Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

May 16th, 1993

Kamurocho, Shinjuku, Tokyo

Kamurocho was a hotbed of crime. Sojiro Sakura knew that before he arrived. On the high end, most businesses were owned by or paid protection to the yakuza, most often one of the many branches of the Tojo Clan. Dojima, Shimano, or a part of Osaka's Omi Family ruled the world above the streets. The streets themselves were owned by the lesser gangs: bands of punks, thugs, pickpockets, and all-around creeps stalked the alleys from Showa to Shichifuku, preying on anyone dumb enough to look like they had money to throw around. Or to take.

Sojiro knew he should've tried to blend in. He knew he needed to look normal, like someone the street toughs would ignore as another pedestrian. But he could only come here directly after work; the seller was a busy man, and he wasn't going to be held up by one customer who needed to change clothes. Even then, there still wouldn't have been any problems if the conspicuously well-dressed Sojiro had left right after his pick-up, or knew his way around the district.

Now he had to kick himself for thinking he could luck out of being cornered by a trio of low-lifes after taking a wrong turn into a dead-end alley off Pink Street.

“Hey, hey, hey, old man!” The middle thug, the leader, shuffled forward, baggy track pants flapping as he walked. “What's in the case?” he sneered.

Sojiro's eye twitched at the name “old man” (I'm only 27, for God's sake. Do I look that old?). He grunted, “None of your business. Excuse me,” and started walking. He held the briefcase behind him, out of reach and out of sight.

The smallest, in an orange jersey so bright it nearly drowned out the lights and neon signs behind him, cut Sojiro off. “If it's on our turf, pal,” he said, voice oozing mock concern, “it's our business.”

“Yeah,” said the largest, wearing a massive camouflage jacket and jabbing a thick finger at the briefcase “We gotta make sure you ain't got nothin' dangerous to the community in there.”

“And,” the leader again, “make sure we get a share!” A grin spread over half his face.

“Yeah? Well, you're not getting what's in here.” Sojiro snapped. “This was flown in special, and I paid a lot of my own money for it, so I'm not wasting an ounce on you!”

The words sank in, and Sojiro cringed.

Shit. Why did I say it like that?

The leader's grin swelled. “Oohhhhhh-ho-ho-ho!” he laughed, “we got some of that good imported shit, do we?” He glanced at his partners, jerked his head at Sojiro. All three started slinking down the alley in unison. “If that's so, then we'll be taking it off your hands, my friend!”

“Don't worry,” added the small one, flicking open a switchblade, “we'll get you your cut of the profits...”

“If you don't hand it over,” the large one finished, cracking his knuckles, “you'll get it a lot sooner...”

Sojiro's mind raced. Damn it, Sakura, you screwed yourself with this one. They don't look smart, but there's three of them and they're armed. What the hell are you gonna do next?

He backed further away. The gang came closer. Every second cut off his escape route more and more...

Then a random wild idea blinked into Sojiro's brain. He scoffed at himself.

Sakura, that's the dumbest thing you could do right now. But, desperate times...

“Alright already!” Sojiro stood still and raised his hands. The trio stopped. “Take the damn case. Do what you want with it.” He held the briefcase out to them.

The leader beamed at his friends and swaggered over. “You see, guys? All you need to get some respect from the elderly (Sojiro's eye twitched again) is a little common understan--”

He swiped at the briefcase, but it was now out of his reach. Presently, it was swinging through the air directly into his head.

Sojiro felt the impact through the handle into his arm, but the rattling of the contents inside made him wince more. The leader fell to the side, yelling and cursing. The other two were frozen, too shocked to move. Only one of them tried to snag their victim's suit jacket as he slipped past them into the alley.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why'd you get yourself into this in the first place, Sakura?! You were done, you had what you came for, you just had to leave and wait for your train! But you had to play tourist, didn't you?!

Briefcase tight against his chest, Sojiro sprinted through the narrow back streets. He took corners at random, right, then left, then right again, trying to weave a path away from the thugs.

Where the hell am I, anyway?! I need to get back to that main street, what was it...? Nakamichi! That one! Plenty of people, maybe a police officer!

He reached another intersection, identical to one he'd left behind

God, this place is a damn maze!

Sojiro rounded a corner, and slammed into a wall. His head pounded as he staggered back; his foot slipped in a puddle, and he fell, legs flailing, onto the concrete. Dazed and dizzy, his back damp and aching, Sojiro blinked, adjusted his glasses, and sat up to face the wall.

But the wall had stepped out of the alley and was staring at him with dark, narrowed eyes. The wall looked massive, easily half-a-head taller than Sojiro on his feet. The wall wore a gray suit a few years out of style, with a deep red dress shirt underneath. The wall had a slicked-back mane of dark hair, and a hard, defined face.

Another one? Oh, this is perfect...

“I told your friends back there you're not taking this!” he yelled, curling around the briefcase, “So back off!”

The wall, now clearly a person, stepped back, raised a heavy eyebrow.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” His voice was deep, but very confused.

Three sets of footsteps thudded behind them; the would-be robbers were here. The big one was gasping, the little one was panting, and the leader was pissed.

“Hey, big guy!” He called to the newcomer, wiping a trail of blood from his temple, “this one's ours! We ain't in the mood to share, so butt out before we bust you up too!”

Sojiro looked from the tall man to the trio. He was completely outnumbered, boxed in, and already on the ground. Clocking the leader had sealed his fate, and now he was out of time to run from it. He'd likely be beaten, and if the beating didn't kill him, the stabs from the little guy would. They'd run off with the case, maybe get pissed when they learn what's in it, but they'd still leave his corpse out here in the alley for some other lost citizen to find. And that, he knew, would be that: the life story of Sojiro Sakura, killed by his own curiosity and lack of direction. Nothing more to say, and no way to avoid it. Moreover, no need to hold on the case anymore; it was practically theirs already, a waste of money he'd never need again anyway. Why not just let them have it?

But, out of either sheer indignation at the circumstances, or plain stubbornness, he refused to give up.

“I told you already,” he said through gritted teeth, “you're not touching any of this! I paid for it, I need it, and I'm keeping it!” The young man wrapped his arms around the case and hugged it tight, the water soaking through his clothes mixing with his clammy sweat. He expected fists and kicks and stabs to rain down on him, and strong arms to rip the case from his dying body. All his fault, and all over something as worthless and stupid as--

"Here."

Sojiro looked up. The stranger was looking at him, speaking to him. His hand was stretched out to Sojiro. His face was stoic, solid and unexpressive, like flesh-toned granite, but his eyes...his eyes...

Something glinted behind those eyes. At first it was a spark, a tiny gleam in an wide, dark space. Then it grew stronger, like a match striking off. While Sojiro stared, he remembered an old physics lecture from high school. The teacher had mentioned potential energy, the "storing up" motion of any action: compressing a spring, raising a hammer, pulling back a fist.

This guy was storing up for something big.

One arm clutching the case, Sojiro grabbed the man's hand. He was pulled to his feet; it made him feel like a bale of straw being lifted and heaved around. He watched Sojiro steady himself, then spoke. “Nakamichi is just around the corner. You shouldn't have to look long to find a cop. I'll take care of them until you get back. Got it?”

Sojiro stared blankly. This guy looked like he was getting ready to punch through a brick wall, he probably could too, and he was...helping him?

The big man's brow twitched. “Do you get it?” He sounded testier than before. Ignoring him would only make it worse.

Sojiro nodded shakily, but he didn't run. He quietly stepped back, pressing flat against the wall. The stranger nodded back, turned to the trio, and walked forward.

“Hey, punk!” the leader called, tensed and hunched like an angry rat on its hind legs, “Didn't you hear me?!”

The stranger stopped in front of him. “I think you're the one who's deaf.” He spoke calmly, completely measured; that energy he was storing was totally invisible. “He's not giving you his briefcase or anything in it. Get lost.”

The leader's eyes bulged out and his bloody face went redder. His teeth looked ready to crack from grinding on each other.

“Stuck-up prick!” he hissed. “Thinkin' you can talk to me like that!” He jabbed a finger into the the stranger's chest. He barely moved.

“Last warning,” the stranger said, still calm, still controlled. “Back off. Now.”

Behind him, both of Sojiro's arm wrapped around his briefcase to stop from shaking against the wall. Down to his bones he felt the change in the air; it was buzzing, alive with tension radiating like heat from a flame off of the man's broad shoulders. He didn't show it, but that spark in his eyes was now burning over his entire body. Flat against the wall, Sojiro asked himself:

What the hell is this guy?!

“Aw, shut up!” The leader whined. He shot a white-knuckled fist up to the stranger's jaw.

Less than a second. That was all the time he had before impact. It took him less than that to change his stance completely: shoulders squared, knees bent, right foot behind him, left foot planted. He arched backwards. The thug's fist sailed past its target. By the time he recovered, it was too late to react.

That potential energy had already been released.

WHAM-WHAM-WHAM!

Three punches, right-left-right, flew into the leader's face. Behind him, his friends flinched at each blow. He stumbled back, dizzy, half-blind, but too pissed to be knocked down. Blood dribbled out of his swelling nose, and he spat a thick mouthful of it on the ground. He screamed, "GET HIS ASS!". The others held back; they weren't blind with rage, and they knew the stranger was still ready for another attack. But like loyal soldiers, they charged, flanking their leader. Part of Sojiro understood what they were thinking: it was three against one. He might get some good hits in, maybe even knock one down. But between their leader's anger, the big one's mass, and the little one's knife, they could take him. How much trouble could one guy be?

Thirty seconds later, that part of Sojiro shut itself up. The leader was the only one left conscious, half-curled on the ground, writhing, groaning, clutching his jaw with one hand and his stomach with the other. The big one lay on his back a few feet away, surrounded by parts of what used to be a nearby bicycle twenty seconds earlier; still breathing, but he'd be out until sunrise at least. As for the little one, his legs now hung out of a pile of trash on the left side of the intersection. From the way he screamed, Sojiro assumed his switchblade had jammed into his thigh before the stranger swung him through the air one-handed, and let him fly.

For as long as the fight had lasted, Sojiro stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the man. Right now, he was stretching out his arms, cracking his neck and knuckles, adjusting his flared collar. A full-blown three-to-one street brawl he ended in under a minute, and he treated it like some light exercise, maybe a little warm-up. Trembling more than ever, Sojiro asked again:

What IS this guy?!

He turned around. Sojiro shrank back against the wall, holding his briefcase even tighter.

“Hey, I told you to find someone.” His tone was more annoyed than angry, and as Sojiro calmed down, he noticed the man's posture was more relaxed too. That fire that had coursed over his body was gone; his eyes were normal again, dark, clear, and surprisingly calming.

You needed help?!, Sojiro wanted to say, but chose not to. “Sorry,” he pushed his heart out of his throat to reply, “I...couldn't move.”

Nice one, Sakura. Make yourself sound like a coward in front of this guy.

“Most people know you don't talk back to the gangs, or walk into alleys at night, especially when you have something to take.” The stranger's expression didn't change, but Sojiro still had to look away, embarrassed. “You don't live around here, do you?”

Sojiro cleared his throat. “No, no. I live down in Meguro. I made a detour here on my way home.”

“Meguro...” The stranger tugged back his sleeve (somehow spotless after the fight), revealing a silver wristwatch with a black leather strap. He treats fights like they're nothing and wears a watch like that?!, Sojiro thought. He must be crazy.

“The last train doesn't leave for another half-hour,” he said, reading the watch. “If you leave now, you can catch a taxi on Showa Street and make it to the station in time.” He looked up from the watch, back to Sojiro. His eyes scanned him up and down; it was a little uncomfortable. “Are you sure you can find your way there?”

“Hey, I'm not a total idiot,” Sojiro protested, “It's just a walk down the street. How bad could it be?”

“If you're asking that,” the stranger replied flatly, “you really don't know Kamurocho.”

Sojiro shut his mouth. He had a point. “Fine,” Sojiro said dryly, “I call uncle. I underestimated this place, it's a dangerous hellhole big-city types like me can't handle. Now what do I do?”

The stranger was already walking by the time Sojiro finished. “Just follow me,” he said, and gently shouldered past.

Sojiro watched him walk away. He didn't have much reason to trust this guy. Sure, he'd helped him with the gang, even wanted him out of harm's way before the fight started, but if the district was as dangerous as he said, so dangerous that just walking down the street and looking like you had money to spare was too risky to do alone, why should Sojiro trust him? How did he know he wasn't gonna lead him to some friends around the corner? Or maybe just turn around and knock him down on his own? Three men couldn't stop him; one alone would be like an ant on the sidewalk.

“Hey!” The strangers shouted from the corner. “Unless you want to spend the night here, hurry up!”

Sojiro jumped at the voice. The man still wasn't angry, just irritable that someone wasn't listening. Unless he was secretly a fantastic actor, he sounded genuine, like he really wanted to get him out safe. Standing and thinking for a little longer, Sojiro realized that while he didn't have much reason to trust the giant man, he could still use a guide, and had too few options right now to be picky. He'd have to take his chances. Finally, briefcase tucked safely under his arm, Sojiro jogged down the alley to where the stranger waited for him.

----------------------

Back in the glittering lights of Nakamichi: glaring neon signs, pop songs blaring from every storefront, pedestrians buffeting each other, barkers calling out their respective clubs and bars. It wasn't to Sojiro's tastes; he always preferred a night in with something to read or listen to. But it was crowded, it was bright, and it didn't have bands of thugs hunting him, so it was perfect. The stone-faced street brawler striding next to him was awkward at first, but Sojiro had to admit, he felt safer with the man nearby than anywhere else. With someone like him showing the way out, the investment sitting in his briefcase might have a chance to pay off.

Speaking of, I hit that creep pretty hard. Better check if the goods made it out alright...

Sojiro pulled out the case, clicked open the latches, and cracked the lid to peek inside. Everything was in place: no leaks, no spills, no damage. He closed the case, relieved. Then he glanced up at his guide. The stranger was already looking down at him, and his expression was finally different, almost, and Sojiro could hardly believe it, worried.

“Um,” he looked around the crowded street nervously, “it's none of my business what you have in there, but whatever it is, I wouldn't show it in public. Someone...” he scanned the crowd again for a blue uniform, “someone might get the wrong idea.”

“What?” Then Sojiro remembered the thug leader's reaction to the case, and what this would look like to someone from the outside. At that, maybe from lingering nerves or how relaxed he felt in the open, Sojiro broke out laughing. Pedestrians in both directions walked around them, avoided eye contact, thinking he was another drunk businessman celebrating a sale or nursing a loss. The stranger became even more worried.

“I-hahahaha! I think--*Cough! Cough!*” Sojiro cleared his throat as his laughter finally wore out. “You have the wrong idea, pal. Look at this.” He pulled his guide out of the crowd, stopped by a store window. While the other man looked totally lost, Sojiro, his dark eyes bright, held the briefcase out, and opened it wide.

The stranger stared into the case. “Are those--?”

“Yeah,” Sojiro said breathlessly, “the absolute top quality, some of the finest blends and origins in the world. I talked the guy down and it still cost me a week's salary.”

Sojiro watched nervously as the man reached in, lifted up a small glass vial with a piece of tape marked with scratchy handwriting. He shook the vial gently, listened to the contents rattle against the glass. Slowly, he put it back down, and stared at Sojiro in disbelief.

“You were gonna give your life,” he said haltingly, “for beans?”

Sojiro snapped the case shut. “Didn't you hear me?' He asked, shocked and offended. “These are the best of the best! The finest, richest, most varied coffee beans you can find! Hell, I think some of them, most people don't know about. Probably why they were so dear, even un-roasted...”

Re-stowing the case, the two men merged back into the foot traffic. “So,” the stranger asked, “why come to Kamurocho for them? Wasn't there anywhere safer you could pick them up?”

Sojiro shook his head. “I looked forever,” he replied, “called every place I could. No one had what I wanted, and I almost gave up before I found just the right guy. He wasn't keen on telling how he got 'em, but that didn't matter. We worked out the price over the phone, but he would only meet me here for the pick-up. If you ask me,” Sojiro glanced around, leaned closer to the stranger, “he might've had some yakuza ties. Smuggling, black market, that kinda thing. Not something I'd usually support, but since I was running dry on options, and with how pricey this kind of import can be...” He shrugged, nearly dropped his case out from his arm, and scrambled to grab it. Straightening up, Sojiro swore the stranger had muttered, “Are we doing that kind of smuggling now?”

“What's that?”

“N-nothing.” He looked straight ahead. “I didn't say anything...”

Hmm. Maybe it was someone else...

“I still don't get why these beans are worth risking your life.” The stranger changed the subject. “You don't look like you own a coffeehouse or anything.”

Sojiro laughed, and said. “Nah. Not yet, anyway. Right now, it's kind of a hobby. Well, was a hobby, before I got dared into taking it to the extreme.”

“Dared?”

“Well...” Sojiro paused. He'd already said more about this than he'd ever said to anyone else, even the guy who sold him the beans. Why not drop the subject here? Oversharing was something he hated from most people, barring one, so ranting on about something this silly would be embarrassing and pointless. The stranger certainly didn't look like he cared; he kept his eyes ahead, his mouth flat like a chiseled line, sometimes turning his head to watch Sojiro as he spoke. Nothing in his expression told Sojiro the stranger had a real interest in his story.

If that was the case, though, why did he keep asking questions? He could've dropped the conversation and led Sojiro to the end of the street in silence after seeing inside the briefcase; he'd gotten his answer, as weird as it was, and didn't need to know anymore. But he still asked more about what he saw, and if anything, he sounded more curious than before he knew what Sojiro was carrying. Sojiro could understand why, you don't see men risking a painful back-alley death over coffee beans every day, but beyond that, the stranger may be curious because, and this was hardest to believe, he was actually interested. Day after day of the same dull small-talk, current events, pop culture slop, vague questions about each others' lives, and here was another person who truly seemed to care, who was bothering to actually listen.

Wonder if this is how she feels when we talk...

“Well,” Sojiro continued, “a...friend, from work, noticed how much I talked about beans and roasts and blends and everything, so she pushed me into a dare.”

“To do what?”

Smirking, Sojiro said, “'To make the best cup of coffee in the world'. Her exact words. It's not too much of a dare, to be honest. She's helping me with it, but I've helped with her little passion project, so it's only fair.”

“What's her project?”

“Curry. By now, it's as much mine as her's, but she started it and roped me in.” Sojiro shook his head softly and smiled. “It's amazing she makes any time for it with how much she has on her plate. Or,” he caught himself, and reeled from the accidental pun, “not on her plate, I suppose...sorry, that was terrible.” He stopped talking, wondering if the stranger would react to a line that bad.

The stranger didn't laugh, but the corners of his mouth lifted a little. “It looks like that dedication wore off on you, since you went so far to protect those beans.”

“Yeah,” Sojiro chuckled. He stayed quiet for a moment, let the noise of Nakamichi Street surround him. That kind of big city chatter usually drove him crazy; now it felt like a cocoon, barely noticeable while he looked inward, truly thought about this whole dare and everything he'd done as part of it for the first time. It all sounded ridiculous to him now, but still...

“Y'know,” he finally said, “it's kinda funny. If you told me a few weeks ago I'd go this far for something this small, I'd think you were crazy. I didn't care this much at the beginning; I just kept with it to stop my friend from bugging me. But then...then I started caring. I liked researching blends, learning how to work a roaster, finding the differences between grinds, writing down the perfect water temperatures for each blend, for God's sake!” Sojiro laughed briefly. “I write down notes and figures for a living every day, but doing something that dull in my spare time actually made me...well, happy. It's like I finally had something real I could work on, something with a purpose behind it. And once my friend started helping me out, I wanted to go even further, do whatever I could to make the time we put into this whole thing worth it. So,” he shrugged, more carefully this time, “here I am. Crazy, isn't it?”

“...not at all.”

The stranger's voice was different: softer, kinder, not just mildly curious but fully invested. Before Sojiro could respond, the stranger said, “You found a passion, just like your friend and her curry. It's something you want to work on for its own sake, not because you're paid to do it, or other people want you to. And better yet, you can share it with someone who enjoys it like you do. It doesn't matter how small it is. It's yours, and you want to keep moving forward with it. There's nothing crazy about that.”

Once he'd finished, Sojiro, stunned and silent, looked up at the stranger...

...and he was smiling. It was still subtle, not an open-mouthed grin, but it was warm and earnest; absolutely, unflinchingly genuine. Sojiro nearly stopped dead on the sidewalk, it was so unbelievable. This was the guy who, less than ten minutes ago, was tearing through an angry and violent group of street thugs; now, he looked like a gentle father listening to his child talk about their day, and giving them advice about a problem they had. The difference made him a little uncomfortable, but it was impossible to be completely upset by it. Sure, it was a disturbingly extreme shift, but it felt so gradual, and so real, that Sojiro had to smile too.

“That doesn't mean you need to get yourself killed over it,” the stranger said. His voice returned to normal, but his smile was still there. “It might mean everything to you, but you can't move it forward if you're dead.”

Sojiro rolled his eyes. “Heh. Yeah, I know, I know...”

-------------------------

Finally at the taxis, Sojiro turned around at the open car door. “I should've said this earlier,” he admitted with a grin, “but...thanks. You really did save my life back there.”

The stranger shook his head. “Don't thank me. Just be more careful if there's a next time.”

“If there is,” Sojiro replied, “I will. Don't worry.”

At that, the stranger turned and started back up Nakamichi with a hand in his pocket, and Sojiro climbed into the backseat of the cab. Suddenly, he froze, half in the car, earning a sleepy-eyed but disapproving stare from the driver. Sojiro pulled himself back out and looked at the man who stood head-and-shoulders above everyone around him.

“Hey, you!” He yelled over the crowd between them. Thankfully, the stranger heard him, and half-turned to the cab.

“My name's Sakura, by the way! Sojiro Sakura!”

The stranger listened closely; Sojiro wondered if he had heard him yell, until the man loudly replied:

“I'm Kiryu. Kazuma Kiryu.”

“Well, Mr. Kiryu,” Sojiro shouted back. “If I see you again someday, remember: your first cup's on me!” He raised his briefcase, and gave it a gentle shake.

Kiryu half-smiled back. “I'll try to.” With a wave goodbye, he carried on back into the bustling district ahead of him. Sojiro watched him a little longer; he wanted to remember what the man looked like in case they met again. A gentle, insistent “Sir” from the driver pulled Sojiro away, and he remembered he was in a hurry. Climbing inside the car, Sojiro settled into the seat as the taxi merged into traffic, his wet jacket stinging his back, and the briefcase secured in his lap. He glanced down at it again, and chuckled to himself.

What a wild night, Sakura. And what a weird guy.

But not a bad one. Not at all.

I hope I meet him again. Especially after I start experimenting with some of these.

Which should I go for first? The Yirgacheffe looks great, but I like the sound of that Hawaiian Kona...

Soon, Sojiro Sakura was already planning out his next few stages of coffee research, and all thoughts of friendly-neighborhood street brawlers were tossed out of his mind like a scrawny, tiny punk hurtling into a pile of garbage.

Chapter Text

April 15th, 2017

Aoyama-Itchome, Minato, Tokyo

Climbing out of the subway station, Kazuma Kiryu lit up a cigarette. He dragged deep, and blew the smoke up into the cool morning air. He watched it swirl and fade into the overcast sky, and listened to the sound of Tokyo keeping its blistering pace in the distance. The sun struggled to break through; an iron blanket held it back, and everything was cast in an overwhelming shroud of gray, not out-of-the-ordinary for April.

Looks like rain, Kiryu thought, and took another drag. After the crowded train ride, it tasted nice, and it tasted even better knowing someone wasn't about to snatch it from his lips and chide him for it. But he'd stopped too early; the thin crowd trickling out of the subway bumped into him, shot angry stares his way as they passed. Pocketing his lighter in his hoodie, Kiryu followed the stream of people into the district.

Where was he headed? He didn't really know; Minato Ward wasn't familiar to him. The big industries and embassies that made up the Ward weren't terribly interesting, and the Family that owned it rarely edged in on Dojima business or turf. Over the years he'd lived and worked around Tokyo, Kiryu never had a reason to drop by this particular ward. Now, on the last day of his first visit to the city in four years, with a few hours to kill before his plane back to Okinawa, he wandered from district to district, touring the unfamiliar, seeing what each of them had to see in the little time he had. It was strange playing tourist in a city he'd spent years close to, but it was what he'd come here to do, and he didn't know when he'd be coming back.

Head held high, Kiryu strode down walls of plain buildings and empty alleyways, ash trickling from his cigarette. By this time of day, most pedestrians were already at work, but a few still dotted the street, heading one way or the other. The ones that passed Kiryu gave him the same glares as the people around the subway; they picked up their paces, muttering to themselves “how disgusting”, how “unbelievable” it was that he had the nerve to smoke in public. Empty complaints, but backed with that kind of righteous indignation you find out on the street, the kind that says “I'm offended, and I hope someone who'll do something about it is offended too”. Invariably, that person never comes, and no one does anything.

Kiryu ignored them. He kept striding down the street, taking long, steady drags and spouting smoke high above any of the grumbling busybodies. Don't remember so many of them before, he thought, watching another one wrinkle her nose like Kiryu was an extremely-potent human lemon. Must've been another public health campaign while I was gone. Now everyone's panicking over what everyone else is doing, no matter how much it really bothers anyone...

Nursing his smoke, and lost in thought, he started walking on auto-pilot. The sidewalk was long, straight, and mostly empty; little risk of a collision, though someone with Kiryu's build would take much more to knock down than most.

What else has changed since I left? A few old shops closed. That big company bought out Smile Burger and re-branded their stores. “Big Bang Burger”...I don't like it as much. The food's still alright, but the service is worse. Those kids at the registers didn't look so good...

And then there's those “shutdowns” the news mentioned. I've seen people drop dead from drugs or heart attacks, but never anything like this before. I won't even try to understand how they happen, but they definitely made it riskier to move around the city...

I heard Akiyama moved back to Kamurocho. Sky's Osaka branch did well enough to let him hire some new managers, so he could afford to be more “hands-off”. Heh. Hana should be thrilled...

Kiryu caught himself rounding a corner, and snapped back to the world. Cigarette down to the filter, he flicked it into the gutter. In front of him was the local high school, a straight shot and a turn from the station. Grey stone slats made up its face, broken up by grimy-looking windows. Above the main door, a numberless clock kept the time: quarter to eleven. Ventilation hummed on the roof, and air-conditioning units shuddered from the windows. As far as Kiryu could see, it was a perfectly normal school building. He followed the low concrete wall surrounding the building, and came to a sign above the neatly-trimmed shrubs planted around the perimeter.

Shujin Academy...

He paused, blinked, and read it again. That couldn't be right...

Shujin...like “Prisoner”...?

The characters weren't the same, and it had to mean something else, but there was no other way to pronounce it: Prisoner Academy. It sounded like a bad joke, something the students came up with, spreading and sticking among the kids, but no one thought to make it the official name. In this case, apparently someone did.

Huh. Creepy name...

Better get moving...

He turned, and started walking back to the main street. It was just a wrong turn, nothing more.

Behind him, a door opened.

“Alright, coast's clear.”

“Kazu, don't!”

Kiryu ignored the voices, a smarmy boy's and a nervous girl's, whispering urgently. If they wanted to cut school, that was their problem, not his.

“C'mon, Mari! We won't get in trouble, I promise.”

“We can't, Kazu! Someone's gonna find out!”

“So what? As soon as she drops, they're gonna cancel class anyway. No one's gonna know we ducked out early.”

Kiryu froze.

Drops...?

“That's horrible! How can you say it like that?!”

“Hey, I don't know her! And I didn't put her up there! Why is it my problem?”

“Because she's...she's...”

As the girl tried to find her words, Kiryu backed up, stood by the low wall and faced the other side of the alley, acting casual. He lit another cigarette, and listened.

“So, you comin' or not?”

“No...no! I'm not going! You're awful, Kazu! I don't wanna see you again!”

“...fine! Have fun cleaning up what's left, ya prissy little--!”

The door slammed, cutting him off. Kiryu heard angry mumbling, footsteps, someone grunting. A pair of plaid-clad legs sailed over the fence, and a shaggy-looking boy in a black-and-red jacket dropped neatly onto the pavement. He glanced back at the school, snickered, and began to strut down the alley, full of himself and, no doubt, feeling invincible.

“Hey, kid,” Kiryu called, and the boy nearly tripped over his feet. Deflating, he stiffly half-turned, and Kiryu saw the boy's look of annoyed smugness wash away into shaking, wild-eyed fear.

“Wh-wh-who're...y-you?!” He managed to sputter out.

“I'm...” Kiryu thought of a good answer. “I'm the local Truant Officer. You'll be in big trouble if you don't tell me what's happening in there.” He'd never met a Truant Officer before, so his impression was totally off-the-cuff. Fortunately, the boy was terrified enough to not ask questions. Kiryu was relieved.

When the boy answered him, that relief dropped out through Kiryu's stomach.

“Th-there's a girl on the roof! We think sh-she's gonna jump!”

“What?!”

“Everyone got distracted, so I thought I'd sneak out with my friendandididn'tthinkanyonewouldseeusdon'thurtmepleasedon't--!”

Kiryu crossed the few feet between them and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Enough about that!” He roared. “How do I get to the roof?!”

The boy blinked rapidly and stared up at Kiryu's face. “G-go inside, take a left! It's the second stairway, all the way--!”

Kiryu bolted before he could finish. Vaulting over the gate, he tore down the walkway, flung the door wide, raced around the corner past an empty front desk. Students filled the hall, heading, some slowly, some quickly, around the next corner. The stairway was at the end of the hall, and it was also packed.

“MOVE!”

The crowd parted. Kiryu charged through them, brushing them aside as he rushed to the stairway. The current of students was heavy and strong, but he didn't have the time to wait.

“GET BACK!”

At his voice, they pressed against the walls, letting him sprint through them, up the stairs. Around the corner, up another flight, onto the next floor, around another corner, up again. Kiryu only glimpsed the second and third floors; more students poured out of their classrooms, heading down the hall or to the stairs, only to jump out of his way. He heard questions and yells, anger and confusion.

By the time the rooftop door was in sight, the pounding of his heart drowned out everything else.

Don't be too late...

Do not be too late...!

----------------------

Despite where she stood, and what she planned to do, Shiho felt utterly calm

The wind tugged at her ponytail, rolled around her skirt. Way outside the school walls, she saw the far rooftops of Minato, stony and cold and cast in the same gray light as everything else. Below her, she heard voices, urgently whispering, wondering. Waiting.

That morning, she'd made her choice, though it was barely one; with no other option but to suffer alone, ending it was all she could do.

She couldn't run anymore. She couldn't dwell on it any longer. If she didn't do it now, she'd never have a chance to be free from the agony. She needed to act.

Shiho closed her eyes, tasted the dry city air one last time. Her resolve pushing her onward, she prepared to step out into the open air.

Into comfortable nothing...

The door crashed open.

“STOP!”

Shiho's body seized, her usual response to a yell. Frozen on the rim, she stood like a painted statue, trembling faintly in the breeze. As her shock wore off, she heard slow, heavy footsteps approaching.

“St-stay back!” Shiho cried.

The footsteps stopped, and the same voice, closer and calmer than before, replied, “Alright. I won't move.”

Shiho had dreaded this: some stranger, one of those “good samaritans”, running to her before she fell, trying to talk her down, give her hope.

She didn't want hope; she wanted the man to leave.

“Hey, what's your name?

Clearly, he didn't plan on leaving.

“Go away...”

“Tell me your name first. Then...I'll think about it.”

Shiho frowned. Out of everyone to chose to get involved, it had to be the one who was compassionate and stubborn. He was starting to remind her of someone.

Eventually, the girl mumbled, “...Shiho...”

The man hummed gently. “Shiho? That's a nice name. Mine's Kiryu”.

As 'Kiryu' spoke, the tones of his voice surprised Shiho: deep but very warm, comforting, almost fatherly. He sounded so uncompromisingly genuine; she grew uneasy, her stomach twisting up into knots, and she didn't know why.

“Shiho, what happened?”

She ignored him.

“It's alright. You can tell me.”

Shiho scoffed bitterly under her breath. “Doesn't matter if I tell you...you can't do anything, just...” her voice caught; she swallowed hard against it. “Just leave me alone...”

“...You're sure about that?”

“About what?”

“About how it doesn't matter if you tell me what's wrong. About how I can't help you. You think I can't, but maybe I'll disagree. I won't know unless you tell me.”

“But...but what if I'm right?”

“Then I can't help. But either way, I won't leave you up here, Shiho. I wasn't gonna as soon as I came through that door.”

That stubbornness...it did remind her of someone, one of the only people in her life who was that driven to care.

Why did this total stranger care just as much?

“You don't know me,” she wondered out loud. “You don't have any reason to help...”

“No, I guess not.”

“So...why?”

Silence.

Was he thinking, or was there no answer?

“Because you were up here, and I can't let you jump. Just like I told you.” Kiryu said it matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious answer in the world, like there was no other reason anyone could have. From his voice, Shiho knew he meant it.

It was almost a sick joke: someone with real kindness finally finds her, reaches out and gets through to her, right when she's made her choice. Did she want to reach back, let him pull her to safety?

But would anywhere be “safe” anymore, with everything she had to carry, alone?

“Do you really want to jump, Shiho?”

The girl coughed, cleared her throat. “I...have to. There's nothing else I can do. I'm the only one wh-who c-c-can...” Shiho breathed deep. “...make it go away...”

“Is that true?”

It wasn't, and Shiho always knew it wasn't; she had people in her life, ones who mattered the most and cared more than anyone. Her mother, her father...

Her best friend.

The best friend who was already suffering at the same hands that tormented Shiho.

The best friend who her tormentor wanted to punish by doing what he did.

The best friend who would suffer even more once she learned what had happened the previous day...

Shiho's whole body shuddered in the lukewarm air. Her arms folded over her chest, and gripped each other tight.

“You aren't alone, are you?” Kiryu kept talking. “There are people who want to help you. They ask the same questions as me, don't they?

“I can't! I can't tell them either!” Shiho cried, choking out the words. “If I did...” she panted as the air stung the cold sweat on her skin. “...they'd end up like me, just...miserable, and...useless. I...I couldn't do that to them...”

She trailed off, and the only sounds were the voices below and the drone of the ventilation around them. Shiho knew Kiryu had heard her, but she didn't know when he'd speak again. Was this the right time to...?

“...so, you just keep it all to yourself?”

“Huh?”

“Shiho, take a second and think. You tell yourself this is your only choice, but you can't see any others. That weight on your shoulders is blinding you. It makes you think you're useless and miserable; it keeps everything else out, even the better choices, all the ways you can make it lighter. If you told someone else about it, made it lighter, you'd see you have so many more choices than...this.”

Shiho slowly considered his words. He was right; it was a weight, crushing her, holding her down. But the thought of forcing someone else to bear it was...sickening, selfish. Cruel.

“If I t-tell someone...” she tried to repeat.

“Then yeah, they'll hurt, same as you,” Kiryu finished. “And that means they care about you, Shiho. People always hurt for the ones they care about, and they'll stick with them until it doesn't hurt as much. It's what people do.”

Like a bullet, his emphasis pierced her. His answer was so simple, embarrassingly simple, she was ashamed it never came to her. At the same time, it was almost too simple for what she was going through.

“If...if I tell them...” she asked weakly, “are you sure they'll...stay with me...?”

Except for the droning, silence. Then, Kiryu sighed.

“Like you said, I don't know what's bothering you, so I don't know how serious it is, and I don't know how anyone else will take it. I'm asking a lot, but I need you to trust me for know. Can you?”

Shiho, aching from standing so still for so long, glanced down at the busy courtyard, and then out over the distant city. It looked brighter than before; still a heavy gray, but more sun was starting to break through the clouds, and parts of the world around her shone in the new light. After another moment, she had an answer.

“...I t-trust you...”

When Kiryu replied, she nearly heard a smile in his voice.

“Do you want to come back in?”

Silence.

“...yes.”

“Good. I'll meet you at the gap. Is that okay?”

“...ok.”

It was a long way back, longer than the way out, and it finally sank in how high up she was. Carefully, Shiho sidled and shuffled along the ledge, eyes screwed shut, gripping the chain link fence tight. One uneven step at a time, legs shaking, she pulled herself forward, closer to the wall and the gap in the fence. Deep down, she knew the real challenge would come later: forcing herself to tell her story, and even partly relive all of that pain. But right now, Shiho just needed to get back to the roof, so that future struggle was far from her mind.

She was close to the gap; she could see it, with a vague human shape on the other side. Almost there. Just a few more feet.

The longer she stayed out here, the more nervous Shiho felt. She stepped wider, tried to move faster. She stepped too wide, and her right leg came down wrong. Pain shot through her knee, wrapped in a black sleeve. Hissing, her body stiffened and lurched forward. Once the pain faded, she realized the fence had slipped out from her fingers.

Like an amateur gymnast, Shiho teetered on the concrete lip; her arms flailed, too far from the fence to grab hold. Too far out to re-balance, too stunned to move backwards, still conscious enough to see over the ledge at all the faces below, some looking away, some frozen, some screaming.

There was no time to think, to dwell on the sick irony. There wasn't even time to scream.

So there also wasn't time for her to realize she was suddenly hurtling backwards, not until she slammed against the fence, the links clanging in her ears. The lingering throbbing in her knee was all Shiho felt; for everything else, it was like slipping on a wet floor, when the whole world turns and you're left reeling as your brain catches up. A gentle, insistent tug on her arm told her that there was a grip around her wrist.

Shiho almost struggled, but she quickly realized who was holding her, and that fighting against him would put her back in trouble. She followed his grip, stumbling over the edge, but her feet found solid ground, back from the open ledge. Kiryu let her go; she tottered on her own, looking up at her rescuer, numbly taking him in: a tall man, powerfully built with strong features, simply dressed in a hoodie and jeans. His eyes were dark and clear, and she saw a glint of fear fading out of them. Unusual and unexpected, but at the moment, that didn't occur to Shiho.

“Sorry,” Kiryu said quietly. “I had to act fast. You alright?”

Shiho half-turned, glanced down at the courtyard; the students were wandering off, some lingering, watching the roof. The space right below where she would've fallen was still empty, still a haunting reminder of what might've happened.

