Friendship. Miyu never really discovered the meaning of the word. It was a beautiful stranger, passing by on the street. Ethereal, mysterious, and worthy of envy, but one she would never shake hands with. Sometimes at school, she would look upon the group of girls that gathered each morning before class started with a longing she could only describe as vague but constant. They discussed anything and everything from boys, to assignments, to extracurricular activities. Miyu envisioned herself chatting with them, laughing with them, and exchanging stories with them. But that was far from a possibility.
Her eyes would then travel to the clock, not counting the time but staring at the logo embossed on the plastic--KazuCorps. She would stare at the markers her teacher would write with and the name shot out again--KazuCorps. The brand could be found on practically any plastic item found in Japan and just as easily the world. But like all businesses, every owner had their secrets. Lurking in the shadows was a faction by the name of the Crimson Faces. Members were said to dawn masks in the appearance of demons--red faces, with horns protruding from their temples--the likeness of Oni stalking their prey in the night. That was the reputation her father held in the streets of Japan, despite the dwindling numbers of Yakuza still left.
Her father chose Okinawa because of its influence with American businessmen and militia. Because of this, she was out of place almost everywhere she wandered. Miyu had accepted responsibility for this at a young age, knowing that she would one day have to step into his place. However, she never thought of it as a burden. In fact, she was proud to be trained to take on this role, looking forward to it. She took care of her outward appearance meticulously--always dressed neatly, every accent accounted for. Her silver hair, styled in two neat braids that hung elegantly from her shoulders could never be found misstyled. Her shoes were cared for so gingerly that, even in the harshest of weather and despite being replaced yearly, could never reflect even a speck of dirt. She was almost always too-perfect for her surroundings.
However, anyone that knew her would know that she was this way because her thoughts were always a constant scrambled mess when it came to casual social interaction. And due to this "affliction," Miyu had failed to make friends as far back as she could remember, which coincidentally was only back around age 4 due to an illness that had brought her an extended stay in the hospital. She received no cards, candies, or visits from 'friends'. She could only remember coming home and being greeted enthusiastically by her father's men.
"Welcome home, Ojou!" Ojou. At the time she had no idea what it meant. But as she grew, she realized the responsibility that word would soon rest on her shoulders. How she would soon be robbed of what little normalcy she had in her life to assist her father in running the company and the clan. It was the title of an heiress of her standing, something long decided the very moment her mother had given birth. And it was this urgency that brought Miyu to leave the isolated island and experience life on the mainland for just a bit. Just a year… She longed. Just one.
"Ojou, we are here." Saito opened the car door, standing as straight and placid as always. His dark hair neatly styled against his forehead could fool anyone into thinking he had a short cut if it weren't for the ponytail that hung over his shoulder, tied by a singular white ribbon. His face was cleanly shaven, violet orbs seemingly too beautiful and out-of-place for someone as rugged as he. Honestly, Saito was never the type to care for outward appearance, but he knew how much significance it held with Miyu and never allowed himself the pleasure of looking disheveled in her presence.
There was a strange and strict relationship that existed between the two. Saito had been appointed at her side due to their small age gap of one year. Her father had hoped that he would be someone appointed to protect her as her closest confidant even as they aged, but Miyu could not remember a time where they had had a full conversation since they were children. Saito was the single, unchanging constant in her life. Though she knew little to nothing about him outside of their master-minion relationship.
Her eyes glanced at him for only a moment as she stepped out of the vehicle, staring at the small construct in front of her, meant to be their home for the next year. Despite her usual surroundings being nearly 4 times as large as this tiny space, Miyu could not help but feel small in front of it. Her home estate always felt so lively with men and maids at every corner greeting her with a smile. Her father was always just rooms away, planning and working. Here, it felt so empty with just Saito.
"Ojou, do you still wish to attend school here? If you have changed your mind, we can book a flight back." Though the question seemed out of concern, Miyu could not find any in his expression. It had always seemed like there was a glass wall, separating her from his inner thoughts, and each time she glanced into his eyes, she would run face-first into the barrier.
Her lips pursed as she recalled her final day at her previous school. As class ended, she had excused herself to the restroom. Upon returning to grab her items, there were several scribblings etched into the surface of her desk: "Rich B*tch" "Move to Tokyo!" "Alien" and some more expletives. It was the first time she had cried in public. It's just that there was no one by her side to see.
"No. I will attend Kobayari." Her reply was curt and stopped any further inquiry from Saito in its tracks. He only bowed, moving to grab the few amounts of luggage they'd brought and holding the front door open for her.
"As you wish, Ojou."
The first night in Tokyo seemed almost lifeless. Saito had gone out to grab groceries, and she found herself in her new home alone. All her belongings had been transferred earlier--her bed, desk, television, nothing seemed out of place...except her. She wondered if Saito had felt the same. After all, he hadn't gotten a say in whether he'd wanted to move or not. It was simply an unspoken rule that wherever she went, he was to follow. Was he miserable? If so, he'd never given any hint toward any such emotion. Not unlike a dog, he was obedient in completing his duties without question.
With a frown, she peeked into Saito's room across the hall in curiosity. The room was unsurprisingly bare, even neglecting a television. Simply a bed in the corner, and a desk opposite of it, where a laptop lay shut. She doubted he used it much. In the corner, she noticed a sword, sheathed in a simple black case as it leaned solemnly against the wall. It was a symbol each of the members of the Crimson Faces possessed but rarely used. The weapon was the physical representation of loyalty, and anyone who defected would have their lives ended by that same sword.
She had never seen what Saito's room looked like back at the estate. It had never passed her mind to wonder, and seeing this, she imagined it was easily similar. Seeming like a man of few words, it suited him to be a man of few possessions.
A soft click sounded throughout the space, signaling Saito's return, and she quietly shut the door, moving to meet him in the kitchen. Saito was surprised to see her almost awaiting his arrival.
"Ah, I took longer than expected. I'll get started on dinner." He didn't face her when he spoke, continuing to calmly unpack the items he'd bought with focus. Her stare must've been piercing because he paused after a few moments, a questioning expression on his features when he turned. "Are you not hungry?" The question seemed to snap her out of her previous daze and she shook her head, searching for words.
"I didn't know you could cook." A chuckle from the male brought a sour taste to her mouth. She almost felt childish for the statement but Saito expressed no ill sentiment. He returned to his task of preparing the meal with diligence.
"Ojou, even a child could make something as simple as curry rice." She sucked in a breath at his words--this time offended--and she turned to leave before he could question it.
"I'm taking a shower." Her voice was flat.