Kenzo Ozawa, aged 78, former infantry private; born on September 20, 1927. He watched with a smile as the young boy with the brown puff of hair on his head skipped happily back to his house next street, a porn magazine in hand. His porn magazine. With a decrepit groan he got off the bench and started walking home, clutching his cane with newly rejuvenated vigor. He watched as the boy's figure disappeared.
"Kids these days are so feisty…Ke ke, his parents will probably be mad." Kenzo said.
It was an odd thing. He knew his time was up. He could feel it in his bones, the exhausted bundle of muscles in his chest - a heart of seventy eight, pumping away its last bits of vitality.
His children cut contact with him, and he didn't even know who his grandchildren were.
His siblings had moved to Kyoto, or America, or god knows where on the planet to seek out their own proverbial apotheosis. Only he had come back to the little swampy town that nurtured them as tadpoles.
But the town was now almost a city, metropolitan and concrete. And his wife had died before their kids could make it to adulthood.
And old Kenzo Ozawa would die alone. But, strangely, he was happy. It was as if fate smiled upon him one last time.
The opportunity to share his love for women's badoongas! The juicy fat blobs of flesh and milk, the source of all life! The underrated charm of the As, the golden C-classic, the mountainous contour of the Gs and up, but above all those: the double-D landing perfection!
"Ehehe~!" Kenzo chuckled mischievously, as he almost skipped a step in excitement.
Being the known town's pervert, most people knew to stir clear of him. That or they just called him a molester and walked away. But not this boy, this young man called "Issei", son of the Hyoudou pair living in the working-class neighborhood.
He had the same shining eyes as Kenzo himself when he first laid eyes on the sexy supermodel on the front cover of his Weekly Playboy piece. He also gave him some of the lunch his mother had so neatly packed in a box. It wasn't hard to get an hour-long intense discussion about the purity of big tattas going. Kenzo saw the potential in him - of an internationally infamous pervert. But most of all, he saw himself, and he didn't want the boy to repress himself like he had done in the military. He should let his wings of perviness flop free!
It was strange. He felt happy to die today. For the first time, he could indulge in his one obsession and even passed on his teachings. Something, he had failed to do with his own little ones.
"Little punk better keep that mag close, new editions are gettin expansive. Pfhu!" he spat on ground and chuckled. He might hoard him for some spare change if they saw each other again. Kenzo was a perv first, a swindler second, and a teacher last.
'Ah, who am I kidding, he'll ask me about Js and I'll forget all about the yen.' Kenzo thought wistfully and quickened a step, eager to dig into his old classics from 1987.
And that was the origin of Issei Hyoudou's Harem King dream. The thing that shaped his life - enjoying boobies!
Or at least…It should have been…in this forlorn, mundane iteration, too…
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· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
"Class Beta-9 spatial-temporal shift on the Kurenai Scale, twenty thousand macroquantum rotations, thirty, forty…one hundred thousand!" a woman's voice rang out through a cacophony of voices in 'the office', disbelief becoming more pronounced as the nanoseconds flew by. Her breath hitched as an ear-piercing beep was emitted from the super-advanced technological compartments she was working with. The panic in 'the office' grew tenfold. "Oh no…!"
"It's over!"
"Initiate the Reverse-Genesis protocols right now!"
"There's nothing more to be done…"
The woman shot from her 'desk' and ran through the infinite dimensional-mirror door that connected her 'office' to her superior's headquarters. Anyone else would be torn from the bowel-like movement of the infinite-dimensional tunnel, but thankfully her central axis bracelet let her travel through it like a waterslide.
The transportation phase took both hundreds of lifetimes and only four seconds to complete.
Immediately upon entering, the woman's eyes were filled with a scenery of technological and astrophysical progress than even the greatest minds of 21st century humanity couldn't begin to imagine. For her, a measly low-rank manager in the interdimensional guardian organization, it was like the visage of a biblically accurate angel. And at the eye of the visual storm, was a little girl, no older than 12, who shifted compressed black holes and Quanta Keys around the spacious room with her mind alone, constructing entire mockups of "D x D cosmologies" in mere flashes.
She got on one knee and bowed her head, clutching the bio-electronic tablet near her chest. Her palms were almost sweaty with anxiety.
"Lady Akane, I'm here to report!"
The girl stopped and dispersed all her projects into nothing with a drawn out sigh. She turned her head to the side, letting the woman clearly see her face. Bright blue eyes behind a pair of red half frame glasses and creamy skin outlined by a hime-cut of deep lavender hair.
"You didn't need to yell, Patricia, I already knew you were coming." her Lady spoke in a voice of professional boredom.
The woman - Patricia - shuddered slightly as she felt the crystalline irises of "Lady Akane" pierce through her entire being, an intellectual perception only matched by a scant few.
