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In the spring, Yokohama changed.
Two organizations met in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday in one of Yokohama’s many parks. The area was empty and oddly quiet after all the fighting that the city had seen in the months prior. Pink petals from blossoming cherry trees floated on a light breeze and scattered onto the walkways like snow.
Kunikida felt out of step with the serene spring day. His skin seemed to tingle, electrified with anxiety. No one said a word to him. Even Dazai, who had spent the last few weeks relentlessly teasing Kunikida about his new position, was oddly silent.
Kunikida wondered what it felt like for Dazai. For now, Dazai seemed satisfied playing a role in the background. It was at odds with who he’d been in the Mafia, an Executive poised to one day take on the role of the boss. But everything about Dazai these days was at odds with who he’d been save for the bandages winding their way around his arms and neck.
They came to a stop at the crossroads of one of the stone paths and waited.
Dazai stood off to Kunikida’s right, eyes scanning the area. Tanizaki positioned himself behind a stone pillar, as he often did, just in case they needed him. Atsushi stood to Kunikida’s left, hands absently playing with the loose part of his belt.
A group of figures appeared on the path ahead. Kunikida took a deep breath. With this meeting, the dynamics of Yokohama’s underworld would shift. The three Port Mafia approached them and came to a stop at the edge of the crossroads.
Both sides took a moment to size up the other.
Kunikida remembered the last time such a meeting had taken place. Mori Ougai had led the Port Mafia, flanked by two of Black Lizard’s operatives. Now the three that stood before him were completely different.
In the center stood the Port Mafia’s new boss, Nakahara Chuuya. He wore a black suit with a cross-tie and waistcoat, and a blood red scarf draped across his shoulders. The customary hat perched on his head was also black, with a red band circling above the brim.
To his left stood Akutagawa, dressed in his long black coat. Akutagawa glared at Atsushi, who glared back. Kunikida ignored them. It was an old routine by now.
To Nakahara’s right, Ozaki Kouyou cut an impressive figure in her kimono. She offered them all a smile that could cut through steel.
In the weeks prior, Dazai had given Kunikida all the information he could about the significant members of the Port Mafia. His information on Nakahara was enlightening, if derisive.
“Honestly, I don’t think Chuuya’s cut out to be boss,” Dazai had said. “He’s too emotional. He cares too much. Maybe the war changed him. I’m not sure. But--he could definitely take us all in a fight by himself. Probably without using his Ability. The only reason he’d lose is because he’s an idiot.”
Nakahara moved forward, and Kunikida matched him step for step. He knew what he wanted, but he didn’t know what Nakahara would want. The shorter man’s face was blank of any expression, what Dazai would call an impressive poker face. They stopped close enough that Kunikida could reach out and push Nakahara away.
Nakahara’s blue eyes sparkled as a grin slowly spread across his features. “President Kunikida.”
“Boss Nakahara.” Kunikida inclined his head.
All eyes were on them, and Kunikida felt that electrifying feeling of anxiety flare. They were being judged intently by both sides.
“From what I’ve gathered over the past few weeks,” Kunikida started, “I believe that both of our organizations can mutually benefit from a period of peace.”
“Let me be honest,” Nakahara said, his tone a lot less formal than Kunikida’s. “The conflict with the Rats took out a lot of our people. The Agency never had numbers, but even you guys felt the affects. Things are off-balance in the city, and honestly I don’t have the patience to deal with any shit that you guys come up with when we have a ton of other clean-up issues to deal with.”
Kunikida cleared his throat to mask his surprise. “What are you proposing?”
“I’m saying that I agree with you,” Nakahara said. “Furthermore, I’d like to suggest a collaboration. There are still remnants of the Rats and the Order of the Clock Tower hiding in Yokohama, and I want them gone before they can rise up and cause more trouble. I don’t want to wait for things to get bad again. We would like to work with the Agency to rid Yokohama of them.”
