The Fault in Our Shareholders

When Koyuki Sanada entered the Osakian office of one Elizabeth Winterbourne, General Manager of Momentum, she expected opulence, excess, and overcompensation. And for the most part, her assumptions were correct. There was much overindulgence going on with this too-large office and its mix-and-match approach to furnishing: a hybridization of European degeneracy and the misused -nay, corrupted- simplicity of Japanese wood decor. The huge work desk of this misguided soul was Italian Maple, the couches in front of either side of the desk were French-made, and the coffee table in between them was too expensive for actual coffee stains. Also Italian maple.

Spoiler:

All in all, she was not impressed.

But one thing about the office did pique her curiosity. One additional thing suggested that its owner might have the slightest spark of a personality beyond soulless corporate sell-out, and it stood out all the more because it clashed diamond-hard against the physical backdrop of projected class and outrageous wealth:

The room was filled with combat memorabilia.

Posters of combat events the world over lined the sides of the room behind each oversized couch, securely encased in tempered glass. T-shirts squiggled in untidy ink, similarly vandalized sports bras, and combat gloves and hand wrappings of all variant of combat filled in the gaps between each poster, hanging on racks that were, argh, probably Italian maple too. It was like a mini-museum to the history of sports combat: UFC, K-1, Rizin and its predecessors, Glory, MTK, some Thai and Lethwei leagues she couldn't decipher, IJF, and the list went on and on and on.

There was also a Samurai sword similarly encased next to the desk. A brief glance told her it was supposed to be a younger sister-sword to the Mikazuki, one of the Tenka-Goken. A lesser blade of Munechika forged in his later years.

It was also clearly a fake. She was going to ignore that.

"How the hell," Koyuki said to the five companions that were with her in the room as she examined the poster closest to the desk. "Do you get the autograph of every single combatant in IVC Uno when two of them died during the event?" Vale Tudo in its earliest years was the barbaric precursor to MMA. Koyuki liked it leagues more than its diluted successor. While death wasn't exactly sanctioned in the pseudo-underground nature of early Vale-Tudo, it wasn't exactly the most uncommon thing.

Her companions' didnt answer. Two were huge men posted at either side of the door, as still as statues. Another two stood were on either side of the couch of the last person, a woman with an eyepatch who evidently did not have the same veiled respect for the history of combat sports that Koyuki had. They were all wearing suits.

"Sorry, I don't speak martial nerd, Ko." Masuyo Ai said, not looking up from her phone. She was probably voicing a sentiment the other four were probably too afraid to express. "See, this is why you don't have a boyfriend. You're into weird stuff like this. It's offputting."

Spoiler:

Anyone else who spoke to her like that would never again. Unfortunately, Masuyo Ai was a rung and a half higher than her on the Kaitei-gumi Hireachy, the controlling Yakuza conglomerate in Tokyo and Kansei. In fact, the only reason Koyuki ever stepped foot in the office was because Masuyo, who controlled the legitimate interests of the Kaitei in Tokyo, needed a branded sponsor for her crypto-currency-derived sports betting app, and she just so happened to pick the one company Koyuki was spending every 3rd weekend trying to get some action.

Coincidence, thy name is bullshit.

"You are an uninformed troglodyte." Koyuki said as she moved on to the blood-stained sports bra and handwraps next to the poster. A relic of the Thai-Burmese border muay thai/lethwei bouts from a long time ago, no doubt. No signatures here.

"Translation: I have a life."

"Not enough of one if you've managed to find the time to do this to me." Next poster: a K-1 World MAX 2009 World Championship Tournament Final. All signatures obtained.

That last retort got Masuyo's head up from her phone. "For the last time, I didnt know you were part-timing as a-"

"Bullshit."

"Amazingly, not everything I do revolves around your life, Ko. This is just a happy-"

"Unhappy."

"-Concidence."

"Still bullshit."

"Oh, stop pouting. This investment is good for you."

"Im not pouting. I'm seething. Know the difference."

"Looks like pouting to me."

"Get your remaining eye checked out." The tension in the room ratcheted up. "Apologies," Koyuki said, with a deep bow. "I crossed a line."

"That's just Tuesday for you, innit?" Masuyo said, brushing it off. "Look, this is good. No, fuck you, listen. Don't give me that face. It's good. We have a stake, we get to influence policy. Whatever you want here -whatever you want to fight- we can make it happen."

Which was exactly what Koyuki Sanada did not want here: control. She came here to fight, not to move pieces, grease wheels, and pressure. This was a hobby, not a 2nd job to be hoisted onto her.

"This is still bullshit."

"Gentlemen, can you guess Ko's favorite word for today?"

"Fuck you," Koyuki said, but that was the end of it. For now. "Winterbourne is late."

"You know how rich folk are."

"We're rich folk. We made it on time."

"Yeah, but we're not 'rape the Indian subcontinent and plunder it of all its spices' old money." Masuyo whistled. "That's an old deep well of sin and an equally stacked pile of cash behind it. The entitlement behind that is generational"

"Cute."

"Best behavior when she shows up, please. Put on your big girls pants and don't threaten to defenestrate her."

