The Only Constant is Change

It's Haruhi, Kaoru, and Hikaru's final year at Ouran. Dynamics are changing and evolving... What will happen to the Host Club Members?

Author's Note: This story takes place about 8 months after the events in A Faire Shot at Mythology. It can be read as a stand alone, but it references events and items from that piece as well. If you are reading my work for the 1st time, I would humbly suggest reading my other stories The Game and A Faire Shot at Mythology before reading this to completely understand some of the relationship dynamics that I use. I promise that if you like this style of writing you will like those too. =)


73. Warehouse

A long low whistle from the speakerphone echoed in the suddenly silent room. “Kyouya are you absolutely sure?” Tamaki’s voice overflowed with concern. “I know your father has done some shady things in the past, but getting actively involved with the Yakuza? That seems kind of extreme even for Yoshio. The business community would freak out.” 

“Actually, it is more common than is widely known,” the voice of Yuzuru Suoh came from behind the group, as he shut the door to the dojo behind him. “My apologies, I was just able to get away and Yuzuha is demanding to know what is going on.” He stepped closer to the group before continuing his earlier statement, “It’s a dirty secret that no one in the upper echelons of the business elite dares talk about, but the Yakuza is still an organized crime syndicate that has its tendrils into some of the most powerful conglomerates. I would estimate that nearly half, if not more, of the top companies have at least some Yakuza ties.” 

“And Suoh Enterprises?” The group could hear Tamaki’s voice shaking as he processed the information his father had bluntly laid out. 

“Your grandmother has worked tirelessly to keep the Yakuza out of her company. For all that my mother has her faults, she can be remarkably stubborn. It may have kept our profits at a slow to moderate increase rather than a fast pace, but as far as I know we are free from the influence… though I am approached at least once a year. So far they are still trying to court us rather than force us, since our business practices are remarkably transparent and they haven’t found anything they can blackmail us with yet. ” Yuzuru sighed. “I am sorry, my son, this was something that I have been delaying telling you about. I was hoping to wait until you graduated and took over the reins of the company, but since the recent formal announcement of the intent to name you successor to Suoh Enterprises instead of me, you will undoubtable start getting approached soon, if you haven’t already.” 

“I don’t think I have been,” Tamaki’s voice was uncertain. 

“They may be waiting until you are officially in position and make a mistake that they can use to their advantage,” Akira responded. “Or hoping you will be caught in a compromising position that has the potential to disgrace your family. Even House Zouka has been approached, though they were unsuccessful. We have the martial skills to counteract their thugs and it is known that our position on circumstances that may be considered compromising to others, are either accepted or if illegal are turned over to the authorities. I do know that some of the other Martial Houses have ties.” 

“My House is clean, though I too have been approached,” Zhi added quietly. “For now, I am too small of a player to have amassed enough potential influence, so they have mostly left me alone.” 

Hikaru and Kaoru looked at each other in distress and fear. One word was said in unison, “Mom?” 

Akira reached out and laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “HDG is free from Yakuza influence. Your mother had a situation occur many years ago, but I was able to step in and make clear that the Yuzuha Hitachiin and her children are under the protection of House Zouka.” 

Hikaru was visibly taken aback by the revelation. Instinctively he turned to Kaoru, and was surprised to see acknowledgement in his face instead of the shock he was expecting. Anger started to overcome the surprise. “What-“

Akira cut him off, compassion in his voice, “That is a story for another day… and one both your mother and I must tell together.” 

“Guys, I hate to interrupt this, but the van just pulled inside a fenced off parking lot, I can’t follow anymore without getting caught,” Tamaki’s voice was sharp as he cut in. 

“We have your location,” Yorihisa replied. “You aren’t trained to be of further assistance. Please return to the Guest House. The authorities and our team are on the way.” 

“Ok. See you soon.” The team heard an audible click as Tamaki hung up the phone. 

“Now we wait,” Akira Morinozuka said quietly into the silence. 



Tamaki hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Reaching out he turned the knobs into the off position for all the interior and exterior lights, before making a sharp right hand turn and winding his way back to the warehouse where the van had pulled in.

“We aren’t really just going to head back to the Guest House are we?” Marika asked making the question more of a statement.

“No,” Tamaki answered with determination in his voice. “Ranka has come to mean a lot to me and I won’t leave him out here alone. I may not be able to drive in, but I think I can park a few buildings over and sneak in.”



“We. You said I. I’m not letting you go in there by yourself. We are going in there.”

“Mari, it could be danger-“

“Don’t even finish that sentence Tamaki Suoh. We have been friends for too long. For that alone, I would go with you, but if we can also gather some information, it may help Kyouya and Haruhi.”

“Ever the reporter?” Tamaki asked with a flash of humor.

“Always, though this isn’t about me. Your friends impressed me and you know that is hard to do. If there is anything that I can do to help, I will.”

Tamaki reached out and took her hand. Lifting it to his lips, he kissed the back before responding, “Thank you Frizzy.”

“Anytime, Fuzzy.” Marika answered with a smile.

