Takahashi Ryujin's Death Sentence

[gin]

a private roleplay of jo_suzaku and gin

 

 

TAKAHASHI RYUUJIN'S DEATH SENTENCE

 

 

 

 

Chiharu Tennouji lived a middle-class lifestyle down the sector of Asakusa. Being the youngest sibling out of the three, he's often left to his own devices and was totally free-spirited at whatever he does. Rather always and never often, when someone read his name, he’d always been mistaken as a cute girl. In which, Tennouji lashes quite pissed and was known as a hazard towards the crowd. Unheard of his classmates, Chiharu was kind of bullied into doing household chores as to his slave-driver older sister whom he likely does not anger. He was taught in a household to treat woman like a queen and he’d rather die than lay a hand on them.

 

Genetics be blamed, Chiharu had a perpetual resting bitch face that often, no, always attract the wrong crowd towards him. He was not keen of violence but he thanked god his parents pestered to let him take martial arts lessons.

 

He took Culinary and slowly but surely he’d pursued the once ‘forced chore’ and became sous-chef in some fancy ass restaurant. You can almost see his face on every cooking magazine as the youngest Chef with exemplary talent.

 

Chiharu was bulk in nature, as he stood a decent 186 cm (6’0 ft) and was built like a menace rather than a dainty Chef. He had gold like orbs that would emphasize it eerily whenever light reaches it. A mop of black hair, soft bangs that barely reached his eyebrows and a beauty mark at his left ear which is often mistook as a piercing.

 

『 天王寺千春 』TENNOUJI CHIHARU ( 27)

 

bloodtype :

O+

likes :

doing chores (it calms him)

dislikes :

trouble

Hobby :

geocaching and surfing

Birthday :

August 1 (Leo)

ENFP (“

THE CAMPAIGNER

”)

 

 

- - -

 

 

Eclectic. One would describe Chiharu Tennouji’s cooking as diverse as it could get. Each and every one wanting to taste a bit of the renowned cooking that even caught a praise or two from G*rdon fucking R*msay. For someone so young, no one would entirely believe that Chiharu was not born out of some genius womb, he’s as plain as a blank sheet of paper much to everyone's dismay. Regardless of such, Chiharu managed to climb atop by sheer-will and dedication thus putting his name atop the priority lists.

 

Well he’s Asian. Not that he’d believe those craps that Asian people are geniuses or some hoax like that.

 

It was rough having huge shifts in his life; the big one was probably him getting scouted at some five star hotel in America. He’d have to move in between continents despite his family’s longing of their only boy in the house. He was raise by his loving mother and two older sisters when his father passed away from colon cancer. Chiharu persisted on his passion for cooking and he finally managed to get his family packing together with him in America.

 

It was really nice having his family at arm’s length but his work demanded him to include it to his shortlisted priorities. Chiharu back then was left with no choice renting an apartment at some block nearer to the hotel. He’d already decline the Hotel’s offer to house him and he was glad he had to.

 

Judging from the naked girl sauntering all over his place, a whole new glow cast at her blonde locks that made Chiharu wince. Beatrice was his casual lay, they don’t really call themselves ‘fuck-buddies’ as crass as it sounded, they’re more like in an open-relationship. They’re each other’s warmth during cold days and a pillar when pressure of will was tested. Basically lovers with no rush into a life-long commitment and can openly date anyone aside from each other when time arises---a beautiful version of ‘Fuck-buddies’

 

One of Beatrice ideas and reasons to complicate things.

 

Women.

 

 

But Chiharu, praise all his ability to zip his mouth shut, couldn’t care at all. As long as he had a nice long fuck during those times when he needed it, then it’s certainly a win-win situation.

 

“Haru. What are you cooking this time?” Beatrice leaned at the expensive marble top, watching her boyfriend as he stuffed some 'God knows what-spice' into the meat.

 

“Hmmm-roasted chicken with pesto sauce, ravioli with brown butter and sage and good old baked potatoes.”

The girl scrunched her nose in distaste which was completely sacrilege in front of a high-class chef.

 

“I’m vegan, you know that.” As if she had to reiterate every time Chiharu cooks.