“I almost...” she mumbled. “I could've...”

Her legs wobbled, and finally gave out. Shiho's vision blurred, and the air rushed past her ears as she collapsed...

Chapter Text

Shiho collapsed, and Kiryu rushed in to catch her. She fell into his arms, still conscious but barely able to stop herself. Her breath was ragged, she felt clammy, and her arms hung limply at her sides.

She's in shock. Too much to handle at once...

Kiryu held her carefully, keeping her head straight. He finally saw her face: very pale, framed by black hair held back in a ponytail. Not an unusual look, but to Kiryu, familiar. Vacant brown eyes stared up, but not at him. They were unfocused, still reeling from her near-fall.

“Hey.” He gently shook her. “Can you hear me?”

Shiho mumbled vaguely. She wasn't in danger, but she still needed a doctor, and soon. Kiryu swung her up in both arms. Maybe someone had already called an ambulance, or maybe a school nurse could check her in the meantime. Either way, she needed to get off this roof.

That's when he noticed her right arm, pressed against his chest.

What the hell...?

Below the sleeve of her uniform, her elbow was heavily bandaged, only exposed by her rolled-up sleeve. Kiryu looked her over; the odd sleeve on her right knee, the one that had buckled under her, was a kind of leg brace, black and wrapped tight around the joint. He spotted strange light patches, cracked like heavy makeup, on her calves and thighs, and a large one on her face as well.

Makeup like that...

She's trying to cover something...

His stomach turned as Shiho's breathing slowly softened, became fainter, peaceful. What had she been through?

Across the roof, Kiryu heard footsteps echoing up the stairwell. They grew louder and louder, until someone practically charged into the open.

“Shih—ah...!”

The new arrival was far from what Kiryu expected: she wore the school jacket and skirt, but she was white-skinned, shapely, full platinum twintails flowing over her shoulders. Even at this distance, he noticed her eyes, a clear sky-blue, wide open and watching him. She was clearly as surprised by him as Kiryu was by her.

An exchange student, maybe?

Shiho stirred. Her vacant look cleared, and she tilted her head to face the newcomer. Kiryu felt her heart skip a beat. Weakly, the girl whispered “Ann...” She strained to sit up in Kiryu's arms.

“Shiho!”

The girl at the door (Ann, he assumed), ran to them. Kiryu set Shiho down, holding her by the shoulders when her legs wobbled too much. She tried to reach out, but her arms were still too weak. Ann reached out mid-run, and pulled the girl from Kiryu's hands.

Guess they're pretty close...

“Shiho!” Ann cried, grasping at her friend's arms. “Are you ok?!”

“A-Ann...!” Shiho choked, her eyes struggling to look at the other girl. Her shoulders jerked with faint sobs. Any words she tried to say were lost, or too hard to say while staying composed.

Finally, the dam broke. She threw herself against her friend.

“I'm s-sorry!” She sobbed over Ann's shoulder, buried in her hair. “I'm s-so s-s-sorry! I was...s-s-so...s-s-st-stupid...!”

Ann flinched at first, but soon she wrapped her arms around Shiho, gently rubbing her back while she spluttered tearful apologies. “Shhhh,” Ann cooed, blinking back her own tears, “it's ok, it's ok, sweetheart...” She pulled Shiho into a tighter hug, and rested her head on her friend's shoulder.

Kiryu watched them, unsure of what to do or say, until he saw Ann staring at him, very nervous, a little uncomfortable.

Ah. I should give them some space.

He had barely walked two feet when more footsteps pounded up the stairwell.

“C'mon, man! Hurry!”

Another student, a boy, burst onto the roof, and another followed.

“Ann! Where's—whoa...!”

As soon as they saw Kiryu, both boys stopped. If Ann and Shiho were opposites, these two made them look like twins: the first boy was sloppy-looking, an eye-searing t-shirt blaring under his badly-creased school blazer. It matched his hair, rough-chopped and electric yellow. Behind him, the other boy was much neater, except for the curly black rat's nest on his head, with locks draping over his large squarish glasses. All three watched each other for what felt like a prolonged, highly awkward moment. The blonde narrowed his eyes at Kiryu, glaring like he expected him to make a move. His friend's face was blank, eyes open but un-moving. He stared like someone analyzing rather than suspecting, taking in the unfamiliar, regarding it with curiosity instead of anxiety. It made Kiryu more uncomfortable than the suspicion.

The blonde half-circled Kiryu with an odd bow-legged shuffle, never letting him out of sight, before finally heading for the girls.

“How is she?” He asked Ann.

Ann shook her head. “I can't tell. She looks alright, but...” She listened to Shiho's tears with pained eyes. “We should still get her to a hospital. I called an ambulance already, it shouldn't be much longer...”

Away from them, Kiryu listened closely.

Good. She'll get somewhere safe.

I wonder how long it'll be until we can talk...

I should call Haruka...

Kiryu made for the door again, but soon he stopped. The black-haired boy hadn't moved; he was still eyeing Kiryu. More and more he looked like a cat you'd lock eyes with in an alleyway. You don't know what it wants, or why it doesn't just turn away. It just sits and stares at you with that mildly curious gaze, like you're the one really being watched, studied, until one of you moves first. Kiryu almost opened his mouth before he realized Ann and the blonde boy were looking at him too.

“So,” the blonde muttered, “who's that guy?”

“I don't know,” Ann whispered back, “he was up here first. I found him carrying Shiho.”

“Huh...” The boy half-turned to his friend. “You know him, Ren?”

“Ren” glanced at the blonde, shook his head. His friend stayed fixed on Kiryu, and was about to speak before--

“HEY!”

Looking past Ren, the blonde yelled at the door. Someone yelped, and another boy leapt out from the door frame. Fixed in place, his deathly-pale face stammered and blinked rapidly, staring ahead at Shiho, leaning against Ann's shoulder. Kiryu saw the fading purplish blotch under the boy's eye, surrounded by scratches, a band-aid over his cheek, and, similar to Shiho, bandages around his wrist.

Another one, like Shiho...

The blonde boy lunged forward. The scrawny boy's face flashed with panic, and he immediately ran.

“Get back here!” The blonde called. He tore past at an awkward sprint, and vanished through the door. Ren watched him pass, glanced over at Ann, and nodded. He took a final curious look at Kiryu, then hurried after them. Their footsteps faded, and the roof was quiet again. In the new silence, Kiryu asked himself:

What's going on at this school?

“Shiho,” Ann said softly, “can you move OK?”

Shiho gingerly stuck out one leg, and set it down. It wobbled under her, but it held.

“Uh...uh-huh.”

Ann shifted Shiho's arm over her shoulder. “We're going downstairs. There's an ambulance coming for us. I'll be with you the whole way. Ok?” She smiled, warm but a little sad.

“Ok...but...”

Shiho looked to Kiryu. Ann followed, and her smile vanished. Kiryu stepped forward; Ann quickly pushed Shiho behind her, and those sky-blues glinted with worry.

“Excuse me,” Kiryu said, “I don't mean to interrupt, but...”

“Who are you?” Ann cut him off, tried to look taller in front of him. She turned from him to Shiho and back. “You...you helped her, didn't you? Before she could...” Ann shuddered and pulled Shiho closer.

“I asked Shiho to tell me what happened if she came back.” He turned to Shiho. “You still want to talk?” She nodded shakily.

“She still needs a doctor,” Ann said, half to herself, “and we can't keep the ambulance waiting...”

Kiryu knew what she meant; he'd been willing to wait until Shiho was settled at the hospital, more comfortable, calmer. If it meant he had to cancel his flight home, he didn't mind.

That was before he saw the scrawny boy with the black eye, and how the other boys chased him. Something was wrong with this school, and he didn't have much time to find out what.

“Ann...” Shiho piped up. “It's fine. He wants to listen, to...to help, if he can.”

Ann frowned, leaned in closer. “Are you sure?” She glanced up again; Kiryu tried not to stare. “We don't know him,” she whispered.

Gripping her friend's shoulder, Shiho pulled herself straighter, and met Kiryu's eyes. “I trust him.” The corners of her mouth raised slightly. Kiryu, just as subtly, smiled back.

Ann looked between the two again. “Alright,” she finally said. “I need to hear this too.”

Kiryu carefully took Shiho's other arm, letting her wrap it around his back. The two guided her over to the far wall, where a few empty chairs and unused desks were haphazardly stored. Gently, they let Shiho sink into a chair. She leaned against the back, her hands sitting limp in her lap.

“Just take your time,” Ann began, crouched on Shiho's right. “Alright?”

“Mm-hm.” And Shiho was silent again. On her left, Kiryu waited.

She might take a while. Whatever the problem is, must be a lot to remember...

“Is someone hurting you?” Ann asked.

Shiho nodded.

“Can you tell us who?”

Shiho said nothing. Her fingers twitched slightly.

“Is it...” Ann breathed deeply. “Is it Kamoshida?”

Shiho's face twitched; her hands balled into fists. Kiryu saw Ann's nails dig into her leggings.

“Kamoshida?”

“Our gym teacher,” Ann replied, with the quiet tone of someone describing something so hideous, words failed them. Words didn't quite fail Ann, since she bitterly added, “and a total scumbag.”

Scumbag, huh?

Kiryu was too familiar with scumbags. He knew the type: people with more power than sense, empty inside and taking it out on everyone below them, getting away with it because no one would stand up and tell them no. They were, to a man, vile, cruel, greedy, gutless...

...and one of them was drawing this reaction from a high-school girl. A very pretty one...

The dots connected, and Kiryu's skin crawled.

“Shiho,” he swallowed his mounting disgust for her sake, “we know it hurts. You don't want to go through it again, and we understand. But if you want us to help, you need to tell us.”

Shiho's fists clenched, but she stiffly nodded.

“So,” Kiryu kneeled next to her, “what did this 'Kamoshida' do?”

-------------------

Shiho couldn't say another word; she was breathing too heavily, uncontrollably fast. Her eyes welled up again, and she folded her arms tight over her chest, squeezing like she would never pull them apart.

But she didn't need to speak. Her audience understood completely.

Ann felt sick. Her stomach churned from sheer horror, mixed with self-hatred. All those times she told Shiho to stick with the volleyball team, every time she ignored the blaring warning signs on her friend's body, Ann let this happen. As Shiho remembered the horror of the other day and collapsed in a shaking heap into her chair, Ann wanted to break down with her, cry “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry” a thousand times for standing by when this was happening all along.

But she remembered who was really responsible. Ann hated herself right now, but it couldn't hope to match her hatred towards the man who did this. She knew Kamoshida was slime, lower than slime; she never wanted to imagine he could sink even lower than that, and he had.

If that pig, that absolute bastard, thought Ann would just curl up and cry when she learned what he did...

...he did not know what was coming.

“Where is he?”

For most of Shiho's story, the strange man had listened blankly, understanding and focused. Now, he faced the door, waiting for an answer, his voice touched with steel, but as calm as before.

“He's...his...” Ann forced herself to calm down, for now at least. “His office is on the second floor, next to the stairs. I'll show you the way.” She was ready to make the son of a bitch pay.

“No. I'll find it myself.”

And the stranger walked away.

Ann glared at his back in disbelief. He was just leaving them? So casual, so calm, when he only knew the tip of what Kamoshida did to them, to too many others in the school. The thought of just waiting around for someone else to solve a problem that hurt her, that she was responsible for...

...it made her snap.

“No!”

The man stopped. Struggling for words, Ann fumed until they came to her.

“My friend,” she spat, “could've died because of what he did! She kept all of that to herself, and it almost killed her! And when she finally tells me, you just...want me to stay back?! Wait until it's safe?!” She scoffed angrily. “I'm not letting this happen again! I'm coming with you, and I'm gonna show that...bastard--!”

In the middle of her rant, the man half-turned, and Ann froze.

When she first saw him, Ann immediately remarked on his eyes: deep-brown, almost black, ominous and intense. She watched him closely the whole time they were on the roof, and soon saw the emotions flicker in them: worry, confusion, concern, even anxiety. Everything his face didn't show was clear in those eyes.

Right now, as blank as his expression was, his eyes blazed. Like a tunnel into a burning cave, Ann saw the deep-seated anger inside him.

But it was more than normal anger.

It was pure, concentrated rage.

Ann shivered. He made her anger feel like a candle flame, a blown-out match. She tore herself away, glanced around at anything, and saw his hands: clenched into fists so tight, she expected blood to drip through his fingers.

After only one person's story, this man looked ready to kill. What could Ann do if she followed him?

“I know you want to hurt him back,” the man spoke, his voice clashing with the fury in his eyes, “but Shiho needs you more than I do.”

Ann blinked, stunned. Guilt washed away the lingering anger in her heart. It hurt to admit, but he was right: because she was so focused on her own problems before, she ignored everything Shiho was going through, left her alone, and it lead to this. Now, Ann was about to do it again, running off to make herself feel better when her best friend was just as, or even more, alone than before. Kamoshida deserved to pay, he needed to...

...but Ann knew she couldn't throw aside Shiho to do it.

Wiping away a stray tear, Ann slowly walked back to Shiho's side, and rested a hand on her shoulder. The man nodded once, and started for the door again. Shoulders set, fists still clenched, that searing glare facing forward...

The thought of them gave Ann a twist in her stomach.

“Don't kill him!”

He stopped again, looking back at them both.

“Don't...” Ann repeated, softly, “...don't kill him.” Their eyes met, and she tried to match the intensity in his. “Don't let him off that easy. He needs to suffer.”

That last word came out in a hiss; it barely sounded like her voice. On the surface, Ann knew it was wrong, a horrible thing to wish on another person. But somewhere inside her, a spark of her anger and disgust lingered. Because of it, she believed what she said. The stranger listened, and his blazing eyes dimmed slightly. He must not have expected to hear words that ruthless from someone like her. In the end, he understood; the man nodded again and left, his heavy footsteps echoing down the empty stairwell.

When his footsteps faded, Ann finally asked, half to Shiho, half to herself:

“Who was he?”

Shiho's head perked up. “He s-said his name was...K-K-Kiryu...”

“Kiryu? Just that?”

Shiho stared down at her lap. “He saved me, Ann,” she whispered. “He s-s-saved my life...”

She began trembling again, like she still couldn't believe it. Ann wrapped an arm around her. She still smoldered inside. The thought that Kamoshida could get away with this was like a breath over glowing coals, driving them into a vicious burn. If this “Kiryu” guy couldn't make him pay, she'd have to do it herself...or maybe with some help...

"Those two..." She murmured. "They were up to something the other day..."

Shiho stared at Ann. "Huh?"

"N-nothing..." Right now, Ann had to ignore those thoughts. Someone important needed her help first. “Come on, you.” She pushed it all down and pulled together a gentle smile. “Let's get out of here.”

----------------------

Suguru Kamoshida wasn't having the best day.

His car was acting up again; that punk down at the shop was gonna get some words, or worse, for fleecing him. When he finally got to work, someone else was in his parking spot, like they didn't know he always parked there. Kamoshida knew who it was, and one talk with Kobayakawa was all he needed to get them back in line, but God, he couldn't stand the insult. By 11:00, he was looking forward to gym class, a chance to get his mood up and remind himself who was King around here.

Then came the news about Suzui, the stupid girl. He hadn't expected her to be so dramatic. At most, he figured she'd mope about the other day for a while; if it really got to her, she'd end it on the subway or a crosswalk somewhere. That, he didn't mind (after all, it served Takamaki right for standing him up like that), but doing the high dive into the courtyard brought way too much attention, and way too close to him. Someone might connect the dots...

Why worry, though? Sure, she didn't even jump, the word was she was headed to the hospital, but Kobayakawa could smooth it over with the right threats: pulling her sports scholarship, kicking her off the volleyball team, full-on expulsion, anything to keep that pretty little mouth shut and closed. If that useless sack of guts did his job for once, Kamoshida wouldn't have a thing to worry about.

He was still a little bothered: Suzui's scene meant classes were canceled for the day, which meant no gym class to burn off that stress from this morning. For a while, he seethed in his too-small office, crammed with sports gear like a damn storeroom...

...until the door was thrown open.

“You bastard!”

Sakamoto barged in with that delinquent friend of his, and Mishima trailing behind them.

"What did you do to her?!” Sakamoto yelled.

“What are you talking about?” He played dumb, but Kamoshida knew exactly what. Had Suzui told them? And how much?

“Don't screw around!” Sakamoto's good leg shot out, sent a chair skittering across the floor.

“What you did...” Mishima said weakly, “...wasn't coaching...”

Kamoshida paused. Slowly, he stood from his chair.

“What did you say?”

He knew Mishima was a weak link; that's why he was so easy to boss around. Sooner or later, the brat would crack.

“You...you ordered me to call Suzui here! Whatever you did...” The weakling looked ready to puke.

Kamoshida looked blandly at the boy, disgusted but not afraid. Even with everything Mishima knew, everything Shiho could tell them, what did he have to fear?

“Hypothetically speaking,” Kamoshida said coolly, “why do you think anyone's gonna believe you three?”

Sakamoto's face flared with impotent rage. “Shiho's alive! She'll tell everyone what you did!”

“Oh yeah, she's alive,” Kamoshida replied, stepping closer to the trio. “It's a shame she was struggling to keep up with the volleyball team, though.” Fake concern soaked into each word.

“Wha--?”

“All that extra practice, and she still lagged behind. Not to mention how jealous she was of all the attention Takamaki was getting, or how tough that second-year coursework got. Everything was just piling on top of her. No wonder she wanted to jump...”

“No way...” Sakamoto muttered. “No one's gonna believe that bullshit!”

“Oh?” Kamoshida folded his arms and looked down on them. “And who are they gonna believe? The track team screw-up who threw hands with his coach?” Sakamoto grimaced. “The benchwarmer desperate to make the team?” Mishima shrank even more. “The new kid with a record?” The third boy stared back, blankly. “Or the teacher, who's done more for this school and this country than you three ever will?”

All three were quiet. Kamoshida's grin widened.

“These are still some heavy accusations you're throwing around,” he wondered aloud, “We don't tolerate that around here. So, for your behavior, all of you will be expelled. I'll report it at the next board meeting.”

“Expel—no...!”

Mishima collapsed, and Sakamoto exploded.

“You goddamn--!” He stood tensed and bow-legged, fists taught and shaking at his sides.

Outside, Kamoshida sighed, but inside, he was laughing. “This again? Do we need another lesson on “self-defense”, Sakamoto? Maybe something to even you out?” He glanced at the boy's remaining good leg.

“You shut your mouth, you son of a bitch!” Sakamoto's fist reeled back. Kamoshida was ready to catch it, twist, strike his elbow inward, listen for the snap. How much worse would his studying get then?

Before the fist could fly, another hand reached out. Sakamoto gaped back at his black-haired friend, who held his wrist tight.

“Le'ggo of me, man!” Sakamoto hissed.

His friend leaned in, still holding on, and softly said, “Don't let him get to you.”

“But..!”

Kamoshida was disappointed; he'd really wanted another reason to show that punk who was in charge.

“At least one of you has some sense.” He smirked at the kid. “I'm surprised it's you...”

The delinquent gave him that creepy look, like he was trying to read your mind. No wonder he snapped on that one guy.

“Now, all of you,” Kamoshida ordered bitterly, “get out of my office.”

Sakamoto jerked his wrist out of his friend's grip. He glared up at Kamoshida, who smirked back. Finally, he stooped to pick Mishima off the floor, and the three headed for the door.

Kamoshida watched them slink away like a pack of whipped dogs, all the fight ripped out of them. Serves 'em right, he thought, returning to his chair, thoroughly relaxed. Nothing could bother him, nothing could touch him, and nothing ever would.

After all, he was the King, wasn't he?

The door nearly flew off its rollers. Kamoshida snapped to the entrance. The boys were by the wall, rooted to the floor. Someone was in their way.

A man in a gray hoodie stood in the doorway, one hand wrapped around the door. He stepped through, glanced at the students, then turned to the only other person in the room. Kamoshida glared back.

“Can I help you?”

The man's dark eyes glinted in the dull florescent light; stupid as it was, Kamoshida shivered a little, though he didn't know why.

“You Kamoshida?” His voice was clear and deep.

“Yeah. Who wants to know?”

Not looking away, the man walked closer, and the boys shuffled against the wall. He walked with a kind of swagger, shoulders swinging subtly with each step. In full view, he was broader than Kamoshida, maybe even a little taller. The teacher felt a sharp twinge of contempt.

“A concerned citizen. I helped Shiho get back to the roof. She's fine now.”

Kamoshida folded his arms, leaned back to seem taller. “Well, thanks for that. I'm glad someone helped the poor girl.” In front of this stranger, he had to sound relaxed, like he actually cared, choking down his growing irritation.

The man squinted. He wasn't buying it.

“She told me some interesting things. Your name came up often...”

With great effort, Kamoshida kept his face from twitching.

That little bitch...!

“Really? I'm sorry you had to hear that.” He fought to stay cool. “Shiho's been having some...episodes lately, going through some hard times. I've tried to help her, but she just thinks I'm to blame.” Kamoshida forced a laugh. “Imagine that, right?”

“'Episodes'...?”

Kamoshida tried to grin casually. “You know how it is with kids, especially around this age. Always making a big deal out of everything, overreacting to--.”

“He's lying!”

Over the man's shoulder, Sakamoto cut in. When the man faced him, the boy cowered a little, but he gulped and kept himself firm.

“Don't believe him...”

The man faced Kamoshida again, subtly scowling with narrowed eyes.

“Is that just an 'episode'? Just 'going through hard times'? What about Shiho's friend? She backed up everything, even gave some of her own stories. Is she just 'overreacting'?”

Kamoshida struggled to hold back a grimace.

Takamaki...!

“And what about him?” The man pointed at Mishima, who flinched. “You telling me he gave himself a black eye, those scratches?”

“Mishima”, Kamoshida hissed, “had an accident the other day. Fell down the stairs after class, I think. Isn't that right, Mishima?”

Everyone turned to the pale boy: Sakamoto, intensely, the transfer kid, blankly, and the man's face, Kamoshida couldn't see. Mishima's eyes flicked between all of them. He looked restless, uncomfortable, uneasy. Just what Kamoshida wanted.

But then, he fixed on the man towering over him, and slowly, Mishima relaxed. His breathing slowed, his body stopped shaking, his shoulders and arms loosened and gently fell to his sides. Sakamoto and the transfer looked at each other, shocked; they could see the man's face, and they were as confused and surprised as Kamoshida was, watching them by his desk.

Mishima slowly shook his head, and looked Kamoshida square in the eyes, wide and anxious, unwavering.

“Four against one,” the man said. “With your luck, he probably has something to add, too.” The man nodded at the transfer kid, who watched him with those blank yet piercing eyes. “Or are we all just having some 'hard times'?”

Kamoshida was about to lose his cool. This bastard and these stupid brats thought they could try to scare him in his school? In his castle?

“I—you...” he grunted. “How dare...listen, you...”

“Already losing it?” The man scoffed; it drove into Kamoshida's ears like a stake. “Save your breath. We're all going to your principal, and you're going to tell him everything.”

Kamoshida stopped his angry stammers. Finally, the man made a big mistake.

He thinks Kobayakawa can help him...was that his big plan? Drag me in front of that oaf and expect me to spill my guts about everything he already knew? Heh. He's in for a surprise...

In fact, why bother the principal at all? I'll handle this myself...

His confidence came surging back, and Kamoshida relaxed, chuckled to himself, relished the confusion on the man's stony face.

“You making threats, pal?”

“No.” The man stepped forward. “I'm making a promise.”

Kamoshida closed in, stopped almost nose-to-nose with the intruder, and grinned into his face. Out of sight, he balled a fist.

“A little warning about promises,” he casually brushed back his curly hair with his other hand. “Don't make 'em, if you can't keep 'em.”

And Kamoshida struck, a rabbit punch straight for the gut. He could already see the rest of the scene: the guy doubles over, clutching his stomach. He gets a double-fisted slam onto his back, and he goes down, maybe with a few kicks for good measure. Later, the story gets around about the dangerous psycho who jumped him in his office, and how Kamoshida bravely and single-handedly fought him off, no matter what those punks claim. More praise and more fame for him, everyone forgets about Suzui, and everything goes back to normal.

Heh heh heh...the perfect ending for this little tale...

His fist slammed against the man's stomach. Kamoshida held it there, wearing a manic grin, feeling the impact bounce back through his arm. He waited for the inevitable groan, the full-body heave forward that would bring the bastard beneath him, where he belonged.

But nothing happened. The man wasn't buckling over in pain, groaning or gasping as he fought to not retch over the linoleum. All that had changed was that Kamoshida's hand now throbbed like he'd picked a fight with a brick wall.

“Gyyaaaaaaa!!!”

Kamoshida yowled as he wrenched his hand back. He could barely flex his fingers without them lighting up with pain.

...the fuck...?!

He gaped at the stony figure in front of him; his eyes were ferocious slits, and he exhaled like a bull through his nose. If he felt any pain from the punch, it'd vanished by now. He simply stared down at Kamoshida, hunched over, clutching his aching fist. That stance, that quietly smug look, that stupid perfect haircut...

It made him sick...

Rage swelled in the pit of Kamoshida's stomach, and his mouth twisted into an open-lipped scowl.

Okay...try to tank this, asshole...!

He straightened up, arched back, flung another punch, aimed at the jaw. The idiot would get it this time; he didn't even see it coming...

The punch stopped short. While the man's arms had been hanging at his sides, somehow, in the split second before impact, he'd shot his left hand over his face and caught the fist, as neatly as a baseball dropping into a catcher's mitt. His grip tightened immediately; Kamoshida tugged and jerked, but it wouldn't come free.

What the shit?!

Winding up, he swung again with his free hand, trying for the other side. Another hand flew in the way, and the other fist was trapped. Flailing and twisting, stomping and cursing, Kamoshida struggled to pull himself loose, but he was a fly in a glue trap: totally and inescapably stuck.

Exhausted with no sign of getting out, he slumped over, panting at the floor.

Keep it together, man...you still got one way out...

He slumped lower, blocking his legs with his body. Unseen by his attacker, Kamoshida slipped his left leg back, and waited for the right moment to launch it forward into the place he knew there wasn't anything to block it.

Let's see how tough ya really are...!

His leg tensed. Just another second and--

The grip on his hands grew even tighter. Kamoshida felt his arms being forced apart, like someone pulling open an elevator door. He tried to push back; all he did was slow the man down. His limbs rotated outward, and his elbows were pinned to his sides. Feeling like a trussed-up chicken, Kamoshida struggled some more, but the most he could do was uselessly wobble his torso. The man watched his pathetic flailing with a cool, emotionless expression.

The hell is he doing?!

Suddenly, he leaned back, and like a mad beast about to charge, the man roared, with the purest fury anyone in the room had ever heard. He rocketed forward into Kamoshida's face. With the angle the teacher was fixed at, the man's forehead smashed into his nose.

“AAAAAGGHHAGGH!!!”

He heard the *snap!* through his skull, and hot, throbbing pain quickly followed. His attacker let his hands go. Stumbling backwards, Kamoshida barely caught the edge of his desk to stop himself from toppling. His free hand clutched his face, already wet and slippery, blood pooling in his palm; an aching bulge swelled over the bridge of his nose. Across the room, Sakamoto cried “Holy shit!”. Of course he was enjoying this: the man he hated was being humiliated in front of him.

Humiliation...

That's what this was for Kamoshida. While he barely held himself upright and grasped his bloody, permanently marked face, some guy he didn't know was embarrassing him in front of the people beneath him. He was knocking their King down to the level of the commoners, to the dirt under their feet. Somehow, it felt appropriate, deserved, a long time coming...

No...

No!

I don't deserve this! I'm better than all of them, than everyone in this goddamn school!

You think you can knock me around like some candy-ass first-year?! Do you know who I am?!

I'm Suguru Fucking Kamoshida! And I'll show you what happens when you fuck with the King!

Kamoshida's face twitched wildly, stretched into a nasty, bloody sneer. His cheeks blew out with heavy breaths through his teeth. He twisted his head towards the others; the students recoiled at the sight, and the transfer kid looked like he was seeing something even worse. But the man, that giant bastard, showed nothing, no mark from his attack, and no emotion but cool indifference to the rabid, furious man hunched in front of him. This time, that look was absolutely maddening.

“You...cocksucker!” Kamoshida bellowed, and he charged, screaming, blood streaming down his chin. Fists raised, he didn't care where he hit. He wanted to make the man hurt. The gap closed, he threw his whole weight behind a single punch...

It cut through the air, and nothing else. Kamoshida skipped on one leg to keep his balance. He whirled left and right, ignoring the dumbstruck students, the only people he could see.

Where the fuck...?!

He spun around, and there the man was, behind him. He cracked out his knuckles, rolled out his shoulders. Arms at the ready, he locked himself into a fighting stance.

Kamoshida swiped with a right hook. At the last second, the man dodged: a boxer's weave to his right, but almost sliding over the ground. Kamoshida's eyes followed him, bulging and bloodshot, too shocked to see--

*WHAM!*

A left cross caught his jaw. He launched to the side, collapsed over his desk, slumped against the file folders and loose papers under him, flecking them with drops of red. Pain coursed through his brain like freezing mud. He knew his face burned, and his jaw, though not broken, hurt like hell, but everything felt..fuzzy.

He'd never been beaten like this before. No one had ever come close to touching him. But this ox thought he could, just because some brat and her slut friend came crying to him?!

Kamoshida slammed his bloody hand on the desk.

How dare...!

He grabbed the closest object: that stiff-necked desk lamp, flimsy and cheap, but if he swung it hard enough...

HOW DARE YOU!

“RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAGGGGH!!!”

Kamoshida tore the lamp out of the wall, sending a row of folders and piles of papers flying with it. He slashed and struck with his makeshift club, aiming for that skull like a goddamn Easter Island head. The man twisted away from every swing, skating around each lunge without hitting back. Watching this irritating dance, Kamoshida lost his last scrap of patience. He feinted a right hook, then swung the lamp down like an axe. An excellent plan, a brilliant plan, he thought. His last chance to salvage this mess into something that favored him, like it should have from the start.

But it was a plan that would only work if the man bought the feint.

He didn't. He slipped past the lamp on its way down, and replied with two rapid jabs to the face. Kamoshida's broken nose lit up again, spurting a fresh stream of blood over his lips. His head swam again; he felt dizzy and faint. Blinking rapidly, Kamoshida shook out his head, and it cleared just in time for another punch to swing into his stomach.

The lamp dropped from his hand, and clattered on the floor. Kamoshida doubled over, heaving and coughing, as the man slid away. Knees weak, he wavered and wobbled to the table along the nearest wall.

This...this isn't right! He can't win! I CAN'T LET HIM WIN!

Kamoshida pounded a fist down on the tabletop, forced himself upright, and tried to hold his quivering arms up, ready to finally give his all against this thug.

The thug, he soon saw, who was now holding something.

...is that a traffic co--

*THWACK!*

The answer clubbed him over the head as hard as a hammer. The square base slammed into his skull, sending shockwaves through his brain, stunning him again. It broke something in him.

Stop...no!

He clutched his throbbing ear, and threatened to topple over. Before he could, a high kick evened him out and sent him lurching to his left. Tears welled up, and his blood ran cold through the pain.

No more...please...!

Kamoshida balanced in the middle, and his watery eyes saw the man's face contorted like a demon's, as the orange cone came plunging down...

STOP!

*THONK!*

The cone shattered around Kamoshida's head; he went hurtling to the ground, and sprawled over the loose papers around him. When he gathered himself, he tried to scramble away, but the papers slipped under him, and he smacked his jaw into the floor.

It was outrageous, him spread out and crawling in front of his subjects, the worthless brats he had just forced to submit to him. He knew they were watching him struggle and moan. He almost expected Sakamoto to start stomping on him too, gleefully adding to his misery.

Even if he did, Kamoshida would hardly notice it. He already hurt all over; what difference would more pain make?

A massive shadow fell over him. Kamoshida shakily looked up. The man's towering frame blocked out the ceiling light, but it wasn't him alone. He lifted something over his head. In his ringing ears, Kamoshida heard a faint roar, and the man's shadowed face was again twisted with terrifying rage.

Kamoshida's eyes widened. He knew what the man was holding.

“No-!”

But it was already on its way to meet him.

*CRASH!*

His desk chair exploded over his back. Kamoshida was flattened under the seat, knocking him back down into a pile of orange and black plastic shards. His back pounded, and trying to move made it seize and throb even harder. All he could do was gasp and moan in the dead silence of the office. Without looking, he knew everyone was staring at him. His cheeks burned, and his eyes streamed.

It's not fair...I don't deserve this! He sobbed to himself. I'm the fucking King! It's not fair...!

Strong hands flipped him over. Kamoshida winced in the light from the ceiling, and groaned as he was hoisted to his feet by his collar. He was pulled face-to-face with the man, now glowering down at him. Despite the ache over his body, Kamoshida could see the man's face more clearly than ever, and he finally noticed his eyes...

Sweet Jesus, those eyes...

“So,” the man grunted as he bored into Kamoshida with a look of violent fury, “you coming with us?”

Kamoshida sniffed. Tears dripped down his bloodied face. His breathing picked up, grew shaky and stuttering, shuddering from between his chattering teeth. The silence of the room made him even colder, and the burning rage staring him down felt even stronger.

The man tightened his grip, jerked him closer, and Kamoshida snapped.

“D-d-d-d-d-d-don't kill me!” He squealed. “Don't kill me, man! I don't deserve this, I don't, I don't!” He panted wildly. “I didn't do anything, please let me go! Don't kill me!”

And Kamoshida broke down into body-wracking sobs.

Chapter Text

The office was filled with a troubling stillness, unbroken by the violence and frequency of Kamoshida's weeping. By the door, the students were posed like furniture. Mishima, the scrawny one with rapidly blinking eyes, looked prepared to faint; he leaned heavily on Ren and the blonde boy, his jaw on the floor, gulping like a beached fish. The latter was locked on Kamoshida, gaping in disbelief. Ren was the only one watching Kiryu himself, that keen cat-like stare, a little wider-eyed than before meeting his, otherwise unreadable.

Kiryu breathed heavily; he felt his heart pounding, and the room became unbearably warm. A four-year streak without laying hands on anyone, deserved or not, broken. Kiryu wasn't sure which disturbed him more: that he had to fight at all, or that he was still so good at it. He could've stopped it sooner, knocked him down in the first few blows. But without thinking, Kiryu drew out the punishment. Long-ignored reflexes took over, beating and breaking this disgusting little slimeball into the bloody, sobbing mess squirming in his grip. Nothing about Kamoshida's cries satisfied Kiryu. They only dredged up all-to-recent reminders of what he'd left behind...

He shook out those thoughts. Can't dwell on that now.

Kiryu turned to the boys; all three locked eyes with him. “Where can I find the principal?” He asked

“Present, sir.”

A low, heavy voice came from the doorway. A stranger blocked the exit. He resembled a fleshy boulder on scrawny legs, squat and bulky, perfectly hairless apart from his thick eyebrows, which gave his unpleasantly-smooth forehead a touch of definition.

“So you're...?”

The man nodded; the heavy jowls bulging over the collar of his too-small suit, the color of dried mustard, briefly swallowed his tiny red bow tie.

“I am Principal Kobayakawa, yes.” His large, wide-set eyes flicked to the man in Kiryu's grip. “Please let go of my gym teacher,” he asked.

Kiryu complied. Kamoshida yelped as he crumpled over the scattered papers and loose shards of black and orange plastic, clutching his face and quietly sobbing into his hands. Kiryu ignored him.

“I was looking for you. We need to talk.”

“Indeed...” Kobayakawa said. He stepped back through the door and gestured outside. The boys glanced at each other nervously. Kiryu tried to look encouraging. He wanted tell them everything was going to be fine, but he couldn't. Something about Kobayakawa...his tone, his expression, they made him uneasy.

The four filed out of the room. Out in the second-floor corridor, students trailed by, headed for the exit, or loitered in occasional ones and twos, paying no attention to the group outside the office.

“Leave us, please,” Kobayakawa said to the boys.

“Wait a minute, man!” The blonde suddenly cried, pointed at Kiryu. “He didn't start nothin'!”

Ren grabbed his shoulder; his friend shrugged him off. “Kamoshida hit him first, he was defendin' himself!”

“Ryuji...”

“Listen to him! He knows about the shit Kamoshida's been up to! You can't keep it wrapped up any-!”

“Ryuji.”

Ren's quiet voice echoed in their ears. Ryuji stopped, and everyone stared. Kiryu thought he saw the boy's eyes flash in the light, but they were already back to their flat gray. He carefully watched the boy adjust his glasses and firmly take Ryuji's arm.

“Not. Now.” He spoke sternly, bearing more command in his voice than any teenager Kiryu had ever heard. Ryuji opened his mouth, but Ren shook his head. The blonde gritted his teeth and slouched. Ren lightly tugged at his arm, and both headed for the nearest flight of stairs. Mishima swiveled between the students and the two adults. Kobayakawa's glassy eyes glared expectantly; Kiryu nodded once. It was okay for him to follow. The skinny boy understood, and nearly tripped over his feet as he stumbled dazedly away.

Before they left his sight, Ryuji looked back, straight at Kiryu. That suspicion from the rooftop was now a look of anger, but also sadness, even a touch of pleading. Kiryu watched him leave with a concerned frown; he remembered what the boy had said.

Wrapped up...?

“Well,” Kobayakawa clapped his hands abruptly, “now that we're alone, may I ask exactly why you found it necessary to assault a member of my faculty?”

That uneasy feeling Kobayakawa gave him wasn't gone. Kiryu steeled his nerves.

“I know you don't know me,” he replied, “but you need to call the police. Get that man out of this school, as soon as you can.”

Kobayakawa stared blankly, his chest swelling and shrinking like a shapeless sea creature. “And on what charges?”

Kiryu leaned against the office door. Kamoshida, climbing to his feet using his desk, met his eyes and tumbled with a pathetic squeal. He crawled around the desk, only a few dancing wisps of curly hair poking over the edge. “He's been abusing your students. Physically, emotionally...and worse,” Kiryu answered with barely-restrained contempt. “The ones you sent away can support me. From the sound of it...” His grip on the frame tightened. “...they all know...”

The Principal's eyes remained set. His thin lips crooked into a toad-like, patronizing sneer. “So, they told you about the rumors, hmm?”

