#28 - Tôi Kratistôi, for koushi
Title: Tôi Kratistôi
Recipient: koushi
Author: coldthermistor
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Robert/Saito
Word count: 3038
Warnings: None that I can think of.
A/N: One section is has a prominent stylistic influence from Matthew Stover, as well as in phrasing. Thanks to M. for the beta, despite the mess. Tôi Kratistôi is supposedly spoken by Alexander the Great at his deathbed, meaning 'to the strongest.'
-
Saito always uses a shinken when moving through the forms.
Sharpened swords have always been dangerous, even to trained practitioners. Even the highly-skilled usually favour the blunted swords for iaido.
Saito does not.
Focus is only as sharp as the blade of the sword, and iaido is not competitive. There is little, if any sparring, in iaido. It is about self-mastery.
Saito prizes the idea. Control is key. Precision. Unhurried motion, blade slicing through air as smooth as water, through the fluid cuts, and back into the sheath. Still. Untouchable. Untouched.
He breathes and begins again.
Gohonme. Kesagiri.
The opponents are all in his mind. The opponents are all out there, in the world outside the small room.
Inside this room, and outside this room, Saito does not hesitate.
He never does.
-
He doesn’t expect to receive a printed invitation to attend Maurice Fischer’s funeral. It is unexpected, but not improbable. Saito doesn’t quite find himself believing in the impossible. He frowns down at the invitation.
He’s already made up his mind, even before he’s quite finished reading through the elegant silver script on the black card. It is…an odd feeling, to be awake after a lifetime. Plans made before the flight are dusty cobwebs, clinging to the surface of his mind. They fray and snap when he reaches for them, or tries to recall.
Most of the urgency is gone. A detached curiosity, a dimming of the young man’s fire in him. That is what he has taken away from that half-remembered castle on the shores of eternity.
This funeral. To attend it is a choice he makes, a plan he makes now. It’s something to do, something that won’t quite leave him at ends. Perhaps a little risky. He wonders briefly if Maurice’s son will remember, and then dismisses the idea.
Perhaps it is a little impulsive.
But Saito never hesitates. He acts.
He calls his secretary to cancel his return flight to Japan.
-
His entire life has been a single game: Who is Robert Fischer? All these years later, Robert isn’t quite sure if he’s found the answer.
He’s not the same man who stepped onto the 747. If he really tries to think about it, he can’t remember much, except a slightly sore wrist, and -
And what he’s been looking for all his life. Something that he never even knew that he’d wanted until he’d gotten it.
Permission.
He can’t exactly remember when the pieces snap together neatly in his head. The moment when he says oh, I get it, and learns that he doesn’t have to be Maurice Fischer the Second, or to stand in the long shadow his father casts. He just has to be Robert Fischer. It’s as simple as that.
And that’s another question that he’s spent most of his life trying to figure out. Who is Robert Fischer? All his life, he’s waited for permission to find his own answers. He’s followed everything other people have given him - Uncle Peter, Father. Tried not to be bitter because he was never good enough.
It all comes to a sudden end in this moment.
I was disappointed you tried. With these words, he’s been cut free, and freedom is a terrifying and exhilarating thing at the same time, a sweet, dizzying rush in his veins that he doesn’t quite know how to deal with.
It’s with that kind of clarity that he realises all he has to do is do decide.
So that’s what he does. First, he decides to break up his father’s empire. Second, he decides to build it all up from nothing again. Third, he decides he should surpass his father. And that’s exactly what he’s going to do.
He decides. He makes a single phone call.
And the world changes.
-
Saito brings flowers to the funeral.
It’s only respectful.
It’s a commercialised affair, mostly directed by Peter Browning. He recognises one or two other minor competitors - none as major as Proclus Global. They give him sharp nods of recognition, and turn away. Mostly, they spend the time in a respectful silence, and giving numerous eulogies for Maurice Fischer.
Saito is cynical enough to realise that most of them are probably insincere, and at least half of them are here to see if they can obtain any information about what’s going to happen to Fischer-Morrow’s shares. Or how Robert Fischer intends to dissolve his father’s company.
Robert Fischer is there too. A lone figure in a dark suit, standing aloof from everyone else gathered and mingling. His light blue eyes are clear and very much dry. There’s something different about him, something Saito cannot quite tell. He’s sharper, harder, as if their foray into his mind has removed all the uncertainties, all the doubt.
