Tatsuhime 01

An attempt at original web fiction

1.1

Tatsuhime. Quite a name, isn't it?

My sister-in-law, or maybe just my sister now, is the strongest woman I know. Now I understand why Aniki chose her.

It must be more than her beauty, which I admit gave me thoughts when he first brought her home. She looked so dainty and small standing by his side, and after banishing the pervy thoughts that had clouded my mind for a time, I was glad they had found each other.

At first, I was worried if it was right for such a delicate beauty to be tied down by a gangster. And one so young, at that? But Aniki would never take a woman against her will. So if she was here, she was here of her own free will. And she must have been a hell of a woman if she was able to capture the attention of the dragon, of all people.

And a hell of a woman she was.

I should've known that a true Japanese woman could hide steel behind all the silk. One day, I noticed one of the boys trying to hit on her, not knowing she was taken, and by his boss, no less! Before I could jump in, she quickly put him in his place with a well-placed punch to the gut. Then, when that poor sod was down, she—gently, very gently—told him who she was and that he should not worry about getting reported if he could just make himself scarce. She even gave him a handkerchief to wipe his tears.

She truly lives up to her name, doesn't she?

Especially whenever she was in bed with Aniki, and all I could hear from the room next to mine was the sound of him begging for more. I'd try to block the noise out with my pillow, but the thin walls didn't help.

She was always in charge, in control.

She was the only person who could tell him what to do, and she did. And he allowed her to.

Aniki didn't fall so easily. He was the most powerful man I knew. Never flinching in the face of danger, never walking away from a fight.

He couldn't be controlled.

And yet, when she was with him, he couldn't say no to her.

That's power.

Power over someone who doesn't submit to anyone else.

Power over someone like him.

I've never seen him look more peaceful than when he was next to her, and I know he would die to keep her safe.

And that's what he did.

So that's how we ended up here, folks.

That's the reason why Tatsuhime Ootowa is now the proprietress of a tiny, almost nondescript coffee bar and izakaya here in Tokyo.

That's why I, Daigo Ootowa, once a proud lieutenant of the Shibusawa-gumi, am now a humble cook.

A lot has happened.

The Shibusawa-gumi? Gone. Nothing but a memory, just another yakuza family swallowed up by something bigger than them.

But, anyway, that's the past. Aniki would laugh at me or maybe even sock me in the face for moping.

Anego is moving forward just like time itself, and me, too, I guess.

There is no use in living in the past.

There is no use in hating myself, either.

Maybe I don't miss the old days after all.

I could be content just frying eggs and making sakana—brewing the coffee and serving the rounds is her domain, always—instead of mingling with lowlifes and ne'er-do-wells and screwing over folks who don't deserve it.

Maybe that's not too bad.

After all, she's okay with me being here and helping.

After all, we're family, aren't we?

So drop by, I guess.

I promise the food will be fresh.

We've got drinks for everyone's tastes.

Just don't try anything funny with anego.

Don't leer, don't catcall, don't ogle.

Do give her your best pickup line, though. She loves a good laugh.

But don't get your hopes up, fellas.

And if you push your luck—

I'll be the least of your worries.

No, seriously.

It's not me you should worry about.

You don't make a mess out of a dragon's lair without drawing the ire of the dragon herself.

So do yourself a favor and just enjoy the drinks.

Oh, and the food.

I'm a pretty good cook.

I think.

1.2

Tatsuhime. Quite a name, isn't it?

My husband, or rather, my dead husband, adored the name. The strength it conveyed, the beauty, the elegance, or so he said.

He adored its owner even more, and I would know.

Perhaps it's true that strong people are drawn to each other.

I would consider myself pretty strong, and I wasn't one to brag.

You had to be strong when all you had were your wits and needed to fight tooth and nail to survive, and that's exactly what I did.

I was still in high school back then when I found myself in that bar again.

Why was I in a bar, you ask?

Survival was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time.

The right time was when sleazebags came looking for company, even if they had to pay for it. Sometimes, it was for more than just drinks; they got what they paid for and did not drop more.

The right place was a dingy hole-in-the-wall where underage girls like me could be taken for compensated dates without raising eyebrows. One of the little blemishes marking the underbelly of society, where all pretenses were stripped away and everything was laid bare —the perversity, the darkness, and the ugliness that humans could fall into.

But the owner had a soft spot for me, and he warned me when the bar was getting busy with men he didn't know.

"Get lost, kiddo. There's gonna be trouble," he'd told me. But I couldn't get out in time.

The details are fuzzy, even today.

It might have been a deal gone wrong or a fight that started with a wrong word.

I didn't know then, and don't want to know now.