 

“I know, mix your goat stuff over there, these are all mine.”

He motioned the ladle at the bowl filled with cherry tomatoes and lettuces.

 

“What a pig.” She jab Chiharu’s ribs with an effort of a raging bull which made the male yowl in pain.

 

Sometimes, Chiharu wished Beatrice was a huge sex doll—silent and always welcomes him with an ‘O’.

 

Sometimes.

 

His eyes twitching as he redoubled his effort to spice the poor meat up.

 

The chef slowly hummed to the tune of ‘Bites the Dust’, his eyes glanced at the woman who was stabbing the salad bowl with unknown murder twinkling in her eyes. Chiharu sniggered at himself as he hoisted the pan to place it into an oven.

 

He stood for half a second before Beatrice walked towards him, the bowl at her hips as she grabbed a glass of water.

 

“What’s wrong??”

 

“---my KitchenAid Architect Series II KBHS109SSS.”

He mumbled as his body started to shake with unknown emotion.

 

“Speak English idiot.”

 

“MY MICRO FUCKING WAVE!!!”

He bellowed on top of his lungs, seething with anger as he stared at the empty space his microwave was mounted at the cement.

 

Beatrice thanked heavens Chiharu’s flat was soundproof or they’d get a barrage of annoyed neighbours at his door.

 

“SOMEBODY STOLE MY MICRO WAVE. WHAT THE FLYING FUCK!!”

He slammed the pan at the cold marble, in which the chicken made a flop at the ground from the sudden impact.

 

Like Chiharu couldn’t care less of the chicken.

 

His vein was about to pop, he could’ve sworn he’s treading on borderline aneurysm.

 

 

 

No one gets to steal Chiharu Tennouji’s microwave and gets away unscathed.

 

 

 

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[jo_suzaku]

 

 

 

Ryujin was an abandoned kid. From a very young age, he learnt how to fend for himself. When he was 11, he was picked off the streets by Tsukasa who was the Yamaguchi-gumi's oyabun. He was quick to display his skills at any opportunity he was given and as he grew up, he was soon considered to be one of the boss' most trusted son. Any problem the boss had, Ryujin was sent to "fix" it.

 

Around 3 years ago, the boss had some problems with the American counterpart of his arms smuggling operation. So he sent Ryujin to go take a look at it and find out what was going on. He thought the matter would be solved quickly but it wasn't. So Tsukasa ordered Ryujin to stay in Los Angeles. As a cover, he bought him an entire building with apartments to rent out. Ryujin lived in the pent house on the topmost floor.

 

Appearance:

 

Ryujin is around 5'9''. He has light brown hair but the ends are a dark crimson. That is how he got his nickname - Red. Some people also call him Ryuu. He has a huge dragon tattoo at the back of his left shoulder and it goes down concentrically round his left arm. He is very quick and light on his feet. He can handle almost any weapon though he finds guns very noisy. Most of the time he favours his tantou (a Japanese dagger approximately 15-30 cm in length. It is primarily used for stabbing but the sharp edge could be used for slashing as well.)

TAKAHASHI RYUJIN

At a glance

 

Age: 26 years old

Hair: Light brown with crimson ends

Eyes: Amber

Likes: Sharp things, music and alcohol

Dislikes: Noise, disobedience and disloyalty

Blood type: B+

Hobby: Plays the piano

Birthday: June 30 (Cancer)

 

~~~

~~~

 

 

Beep.

 

That small sound was enough to wake Ryujin. He cracked one eye open which proved to be a mistake. The weak sunlight filtering through the floor to ceiling glass windows hit his eye like a laser beam. He squeezed his eye shut, turned the other way and buried his head under a pillow. This also helped muffle the surrounding sounds as he drifted off to sleep once again.

 

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

 

BEEEEEEEEEEEP!

 

BANG! CRASH!

 

Ryujin swore under his breath. “Why the fuck do people have to make noise so goddamn early in the morning?” He stumbled out of bed and headed towards the source of the disturbance. The house was eerily quiet. Alcohol bottles were strewn all over the place. Ryujin nearly tripped over a bottle of scotch but caught himself just in time. His head was spinning and throbbing with the after effects of last night’s drinking. He looked around the living room. Everything was hazy and his brain took a while to process what he was seeing. Eventually he realized he was staring at what had caused the ruckus.