Robert glances at him. He frowns, and a few steps take him towards Saito.
“Excuse me. You seem familiar. Do I know you?” he asks.
“I was one of your father’s main competitors,” Saito replies carefully. He says nothing about being on the same flight, and most definitely nothing about layers and layers of dreams. It’s surprisingly easy. Information is a powerful commodity. It’s one of the many things that must be used carefully.
Saito doesn’t believe in showing his hand until he is ready to move, and when he does, he does so quickly. Decisively.
“Proclus Global,” Robert supplies, and Saito inclines his head.
“My condolences for the loss of your father,” he says.
Robert studies him, as if not quite certain how to respond. But then he nods and says, “Thank you.”
Saito isn’t one to make small talk. He finds such conversations pointless, and more often than not, they are distractions. In that way, he uses words like how he learned a sword must be used when he was a boy, maybe six or seven. Sharp, incisive, economical.
And there is silence, and the way that people react to silence that tells him so much about them. Dominic Cobb was - is - a man touched by silence, and the empty spaces the silence leaves in him. Robert Fischer’s silence is another kind of silence. On the plane, it was a little petulant, and the rest of it was standoffish arrogance.
Now, there are hints of a confidence that Saito quite…likes. Or perhaps, when he’s not suffering from a debilitating gunshot wound, he takes far more notice of the way Robert carries himself, the sharp lines of his face, the way he’s stopped giving the impression that he’s retreating into himself.
Saito always appreciates a strong opponent.
“It’s…refreshing to not be approached about my plans for Fischer-Morrow,” Robert says then, with a startling honesty, and Saito is puzzled for a moment by the non-sequitur.
“The uncertainty of the transition worries them, naturally,” Saito says. It’s the most neutral answer he can come up with, skirting the dangerous question because Robert Fischer has yet to publicly announce his plans for the dissolving of Fischer-Morrow.
“And you?”
Saito raises an eyebrow. The question is careless, and direct. Robert must know that he is under no obligation to answer it, and there is no reason that he should. But it is bold, and Saito is amused by boldness. He appreciates it, and even admires a little audacity.
“I see no cause for concern.”
“Of course,” Robert says. He offers the hint of a polite, cynical smile. “Depending on how Fischer-Morrow’s assets are handled?”
Saito feels the hint of a smile touch his own lips. Gravely, he replied, “I do not discuss matters of business strategy.”
Someone touches Robert Fischer’s shoulder. The young man turns away, conversing with the man in low, hushed voices. Finally, Robert nods, once, agreeing to whatever it is. He turns back to Saito, and gives him a polite nod before he leaves.
Business, Saito thinks. It is always business, and it cannot ever be personal. That is something he has learned by fighting his way to the position he currently holds, as CEO of what will soon be the largest energy corporation in the world. It’s just a matter of days, now. He feels no guilt at all about what they have done to Robert Fischer, even as he feels just a little interest for the change in the young man.
He’s felt most like himself since he woke up from the dream that he had lost himself in. Business is impersonal, ruthlessly logical, and with the challenging element of risk and prediction that he has always enjoyed.
He catches Robert glancing back at him once, and frowning, as if confronted by a puzzle that he just can’t quite solve. Saito wonders if he remembers. But surely not. It takes training, and he knows that Robert Fischer does not possess that training.
-
“Robert,” Peter Browning sighs, “I don’t understand what you think you’re trying to achieve by this. Your father wouldn’t - “
“My father,” Robert says, feeling the cool certainty with which he says it, “Wanted me to be my own man. That’s exactly what I’m doing, Uncle Peter.”
Uncle Peter looks troubled. He spreads his hands out, questioningly, “That doesn’t mean you need to break up Fischer-Morrow. At least take some time to think about this. He wanted you to be your own man, but do you even know what you want?”
“Yes.” The answer is easy. Too easy, now that he’s made up his mind, and decided exactly what he’s wanted. “I want to break up his company. I want to build a better company than he did.”
“Be realistic, Robert,” Uncle Peter says, slowly. He frowns, looking at Robert as if he’s never quite seen him before. His hands are busy fiddling with his tie. “If it were me - if it were Maurice, he would build something even better with the company he had now. He wouldn’t dismantle it. It’s a brave move, but too reckless. The other companies will be all over you - “
“I know,” Robert replies. There’s a part of him that feels distant, detached from this. He’s made up his mind. The rest are just details, things to be worked out, and problems to be solved. “If I were my father, I would build something better with Fischer-Morrow.”