Kiryu sighed, slowly turned to face him. “You saw that Mishima boy. How else do you explain it?”

“Quite simply,” the Principal said blandly. “Mr. Kamoshida has expected the utmost dedication from his students since he was hired, sir. His training may be more...vigorous than most would expect, but it only shows how committed he is to their improvement.” He swelled with a prideful gloat.

“He's been beating them.” Kiryu pulled away from the door frame, planting his feet. “Nothing is worth that.”

“On the contrary, sir. Because of his regimen, our volleyball team has improved dramatically. It now plays at the national level, you know. We are the only school in the nearest five districts who can claim such a distinction. The students may complain, but the results are plain to see.”

The matter-of-fact way the Principal spoke bothered Kiryu. He'd clearly dwelled on this topic many times, enough to excise any morality from the argument. “So you let him do what he wants with as many children as he wants, just for your volleyball team?”

“Now, now, sir. They are his students, in his class. So long as his efforts bear fruit, he is free to act in whatever way he believes is in their best interest. Similar to the way a father raises his children, I've found. After all, is it not our responsibility as educators to challenge young people and mold them into reliable members of society, much like a parent does?”

Kiryu wasn't in the mood to be lectured on fatherhood by this lump. “Then what about Shiho Suzui?” He stepped toward the Principal. “What he did to her is unforgivable, and you sat back and let him do it. Whose interest was he acting in when he did that? If she had jumped, what would you have done?” His voice raised to an intense rumble. A few departing students looked their way.

“At the moment, I simply see no proof that Ms. Suzui's actions were influenced by Mr. Kamoshida. As Principal, I will take responsibility for her state of mind, but I have no immediate reason to blame any one person.”

“She told me it was him. He's been harassing her friend, too. That's why he attacked Shiho: the other girl kept turning him down, and he wanted to get back at her.” Kiryu crossed his arms. “This is the kind of man you want around your students?”

“Do you really believe all of that, sir? Gossip and rumors are everywhere in these halls. You cannot expect every word you hear to be true.”

“A girl nearly lost her life today,” Kiryu replied. “At least start taking this seriously.”

Kobayakawa rubbed his temples. “Even if I were to do so, I implore you, sir, to see things from my perspective here.” He turned to face the window, looking out at the street below. “Shujin is a prestigious school. To ensure we remain as such, we need to attract families willing to pay for the finest education for their children, and to that end, we need the finest faculty.” He looked at Kiryu over his rounded shoulder. “You may not be aware, but Mr. Kamoshida was an Olympic gold medalist. That alone is alluring enough to parents looking for the best.”

Kiryu fell completely still. “What?”

“So while the students may struggle under his teaching style, and while you believe he has some... proclivities, I see it all worthwhile for the betterment and continued success of our school.” Kobayakawa rolled on the balls of his feet, satisfied with his argument. “Surely you understand, sir.”

The unshakable truth rattled in Kiryu's ears. Under his breath, he growled, “Yeah, I do.”

“Excellent! Then I trust our business i--”

“You don't care about them.” Kiryu struck his voice down. “People put their children in your hands, you let some dirtbag do whatever he wants to them, and as long as his name lets you line your pockets, you look the other way.” He held his head high to look down at the man. “Did I miss anything?”

Kobayakawa clucked his tongue, scratched his chin. Dots of sweat began to glaze his scalp; his cheeks flushed. “No, no, no, not at all. If you could let me explain...”

“You've explained enough. It all makes sense now.” Kiryu added a sarcastic, “Thanks. That saves me a lot of time.”

“N-now, sir,” the Principal sputtered. “You're...j-jumping to conclusions. If you gave me another moment, I think I c-could--”

“To hell with whatever you think,” Kiryu replied with a chilling tone. “I've seen too many people like you to start caring about your excuses now.” He found himself leaning too close to Kobayakawa; Kiryu pulled away, only slightly. “Your responsibility is to watch over people's children, keep them safe in these walls. But here you are, with a creep like him roaming free, and you're not enough of a man to do what you have to. You just sit back and let the worst happen because you gain from it. That ends now.” Kiryu stared the shorter man down, eye-to-wide, watery eye. “You turn him over to the police, or I will bring you both down.”

They stayed in place a while, eyes locked, the Principal maintaining his bladder-like swelling against the confines of his suit. Kiryu squinted at his shuddering form and said, “You have 'til Monday to choose”, then made his leave down the now-empty hall. His stomach roiled as the bile sank down his throat. A familiar burden was falling back on his shoulders, heavier than before with the weight of what he'd left behind. He'd convinced himself he'd be lucky this time, swallowed the lie that he could get through this trip without incident. But here he was, once again: Kazuma Kiryu, back in the thick of it, wrapped up in another set of problems. It gave him meager relief to remember who he was trying to help, because even if he kept the students in mind, these incidents never stayed so simple...

I'm sorry, Haruka, kids...but I can't leave this alone. Please understand...

“Excuse me, sir.”

The Principal's voice was steadier than the last time he'd spoken. Grudgingly, Kiryu turned back, and saw a great change in the man: he stood straighter, straight as his hunched posture allowed, calmly dabbed the sweat off his vast forehead, and the panicked red was receding out of his face. His mouth pursed into a thin but visible smirk. Unnerved by his sudden shift, Kiryu grunted, “What now?”

“I simply wished to ask,” Kobayakawa's tone suggested a hint of a laugh, or a secret he was eager to share but kept hidden, “how do you intend to gather your case against the school?”

“None of your business,” Kiryu replied warily.

“Oh, quite right, sir, quite right indeed. And yet an absolutely extreme course of action, I must say.” His face stretched into a rubbery copy of a placid smile. “I must still warn you however that if, all purely theoretical, of course, but if you plan to seek out evidence of any alleged crimes...” The smile grew to an aching length. “...you may find certain...difficulties in your path.”

Kiryu grimaced. “Like what?”

“For instance,” the Principal paced between the window and the doorway, “something you may not know about Shujin students: they gossip and chatter, but they put little faith in rumors. Trying to convince them with what little proof you have would pointless.”

Kiryu raised an eyebrow. “What about those boys?”

“Exceptions, but still unlikely to be believed. They have garnered quite a reputation as troublemakers, you see. My students look down on that type as well.”

“Then what about the other students Kamoshida hurt? What about Shiho? That has to raise questions.”

“Sir,” Kobayakawa said with a patronizing gleam, “there are many ways someone their age could be injured, or pushed to Ms. Suzui's...extremes. If another, more comfortable explanation was to present itself, do you not think people would choose to believe that instead? And as for those particular students you mentioned, well...” His chest bloated, pushing out the buttons fighting to keep his jacket closed. “...they understand when to let the truth lie, for their own sake.”

Kiryu began to catch on, and a sensation of horror swept through him. “What do you mean?” He said cautiously.

“I mean that they know the consequences of spreading harmful rumors in this school. If they persist, they lose certain privileges they value: trust among their peers, positions on the sports team, potential scholarships...”

Kiryu flared. “You're blackmailing them?!”

“No, not at all, sir,” Kobayakawa balked. “They simply assess what's at risk before partaking in potentially baseless accusations. Any proper student should know better than to act so childishly, after all...”

“You can't silence all of them.” Kiryu fought back the fire in his voice. “Shiho's ready to talk. She'll tell her parents, the news, everyone.”

“How much value will she find in the truth,” the Principal said greasily, “when weighed against, say, expulsion?”

In spite of himself, Kiryu's eyes jolted open. “You wouldn't.”

“We simply cannot allow such wild accusations to run rampant through these halls, sir. I must have made that clear to you by now.”

Struggling to stop himself from wheeling out of control, Kiryu narrowed his stare again. “Your threats are worthless. You can't expel everyone for talking out of line.”

“And you would risk that?” Kobayakawa lumbered closer, eagerly. “You would put all of their futures at risk for your 'crusade' against some invisible wrong?” He laughed, a low giggle slobbering over his chin that set Kiryu's skin prickling. “Very noble. They are certain to trust you.”

Kiryu nearly snapped. He shot out a fist and grabbed the Principal's tight collar, yanking him close. “Then I'll go to the police myself!” He seethed, relishing the brief flash of fright rippling over that sagging face. “I'll tell them everything, and we'll see if you can toss out expulsions fast enough!” His threat was a half-truth: he didn't trust the police enough to go to them directly, but a word sent to Detective Date might reach the right ears.

Kobayakawa sputtered, “C-certainly, sir. Go to the p-police, if you w-wish. But j-just who do you think they w-will believe on the matter of M-mr. K-kamoshida's attack?”

Somehow, in all the realizations and stifled fury, Kiryu had forgotten about the gym teacher, beaten, bloody, huddled in the wreckage of his own office. It dawned on him how the scene would look to an outsider, or how easily it could be twisted. “He attacked me,” Kiryu said, making up for the nerve suddenly missing from his voice. “Three witnesses saw it.”

“And who will b-believe them, with the trouble they have c-caused? I told you, sir, they are agitators. When it comes to their word against mine, w-well, they have about as much hope of persuading anyone as you do.” His shuddering petered out, and his lips rolled into another slick smile. “I can imagine the headlines: 'Lunatic Attacks Celebrated Gym Teacher, Threatens Principal'. Quite a setback to your cause, I would say...”

Kiryu didn't want to believe him. The way he spoke, Kobayakawa seemed to think he was dictator of the school, ruling the students, commanding their thoughts, striking them down for disobedience. He was only the Principal of a metropolitan high school; there was no way he had that much power. And if he did, then all the more reason to tear him down and free scores of children from his absurd dreams of tyranny. The way he still shook in Kiryu's grip made it clearer he was putting it all on, to scare him off.

But...suppose he wasn't lying.

Suppose he had kept Kamoshida in place for so long with fears of unfair retribution always dangling over the students. Suppose the students were in such a defeated state that none of them dared to speak up to a stranger asking the wrong questions, that the only ones who acted were summarily ostracized and ignored. Disconcertingly, it all lined up: how long the rumors had lasted, how extreme Kamoshida was allowed to be, his sudden confidence when the Principal was mentioned.

Supposing all of that, what would happen to Kiryu if he carried out his plan? An indefensible accusation with no convincing witnesses to defend him? A fresh blot on his scrubbed record? Would he be thrown back to the ravenous courts, still thirsting for the blood they were barred from last time, and without a miraculous defense to spare him? Would Haruka and the others have to watch him from the crowd as officers carted him away again? But even if he took all of that as possible though, what other option did he have? All that was left was the hardest one, nearly impossible to consider...

Kiryu leveled his stare at the Principal, whose own faltered once again. He gripped the thick cotton tighter in his fists, Kobayakawa's breath hitched and his skin went a shade paler...

...and Kiryu let him go. He watched the bulging skin return again to a normal color, the sudden shock of fear drift into satisfied superiority.

“Thank you, sir,” Kobayakawa said almost pleasantly. “Very glad we could see eye-to-eye on this.”

Looming over him, Kiryu, arms stiff at his sides, watched him gloat, barely blinking. Another glimmer of apprehension flashed on the Principal's face. Echoes of conversations bounced faintly up the stairs and surrounded them for as long as they stood; neither knew the exact measure. Then Kiryu, in a gravely whisper, told him:

“This isn't over.”

Whether the man believed him or not, Kiryu didn't care, though he seemed to, going off the flaring of his watery eyes. He'd said it mostly for his own pride, to recover some scrap of it for the long shameful walk out. Whether he meant it or not would come later. Taking what would hopefully be his last look at the Principal, Kiryu turned stiffly, and carried onward down the hall.

“Hold id, you prick!”

Kiryu stopped mid-step, eyes already rolling.

“You don ged do jus...fugg off like dad!” Kamoshida, seizing his chance, blubbering through his shattered nose. “We god shid to seddle, you and be!”

Kiryu forced out a breath. He half-turned, and locked eyes with the teacher. Mad and wild-looking, fists raised, blood drying on his lips and chin, he held still for half-a-second more, puffing out his cheeks over clenched teeth. In a blink, that fury left him in a strangled noise halfway between a yelp and a sob. He fell against the frame, until his legs gave and he slid to its base, limp and quivering. Without a word, Kiryu looked away, and finally made his exit.

“Oh, get off the floor, Suguru!”

----------------------
The walk from the 2nd floor down felt longer than it was. Classrooms on either side were cleared out, or left with an irritated teacher shuffling papers into a briefcase or bag. Most of the students had left during his talk with Kobayakawa; the few that remained followed him with their eyes, pondering his presence. Kiryu passed them silently, not wanting to draw more attention. His shame was great enough without reminding him who exactly he'd failed. All he wanted was to get out quietly, no more visible than necessary.

The halls echoed with his heavy footsteps. They almost made a soothing rhythm, beating back the fire in his brain, giving him time to dwell on whatever options he had left:

Maybe I can still give Date a tip. He could take it from here...

But how far will Kobayakawa let him go?

Date won't believe I went off on the teacher for no reason, but that won't mean much if no one else talks.

The boys could help him, though, and Ann, too. Maybe Shiho if she's up to it.

If Kamoshida's as important as he said, he'll need more on his side than that...

Kiryu pulled himself out of his haze as he approached the front doors. He absently pushed them aside, let the cool April air wash across his face. For a moment, he let himself believe he could relax in the open air, free of the oppressive atmosphere of the school...

...until the familiar invisible pressure of more eyes upon him broke that illusion.

The stairs leading to the front gate were crowded with students, lounging in the grayish sunlight, crouched together in groups, idly scrolling through their phones or chatting amongst themselves. At the sight of him, one head turned after another, until the whole stairway was lined with walls of staring faces. The few students lingering in the middle urgently backed into the crowd to clear the path.

Kiryu took a weary breath, kept his eyes ahead, and made his way to the gate. As he expected, a muted chorus followed him down, nervous whispers they hoped he couldn't hear:

“That's him! That guy almost knocked me over!”

“Wasn't he on the roof with Suzui? I heard he talked her down...”

“I saw him heading to Kamoshida's office. He looked like a monster!”

“He's a yakuza, gotta be. I bet he was trying to shake him down or something.”

“Shhh! Don't make him angry!”

“The Principal shouldn't let thugs like him inside!”

“Hey!”

Kiryu, arm's length from the gate, recognized that last voice. The chorus went quiet, and all eyes turned to the top of the stairs. The black-haired student, Ren, was scrambling down the steps, barely keeping his feet under him. His bag was pinned to his side by one arm to stop it bouncing on the step. The boy stopped at the bottom, paused to shift his glasses and brush a stray lock out of his eye.

“We saw you leaving,” he said. Over his shoulder, Kiryu saw Ryuji loitering by the door, watching them. He was staring before their eyes met, then looked away and fitfully scuffed the ground with his sneakers.

“About what you did to Kamoshida...” Ren read Kiryu's expression for a moment, gauging the best response. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Thanks. You did the right thing.”

Kiryu closed his eyes, shook his head. “Don't thank me. I lashed out, made a scene. It didn't help anything.” Shiho was right, he thought, and clenched his fist.

“Don't be so sure,” Ren replied. “He thought he was the toughest, and you showed him he's not. That hurts him more than the punches, or the,” he smirked, “traffic cone.”

The boy's calm demeanor confused Kiryu. Those gray eyes still worked their way over him like back on the roof, as if nothing had happened in-between then and now. His face was blank and pale, just like before, showing no concern over the events of the last hour. If it weren't for the sincerity in his voice, Kiryu would've thought the boy was taunting him.

“But your Principal...” Kiryu paused. “...he knew. He knew about Kamoshida, and let him get away with it. As it is, you're still stuck with them. There's nothing I can do...”

Ren's cool expression flickered, and his shoulders slumped. For a while, he stared into the space to Kiryu's left, stroking his chin thoughtfully. The students around them all watched Ren with trepidation. Then, he seemed to murmur “I guess we don't have a choice...”

“What?”

The boy snapped his head up. A trace of guilt hung around his eyes. “N-nothing,” he stammered. “Just thinking...” Kiryu opened his mouth, but Ren abruptly continued. “I got a text from Ann,” he said. “Shiho made it to the hospital. Ann's staying until Shiho's parents arrive, but she said she was coming back here after, if you want to talk to her.”

Kiryu shuddered. Facing either Ann or Shiho sounded harrowing. “I can't stay here,” he replied grimly. “Besides, I've got a flight in a few hours...” The thought of going home now gave no more comfort than staying in this mess he'd made. But it was his only choice.

“Then...” Ren looked pensively around the stairs and the buildings across from the school. He hitched his bag higher on his shoulder. “You probably heard our names already, but I'm Ren, Ren Amamiya. Back there is Ryuji Sakamoto.” He pointed at Ryuji, now leaned against the door and staring contemptuously at nothing.

Kiryu wanted to introduce himself; he owed the boys that much. But he held back, not wishing to be remembered any more than he already would. “I'm sorry, for everything,” he said instead. “Tell Ann...and Shiho...I'm sorry.” He pulled away from the school and the students watching him. Ren was still one of them, Kiryu knew; he could feel the boy's keen-eyed stare as he made his way to the gate. He laid a hand on the metal, and then hesitated, and turned back. “If you can, look for a man named Makoto Date, he's a detective. Tell him a friend of his sent you, then explain everything to him. He'll do his best to help you.” He sighed. “That's all I can do for now...”

To Kiryu's surprise, Ren just smiled at him knowingly, like he was holding back a secret that left him too excited to hide it. “Thanks, but that might not be necessary,” he said, polite and calm. Before Kiryu could reply, the boy bowed and headed back up the stairs, holding his bag carefully to protect whatever was inside. He reached the top, sharing a look with Ryuji. The other boy nodded, and followed Ren back into the school. In an instant, they were gone.

What did he mean, “not necessary”?

Are they planning something?

Kiryu wanted to run after them. With how much trouble they were already in, digging themselves deeper was a huge mistake. But thoughts of the Principal held him back; Kiryu couldn't give the man another reason to call the cops on him. Plus, some of the students watching him, as they started a new round of chatter up and down the stairs.

This time, though, it wasn't just about Kiryu.

“Makes sense the new guy is friendly with someone like him. Could be his boss or something.”

“You kidding? He hangs out with Sakamoto! Of course he's bad news!”

“Do you think he pulled a knife on Kamoshida? Like when he attacked that guy?”

“Wonder if that thug helps him score booze and cigarettes and stuff...”

Kiryu listened closely. Damn...Kobayakawa was right, too...

He bowed his head sadly. Guess I'm not the only one, huh...

Kiryu pushed open the gate and lurched out onto the street. Against his better judgment, he took one last look at the school. Its grimy windows stared back in mocking triumph, and a chorus of muffled voices harmonized in callous gossip around the boys he'd failed to protect. His eyes wandered to the embossed sign next to the low hedge: Shujin Academy.

A school for prisoners...

Ren...Ann...Shiho...I hope you can free yourselves someday...

Kiryu pulled the crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, reaching for his lighter. Mid-way, he paused, and slowly slipped the cigarettes back into his hoodie. Shujin had already left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hardly needed to add to it. Reluctantly, he strolled along the sidewalk back to the main street, and the subway out of Minato.

It was time to go home.

----------------------

Morning Glory Orphanage, Okinawa

Waves washed back and forth over the sand that stretched from end to end of the quiet cove. They burned a deep orange in the low sunset hanging over the ocean. Okinawa was warmer than the city, but an evening chill touched the air, blowing across the courtyard of the cozy home nestled between the dunes.

Kiryu hardly noticed. He overlooked it all from his seat on the back stairs. He didn't move; his face, unreadable, was pointed at the gently rolling waves, as he silently mulled over a million thoughts at once. They'd plagued him the whole flight home, distracted him while his family ran out to greet him at the door. Guiltily, he remembered barely tasting the dinner they'd worked hard to make for him; he went through the mechanical action of eating while his thoughts were hundreds of miles away, at that school tucked away in a corner of Minato Ward. Each time he drifted from it, a subtle reminder brought him screeching back to the vile excuse for a teacher, and that sneering, bloated face, proud that he'd get away with everything. Sitting here, comfortable and far away from it all, Kiryu felt sick with shame.

The lapping waves couldn't ease that feeling, but they gave him the quiet he needed to think. After a while, he lost himself to the sound, and couldn't hear the back door slide open and shut behind him.

“Here.”

Kiryu took his eyes off the horizon, spied the glass of cool water hanging next to him. He took it gently, holding it in his lap with both hands.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

Haruka took that as permission to stay. She sat on the step next to him, brushed out the folds in her jeans, watched the sunset over the shifting water. Kiryu didn't mind; while he wanted quiet, he didn't want to be alone either.

“It's cold for April, isn't it?” She crossed her arms, pulled her unzipped hoodie around her chest.

Kiryu sipped from the glass. “Yeah,” he replied. “Feels like it...” It was an automatic response, something to say to avoid sounding rude. The lingering threads from Tokyo soon drew his attention back there, back to everything that went wrong.

“Taichi and Ayako were a big help while you were gone,” Haruka said casually. “We cleaned up the whole house, and the other day we patched that gap in the fence.” She pointed to a newer looking board among the well-worn pickets.

“Good. That's great...”

Maybe I should call Date. I can tell him to listen to them...

“...and Mitsuo's been training hard with his team for baseball season. Koji never lets him go alone, as usual.” She finished with a fond smile.

“Hmm. Good, really good...”

How much can he uncover, though? How much will Shiho's word be worth against the school's?

“Oh! And just yesterday a whole school of mermaids washed up on the beach. They sang for all of us and danced on their tails. It was a great time!”

“Sounds like fun...”

What's to stop Kobayakawa from implicating him, t--

Wait, what?

Kiryu faced Haruka, and saw the wry smile she wore, looking younger and more mischievous than a twenty-year old should. “Got you, Uncle Kaz,” she sang.

For the first time since that afternoon, Kiryu felt relieved. Smiling fondly, he said “Yeah, you did.” However small, he could feel part of the weight in his chest lift away. He looked at her for a while. The dwindling sun made her skin glow, and her eyes shine. Her playful smile was soft and soothing, gentle as the breeze around them, and warmer by far. Just watching her made him feel so proud, proud of the person that brave little girl he'd met by chance had become. His eyes moved to her hair, black gleaming in the sunset, held up in a long ponytail.

Ponytail...

He remembered the black ponytail, tied with a pink band, blowing in the wind over the girl's slouched shoulders, bearing an incalculable weight.

A weight he'd failed to lift...

Kiryu's stomach twisted and burned again. He pulled himself away from Haruka, and stared blankly at the small mounds of sand around his feet.

“Uncle Kaz?”

Kiryu said nothing.

“What's wrong? Did something happen?”

He considered saying nothing, but that would be harder than speaking. He remembered the promise he'd made years ago, before they both came home for good. After breaking one promise today, breaking another was unthinkable.

“...something went wrong in Tokyo,” he finally muttered.

Haruka's eyes went wide. “Were the Omi starting trouble? Did they find you?”

“No, I stayed away from Kamurocho. This was somewhere else.” Kiryu tensed up, sighed shakily. “I failed people I swore to help...”

Haruka let him settle down, waiting for him to finish another sip of water. “Then,” she shifted to face him, legs crossed on the splintery step. “Tell me. Just, take your time...” She sat and listened.

Kiryu spent a while in silence before he began. By the time he stopped, the sun had partly-buried itself amongst the waves. Yet there was still just enough light to see the blood drain from Haruka's face, and to catch her newly-horrified expression once the story was over.

“Unbelievable...” she gasped. “That's...that's horrible...!”

“It was his word versus mine,” Kiryu said guiltily. “I was caught in his trap the moment I walked into that office.”

“But, someone else can stop it, can't they? Mr. Date, he can investigate them, or you could call Mr. Akiyama...”

“Akiyama would have as much cause to be there as me. He'd be thrown out right away. Date...he might have a chance, but how far can he get if the Principal has everyone silenced, or convinced nothing's wrong? If no one talks except the people no one will listen to, a detective can't pull up much evidence.”

“Then...” Haruka thought of what to say next. “There has to be something, right...?”

Kiryu leaned back, looking up as stars began to sparkle across the indigo sky. “There was nothing I could do, not there or over here. Besides,” he settled into a grim slouch, “I'm not fit to help them anyway...”

“You can't say that,” Haruka said tersely. “That's not like you.”

Slumping his shoulders, Kiryu returned to the horizon, unfocused. “Is any of this 'like me', really?” He jerked his head toward the house. “Have I just been lying to myself again about what I am? What I deserve...?”

Haruka tilted her head, confused by the question. “You...” she struggled for an answer. “...you deserve all of this. The house, us, everything. You help people, Uncle Kaz. You've taken care of all of us...” She gave him a little smile. “You're a good person.”

“Am I?” Kiryu asked her, and himself. He slouched lower, dragging his rough hands across his face. “When that teacher hit me,” he said deliberately, “I know I could've stopped him sooner. He wasn't as strong as he thought, I could've restrained him, or pushed him down, made him give up. But when I looked at his face...” He shivered, pressed a fist into his knee. “...I remembered what those girls told me, what he did to the students, what he did to Shiho. Right then, I knew submission wasn't good enough. He needed to feel pain. And when I gave it to him, I lost myself to that feeling. Wanting to hurt someone, stretching it out as long as they were breathing, beating them without remorse. Shiho, the others, they were just excuses for what I wanted to inflict on him.” Slowly, he turned to Haruka, anguish set deep in his dark eyes. “Does a good person think like that?”

Haruka listened, a deep ache looking back at him. “...I'd hoped you'd stopped thinking like that.”

“So did I,” Kiryu replied. “Living here, with all of you, I hadn't thought about it for years. I almost believed I was finally free, like I'd cut out that old part of me when I came home.” He scoffed irritably. “But as soon as I got myself in trouble again, it came back. It made me do things the old way, the ruthless way.” His face twisted and trembled, disgusted by the truth he had to face. “The Yakuza way.”

Haruka waited until Kiryu's face had returned to normal. “Uncle Kaz,” she began, “would a Yakuza try to save a stranger's life because they overheard someone? Do Yakuza sit down and listen to someone when they're hurting and need to talk? Is it 'the Yakuza way' to stand up to someone in charge because you can't let them get away with hurting people?” She didn't touch him, but she leaned a little closer. “You did all of that today, Uncle Kaz. It wasn't a Yakuza acting out. It was just you.”

“But the Yakuza came out when it made a difference. If I'd kept myself under control, the Principal might've had less reason to throw me out. I screwed it up because I wanted to be violent. I spent too long in that world, so now, it's what I am inside. I just...hide it well.”

“Would it have mattered?” Haruka asked quietly. “If that Principal was already covering it up, he would've made you leave anyway, right?”

“I only made it easier for him. He had all the power because I made myself look like the villain.” Kiryu hung his head down to his chest. “Whatever happens to those kids, they're better off without me making it worse...”

Those words touched a nerve in Haruka. Her face twitched, and she leaned even closer. “Do you think we were better off when you left?” She breathed.

Kiryu shivered, and not from the breeze. “You don't have to bring that up.”

“Actually, I do,” Haruka snapped, “because you still don't understand something about it. We hated that you left, because we didn't want you out of our lives. Ms. Park called you a bad influence, but we...I never will. You gave us everything we needed, Uncle Kaz. You taught us what mattered in life: family, honesty, things to believe in. You gave us a home.” Her voice broke. She took a deep breath. “And even when your past followed you here, we never doubted that you'd be there for us. We never thought you were anything but...'Uncle Kaz'.”

Haruka panted shakily, letting the ocean air calm her down. Kiryu sat like a stone beside her. “I know you think of me like that,” he finally spoke, “but those students...”

Haruka faced him; the droplets under her eyes sparkled in the waning light. “They don't know you like we do.” Her voice shook, yet she kept speaking. “But I know they'll remember you as the man who tried to help them when no one else would. That's the part of you that matters.” She forced a tearful smile. “That's who you are.”

Kiryu was silent again. They'd reached a powerful impasse. In the lengthy silence, he watched the sun's arc finally come to a close behind the horizon. His hands were at his sides, limp and unfeeling, just like the rest of him. Lifelessly, he waited for Haruka to stand, take the short steps up to the house, and leave him to his thoughts.

Instead, he felt a calming warmth slip into his palm. It held firm, brushing his knuckles tenderly. Though he felt unworthy of the gesture, Kiryu gingerly returned it. Neither said a word, both content with simply looking out across the glistening shore, as the dying light vanished beneath the surging waves.

Chapter Text

June 16th, 2017

Morning Glory Orphanage, Okinawa

The home phone broke the quiet of the nearly empty house.

“Could someone answer that, please?” Haruka called from the den. She avoided answering unsolicited calls, not wanting to risk someone recognizing her voice. Also, she was buried under a pile of notes and college textbooks at the moment, and would miss the call by the time she freed herself. Ayako, returning from the kitchen, answered for her.

“Morning Glory Orphanage,” she chirped in her practiced, “professional” tone.

Silence.

“I'm sorry, I don't know who that is.” Her answer was flat, suspicious. “You must have the wrong number.”

More silence. Haruka cocked her body toward the door, listening.

“I probably won't, but I'll keep it in mind. Thank you.” She hung up, and Ayako walked in with two glasses of water.

“Who was that?” Haruka asked her sister, who settled down in front of her own homework and put a glass in front of each of them.

Ayako tossed a braid over her shoulder. “Someone was asking for you,” she said furtively. “He sounded sorta...shady.”

Haruka's mouth went dry. She scooted closer. “What did he say? Did he want anything?”

“He said to tell you that an 'Akiyama' from some finance company was asking for you.” Ayako scoffed. “These guys are getting super desperate.”

“What?!” Haruka's cry made Ayako jump, nearly spilling her drink.

“What, what?! What's wrong?”

“Did he sound a little hoarse? Like he smokes a lot?”

“Um, yes? Why's that important?”

“He's one of Uncle Kaz's friends. He helped me a lot in Osaka. We can trust him.”

Ayako showed little comfort after the explanation. “One of his...friends? Like, from the...?”

“Oh no, no! He's not...like that. He's a...well, he's, um...” “Loan shark” wasn't the best title to make Ayako trust the idea of Akiyama. “...he's a good person. A bit lazy, and a little rough, but he's really nice.”

“Oh.” Ayako fidgeted guiltily. “I thought he was another reporter. I'm sorry I brushed him off.”

Haruka patted her hand. “Don't be sorry. You didn't know.” She carefully stacked her notebooks on the table and stood. “I need to call him back.” Shaking the numbness out of her legs, she crossed the den to the phone just inside the kitchen. She hit re-dial and waited through the ringtone, eagerly drumming on the handset.

The opposite line clicked. A tired voice droned, “Sorry, we're closed.”

“Well then,” Haruka feigned disappointment. “I guess Mr. Akiyama isn't available?” She smiled as she waited for the reply.

“Oh, I don't know,” and she could almost see the satisfied grin from her side. “I think he can make an exception for a superstar...”

Haruka broke first. Through a wave of giggles, she chided, “Don't call me that, Mr. Akiyama! It's silly!”

“But true.” Then it was Akiyama's turn to laugh. “How are you? Everything working out down there?”

“Well enough. If you haven't seen us in the news, it must be.”

“Great. Glad to hear everything's...fine...”

Haruka heard the apprehensive hitch in his voice, out of the ordinary for Akiyama.

“I'm surprised you called out of the blue. We haven't talked since I left Tokyo.” She neatly filled the lull. “Is everything okay with you?”

The line went quiet, until a weak sigh came from the other end. “Honestly? Not exactly. There's some...problems around the office, and I...” Another sigh. “I don't think I can handle it myself.”

His meaning was clear; an ice-cold weight sank to the bottom of Haruka's stomach. “What sort of problems?” She asked coolly. “You mean...'Family' problems?”

“Right now, I'm not sure. I don't think so. It's too much to say over the phone.” An uncomfortable pause broke the conversation. “Haruka...when you see your uncle, could you tell him to call me back? Please?”

If Akiyama was asking politely, and non-sarcastically, it must be at least somewhat serious. Still...

“I will,” was her brusque answer, her enthusiasm fading by the second. She could hear Akiyama wince over the phone. “Whatever's wrong,” she added, “I hope he can help.”

“If he can't, it's not like things could get much worse, right?” His joke was met with pensive silence. “I'm sorry, Haruka,” he replied, tired and gravelly like she'd never heard. “I'm...so sorry.”

“It's okay,” and Haruka worried she didn't sound genuine enough. “Goodbye, Mr. Akiyama.” The handset almost touched the receiver when Akiyama's distant voice said, “Oh, but one last thing.” She pulled it back to her ear.

“...it was really good to hear from you again.”

Haruka, in spite of the growing tangle of questions twisting inside her, smiled. “I'm glad to hear you too, Mr. Akiyama.” She held the handset a little longer, keeping the connection across miles open for a few more words, until she heard the click from the other end, and the low ringing dial tone.

-------------------------

June 17th, 2017

Kamurocho, Shinjuku, Tokyo

“So, would you believe it, I had to go and collect on somebody for once.”

Sky Finance's sitting room was, as usual, a cluttered skyline of file folders and loose books piled on unused desks, “organized” with the carefree hand of someone so used to the disorder that tidying would make the mess harder to search. The old wall clock ticked sluggishly, and florescent lights hummed over a cheap coffee table between two threadbare couches. On one lounged Shun Akiyama. He crossed his long legs, and sat in a way that showed he'd be stretching himself over the whole length of the couch if he didn't have company.

“He thought he was being tricky,” he carried on with his story, about a loan stolen from a client. “For a few days, he kept himself moving, trying to throw me off. But...” Akiyama smirked. “Guy couldn't help but dig into all that cash. Everywhere he ran, he left a paper trail. Once I picked it up, it didn't take long to find him. But that's not even the funniest part.”

Sinking into the opposite couch, Kiryu half-listened, his suitcase on the floor. He wanted to be polite to his friend, but he didn't care much for Akiyama's awkward attempt to break the ice, or the upcoming “funniest part”.

“Nah, that was when he, ah, 'lured' me back to Kamuro. He'd figured I was tailing him, so again, he thought he'd be clever and set himself up with some muscle for an ambush. He hired about half-a-dozen homeless to bust me up, his own little posse. But again, heh, he messed up...” Akiyama let the clock count down to the punchline.

“...'cause they were all my guys. I don't think he told them who he was after, but word came down the chain what he was up to. I heard he was hanging around that empty lot up in Champion District, and when I showed up, there he was, looking like he'd finally got one over on me. He calls out his gang, they fall in, and the first thing one of them says is, “Mr. Akiyama, what's goin' on?”

He snorted loudly, until he caught Kiryu's blank face. His laugh lapsed into a cough.

“Anyway,” he said, more subdued, “his posse backed off, and I had to rough him up a bit, but he caved. It took some talking, but the guys he'd hired handed over what he payed them. For everything else, I dragged him to all the places he'd spent anything and made him swear to earn back what he lost. Hana got back to the client and told him he'd get his money back, in installments, but not too many. So that,” he threw up his arms, “was that. Nice n' easy, just the way I like it.” He went quiet, smiling like a self-satisfied idiot until his better judgment won out; his smile shrank and vanished, and both men stared at each other, Akiyama straining to fill the uncomfortable void.

“...you look good. That sunshine and sea air really...preserves you, huh?”

Kiryu finally spoke. “Why don't you tell me what you needed me for?”

Akiyama scratched at his slick, wavy hair, and looked at Kiryu sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess you didn't come hear to listen to me ramble.” He exhaled, planted his feet, and pulled himself out of the upholstery. “As you can see,” he pointed at the street-side windows, “we've had some complaints.” The windows were taped up with sheets of cardboard. “It started a few weeks ago. On my way in one day, some unfamiliar types were hanging around Stardust, slick dressers, all watching the office. First time, I thought they were new hosts at the club, maybe waiting for an interview. But I kept seeing them out there, for about a week. They got better at looking away when they spotted me, but I knew they went back to watching as soon as I got out of sight.”

“Same crowd?”

“Nah, different guys, but pretty similar, and all dressed the same. Cheap blazers, loud shirts, jewelry, shiny watches, everything a bottom-feeder thinks is flashy.” Akiyama paused; his eyes darted to his own ratty jacket sagging over the armrest, and he shyly tucked his gold necklace under his lapel. “Anyway, I'd keep an eye on them when I went out, and that was it for the first week. Then, one morning, Hana comes in to open up, and she finds a window broken,” he pointed at one of the patches, “and a brick on the carpet.” He pointed again, to the far end of the room, where a pair of stone blocks the size of a man's shoe sat next to several spilling garbage bags. “The next came a few days later. This time I saw it hit, and as soon as I got to the window, whoever threw it was...” He brought his hands together, then burst his fingers out like a puff of smoke.

“Did you go to the police?”

Akiyama nodded. “Not until the second brick. That first one wasn't the only time that glass was broken, trust me. There was still a chance it was somebody else with some beef. Two times, though...I didn't think anyone was that pissed at me. At least, at the moment...” His eyes went distant, trying to remember any grudges he may have incurred.

Kiryu cleared his throat. “The police?”

“Where?” Akiyama whipped his head around. “Oh, right. Well,” he kicked out his legs and let the couch swallow him up, “as expected, they were downright useless. A lot of throwing me from department to department, and when someone finally answered, they hit me with,” he put on a nasally voice, “'oh yes, sir, we'll look into it, sir, keep yourself safe, sir.' Never even sent anyone to check.”

“What happened next?”

“Since the blues didn't give a damn, I told Hana I'd stay the night, sober for once, and watch out for any trouble. Just my luck, that very night, I'd just walked back in, I'm at the hall door, and I hear someone trying the handle on the fire escape door, like they were picking the lock. Sure enough, it opens, three guys walk in, and it was a pretty safe guess they weren't here for a loan.”

“Then you...?”

“...flicked on the light,” Akiyama finished, wearing a wide smirk. “I catch 'em there, stock still halfway through the door, ski masks on, one or two of 'em had a bat or a crowbar or something...” He took a break to chuckle. “...but I recognized those cheap host outfits right away. We stood there for a bit, then I told 'em, 'I think you guys have the wrong place. The club's across the street.'”

Kiryu rolled his eyes. Only Akiyama could be that relaxed during a break-in...