 

A bloody microwave.

 

The stupid thing had been dangling off the edge of the table, only held up by the wired plug. It had finally come out of the socket and the whole microwave had fallen to the ground. Muttering to himself, he turned to go back to bed. This was the reason he never owned a microwave. The bloody thing was a menace. It could blow up at any time, fall suddenly to the ground or stop working for no apparent reason. He took a few steps towards his bedroom when he realized something -

 

He didn’t own a bloody microwave!

 

Fuck.

 

He rushed back to the living room, as quickly as his drunken state could allow him and picked up the fallen appliance. The glass had cracked and the side had a dent. Other than that, it looked alright. He frowned at it as bits and pieces of last night slowly came back to him. For some strange reason, he had felt like making his own microwave popcorn. Since he didn’t have a microwave, he decided to “borrow” one from the tenant downstairs. But no one was home. So instead of going to ask someone else, he did the only thing he could think of at that moment – he broke into the apartment and stole the microwave.

 

Fuuuck.

 

He had to return it. It looked like a high end model and it was sure to be missed. Ryujin went back to his bedroom and threw on his jeans and a full sleeved shirt, not bothering with the buttons. Tying his hair up in a bun and shoving his sun glasses on, he grabbed the set of spare keys and an envelop from the drawer. He scribbled an apology and stuffed some money inside the envelop. "That should take care of the repairs", he thought. Once the microwave was safely tucked under his left arm, he slowly made his way down one flight of stairs, swaying a little. He paused outside the apartment he had broken into last night and set the microwave down. Using the spare key, he opened the door. Hopefully, the occupant wasn’t home as yet or was still in bed. Quickly and quietly, he picked up the battered kitchen appliance and made his way into the house. He was just about to enter the kitchen when he heard a guy scream -

 

“SOMEBODY STOLE MY MICRO WAVE. WHAT THE FLYING FUCK!!”

 

Followed by a loud slam.

 

Fuuuuuuck!

[gin]

He flung his jacket on his shoulder, Beatrice beside him trying to reason out that reporting to the police would totally jeopardize his work. Beatrice can certainly imagine, Paparazzi’s approaching like piranhas at the station and he’d reminded Chiharu that he’d hated unwanted attention.

 

“This is not a good idea, Haru.”

 

“The guy just stole something from me and I’d just stand aside?”

He paced back and forth, trying to get a hold of a friend’s number.

 

“You can buy like a hundred, come on just drop it,”

Calm down

.

 

The woman grabbed Chiharu’s arms and slowly rubbed soothing circles at it. It was a good move arbitrating that breath Chiharu was holding as his breathing even out. He almost felt his fist unclench at the cellular device as he'd tried to arrange his thoughts.

 

“But he’s still not goin----“

The both of them halted to a complete stop as they caught sight of someone in the living room.

 

Unfornately, Chiharu Tennouji did not calm as Beatrice slowly stepped backwards, completely gave up the idea of soothing the ablaze fury starting to reappear from the chef. Looming at the figure who was carrying what was his cracked Microwave, Chiharu’s thoughts surged into an overdrive of anger and memories.

 

First, the microwave, the poor precious thing, had its glass broken and its side absolutely had a dent. He always remembered how he’d scold Beatrice when she loudly slams the poor thing when she was baking a Zucchini. In summary, there’s nothing he loved more than himself than his kitchen appliances—his bread and butter.

 

Second, the guy did casually invited himself inside his flat and could tell that it was not a forced entry. He had a spare key, a stranger had a spare key of his room.

 

Chiharu was sure he skipped twenty-seven April Fool’s. Fate or Karma or whatever was in-charge above laugh at him, they’d totally must be pulling an extra mile to give him a prank of the century.

 

Third, He stared at the guy who's not really a stranger, the hoodlum who was busy trying to erase the dent by merely poking it, ‘pissed’ was the greatest understatement Chiharu could describe his feelings. ‘The guy’ was no other than, Takahashi Ryujin.