Tamaki pulled the Aston to a stop behind a building two properties from the one the van turned in to. Glancing down at Marika, he took in her black dress, her tuxedo jacket, and the 4 inch spike heels she was wearing which he hadn’t really noticed before. “Umm… are you going to be able to move in those?” He asked pointing at her shoes.

“I’ve kept up with you so far haven’t I?” Marika grinned as a blush crept up Tamaki’s cheeks. With one hand down she reached down between her legs and pulled a small clutch purse from the floor. Flipping it open she pulled out a small black folded bundle. “Though in the interest of being a bit stealthier, I think these will be better.” She unfolded the packet to show a pair of thin flats.

“You had a spare pair of shoes in your purse?”

“Reporters and Boy Scouts are always prepared,” she smirked. “Though truthfully, I thought I would be using them much later tonight after the Ball. You have no idea how much dancing in heels hurts after a few hours.”

“I can imagine,” Tamaki answered the smirk with a smile of his own. With a wink, he leaned forward and turned to reach behind her seat, pulling out a black hooded sweatshirt. “See, I’m prepared. There’s a blanket back there too.”

“Good to know.” She watched as he pulled the sweatshirt over his head, covering the white tuxedo shirt and the hood hiding his distinctive blond hair. “Ready?”

“Let’s do this,” Tamaki replied. “Yorihisa Haninozouka may right in that we aren’t trained for this, but we can at least look around and see if we can get some information to the team when they get here.”

“Agreed,” Marika confirmed as she opened the door to the car.

Closing the doors as quietly as they could, Tamaki looked around once more to make sure that they were out of sight as much as possible. With a nod, he held out his hand. “Come on.”

Together, they made their way across the deserted parking lots, ducking through holes in fencing, and keeping to the shadows.



Once they got to the building they though Ranka was being held in, Tamaki and Marika snuck around looking in at every window and trying every door. On a side annex, they spotted a faint glow coming from a window. Creeping closer, they were able to peek in. They could see Ranka sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, his hands tied behind his back, two obvious thug-types standing to either side, while the kidnapper ran his hands slowly over Ranka’s semi-conscious form in a disturbingly sexual way.

“Ranka…” Tamaki whispered helplessly as he watched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move and turned his head to see Marika pull he phone out of the top of her dress before pressing it to the glass.

“Video Camera,” Marika whispered to his unspoken question. “I added a microphone that amplifies and sorts ambient and background sounds so I could record conversations in busy locations with my contacts. It isn’t 100% effective but if we are lucky we may be able to hear what is happening on the video playback, even if we can’t hear now.”

“Good thinking,” Tamaki chewed on his lip as he turned back to the scene in front of him – watching as Yoshio Ootori and another unknown Japanese man in a designer suit approached the tattoos peeking out of his suit jacket clearly indicating that high level Yakuza. He could see them arguing.



On the other side of the wall, Yoshio Ootori could barely contain his rage. Striding up to Ranka, Yoshio slapped the drag queen hard across the face, the pain of the impact visibly rousing Ranka from the last fogginess of the drugs used to subdue him.

“YOU!!! This is all your fault. You and that ungrateful tramp you call a daughter. I offered your family the highest honor – marriage into an old distinguished family so far above your commoner status as to be laughable and you threw it back in my face. Then your daughter brainwashed my son into disavowing his heritage, going against his familial duty, and entering into a filthy immoral liaison with not only her but another man. It is the epitome of shame and humiliation. I was temporarily blinded by what I thought was initiative in the girl. I thought she could be molded into a proper wife for a third son. I should have realized that blood always holds true. How could the daughter of a transsexual freak ever really be worthy of the Ootori name?”

“you… proof… it doesn’t…” Ranka mumbled as he slid his tongue over his teeth to make sure that none of them were loose.

Yoshio grabbed a handful of Ranka’s hair and pulled up sharply eliciting a gasp of pain from the bound man. “You admit that your daughter would never be worthy of the Ootori name?”

Fire flashed in Ranka’s eyes, as he replied, “No. I said proof that it doesn’t always hold true. Kyouya is a far better man – in honor, in respect, and in all ways - than you are. The fact that he has become this way despite having your blood flow though his veins means that blood doesn’t always hold true.”

Yoshio backhanded Ranka across the other cheek. “You DARE tell me that my upstart son is a better man than me. I have been respected and feared for decades. I am the head of a bloodline that can trace its lineage back centuries. I am descendent from the blood of emperors and kings, not peasants.”

“Yet you have none of the noblesse oblige that your heritage should dictate,” Ranka responded and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, before tonguing the cut on the inside of his mouth the last slap had caused.

“Why should I be obliged to cater to the whims of a class that is as debased as dogs in heat rutting with anything that offers itself,” Yoshio responded. “I know my duty and responsibility to my familial name. Can you say the same?”

“Probably better than you,” Ranka responded with steel. “I may not have been able to give my child many material goods, but I have worked as hard as or harder than many in the upper class to provide her with love, teach her respect for both others and herself, and shape her to be a valuable and productive member of society. A society that deals with reality rather than this delusional fantasy that you seem to live in.”

