Summary: With the arranged marriage of his only son determined, Jinpachi Mishima has successfully prepared himself a worthy legacy. Now if only his damnable son would appreciate the wonderful life he's just ensured for him, things could travel on down their necessary path and Jinpachi might even be able to enjoy himself a few grandchildren before he kicks the proverbial bucket. But things never really work out the way that you might have planned them. And that begs the question, will Heihachi fall in love with his pretty wife, Akimo, so that they can live happily ever after? Or will the future have even more terrible things in store for the Mishima Men?

Author's Note: Has anyone ever wondered why Heihachi is such a hateful, terrible person throughout the Tekken series? I've decided to offer my own humble opinions on this travesty, hopefully explaining at least one possibility of why he is the way that he is. Please read and review this first chapter; I'm finishing it regardless of the number of reviews, so no worries, but I do very much love your input! I've had this story on my mind for damn near four years so I hope it drives you as crazy for an update as it's driven me to be written!

Disclaimer: I don't own Tekken, the characters, franchise, series, movies (because there are two now, you know), or (arguably) much of the merchandise. I'd like to just borrow the setting and characters for a bit!

Histories and Secrecies

Akimo was the third daughter of Mr. Numoya. He was a man blessed enough to have been born into a family of noble blood and this fortune he passed on to his three beautiful daughters. Though the times of samurai knights and nobility were long forgotten memories of his boyhood, mere stories he remembered from his grandfather, Mr. Numoya was not one to be forgotten by the elite in society. He understood the importance of appearances towards his good fortune, the kind that old family friends could ensure remained in the safe keeping of his legacy. And Mr. Numoya was well-versed in the secrecies and blackmail of words needing to be kept in confidence, hidden away from the old world; before the damned war that had torn Japan apart.

It wasn't a surprise that he had come out on the top of society after reconstruction. He'd ensured that his pretty wife and their three very young daughters had been well-protected during the war by moving them to the countryside. There, in a small village, far enough removed from the map to be considered a suburb of Tokyo, he raised his family during the great war that was to become World War II.

Mr. Numoya ensured that there were few luxuries denied to his family in that vast countryside and that he would never be taken too far away from them. And he knew that his family was happy. He knew his daughters were tutored by some of the finest minds in Japan, students that had been forced to drop out of the prestigious Tokyo University by the onslaught of war. But, inevitably, he knew that they wouldn't stay in that small little village forever.

But it doesn't much matter what, exactly, Mr. Numoya had to do to protect his family. All that really matters is that he did and those three young daughters of his grew up to be strong, proud, confident young women. The type that he could be proud to show off to society; the type of daughters that only Mr. Numoya could be expected to raise.

Akimira, his oldest daughter, was nineteen by the time that the war ended, and quite past a reasonable age to be wed. It was decided that she, the wisest of his daughters, would be married to a wealthy factory owner. Her future husband was wise in the ways of business and knew how to negotiate with the American scum that found their way into Japan with intentions to reconstruct everything in an image of their own beautiful homeland. But they were married in the fall, despite the presence of the Americans. And it was a beautiful wedding centered on the burnt oranges and scarlet reds of the season. The weather was slightly crisp with the warmth of August still hanging in the air.

Akira, Mr. Numoya's second daughter, was quiet and soft-spoken. She spent most of her time with her head in a book, though not the type of educational tool that her sister, Akimira might have enjoyed. Akira much preferred romance to practicality and, despite her parents' best wishes for her; she ran away with an American soldier and wasn't heard from again. She was the shame of the family and nothing could console the poor father who hated the American Pig for his simple presence in the beautiful land of Japan.

Nothing could save Mr. Numoya from such shame, until an interesting proposal of marriage arrived for his youngest daughter, Akimo.

Jinpachi Mishima sent a young servant girl to the residence of the Numoya family on a crisp, gray afternoon just after the beginning of January. Her cheeks were slightly rosy from the walk, but her clothes were nice enough to hide the fact that she was a rather plain girl. The note had been pinned to her kimono, as though whoever had decided upon her thought she would lose it if allowed to carry the document in her hand. She looked positively terrified when Akimo opened the door and even worse for wear when she was invited inside and left to stand alone in the entry way while Mr. Numoya was fetched from his study.

She looked rather terrified to be standing in front of Mr. Numoya, not that he was anything as fearful to look at as her master, Jinpachi. But the girl introduced herself to Mr. Numoya as Tamaya and thought it necessary to add that she had been sent by the Mishima family.

