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When Kiryu took on the responsibilities of becoming the Tojo’s Fourth Chairman, there was a quiet fear that the ranks may change. He was, at his core, a traditionalist when it came to what it meant to be a yakuza: a strong sense of honour, respect for hierarchy, and more than willing to get his hands dirty if he needed to. He wasn’t afraid to question the hierarchy though, scrutinising the lieutenants and their families thoroughly after uncovering everything surrounding the ten billion yen. Rumours spread among them over one captain at risk of losing his position because he bought his way into it, another trying to hide his own involvement with the Nishikiyama family.
Changes were likely coming, whether they were prepared or not. Even before anything was made official, there was a growing plot to fight back if Kiryu tried bringing in too many new ideals. In small groups they couldn’t hope to win against the Dragon of Dojima, but as a collective they stood a chance of wearing him down. When it came time for Kiryu to officially be announced as the Fourth Chairman, families came with their foot soldiers ready to catch him off guard.
No one expected Majima to show up to the Fourth Chairman's ceremony, not so soon after the death of his own patriarch. With no one holding onto his leash anymore, a stray with a scattered family, there was no telling what his intentions could be— looking for revenge was just as likely as drinking himself into oblivion. He took each step slowly, body swaying as if he might collapse at any minute. It was possible he might have, coated in blood and grime of mysterious origins, if not for the burning determination in his eye. Throwing his jacket down on the stairs he revealed himself to be unarmed, save for the tanto stuffed in his waistband. Every warning shouted at him by guards to stop went unheard, his attention focused solely on Kiryu in his formal kimono. The only thing that made him pause was the warning shot fired just past his head.
He opened his arms wide, swaying as he presented himself to the crowd. “We still got a score to settle, Kiryu-chan. This don’t change nothin’.”
Finally Kiryu moved, meeting him halfway on the stairs. This interruption didn’t seem to phase him, as if he had been waiting patiently for him to arrive. He nodded, motioning to a door down the hall. “Let’s settle it while we still can.” Turning back to the crowd, he bowed his head and gave his apologies. “This won’t take long. Help yourselves to the sake.” Leading Majima down the hall, nobody moved until the door to the courtyard was firmly shut behind them. Not even two hours as chairman, and Kiryu was already sidestepping their tradition for… whatever that was. It would have been more insulting, but the offer to drink on his tab was enticing enough to overlook the offence.
True to his word, the clan didn’t have to wait long for him to return. Kiryu entered the main hall alone, no evidence of what had happened on him aside from a tear in his hakama and blood on his sleeve. Someone offered him their handkerchief, taking it gratefully as he wiped small specks of blood off his knuckles. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, he took his place at the podium to give his acceptance speech and hope for the future of the clan. As he spoke, blood trickled down from a cut along his temple. It was ignored until he finished speaking, bowing to the group before pressing the handkerchief to the cut and stepping away.
The celebration lasted until the early hours of the morning, but towards the end no one could find the new chairman.
At the first official meeting under the Fourth Chairman’s leadership, Kiryu was already waiting for everyone to arrive. He sat forward with his arms resting on his knees, deep in thought as the patriarchs filed in. They took their usual seats, leaving only two spots open: the seat formerly occupied by Shimano, and the seat for his second-in-command.
“Kashiwagi, please take the seat to my left.”
A few congratulations were offered as Kashiwagi switched seats, taking his spot as third in command. It was a smart move on Kiryu’s part; Kashiwagi was a respected patriarch, experienced from his time serving as Kazama’s captain while still being spry enough to defend his placement if the need arose.
At ease with the clan’s response, Kiryu sat back in his chair. “Business has changed since I was in jail, so I’d like to know each family’s current stakes and occupations. We need—”
“Yondaime, aren’t you forgetting something?”
Gazes turned towards the empty chair, a coveted position next to the chairman. It took Kiryu a second to realise he was being spoken to, glancing at the chair and then at the clock on the wall. “He should be here soon, we can start without him.”
“You’ve already chosen your second?”
As if he had been waiting on the cue, the large wooden doors swung open, shutting noisily behind Majima as he slinked up the aisle. There was a slight limp to his gait, flopping down into the empty chair next to Kiryu with a sigh. He was much cleaner than he had been at the ceremony, though the large purple bruise over his ribs was new, a stark contrast to his yellow snakeskin jacket. Slumping down in the chair, Majima spread his legs to get comfortable for a long meeting. No sooner than he was situated did the arguments begin.
“In what world is Majima qualified for that position?!”
“His patriarch was a traitor!”
“You think the Mad Dog will listen?!”