“You have no idea of the concept of reality,” Yoshio replied with cold venom in his voice. “The reality is I have an image to maintain and you and your daughter are dragging down my good name. This is unacceptable. If I have any chance at restoring my honor and my son to his rightful place, you need to be removed from his sphere of influence. My associates here are very good at what they do. You will disappear. A note will be sent to my wayward son requiring him to break off all contact with your daughter and the rest of his misfit friends, if he wants to have you returned to her alive. Kyouya’s heart may have been perverted by your association, but the Ootori duty runs deep. He will do it, out of misplaced honor, and once he was been returned to our family home, a suitable bride will be found for him and he will take his rightful place as heir to my empire.”

“I thought you had disregarded him as heir, since he is the 3rd son,” Ranka replied.

“He has proven that he has a good head for the business and it will be his reward for leaving your daughter and that Hitachiin brat,” Yoshio strode forward, grabbing a roll of duct tape on the way. Tearing off a piece, he held it above Ranka’s lips. “You should be grateful. I could do so much worse and no one would ever know. This way I get my son back and your daughter can still have that closet faggot she calls a boyfriend.”

“Hikaru is-“ Ranka was cut off in midsentence as Yoshio pressed the tape to his lips.

“Better,” Yoshio responded with a cold grin. “Still so much more than you deserve. I could destroy you completely and no one would ever know. But, I know my son and as soft hearted as he is, any visible damage to you would cause him to rebel again.” He bent down and whispered nastily into Ranka’s ear. “It’s a good thing then isn’t it, that our friend Gio here knows how to enjoy himself and not leave visible marks… though you may be a bit uncomfortable sitting for a while.” He grabbed Ranka’s hair again and pulled hard, stepping back slightly and grimacing. “Though you may actually like that part, won’t you. Getting fucked by such a prime specimen of masculine beauty. You are probably depraved enough to beg for more.”

Yoshio stepped away, roughly pushing Ranka’s head back. Turning to the Yakuza leader, he motioned for him to join, before throwing a final reminder over his shoulder to Gio. “Remember. No physical damage this time. If my fool son refuses to cooperate, you can have free rein. “

“Yes Sir,” Gio bowed and kept his glance lowered as he watched Yoshio and the others walk toward the exit.

With an evil smile, he turned around, focusing his attention on Ranka. Caressing a hand down Ranka’s auburn hair, Gio said with a twisted amount of delight, “I am so going to enjoy you, pretty tranny.” With a sharp tug he pulled Ranka up from the chair and threw him face down across the table, arms still cuffed behind his back. He slid his hand up Ranka’s thigh. “If you relax you might just enjoy it too.”

Ranka struggled against the cuffs, face pressed flat into the table. Breath heavy.

“Or not.” Gio responded cruelly. “Doesn’t really matter to me either way. I am going to enjoy it.”



On the other side of the window, Tamaki and Marika watched the scene unfold in silence. They couldn’t hear what was being said but they were able to guess from the ugly expressions on Yoshio and Ranka’s faces and harsh tones that some threats were happening. A look of terror flying across Ranka’s face was their first clue that something awful was about to happen. When Yoshio turned and walked away leaving Ranka with just the man in the tuxedo, Marika unconsciously grabbed Tamaki’s hand. When that man threw Ranka across a table and started fondling him she gasped in horror. “We have to do something. We have to get in there and stop it!!”

Tamaki squeezed her hand tighter in agreement and turned to race toward the door that they had seen earlier, not sure how they were going to get in but determined to stop the scene from happening. Only as soon as he took two steps, five men with guns stepped out of the shadows, pointed it at them and yelled, “Freeze!”


Author's Note:

I always feel like I need a shower, a solid disinfectant, and to curl up in a blanket with a teddy bear after I write Yoshio's dialogue. It physically makes me ill to write it, even as I know it is necessary. I know some authors like to write of Yoshio's redemption as he comes around to the idea of Kyouya and Haruhi being together. But that isn't my Yoshio. In this story he is the cold hearted bastard who slapped his son and sent him sprawling to the floor in front of his friends and all the rest of Ouran, without a thought. He is the kind of person who would do ANYTHING including entering into agreements with the mob to maintain what he feels is his rightful due. Power is EVERYTHING to this Yoshio and little things like duty, family, and honor are only valuable as tools to help him acheive that power. People are pawns to him and he will use them as he sees fit... basically everything that Kyouya has learned to rebel against through his interactions with the Haruhi and the Host Club.

But first and foremost, I am a romantic comedy writer, not an angsty one. So I promise you that the evil villan will fall and be smashed to pieces on the rocks below, and my characters WILL get their happily (smutty) ever after.

...and if I ever hear someone actually call someone a faggot to someone else or threaten to rape someone... I will be up in their face so fast they will not know what hit them!!! I'm 5'9" and pushing over 200lbs on near solid muscle. They WILL be down for the count. Period.

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