The Queen’s Denial

Chapter 21 Chi

Chapter 21

Chi

As I’m finishing my fencing lesson the next afternoon, I feel my father’s presence behind me and step away from my instructor, turning around to face him and giving a bow of acknowledgement.

“Good afternoon, Chichi-chan. I have come to remind you that you meet with your first match in three days time.” I hope he’s been watching me to see if I’m as astute a pupil while he’s not here as I am while he is. I have been on point during this lesson, so I hope he’s satisfied. I even won a whole match just 20 minutes ago, and I silently pray with all my might that he was here to see it.

I incline my head in respect. “Yes, Papa. I’m excited to finally continue this process.”

I’m not at all, especially as my brain flashes to the sweet but intense lightning bolt of an orgasm Andy gave me yesterday. Unfortunately, honor requires me to say a lot of things I wish I didn’t have to say.

It always pays off when he looks at me with that satisfied expression and nods his head. “Yes, we have been delayed quite a bit, but now that there is relative peace, we’ll be able to quickly move forward. This should all be taken care of in a matter of months. You will have five matches, and after you meet with all of them, you will choose two for another round of interviews, and then make your final choice.”

I feel like the host of a game show when he says it like that, but I just nod sharply, almost aggressively, at his description, determined to make the best of it. “Yes, Papa.”

The few days I still have pass by quickly. Nothing will change, at least for now, I tell myself. I hold Andy a little closer, and as if he knows why, he squeezes me back. The week comes and goes, and the only buzzkill to mine and Andy’s time together is my personal assistant reminding me about my upcoming visitors each day.

Andy leaves early in the morning on the day that I’m scheduled to meet with the first match. I sigh as I watch him stalk toward the guard house out my bedroom window, as enamored with his ass in his tactical pants as I am with the prospect of surprising him with my Princess Leia bikini and fucking him while the Star Wars theme song plays in the background later.

My father comes in to speak with me about the man I’ll be meeting and possibly marrying. He gives me short details, reminds me to be charming and demure, and gives me a list of approved topics to discuss. I already have all of this information, but I know it makes Papa feel better to remind me, so I nod after each reminder to show that I understand.

My father leaves me to get ready after our talk. Although I have to play the meek role, Papa lets me dress up more or less the way I want to for these things, even when they are to be as formal as this one will be. I wear my black lotus print Yukata dress. My red lipstick is a dark contrast to the pink flowers, and the manicure I got yesterday perfectly shapes my nails into the slightly pointy claws he will feel tearing his eyes out if he comes too close to me.

I look just the way I want to look while I’m forced to stare shyly and prettily into his eyes. I’m sure he’ll be completely uninterested in me anyway, as all the others will be, but I can hope he’s perhaps a little bit scared when he thinks of what it would be like to cross me.

As I expected, when I come into the room to sit down to tea with him, he has his eyes glued to his cell phone. They dart to me so quickly I can’t even discern his eye color, and he huffs and puts the phone down on the table, as if I’m bothering him during private time.

We are formally introduced by Daiki while he stares at his phone from the corner of his eye, and then gives a hurried bow and gets right back on. Meanwhile, of course, I wasn’t even allowed to bring a phone into the room with me today. It wouldn’t do for it to vibrate while my full attention should be on the pinnacle of Japanese male wealth and power before me.

Although the pinnacle of male wealth and power, this one decidedly is not. As it turns out, even after he sighs and puts his phone away, he makes little conversation or eye contact. I pour the tea for us both in silence, the way I’ve been taught to do it and practiced my entire life, and then sit back down across from him.

He stares at the steaming liquid in disinterest. I give the entire required minute to allow him to say the first word, but apparently, it will be on me to jumpstart this conversation. It will be a bit of a juggling act, though, because I’m not allowed to show that I have too many thoughts in my pretty little head.

I throw out the most mundane comment I can think of. “I hope your flight was satisfactory, Sota-sama,” I say with my head lowered before taking a dainty sip of tea.

