Ayumi Murakami

It was yet another peaceful, boring day in Hakami Park. Why the old fucker insisted on meeting here when there was so much happening in the city was beyond her. Actually, no. It wasn't beyond her. She knew exactly why he did it. He did it to take her out of her element. And if, at the same time, he happened to make himself look peaceful and boring, then so much the better. He was old, but he certainly wasn't the type to enjoy feeding pigeons. Kirasawa was a manipulative bastard who just happened to have gray hair and a penchant for appearing wiser and more selfless than he was.

She spotted him on a bench under the shade of a cherry tree, like he was some sort of Genji messiah. The fucker. She gave him a big American wave just to piss him off and then sat down without so much as a “Konichiwa.” He gave her a stern look, and then shook his head.

“Sometimes I think your brothers are starting to understand us, but you, Ayumi, persist in defying our wishes.” He spoke like he was British fucking royalty. Just because he represented the board didn't mean he could use “we” when he really meant “I.” Everyone knew this scheme was his brainchild. That's why it was so damn retarded. “Just look at the way you're dressed.” He waved his hand across her death-metal tee and her baggy shorts. His mouth was scrunched up like he'd bitten into a lemon, but Ayumi could tell it was just an act. This was the sort of face a mom made for her two-year-old. It wasn't real emotion.

“Yeah? You like Acids Mother Temple, Mr. Kirasawa?” Of course, she'd selected this outfit just for him. While her siblings were starting to play along with his stupid game, she recognized it for exactly what it was: an attempt to secure and hold power. He wasn't going to give the business back to her family no matter how they dressed in kimonos or raked their stupid fucking rock gardens.

He just shook his head, clearly at a loss. Good. Score one for Ayumi Murakami. At least somebody in her generation had enough pride to stand up for the family name. “I seriously wonder abut you Murakamis. Your brothers treat this like a game. They do what I ask, but they clearly don't understand why. And then, there's you.” He gave her a sharp look, as though to say, And then there's you, the Devil Child. That made her smile.

“And how would you have me change, oh wise sensei?” She watched him expectantly, but he didn't flinch. Oh well.

“First off, I'd have you wear decent clothes. And then, once you knew how dress like a lady, I'd have you learn how to behave in polite company. Even the most coarse manners would be an improvement over . . . this.”

Of course, Ayumi knew what he really meant. “That's to say, you'd have me become somebody's murmuring mistress. You'd have me marry some corporate asshole and have corporate asshole kids, just like good, traditional girls dreams of.” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, there are other ways to be traditional. Haven't you ever heard of Sei fucking Shonagon?”

Kirasawa flinched this time. “Watch your language.”

She shrugged and gestured at the empty park. “It's not like there are any children around.”

“There are your elders.”

“There's just one of you.” Kirasawa grimaced. Score two for team Murakami! And now, game point. In her sweetest voice: “Oh Mr. Kirasawa, you're right. I've been rude. I am so, so sorry. But tell me, oh great and wise leader of Murakami Pharmaceuticals, how's the business been recently?” He was silent. “I hear that your stock has fallen yet again. Surely that couldn't be true, Mr. Kirasawa? Why, when my parents were running the business, we experienced growth quarter after quarter.”

“Things are different now,” he snapped. “We're in the middle of a recession.”

“Oh, Mr. Kirasawa. Please don't get upset. This isn't personal. But still, Mr. Kirasawa--” She looked at him. She reminded him that she was the tiger and he was the lamb. “--it's time you stepped down. It's time you returned the reigns to those with enough breeding to lead.”