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Dragon\'s Dance	By : Aireroswen Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1413 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Dragon's Dance
- 2-Part Two
- 1
- 2
Author’s Note: I want to apologize for taking so
long on updating this chapter. The biggest excuse is lack of inspiration, and
because the chapter is pretty slow compared to the others coming up. It’s just
building up to the main climax and I always find myself dragging in these parts
in my stories. Again, I am really sorry for the long wait. I know it can be
very frustrating, but please be assured that this story will get finished. I won’t
abandon it – I love it too much.

Warnings: In this chapter there is nothing,
aside from a really bad dream.

Part
Two

The
room is a sea of black. It’s everywhere – dripping from the walls, coiling
around his legs, and clinging to his skin like thick webs; slowing him down and
dragging him under. His limbs become sluggish as he fights against it, as he
tries to reach the end of the room.

Yohji is standing there—waiting, smiling. But the smile quickly
fades as horror takes its place. Red blossoms from a gaping hole in his stomach
and he falls to his knees, blood pouring from his lips.

Aya cries out and steps forward, reaching out toward Yohji in a desperate attempt to save him. The blackness
grows thicker around him, and starts to rise. Little tendrils of ebony come
alive and begin to crawl up his thighs, reaching
his waist and curling around it, holding tight.

He
panics. He can’t move. His arms stretch out to Yohji,
but the tendrils wrap around his wrists, forcing him to drop his arms to his
sides. The coils bind him tight, moving higher and higher. He tries to scream,
but only chokes on the blackness as it spills out of his mouth.

The
cocoon embraces him completely, and he can’t breathe. He tries to fight, though
he can’t move; his mind still strong enough to defeat the demon consuming him.
He has to! He can’t give up! Yohji needs him!

The
shroud suddenly falls just as he takes his last breath, causing him to collapse
to his knees. Waterfalls of ebony begin to cascade down the walls, and dropping
like globs of goo off of his body. He is gasping for
breath, his hair clogging his sight and dripping thick with the inky substance.

Immediately,
he searches for Yohji at the end of the room. A man
with crystal blue eyes is standing over Yohji’s body.
He grins at Aya, tipping his invisible hat before he
raises his gun and fires.

Aya’s eyes snapped open, and he woke up with a harsh gasp on his lips; the
dream already a distant memory. Every muscle in his body was stiff and aching,
and there was a dull insistent pounding along his right temple. He didn’t know
where he was or what had happened, but his body felt like it had been hit by a
truck, the pain making itself known ruthlessly. He
blinked past the blurriness of his vision and the ceiling of his room greeted
him once he was able to focus. Why was he home? He could not understand or
remember, but it wasn’t right somehow. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Something
drove Aya to panic, and his body protested when he
sat up too quickly. Pain, hot and pounding forced a loud gasp from his parched
throat before he collapsed against the pillows with his eyes shut tight, tears
clotting his lashes. He was breathless; he had not expected to feel so much
hurt at once. What had happened? Grasping the sheets in his clenched
hands, Aya stared at the ceiling in a daze. There was
no recollection and when he tried too hard to think about it, his head felt as
though it was going to split in two.

He took deep
breaths to calm his frantic nerves and to alleviate some of the pressure
pulsating in his skull, but then he gave up trying. There would be time for
that later. First he needed to gain control of the pain that encompassed his
body like a vise. It was overpowering him and the little coherency he had,
though he couldn’t understand why he was in so much discomfort. The rising
uncertainty caused him to question again his odd situation, but he was still
left clueless and wondering.