 

---The completely bat-shit ex-boyfriend that may have ruined his Cherry boy high school days.

 

 

Forgot Aneurysm, he’d probably got heart-attack.

[jo_suzaku]

Ryujin froze – microwave still under his arm. The guy’s yell surprised him which was a little unnerving. He was never the kind of person that could get shocked very easily. He started to quietly tiptoe backwards, towards the door so he could escape unnoticed. He could hear a couple talking to each other in the kitchen, the male voice growing louder as he moved towards the living room.

 

“But he’s still not goin----“

 

The abruptness of the sentence was a dead give away. Ryujin was caught – like a baby deer in headlights. The couple had spotted him and made their way into the hall. The guy walked in first, the girl a little behind. But even the glorious sight of the voluptuous naked female body couldn’t tear Ryujin’s gaze away from the towering bulk of a man. The towering bulk of a very pissed off man. His face was such a combination of anger and shock that it was almost comical. Almost.

 

As they both stood and stared at each other, Ryujin was thankful he had his sunglasses on. That was one intense stare. And damn, the guy was huge! But inspite of his stature, he sure was easy on the eyes. There was just something about him. Ryujin absentmindedly poked the dented microwave as he tried to sort out his thoughts in his hungover state.

 

If there was one thing he was good at, it was talking himself out of a sticky situation. Yes, Ryujin did have a temper and solved most of his problems with actions rather than words. But that tactic never worked with the Oyabun. Any display of disrespect or misconduct and that would have been the end. So he resorted to words and in the bargain realized he was a pretty smooth talker. So he decided to put it to use.

 

“Good morning, my dear tenant. I do apologize for disturbing you this fine morning but I just wanted to drop off your microwave. Seeing that the two of you are in the middle of something *grin* I’m just going to leave it here as I do not want to further intrude.”

 

And before the two of them had a chance to react, he swiftly placed the appliance on the center table with the envelop on the top and made his way out of the apartment, trying as far as possible to act as cool and unconcerned as he could.

[gin]

Light bled through the small gap in between thick maroon curtains, the digital clock blared a red 0937 H. Chiharu managed a small groan a he slowly pulled himself up, incoherent enough to waltz at the small room naked, halting in front of a full mirror. With one last rub to the eyes, he stared at his body covered in hickeys; some light enough to go unnoticed while the rest nearly looked like bruised and bloodied.

 

Something liquid slowly dripped from his thighs, the boy absentmindedly scooped the white goo that continued to slide down his ankles.

 

“R-Red.”

He croaked and with a whip splash turned towards the single bed to find no one in there.

 

Not minding his nakedness, he ran outside the room and met the rest of the small apartment---- empty. Only the occasional drip from the faucet to accompany him, the television’s static as he tried to gather his wits. Those days were Chiharu Tennouji looked as pretty as his name, plump lips trembled with fear, golden eyes wide and frightened.

 

His hands shakily reached at the brown envelope atop the off-season kotatsu. He couldn’t breathe, he felt drowning in his own tears as he saw a pile of green inside the envelope.

 

“I’m n—ot a fucking prostitute”

with a hiccup, Chiharu wished he’d felt numb, his fist tightening at the envelope, crumpling the greens with the brown.

 

For the first time he’d understand why his heart was about to break.

 

 

 

“Good morning, my dear tenant. I do apologize for disturbing you this fine morning but I just wanted to drop off your microwave. Seeing that the two of you are in the middle of something *grin* I’m just going to leave it here as I do not want to further intrude.”

 

---When did that voice started to get annoying??

 

Pulled back to his senses, Chiharu managed to bit his tongue as he stared murder towards Takahashi Ryujin. He was glad the bastard didn’t even held an ounce of recognition towards him. In fact, it was a blessing as the guy totally forgot him. There was no way in hell he’s going to re-introduce himself to that heartless swine not that he had his life already placed together.

 

Chiharu was not going to let Takahashi step on him all over again.

