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Takada (Or: Those Who Believed)
For the past hour, Kiyomi Takada had been staring at the letter in front of her. Her poised figure was silent, still, sober - a sheer contrast to the excited effervescence of To-Oh University; It was almost graduation, after all. Finally, after 4 long, exciting, and frankly tiring years, Takada was to participate in it. But none of that was occupying the spotlight of her mind. No, her mind was stuck on the innocuous, pale letter sitting in front of her.
She’d been expecting its arrival, but never actually expected to get it - an odd coupling of emotions, but Takada never expected her emotions to be reasonable. It was the reason she always tried to keep them under the watchful eye of her sharp mind. But, for once, those emotions sat comfortably at the throne of her consciousness, leaving her frozen as they flooded her veins, bubbling and swirling within them. There, she sat as a china doll, with not a hair out of place, a feature showing emotion, nor a blemish in her graduating attire, her cobalt eyes never straying from the address line.
From: Teru Mikami.
Teru Mikami. Her lawyer. Her obsessive, broody polite prosecutor.
Takada never thought that she would need a lawyer, especially not this early in her life. Then again, she never thought that she, “Miss To-Oh,” would ever be raped. She shuddered, pressing her knees together as she wrapped her arms around her body. She hated that word.
Rape…
Four letters could never fully describe the shadow that followed her every move now. It could never properly name the demon that nestled comfortably just below her perfect mask, making her wonder if anyone could see the faint cracks the demon had left. Takada smiled humorlessly. Considering no one once asked after her or even looked at her oddly after the incident, Takada knew she was only too good at her own game. No one saw through her.
Well… no. There was one boy who seemed to notice, a boy who had a mask Takada was aware of, but could never remove. He never said anything to her about her slight change, but he made sure to avoid touching her, somehow sensing her new aversion to touch. In a way, Takada shouldn’t have been surprised; after all, he was the illustrious genius, Light Yagami: the most sought after boy in To-Oh, the most intelligent student in their generation, the most clever, driven, perfect person Takada had ever met.
He was also her ex-boyfriend.
But Takada wasn’t one for brooding about past relationships. She just wanted to collect herself enough to open that goddamned letter. And yet, with every passing second, her mind could conjured the worst - he was let off all charges, there wasn’t enough evidence, he apologized, the judge was his uncle… See, Takada wasn’t stupid. Very few rape cases actually get fully punished in Japan. But Takada wasn’t the type to let someone take her dignity without any retribution whatsoever - she had to try to punish him, unlikely as it was.
The thought of Mikami’s letter telling her that nothing could be done spurred bitterness within Takada. She believed that the justice systems of the world, and especially Japan, were broken. They were biased. They were apathetic, short sighted. It would be no surprise for Takada to not even get any compensation from the offending party, or even a restraining order.
Her lip pinched in obvious disgust. Justice indeed
Well, she had to hope for the best. After all, she hadn’t even opened the damn thing yet...Tired of her own cowardice, Takada opened the letter with trembling fingers:
Dear Miss Takada,
Your stalker has chosen to plead guilty - he has vowed to give up alcohol and serve 6 months in prison, and, I, knowing the judge, believe this proposal may hold up well. He has also asked to continue To-Oh after his detainment and graduate the year after you - from knowing past assault cases from To-Oh, his father’s position and his grades, I doubt the University would put up a fight against such an idea. And as mixed of a message as that is, I have one more piece of information that may or may not be a bit better.
Last night, he died inexplicably by a heart attack.
Upon looking in depth into his criminal records and his past, it was found that he was actually a serial rapist who went after women like you, of intellect and independence. His father merely cleaned off such a record for the trial’s purposes, as despicable as that is. The judge has dismissed the case.
I, however, believe that such an action was the work of Kira. The student has no familial or personal history or heart problems and he was a criminal. Whether you believe in Kira or not, realize that he has killed the unjust man who has scarred your, and many other women’s, lives.
With that being said, I will not take any compensation for this case - you have already payed the consultation fee, and I have not spent a day in the courtroom. Please, take care of yourself and stay safe. Happy graduation.
From,
Teru Mikami
Takada stared dumbly at the paper as her emotions went into a new form of haywire in her chest. They swirled and struggled with a mixture of happiness at his death, relief at her safety, horror at herself for feeling happiness at a supposed murder. Eclipsing it all, there was a new well of gratitude aimed towards her savior - Kira. He not only saved Takada from dealing with him - his father was the man she was interning under - but also saved countless other women, both past and future victims. Takada didn’t want to think about all the other women who had to deal with him and his grubby hands like maggots crawling through skin, and his eyes like the deepest pits of depravity, his mouth and words sticking on skin like the filthiest of tar. Takada may have known him for over 3 years now, ever since she began to tutor him, but nothing would have ever prepared her for the depths of his cruelty.
