Tekken Fan Fiction ❯ Jakunen Mirai ❯ Twah! ( Chapter 7 )

A/N: Warning… 'You thought I babbled last time…well this time, I have 2 000 more words than the last chapter!'

There.

Disclaimer: I put this in here every once and a while, that's all that's needed. Kazuya isn't mine. We all know that. We also all know that I'm not happy about that idea.

Claimer: Pretty much all the other characters are from my imagination. Use 'em if you think you need to, but please please ask, or I shall lay claim to your dinner! Mwaha…

Oh yeah. Single (*'s) indicate a change of perspective; from one character to another. So don't get confused…

***

Jakunen Mirai - Chapter 7

Kazuya stood there, tapping his foot, staring into his wardrobe. He'd heard passing comments later that afternoon about everyone in the Mishima company constantly wearing dark, drab, depressing colours…mostly from a group of American visitors. American visitors that not only expected him to not understand a word of English, but didn't even recognise him as the 'Big Boss' of the company they were talking about. Instead of loudly informing them of who he was, he simply stood back innocently; trying to look busy, and just listened in. After all, contrary to public opinion, Kazuya was not a loud, arrogant, obnoxious man. He had always made a definite effort to look confident, but it came naturally with his face; thus, he ended up looking arrogant. He also had a very, very loud voice when need be. So people assumed he was just that; loud, rude, obnoxious, arrogant. No one really knew how much he hated himself, wanted another life perhaps. When his attention wasn't called upon, he preferred to be somewhere in the background. Certainly it was a difficult task, being only an inch under six foot tall, and having a preference to more outrageous hairstyles and suits with a little splash of colour.

And speaking of colour, now that he stood in front of his wardrobe, he could see none. He sighed, folded his arms over his chest, and tilted his head to the side. Dark blues, dark greys, black. That was the extent of his clothing. Blah, how utterly boring.

Like you, Kazuya. Hah.

Both his eyebrows rose. Then he frowned, but smirked slightly. "Fuck off, Devil."

Blinking a few times, and hearing nothing more, he guessed he hadn't completely tamed the demon spirit that lived off his soul. Then again, the spirit didn't seem to be present in him any more, just the residual effects. Such as, the lasting ability to morph into that beastly figure, but with his own mind and control, not the Devil's consciousness taking over. Then he realised that voice had to be that internal…thing…that so often tormented him. The scars from his father's constant verbal abuse were still roar in his mind, and often bled.

He shook his head about, and sighed again. Pity he never watched many movies; there were always plenty of counsellors in them, offering advice he could probably use. There was always the common sense and logic answers to mental wars; let the logic take over. But, of course, whenever he tried to help himself, that stupid voice always jibed, you don't deserve it. The hardest part for anyone was always to convince yourself it was all lies. You had to stop believing the lies. Bur first of all, you had to learn they were lies.

The conflict in his mind began to spike a little. He heard his own voice, and the memories of his father's voice.

I'm human, just like everyone else, he told himself.

You're weak and worthless, Heihachi scolded.

I'm stronger than any human alive, he reasoned. I defeated that bastard Heihachi. I could beat anyone.

Your victory was luck, baka, came Heihachi's voice again. Your will is weak. Look at how your emotions take you over.

Kazuya winced at the reminder. But then Jun's voice joined the battle. Emotions are a source of strength, not weakness. They offer a barrier against cold logic, and make you more human. The memory of her actual words was soothing and sweet.

But once again, the memories of Heihachi's cruelness echoed about in his mind. You were born weak. You will always be weak. You are not worthy of anything. You don't deserve the air you breathe.

Frustrated, Kazuya finally stepped over the line. They were all lies. All lies! He knew he was worth more. People gave him the respect he had earned without him even having to be there. He'd made this company the most powerful in the world. He'd changed so many lives for the better that Heihachi had made miserable in the first place. Surely he deserved more than this…shit!

I don't answer to you, Old Man!

He smirked. That felt so good to say…and the memories finally fell dormant. That does it; he'll treat himself for the first time in his life to a little entertainment. He looked back into his bland wardrobe, and pulled out a few items. A few fond memories filled his mind as he pulled out a long leather overcoat he hadn't worn in years. This was the coat he was wearing when Jun gave him his first kiss. It was so long ago, but he'll never forget. He decided to keep with the dark pants he was already wearing, but pulled down a dark blue shirt - it was a much stronger blue than anything else he had to wear - and a pale yellow tie. A very similar outfit to the one he wore so often a couple of decades ago. Tossing the clothes down on his bed, he decided he'd go to a classy bar or tavern in central Tokyo for the evening, and began to get ready to go.