"Sure." Nah. She turned back around, her gaze finding yet another poster. Her eyes squinted, then widened. "She has a Tōitsu Kaikan all-star Karate poster. It's the biggest inter-style tournament in the last 10 years with hard contact-"

"You're just torturing me now. You're doing this on purpose."

"Shotokan, Goju, Ashihara, even nascent styles like Raijin and Keno attended this mega tournament with an unprecedented 1st place price money of-"

"Lalalalalalala."

"Didn't you used to run Tokyo's biggest underground ring back in the day? How are you so disinterested in your product."

"Cos my product was VIOLENCE and my revenue stream was GAMBLING, not being a walking encyclopedia about the thousand ways you can punch a person."

"Well, sucks for you." Koyuki said as she moved onto the next poster. "You dragged me into this, you're gonna be hearing about this crap until Winterbourne comes."

"Why am I late? Why are you late?" As was mentioned just now by someone inside her office thirty floors above her, Elizabeth was a rich woman. That meant she had no schedule she actively had to abide by. Their Chief of Security, on the other hand, had only recently broken six-figures and thus had no such excuse. "I am here, and I see only one of us in this elevator."

General Manager Elizabeth, Lady of the Hour:

She heard the older woman's tongue click on the other side of the phone. "King showed up in Inokashira and he's scaring the shit of out the elderly. They're spraying water again but seems like he's developed an immunity. It'll take some time before I get this sorted."

A distraction. "Oh, terrific."

"I knew you would think that. Please send my regards to the felons in suits and ties."

"Don't show up here with that attitude. It's counterproductive. I was under the impression these kinds of people your friends once?"

"Between 9 to 5. Strictly."

The elevator dinged at the second-to-top floor. The General Manger office. She stepped out into the warmth of the reception area. The skylight wall immediately to the right was all the light her receptionist, Toji, needed as he plucked away at the computer keys behind his Italian Maple desk. "Your enduring pessimism has been noted. You can let Maximilian know that it played a significant role in ensuring these negotiations were a success."

"It's beyond me how you were given approval for this. These 'negotiations' are a shitstorm in the making. You can't talk to yakuza. You can't reason and turn the tables. The only thing they respond to is violence and more violence. They came to the table because they have something they know they can exploit out of you. What you're walking into is a heap of trouble that I'm going to have to dig you out of in a week's time."

"Trouble?"

Elizabeth looked to her receptionist who eyed her back. His eyes pointed her toward the double doors leading to her office. Indeed. Despite AFW’s unprecedented success, Momentum was losing money and fast. To no one’s surprise, quite honestly. It was simple on paper: nobody was interested in boxing. The public didn’t care for the sport and fewer athletes than ever favored the sweet science over MMA and its counterparts. It didn’t take an Oxford education and the better half of her young adult life to find the solution. Hence the veritable talent that was finding its way to Momentum's doors today.

But then, why stop there, Elizabeth had to ask? She knew this passion firsthand. Lived it. The beauty of martial arts was universal, bound to no one nation, culture, or creed. It was a market begging for global investment. Therein lies the success her shareholders had been desperately seeking - what few of them remained, that was.

It wasn't any particular person's fault. Everyone simply lost faith. Japanese investors were stringent; cautious to the point of borderline paranoia. Not all of them were so willing to jump onto a sinking ship.

Not everyone was as idealistic as the Kaitei-gumi. Elizabeth simply smiled back into the receiver.

"Trouble is just the fun bits in-between, Ms. Yamamoto. See this meeting for what it really is: synergy. The yakuza are dying and Momentum is stagnating. So we look for opportunities to change course. It’s all in the name of mutual interest and, perhaps, assured destruction. It'll be fun.”

“You sound confident.”

“Confidence is the first rule of business! It's the divine line between success and failure. Hence, why you were living off unemployment six months ago.”

A moment of silence and nothing more. Elizabeth blinked at nothing in particular. "I'm keeping my eye on you, Elizabeth."

Oooh. Scary. Sae's voice fell away from the receiver. "Oi! Leopard! Keep your goddamn trunks on!"

Click. Elizabeth shut off her phone and tucked the device away into her coat pocket. She only hesitated for a moment before deciding how to move forward. It was past the point of having second thoughts, not that she was one to have them in the first place. It was more of a reflex, an instinct. Letting the body understand what her mind was putting into motion. Each time it got easier. She tended to forget how young she still was.

Her hands gripped the double door handles to her office and threw them open. Four figures were in view before her, their shared darkness contrasting in the most sinister way against the Osaka daylight pouring through the back windows. As she stepped inside, her golden gaze immediately found the ashen-haired oyabun relaxing on the couch. “Brilliant.”

The Winterbourne placed a hand into her pocket and strode casually across the room, rounding the couch that Masuyo was sitting on. Her amber eyes traced a slow path from one side of the room to the other as she went, noting the expressions cast her way.