With a
shaky sigh, Aya turned his head to the side and gazed
at the partly covered windows through half-closed lids. The curtains were
haphazardly thrown together to shield the light, but there was still a bit of
sunlight that streamed through the cracks. There was a stiff-backed chair
facing the side of the bed at an angle and the rays of sun illuminated the
sleeping figure in the chair within a halo of light. Aya
blinked many times as the thought that he was hallucinating entered his mind,
but Yohji was there, sleeping soundly, albeit uncomfortably. The signs were obvious in the
thin lines of his face, as it lay propped in one hand that rested on the arm of
the chair. He was watching over Aya, but for how long—there
was no telling. If the dark shadow of a beard forming and tussled hair was any
indication, Aya imagined it must have been more than
a day. Yohji never let his facial hair grow out, not
even a bit of stubble. There were times that Aya had
wished Yohji would; he loved the feel of the
sand-papery sensation along his own sensitized skin—

Aya blinked hard, sudden realization causing him to start. A day? If he had been out for that long, or even
more, there must have been something seriously wrong to warrant that duration
of time spent unconscious. But what? Aya closed his eyes as he let out a trembling breath. He
could not remember a thing—that was the most frightening revelation of all.

Yohji suddenly stirred, and Aya snapped his eyes
open to watch as the blonde stretched his long, nimble limbs like a graceful
feline after a restful morning nap. He lowered his arms and dragged his hands
down the length of his face, rubbing the whiskers along his chin and cheeks as
he yawned loudly. He barely glanced in the direction of the bed and he closed
his eyes again, drifting off to sleep once more. Aya
didn’t want to wake him, but he didn’t want to wait, lying helplessly in bed,
any longer as well. He had to get up and move around, if only to relieve
himself.

He threw
back the covers, with sudden vigor, and he became painstakingly aware of the
stiff ache in his left shoulder. Upon closer inspection he noticed it bound
tightly in bandages, and Aya tensed. The sudden
curiosity made Aya reveal his body completely to the
dimly lit room, and he stared with wide eyes at the bandage around his right
thigh, just barely peeking out over the hem of his boxers. He stared, brow
furrowed in bewilderment. How he had received the injuries was still a gnawing
mystery, one that continued until his head started to hurt again. Sighing
helplessly, Aya briefly rubbed at his forehead then
plowed his fingers through his hair. He stayed his hand as he glanced at the
clock on the bedside table. It read a little after eight in the morning. He
could have easily closed his eyes and given in to the fatigue diluting his
senses, but he needed to find out answers to the events he couldn’t
recall.

Every
muscle in Aya’s body protested with the idea of
moving around, and he bit back a moan as he sat up fully to swing his legs over
the edge of the mattress. He fought to keep himself upright when he stood on
his feet, and he was forced to lift most of his weight off of the injured leg.
It hurt. Not only from lack of muscle strength, but
the wound hadn’t healed enough for him to be able to move without some support.
There was nothing but the furniture to aid him in his trek across the room, so
he limped along awkwardly and slowly until he reached the bookshelf by the door.
He heaved in a lungful of air, sweat coating his skin in a thin sheet. It was
only a little over twenty feet from the bed to the door, but Aya felt as though he had just finished a marathon.

Once he
stopped moving, all points of hurt flared anew, his concentration ebbing by the
nausea that assaulted his senses. The wound in his leg throbbed in tune to the
blood pounding in his ears, and the limb trembled furiously, threatening to
give out on him completely. He leaned against the shelf heavily, closing his
eyes as he tried to regain control of his breathing. He didn’t move again until
his vision had stopped dancing, and he was able to look around the room without
the sensation that the floor was falling beneath his feet.

When he
took a cautious step forward, the injured leg gave out on him without warning
and Aya flailed as he fell, trying to brace his
weight on something solid but he only ended up on the floor—bringing a few
books from the shelf along with him.

So much for his stealthy approach.

He lay
there on his side on the floor amidst fallen and disarrayed books, panting—a
rapid wave of exhaustion and embarrassment overcoming him. He couldn’t move
even if he had wanted to. Every muscle ached, and his skull throbbed vigorously
from his exertion.

“What the
hell…? Aya?”

Aya closed his eyes and groaned. He did not want Yohji
to wake up, to find him sprawled on the floor like an invalid. All he could do
was hide his face in the cover of his arms, praying for a miracle that would
have never been granted—that he really had just imagined Yohji’s
cry of surprise from the other end of the room. When Yohji
stumbled forward and touched his arms, Aya flinched
and swallowed the temptation to tell the blonde not to touch him out of his own
sense of stubborn pride. Instead he tried to ignore Yohji,
constraining himself not to lift his head, and look at those inquisitive and
concerned green eyes.

