Chapter Text
Ryūken glided through the streets, his formal and haughty demeanor a far cry from the general filth and unpleasantry surrounding him.
It’s been years since he last trailed this beaten path, and yet, the neighborhood looked as terrible as it had always been. Petty crime was happening in plain sight, and trash spilled abundantly throughout the sidewalks. Ryūken wondered why he hadn’t moved out for better prospects. Surely they couldn’t be suffering through that much monetary woes. The last letter that the man sent Ryūken’s way mentioned a new moneyman managing the finances.
Honestly, Ryūken probably could’ve made his request by phone. However, considering he was already in Capulet City to attend a medical conference in the first place, he thought it was only polite to reunite with an old associate in person.
Ryūken stopped in front of his destination. A gaudy neon sign spelling out the words ‘Devil May Cry’ proudly hung above the entrance. The average person would probably mistake the place as some sort of bar or club.
If only they knew the true purpose of the seemingly innocuous establishment.
Ryūken pushed the doors open, his arrival accompanied by a light chime. While the wider area had barely changed, the store itself has received an impressive glow-up.
No longer were there piles of pizza boxes stashed in random corners, nor were there any demonic knickknacks strewn about. Now, the store was clean and organized. Demon arms no longer occupy every space available. In fact, they weren’t anywhere within the storefront. Ryūken assumed that they were now stashed in a proper backroom somewhere. The floors and walls are free from grime, impressive considering some of the stains Ryūken remembered. Most noticeable of all, however, was the fact that the electricity was properly running. A feat previously unachievable during previous visits.
Such an improvement should’ve put Ryūken at ease for his acquaintance’s state, if only for one glaring issue.
“Welcome to Devil May Cry,” a young, orange-haired teenager drawled from the main desk. The stranger peeled his eyes off the laptop he had been busily typing away at to examine Ryūken. “You got a problem that needs dealing with?”
Ryūken fixed his glasses, the resulting reflection hiding his eyes.
That child was not Dante Sparda.
“I’m looking for your… superior,” Ryūken said hesitantly. Was the teen a part-time worker? Did he understand the nature of Dante’s work?
The person sighed and slammed his laptop shut. “He’s out doing some brotherly bonding in hell right now.” Ryūken blinked in confusion, but the teen kept rambling on. “Our services are still available though. So, you mind telling me what demons we need to dispose of this time?”
Ryūken’s raised an eyebrow. “Do you no longer need a password?”
The young man waved his hand. “Nah, we still do. But I’m pretty good at sensing who’s connected to the supernatural and who isn’t.” The teen slouched back in his seat. “You’ve definitely done business here before from the way you’re acting. Plus, you reek of spirit particles, not to mention your weird internal energy. A quincy then? I thought you guys were wiped out.”
Ryūken bristled at the child’s pointed observations. “I’m not a practicing quincy. I’m a doctor.”
The stranger’s eyes softened imperceptibly at the clarification. “Alright, I understand. ” They bent down to pull out a paper file. “What do you need us to exterminate? Spiritually aware people like you are usually more concerned with hollows than demons.”
“Indeed,” Ryūken agreed. “As it stands, the job I’m about to offer involves neither of the two… to an extent.”
The teen barked a sharp laugh, “You’re actually just here to request a normal PI work?”
“More like a bodyguard assignment,” Ryūken clarified. “I want someone to keep tabs and protect my son.”
The part-timer (?) stopped jotting down notes on his file to give Ryūken a bewildered look. “You want to hire us to stalk your own kid? Why can’t you look after him yourself?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” said Ryūken. “My son has somehow gotten entangled in a hair-brained scheme to rescue someone within Soul Society, specifically the Seireitei. Unfortunately, due to our strained relationship, direct supervision from myself would lead to much more complications down the line.”
Ryūken tightened his tie. “Therefore, I need to employ a third party to make sure he, and his friends, do not perish in the process.”
The young man's eyes widened comically. “You want one of us to invade Japan’s afterlife? Are you seriously asking for a devil hunter to do a mission in Heaven?” When Ryūken didn’t correct him, the teen blew a low whistle, “You do realize most of our agents have demonic blood, don’t you?”
“The Sparda blood’s divine immunity is quite renowned, no?” Ryūken pressed. “Not many hell-bound entities can handle holy water without perishing.”