Uncle Peter’s eyes narrow. “Robert, I know you’ve gone through a great deal of stress - “
“I have thought this through, Uncle Peter.”
He doesn’t want to be custodian of Maurice Fischer’s legacy, the caretaker of something that was never really his. That had never been what his father had wanted for him. How he knows that, he can’t quite say, only that he knows it with such a conviction that the idea that he might be wrong can’t even occur to him. He doesn’t pay it any heed.
He doesn’t want to be Maurice Fischer’s placeholder.
“You don’t need to break up Fischer-Morrow to do what you want to,” Uncle Peter says at last. Robert recognises the hint of weariness in his voice. He glances at his godfather. He’s still fiddling with his tie. He always does that when he’s not quite at ease. “It’s all that’s left from your father, Robert. Once you dissolve a company - “
“It is irrevocable, I know,” Robert agrees, trying to keep the rising impatience from his voice. He can’t quite explain it: it is like seeing the world through a cunningly crafted glass lens. He cannot shake the feeling that there is something just slightly wrong about the glass; that the image through the glass is distorted, refracted, and yet at the same time, there’s a feeling of astounding clarity. For the first time in a long while, he feels as if he has a purpose.
He can’t quite express any of it to Uncle Peter. For some reason, he finds himself reluctant to even try.
The closest he can come to it is to think that he will never quite be free of the long shadow his father has cast, not until the last giant reminder of Maurice Fischer has been destroyed.
And then he will be quit of his father’s shadow, and finally, only then, can he begin to make something of his own. For himself.
-
Uncle Peter fights him, every step of the way, but Robert does not yield. For the first time in his life, he’s found something he wants so fiercely and he isn’t going to give in on it.
In the end, he wins. Fischer-Morrow is dissolved, and the corporate consequences be damned. He’s left with enough money to live over comfortably and start a small company of his own, but Robert doesn’t do that. He’s learned a bit about running a company, but despite the confidence, he’s painfully aware he’s never actually had to do it all by himself before.
He can’t help remembering the man - Saito. He can’t help thinking, for some reason, that he can trust him, a little. It’s funny, because Robert knows everyone in business is out for themselves. You can’t trust anyone. (Not even your own godfather.) He doesn’t say that last thought, but it is true. He hasn’t said any word of what he was really thinking to Uncle Peter, not since he got off that plane.
It’s probably because it’s too difficult to explain, and Uncle Peter wouldn’t understand, and thinks him a fool for trying to build his own company from almost nothing.
Robert has been called naïve and foolish, but he’s nowhere near stupid.
It takes him a while to find what he needs, but then he finds it, and then he’s on a flight to Japan.
He doesn’t look back.
-
Saito is in the middle of considering plans on the new Africa contract they’re competing for with Shell when his secretary calls in. There’s someone to see you, he says, with a hint of uncertainty. A Mr Robert Fischer.
Saito frowns, wondering what could possibly bring Robert Fischer to his office in Japan. To actually find him would take a decent bit of research and a dogged determination, and Saito adds another check to his mental estimation of the young man. Perhaps because he has a healthy respect for boldness and some persistence, Saito indicates that his secretary should let Robert proceed, and a few minutes later, Robert Fischer walks through the doorway and into Saito’s private office. He’s dressed in a dark suit, but the neat blue tie matches his eyes.
“Mr Saito,” he says, “I don’t know if you remember me - “
“You are Robert Fischer. Maurice’s son,” Saito says calmly, and watches Robert blink at the identification. “I would ask why you have come all the way from Australia to find me.” He gestures to the empty seat on the opposite side of his desk.
Robert hesitates for a moment, and then pulls out the chair and sits. “I want to apply for a position in your company.”
Saito inhales sharply in surprise. Direct, to the point, and so outrageously daring that another man would have sent Robert Fischer out of that office the moment he uttered those words. But Saito has never made it to where he is today by ignoring strange opportunities, and Robert’s boldness only serves to intrigue him. “And why do you approach me instead of submitting an application?”
“I want to work directly under you.”
Saito doesn’t ask the question. He waits for it.