“Aya? Shit… Are you— shit Aya.”

“I’m
fine,” he said hoarsely, bitterly.

“What are
you doing over here?”

Stating
it bluntly, Aya said with a hint of annoyance in his
strained voice, “I have to piss.”

The
blonde gave a short, nervous laugh. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Aya mumbled sardonically within the folds of his arms. He
peered at Yohji with suspicion. “What happened?”

Yohji frowned, staring at Aya. “You don’t
remember?”

The
younger man slowly sat up until there was no pressure on his shoulder or leg.
The position, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out before him
gave him some relief from the insistent aches. He stared at his toes, silently
counting down from ten. He was in a foul mood and waking up with no memory only
made it worse. He wanted nothing more than straightforward answers; ones that
would help him piece together the numerous blanks in his memory. If he really
tried hard enough he remembered a ryokan in Kyoto. There were bits
and pieces in between, but nothing that gave Aya any
real indication of what had happened. He gazed back at Yohji
without a care to how frustrated he looked, considering the circumstances upon
wakening. Aya had very little patience as it was, and
this tedious situation only caused his ire to rise like a steady stream.

“Yohji—“

“Makoto Ryu—he shot you,” he said matter-of-factly.

Aya blinked hard, his mind drawing a blank each time he repeated the name
under his breath. Then slowly, like peeling away the layers of an onion so as
to not break the pieces apart in the process, he began to recall the history he
had with that man. Crashers. Kyoto. Ritsuo Narushi. Fragments here and there came back to Aya and he couldn’t hold back a soft gasp. His hand
instinctively rose to his forehead, his fingers grazing a small bandage along
the right side of his head where the wound was from the last gunshot that had
fired. It should have killed him. He remembered the barrel pointed at him and
there was no way that Makoto could have missed.

“It just
glanced,” Yohji said, inclining his chin toward Aya’s head. “I jumped Makoto before he fired, but the
bullet still hit you. There wasn’t any serious damage. The doc said you would
most likely have temporary memory loss, but it would all come back eventually.”

“I don’t
think all of it…” Aya said distantly, trailing off as
his thoughts wandered around the memories he had thought were lost forever.
“How long—how long have I been unconscious?”

“Just two
days that I know of.” Yohji sighed, languidly
stroking his hand down his scruffy face. “He shot me too,” he added finally. He
pulled up the flap of his wrinkled shirt, revealing a bandaged torso
underneath. “The bastard almost killed both of us, Aya.”

Aya just stared. He remembered the panic and the desperation he had felt
when Yohji was shot. Then the pain had followed;
blinding and powerful as it attacked from all directions. Not only was it physical,
but emotional as well. Aya had almost lost Yohji. That frightened him more than anything, conveying
how much he truly cared for the blonde.

A sudden
mixture of emotions flooded Aya’s psyche, and he
clenched his fists tight. The tension forced a strain in his wounded shoulder
and he winced from the pressure of healing skin stretching past its limit. But
he kept his hands tightly balled, thankful for the feeling of pain rather than
allowing his anger get the better of him. He wanted to remain calm, or at least
he tried. The indignation swiftly overpowered and his entire body shook from
the force of it. He wanted to kill Ryu. He wanted
that bastard’s head for what he had done.

“Aya-“

He lifted
his face and peered at Yohji through a fall of
unruly, fiery bangs. Yohji wasn’t even looking at
him, but his shoulder. With detached curiosity he swiveled his gaze to the
bandaged shoulder and saw a spot of blood seeping through the gauze; a small
trickle of crimson escaping and rolling down his exposed skin until it caught
in the groove of his armpit. Aya blinked and finally
released the tension in his arms, allowing them to lay lax beside him.

“We
should get that cleaned up.”

“I’m
fine,” Aya protested. He closed his eyes for a silent
moment and inhaled deeply. “What has Kritiker done
during our time of… absence? Have they been tracking Ryu?”

Yohji shrugged, his green eyes revealing a combination of pain and fatigue.
“I don’t know. When I woke up I came straight to your room and didn’t leave.”

