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“You look different.”
Izou glances up from the mirror, having just finished adjusting his hair. Kiku is lingering inside the doorway of the room, a light frown on his lips. Izou meets his gaze through the glass.
He doesn’t understand what difference is being referred to. They almost look the same right now, except Kiku’s hair is fanned out around his shoulders, brushed but unkempt as-is. The hakama he wears is also different from Izou’s own kimono, though the colors are similar enough. A long, white haori dusted with crescent moon symbols hangs off of Kiku’s shoulders. It looks nice.
Izou looks over his shoulder, but his easy smile falters as he notices Kiku’s unsettled expression that he’d missed in the reflection. “How so? I’m the same as always.” He gestures for Kiku to come in.
After a moment, Kiku complies, walking with careful steps over the tatami. “Your make-up is missing,” he grumbles, no longer looking at his brother.
Izou blinks. That’s what this was about? “It’s just toned down,” he confesses.
“And your kimono is open at the top,” Kiku mutters.
Izou glances down to confirm, then looks back up with a slight laugh. “I won’t be the only one like this.”
“Your obi is tied too low.”
Izou frowns and turns towards Kiku properly, fixing himself to sit cross-legged. “It’s fine, right? If it’s too high, I can’t draw my sword as easily.”
Kiku’s eyes widen, as if just noticing Izou is without his favorite weapons. “Where are your guns?”
“Samurai don’t use pistols,” Izou tells him, the line coming out cold and impersonal, as if he’s reciting someone else’s words.
Kiku’s brow furrows. “So you’re just a samurai tonight?”
Izou sighs. “Kiku, this is important to Lord Oden. We have to look the part, and–” He pauses. “What’s this really about?”
“Nothing,” Kiku huffs. “I just thought you were like me,” he says next, even quieter.
“Like you?” Izou parrots after the silence lingers for a few moments.
“I’ll tell you later,” Kiku promises in an odd mumble. He looks strangely dejected. Izou, for the life of him, can’t figure out where he’s gone wrong.
So instead of reflecting, he pats the spot between him and the mirror. “Let me fix your hair.”
Kiku moves over to him willingly, sitting down in a neat seiza and pulling all his hair behind his shoulders. When Izou takes over, running his fingers through the dark strands, he chances another glance at Kiku through the mirror.
He looks defeated, but it’s contained in a way that masks it as tiredness. Trying to lighten the mood, Izou gathers Kiku’s hair with one hand and smoothes his other over the white haori. “I do hope I get one of these as well.”
“Of course!” Kiku says, perking back up. “You’ll look even more dashing in it than I!”
“Oh?” He raises a brow. “And why would you say that?”
“Because you’re taller, and your kimono is all black.”
Izou resists rolling his eyes. “I don’t see why those things matter. You look great in yours.” He tugs on Kiku’s hair before a denial can spill from those lips. Kiku’s always had a slight problem with self-confidence, and he wasn’t up for dealing with it tonight. Not after their earlier conversation. “If only you could fix your hair by yourself–”
“Why would I when I have you to do it for me?” Kiku sing-songs loudly, loud enough to draw attention.
As Izou sighs at his brother’s words, Kawamatsu sticks his head into the room. “Oh, there you are! We’re almost ready to leave.”
“Be right there,” Kiku calls to him, moving in Izou’s hold enough to disrupt his work. Izou tips his head back towards the mirror as Kawamatsu leaves and takes the offered hair-tie from his hand.
“This is getting worn,” he notes.
“Oh?” Kiku glances up and hums. “You’re right. I’ll have to get a new one soon.”
“Think of a color and we can see about buying one in the Flower Capital.”
“A color . .” Kiku crosses his arms and closes his eyes in thought. “Hmmmmmm.”
☾
Izou and Kiku aren’t blood brothers – not fully. They share the same sire, an old scumbag that never really took care of them properly, but that’s about it. Izou’s mother was a courtesan, or so he was told. She left Izou on the doorstep of his father’s dance school without even bothering to name him. He doesn’t even know if she’s still alive.
Kiku’s mother was a student at said school. After she got pregnant, Izou stopped seeing her as much. It got less and less, up until baby Kiku showed up, and then she was never heard from again.
Kiku looks like her. Like what Izo can remember of her, anyway. While he’d inherited his looks from their father, from his black hair to the shape of his lackluster brown eyes, Kiku had gotten a different set of genes. Not entirely, of course. One could still tell they were brothers, either from the set of their frowns or sharpness of their eyebrows, how pale their skin was and how low their cheekbones set on their faces.
But Kiku’s dark hair was tinted blue, and was so silky and thin, much easier to manage than Izou’s. His eyes were a pretty violet and his head was small for his stature. Their noses were different shapes. Sometimes, if Izou were in a particular mood, he’d swear they were so different that there would be no hiding it one day. That Kiku would figure it out and he’d have to tell the truth.
This difference causes problems in their home life – until it doesn’t. Until Izou makes it not.