“Two of 'em chickened out right there, bolted down to the alley. Their buddy, now, he had a choice. Either toss down his bat and beg, follow the others down the stairs, or try his luck with me. Looking at him, I had a feeling he was the dimmest of the bunch, but he could've surprised me with the first two options.” Akiyama pointedly stretched his legs again, rolling his foot. “Naturally, he didn't. About ten seconds later, he's wheezing on the floor with his own bat shoved in his face. Now that I'd leveled the playing field a touch, I asked who sent him.”

“Did he say anything?”

Akiyama nodded, mockingly disheartened. “Lucky for me, he disappointed again. The first thing out of his mouth, and I quote: 'I can't tell you. Boss Kaneshiro won't let me.” He gleefully let the quote hang, enjoyed the rare baffled look his friend wore. “It was pretty hard not to laugh at the face he had when it clicked for him.”

Mouth slightly agape, Kiryu said “Really?”

“To his credit, the guy clammed up after that, probably more worried about what 'Kaneshiro' would do to him than me. He was right to, I wasn't gonna hurt him anymore, but the interrogation fell through after that.”

“And the police were...?”

“...as useful as a one yen coin. They showed up this time, at least, and I handed the guy over to them, but I haven't got a word from them since. What's more, I wasn't the only place to get hit lately. A few other shops got knocked over, all around the district, and they all said the police aren't lifting a finger. I've had to hole up here so our friends don't get more ideas” He scoffed. “Munakata's long gone, but God forbid the Force get anymore helpful than they were under him.”

Despite Akiyama's complaints, Kiryu knew the incompetent police were the lesser concern. “'Kaneshiro'...who is he?”

“Not a clue. First time I heard the name was when that genius blurted it out. After the break-in, I put out some feelers around town. Whoever he is, he's been kicking some dirt on the Omi's shoes, but beyond the name, they know as much as me.” Akiyama looked down his nose at Kiryu. “Any thoughts?”

Kiryu cupped his chin, rubbed his stubble. Akiyama's story was straightforward, simple, and Kiryu believed it. But it was too simple, like a seemingly-complete puzzle with pieces you don't see are missing yet. If it were just some mystery break-ins, some bad characters stalking the office, he'd ask why Akiyama needed his help, not that he was unwilling to give it. It was the attacks around the district, and the name of some new mysterious player leaving even the stern Omi puzzled that gave Kiryu the acute feeling that a bigger problem was looming behind it all. Too many times that feeling had been proven true for him to not trust it.

He wasn't frightened by the prospect of delving into this mystery for a friend, but neither did he welcome it. After years finally detached from this business, a bitter taste lingered at the thought of dipping even a pinky back in.

“I know what you're feeling, man,” Akiyama read his face as plainly as a police profile, “and I can't apologize enough for dragging you up from Okinawa.” He said the words slowly, straining to find them for once. “If it were up to me, I'd have kept you out of this. But as it stands...you're all I can turn to.”

Kiryu looked up. “Just me?”

“After the Omi took over, most people I could call on went into hiding. Anyone Tojo, especially high-ranking or infamous, wasn't gonna get along well with the new bosses, or the cops. At least they have a chance to pop up somewhere else, instead of never popping up again.”

Kiryu felt a renewed flash of guilt for Daigo, forced underground again for reasons beyond his control. “What about Majima? I never thought he'd keep his head down.”

“Oh, he didn't. His construction biz gave him enough separation from the Clan to make him more-or-less legit, and frankly I think the Omi are too scared to try to take him. But...he's not doing too great lately. He wanders the city a lot, throws tons of cash around, acts really downbeat, like he's depressed or something.” Akiyama gave Kiryu a sly grin. “I think he misses you.”

Kiryu grimaced. That is the last thing I need on my mind.

“Either way,” Akiyama continued, “someone tied to the old Clan or a major Family won't do me any good. My guess is this guy Kaneshiro is an independent, and bringing a higher power down on him might get read as an act of war, especially if he ends up aligned with somebody big. Bad for that Family, and makes enough trouble for Kaneshiro to slip away again. Now, someone without loyalties to a Family, a civilian, he might have a chance to move around and pick up some info.”

His logic was sound. No doubt some still knew Kiryu's name and face, but after a very public trial and clearing of his record, it was understood and accepted that he wouldn't represent a Family anymore.

“Why not investigate him yourself?” Kiryu asked. “Arai was the only Yakuza you ever supported, and you helped bring him down. No one would expect you to hold any loyalties after that.”

“True, I could. Under better circumstances, I would.” He glanced up, contemplating the messy, damaged room. “But who'd watch this place while I was gone? Those lowlifes didn't leave the other businesses alone after their first raid, so I feel the only thing keeping them away is me. I get jumpy running up the street to Poppo for a bite. Can't imagine leaving for a whole day to beat the pavement, y'know?” Akiyama laughed briefly, and Kiryu watched him closely. He looked tired, beyond his normal shabbiness, pale with heavy circles under red-rimmed eyes, his hair stringier than usual. His shirt and jacket appeared stained and rumpled, slightly rank despite the office's air freshener. Kiryu had noticed his look on entry; a reason this serious hadn't crossed his mind.

“Above it all...” Akiyama ignored Kiryu's growing concern, but paused to find the right words again. “...there's literally no one else I'd trust to handle this other than you. Corny as it sounds, I'm putting the future of Sky Finance in your hands, and I don't leave that to just anyone. If there was a guy I knew could put this right, who had the guts to get things done, and the best idea where to start looking...it'd be you, Kiryu.”

Shallow praise never shifted Kiryu one way or the other. Unfortunately, he knew that Akiyama meant every word, that his confidence in him was unshakable.

“And please, please don't think I'm trying to force you to make a choice. You don't owe me a thing, after all you've done. Just let me know where you stand, and I'll move on from there.” He pulled half a cigarette from the packed ashtray on the table, and re-lit the burned end, coughing at the first drag. Kiryu mulled in silence, aware of every second passing on the aged clock. Grappling, wrestling, struggling, he fought to lay out all his thoughts and feelings into a pattern that made sense, one he could proudly move ahead with, leaving him free of guilt or worry. Never before had he found that perfect solution, without a necessary sacrifice, but attempting to work one out gave him the drive needed to make the inevitable choice.

Kiryu raised his head and sat up straight; immediately, Akiyama's eyes snapped to him, quietly expectant under a sleep-deprived haze. “Akiyama,” Kiryu said surely. “You don't need to force me into a choice. From my point of view, there isn't one.” He clasped his hands, and leaned over the table. “Tell me what I need to do.”

Akiyama's cigarette drooped. He slumped his shoulders and let out a deep sigh. When he looked up at Kiryu, remorse and gratitude clashed in his eyes. “Right now, best thing you can do is hit the streets. Those other places that got hit might give you some more clues, but outside of that...” Akiyama shrugged. “You might be looking at a full sweep of the whole ward, anywhere you'd expect an independent group to hide. I'd imagine he's somewhere close, so hopefully that pares it down to just Shinjuku, hopefully...”

His tone wasn't hopeful, and Kiryu understood why: Tokyo was a big city, and bigger from the street level. Every street, road, and alley could have dozens of holes for a crook to curl up in. A small organization might blend comfortably into a busy district without raising so much as an eyebrow. “Not much to go on,” Kiryu mused. “What about the Florist?”

Akiyama shook his head. “Vanished. No one's even heard from him since a little after you split. Just the right time for him to retire, huh?” He chuckled bitterly. “Even if he's gone, I'll try to get some more info while you're out. Most of the other good brokers aren't online, so it might take time to get to them. For now, the name and some hunches are all we got.”

The prospect of scouring all of Tokyo, looking for a needle in the cesspool, alone, didn't grant Kiryu much confidence. Reading his apprehension, Akiyama tried to cheer up. “But who knows?” He reached behind the couch to a stack of newspapers. “The way things are in the city, you might get a hand.” Akiyama tossed a paper on the table. It was several weeks out of date, and the headline was some biased fluff about an up-and-coming political candidate, but lower on the front page was an article someone had circled. Its headline read:

Madarame Confesses! Years of Art Fraud! Another Target of the “Phantom Thieves”?

“'Phantom Thieves'...” Kiryu murmured, and scanned the paper. The photo for the article showed an odd emblem: a stylized top hat, wrapped in fire, sitting over of a kind of eye mask.

“Same group who nailed that gym teacher in April, from the look of it. Same style, anyway,” Akiyama replied. “The papers and the news don't think much of 'em, but when have they ever been right?”

He remembered reading about Kamoshida's sudden confession months ago, how he blurted out everything he'd done at a school assembly. It had given him some grim satisfaction, doubly so to hear how powerless Kobayakawa had been to stop him, though for now the principal went unpunished. But the supposed culprits and their methods were a mystery. The papers suggested they were connected to the “Mental Shutdowns” around the city, sudden unexplainable cases of people losing all function, sometimes causing large scale accidents. While he trusted the media as much as Akiyama, Kiryu could see the similarities, and that bothered him.

“You believe in them?” Kiryu asked.

Akiyama raised his hands passively. “Just joking, man. They're probably some new boogeyman the press whipped up for election season. Gotta make it look like the big shots are doing something, right?”

Kiryu folded up the paper. “Stranger things have happened in this city.” He tossed it on the table. “If we don't know where this Kaneshiro is hiding, it might take time to track him down. I'll need a place to stay.”

“You're in luck,” Akiyama shot back with a grin. “I still own the lease on an apartment a few districts from here. Haven't been there in months, but the checks keep going through, so it's yours if you want it.”

Kiryu stared in dull disbelief at his friend's proud smirk. He still hasn't learned how to handle his money, has he?

“Do I need to pass one of your 'tests' first?”

To Kiryu's surprise, Akiyama gave him a rare, unmistakable smile, one with genuine warmth and gratefulness. “After all you've done, don't worry about it.” He pawed at his jacket, pulled a pen from the pocket, and grabbed a scrap of paper off the table. “Here's the address. Tell the landlord I sent you, and you shouldn't have a problem. Unless I missed a payment...” He handed the note to Kiryu. “My number's on there too, so you can check in.”

Skimming over the note, Kiryu reached for another paper. “Here's mine,” he said, scratching down his number. “If something happens here, let me know.” He set the paper down and stood from the couch. “I should be on my way, then. I'll get started once I settle in, tonight probably.”

Akiyama nodded, a little distant. “Look, Kiryu,” he said guiltily, “I can't thank you enough for this. I wish I didn't have to drag you back, but--”

Kiryu raised a hand. “Thank me when it's over, Akiyama. We have a long way to go before then.” He stooped to grab his suitcase and headed for the door.

“One more thing,” Akiyama called to him. “Tell Haruka...I forced you into it. I tricked you, or promised cash, pulled a gun, something. Just...let her think you staying was all my fault. She'll only blame me that way.”

Kiryu, at the door, showed a trace of a half-smile. “Do you think she'll believe that?”

Akiyama thought, mouth open, then chuckled. “Nah. What was I thinking? She knows us too well...”

----------------------

June 20th, 2017

Somewhere in Shinjuku, Tokyo

Three men laid face down in the alley, out cold or moaning into the pavement. Their target had fled; the moment the fight began, they sprinted for the heart of the district, into the crowds and their relative safety. The last member of the group was still conscious, shoved against a wall, his teeth chattering as his attacker's dark eyes bored through him.

“I'm going to ask you again,” Kiryu said slowly, gripping the man's glossy silk shirt tighter, “and I want you to answer me clearly. I'm looking for someone, a local crime boss. They call him 'Kaneshiro'. Have you heard of him?”

“I told you, dude!” The punk moaned. “I never heard of this guy! Just lemme go, please! I w-won't do nothing like this ever again! Promise!”

Kiryu shut his eyes and sighed. The visible fear welling up in the punk's eyes made it obvious he was telling the truth.

“Get your friends, and get out of here,” he ordered. He watched the man scurry over to the others, trying to rouse the one left awake. Straightening his shirt, and brushing the creases out of his khakis, Kiryu left the group for the lights of Shinjuku.

Back in my old habits already, and nothing to show for it...

Kiryu reached for a cigarette once he'd made it to the main district. The nightlife crowd already milled under the burning neon in the early evening. Dozens of men and women drifted from bars to clubs to whatever the night offered them, ready to forget anything but their desires. Tokyo's underbelly was a place he'd hoped to never revisit, and now the sights and sounds were still welcoming him back after three days submerged in it, with all their hazy, garish splendor.

He followed the curve of the district into its depths. Obnoxious barkers with plastic grins grabbed at his sleeves, and sultry hostesses winked and tried to lure him in with simpering compliments. Kiryu brushed off both, keeping his eyes sharp and ears open the whole way down the sidewalk. On a stretch far enough from the main cluster, he rested in the shadow of a vending machine. His knuckles throbbed from the scuffle in the alley, unaccustomed to action. He roughly massaged his hands, then flipped out his phone. One character at a time, he tapped out a message on the numpad:

Checking in. That lead went nowhere. Back to searching.

Kiryu hit send, and leaned into the piece of shutter over the empty storefront. Before he could lose himself in the noise and lights, his phone buzzed in his hand. The screen glowed with Akiyama's response:

:(

all's quiet here. still no sign of our men outside. hoping for the best.

found info broker online. might kno something bout K.

keep me posted.

-A

Kiryu hummed to himself. He's in his 40s, and he types worse than my kids...

Three days of searching had left them both with next to nothing. The runt who'd blabbed in Sky Finance may have been the only weak link in Kaneshiro's whole organization; no one else knew anything about the man, or his “business”. Any potential leads around the ward turned out to be dead ends, like the group in the alley, too scared to lie. Part of Kiryu was starting to believe they'd been tricked, that Akiyama's tattle-tail had blurted out a fake name to throw them off, lead them on a search for someone who didn't exist. It would be just the bad joke you'd expect from some anonymous boss trying to stay hidden. And if Kaneshiro was real, both Kiryu and Akiyama felt the trail rapidly going cold.

Kiryu bit on the filter of his cigarette. He put himself at risk of backsliding the longer he stayed in Tokyo, same as it ever was. If he could just get closer to finding the one clue to make the risk worthwhile...

The cigarette was only half-finished, but Kiryu still dropped it in the gutter. He sank his hands in his pockets, and set off for another night of aimless searching.

“Excuse me, sir, but you look a bit lost.”

A voice, a woman's, called to him, different from the hostesses lining the street: reserved, polite, no coy references to a “good time”. He looked around for the source.

The voice giggled, sounding like sunlight. “Over here, sir.”

Kiryu turned to a side street jutting off the main stretch. At its mouth stood a young woman, slender and demure. Her blonde hair was fastened by a dark band wrapped around her forehead; it dangled around her hips, but above the hem of her lavender dress, decorated with a repeating, clock-like design. She gave him a shining smile when their eyes met. “Forgive me for staring,” she said, “but I noticed you looked quite distant over there. Are you looking for something, by any chance?” Her voice was mellow and mature, with the same brightness as her laugh.

In Tokyo, too often a pretty face ended up hiding a knife and an order to drop your wallet. Kiryu stood his ground. “I'm not lost,” he said flatly, trying to spy the ubiquitous gang around the corner behind her. “Just going for a walk. Good evening.”

Before he'd started walking, the young woman said, “I can still help you if you wish.”

Without looking, Kiryu replied, “Thanks, but I don't need anything.”

Don't run, they'll just chase you if you do. Walk away slowly, and blend with the crowd.

“I think you and your friend would do well to let me assist, sir.”

Mid-stride, Kiryu locked up. He pivoted back to the woman. Her pose, her expression, hadn't changed, and she stared back, confident.

“I never mentioned a friend,” he spoke warily.

“Oh, I know you didn't,” the woman replied breezily, “but it's what you're here for, isn't it?” She closed her eyes, furrowed her brow, as trying to remember something distant. “Your friend...he needed your help, yes? There was some regret there...yes, yes, you chose to stay, but reluctantly. You're...staying away from a forgotten past, something that puts you in danger...something that effects your fami--”

“That's enough.”

Her eyes shot open; her easy-going expression changed to fear, a little guilt. “I'm...sorry, sir. I can't help it sometimes...” She laughed again, watching Kiryu nervously.

It had to be a trick, one of those “body reading” skills. Or maybe it was still a trap. Word had already spread about his return, and someone had given her the right info to lure him in. But, with all the details, personal ones, she listed off so easily, Kiryu had to ask:

“How do you know so much about me?”

The woman gulped, cleared her throat. “It's, uh,” she attempted to renew her carefree attitude, “it's all from the cards, sir. They tell me everything about...well, anyone.”

An idea of what she was came into Kiryu's mind. “The...cards? What do cards tell you?”

Her spirits noticeably lifted at his question. “I'd be more than happy to show you, sir!” She trilled. “Please, come this way.” She spun around, her dress floating up from her dark blue tights, and she disappeared around the corner.

Kiryu's suspicions hadn't died down. He had no more reason to trust this woman after she told him what she knew than he did before. He saw an opening to leave, walk away from whatever she had waiting for him. It might end up a waste of his time, anyway.

Then again, with how his investigation was progressing, Kiryu had nothing but time to waste.

Staying cautious, he crept to the corner, pressed against the wall, and carefully peeked around. The street carried on like the adjacent one: signs, businesses, restaurants, fewer people than the main stretch. A few feet away, he found the woman, seated at a low table with a long purple cloth draping over the sides. She obsessively shuffled, arranged, and re-shuffled a deck of cards with hypnotic speed and precision. Her eyes were closed, like she'd done this so many times the action was ingrained in her muscles. Kiryu almost became lost watching her, the way her left hand flicked out rhythmically at the start of a new cycle, the subtle loosening and tightening of her right to release and accept cards into the new stack. The sight of her ritual made the city behind him grow faint, quiet, fade away into the far, far background...

When she finally set the shuffled deck in front of her, the world crashed back around Kiryu, like a firm kick in his back. He jumped into the open, whipping around as he recalled where he was. Once he'd collected himself, he found the young woman looking at him expectantly. “Take a seat, please.” She gestured to the stool in front of her table.

Kiryu stiffly walked over and sat down. The low stool forced his knees up to his stomach. While he tried to get as comfortable as possible, he noticed the sign behind the woman's head, stuck on the gate.

'Fortune Teller', he read. It's been years since I went to one of them. Am I that desperate?

The young woman coughed. She slid a plastic tray across the table; the little taped-on card read “5000 yen per reading”. Kiryu, half-twisted and poorly balanced on top of the tiny padded square, grumbled. This'd better be worth it, he thought as he pulled a small stack of bills from his wallet and slapped them on the tray.

“So,” he said, “what can you tell me about the thing I'm looking for?”

“Shhhh.” The woman pressed a slim finger to her lips, her eyes still closed. “Let the cards speak first. They never answer wrong...” She lowered a milk-while hand onto the deck before her, dragged back the top card with one finger. Kiryu watched her raise the card to her face, turned towards her. She opened her eyes, studied the hidden side for a moment, then gently laid it face up on the middle of the table. Kiryu had to scoot forward and lean in to see what she'd placed. The card showed a man in a gaudy, archaic costume holding a walking stick in one hand and a sack tied to another stick in the other. A large black dog followed him, appearing to snap at his heels.

“The Fool,” the woman declared. “Innocence, freedom, spontaneity. Very curious...”

Kiryu raised an eyebrow. “So that's...me?”

The woman shook her head. “It is a part of your future, something you will encounter soon. The other cards may make it clearer.” She took a breath and repeated her process, sliding the next card on the left of the first. “The Chariot...” She looked puzzled. “Direction...willpower...hmm...” She drew another card, and another.

“The Lovers, duality, union...

“The Emperor, authority, control...”

Kiryu frowned as she pulled the next card—The Magician, desire, creation. His wallet started to burn with regret. “How many cards does it take to understand the fortune?”

“Usually not this many,” she muttered, eyeing her last draw—The High Priestess, upside-down, meaning loss of voice, lack of center. “You must have many players in your future.”

Biting back a snide remark, Kiryu watched her pull one more from the deck. Her eyes widened when she saw its face. “Ahhh,” she gasped. “Now it comes together...” She placed it in front of the row of cards. “The Two of Cups,” she said proudly. “Unity and connection. You will ally yourself with all of these cards very soon. It's not often I see someone linked with so many.”

Kiryu squinted at the table. How does a Cup tell you that? “Look,” he sighed, holding his impatience back, “I'm sure all of that will happen, but none of it helps me with what I'm looking for. Can't you see a place I can go to, or a person to look for?”

The young woman lost her some of her glow. Her eyes turned downcast. “I can only see what the cards tell me, sir. They may not be precise, but they are never wrong, I swear.” She spoke with muted conviction, touched with disappointment.

By all accounts, she could be a backstreet phony, but Kiryu felt for her all the same. “Alright,” he replied. “I know you're trying to help. Keep reading, I'll make what I can out of it.”

The woman, a little restored, nodded firmly. “Ask me questions, and I'll tell you if the card is close to them.” She dragged a new card off the pile. “Three of Wands,” she said. “It means growth or expansion.”

Expansion...

Akiyama had a theory about that...

“Expansion like,” Kiryu said, “someone growing a business? Trying to move it somewhere new?”

The woman's eyes widened. “Yes, that's what I'm feeling,” she said breathlessly, laying the card down behind the long row. “Try the next one.” She drew again.

“Five of Wands. Rivalry and Conflict.”

“There's someone I'll have to stand up to,” Kiryu mused. “That's who I'm looking for.”

“That's what it means, then,” the woman cheerfully finished. Kiryu didn't share her satisfaction. He knew a fight was coming once he heard Akiyama needed him; no mystery there.

“Next,” followed by another pull. “Seven of Swords, reversed. It means rethinking your approach, or deception.”

Kiryu had to dwell on that choice. A new strategy was definitely needed, since his current plan was getting him nowhere. But how did a deception factor in?

“Deception,” he said under his breath. “Something like a double-cross?”

“That's it!” The woman cried. “A cross!” While she put the card in place, Kiryu wondered.

A “cross”? What sense does that make?

“Page of Wands,” she continued. “Exploration, mainly.”

Kiryu grunted sourly. “I've been doing enough of that already...”

“Maybe,” the woman added, “you're meant to be exploring somewhere else.”

That was growing increasingly obvious as he ran out of options in Shinjuku. The new word fell into the growing pile in Kiryu's brain.

How does all this fit together? Expansion, conflict, a cross, exploring...

At first, it seemed crazy, just an out-of-nowhere idea that jumped to the front of his train of thought. Then, he worked it over, placed it alongside everything else he knew.

Wait a minute. A “cross”...

“You said a 'cross' was what you felt from that Sword card, right? Are you sure it wasn't something like, maybe, a 'crossing'?”

The woman's mouth fell open. “Yes, that was it! A crossing!” Her face fell. “Does that help you, though?”

Kiryu was connecting the pieces. Rethinking, exploration, a “crossing”...

Where's the biggest crossing in the city?

“Shibuya!” Kiryu roared without warning. The woman nearly dropped her next card. “I've been looking in the wrong place all this time,” he rapidly muttered. “He's never been in Shinjuku!” It was a stretch, but at this point, he was ready to believe anything that sounded right.

“What did I tell you, sir?” The young woman chirped, her sunny smile fully restored. “The cards never lie. You only have to read them correctly.” She reflexively lifted the last card to read it--

“WAAAH!”

Her hands flew to her face as she screamed. Her face was suddenly flush with unexplainable, unthinking panic.

“What's wrong?” Kiryu asked.

“You need to go! Right now!” She slapped the card down, knocking the others aside. It read “Eight of Wands”.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” she answered, holding the table to keep from falling, “you need to get to Shibuya right away! You'll miss it otherwise!”

“Miss what?!”

“You'll find out! Just go!”

Her urgency rubbed off on Kiryu. In spite of himself, he bolted up from the stool, shoved through the small crowd that had formed around them, and tore back the way he'd come, back to the nearest subway station. Between the pounding of his feet and his heart, he nearly missed the fortune teller screaming at him, “Sir! Mind your shoes!”

----------------------

Shibuya Station, this is Shibuya Station...

The evening commuters watched the train pull into view. They were mostly office workers in rumpled suits, lugging briefcases loaded with the workday's responsibilities. Shibuya was in the process of changing hands: the workers, those not staying behind to drink, traded places with the youthful nightlife, who frequently earned the ire of the older generation for “wasting their time” and “being a nuisance”. The expectations of society had long ago crushed that frivolity out of their elders, leaving them tired, stiff-necked, and wanting to go home.

The train lurched to a stop, and those on the platform waited for the newcomers to clear out and make room. The doors hissed open...

...and a pack of passengers spilled out at once.

“Watch it, watch it!”

“Wait your turn, man!”

“That was my foot, jerk!”

Out of the driving crowd shot a huge man in a red shirt. He shoved the passengers away, all but knocking them down to claw to the head of the pack. Before anyone on the platform could raise their voices, he weaved a path between them, panting like a race hound, and leapt up the stairs. More were heard shouting and cursing at him as he charged ahead, out to the entrance on the Square. The older members of the crowd huffed at the sight: a man like that making a spectacle of himself. The nerve of him...

Kiryu rushed out his apologies, pushing through the Station and anyone in his way. Most of them went unheard, from the way people yelled after him for elbowing them aside. Still, he thudded down the long hallway, lined with blindingly-bright advertisements, and notices for the other lines that spread under the city.

Admittedly, he felt ridiculous. Why am I in a hurry? I don't even know if that woman was telling the truth...

But, it was still the strongest lead he'd found yet. If the fortune-teller wasn't lying, he was about to miss it and go back to spinning his wheels, now in a different district. The idea of wasting more time made him shudder more than the embarrassment of racing through a public building at the urging of a playing card. So he swallowed his pride, and ran to the surface.

Kiryu charged out of the exit; a couple holding hands jumped apart to let him through. The warm night air cooled on his skin, which was hotter by far and damp with sweat. He headed north on Jingu-dori Street to reach Shibuya Crossing. He passed under the shadow of the Station skybridge, which blocked out the setting sun.

I might have better luck once it gets dark...

A short walk later, the full sprawl of Shibuya lay in front of him. The massive intersection, a great star shape cut between the buildings towering above, was alive with hundreds of people, on the sidewalks or driving through. Around them spread miles of urban sprawl, loaded with as many nooks and alleys as Shinjuku. Kaneshiro may be here, but finding him wouldn't be any easier.

Now, where do I go...?

The fortune-teller's urgency still pushing him on, Kiryu scanned the paths open to him, one in each direction. If he's small enough to hide, but trying to expand, he'll want to be somewhere out of the way. I doubt he'd be renting out an office block.

Think somewhere small, easy to hide in, likely to blend in...

He thought hard, against the distracting horns and engine noise that flooded the Crossing.

What did he remember about Shibuya?

There're plenty of bars further west, aren't there? Akiyama said Kaneshiro's men dressed like hosts...

Could be a good cover...

With little confidence, but nothing else to go on, he crossed the intersection at the diagonal and headed down Shibuya Center-Gai, curving left. Pedestrians buffeted him, shooting angry glances his way. The whole walk down, Kiryu took in the environment. It all felt too clean: trendy shops and tidy restaurants, no signs of graffiti or piles of refuse in the alleys, too many people looking comfortable and safe.

Kaneshiro might want to keep his head down, but an outfit would stick out in a place like this. I should head deeper in.

Kiryu followed the street a while longer, then took a dogleg left that lead him back to a more trafficked road. He walked it until he reached another side street, which led him into a quieter neighborhood. All the while, his ears were tuned for mentions of suspicious groups, or attacks like the ones in Kamurocho. But the little he could pick up was normal: natter about popular gossip, teen girls whispering about the new TV detective they had crushes on, adults talking business or asking about their days. No one said a word about gangs in cheap, flashy suits throwing their weight around.

After minutes of strolling up and down each turn he found, Kiryu came to a local park. With nowhere else to go, he shrugged and started on the short trail. He didn't care about the flourishing trees or the bushes already blossoming. The thought of where to go next distracted him thoroughly.

At the end of the trail, down a short set of stairs, he reach the lake at the park's center. The dwindling sun made the water glow a deep orange, mingling with the streetlights that were already flashing to life around him. Night was on its way, creeping confidently into the corners of the city, corners Kiryu wanted to believe held the people he was searching for.

But there were just so many of them.

I could go further west, he thought, propping himself on the fence around the lake. Or maybe more north, closer to Shinjuku...

Kiryu rubbed his temples. He wanted to blame Akiyama for thinking this “street-by-street” strategy would work, but even more he blamed himself, falling for the fortune-teller's act. Trusting someone who knew why he was there was asking for trouble. Right now, it looked more likely that she was in on Kaneshiro's gambit and purposefully threw him even further off the trail with her little show. Staring over the lake, he began to curse himself.

If I got tricked that easily, then I can't really be stuck in my old ways. He chuckled grimly.

Kiryu looked up, idly traced the opposite shore with his eyes. Along the fence, past the cherry blossoms growing between the trimmed bushes, following the trail to the small playground near the exit. He spied a small group gathered under a tree in the corner. One of them was surrounded by the rest.

Kids, maybe? Out for the night?

He walked along the path, keeping the group in sight. Details grew clearer as he closed in: the one in the middle was skinny, shorter, visibly trembling despite the distance. There were five men around him, each with a lazy posture, and wearing a flashy dress shirt, or a flimsy-looking jacket.

Like a cheap host...

“Your two weeks are up, kid,” a voice drifted over, as greasy as the speaker's hair. “You got what we want?”

The boy, a high-schooler, 2nd year at most, pinned himself against the tree. “I c-couldn't...” He gulped. “I couldn't get that m-much! I told you already...!”

The greasy-haired man clucked his tongue. “Kid, you made a deal with our boss. He was generous enough to give you plenty of time and plenty of options to pay him back. Now, you might not know him like we do, but I can tell ya he doesn't like people wasting his generosity.”

“B-but...you tricked me! I didn't know what was in that bag!”

The men snorted with laughter. Their leader kept quiet. “Your parents should've told ya not to trust strangers, then.” He pulled a wet-looking comb out of his pocket and ran it through his hair. “Imagine how they'll feel when those pictures make it on the Internet...”

“N-no...!”

“Excuse me.”

The five turned. Kiryu stood at the edge of the playground; his eyes darted from their grimacing faces to the boy by the tree, who watched him with damp eyes.

They look weak, but they have numbers. Can't see any weapons...

The leader looked him up and down. “You're excused,” he said dryly. “Beat it, geezer. We're in the middle of business.”

“Think he heard somethin'?” A taller man dressed in purple whispered from his left.

“Shut up...” The leader hissed.

“Whatever business you have,” Kiryu said to all of them, “take it up with me. I have some questions for you.”

“Questions...” The leader tilted his head from side to side. Kiryu knew the move well: he was being sized up, not as an onlooker, but a threat. “Boys, are you in the mood for 'questions' tonight?”

One man, with curly hair and a soul patch, spat on the dirt. The leader glanced at him. “Sorry, old timer,” he mocked a tone of concern. “Can't help you. But since you barged into our meeting...” He nodded left and right. “...you can help us another way...”

His men drew weapons: knifes, a short club, a length of chain. The leader pulled a gleaming pair of brass knuckles from his jacket; he took off his gaudy ring before slipping them on. The boy by the tree took his chance to run for it. No one looked at him, even when he almost tripped over the curb. The buzzing of the lamps was the only sound as the six men measured each other, waited for the first move.

Feeling exhausted, Kiryu cracked his knuckles and sank into his typical stance.

Here we go again...

------------------------

“So, about those questions I had...”

Kiryu held the leader in the swingset; the chains crossed over his neck, pinching his throat and forcing gags and chokes from his mouth. The man's hair stuck up at every angle, and a large knot of it was plastered on his forehead, over the bruise swelling his left eye shut. He bared his teeth at his interrogator.

“You...crazy bastard...!” He choked. “You...killed my...guys!”

“They're fine,” Kiryu insisted. He'd let them moan where they were once they hit the ground, and the one he threw in the lake he'd dragged back to shore before stringing up their boss. He was a little nervous about the curly-haired one, slumped over the teeter-totter with his own knife in his shoulder...

“Now,” Kiryu pulled himself back, “let me ask you some things...”

“Fuck...you...!” The leader spat. “Won't...tell you...shi--!”

Kiryu twisted the swing. The leader gagged harder as the chains tightened on his windpipe; not enough to harm, just enough to silence.

“Kaneshiro,” Kiryu began. “Is that your boss's name?”

He let the leader sputter a little longer, then unwound the chains. The man gasped in the free air. “Not...” he wheezed. “...tellin' you...boss'd...know I...talked...”

“He's not the one to worry about right now. Is his name 'Kaneshiro'?”

The leader continued to choke and cough. Kiryu moved his free hand back to the swing; the man flinched. “Alright, alright! Yeah, that's his name...”

“He's here in Shibuya, isn't he? Where?”

Quivering, the leader's eyes darted everywhere. He shrank as far as he could from Kiryu's grip. “I can't...can't tell you,” he mumbled. “The boss doesn't want people knowing where he's at. I'm in deep shit if he finds out I...” The man gulped.

“From what I heard,” Kiryu replied coldly, “you and your men were trying to blackmail a teenager. You don't get to play the victim.” He forced the leader to look at him straight. “Now, where's your boss?”

The leader blinked wildly, burning under Kiryu's stare. “He's...he's, uh...” He twitched nervously, tried to slide away, until Kiryu yanked him closer. “U-Urashibuya!” He yelped. “It's a bar on Urashibuya Street! Down south in Shinsencho, between lots of restaurants and stuff! H-he'll be there, I promise!”

For another few moments, Kiryu held him in place, boring into his panicked face. Then, he relaxed his grip on the man's shirt, only slightly. “Take me there.”

“You crazy?! I'm dead if he sees m--”

Kiryu grabbed him again; the tips of their noses almost touched.

“Ok! I'll take you!” The man squeaked like a rat in a trap.

Finally, Kiryu let him go. The leader's legs almost gave; he supported himself on the chain that had choked him. “Stay right ahead of me,” Kiryu calmly ordered, “and don't try to run. Understand?”

The leader nodded shakily, pulled himself upright, and took a few wavering steps to the exit. Kiryu turned around. He looked at the unconscious men littered around the playground, bruised and brutalized at his hands. He grimaced in disgust.

This had better be worth it...

Collecting himself, he walked to the lead thug, and firmly shoved him forward. The man nearly toppled, but he started ahead, out of the playground and into the neighborhood ahead of them.

----------------------

“There it is...”

Kiryu looked across the half-empty street. The storefront that stared back appeared bland and empty. Lights were on under the awning, it was well-furbished, not abandoned, but people strolled by it without a glance, as if it were closed. Even the sleek black car parked on the curb didn't grab their attention. The lot could have been empty, for all they noticed.

“And you're sure that's the place?”

“Y-yeah,” the man shuddered. “Like I said, the boss doesn't like attention. To everyone else, it's a member's only bar. No one goes in unless they're one of us, or one of his guests.”

“What kind of 'guests' does he have?”

The leader looked around restlessly. “Look, man,” he whispered, “I got you here. That was the deal. If I don't split, someone'll see me, and I'm dead. Can I go?”

Kiryu didn't take his eyes off the bar. He folded his arms. “Go get your men on their feet, and go home. I don't want to see you again tonight.”

The leader didn't need another word. The moment Kiryu finished speaking, he bowed, then took to his heels, tore past a stream of pedestrians, and slipped into the closest alley. Kiryu watched the unassuming bar, ignored by everyone but him.

Should I call Akiyama? He'll want to know where this place is.

But then again, I'm still not sure that guy was telling the truth...

I should keep watch, just for a little. If any more like the ones at the park come out, I'll know for sure...

“Mr. Kiryu...?”

A voice floated over the sounds of Urashibuya. It was a young woman's, and quite familiar.

That can't be...

He slowly looked to his right, and a pair of wide, sky-blue eyes met his.

“...Ann?”

Ann stared back, open-mouthed in disbelief. Seeing her made Kiryu's stomach knot up. It doubled once he saw who was behind her: Ryuji, the delinquent, was almost bug-eyed over her shoulder. Behind him was an unfamiliar boy, very tall, very thin, with a ghostly face and a slack jaw. And peering around him...

...were an eerie pair of keen gray eyes, under a tangle of black hair.

Kiryu started to sweat. He'd thought about what they'd say to him if he ever saw them again. For the last three days, he'd dreaded the chance of meeting them, but the odds were so small he'd never seriously considered them, and his search was bound to take him far from anywhere a group of high-schoolers would be. And yet, here they were. He waited for Ann's surprise to slip into disdain, what he deserved.

Ann stayed frozen for a while, and then...

Her face broke into a shy, but gleaming smile.

“Uhh...hi!” She said breathlessly. “We thought...well, we didn't think we'd see you again.”

Now it was Kiryu's turn to be dumbstruck. “Oh. Neither did I...”

She's...awfully pleasant. Is she just trying to be polite...?

They watched each other in silence. Ryuji looked back at Ren, and mouthed something. Ren shook his head; his eyes didn't leave Kiryu. Their new friend's didn't either. He was more than stunned; rather, he looked enraptured, awe-struck, like the sight of Kiryu put him on the edge of enlightenment. It was starting to creep Kiryu out, when Ryuji cleared his throat.

“Uh, Ann?” He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Business? Remember?”

An invisible weight dropped on Ann's shoulder. Her face turned to guilt and shock. “Oh! Right! Sorry, Mr. Kiryu! We really have to...be somewhere...! Nice to see you again!” She looked back at her friends. They nodded, and the four of them purposefully hurried across the street.

Towards the empty-looking bar, with the black car parked in front...

“Hold on a minute,” Kiryu called. The four stopped at the curb and faced him. Ryuji bounced in place impatiently. “They don't normally let students into places like that.”

“O-oh, well, we're...” Ann paused, as if testing responses in her head. Ryuji and the taller boy glanced at each other.

Ren stepped forward. “We think a friend of ours is in there. Some men pulled her into this car.” His stare was serious, but tinged with genuine worry. “She might be in trouble.”

If Kiryu had never met them before, he would still be convinced enough to follow them. Even if it was a trap, he doubted it would be more than he could handle. Since he did know them, and knew they deserved more than he gave them last time...

Sorry, Akiyama. The report will have to wait.

“Good timing, then,” Kiryu said, and he strode to them. “I have business here, too...”

Chapter Text

“Comfortable down there, Princess?”