Aya rubbed his forehead and sighed. The headache was coming back, only a
dull insistent pounding behind his eyeballs instead of that pulsating accession
of pain that encompassed his entire brain when he woke up. “We need to talk to Manx. Or Birman—”

“Aya-“

He opened
his eyes and glared at Yohji. Surprisingly, the older
man didn’t persist, just curtly nodded and stood with a small sigh. An offered
hand dropped to Aya’s line of vision and he took it
reluctantly. It was an effort to help him stand and he had to use the wall as
more support than Yohji. Their injuries were too
fresh to rely on one another for strength, but Aya
was still thankful for that little help from the other man. At least he knew he
wouldn’t collapse again.

The
windowless hall was vacant and devoid of light. There were no sounds of
activity nearby and Aya ventured out fully into the
hall, limping along while Yohji steadied him. Aya almost tripped over his own feet and swore under his
breath when a stab of pain flew up his thigh, causing the limb to weaken and
give. Fortunately, he didn’t fall with Yohji at his
side bracing his weight.

Yohji remained steady until they reached the bathroom, hanging on tightly
though his own body shook with the exertion. He leaned against the frame trying
to relearn to breathe, a thin sheet of sweat coating his skin, while Aya stumbled into the small space alone. There were limits
and Yohji respected them most of the time—this one
being at the top of the list. On occasion Yohji had
broken the rules and snuck in with Aya while the
redhead took a shower. After a little coaxing on the blonde’s part, Aya would give in.

Once Aya relieved himself, he stood in
front of the sink and splashed cool water over his face and the back of his
neck. It felt refreshing against his flushed skin, and he repeated the process
once more before gazing into the mirror. His hands were trembling hard when he
braced them on the edges of the basin. The person staring back in the
reflection was a shell of himself—who appeared more dead than alive. Dark
bruising discolored the skin beneath his eyes, paler than pale skin and a
bandage covering a small portion of his forehead. Tediously he peeled the
bandage away, and revealed the bullet wound that ran from an inch above his
eyebrow past the hairline. Some hair had been shaved away, and the black
stitches stood out like a beacon. Aya grimaced
without restraint.

A soft
knock caused the redhead to jump. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply,
desperate to regain control of his nerves.

“Hey. You
okay in there?”

“Yeah,
give me a minute.”

Yohji pushed away from the wall when Aya emerged
from the bathroom, throwing on a terry cloth robe. The blonde held up a black,
wooden cane with a small smile. “I forgot I had it from a costume I wore one
year for Halloween. It might come in handy.”

Aya mumbled a ‘thanks’ and took the cane. It did prove useful, but Aya didn’t care for the idea of showing how helpless he
really was. However, he’d rather make the sacrifice for his pride than falling
when his leg would give out on him again.

“Hai, Ken! I heard you the first three times!” It was Omi,
ascending the stairs in a hurry while mumbling obscenities under his breath. He
barely noticed Yohji and Aya
standing in the hall, and stopped short before he collided with the other
blonde. “Aya! Yohji! What are you two doing up?”

“Who?” Ken shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

Aya sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve some of the
pressure from the headache. The youngest Weiss silenced Ken grudgingly before
he approached Aya, touching him on the arm as though
the redhead was made of the rarest porcelain. Omi was afraid of hurting him
further—his gentle touch conveying his hesitance. “How are you feeling, Aya? Yohji?”

“Shit,
what are you doing?” Ken shouted, rushing over with concern marring his features.
“You should be in bed—resting. Yohji, you too!”

“I’ve had
two days to do that,” Aya said roughly. “I need to
call Manx—“

“Manx was
actually going to stop by today. She’s been worried about you two.”

Aya looked down at Omi. “Has she said anything concerning the mission?”

“No. I’m
sure she is waiting until you are awake for that, since Ken and I weren’t
there.”

“What the
hell happened anyway?”

Yohji slapped Ken on the arm, telling him to shut his mouth.

“Did you
want some breakfast? Ken actually made some great egg and cheese muffins!”
Omi’s attempt to change the subject didn’t go unnoticed, but everyone silently
agreed it was the best course.