“I see you are all making yourselves right at home! I hope the Early Gray made for a decent starter. I’m not very fond of green tea, personally. Or geiseng. Soothing, I get it, but nothing is exciting about it. How do you get into the mood for a long meeting on the back of that? You don’t. You get tired, then bitter, now you're angry because your boss is telling you to straighten up for a couple more hours, and then you end up with a furrowed brow stuck to your forehead. Like that one over there.” She nodded over in Koyuki's direction. Once at the front, Elizabeth turned and leaned back against her desk. The afternoon sun shined majestically against the white curls of hair flowing down her shoulders. It was half as bright as the smile she gave to Masuyo as she gave to each of them as she snapped her fingers. “Did hear about that MMA fighter that drank mushroom tea and the next thing he did was tear out his best friend’s heart? The bloody thing was still beating in his hands. That’s the kind of productivity a good brew gets you!”

She clapped her hands together and let her attention finally settle on their superior, Masuyo Ai. The one with the eyepatch and the only one who's derriere was evidently comfortable with imported leather. “All that to say, I hope that we have a productive session, Ai-san. So, what can my arena do for you all?”

"-The Kodokan–Totsuka rivalry reached its boiling point when Michitsune Mishima, then head pig of the Tokyo Metropolitan police, requested a tournament pitting the then-obscure style of Kodokan judo against the Totsuka old guard of jujutsu. Kodokan won by a landslide and so the pigs phased out the old hand-to-hand enforcement methods of jujutsu and began incorporating Judo into their training, paving the way for Judo to become one of Japan's leading sports over the next century. This article- Koyuki waved her hand at the framed piece of newspaper in Winterbourne's gallery of martial memorabilia. "-may be one of the few unbiased surviving pieces of documented proof of this historical feud."

Masuyo looked unimpressed. And bored. She yawned very, very dramatically in Koyuki's general direction. It was the 5th one she had issued in the last three minutes of what felt like endless martial babble.

"This does not belong in the office of some white colonist for her personal gratification." Koyuki said, her hands gliding across the tempered glass used to seal away japanese History where no one else could see it. "I'm taking this-"

"For fuck's sake, Ko. You're not. Can you just shut the fuck up, sit down, and wait for Winterbourne to arrive."

"Do you not care that this upstart is hoarding Japanese martial artifacts away and probably masturbating to them-"

"No, I really don't. We have enough of that to go around." Masuyo blinked. "The history, not the wanking." she quickly clarified.

Koyuki shook her head in disappointment, her glare a vicious admonishment. But whatever else was going to be said next was drowned out by the smash of wood against plaster as the twin doors were flung open and this tiny albino creature walked into the room like she owned it. Which she did. The security detail did not move or acknowledge her or even make eye contact. Koyuki stared unashamedly, tracking her the whole way from the entrance to her desk with undisguised hostility. Masuyo, on the other hand, was as relaxed as ever, waving from behind her shoulder to acknowledge the General Manager of Momentum as she made her grand entrance

They say you form your opinion of someone within the first few seconds after meeting them and, as Elizabeth Winterbourne opened her mouth and the english words came spluttering out like a heavy machinegun, Koyuki saw and judged her for what she was:

A salesperson.

One of the lowest lifeforms on this already-diminished earth. A walking, talking piece of living marketing that existed to sell, sell, sell, and sell. Her diction was fast and fleeting. The content was of dubious factuality, steeped in wild anecdotes and insulting assumptions. She offered when not asked. She feigned familiarity with strangers. She sought to create want where it did not exist. The only difference between her and a used car salesperson was the scale at which they operated; she was just a titan-sized version of the same crappy excess-enablers that hung out in dealerships trying to upsell you on that Jaguar.

Masuyo stared ahead with her large lizard smile as Winterbourne took her seat, but her finger tapped at the couch once, twice in Koyuki's direction: behave.

"Thank you for saving me," Masuyo said with a chuckle. She spoke in fluent, slightly accented english. "Nobody in this room is exactly captivating company. No offense, boys and girl." she thumped the closest Yakuza behind her on the stomach in apology. He did not respond or move. "And please, it's just Masuyo. Let's abstain from the formalities. I own a fourth of Momentum; that makes us practically family."

Koyuki rolled her eyes.

"Before we begin. -and we do have a lot to cover- " Masuyo's smile widened ever so slightly. "Let's get the elephant in the room out of the way, yes? I don't want us tiptoeing around it like crippled little ballerinas. Certain occupants -And I'm not naming any names-" Masuyo said with a wink. "Within this room have certain ties to Japan's biggest organized crime syndicate. Rest assured that these occupants do not approach this venture in that guise, but as civilian employees of KTGM Holdings. These four -Kitagiri, Miyamoto, Sato, and Ishida- are members of our corporate security team." Masuyo said, gesturing to the four silent suits, before her gaze shifted to Koyuki. "And this charming young lady is Koyuki, our deputy chief acquisitions officer. You might have seen her around. She's found some small success in Momentum's sister leagues, I heard, though I would like to assure you that her presence here before our investment was a happy-"

Unhappy.

"Coincidence. She was not here to scout."

"Because if I were here to scout-"

"English please. Let's accommodate our host."

Koyuki bit back a snarl. Her next words came in slower, heavily-accented queen-speak. "You losing money. You ask what arena can do for us, but it not even making money. What more can you do? Bad venture."