Makoto struggled against the man pinning her to the floor. Every time she tried to sit up, he shoved her down, mashing her face into the cold tiles. The grout reeked of spilled alcohol. Her eyes watered from the cologne her captors were slathered in. From where she lay, she could only see the sickly purple lights around the walls, the bar. They shined off the polished shoes of the man sitting in front of her, leering and snapping pictures with his phone as his colleague stepped on her legs to stop her from kicking. Any way she turned she was surrounded by vipers, because she'd walked into their den with eyes wide open.

A noisy slurp came from the couch to her left, followed by the nauseating smack of rubbery lips, satisfied. “Sorry if my friends are a little rough with you, Princess,” Kaneshiro said facetiously. “They get nervous when strangers barge in. Just lay still, they won't hurt you...”

His words did not convince Makoto. “Let me go!” She tried to reclaim the confidence she'd used when she came in. Instead, her order came out as a trembling squeak, a mouse trying to talk the lion into loosening his paws.

Kaneshiro giggled; the trashy woman by his side echoed it, slightly higher. “Not right now,” the boss said, “we have questions we need you to answer first...”

“How'd you find us?” The man holding her arms crossed them tighter; her shoulders ached. “Who told you about this place?”

“No...no one! I just heard a rumor...no one else knows!”

“Really...” Kaneshiro's voice trailed off, slimy and dark. “Not even...'Ren'?”

Makoto winced at the name. No matter what Amamiya and his group thought of her, she didn't want them in trouble too.

“Who's 'Ren', Princess? Your boyfriend? I didn't think a good girl going steady would come to places like ours...” A round of laughter ran through the room.

“He's...nobody! He doesn't matter!”

“Now, that I don't believe...” She heard Kaneshiro grunt as he settled into his couch. “If he doesn't matter, why have him on speaker when you walked in?” She could sense the grin spreading over his too-small face. “Are we not enough men for you? I'm crushed...” He joined in a chorus of seedy cackling.

Makoto redoubled her efforts to break loose. “I won't tell anyone!” Begging made her feel sick, but it was her last choice. “I...I was never here! Just let me go!” She lifted her chest two inches off the floor, before the man with the polished shoes brought one down on the middle of her back. Her jaw smacked against the ground.

“Easssy, Princess.” Kaneshiro drew the “S” through his teeth like a tongue eager to taste a good meal. “One thing I hate is when my guests aren't enjoying themselves. Why don't we lighten the mood a little? Boys! Bring her to me. We'll have a grand time.”

Makoto's blood went cold. The man holding her wrists moved a hand to her shoulder and yanked her to her knees. Sitting anywhere close to that swine was sickening enough, but she already knew what he meant.

“Toji, get your phone ready. We want to remember this night...”

Makoto dug her heels into the matted carpet. It did nothing to stop her approach to the couch, and the bloated, greasy man in a tacky blazer who was almost fused to it. For the first time in three years, Makoto felt truly helpless. She burned under the indignity of it all, seethed at the incompetence and thoughtlessness that had brought her here, but that gave no reprieve from the painful truth of how...useless she was. With nothing but vain hope to support her now, she screwed her eyes shut, blocked out the derisive laughter, and prayed from the depths of her heart:

Someone...help!

SLAM!

Across the room, the door burst open, its hinges almost ripping off the wall. The deadbolt tore the frame apart; shards of wood scattered over the floor. Makoto's handlers froze. The room went deathly quiet. Makoto craned her neck to look, but the grip on her wrists kept her in place.

“Makoto!”

Takamaki...! Makoto hung her head. Her mistake had brought the others here, and it wouldn't take long for Kaneshiro to work them into his plan. They'd all end up in the same straits, because of her...

Then, another voice spoke:

“You're Kaneshiro, right?”

Makoto didn't recognize the speaker, a man. His voice was like rolling thunder; it rumbled down to her stomach, set her hair on end. The atmosphere of the room seemed to change as Kaneshiro's men took him in. Now it was...cleaner, or less filthy, but taut and drawing tighter.

“Sorry, sir,” their boss spat, “but that door was locked for a reason. We're closed for private business.”

Makoto heard heavy footsteps. “It's canceled,” the man said. “Let her go.”

Kaneshiro raised an eyebrow. Shortly after, he gave a high, wheezing laugh, rolled back in his seat, and slapped his flabby hands on the faux leather. This time, he laughed alone. “Pal,” he said once he'd finally rode out his laughter, “I don't know who you think you are, but you don't get to tell me what I can and can't do. I have business with this young lady, and I mean to carry it through. I don't want some meathead and his brats barging in, breaking my property, and interfering where they don't belong. There's a price to pay for that...” Kaneshiro leaned back, smug as an overweight house cat that had climbed to a bird's nest. “Oh, Toji? Snap one of them first.”

Makoto flinched at the order. There it was, all her fault...

But nothing happened.

“Toji?” Kaneshiro asked impatiently. “Take their picture.”

Makoto could turn enough to look at the man Kaneshiro spoke to, the one in the black jacket who'd stomped on her back. He held an open flip-phone in his hand, but his whole arm shook. His jaw hung open, and he'd turned nearly stark white. Behind his pointless sunglasses, Makoto saw his eyes stretching open to eclipse his lenses.

“Toji!”

“D-d-d...” Toji stammered. “D-d....d-dr-drag-g-gon...!”

Kaneshiro clapped a hand over his small face. “Toji...” He growled. “Don't bring up dragons when you're making a real beast very angry right now!”

“B-but, sir...! It's him!” Toji pointed at the man hidden from Makoto's sight. “It's the Dragon of Dojima!”

The mood of the room changed again. The other henchmen whispered to themselves, almost reverently.

“The Dragon?”

“He's real?”

Makoto felt the grip on her wrists slacken. The change in the bar was so puzzling, she'd lost the drive to escape.

Kaneshiro scratched behind his ear. “Who? What's a 'Dojima'?”

More heavy footsteps. They stopped right behind Makoto, out of her line of sight. She could just see a large open hand in front of the trembling man in black, who clutched his phone like a lifeline.

“Give that to me.”

“Toji,” Kaneshiro said testily, “don't you dare. Remember who pays you!”

But Toji had already handed over his phone, before backing into the wall.

“Now,” the man said, and Makoto shivered. “Let her go.”

Right away, her captor released her hands and shoulder. While he clambered backwards onto the couch, Makoto found her legs too weak to hold her. She fell, luckily avoiding the edge of the table laden with drinks but still smacking the sore spot on her jaw against the lip of the cushions. Hissing in pain, her head swam. She was about to stand when she saw the long shadow sweeping over her.

Despite her interests, Makoto had never seen a yakuza before, and she counted herself lucky for it. Long ago she'd understood that none of them were like the men in her favorite movies. They were criminals, thugs, often murderers and worse; selfish sinister men self-confident enough to believe they were above the law, able to do what they wanted no matter who was hurt. The men in her movies only existed as fantasies, better suited to entertain and keep audiences engaged.

Imagine her surprise, once her vision adjusted, when she found herself staring up at a man who could've walked right off the screen and into this bar. Were she standing, he would've loomed over her by almost a foot. He looked trim but powerful; his chest and shoulders easily filled out his short-sleeved shirt. His face was hidden in shadow, but Makoto could tell he was looking straight at her. Instinctively, she shuffled backwards, flat against the couch. Her nails dug into the cushion as she gazed up at this imposing stranger.

Silently, he stared back. Then...

He slowly stuck out his hand.

“Here,” he said. The thunder that had spoken to Kaneshiro was gone. His voice was warmer, almost gentle. Makoto wondered if that was intentional, like he knew what he must look like from where she sat. The disparity was bizarre, but admittedly it was working. She reached for his hand; it was real enough as it helped her up, close enough now to see his face. He looked stony and chiseled, still the image of her movie stars, down to his perfect hair. The difference was in the eyes: unlike a character's, there was honesty in them. A real feeling of care and concern radiated from their nearly black cores. As they watched each other, Makoto found his presence familiar, though they'd never met before.

“Go on.” The man tugged her out of her trance. She twitched, remembering where she was, then let him guide her away from the corner, away from the increasingly-irate Kaneshiro. Her shoulders slumped when she saw the group crowding the doorway: Takamaki, Sakamoto, Amamiya, and the Kosei student, Kitagawa. She flushed and hid her face, turning her attention back to the stranger.

“I'm not finished with her!” Kaneshiro sneered. He flashed his face at Makoto. Despite her nerves she flared with loathing. “The stuff on that phone means she still owes me!”

The man eyed the device. “Sorry,” he replied, flipping it open. “Her contract expired.” He grabbed the top half and, like a carrot, broke the phone in two. The eyes of every man in the corner bulged. Toji gave a weak moan as his knees buckled. Kaneshiro turned a livid white while he watched the stranger drop the halves and stomp them under his heel, over and over. Each stomp rippled over the crime boss's face, driving his color further and further to the edges until it disappeared into his hairline. “...Ughk...!” was the only sound he made.

Leaving Kaneshiro mounted to his couch like a doughy-faced gargoyle, the man kicked the pile of phone shards across the floor, turned around, and headed for the door. “Let's get out of here,” he said to Makoto and the others. They shuffled around in the hall, trying to dislodge themselves and make room for their companion. An elbow accidentally jabbed into Makoto's side.

“Oh, uh, sorry 'bout that.” Sakamoto smiled timidly. She was too shaken to reply.

“Hold it!” A clatter of glass rattled in the air. The hustle in the doorway stopped; the stranger froze on the threshold. Makoto nudged the others to see around him. Kaneshiro, seething, was crawling over the table, knocking over his wine. Grunting like a boar, the boss hopped off the table and stopped a few feet behind the stranger. His mouth flapped open and shut wordlessly, and he fidgeted in place, swinging his stubby arms as if burning off his anger. The stranger kept his back to him, only tilting his head slightly to hear whatever Kaneshiro could make himself say.

“Y'know,” he finally said, “I think I have heard of you!” His sleazy smile began to slide back. “Yeah, something...Kiryu, right? That drop-out idol mentioned you on TV a few years back...”

A jolt ran through the stranger. He suddenly shuddered, then went perfectly still. Kaneshiro saw the reaction; he giggled again.

“So, that was your girl, huh?” He jeered at the man's back. “You've got some brass ones to look down on me when you're hoarding tail like that, old man!” His laugh jumped up to a splitting shriek. Makoto was only able to glare at him before Sakamoto yanked her into the hallway.

“Better stand back,” he muttered. “This'll get ugly...” Everyone else had already crowded together behind her. Only Kitagawa seemed confused.

“Why are we leaving?” The tall boy said. “Are we abandoning him?”

Sakamoto shook his head. “Hell no. We're stayin' outta dodge.”

“Remember Kamoshida?” Takamaki asked from Makoto's right. “Well...”

“He got to him first.” Amamiya spoke for the first time. He pointed at the man, stoically enduring Kaneshiro's vile taunts.

Makoto remembered: the day Suzui nearly jumped from the school roof, someone attacked Kamoshida in his office. The prevailing gossip blamed Amamiya and Sakamoto, but others saw a man leave the building shortly after, the same man they claimed ran to the roof after Suzui was spotted. They called him huge and muscly, stern-looking like a yakuza...

But she wondered what made them shy away from him like this. He'd just saved her, a total stranger, and helped her off the floor, wearing that concerned face. What about him had everyone so scared?

She still wondered as she carefully stepped forward. She wanted to return the favor and lead him away from that pig, who was screaming at the man to look at him. Getting as far as the door frame, she saw his face again...

...then she knew why everyone was afraid.

“Look at it this way, man.” Kaneshiro kept up his taunting. “If your girl's still looking for work, me and my boys can keep her busy!” He threw his head back and howled, tossing his greasy hair wildly. Soon he noticed he was the only one laughing. His men had all pinned themselves to the walls. All of them stared at the stranger, and they shrank even further back when he started to turn their way.

“C'mon, you pack of wimps! What, you're all scared of the big bad Dragon?” Kaneshiro cackled at the face Makoto had glimpsed.

“Say one more word about her.” The man's voice was thundery again, but calm as glassy water.

The boss grinned. “Glad to.” He proudly rolled on the balls of his feet. “I think that girl of yours would make us a great little who--”

Kaneshiro had no time to finish. From a straight stance, the stranger leapt across the floor. Kaneshiro's jaw dropped in time for a fist to collide with it. He held his pose for a split second, bare knuckles sinking into his cheek, before momentum caught him. He lifted off his feet and flew backwards over the table. When he landed, the glass top shattered, and he bounced and slid to a stop against the couch, ringed by glittering purple shards. His head lolled over, he mumbled something incoherent, and he lay still.

His woman screamed. The men were rooted in place. Makoto and the others watched from the door, stunned. No one took their eyes off the man walking to Kaneshiro's semi-conscious bulk.

“You want to play yakuza?” He said in a low rumble that echoed in the crowded room, “Learn to talk with some respect.”

He gave a final look to the other men before he turned to the door. Only Makoto flinched.

“Let's go.” He walked over, squeezed through, and headed down the hall to the exit. Before Makoto's body could respond, she was being pulled in the same direction. The last sound she heard inside the bar was a trio of voices crying “Boss!”, and a short stampede over the hard tiles.

----------------------

Urashibuya Street welcomed them back. The flow of nightlife had doubled since they'd left; pedestrians shot wary glances at Kiryu as he led a pack of teenagers out of the seedy-looking bar. He stared back, and they quickly took to their heels in either direction. Kiryu quietly counted the group behind him.

1,2,3,4, and 5...everyone's here.

“Are you all okay?” He asked.

“We're fine,” Ren replied. His lips were pressed, like he was forcing back a smile. “That was some impression you made. Did they know you?”

“Not personally...” Now wasn't the time to open up about his past. “We should go. Kaneshiro will be after us when he wakes up.”

Ren nodded. He and his friends walked past Kiryu. Ryuji emphatically imitated the knockout on Kaneshiro to a tired-looking Ann. The thin boy gangled by, giving Kiryu a nervous, excited stare. Makoto followed at a longer distance, her arms tightly folded and her chin buried in her chest. She'd been through a lot; Kiryu couldn't blame her for withdrawing.

But why was she there?

The question dogged him until he found himself lagging behind. Kiryu jogged ahead, cutting through smaller groups of passersby in-between. He reached the teens and quickly pushed to the front as delicately as he could. Ren, without stopping, watched Kiryu closely as he approached, slowing to match his pace.

“No offense,” Ren said, in a tone that quietly implied some, “but Shibuya Station's not that far. We can make it from here.”

“I'm sure you can, but I have some questions.”

Ren's eyes slid off of Kiryu, and pensively followed the curve of the street ahead. “About Makoto, right?”

“Yes.”

The boy's pace slowed. He tilted his head down to the sidewalk, hitched his bag higher on his shoulder. Nearby cars and local chatter drowned their steps as he puzzled out an answer. His pale face turned resolute.

“I made her go in there,” he said flatly.

“What?”

“If I had to guess, you have issues with Kaneshiro, right?”

“...more or less.”

“So do we. Some students at our school became his targets. We couldn't let that happen.”

“What does he do with them?”

“Blackmail, mostly. Tricks them into illegal drops, then threatens to go to the police if they don't pay.” Ren's mouth twitched. “The rumors say he gives girls a...special way to pay him back...”

“Blackmail...”

So that was what was happening at the park. Kids his age are easy marks...

...I should've hit him harder.

“It took us a while to find his hideout,” Ren continued. “Once we did we were stuck on what to do next. It was my idea to send someone inside, record some hard evidence. Makoto seemed like the best choice. But...” He trailed off into a sigh. “I didn't think the plan would fall apart that fast...”

Kiryu threw out his arm. Ren stopped; his friends nearly plowed into his back. “Wait a minute,” Kiryu said, incredulous. “You were investigating a crime boss by yourselves, and let one of you walk into his headquarters to incriminate him, without a plan to get her out, because he was targeting students.”

Ren stood straight. He showed no guilt or shame, no sign of faltering under Kiryu's gaze. “No one else would. You know what that's like, don't you?”

Kiryu faltered first. “...of course,” he admitted softly. “I won't tell you you did the wrong thing. I'm...actually impressed you came this far on your own.” Over Ren's shoulder, Ryuji's face lit up, and he elbowed Ann in the side. A corner of Kiryu's mouth lifted slightly, before he jerked it back into a stern frown. “But you made a huge mistake, and almost dragged someone into serious danger. What would you have done if I hadn't been here?”

Ren said nothing. He watched Kiryu, reading him. Kiryu hoped he was listening.

“My point is,” he said, “you were lucky to get out unharmed, but that luck might not last forever. People who underestimate men like Kaneshiro can end up worse than anything you can imagine.” Small pinhead scars around his torso prickled at the memory of a night long ago, locked and chained inside a dark, bloody room. “I don't want to see that happen to any of you.”

Ren watched him, picking up the clues in his words. “You know a lot about his type?”

Reluctantly, Kiryu nodded. “From a lifetime ago. That's all I can say.” He hoped Ren wouldn't press the issue. The boy appeared to be processing everything, silently.

“So,” he said at last, “what do you want us to do?”

“Just walk away. Kaneshiro won't be your problem for much longer.”

“You'll take care of him? By yourself?”

“Not alone. Kaneshiro's men have been attacking a friend of mine a few districts away. He called me for help, and since we know his hideout now, we should have enough to deal with him.”

Ren tucked his hand under his chin. “What were you planning?”

Kiryu paused. His reports to Akiyama hadn't taken them that far ahead. “...we'll talk about it. But you shouldn't worry anymore. Let us take care of it.”

“Aw, come on!” Ryuji groaned. “You can't expect us to just butt out now! We can still help ya!”

“How?”

“Well, we can...uh...” His confidence shriveled when he found everyone looking his way. “We,uh...give moral support, or backup, or...stuff...” He rubbed the back of his neck during the awkward silence.

“I think,” Ren interrupted, “backing out is the right choice.”

Ann and the thin boy gawked, said, “What?!”; Ryuji cried, “For real?!” Ren looked unphased.

“We made progress, but we reached too far. If one of us got hurt or indebted to Kaneshiro, we'd be no better off than the people we're trying to help. It's for the best if we pass the baton off to someone who can fight back.” Ren turned to Kiryu and smiled. “Right?”

Though the smile felt hollow, Kiryu was compelled to believe the boy. “Yeah. I promise I won't let you down.”

Not this time...I swear...

“If we're settled, then,” Ren rolled out his shoulders, “we'll leave you to it. I wanted to hit the bank before heading home, so we should get going before they close.”

“Are you sure you don't walk me to walk with you?”

“It's no problem.” Ren held up a hand. “We're just a few blocks away. Besides, your work is more important. We'd hate to hold you up.” He waved his friends ahead. Ann smiled at Kiryu as she passed, quickly saying “Good to see you again!” She half-dragged a confused Ryuji, who swiveled between Kiryu and Ren.

Someone cleared his throat near Kiryu. He turned and say the thin boy, eyeing him with a reverence that bordered on off-putting. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, his voice deep and mature, “but if I could take just a moment of your time...”

“Yusuke,” Ren warned. “Not now.”

“A-ah, yes...” he flustered as his face was lit with a strong pink glow. “Some other time, perhaps...” He hurriedly shuffled past Ren, only just dodging an oncoming streetlamp in his haste.

Ren stepped in front of Kiryu, and again that keen stare dug into him. “Well...good luck,” was all he said. With a half-smile and a short bow, he turned around and followed his friends. Kiryu might have imagined resentment in his face, and a reluctance that slowed his steps. Even if he hadn't, the boy's true feelings weren't his concern, not now, not ever.

But still...

“Hey.”

Ren looked back at Kiryu, curious. It took time to find the words.

“I don't want to sound like I'm talking down to you,” Kiryu said slowly. “You did something brave for your fellow students. Not everyone has it in them to go that far. But if I let you join me, and if any of you were hurt...” He swallowed on a lump in his throat. “...I'd never forgive myself. You understand?”

The sounds of the night filled the gap between them. Ren listened, thought, then nodded. “We do,” he said, “and we appreciate that. Really.” He smiled again, and it was more full and real than before. The boy turned on his heels, and carried on down the sidewalk.

Kiryu watched him leave, performed a quick head-count once more.

1,2,3,4...

Wait...4?

“Hey, Makoto!”

Kiryu looked back. The last girl stood behind him, posed the same. He lightly tugged her sleeve; she went rigid, whipped her head around. Her rich brown, almost red eyes were wide and ringed with fear.

“It's okay,” Kiryu said. “Your friends are waiting for you, that's all.”

She relaxed, but her head slumped forward again.

“If you don't want to go with them, I understand. They sent you somewhere you never should have gone. But it's for the best if you're not alone.”

Makoto shuffled fitfully, kneading her forearms with nervous fingers. “Re--Amamiya was lying...they never told me to come here...”

“What?”

“I told one of Kaneshiro's men to bring me to him...I thought I could get information, a confession...something...” Her face flushed; she covered her eyes in shame.

“But...why?” Kiryu asked. “What made you that desperate?”

Makoto dragged her hand down to her chin. Under the streetlamp, Kiryu saw her clearly: her features were sharp and noble, accentuated by a sparse, precise application of makeup, which had smeared against her palm. “They've done everything for me,” she tilted her head at the waiting group, “and I've only...hounded them to do more. I wanted to show them I could help, that I wasn't...” She choked on the last word before it hissed through her teeth like a noxious slime.

“...useless.”

“You're that bothered by Kaneshiro?”

Makoto swallowed. “...yes,” she breathed. “I don't want to imagine that he could get away with anything. Everything he's done, the people he's abused...” Her fingers dug into her arms. “It...makes me sick...!” She shuddered with a deep-seated, familiar anger. The tips of her nails bit at her sleeves.

Any more pressure and she'll hurt herself...

Kiryu touched her shoulder. Her hateful grimace fell away. She let go of her arms; thick red crescent marks glared under the light fabric. Makoto was surprised, a little frightened, but not enough to pull back.

“Listen,” Kiryu said. “I don't think you're useless.”

“But how can you tell? We've never met.”

“I know you can't stand the thought of an evil man harming innocent people. You cared so much you worked with your friends to put a stop to him. You even put yourself in danger to find what you needed to bring him down. Honestly, that was a mistake...” He frowned when he saw her head droop. “But you still wanted to bring Kaneshiro to justice, no matter what. No useless person has that much drive.” Kiryu gave her a smile. “Did I come close?”

Makoto's mouth opened and closed; Kiryu fought not to laugh. “Well...yes, in a way...” Her eyes turned downcast. “I'm...not their friend, though. I forced them after Kaneshiro, because...” Kiryu saw her fitful glances at the pavement, the gutter, the neighboring wall. “...they're the ones who'd listen. I treated them terribly...”

“But they still came to find you. They would've run into that club without me if I hadn't stopped them.”

Makoto lifted her head. “...really?”

“You and them have the same goals, and the same reasons behind them. You might have brought them along in a bad way, but I don't think they mind.”

As Makoto mulled over his words, Kiryu looked behind. The four teenagers were still there, watching them, waiting. “Whether you notice it or not, they see something worthwhile in you. Maybe you can give them a chance and find out what that is.” He turned to her. “How about it?”

The girl let her arms slide down to her waist. For a little while, she thought and thought. Kiryu let her.

“I think,” Makoto said, slowly, “I should be going. It would be rude to keep them waiting much longer, after all.” She straightened her posture and trotted ahead, past Kiryu and heading to the others. A few feet away, she suddenly froze, and spun on her heels.

“Uh...um...” She bent forward in a deep bow that sent her short hair swinging over her ears. “Thank you,” she said. “For saving me.”

“It was no problem.” Kiryu called back. “Just be careful in the future. And...” He raised a corner of his mouth. “Don't think so little of yourself. Whatever's happening in your life, I'm sure you're doing your best.”

Makoto smiled shyly. She bowed again, a far shorter one, brushed back her hair, and jogged up the sidewalk to the waiting teens. Before they walked away, Kiryu saw Makoto slip into the four, taking a place between Ann and the tall boy, Yusuke. Now complete, the band headed off, passed from streetlight to streetlight, and finally rounded the wide corner out of sight. Minus the scant groups on either side of the street, Kiryu was alone.

I hope they keep themselves safe. I don't have the time to watch over them like this.

Kiryu glanced at his watch. It was well-past eight.

Speaking of, Akiyama needs to hear what I've learned. I'll call him from the apartment.

Taking a last bitter look at Kaneshiro's club, Kiryu started the walk back to Shibuya Station. He moved leisurely; he'd learned a great deal tonight, and Akiyama only needed what was most important. Kiryu mentally sorted through the last hour as he kicked out his legs in an even stride. Everything about the kids and Kiryu's collision with Kaneshiro himself shouldn't concern Akiyama. Neither should that reading from the fortune teller. He may have been wrapped up in her act in the moment, but Kiryu felt ridiculous for believing her. As if it were possible to tell that the future so accurately...

*Thump!*

A jolt shook Kiryu back to the present. He lurched forward, almost tipping over entirely if he hadn't caught the nearest signpost. Head swirling queasily, Kiryu turned around and saw the problem: a slab of pavement jutted a good two inches above the others. His foot had caught the unexpected ridge and nearly sent him sprawling. Cursing poor city infrastructure, Kiryu stood and checked himself for damage. He wasn't injured, but he frowned at the heavy black scuff mark on the toe of his favorite shoes.

----------------------

“Shibuya? How'd you figure that out?”

“It's...a long story.”

“So out in the open, too...that tracks with his history at least.”

“You found something?”

“Yeah. One of the brokers I reached out to pulled through; 'Junya Kaneshiro,' your average street rat. Nothing too noteworthy: worked as a low-level grunt for a small family some years back before he split off to start his own 'syndicate'. All evidence paints him as ambitious, but greedy and dumb as a post. You'd figure he'd have stepped on someone else's toes before now, or gotten himself on the bad side of the law.”

“Unless he's already in with the law.”

“Maybe, but that's a big leap for a small fry. He'd have to have one serious racket going to give him that kind of dough.”

“That's another thing I learned: he works in blackmail. His men trick civilians into making dead drops, they photograph them in the act, and ransom them for some heavy fees. From what I gathered, he particularly targets teens.”

“...teens, huh? Isn't that something...”

“But why go after Sky Finance, or those other stores around Kamuro?”

“Could be what we thought at the start: he's getting cocky, trying to expand, wants to throw his weight about. Must be some ties he's got up above...”

“So, what's our next step?”

“Our next step? Well, I'll be...registering a complaint. Only fair I pay him a visit now.”

“On your own? He may be stupid, but we know he has resources, soldiers. You'd be overwhelmed.”

“Awww, and I thought you believed in me. I'm crushed.”

“I'm not joking, Akiyama. Walking in alone could get you killed, if you're lucky.”

“So what do you suggest? I told you my backup list is short these days.”

“But I'm still in town.”

“...I couldn't keep you here, not 'cause of this. Just go home, Kiryu. You've already helped more than you had to.”

“And leave you fighting by yourself? Not likely.”

“But what if the cops get involved? This won't exactly be legal, and it took long enough to get you back in the law's good graces last time. You think they'd be fair if it looked like you were backsliding?”

“We'll be careful. A few days of planning should give us some security.”

“...it's still a big risk. You sure you wanna take it?

“I'd rather take the risk than regret leaving you in danger while I was safe at home. I'm not leaving. You should've known that once you called me in.”

“...aw hell. When have I ever won a fight with you anyway?”

“I won't let you down. I promise.”

“That part doesn't worry me. Everything else does...”

“So, where do we start?”

“Like you said, we gotta plan. There's more unknowns here than I like, so we need to answer as many as we can before striking out.”

“We know the location for sure. I doubt he'll move anytime soon, so we'll have time to keep an eye on his place.”

“Entrances, estimates of his men, any security, times he'll be holed up inside, that's the stuff we need to figure out.”

“I might...stand out to his men, though. If you plan on a stake out, I could watch the office for you.”

“Thanks, but there's no need. He might be in another ward, but my system should still work just fine...”

----------------------

June 27th, 2017

Shibuya, Tokyo

It was early evening, and Urashibuya Street was nearly dead. The typical nightlife was only a slim trickle tonight, which the assorted store-owners up and down the street noted sourly. Something further up the road was drawing all the attention, probably a new marketing stunt. Soon, the only person on the street was a transient, sitting on the curb next to a bench across from the member's-only bar, its windows black as usual. Several owners considered reporting him for loitering, but chose not to. Why call the police on someone when there was no one around for him to bother? Instead, they returned to their empty stores, and continued to fume.

The transient watched the quiet bar. It was his turn today; the other guys in his group had kept watch from different spots along the street for the last week. He still didn't know the full story, just that there were some people to look out for and stay hidden from when they passed by, entering the bar on foot or coming/going in the black car parked outside. Honestly, the whole business stank a little, but for the pay they were getting, it'd be flat-out stupid to complain. So his eyes stayed open, and his wits stayed sharp, like they had for the last few hours. He scarcely paid attention when a man in a gray windbreaker and jeans, face buried in a magazine, stepped around him and dropped into the bench. A heavy plastic bag crinkled in his other hand; it hung freely, held by the arm laying on the backrest. He crossed his long legs and relaxed into his seat.

Without taking his eyes off the bar, the transient leaned over. “Saw the boss go in, about three hours ago,” he muttered. “If he left, he hasn't come out this way.”

The newcomer hummed. “Anyone else?”

“One guy, an hour ago. Looked like he found something on the ground outside. Must've freaked him out, 'cause he ran right in. Never saw him leave.”

“Hmm. How long's the street been this empty?”

“Since about when the last guy entered. Should stay this way for a while, with whatever's going on...”

The newcomer paused, thought. “...alright. You're relieved.” He set the bag down next to him.

The transient stood, stretched his back with a tight grimace, and walked behind the bench. He casually reached for the bag...

An arm snapped out and swiped it away. Inside, metal cans clinked together. “To share.” The newcomer said warningly. “If I hear you hogged all of them, you're getting one can between all of you next time.”

The transient stared, then spat on the ground. Slowly, the man on the bench moved the bag back into his reach. The transient took it and peered inside. A flash of a smile lit up his grimy face. He bowed stiffly at the stranger, and headed down the street at an unhurried pace. At the same time, the stranger reached his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He typed rapidly with one hand:

k inside. hasnt moved. hows the back look?

A minute passed, and the phone buzzed:

Two guards on the back entrance. Only saw a woman leave about an hour ago. I think Kaneshiro's settled in for the night.

alright. lets move. meet you inside in 30. dont forget the mask.

Akiyama pocketed his phone. He rolled up his magazine, stuffed it inside his coat, and stood. Rolling his shoulders, he crossed the street to the empty-looking bar. Stopping between the door and the car parked outside, he reached back into his jacket, and took out a pair of black gloves and a ski mask. They had been his idea, but the bank robber look still made him uncomfortable. Regardless, he slipped on the gloves, pulled on the mask, and cautiously checked left, right, behind. No one approached from either side, and the storefronts behind were all empty. It was now or never. Akiyama exhaled, and wrapped on the door.

No one answered. He knocked again. Heavy footsteps approached from the other side. The latch clicked, and an irritable heavy-set man in flashy clothes and a thin gold necklace stuck his torso through the door.

“Take a hint, dumbass! We're clo—what the--?!”

“Hi there!” Akiyama said brightly. “Special delivery for Mr. Kaneshiro!”

“The fu--?!”

Akiyama drove his knee into the man's gut. He choked and fell to his knees, gagging wetly. He looked up at the masked man just before receiving a kick in the jaw. His head jerked to the side, cracked against the door frame. With a faint wheeze, he slumped over, rolled back, and fell down. Akiyama watched him fall, then leaned back to double-check the sidewalk. Still clear, and no one had called out yet. Smoothly, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, carefully stepping over his unconscious friend.

“I'll just have him sign for it,” he said, mostly to himself, and strolled down the plush entryway.

His digs aren't even half-bad. What does he want with a place like mine?

Reaching the other end, he heard voices from behind the door. Akiyama held the knob and leaned into the wood.

“--renewin' your lease on that shithole! If it were me, I'd do the landlord a favor and burn it down. It's half-condemned already!”

“Bro, I didn't ask for your opinion. Just wanted some advice.”

“I'm givin' you advice! What, ain't good enough for ya?!”

“Not if you're tellin' me to burn down my apartment!”

Two inside, at least, assuming more aren't interested in apartment talk.

He rolled back his sleeve, checked his watch. Almost a minute, and no sign of Kiryu. He'd have to start the party himself.

Alright then. Here we go...

Akiyama pushed the door open. He stepped into a small, moodily-lit room, supported by bare metal girders. Every surface was colored or doused in shades of purple. Along the left wall was the bar, well-lit and well-stocked. He almost licked his lips at the brands on display. The right wall was dominated by two large alcoves with padded leather walls, side-by-side, both lined inside with long, square couches. One crowded table sat in the middle of the floor of the closest one, though strangely there was room for two.

Well, our boy takes care of himself, that's for sure.

Lastly, he noticed the two men sitting on the ends of the couch and a third at the bar, all dressed in the same style as their friend in the hall. One from the couch, in a short-sleeved shirt to show off his tan, glanced his way, then froze.

“What the fuck?” He jumped to his feet. His partner, skinnier and black-haired, checked, and also leapt up, shocked. At the bar, the man in a black jacket and sunglasses nearly fell off his stool.

“Who the hell are you?!” The tan man demanded. He grabbed an empty bottle from the side-table, while his skinny friend flicked out a knife.

Akiyama smirked. “Sheesh. Small wonder no one talks about this place. Learn to treat your customers right, and you might have some.”

“We ain't open,” the skinny man said gruffly. “Get the hell out!”

“Same with you, huh?” Akiyama stroked his chin through his mask. “Ah well. I'll just serve myself. Don't mind me, gents.” He strolled up to the bar.

“Toji, stop him!”

The man in sunglasses whipped his head to the tan man. Panic glinted behind his glasses. Before he could even whimper, Akiyama grabbed the rim of the bar and swung his body up and over with a grunt. By the time “Toji” was looking back at him, Akiyama's foot had caught him under the chin, and pulled him down.

SLAM!

Toji's jaw cracked the glass counter of the bar as Akiyama landed neatly behind it. He took his heel off the man's neck, and delicately pushed him to the ground. Toji made an odd gurgle before laying still. Akiyama turned his attention to the shelves of alcohol. He whistled. “Hmm, some fine choices here...”

“Wha—what are you doing?!” One of the goons cried.

“I,” Akiyama answered plainly, “am giving my partner a minute to catch up. Just stay right there, he'll be along.” He brushed the label of a clear amber bottle. “12-year Yamazaki, very nice...”

“P-partner...?”

A commotion came from the service door at the far end of the room. The two men left standing turned; Akiyama did not. Sounds of fighting, yells, fast footsteps came closer. The tan man gritted his teeth to stop them chattering.

“Ah. There he is.”

The door swung open; two more men barreled through.

“It's an attack!” The stockier and sweatier of the two yelled. “A raid! Somethin'! This guy's killin' us out there!” He paused when he noticed Toji drooling on the ground, and his eyes raised to the bar.

“...who the fuck is that?!”

A muffled, guttural roar split the air. The door burst wide, and a large shape flew into the room. The newcomers leapt back to dodge what slid over the tiles perpendicular to Toji. It wheezed, groaned in pain. It made an attempt to lift itself, but weakly gave up. Its head smacked down, and it panted into the grout. When the group looked away, the door was open again, and someone in a dark gray tracksuit walked through.

Akiyama smirked. “About time.”

Kiryu tugged at the hem of his mask; it clung tightly to his jawline. “Sorry. There were more inside than expected.”

“Ah, no problem.” Akiyama leaned over the bar at the four men. “So, here's your chance, fellas. You can cut out now and no one'll think any less of ya. Not like they thought much to start with, mind.”

Kaneshiro's men looked at each other. One glanced at the open door behind them and swallowed hard.

Then, the skinny man, temples throbbing, stepped ahead. He raised his knife at Akiyama.

“Fuck...”

He pivoted to point at Kiryu.

“...you. You don't scare us half as much as the boss.” His friends were less confident, but all the same they fell in behind him, clutching their weapons like lifelines.

Akiyama, bemused, glanced at Kiryu, who shrugged. “Suit yourself, then.” He sprang onto the bar and shot his foot into the skinny man's wrist. The knife flew out of his grip.

“You fu--!” He was silenced when Akiyama grabbed an overhead beam, swung back, and planted both feet into the man's face. He arced backwards, until he toppled and his back shattered the table behind him. Akiyama let go of the beam, landing spryly between the three men left.

“Offer's still standing,” he said lightly, checking both sides.

In front of him, the tan one with the bottle gaped at his friend moaning in the alcove. Behind, the pair that had run in before Kiryu bristled with fear and rage. The shorter, and bolder, of them yelled “Bastard!”, drew his own knife, and thrust at Akiyama's throat. But all he cut was air; Akiyama had already dodged backwards. He slipped under the next swipe, before sliding legs-first under his attacker. The stocky one watched him in shock as he bounced off the ground, until the man caught a trio of rapid kicks to the chest, two from mid-air. The final blow launched him off his feet, and he was blasted through the door to the entryway.

Akiyama faced the other two, just in time to see the knife swinging at him. He ducked, but another stab came just as fast. The short one was flailing madly, screaming. He advanced on Akiyama, who could only juke and slip one way and the other. There was no room to step to the side, and this one was too wild to give him an opening. Akiyama kept his eyes open, waiting for a chance.

A beast-like roar tore through the room. Akiyama had no time to react before--

THUD!

A stool slammed into the short one's back. He lurched forward, howling in furious pain, his stance broken.

Completely open.

Akiyama took the shot. His leg rocketed to the ceiling, striking the man's open jaw; his mouth slammed shut. For a second, Akiyama held his foot high, then swung down. It caught the back of the man's skull, and his whole body was brought flat to the floor. His scream died in his throat, shrinking into a weak raspy wheeze. Stepping back, Akiyama looked ahead: Kiryu now stood next to a conspicuous gap between the stools outside the bar. He adjusted the sleeves of his tracksuit brusquely. Akiyama shot him a grin and a thumbs-up. Kiryu nodded.

Only one left. He'd dived to avoid the stool, and now wheeled between the two men surrounding him. His bottle was pinned to his chest. He panted heavily, showed the panic building inside. Akiyama followed his movements.

Will this one get the message?

The tan man shrieked. He held up the bottle and charged at Akiyama.

Guess not.

