Tanimura and Kitsune Take the Stage

Tanimura looked between the pompadour and the sis-con. He was about to walk forward until Kitsune held out his arm.

“I’ve got Mr. Horns. There’s history between us.”

“Whatever floats your boat. Don’t get yourself killed.”

“Ha, a journalist never shies from danger. For the death of one is the birth of a martyr, a hero to pay tribute to!”

Tanimura rolled his eyes. Wada was annoying enough to deal with. This fox-eyed companion downright got under his skin in a way that he cared not to let him linger. He scratched his forearms as if shaving off any tendrils that had placed themselves there before pointing his bat at the Yokohama Reds leader.

“Ehhh? What’s this? They sent me Charlie Brown?”

Tanimura’s eyebrow twitched. He gripped the bat and slammed it on the pavement, making a solid clunk that echoed far.

“You talking to me? Or did that coiled turd grow a mouth along with the peanut-sized brain it’s sitting on?”

It was now time for the other party to stiffen and do the angry swagger. He caressed the pompadour and brandished his fist.

“What did you call it?! I’ll have you know that this hairstyle is timeless! The likes that a kiddo like you can never appreciate! Ren Akagi is a man’s man!”

“That’s right, Aniki!”

“You tell them!”

Tanimura scoffed at the praises that were thrown out pre-emptively. Praise was something that had to be earned, just like how Wada had earned his by kicking his butt and opening his eyes.

“All I see is a bunch of gays circle jerking around an ugly ass patch of hair. You can whip your dicks out for whatever shit, but you’ve got problems if you think any girl is gonna ride you for being a shithead.”

“S-Shithead! What does a high schooler know about getting laid-”

Tanimura’s smirk instantly shut Akagi up. Being an ace at baseball brought about a few distinctive advantages, even if the girls he shacked with were sometimes two-faced liars.

“What’s that, Shithead? Accidently showed your V-card? All talk, all talk. I bet you were even hoping to bust your balls on Wada over there. That’s why you’re here, aren’t you? How gaaaaaay.”

A fist came flying right at Tanimura, who saw the pitch and brought his bat up to guard. A dull, metallic ring echoed as it hit. Surprised for a moment, Tanimura took a few steps back.

“Tch, you packing something underneath?”

In response, Akagi shed one glove to reveal brass knuckles. “All’s fair in a street fight.” He struck again.

Their attacks bounced off each other, the ring of metal colliding with each hit. Eventually, an Akagi special slipped right by the bat and slammed into the left cheek. Tanimura lurched back from the blow, managing to recover after only a single forced step.

Tanimura was no fighter. He simply had grit and a well-oiled swing. Against someone that knew his street fights, the gap in skill was apparent. However, skill wasn’t all that decided a match.

He swung his bat hard, knocking the fist away as it tried to lunge for a combo. Akagi’s arm was thrown back, making him rotate awkwardly. Seeing his chance, Tanimura made a diving slide that took out the guy’s legs, sending him for a tumble.

However, he soon realized that sliding on asphalt was a poor decision, leaping to his feet to feel shredded pants and a sore ass. Likewise, Akagi checked his hair to make sure it was still in place before getting back into a fighting stance.

“Not bad, Charlie Brown can actually connect a few.”

“The name’s Tanimura, Shithead. Though at this point, I don’t mind if the nicknames stick.”

Akagi grew noticeably pissed, sending two quick jabs that Tanimura couldn’t block both. The second one hit him square in the jaw, stunning him. When he looked up a right cross was already in his vision, too late for any reaction.

Tanimura spun on his heels, trying to divert the force by going with the blow. He felt his jawline shift. Reaching up revealed blood on his hand.

He swung forward, but Akagi read his attack, backing up before springing forward with a counter to the stomach. Tanimura was launched several steps back before he took a knee, the bat holding him steady from total collapse.

This battlefield was not the type that he was used to. He wasn’t a fighter, but a sportsman. He toughed out grueling practices and sharpened his swing for one purpose only – driving the ball across the fences.

It was no small wonder that he was being driven back by someone that owned that part of the field. He looked up at his opponent, sneering at him now. The hometown buddies behind him cheered with gusto. It was the same feeling as an away game, far from those who believed in him.

However, Tanimura knew that one couldn’t be a champion by only winning the games that his fans would see. He was no stranger to turning people’s perception of him around. He reached into his pockets, summoning his pride and courage.