“My father wasn’t the only man to build up a commercial empire from nothing,” Robert says, meeting Saito’s eyes squarely. He doesn’t look away, he doesn’t fidget. “You did.”
“And?”
“I want to learn,” Robert Fischer says, then, without any trace of self-consciousness. “I want to know exactly how you do what you do.”
Saito feels a touch of a cold smile on his lips. Either Robert is deluded, or he has something up his sleeve. There is only one way to find out. “I do not run a school,” he says, “Try Harvard. I understand they would admit you.”
“I’ve been there,” Robert admits, “But there are things a degree can’t teach you. Things that you know, and that I need to know before I can begin.”
“And you expect me to…educate you?”
“I have the information you can use,” Robert says. He leans forward a little, but that is all. “I know I’ve broken up the company, but there’s this hole in the market. Any company can exploit that. But with the information I have…you can gain an edge over them.”
“So. A trade, then.”
Robert smiles. The only word for it is self-deprecating. What he says is, “I’m not a fool, Mr Saito. I know how to do business.”
“And assuming I require this…information, why would I help…someone who could become my future competitor?”
“Because,” Robert says softly, and Saito unconsciously leans forward, across his desk to pick up his words, “You aren’t the only one I can go to. There are other companies, who will want what I can give them. If I start by working for you, everything will be on your terms. And you’ll see me coming, from the start.”
Saito pretends to consider it, running this thumb briefly along the clean line of Robert’s jaw, pausing when he realises exactly what he’s doing. Robert doesn’t flinch away from his touch, doesn’t look away when Saito peers at him, considering. His eyes are the same light blue as Cobb’s, but not haunted. Never haunted. Clean, clear, and sharp.
It’s that kind of clarity, maybe, that allows Saito to make his decision.
Or perhaps it’s because he doesn’t hesitate. He never does.
“Very well,” he says.
His mind is clear, clearer than it has been in days. It is scrubbed clean, with the kind of clarity that shines through when he moves through the katas with the shinken, and loses himself in the sharp sound of steel slicing air.
The opponents are all in his mind. The opponents are all out there, in the world outside the small room. The opponent is in the chair, opposite him, waiting. Watching. Expectant.
Inside this room, and outside this room, Saito does not hesitate.
He never does.
Recipient: koushi
Author: coldthermistor
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Robert/Saito
Word count: 3038
Warnings: None that I can think of.
A/N: One section is has a prominent stylistic influence from Matthew Stover, as well as in phrasing. Thanks to M. for the beta, despite the mess. Tôi Kratistôi is supposedly spoken by Alexander the Great at his deathbed, meaning 'to the strongest.'
-
Saito always uses a shinken when moving through the forms.
Sharpened swords have always been dangerous, even to trained practitioners. Even the highly-skilled usually favour the blunted swords for iaido.
Saito does not.
Focus is only as sharp as the blade of the sword, and iaido is not competitive. There is little, if any sparring, in iaido. It is about self-mastery.
Saito prizes the idea. Control is key. Precision. Unhurried motion, blade slicing through air as smooth as water, through the fluid cuts, and back into the sheath. Still. Untouchable. Untouched.
He breathes and begins again.
Gohonme. Kesagiri.
The opponents are all in his mind. The opponents are all out there, in the world outside the small room.
Inside this room, and outside this room, Saito does not hesitate.
He never does.
-
He doesn’t expect to receive a printed invitation to attend Maurice Fischer’s funeral. It is unexpected, but not improbable. Saito doesn’t quite find himself believing in the impossible. He frowns down at the invitation.
He’s already made up his mind, even before he’s quite finished reading through the elegant silver script on the black card. It is…an odd feeling, to be awake after a lifetime. Plans made before the flight are dusty cobwebs, clinging to the surface of his mind. They fray and snap when he reaches for them, or tries to recall.
Most of the urgency is gone. A detached curiosity, a dimming of the young man’s fire in him. That is what he has taken away from that half-remembered castle on the shores of eternity.
This funeral. To attend it is a choice he makes, a plan he makes now. It’s something to do, something that won’t quite leave him at ends. Perhaps a little risky. He wonders briefly if Maurice’s son will remember, and then dismisses the idea.
Perhaps it is a little impulsive.
But Saito never hesitates. He acts.
He calls his secretary to cancel his return flight to Japan.
