Control You - ManjiroXReader (Bonten)

Chapter 1: I'm stronger than all my men... except for you

"Hey, Emma, who's that?" I inquired, directing my attention to the sole other girl in the dojo. It was a sweltering summer day, and I found myself captivated by the extraordinary talent of a blond boy who happened to be two years my senior. He couldn't have been more than ten years old, yet he could effortlessly overpower kids twice his size.

"Oh, that's my brother, Mikey! He's incredibly strong. I wish I could fight even half as well as he does," she responded, her voice tinged with a touch of disappointment. I hadn't realized that Emma had siblings, and I was still relatively new to the Sano Dojo, not yet having committed everyone's names to memory. Nevertheless, I had certainly taken notice of him. He was undeniably exceptional, a martial arts prodigy.

"Hey, you! Mikey!" I called out from across the dojo, catching his attention. "Huh?" He appeared puzzled by my summons, making his way over to us with a look of disinterest. "I don't fight girls," he declared, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, as if I were an enigma.

"Why not? Are you scared?" Few things in life irked me as much as being underestimated simply because I was a girl. "Give it a rest. I'm not going to fight you," he responded, observing me with apparent indifference. This boy was clearly obtuse if he thought I'd simply let the matter slide. After his dismissive remark, I darted to the other end of the dojo. He watched me with a quizzical expression, wondering what I was up to. Then, without warning, I sprinted towards him, managing to knock him to the ground. But my triumph was short-lived, as he swiftly reversed our positions, effectively trapping me.

"See? You couldn't even keep me down for more than ten seconds," he declared, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Well, why don't you teach me? I want to learn how to fight," I shot back, my tongue poking out defiantly. We paused for a moment, our eyes locked, before breaking into laughter.

"You're something else, you know that? What if you get hurt?" he teased. "Well, then I'll get back up and try again," I retorted, sticking my tongue out playfully.

"Why do you even want to learn to fight, anyway?" he inquired as we both settled onto the dojo floor. "One day, I'll become the best detective in Japan, and I'll need to know how to defend myself," I replied, adopting a slightly pretentious tone.

"Well, I'll teach you how to fight on one condition," the blond-haired boy proposed, a mischievous grin lighting up his features. "What's the condition?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. "That you'll marry me when we grow up," he stated, his smile causing me to blush ever so slightly. It marked the very first time I had experienced this peculiar sensation, the very first time I blushed because of a boy. I typically found boys to be off-putting and unapproachable, but he was different, genuine, and oddly comforting.

"Mikey..."

At the break of dawn, I jolt awake, my body drenched in panic-induced sweat. The dream persists, the vivid memory of our very first meeting. Where is he now? It's been years since his presence graced my life, transforming someone who was once my everything into an unfamiliar stranger. Maybe it's for the best, I tell myself; he was destined to carve a new path for delinquents. What I failed to foresee was just how sinister that path would become.

In the quiet dawn of another Tokyo day, the rhythm of routine plays out like a familiar melody. It's a well-choreographed sequence: awakening, methodically arranging the bed, indulging in meditation, a brisk run to chase the lingering night away, the soothing embrace of a shower, the careful selection of attire, and a punctual breakfast—all orchestrated with precision to conclude by 8 AM. A cup of black coffee stands as a silent companion in this daily symphony. These rituals, a testament to my craving for control, for an illusion of order in the relentless chaos. My devotion is unwavering, bound to my career. From the depths of memory, I've emerged as an overachiever, a slave to detail, a seeker of control, and an addict to the intoxicating elixir of power.

The television flickers to life, a harbinger of my day's forecast through the lens of the news. "It's a sunny 8:30 am morning in Tokyo, and we have breaking news of a dead body found near Tokyo Tower this morning. The victim appears to have fallen from the tower's zenith. Witnesses claim to have seen the fatal plunge. Sir, you mentioned having some information?"

More of these supposed accidents keep unfolding. "It was Bonten!! This is what they do! They prey on people who cannot pay... this man was murdered!" The accusations ring out, futile against the enigmatic Bonten. Urban legends in the city's underbelly, they orchestrate the perfect crimes, leaving no trace. "Sir, none of the facts state any third parties involved; this has been reported as suicide."

Control permeates every facet of society—news, police, government—they are omnipresent. "You are all pigs! The cops! Reporters! They bought you all!" Frustration mounts, and I cut off the TV, recalling that every mention of Bonten brings a fresh wave of death. Blackmail, money, bullets—always getting their way. At the helm of their operations is someone I used to know. "Mikey..." The name lingers, a haunting connection to a past stained with shadows and secrets.

A message from Naoto pierces through my thoughts, "Good Morning, Y/N! I'm at your favorite coffeeshop. Want me to grab you some coffee and leave it on your desk?" My fiancé's thoughtfulness is undeniable, yet despite his efforts, love remains an elusive sentiment. I care for Naoto; he's an exceptional friend and partner, but the journey to love feels like an uphill battle. "That's sweet, thank you!"

"Anything for you, babes. See ya soon." Perhaps, in the gentle passage of time, Naoto's sweetness might weave its way into my heart. He isn't a bad guy—compassionate, respectful of boundaries, and unfailingly honest. Yet, there's an unshakable feeling of monotony, an undercurrent of boredom that I can't seem to escape.

I gather my stuff, and make my way to headquarters. Days at the station are usually calm, but today isn't one of them. Chaos engulfs the room as I step in, glancing at my desk to find my coffee still warm, accompanied by a note from Naoto: "Everyone's talking about the body they found by Tokyo Tower." A predictable scenario.

Sipping the coffee, the cream and sugar offer a comforting respite. I prefer my second cup sweeter and lighter than the first. As I peruse some files, Naoto approaches, exuding a puppy-like eagerness. "Good morning, detective," he greets, patting my head. I smirk, cooing with a giggle, "Good morning to you too, detective. Thanks for the coffee."

"I'm glad it was still warm," he blushes. "So, what's the status on this body?" I inquire, curious about his insights. "It was ruled a suicide the moment Bonten was mentioned. There's nothing we can do," he replies, frustration etched across his features. Naoto, with his strong sense of justice, despises such situations, especially when they occur too frequently. "There has to be a way... something they left behind, anything," I mutter to myself, twirling my pen.

"Y/N... What are you thinking?" he queries, curious about my musings. "Nothing yet... But rest assured, I'll come up with something," I respond, a hint of sass in my tone.