“Fuck’s this about?” Majima snapped back, eye narrowing as he leaned forward to stare them down. His voice was slightly congested, the bruising near his eye suggesting his nose had been broken again recently. “Ya questioning our chairman’s leadership, huh? Sounds to me like yer jus’ looking for a fight.” Snarling out the challenge, Majima reached under his back to draw his tanto. He pointed it at the first man who had complained, shifting to push himself out of the chair. Glancing over at Kiryu for permission, he paused.
Kiryu held a single hand up towards Majima, watching as the older man stilled. Without a word of argument, Majima resheathed his knife and lounged back in his chair. He was visibly tense, ready to strike out at the first person to say something, but the simple gesture from his chairman was enough to reel him in. Crossing his arms, he stared down the lower lietenants until they had taken their seats as well.
“Any more questions?” Kiryu’s gaze swept over the group, resting on each of the men Majima was glaring at. There were no verbal objections this time, just disapproving looks shared among the lower ranks. He could live with that, turning his gaze back to Kashiwagi. “Let’s get to work."
That had been so long ago, back when they were still trying to set an example for those who doubted the new leadership. Once the majority of dissenters had quieted down, it was a slow degradation from the rigid seating chart to their current set-up. Each year saw Majima’s seat empty more frequently, the Mad Dog instead circling the meeting room to catch anyone who tried to speak out of turn or taking up post behind someone on thin ice. Now it was unthinkable to walk into a clan meeting and not see Majima draped over the back of Kiryu’s armchair, his arms crossed lazily as he watched everyone else file in and take their seats. Once they were ready to start, Majima either kept his position or moved to lean against the armrest, gaze sweeping over the collective like a guard waiting for their charge to step out of line.
The image of Majima leaning up against Kiryu's armchair— something new members and guests from other clans still found themselves complaining about to anyone who would listen— reminded the men of an elderly Doberman curled up on a rug in front of its master. It was easy to see how the years had treated the dog; scars on its muzzle, grey scattered through what used to be a black coat, the hours of running around replaced with a slower gait.
For the most part it was content to sleep at its master's feet, a prized pet kept for its intimidating stature, but you knew that with a single word the elderly dog would snarl and bite its way through whatever it was set on. Blood on his muzzle and skin in his claws, he would return home to his master eager for praise. The dog would wag its tail and receive a treat, resting his head in his master's lap as if the carnage left in his wake never existed in the first place. To those who were unlucky enough to see or clean-up the aftermath, there was no question of the dog’s value.
No one would dare make the comparison aloud, regardless of how docile Majima may have looked now. Too many of the clan captains remembered the Majima of their youths: a loose cannon that cut through whatever he was instructed to, regardless of breaking family lines and only following the rules his boss agreed with. After Shimano's death, Kiryu was there to pick up the leash and hold him tight. Though they say an old dog can’t learn new tricks, Majima learned obedience. Despite being newly trained, there was still a lingering fear in the other lieutenants that he would one day snap, setting his family on the clan for a rampage there was no preparation for. An unfounded fear, of course; while Shimano kept his dog on the streets and only saw it enough to feed it, he was commonly thought of as Kiryu’s housepet.
It was well known that wherever one found the 4th Chairman, his loyal underboss wouldn't be far behind. Unless he was sent out on a mission or dealing with his own family, Majima was rarely found more than a couple rooms away from his boss. After a captain had gotten his back sliced open for making insinuations about it the families forced themselves to become used to it, but over the past decade it had become nearly impossible to meet with Kiryu without the dog at his heels. Protection, Majima called it. Convenience, Kiryu insisted.
The lietenants had a different word for it altogether, though it was never spoken beyond a whisper in some back-street izakaya.
“Maji,” Kiryu curled a finger in his direction, beckoning him over. The name was like a siren’s song on his lips; he never needed to speak twice before Majima was beside his chair waiting and ready for instruction. No one can ever hear what is said to him when the chairman leans in close, but there’s no need to guess. One gloved hand moved to rest on the small of Majima’s back, pulling him closer as Kiryu whispered his request. They were never exactly ‘orders’ when given to Majima, never given in the same commanding tone or with the expectation that they be done according to code. With Majima, everything was a request. An indirect order, a suggestion for him to take a walk outside the Tojo’s eyes; to find someone and teach them a lesson or to get his hands dirty in the ways he knew best. Kiryu’s hand slid to his waist, resting there just a moment too long for the other patriarchs’ comfort before he leaned back in his chair and smiled at Majima. A silent gesture, but almost as audible as a leash being taken off.
The captain will do whatever he asks, and come home covered in blood with an arm or finger as a trophy; wagging his tail and waiting to be told that he did a good job.
