international fighters anthem
Sep. 29th, 2021 01:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
softpunksiizuna tsukasa/sakusa kiyoomi // ~2.5k
> piece for Miscreants: A Haikyuu Crime Zine; Fight Club Fusion
The flower shop farce of Itachiyama technically lasts about eight months. It’s longer than Kiyoomi would’ve expected, but according to Motoya, the only reason the twins are making a move now is because the three of them have gotten too good at staying unassuming that it made Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu assume otherwise.
It’s a hunch, what the twins have going for them, so they can’t actually go far, even with months of apparent surveillance, because Motoya, Kiyoomi, and Tsukasa excel at what they do. There’s a reason they’re known as one of the best underground fighting circuit runners in the country. It’s the exclusivity, the tight security, the connections.
“They’re not making a move now,” Motoya tells Kiyoomi on a Tuesday morning, right after Kiyoomi descends down the stairs to open shop. “But they will soon. So we have to take action.”
Kiyoomi sighs. “What gave us away?”
Motoya gives him a dry look. “You, apparently.”
It’s been more than two years ago, a week before Tsukasa got them their first basement for their underground brawl arrangement that was slowly becoming an actual thing instead of just three guys who liked to duke it out in back alleys to release some steam. Back then, bars had been their favorite locations to fight. Despite the time, Kiyoomi still remembers how Miya Atsumu bought him a drink after Motoya finished beating the shit out of him.
“Too much time has passed,” Kiyoomi says, sounding defensive. “Two years.”
“Yeah, well,” Motoya replies. “He saw you at the shop a few months back and still remembered. You were interesting enough for him to not forget.”
They couldn’t have been compromised that early on, not when they were just starting and the Miya name wasn’t notorious up until almost a year ago. Kiyoomi never pegged the interaction as particularly harmful and brushed it aside. It wasn’t as if he’d even spoken to Atsumu; their conversation lasted for less than a minute, and Kiyoomi declined the offer for a drink because he was only inside the bar to get an ice pack for his bloodied and bruised face.
“I don’t like what you’re implying.”
Motoya leans forward, resting his arms on the counter. “He might’ve recognized you because you were interesting to him in that way.”
Kiyoomi bristles. “Don’t tell Tsukasa that.”
“He’d find it funny.”
“I know.” Kiyoomi looks past Motoya to glance outside. It’s a cloudy day. Tsukasa likes manning the shop during these times the best, but it’s Kiyoomi’s turn to go on shift; Tsukasa’s on bedrest because he’s still trying to recover from last month’s incident. “Don’t tell him anything about this. He just recovered. Nothing good will come if he stresses himself out with the Miyas.”
“We can’t hide this from him.”
“I know we can’t. But we should already have the issue partially resolved before bringing it to him.” Kiyoomi crosses his arms. “So tell me you have a way to get rid of them.”
“‘Get rid’ isn’t exactly the term I’d use.” Motoya considers. “More like... bribery.”
“Bribery,” Kiyoomi repeats.
Despite being detectives, on the supposed right side of society, Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu have a reputation that toes the line of criminal activity. They have violent, not-so ethical methods for intel gathering and conducting investigations. There are around one or two murder incidents that happened in their cases that were swept under the rug because the twins are such assets to their alleged cause for justice.
They’re not subtle about their misdeeds, showing no sign of even thinking to stop, but they’ve been at this for a year and they haven’t received even a single probation—just a continuous climb to the ranks and a growth of alarmed whispers in the criminal world. They’re the stuff of nightmares, people you don’t want against you because while they’re just as bad as everyone else, they can also get away with it.
It’s bad enough Itachiyama is being tailed; it’s worse that it’s the Miyas. Motoya, however, insists that this can work in their favor.
"There's a saying," Motoya begins. "If you can't beat them, join them."
According to Motoya, the Miyas’ track record of violence and their need for an outlet because they can’t actually get away with punching people in every case they take should get them to agree. Kiyoomi asks about their record for accepting briberies. Motoya admits that it isn’t high, mostly because they drive hard bargains and are even harder to please. This should work though. The Circuit was created for people like the twins—those with pent up frustrations about the world who needed some way to let them out without consequences. So they have to say yes.
