Kota watched as his half-full suitcase was tossed unceremoniously by one the twins into the back of the black Mercedes.
"W-What's happening?!" the writer wailed with a panicked waving of his arms; nothing he was seeing made a shred of sense.
The man who was obviously the boss, leaned out of the back of the car, as he popped off one of his bass knuckles.
"Get in."
Daichi rushed to the other side and opened the door for the scrawny man. The large yakuza pursed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. He didn't think this was a good idea, but who was he to question the boss? Although, Yamazaki-san seemed to feel the same way, looking as if he had sucked on something sour.
The twins on the other hand? They were being their normal, chaotic selves in how they shared a smirk, before scooping up the screaming bundle of writer and throwing him into the backseat with Hiroshi. The young man groaned against the seat cushion, before shooting up the moment he felt the car start to roll.
Hiroshi simply raised an eyebrow over his blue shades. Kota could feel his cheeks coloring, as the older of the two just stared. Suddenly, he felt very foolish. He was acting like a baby, wasn't he? And besides, it wasn't like this abduction was an unprovoked attack that he didn't see coming. He owed them a large sum of money; money that he had no way to pay back.
'It's my own fault,' Kota reminded himself as he straightened up in his seat and folded his hands in his lap, 'I didn't finish my book on time. I have no one to blame, but myself.'
His stomach clenched in fear and misery on the way to wherever they were going. He may have been the imaginative sort, but the writer didn't dare entertain any hopes or fantasies of escape. Not only because the yakuza would just find him again, but they could easily end up hurting the people he knew; the people he loved. He didn't want to bring his family into this, no matter the cost.
Instead, he would try to hold his head up high and accept whatever punishment they had for him. A new found determination came to those teary, brown eyes. He would own up to his transgressions! He would die like a man! He would-
"AH!"
Kota's eyes darted wildly to the hand that had landed on his shoulder.
"I said calm down. You're shaking the seat."
Kota glanced down at his body, realizing that it was trembling hard by now. His gazed down his hands.
"S-Sorry."
The yakuza leader's face was unreadable at that point. Not a single expression bled through to give away what the man was really thinking. His eyes being covered by those large, reflective, blue shades certainly wasn't helping the situation. It was amazing how a single accessory could make him look that much more mysterious and by proxy, terrifying. The same could be said of the ride. Speaking of which, they turned off on a remote road.
Kota bit his bottom lip. His heart rate climbed. This was it. They were going to dump his body around here; this would be the place he died.
"Can.. Can I have one last request?" his voice trembled out, followed sharply by a sob.
There it was again; that raised eyebrow.
"Shoot."
"W-Well, if it's not too much to ask.. can you leave my laptop? It's got my story on it and if I'm going to die, I want it to go with me."
"Yeah, sure."
"Y-You mean it?!"
"Yep. When you die in sixty or so years, I'll make sure that your story dies with you."
"We're here, boss."
"Good. No more talks of dying. Get out, writer."
Kota sat there stunned for a moment as he stared after the other man. Little by little, the impossible was becoming clear. He wasn't going to die today. But, what did that mean?
He stepped out of the vehicle, before taking a look at his surroundings. The place they had ended up was not a random location out in the middle of the woods like he thought. Instead, they had pulled up to a stately, traditional, Japanese house. Hiroshi motioned Kota to follow him with a flick of his fingers. Daichi stared after the boss right along with him, before offering the writer his suitcase.
"Good luck in there."
That was the only offering of comfort he got, before the car sped out of sight, leaving him stranded in a rural location with the yakuza leader. Said man paused, before glancing behind him.
"You coming or what?"
Kota sighed, picking up his luggage before racing to catch up. It was a good time to count his blessings, he supposed. He wasn't dead for one and for another, it looked like he was going to have a place to stay for the night. What no one else knew, aside from his landlord, was that his lease would be up by the end of the day. Going back to his parent's house was never an option. So, maybe this was a blessing in disguise?
'Wow. Maybe everything really DOES have a way of working out in the end!'
