Chapter 1: Back from Seoul, South Korea

6:00 A.M., Bolsuria Hotel

"I want my refund."

It was plain and simple, though demanding as a horrible addition for all the staff of the luxury hotel. The whole floor of workers seemed to stop going along with their businesses when that request reached their ears.

The young man who announced those words appeared to be unfazed from the eyes gluing to his back, his face still facing the wide-eyed manager, fisted clench along with the arm that was resting on the counter.

"Excuse me, sir, but—."

He got cut off. "I want to speak to the director, not you."

"I'm sorry, but may I inform you that I am the manager of this hotel—."

"Yes, and you are NOT the director," was directed right back at the man. "Not to be rude, but it would be so kind of me to point out that in the condition that you are not brain-dead, a certain Mr. Shirosaki should be notify quickly to "get his ass down here before it is getting dragged down instead."

The older man was insulted by the harsh words; a frown was quickly drawn on his visage. The 'domestic disturber' clarified mentally to himself the manager's lips to be drawn crudely as well; it was a wise choice on his part to refrain from saying that out loud.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave before we call security."

"Don't give me that," the young man raised his eyebrow in irritation. "You're bound to the basic ground rules as much as the others. It's required…that if I want to speak to the Bulsuria's owner, you inform him of the situation and call him down."

"You—."

"What's going on here?" a new voice permeated throughout the lobby, the familiar tone recognized by everyone. It was Shirosaki Hichigo.

The director's arrival renewed the energy of each staff member, or rather—it would be safer to say that his deathly glare served to scare off the lethargy in the employees, as they scurried hurriedly away from the main floor.

Pity, the manager couldn't go anywhere. The poor man froze on the spot, legs about to passed out, when Shirou stalked towards him angrily.

"…I have a bone to pick with you...." The chilling voice drawled lazily. "Making so much noise in the bloody morning…"

"Sire—I mean, sir, I truly apologize!"

The reply did nothing to lift off Shirou's menacing scowl. He groaned, "I'm awake now, aren't I…? Tell me, am I a morning person?"

"I'm sorry, sir! And no you're not, sir—."

"Hey, Shirou."

"A decreased pay-check this month looks REAL appealin' to me right now, ya know." The man's voice was slurring, his speech looked like it was going back to some kind of street-talk.

That was never a good sign.

"SIR!"

"…Yo, Shirou."

"And when did I ever allow you to call me in such a friendly term like that, huh?"

"But Shirosaki-san! That wasn't me!"

"It's me."

The albino Bulsuria's director didn't notice a second presence until now. He turned his head a fraction to glower at whoever it was.

Shirou was taken back when a reflection of himself greeted back in a form of orange hair and brown eyes.

"…Ichi…go?"

The younger male gave him a smirk. "Mornin', Shirou."

Golden orbs took in the man's form; Shirou shook his head to rid himself from the shock of seeing a double, only to realize that it was his brother smiling back at him.

Man, mornings are such a pain.

"What are you doing here so early," the albino asked, a bit tentative. If he remembered correctly, he sent Ichigo off to Korea to…take care of a minor problem there for him. It was all business, and he had no doubt that Ichigo was skilled in that certain field of expertise enough to finish things quickly. But he didn't expect his brother to be back so fast.

Ichigo shrugged. "Eh, I stayed for the night. Everything was…untimely. Anyway, gotta talk to you about something." His eyes narrowed down. "Privately would be nice."

Shiro seemed to get the hint, but he wasn't above confusion. He gestured Ichigo to follow, speaking up along the way. "Did you arrive last night?

"In the evening actually, but that's not the point."

Shirou nodded. He scratched his chin and paused, remembering something suddenly. "Incidentally, Ichigo, was there a problem with the staff?"

Ichigo looked back at the front counter to see the old man letting out a huge breath, probably in relief from holding it in so long since Shirou came down and bombarded him with threats. The orange-haired teen decided to let the poor guy off. "Nah, nothing in particular. It's my fault for making all the ruckus anyway."

Shirou nodded, but he didn't seem to buy it. Glancing back, he shook his head and pulled Ichigo's arm forward. "You still have that old habit, don't cha, Ichi?"

Ichigo frowned. "What old habit?"

"Plainly…Your mood meter might as well be a damn rollercoaster—."

"You rule like a fucking tyrant…"

"Morning's abloody exception," Shirou hissed at his brother.

Laughing at Shirou's sulking face was like an enjoyable past time for Ichigo. He often forgot how fun it was to tempt the other into throwing an angry fit, but then he would admit that it wasn't amusing anymore when Shirou switched the role and he was the one moping instead.

"It's been weeks since you were gone," said Shirou, coolly stating the obvious. He grinned. "Enjoy yourself?"

That earned him a scoff. "It wasn't a fucking vacation, Shirou. That, and the problem is…" Ichigo narrowed his eyes at Shirou. "You gave me a faux job. The trip was a waste and I still have this stupid jetlag." The words were practically filled with annoyance.

Shirou raised a curious brow, his mouth parted like he was about to say something back but decided to be calculative about the matter. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what was said."

It was then that Shirou heaved in a breath, letting it back out slowly to calm his nerves down, and Ichigo hoped that his brother wasn't going to start fuming and breaking furniture. Not that he really care—it wasn't his—but then objects would be flying and innocent people would be hoisted on stretchers. He snorted at the thought. Yeah, like they weren't in trouble already with their jobs.

The siblings filed into a room at the end of the hall, away from the huge crowds, and it wasn't until Shirou closed the door that the albino began to turn livid.