If the bluntness annoyed Masuyo, she did not show it. She simply shrugged, her smile still plastered on. "You'll forgive my young friend's rudeness. English is not her first language. I assure you, she's a poet in her native tongue. However, she makes a fair point. We came onto this project with expectations that the transition from a boxing promotion outside JBC's control to a more inclusive multi-martial arts promotion would bear fruit. It has not. Frankly, we're not even seeing the seeds. And it's not just us. The rest of the board is... testy. Losing faith. Now, since I have no links to the largest organized crime syndicate in Japan unlike some of the folks here-" Masuyo said, firing off mock-accusing stares at her suited underlings. "-I'm not inclined to make threats. financial or physical. It's not productive at all. So consider this a brainstorming session where we hear your side of the story and consider how are we going to move forward in making this venture a success. Because one way or another, KTMG does not make bad investments."

That's right. Kill Bill. Tanaka was mouthing off and, in a flash, O-Ren sprinted across the table in slippers and decapitated him instantly. One moment, calm and serene, not a wrinkle in place. The next, Lucy Liu had his bloody head in her hands and commanded the entire scene.

That was where Elizabeth stood right now. Masuyo was soft and composed; her speech every bit as indirect as the correspondence that led up to this meeting. But Elizabeth knew a killer when she saw one. Masuyo appeared to be the last woman in this room to move to violence and that was precisely why the CEO was careful to give her regular attention. Masuyo demanded it behind heavy words and thinly veiled implications.

A terrifying scenario that someone like Elizabeth had been inside of enough times, with women less rugged and far less sane, to start to find amusing. She'd forgotten how mafioso savor a bit of drama with their morning coffee.

Elizabeth softened her smile. She stood up and, for the only time she would do so this entire meeting, turned her back to her esteemed guests and stepped around her desk to sit in her chair. The morning clouds parted, and sunlight pooled in from the windows behind her. The glow of the Welsh's snowy hair was a comparably faint luminance brightening the shadowy figures looking back at her. "Well, Masuyo, all I can say is, to whoever those people in this room are, I hope they can deliver on those threats. When you get as many as I do, it's hard to commit the least interesting ones to memory. I hate bad investments as much as the next person, but I hate empty promises just as well."

The Winterbourne propped her hands upon the table, locking her fingers together and leaning in with eyes examining the face of Masuyaban. "I don't see any cause for concern. Our latest report we provided showed everything you, as our investors, should need. We're accepting more fighters by the day and doubled this arena's revenue since our previous administration. By all metrics, Momentum is far outperforming its predecessor. Stock prices are expected to make a major uptick in the next quarter once we begin our cross-branding campaign with Rizin and our reports. I would say cutting out of the pie this early would be remarkably shortsighted."

Not that Elizabeth didn't understand their misgivings. Money is money. You take that money and use it to make more money. That simple concept was as boring for Elizabeth as it was pivotable for everything she had built. Too many times she'd seen that familiar look behind Masuyo's eye and within Koyuki's glower cast back at her from her seat at the table. There were others out there, surely, that had a vision. The yakuza were a far cry from the ideal but they were unorthodox enough. Bold enough. Discrete enough to bring Momentum forward.

All she needed to do was manage that without getting decapitated. Simple. "Patience is key here. Momentum only officially relaunched about four months ago and the rebranding process is taking time. Understand that this is a major promotion with many moving parts and a lot of competition. Especially from its sister agencies. Once Summer Splash and the rest of the annual events come around, we'll have a significantly greater budget to work with to go towards marketing and increasing salaries for everyone under our roster. You'll see the incentives pay off eventually. I guarantee it."

She had to call Quentin about this later. This was beyond ludicrous.

Contrary to popular belief, Koyuki wasn't completely isolated from the corporate side of the business. She knew what Masuyo-san was trying to achieve here and why they needed a nascent sports entertainment juggernaut in bumfuck Osaka, and it went beyond simply launching the stupid fuckin' crypto gambling app that her aneki was always harping on about. Traditionally, Kaitei-gumi territory spanned from Kyoto to Kobe, two-thirds of the overlapping metropolitan region of the Kansai Region called the Keihanshin. The last city that made up the cultural mish-mash of the Keihanshin was, guess who, Osaka, and it was the Kyoto Home Office's generation-long goal to unify the entirety of the Keihanshin's organized crime under Kaitei-gumi rule. Unfortunately, resistance by the Osaka families had been strong. The Kaitei's incursion into Osaka only served to band together the individually weaker families into a united front eager to fight to the last sorry man. Wars had been fought on and off over the last 15 years with little inroads into the heart of Osaka. When it became clear that the Kaitei-Gumi could not commit resources to a two-front war in both Tokyo and Osaka while defending their interests back home, the Osaka campaign was abandoned in favor of the more successful Tokyo campaign spearheaded by Masuyo-san.

Many of the leading hardliners in the Home Office had never forgiven her for her success. What good, they asked, was taking the capital when Kansai remained divided? What good were colonies in Kanto when the native birthright of the Kaitei-gumi remained fractured?