The various men their father have over are customers, but of a different transaction than the dance school. Izou never found out what his father was selling and he never wanted to, not at this point in his life. He wasn’t even curious back then, his only concern for him and his brother.
The same brother those strange men began to call “pretty”.
Their father makes his kids entertain his guests constantly. Having Izou dance, and Kiku pick up the shamisen. Soon this becomes dull, so he has them pick up new practices. Izou learns how to fire a small gun. He learns, and then he keeps learning, improving so fast that all the attention draws to him.
That is, until the unwanted attention begins to turn to Kikunojo.
Kiku looks like his mother, like the failed, young dance student. If that was the truth, then what could Izou become, with a courtesan for a mother?
(A damn good show, that’s what.)
He gets the women enrolled in the dance school to teach him how to apply lip color. Claiming to be into kabuki in his young age, the girls fawn over him and readily share their supplies and techniques. Powder and blush for his cheeks, tint for his lips, a brush of kohl to accentuate his eyes. A tie to pull his hair away from his face, letting it be framed by his bangs and drawing attention to it by an easy flick of the end over his shoulder. They trim and treat his nails, and teach him to posture his his hand just so, to smile so that his lips appear full, to walk and stand in a way that appears more feminine.
When his father has company over, Izou’s lips are bright red, and he winks at the ones that turn back to stare at him after he shatters a bottle clear off the countertop with a single bullet.
He molds himself into the perfect creature of desire, gathering all that attention to himself and himself alone. His father grumbles about it at times, eyeing him oddly as though he’s seen a distasteful sight, or maybe a vengeful spirit coming back to haunt him. But he doesn’t try and stop Izou, and he quits being hard on the pair of them to serve their guests, so it becomes a win in Izou’s book.
If it’s to protect Kiku, Izou thinks, he will keep this up for the rest of his life. And he has. Their father was arrested, and the two end up on the streets. Not knowing what the future had in store, Izou kept his role, delegating Kiku to a background character, someone unimportant that wouldn’t draw any unwanted eyes.
It becomes habit. Even under Oden in the newly-remade Kuri, Izou refuses to drop the facade. The other retainers are used to it, and the new ones that crop up don’t ask. Izou likes to present feminine. That’s fine. It’s always been fine like this.
“I think I was born wrong,” Kiku tells him in confidence after they return from the Flower Capital. The words shatter something in Izou, and he quietly tries to pick up the pieces with his mind racing while maintaining a carefully neutral expression.
“Explain.”
“I don’t . . .” Kiku trails off, looking unsure. That is, until Izou tries to ease up, dropping a hand on Kiku’s shoulder. Feeling more settled, Kiku tries again. “I feel more like a girl than I do a boy.”
And suddenly, Kiku’s earlier words to him make sense. I thought you were like me. And if this is how Kiku feels, then Izou can see why Kiku felt like that.
This maybe isn’t the best time to be having this conversation, or it’s the perfect time and they’re just unaware at present. Late at night with the moon partially obscured by the clouds above, huddled close together with their matching haori wrapped around their thin figures. They’re on a balcony, leaned up against the castle walls, and somewhere further inside the excitement of the night is just beginning to die down for the rest of their companions.
Izou, who for once has a face devoid of cosmetics and a sword near his side that he can’t even use properly. He’s older and taller and more mature, looking the part of an older brother with Kiku at his side.
And Kiku . . . Does Kiku resemble a younger sister? Izou turns to look out of the corner of his eye, catching Kiku in profile. Hair unbundled and falling in waves, framing a lithe face, shadowing long eyelashes. Did he himself appear this feminine on the regular, or at least, in the eyes of everyone else?
I just thought you were like me.
Does it even matter what Kiku appears to present as on the outside? Has it ever mattered, when it comes to them?
“Is that too odd a thing to say?” Kiku mumbles, chin now rested on bent knees. Not looking at Izou like Izou back, gaze instead fixed on the deep shadows that cover the landscape of Kuri.
Izou’s been too silent for too long. He forces himself to reflect more later. This is a conversation, a confession, and it’s been one-sided for long enough.
“No.” He does his best to tilt his lips in a smile, when Kiku’s eyes land on his. “I don’t think it’s odd at all.”
Kiku’s lips part. “Then you . .”
He shakes his head. How low would he stoop, if he reveals his reason for presenting himself as such for so long? He doesn’t want Kiku to fret and bemoan Izou for being a knight-in-shining-armor. Izou made the choice of his own free will, not because he felt like he had to. He doesn’t want to tarnish that image in his mind. He wants to keep being the protector over Kiku’s shoulder, for however much longer he can manage to do so.
“This isn’t about me,” he says slowly, trying to pivot the topic back to the start.
Kiku settles, mouth falling shut once more. A quick nod, then a glance away before resuming their shared gaze. “I’m a woman at heart. I think.”
“A woman? At twelve?” Izou’s smile grows. “Surely you’re a bit young to be calling yourself such.”