Takada shuddered, closing her eyes as she imagined seeing him again, after all that he did. The worst part was, he wasn’t drunk that night, as he had claimed. He was completely sober when she screamed, and felt absolutely nothing when she struggled.
“Filthy whore, let me teach you a lesson…”
Suddenly, she stood, feeling as if the room was much, much too small. Quickly, she walked to the window and opened it, inhaling the sudden rush of fresh air as if it could erase his putrid scent from her memory. Her heart raced as it tried to run away from the darkness of her thoughts. Takada gripped the windowsill harder as she tried to force her breaths to grow calm, to grow steady. She could not graduate like this, like a mess, like anything less than “Miss To-Oh.” She needed control.
After a few minutes, she was able to reign in her emotions well enough to open her eyes and actually see the scene outside the window. As expected, her classmates drifted in uneven clumps. They chattered amongst themselves, with an uncharacteristically pure excitement. The ceremony wasn’t for an hour,yet most were ready and brimming with anticipation. Part of Takada wished she could be there, with them, feeling the same excitement they were. But another part of her was glad she didn’t have to fake the happiness this early. She knew she would never truly be a part of them once more - there would always be that wall between them and her, a wall she made just so people like him could never enter again. As much as it hurt… she didn’t find herself fully regretting it as her eyes scoured the crowd..
Soon, her eyes inadvertently focused on a single boy with caramel hair and a charming smile, one with a pretty model for a girlfriend and a small crowd of fans wherever he went.
Light Yagami…
Takada no longer spoke with him outside of classes after he left her for Miss Amane. She didn’t want to think Light was a particularly shallow person but… well, why else would she leave her for that vacant eye-candy? Takada sighed. It figured the only man who Takada would admit is intellectually superior to her was the only one who didn’t want her. Not that Takada was sad, she simply occasionally wondered what would happen if they truly kindled a relationship where they, as the valedictorian and salutatorian of To-Oh, could have found intellectual happiness within each other.
She quickly shook the thoughts out of her mind; there was no use to them. Walking back over to her desk, she re-folded the letter and put it with her already-packed suitcases, a small smile curling at her lips. After all, it was the beginning of a new life without any of her old hauntings, a life where her work and diligence will only carry her to the top.
You could have never left your old life behind without Kira.
For that, Takada was grateful to Kira. It seemed as if he was the only one left to care for the masses nowadays, with an apathetic God and an even more apathetic judicial system slowly poisoning the Earth. For trying to clean their world of such toxic false-justice, Takada would support him with whatever she could.
Back when Kiyomi was as small and pure as her first name meant, she would follow behind her mother’s coattails to church as if she was simply one of the many jasmine buds woven into her mother’s hair. Her large raven eyes would dart from pew to pew, quiet mind wondering about the men lauded by her priest’s fervent words. Kiyomi knew that their church was different, that most people didn’t go to church. It simply seemed that she, her mother, and the 15 or so other people in that little hall were all alone in their devotion to Jesus Christ. But she believed, because her mother believed, because her mother swore that nothing bad would happen to those who followed God with a pure heart.
Kiyomi never fully understood why others didn’t join their church, but she, just as her mother’s jasmine, simply moved with the current of hair and wind around her. It was not her place to question. After all, it didn’t matter what she thought - as long as she was faithful, she would be safe, and she would go to heaven. So she obeyed.
But her obedience wasn’t made to last.
During her junior high school, her mother died. It wasn’t sudden, it wasn’t brutal, it wasn’t anything she could blame any human on; her mother simply wilted under disease much like her jasmine, and one morning, after much struggling and suffering, she never woke up.
The entire time, Kiyomi prayed and prayed and begged God to let her mother live - Mother was devoted, she had work to do, let her live, God, please, please - but no one listened. Not even the church, who simply glanced at her pityingly and carried on as if one of their own had not fallen to an unreasonable act of God.
Kiyomi, at that moment, decided to never go by her first name again.
Takada began to stay at home with her atheist father on Sundays. She kept her hair short so she never had to wear jasmine. She grew cold in the heart when she realized no one in her church gave a damn that she had not attended for months. Ultimately, she decided that, rather than “purity,” she must follow the other name, the one that proudly meant “high ricefield.” Much like the proud stalks of rice during harvest, she stood above the murky waters of the common men, tall and proud and independent of any notion of a farmer called God.
And stand above the rest she did. She rocketed through the ranks of her broadcasting company and, armed with her grace, pride, and intellect, landed her own news segment: News 6. The achievement had been, perhaps, the most joyful moment of her life. Especially because it was the work of her own intellect and skill; no miracles, no apathetic God.