What were their jobs you ask?

"A WASTE?! You were supposed to just kill the guy. How did you mess that shit up!" Shirou burst out, seething. "Shoot him, garrote him, I don't care, just finish the job!!"

Ichigo groaned at the loudness of his brother's unique, distorted voice. He could only hope that Shirou was smart enough to sound proof this room if he was going to be this emotional all the time. "You go on and on about that but guess what Shirou, you can't kill a person who's already DEAD."

"You're lyin'," the albino denied. "My sources are ALWAYS right."

"It's not quite about correct information any longer, Shirou," Ichigo sighed. "I'll surmise…" he lingered, trying to put it as plainly as possible. "…X got there before us…again. This is the sixth time since he started popping out, Shirou. I'm tired of it."

Shirou scowled, his fist clenching in anger until his knuckles turned white. Ichigo merely stared worriedly at it; he knew that his brother probably wasn't going to appreciate that kind of attention, so Ichigo was going to save himself from the mortification and irritation. This hotel had enough horror from Shirou as it is; he didn't need to add to it.

If there was any confusion or interest to what the hell this X is, Ichigo would gladly conclude that it was a well persuaded result after a long, redundant argument with Shirou when the man wanted to be an idiotic git and tried to be funny.

X was a name Ichigo decided for this unknown hitman in order to ban his albino, older brother's choice of "Strawberry". It proceeded from a discussion into a little squabble when Ichigo pointed out that it was a retarded way to identify a person. The situation ultimately evolved into a full-blown argument when Shirou kindly changed it to "Blueberry" because, as he reasoned, "Oh yeah, that's what we refer to you as."

In the end, it was "X" and it was final.

As Ichigo reminisced about the 'fruit fight', so to speak, Shirou was left alone with his homicidal thoughts.

After a few moments of imagining himself on a plane to Korea to barrage on whatever being that DARE stole their victim, Shirou lifted his numbed hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, rubbing the stress away soothingly.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it NOW…Let's just hope this one has a better end result than the last…for us, of course, not the target—it's never good for the target."

The mumble words from Shirou set Ichigo chuckling at the last part. No, he wasn't laughing at someone's impending doom, god forbid. But with the occupation he had, hell yeah, it could turn humorous once in awhile. Humans take pleasure out of someone else's expenses, Ichigo'd seen; it was a given.

Shirou's tired face was a plus, too. It was rare to see his obnoxious, arrogant brother to be restless, kinda like a cat actually.

A white, fluffy cat…

"What the hell are you laughing at!?" Shirou hissed when he caught Ichigo snickering. The orange-haired teen simply gave his brother a shrug and straightened up, stretching his back a little and hearing a crack.

Well, that wasn't good.

But like the stubborn bastard he was, Ichigo ignored it and regarded the matter as a similar concept of 'cracking one's knuckles'. Little did he know, it was going to be a big problem later on.

"Oh yeah, and you said this one, meaning…we got another job?" Ichigo inquired; the teen seemed uninterested, but he couldn't help but place his worries on the location. About 1 year ago, he got sent to Africa, and frankly, he didn't want to go again.

If Dear Brother was going to have a gripe about it, then tough.

"Yeah, and get this, it's Japan. You're not travelin' out of country this time, so I guess that would be an advantage to your flight-height problem?" Shirou jeered, earning a sarcastic 'Ha ha, very funny' from Ichigo.

"Happened ONCE when I was five, you asshole. And you're still on my case about it…"

Shirou grinned. "Whatever you say, Ichi." He remembered the sight of his younger brother's purple face and chuckled. God, that was priceless. Pity, little Ichi got over the problem somehow when he started high school before Shirou could take a picture and save it in the family photo album.

Ahhh, good times…

"In any case…" Shirou changed the subject lazily, smiling with exasperation. "I'll send you the info later when I'm done checking through it, but for now, take flight 115 to Sapporo, Hokkaido. Go take a rest there or something 'till ya get a message from me. And Ichi…Please, get it done successfully this time."

The orange-haired teen growled at the nickname, clicking his tongue in annoyance before nodding along. "Sure, sure, whatever. I don't see how you only sit your butt here managing our father's hotel, as in, doing nothing—but you get to complain."

A smirk was thrown his way while Ichigo deliberately ignored it. "Tell Dad I said 'hi'." He added as an afterthought.

"Not gonna stick around?"

"You know that answer," Ichigo responded, rolling his eyes at Shirou's playful intentions. He uncomfortably thought back about yesterday event.

As a reaction from the scene of an old, black Chevrolet that was his dad's parked in front of his house, Ichigo alarmingly steered his motorcycle back into a sharp U-turn and floored his engine away without even a second glance backward. He drove around for awhile and ended up recognizing the tall building that was the Bulsuria hotel.

Ichigo didn't need second thoughts and checked in for the night without greeting Shirou in fear of his brother calling Dad about his arrival just to piss him off. He went to sleep peacefully after that…that was until he woke up to the sight of a fat cockroach twitching its ugly antennae in his face.

The boy's lips pulled back into a cynical expression. "Being a mafia and all, you'd think he would act more his age." He sighed. "And I'll get the job done. Cross my heart, Shirou."

The albino wriggled his nose in distaste at the last line. He really wasn't fond of it. "Don't say that or I'm gonna kick ya in the face…"

But Ichigo was already opening the door wide, and let himself out with a casual wave to his brother before ambling off to pack his things, all the while hoping that his old man left the house already so he could gather newer supply from his wardrobe.