Ten or so minutes later, he wandered downstairs and into the kitchen, where a small notice board stood, nails driven into it at regular intervals, with keys dangling from a few. Of course, the Mishima family had quite a collection of road vehicles, including a few limousines. He looked outside into the garage area, spotting two black limos and a few sporty cars…none of which really attracted his attention. Taking a ride in a limo meant having to wait for the stupid driver to get his backside in here…he hated the man anyway. One of Heihachi's previous employees of course, and had no sense of humour. The sports cars were a risk; people liked stealing cars like that. So, he picked up the keys to his favourite vehicle, and wandered into the garage, locking the door behind him.

He walked to the end of the large garage, and stopped beside a sleek, silver Suzuki Katana. He'd bought the bike himself a month or so ago, soon after he had the Zaibatsu back - in preference to another car, since bikes are easier to get around in, and this little beauty…though it was a super sports, it was very street worthy. He picked up the black full-face helmet and placed it over his slicked-back raven hair, which had been smoothed down flat for once, since it wouldn't be a good thing at all if he'd crammed a darn bike helmet on top of his usual spiked-up hairstyle.

As he kicked back the kickstand and turned on the ignition, the garage door before him automatically opened. Hey nice…that's an improvement since his earlier days here. Smirking to himself at a few memories of Lee (who often suffered a few insurance issues when it came to the rivalry between the two brothers - Kazuya usually armed with a set of keys, and Lee with damage to his precious paintwork), he set out down the long driveway out of the estate, and headed down the road toward Tokyo, which was only a few kilometres in the distance.

He felt a lot more comfortable behind the reflective mask of the helmet. He was just another member of the commuters on the road, disguised further by the darkness of the night. He'd been taught to be a courteous driver, and unlike Lee, kept to his own lane, despite the temptation to weave in and out of the traffic on the powerful bike. The ride in through the main streets was oddly pleasant; the city central was littered with people and bright lights, plenty of action, and an air of goodwill that wasn't often present in the work environment. Fairly soon, the street merchants and buskers faded into hotel facades and shopping centres, and Kazuya's eyes began wandering, searching for a pleasant enough looking place to quietly spend the evening. Any social activity, even if he was merely present, was a treat for him.

*

Sheree grinned as Tetsuo quaffed yet another shot of…something. He'd had girlfriend trouble lately, and needed the support offered by the alcohol…but perhaps not that much. The other people around the table were supportive of the youthful Japanese man, but were here more or less for a good time. After all, it was Friday night. In this place, Sheree felt more comfortable. She had an Australian man on her left, and an American woman on her right. Opposite her was another British woman. The other six people sitting around were of oriental descent, one of the young women being Chinese, the others being Japanese. They'd all met each other by chance, formed little friendships amongst two or three, and finally, all the links were dug out, and they all joined each other in the classy tavern in uptown Tokyo.

Yuki looked over at Sheree and smirked over her tall glass of orange juice. "Tell me, my friend…what's bothering you? You've been shaky the whole day, since lunch time."

The blonde woman glanced back at her companion and shrugged. "I'm fine. Nothing's wrong."

One of the Japanese men sitting opposite her shook his head and sighed. "You look like you've been chased up and down the halls by a ghost, and you say you're alright. I saw you coming back to work this afternoon, and you looked like you were about to drop dead."

She scraped her fingers through her blonde tresses and shook her head. "I just had a strange run-in today, okay? A few important people. You know what large focuses of power in one place do to me. Stress me out."

Tetsuo looked up dazedly from his shot glass, and added to the conversation…in a somewhat slurred manner. "Sheree sweetie…as long as it wasn't T.H.E. head guy around the place, you're fine."

The American woman petted her shoulder and grinned across the table at Tetsuo. "Ya know, after all the shit that's gone on inside the company lately, who could know what the head guy looks like? If he's anything like his father, we'd know who he is…but I ain't seen nothin' of the man."

Sheree sighed. "It WAS the Big Boss I crashed into. I met him outside the lift before I went up."