-
His entire life has been a single game: Who is Robert Fischer? All these years later, Robert isn’t quite sure if he’s found the answer.
He’s not the same man who stepped onto the 747. If he really tries to think about it, he can’t remember much, except a slightly sore wrist, and -
And what he’s been looking for all his life. Something that he never even knew that he’d wanted until he’d gotten it.
Permission.
He can’t exactly remember when the pieces snap together neatly in his head. The moment when he says oh, I get it, and learns that he doesn’t have to be Maurice Fischer the Second, or to stand in the long shadow his father casts. He just has to be Robert Fischer. It’s as simple as that.
And that’s another question that he’s spent most of his life trying to figure out. Who is Robert Fischer? All his life, he’s waited for permission to find his own answers. He’s followed everything other people have given him - Uncle Peter, Father. Tried not to be bitter because he was never good enough.
It all comes to a sudden end in this moment.
I was disappointed you tried. With these words, he’s been cut free, and freedom is a terrifying and exhilarating thing at the same time, a sweet, dizzying rush in his veins that he doesn’t quite know how to deal with.
It’s with that kind of clarity that he realises all he has to do is do decide.
So that’s what he does. First, he decides to break up his father’s empire. Second, he decides to build it all up from nothing again. Third, he decides he should surpass his father. And that’s exactly what he’s going to do.
He decides. He makes a single phone call.
And the world changes.
-
Saito brings flowers to the funeral.
It’s only respectful.
It’s a commercialised affair, mostly directed by Peter Browning. He recognises one or two other minor competitors - none as major as Proclus Global. They give him sharp nods of recognition, and turn away. Mostly, they spend the time in a respectful silence, and giving numerous eulogies for Maurice Fischer.
Saito is cynical enough to realise that most of them are probably insincere, and at least half of them are here to see if they can obtain any information about what’s going to happen to Fischer-Morrow’s shares. Or how Robert Fischer intends to dissolve his father’s company.
Robert Fischer is there too. A lone figure in a dark suit, standing aloof from everyone else gathered and mingling. His light blue eyes are clear and very much dry. There’s something different about him, something Saito cannot quite tell. He’s sharper, harder, as if their foray into his mind has removed all the uncertainties, all the doubt.
Robert glances at him. He frowns, and a few steps take him towards Saito.
“Excuse me. You seem familiar. Do I know you?” he asks.
“I was one of your father’s main competitors,” Saito replies carefully. He says nothing about being on the same flight, and most definitely nothing about layers and layers of dreams. It’s surprisingly easy. Information is a powerful commodity. It’s one of the many things that must be used carefully.
Saito doesn’t believe in showing his hand until he is ready to move, and when he does, he does so quickly. Decisively.
“Proclus Global,” Robert supplies, and Saito inclines his head.
“My condolences for the loss of your father,” he says.
Robert studies him, as if not quite certain how to respond. But then he nods and says, “Thank you.”
Saito isn’t one to make small talk. He finds such conversations pointless, and more often than not, they are distractions. In that way, he uses words like how he learned a sword must be used when he was a boy, maybe six or seven. Sharp, incisive, economical.
And there is silence, and the way that people react to silence that tells him so much about them. Dominic Cobb was - is - a man touched by silence, and the empty spaces the silence leaves in him. Robert Fischer’s silence is another kind of silence. On the plane, it was a little petulant, and the rest of it was standoffish arrogance.
Now, there are hints of a confidence that Saito quite…likes. Or perhaps, when he’s not suffering from a debilitating gunshot wound, he takes far more notice of the way Robert carries himself, the sharp lines of his face, the way he’s stopped giving the impression that he’s retreating into himself.
Saito always appreciates a strong opponent.
“It’s…refreshing to not be approached about my plans for Fischer-Morrow,” Robert says then, with a startling honesty, and Saito is puzzled for a moment by the non-sequitur.
“The uncertainty of the transition worries them, naturally,” Saito says. It’s the most neutral answer he can come up with, skirting the dangerous question because Robert Fischer has yet to publicly announce his plans for the dissolving of Fischer-Morrow.
“And you?”
Saito raises an eyebrow. The question is careless, and direct. Robert must know that he is under no obligation to answer it, and there is no reason that he should. But it is bold, and Saito is amused by boldness. He appreciates it, and even admires a little audacity.
“I see no cause for concern.”
