Goro Takemura x Reader

Fifteen

Patiently, you waited in bed, sat upright and your eyes fixed onto the door so that you wouldn't miss your fathers entrance.

Takemura still sat next to you, although he had turned to face the door as well and not you directly. It was impolite to stare so he tried to avoid looking at you at all.

Every now and then you allowed your eyes to wander in his direction.

Somehow, his calm and quite composure drove you to him. These moments of waiting gave you enough time to examine him further.

As you had already managed to tell before, he was quite handsome, well trimmed and dressed in a modern version of a black kimono. He was more on the taller side for an Asian man, at least taller than Yorinobu who himself wasn't all that short either.

On closer inspection, you could see grey on the sides of his hair, indicating that he might have been older than you had first guessed him to be. However, you were surprised that he wore it pulled up and did not let it fall loosely over his broad shoulders to cover his neck.

His neck.

Your gaze lingered on black metal. It covered his whole upper body, at least what could be seen of it. It stopped just below his chin. Amidst the black were red cables and silver screws.

These were not just any components that could be found anywhere. It was military-grade cyberware. Custom-made.

He tilted his head. Just like a person with a stiff neck would do. But he had no neck. At least it didn't seem as if flesh and bone were hidden under the modifications.

Somehow that thought made you smile to yourself.

"Takemura.", you said his name out loud to see how it tasted on your tongue.

Immediately, he reacted to it. Just like a dog who had been called.

"Arasaka-sama.", he bowed his head.

How respectful he was. Almost stiff.

Had you forgotten how the Japanese acted?

Had some of the formality and respect in you been lost to the filthy streets of Night City?

"No formalities. Please.", you did a gesture to show that it was just the two of you. "I should be the one to bow to you. After all, you saved my life, I heard."

His white eyes moved through the room before he spoke. They were pretty, but obviously not his real ones.

How would his real ones look like?

Would they be as dark as the ones of Yorinobu and Hanako, pools of ink and unwritten poems?

Or would they be lighter, more like the bark of a cherry blossom tree?

"I did what was my duty.", he replied in a typical solider manner.

It made you smile even more.

What a good dog he was. Not just well mannered but also well raised, with a proper sense of what was appropriate and how to remain modest.

You couldn't tell if it was just the gratitude that you owed him for the rescue of yours or if it was something else but you liked him.

"If it takes some weight off your chest, you did well.", you let yourself fall back into the pillows with a sigh and closed your eyes. "Please do not think that you could have prevented this. I was injured long before you came."

His eyes narrowed. But only for a second. Then he bowed his head.

"Arasaka-sama.", he started but cut himself off as soon as the door swung open.

The figure of an old man appeared.

Immediately, Takemura rose from his chair and bowed his head.

With his arms crossed behind his bend back, Saburo entered the room in small yet precisely placed steps. Unlike any of his children, he was dressed in full traditional Japanese clothing.

You recognised the kimono he wore. It was beige, with a dark greyish jacket on top. Ever since Mishiko, his second wife and mother to Yorinobu and Hanako, had died he wore nothing else.

He made his way across the room and came to a stand right at the end of your bed to look upon you with his old, narrow eyes that were hidden behind round glasses.

He was old, older than you remembered him. Not even that. The way he looked, his face covered in wrinkles and liver spots, was ancient.

And he was. After all, Saburo Arasaka was no less than 158 years old. No man was supposed to ever reach this age. And yet here he was, standing at the end of your bed and looked down on you like he would be able to hold eternity in his hands soon.

"Otōsan.", you bowed as deep as it was possible for you while sitting.

With a nod of his head, Saburo greeted you back.

"Okosama.", his voice sounded as old as he looked like. "It is wiser to be a samurai in a garden than a gardener at war."

He spoke Japanese. Of course.

Saburo was so old, you doubted that he ever bothered to learn another language than his own. After the war had ended, Japan had fallen into disgrace. And after the founding of Arasaka's Japanese had thrived in popularity.

And now, many decades later, no one was able to get around it. Not if they wanted to make business with the greatest.

The saying he used was one that was quite familiar to you. It was his favourite way of telling you that your decisions were the reason why you tended to be physically helpless.

Although he did not have any cyberware himself, your father would have wished of you nothing more than to get a few basic implants.

To make life more efficient.

And to make it easier for him to have an eye on his most valuable pawn in his plan.

You refused time and time again. You were human. And you preferred to keep as much of it as possible.

"Otōsan.", you gifted him an innocent smile. "Forgive me. I was naive."

"We both know that.", the eyes that fell onto Takemura were milky. "Leave us."