Regardless, a truce was established. The Kaitei would keep their existing meager foothold in Osaka and cease all hostilities. They could run business in their little piece of the pie and that was that. They were kept in check and would be slowly chipped away over the years.

Except... Tokyo had been conquered and the Kaitei-Gumi found itself with a vacancy for fresh war. And while Koyuki hadn't been privy to that particular angry phone call, she knew in her fuckin' bones that Masuyo-san had talked the home office into letting her slide into the backdoor of Osaka to 'redeem' herself for her passive role in sabotaging the reunification of the Keihanshin. Koyuki could only guess at her reasons for this scheme, but from her years of putting up with Masuyo-san, she could guess at the reasons: to shut her enemies and naysayers in the home office up, to point a big fat middle finger at the failed tactics that cost them Osaka, to extend her Corporate holdings to Osaka, and finally-

To become Queen of two cities, Tokyo and Osaka, and leverage it to reach the upper echelons of Kaitei-Gumi leadership. Even with another holding the reins in Osaka after she cleared house, all the actual power -the businesses, the men, the clout- would be hers.

Which led them all back to Momentum, the first big step in the great march.

The conditions of the truce revolved around the forbiddance of violence, anti-expansion into Osaka-claimed territories, and a lot of other annoying little things that did not include going in as a legitimate businessman (or woman), pouring a small fortune into a legitimate megacorp, and choking out the illegitimate gambling and illegal fighting pits. And once the Kaitei cut off the revenue streams of the locals to a satisfactory degree, well, then what was a truce worth when they couldn't enforce it? The Kaitei would break it at their leisure and run their territories red with blood.

And Koyuki wasn't against any of it. Let Masuyo-san have her politics and ambitions and settlement of old grievances. Koyuki did not play those games and she did not care. She was more than happy to wage another war of extermination, she was owed one for a long, long time. On paper, she was more than happy to play her part in this scheme but WHY OH WHY DID THIS ONE-EYED BITCH PICK THE ONE FUCKIN' PROMOTION SHE WAS SPENDING EVERY 2ND WEEKEND OR SO TRYING TO RECLAIM SOME OF THE VIOLENCE THAT HAD BEEN DENIED HER AFTER TOKYO BECAME TOO QUIET.

In a word: terrible.

Terrible, terrible, terrible.

Winterbourne spoke her words of poisoned honey. Lots of corporate jargon flew out from that overprivileged mouth: stock prices, shareholders, cross-branding, blah and blah and so and so and whatever. The forked tongue of a demon salesperson at work. Koyuki didn't hide her disgust, glowering all the way. Masuyo-san, for her part, remained unreadable. That fat lizard stayed fixed on her face and she nodded at some of the points Winterbourne made. Surely, she could see that this entire enterprise was built on rotten sticks; a failed boxing promotion outside the jurisdiction of the JBC converted into a Mixed Martial Arts league - but not in the sense of the UFC or Rizin, but in the sense of truly pitting the various diverse martial arts in the world against each other. It was doomed. Masuyo-san would surely see that, demand reimbursement of her stake at its purchased value, and cut ties with-

"The gameplan is sound," Masuyo-san said, spreading her hands out in concession. No, no, no, no, no. Koyuki's worst fears came to pass.  "And what you've outlined makes sense. While I'm going to need a little more detail than the summary provided, I do agree that pulling out at this time is premature. While the focus on the AFW's budget on its wrestling leagues is still worrying, I do believe you'll be able to convince Maximillion to put more focus into Momentum as results show."

There was never any real intention to withdraw or reevaluate. Koyuki's hopes for otherwise had blinded her. This meeting was simply a glorified reminder to chin up, work hard, and not fail. Or else.

"And your passion is admirable. I do believe-"

"Is joke." Koyuki all but spat out.

"Miss Sanada, do you have anything constructive to add?" Masuyo turned to her very, very slowly. The finger taps came again: behave, behave, behave.

She, uh, did not behave.

"This joke go too far. This house of sticks. Failed boxing turn to UFC copy. Is joke. You know what else joke?" Koyuki violently jerked both hands in the general direction of Winterbourne's little gallery. "This farce. This whole 'I love martial arts' fakeness. Is joke. You say a lot of pretty words and maybe it true, but go on social media. They think Mom-man-tum is joke, a third-rate promotion that does not know what it want to be, a tiny seedling dying in shadow of two great oaks called Tension and Friction." She took a step forward towards Winterbourne's desk, all while turning towards Masuyo. "We should have bought Avalon branch in Osaka-"

"For the last time and for so many reasons, we can't buy Avalon." Masuyo said, her finger tapping getting more and more urgent.

"Not point."

"I apologize for her rudeness-"

"Sanada! Koyuki Sanada! Of course, I recognize you!” Elizabeth's voice cut in between them. She seemed to be giving the lesser yakuza her full attention. “You've accomplished a lot for us in an awfully short time. That amazing match you had against Sara Connor had me on the edge of my seat. I've been all over the world, but I've never seen that kind of brutality outside the Kaiwan style. And that’s not even talking numbers. A Momentum fighter completely dominating one of Tension's dark horses? Practically sells itself. Over a thousand new subscriptions, a twenty percent uptick in viewership, and a seven percent increase in new applications in the recruiting office. Congratulations, you're officially our first fan favorite.”