Aya declined the invitation with a grim face, but followed the others to
the kitchen anyway. He wanted to be around when Manx arrived. By the time they
reached the bottom of the stairs, Aya was shaking
like a malaria victim. He endured the aches without a sound, but the others had
noticed his discomfort easily—Yohji most of all. He
was eyeing the redhead warily, but Aya chose to
ignore him and his concerns. There was no room for pity.

“Are you
sure you can’t eat something, Aya-kun?” Omi asked
carefully. “It will help to gain back some energy.”

The
mention of food caused Aya’s stomach to grumble, and
it wasn’t a good reaction. He numbly shook his head, afraid that he was going
to throw up if he opened his mouth. Yohji grabbed Aya’s elbow when the room started to tilt in dizzying
angles, guiding the redhead to the living room.

“You need
to stay off your feet,” Yohji whispered, motioning to
the sofa. “Lie down and rest while I call Manx.”

“You’re
hurt-“

The
blonde forced a smile. “I’ll manage. Right now, I’m more concerned with you.”

“Don’t—” Aya cursed inwardly; he couldn’t even form a coherent
sentence without losing his breath, much less a complete thought. He finally
obeyed Yohji’s gentle command to lie down when he
could barely stand any longer, and he didn’t object when the older man draped a
blanket over his shivering form. A cold sweat had broken out over Aya’s skin after the exertion of descending the stairs,
causing his clothes to stick to his body uncomfortably. He closed his eyes and
tried to forget about it.

Within
minutes he was drifting weightlessly, his eyelashes fluttering as sleep
overcame him. He was mindful, though of the hand stroking the damp hair away
from his face and a soft voice coaxing him to relax. Then everything faded
away.

----

“Baka,” Yohji muttered once the
redhead finally relented, and fell asleep. He sat on the arm of the couch by Aya’s head, watching him in silence. The cane lay in Yohji’s lap, and he ran his fingers along the polished
wood, sighing. He had the strongest urge to use it against the smaller man,
beating him into admitting he was only human—not fucking Superman. In
the end, however it wouldn’t have mattered; the pride would’ve swelled right
back into place, spiting Yohji even further. It made
him want to scream.

At least Aya was alive. That was all that mattered to Yohji.

Gods, he
had never felt so frightened in his life when he watched Ryu
shoot Aya, or when he had lost consciousness, not
knowing if the redhead was safe. When he had first woken up, Yohji had panicked—tearing the stitches from his stomach in
his haste to find Aya, hoping against hope that the
redhead had survived. He had vowed not to leave Aya’s
side from the moment he found the other man in his own room. Omi and Ken had
periodically checked in, imploring Yohji to rest in
his own bed, take a shower or even eat, but he had refused. He blamed
himself for the botched mission; his carelessness once again risking Aya’s life. If he hadn’t stepped in the line of fire like
an incompetent—

Of
course, he had failed to mention that to Aya earlier.
All in good reason, though.

The
blonde sighed again, shaking his head. He propped the cane against the side of
the sofa and slowly stood from his perch, his muscles grudgingly protesting to
the movement. Ken’s cooking wafted through the room, prompting Yohji to leave Aya to rest and
join the others in the kitchen. Though, he wasn’t sure he had the stomach to
eat anything either. With the constant ache along his abdomen and the nausea, Yohji hadn’t felt like doing much of anything other than
wanting to give in to the temptation to curl into a tight ball and cry. He
fought hard to hide his pain—hard enough that it didn’t arouse suspicion from
Omi or Ken, though he was sure he looked as horrible as he felt. They didn’t
comment on it, or maybe that was due to the fact that they were too busy
worrying over Aya’s well-being. He couldn’t blame
them for the lack of attention on his part; he was more concerned over the
redhead than himself, as well.

I’ve
been in worse situations than this, Yohji convinced himself as he held back a
groan. He shuffled into the kitchen and lowered his fatigued body on a chair,
desperate to find a suitable position without showing how uncomfortable
he really was. Nothing seemed to work, though. He caught Omi staring at him
over the edge of the morning newspaper, brows raised in concerned curiosity. Yohji gave him a sour face and turned away, opting to watch
as Ken finished up the muffins on the stovetop, but that just made his stomach
curl with disgust at the thought of food.