Every eye around the table snapped towards her. The other English woman was the first to break the ice. "Is he hot?"

All Sheree could to was slap her forehead with one hand, and go bright red, trying not to laugh herself to pieces.

"Well? Or is he an ugly old fart like his Dad?"

She couldn't answer, she was in the hysterics. Kazuya, and old fart?! Hell naw.

"I'm really serious this time. I wanna know! Is he an old bag…or is he sexy? Or just okay…?"

Yuki giggled too. She'd seen him once or twice, hadn't paid much attention to the face…just his body. He was definitely well muscled. Or fat-chested. Hard to tell from under a suit. "Or is he a fag?"

Sheree shrieked with laughter and slammed both fists down on the table, taking a gasp of air. "You're not helping!"

Everyone laughed sedately with her, waiting for her to calm down. Finally, she took a gasp of air again, and panted. "Okay…to tell you the truth, I really don't know how to explain him. He's just…well damn. The air around him is electrified or something. He's got a really deep voice though." Inside she was kicking herself. She wanted to tell the whole world about how damn attractive he was. At the thought, she blushed.

Most people decided to back off a little, and not pressure her too much about it…to avoid embarrassing her. It was obviously one heck of a fun-in to do that to her.

*

Kazuya pulled off the main street, and parked the bike outside a quiet looking tavern. It'd been such a long time since he'd gone out into this sort of place. Heck, Jun was the last person he'd gone anywhere special with! Ah, Jun…he could remember how heavenly it felt when her chin rested in just the right spot on his shoulder. He missed her.

He pulled off his helmet and locked it down on the bike, slicked his fingers through his hair - which he hadn't bothered to style at all - and silently stepped into the bright room. Seemed fairly lively inside, people sitting around tables, laughing, sharing drinks. The entire atmosphere of enjoyment lifted even his spirits a little as he made his way towards the bar. Along the way he found an unoccupied table in a less populated area of the tavern, and sat down there. If he stayed here a few hours, he'd allow himself one drink. After all, driving a motorbike was always harder than a car, so driving with a buzz was out of the question. Pity though, a lot of the drinks on the stand-up menu on the table looked pretty nice. Then again, he knew how to make one drink alone last hours. He'd just pass the time, relaxing in the friendly environment. And since this place was one of the classier, there might be a live band later on in the evening or something like that.

*

No one at the group had noticed any newcomers to the tavern since they themselves entered. They had better things to do, like have fun and talk to each other merrily.

"So, uh, what now?" Since eyes were off Sheree now, they needed another source of entertainment. The American woman gazed off into the distance a moment, dreaming of late-night parties in Las Vegas…oh the fun you could have in that town…when an interesting sight caught her eye. Someone sitting alone. No one sat alone at places like this, did they? But no, the man, clearly Japanese, was sitting on his own. His hair was a little longer than one would expect, quite a bit of it sitting down the side of his face. He wasn't young, but he was most definitely not old. She guessed late thirties, early forties. His dark eyes looked oddly empty as he stared down at a drinks menu. Yep, he was lonely. Probably having girl trouble like Tetsuo.

She nudged Sheree in the side, and spoke in English. "Lookie at that fellow over there. Looks awfully lonely, doesn't he? Ya think we should invite him to the table?"

Sheree looked where her friend was pointing, and gasped. As he shifted his head slightly, his hair fell forward, revealing that scar she'd grown to recognise so easily this day. "That…that's…"

The others turned their attention to her once again. Yuki didn't recognise him, so she was of no help there. "What is it, Sheree?"

Sheree shook her head, blushing shamefully at her reaction. "It's him. Kazuya Mishima. Our boss."

The other British woman, peered over her shoulder as discreetly as she could, stared a few seconds, then turned back, grinning. In strong cockney English, of course, she gave her opinion. "You know Sheree…you coulda told us he was fuckin' hot to start with, silly girl…" Sheree blushed even more, but the rest of her went quite pale.

"It's alright with him not noticing us and us being in quite a group here…but wait till you meet him face to face, on your own. He's taller than he looks, sitting down…"

One of the Japanese men nodded his head. "I would be awfully nervous meeting the head guy himself. I mean…massive focal point of power. That…and the payroll."

*

Kazuya blinked a few times, and paused. He thought he heard his name, for some bizarre reason. Shrugging it off, he sat back in his chair, and looked about the crowd. They all seemed so happy, so relaxed. He was used to being excluded from society, so simply being able to sit in on the atmosphere was a treat on its own.