“And I already told you, Dante’s out of commission!” The boy exclaimed. “Plus, Nero and Lady are both busy with a different gig…”
Ryūken crossed his arms. “That’s quite inconvenient. Is there anyone else available who can handle Soul Society’s atmosphere without negative effects?”
The teen paused before pulling out his cell phone. “Wait just a minute, I’ll sort something out.”
Without a preamble, the orange-haired child stood up and entered another room. A few seconds later, a muffled conversation could be heard.
“Hey, Trish…. A new client… he wants us to….. Yeah, crazy right?… No, those two are still… Fortuna…. “
“….Maybe…..I’m not….. I lived through…. didn’t I?
“Don’t worry…. Not my first job… I’ve healed… I’ll be fine.”
The boy quickly returned to the front seat after the phone call ended.
“Well, considering the circumstances. Guess I’ll be the one to take your commission.”
Ryūken looked at him skeptically. “Aren’t you a little too young to be in this profession? I would loathe to have the blood of Dante’s…. ward on my hands.”
The young man, probably not even of age yet, snickered at Ryūken’s indirect worry. “This isn’t my last escort mission, and I doubt it’ll be my last.” He straightened his back, brown eyes growing serious. “Besides, I won’t volunteer myself for a job I know I can’t handle. Dante taught me more professionalism than that.”
Ryūken hummed at the teen’s confidence. “You do realize that you might have to go against a shinigami? Perhaps even a lieutenant or a captain, if push comes to shove.”
The teen chuckled not unkindly, “Oh trust me, they won’t be a problem at all.”
Ryūken fell onto one knee as a heavy pressure suddenly slammed full force against the white-haired man. The cool air within the store turned thick and suffocating, slowly choking Ryūken from the dense miasma. At the center of it all, the boy plastered an obnoxious smirk on his face.
“I’ve won against worse things.”
It seems Ryūken had severely underestimated the boy’s prowess, not many things could cause him to buckle like this these days. As the reiatsu let up (and it was reiatsu, not some other kind of power), Ryūken coughed and rightened himself.
“I see… In that case, I need not have worried.” The older man extended his arm to offer a handshake. “My name is Ryūken Ishida. I look forward to our future partnership, Mr…”
The teen scratched his head. “Whoops, forgot to introduce myself. Where are my manners?” he muttered sheepishly while grabbing the outstretched hand.
The orange-haired boy with kind, brown eyes gave Ryūken a cheerful and achingly familiar smile . One that the former quincy had seen a thousand times in the past, on the face of a long-dead woman.
Ryūken froze.
“I’ve never seen a baby with such bright hair before,” Ryūken mused while eying the child on Masaki’s lap.
His pseudo-sister grinned with pride. “I know right, isn’t he just adorable?”
She played with the baby gleefully, gently rocking him up and down. “My precious little boy, he’s going to become such a wonderful protector.”
Isshin laughed as he strolled over to join his wife. “He’ll grow up strong, I just know it!”
“Why can't I see her?” the now nine-year-old boy wailed at his mother’s funeral. “Why isn’t her ghost there, Daddy?”
Isshin didn’t answer, he could only grip his trembling son’s hand tightly within his own.
Ryūken tore his eyes away from the painful sight to stare at the open casket where Masaki was laid. The procession before him was tragically similar to his wife’s burial, both of their deaths caused by the same Holy Selection.
Quietly, Ryūken cursed the Quincy King’s name once more.
“Here.” Ryūken offered a cigarette to a quiet Isshin. “You look like you need it.”
Wordlessly, the former shinigami took the provided vice, absentmindedly lighting it up with unfocused eyes. Isshin stared at his two daughters, both huddled up and crying in front of an empty coffin.
“There isn’t even a body to bury. He’s not there,” Isshin whispered. His voice was broken and lifeless, despair coloring every word.
It was a terrible thing, Ryūken thought, to lose a cherished son barely a year after losing the love of one’s life.
Ryūken wasn’t sure if he could handle it if the same fate were to befall him and Uryū.
“I’m sorry, Masaki,” Isshin sobbed to no one in particular. “I failed him… I failed-“
“Ichigo,” the young devil hunter pointed at himself, his tone brimming with conviction. Unknowingly echoing the name that was at the forefront of Ryūken's memories. “That’s my name. It’s a pleasure to work with you, sir.”
Somehow, Ryūken could hear fate laughing at his expense.