Akiyama kicked high. He caught his attacker in the chest, halting his momentum. With his breath knocked out, the man gave a pitiful cough. Switching legs, Akiyama drove him back. Each blow tipped the man further and further off balance. At the end of the bar, he took one last strike, curled backwards. He was about to finally fall over, when--

“HAAAA-YAAAAAH!”

From the side, a huge hand smothered his face, swinging down. The man's head slammed against the floor at full speed; he twitched, kicked for a moment, then lay back with a weak grunt.

Letting out a heavy groan, Akiyama doubled-over, hands on his knees, and struggled to catch his breath. “I really don't,” he huffed, “know how you *hah hah* still have that kinda *hah hah* stamina. The hell do you *hah hah* do at home?”

Kiryu turned to the side door. “I passed a security door in the back. Must be his office.”

“Well then,” Akiyama said with a grunt, settling back into his relaxed pose. “Let's not keep him waiting.”

----------------------

The door stood in the middle of a small section of wall off a short side-passage in the back corridors. Padded leather complemented the purple wallpaper, gleaming with an oily sheen from the track lights overhead.

“This it?” Akiyama asked.

“Should be,” Kiryu said.

The men nodded at each other and walked forward. As they approached, they fixed on the small keypad installed above the handle that stood in their way.

“Care to hazard a guess at the code, or...?”

Kiryu shook his head. He stepped ahead, eyeing one spot on the door, just above the lock and next to the doorjamb. He looked to Akiyama, jerked his head to the side. Understanding, Akiyama wedged himself in the corner, back flat against the right wall. He nodded.

Kiryu went quiet for a moment, took a deep breath. The air in the hall was still but charged, energized. Akiyama, watching, held his breath.

Then...

Without a sound, Kiryu raised his foot and stomped on the door, right on his mark. It flew inward. At the same moment, Kiryu leapt backwards, and tucked his shoulder out of sight just in time.

BANG BANG BANG!

Three bullets whipped through the doorway, down the hall, and buried themselves in the tacky wallpaper.

“Hold it!” A hoarse voice called from inside. “Come out where I can see you, hands up!”

Kiryu looked at his partner. Akiyama's eyes rolled to the wall, where the unseen gunman stood. He shifted to Kiryu and, with an anxious smirk, he slowly raised his hands.

“Alright,” he said diplomatically, “give us a sec. We're coming in.”

Kiryu grumbled, but copied him. From where he stood, they had no other options. Both men pulled away from the wall, and filed into the office. The greasy purple switched to slate gray, its dullness accentuated by the buzz of florescent lighting overhead. In layout, it was scarcely different from any other mid-tier Patriarch's office in a rented space anywhere else in the city: a cheap wooden desk, a coffee table and metal-frame chairs off to the side, pre-fab bookshelves flanking them, a bland wall clock ticking in the background. As they walked in, Akiyama scanned the room, looking askance at Kiryu through his mask.

For someone with cash to throw around, he's...an awfully cheap decorator...

“That's far enough!”

Kiryu and Akiyama stopped where they stood. Torn away from the tedious room, they found their target. Haggard and rumpled, Kaneshiro glared back from behind his desk with narrow baggy eyes. He held a snub-nose revolver at arm's length, shaking at them both. The smell of burned powder filled the tiny room.

“Masks off,” Kaneshiro hissed. “Both of you.”

Kiryu gritted his teeth. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but the gun aimed at his chest proved convincing. He tugged the mask off, Akiyama following suit on his left. Kaneshiro's eyes shrank into lethal-looking slits.

“You.” His grip on his pistol steadied. “Mr. Dragon. Should've known you'd be behind this...”

Akiyama fixed Kiryu with a cold look as best as he could. Kiryu elbowed him in the shoulder.

“So,” Kaneshiro said, regaining some confidence, “where's the rest of you?”

“It's just us,” Kiryu replied. “No one else.”

“Bullshit. You'd need more than two to pull off what you did to Madarame.”

Neither of the men at gunpoint reacted.

“Or,” Kaneshiro continued, a growl rising into his voice, “that shit you pulled up the street.” He pulled a piece of paper, the size of a postcard, from his jacket. Uneven monochrome characters stood on a background of concentric circles, red and black. The font was large enough to read across the room:

TO SIR JUNYA KANESHIRO, THE MONEY-DEVOURING SINNER OF GLUTTONY,

You indulge in scamming others with horrendous methods, exclusively targeting minors. We have decided to make you confess all your crimes with your own mouth. We will take your distorted desires without fail.

Signed...

“The Phantom Thieves...” He thinks we're them...?

Kiryu risked a glance at Akiyama. He was already looking back, and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. One wrong word could get them both killed. Better to let him believe what he wanted while they worked on a plan...

“I pegged your little outfit as a lot smarter than this.” Kaneshiro grinned. “You get tired of that cloak-and-dagger shit? Wanted to cut right to the chase for the payout? Ha! Big fuckin' mistake. Now you won't see a goddamn cent of my money.”

Kiryu risked a response. “The card didn't mention money.”

“Sure it didn't. Like I don't know what 'steal your desires' meant. You tricked some suckers with that self-righteous act, but I know better. Even that show you put on for those brats last week,” he stroked his jaw, as if rubbing a sore spot, “couldn't fool me, Mr. Dragon.”

Kiryu said nothing, showed no expression, just watched the gun barrel pointed at him.

As long as he's talking, he's not shooting. Now if he'd just drop his guard...

“'scuse me.” Akiyama waved his raised hand. “Sorry to cut in, but I'm curious. That cash you mentioned, did all of it come from your little side-hustle?”

Both Kaneshiro and Kiryu stared at him. “What's it to you?” Kaneshiro asked...

...training his revolver on him.

“Well, we did so much research, we just wanna make sure we were on the right track before...y'know...” He pointed at the ceiling with a finger gun and mouthed, “Bang...”

“So what if it was? They were all asking for it, naive stupid punks. If they trusted my boys at all, their cash was safer with me anyway.” Kaneshiro snorted.

“Sure, sure, but word on the street says you cast your nets pretty wide. More...'donors' than you'd expect for a...growing outfit.” Akiyama picked his words carefully. “All of it can't go into rent or overhead, y'know, and I doubt your boys get that much of a cut.” He ended his sentence with a smirk.

“And why,” Kaneshiro asked warily, “tell you?”

Akiyama shrugged. “Figured we're dead either way, so no harm, right?”

While Akiyama ran his mouth, Kiryu browsed the room. Anything he could grab was too far away; though the gun was pointed away from him, he wanted to avoid getting Akiyama shot in his place. Motionless, Kiryu traced over everything in view, wrapping around the office, over the desk, the bookshelves, the cheap chairs...

...the equally cheap end table directly to his right.

With a sturdy-looking glass ashtray resting innocently on top.

That's it. I just need an opening.

“Well of course you'd wanna know about it, being a crook yourself.” Kaneshiro hissed his breath through a slanted grin. “Don't think I don't recognize you too, scruffy. You're that damn loan shark outta Kamuro. You come in here calling me the parasite? Like I rob people?” He wheezed out a high giggle. “Blackmail's nothing next to the racket you've got!”

Akiyama's smirk flickered. “And there's where you didn't do your research, my man. I don't trick people into handling my dirty work. I don't fleece 'em for all they got afterwards.” His eyes narrowed. “And I don't go after kids.” He pursed his lips in a fake pout. “If you're gonna muscle in on a guy's place, put the brain work in first. It's insulting...”

Kiryu was locked onto Kaneshiro. Akiyama's response had him fuming, but not too angry to un-tense his trigger finger.

Once he snaps, I'll have maybe an extra half-second. Move too late, and...

“But!” Akiyama carried on, infuriatingly casual, “you do have a point. Lots of people don't know how to handle money. Believe me, I'm one of them.” He chuckled, like he remembered an old joke, until his mouth curled into a frown. “Kinda burns seeing that, doesn't it? People throwing cash around like it's nothing to them, like the well's never gonna run dry. I see why you're like this.”

“Hell's that supposed to mean?”

“You spent time on the streets, didn't you? Maybe had some bad luck, maybe it was your own mistake...but you had to sit there in the gutter and watch 'em gorge, and pick what you could from the scraps.”

Kiryu's attention was split between the boss and the ashtray: the latter, he could go for at a moment's notice, but not while the former turned a sweaty, blotchy red, revolver still leveled and ready to fire. Kiryu tried to signal Akiyama to stop. His partner wasn't looking; he stared with cool focus at the man behind the desk.

“Now you've pulled yourself out, and it's your turn to live a little, get back at all the waste you had to wade through, drain the people who didn't care.” He ignored Kaneshiro's gritted teeth grinding on each other. “Honestly, can't blame you. Once you hit that low, part of you never comes back. It stays down there, always reminds you of those times, the cold, the dirt, the jealousy.”

The gun hand shook. Kiryu caught the weapon sagging, fingers uncurling around the grip.

Is it working...?

“But you, friend...” Akiyama whistled. “You never came back. You're still living in the streets, living off everyone else because you think they owe ya. You're angry at them...but try looking at yourself, man. That anger might help you see how little you really did to make something worth a damn.”

Kaneshiro's trembling stopped. The revolver drooped, but held still. Kiryu watched intently.

“...that's what this is about, isn't it?” Kaneshiro breathed. He hunched his shoulders, swelled out the sides of his jacket. “You don't give a rat's ass about 'justice' or that horseshit. You're...you're just like him...”

Akiyama quirked an eyebrow. “Who?”

Kaneshiro's shoulders arched higher. His head remained straight, and they could see the veins in his eyes. “You're just like him!” He growled madly. “He says that same shit! 'You're nothing, you're trash, I picked you off the street!' Bullshit!” He gestured like a man not holding a loaded revolver; since he was, Akiyama stepped back cautiously. “I do all the fucking legwork! Me! My outfit! Those others don't do half what I do! He wouldn't be shit if it weren't for me!”

Kiryu asked, carefully, “Who are you talking about? What others?”

Kaneshiro froze. He held his breath, didn't make a sound, didn't move. The rage that had contorted his face was gone. For a moment it was replaced with an empty look, close to fear. Then, his head dropped, and a low, greasy chuckle slid through the office. He raised his head, bared a keen, predatory grin.

“Well,” he croaked, “it's like you said, right? You're...you're de--”

He blinked, shook his head. His eyelids drooped.

“You're dead...eith-either..."

The words slurred from his thick lips, as if his tongue was falling asleep in his mouth. He began to sway sharply, one side to the other. Canting forward, he propped himself on his desk with his free arm, which barely had the strength to hold him.

“Yo-you're botthhthhh...d-deeaaaa...”

His gun arm wavered. The weapon slipped through slack fingers, clattered on the desktop. His hand swung down to the wood to keep himself standing. Too much of his weight had shifted backwards, and the desk slid away from his grip. Knees buckling, he fell back and hit the arm of his office chair, sending him tumbling down at an angle. He dropped out of sight behind the desk, and a deep *thud!* sounded out. A noise liked “blelghgkgh” followed.

And then, quiet. Nothing but the ticking clock and the humming lights.

Kiryu and Akiyama stood stock still in uneasy silence. Akiyama, mouth slightly gaping, turned to Kiryu, whose eyes were wide. Neither knew what to say. Both looked back at the desk with the chair knocked askew behind it. Slowly, they crept across the gray carpeting together. Kiryu peered over the desk first. Kaneshiro lay on the floor, splayed out like a fat sleeping dog; his jacket was spread open, showing the mottled pattern of his sweat-soaked dress shirt. His eyes were rolled back, and from this angle they couldn't see if he was breathing.

“...is he dead?” Akiyama whispered.

Kiryu walked around Akiyama and the desk, and squatted next to the body. He pushed two fingers into the man's bulging neck; through his gloves he felt a pulse. Slow, uneven, but not enough to worry.

“No.” For good measure he poked Kaneshiro's cheek. The boss let out a childish whimper at his touch. They would've laughed if the circumstances weren't so off-putting. “He's lucky he didn't hit his head going down...” He watched him for a moment, seeing his chest rise and fall, the warm drool pooling around a corner of his slack mouth.

Too sudden for a heart attack, and not enough harm done. It was like he...fainted out of nowhere.

“You thinking drugs?” Akiyama asked.

Kiryu hummed. That was possible, certainly probable. But who, and how--?

His eyes shot open.

The card...!

He turned to the desktop. The little postcard lay there, innocuously, its threatening message facing the ceiling.

“'We will take your distorted desires without fail...'” Kiryu muttered. He glanced back at the bulk collapsed behind him.

Is this how they do it? Some nerve agent on the card?

How potent is it? How close does someone need to be to get hit?

What do they do to the ones they drug?

He faced Akiyama; his stern look told Kiryu he shared the same thoughts.

“I think,” he said quietly, “we stumbled into someone else's game. Let's bounce before the other players show up.”

Reluctantly, Kiryu nodded. All of his questions would have to wait until they were back in public, somewhere slightly safer. Akiyama left first, and Kiryu followed...

...but he paused at the doorway. He half-turned to the bland office, to the little slip they left behind. Something about it, the timing of its delivery, its recipient, bothered him. Unconsciously, he felt dots connecting in his mind, linked by tenuous yet credible threads.

...no, that's ridiculous. He's just a kid.

And yet, he remembered words from the week before, delivered with too much confidence and conviction, with a gleam of indignation behind cool, gray eyes...

...you have issues with Kaneshiro, right? So do we.

Some students at our school became his targets. We couldn't let that happen.

No one else would...

-------------------------

The sticky summer air clung to them the moment they left the back entrance. Kiryu breathed it deep, replacing the smell of spilled liquor and cigarettes with the mildly less offensive taste of the city.

Akiyama smacked him softly on the side. “Let's keep moving,” he said. “Get as much ground as we can between us and this place.”

Nodding back, Kiryu matched Akiyama's stride out of the back lot. They doffed their gloves in unison, shoved them into their respective pockets. Akiyama unzipped his jacket and tied the arms around his waist. By the time they reached the main street, anyone could mistake them for a pair out for an evening jog, helped by the sweat sheen coating them both. For a while, they walked up Urashibuya, dodging the night crowds as they passed, keeping quiet.

“Do you think we're in the clear?” Kiryu finally asked.

“Dunno,” Akiyama replied. “It's fair to say this whole plan just got messier. Assuming that card was legit, who knows what's gonna happen next?” He shook his head. “Creepy how those guys operate, huh? Like something outta some spy movie.”

“Yeah...” A bigger question dogged Kiryu. The way Kaneshiro had ranted about his work, beyond the mysterious “him” he'd mentioned, was strange. It wasn't what you heard from your average upstart bottom-feeder, in it for cash and prestige. He spoke of the importance of his outfit, his entitlement to what everyone else owned. Akiyama may have been right about his past, but he was only watching the gun. Kiryu watched his eyes, saw the total conviction in his twisted belief, beyond typical delusion and ego. If he was tormented by his circumstances, that was long ago. Now, he fully believed in and lived for his trade, not caring how many he trampled while working it.

Kiryu had seen too many men like that, sharing those cold, driven eyes, but one came back to him no matter how far back he thought.

Kamoshida had that same look, even after I beat him. He was afraid, but not remorseful. Like he still thought he had the right to do what he did...

...and both got the attention of these “Phantom Thieves”...

“Kinda strange, though,” Akiyama's voice lilted up jokingly, “that run-in with the 'brats' he mentioned. You sure you just found the place last week?”

Kiryu set his jaw, ignored his friend's smug expression. “...I did have to...get more involved than I said.”

Akiyama, smiling, rolled his eyes. “Shoulda figured. Only you could have luck like that.”

“I didn't have a choice,” Kiryu said firmly. “A friend of some students got dragged inside, and the rest of them would've headed in without me. I couldn't let them go alone.”

Akiyama's smile faded. He nodded thoughtfully. “...yeah, alright. That's fair. So he already knew who you were?”

“His men did. That's how we got out safely. None of them would lift a finger with me there.”

“For once being infamous still has perks.” Akiyama frowned. “Hope none of them spread the word...”

“That would only incriminate them. They were holding a teenager hostage at the time.”

They stayed quiet the rest of the way down the street. At the next major intersection, Akiyama stretched out his arms.

“That should be far enough. We should split here, in case someone's looking.”

“Alright. Keep me posted if anything happens at Sky.”

“Will do. And...” Akiyama clapped Kiryu's arm. “Thanks, for the hundredth time. I saw what you were planning with the ashtray. Good idea.”

“It's nothing. Just trying to help.”

“Heh. Story of your life at this point.” Akiyama flashed him another grin. “Catch ya later.” He sauntered away, taking the northern road back to Shibuya Crossing. Kiryu caught him lighting up another cigarette as he merged into an unassuming crowd.

...you wouldn't lose your breath so quickly if you didn't smoke so much.

But, who I am to judge?

Kiryu took the southeast street, turning left at the first intersection that would drop him off across from Shibuya Station. He finally let the tension that had built up over the last ten minutes slip off his shoulders, down his back, and into the gutter. Only deeper, lingering doubts stuck at him as he walked.

What a way for all this to go. I just hope it's over.

...I hope I did enough. For Akiyama and...Ren and his friends. At least enough so I can leave things better off than last time...

His side-street wasn't packed, but busy enough for a summer night. Like on many nights in the past, Kiryu buried his thoughts in the sounds of the pedestrians, a kind of frenetic white noise to quiet out what he didn't want to hear right now.

“The whole street was plastered with them! Forget 'stealing hearts', they're gonna pick them up on littering at this rate!”

“It's a stunt, all of it! Some freakshow artists with too much grant money...”

“Who's that 'Kaneshiro' guy, anyway? He a yakuza or something?”

Kiryu frowned.

This isn't helping...

Walled in by gossip on the Phantom Thieves, Kiryu followed the path to the main street. He was about to reach the intersection when...

“Whew! Close one this time!”

Kiryu stopped. He knew that voice: brash, rough, too loud for its own good.

“Are they...usually that bad?”

That was a girl, mature, nervous, reserved. It brought to mind a pair of rich-brown, almost red eyes.

“So far, yeah. I'd start getting used to it.” Another boy, cool, considered, relaxed, like a clear gray-eyed stare...

Kiryu casually leaned on the nearest wall and inched to the edge. Just around the corner on a paved spot back from the curb stood a small group of teenagers, dressed for summer. Teenagers he recognized immediately.

Why come so close to Kaneshiro's again? Don't tell me they didn't give it up...

“So,” Makoto asked, her demeanor more confident than when he'd last met her, “how long does it usually take?”

She was answered by a string of meows. Leaning out another inch, Kiryu spied Ren, who was eyeing a black-and-white cat poking its head out of his shoulder bag. It carried on with a long stretch of noise; the whole group seemed to be listening intently.

...what the...?

“We were lucky enough to get out of a deadline this time,” Ren eventually spoke. “There's nothing to worry about anyway.”

“That's true.” Makoto thought aloud. “It's just...” Her face turned dark. “...the sooner that pig's in jail, the better.” An edge cut into her voice.

Wait...

“I know the feeling,” Ren replied in a similar tone. “But all we can do now is wait.”

“Indeed,” said Yusuke gravely. “The tension before Madarame's change was almost unbearable...”

Madarame...they can't be...

“No reason to worry.” Ryuji jumped in, stretching his arms over his head. “Three times is enough to know what's gonna happen.”

A long, grouchy *mrrreeeowww!* came from Ren's bag.

“I'm plenty careful! And I wasn't the one who nearly got his ass kicked showin' off for Ann!”

The cat hissed, and Ryuji fired back. Ann smothered her face in her palm. Makoto gave Ren an exhausted look.

“They're always like this, aren't they?”

“Yeah.” Ren's answer was flat and equally tired. “Like I said, get used to it.” He faced the group, spoke over Ryuji's one-sided argument. “Let's get out of here and debrief at Leblanc. We've still got a lot to go over.”

Ryuji's mood brightened. “Hell yeah we do. I wanna see what's in that case.”

By the wall, Kiryu shifted his view again, enough to see past Yusuke's lanky frame at what Makoto held over her knees. It was a large security briefcase, silver, evidently heavy from the way Makoto shifted it in her hands.

How could they...we just left...there was no one else there...

“Let's go, then.” Ren beckoned his friends to follow. His cat slipped its head away while the teens filed in behind: Makoto close by, followed by Ann and Yusuke, with Ryuji and his bow-legged strut in the back. They turned north towards the main entrance to the Station. Soon, only Yusuke's head could be seen bobbing over the evening rush.

Kiryu fell back, suddenly short of breath. It had to be a mistake. He missed the context, they were talking about someone else, it was all for a play they were rehearsing. Dozens of rational explanations shot by, and raced away just as quickly when they confronted the answer he knew was right.

Why else would Kamoshida be the first target? Why else would they casually mention waiting on Madarame? Why else would they be scouting out Kaneshiro's hideout a week before that inexplicable “episode” that brought him down, after he received that card?

Kiryu let his head hit the wall. He closed his eyes. Fear, confusion, betrayal, concern roiled inside him, finding no release for as hard as they churned. When his eyes opened, he looked up at the strip of orange-colored sky between the canyon of the wide alley. As the push of the city passed him by, Kiryu only asked himself, emptily:

I didn't give them the idea, did I?

It can't be my fault, can it?

What have I done?

---------------------------

July 1st, 2017

Shinjuku, Tokyo

“I read the news maybe 12 times and I still can't believe it.”

“Yeah...”

“All that crap about how much his outfit was worth, then one fainting spell and he's spilling his guts, crying, begging for forgiveness. Doesn't make sense...”

“That's what Kamoshida and Madarame did too, right?”

“Sure was. Whoever those 'Phantom Thieves' are, they get results, whatever they do.”

“So you believe in them now?”

“You saw that card same as me, Kiryu, and apparently there were a ton more scattered up the street that afternoon. Unless it's all a coincidence, there's a connection. Might as well start believing, and staying on their good side...”

“...”

“Pretty sure they're shifting any heat off of us, anyway. Cops found signs of our fight, but the report pins it on the Thieves.”

“Why? That's not how they've worked before.”

“Yeah, but remember, the media's got it in for them. Some talking heads are even trying to blame them for those 'shutdowns' a few months back. Guess whoever owns the papers doesn't want to get shown up by some vigilantes, especially right before election time.”

“Yeah, of course...how is Sky doing now?”

“Graciously, I can say we're open for business. The most that held us up was when the police finally showed up.”

“Did they ask anything about the night at Kaneshiro's?”

“Nah. Just some stuff to corroborate with the big man's confession, details about the attacks, the stalking, most of what I told you. Looks like this'll all blow over soon.”

“Good, I'm...glad to hear it.”

“...I really couldn't have done it without you, Kiryu. Once again, I'm in your debt.”

“Were you ever out of it?”

“Ha! Jackass...so, I guess you'll be leaving ASAP. You gonna sneak away like you used to, or do you want me to see you off? Either way, I don't mind, just let me know.”

“...Akiyama, I'm staying. For now.”

“...”

“This business with the Phantom Thieves...I think there's something behind it all. Their targets, the way they operate, the reaction they've gotten, it doesn't feel random.”

“You're hung up on that 'him' Kaneshiro mentioned.”

“That's part of it. But I know there's something I'm not seeing, and I couldn't go home without learning what.”

“Well, if it's like that, I can look into it for you. God knows I've got ti--”

“No. I want to handle it, personally. Though, I may need your help.”

“But...what about Haruka?”

“...she's...she's been telling me to leave the house more. We get plenty of local volunteer work, so they don't need me around all the time. As long as I stay clear of the Families, she shouldn't worry.”

“And are you sure you will?”

“...I'll try to.”

“...still no use arguing with you, huh? Fine. Apartment's still yours, as long as you want it. Whenever you need another set of eyes or ears, shoot me a line. I'm your guy.”

“I know, and...thank you. If you don't mind, I need to make another call, so...”

“Got it. See you around, and...tell her I said 'hi'.”

Akiyama hung up. Kiryu gathered himself before choosing the name further down his contacts list. His heart thudded in the seconds before the call was picked up.

“...hi. I was waiting for you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I've been busy up here.”

“How did everything go with Mr. Akiyama? Is he ok?”

“Everything's fine. We sorted it out. He says hello.”

“Did it go...quietly? No one...'noticed' you?”

“The Families weren't involved. It was smaller than that, just...a little annoying.”

“That's a relief. So...when should we expect you back?”

“About that...”

“...there's something else, isn't there?”

“...yes.”

“Can you say what it is?”

“Not...yet.”

“Does it have to do with...what happened in April?”

“...sort of. Maybe. I'm not sure...”

“Will it be dangerous?”

“I don't know yet. If it gets bad, I'll have Akiyama helping me.”

“...how long will you be gone?”

“...I don't know. As long as I need.”

“...”

“I'm sorry to spring this on you, Haruka. I wouldn't be staying unless I absolutely ha--”

“Hey. I'm not mad, Uncle Kaz. Other people can need your help more than we do, and if you say it's important, I trust you. As long as you're careful...I promise I won't worry. Too much...”

“Hm. Thanks. I'll try to be back as soon as I can.”

“We'll be here when you get back, like always.”

“...I know. Before I go, can I ask you to mail up some things? I'll send you a list.”

“Of course. I'll get on it first thing tomorrow...will you need your garment bag?”

“...I might.”

“I'll send it too. Just in case.”

“...I'll try to call every few days. Let me know if how things are at home when you get a chance.”

“Sure. Maybe send a souvenir once in a while? We'd like that.”

“I'll try. Well...good night, Haruka.”

“Good night, Uncle Kaz. Be safe.”

“I will.”

“...I love you.”

Kiryu listened for any last words. He heard her breathing, faintly, for a few solitary seconds, then the phone beeped. She'd hung up.

He set his phone on the nearby table, and sank, exhausted, into the rough, lumpy armchair that faced the sliding door to the balcony of Akiyama's borrowed apartment. The view from the 2nd floor was boxed in by the buildings across the alley, limiting him to the dented trash cans and glowing vending machines down below. Kiryu still looked up and out. Beyond the alley, over the rooftops, Tokyo was there, thrumming and pulsing into the night. And somewhere in that complex of concrete and metal were the five people he was staying for.

Kiryu rubbed his temples. The last week had filled his head with pestering, baffling questions, drowning every incidental thought like a buzzing swarm. He thought of Ren and his friends, all earnest and pleased to see him, but hiding the truth the whole time. How much of what he saw was real, and how much was a trick to throw him off their trail?

He remembered Kaneshiro, and whatever method had been used to knock him out under their noses. What kind of equipment could students have? How skilled were they at this “work”?

He recalled the wannabe boss's rant. Who was the “him” who looked down on him? What kind of operation relied on an independent blackmailer, lower than a lieutenant in a bottom-tier Family? What “others” were involved?

If that was more than bluster, and Kaneshiro had said more than he'd meant, what exactly was Kiryu pulling himself into? Did he really know the risks at stake?

Did Ren?

Dropping his hands into his lap, Kiryu stared through the plate glass, resolute.

I've got a lot of work ahead of me...

I hope I can help them...I have to...

If I can't...how can I say I'm better than the ones I fight?

He flatly asked the alley outside, and in lieu of an answer felt the whole city looking back, taunting him with all the mysteries it held: distractions, challenges, unforeseen dangers, old wounds to carve open.

Kiryu already knew this was going to be a long stay.

Chapter Text

July 3rd, 2017

Shibuya, Tokyo

Kiryu, eyes narrowed, faced his target. He cracked his neck side-to-side, then followed with his knuckles, left and right. His shoulders bounced loosely, finding the balance between tensed and relaxed. Deliberately, his right foot slid back, planted at an angle. Back arched, he raised his fists.

Alright...let's go.

A fierce right jab shot into the padded ball; a sharp *SMACK!* echoed through the empty gym. The ball rolled back, the ropes holding it went taught, and it snapped forward. Kiryu imagined a wild swing into his chest. He slid right, hit the ball with a quick 1-2. Its direction changed, but it swung towards him again. Sliding to the center, he met it with a right hook. He fell into a rhythm, touching the ball only when it was parallel with the frame, resetting its momentum with each blow. Every so often he'd let it hang as he shifted his torso, dodging pretend strikes one way or the other, always following up with another strike.

Each strike echoed through the empty gym, a tiny loft in a side alley off Central Street. Only the smell of stale sweat accompanied Kiryu as he jabbed and danced. Walking in, he'd been unimpressed, though he hadn't expected much. The sparse equipment looked “well-used”, to be generous: tarnished weights and rickety treadmills, and a splintered martial arts dummy inexplicably in the corner. But for the door price it was acceptable and, above all, private. His only complaint was that the ball was hung for someone shorter and forced him to punch lower than usual, making his shoulders ache from stooping. Beyond that, it would suit him for now.

Still...

He already missed the fresh ocean breeze, the waves washing on the shore. Sand and surf splashing under his feet, firm enough to spring him forward. The stocky, round-headed boy keeping pace with him; he'd smile up, and Kiryu smiled back. And when the run was over, the girls sitting on the back steps in the morning, waving as the two of them crested the dunes...

One last *SMACK!*, and Kiryu left the ball hanging. He rolled his stiff shoulders, breathing hard but even. Crossing an arm over his chest, he wrapped the other over and pulled it close in a long stretch. Though his brow was furrowed and damp, he smiled, wistfully.

Don't get lonely without me, Taichi...

“Be careful if ya go for another round,” someone called from behind. “Management'll get pissed if ya snap those ropes.”

Kiryu raised an eyebrow. He knew that voice; last time he'd heard it, it had gleefully mentioned opening a suspicious silver briefcase...

He turned around, and close to the entrance he found a skinny teenage boy in a teal sleeveless tee, muted by proximity to his short-cropped, electric yellow hair. The boy took a hand out of his shorts pocket and waved lazily.

“Yo!” Ryuji said brightly. “Didn't expect to see ya around!”

Kiryu turned back to the ball, switching arms across his chest.

Of all the luck...

I can't let him find out I heard them...not until I know more.

“Oh, well...” The unsuspecting Phantom Thief sounded deflated. “Sorry if I'm buggin' ya. Sundays usually ain't busy, so I didn't expect anyone...”

Kiryu's mouth dipped into a tiny frown; a twinge of guilt nipped at him. Being rude to the boy wasn't worth staying inconspicuous. Besides, keeping quiet would only look stranger.

“It's no problem,” he said, still facing away. “I won't be much longer.” He sent a slow straight into the ball, kissing it with his knuckles.

“Oh...alright, cool. No biggie.” Ryuji still seemed uneasy, furtive.

Did they figure out what happened at Kaneshiro's?

“Hey, uh,” the boy spoke up, “not to backseat, but ya might be better off with that heavy bag there.”

Kiryu glanced at the large battered cylinder hanging opposite the ball, currently wearing his coat. “I tried it, but I wanted something that...moved more.”

“Yeah, I saw all that jukin' and weavin' and stuff. It's just...those things weren't built for the...heavy hitters, y'know?”

..."heavy hitters"?

Kiryu inspected the links holding the ropes to the frame. They looked bent, warped by use. Or force.

I didn't do all that...did I?

Thankful no one else was around to notice, he backed away from the ball.

“So, what else d'ja have planned?” Ryuji, in the middle of his own stretches, asked glibly.

“Don't really know,” Kiryu said. “To be honest, I don't come to places like these often.”

Ryuji, his left leg tucked behind his back, nodded. “You do stuff at home then? Aerobics, free weights, that sorta thing?”

“I...guess.” Most of the favors he did around town back home needed his muscles, so in a way that made up for a typical workout. “I don't have any real regimen.”

“Figured ya did, the way you hit.” Ryuji grinned, swung his leg down, kicking it in and out. “Well, if you're lookin' for an easy start, try one o' those.” He pointed at the row of treadmills in front of a wall-length mirror. “It's lower impact than outdoors runnin'. Concrete can do some shit to your joints if you ain't careful.” He hopped on one of them, hit a button on the panel at the top, and started a moderate jog as the treads whirred. His pace was steady, but his right leg still bowed out the same as when he walked.

Kiryu watched him run, and considered his choices.

It's risky getting this close, especially this early on.

But it may be a while before I get another chance like this.

And they might get caught before then...

Casually, Kiryu climbed on the next machine, keeping Ryuji in the corner of his eye. He scanned the array of buttons with worn letters.

So...which one did he press?

“Up arrow, right there.” Ryuji pointed, then resumed swinging his arms. “Shouldn't hafta touch anything else 'til you're done.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Kiryu tapped the little arrow. The belt began to move, and he followed Ryuji's lead, jogging at a good pace with the track.

It sped up. He jogged faster.

It accelerated again. He started running.

It wouldn't stop going faster. Kiryu was sprinting at full tilt to keep his feet under him. A loud beep trilled on repeat from the panel; the speed read “MAX”, and it was trying to climb higher. Kiryu felt himself slipping away, unable to reach the front without a burst of speed beyond his limit. He reached out, direly leaned forward to just brush the controls

“Oh! Shit!” Ryuji's hand swung out, mashed the down arrow. The belt ran slower and slower, and Kiryu caught up faster; his stomach slammed into the front of the machine, which kept him from plowing through the mirror..

“God, sorry! Sorry! I forgot that one sticks...”

Kiryu, doubled over, saw Ryuji's sheepish grin, and nodded gratefully.

This is why I don't use these things...

After a break to catch his breath, Kiryu picked himself up, left his treadmill, and migrated to Ryuji's left. Once it was safely tested, he resumed his run.

“That's one problem with a place like this,” Ryuji grunted. “Ya get whatcha pay for.”

“So you come here often?” Kiryu asked, comfortably hitting his stride.

Ryuji nodded. “Home's just a few blocks from here. Real convenient, and they don't rail ya with fees and plans and shit. Just get in, do your sets, get out.”

“Any of your friends use this place?”

“I brought Ren once. We meet up here sometimes, but dude keeps pretty busy, so normally it's just me.”

“What does he do?”

Ryuji paused, looking at the ceiling in thought. “...I dunno. He's got, like, 4 part-time jobs, but if it ain't school he's halfway across the city most days. Guess his guardian gives him a lotta errands.”

“Guardian?”

“Oh, yeah, uh...” Ryuji stuttered. “He...prolly wouldn't want me talkin' about that. Sorta... 'in consequence' stuff, y'know?”

Certain he meant “confidence”, Kiryu filed that mystery atop the growing pile. “I understand,” he replied simply.

“Wouldn't be the first time my big mouth's gotten me in trouble, let me tell ya.” Ryuji shook his head ruefully, grinning from the right side of his face.

Kiryu distinctly remembered who'd gotten his attention the other day.

I'll say...

“Oh man, another thing, there's no shower here. That...that gets gross.”

“I bet.”

“I mean, I don't give a damn most o' the time. Long as ya wipe stuff down after, it's no big deal.”

“Sure, sure...”

“But...geez, some dudes you see here just freakin' reek! Like, yo man, body spray or somethin' 'fore you go out! Breakin' a sweat shouldn't mean everyone else has gotta smell your ass!”

“...huh.” Kiryu would have guessed the smell of the place was typical of gyms. But in any case...

I think I've gotten as much as I can from him. He might be a wanted criminal, but he's still a teenager.

Their run continued uneventfully; both machines turned at the same speed, out of mistrust of the buttons in Kiryu's case. After about two miles each, they slowed and came to a stop.

“Hey,” Ryuji said after a swig from his water bottle. “Nice form up there. You do distance runnin'? Track?”

“No. Just a mile or two most days.” It struck Kiryu how informed the boy became when talking about exercise.

“Well, keep it up, man. You're doin' good for an older guy.”

“...thanks.” Kiryu chose to take that as a compliment. “It was good to see you. And thanks for the...help.” He glared at the machine that had almost sent him sprawling.

“No prob. Maybe, uh...maybe I'll see ya again sometime.”

Kiryu thought. A stable connection to the Thieves was more than he'd hoped for at this stage. “...yeah, maybe,” he answered.

Best to play it safe and ambiguous in case he suspects me.

Ryuji's chest puffed slightly; he stood a little straighter. “Yeah...yeah! Great! Cool!” He grinned, a little too eager.

Kiryu squinted, but ignored the strange response. He grabbed his jacket, gave Ryuji a polite smile, and made for the door.

Not a bad start. I hope my luck keeps up...

“Uh, h-hey...”

Kiryu stopped. “Yeah?”

“Uh, well...it's just...” He could hear Ryuji fidgeting behind him. “I kinda had a sort of...favor to ask. And, y'know, I did...help ya out...so if ya wanted to pay me back...”

Kiryu closed his eyes. Was the boy making his move now?

“What is it?” Kiryu gripped the handle tightly, preparing for a quick exit as he turned.

He was not prepared to see the young man bent in a deep bow, perfectly parallel to the floor. His face was pinched with apprehension, seconds from bursting.

“Sh-show me how to fight!” He burst.

--------------------------

“Ten minutes, that's all! Just fill me in on the basics!”

“No. And please stop following me?”

Ryuji didn't, and hadn't since about ten seconds after Kiryu had left Protein Lovers. Just as he was wishing he'd rejected the offer more gently, the boy burst out of the stairwell, out of breath and on his trail. Several minutes later, he kept at it, amending his offers while Kiryu tried everything short of sprinting away to shake him off. Whichever turn he made, whatever crowd he cut through, Ryuji plowed along like a harmless but frustratingly yappy little dog. Everywhere they went, pedestrians looked their way; under Ryuji's pleas, Kiryu could hear the gossip they were beginning to spin.

He's drawing too much attention. I need to stop this...

Kiryu spun around and approached his pursuer; the latter's renewed enthusiasm dulled when Kiryu's tired, drawn expression closed in.

“Could you at least stop yelling?” Kiryu asked. “You'll get us both arrested.”

Ryuji finally noticed the crowd he'd drawn around them. “O-oh...” He gulped. Kiryu sighed, and firmly pulled him towards an alley. No one followed; realizing the show was over, the onlookers returned to their business.

At the mouth of the alley, Kiryu let him go. Ryuji slumped against the wall. He rubbed his elbow and pointedly avoided Kiryu's eyes.

“...do you always act like this when you get an answer you don't like?” Kiryu asked sternly; Ryuji raised his shoulders, then let them droop. “I already told you why not. I just don't have time to be someone's mentor.”

“...I know.” Ryuji spoke into his chest.

“There's dozens of trainers you could go to. Why does it have to be me?”

