesn’t see a rival in the President. No one man has ever been a threat to Biwasaka’s status as a perfect, respectful man. Even when Shogo beat him at a race, he saw it only as something to get back at, a dot on his to-do list. And given how Shogo’s successor seems even less motivated than he did, Eiji didn’t expect much.
Instead, he ponders giving them some advice on how to utilize their natural talent. Get on their good side. Give himself some points towards what seems to be the most closed-off member so far. Ayana at least opens up to the girls. But the President…
“I think I’m fine.”
They didn’t trust him from day one. It is very likely they still don’t.
But should he whistle, the President will come flocking to Eiji with attentive eyes and clenched teeth.
Because it’s the polite thing to do. Because that’s what makes people trust you–knowing you’re always at their disposal. Because of this little, unbearable necessity in society called humility .
In any other situation, Eiji would deem them boring and a waste of his brain’s circulation, opting to focus on matters actually worthy of his attention.
But just as he was craving their trust, they were trying to gain his. Both pushing a door from either side, never letting it open on their respective side.
It’s then that Eiji noticed–craving. Craving? No, he simply wanted it. He was used to having the approval of all, and that included people that didn’t exactly like him, but tolerated him for his talents.
Perhaps he saw it as a challenge then–to win a stalemate war, showing he’s still got it. That everything will go back to as it was before he fell asleep. Before he was caught. Before…
Everything will be as he wanted it to be. Because he was Eiji Biwasaka.
And he would prove it, starting with the Go-Home Club’s President, an impenetrable fortress to whose allure even he wasn’t immune.
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"I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am."
“A ‘thank you’ is always a good start.”
The man of the house laughs as his wife pours more tea into Eiji’s cup. The living room was lavished with decorations–portraits of flowers or famous European landmarks, small statues of cats, pigs and little girls. Memorabilia with no emotional value cluttered each glass shelf in their vicinity. To Eiji’s right was a glass wall that showed a clear view of the kitchen built in dark marble, a stark contrast to the pure white and silver of the living room. The chandelier hanging above them was clear glass, big enough to kill anyone standing under it. Even the coffee table was made from glass. Even the teacup nestled tightly between Eiji’s pointer finger and thumb was glass. Glass house housing transparent people putting on smiles he can see right through, better than he can see the carpet under the table.
They say not to throw stones in a glass house. Then how does a fortress fare in a house of mirrors?
But their child was nowhere in sight.
A few assurances of his skill and negotiation of price, he pretends to absorb his surroundings once more, his eyes landing on the dining room table, a few paces away from them and the kitchen. “Quite a large room. Are you a big family?”
“Oh, no, just us and our child.”
“They must be lucky to have parents as talented as you.”
“Ah, well… You’d think, right?”
The father’s smile falls, lop-sided, an ugly face for a man who seems to care for appearances so. So the President doesn’t get along with their family. Interesting. Very interesting.
“Did I say something funny?” The man raises a brow, and Biwasaka pretends to fix his hair. Don’t slip up, now. You can’t afford to make any more mistakes. Once was enough.
“Ah, no, don’t mind me. I was just thinking about my own father. He passed before we could reconcile, you see.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. Your child still lives with you?”
“Thirty-two and still living with their parents.” The mother chimes in, the hair of her bun loose as she leans over to grab her husband’s tea cup and put it on a tray. “Honestly, someone like you would be a good example. Attended one of the top universities in Japan, and still can’t make up their mind on what they want to–”
The front door clicks open, and a figure in a long, dark coat and hat steps into the house–a stark contrast against the silver hanging racks next to their head.
“There you are. Where were you?” The woman stands up straight, brushing her hands on her apron.
They pause before replying, taking off their hat and hanging it. “Meeting with friends.” Their voice is as still and unreadable as ever.
“Right…” The man drawls, standing up and waving a presenting hand in the guest’s direction. At the gesture, Eiji rises from his seat as well. “This is Mr. Eiji Biwasaka. The attorney for my case.”
“It’s a pleasure.” He bows, keeping his eyes on theirs.
They step closer to him, silent. They eye him up and down, as if making sure it’s really him, and Eiji relishes the attention. It’s the most gentle scrutinizing he’s ever felt from them.
Yet they still manage to surprise him when they direct a smile towards him for the very first time.
Now he sees why they never do. It’s like someone plastered heart stickers on a corpse. Clashing. Gaudy. Unnatural.
“It’s been a while, Biwasaka-senpai.”
And yet, they allure him. Should they speak, he’ll come flocking to them.
He’d like to think it’s humility. Making use of your resources. And it is.
But it’ll be a cold day in Hell before he admits, honest and true, to admiring someone.