“Yohji-kun?”

“Do you
want cheese on your muffins, Yohji?” Ken interrupted
Omi’s soft inquiry, turning with the frying pan in one hand and the spatula in
the other.

“No
thanks,” Yohji answered, waving the younger man away.
“I’m not hungry.”

The
brunette scowled. “I thought—“

“Save
them for later, Ken-kun. Yohji just woke up. You know
how he is in the morning,” Omi supplied, his gaze not leaving the blonde’s
face.

Ken
huffed and placed the food on a plate, setting it aside on the counter for
later. After he washed the dishes and ate his own share, Ken remained standing
with his back against the cabinets. He stared at Yohji
in silence, the air suddenly growing heavy with the questions unanswered.

Yohji rolled his eyes upward to stare at the younger man, and finally asked,
“What Ken?”

“What
happened in Kyoto?”

“Ken—“

“Everything
that could go wrong did go wrong. The lack of intel
can be blamed for that—partially,” Yohji answered
roughly. He narrowed his eyes at Ken, and shook his head before lowering his
eyes to his hands on the table. They were pale and shaking—he hadn’t slept
enough to regain all of his strength. He knew he was pressing his limit, and he
desperately needed a cigarette. Looking up, his gaze wandered around the
kitchen. “Where are my cigarettes?”

Ken
reached for a box on top of the fridge, tossing them to Yohji
across the table. “Try not to smoke the whole carton in one day. They came out
of my own pocket money, and your select choice isn’t cheap.”

“I know,”
Yohji said, scrambling to open the box. He felt like
a drug addict that hadn’t had a fix in months, and he was sure that smoking
right now wasn’t going to help his headache either. It also didn’t help matters
that his hands were trembling so badly that he could barely hold the cigarette,
once he freed the damn stick out of the packet. He caught Ken and Omi staring
at him. “What?”

“Are you
sure you’re okay?” Ken asked.

“Never
better,” Yohji said derisively with the cigarette
between his lips. He lit it up and inhaled deep, regretting the action as soon
as the sharp pain hit again. Grimacing, he tossed the pack and lighter on the
table and slouched in the chair, one arm gently draped across his stomach.

“Now all
you will need is a beer, and that should top the morning off,” Manx commented
flippantly from the doorway.

Yohji didn’t turn around to greet her, just shrugged his shoulders and said,
“Can’t forget the sex. That’s a very important thing to start the day.”

“I’m sure
it is.” The reply was dry and lacking any hint of humor. Typical of Manx,
Yohji realized.

“You’re
early,” Omi said, standing from his chair. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“No
thanks.” The woman’s high heels clicked along the tiled floor as she came into
the kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest. She faced Yohji,
her eyes gathering in his current state. “I’m beginning to think it was a bad
idea to release you two from the Magic Bus so early.”

“Why is
that?” Yohji asked gruffly through a cloud of smoke.
“I’m sure I could spread my arms wide and fly right out the window—I feel so peachy
keen.”

She
raised a brow, her lips pursed together. “Don’t be snide, Yohji.
You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Luck,”
the blonde snorted, suddenly disgusted with the half-finished cigarette. “What
a fickle little thing luck can be, huh?” He slowly stood from the chair and
snapped the bud in the sink. Sparks
flew across the backsplash, and the burning cigarette gave a low sizzle before
it went out completely. If only Yohji’s emotions
could distinguish as quickly—they were starting to give him a headache that he
wasn’t sure he could handle on top of everything else.

“Yohji—“ Omi started, but Manx held
her hand up to silence him.

“If
you’re angry, find another way to release it, Balinese.”

“Angry?
It takes too much for me to get angry,” Yohji said,
shaking his head. He stepped further away from the redhead, and leaned against
the counter opposite from Ken. “I’m disappointed and I’m fucking tired. You— Persia threw us
in that mission with nothing. We were blind. We were almost killed.”

And if Aya died— Yohji forced himself
not to think of that. Despite the fact that their lives centered around the
bitter reality that someday they weren’t going to make it out of a mission
alive.