"Yes, I see," he sounded exasperated, snatching the note from her outstretched fingers as though it were a piece of garbage that had been placed in front of him. As though he had been repulsed by it. He murmured something else that Tamaya couldn't quite understand, but she decided it better not to ask.

Cowering, Tamaya let her attention focus on the pretty girl that had answered the door for her. She'd heard rumors about Mr. Numoya's youngest daughter, that she was one of the most beautiful women in Tokyo. Tamaya had never seen such a beautiful woman, sure, but she determined that somewhere in that large city there must have been someone more beautiful. But, when she stepped from the shadows and into the light to stand next to her aging father, Tamaya felt her breath catch in her throat and her eyes scan the ground with such a renewed interest that she'd actually gotten the attention of the other young woman.

"You must be terribly cold," she reached her pale hand out from inside her own kimono to comfort the rather frightened maid in front of her. But her voice was full of warmth and kindness that seemed such a stark contrast to everything about the home in which she had just entered. Taking the young servant by her hand, Akimo led her deeper into the house, towards one of the minor sitting rooms. "Please come inside and warm yourself by the fire."

Deciding it necessary to take one more glance at the girl, Tamaya looked up and studied Akimo's figure as she was led towards the burning fireplace. The girl moved with such unmistakable grace that Tamaya wondered if she might have been floating through air. She blushed when the radiant face of Akimo turned to her, offering her a cup of tea and a silk pillow to rest on as she sat in front of the fire. Akimo, dressed in a silk kimono of a design much more elaborate than Tamaya's own, had already taken a seat next to her and was helping herself to a glass of tea.

Tamaya was utterly speechless as she watched the fire dance in radiant beams of light through Akimo's midnight black hair. It contrasted with the lavender and grey shades of her kimono, but matched the slightly rosy tint high on her cheekbones. Her skin was smooth, fair like porcelain. And her eyes; they were the most striking shade of deep sapphire blue that Tamaya had ever seen. It wasn't until the warmth of the tea seeped outwards from the glass and onto her fingers that the servant girl remembered her manners, "T-thank you, Lady Numoya. Thank you for your kindness!"

Her voice was small, almost frightened, but Akimo managed a laugh. It was a beautiful, crystalline sound that seemed to echo through the dark corners of the room and light them up radiantly. But it was a laugh as kind as her voice, "Lady Numoya is my honored mother. You may call me Akimo, if you wish."

They finished the rest of their tea in silence before Mr. Numoya returned to the room with a piece of paper of his own. Akimo could clearly see the delicate characters spelling out the name Mishima. It was tied with a red ribbon, the trademark of her father's penmanship. He wanted to impress this Mr. Mishima. But Akimo didn't need to ask questions to figure out why. Sure, she was only eighteen years old, but that didn't mean that it was completely out of the question that suitors might have been asking for her hand in marriage already; her eldest sister had been married for three years already and Akira wasn't coming home any time soon. About her father's desire to impress? That had everything to do with her runaway sister, Akira.

Little did Akimo know, her marriage was the subject of her father's most careful and precious concerns. The effects of her sister's actions on the family had taken a toll on her father that even his close family members couldn't quite understand. Mr. Numoya wanted his youngest daughter married well, to a man whose social status surpassed even his own. The shame that Akira had brought to the family was irreparable else wise. And Mr. Numoya wanted her married rich, so that perhaps his future son-in-law might take pity on his poor wife's parents 

and save them from the debt collectors knocking on their doors. To have his eldest daughter, Akimira, married to a man of her husband's status had cost him a considerable dowry. And he hadn't much left for his youngest daughter.

He prayed that Jinpachi's son found his daughter to be as beautiful and charming as her other suitors did; her poorer suitors.

But Mr. Numoya didn't let his facial expression change at all as he placed the parchment in Tamaya's trembling hands. He didn't need to warn the girl that consequences would be had if she didn't return to the Mishima household quickly and without delay. Tamaya knew more of Mr. Numoya's situation than she had let on; and if she knew, that meant the Mishima's knew.

He watched her from his window until she faded away in the direction of downtown Tokyo, the portion that had been rebuilt and was soon to be the home of the Mishima Financial Empire. They were a rich, powerful family. And Mr. Numoya wanted his youngest daughter married to the Empire's only heir, Heihachi Mishima.