Disclaimer: Viewfinder belongs to Yamane Ayano

Hi everyone! I know I haven't finished my first fanfic yet, but this idea for a story popped inside my head so I thought I'd try writing it out. Comments and feedback will be greatly appreciated. Tootles and enjoy!

"Asami-sama, please!" gasped the old quivering man. His silk black kimono, once pristine, was soaked through with rain and smeared with mud. Never before had he ever bowed down to anyone let alone get down on his knees. But there he was, the great the leader of one of the fiercest Yakuza families in Japan, begging a man not yet half his age to spare his clan.

Normally there was no need to extinguish the entire clan, but Asami didn't care to use those that he had conquered. He was more the sort of man who didn't take prisoners, didn't take life after it's been handled by his hands. It didn't matter if the blood to be poured could cascade down to fill an ocean.

The red orange flames that blazoned up the surrounding buildings enclosing the small courtyard glimmered in Asami's smoldering golden eyes. He stared down at the beseeching man with a hard, seemingly unconcerned face as the rest of the house went up in sparks. It was raining, a rather hard summer shower, but that didn't deter the monstrous flames that sought to engulf what was left of the main house.

Asami's men were everywhere, detaining the rest of the family members and servants. Screams and shouts, cries of bewilderment and fear were barely heard over the licking fire and the old man's own insistent groveling. Irritated at his pitiful pleas, Asami lifted his hand and backlashed the old man. He crumbled to the ground, still.

Turning away from the sight, Asami raised his head upward to look into the storm clouds that had completely covered the once clear blue sky, heavy raindrops splattering down. He closed his eyes and soaked it all in, breathing in deeply: the smoke burning wood, the wet rain drops, the screams – ah, those delicious cries breaking out through all the other noises.

He then opened those eyes and directed them at the old man, the man whom was once so strong despite his age, whom was considered so great, who had built his clan from a handful of men into the name it is today, and whom Asami had crushed.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, something struck Asami's attention. It was like a needle glistening in the sun, or a sharp blade of grass. It was something that his mind zeroed in on without any conscious thought or without any reason why, but he saw it as clear as day, as clear as the reflection in a mirror, as clear as a bullet racing through the air.

He saw the boy; a mop of wild dirty blonde hair, the face that was pressed into the folds of his mother's shirt turned to see the guards grabbing her away, the tear tracks and dirt marring a face Asami knew to be lovely. He had a slight frame, innocent-looking, and large eyes that Asami couldn't look away from.

"Actually," whispered Asami's husky voice. It sounded like thunder, but it was nothing except the lightning. "I am willing to talk, Takaba-san."

…..

Takaba Kai couldn't stand to see his youngest daughter's face as he told her the news. He withstood it even less when she started sobbing hysterically. He ordered the maid to bring some honey milk tea, steaming hot, just the way his Aya liked it, and continued to try to soothe her to no avail.

Of course, no comfort could be given to her.

The boy was the youngest son in the family. His daughter's only son. The only one who still called him grandpa instead of grandfather or sir.

Despite the near decimation of his clan, Takaba Kai disproved of what he was to do. Rather, he felt guilty. It was essential to survive. To trade the life of one little boy for the sake of numerous others was the appropriate choice, the only choice really. But that didn't make handing Akihito over any easier.

to be contd.