“They’re still cops though,” Kiyoomi points out. “What’s our alternative if this doesn’t work?”
“What do you think?” Motoya asks. Kiyoomi doesn’t know why he bothered to ask when they both know the answer. “We kill them.”
1. from their line of work, not that they’ve outright murdered anyone, death causes more problems than solutions, and;
2. Kiyoomi generally hates getting his hands dirty. It’s why he stopped joining in on the fights a few months after Tsukasa got them a semi-permanent place in what the members have started calling the chasm where all the fights take place, the ruins of an old skateboard rink sitting right under the flower shop.
It wasn’t that much of a loss to quit fighting. Establishing this thing as something legitimate meant there was more work to do rather than just the physical kind, and Kiyoomi found more joy in staining his hands with things other than blood.
Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu may be infamous and definitely a threat, but their names haven’t reached Itachiyama territory in a way that makes others fear or remember them, so they blend in easily in the crowd a few nights later in the chasm. The fights have already started. Kiyoomi and Motoya stand by the deck and gaze down at their members, who are crowded around the flat of the winding ramps at the center because that’s where all the action takes place. Only a few others have distanced themselves from the heat of the moment, choosing to watch afar as they drink and chat with each other.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes loudly amidst the cheering and shouts from the audience. Opponent arrangements are usually based on whoever volunteers beforehand to participate that night or through pre-assignments because members are required to have at least one fight per month in at least one of their gatherings. Tonight, Kiyoomi has lined up their strongest fighters to stay in the ring with the option of letting Atsumu or Osamu join anytime in case they get pumped from watching all the fights unfold. The roster will be easy to adjust to whatever whimsical, impulsive decision they make. No one questions the loosely set rules because it’s how their system worked before the Circuit became official business. You could pick a fight with anyone so long as you waited your turn and the opponent agreed. There was no point in making anything complicated. It was just fighting.
Even now, at the heart of it, it’s still just fighting.
Mostly, the lack of complexity is what Kiyoomi is riding on. People like violence because it’s less about thinking and more about doing. The Circuit exists to exploit that fact. Putting the twins right at a vantage point to witness and drink it in is the best way to convince them to join.
Still—
“I don’t trust them,” he says.
“We don’t need to trust them. They just need to trust us,” Tsukasa tells him, sitting right beside them. His legs dangle by the ledge with a cigarette hanging between his lips. Kiyoomi tries not to wrinkle his nose; it’s not like smoking actually affects Tsukasa’s recovery.
“It’s counterproductive,” Kiyoomi argues, though he doesn’t really mean it.
“And it might just not work,” Motoya interjects. “The blonde’s coming up to us.”
Sure enough, Miya Atsumu is weaving through the crowd to make his way towards them, disinterested with having a front row seat at watching the fights. Walking up the ramp’s slope, he abruptly stops midway, maintaining a remarkable show of balance. “This is borin’. You gotta try harder than this.”
Atsumu’s gaze is solely focused on Kiyoomi even though Tsukasa is their leader. It unsettles him, but Tsukasa doesn’t seem deterred by the blatant attitude, and Kiyoomi knows he shouldn’t either. This is Miya Atsumu. From his periphery, Kiyoomi catches Osamu, still hidden in the back of the crowd but watching the interaction unfold. “What’s that supposed to mean, Miya?”
“If you wanna convince us that this place is worth keepin’ secret—worth even joinin’, you gotta prove it to us. ‘Cause so far, ‘Samu and I ain’t convinced,” says Atsumu. “So we’ve decided. If I lose in a fight, then we’re sold.”
“Okay,” Motoya says slowly. “Is there anyone in the ring so far that you want—”
“Oh, no,” Atsumu interjects. “I don’t wanna go on a round with one of those fuckers.” There’s a glint in his eyes that just speaks danger, that they aren’t going to like what they’ll hear. “I wanna fight your leader.”
Motoya freezes. Kiyoomi has to stop the forcible no from making its way up to his throat. It wouldn’t do them good now to show a protective side that reveals more about their relationships than just coworkers and friends, and it would be a sign of disrespect too, to answer over Tsukasa.