“Of course,” Robert says. He offers the hint of a polite, cynical smile. “Depending on how Fischer-Morrow’s assets are handled?”
Saito feels the hint of a smile touch his own lips. Gravely, he replied, “I do not discuss matters of business strategy.”
Someone touches Robert Fischer’s shoulder. The young man turns away, conversing with the man in low, hushed voices. Finally, Robert nods, once, agreeing to whatever it is. He turns back to Saito, and gives him a polite nod before he leaves.
Business, Saito thinks. It is always business, and it cannot ever be personal. That is something he has learned by fighting his way to the position he currently holds, as CEO of what will soon be the largest energy corporation in the world. It’s just a matter of days, now. He feels no guilt at all about what they have done to Robert Fischer, even as he feels just a little interest for the change in the young man.
He’s felt most like himself since he woke up from the dream that he had lost himself in. Business is impersonal, ruthlessly logical, and with the challenging element of risk and prediction that he has always enjoyed.
He catches Robert glancing back at him once, and frowning, as if confronted by a puzzle that he just can’t quite solve. Saito wonders if he remembers. But surely not. It takes training, and he knows that Robert Fischer does not possess that training.
-
“Robert,” Peter Browning sighs, “I don’t understand what you think you’re trying to achieve by this. Your father wouldn’t - “
“My father,” Robert says, feeling the cool certainty with which he says it, “Wanted me to be my own man. That’s exactly what I’m doing, Uncle Peter.”
Uncle Peter looks troubled. He spreads his hands out, questioningly, “That doesn’t mean you need to break up Fischer-Morrow. At least take some time to think about this. He wanted you to be your own man, but do you even know what you want?”
“Yes.” The answer is easy. Too easy, now that he’s made up his mind, and decided exactly what he’s wanted. “I want to break up his company. I want to build a better company than he did.”
“Be realistic, Robert,” Uncle Peter says, slowly. He frowns, looking at Robert as if he’s never quite seen him before. His hands are busy fiddling with his tie. “If it were me - if it were Maurice, he would build something even better with the company he had now. He wouldn’t dismantle it. It’s a brave move, but too reckless. The other companies will be all over you - “
“I know,” Robert replies. There’s a part of him that feels distant, detached from this. He’s made up his mind. The rest are just details, things to be worked out, and problems to be solved. “If I were my father, I would build something better with Fischer-Morrow.”
Uncle Peter’s eyes narrow. “Robert, I know you’ve gone through a great deal of stress - “
“I have thought this through, Uncle Peter.”
He doesn’t want to be custodian of Maurice Fischer’s legacy, the caretaker of something that was never really his. That had never been what his father had wanted for him. How he knows that, he can’t quite say, only that he knows it with such a conviction that the idea that he might be wrong can’t even occur to him. He doesn’t pay it any heed.
He doesn’t want to be Maurice Fischer’s placeholder.
“You don’t need to break up Fischer-Morrow to do what you want to,” Uncle Peter says at last. Robert recognises the hint of weariness in his voice. He glances at his godfather. He’s still fiddling with his tie. He always does that when he’s not quite at ease. “It’s all that’s left from your father, Robert. Once you dissolve a company - “
“It is irrevocable, I know,” Robert agrees, trying to keep the rising impatience from his voice. He can’t quite explain it: it is like seeing the world through a cunningly crafted glass lens. He cannot shake the feeling that there is something just slightly wrong about the glass; that the image through the glass is distorted, refracted, and yet at the same time, there’s a feeling of astounding clarity. For the first time in a long while, he feels as if he has a purpose.
He can’t quite express any of it to Uncle Peter. For some reason, he finds himself reluctant to even try.
The closest he can come to it is to think that he will never quite be free of the long shadow his father has cast, not until the last giant reminder of Maurice Fischer has been destroyed.
And then he will be quit of his father’s shadow, and finally, only then, can he begin to make something of his own. For himself.
-
Uncle Peter fights him, every step of the way, but Robert does not yield. For the first time in his life, he’s found something he wants so fiercely and he isn’t going to give in on it.
In the end, he wins. Fischer-Morrow is dissolved, and the corporate consequences be damned. He’s left with enough money to live over comfortably and start a small company of his own, but Robert doesn’t do that. He’s learned a bit about running a company, but despite the confidence, he’s painfully aware he’s never actually had to do it all by himself before.