Ryuji fidgeted. He crossed and uncrossed his arms, shifted his feet.

“'cause...”

A strip across the middle of his face burned. His lips pursed and twitched, like he was rolling an unpleasant taste over his tongue. Finally, looking as high as a spot on Kiryu's jaw, he spat it out.

“...'cause you're so cool, man...”

Ryuji seemed to shrivel as the words left him; he grimaced and covered his face. Kiryu just stared.

“...what?”

“Y'know...” Ryuji mumbled. “You...ya don't take shit from people, 'specially not dicks like Kamoshida...” He spat the name at the pavement. “No one else gave a damn 'bout what he was doin', they just let it happen. Then, you come in and just...knock him on his ass, let 'im know he ain't hot shit. It was...” He wrestled against the smile trying to take control of his face. “It was freakin' awesome...!”

“Oh no...” Kiryu grumbled.

“And the other week with Kaneshiro, that was just...none'a them wanted to touch you. And when that bastard was talkin' shit, you just...Bam!” He punched his palm, beaming.

“I know. I was there.”

“Well...yeah, sure...but I never saw anythin' like that before! I thought that stuff only happened in movies! And, I...” He waved his hand in a spiral, trying to pull together more choice words. He gave up; his hand rested on his hip. “...you can't learn that stuff from just some trainer. It's gotta be someone who's been...'in it', y'know? And, well...” He pointed at Kiryu, as if that solidified his point.

Kiryu looked at him pityingly. As if enabling them to become outlaws couldn't become worse...

“I just wanna...try out your thing.” Ryuji straightened up and smiled wide. “So, how 'bout it?”

Kiryu studied him up and down, and quietly cursed him for looking so damned earnest. Nothing about him suggested risk or danger, only an annoying eagerness set to max with the lever broken off. Kiryu slouched and heaved a sigh.

It's a wonder the Phantom Thieves haven't been caught yet if they can be as blunt as him.

Still, might be another good opportunity. It looks like he's got a lot to learn too...

“Have you done any sparring before?” Kiryu asked.

“Some scraps when I was a kid,” Ryuji replied. “Not much else.”

“...ok. I have do time to give you some pointers. But,” he cut in the instant Ryuji started to punch the air, “you follow me exactly. There's a method to my...'thing', and you won't learn if you skip the right steps. Got it?”

Ryuji nodded vigorously. “Oh, y-yeah. Totally! All the way! Whatever you want, aniki!”

Kiryu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright...first step: don't call me that.”

“O-oh,” Ryuji balked. He bowed remorsefully. “S-sorry...”

Parting from the wall, Kiryu gestured for him to follow. They left the alley and merged into the street, the crowd having grown thicker since they'd stopped. Though Kiryu's back was turned, in his periphery he saw the boy fist-pump as they headed off, with a distinct whisper of 'Hell yeah!' creeping from behind. Kiryu rolled his eyes to the overcast sky.

This had better be worth it...

------------------------

“First, show me your stance.”

Ryuji shuffled his feet, then spread them apart in a straight line. He hunched over, halfway between a boxer and a martial artist. His hands guarded his face with his elbows pinned to his sides, shrinking him down. He wore a sneer that couldn't decide if it was fearsome or clownish. Altogether, he'd obviously gathered his impression of a fighting stance from movies instead of real fighters.

“That's...not quite it.” Kiryu sighed.

Finding a clear spot to train in the growing Sunday rush had been tricky. The parking lots were crowded, and the public parks were all occupied, leaving them open to prying questions. With every spot they had to pass up Kiryu quietly hoped his “student's” interest would fade and he'd leave him be. Regrettably, the boy's enthusiasm held and held tight; he was as eager to begin when they found an empty, out-of-the-way park as he had been when he'd burst out of the stairwell.

If only his form was as strong...

Kiryu stood next to him. “Try this,” he said. Back straight, he put his arms up, right fist at jaw level, left at his waist. His shoulders and his feet copied each other: right back, left forward. He bounced slightly on his left while his right foot anchored him to the ground, cocked at an outward angle. He appeared tense but flexible, solid and fluid at once.

“Leaves you kinda open, doesn't it?” Ryuji said.

“I usually don't worry about defense,” Kiryu answered. “Moving is your best option to avoid an attack, and I've found this pose keeps you the most mobile without sacrificing force. If you do have to block, do this.” He slid his right arm over his face and crossed it with his left. “With practice you can put it up quick and return a blow.” He returned to his base stance, snapped to a block, and fired off a straight right, all in a second. Ryuji watched intently.

“Don't rely too much on blocking, either, “ Kiryu continued. “It might protect you, but if it gets broken your opponent can make up for it while you recover.” Then Kiryu caught what he was saying, and added, “Just keep that in mind, though. Don't...practice on anyone.”

“Ok.” Ryuji nodded, and tried to copy Kiryu's pose. “Right goes here...no, wait, left, left up here, then right foot in the back...” He muttered.

When he'd found the correct stance, Kiryu looked him over. He was standing as he should, particularly well for a beginner, but the right leg fought to stay straight. It wavered, looked ready to buckle.

“You can reverse it if you're uncomfortable,” Kiryu said.

“Nah, s'fine.” Ryuji's tone couldn't disguise the slight strain in his voice, or how he grit his teeth between words. “I'm right-handed anyway.”

“...fine. Now, show me a punch, as strong as you can.”

Ryuji obediently took his stance, balled up his right fist. Leaning back, he threw his body forward, swinging his fist in a wide sideways arc. He skipped forward a few steps before catching his balance and standing upright. He looked up proudly.

“...are your fists hammers? Is that why you swing them?”

Ryuji shrugged. “It feels like they hit harder when I do that.”

“Maybe, but you won't hit anything without more control. Watch.” In the same stance, Kiryu readied his own fist. He cocked his right shoulder back, then lurched forward as he straightened his arm. His fist moved in a perfect line the entire time; Ryuji felt the air push aside as it shot forward and stayed.

“Force doesn't come from the arm. It comes from back here.” He patted his forward shoulder. “Your arm is like a spear, if you want to get old-fashioned. It stays straight all the way to impact. Hit something with your wrist at an angle, you'll hurt yourself when the force bounces back. Brace it with your body, and it'll feed back into you.” He let his arm fall to his waist. “Do you understand?”

Ryuji nodded, though he seemed puzzled, doing mental calculations of force and speed. “How much fightin' does it take to figure that out?”

Kiryu's face turned dour. “Enough. Any amount is too much.” He stepped back. “So, give it a few tries. I'll watch your form.”

Ryuji took a few weak practice jabs, coordinating the right motion. Taking his stance, he bounced in place, shook out his dominant arm. He twisted his torso, tensed up, and drove his arm ahead. It took on less of an arc this time.

“Not bad. Don't lean so much. You'll lose control of your arm.”

He tried again; same motion, same result. He threw the punch too hard, and it sent him further ahead. His right leg tensed again. Ryuji hissed as he returned to the base stance.

“...you can bend your legs more if you need to. And slow down. This isn't a--”

Ryuji threw another punch, even stronger. His torso angled, his body jerked, and his right leg stretched out, completely straight.

That was its limit.

“Gah!” Ryuji exclaimed. His right leg folded under. Arms flailing, he hopped on his left to give him time to stabilize. There was none; his upper body tipped him over, his left foot slipped out from him, and the whole lanky, sweaty mass of him came crashing into the dirt. By the time Kiryu was by his side, he was rolling off the ground into a defeated sit.

“What happened?” Kiryu asked. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I'm fine.” Ryuji groaned, massaging his right knee. “I got greedy. This happens a lot.”

“...the bench might be more comfortable.”

“Nah. It'll hurt like a son-of-a-bitch gettin' over there. Gimme a few minutes down here, I'll be good.”

Ryuji rubbed his knee with practiced hands, nothing to show discomfort but an occasional wince from a sore spot. Watching him work, a string of points fell into place for Kiryu.

I should've known from how he walked...

He sat down next to Ryuji; he scooted over to make room, but said nothing. They sat there in the dirt, aware of how strange this tense scene looked, and thankful the city was passing by their little corner without questions.

“You...broke it, right?” Kiryu asked eventually, bluntly.

Ryuji stopped his hands. “...it was broken. Someone else did it.”

“Who? And why?”

Ryuji flicked his eyes to Kiryu, dull but still lethal, like a rusty knife. “You met him...”

It took Kiryu a moment to understand. “...you mean, Kamoshida?”

Ryuji nodded; he resumed his kneading and prodding. “...yep. I was the guy dumb enough to pick a fight with 'im. He got away with it too, 'cause he could chalk it up to 'self-defense'.”

“When was this?”

“Late last year. He was coach of the track team when he first got to Shujin, but he wanted to show off with volleyball instead of run with the rest of us grunts.” He gave a melancholy smile. “Lucky for him, their risin' star was...a dumb punk he could rile up to do somethin' stupid, and give him the in to blackball the whole damn team. No more track, no more...scholarships...” He gripped his kneecap, digging into the skin. “Just what King Shithead wanted.”

“...what did he say? To get you that mad?”

Ryuji's grip slackened. His hand slid off his knee and into his lap. “...he raked up shit about my mom...bullied one of the other guys into spreadin' it 'round the whole school. An' he said it to my face, too...” He sighed. “My mom's a freakin' saint, man. Doesn't deserve half o' what she deals with, an'...an' she had to apologize to him, for her screw-up of a son...” His head bowed, his chin level his knees. He stared glumly at his sneakers.

Kiryu looked at him, slumped like a question mark and bearing loads of guilt; all concerns of the duplicitous Phantom Thief vanished. “Do you regret fighting him?”

Ryuji listened, and gave a small shrug. “Like that? A little...I just...get pissed, y'know? It's like, everywhere ya look there's bastards like him. Guys who got all this money, or power, or whatever, and think it makes 'em better than everyone, means they can step on everyone else, do what they want...I can't stand it. An' I never wanna be the guy standin' like a jackass when I know one of 'em's doin' somethin' bad.” He shook his head. “Everyone else in the freakin' school did...”

“Except Ren.”

“Well, yeah. He...listened when I told him 'bout Kamoshida, an' he wanted to help, 'cept there wasn't much we could do on this side...”

“'This side'?”

“Ah...” Ryuji's eyes jolted open. “Y-y'know, as students. No one else listened, 'cept...you.”

Kiryu was silent for a moment. “...I see. So, that's what made me so 'cool'?”

“Aw, c'mon...ya know what I mean...” He hid his face, but not his burning ears.

Kiryu cocked his head back and mulled. This was all more than he was expecting to take in this morning.

I told myself to be careful...but I really don't feel like he's lying.

Is this what inspired them?

“So,” he said, turning his face to Ryuji, “even with your leg, you want to take on men like Kamoshida...” He struggled with a considerate way to end that thought, then gave up.

Slowly, Ryuji sat up, and looked him in the eye. If Kiryu doubted his sincerity so far, the boy's stare banished that doubt. “Yeah. S'like why I got back to exercisin' like I used to. If I let my leg stop me, even if he's locked up, he wins. I almost let him win once...” His brown eyes darkened. “...don't wanna do it again.”

From the street, conversations rambled, barkers cried. The pulse of the city thrummed by as the two sat on the ground, thinking through what had been said. Kiryu stared skyward at the light gray sheet, dotted with patches of pure, gleaming white. “Then,” he said, “you want to get stronger to keep him from winning.”

“...I guess so. I...wasn't strong enough to take him on, so I thought you could help.”

Kiryu closed his eyes. “I'm not sure I can do much.” The corners of his mouth rolled up. “I think you're already strong.”

“H-huh?”

“You were strong enough to stand up for someone you loved. You kept yourself moving ahead after losing something important. You kept fighting against an evil man when no one else would speak out. In spite of your setbacks, you still want to stand for justice, as hard as that is, because it's right, and nothing will convince you to stop. Across all the people I've met, that was the strength that meant the most.” Faces flashed before his mind's eye. His smile deepened, turned nostalgic for a moment. Kiryu collected himself, and that look was lost. “But they found it themselves. People helped them along the way, but they had to walk that path alone in the end.”

I know I did...

“Wherever you think you stand, I believe you have what it takes to reach the end by your own power. You've shown me that much.”

Kiryu opened his eyes. He expected Ryuji to be skeptical, forcing back laughter at this old man with his hokey wisdom. He wouldn't blame the boy, though he'd be annoyed by it.

Instead...

Ryuji seemed...stunned. He blinked dumbly at his sneakers, his arms hung over his knees, and his mouth flapped wordlessly, letting out strangled attempts at words.

“Are you alright?”

“Um...ah, yeah,” he finally sputtered, shaking his head with a laugh. “I just...didn't expect that kinda answer...”

“I can't be the only one who's told you something like that.”

“Oh, no, not at all. Mom always says it, and Ren, too, sometimes.” He cocked his head to the side. “...I always thought...she said it like a 'Mom' thing, make me feel better, an' Ren's like that with everyone, he always knows what to say...but when you say it, then...” He sighed, shaking his head. “I dunno...I kinda feel like it's more...true.”

“Then prove us right,” Kiryu affirmed, “and make it true.”

Ryuji looked up, daunted, as if a mountain had dropped from above for him to climb. But soon...

He grinned. “Yeah...I'll do it.” He said with a firm nod.

“But don't forget.” Kiryu added warningly. “You're not at the end yet. Men like Kamoshida will still have an advantage over you if you let them control you like he did. Resisting that is one of the greatest strengths you can have. Once you work on it...” He thought briefly, weighed his responses.

“...I'd be willing to pick up this lesson where we left it.”

Ryuji's ears perked up. A touch of that puppy attitude rushed back. “For real...?!”

“If I'm still around, sure. Just be careful until then. You don't help anyone if you get into fights you could've avoided.”

Ryuji rocked his head back and forth, positively shining despite the warning. “Alright...great!” Kiryu watched him, faintly amused.

If it makes him a little more cautious...it's the best I can do for now.

Kiryu pushed himself up, and pulled Ryuji to his feet, minding his leg. The boy brushed off his shorts, and smiled up at him, gratefully. Kiryu, subtly, smiled back.

I feel bad wishing I could've learned more about the Thieves, but...

“Uh, listen,” Ryuji said; that strip over his nose was burning again. “We ain't too far from a good ramen joint I know. You...might wanna get some carbs in after a workout, an' they got great pickled garlic...” He trailed off to a whisper.

Hmm...this could be another chance...

Or...it could just be lunch.

“I'm still free,” Kiryu answered. “It'll be my treat.”

“What? No, no, nonono! You nuts? I ain't lettin' you pay! That's like...payin' Buddha for that mountain speech or whatever!”

Kiryu had no idea what he meant. “We'll settle this when we get there.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ryuji thrust out his chest, “after I pay.”

Somewhat haughtily, Ryuji strutted to the street. Heaving a sigh, Kiryu followed him. They smoothly merged into the heavy crowd. Soon, Ryuji's attitude settled; he hunched over and slipped back into his bow-legged walk.

“I'm wonderin', though...”

“About what?”

“If that 'control' thing is a big deal, why'd you let Kaneshiro have it like that?” It was an innocent question, no barbs intended. “I mean, I get why, but...y'know...”

“...right. I did let him get to me...” Kiryu envisioned that round, gloating face, spraying disgusting bile about the light of his life, felt the sting of that urge to hurt. He imagined himself smaller, weaker, still burning with that same fury. He hummed soberly.

“I suppose...I'm still walking my path too...”

Chapter Text

July 6th, 2017

Chiyoda City, Akihabara, Tokyo

Rain doused the Electric City, a thick pelting rain from a dull iron sky. Torrents lashed every surface, driving people under store awnings and doorways. They hid for comfort's sake as well; the rain hadn't smothered the summer heat. It splashed onto the ground, the well-baked bricks steamed, and the whole plaza became a muggy swamp, the air as clingy and dense as a sauna working overtime. Everyone was grateful for a breath of air conditioning, and their wallets endured “customers only” rules to prolong it.

Naturally, the store owners around Akihabara Station always appreciated rainy days.

One man, however, didn't. He was trapped under the Station sky-bridge, perspiring like an ice cube. Alone, he watched the glass sheets cascade off the glass and concrete overhead, splattering over the curb. He shuffled to the edge of his shelter, poked his foot into the open, yanked it back, and shook the water from his shoe. Glumly, he leaned back on the pillar under the stairs, checked his watch, looked left and right. He'd be late if he didn't get out soon.

“Here you go.” A deep voice came from beside. “Sorry for the wait.”

The man looked over, and his heart leapt at the umbrella in front of him. “Ah!” He took it in his hands. “Thank you, sir!”

His savior shook his head, water dribbling down the lines of his hard, smiling face. “It was nothing. I hope you're not late for that interview.”

“Oh no, no,” the man replied. He checked his watch again. “I'll have just enough time now.” He embraced the umbrella, his lifeline. He flipped it around, but paused. His eyes ran over the frame. The fabric was thin and battered in spots, a few ribs were bent inward or bowed out.

“Not to sound...ungrateful,” he said slowly, “but was this...used, by any chance? It looks a little...worn?”

The large, damp man blinked. “...it was used, yeah. Basically the only one I could find. Sorry...”

“Ah, no matter.” The umbrella-wielder tested the button; the canopy swished open like new. He propped it against his shoulder, let the shaft roll against his suit jacket. “Anyway, this is the last time I trust a morning forecast, let me tell you!”

The man chuckled. “Well, good luck.”

“Yes, thank you! Thank you very much!” The umbrella man bowed, and boldly walked into the rain. Drops hammered on the plastic, but his body was dry as he splashed away to his future.

Kiryu wiped away the hair pasted to his forehead. Akiyama had questioned the point of scouting this district, and frankly Kiryu wasn't sure of his goal either, beyond keeping his ear to the ground for any word on the Phantom Thieves. Meeting Ryuji the other day had been a break, but he held too many doubts in his luck to believe it alone would carry him through this.

In any case, he'd helped someone by coming here. Unrelated to his mission as it was, it was enough to be satisfied with for now.

Good thing that umbrella didn't get too damaged. It was all I had when those three jumped me.

...I might as well wait here until the rain lets up.

At that moment, something bumped into his back.

“Oh, sorry...” He turned around. Behind him was a teenage boy with a wispy frame. He was soaked head-to-foot; the shirt stuck to his torso made him appear even smaller. Wet hair draped over his eyes, and his head hung low.

He looks familiar...

The boy raised his head. Gloomy black eyes stared from a dismal pale face, barely focused ahead. A light clicked on; his eyes widened, his mouth opened a sliver. “Y-you...” He gasped.

Kiryu squinted. Something about his face, his eyes...where had he seen him?

Then it struck him: that day back in April, there were three boys in Kamoshida's office. One of them was small, pale, quaking and nervous, covered in bruises...

“Oh. Hello again.” Kiryu said plainly. “Mishima, wasn't it?”

Mishima stared. He gulped and dripped silently.

“...you're looking better.” Kiryu tried to fill the awkward void.

“Um...uh...” Mishima fumbled over his own mouth.

“I can give you space if you want.” Kiryu stepped to the side; there was plenty of room for both of them under the bridge.

Mishima didn't move. He only shook harder. His mouth pressed to a small, thin line.

“Is everything okay?”

Please don't hold a grudge...

The boy clenched his fists. He marched a few steps forward, and spun to face Kiryu. Mishima held himself like a tense, diminutive statue, then bent into a 90 degree bow. An arc of droplets flew off him.

“P-please!” He whimpered. “I n-need your help!”

Kiryu flinched. “What?”

“Someone stole my limited edition Blue Swan with the Feather Staff and Down Battler armor, and I spent 25,000 yen pre-ordering it, and it's gone and...and I won't let them get away with it!” His words rattled out like the rain drumming on nearby cars. He opened his eyes, turned his face upwards. “But I, um...” he added, “I...need your help.” Slowly, he straightened. His face flushed. Hissing rain swallowed the silence.

“...sorry, you...lost me,” Kiryu replied. “What are you talking about?”

“It's...Phoenix Ranger Featherman R. Most people just watch the newest one, but I still like the original. I-if you get over the effects it holds up really well...”

“Not that. The thing that was stolen.”

“O-oh, right...it's a new action figure they announced months ago. They made the whole team, too. I couldn't believe they'd care that much about the old show.” A smile lightened his face. “I was lucky to get the last pre-order here.” He pointed across the parking spaces. Facing them was a flat-fronted gray building with tall blue lightning bolts on its edifice. A wall-sized logo above the glass doors declared that it was the “Damashii Union Store”. Posters in the windows showed colorful characters in dynamic poses. Kiryu recognized very few.

That one's a Masked Driver, isn't it? And the newer Featherman teams, maybe? They're more complicated than the ones I remember...

“But...when I came to pick it up...” Mishima's face fell. “...it's not fair...! That was my money! I waited months for it, and some guy thinks he can't take it 'cause he wants it?! That's...that's not fair!” Mishima would've sounded angrier without the puppy-like whine in his voice.

“Calm down, ok?” Kiryu put his hands out. “I don't know what you expect me to do, but I'll help how I can.”

Mishima seemed to relax. “...th-thank you. But, uh...can I come with you? I...want to help, any way I can.”

Kiryu considered him, damp and nervous.

...this shouldn't end up too dangerous. As long as he keeps his distance if things go bad, I don't mind the company.

After Kamoshida, I can't blame him for hating the sidelines...

“I don't see why not,” Kiryu said. “Just don't get overexcited if trouble comes up. Deal?”

Mishima nodded. “Yeah. Deal.”

“Ok...” Kiryu turned to the store; the rain was finally petering out. “Let's start here. We can ask questions about the robbery. Someone might've seen something.”

“A-alright!” Mishima's scrawny frame swelled proudly. “Birds of a Feather...” He raised his left fist and thrust it at Kiryu. “...Shine Together!” He spoke with hearty, boisterous courage and a heroic gleam in his eye. They were undercut by the hair stuck to his eyebrows, and the rain dripping down his face.

Kiryu stared at him grimly. “...let's go.” Already exhausted, he walked into the soggy, steaming plaza. The rapidly-deflating young man trudged behind, sneakers squishing, and his face turning a yet-unseen shade of crimson.

--------------------------

“I told you what I told him. And our refund policy for pre-orders was very clear!” The surly cashier glowered at Mishima. The boy glared back and faced the displays opposite the register.

“We just want anything else you know,” Kiryu said. He had the urgent wish to leave with whatever info they could get; the display lights and endless promo loops were already giving him a headache.

“And you got it,” the cashier replied, flicking dust off his blue company shirt. “The figure wasn't here when we did inventory this morning. Last night's sheets counted it before they closed, so whoever took it must've come during the night. Now you know everything.”

“But that makes it a break-in. Why open the store after that?”

“If the guy took a truckload of figures, we'd have to allow an investigation. Since they only took one, we can write it off as a loss. Nothing worth freaking out over.”

“Did they find anything in the storeroom? Any sign of how they broke in?”

The cashier squinted. “Why should I tell you? You're not cops. If that's all, please move along. We have customers to serve.”

“I am a customer!” Mishima whined.

“Yeah?” The cashier leaned over his counter; Mishima shrank away. “Then buy another one we don't have, or get lost. There's shops all over this district. If you want the figure so bad, bother them.”

Mishima blustered. Without a coherent word he walked around Kiryu and out the door. Kiryu frowned. “Thank you,” he said dryly. “You've been helpful.”

The cashier was looking away, into the store; he scratched his ear with a conspicuously-raised middle finger. Kiryu sighed and left the building. The humidity smacked into him the moment he crossed the threshold. Patches of sun were breaking through the lightening clouds. Mishima stood on the curb. He was looking at the nearest intersection, into the district.

“Where do we go from here?” Kiryu asked.

Mishima's brows furrowed, dark eyes narrowed and beady. “...another store...” He mumbled.

“What about it?”

“I remember...last week I saw a comment online. Another shop in this district was robbed. It wasn't anything big, just...one figure.”

“Same robber, you think?”

“It's worth checking, anyway. Where else can we go?”

“Good point...” Kiryu smiled. “...and good thinking, too. Find that store, if you can.”

As Mishima tapped on his phone, he seemed to glow through the dull sheen of his wet clothes.

----------------------

“Craziest thing I've heard of! A whole storeroom to plunder, and they grab one figure from months ago! I had plenty of new releases stocked up for them to swipe! I-I'm not complaining, of course...” The owner anxiously clutched one of her beaded necklaces. She wore a dark sleeveless shirt, contradicting her blonde hair, though her roots showed clearly.

Kiryu hummed. “By any chance, was it a Featherman figure they stole?”

The owner's dyed eyebrows jumped up and down. “Yes, it was. Yellow Owl, part of that throwback series.”

Kiryu and the boy on his right shared a significant glance. Two shops visited, and the same story between them. Thankfully, this witness was more mellow than the last, an abrasive, aggressive lady swathed in pink.

“I'll tell you something else,” the owner continued. “You know that gloomy little shop a block away? Well, Kurata, the owner, is my neighbor, and he tells me the same thing hit him the other day. Come his morning check, he was short one Black Condor. Nothing else, just that.”

“I see...thank you for the information.” Kiryu started to shepherd his companion out of the cramped store.

“...hold on! I just remembered!” The owner ducked under her counter. “Since I didn't think the police would bother really investigating, I never needed to turn this in as evidence.” She re-emerged, and laid a small red scrap between them. “Found it snagged on one of the shelves.”

Kiryu ran it through his fingers, stretched it gently.

It's...spandex? Like something from a costume...

“I hope that helps,” the owner said. “The crime might be small, but I still don't like getting robbed.” She shivered.

“We'll do what we can. Thanks again.” Kiryu nodded curtly, and lead Mishima outside. He forced the clue into the damp pocket of his khakis, and both veered into the flow of foot traffic. The clouds were quickly dissipating, letting the sun dry the city. It sent the humidity climbing, so while the streets were full they were sparsely packed; proximity only worsened the clammy heat.

“So how many is that?” Kiryu asked.

“Counting the shop she mentioned, four,” Mishima answered. “Like we thought, they're completing the set. First Pink Argus, then Black Condor, Yellow Owl, and...” He gave a diminutive grimace. “...my Blue Swan. They'll be after Red Hawk next.”

“If they haven't gotten it already,” Kiryu added.

They turned a corner, and were faced with a ring of people around the entrance of a store further ahead.

Is there some new promotion?

“STAND ASIDE!” A hearty, theatrical voice boomed from the store. The watchers parted, enough for Kiryu and Mishima to see a figure sprint into the open. He was a tall streak of red on the gray sidewalk. The moment he appeared a cloud parted, and a sunbeam lit the spot where he stood. The light shined on his white gloves and boots, sparkled on the gold of his belt, bounced off his gleaming red helmet with a stylized bird's face scowling over a black visor and sculpted silver mouth. While he wheeled left and right, they could see the package he held under his arm: a paper-and-plastic box, carrying an exact miniature duplicate of the strange man.

Red Hawk, leader of the Phoenix Rangers, transported off the screen.

...oh, you're kidding me.

“You!” Mishima called. Red Hawk barely looked his way. He tore down the street, leaving the baffled crowd behind.

“H-hey!” Mishima lurched forward. Kiryu threw out his arm.

“Wait here!” Before the boy could complain, Kiryu dashed off in pursuit. Despite the Ranger's boots, he'd gained significant ground; he was already veering left around the next intersection. Kiryu weaved between the clusters of people, seeming to obstruct him at perfect intervals, left, right, right, left, left. He made the turn at speed, flying into the street. Ahead, Red Hawk's helmet was an unmissable beacon.

Kiryu kicked off. The long straightaway was less crowded, and he soon reached top speed. The helmet bobbed closer and closer; Red Hawk might've had a head start, but Kiryu was faster. The Ranger made another turn, right. Kiryu cut through a small dining patio to close the gap, barreled through plastic chairs and startled shoppers.

“Sorry!” He yelled, vaulting over the patio fence and tearing around the next corner. Red Hawk was much closer, still dashing as fast as his suit would allow.

“STOP!” Kiryu roared. The Ranger shot ahead, and Kiryu followed. Pedestrians cleared the sidewalk and gave them sidelong looks. Several people stuck their heads out from shops to watch the commotion. Mid-sprint, Red Hawk grabbed one by the shoulders, swung him around, and shoved him in Kiryu's way. Kiryu slowed enough to catch him and push him aside, as gently as he could. He focused just in time to see his target slip into another right.

Kiryu charged ahead. He found the turn, the mouth of a narrow alley. Rapid footsteps echoed from ahead. Kiryu slipped inside. It turned frequently, left, right, left, left, right. Trash cans or stacks of milk crates blocked the way. He leapt over them without breaking stride. The air became even closer, and he splashed through dirty puddles as the footsteps drew nearer, and nearer.

After another right turn, Kiryu found Red Hawk, halfway down this new straightaway. A blinding light showed the end of the alley; the Ranger was nearly there. Kiryu shot forward

How much longer can he run?

From the corner of the exit, a small blur flew into the light. The moment Red Hawk left the alley, they collided.

“Ugh!” He toppled out of sight. Kiryu heard a struggle. He ran to the end of the alley, rounded the corner. They'd been spat out in a quieter leg of the district with no one nearby. At his feet, Kiryu found the stolen figure; the box was lightly scuffed but the toy was unharmed. At the edge of the curb, he spied...

...Mishima?

The boy was half-submerged in a puddle and fastened to Red Hawk's waist, splashing and wriggling like a fish that had caught the fisherman. No matter how hard the Ranger tried to tear him off, he refused to let go.

“Give it back!” He growled.

Red Hawk dragged his body backwards. Mishima scrapped against the sidewalk. “Unhand me!” The Ranger cried. He pulled himself up on a signpost. His attacker anchored him to the pavement. “Do not interrupt the execution of justice!”

What is he talking about?

“If you won't let go,” Red Hawk continued, “then I shall use force against you! Prepare yourself!”

Red Hawk raised his hands over his head, knitted his fingers into a tight ball. He readied a downward swing.

“Double Mace Brea--!”

Something darted into view. He checked through the pinholes in his helmet.

It was a fist.

CRACK!

The force drove his head into the post. He went limp and slumped back to the ground. His ears rang, and his face was hot. He winced at the sun streaming into the split that ran up and over the entire helmet. As he fought to kept his head up, a long, broad shadow blotted out the light.

Kiryu shook out his hand. He stooped to help Mishima up.

“How'd you find us so fast?”

“I...I know this district pretty well,” Mishima replied, sweating and red-faced. “That alley was the only way out of that street, and it only had one outlet.”

Kiryu raised an eyebrow. “You were keeping up?”

“W-well, it wasn't that far...”

“...good work.” Kiryu smiled. Mishima flushed a darker red, but Kiryu faced the issue at hand. He kneeled in front of the dazed “hero”. Red Hawk raised his arms, shaking and skinny in the bodysuit. Kiryu slapped them aside.

“Now, no more dress-up...” He wedged his fingers into the crack in the helmet. Plastic creaked in objection. He ripped it open; it snapped apart, and both halves clattered next to the unmasked figure. He threw a hand over his face in the sudden light. His eyes adjusted, and he brought it down, to face his glaring captors. After a long silence, he raised his hand again, to wipe a trickle of blood from his nose on the back of his glove.

“...can I at least change?” He asked weakly.

----------------------

“This is me,” Red Hawk said. He pointed at the gray hatchback in the far corner of the lot. Even after the storm it looked grimy; the windows were streaky and the wheel wells were caked with rust.

“You got from here to the store wearing that without getting noticed?” Kiryu asked. Behind him, Mishima carried the figure in its box.

“I wore this under some clothes on the way out.” Red Hawk tugged his jumpsuit. “I planned to go back for them, but the owner checked his storeroom sooner than expected, and then you guys showed up...” He shrugged. “Ah well. Today's already gone bad enough.”

“You're awfully relaxed right now.”

“I got caught, fair and square. What's the use complaining?” He opened the rear driver's side door, pulled out a pair of track pants. “...can you give me a sec? I promise I won't bolt.”

Kiryu looked away. He elbowed Mishima in the side; the boy copied him.

“I still don't get it,” Kiryu said. “Why steal all these toys?”

“Action figures...!” Mishima hissed. Kiryu ignored him.

Red Hawk, stripped to his underwear, paused with one leg in his pants. “...I made a promise to someone. I wanted to get the full set, but money's kinda...tight right now, so...this was my best choice. I wouldn't have done it if I knew one of them was taken. I'm really, really sorry for that...”

Mishima's mouth thinned and twitched.

“So, the costume...?” Kiryu asked.

“Took it from my last job, one of those live show, meet-and-greet deals. They...caught me scalping tickets on the side.”

“Was that part of your 'execution of justice', too?”

“...no. But that got me to do this. I thought making someone else happy would sorta...tip the scale a little...kinda dumb when I think about it.” He shrugged on a thin track jacket and sat on the edge of his back seat. He took a pair of sneakers out of the car and dropped them on the asphalt.

“You can still tip it back, if you want,” Kiryu said. “None of the owners are too bothered by the thefts. If you return the toys everything should be even.”

“That easy? You sure?”

“It can be. Promise this is the last time you steal, and it will be.”

Red Hawk finished with his laces, and rested his elbows on his knees. He tented his fingers over his mouth. “...I definitely don't want to get hit like that again.”

“I can't promise that won't happen.” A corner of Kiryu's mouth tweaked upward. “But at least you won't get hit for stealing, and certainly not by me.”

Half in the car, Red Hawk mulled. “...I hate to break a promise, though...”

“Make it up to them by living a life they'll be proud of. They'll take more from that than from any toy.”

“I hope they see it like that...” Red Hawk stood and closed the door. Decidedly less impressive-looking, he shuffled to the back of the car. “They're all in here.” He opened the back hatch. Four boxes were stacked next to a bunched-up sleeping bag, almost identical to the one Mishima held.

Mishima gasped. He tossed the Red Hawk box into the car and grabbed one from the stack, wrapped in blue. He cradled it like a newborn.

“There's one,” Kiryu said, a little disturbed by Mishima's enthusiasm.

“Alright.” Red Hawk looked over his haul. “Let's get this over with.”

“Dad?”

A jolt shot through Red Hawk. He looked over his shoulder. “...oh no,” he whispered.

The three turned around. A young boy, no older than 12, watched them from the middle of the lot. Kiryu and Mishima shared a nervous look; the latter stowed his box behind his back.

“H-hey, Kotaro,” Red Hawk said, and forced a smile. “Happy Birthday!”

Kotaro looked at the two strangers flanking his father. “What are you doing?”

“I just,” Red Hawk swiftly shut the hatch, “ran into some friends, and we got to talking. You know how it is...”

“...huh.” The boy blinked. “So...I got your text. What's the surprise?”

Any color left in Red Hawk's face drained past his shoes. “Oh...well, y--well...” He turned to Kiryu. “Help me!” He breathed in a panic. “If he finds out what I did, he'll never speak to me again! His mother won't let me see him!”

Kiryu grimly considered the situation. He'd guessed this was the reason, but he'd hoped they could leave soon and let Red Hawk think of some excuse, before it tangled them up in a sadistic choice. If he let the boy take the toys, he'd be taking stolen goods. Even if they weren't missed, it felt wrong involving a child. But telling the truth could break an already damaged man, and he might never recover. One option remained, the least of the evils, but bitter to consider.

“Just tell him,” Kiryu said slowly, “you don't have anything.”

“B-but...” Red Hawk glanced at his son. “He'll be crushed!”

“As crushed as finding out you stole for him?”

Red Hawk's mouth flapped. He blinked rapidly. Finally, he sighed. “I'm sorry, Kotaro,” he whispered. He faced his son, frowned at his eagerness. “Listen, pal...thing is...”

“Here.”

Mishima swung his arms around and held out the box with Blue Swan. “Your dad was buying it off me.” He gave a shaky smile. “S-surprise!”

Kotaro looked as if the sun had dropped in front of him. He took the box from Mishima, held it like a sacred artifact. “With the Down Battler...and the Feather Staff...I though they were all sold out...!”

“So did I, but...when your dad told me his story, I had to help,” Mishima said. “You like Blue Swan, too?”

“Yeah! He's my favorite!”

“Really?!” A spark fired off in the teen. “Wasn't it great when that one monster infiltrated the team, but Blue Swan was the first to figure it out, so he worked out a plan with the other Rangers to trap--”

Kiryu clapped him on the shoulder. “Not now,” he said coolly.

Doused, Mishima shuffled back. “Uh...y-yeah. He's pretty cool...”

Kotaro continued to eye his gift with unshakable awe. With the same look, he turned to his father. “You remembered...!”

Red Hawk took a shaking breath. “Y-yeah...of course I did! I'd never forget that!” He blinked and squinted; his eyes were turning rheumy. He bent down on one knee. “I might not be able to see you as often as I want, but...I'm still your dad. Even if I don't do some things right, I'll work hard at being a good one for you, one...you can be proud of, always.”

Kotaro lowered the box. With a content smile, he locked eyes with his father. Then, he wrapped his arms around the man's back. “Thanks, Dad...” he said.

Red Hawk was stunned. For a while, he kept silent. Then slowly, delicately, he returned the hug. Over Kotaro's shoulder, he gave Kiryu and Mishima a grateful sidelong glance.

“...Happy Birthday, son...”

They held on long enough for their audience to wonder if they should leave, but at last they reluctantly parted. “I'll see you next Wednesday, yeah?” Red Hawk said. Kotaro nodded, beaming. He pivoted to the pair on the sidelines and bowed.

“Thanks for the gift!” Kotaro said, mainly to Mishima.

Mishima waved it off. “It...it was nothing. And Happy Birthday!” He forced a smile. Kotaro about-faced and trotted out of the parking lot. He turned one last time at the apron, waved to his father, then jogged along the sidewalk, behind the fence, out of sight.

The three waited for him to leave. Red Hawk sighed in relief. “As soon as I get a proper job,” he said to Mishima, “I'll start paying you back. It might never be enough, though...”

“No more stealing, then?” Kiryu asked.

“Nope. I don't need or want to, ever again.”

“Good...then, why don't we let you get started? We'll take the toys back ourselves.”

“You sure?” Red Hawk looked down with a guilty cast. “You won't...let them know it was me?”

“W-we'd never!” Mishima blurted. “'A Ranger's word is as good as...'” He furrowed his brow. “Uh...”

“'...a Ranger's honor.'”