Kiku’s cheeks puff. “You know what I mean–”
“I do, so for now I think ‘little sister’ will suffice.” He closes one eye in a slow wink. “And when you’re older–”
He’s stopped by Kiku’s hands pressing over the lower half of his face. She crowds closer, eyes wide, and lifts up onto her knees so her head is level with his.
“Don’t call me that in front of the others,” she says desperately. “Not yet. I want to tell them myself.” One hand drops to hover over her heart. “When I’m ready.”
Izou takes her other hand in both of his own and nods. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here for you.”
“Promise?” she whispers, eyes so wide, reflecting slivers of the moon in their depths.
“Promise,” Izou hushes back, sealing his lips shut.
And then catching his sister in a tight hug, when she falls readily into his arms.
☾
When Kiku is younger, and they’re faced with the dangers that crop up from the wilds of Wano, Izou refuses to part from her. He’d wear his obijime down to threads by using it as a makeshift tasuki in a pinch, fixing Kiku to hang off his back, high enough up on his shoulder that she could watch his back. Or so he could pretend she could, anyway, letting her hold one of his pistols while he tried his luck waving a sword around. He wanted her close, not out of distrust of the others, but because he felt solely responsible for her safety, and peace-of-mind was found by having her at his back.
He’d never in a million years dream that she’d be in front of him leading a charge, trusting him to have her back while she cut their enemies to shreds.
Kiku didn’t need luck when it came to the way of the sword, having always been more proficient at it than he. She slices through the last of Kaido’s men and swipes her katana in the air to her right. The blood on the blade splatters into the snow underfoot, and the moisture in the wind wicks away any remaining iron on steel. She sheathes the sword carefully and stands to full height.
Kikunojo of the lingering snow. She’d certainly made a name for herself in the years he’d been away, even with the same amount of years having been stolen from her in turn.
Her hair is tied up with a long, red bow. It’s noticeable and striking in the plainness of the snowy landscape. Her full get-up of samurai armor is also impressive, and it does nothing to detract Izou’s attention from the choice she’s made.
She moves to address Nekomamushi and Izou is caught in awe at the way she now carries herself. When they were younger, the two were often closer to Neko and Inu over Oden’s other retainers due to the closeness in their ages.
Kiku could no longer boast to be two years his senior, but this doesn’t keep her from speaking with Nekomamushi so familiarly, as if twenty years hadn’t passed by in the blink of an eye since the last time they had spoken. Even with her height, Nekomamushi almost looms over her, crushing her to his chest when he drags her into a one-armed hug.
He doesn’t seem surprised to see her like this, young and feminine, which means he’s known about her decision to identify as a woman before their separation twenty years in the past. Izou wonders, bitterly, when she had been open about it. Who she had told first, after him. How hard it was, without him by her side like he’d promised to be.
That’s right, he thinks. Unlike him, Nekomamushi had gone back to Wano. He’d seen Kiku grow up and grow fierce, transforming from the sixteen-year-old he’d reconvened with after returning from sea to the twenty-two-year-old standing before him now. Unlike Izou, Nekomamushi had no missing years apart from his sister. She looks the same. She was the same.
But for Izou, there was ten years of her life that he’d no memory of. She wasn’t a preteen questioning herself any longer. It had been thirty years since the siblings have been together, and although Izou does not regret the life he’s lived, the bitterness wells up in his throat and lingers on his tongue.
At least, in the end, he can see what’s become the end-result of her struggle. See who she really is, in all the ways she’s chosen to define herself.
☾
In the beginning, Izou holds great animosity towards the man known as Edward Newgate.
He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be back in Wano, at Kiku’s side. If only his fool of a Lord hadn’t had such a free spirit. If only he’d known Oden would be in safe hands with Neko and Inu aboard the pirate’s ship.
Izou hates Newgate for what he let Oden suffer through. He hates this weird crew and their customs, hates the ship and being at sea and how there is no end-goal to their voyage, hates how different it is from Wano, from all he’d ever known.
He hates, most of all, that Kikunojo isn’t here with him.
Oden tells him to lighten up. They’re in this for the long haul and it was Izou who had chosen to tag along of his own volition. Even if that volition was concern for Oden’s well-being.
Neko and Inu are considerably nicer about the topic, but they’re also caught up in the wonder and whimsy that is life at sea. They don’t pay his brooding much mind. Or so he thinks, for a spell, until Inuarashi says something thought-provoking to him one evening, when they’re both sat close together a distance from the grilling fire, matching kabobs in their hands with juices dripping down the wooden sticks.
“The two of you have always been together, for as long as I’ve ever known.” Inuarashi pauses to chew his meat and looks Izou in the eye after he’s swallowed the bite. “Learning to function by yourself, as just Izou, will do you some good.”
Izou reflects deeply on this.
