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Mahiru stared at himself in the mirror and ran his hands along his old scars slashed across his bare torso. They’re jagged and ugly, but he took pride in them knowing he fought to protect his division.
How long had it been since WESTEND-MAFIA was formed? It first started with Tokuma and himself, but it expanded further than he expected it to ever be. A group for those who society wouldn’t accept. Hachioji was the last place you’d look to seek salvation, and Mahiru personally took it upon himself to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.
They weren’t smart, couldn’t be after the war brought ruin to their division. He knew they couldn’t read or write very well, for school was never an option. It was yet another product of something the government failed to keep their word to. He’d lost count of how many promises had been broken by them already, and somewhere along the line, Mahiru stopped trusting them entirely, choosing to fulfil those promises himself. If they weren’t going to do it, then someone had to, and for those plans to happen, the only thing they could rely on was violence.
All they knew how to do was fight, because fighting was all they’d ever experienced. The war, and the division of cities all across the country that only created more bloodshed in the end. The Party of Words turned a blind eye to it all because they never cared for the lives of those they deemed lesser.
And it’s dirty, the way they fight. Kidnapping, fighting four on two, anything that could give them an advantage. He wanted to send a message to the Party of Words, his frustration and sorrow over being abandoned by them. The new era was supposed to be good. They were supposed to have equal opportunities amongst each other, and yet nothing changed. In fact, it only became worse.
How funny was that? Equal opportunity was never an option in the first place. They were all liars. They exploited Hachioji and all of its people to their hearts content until they were wrung dry with nothing to give anymore. When the citizens begged for help, they chose to ignore their cries and move on to the next city.
He’d seen how many families had been torn apart with his own eyes. Children, bruised, bloodied, and dirty, clinging onto the hands of their parents buried under rubble. Tired, sunken eyes of those who’d given their all for the war. He would never forgive what the Party of Words did to them.
“Mahiru.” Tokuma snapped him out of his thoughts.
He smiled, as cheerful as he could appear towards his childhood friend. “Tokkun! What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You’re just spacing out again.”
His smile wavered slightly. He’d been doing that more, lately, ever since their final battle with the division leaders. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just a little tired, I think.” He quickly started to button his shirt up the rest of the way, but he’s stopped by Tokuma’s hand grabbing his wrist.
“Are you healing okay?” Tokuma looked at him in concern, and Mahiru knew he meant more than the bruises and cuts littering his body from when they were last attacked. The other groups had caught wind of their scuffle with the division leaders and beat them when they were at their lowest. Even though they’d won in the end, it wasn’t without heavy losses.
The slow-healing tattoos on his back itched. It was a permanent reminder of what and who they were fighting for. More names had joined the ever-growing list etched on his back today. To the world, the members of WESTEND-MAFIA didn’t exist. They didn’t have any documents on who they were—just nameless individuals that couldn’t find their place in society. Mahiru had given them a home to seek refuge in.
When they died, there was no one to remember them. Who would mourn the lives of someone who never existed? So he gave them a place on his body, as proof that they had lives, and were people, even if they were outcasts compared to everyone else.
“It’s healing okay, I promise.” He sighed, shaking off Tokuma’s hand. He caught a glimpse of Tokuma’s frown in the mirror for a second before he looked away. It was embarrassing to be caught like this, reminiscing of how different things could have been.
Maybe if the Party of Words never took over, or maybe if the war never happened in the first place they could have had a place in society—but deep within his chest he knew that wasn’t true.
As long as society existed, there would always be disadvantaged people like themselves. If WESTEND-MAFIA didn’t exist, there would be countless groups in their position instead. If things happened differently, could there be a world where no one had to live in the shadows? No, Mahiru didn’t think so, because of how different everyone was at a fundamental level. Not everyone could be happy in a society, this much was true. Everyone had different goals and ways of obtaining said goals that would inadvertently cause harm to others. There was no world in which they could all be happy. It was unfair, and that was that.
Still, there was no harm in wishing for a better world, for him and for his team. “What’s so bad about protecting our peace? What’s so bad about trying to be happy?” He spoke slowly, more to himself than to the other man.
“I feel like you’ve asked me this before.”
He turned around to face Tokuma. “Tokkun... Do you think that we should stop? Are we doing something wrong?”
His childhood friend huffed and shook his head. “No. I don’t think we are. We’re going to make this world a little easier to breathe in, right? And I told you before, I’m not good with this. You’re the smart one here.”
Mahiru nodded slowly. Right. The only way they could make this unjust world a little more bearable to live in was to carve out a place for themselves—through violence, if they had to.
He found it comforting in a way. He shouldn’t be happy that his teammates misfortunes lead them to joining WESTEND-MAFIA, but to have people who shared his ideals felt good, like they were making progress bit by bit. Everyone here were victims of circumstances they couldn’t control, the result of the governments neglect for the well-being of their citizens. The more people that joined his group, the more he was confident he could create change in their society and make an place where they wouldn’t have to fear for their safety.
“Let us help you dress your wounds.” Tokuma gently set his hand on his shoulder. “We know you won’t if you go back into your room, and besides, Yoshitsune is getting annoying with how much he asks about you.”
He flinched, taking in a sharp breath of air. “I can’t,” He said, because being vulnerable in this part of their world was a death sentence. He couldn’t afford to drop his guard, because that meant he couldn’t protect people—and if he couldn’t protect them, who could? No one else cared about them anyway.
“You can.” Tokuma gripped his shoulder tighter, staring him deep into his eyes. “WESTEND-MAFIA is supposed to stick together. It’s our bonds which make us strong, you said it before. Stop being a hypocrite and rely on us for once.”
“I do, more than you think. I rely on you more than you rely on me. I couldn’t do anything without all of you.”
“Then let us help you.”
They stare at each other for a long time in silence, before he finally relent. “Alright.” Mahiru said. It had been years since he allowed himself to drop the walls protecting his heart. He was terrified, in all honesty. No one had been there for him when his family died, and no one had been there for him when he fell into crime, grieving and cursing everyone and everything in sight. To have people who cared scared him.
Tokuma’s hand dropped down to his own, squeezing it tight. “Thank you, Mahiru.” And as Tokuma dragged him away from the dingy bathroom, he reflects on his words.
Tokuma always meant more than he said, and this time is no different. Mahiru knew it was more than thanking him for being vulnerable. It’s for the chance they get to reshape society, the chance to finally free themselves from their oppressors. They’ll be remembered, as people who existed and made an impact on the world. The chance to create somewhere they belong rather than being pushed to the edges of their community.
They’re still a long ways away from achieving their goals, but it’d happen someday as long as they believed. He was sure of it.