Dressed in a light blue blouse and flattering raven slacks, Takada sat on the sofa in her dressing room, eyes scanning the day’s Yomiuri Shimbun newspaper. While the paper had many smaller articles following Shinzo Abe’s latest political maneuver, the headline was about a single deity who had never left the headlines ever since he ascended to his throne, years ago.
Kira…
Professionally, and according to her transcript, she did not condone killing, even if it was killing criminals. Her official stance was neutral,, devoid of any opinion or humanity, just as she was supposed to be. Theatrics, as her producer said, were for shit-shows like Sakura TV. Personally, however…
Kiyomi Takada was not a believer. But she was a supporter.
Although her station forced her to memorize the most evasive answers for the most damning questions, she knew that she had to do something, and she had to do something quickly - Sakura TV was ruining the image of Kira, making him seem arrogant and filthy; it angered her. If there was anyone who could stand tall beside her, feet above the murky waters of the commoners, it would be Kira. But Kira… he was being dragged down by the likes of Sakura TV.
She wasn’t alone in thinking this.
Takada glanced at the envelope sitting innocuously at her desk. The corner of her lip twitched - it always seemed as if her life changing moments came to her in manila envelopes. Not to mention, this letter was also written by the one and only Teru Mikami. She was sure she knew what was in it - after all, she had spent quite a few dinners and moderated a few debates with her former prosecutor, so if it wasn’t about Kira and his latest movements, she’d eat her hat - regardless, she opened it.
Dear Miss Takada,
I have been wondering how to say this for many a day, but in the end, I have decided to simply tell it to you by mail, so that tomorrow, I may hear your reply over dinner.r.
I am a servant of Kira in many ways, such as through showing overt support and arguing his side on public debates, as you already know. From my childhood I have shown a strong sense of justice, and as the years went on, it only became stronger - the evil must be deleted, and the innocent, cared for. A few weeks ago, Kira saw my unwavering devotion to him and bestowed upon me some of his power, so I may carry out his will. Simply believe me in that regard. I shall explain more based on your answer.
On a side note, as you are aware, Sakura TV is the current spokesperson of Kira. However, I believe them unworthy of the station. I will retire them soon, but when I do so, Kira will need a new spokesperson. I believe such a spokesperson is you, Miss Takada.
I hope I am not presumptuous in my honesty. You truly are a talented journalist and well respected by all who hear you. Please, consider my words, and take care.
From,
Teru Mikami.
Takada put down the letter and stood. She needed alcohol.
It was hard to imagine Teru Mikami murdering people but, if Takada really thought about it, the only reason she couldn’t imagine it was because he was such a bastion of justice. If his justice meant murder of the wrongdoers… well, Takada would easily believe that Mikami would commit genocide. The real question was, however, what sort of power did Kira give Mikami? Was it really Kira who gave it to him? Was Mikami truly working in Kira’s order?
“Miss Takada!” She snapped out of her thoughts as she heard the incessant knock of an intern. Glancing at her watch, she grimaced - she had 30 minutes until she needed to be on air and she hadn’t even looked at her script yet. Putting down her glass of wine, Takada opened the door to see her little mousy intern, Akari, standing at her door. Her gray eyes shined with a smile as she entered Takada’s studio with a packet of papers in hand.
“Hello Miss Takada!” She chirped. Takada smiled indulgently, her cold features melting slightly. The girl was the daughter of a family friend, and was much more clever than she let on.
“Hello Akari. Is there something you needed?” She asked. It was odd for anyone to disturb her before a program, unless there was some sort of emergency.
The intern nodded. “Yeah, Mr. Nakamura wanted me to give you the updated script, apparently there was some breaking news about an hour ago, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was.” Akari pouted comically, crossing her arms. “He said I’d actually have to learn from you like everyone else.”
Takada chuckled, her smile only growing. “Thank you Akari.” She accepted the papers from her intern before bidding the girl goodbye and sitting back down in front of her coffee table. She wondered what significant thing could have possibly changed in the last hour - it couldn’t be a simple Kira killing; those were too common to report unless they hit someone especially high profile. Opening the packet, the headline made Takada freeze.
Demegawa Dead! Who Will Be the Voice of Kira now?
Takada sighed, putting the script down and reaching for the glass of wine once more so she could drain it in a single sip. If she hadn’t believed Mikami before, well, she had her proof. He really did kill Demegawa, the grimy producer of Sakura TV. She read the headline once more, scoffing internally.
Who indeed…
Her eyes rested on Mikami’s letter, teeth gnawing on her lips, cogs in her mind turning.