He’s here for Oden, but Oden is doing just fine. Newgate considers him as a brother, and Oden appears to feel the same, if the nickname White-kichi is anything to go off of. Oden doesn’t need looking after – that would now be Toki’s responsibility. He doesn’t have to linger at Oden’s shoulder at every sign of conflict, because Oden surrounds himself with fellow crewmates that are intent on watching his back.
Izou is a man with a mission, but what happens when that mission is fulfilled? Does he aimlessly wander, searching for something new to devote himself to? Does he continue to strive for the “mission”, in the process becoming a lost cause?
Izou does not know what he wants, so he plays his part and sits on the fence. The world opens up outside of the closed borders of Wano, big and bright, and startlingly brilliant. But every second of Izo’s life on board that ship is tinged with grey, and he can never let himself enjoy the moment fully.
Oden gets a bounty, declared wanted by the World Government, and Izou shrinks back to be the sole voice of reason, urging Oden to reconsider and go back home.
Oden gets a wife and child, finding further purpose abroad by the family he creates anew, and Izou still dashes on this with the mere suggestion of returning to Wano, viewing it as a safety measure.
This time, it’s Toki herself that tells Izou to lighten up, although phrasing it more lightly. Assuring him that they could hold their own, and that the crew had their backs if not.
The crew. Something about this makes Izou territorial. He backs away from his position on the fence, choosing to act the part of Oden’s senior retainer (since out of the three of them on board, he technically would be) and watch over him whether he liked it or not. That was his job. No mere crew member was going to take that from him.
Kiku, he thinks, likes wearing yellow despite what it stands for. “Inexperience” and “naivety” fits for someone of her age and position. Not that she ever saw it that way, constantly brushing Izou off when he tried to explain the symbolism of color when worn as clothing and accessories. She dawned yellow because she liked it, not because of the meaning.
Izou dresses in deep shades of purple aboard the Whitebeard’s ship, not because he preferred the color but because he found solace in the meaning.
In their time and the time of old, purple fabric was only worn by the reigning families that controlled Wano. The Shogun and his kin, and the Daimyo of each region. He wears it as a display of power, painting himself as Oden’s personal retainer and reveling in the fact that only Oden seems to know what he’s implying. The meaning is lost on Toki, who knows little of her homeland, and flies over immigrant Neko and Inu’s heads, although Nekomamushi does make it a point to mention how he’s only seen such a rich purple worn by the Duke of Mokomo.
It’s a bold display, but Oden brushes it under the rug with a boisterous laugh. He only pokes fun at the actual meaning of the color, representing “strong warrior”, and jokingly asks Izou if he’s projecting amidst the Whitebeard Pirates.
(Izou is, actually, but he’ll never admit to it.)
He makes sure to pick fabrics accented with gold – the closest he can get to yellow, his sister’s color. Toki sews the silks into proper kimonos while her son is being looked after by various enthusiastic volunteers. Izou admires her handiwork, quietly wondering why he could not have hands as steady as she when drawing his sword.
Vista confronts him about this one afternoon, finding him swinging the blade on the edge of the deck after they abruptly cast off from port following trouble in the town. He’s concentrated, but his form is lacking, and his movements are both harried and sloppy. Relying on muscle memory in his repetition instead of being enthusiastic in a drive to get better.
“Why do you practice the ways of the sword with no desire in your heart to do so?” Vista questions, leaning on the railing a fair distance away, body cocked to face Izou. Words as flowery as his sword style, and grating on Izou’s nerves.
He stops, one foot forward, blade in the air in front of him. “Samurai use swords,” he says bluntly, but he’s wondering who he’s trying to convince by saying so.
“What good is a samurai with a sword if he cannot use it to protect his Lord?”
Izou frowns and pivots sharp on his heel, blade tip now pointed at the deck. “Then what am I supposed to do?” he says a tad too loud and a touch too grating.
Vista takes it in stride, moving from the rail and spreading both arms. “Put that sharpshooting of yours to better use, of course! Instead of trying to fit a mold and fighting with something you’re bad at using, use your specialty to protect those you care about.” He raises one palm to press over his heart, leg moving so he falls into a half-curtsey with the motion, head slightly bowed. “Samurai is a way of life, and if you consider yourself one, you’ll choose how to best define yourself within the title.”
He straightens up and gestures with his head towards the direction they were sailing away from. “You could have been a great help back at port, young Izou, by relying on your strength and skill with your ranged weapons.” He tips his tophat from his head, pressing it to his chest as he sweeps into a low bow. “Now it is neither here nor there, but in the future, I hope you will reconsider and come to the right decision. Working as part of a crew means taking the best course of action for all and not simply for one’s own merit.” His mustache wrinkles, concealing a smile as he replaces his hat atop his head. “Though, individual merit has its place as well.”
He leaves directly after this, not giving Izou time to respond. Not even to yell back about not being “young” with only two years separating them. He’d accept “short”, considering various members of the Whitebeards towered over him at impressive heights, but he wouldn’t take “young” coming from someone who wasn’t even in his twenties himself.