 

Takahashi was lucky enough that he’d hurriedly left the place or he’ll be one cold body down the floor. The chef could almost feel his warm hands slowly clasped at the latter’s neck as it tightened its hold; life slowly diminishing from the bastard’s eyes. If Jack the Ripper managed to escape arrest for centuries, then there’s a chance he wouldn’t be captured.

 

--Calm down Chiharu. BREATHE

 

1 –---

2---

--That didn’t work as he round housed the poor wooden cabinet near him, the wood splintered into pieces.

 

Beatrice’s eyes grown into saucers, she’d almost forgot how deadly her lover was. She was at this delusion of Chiharu and flowers, sparkling uniform chef not that Chiharu third-dan black belt and ready to fight an underground MMA. Right now, she could’ve sworn the guy looked like an ex-convict with no care to haul himself back to jail again.

 

“I need to go too.” She managed to shriek and sped towards the door, managed a hefty salute and left. Smart enough to know he couldn't put out that anger, it's best to leave him at his own device.

 

Chiharu’s mind was reeling with potent anger, bad enough that he could tear the whole place down. Nostrils flaring, golden orbs landing at the brown envelope atop his ‘wounded’ microwave.

 

“He never fucking changed.”

Chiharu’s jaw clenched as he stared at the brown envelope.

 

 

The faucet teased to drip, the television goes static and the countdown towards Takahashi Ryujin’s death sentence started ticking.

[jo_suzaku]

~ One week later ~

 

Ryujin was pacing the length of the hallway, one hand on his cellphone, the other clenched around a sharp pointy wooden dart. He was agitated and the longer he listened to the person speaking on the other end of the line, the angrier he became.

 

“What do you mean by one crate less? You’re telling me that I didn’t check our own shipment? Of course I bloody did! How the fuck did someone get away with one crate full of guns? I’m sure you’ve made a counting mistake. Check again.”

 

The line went silent for a while. Ryujin stood still for a moment and stared out at the town. The view from his penthouse was indescribable. Night had fallen and the headlights and taillights of the moving traffic below looked like a flowing river of gold and red.

 

“It’s missing Boss.”

 

Ryujin snapped and whirled around, throwing the dart with such force that as it hit the bullseye on the dartboard across the hall, the entire dartboard shook and fell to the floor with a crash.

 

Then he calmly said, “I’ll look into it.”

 

Either the Americans had screwed them over and sent one crate less or someone stole it. He had to get to the bottom of it.

 

He cut the call and threw his cellphone onto the couch. One whole crate of guns was quite a big deal. The Yamaguchi-gumi had a long-standing deal with the American mafia. When the Americans were giving them problems 3 years ago, Ryujin had moved continents on orders from the Oyabun. The Americans initially scoffed at him since he was so young and they tried to take him for a ride but once they realized that Ryujin was too smart for them, they automatically started respecting him. But that was before Brick was in the picture. Ryujin sighed.

 

After the initial problems, everything had settled down well. Two and a half years passed and just when he thought he would get to go back to Japan, a new police chief was appointed and a huge crackdown on the mafia activities in LA took place. A lot of Ryujin’s American contacts were thrown in jail or killed when they resisted arrests. And that’s how Brick was put in charge. He never deserved the position he got. He obtained it out of pure dumb luck. He hated Ryujin and the feeling was mutual. They both didn’t trust each other and there was no room for respect.

 

The past few months had been horrible. Brick started spreading degrading rumours about Ryujin and all the respect that he had earned on the LA streets was slowly vanishing. He had to start watching his back. There was always someone with a grudge out to get him. Especially the guys from Brick’s gang. But Ryujin could take care of himself and he managed to avoid trouble so far.

 

Tiredly he rubbed his eyes and looked at the wall clock. It was almost 11 pm and he hadn’t eaten all day. He stuffed his cell and keys in his pockets and grabbed his leather jacket and helmet as he left his apartment in search of food and a drink.

[gin]

About a week has gone by and Chiharu was still antsy about the event that conspired in his flat. It was bizarre, one moment he’d thought it was a nightmare, a dream that his brain had concocted to confuse him. Then again the dented microwave prove otherwise, it’s unnerving as to how his anger simmered as soon as he’d lost sight of Takahashi.