The ashen-haired General Manager leaned closer in to the desk and sunlight. Her upper body emanated an otherworldly halo and spots of bright luminescence through the silk strands of her hair. Distress was not a mark anywhere on her face. Of course not. She had no problems with criticism. She'd had enough for several lifetimes. Even her closest advisors doubted this venture. And yet she remained unbowed. Liz crossed the sea and staked her claim in the bloodstained sand. It was a simple idea that defined her success; intellect and romance were what would triumph over brute force and cynicism.

Elizabeth leered at the glowering face in a suit-and-tie. Koyuki was a fascinating subject, but she was here to talk with the CEO of BTGM Holdings. She didn't reserve time away from Momentum to hear broken English from the Deputy CAO. Whatever that title meant. If there was anything that Elizabeth hated, it was people that liked playing things safe. “I understand you have other loyalties that can make all of this a little confusing, so I’ll just give you a friendly reminder: per your signed contract with AFW Incorporated, I am your boss. And as your boss, I recognize and pursue the vision for this promotion. And in these trying times, where valued competitors are few and far between, unwilling to entrust their careers aboard a sinking ship and looking to jump at the first opportunity, I believe that those we employ should be committed to our vision. To Momentum and its interests. And if not, I reserve the right to terminate their contract immediately and never fight another day in our arena ever again.”

She regarded Masuyo with a sidelong glance, gauging the reaction. Bullying a partner’s subordinates was hardly the first step to building strong bridges. Yet, it felt interestingly appropriate in this case. Something told her this wasn’t the first time that Ms. Sanada liked to make her opinion known. At least Gogo knew how to keep her mouth shut and hit herself in the back of the head. Her real-life sister was nowhere near as cooperative.

“Tragic as that would be, I’m sure I would have no problem finding a suitable substitute, with a bit of extra help. So long as they’re agreeable and half as easy on the eyes.” Subtle. She doubted Koyuki had any particular opinion on her looks, but objectively, it helped. Fighting had as much to do with beauty as it did with skill. The Winterbourne rose her head, making her smile nice and visible to her honored guests. “I would greatly appreciate your assistance should it come to that, Masuyo.”

This conversation reminded Koyuki of her least favorite assassination two or so years back; a constitutional democratic member of the Tokyo block's National Diet named Takao Yamada. Something about needing to unbalance the Tokyo block's voting ratio to keep a bill that would, among other things, strengthen Yakuza exclusion Ordinances in Kansai. It was her introduction to how many layers of bullshit you had to jump through to kill a rich, influential personage of the public. She was akin to a child that said, "Are we there yet?" every time she asked Masuyo-san whether she could please, please, please go down and lay the man to rest. But no, much needed to be done before the killing blow could be struck. Smear campaigns, reputational dissections, motive diversions to other interested parties, collaboration with fixers from the shadier side of the liberal democrats. It was a bureaucratic clusterfuck that took months to play out, and by the time she pumped his drunken ass full of Ritalin in some seedy pub and watched the drugs do her job, the deed felt hollow. She was simply a cog in a murder machine, and arguably the least important part of the whole thing.

And now staring at Winterbourne's smug face and watching her smug mouth give her smug speech, she was very much considering cutting through all the criminal red tape, grabbing her by her stupid white hair, pulling her head back, and ramming her through her over-designed window frame. The little touches of flattery that sandwiched the main message only served to piss her off further. She took a step forward and-

"She's perfect, isn't she?" Masuyo-san said in Japanese, turning towards her. She smiled and lifted up a finger in Winterbourne's direction as if asking for a moment. "Not like some cowardly Japanese executive. She's what we need."

"Arrogance bourne from western privilege." Koyuki spat back as she cocked her head in Masuyo-san's direction, reverting back to her much more comfortable native tongue. "A pliable figurehead is-"

"Going to be Local. Native. Osakian." Masuyo-san responded. She tapped her head twice. "Think."

"I am not a child to be lectured." Koyuki said, lifting a finger. This was embarassing. Not in front of the men and this foreigner. "Do not-"

"Think, Ko. Why are we using a rich foreigner who takes no shit?" Masuyo-san turned back to Winterbourne. "Just hashing out some issues," she said in her smooth english. "We're almost sorted out."

Why...? And then it hit her.

"The Osaka families won't do business with a gaijin." Koyuki said, hand cupping her chin. The scorn was replaced with a thoughtful expression. Frankly, the Kaitei-Gumi didn't either, but Masuyo-san always did liked it better outside soft rules.  "There's no counteroffer from the locals."

"And a gaijin means they'll think twice messing with her. A billion times so when it's Richie over here. A dead gaijin means embassy, embassy means international outcry, international outcry means legislative beatdowns on the locals."