“Yes, it was fine,” comes his clipped reply, and then silence again. This is going to be like pulling fucking teeth. Especially since I’m not allowed to bring up much outside of the weather and his appearance. And I’m not supposed to look at him too much, especially if he isn’t engaging me.

I take a centering breath. “I enjoy reading during the long trip.”

He finally takes a sip of his tea before his back pocket buzzes again, and out comes the phone, his gaze riveted to it. “Mmmhmm,” he says as his eyes dance across whatever the fuck has popped up on there. I would love to throw my tea in his face and stomp out of the room, but I swallow down my annoyance and calmly wait for him to put it away.

I feel a bit uncertain of my next move to steer the conversation in the right direction, but the wrath of this asshole’s father can’t be worse than the pain of sitting in silence with him right now. “Daiki-sama tells me you enjoy and are quite adept at throwing pottery. Are you self-taught?”

He finally looks at me, but even though I’m not really supposed to look him in the eye yet, I catch his gaze out of my peripheral vision. He’s a little frustrated, it seems, and the sigh that leaves his lips a moment later feels like confirmation of that suspicion.

“Our fathers are billionaires, Kohai. Do you really think I would teach myself?”

He calls me by the condescending nickname “Junior,” like I am beneath him. I bite down on my back teeth, slowly lifting my cup to my mouth and blowing over the hot beverage while counting backward from five. I want to smack this motherfucker, but I have to consider my words before I spout off something that I will most certainly regret later.

Finally, I come up with a good enough retort that I can play dumb later and pretend I was simply innocently trying to submit to the junior role he seems to have made for me.

I widen my eyes to appear innocent and purse my lips in serious contemplation. “Oh, of course not. Molding clay into pots seems like a skill that would take you an immense amount of time to learn. You must not be the only person who needs help with such an undertaking.” I make my tone as cloyingly sincere as I possibly can.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily for me, Sota takes the hidden meaning behind my words: that he is a brick-headed, ignorant simpleton. At least he’s smarter than I thought he was.

His eyebrows furrow in anger. “Are you showing insolence, Chichi-san?” He asks this as though he can’t possibly believe this could be the case.

“Oh, I would never, Sota-san.” I put just the hint of an inflection on the lesser, more informal honorific that he is using for me instead of the more formal “-sama” that I used earlier. I bow my head in an apparent sign of respect, but really, it’s to hide by burgeoning smirk.

He looks off to where his father is likely waiting outside of the room to see how our meeting is going, and then does something incredibly stupid. “You give me a baka na komusume who dares to disrespect me? Instead of Akina?”

Ah, so it’s another woman that he’s being pulled away from that has him in such a shitty mood. Along with calling me an “idiotic little girl” in Japanese, he’s also invoked the name of a woman he’s likely involved with in Japan. I couldn’t give a shit less, but I force tears to form in my eyes. I’ve been able to do this since I was a child, and it comes in quite handy in situations such as this when I have to make it appear that I’m the fragile, emotional, thin-skinned little shrinking violet I’m supposed to be.

“I—I am so sorry you feel that I have disrespected you. I would never dream of dishonoring my family or yours with such behavior. I am shamed that I have pushed you to such a point in front of our goryōshin.” Once I remind him that he is making a scene in front of our parents, as my father will most certainly see this later if he isn’t watching right now anyway, I fully bow my head to hide my obvious smile. I’m glad it’s dim in this room, or else it would be quite obvious that I’m about to laugh, even as I hide it inside the cringe of my shoulders.

Finally, my father comes in, which is the moment I have been hoping for. I imagine that Sota didn’t realize he was around or that he would even care about how I was being treated by a rich and powerful man. Since so little is known about my father, it is often assumed that he is as distant as any other Yakuza leader would be from his daughter.

I have also only been with Daiki for the entire time Sota has been here, so there was no real reason to believe that my father would care about how this was going today. But as he stalks toward us, it’s obvious. Sota goes silent immediately, trying and failing to hide his immediate distress. And he’s right to be nervous, because he’s about to get his ass thoroughly beaten by my father.