Kunikida nodded. He and Dazai had discussed the same issue, but the Agency didn’t have the manpower to go looking for the remnants of their enemies. Behind Nakahara, Akutagawa shifted, and he wondered just how many at the Port Mafia were satisfied with this decision.
“I agree,” Kunikida said. “I accept your proposal. We should arrange to exchange information as necessary. Two of our organization’s members can meet on neutral grounds to discuss our course of action.”
“It would be me,” Nakahara told him. Kunikida couldn’t quite help the way his eyebrows jumped up in surprise, and Nakahara smirked. His eyes shifted to the side, to Akutagawa, and then back to Kunikida. “I’m the only one who can really stand any of you guys, so it’ll be me. Feel free to send someone else.”
Dazai coughed into his hand.
Kunikida felt that, faced with such a decision, he might as well offer an equal response. “I’ll meet with you, then.”
“Good.” Nakahara’s eyes lit up. “No middle men. I like it.”
“Is that all?” Kunikida asked.
“For now.” Nakahara held out his hand. “If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
Kunikida took Nakahara’s hand, and they shook on it.
*
“So, what did you think of that?”
The Agency members gathered in the meeting room around the table. Dazai looked at Kunikida expectantly, and Kunikida adjusted his glasses to give himself a moment to think.
“Nakahara sounds like a reasonable man,” Kunikida started, and Dazai snorted. Kunikida shot him a glare and Dazai covered his mouth with his hand. “In general, it seems like we’re on the same page. After Mori, I expected that we would end up playing games, but Nakahara is direct.”
“You’re not wrong,” Dazai said. “Chuuya doesn’t mince words, and he’s not very good at playing games. It’s a weakness in the Mafia.”
Kunikida glanced at Dazai. “That works to our advantage.”
“Oh, yeah,” Dazai said. “It also makes Chuuya well-liked. It may be a weakness but he’s respected by a lot of people in the Mafia. If the past war has hardened him any, it might just be enough of a push for him to not be a disaster of a boss.”
“You don’t have a lot of faith in him,” Yosano pointed out.
“I worked with him for years,” Dazai said. “Out of the two of us, I was the one everyone thought would take Mori’s role.”
“I can see that,” Yosano said.
“We shouldn’t lower our guard,” Kunikida said. “Ultimately, we don’t know what to expect out of the Port Mafia. They’re finding their feet just like we are, and they could end up being a worse organization than before. We don’t know if everyone will remain loyal, or if there will be factions that we need to deal with. This is a temporary truce.”
The others nodded.
“Okay.” Kunikida sighed, looking down at the papers that Ranpo and Dazai had provided on the whereabouts of remaining Rats and Clocktower members. “Let’s get to work.”
*
The second meeting took place in a bar.
It was Nakahara’s idea.
Dazai laughed out loud when he heard. Yosano made a comment about liking how Nakahara thought.
Kunikida didn’t go out to bars often. He’d accompanied Dazai and Yosano once or twice, but their idea of a fun night and his idea of a fun night differed dramatically.
The bar Nakahara chose was almost hidden on a street full of izakayas. A narrow set of stairs led down to a brown door with a sign reading “bar.” Dazai had confirmed that the bar had nothing to do with the Port Mafia, but Kunikida had his suspicions.
Inside the bar was lit by a comforting yellow glow. Nakahara sat in the booth furthest away from the bartender, a glass of wine on the table in front of him. Red wine.
Kunikida ordered a white wine.
When he sat down, Nakahara glanced at the drink and then at Kunikida’s face. “Do you enjoy white?”
“Hmm?” Kunikida reached up for his glasses, then let his hand fiddle with the wine glass instead. “I find it tolerable. I don’t drink much.”
“Ah.” Nakahara smirked. “White wine is okay, but I find it to be less flavorful and complex than red wine. If you’re looking for that sort of thing. Which you might be, since I take it you’re not looking to get drunk.”
“It would be unwise to get drunk at a meeting like this,” Kunikida said.
Nakahara nodded. “It sucks, but you can’t get drunk as often when you’re in charge of an organization.”