"Maybe we should kill her then and blame it on the local-"

"Why is everything death, death, death, death, death to you." Masuyo said, raising both hands up in barely restrained exasperation. To Winterbourne's perspective, Masuyo-san just said the word "Satsujin" about five times in a row. "We've had this conversation a lot of times: there's no such thing as an assassin's economy. This isn't John Wick. There ain't no secret silver currency every time you clap a hoe. Even if murder were the option here, the same legislative restrictions will take years to pry apart once we take local territory-"

"What is John Wick?"

"Not the fuckin' point. She has the qualities to insulate her from the local families."

"And her... disposition means she won't be easily threatened. She won't cave."

"Ding ding ding, ten points for Slytherin."

"What is Slythe-"

"Don't."

"Still a shit product."

"That's for time to vindicate." Masuyo-san turned back to Winterbourne. The smile on her face, faltering as she talked to her murder-happy lieutenant, was back in place. "That option does not need to be exercised. Miss Sanada has revaluated the prospects of this investment. Yes?"

No. The company didn't even matter at all. Koyuki just needed this controlling bitch (and she wasn't sure whether she walking about Masuyo or Winterbourne anymore) out of her spare time, but the logic of acquiring this company made sense. She could not refute it from the angle of Kaitei interests. She would find another angle eventually, but not today.

"Sure." the Yakuza captain shrugged. She pointed at the frame. "Love the decor," she added insincerely.

She wondered whether Winterbourne could speak Japanese or at least understand it in part. Masuyo-san would not have chanced that entire conversation being understood otherwise... which likely meant that the little exchange between them was as much for her benefit as it was for Winterbourne, to illuminate that they were the only possible partners for her.

Devious bitch.

Elizabeth hadn't been expecting to play the third wheel in her meeting.

Not that it wasn't an interesting development. She had the temptation in the back of her mind to roleplay a marriage counselor, handing out stress balls and asking Koyuki to try and understand the sensitivity of Masuyo's feelings before passing judgment. Tempting, but her rationality and instincts of self-preservation kept the young Winterbourne's mouth shut. Something told her the humor would be lost on a curmudgeonly yakuza and her loyal pet.

Elizabeth sat patiently, nodding to Masuyo on occasion and allowing them both to deliberate for as long as they needed. Her presence became muted into the background, watching as an owl on a stoop as the two went back and forth. It was difficult to ascertain how much of the exchange the CEO was picking up and how little she had comprehended. Not much longer, they broke away from their private conversation. Koyuki’s response raised Elizabeth’s ashen brows and a glance behind her.

Are windows decor?

When did the money-grubbing Kaitei-Gumi develop a sense of aesthetics? She remembered her father’s exchanges with them being incredibly placid and inside beige-colored office cells with no natural light. Elizabeth reclined in her chair and locked her fingers together.

“Thank you. You fight nice. Continue do good job, yes?” She threw Koyuki an approving smile and nod before her attention came back to Masuyo-san. With the dust settled, they might as well get to brass tax. There were no hiding Momentum’s shortcomings. Not from the public and certainly not from KTGM Holdings. “So it sounds like you’ll all be sticking it out for now. Brilliant. That renews my confidence beyond words. Retaining our largest shareholders in Momentum will be more than enough to convince Maximillion, I’m sure.”

Not that he would care. Max was the same as her. That was half the reason she was even sitting in this chair. The money came and went. But the ‘who’s the strongest’ and ‘who’s the best’? That was eternal.

“I’ll provide you with a full report before the start of this fiscal year. We’re constantly exploring new avenues for expansion so that we can be more accommodating to our roster which is growing more and more diverse by the month. Though that’s a tricky bit of business in Osaka, as I’m pretty sure you know well enough. There are one or two zaibatsu remnants - at least I imagine - that aren’t interested in opening their inheritance to a pretty Welsh woman with a big arena. Makes joint ventures difficult. We’re more or less on an island if we’re looking to create more opportunities for Momentum, regardless of how big our budget turns out.”

"Sounds good, sounds good, sounds good." Masuyo-san said, rubbing her hands with almost child-like glee. Without breaking her stare with Winterbourne, she patted the empty Italian-leathered seat next to her, indicating the spot where she wanted Koyuki to lay her pants-covered behind; a pet owner inviting her very grouchy cat to cozy up. It was a negotiation routine she was intimately familiar with: she threatened and demanded blood, Masuyo-san bargained and soothed, and once the Yakuza boss got what she wanted from the other side of the table, she invited Koyuki to sit down. It was a peace gesture as effective as the sheathing of a blade or holstering of a gun, and it assured the other side that murder was no longer on the table.

She played into their years-old pattern even when she was trying to NOT get Masuyo-san what she wanted.

It should have been demeaning but Koyuki was oddly fine with it. There was an elegant simplicity to being just a knife pointed at someone's throat, to exist in that circumstantial inch between mercy and murder. She had no problem being a tool. Preferred it actually. Koyuki walked across the back of the sofa, passing between the Yakuza duo flanking Masuyo and Winterbourne's little martial arts shrine, and dropped herself onto the Italian leather with a warranty-violating plop, crossing her right leg over her left thigh.

"Manners." Masuyo-san scolded, giving her an admonishing pat on the shoulder.