“And we
deeply regret that decision,” she said with a calculated calm. “We knew that Narushi had to be eliminated immediately, and this was the
best course of action.”

“Too bad
we weren’t the ones to take the hit,” Yohji supplied
sardonically. The pressure started to build behind his eyeballs, causing his
vision to blur and his body to feel like a dead weight. Shit, he needed to lie
down.

“Eliminated
nonetheless,” Manx said.

“Maybe
you should hire Makoto Ryu then. He seems to do a fine
job of getting rid of problems.”

“Who is
that?” Ken asked.

“The man
that made our mission a living hell,” Yohji replied,
sighing heavily. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, but it
didn’t help alleviate the pressure against his skull. “Is there any word on him
and his whereabouts?”

“Many, as
a matter of fact,” the redhead said, and there was a slight change in her
voice, as though she suddenly felt fatigued. Though, her face didn’t convey as
much. “We keep close tabs on the black market circuit, but amazingly there
hasn’t been anything mentioned about the core. However, Ryu
is definitely making it known that’s he taken over the Shinjuku district after
the original boss, his own father, passed away two weeks ago.”

“I
wouldn’t be surprised if Ryu killed his father,” Yohji muttered, frowning. “What else is there?”

“Makoto Ryu is young and reckless, but still very dangerous. He has
no limits to see that his vision as the most notorious yakuza boss is
fulfilled. He’s formed strong alliances with people on both sides of the law,
making it very difficult to incarcerate him.”

“What
does he have planned?”

“Right
now, nothing suspicious, but word will spread fast once it happens. Though,
there are rumors floating around that he’s targeting the US, but for
what? We have no idea.”

“The core?” Yohji asked, straightening.

“It’s likely.
But why?”

“Maybe he
has some vendetta against the country,” Omi said with a small shrug.
“Personal?”

“I can
see what I can dig up on his background. But it is just a rumor. There is no
solid evidence to back it up.”

“What
does Persia
think,” Yohji said.

“Actually,
he wants Aya to get involved again—“

“No,” Yohji said curtly, and shook his head. “Hell
no. He’s been through enough where it concerns that bastard. Get
someone else.”

“Aya’s the only one who knows how Makoto works,” Manx insisted.

“No, he
doesn’t,” Yohji protested. “He knows how the man
beats his opponents, but he doesn’t know a damn thing about how his mind works.
That’s asking too much and you know it.”

“What
does Persia
want Aya to do?” Omi asked tentatively.

“Undercover work and surveillance.”

“Insane!”
Yohji shouted. He wanted to flail his arms in
exasperation, but he just clenched his fists at his side instead. The muscles
in his stomach tightened instinctively and he felt the stitches pulling,
causing discomfort. He released the tension in his arms, but the ache was still
there, brutally reminding him of what had happened. Damn that woman; he wanted
to hurt her for expressing such an idea to put Aya’s
life in more danger! “How do you expect to pull that off? Makoto knows what Aya looks like.”

“The plan
hasn’t been fully implemented. We would need Aya
recovered before anything can happen,” Manx said. “And it would involve a
disguise.”

“Nothing
is going to happen,” Yohji said roughly. “If Makoto
finds out in any way that he’s being played, he will kill Aya…
slowly. That much I am sure of.”

“It’s a
risk you were all willing to take when you were recruited to Weiss,” Manx
reminded coldly.

Yohji gave a disparaging look. “I won’t let him do it.”

“You
don’t have a choice,” Aya said as he stepped into the
kitchen. The bathrobe was open, revealing the sculpted lines of his stomach
along with the white bandages wrapped around his upper chest and thigh. He
looked worse than before he had fallen asleep, and Yohji
was hoping the stubborn redhead would’ve slept through the whole thing. He
opened his mouth to protest, but Aya turned away from
him, focusing on Manx. “I’ll want to know every detail. No holes this time.”

Manx
nodded. “Understandable. Are you willing to go through with it?”

“Aya—“

“I’ll do
it,” Aya said.

TBC…
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Dragon\'s Dance