The Untold Origins of The Port Mafia

正 The 356th Infantry Division 正

(A/N: This art is not mine, I found it on Pinterest)

When dawn comes Fukuzawa whispers a goodbye like a prayer to Fukuchi. "Stay Alive. Stay Sane. Stay Yourself." it says. The man, only ever a friend to Fukuzawa, remains sleeping, he'll find the note when he wakes.

"Write to me." The note says

By the time Fukuchi finds it, Fukuzawa is gone.

-

The ancient truck rumbles along. They'd been assured it was bulletproof, but even still, anxious whispers fill the crowded vehicle. The new recruits unsure as Fukuzawa once was.

"Did you hear about that girl?"

"What girl?"

"There's this kid with the power to resurrect the dead."

"No way!"

"She can't bring back the dead! Just save the living!"

"Same thing."

"It's not."

"Whatever it is, it's true." The driver interrupts the gossip, all eyes and ears turning to him, "My arms were gone, then she used her gift, and here I am. She's an angel!"

Fukuzawa, not usually one for rumours or the divine, listens carefully to this. At the centre of all lies and rumours is the truth. What could be the truth here?

The vehicle stops abruptly. "Alright, we're here."

'Here' is a barrack. The concrete building shows visible repairs after attacks, yet still maintains an intimidating stature. If the island had been here for more than a handful of years then Fukuzawa would've assumed that the building had been repurposed. But the war has simply gone on long enough that the officials warranted the building of permanent structures, in anticipation of years more of fighting.

Fukuzawa arrived on Tokoyami Island in the muggy spring but now cool fall is beginning to creep in. Still, the air should not feel this cold. It shouldn't, but it does.

Fukuzawa is relieved when he's split away from the new soldiers, their chatter and nervous energy. Bracing himself against the chill, he lets one of the soldiers lead him inside.

"You're that swordsman, aren't you? The man with the most successful squad in your last division?"

Fukuzawa doesn't feel like answering, so he doesn't.

"Damn, just like that surgeon. Creepy." the soldier mutters.

Their destination is a room at the end of the corridor. The Office of the Chief Surgeon.

The soldier knocks on the door and then departs quickly.

The door is opened by a man too young to have such a high ranking, he scans Fukuzawa, as if evaluating him. Seeming satisfied, he looks away.

"Ah, Mori-san, this is the man whose transfer you requested, Fukuzawa Yukichi, recently promoted to First Assistant Division Strategist."

'So this is the man then? The superiors acted as if the promotion was their idea, but my transfer had been requested all along. Someone else has been moving the pieces this entire time. When did they take notice of me? What does the surgical department want with me?'

The youngest man in the room, Mori-san, has a tall slim build with angular features, sharp shoulders and a defined jaw. His porcelain pale skin only serves to further emphasise his shining black hair and ruby-red eyes.

"Excellent, permission to take Fukuzawa-dono on a tour, sir?" from Mori-san's lips the phrase is only a request by technicality. His voice doesn't raise as it should at the end of a question. The way the words hang in the air for a second too long tells Fukuzawa that he isn't truly asking. Something trembles within the swordsman. Should he really be alone with this man? But he's never been afraid of strangers before. He isn't afraid now, no this is something else . . . so he'll cooperate, for now.