My father is silent, calmly staring daggers into Sota’s brain, by the looks of it. His fiery gaze does not leave Sota’s for a moment, even as Sota’s falters multiple times. It’s good because it gives Sota more time to shit his pants and me more time to perfect my pouting, teary expression without giving away the fact that I’m lit up like a grinning Jack-o-lantern inside.

My father walks slowly to Sota. The thing about my father is that, even with a slight limp from his recent injury, at the age of 61, in mediocre shape, he still manages to look like a combustion engine ready to explode. Sota can’t meet his gaze. The closer he gets, the scarier he becomes, like a looming supervillain ready to strike.

The real problem for Sota is certainly not that he can’t hurt my father; he has his gun, I’m sure, and likely a couple of throwing knives or some other type of weapon he has mastered. It’s not that he can’t take him on physically, of course;I’m sure Sota is no older than 30 years and in the prime of his health. But what he can’t outrun is my father’s reach. He can’t outrun the power and influence. Not many truly can, and that is what scares everyone into doing whatever he wants.

Sota looks past my father to see if his own will come to his aid. But I know he won’t. I’ve seen this before; I’ve seen my father get like this, and it won’t be pretty. Well, I’ll have fun watching the fireworks, but Sota and his family certainly won’t be happy.

“Do you disrespect my daughter by bringing another woman’s name into my house?” my father asks in Japanese. Speaking Japanese, in my household, is always a sign that someone is well and truly fucked. “Have you not been taught to treat her as the beautiful, rare orchid that she is?”

Sota says nothing. I think he knows it’s better to stay silent. There’s nothing he can say now, and he’s going to have to take his punishment, whatever that may be.

My father’s searing look turns even more menacing as his brows turn down. “Are you looking for Papa to save you now? I can see your wandering eyes. You are a coward, and you have brought your family only shame and embarrassment today. My daughter, my title, and my power will never be yours. In fact, at this point, you will be lucky to leave here alive.”

Sota is shaking in his boots at this point. He knows something is coming, but the anticipation of how bad it will truly be is almost worse than the actual act itself. Even I wouldn’t mind watching him get a few fingers and a wrist broken, but I do really hope my father holds himself back from killing him. I only wanted him to make an example of this asshole.

My father may not be as fast or robust as he used to be, but he still moves with tiger-like grace, and he knows what he’s doing. In my family, we’ve all been trained by the best for years in many different forms of hand-to-hand combat. Even I myself am adept at fencing, have risen to Karate black belt master, and have been trained to use knives and guns as well. I’ve never used it in a real-life situation, and am not really allowed to flaunt it anyway, but my father made sure the traditions passed down to the family’s heirs were also passed to me.

My father has Sota’s hands behind his back in seconds and bends his arm up in such a way that it pops as casually and easily as if he’s breaking up chicken wings to cook for dinner. The man cries out in pain and nearly loses his balance as my father rears back and punches him directly in the jaw. I hear it break. He’s probably going to need metal braces for a while after that punch, and he’s going to be dropping some serious cash on new teeth. Maybe I can hook him up with the new 1-800-DENTIST friend I met at the bar a few weeks ago.

I nearly titter to myself at my own inside joke, and, of course, my father catches it like the omniscient being he is. I can see his eyes slide to me for a fraction of a second, and I know at that moment that I’m in big trouble.

A broken nose and a busted kneecap later, Sota is clutching his face and moaning on the floor.

Papa calls out for Sota’s father to come into the room. Hitoshi shuffles into the room with his head down, fists at his side.

“Hitoshi-san,” my father says in a deadly tone. “You dare to bring this shameful, disobedient filth into my house?”

Hitoshi bows deeply, hands together as if he’s praying, in quite the apologetic display. “I beg for your forgiveness, Taicho. He will be punished severely at home as well.”

