The Dragon's Curse (A Hanzo X Reader Fanfic)

McCree-san

I like the chapter name. Don't you guys?

Eversince the Edo period, the castles of Japan have had thick stone bulwarks that acted as the protectors of nobles and soldiers residing inside its sturdy wooden walls. Such defenses could only be scaled by specially trained warriors called ninja, and even for these experienced fighters, the task was already an elephant to handle; that's not even including the ishitoshi, trap doors built near the walls from which the staff could drop rocks on the head of any unlucky intruder.

So how in the world did his cousin, with whom you've had no contact with for the past 19 years, make you crack smile as you had awhile ago?

If you were a great castle, Satoshi didn't even have to go through all the cumbersome work and scale your walls--you let him in through the widely opened grand gates. You seemed so at ease with him, so authentic that acting all formal and proper hadn't even crossed your mind; unlike interacting with Hanzo, on the other hand.
The heir bet his head that if he were the one to offer you those takoyaki balls, you would've given a polite smile and deny the invitation like a broken record player.

He wished you didn't see him so differently just because he was a Shimada. But then again, that wasn't the impression he got from you and Genji. So Hanzo conceded with the negativity in his thoughts and figured that it really was something about him that got you all frazzled and jittery.

Just the thought of spending time with you, without your walls and barriers and formalities, sounded like a miracle that reached the length of stars. Maybe then you'll finally be able to see that whatever you thought of him wasn't exactly set on stone and that you may even find him to be another man entirely; a man you wouldn't have to bow low from the waist to everytime he turned to you for a simple gaze over the shoulder.

Hanzo downed the last bit of his sake with one big gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hands. It has been some time since he had stormed off here, and he figured the others were probably waiting for him back at the festival. After leaving his payment in exact change, the man got off his seat, exited the tiny building, and searched for any signs of you or his staff members.
It proved to be a cumbersome task, especially with most of the people crowding around like leeches about him, bumping into him everytime he took a step.

Fortunately, a few minutes later the crowd thinned, apparently heading somewhere more interesting, probably where the main events were to be held. Upon getting a clearer view of the path before him, it didn't take a minute for Hanzo to spot the familiar green peaks of Genji's hair, and he treaded over to approach him.

Hanzo stood close enough and opened his mouth to call when his brown eyes caught four people all wearing the same bright hue of blue combat uniforms. Not wasting a second, the Shimada stepped back into the throng and ducked behind an elderly couple enjoying a bowl of miso. He gritted his teeth and laid a clammy palm onto his bosom. His chest thrummed like a drum out of control, his heart attempting to break free from its sternum; Hanzo could feel the very organ lumping at the base of his throat. He swore to his ancestors that if he made it out of here alive, body and all, he'd beat his younger brother into the dirt for being unbelievably careless!

Craning his neck to observe the scene as best he could without being in the targets' lines of sight, Hanzo had a greater chance of inspecting and deducing every action they made. They conversed with Genji, chatting and laughing with the strangers like long-time friends. One in particular, Hanzo noticed, the younger Shimada regarded with distinguished endearment more so than the others; she was a tall European woman, long face framed by short blonde hair and adorned with bright azure eyes. Unlike her other members, she had what looked like heavy metal wings on her back, folded at the meantime.