After she had graduated, Takada never expected to see her prosecutor again, especially not on her debate program. Of course, the man spoke eloquently and politely, his words soft but infused with an unmistakable passion - just as he had years ago, when Takada first met him. Afterwards, he had surprised her by asking her out to dinner. Takada was hesitant - he was perhaps 7 years older than her, and Takada didn’t really know if he was her type - but after Mikami simply said that he wanted to talk, and that they’d be in a populous restaurant, Takada took his offer. It couldn’t hurt, could it?
The dinner went better than expected. While Takada was much more level-headed and logical than Mikami, they had similar ideals and interests, and debated topics between each other easily, as if they had known each other for ages. Takada could almost admit that Mikami was as intelligent as she was. Regardless, they chose to meet up again, and then again, and then again. Slowly, they grew to know and even like each other. Takada would almost call him a friend. She would almost look forward to their meetings.
The latest meeting was in the middle of the night, inside the balcony of a small bar in Tokyo. Mikami had reserved the area for the entirety of this Wednesday night. As the night went on, Takada found herself nursing a cool ginger ale as Mikami languidly sipped a Kingfisher. Both of them had cigarettes adorning the tips of their fingers. If Takada was in any other mood, she would admit that the scenario was cliche and modernist enough to warrant her laughter, but while she stared thoughtfully at the sea of cars passing below her, the moment seemed to be the most serious in the world.
“Have you considered my offer?” Mikami said, breaking the pregnant silence.
Takada nodded, leaning back in her chair. “I’d be honored to take it. Kira is the only thing that protects us nowadays. I’ll gladly be the spokesperson.”
Mikami’s severe features softened into a smile. “Thank you, Miss Takada.” He sincerely said. Takada waved him off with a single, elegant hand, taking a drag of her cigarette.
“It’s the least I can do.” She said, exhaling. The two of them fell back into an amiable silence. Eventually, Mikami finished his drink and got up to order another one. He offered to get Takada the same.
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“Ginger ale?”
Takada paused and then nodded. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Mikami nodded, taking her bottle.
When Mikami returned, Takada turned to him with a question on her lips.
“Did you ever wonder, as a child, why evil existed in this world?” She asked, gingerly.
Mikami’s lips curled into a small smile. “Of course, Miss Takada. I have worked to delete evil ever since I was young. It exists because this world is filthy - Kira is there to take it away.” He patiently explained, as if he was speaking to a child.
Takada’s lips thinned, but she didn’t take offense to his patronization. She had learned rather quickly that it was simply a characteristic of Mikami the righteous prosecutor. “Didn’t you ever believe in God as a child?” She asked. Mikami shook his head. Takada nodded in understanding. “I used to go to church.” She admitted.
Mikami’s eyebrows raised. “You don’t seem the type, if I may say so.”
Takada chuckled. “I haven’t been to the church since I was in junior high.”
MIkami cocked his head. “Oh?”
Takada shrugged. “I don’t believe in a Christian God, anymore. If he’s there, he doesn’t give a damn about us, that much is obvious…” She choked out a laugh, taking a sip of her drink, savoring the burn down her throat, the burn that didn’t bother to haze her thoughts like alcohol. She didn’t want to be anything less than her mental best.
Mikami’s raven eyes watched Takada’s figure, unsure how to respond. He had never known Takada to show emotion beyond satisfaction, determination, and polished warmth. He placed his drink on the table between them and, gingerly, took her trembling hand into his own, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, causing her bewildered gaze to snap to him.
Mikami didn’t know what he was doing, but when he felt her small, slender hands in his own large, firm ones, he knew that he was doing something right. “Takada…” He began. “We both know that this world is filthy. You know more than I, even.” He admitted, a bitter smile curling at his lips. He still had her case in his filing cabinet - he remembered the ghosts that haunted her eyes for weeks after, the way she would flinch away from him after the incident. He had met her only once after the trial, to give her a copy of his records, but her impression never left his keen eyes. “But we can change it.” he emphasized, his voice lacing with determination, “Do you understand me? We can be the servants of the God that the innocent deserve.” He said, smiling with all the glory of a man with true purpose.
Takada closed her eyes, feeling both the warmth of Mikami’s hands and the fire in his words. In that moment, her mind’s eye could see the perfect world he envisioned, see a world of peace and fluidity, see it with so much clarity that it hurt. She nodded solemnly. “Yes… Yes, Mikami.” She asserted.
“Teru.”
Takada blinked, confused.
“Please, call me Teru.”
Takada paused. She didn’t like her first name, but customs were customs. “Call me Kiyomi.”
“Thank you, Kiyomi.” He said, in the softest, most honest voice Takada had ever heard from a man, “Let’s help God make a new world.”
Takada’s features softened. In his voice, her name almost sounded beautiful. “Let’s.” She whispered. She gently pulled her hands away from Mikami’s, grasping her drink once more and raising it towards her partner. “For Kira.”
Mikami imitated her gesture. “For God.”
They drank, and the rest was history.