Shiranui Agency.
Shiranui Hayate was in the middle of giving Umino Iruka final instructions for the day's logistics when the bell above the entrance chimed. A middle-aged man in a sharp, unremarkable suit stepped in. He carried a gentle, practiced smile that seemed both professional and approachable.
Hayate's eyes narrowed slightly as he recognized the man. Phil Coulson. What is an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. doing at my door?
He knew Winston had locked down the site of the Continental skirmish and wiped the local surveillance feeds. To the public, it was just another gang flare-up. But clearly, S.H.I.E.L.D. saw through the smoke.
Coulson walked toward the front desk, glancing briefly at Iruka before stopping in front of Hayate. "Mr. Shiranui Hayate? I'm Agent Phil Coulson with the FBI. I'd like to have a word with you."
Coulson pulled out a badge and held it up for Hayate's inspection. Hayate stared at the "FBI" credentials with internal amusement. Every shadowy organization in this country uses the Bureau as their default mask.
"Agent Coulson," Hayate said, his face a mask of calm. "What can a law-abiding business owner like myself do for the FBI?"
Coulson scanned the lobby, his smile never wavering. "Perhaps we could speak somewhere more... private, Mr. Shiranui?"
Hayate shrugged and gestured toward the back. "We have a meeting room. Iruka, a Black Jack for me, please. And for the Agent?"
"Coffee. Black. Thank you," Coulson added.
Once they were seated in the soundproofed meeting room, Iruka delivered the drinks and quietly closed the door. Hayate took a sip of his whiskey, leaning back. "Speak your mind, Agent. Our types don't usually cross paths unless there's a serious misunderstanding."
Coulson stirred his coffee slowly. "Mr. Shiranui, I'm interested in a young boy staying here. A boy by the name of Rock Lee. I'd like to meet him."
Hayate didn't show it, but his mind raced. They aren't here for me—they're here for Lee. What did that kid do to get on Fury's radar?
"Rock Lee is a child, Agent Coulson," Hayate said slowly. "I don't recall the FBI having a specialized 'Youth Division' that requires unannounced visits. As his legal guardian, you can talk to me. I'm sure federal law still recognizes the rights of a guardian before speaking to a minor."
Coulson looked at Hayate, his eyes sharpening. "Hayate, we both know who and what you are. Rock Lee's residency papers have several... anomalies. Given your profession and history, the state could argue you are unfit to be a guardian."
"The boy is thirteen," Coulson continued, his tone softening but remaining firm. "He shouldn't be living in an environment like this. He deserves a quiet, healthy, stable life."
Hayate took another sip of his whiskey, watching Coulson over the rim of the glass. He didn't answer immediately.
Coulson didn't blink. "We've looked into your history, Hayate. You were adopted yourself. You were set on a certain path because of who took you in. If the couple who found you had been different... perhaps your life wouldn't look like this."
He leaned in. "Rock Lee is where you were years ago. I'm asking you to hand him over to us—to the government—so we can provide him with a future that doesn't involve a gun or a blade."
Hayate almost laughed. S.H.I.E.L.D. was really laying it on thick, trying to appeal to a sense of shared trauma he didn't actually feel.
"Why are you so obsessed with a thirteen-year-old?" Hayate asked, his expression turning grave. "The FBI doesn't hunt orphans. What do you want with him? To turn him into a field agent? A puppet? Someone like you?"
Coulson took a sip of his coffee. "We are having a civil conversation, Hayate. But you need to understand: if we choose, your guardianship can be revoked within the hour. This Agency can be shuttered. You could be detained. The fact that I am sitting here talking to you means I am approaching this with goodwill. Now... may I see the boy?"
The "nice guy" mask had slipped just enough to show the cold, calculating operative beneath. Hayate felt a surge of cold mockery. S.H.I.E.L.D. really thinks they can push me around.
Hayate slammed his hand on the table, feigning outrage. "Are you threatening me, Coulson? Threatening a tax-paying citizen? I could have a lawyer sue you for harassment based on that statement alone."
The smile disappeared from Coulson's face. "You know I'm not joking, Mr. Shiranui."
Hayate stared him down for a long beat, then exhaled sharply. "Even if you see him, it won't change anything. Rock Lee isn't going anywhere with you."
"That remains to be seen," Coulson replied, tapping his spoon against the porcelain cup. "I want a face-to-face. Or do I need to go back and get a warrant?"
Hayate looked at the man across from him. The movie-version Coulson was a lovable fanboy; the reality was a shark in a cheap suit. You want to take Rock Lee? Good luck. Hayate knew he held the ultimate trump card. At any moment, he could simply un-slot Lee's character card in the system, and the boy would vanish into thin air, returning to the safe confines of the System Space.
"Fine," Hayate said, standing up. "I'll get him. Let's see what a 'seasoned agent' has to say to a boy who only cares about youth and training."