These are all signs of weakness, the kind that Kiyoomi has but cannot afford to show.
“If you’re looking for the leader, I’m right here,” Tsukasa cuts in, unbothered. “And I’d prefer it if you’d say it straight to my face.”
Atsumu tilts his head. “Is that a yes?”
Instead of replying, Tsukasa simply stands, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under the heel of his boot. Atsumu smirks, understanding enough, and turns around, making his way back to the crowd as the fight draws to an end.
Kiyoomi grabs Tsukasa by the wrist right as he walks past him. Tsukasa looks at him like he expects a reprimand because newly recovered doesn’t mean ready to fight and they both know it, but all Kiyoomi says is, “I’m not patching you up a second time.”
Tsukasa smiles slightly. “Is that your way of telling me to be careful?”
“I don’t need to tell you what you should be doing,” Kiyoomi says, not unkindly.
He lets Tsukasa go. Though Kiyoomi and Motoya are still going to follow after him, for now, they linger where they are, watching Tsukasa walk down the ramp.
“He’s going to win,” Motoya tells him.
Seeing Tsukasa’s broad back and his figure slowly shrink as the distance stretches between them has never been something that scared Kiyoomi. It’s actually one of his favorite sights, a reminder that this is the same person he’s admired from afar for years and found unreachable. “He needs to.”
Still, Atsumu is a hurricane in his own right, and Tsukasa doesn’t walk away unscathed, especially when it hasn’t been long since the harsh beating he took from an assignment the three of them screwed up. It led to a bullet graze to Tsukasa’s stomach that felt like it shot right at Kiyoomi’s heart when he saw it zip past. Somehow, this only makes Atsumu even more impressed with them. The twins end up agreeing to keep the Circuit a secret.
“I thought you said you weren’t patching me up a second time,” Tsukasa later tells Kiyoomi, after everything is over. Everyone has left, and they’re in the flower shop because it’s a rule of theirs to not bring anything related to their job to their apartment on the floor above. Tsukasa sits by the counter, watching Kiyoomi fuss over him by trying to clean up his face the best he can under the fluorescent light of a small lamp.
“Miya did a number on you,” Kiyoomi says, gently wiping the blood off with a wet cloth. It’s more than the usual injuries he sustains from fights—a split lip, bruises all over, blood trickling down his nose and head. It only shows that Atsumu is good. He probably would’ve landed a punch hard enough to dislocate Tsukasa’s jaw if Tsukasa didn’t dodge and knock him out at the last second. “This is disgusting.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Tsukasa points out. Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything, because they both know that, and they both know Kiyoomi is going to continue anyway. “Tonight was a success. You don’t have to look so sullen.”
Kiyoomi pauses. He’s never been vain, but he does think it’s a little unfair that despite the bruises and blood and the slow-swelling, Tsukasa still looks handsome. And it doesn’t make the damage any more pleasing to the eye.
“I’m worried this will all be for nothing,” he eventually admits.
“Which will?”
“The twins. I think you and Motoya are too lax about this.”
"It's because you're wound up enough."
Kiyoomi can’t even be bothered to take offense to the jab, too wrapped in his own thoughts. “What if they betray us later on?”
“Give us a little credit, Kiyoomi. It’s not like we trust them.” Tsukasa reaches over to tug Kiyoomi closer to him. “We’re just taking things one step at a time.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“If they betray us, then,” starts Tsukasa. “Guess that means we’ll have to kill them.”
Familiar words. Kiyoomi closes his eyes, faintly exasperated. “You and Motoya are going to be the death of me.”
Tsukasa simply grins and lifts Kiyoomi’s free hand, letting Kiyoomi cup his face gingerly. Despite the blood, Kiyoomi doesn’t pull away, and he thinks that this might truly be his favorite sight of Tsukasa. He thinks about how he doesn’t need to admire Tsukasa from afar when he’s right here, within reach.
> piece for Miscreants: A Haikyuu Crime Zine; Fight Club Fusion
The flower shop farce of Itachiyama technically lasts about eight months. It’s longer than Kiyoomi would’ve expected, but according to Motoya, the only reason the twins are making a move now is because the three of them have gotten too good at staying unassuming that it made Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu assume otherwise.