Kunikida didn’t really know what that felt like. He cleared his throat. “Regarding our operations so far...Dazai has found a selection of hide-outs in and around Yokohama. It seems a good chunk of the Order of the Clocktower retreated abroad, but the Rats and some Clocktower members have stayed behind.”
He pulled out his notebook and opened it. Inside, a thumb drive was hidden. Kunikida handed it off to Nakahara, who pocketed it.
“What you’ll find on there is what we’ve managed to pull up on those factions,” Kunikida said, “and what the Agency has decided to do about it. You’re free to suggest changes. For the most part, we’re looking to work with any factions that have involved non-Ability users and children.”
“Of course. Our information will be sent to you directly, but we’ve probably reached the same conclusions. However...” Nakahara reached into his coat and placed an object on the table. A fingerless glove made of black cloth. “We’ve also been working on more effective ways to turn the tides in our favor.”
“What is this?” Kunikida asked. He picked up the glove. The fabric felt strange, although Kunikida couldn’t put his finger on why. It was soft, thin, but somehow felt unyielding.
“As you probably know, Akutagawa and Nakajima have worked together before by fusing their Abilities,” Nakahara said. “Akutagawa’s been training and experimenting. Honestly, I think this comes out of a need to stay as far away from Nakajima as possible. But Akutagawa can channel Rashomon through the fabric of his coat. He’s taken a bit of the lining here and had it made into a glove, which Nakajima can wear. That way, Akutagawa gets to keep his coat and doesn’t need to stick to Nakajima’s side.”
“This is Rashomon?” Kunikida asked, turning the glove over in his hands.
“Akutagawa can also render that fabric useless if he ever feels like it,” Nakahara added. “So consider it a token of trust, for now, in our collaborative efforts.”
Kunikida placed the glove in his notebook and closed it. A token of trust, for the duration of this truce. “How long will it last?” he asked.
Nakahara frowned. “What?”
“This peace between us,” Kunikida said. “You know the status quo at the Agency, but we aren’t aware of how the Port Mafia plans to move forward in the future.”
“Ah.” Nakahara took a sip of his wine. “The Agency doesn’t want to associate with a criminal organization.”
Kunikida narrowed his eyes. “We have our principles to uphold.”
“The good thing about the Port Mafia is that there are no principles,” Nakahara said. “That said, there are a few things I’d rather us not do. I’ve cut Mori’s connections in certain industries that I find, frankly, disgusting. There hasn’t been much objection to that. A few other industries keep us profitable. Drugs, for instance. Protection. Weapons deals. That shouldn’t come as a surprise.”
“It doesn’t,” Kunikida said, but it left a bad taste in his mouth. He reminded himself that the Port Mafia could improve, but they would never be the Agency.
“You can expect us to deal with things in a more direct manner than the Agency,” Nakahara said, “with methods you probably won’t like. However, I’m willing to leave more sensitive matters in the Agency’s hands. But only if you actually take action.” Nakahara sighed. “The Agency often has their hands tied by their principles, don’t you think?”
“Those principles save lives and cause minimal damage,” Kunikida said.
“They also lead to sacrifice,” Nakahara said. “Sometimes you have to make hard decisions. The world isn’t that kind.”
Kunikida felt a tightness in his chest. Of course he knew that. He’d seen people die. Having Nakahara remind him that the world didn’t work the way he often wished it would felt like twisting the knife.
“I know,” he ground out.
Nakahara took another sip of wine. “The war made you realize?”
“No,” Kunikida snapped. “We all know. We’ve all always known. Keep in mind that many of those at the Agency have also struggled. We have a different way of dealing with it.”
Nakahara’s eyes flashed. “A better way?”
Yes Kunikida wanted to say, but he didn’t. He had often made his opinions known to Dazai many times, but Dazai was his partner. Nakahara wasn’t.