“Ready to give up? It’s clear to me that you’re not meant to be here. Just a kid pretending to be tough.”

Tanimura gritted his teeth. He slowly rose from his kneeling position. He took a deep breath and pulled the bat back, giving it a test swing.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Shithead. I am a winner. It’s the game that’s giving me a disadvantage. But you know what? I’m down for it. Because all I need are BALLS!”

He reached into his pants, extracting a ball. He threw it up and slammed it forward with his bat.

Confusion saddled the viewers at this sequence of actions. It was the split second of lost focus that Tanimura needed.

Before Akagi could react, a white ball slammed him in the throat, cutting off the nerves warning the rest of his body to dodge. He choked at his windpipe caving in. Before he could steady himself, another baseball struck him in the face.

Akagi stumbled while trying to turtle into a guarding position, but he couldn’t protect everything. The next ball slammed into his diaphragm, taking the strength of his legs with it. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.

As his head flung back in an effort to stay in the game, he saw Tanimura standing right before him, bat held up in the air.

“This Charlie Brown ain’t taking no shit from a poopadour.”

The bat struck down with a crack, right on top of the shoulder. Akagi went down hard, face in the asphalt and stone cold out. Tanimura’s eyes lingered on the pompadour that managed to stay intact through this entire fight.

“I respect the dedication to your craft. Even if it’s a shit one.”

He planted the bat on his shoulder and raised an arm to signal victory.

v

“Been a long time, hasn’t it, Bluey?” Kitsune sauntered before the leader of the Blue Devils.

“Not long enough for me to forget your betrayal. And goddammit, it’s Aoba to you, Slit Eyes.”

“Sorry, sorry. Old habits die hard. Especially when we were best buds. How times have changed. How you have changed.”

A metal chain snapped right at Kitsune’s feet, who didn’t even flinch at it. The long-range weapon whipped back and wrapped around the fist of Aoba.

There was a time when Kitsune had been Aoba’s right-hand man, tearing up the streets and gaining a significant amount of turf. Back when Misaki Haibara ruled the streets in her middle school days, they were just a group of troublemakers looking to have a bit of fun while expanding their playground.

Aoba was the muscle and Kitsune was the brains, keeping their little group safe from the likes of monsters. That all changed less than a year ago, when Misaki suddenly quit.

The streets were in an uproar. A vacuum of power had suddenly shifted the way street gangs operated. For the most part, the Blue Devils planned to stay out of things and continue their own little gig. But then, something happened.

“Bluey, what’s with the long face? Did our guys take a hit?” Scenarios flew through Kitsune’s head, wondering where he could have gone wrong. While the current times were chaotic, he knew exactly how to avoid confrontation with the rival colors.

“My sister, s-she… can’t walk anymore.”

Kitsune’s heart sank as he was told how an accident had happened during a colors clash, with his sister as an unlucky bystander. A biker had lost control and crashed into her after taking a bat to the face.

Now, he was staring at a heavy estimate as to how much it would cost for the surgery.

Thoughts of revenge immediately clouded Kitsune’s mind, but he immediately deemed it risky. However, that didn’t stop Aoba.

“Please, Kit. I need your help to fuck up those responsible. Make them pay for the damages.”

“I-I… no way. I don’t think Aoi-chan would want to see you die, just so she can walk again.”

A chain whipped the ground at Kitsune’s feet. Rage blanketed Aoba’s expression.

“This is OUR CHANCE! Misaki Haibara is off the streets! That leaves a bunch of punk asses that I can whip together under our banner!”

Kitsune shook his head.

“Even if you do win, what do you plan to do? Shake the shops for some cash? Beat up some gramps and brats for their savings? Risk the gaze of those far stronger and larger? We cause trouble for the fun of it, not to make bank. That’s not what we formed the Blue Devils for. I’m sure that wasn’t what Aoi-chan thought when she gave you horns.”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT HER?!”

The metal chains slapped a dumpster, so hard that it left a giant dent in the side. It wobbled and bounced, despite all the trash weighing it down.

“Enough to know that what you’re planning won’t fly with me. I’m out.”

As Kitsune expected, Aoba went on to absorb several other colors, taking out their leaders with brute force.