It’s not worth it, though, with his sword at his side, tip stuck into the wood near his feet. He hadn’t been asked, but as if he had been, he starts thinking about why he’d picked up using guns in the first place.
As an order, at first. Something he couldn’t get out of. But, as time passed, it became a way to protect his sister. Something he and only he could do, to thrust himself into the limelight and keep her far from it.
In contrast, he’d picked up the sword out of obligation. He never developed a knack for it. It wasn’t thrilling to him the way shooting bullets was and had always been.
“A way of life, huh?” he quietly mutters to himself.
(Later that night, after dinner had been dispersed and the crowd was winding down, Izou presents Toki with his sword and scabbard as a return gift for sewing his clothes, telling her she should have a katana from Wano if she is to wield a weapon at all.
She sees past his words, but like her husband, doesn’t bring it up directly, choosing to remain discreet with her observation so Izou can save face.)
☾
The man known as Edward Newgate is a quiet enigma to Izou.
Izou’s birthday follows right on the heels of Momonosuke’s, and despite his best efforts, nineteen is the year of his life that he first gets issued a wanted poster and assigned a bounty.
Kozuki Hiyori is born soon after, at the close of the year.
After she is no longer pregnant, Toki stops wearing the long, pale haori she’d sewn together with leftover fabric from her last furisode. It was an item she’d donned for discretion in her second pregnancy, and it had proven quite useful in keeping her out of the line of fire when confronted by an enemy. Concealing a swollen belly to avoid being targeted was all she ever used it for, finding it hazardous and bothersome to wear on the regular.
She says this to convince Izou to accept it when she offers the garment to him. Calls it a late birthday gift, even, as extra incentive. Izou has no choice but to oblige, pairing it with his purple-and-gold kimono even though he doesn’t think it matches much.
(But he does end up liking the color, and wearing it is what probably compels him to suck it up and don similarly-colored kimonos later in life. He’d even call it his favorite color, although the purple has grown on him.)
Perhaps Newgate is more straightforward than an enigma, and it’s simply that Izou views him through a lens as such because he himself is perplexed with how to feel about the pirate captain.
The crew grows, and Oden is named commander of the second division. Although he is still a “brother” to Whitebeard, the rest of the crew Newgate considers as his sons.
This includes Izou, who is not sure how to feel about this, even after sailing with the man for almost four years.
Izou has a bounty on his head officially as a member of the Whitebeard Pirates, and he’s built up camaraderie with the crew outside of those native to Wano. He’s no longer isolated to Oden’s side, but, well.
Izou’s never had a real father figure. His biological biohazard sure didn’t count, and although he loved Oden, he’d never considered the man could be like a father until he actually became one with the birth of Momonosuke. He respected Oden, of course, but not to that extent.
Besides, a father was supposed to . . . Well, he didn’t know. He might could imagine it, if he tried. Someone that takes care of his kids. Someone to go to in times of turmoil. Someone to learn from, and seek comfort from, and to have protect and love you unconditionally.
(Oden was not the best role-model regarding fatherhood. Knowing this, Izou internally acknowledges that all these traits he’s come up with have to be what he considers his “ideal” father figure.)
Surely such a person couldn’t exist for Izou, not at this point in his life or obligation by blood. And certainly Newgate wouldn’t fit the role. He’s crass, and hardheaded, and stingy, and he has a funny way of showing affection that Izou doesn’t like. At times it seems more like the crew takes care of him rather than the other way around.
Toki’s birthday passes early into the new year, and after such, Momonosuke becomes increasingly fascinated by his baby sister. When the hanging fabric of Toki’s mizuki-knotted obi is in reach, Momonosuke tugs on it until she kneels down with Hiyori in her arms.
Momonosuke, who looks like his father, and Hiyori, who resembles her mother more even as an infant, are so obviously related that it hurts to observe. Izou finds himself thinking more and more of him and Kiku when watching the siblings interact. If Kiku had been born a girl, would he have the same relationship with her that he does now? If either of their mothers had stuck around, or if only the young dancing student had taken him and Kiku with her after giving birth, would they have lived a better life? One full of less turmoil, one more normal than this?
He wonders what Kiku looks like now that four years have passed. Is she a young girl in the eyes of Oden’s other retainers? Do the citizens of Kuri treat her well? Has she grown her hair longer? Does she dress in a less masculine way?
(He recalls, now with humor, how they dressed when they were younger, him twelve and her nine. Kiku liked the free feeling of hakama, and her hair was long enough for it to be pulled back rigidly into a short ponytail. Izou chose to wear light-colored yukata and pin his hair back in the style of noble women, though he did let some of it fall loose to hang over the back of his neck. They dressed in such contrasting ways with how they viewed themselves, each for their own reasons. He wonders how it would have been had they been born into an easier, carefree lifestyle.)
If Izou had a father that loved and cared for him from the moment he was born, would he have lived a happier life up until this point?