Still, Nakahara seemed to catch on. “You think you’re better than us because of the path you’ve chosen,” he said quietly, “but you could’ve just as easily ended up where I am. Dazai is living proof of that. Morals don’t matter so much when you’re trying to survive, and instincts don’t go away that easily.”
Kunikida didn’t know what to say to that. He knew this. He knew it because he’d seen how Dazai thought and behaved even after all these years.
“People can still change,” he managed.
“I know,” Nakahara said. “Sometimes change doesn’t look like what you want it to.”
He stood up, his wine only half finished.
Kunikida stood as well.
“Next time,” Nakahara said, “call me Chuuya.”
Then he turned and walked out.
Kunikida stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. The conversation had gone to a strange place. Kunikida felt like he’d hit a sore spot for Nakahara, and he assumed that Nakahara would distance himself. But then again, Nakahara asked Kunikida to call him by his first name.
Kunikida walked out onto the street off-balanced.
*
“This is from Akutagawa?”
“Yes. Please don’t experiment with it in the building.”
Atsushi held the glove between his thumb and forefinger, his mouth twisted in disgust. “I don’t want this.”
“It’s useful,” Kunikida said. “You’ll keep it.”
Atsushi’s shoulders sank. “Yes, Kunikida-san.”
A low whistle by the door startled them both.
“Dazai-san!” Atsushi pocketed the glove.
“Now that’s what I call teamwork,” Dazai said, grinning. He sauntered into the meeting room and sat on the table. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever seen Akutagawa do.”
“I don’t want to think about it,” Atsushi muttered, and he stalked out of the room.
Dazai glanced up at Kunikida. “You didn’t tell me about the meeting last night.”
“You’re oddly curious about these meetings,” Kunikida said.
“I’m your second in command and the only one here with previous Mafia experience,” Dazai said lightly. “Of course I want to keep tabs on what’s going on.”
“Is it because he was your partner?” Kunikida asked.
“No.” Dazai laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think that matters to either of us anymore. I’m simply fascinated.”
“I don’t know what to think,” Kunikida admitted.
Dazai patted the table next to him. Kunikida took a chair instead.
With a sigh, Dazai slid off the table and sat in the chair next to Kunikida.
“The Port Mafia is trying to be a better organization, but Nakahara admits that they’ll never be truly moral. It’s not good business.”
Dazai hummed. “They’re changing, but they’ll never be the Agency. I’m sure you had something to say about that.”
“Nakahara wasn’t angry,” Kunikida said. “He told me to call him by his first name.”
“Chuuya is full of surprises,” Dazai muttered. “Besides, everyone does that.”
“Does what?”
“Calls him by his first name.”
“Oh.” Kunikida looked at his hands resting in his lap.
“It would be good for us to have a mostly good relationship with the Port Mafia, even if we don’t agree with everything they do, for the city’s sake,” Dazai said after a moment. “It’s just good politics. After all, neither of us are exactly legal. If the Port Mafia is the biggest criminal organization in Yokohama and they’re not completely awful, I’d count that as a victory.”
Kunikida grimaced. “There shouldn’t be any criminal organizations in Yokohama.”
“But there are, and there always will be,” Dazai said. “One thing about being a leader, Kunikida, is that you have to make hard decisions. Not everything will be black and white. There will be compromises.”
“I know that,” Kunikida said. “I don’t want to compromise my beliefs.”
“You’re not,” Dazai told him. “Just think of it as widening your beliefs, rather than getting rid of them. It’s a natural evolution that comes with living life. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man at heart.”
Kunikida let those words sink in. It seemed at odds with who he’d tried to be his whole life, but he thought about Fukuzawa. The previous President had made some tough decisions in dealing with the Mafia and the Rats, and Kunikida had never lost respect for Fukuzawa, nor had he ever thought of Fukuzawa as anything less than a good man.
“I’ve got your back” Dazai reminded him. “I’ll tell you when you become dark Kunikida.”
“Dark Kunikida.”