The young man donned a fragile sense of optimism and a barely there smile. It didn't last. Fate decided to pull a fast one on Kota Tanaka and let the floor fall out from underneath him; literally. A surprised yelp erupted from the writer as his leg went right through the wood! What came next was a frantic tug of war, every scenario under the sun assaulting Kota's mind at once.
'Oh Kami-sama! I broke his floor! Why did I have to break his floor!?"
"Hey."
Kota wheezed in breathless panic, before his struggles increased.
'A-And now he's going to break ME!'
"In coming."
That casually spoken statement was the only warning he got before three dogs of varying sizes came tearing around the corner! Kota gave a shrill scream, right before shutting his mouth in a grimace as he caught one of those wet tongues on the side of his face.
'A-At least they're friendly,' he wilted.
"Down boys."
The dogs finally backed off of the new comer, their tails wagging happily, before a hand reached down to pluck the writer out of the hole. Hiroshi placed him carefully on the other side, before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Watch your step," he said a bit late, "There's a lot of holes around here."
The boss wasn't kidding. As Kota allowed his eyes to slide along the wood, he saw that there were all kinds of dents, dings and chasms for him to fall into!
'Look on the bright side,' he reminded himself with an awkward smile and a mild sheen of perspiration springing up on his forehead, 'Some of the bigger ones have been filled up with cardboard.'
"You'll get used to it. Come on. I'll take you to your room."
Kota nodded, carefully stepping over the obstacles and the dogs, before scampering after Hiroshi once again. Finally, they arrived at a modest room toward the back.
"Here it is. The spare futon's in the closet. Bathroom's down the hall."
That's all the taller man said before turning to leave. Kota couldn't believe it. Everything about his life had changed all in one day! No matter how much he was determined to think positively, now that his life wasn't in any danger, everything still felt like it was falling apart! Just like the floor he had fallen through earlier!
"Wait, please!"
Hiroshi turned to glance at the writer's face, before looking at his sleeve, which had been taken in a firm grip. The writer blushed before taking a few steps back, glancing away.
"S-Sorry. But, I was wondering why you brought me here. I don't think you're going to kill me. So, what are you after?"
Hiroshi stared for a few moments, before doing something most unexpected. A calloused hand slowly reached up to remove his shades. Behind that reflective sheet of glass rested a pair of striking, grey eyes. Staring into them was like looking up at the sky on a rainy day. But, that wasn't Hiroshi's most striking feature. Instead, it was a scar that rested under his left eye, tearing down his skin in a straight line. Was that what he was hiding?
"You've got no money," he reminded him softly, "And you look like a half-starved skeleton."
Kota had the good sense to look ashamed. Because that was the only right reaction, wasn't it? He was inadequate. He was pointless. And for those sins, he would be punished. And lest he forget it, this was all his own fault-
"So, I brought you here to work for me."
The yakuza's voices slammed through Kota's typical pattern of self loathing with the force of a jack hammer.
"W-What did you say?"
"I said that you're here to work for me. Take care of my house, take care of my pets and have food on the table when I come home every night. Whatever you do in your free time is up to you."
Kota froze in shock. Was any of this really happening? The yakuza leader could sense that he was at a loss for words and needed time to process this unexpected turn of events. Something Hiroshi Koga didn't have the patience to wait on. So, he left the other man with a little food for thought.
"It's obvious that you're willing to die for your art, writer-san. But, are you willing to live for it?"
With that, the yakuza boss flicked on his shades before leaving the room. Kota stared after him for a moment, before easing toward the closet, making sure not to step in any wayward holes he might have overlooked. He rolled the futon out on the floor, before sinking down on it and taking inventory of everything he knew.
He had decided to dedicate his life to writing. He had borrowed money from the yakuza to keep doing that. He had failed to finish his book on time, which lead him to believe that his days were numbered. And now? Now he was here. Here in the house of Hiroshi Koga, the 'boss'. A man, who in spite of his stormy eyes, had given Kota a silver lining to this entire mess.
The young man pulled over his suitcase, before withdrawing his scratched up laptop. He brought the old electronic to his chest in a deep hug, as he fought the tears that wouldn't stop coming. Relief flooded him, as he allowed himself to embrace the truth. He didn't have to give it up. He wasn't useless. It had finally stopped raining.