"So, what is it?" Akane asked, flinging a stasis-locked Big Bang to the side and taking a casual stride toward her employee. "Your spinal posture is slightly off by 0.3 millimeters and your sweat glands are fired up like a barbecue. An incursion from the lower-quadrant in universe-******?"
Patricia's mouth went agape for a second. As always, her superior's transcendent perceptiveness never ceased to amaze her, even after an year of working under her. It was like a higher-dimensional being staring at a piece of paper, nothing could escape her.
"Y-Yes, however, the situation went way out of our control this time! We've lost all contact with the timeline! Our last reported signal was a break in the dimensional barrier. Apologies, Lady Ak-"
The girl put up her hand to cut her off. "Don't. You do all you can. What was the quantum-reality break impact measured at? 12 on the EX scale?"
"N-no, it was…" Patricia swallowed her spit as she uttered the next words. "24."
Patricia saw her superior visibly freeze, and a tiny twinge of nervousness ran across her face before it was vanquished. A pit opened in her stomach. Lady Akane was the most composed, nonchalant being she had ever seen. For her to be shook, meant disasters of bondless proportion were on the horizon.
"Give me the data-bank" Akane beckoned, gesturing for the bio-e tablet.
Patricia jumped slightly, snapping out of her stupor and with shaking hands handed the tablet over to her boss. She watched as those blue analytical eyes glimmered with several waves of emotion as they took in all the data. Finally, the girl closed her eyes, sighed and steeled her gaze.
"This is going to be a major shithole." Akane mumbled, the crude language surprising Patricia, and waved her hand, materializing a semi-tranluscent Quanta table. "I need to report this to my mothers. In the meantime, Patricia-"
"Y-yes, Lady Akane?"
"Go back in your office and mitigate the situation there. Send in a few scouts to analyze the situation from a closer view." Akane ordered as she sat on the table, initiating dozens of systems with quick precision. Beeps and notification alarms began firing off as she navigated through the ocean of databases and servers their organization relied on. She paused briefly and looked toward Patricia. "Also, please make sure nobody tries to be a hero and 'Invade' the timeline. If the situation unravels even more due to my own agents' incompetence, Mama Ren will put me in a world of literal fecal matter."
"I-I will see it done, Lady Akane!" Patricia responded, bowing deeply. Akane smiled slightly at her attentive subordinate.
"Thanks, you're a gift. Now shoo, girl, I'll be busy." she said, motioning for her to hurry up and get her behind back to the office.
Bowing one last time and collecting herself, Patricia ran back through the infinite dimensional-mirror door.
"I could really use Auntie Atago's hot chocolate foxfire coffee right now…" Akane sighed, knowing full well days of unending logistics work was awaiting her.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
Kenzo Ozawa's heart stopped. He clutched his chest, his fingers sinking into the creased red woodcutter shirt he wore often as if trying to grasp any life in there. His eyes suddenly rolled to the back of his head in a grotesque unnatural movement and his body began contorting.
Idly, the last thing he saw before his consciousness was drowned out was the sky, colored red-purple and cracked in the middle as a comet tore its way through the fabric of reality.
The world spun and folded inwards, historical events replaying like a duct tape, listing the life of the perverted old breast-addict as it ran from beginning to its end…from nowhere, a cut appeared. Then another, and another. And the tape of his life was cracked, broken to pieces.
In the deep silence of non-existence, the "film" was restarted, new "footage" appearing every attosecond, nearly identical to the original. Yet, with every passing "second" of the scenes, deep alterations were made. Paths that Kenzo would have never chosen in two lifetimes.
His birth. A humble household holding a family of ten inside.
His formative years. Running around old Kuoh town, bustling with farmers and goods traders. Reaching the dilapidated Amenominakanushi shrine and proclaiming himself victor in a game of hide and seek.
His adolescence. Rejecting his first high school fling and several offers to mixed bath parties to focus on his studies instead. Becoming an academic scholar from an early age.
His early adulthood. Entering the military, fighting the Americans and receiving a medal of honor from a senior officer. Accepting an invitation into a newly budding American intelligence network.
His midlife. Climbing the socio-political ladder. Advancing financially. Creating a family, both of his own and adopted children. Navigating operations within CIA headquarters. MKUltra. CHAOS.
Finally, his last years. Disbarment from the CIA. Market collapses. Financial declines. Wife dies. Children cut ties. Crisis and depression are ever-looming. A failing lung and heart. A lonely, sad life. And then, a fateful meeting.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
"Bye!"
"See ya next time, Hyoudou!"
"Let's meet again near Sudo's place!"
"Nah, I'd rather go to Shin's!"
"Yeah, cuz you like his hot sis, poop-face!"