Izou is lonely and lost, he realizes. Lonely in the sense of self – he has no purpose without being by Oden’s side, and he’s barely been able to cope with being separated from his sister. He doesn’t know who he is without these two aspects to make up his identity, and it’s a scary thought to come to the realization to.
Among the rest, Toki must notice (and then decide to do something about it) because she comes to sit by his side after he’s brushed off enough offers to be merry with the rest of the crew as they celebrate whatever pointless excursion warranted the banquet-like feast they were currently having. She’s without child, and this leaves her hands free to settle on him, one pressed over his own and the other at the top of his head. After a moment, she guides him to lean down, holding him close to her chest.
“You’re so young, Izou, with so much life ahead of you,” she tells him softly, the words just for him.
“So are you,” he feels the need to say back, because thirty isn’t old. Thirty-three, Oden’s age now, isn’t old.
She chuckles at this. “There’s a big difference between you and me. I pray it doesn’t take you this long to find the place you rightfully belong.”
Izou gulps, considering her words with a stone sinking in his stomach. He’s distracted by her hand in his hair gliding down, pulling at the pins that hold his hair up in the style a geisha would have. When it comes loose, his dark locks tumble past his shoulders, and more of it moves over his eyes than the one strand he keeps in his face on purpose.
Toki’s hand rises off of his to smooth the stray strands back over his forehead. The other sets the pins behind them and then settles on his shoulder, keeping him close.
“Your mother must have taught you that hairstyle,” she says thoughtfully. She hums after, as if considering the rest of Izo’s appearance with this in mind.
“My mother was a prostitute,” Izou reveals blandly. “I never knew her.”
Toki stills, quietly absorbing this fact.
Then, slowly, the hand on his shoulder comes up to run through the back of his waves, gently detangling the mass. Warm, soft fingers press carefully to his cheek, cradling his face. Her thumb smooths back and forth on his skin.
It feels so nice. He’s never been held like this before.
And before he realizes it, he’s crying. Toki’s thumb wipes the tears before they can track far down his face. She angles her body so that her long sleeve hides his face from view. Considerate and kind, and patient, and so very observant, Izou realizes, when she speaks again after he’s settled back down.
“You must have wanted to. You try so hard to emulate her, or rather, what you wanted her to be.” She tucks his loose lock of hair behind his ear, fingertips curling underneath after doing so to migrate back to his jaw in one seamless motion. “I bet your younger sibling feels the same.”
Sibling, because Izou had been so careful after that one night out on the castle balcony to keep his sister’s secret and respect her wishes all at once. He couldn’t know if she was open about being a girl at this point, so he didn’t want to take her choice away by saying such in front of Neko and Inu, and Oden most certainly. But he didn’t want to refer to her as his brother aloud, because that wasn’t true anymore.
(He’s sure he would still feel this way even if it was him alone on this grand pirate ship, surrounded by people that were strangers to Kiku.)
Had he treated Kiku as Toki says? Had he acted . . . motherly? He had no frame of reference. He was just her big brother. He just did his best to be that way to the best of his ability.
“I left Kiku behind,” he says hollowly. To him, it comes out of nowhere, but it doesn’t make it any less true. He’d left. Just like her mother, and their father. He said he would be there for her, promised to, and oh, that last part had slipped out of his mouth before he could help himself.
He can’t bring himself to take it back, though.
Toki’s fingers move from his hair to his scalp, rubbing it slowly, soothingly. Izou sighs and leans back into the hold.
“You really love her,” Toki murmurs, quietly pressing her lips to his forehead.
“She’s all I have,” he whispers back.
“Not true.” Toki hums. “You have me. Me and Oden, and Momo and Hiyori, and every member of this giant crew on this lovely ship. And back in Wano, you have your friends.” She stills, considering her next words, and then treads carefully. “You’re only nineteen, dear Izou. Far too young to be acting like a parent, to be carrying the weight of one upon your shoulders.” She hugs him tight in both arms, drags him closer. “It would do you well to lose your mature side and act the part of a stupid teenager from time to time. You’ll have more fun that way.”
“I’ve never been a younger brother before,” Izou admits. “I’ve never . . let go. Of responsibility, and obligation. I devoted my life to Oden, and dedicated the remainder to Kiku.”
He waits. Waits for Toki to say the words he knows are coming. Oden doesn’t need you anymore. Your sister has grown up and moved on. It’ll hurt, it’ll hurt like mad, but he thinks he can take it if it’s Toki saying it.
“You’re surrounded by older brothers who would give anything to dote on you,” Toki says instead, trailing into a light laugh after she does so. “Don’t let anyone tell you to change your life,” she adds, words so sudden and serious, a complete flip from her previous tone. “The experiences you go through, your thoughts and feelings, they all shape your opinions and actions you take throughout your life. It’s what makes you you: a person.”