When they started their warpath in Tokyo, Koyuki was called a lot of things by a lot of people. Gogo Yubari was one such demeaning nickname, apparently derived from a crazy teenage Yakuza girl from some old movie directed by a guy who liked feet too much. It never piqued her curiosity enough for her to check it out. Crazy bitch, sure, got called that a lot. Masuyo's Little Helper? That one didn't quite catch on but she heard it now and then. The beta bitch? Oh that one was bandied around quite a bit. A lot of now-dead tongues called her a lot of things.

But no one had ever called her Masuyo-san's dog.

Because she was, as mentioned earlier, so very clearly her cat. And like all functioning owner-cat relationships, they annoyed the shit out of each other. She talked back without repercussion or threat of missing fingers the same way a cat would bat a vase down or lie down onto a laptop and meow for attention. In turn, Masuyo-san had forced her to expand out of the role of a simple enforcer/assassin which, to Koyuki, was the rough equivalent of giving your kitten a bath. But between the shouting and the insults and the brazen insubordination, there was unspoken familiarity and affection. Her loyalty, unlike her mental stability, was never in question.

She had a few sisters back home in Kyoto and yet her two Masuyos were the closest she felt to having one.

"Right, there's just one little snag. It's no dealbreaker, which is why I saved it for after we've reaffirmed our partnership." Masuyo-san said. She didn't look or sound concerned. "I have it on good authority that Rizin's about to sink into a bit of a legal quagmire in the coming weeks-"

"Again?"

"Yup."

"Same reason."

"Yuuuuuup."

Before Rizin, there was Dream. Before Dream, there was Pride. Rizin was the third iteration of Japan's flagship MMA organization. The 2nd iteration, Dream, was felled by liquidity issues. Its first iteration, Pride, on the other hand owed its death to something else:

Yakuza. Not the Kaitei-Gumi, of course, who only came down from Kyoto after the turn of the century, but one of their local predecessors they put to the sword.

Now normally ties with Yakuza wouldn't be anything close to a death blow, but in a time before the internet, television broadcasts were king. And Fuji TV, the official broadcast for Pride, did not take kindly to the scandal. They cut all ties and left Pride out to dry. Powered entirely by television contracts, Pride died an ignoble death and the then-nascent UFC swooped in to buy its assets. While Rizin was no longer as reliant on tv in the 21st century, it turns out Japanese streaming services were just as resistant to Yakuza scandals as their older counterparts. Abema would surely suspend Rizin streaming for the foreseeable future.

And cripple their reach for the cross-branding campaign.

"Been holding this one close to your chest, haven't you?" Koyuki grumbled in Japanese.

"You don't get any more ammo." Masuyo quipped back in English. "But yes, Rizin will be out of the picture for the foreseeable future. The name will be toxic for at least the short term. It's not us if you're wondering, they got caught in bed with those goons down in Yokohama. I'll also like to assure you that the same situation that will befall Rizin will not happen to Momentum. KTGM is a purely legitimate enterprise and, even if some journalist uncovers something," Masuyo-san's laughed. It was the laugh of a child in on her own joke. "Well, I have strong ties to the media. PLUS, AFW's got its own streaming service, no? No dinosaurs at the helm there to chicken out on some bad press."

…are they a couple?

No. Daughter? Mother? Her PI would have picked up on that, she thought.

Elizabeth was still trying to gain the exact measure of these two, but it seemed like the further she theorized the less the reality in front of her made sense. After digging into her background, she’d been skeptical that Koyuki, as one of the earliest additions to Momentum, was brought under their arena as a forward scout. To keep a close eye on their arena as the latest business in Osaka.

But the more she saw based on what she knew, the less confident she felt in that assertion. Elizabeth trusted in behavior before words. It revealed more in a shorter amount of time. Koyuki’s cadence felt more in line with a petulant adolescent forced to be present against her will. The finger-wagging from her superior was eerily paternal as well. How much of this was an act and how much was the truth; it was hard to tell.

Whatever the case, they were good actors. With better intel.

Rizin’s ties to the yakuza were nothing new to her. Entrepreneurship just didn’t happen in Japanese cities without certain assurances. It was only a matter of time before they got caught slipping. She’d have just preferred more warning. Either way, it was nice to know someone was watching her back. For a while, at least.

"Is that right? Well, that’s terribly disappointing. Nobuyuki assured me he could keep that all under wraps. But then, I suppose that’s what you pay for backing the guy behind three failed businesses. Three more than I have, anyway.” Elizabeth rested her chin against her fist, half-trying to cover a snicker. If there were any worries or second-thoughts racing through the Winterbourne’s mind, they didn’t make themselves known. She’d known better than to keep all of her eggs in one basket.

“Never say never is a good rule of thumb in global business. It’s better to plan for the assurance that something will happen rather than trying to prevent it. I’m not quite saying I can’t trust you, Masuyo, but KTGM and its subsidiaries aren’t exactly spotless. As long as I have your assurances that KTGM will remain a purely legitimate enterprise, then Momentum has no issue doing business with you. But only for that long.”