It’s a hunch, what the twins have going for them, so they can’t actually go far, even with months of apparent surveillance, because Motoya, Kiyoomi, and Tsukasa excel at what they do. There’s a reason they’re known as one of the best underground fighting circuit runners in the country. It’s the exclusivity, the tight security, the connections.
“They’re not making a move now,” Motoya tells Kiyoomi on a Tuesday morning, right after Kiyoomi descends down the stairs to open shop. “But they will soon. So we have to take action.”
Kiyoomi sighs. “What gave us away?”
Motoya gives him a dry look. “You, apparently.”
It’s been more than two years ago, a week before Tsukasa got them their first basement for their underground brawl arrangement that was slowly becoming an actual thing instead of just three guys who liked to duke it out in back alleys to release some steam. Back then, bars had been their favorite locations to fight. Despite the time, Kiyoomi still remembers how Miya Atsumu bought him a drink after Motoya finished beating the shit out of him.
“Too much time has passed,” Kiyoomi says, sounding defensive. “Two years.”
“Yeah, well,” Motoya replies. “He saw you at the shop a few months back and still remembered. You were interesting enough for him to not forget.”
They couldn’t have been compromised that early on, not when they were just starting and the Miya name wasn’t notorious up until almost a year ago. Kiyoomi never pegged the interaction as particularly harmful and brushed it aside. It wasn’t as if he’d even spoken to Atsumu; their conversation lasted for less than a minute, and Kiyoomi declined the offer for a drink because he was only inside the bar to get an ice pack for his bloodied and bruised face.
“I don’t like what you’re implying.”
Motoya leans forward, resting his arms on the counter. “He might’ve recognized you because you were interesting to him in that way.”
Kiyoomi bristles. “Don’t tell Tsukasa that.”
“He’d find it funny.”
“I know.” Kiyoomi looks past Motoya to glance outside. It’s a cloudy day. Tsukasa likes manning the shop during these times the best, but it’s Kiyoomi’s turn to go on shift; Tsukasa’s on bedrest because he’s still trying to recover from last month’s incident. “Don’t tell him anything about this. He just recovered. Nothing good will come if he stresses himself out with the Miyas.”
“We can’t hide this from him.”
“I know we can’t. But we should already have the issue partially resolved before bringing it to him.” Kiyoomi crosses his arms. “So tell me you have a way to get rid of them.”
“‘Get rid’ isn’t exactly the term I’d use.” Motoya considers. “More like... bribery.”
“Bribery,” Kiyoomi repeats.
Despite being detectives, on the supposed right side of society, Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu have a reputation that toes the line of criminal activity. They have violent, not-so ethical methods for intel gathering and conducting investigations. There are around one or two murder incidents that happened in their cases that were swept under the rug because the twins are such assets to their alleged cause for justice.
They’re not subtle about their misdeeds, showing no sign of even thinking to stop, but they’ve been at this for a year and they haven’t received even a single probation—just a continuous climb to the ranks and a growth of alarmed whispers in the criminal world. They’re the stuff of nightmares, people you don’t want against you because while they’re just as bad as everyone else, they can also get away with it.
It’s bad enough Itachiyama is being tailed; it’s worse that it’s the Miyas. Motoya, however, insists that this can work in their favor.
"There's a saying," Motoya begins. "If you can't beat them, join them."
==
Motoya’s plan is straightforward and risky: in an attempt to convince the twins to let go of the case and not expose their underground fighting ring that they call the Circuit, the three founders—they’re referred to as Itachiyama even though Itachiyama is the name of their flower shop, the front they use to hide all evidence of illegal transactions and activity—will let them join their ranks.According to Motoya, the Miyas’ track record of violence and their need for an outlet because they can’t actually get away with punching people in every case they take should get them to agree. Kiyoomi asks about their record for accepting briberies. Motoya admits that it isn’t high, mostly because they drive hard bargains and are even harder to please. This should work though. The Circuit was created for people like the twins—those with pent up frustrations about the world who needed some way to let them out without consequences. So they have to say yes.