But suddenly something didn't seem right. He got this sudden feeling of dread washing over him, making his blood run cold. The self-defence feeling of disaster, and the desperate need to leave. He ignored it, and waited to see what would happen however. No need to panic for no reason.

Then, before he knew it, people started shrieking and several male voices boomed through the place.

"Everybody freeze! Hands behind your heads!" A group of around eight armed men had stormed into the place. One, armed with a black Desert Eagle, walked forward toward the bar, or more directly, the bar cashbox. Ah, pack mentality, Kazuya thought to himself. Alone they are weak, but together they feel strong.

He was born with the desire to fight and win. And when one of the pack members began to harass nearby people with his knife, threatening them and enjoying their screams with sadist pleasure, it was just too much.

*

Could the evening get any worse? First of all, several run-ins with her company's CEO…not even her department boss…but the big guy himself…now she crashes into the same guy at her favourite bar…and now some idiots are trying to rob the place? Oh well, works better than a bank, supposedly. Might as well just nicely stand back and let them do whatever, and they won't hurt you.

*

Kazuya leapt forward without any warning whatsoever, and almost literally crashed right into the biggest member of the gang that was there, pummelling him to the ground in an instant, and snatched his weapon. He stood back, holding the gun in one hand. How guns revolted him so much…but he held it, even though he felt it crawling about against his skin despicably. Now that their strongest member was down for the count, Kazuya had control over the situation. And quite intelligently, he stood side-on from a slight distance, since there was another of them behind him.

"Drop your weapons."

They didn't seem perturbed by Kazuya's threat, though inside they were beginning to wonder whether this was such a good idea. The one that was heading towards the cashier turned, and tossed the Desert Eagle aside.

"Ah, so you want to play the hard way, eh tough guy? Alright…we'll knock you out, and continue what we started."

He couldn't help but smirk ever so slightly to himself. Cocky fools. If only they knew who he was…King of Iron Fist, and last survivor of the Mishima clan. The first dived at him, tossing the Desert Eagle aside, and swung out at his face with a previously concealed knife. But he was a mere amateur, and Kazuya was beyond professional. He ducked to the side, and delivered a short punch to the man's stomach…or what would seem to he a short punch…but he fully extended his arm, despite the close range, and with his universally known unnatural strength, flung him halfway across the room, and sent him skidding along the ground on his back. He spun around just as another burly figure leaped at him with his fists forward. Bad, bad attack. Kazuya simply sprung a short way off the ground with one foot, and delivered a powerful uppercut with the opposite knee, setting his opponent airborne. As he came down, he assisted gravity…swinging his leg high as the man fell in range, and slammed his heel down on the man's back, forcing him to the ground with impact enough to more than wind him.

*

Well, this was an interesting turn of events. Now her boss was kicking serious ass, and saving the tavern from a robbery. Damn, she should have known he was such a skilled fighter. And he looked so deadly attractive…and flexible.

Ugh, dirty thoughts! Sheree scolded herself for that. As the second man was defeated, she gave a little whoop of joy. Following that, a few others in the crowd cheered too, as he slammed a third man into a wall.

But then she noticed something odd. A black figure shifting about at her side. Looking down, she realised it was the leader of the gang, reaching out for his gun. He stood, and aimed directly at Kazuya's head.

Sheree shrieked, and leaped at the man, despite all her inner rebellions. She wouldn't allow the poor man to be killed after such a valiant effort.

"No!!"

She managed to grab his wrist and pull it up, just as he fired the weapon.

*

Just as the third gang member was thrown against the wall, Kazuya heard a shrill shriek from a woman, and a weapon being fired. Immediately his attention was drawn toward the commotion, and he whipped his head around to see what it was all about. As he did, his eyes widened; a bullet whizzed by his ear, hitting the wall right next to him…it'd only missed by a few millimetres. But he was also being attacked from another direction, since the gang didn't seem to be very well coordinated within themselves. He felt a spiking, burning pain as something sliced through his cheek, and thudded into the wall on his other side - he couldn't help but cry out at the sudden pain. Then, as the burning subsided after a second, he felt heat stream down his face. Blood.

His eyes filled with a slight hatred, and ferocity unseen by most for a very, very long time.