 

Maybe it’s just a onetime thing, he convinced himself.

 

Like staring at an old polaroid photo; the anger was there but it was numbing and not so close to simmering. It’s still there but as long as the guy won’t let his ugly mug show, then he’s cool with it. Nonetheless, if it’s Olympics, Chiharu had held grudges rather deep like he’s after the gold.

 

“Did you get your mise* done?”

Chiharu rubbed a table cloth on his hands as he scrutinized the brown haired cook’s preparation.

 

It was best his head wasn’t up there in the clouds, playing towards La-la land.

 

“I just need to skin these lobsters and the plate will be ready at five chef.” The cook busily arranged the other ingredients as he managed a nod towards Chiharu.

 

“Good.”

He clapped the other’s shoulder and motioned the rest to get their ass moving as the clock was ticking and hungry customers are about to enter the restaurant.

 

“Do I need to get hauled up there!? These food are dying the pass for Pete’s sake!”

He hollered at the clambering waiters lounging behind the huge metal fridges.

 

“NO CHEF, sorry” The chatting waiters sobered up to pick the dishes from the pass with an angry Chiharu on their wake.

 

“Greenhorns.” The staff teased as Chiharu tapped impatiently at the tiled floor.

"This food is not going to cook itself, move your asses!"

 

"YESS!" A holler before everyone busied themselves in their stations.

 

There’s no worse way to serve a food that had gone cold eons ago. Idleness was extremely shun upon their area, especially when they’re serving prissy and snob rich-ass people who’s trying hard to pronounce ‘soigne’ the right way.

 

Douchebags.

 

With a final swipe of sweat on his forehead, Chiharu returned to watching the staff and assisting them in any way possible. There’s no where he’d rather be than inside a kitchen that would made his blood boil out of excitement.

 

He’s a chef after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*prepped items for the meal.

[jo_suzaku]

Once he strapped on his black gloves and adjusted his helmet, Ryujin started his motorbike, allowing it to idle for a while as he discreetly surveyed his surroundings. Even though the building he lived in had an underground parking, he preferred to park his bike in the alley at the side. In case of an emergency, he had a quick get away vehicle. Finding nothing suspicious, he rode in the direction of one of his favourite restaurants. The food cooked there was absolutely divine. He usually ordered in since the restaurant was in a fancy ass hotel and he didn’t really feel comfortable there but tonight he just needed to get out of his apartment.

 

 

 

 

On approaching the hotel, he realized just how out of place he was going to feel. No one rode up there on a motorbike. They had valet parking for fuck sake! So he circled round the hotel and found the staff parking at the back. Beat up cars, bikes and even an old motorcycle were parked haphazardly in the allotted space. Ah, this was more like it. He dismounted, removed his helmet and re-tied his pony tail.

 

As he made his way around to the entrance of the Imperial Hotel, he passed a few of the back entrances that the staff usually used. He paused outside one such entrance and took a deep breath in. The delicious aroma of food made his mouth water. He was right outside the kitchen of his favourite restaurant. He closed his eyes and sighed happily. A small sound suddenly caught his attention. He immediately strained his ears and heard muffled footsteps. Inspite of his cautiousness, he had been followed.

 

His best bet was to go into the hotel. No one could do any serious harm there - or so he thought.

 

Briskly, he walked away from the staff entrances and entered the main lobby of the hotel. Everything was lit up and the place oozed of money. Ryujin walked into the restaurant and made his way to a table at the end. He was aware of the stares he was getting but ignored them. People always stared at him. But here, they stared even more. Torn black jeans, a plain white tee shirt and a scruffy leather jacket with black leather gloves was not a very common outfit in a posh hotel restaurant. He sat down, facing the entrance of the restaurant with the restrooms on his left and the entrance to the kitchen a few steps towards his right.