“They’re still cops though,” Kiyoomi points out. “What’s our alternative if this doesn’t work?”
“What do you think?” Motoya asks. Kiyoomi doesn’t know why he bothered to ask when they both know the answer. “We kill them.”
==
The killing is a last resort because:1. from their line of work, not that they’ve outright murdered anyone, death causes more problems than solutions, and;
2. Kiyoomi generally hates getting his hands dirty. It’s why he stopped joining in on the fights a few months after Tsukasa got them a semi-permanent place in what the members have started calling the chasm where all the fights take place, the ruins of an old skateboard rink sitting right under the flower shop.
It wasn’t that much of a loss to quit fighting. Establishing this thing as something legitimate meant there was more work to do rather than just the physical kind, and Kiyoomi found more joy in staining his hands with things other than blood.
Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu may be infamous and definitely a threat, but their names haven’t reached Itachiyama territory in a way that makes others fear or remember them, so they blend in easily in the crowd a few nights later in the chasm. The fights have already started. Kiyoomi and Motoya stand by the deck and gaze down at their members, who are crowded around the flat of the winding ramps at the center because that’s where all the action takes place. Only a few others have distanced themselves from the heat of the moment, choosing to watch afar as they drink and chat with each other.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes loudly amidst the cheering and shouts from the audience. Opponent arrangements are usually based on whoever volunteers beforehand to participate that night or through pre-assignments because members are required to have at least one fight per month in at least one of their gatherings. Tonight, Kiyoomi has lined up their strongest fighters to stay in the ring with the option of letting Atsumu or Osamu join anytime in case they get pumped from watching all the fights unfold. The roster will be easy to adjust to whatever whimsical, impulsive decision they make. No one questions the loosely set rules because it’s how their system worked before the Circuit became official business. You could pick a fight with anyone so long as you waited your turn and the opponent agreed. There was no point in making anything complicated. It was just fighting.
Even now, at the heart of it, it’s still just fighting.
Mostly, the lack of complexity is what Kiyoomi is riding on. People like violence because it’s less about thinking and more about doing. The Circuit exists to exploit that fact. Putting the twins right at a vantage point to witness and drink it in is the best way to convince them to join.
Still—
“I don’t trust them,” he says.
“We don’t need to trust them. They just need to trust us,” Tsukasa tells him, sitting right beside them. His legs dangle by the ledge with a cigarette hanging between his lips. Kiyoomi tries not to wrinkle his nose; it’s not like smoking actually affects Tsukasa’s recovery.
“It’s counterproductive,” Kiyoomi argues, though he doesn’t really mean it.
“And it might just not work,” Motoya interjects. “The blonde’s coming up to us.”
Sure enough, Miya Atsumu is weaving through the crowd to make his way towards them, disinterested with having a front row seat at watching the fights. Walking up the ramp’s slope, he abruptly stops midway, maintaining a remarkable show of balance. “This is borin’. You gotta try harder than this.”
Atsumu’s gaze is solely focused on Kiyoomi even though Tsukasa is their leader. It unsettles him, but Tsukasa doesn’t seem deterred by the blatant attitude, and Kiyoomi knows he shouldn’t either. This is Miya Atsumu. From his periphery, Kiyoomi catches Osamu, still hidden in the back of the crowd but watching the interaction unfold. “What’s that supposed to mean, Miya?”
“If you wanna convince us that this place is worth keepin’ secret—worth even joinin’, you gotta prove it to us. ‘Cause so far, ‘Samu and I ain’t convinced,” says Atsumu. “So we’ve decided. If I lose in a fight, then we’re sold.”
“Okay,” Motoya says slowly. “Is there anyone in the ring so far that you want—”
“Oh, no,” Atsumu interjects. “I don’t wanna go on a round with one of those fuckers.” There’s a glint in his eyes that just speaks danger, that they aren’t going to like what they’ll hear. “I wanna fight your leader.”
Motoya freezes. Kiyoomi has to stop the forcible no from making its way up to his throat. It wouldn’t do them good now to show a protective side that reveals more about their relationships than just coworkers and friends, and it would be a sign of disrespect too, to answer over Tsukasa.