"S-shut up! I just haven't seen Shin!"
Even though they had said their goodbyes, the group of small hooligans continued to argue and throw jabs at one another for several minutes before finally truly separating.
Issei grabbed his football and looked at his watch, gasping in horror. It showed "20:18".
"Oh no! Mom's gonna kill me!" Issei shuddered, imagining the fiery-eyed glare of his mother and hurried into a sprint. In his hurry, he failed to see a protrusion in the pavement and tripped, falling with a hard thud and letting go of the ball. "OW!"
He winced as he got up. He felt a sting in his left knee and saw that he had scrapped it. The blood trickling down his leg caused him to hyperventilate and tear up, but when he saw his ball was missing, the ball was the last thing on his mind.
"Oh no…no no, dad just bought it last week!" the young boy looked around haphazardly.
"You'd have to tell him someone stole it, then." a voice said. It sounded coarse but also gentle, like that butler in that "Batman" show he would watch with his friend Shin.
Issei saw the source of it. An old man, dressed in a smart fashion trench coat. The gloves, fedora and glasses made him look like those old spy mentors in his Nintendo games. He was reading some kind of book. The thing that caught the boy's eye however, was his ball, in the clutches of the man's right hand.
"H-hey, give it back!" Issei exclaimed as he charged at the man.
He tried to jump and grab the ball, but the old man merely chuckled, moving his hand away.
"Grr, give it back!" Issei roared, putting all his 8-year old toddler energy into flailing his arms…
To no avail, as the man simply shifted his hand out of reach. At times, it seemed almost undetectable by the human eye.
Issei only stopped to catch his breath, his hands grasping his knees as he struggled to even stand. The man smiled innocently at him and taunted him with the ball, putting it millimeters from his face.
"Mmmgh, shitty oldhead! Give it BACK!" Issei yelled, frustration and desperation giving him enough of a boost to shoot his leg and kick the old bastard in the shin.
"Ack!" the man groaned as his body curled from the pain. The ball dropped and rolled over to Issei, who excitedly went to grab it, but was suddenly interrupted as he was smacked in the back of the head. "What the hell's wrong with you, kiddo?! You like hitting your elders, eh?!"
"Aaah! Fucking shithead-what the hell's wrong with you!? You like bullying little kids?! Pedo!" Issei bit back while clutching his head. A tiny bump had appeared where the man had delivered the downward smack from heaven.
"Pe-you little-" the old man attempted to argue.
"Pedo! Pedo! Pedo!" but Issei was angry and out for revenge.
"Shut up!" The man rushed forward and put his hand on the boy's mouth. He looked around just in case. When he saw the area was clear of any potential adult onlookers, he sighed and stepped back. He leaned, grabbed the ball and gave it back to Issei. "Here, get your ball back to your daddy. You won't have to spend his weekly check on replacing it."
"..." Issei said nothing. He was giddy that he got his ball back, but he also felt confused. Though immature, even his pea brain could understand the man meant no harm. "T-thanks. And…"
"Hm?"
"You're not a pedo…sorry."
The man let out a wistful chuckle. "Ah, don't sweat it, sport. I've been called worse. Some of it not undeserved."
Issei once again took a moment to stare in silence. He saw the man slump down on the bench and grab his discarded book, which…now that he was closer.
'A manga!' his heart skipped a beat. He had never seen an older person read manga. Most thought they were stupid cartoonish stuff.
"Whatmangaisthat?!" Issei, in his renewed excitement, asked the question so fast it sounded slurred. He ran over to the man to try and peek at his manga.
"Whoa, slow down, bucko, you're not four." the old man said.
Issei's cheeks tinted with embarrassment and he took a breath to calm down. "W-What manga is that?"
The old man rose a brow and slowly shifted his gaze from the kid to his manga.
"This? Oh, a mid 90s classic. "Spymaster North Star"." he announced with slight over-dramatic gusto. Issei giggled slightly, then his expression shifted into confusion.
"I've never heard of it."
"Gah!" the old man went pale, his soul leaving his body for a second. Those words, innocent as they were, were a stab to his heart. He coughed and recollected himself. "Haah, well, they used to be a golden standard along with Berserk and Dragon Ball, but nowadays, I guess "spy fiction" isn't the heat with youngsters."
"S…Spy fiction?" Issei muttered out the question, unsure of what the words meant. It was like an alien word for the eight year old. "What's that?"
"Spy fiction is…Wait…Hmmm." the old man had paused, for he knew explaining the textbook definition of the genre would just leave him confused and bored. He had to speak the language of his generation. "Ah, do you know the James Bond movies?"
"No." Issei shook his head.
"Nick Fury?" he tried again.
"Nuh uh." a failure, again.
The old man groaned on the verge of giving up.