"Kisama ka…"

The culprit backed away as Kazuya slowly and menacingly approached him, raising a fist, and threw a false strike. Then, at just the point he was expecting, the man ducked. Kazuya swung a leg up and over the head of his previous attacker, caught the neck with his ankle, and threw his leg down with all his might. The result; the famed BitchKicks attack, which promptly sent the man flying into the ground, knocking him unconscious upon impact.

However, with the sudden attack of anger, Kazuya didn't notice the first man he knocked out had awoken, and wasn't pleased with his presence either. The burly figure grabbed the much smaller Kazuya by the neck, and threw him across the room.

*

With a sharp jab into a tender part of the neck, Sheree forced the gang leader to involuntarily drop everything…including the gun…then disabled him as soon as she could with a well-aimed kick into the groin with her rather pointed-toed shoes.

The next thing she knew, she was hit with a very large object, and thrown into the ground.

After a moment of panic, she looked down to see a little blood on her shirt. The object - still lying on her from the impact - was Kazuya! After a second, he growled and rolled off her, and sprung to his feet. His cheek was bleeding pretty badly, and her shirt was splashed with the crimson liquid.

He flew right back into the fight again of course, but she sat there on the ground, trying to recover. When he slammed into her, she felt like someone had thrown her into a brick wall. And for the two seconds he was on top of her, she could feel that muscle of his, moving so fluidly beneath his skin, as he got his bearings and pulled himself up again. She blushed heavily as she realised how that would've looked…her face up, him face down…ugh, let's not go there.

The action had turned in favour of everyone else in the tavern; the gang had lost control of the situation, thanks to Kazuya's intervention. Yuki and Tetsuo reached down and pulled Sheree back onto her feet.

"Are you alright there? Speak to us…you okay?"

She just nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine…has anyone dialled the police yet?"

No one had. It didn't seem quite necessary…one man taking out six, after all.

*

His cheek was burning, but he ignored it. It wasn't a deep wound, even though it was right on top of a scar that was already on his face. Five of the six gang members were standing before him, definitely not feeling sure of themselves now. Kazuya felt that Devil Gene inside him burning almost as much as his cheek for a moment, willing him to transform. But he didn't particularly want to, since that wasn't a very nice public image…besides, there was no need. He was simply used to this point in his body's exertion for the real activities to start. But then he felt a grin creep across his face. As much as it hurt for his cheek to be stretched after being sliced, he smirked. Then, with almost no effort, his eyes began to glow a bright golden yellow…thankfully he was in such a position that no one but the gang would see. And the reaction was a beauty. They all seemed to suddenly truly fear him. Now this was more like it! Kazuya was accustomed to fear. Though he didn't appreciate it most of the time, in situations such as these, fear is a useful element for him to bring out in people.

The gang members seemed to simultaneously reach the same answer to their dilemma - just as Kazuya raised a fist - and turned tail to run out onto the street, away from their opponent. But just as they did, a large number of police cars screamed up in front, skidding to a halt in front of the tavern…and closed the gang between them and the tavern.

Kazuya's eyes returned to their normal colour, and he folded his arms over his chest, before walking back inside. He headed back over to his table calmly, reached down, picked up a paper serviette, and wiped some of the blood off his face and neck. Outside, the police began rounding the gang up, handcuffs and all, into the back of the paddy wagon.

*

Sheree regained her composure, and had managed to dab most of the bloodstains out of her shirt. Of all the people in the room, she guessed she was the only one that was trained to be a nurse, and as the last gang member was rounded out of the place, she walked over to the counter, retrieving a first-aid kit from the bartender. Of course, she quickly made sure that everyone else was alright, before going to the patient who needed the most bandaging up. Turned out one woman needed a nail file, because her fingernail broke in the commotion, and someone else needed a bandaid - but other than that, nothing serious.

*

Now that the action had ended, there were a few police officers inside, questioning a few bystanders and the bartender…nothing that concerned Kazuya. He just sat down, fiddling with the blood-soaked serviette. Then, much to his surprise, his field of vision was suddenly assaulted with a white briefcase-like thing being plonked down on the table in front of him.

*

She saw his eyebrows rise at her sudden arrival, but smiled as she opened up the first-aid kit in front of him.

"Don't worry, I'm trained in first aid. We've got to patch up that wound in case it gets infected."