These are all signs of weakness, the kind that Kiyoomi has but cannot afford to show.
“If you’re looking for the leader, I’m right here,” Tsukasa cuts in, unbothered. “And I’d prefer it if you’d say it straight to my face.”
Atsumu tilts his head. “Is that a yes?”
Instead of replying, Tsukasa simply stands, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under the heel of his boot. Atsumu smirks, understanding enough, and turns around, making his way back to the crowd as the fight draws to an end.
Kiyoomi grabs Tsukasa by the wrist right as he walks past him. Tsukasa looks at him like he expects a reprimand because newly recovered doesn’t mean ready to fight and they both know it, but all Kiyoomi says is, “I’m not patching you up a second time.”
Tsukasa smiles slightly. “Is that your way of telling me to be careful?”
“I don’t need to tell you what you should be doing,” Kiyoomi says, not unkindly.
He lets Tsukasa go. Though Kiyoomi and Motoya are still going to follow after him, for now, they linger where they are, watching Tsukasa walk down the ramp.
“He’s going to win,” Motoya tells him.
Seeing Tsukasa’s broad back and his figure slowly shrink as the distance stretches between them has never been something that scared Kiyoomi. It’s actually one of his favorite sights, a reminder that this is the same person he’s admired from afar for years and found unreachable. “He needs to.”
==
Tsukasa does. It’s not like Atsumu is more bark than bite, but Tsukasa is Tsukasa and his fangs have always been sharper than the rest.Still, Atsumu is a hurricane in his own right, and Tsukasa doesn’t walk away unscathed, especially when it hasn’t been long since the harsh beating he took from an assignment the three of them screwed up. It led to a bullet graze to Tsukasa’s stomach that felt like it shot right at Kiyoomi’s heart when he saw it zip past. Somehow, this only makes Atsumu even more impressed with them. The twins end up agreeing to keep the Circuit a secret.
“I thought you said you weren’t patching me up a second time,” Tsukasa later tells Kiyoomi, after everything is over. Everyone has left, and they’re in the flower shop because it’s a rule of theirs to not bring anything related to their job to their apartment on the floor above. Tsukasa sits by the counter, watching Kiyoomi fuss over him by trying to clean up his face the best he can under the fluorescent light of a small lamp.
“Miya did a number on you,” Kiyoomi says, gently wiping the blood off with a wet cloth. It’s more than the usual injuries he sustains from fights—a split lip, bruises all over, blood trickling down his nose and head. It only shows that Atsumu is good. He probably would’ve landed a punch hard enough to dislocate Tsukasa’s jaw if Tsukasa didn’t dodge and knock him out at the last second. “This is disgusting.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Tsukasa points out. Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything, because they both know that, and they both know Kiyoomi is going to continue anyway. “Tonight was a success. You don’t have to look so sullen.”
Kiyoomi pauses. He’s never been vain, but he does think it’s a little unfair that despite the bruises and blood and the slow-swelling, Tsukasa still looks handsome. And it doesn’t make the damage any more pleasing to the eye.
“I’m worried this will all be for nothing,” he eventually admits.
“Which will?”
“The twins. I think you and Motoya are too lax about this.”
"It's because you're wound up enough."
Kiyoomi can’t even be bothered to take offense to the jab, too wrapped in his own thoughts. “What if they betray us later on?”
“Give us a little credit, Kiyoomi. It’s not like we trust them.” Tsukasa reaches over to tug Kiyoomi closer to him. “We’re just taking things one step at a time.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“If they betray us, then,” starts Tsukasa. “Guess that means we’ll have to kill them.”
Familiar words. Kiyoomi closes his eyes, faintly exasperated. “You and Motoya are going to be the death of me.”
Tsukasa simply grins and lifts Kiyoomi’s free hand, letting Kiyoomi cup his face gingerly. Despite the blood, Kiyoomi doesn’t pull away, and he thinks that this might truly be his favorite sight of Tsukasa. He thinks about how he doesn’t need to admire Tsukasa from afar when he’s right here, within reach.