"Batman?" he asked somewhat trepidly.
"OH, I KNOW THAT ONE!" Issei jumped up a little, giddy at one of his top five superheroes being mentioned. "I am shadow, I am night, Robin! Batarang!"
The old man couldn't help but smile at the boy's enthusiasm to emulate the Dark Knight. Even if he butchered the characterization horribly.
"Ha ha, not exactly how it goes, but yeah pretty much. So, the spy genre is basically…episodes of a Batman show. The protagonist has cool tech-"
"Like lasers and stuff?" Issei cut in, his excitement not letting him listen through.
"Sometimes, yes. They're given this tech to do one thing, and one thing only: stop bad guys."
"Like the Joker and Penguin?" Issei asked, tilting his head. The old man rubbed his head, unsure how to proceed.
"Eeh, those are more street thugs. I'm talking about real big shots. Like a politician, a general-"
"Even the President of America?!"
The old man paused for a moment and didn't know whether to laugh or stare at the kid in slight horror.
'What are they teaching these kids at school?'
"I…If the President is evil, then yeah. They're sent out to deal with him, too." he answered, pushing his fedora down a little.
"But how will they beat him? He's got a whole army with him!" Issei asked, his interest clearly bursting like a brim full gold mine.
"Smart kid. See, the spies aren't superhuman, at least not like uhm, Goku or Superman. To save the world, they need to rely on their wit. Think of all the times you've outplayed your friends in soccer. Spies weaponize that kind of brainpower to get the drop on the villains and-"
"Sock them in the dick!" the boy exclaimed happily, uppercutting the air a few times and laughing triumphantly. The man felt sorry for his imaginary opponent.
"Uuh, sure. It's not recommended, but anything works if it's to save the world! That is what a spy is all about! Track your enemy, counter everything they can dish out and BAM-victory." The man leaned forward, his tone lowering to a whisper. "And, if you're lucky, a hot chick with big boobs as a side-reward."
"Awesooome…" Issei muttered as his eyes shone with intense interest. The man had said the three things his young years unconsciously loved to hear: beating bad guys, saving the world and big boobs.
"Don't quote me on that last one, kid, I'm not a writer!" the old man said, slapping his knee.
Issei giggled. The more he thought about the man's words, the more his elation grew and the more the ticking minutes on his watch became a background noise.
"Hey, could you tell me some spy stories?!" he requested, practically jumping in place.
The old man paused to stare at the kid. For a second, he saw his own 8-year old self. Elated, energetic and optimistic. Wanting to hear war hero stories. Wanting to be one himself. He idly noticed the sky had gone dark through peripheral vision.
'It's running late…ah what the hell. I can spare some thirty minutes. He'll be safer with me anyways."
A smile creeped up on his face and he patted the empty spot next to him. "Come on, sit down, kid. You're in for a ride."
"Yayy!" with one last energetic jump, he got on the bench and began listening as the man retold his services in the CIA, thinly veiled as made-up manga stories.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
Kenzo Ozawa, aged 78, former CIA agent born on September 20, 1927. He watched with a smile as the young boy with the brown puff of hair on his head skipped happily back to his house next street, a spy manga in his hand. With a decrepit groan he got off the bench and started walking home, clutching his cane with newly rejuvenated vigor. He watched with a smile, the boy's form disappearing in the distance.
"Kids these days are so feisty…Heh, his parents will probably be mad at him for worrying the life out of them" Kenzo said.
It was an odd thing. He knew his time was up. He could feel it in his bones, the exhausted bundle of muscles in his chest - a heart of seventy eight, pumping away its last bits of vitality.
His children, adoptive and biological, had not called in years, and he didn't even know who his grandchildren were. If he had any.
His siblings had remained in Japan, becoming CEOs and public servants, dying in monotony. Only he had "succeeded" in life. And even then, he came back to their swampy little town. Kuoh - the birthplace of the Ozawas.
But the town was now almost a city, metropolitan and concrete. And his wife had died long before he returned.
And old Kenzo Ozawa would die alone. But, strangely, he was happy. It was as if fate smiled upon him one last time.
The chance to share his obsession about superhuman spy agents with another! The thrilling romanticized adventures of his former profession! The underrated charm of winning not through brute force, but wit and teamwork! And all the cool gadgets that came with it!
"I haven't had this much fun in years." Kenzo spoke to himself. "That brat better give it back."
Above all, Kenzo was known as the town's stingiest person. He didn't just hand out his possessions to random folk. But he knew…deep down, in that rotten heart of his, that young Issei Hyoudou had the makings of a hero.
He smiled wistfully, knowing he wouldn't get to see that potential fully realized.
'Ah well, next time I meet him I'll tell him about the mission in Ukraine.'
And then, Kenzo Ozawa's heart stopped.