 

Just as an elderly waiter walked up to his table to take his order, two men entered the restaurant. Ryujin stared at them with narrowed eyes but the men ignored him and took seats at the opposite end of the restaurant. “What can I get you?” the waiter asked, a little impolitely. Never in his life had he seen such a punk set foot in the hotel. “Bourbon, neat. And make it a double.” The waiter did a double take - he was expecting the idiot to order a larger or something. “Coming up sir.” He walked off to take the order of the two men who had just come in.

 

Ryujin observed the two men. He had never seen them before. They wore suits but it did not have the finish or class that fit the Imperial Hotel standards. And they were certainly not mafia crew. That left two options - either plainclothes police officers - which was unlikely because he had a few acquaintances there who would have warned him before hand. Which meant it was option two - the feds. Ryujin smirked to himself. If they thought he was coming with them quietly, they were sorely mistaken.

 

The waiter reappeared with his drink. He sipped it slowly and waited. One of the suit guys (Suit#1) got up and walked towards him. Ryujin flexed his left hand which was hidden under the table. The man passed him and walked towards the restrooms. Ryujin let out a huff of impatience. These guys were rookies. He could have taken them out in under 10 seconds flat. But he waited for them to make the first move. No point simply upsetting the feds.

 

Suit#1 made his way back from his bathroom break. Finally, he made his move. As he passed Ryujin, he knocked a chair over causing it to fall against his table. With the impact, the whiskey glass fell to the floor and shattered. But Ryujin was quick. Grabbing the table cloth, he threw it over Suit#1 and shoved him to the ground. Suit#2 jumped up and made his way towards the ensuing fight.

 

Ryujin took a few steps towards the right and waited. As soon as Suit#2 lunged at him, he feinted to the left. Suit#2 fell face forward into the door that led to the kitchens. Suit#1 was finally free of the table cloth and tried to grab Ryujin. He quickly sidestepped the guy, jumped over Suit#2 who was still down on the kitchen floor and ran full speed only to come face to face with a very familiar face.

 

Ryujin came to a screeching halt as he stared straight into the eyes of a very angry head chef who was none other than the owner of a recently dented microwave.

 

Shit.

[gin]

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The kitchen kept its hectic pace as each of the chefs prepped their designated meals. Sweat started to drop, for the nth time, at Chiharu's temples, he flamb? the lamb chops w/ utmost precision. The two chefs beside him prepared for its sauce and side dishes. It was the usual menu ordered at the people, fancy enough not to come down the restaurant and order the meal on their respective penthouses atop the highest floor. Chiaki could swore he could make a couple of this dishes with his eyes closed.

 

The rest of the staff made an idle talk about a man outside, gaudy enough yet ordered only one drink much to the waiter's displeasure. The sous chef paid no mind as he barked orders towards the staff.

 

It was until then his momentum was broken at the sound of something broken and screams of the people at the dining hall that Chiharu had no choice but take a close look.

 

The sight was a total mayhem; couple of chairs thrown all like a hurricane managed to slip past the hall, guests that screamed murder as they huddled like scared mice and last but not the least the sight of his 'favourite enemy' bumping him chest to chest.

 

What could go wrong?

 

Well for Tennouji Chiaki---everything.

 

?YOU.?

He seethe with malice, his form hulking as both his hands form fist.

 

He was at the moment of giving the other male a piece of his mind before he saw a men in black suit started piling at the entrance and at the huge staircase at the center of the fancy hotel.

 

?I?d rather you be dead but not here at my workplace.?

Chiaku grumbled as he hurled a chair effortlessly towards the group of startled men.

 

And he dragged Takahashi Ryujin?s ass towards the kitchen as they both escaped the horde of angry men.

Someone was fast enough and caught him by the shoulder, but the guy was stupid enough to beef up with a person who had a third dan black belt. With one swift high kick, the poor man?s face crumpled like a tin can as he K.O and kissed the floor goodbye.

 

The crowd paused at the sight, together with the chefs and staffs that started to retreat at the first display of violence. The mob wasn?t even deterred to chase, in fact they?ve been excited to pull their weapons.

 

His right hands gripped a frying an innocent frying pan hanging well with its family. ?Well then.? Chiaki stood his ground, not bothered to look behind him, whether Takahashi Ryujin stayed or not.

 

Cared no more, if he left like he?d always do.