Assassin! Ishimaru Kiyotaka

A Regular James Hickok

(The pic is of my OC, whom is later in the story)

The phone buzzed silently in his pocket. The only light in the dim apartment. Kiyotaka had sat there, shrouded in darkness, slumped over with his head in his hands for only god knows how long. He jumped at the vibration, hastily reaching into his pocket to uncover the number. He recognized it.

It was the number of his opponent. The new prime minister.

With shaking hands he answered the phone.

"..hello?" His voice was quiet, timid. He wasn't sure if the man over the phone could hear his shaky breathing and feel his distress.

"Ishimaru! Dear boy, have you seen the news?"

The older man answered with a cheerful tone that was almost saturated in pride.

"Yes. Congratulations." He muttered in return, clutching his phone with both hands to his ear.

"Ah thank you, yes, it's quite the shame. You were superb to run against, truly superb! I thought for sure you would have beaten me. But alas, we cannot change the past so we must look to the future, dear boy!" He chuckled softly, Kiyotaka could almost feel his patronizing smile through the phone.

"Yes. The future." He echoed, feeling like a robot.

"Speaking of the future, if you're free this week, I would like to meet up with you for a nice luncheon. There are some things I'd like to discuss with you. Ah- that's the door. Sorry I can't talk much longer, but I wish to hear from you soon! See you tomorrow." And without another second to ask any questions, the man hung up, leaving Kiyotaka in the deafening silence again.

The luncheon was indeed the next day, at some small mom and pop restaurant. The new Prime minister was dressed to the nines, a brilliantly ironed suit paired well with the expensive jewelry he adorned himself with. Most likely gifts from friends or family as a congratulations.

Kiyotaka felt extremely underdressed sitting across from the pompous all-smiles politician, his simple suit he had to throw on that morning in a panic still had creases from the last time he had worn it. The last time being at a performative rally, back when he still had ambition and a hopeful gleam in his eye. Back when he had ideas and goals to make a bright future for those he loved, for those he cared about. Just yesterday. And there he sat, feeling empty again. Except this time, there was no returning.

He stared down at the still-full cup of coffee he had ordered, watching the steam curl off it's voidlike surface. He didn't even like coffee. His vision flicked up toward the politician, barely tuning in on whatever self important talk he was expressively spouting. Something about his connections with people in high up positions and his ancestor's history. Kiyotaka cradled the porcelain mug in both hands and slowly lifted it to his lips, letting the pungent scent fill his senses and burn his hands. He tipped the cup to let the burning liquid touch his lips, and scald his tongue as it passed through. The flavor was simple and bitter, it almost made his nose wrinkle with disgust. Almost. It made his mouth feel dry.

"Ishimaru? Are you listening, dear boy?"

Kiyotaka's brow twitched at the undermining nickname he had bestowed upon him.

"Of course, Mr. Kenryoka. You were speaking about your daughter and her spectacular talents."

He praised his intuition and quick thinking, catching the tail end of his discussion. His red eyes rose to meet the politician's mildly shocked expression.

"Ah, yes. Of course. It seems we got a bit off topic." He smiled politely, placing his utensils down he had been previously using to scarf down the three course meal he had ordered. It was almost fascinating watching him talk and eat at the same time. He had started the conversation and led most of it with a few interjections from Kiyotaka to keep the conversation alive when Kenryoku had run a topic dry. Kiyotaka glanced at the clock, noticing how a whole hour had passed by since the two had arrived at the restaurant.