That makes sense, Izou thinks. He wonders why he’s never thought about it like that before. That everyone does and says as they do and say based on the life they’ve lived thus far. There was always a reason behind Oden so desperately wanting to leave the country, but none of them ever gave it any consideration. After he became daimyo of Kuri, the carefree lifestyle they all lived evaporated into thin air.
No wonder he never wanted to listen to Izou when he brought up returning to Wano for the n th time.
“But,” Toki trills, continuing, “you can have more than one purpose at a time. You don’t have to let go of your devotion, but you shouldn’t let it control you, either. You’re not Oden’s vassal. You’re not Kiku’s brother. You’re Izou, first and foremost. Whatever roles you assign yourself always come after that.”
That also makes sense. It’s just that, well, he’s never had someone to look up to in his life that would hammer that into him.
“Alright.” He pulls back, just enough to look Toki in the eye. He wonders if his own are red from his crying, and then decides that doesn’t matter. No one was going to bother him about it. The woman in front of him would make sure of that. “I won’t forget it. Promise.”
☾
In a short amount of time, Izou lightens up and tries to settle in among his crewmates. He also ends up learning a fair share about their captain, enough so that he seeks the man out to have a genuine conversation, the first since he’d boarded the ship all those years ago.
“You send your share of treasure back home,” he reveals quietly.
This surprises Newgate, who looks at him oddly, and then with exasperation. “Those brats,” he grumbles, figuring that some of his sons had made Izou aware.
“That’s why you act so cheap, and always want others to buy your alcohol for you,” Izou continues. “You must love your family at home a great deal, to support them in such a way.”
There’s a pause, and the air turns heavy. Izou glances up at he feels it, but Newgate refuses to meet his gaze.
“My family is my crew,” he finally says. “There’s no one left where I come from that I particularly care about. But it’s still home, and you always take care of home, even if you have no intention of returning.”
He does look to Izou as he says this last part, and Izou feels like he’s been seen straight through.
“I like this place,” Izou blurts. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to fit in.”
Newgate smiles, genuinely, and fits his large hand to Izou’s head in a comforting pat. “Any son of mine is welcome to try.”
“What makes you think I want to be your son?”
His smile grows, and his eyes twinkle. “This may not be so obvious to everyone,” he rumbles, leaning back. He moves off of his seat to kneel in front of Izou. “But to me, I can see perfectly clear how you long for a parent. Did you know that not everyone on this ship is an orphan?”
Izou shakes his head, unable to speak.
“Lil’ Whitey, for example. Comes from a good life on a nice island. But the sea called for her! And now, she’s here as my child. Just as much mine as any of the others.” He rumbles out a laugh. “There’s a funny thing about parents: You can never have too many of them! You might can have too many in one place! But out here on the vast open seas, all my children have on my ship is me.” He extends one arm. “I always take care of my own, Izou. If you choose to accept, I’ll be a parental figure you can look up to. You won’t ever have to worry about anything in your life ever again. Just stand at my back and let me lead the way forward!”
Izou can’t help that now his eyes are wet with unshed tears. He’s choked, but he still tries to speak anyway, voice all raspy and whiny. “Why would you even want someone like me?”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Newgate grins from behind his mustache. “I saw your admirable qualities from the moment you boarded, when you were spitting mad at me and desperately worried for Oden during his three-day trial. You’ve continued to impress me ever since. I hold you in the highest esteem, Izou.”
This time, Izou does let his tears fall, trickling down his face in twin streams. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”
“A father’s love knows no bounds.” He extends his other arm, face softening. “The choice is yours.”
But after all of that, Izou isn’t sure how he could ever say no. He collapses easily into Newgate, letting strong arms lock tightly around his back.
“I am Whitebeard!” he boasts. “And you, dear fool, are my precious son.”
☾
After a fierce three-day struggle, their crew makes peace with the Roger Pirates.
The peace is relative, though, and even with Oden’s infectious attitude, it’s hard not to be skeptical about boarding a new ship and adjusting to a different pirate crew. Despite Roger and Whitebeard’s friendship speaking volumes, Roger’s crew was too full of unknowns.
And he only intended to borrow Oden for a single year.
“We’ll stay here and wait for you,” Izou tells Oden before he and Toki take their children to board the Oro Jackson. Neko and Inu are at his sides, and he speaks for the three of them with a big grin on his face. “We like this ship. It will be no trouble to remain here until you return.”
“Good!” Oden bellows, slapping Izou’s back for good measure. “I like that answer! We should all be free to choose!”
Choose. This line speaks to Izou. He thinks of his decision to discard his katana and stick to firearms instead; of his desire to live life for himself, separate from Oden’s side; of his acceptance of Whitebeard as his captain, and as someone to care for him with undying love.
Izou, in his freedom of choice, has become a pirate. And he could not be any happier.
As privately as he can manage, he slips Toki an envelope and lets her tug him down into a bone-crushing hug goodbye. She’d convinced him to start writing letters to Kiku, to tell her everything about his life and what he’d discovered of himself since he left Wano. It became easier to cope with Kiku’s absence this way.