He can’t help remembering the man - Saito. He can’t help thinking, for some reason, that he can trust him, a little. It’s funny, because Robert knows everyone in business is out for themselves. You can’t trust anyone. (Not even your own godfather.) He doesn’t say that last thought, but it is true. He hasn’t said any word of what he was really thinking to Uncle Peter, not since he got off that plane.
It’s probably because it’s too difficult to explain, and Uncle Peter wouldn’t understand, and thinks him a fool for trying to build his own company from almost nothing.
Robert has been called naïve and foolish, but he’s nowhere near stupid.
It takes him a while to find what he needs, but then he finds it, and then he’s on a flight to Japan.
He doesn’t look back.
-
Saito is in the middle of considering plans on the new Africa contract they’re competing for with Shell when his secretary calls in. There’s someone to see you, he says, with a hint of uncertainty. A Mr Robert Fischer.
Saito frowns, wondering what could possibly bring Robert Fischer to his office in Japan. To actually find him would take a decent bit of research and a dogged determination, and Saito adds another check to his mental estimation of the young man. Perhaps because he has a healthy respect for boldness and some persistence, Saito indicates that his secretary should let Robert proceed, and a few minutes later, Robert Fischer walks through the doorway and into Saito’s private office. He’s dressed in a dark suit, but the neat blue tie matches his eyes.
“Mr Saito,” he says, “I don’t know if you remember me - “
“You are Robert Fischer. Maurice’s son,” Saito says calmly, and watches Robert blink at the identification. “I would ask why you have come all the way from Australia to find me.” He gestures to the empty seat on the opposite side of his desk.
Robert hesitates for a moment, and then pulls out the chair and sits. “I want to apply for a position in your company.”
Saito inhales sharply in surprise. Direct, to the point, and so outrageously daring that another man would have sent Robert Fischer out of that office the moment he uttered those words. But Saito has never made it to where he is today by ignoring strange opportunities, and Robert’s boldness only serves to intrigue him. “And why do you approach me instead of submitting an application?”
“I want to work directly under you.”
Saito doesn’t ask the question. He waits for it.
“My father wasn’t the only man to build up a commercial empire from nothing,” Robert says, meeting Saito’s eyes squarely. He doesn’t look away, he doesn’t fidget. “You did.”
“And?”
“I want to learn,” Robert Fischer says, then, without any trace of self-consciousness. “I want to know exactly how you do what you do.”
Saito feels a touch of a cold smile on his lips. Either Robert is deluded, or he has something up his sleeve. There is only one way to find out. “I do not run a school,” he says, “Try Harvard. I understand they would admit you.”
“I’ve been there,” Robert admits, “But there are things a degree can’t teach you. Things that you know, and that I need to know before I can begin.”
“And you expect me to…educate you?”
“I have the information you can use,” Robert says. He leans forward a little, but that is all. “I know I’ve broken up the company, but there’s this hole in the market. Any company can exploit that. But with the information I have…you can gain an edge over them.”
“So. A trade, then.”
Robert smiles. The only word for it is self-deprecating. What he says is, “I’m not a fool, Mr Saito. I know how to do business.”
“And assuming I require this…information, why would I help…someone who could become my future competitor?”
“Because,” Robert says softly, and Saito unconsciously leans forward, across his desk to pick up his words, “You aren’t the only one I can go to. There are other companies, who will want what I can give them. If I start by working for you, everything will be on your terms. And you’ll see me coming, from the start.”
Saito pretends to consider it, running this thumb briefly along the clean line of Robert’s jaw, pausing when he realises exactly what he’s doing. Robert doesn’t flinch away from his touch, doesn’t look away when Saito peers at him, considering. His eyes are the same light blue as Cobb’s, but not haunted. Never haunted. Clean, clear, and sharp.
It’s that kind of clarity, maybe, that allows Saito to make his decision.
Or perhaps it’s because he doesn’t hesitate. He never does.
“Very well,” he says.
His mind is clear, clearer than it has been in days. It is scrubbed clean, with the kind of clarity that shines through when he moves through the katas with the shinken, and loses himself in the sharp sound of steel slicing air.
The opponents are all in his mind. The opponents are all out there, in the world outside the small room. The opponent is in the chair, opposite him, waiting. Watching. Expectant.
Inside this room, and outside this room, Saito does not hesitate.
He never does.