Either way, I was scurrying from corner to corner like a rat when all hell broke loose.

Then I saw him, a lone samurai among the drunken brawlers.

A man, tall and burly and scruffy like a geezer, was fighting like a seasoned fighter, like a true warrior.

It was a dance of punches and kicks and blood and sweat.

It was the kind of scene I should've hated.

But I didn't.

The more I looked, the more the heat rose within me.

Then, when a chair hit him on the head and made him fall, a big guy stood over him, ready to beat him down.

I didn't think.

I just grabbed the first thing I could reach, a bottle, and smashed it against that man.

It didn't take him down, but the surprise of a sudden attack made him stumble backward, and that was enough.

The man recovered quickly and finished the job with a fist to the jaw.

Then he looked at me and grinned like a young boy, with blood trickling down the corner of his mouth.

He wore a nice suit, but the leopard print shirt was so tacky it wasn't funny.

"Heh. Thanks for saving my ass," he said, still grinning.

"I didn't save you," I replied, a little harsher than I intended.

"Oh?"

"I was scared."

"That was mighty brave for someone scared, actually. You're strong, ya know?"

And I blushed even more—then again, so was he, and it was...cute.

"Gee, if you weren't a kid, I'd buy you a drink. Shame, because you're pretty."

A kid, he said. I made my displeasure known, but it wasn't as satisfying as it should've been. Probably because his grin didn't quite fade away even when clutching the groin where I'd kicked him.

He wasn't the kind of person I would expect to be at a dive like that, and yet, somehow, he felt like he belonged there.

That was my first impression of Ootowa Ryuuji, the first time I met the man I would call my husband.

And between that meeting and the union, never once did he lay a hand on me. Not even when I offered—and I did offer—because by that time, he had grown on me like mold on cheese. Or maybe I just want to feel a real connection for the first time in my life. To regain control. Maybe to see if he was actually like everyone else.

"Oy, Tatsu, we'll do it when we're married," he'd say with a laugh and a blush that looked out of place in his face, a big man with a rugged countenance and a scarred body.

Ironic how the only man I wanted to touch me without any strings attached was the only man who didn't jump at the chance.

But that chivalry had endeared him to me.

I wanted to believe he wasn't pretending.

That there were decent men left, that there were still honest men, even among the scum and the trash.

That was the last time I ever let my guard down.

In a few years, I shed the name of the family I'd never known, and I have no regrets. No looking back.

A messy world, his was.

Messy and violent and unpredictable.

But also full of excitement and passion.

That was what he brought to my life, and I would be lying if I said I didn't love every moment of it.

How he, a rough and tough fighter, could make the best pleading dog impression just for me.

How he would go down on one knee just to bring me a flower, and how his smile was so pure and bright when I accepted it.

How he would teach me everything he knew.

I learned, or learned to remember, that I should not be scared of anything.

But it scared me. He scared me.

It scared me how he could declare he would throw away his whole life just for the woman he loved, how easily he would give everything up.

And he did, eventually.

Perhaps it was bound to happen anyway, whether or not I was in the picture. It was a world where dogs ate dogs, and sooner or later, they would come for him. For the entire Shibusawa-gumi.

And he went down fighting like a true samurai, defending the honor of a woman he loved.

It was romantic.

I would be lying if I said it wasn't.

But I would be lying if I said I wasn't angry, too.

Because he died, and the last words we shared weren't those of lovers.

Perhaps we could've parted with at least a kiss, a hug, or some tearful declaration.

If there were a funeral, I would've given that.

But there was no funeral. He was buried like a dog.

And now here I am, alone, to take care of what he left.

A dream he told only in passing.

An izakaya.

He said he always wanted to run one.

He had amassed the funds, but he didn't have the courage to leave his gang.

And since I'm in charge now, why not a coffee bar, too? More business is always good.

He will be pleased, I know. But maybe, in the end, it's more for myself.

He will be glad, too, to see Dai-chan out of that life they once lived.

He was only a few months younger than I, and he called me older sister, not for that reason but because I married his brother.

Unlike me, he was not one for education and dropped out soon after starting high school.

He had always been enamored by the life of the gang, much to his brother's dismay—but if there was someone else Ryu couldn't say no to, it would be Dai-chan.

But perhaps this entire ordeal had completely turned his life around.

At least he could put those knife skills to better use now. Always eager to please, that one, kinda like Ryu himself. And pleased, I am.

So here we are. Brother and sister.

Not against the world.

Just against bills, health inspections, complaints, and unruly customers.

In that regard, we're enough.

We're not alone.

Not really.

Now, with that sob story out of the way, can I interest you in coming?