Title: Brains and Brawn
Universe: My Boss, My Hero
Theme/Topic: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing/s: Makio, Mikio
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for the end of the series. Kind of.
Word Count: 1,433
Summary: Perfect in combination.
Dedication: God for cheloya and swinku, because I am glad to have people to fangirl with and do fanworks alongside. XD
YOU ALL KNOW OF MY UNFAILING LOVE FOR MIKIO. HE IS THE SERIES' YUMICHIKA. XD Er, and for the record, all the economic gobly-gook makes no sense to me either.
Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wish constantly.
Distribution: Just lemme know.

"And so you can note from the third line graph here on the right that our financial dealings in legitimate trade far outstrip that of our competitors, who mostly rely on…less economically sound measures through which to ensure the payroll of their members. Now I know you're all probably wondering what this has to do with you specifically, but it's very important I promise. Because these legal transactions are more often than not, guaranteed sources of income. As our competitors have far fewer means through which to incur these markets, they make sure that what few links they do have are attached solely to middle-management members and above. That is to say, guys who are just starting out—such as yourselves— would be the first to be flushed out of the system if a group like, say, the Kumada, ever found themselves just a little bit low on their quarterly earnings. In short, they'd rather preserve the quality of life of a few higher-ups than guarantee the survival of the gang as a whole. However, the Sharp Fang ensures a viable percentage of these legal resources to all members and affiliates, making them active participants in even our biggest profit sharing programs. On top of that we include full health benefits and the use of all recreational facilities during non-peak commercial hours to our employees."

Mikio paused for breath then, smiling warmly at the group gathered around his Power Point presentation.

The men all blinked—stared. The question marks physically hung in the air above their heads.

Towards the back of the room, Makio sent text messages to Jun while he waited out the boring part of this business transaction, all the while keeping an instinctive eye on the newcomers, just in case any of them tried to get fresh on his watch.

Not that he was particularly intimidated or anything. The group they were visiting today was a small start-up gang under a leader named Tanaka the Tripod (damned ridiculous name if you asked him), and after Mikio had deemed them an up-and-coming group with some potential in the Tokyo underground, the Kantou Sharp Fang were obligated to try and incorporate them into its main body before doing anything more drastic, such as, for instance, very politely suggesting that Tripod-san not try to run his businesses so close to one of the Sakaki family's main income sectors unless he wanted to be ousted out from the country both physically and financially (the Sharp Fang had more than the necessary means to do both sitting right here in this conference room, in fact).

But a diplomatic approach first.

This was Mikio's new strategy for goodwill between crooks or something; he said it was better if people were reasoned with first and then threatened with death and dismemberment afterwards. Apparently it helped to drive the complete picture home. Makio didn't really get it.

But that was probably why Mikio was the Sharp Fang's new official financial advisor (in his free time anyway) and Makio wasn't.

"Just let me worry about that stuff, Nii-san," Mikio had said, when he'd tried to explain. "In the meantime, I'll ask that you please take care of…those other things."

That part Makio understood at least—though he was starting to get what Mikio was talking about in his presentations the more he listened to them.

But for the time being he did what he did best, and when one of Tripod's men moved to light up a cigarette in a show of defiance, Makio snapped the head clear off of the fancy fountain pen he was holding.

All heads turned to him.

"No smoking," he said, and glared. "Mikio's lungs are sensitive." Pause. "And pay attention."

He leaned back in his chair then, eyes challenging.

The man swallowed and put his lighter away, all the while watching the gurgling flow of ink from the decapitated pen in Makio's hand. "S-sorry."

Mikio smiled and cleared his throat. All eyes back on him. "Thank you, Nii-san. But please clean up that mess before it leaves a stain, ne?"

Makio sighed and pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and started wiping the dripping ink off of his glove. "Aa," he grunted, and wondered why Mikio always gave him red pens to fiddle with during his presentations.

But it was such a bright, fruity color he supposed it sort of made a weird kind of sense, too.

A few of Tripod's men inched away from his side of the table as he cleaned the red off of his hands, moving closer to Mikio's presentation.

"And here," Mikio began again, voice light, "are some of our competitors' numbers over the past few years. Comparably less impressive in terms of growth than ours, wouldn't you say, gentlemen?"

One man raised his hand, eyeing Makio nervously.

"Yes?" Mikio asked. "And don't worry, questions are allowed," he added, to quell some of the poor gangster's fear.

The man smiled back, though that nervousness wasn't quite erased from his expression so much as expounded upon when he did. "What er, what's that last statistic… next to the um… the big skull?"

Mikio's smile broadened. "Oh that? Those are our competitors' collective hospital bills for the last year."

"Hospital bills? What do those have to do with anything?"

Mikio chuckled. "I think nii-san can explain this part of the presentation better than me. It's not really my department." He paused then, and looked at his watch. "Oh, and it's just about time for his turn to try and persuade you all to join us anyway. Please be nice and pay attention to him, ne?"

Finally, Makio thought, and flipped his phone shut after sending a final message to Jun: "Gotta work, message me later."

Once that was well on its way, Makio grinned and stood, cracking his knuckles anticipatorily.

"Yo," he began, and stalked forward, "sorry my presentation ain't gonna be as pretty as my little brother's but I hope you'll bear with me…"

A little while later, a familiar black sedan pulled up to the front of the Sakaki home and both brothers got out, Mikio looking dapper at his successes from the afternoon and Makio with pudding smeared on the corner of his mouth. Kuroi trailed them, and the expression on his face was positively beaming with pride.

Their father saw them upon their triumphant return from his seat lounging on the porch—reading something Mikio had suggested to him to while away the long hours of his retirement with— as his sons took care of the gang business outside, in his stead. "Yo, you're back," he greeted, and stood to meet the two as they approached. "How did the meeting with Tanaka go?"

"Went good," Makio assured the old man, and cracked his neck from side to side in a particularly self-satisfied manner.

More officially, Mikio pulled out a folded contract from his dossier. "We have preliminary signatures from Tanaka Tripod-san here, but they'll be dropping by next week to finalize the arrangements, tousan," he said, before pulling a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and dabbing at the pudding on Makio's cheek.

"I got something on my face?" Makio blinked, and let his face get wiped.

Mikio sniggered. "Just a little, nii-san."

"Oh. Thanks."

The elder Sakaki smiled at them both. "Good. Good job, boys," he said, and really meant it in every possible way as he saw them standing like that, side by side.

Makio nodded. "Was fun. But uh, look, I gotta go do my homework. Damned hag of an English teacher's givin' us a spelling test tomorrow. Che. That woman's even worse than old Iron-face."

Mikio pouted. "Will you still have time to come help me in the dojo, nii-san? My belt test is next week, remember?"

Makio waved at him as he retreated. "Yeah, yeah. Probably need you to check my fuckin' answers anyway."

Mikio beamed and then turned back to his father. "In the meantime, I should go practice. If there's anything else, just let me know, ne, tousan?"

"Of course."

And as the second generation leader watched his two sons go off in their separate—but undeniably intertwined— ways, he couldn't help but think that in this third generation of existence, the Kantou Sharp Fang was in good hands. Maybe even the best ones yet.

Because there was something beautiful about a family that worked so well together.

He and Kuroi shared a knowing look at that, and then went inside to toast the beginning of a very promising future.

One that involved both brains and brawn.