Dazai laughed. “Don’t worry, Kunikida-kun. I’ll keep you on the light side!” He stood up and stretched. “Speaking of which, I should share some of my wisdom about Rashomon with Atsushi before he kills someone by accident.”
“That’s a good idea,” Kunikida said. His head was spinning.
Dazai cocked his head to the side. “You’re still worried?”
“I’m always worried,” Kunikida said. “But you know that.”
“Yeah, but it never makes sense,” Dazai said with a small shrug. “If you keep it up you’ll never live to be an old man.”
He walked out the door before Kunikida could come up with a response.
If Kunikida lived to be an old man, how many more compromises would he have to make? How many compromises would change him?
*
Two joint operations and one solo Agency operation later, Kunikida received another request to meet.
This time, the location was a cafe during the afternoon. Nakahara chose a place with outdoor seating. Kunikida saw him as he walked up, his coat slung over the back of his chair while he sipped on a latte.
It occurred to Kunikida that Nakahara really didn’t like formalities. He went out of his way to make these meetings as relaxed as possible, like two friends meeting to catch up.
Kunikida ordered a black coffee and joined Nakahara a few minutes later. The other man had a slight smile on his face, and the sun struck his hair in a way that made him seem even brighter than his surroundings. The leader of the Port Mafia was, for once, not in shadow.
As soon as Kunikida sat down, Nakahara leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’d call the past few weeks a success.”
“What did you want to meet about, Nakahara--ah, Chuuya-san?” Kunikida asked.
“Just Chuuya is fine,” Nakahara said. “I wanted to let you know that the last of the Rats have been eliminated from Yokohama.”
“Killed?” Kunikida asked.
“Yes. I personally saw to it.”
Kunikida was once again reminded that Nakahara had one of the Mafia’s top assassins under Mori.
“Hopefully,” Nakahara continued, “we won’t have to do something like that for a while.”
“Do you like killing?” Kunikida blurted out.
Nakahara stared at him.
“Does anyone?” he asked after a few seconds. “Well, besides someone like Mori or Dostoevsky.”
“You seem to enjoy your role,” Kunikida pointed out.
“I enjoy being good at what I do,” Nakahara said. “For now, I’m satisfied with my role. That’s all there is to it. Even if some parts of the job I’d rather not have to deal with, everyone has to do something they don’t want. Right?”
The words sounded familiar. Nakahara seemed mostly at peace with himself, even though he knew that some of the things he did weren’t great. Kunikida wondered if that was a product of having gotten out from under someone like Mori.
“What about you?” Nakahara asked. “Do you enjoy your job?”
Did he? Being the President of an organization like the ADA wasn’t easy. There were times when Kunikida doubted his ability to do justice to role, not because he was incompetent, but because of the heavy decisions that came with it.
At the same time, he didn’t think he would want anyone else making those decisions. In the end, he was the best one suited for his job.
“I’m satisfied,” Kunikida answered.
Nakahara nodded.
“Is that all?” Kunikida asked.
“Yeah.” Nakahara looked into his coffee cup. Then he looked at Kunikida. “We probably didn’t need to meet for this.”
“Then why did you call a meeting?”
“Heh.” Nakahara grinned. “We’re the only ones in this city right now who have this much responsibility. I wanted to talk to you. I don’t mind talking to you. You could even say I enjoy it.”
Kunikida took a long sip of his coffee to give himself room to think. He didn’t dislike his conversations with Nakahara, even if they sometimes made him uncomfortable. The conversations made him feel less alone as a leader.
“I enjoy them, too,” he said.
Never in the history of Yokohama had the leaders of the Port Mafia and ADA exhibited any kind of companionship. It almost seemed prohibited.
Nakahara’s eyes lit up. He seemed to know this. He seemed to like the idea of breaking tradition.
“Let’s keep it up,” he said, standing and grabbing his coat. “Send me a message, Kunikida. Next time, you choose.”
Kunikida watched him disappear down the street. He sipped his coffee.
Later that afternoon, he sent a message to Chuuya’s phone.