“Enough’s enough, Bluey. I’ve been watching things for quite some time. Information on the players is what keeps things in check. I won’t act unless I have a way to ensure victory.”

Aoba sneered. He pointed a finger toward Wada.

“Siding with a chump like that? Getting on the good side of Haibara, I understand. You go to school with her. But playing goodie two shoes with a noob like him? I thought better of you.”

“You have no idea what potential my mind’s eye sees in Wada. I recognize ‘good anime’ from anywhere. The deets all fit into a nice story, one that sees a rising star.”

“All I’ve heard is a guy that gets jerked around like a plaything.”

Kitsune laughed and shook his head.

“That’s where you’re missing the punchline. When it comes to Wada, he secretly likes it.”

Suddenly, it looked like the wily journalist had disappeared. By the time Aoba had registered that quip, he found Kitsune had a firm grip of his chain. In the blink of an eye, he had stepped into the personal space of a fighter that had honed his attacks at a distance.

A journalist had to be fast to catch all the scoops. That was Kitsune’s greatest strength. He could perform a fifty-meter dash that made track stars jealous. He could slip past the guards of more experienced fighters to ensure his escape. After all, a strategist didn’t need to fight himself. His worth was guarding and exposing secrets for the proper moments.

Being close friends in the past, Kitsune knew that close range was Aoba’s biggest weakness. By the time Aoba tried to pull the chain back for another attack, Kitsune had already wrapped the other end around Aoba’s wrist. Now partially bound, another chain whipped down, trying to ensnare the speedster in a tight hug.

Knowing what Aoba would do in a fight gave Kitsune a major advantage. He ducked right under the attempt and moved to Aoba’s back, jabbing his index finger into the unguarded back.

“Bang!” Kitsune smiled.

A sling of the chain came for him, which he dodged again. He stuck his foot out and let Aoba trip right over it. His heavy body crashed to the ground.

“Well, the bigger they are and all that. You okay there, Bluey?”

Slowly, Aoba got to his knees. And then, he swung the chain low to the ground, but Kitsune leapt over it like hopscotch. He kept twirling and twirling it, hitting nothing but air as he chased after him.

Kitsune was simply too fast, the attacks easily telegraphed in his mind as to what Aoba would do. All of a sudden, the chain struck something, a metal flagpole that was attached to the back of a motorbike. Before Aoba could realize his mistake, Kitsune tied a knot and hopped on the bike.

With a slam of the gas, the motorbike shot forward, pulling Aoba along since the chain was wrapped firmly around his arm. He was dragged several meters on the ground before it stopped. Kitsune checked back to see that Aoba hadn’t given up yet, so he hit the gas again to send him bouncing on the hard asphalt.

The members of the Blue Devils gawked as their leader was a can strung up on the back of a vehicle, clanking over and over. He wasn’t given time to unwrap the chain around his hand, so now, he was at the mercy of Kitsune.

“Had enough lumps and scrapes yet, Bluey? Any more, and I’m going to have to pay Aoi-chan a visit to apologize for crippling her onii-san. She’ll be so sad that you can’t peel apple rabbits or give piggyback rides around the garden.”

“A-Alright, I give up!”

Kitsune hopped off the bike while striking a victory pose from his favorite anime.

“The world is mine to rewrite! Haw haw haw!”

Aoba slowly unwrapped the chain to nurse his sore hand. He looked up to see Kitsune leering down at him, who then pulled something out of his pocket and slapped Aoba’s forehead with it.

It was a stack of cold, hard cash.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“My cut. I’ve been looking for other ways to scrounge up funds for Aoi-chan. Something that is a lot more legal than whatever it is you’re doing.”

Kitsune pulled out his phone, flashing something on the screen. It read, ‘Kitsune’s Action Central Channel’ on top, while a live video of the two of them was streaming below the banner.

“I’ve been working on a subscription service. People will drop cash for entertainment value, and boy, have I made a bunch following the very guy you were looking down on.”

Kitsune crouched down and looked his friend in the eye.

“Do you still think I betrayed you? We each have our own path. I simply didn’t agree with yours. I would suplex your ass, but look at these arms. It would only happen if I were isekaied in another world. My victories only come when you least suspect it.”

Aoba gripped the wad of cash, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Fucking Kit. Wish you would open those slits you call eyes sometimes, so I can actually tell what you see.”

Kitsune stood up and patted him on the shoulder.