Among those who were brave enough to speculate on the nature of the chairman and the captain’s relationship, the idea that Majima may be submitting due to the chairman’s position had been entertained by newer recruits. It was easy to see how they would come to that conclusion, having only seen the greying dog keeping pace behind the chairman or attending regular meetings in his office while the secretary stepped out for lunch. They hadn’t been around to see Majima draping himself over the chairman’s shoulders in the early years of his term, purring suggestions into his ear. They hadn’t caught Majima begging him for a fight in the courtyard, breathing too heavily and groaning too much to just be in pain, nor had they seen the way Kiryu would disappear for hours at a time after Majima invited him to ‘spar’.
They hadn’t caught glimpses of Goromi leaving the chairman’s office in the early hours of the morning, hanging off his arm on the way to his apartment like a high-end escort.
The most damning evidence against their theory was never spoken about, kept quiet by the patriarchs who had been with them long enough to know when it was better to say nothing at all. An elderly patriarch nearing his retirement had been teasing Kiryu for still being single in his forties, recommending a couple bars in town for him to meet a nice girl. “It’s about time you started thinking about getting a wife. Right, Kashiwagi?” He had said with a laugh, pulling a good-natured chuckle from Kashiwagi, who just shook his head.
Kiryu had grown flustered at the offer, glancing to his side as he mumbled out a “You don’t have to, really.” His reaction just earned him another offer from the old man, rubbing his neck as he kept his gaze in Majima’s direction. Even the dog snickered at his predicament, though his eyes showed no sign of humour.
At the next meeting, it was a shock to see Majima show up in something other than his usual ghastly snakeskin. He had worn a suit a handful of times, a kimono on special occasions, but everything he owned was tailored to fit his body. He leaned against the edge of the chairman’s desk in a baggy red button-up shirt, the top three buttons undone to reveal just the tip of his snakes’ fangs. Stretching his arms behind his back, the shirt gaped open enough to show a litany of bruises covering his torso, ranging in sizes from quarter marks around his collar bone to long cylindrical bruises peeking out from where his ribs were half-hidden by the fabric. Like a cat stalking its prey, he circled around to lean against Kiryu’s chair after they were finished.
“Oh yeah, Kiryu-han took yer suggestion, old timer.” Majima grinned as he spoke, nudging Kiryu to nod his agreement. “One hell of a lady, too. He sure knows how to pick ‘em.” He sat on the arm of the chair, pulling one knee up to rest over Kiryu’s legs. He leaned back, shoulder brushing against Kiryu’s until it became clear to the room exactly where his shirt had come from. “Guess he won’t be needin’ any of ya handin’ him numbers anymore. Would hate t’see what his lady would do to the next guy who did.”
The threat came through loud and clear. Their chairman was off the market; presumably for quite awhile.
Their meeting was adjourned early, lieutenants filing out with copies of the latest quarterly financial report. Kiryu was seated at his desk again, leaning back in the chair as he covered his eyes. After having the same quarterly meetings for the past two decades, his eyes began to swim just thinking about looking at the clan’s funds. He could barely handle balancing his own books as a real estate agent, thank god he had people who could run the numbers for him now. The thought made him groan, leaning back until the chair creaked.
“Lookin’ like ya need a vacation, Kazzy.”
He couldn’t help but smile at the voice, lifting his hand to watch Majima cross the room. Years of battles he was getting too old for had left a permanent mark on his gait, favouring his left side as he strode past the desk. Pressing the call button on Kiryu’s phone, he instructed the secretary to block calls for the next few hours before taking the phone off the receiver. With no way to interrupt them, Majima climbed into Kiryu’s lap. Straddling his waist, he ran a hand over the scar on his temple. A promise of allegiance that he wore everyday since the start of it all. His voice was softer when they were alone, dropping into a register only Kiryu was allowed to hear. “We could both use one.”
Kiryu grunted, slotting his arms around his waist as if they were always meant to be there. “They’d be in ruins without us.”
“Even for jus’ a week? A day?” Majima sighed dramatically, resting their foreheads together. “Gonna be the death of us, yaknow. Age or work, one of the two.”
Kiryu chuckled at that, brushing their noses together. “You’d never let anything else kill me, nii-san.”
A promise made in their youth, one that Majima was willing to die for. He couldn’t help but smile in return, stealing a kiss as they enjoyed the brief moment of peace. Neither of them had truly wanted to return to the yakuza life, taking the responsibility of keeping old values alive, but someone had to keep the clan from tearing itself apart.
At least this way they had managed to stick together. In another life, they may not have been so lucky.