Chapter Text
Fireworks striked at exactly midnight.
Yachi believed that when there are fireworks, there’s a celebration. She only knew about fireworks during New Year Countdown. But she was long taught that in the world where money was more than sufficient, fireworks weren’t limited to certain days.
To put it simply: If there is a celebration, that means today is a good day.
What makes a good day?
The hallway was more silenced than usual, leaving her ears with no stimulation except the sound of rolling trolley wheels and rattling wine glasses and chinawares. Everyone must have either gathered at the pool party hosted on the top floor, or at the hotel bar ten floors down. Yachi never minded maid duty, but tonight, she was a little too nervous when walking down the same empty hall.
If she had known that the hotel decided it would be a great idea to turn off one row of lights in the hallway for this celebration, she wouldn’t volunteer.
Again, what makes a good day?
As Yachi watched the elevator open, a couple walked out. They were clearly drunk out of their minds, but still sober (?) enough to be screaming all levels of profanities at each other. Yachi could not make clear what they were arguing about, something about “one of your girls” and “better than her.” But the woman was holding one heel by its vamp, the man was empty-handed, and Yachi could easily tell where this was going to end.
But the elevator wasn’t going to wait for her, so she led herself in and let the doors closed.
She found rich people’s problems more difficult to understand than the poors’. Enough food to waste, enough money to spend on anything. They had everything in the world to entertain them.
What could make a rich person's day good?
Her life now would never be able to meet those who could pop countless bottles of champagne just to entertain a number of guests, but compared to the time living in the orphanage, she would say she hit the jackpot.
What is a good day for her? Is today a good day?
Five years ago, she would say: to have lights during a rainy day. Or maybe she would say: more food in her tray, despite the cafeteria’s meals being always terrible.
She recalled the only “good food” she ever received from the orphanage were the leftover cookies donated from a nearby bakery after Christmas. But all the kids could only have two at max, and there’s no milk to go with it. Only the nasty “soup” that was rumored to be made from a public school’s ‘lunch dump’.
Yachi never got to see what that school looked like anyway, but she bet it would always be better than this miserable hellscape she was put in.
But what about now? Is today a good day?
The elevator quickly opened with a small ding , and Yachi walked to the door at the very end of the whole way.
VIP Suite 05
A suite large enough to host a team of seven, with a 270-degree window view living room and room meal service free-of-charge. She slid the card in and opened the door, with the first thing that greeted her eyes were the exploding lights of red, white and yellow.
When there are fireworks, there’s a celebration.
As she was led to the crescent couch, squished between her team members with both of her hands filled with pastries, all she could hear and feel was the bombarding laughter and body heat.
If there is a celebration, that means today is a good day.
Is today a good day?
Yes. And her answer would always be the same.
The curtains fell.
An omega walked up to the front with a letter in his hand. A blood fingerprint overlapping the seal flip and bottom fold.
Everyone groaned.
“Eight months. If we are out of luck then six. But Client is nice enough to save us from some workload.”
The paper landed carelessly on the ground. The man then took out the object of interest. A small silver square USB, its size barely larger than a peanut.
“Client’s genuineness all lay in here, only for Kenma though.”
The mentioned raised his glass in acknowledgement.
The chip landed perfectly in the other’s opened palm, and the latter just hastily shoved the small item into his hoodie pocket. He continued:
“I will discuss our next job in more detail until you all are…” He pointed to the two knocked out members on the couch, but the others could hardly follow his finger, staring at him with blank eyes.
“Sober enough to stay awake.”
The blonde omega– Kenma, had already picked up the letter from the ground, saving it from the spilling red liquid. His eyes flickered back and forth, between the letter and the standing man. He raised his eyebrows.
“Where are we going?”
“Where are we going?” The man repeated. He expected this question.
The taller one opened and handed him his phone. Kenma took a glimpse at the coordination before looking back at him. His sighs were solemn.
“We’re going back home.”
“I have decided to trace back the steps of the crime through a new approach.” Akaashi explained as he walked into the meeting room, his hand carried the same bag filled with information.
The omega’s mate didn’t accompany him, likely per his request. But Sawamura often finds himself doubting the authenticity of the omega’s relationship with Bokuto. Their marriage might be signed by the rings, but the way they interact, he felt their intimacy level is nothing beyond colleagues.
Akaashi walked to his designated seat before he started unloading the fruit of his search. First, resume. He held up a CV file from a stack of resume folders. January 23rd. Four months ago. Sawamura noticed they were all the most recent resumes for a maiden position.
If Akaashi noticed Sawamura’s lack of comments, he said nothing. The omega investigator handed Sugawara the file in his hand. He was hesitant when he took it.
The omega looked at the name. And said nothing.
Akaashi observed the emotions running through the other’s darkened eyes.
Confusion. Grief. Regret. Anger.
He couldn’t really tell if anger or regret happened first. The order doesn’t matter anyway.
After another millennium of silence, their private investigator finally spoke up again.
“It seems like your clan has a hole in the background scanning process for recruitment.” Akaashi said, not mocked. The alpha admitted its flaws with no gritted teeth.
He took the file from his mate’s hand, absently flipping through the same printed lists of information. Personal information, family background, education background and work-related experience.
Clean, flawless, and pose no threats. The reasons why they decided to hire her.
Sugawara seemed to have recovered from the fleeting stream of emotions, yet something told him that Akaashi hadn’t told him everything .
Akaashi then pulled out two more folders. One filled with photos of security footage from a body cam. Aren’t cameras and phones not allowed for employees and attendance? The other – adoption documents and records.
“I will deal with the organizers about identity privacy matters.” He laid out the photos that had red marks circling an individual’s face. “But for once, this illegal information is valuable.”
Sawamura looked at the blurry face of the highlighted figure. Is it…– Not clear enough to identify anything. He was about to deem these photos “irrelevant”, however, he didn’t say anything.
Sawamura has questions.
Sugawara has doubts.
Akaashi has theories.
Theories, not answers. But they always suffice.
“You have my interest, Akaashi. Please elaborate.”
“To summarize, we will need to dig up your grave.” Akasshi paused.
“Not one. But two.”