He’s never kept any of the letters, and Toki never intends to share them. Their purpose was not to be sent and read, but it seemed like such a waste to throw them to the fire after he’d carved his soul into each handwritten stroke.
“Come back soon,” he mumbles into Toki’s hair. “I’ll miss you.”
“We’ll be back before you know it.” Her hand strokes up and down his back. “I’ll knit you a new outfit when we meet again.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
☾
Roger comes to visit Whitebeard alone.
They dock ship on a quiet island and wait and wait while the pair head deep into the wilderness on the other side.
When they return, it’s easy to see Roger’s pallor. Izou questions, fearing the worst, but Roger assures him of his crew’s safety in their scattered remains. Oden and Toki had been delivered back to Wano in one piece.
“‘Look after White-kichi’, he says.” Roger’s grin splits his face as he delivers this message from Oden to Izou. Izou does not seem surprised, nor should he be. He knew as well as Roger that in Oden’s eyes, Izou had found his place on the ship of the Whitebeard Pirates. He wouldn’t want Izou to abandon that choice out of obligation for his former Lord.
Not even if his former Lord dies a glorious and hideous death at the hands of the two scumbags destroying his homeland with their endless greed and lust for power.
Izou loses his ability to function, overcome with his grief. Toki is dead. Oden is dead. His nine loyal retainers are declared missing. Wano’s people are broken and hurt and starving. He’s learned of this all by chance, because Wano is so closed-off from the world that he knew nothing was wrong in the first place, and he knows now that no one is coming to help.
He doesn’t even know if his sister is still alive.
The crew becomes divided. Pops finally talks some sense into the more eager bunch. If they confront Kaido’s crew, Wano’s citizens will suffer the consequences. There will be bloodshed like he’s never seen before. Massive casualties on top of an already gruesome and terrifying number. They can’t overthrow Orochi and free Wano without starting a war that will decimate the country in the process.
Izou hates this. He hates hates hates it. It hurts so much. He wants to go, badly, desperately, but he’s also vehement on not making anything worse than it already is.
Seven years later, when Portgas joins their crew, his old feelings will reignite under his skin.
☾
When Izou returns to Wano, his father Whitebeard is dead.
Becoming a true samurai means dying a glorious death, and Izou feels he’s missed his chance to do so one too many times. Being included in this plot, in this certain fight for his life and pride and everything he stands for, feels like a lifeline extended to him from up on high. It feels like a miracle wrapped in certain doom, and he promises himself to fight like hell to achieve the end-goal of this massive alliance.
Nekomamushi fills him in as best as he’s able, but he himself has been out of the action leading up to this final conflict. They’ll have to trust in Kin’emon.
(Izou intends to claim his spot as the tenth Akazaya, accepting Nekomamushi’s invitation even without a scabbard to sheathe a blade into. But when they arrive, and when they are confronted with the worst, he takes up the mantle of the ninth Akazaya from Kanjuro instead, fully intent to finish his business and go out with a bang.)
☾
The snow falls steadily down from the heavens. It blankets everything around them in crisp white, covering even the blood-drenched bodies that would never move again.
“You’re taller,” Izou notes, having to cran his head up as Kiku stands to full height. Must be her mother’s genetics, or someone down that family tree. His own height never breached 195, and he’s getting old, loathe as he is to admit it. He’s the shortest one here with no growing left to do.
“I’m still in my youth, so I might even grow more!” Kiku tells him cheekily.
“Good.” He’s glad. He wants her to shoot up like a weed in the three years before she turns twenty-five. Grow even taller than Ashura’s impressive height. “I heard about the time travel. From Nekomamushi.”
“You’re so old now,” Kiku teases him. Then she sobers up. There’s still blood on her face. Kanjuro’s. “Except, that’s not true. It’s that I’m so young, still.”
“But not any less experienced. You’ve gotten quite the reputation in my absence.” He looks her up and down. “The country’s most beautiful swordsman? I can certainly see why, but I’m not too keen on having that title pinned to my younger sister.”
“But not any more experienced, either,” she says before pausing, taking in his final words. She has a good point. Kaido’s army has grown stronger in the twenty years she’s been absent. No amount of training in a mere three months can ever hope to compare to that length of time. That went for Raizo and Kin’emon as well. He’d have to keep his eye on these three as the battle progressed.
“You’ve never said–” Kiku cuts herself off and shakes her head. “And I’ve never told. Nii-san, I’m–”
“It’s okay, Kiku,” he interrupts. The others are moving, having recollected themselves. “There will be time to talk later.”
I already know, he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to, and neither does she. He can see clear as day before him how much she’s grown into her own. They both have. In their absence from each other, they have developed into their own person – unique, wonderful, whole and complete.
For Izou, who has not seen Kiku since Kiku was twelve, who has been apart from his dear sister for over thirty years, to get to see the ten years she has aged and matured has made it worth living up until this point.
Revenge on all of Wano’s enemies will be the cherry on top.