“He will not receive dental care. You will not fix his teeth. He will not go to a hospital, and his nose will not be reset. Do you understand?”

Hitoshi pauses for a split second too long, and my father’s fingers whip out to push against the carotid arteries on his neck. “Perhaps I should simply kill both of you. Leave your wife and four daughters with no male figures in their lives.”

Hitoshi shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. Of course, whatever you say, Taicho.”

“Get him out of my house. If I ever see him again, I will kill him. Then I will kill you, too.”

With that, my father turns on his heel, grabs my arm, and leaves the room with me.

*****

“Was there something about what I said in our last conversation that was unclear, Chichi-kun?”

My father is using a formal honorific that slates me as “junior,” instead of the sweet “-chan” he usually uses with me. I keep my head bowed and stick to short sentences. They always serve me better. “No, Oto-san.”

“Do you make a mockery of our customs, daughter?”

“No, Oto-san.”

My father loses his shit and throws his desk phone to the floor, shattering the pieces and sending them skating across the room.

“You make a mockery of our family! You shame everything we have done for you. Everything we have given you. Everything we have sacrificed. All for what? Your stupid American jokes and inclinations?” He roars at me, and although I pride myself on never cowering, I do it now.

I feel tears prick my eyes. I hate it when my father is upset with me, and it’s always worse because it’s so rare that he loses control like this. I don’t even try to make up a story or pretend I don’t understand what he’s talking about. “I am so sorry, father. Of course, you taught me better than this. I meant no disrespect, and I should not have provoked him in such a manner.”

My father is still seething, but he settles down just a bit after my immediate acknowledgment of his anger and my quick apology for what I’ve done.

“This is what is best for you, Chichi-chan. I don’t go through this process for me or anyone else. Perhaps it would not be what you would choose if you could. But when have we ever been able to choose, my daughter? You must do what I’m asking. Do you understand me? Do you understand the importance of this task?”

I hate that I need to answer this, because sometimes I don’t understand. Sometimes I don’t understand why we can’t break out of this life, if only in some small ways. But I know I have to nod, so I force myself to do so. There is still a tense silence for the longest minute of my life. Then, just like that, my father sighs, and the tension breaks.

I stare hard at the bottom of his desk, blinking rapidly and sniffing once more, and then chance a quick, darting gaze upward. My father stares off at the wall in contemplation. I pray that the contemplation is over soon. Although he doesn’t seem as angry, I can never be sure of what he’s feeling since he hides it away even better than I do.

“He would not have made a sufficient husband for you anyway, my Chichi-chan.” I dart my glance up once more and see him looking at me with a hint of fondness in his gaze, and I try to hold back my sigh of relief at the weight it lifts off my chest. “He is clearly in love with another. No man who loves another is good enough for you.”

My heart drops and I swallow thickly. He’s right of course, but I wonder for a moment if that sentiment goes both ways. And I wonder what he’d think about what Andy and I have been doing these past few months.

Don’t think about that. It doesn’t do anyone any good. You are good at pretending and being civil, and that’s what matters. There’s no reason to think further into it, and I really don’t want to. So, I simply nod, staying silent again.

“The man who makes a good match for you will show respect to you whether or not I am there. This is how I will be able to tell that you will at least be respected within their household.”

I nod rotely but allow my gaze to veer upward slightly, which is how I end up seeing my father’s small, barely-there smirk as he continues. “The man who wins your hand will also have a full set of teeth in their mouth. And a straight nose.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing but can’t keep my smile down. Relief oozes out of me. My father has shown once again that he is always on my side, no matter what.

I still know my place well enough to realize that speaking would be a bad idea, so I stay silent until he dismisses me with a wave of his hand.

“Oh, and Chichi-chan,” he calls to me before I leave the office.

“Yes, Oto-san?” I ask, feeling as though I’m getting a crick in my neck from the permanent downward tilt of my head over the past few hours.

“See to it that tomorrow goes better.”

I nod firmly. “Yes, of course.”