She smiled even more when it turned out that Kazuya was really just the typical brave male...and probably just a little scared of the good ol' needles and anaesthetics. "There's no need." She should have expected a reply like that. Then again, it didn't seem things like that really bothered him. Maybe he just wasn't used to the attention. Or, then again, with the many scars he already had all over his body, he was probably used to being diced up.

"Oh come now, there's no need for great ugly infected scars all over your face, either. It won't hurt…" She had absolutely no idea why she was mothering this man so much. But she was in a position of power now, and it felt great. She pulled out a soft cottonwool pad, and soaked it in a disinfectant from a small brown bottle within the first aid kit. So far, he hadn't offered any resistance. Squeezing out the excess, she then stood a little closer to him, then placed the wet object against the wound.

The reaction was pretty typical. His face suddenly screwed up, and he frowned heavily, hissing slightly with the stinging sensation. "Itai…" He didn't seem to allow himself any more than that whispered acknowledgement of the pain.

A mothering instinct had her press the other side of his head gently against her stomach as she stood next to him, holding the disinfectant-drenched cotton wool against his face for a few seconds longer. He was surprisingly obedient. And she noticed, as he opened his eyes again, that his left eye had oddly faded back to a more natural shade of dark brown. How strange. As the stinging clearly began to subside, she lifted the cotton wool off his face, and dabbed up the remaining drips of the disinfectant. The wound, now quite a lot more visible, had almost stopped bleeding. It was well aimed too; right over the original scar on his right cheek. Lifting his head from against her, she leaned down and faced him so she could inspect it better. Once again, he offered no resistance, funnily enough. She would have expected, from someone with a reputation like him, to be practically kicking and screaming by now. But no, he just held his face wherever she put it.

"It's not a very deep wound."

"I could've told you that."

Sexy smartass… she thought to herself. But she ignored the remark. "I think you'll just need a protective layer over it while it heals; it's not gaping, so you won't need stitches or duct tape…"

*

He blinked. "…Duct tape?" Were all women this strange when it came to first aid, or was it just this one? Or perhaps it was something British women did…but duct tape? Ow…

Something else that he noticed on the side, now that he thought about it…the vision in his left eye seemed perfect all of a sudden. Since G-Corp messed with him so many years ago, it'd always been slightly blurry, which was annoying, since the vision in his right eye was fine. But now…his vision was perfect in both eyes.

*

She chuckled. "Sorry, I have a bad sense of humour."

He seemed almost relieved that she wouldn't be putting great slabs of black sticky-tape all over his face. Instead, she just put a piece of wide bandaid-like membrane over the wound. It didn't show up much, since it blended into his face well. Then she began packing the kit back up again, and collected all the used gear in a serviette to be thrown away.

Then, much to her surprise, he looked up at her a second. "Thanks."

She blushed, despite herself. "Well hey, I'm the only trained ex-nurse in the building…"

He smiled, and she wandered off to return the kit. A moment later, she sat back down on her chair at the table, while a few more people than Tetsuo chugged a shot or two of strong liquor. She looked back over at Kazuya…sitting there, all alone. There was a spare seat over at their table…and after all he did tonight, the least they could do would be invite him over and give him a free drink…for saving their lives, or their wallets…or both.

The American woman got there first, however. She stood, and waltzed right over to the Mishima. "You look awfully lonely, sitting here on your own. There's a spare seat at our table, ya know? Come on over and join in the fun…"

*

He didn't know what to say…someone was offering him a seat right in the middle of the social action? He'd wished for such an invitation for a great many years, but the closest he'd gotten to it was business conferences, which were boring anyway. He couldn't hold back the slight curl of his lips in the corners. "Are you sure?"

The busty American woman nodded, and continued in her terrible accent. "Yeah, of course I am! Come on over, have a drink…you deserve it after that save of yours…"

Before he really knew what to say or do, she looped her arm through his, dragged him up, and took him back over to the group's table, sitting down, and sitting him in the free seat next to her. Then he suddenly felt uncomfortable; all eyes were on him. He felt compelled to speak. But it seemed someone had him covered. The young man across from him, obviously drunk, grinned and nodded to him. "Let me buy you a drink, sir…" Kazuya couldn't hold back the smile any longer. It was like a dream. People didn't seem to care who he was, he was a friend at the moment. Nobody's superior, for now, just another companion on a quiet Friday night.