“Right!” Mishima smiled. Then his jaw dropped, and he turned to Kiryu. “Wha--?”

“...I have kids. I've...caught a few episodes...” His time as “Silver Falcon”, mysterious hero of many of Morning Glory's play-fights in years past, was best left off the table.

“I can't thank you enough. You guys gave me more of a chance than I deserved.”

“Just make the most of it,” Kiryu said. “That'll work for us.”

“...sure. I will.” Red Hawk held out his hand. “I'm Ryu, by the way.”

“Call me Kiryu, Ryu.” He took Ryu's hand.

“Heh...a meeting of the dragons, huh?” Ryu passed his hand to Mishima.

“Oh, I'm...Yuuki.” He shook the hand once, wiping the sweat off his palm when he was done.

“See you soon, then. With what I owe you.” Ryu smiled, his stubble bristling. He climbed into his car while Kiryu and Mishima unloaded the boxes from the back. One under each arm, they stepped back as the car coughed and blasted exhaust. It rattled out of its parking space, and Ryu stopped long enough to give them a wave through the windshield before sluggishly three-point-turning out of the lot, and rumbling into the street. They watched his tail-lights dip out of view.

“That was noble, what you did.” Kiryu said.

Mishima sighed. “It was already paid for. Not like these...” He gave a tiny, sad smirk. “What was I gonna do with it anyway? Just prop it up on my shelf and never touch it again, probably. Kotaro looked like he'd actually play with it.”

“You still didn't have to. His father stole it from you. I figured you'd want 'justice'.”

“Yeah, but...” His lips thinned. “...it's not right to say you want justice when you just want revenge. You end up justifying bad things done to people who might not deserve them, all to make yourself feel better over something that didn't matter much.” His shoulders sagged and his head drooped. “I don't wanna be that kind of person...anymore...”

“Did you learn that from Featherman, too?”

“N-no...” Mishima's expression softened. “A...friend helped me understand that.”

“Hmm. Must be a good friend...” Kiryu shifted the boxes under his arms. “Let's get these back where they belong.”

They set out from the lot, now facing the challenge of navigating back to each store in the maze of Chiyoda City. Mishima clumsily fished out his phone to check his map, careful to keep both of his loads to his sides as he did it.

“Good thing you were here today,” he said absently. “This might not have ended so well if the Phantom Thieves got involved....”

Kiryu stopped; Mishima walked flat into his back, and quickly pinned the slipping boxes with his elbows. “Why would they get involved?” Kiryu asked.

Mishima looked at him like he'd just spoken perfect English. “O-oh, you...you believe in them?”

“...I guess so. But what did you mean?”

“You didn't know? People send them requests.”

“Requests? How?”

“It's called the 'Phantom Aficionado Website', or just the Phan-Site. Uh, s-someone came up with it to contact them, in case anyone around the city needs help.”

“Help with...what?”

Mishima shrugged stiffly. “Anything. They choose the requests, but they always see them through. It's a pretty good idea, honestly...”

Direct contact with the Thieves...if there's a log of these “requests” they take in, that means a lot more leads just opened up...

“Did you learn about justice from one of those 'requests'?” Kiryu asked; he suddenly pictured the boy opening up to a pair of cool, appraising gray eyes.

“A-ah...” Mishima balked. “I...I g-guess so, sort of...a-anyway...” He stammered. “I'm glad we worked this out. Ryu might've gotten in worse trouble if we hadn't. So...let's get going!” He spoke rapidly, and finished with an awkward, forced grin. Holding his payload tight, he passed Kiryu at a half-trot. Kiryu followed, and carefully took out his phone, slowly tapping on the keypad as he walked.

Can you get to a computer?

...i have a smartphone

Oh. Right. Anyway, I need you to look into something. I might've found a big lead.

so akihabara was worth checking out huh? that's a surprise

buy any manchild swag? XD

Lay off.

Chapter Text

Pi Pi Pi! Pi Pi Pi!

“Hello?”

“'scuse me, is this Mr. Nakanohara?”

“Y-yes? To whom am I speaking?”

“I'm an independent investigator, just call me Mr. A. You were previously a student of the artist Ichiryusai Madarame, correct?”

“...yes, I was. I'm...sorry, but why call me now? Mas--Madarame was arrested months ago.”

“But based on the reports, no one approached you or anyone close to Madarame after his arrest, right?”

“No, they didn't...but he confessed directly. They didn't need me.”

“Even so, I'm curious about the specifics of his rack--erm, crimes. You'd be a good source of info.”

“What kind of investigation is this for, exactly?”

“Purely personal interest. Rest assured, you'll remain anonymous if anything is published.”

“...I suppose I could share some things...”

“Great. I'll arrange a meetup with an associate of mine.”

“'Associate'? Why not you?”

“I'm a busy guy. A lot happens in this city, y'know?”

“Fine...when we meet, how will I recognize him?”

“Oh believe me, he sticks out...”

-------------------------

July 8th , 2017

Higashi-shinagawa, Shinagawa, Tokyo

“I thought they were just errands,” Nakanohara said. “Ferrying supplies around the city, taking paintings to dealers. I had no idea what I was really doing. He had me, all of us, strung along the entire time...” His brow furrowed. “Are you sure I'm not...culpable in this?”

“If they haven't arrested you yet,” Kiryu said, checking his watch, “I wouldn't worry. Please, continue.”

They sat under the shade of a tree in Kaijo Park. Children played nearby, adults lunched, and the late-afternoon sun was tempered by the cool, strong-smelling breeze from the Meguro River. For Nakanohara, a narrow young man with glasses and a low bowl-cut, it was still oppressive; he'd slung his suit jacket over the back of their bench, and frequently wiped at his forehead with a pack of tissues.

“There's not much else, to be honest,” Nakanohara continued mid-wipe. “His confession covered the fraud and the abuse, the important parts. It is so odd, though.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “No one questioned me until now.”

“Who did you make deliveries to?”

“It always varied, but it was never anyone overtly suspect. Though...” Nakanohara's eyes narrowed. “Almost every time, I noticed...people nearby.”

“What kinds of 'people'?”

“Well, they never looked the same, but they all wore dark suits. I'd see them inside a car or on the phone, never making eye contact. I never gave them any thought.” He shuddered. “I could've been walking past yakuza all those times!”

Kiryu coughed. “Y-yeah...”

Strange, though...a fraud and a blackmailer, one after the other. Building up fortunes, lots of money changing hands, under-the-table deals...

And both got their interest...

“One more question, Mr. Nakanohara,” Kiryu asked. “How did the Phantom Thieves get involved?”

“W-well,” Nakanohara flushed, and not from the heat. “I...didn't take my expulsion well. I became...insular and...unstable, to the point where I...began to harass an ex of mine. We'd broken up during my time with Madarame, and I...lashed out. In time, she grew so worried she reached out to the Phantom Thieves.” He bowed his head; a drip of sweat balled on the tip of his nose. “I'm quite ashamed of how I acted then. It was unfair to her...”

“What did exactly the Thieves do?”

“I'm not sure. I remember feeling terribly exhausted one night, and once I woke up I had...clarity. I could see the wrong I was doing, and felt...pain, deep, unassailable. When I called my ex to apologize, she told me what she'd done.”

“That was how we found you, through her request on that 'Phan-site'. We also saw you made one, too. To change Madarame's heart.”

Nakanohara's mouth twitched. “...that clarity helped me see the wrong Madarame was doing as well. I hated the thought of him continuing his abuses, and if it worked on me...”

Even stranger. No direct contact with them, but they still pulled off their trick.

Kiryu stood from the bench. “That's all we need, Mr. Nakanohara. Your story was helpful. I hope it wasn't too hard to go back.”

“Oh, not at all. It was something of a relief, really. No one else would listen before you and your employer.”

“Good.” Kiryu half-smiled. “You look like you're doing better.”

Nakanohara smiled back. “Certainly. I'm even finding time to paint again. I can't let those memories stifle me forever.” His smile waned. A rippling sunbeam flashed off the water, onto his glasses. “There is one thing that troubles me...I'm still worried about Madarame's main disciple.”

“'Disciple'?”

“Or maybe 'protege' would be more accurate. He was closest to the old man out of all of us, and I saw nothing about him after Madarame confessed. I hope what happened didn't hurt him badly.”

“Hmm...I might have time to check on him. What was his name?”

“We all called him 'Kitagawa', though I heard Madarame call him 'Yusuke' on occasion?”

That can't be...

“Was he tall,” Kiryu asked, “thin, dark hair?”

“Yes, precisely! Have you met him?”

“...briefly. He looked fine, had a whole group of friends with him.”

“Ah...what a relief.” Nakanohara eased into the bench. His smile was back. “I was worried he'd fallen into despair like I had, or entered the wrong crowds.”

I'm still figuring that out myself...

“I'll be going. Thanks, again.”

“It was no matter. Thank you for your time, and your concern, Mr. Suzuki.”

Kiryu smiled stiffly. He left the sweaty young man on the bench, transfixed by the shimmering river, only breaking to daub at his glistening forehead. Heading east towards Isle Bridge, Kiryu took out his phone.

Pi Pi Pi! Pi Pi Pi!

“Yo. Nakanohara give you anything?”

“I just finished with him. He had plenty to share.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“We were right. The news left huge gaps in their reports. Madarame wasn't just stealing and copying paintings. He had an entire network, using students as couriers, not just artists. Nakanohara was among the ones that had lost their use, so Madarame cut him off.”

“And none of them were given a chance to speak, not one interview...even the usual rags aren't that lazy.”

“They didn't mention his buyers, either. You'd expect them to be targets, too.”

“Yeah...a cover-up, you think? Maybe one of his 'patrons' was too high in the ranks to let their cover get blown, had to hush up as much of the scam as they could.”

“Looks like it. Still doesn't explain...”

“...what? Kiryu, you there?”

“...yeah. I'll have to call you back, Akiyama.”

“What happened? You need help?”

“It's nothing. Talk to you later.”

Kiryu flipped his phone shut. He had just stepped onto Isle Bridge, crossing the river. A small group was set up near a gap before the high, arching frame dipped below the railing. Two people stood on the sidelines, adjusting lights mounted on stands. In the middle, a man with a perfectly-smooth, round head and a reversed ball-cap crouched behind a camera. He called out brusque orders to the sides, and less frequently looked up from his view-finder to address his model, posed across from him by the railing, the sun behind her.

Kiryu recognized her instantly.

Just my luck...

Ann tossed her head, settled her shoulders, leaned into the railing. She shook out her arms when the sleeves of her dress bunched up past her elbows. The floral-print-on-cream outfit, held at the waist by a dark red sash, glowed in the sun, and the breeze made the hem of her skirt swish around her knees. She kept moving, adjusting her pose, pausing to brush out or tweak a fold into position. Every few seconds, her face snapped into a pleasant, but hollow smile.

“Hmm, hmm,” the photographer hummed. “More your right. Turn head little bit.” Without looking up, he jabbed his finger left. Ann turned, showing the camera more of her hair, tied in a long ponytail. She swept her waving bangs out of her eyes as they moved further and further left...

...and landed on Kiryu.

Her eyes bulged. She blinked once, twice. Kiryu's breath hitched. His stance stiffened. Her eyes narrowed. The setting sun suddenly felt much warmer.

Then she smiled, so wide her teeth peeked through the gap in her lips, so warm that the next breath of wind that washed over the bridge felt slightly chill, and so direct Kiryu could not imagine it pointed at anyone else.

“Yes! That!” The photographer cried. “More this way! Stop, stop!” He held up his hand once her head was turned halfway between him and Kiryu. He pressed his eye into the view-finder, focused tightly on her, and...

Click! Click! Click!

He sprang up from his camera, ecstatic. “Good! Perfect!” He gave Ann a cherubic smile and a wild thumbs up. Ann finally relaxed, rubbed the red spots on her arms where they had laid on the hot metal. She trotted over to the photographer's laptop and watched the stream of images he'd taken.

Here's my exit...

But, too late: Ann nodded and parted with the short, stocky man, and was already heading in Kiryu's direction. She wore that glowing smile again as she approached. Kiryu, weakly, smiled back.

“Well...hi!” She said brightly. “Didn't expect to see you so soon!”

“Neither did I. I'm not disturbing you, am I?”

“Nope, we're all done for the day. I was just about to change.”

“Oh. Then, I'll be leaving...”

“Oh, no, no, I don't mind. As long as I'm not holding you up or anything.”

Kiryu wanted to be anywhere else, but a natural excuse escaped him.

“...fine.”

Ann shot him another smile and turned on her stubby heels, ponytail swishing by Kiryu's nose. They crossed the bridge, Ann giving out thanks and thumbs-ups to the crew breaking down their equipment. Kiryu felt their eyes following him as he marched behind the young woman. The sun warmed on him again.

Ann stooped to pick up a flowery boutique bag near the piles of cases and spare cables. “The closest restroom's down there,” she pointed at a short orange building on the edge of a small, mostly-empty plaza, “if you don't mind following a little longer.”

Kiryu shook his head. An arm's length between them, they took the path curving around the park.

“So,” Kiryu said idly, “you're a model?”

“Yep! Part-time, but it pays well. And the outfits...” Ann almost squealed. “Too bad I have to give this one back. I love it!” She swished the skirt around her legs.

Kiryu was often thankful none of his girls were as obsessed with fashion as their peers—Haruka relished getting to wear cheap and comfortable again over name-brands after she came home—but he knew when an outfit came together. “It suits you,” he said with a smile. “The flowers and that sash, especially.”

“Oh yeah,” Ann said, a little impishly, “red is definitely my color...”

They reached the restroom. “Just wait out here,” Ann said, and trotted inside, bag in hand. Kiryu dutifully turned his back to the door.

“That photographer looked very...efficient. Is that normal for his job?”

“Oh, Chen? He's not a native speaker, so he has to be pretty direct. I kinda like it, though. These other guys can take forever to tell you what they want.”

The conversation petered out. Kiryu kept his vigil outside, watching the sparse foot-traffic. Eventually, the door opened. Kiryu turned to find Ann in the outfit she had worn at Kaneshiro's: a black tank-top and cut-off shorts, with a red flannel shirt around her waist. The plain clothes made her excess makeup look clownish, but Kiryu kept that to himself. She tossed out her hair, back in twintails, and shifted the bag in her hand.

“I gotta drop this off at the cleaner's before I turn it in,” she said. “You mind walking me there?”

“Fine. That's not a problem.”

“Oh, and there's a new boutique that opened up nearby. I meant to check that out...”

“...alright.”

“Ah! And I need some new foundation. What was that place with my brand...?” Ann pursed her lips as she tried to recall the rest of her to-do list, and Kiryu began to understand what he was in for this afternoon.

“Let's go, then...”

-------------------------

“Omotesando, this is Omotesando...”

The doors hissed open. Ann was one of the first on the platform; she gave a bright, content sigh at the familiar station. She almost began to walk outside when, behind her, she heard:

“Out of the way!”

“Move it, geezer!”

Ann looked behind. Kiryu, his arms weighed down by half-a-dozen bags of different sizes and styles in each hand, was wedged inside the train car. Slowly, with a few passengers trying to force their way around him, he sidled between the doors, and the car emptied like an uncorked bottle. The other passengers flooded out in a rush, glaring at the man and his haul. Some noticed the girl in front of him, and Kiryu heard them muttering to themselves or others as they walked away. His ears burned.

“I can take one of those if you want,” Ann suggested.

“I'm fine,” Kiryu said quite stoically. “Your apartment isn't far, right?”

“Yep, it's right down the street. Just follow me.” They left the platform, weaved around the late-afternoon traffic, and reached the station exit. Navigating the crosswalk, they headed southeast down the trendy avenue lined with zelkova trees.

“The guys don't normally tag along when I go shopping,” Ann said sheepishly, “so most of the time I can't get as much as I want. Sorry...” She flashed him a shy smile.

“It's alright,” Kiryu grunted. He twisted his body left and right to prevent the bags from smacking a bike rack or a passerby. Away from the river, in the heart of the city, the heat swelled, though the sun was setting. He blinked sweat out of his eyes, felt it sliding down his arms.

“Are you sure I wasn't bothering you? I know it's a little too late, but if you had somewhere to be I'd totally get it.”

Kiryu shook his head. “Like I said, it's fine. I don't mind helping.”

As the trees thinned and the shade gave way to the blaring orange sun, Kiryu endured long enough to round the corner and find the entrance to a stately brick apartment block.

“This is me,” Ann said. “You can leave the bags at the door. I'll take them from here.”

Kiryu glanced up the six-story building. “All by yourself?”

“I'm only on the 3rd floor, and we've got an elevator. They're a little touchy about visitors here, too. I don't wanna make it awkward for you.”

Kiryu nodded. He set the bags down, immediately flexed his stiff arms. “Well, it was...good to see you again.”

“Yeah, same here!” Ann gave him that warm, wide smile again. For how innocent it looked, it made Kiryu's stomach turn.

“I'm glad I could do something for you,” Kiryu said. He tried not to sound too severe.

“Oh, don't say it like that! You've done plenty for us!”

Kiryu hummed. Hard to believe, he thought. He smiled thinly, and turned to leave. He heard the bags rustle together; Ann would soon gather a bundle, walk through the door, and she would be gone. He had no clue when he'd see her again.

On the threshold of the courtyard, Kiryu hesitated. Something had dogged him since his return to Tokyo. The thought of it made him sick and anxious, and time and again he tried to push it away like an annoying club barker. Just like a barker, it always returned, insistent and inescapable. The difference was, each time he ignored this, he was left with a greater and greater guilt. Right now, in the shade of the apartment block, Kiryu found himself facing it again.

...I can't hide anymore. And when will I get another chance like this?

“Hey...”

Ann stopped, three bags in each hand. “What's up?”

Kiryu spent longer than he should have to say a few simple words:

“...where does Shiho live?”

-------------------------

July 10th, 2017

Sendagaya, Shibuya City, Tokyo

Kiryu stood in the mid-morning sunlight blasting through the windows of the apartment complex. Several times he raised his arm, brought his knuckles to the door, then let them drop. He touched up his collar, wiped at the sweat beading under it.

The door to the Suzui's apartment blankly questioned his hesitation

He did not know what to expect inside. Ann had insisted that Shiho would be thrilled to see him, that she was doing much better, and visiting would be no problem. That was all hard for him to believe.

Kiryu checked the hall. If someone found him here, looming like an intruder, he would be in trouble for certain. He pressed his nerves down to his soles, and rapped on the door. He heard nothing at first. Then, footsteps, light and steady. The lock clicked; a bolt shot down Kiryu's spine. It prickled as the door swung inward.

At the entrance was a slender woman in gray casual clothes. Straight black hair brushed her shoulders; the only signs of age were the shallow crow's feet curled around her large brown eyes. In every other respect, she was hauntingly familiar as she looked up at Kiryu. He had never seen her, but he instantly knew who she was. His stomach hardened like concrete.

“Mrs. Suzui?”

“Yes? Can I help you?” She said, pleasantly enough to the uneasy stranger.

“Sorry to bother you. My name's Kiryu. Is your daughter home?”

Mrs. Suzui's hand dropped to her hip. “...did you say 'Kiryu'?”

“...yes.” Kiryu muscled through his dread. “I met your daughter in April. She...might have mentioned me.”

Mrs. Suzui's mouth fell open. Her breath shook.

Just what I expected, Kiryu thought grimly

“More than anything, I want to say that I'm so--”

The woman leapt forward. Kiryu closed his eyes and turned his head. He would take whatever she threw at him.

Instead of blows, a warm weight pressed into his heart. Skinny arms folded around his back and tugged him towards the door. Kiryu let his eyes open.

Mrs. Suzui was hugging him, with no shame and no hesitation. Her face was flat against his chest. Her shoulders shook with her uneven breaths, but her grip was stronger than expected. Kiryu, after comprehending what was happening, nervously checked the hall again. If he was not suspicious before...

The woman peeled herself away. Sparkling brown eyes glinted up at him. Then, she blinked, and she turned red.

“Oh, god!” She pushed off, nearly jumped through the door. “I made it awkward, didn't I?” She spoke through a wavering laugh.

“No, it's...” Kiryu puzzled. “...it's fine.”

“I'm so sorry!” Mrs. Suzui giggled at her own embarrassment. “I just...I couldn't help it.” She brushed a finger through her damp eyelashes, and gave a taut smile. “You...you saved my little girl.”

Kiryu held back a frown. Somehow, gratitude felt worse.

“Please, come in.” She stepped inside and waited at the door. Kiryu, grudgingly, entered. Mrs. Suzui shut the door as he took off his shoes and scanned the apartment. It was bright, spacious, moderately upscale, though oddly bare. When Kiryu walked into the living room, he found open cardboard boxes stacked by the couch.

“You're moving, Mrs. Suzui?”

“Oh, yes, we are.” Mrs. Suzui trotted from behind. “My husband was lucky enough to get a transfer to the country. The city was always a bad fit for us, anyway. Too crowded, too...nosy.” She picked up a mug from the kitchen counter opposite the living room and sipped from it.

“And better for Shiho, right?”

Mrs. Suzui's bright eyes turned stormy. She set down her mug. “...yes, of course. She doesn't need any more attention.” She spoke with an invisible scowl. “And I never want her to set foot in that school again...”

“I'm sorry,” Kiryu said. “I shouldn't have mentioned it.”

Mrs. Suzui shook her head. “It's nothing. We just want to put all that behind us, Shiho most of all.” She mulled for a short while, then lifted her face. “You wanted to see her, right?”

Kiryu nodded. Mrs. Suzui, smiling again, walked past him. There was a short hall leading off the living room, and just inside was another plain door. A small board hung from it, decorated with sports stickers and reading “シホ”.

Mrs. Suzui rapped under the board. “Honey,” she trilled. “You have a visitor~...!”

“Who is it?” A girl's muffled voice asked.

“Well, come out and see!”

In short time, the door opened. “Ann's here every other day, Mom! You don't have to treat her li--” The girl in the doorway looked around her mother, and saw Kiryu behind her. Her face went blank.

“Oh...!”

Kiryu mustered his resolve. “Hello, Shiho,” he said coolly.

Shiho took a few tentative steps out of her room. Her mother backed off, giving Kiryu a full view of her. She was a different sight than he had seen months ago. Her skin was ruddier, healthier, unbruised. She wore knee-length shorts, but no black brace on either leg. She was still far shorter than Kiryu, but she seemed to stand taller, with her shoulders back, and her eyes were bright and clear as she blinked at him.

“...you look much better,” Kiryu filled the silence.

Shiho gave him a nervous smile. “Thanks...”

“Mr. Kiryu wanted to see you,” Her mother chimed in from the kitchen.

“And to talk, if you can. Privately, if that's not...” He looked to Mrs. Suzui. She nodded agreeably.

“Yeah, that's fine.” Shiho gestured to her room. Kiryu bowed, and headed for the door.

“Don't think this keeps you from getting your packing done,” Mrs. Suzui added in a chiding tone. “I want those boxes filled before dinner. And I'm not asking again.”

“I know, Mom...!” Shiho said with a sour look over her shoulder. She pushed at Kiryu's back—she failed to move him much—and she pulled the door closed behind her, with a little more force than necessary.

“I can come back later, if this isn't a good time,” Kiryu asked.

Shiho sighed, and shook her head. “No, no, you're ok. She's been on me about packing all week. We're not even moving for another two.” She fumed by the door, arms tightly crossed, wearing an expression between a grimace and a pout.

Kiryu checked the room. It had the same plain but bright color scheme as the living room, and like the living room, a stack of cardboard boxes took up space in the corner, though not as meticulously filled. A clutter of clothes, books, trinkets, and other assorted pieces of her life were mounded inside.

After several more seconds, Shiho remembered Kiryu was there.

“Oh, my bad! You can sit if you want.”

Kiryu nodded, took a seat on the long side of her bed, snuggly tucked into the back corner. Shiho sat at the foot. Neither said a word for a while.

“You didn't sound surprised to see me,” Kiryu finally spoke.

“Well, I did know you were around...”

“Did Ann tell you?”

“Yeah, a few weeks ago. She was really excited about it, too.”

Kiryu said nothing. He looked the other way, towards Shiho's nightstand. He found one of the few decorations in the room left unpacked: a small framed photo. It showed Shiho and Ann, in middle-school uniforms. Shiho's hair was shorter, Ann's face slightly rounder. Both smiled from behind the glass.

“She told me you helped them out again. Nothing specific, though. Sounds like you guys have some rotten luck...” She smiled at Kiryu, but dropped it when she saw his face. He looked tense and almost somber. “Oh...sorry...are you feeling ok?”

“I'm fine, don't worry.” Kiryu forced himself to relax. “So...” He struggled to choose where to begin.

“How've things been?” He internally cringed at such a casual question, as if only catching up after a few weeks away.

Shiho pondered briefly. “...not so bad, really,” she replied. “It's gotten better. Quieter, at least. Ann and her friends come over a lot, so I'm not lonely or anything. She offered to tutor me so I don't fall behind.” She let out a soft snort. “I don't know where she got that idea, with her grades.” She began to laugh nervously; she put her hand to her mouth to quiet herself.

“Do all of Ann's friends visit?”

Shiho ended her laughter with a cough. “Not all at once, but yeah. Sometimes it's Ryuji, or Ren, the glasses kid. Then she brought that boy from Kosei High one time. Do you know him? The skinny one?”

“I do. He seemed...strange.”

Shiho scoffed. “Yeah, right. Not as weird as when she brought Nijima, the student council president. I never saw them say a word at school, and now they're friends. Crazy, huh?”

Kiryu's eyes flicked off of her to the corner of the room. “Crazy...”

...does she know? Ann might not have told her what they were doing. Probably smart, not getting her involved...

“They're all really nice, though,” Shiho continued. “Not everyone likes to...listen...care like they do.”

“Who doesn't care?”

Shiho went quiet. Her head sank. “Most people...everyone, really.”

“About what?”

She turned her face to Kiryu. Her eyes were downcast and moody. “Did you keep up with the news on Shujin?”

“I saw the one article, but most of it was about the Phantom Thieves.”

“Exactly. That...asshole admits everything he did, and they only want to talk about the ones who exposed him. There was nothing after that article, no one mentions it anymore, the police didn't even do a thing!”

Kiryu blinked. “Nothing? No investigation?”

“That's what Ann told me. She's pissed about it too. No one's tried reaching her, or me, or...anyone he hurt. No one at Shujin brings it up either. She thinks Kobayakawa threw his weight around to keep people quiet. That's all the fatass is good for...”

Kobayakawa...

The principal's gloating grin hovered in Kiryu's mind, and he glowered in response.

Did I miss my chance back in April?

“He just wants everyone to think he did something,” Shiho said. “Same as those donations he always brags about. And everyone just moves on...” She dropped her chin into her hands and sighed dismally.

Kiryu watched her with sympathetic eyes. “...they always do. The truth is never interesting enough, or comfortable, for the public, so they make up their own. An easier one. Until the real truth gets buried, forgotten...” He narrowed his eyes.

Is it safe to tell her this much?

He looked again at her, slouched over, dull-eyed, staring forlornly at the carpet. Right now, she needed to hear this.

“...that's part of why I'm here.”

Shiho's head perked up. “Really?”

Kiryu nodded. “A friend asked me back to Tokyo a few weeks ago. He needed my help with his business. We took care of it, but we found out it went deeper than we expected. It might even have to do with Shujin.”

Shiho's eyes went wide. “Oh, wow. Well...what's going on? What stuff are you looking into?”

Kiryu pressed his fists into his lap. “...I don't think I can tell you. We're not sure who we're dealing with yet, but...” He rung his hands tensely. “...we know they don't want to be found, and who knows what they'll do to anyone who finds them.” He spoke with a dour intensity.

“O-oh...” The color washed from Shiho's cheeks. “W-well, I don't really know anything for sure. Just rumors, nothing solid...” She crossed her arms, braced against the shiver crawling down her back.

“We have other leads, don't worry.” Kiryu glanced at her, now smaller and paler. He frowned.

“...sorry if I scared you. I just don't want to involve anyone who might get hurt.”

Shiho took a breath. “That's okay. I'm glad someone's doing something, that's all I need to know.” There was a pause. The room had taken on a slight chill.

“...how much,” Shiho eventually said, “do you think the Phantom Thieves are involved?”

Kiryu's lip curled. “I can't say. There's too much we don't know about them.”

“But you don't think they're bad, do you? They're trying to help, like you, right?”

Kiryu thought to himself. Nothing the Thieves had publicly done had roused his suspicion, and they certainly did not deserve the way the media was hounding them down. Even the conversation he had listened in on in Shibuya was...harmless. Almost casual and innocent.

Maybe that's what bothers me...

“I'm not sure about how they act. They do these 'heists', they target real criminals, bad people, but they treat it like a show, or a game. If I knew they took this seriously, or just understood how they operate, maybe...” Kiryu shrugged. “But I don't know.”

“That's fair...” Shiho tapped her chin. “...I think I trust them.”

“Why?”

“It's just...” Her brow crinkled heavily. “...I can't believe they aren't doing the right thing. I mean, yeah, they go crazy and dramatic, but...how else are they gonna get people to notice? They want everyone to know what's going on, when they all ignored it for so long. If they didn't go that far, well...” Her mouth twitched. “...it might've been even easier to hide what...Kamoshida did...”

Kiryu cocked his head, and hummed thoughtfully. “I guess so...”

I just hope they know what they're getting into...

“And like I said,” Shiho continued, “I like knowing someone's out there trying. That meant a lot, those days I was in the hospital.”

“You were that hurt?”

“Not really, but the paramedics insisted when they checked on me.” She exhaled through her nose. “I was kind of a mess after talking to you and Ann, so that didn't help.”

Kiryu's head sank. The hard knots in his stomach began to gyrate again.

Knowing Kamoshida was still at large couldn't have helped either.

“I'm sorry...” Kiryu muttered.

“Oh, don't apologize. I needed to get all of that out, just like you told me.” Shiho paused. In time, she gently reached to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “...I thought a lot about what you said. You were right that it would hurt to admit to everything, but...” Her voice cracked. She disguised it with another cough. “...I wasn't hurting alone anymore, like you said. Mom went crazy when she found out. Dad had to talk her out of marching to the school and whaling on Kamoshida herself.” A small smile began to warm her face. “After that, they were with me every day. That's when Dad said he could get that transfer, so I could get some distance, after the cops gave up...” Her smile started to droop.

There was another long pause. They heard Mrs. Suzui puttering around the living room through the wall.

“Do you want to stay? In Tokyo?” Kiryu said.

“...they said it was my choice, and I told them I wanted to go. I meant it, too, at the time. I think I still do. It's just...a really big change. I don't really like it here anymore, but it's the only place I've lived in. It's weird knowing it'll be gone soon. And...” Her voice sank glumly. “I think I'm gonna miss Ann like crazy.”

Kiryu nodded. “I understand.”

“Plus...” Shiho quirked her head to one side. “I was worried that, if we moved, and if...you came back...I wouldn't get a chance to say, 'thank you.' If you hadn't visited, I definitely wouldn't. So...” She turned her face to Kiryu, watched him with deep but very bright eyes. With redness touching her pale cheeks, she flashed another smile. “Thanks.”

Her smile made Kiryu's stomach twinge once more. He wanted to tell her how sorry he still was, how he regretted lashing out, how Kamoshida could have been stopped without the Thieves if he had restrained himself, that he would never deserve her thanks while Kobayakawa got away with his cover-up...

Then, amidst his self-loathing, a voice, heavy with emotion and sincerity, floated out of his memories.

I know they'll remember you as the man who tried to help them when no one else would. That's the part of you that matters. That's who you are...

Kiryu closed his eyes. He still found that hard to believe, after how he had let them down. But with Shiho's smile on him, and how Ann had lit up the other day, he had to accept one part as the truth.

Well...guess you were right, Haruka...

Kiryu's eyes opened. He faced Shiho, and gave a smile of his own. “Don't mention it,” he replied gently.

Both looked away. The silence of Shiho's room was free of the former tension, swapped for the quiet domestic sounds in the apartment.

“There's something else I wanted to ask, though,” Shiho said.

“Yeah? What?”

“Well...you did a lot on that day, all for...me. Some girl you didn't know. Why?”

Kiryu stared into the wall. “There was no reason,” he said with forced stoicism. “I heard someone needed help. The rest just came after.”

Shiho saw straight through him. “Oh, come on! You're not some superhero. Give me a reason, a real one.”

Kiryu gave a long blink, then turned to Shiho. He truly looked at her, at all of her details, her wide eyes, the child-like roundness of her face. “That was the reason, at first. I wasn't going to be a bystander when I heard someone was about to...” Kiryu cleared his throat. “But after you came back, when I saw you...” His face began to flush. Embarrassing as it was to admit, it was the truth, and Shiho had asked for it.

“...you reminded me of my daughter.”

Shiho blinked dumbly for several seconds. “...you're kidding.”

Kiryu nodded. “You really look like her. After your story, all I could imagine was...how I'd feel if that happened to her, or any of my kids. I wish it hadn't, but...that's what put me over the edge.”

“Oh no, no, I get it, just...wow.” Shiho let the truth sit between them, settle in. Then, she raised an eyebrow. “You said 'kids', right? How many do you have?”

“A few. We run an orphanage back at home, so we've been looking after them for a while.”

“'An orphanage'?” Shiho's jaw hung half-agape. “...are you sure you're not a superhero?”

Kiryu chuckled. “See for yourself.” He took out his wallet, then slid out a small wrinkled photograph. He handed it to Shiho. “This is a few years old. They've grown a lot since then.”

Specifically, it had been taken shortly after Kiryu and Haruka returned to Okinawa. The photo had been Haruka's idea, but Kiryu was quick to agree. All the Morning Glory children were arranged as neatly as half-a-dozen pre-teens could be in the back courtyard, the shortest in front and the tallest in back. Three of the girls, Riona, Eri, and Izumi, showed peace signs to the camera. Next to them, Shiro stood, unsure of what to do, his glasses held loosely in his hands to avoid catching the sun. In the back, Koji and Mitsuo were arm-in-arm, nearly pushing each other out of the frame. Beside them, Taichi struck his arms-up “strong-man” pose, while the poised, mature-ish Ayako to his left pursed her lips to stop laughing.

Shiho's eyes wandered over the group. She chuckled at the boys, shook her head and smiled at the almost surreal image, crowned by Kiryu himself in the back row. He was not smiling, but something in his expression, in his eyes, emitted a profound, unmistakable feeling. Beyond “happiness,” beyond “contentment,” she soon admitted she did not have the words for it. Whatever it was, it made her feel warm.

She drifted over to the girl on his left, playfully resting her head on his upper arm. When she saw her face--

“That...your...!” She stammered. She brought the picture to her eye to examine it closer, and her eye widened.

“What's wrong?” Kiryu asked.

Shiho's hand fell to her lap. Her mouth flapped uselessly until her voice returned in an intense whisper.

“Your daughter is Haruka Sawamura?!”

Her outcry struck Kiryu like a bat to his skull. Out of everything he had expected to be confronted with today, that was so far at the bottom of the list, he had forgotten it was a possibility.

“You remember her?”

“Yeah?! Hold on...!” She shoved the photo into Kiryu's hand, then dived off the bed. She began rummaging through the pile of boxes with the ferocity of a cornered rat. Digging through clothes, books, trophies, whatever she had haphazardly thrown in while packing, she searched as Kiryu watched with growing concern. Finally...

“Ha! Here!” Shiho sprang back, yanking a piece of mauve cloth clutched in her fist out of the depths of the closest box and thrusting it at Kiryu. He took it from her hand, gave her an uneasy look, and held the odd bundle in front of him. It was actually a t-shirt, slightly too small for Shiho as she looked now, wrinkled from lack of wear. Kiryu unfurled it gingerly.

The graphic on the chest was creased and starting to peel, the colors were lightly faded and dull, but there was no mistaking that face, that smile, that outfit he had first seen through the dusty film on a TV screen. When that was all he could see of her, he had sworn to never forget it, or the dream it carried.

“Ann teased the heck out of me for that in middle-school,” Shiho said, a little winded from her rummaging. “Neither of us were into idols, but...I just really liked Haruka. All the others were so fake, but Haruka...she felt...honest. Real. Just another girl, kinda.”

Kiryu brushed the shirt with his thumb. “Yeah,” he said fondly. “Sounds like her.”

“How...is she, these days?”

“She's fine. Started college last year.”

“Oh, cool. That's great.” Shiho trailed off. “You know...” She played with the end of her ponytail. “...I got so upset when she retired out of the blue. I mean, I was 12, don't blame me.” She giggled uneasily. “But...I'd never have guessed you were the family she was talking about.”

Kiryu put the shirt down. Another voice drifted to the front of his mind.

Kazuma Kiryu is family to me...!

“Oh. Right.”

“Even hearing your name, I never put it together. There had to be more than Kiryu out there, right? What were the odds I'd meet the one she meant?”

Kiryu nodded sagely.

“I think...I get why she quit, though. If staying an idol meant she had to keep someone like you out of her life...well, I can't blame her.”

Kiryu tilted his chin to the floor. “Neither can I...”

I have someone else I still blame...

He handed Shiho her old shirt, then rocked to his feet. “I'm glad I caught you before you left.”

“Oh, me too. It was...really great to see you again.”

“So...good luck with the move.”

“Yeah. And...good luck with your...'work.'” A corner of Shiho's mouth rolled up deviously. “Make sure you get them.”

The line of Kiryu's mouth wavered. “...we'll see.”

Shiho stood as well, stepped around him, and opened the door. With one last smile, Kiryu left her room.

Mrs. Suzui was lounging on the counter, reading on her phone. She looked up when Kiryu walked out.

“Everything ok?” She asked.

“It was fine. I'm just leaving.”

“Oh. Alright then...” She stood up as Kiryu walked to the entrance. “Well, thank you for coming by. I know it meant a lot to Shiho.”

Kiryu slipped on his shoes and turned around. Behind Mrs. Suzui, he saw Shiho's door was still cracked open, and he just spotted an eye peeping through at the two adults. He smirked.

“You have a very strong daughter, Mrs. Suzui.” Kiryu spoke softly. “I've met adults who've fell apart over less than she's been through. Don't let her forget how much that's worth.”

Mrs. Suzui cocked her head in surprise. She took a moment to understand. Then, she gave a grateful nod.

“I won't. And...thank you, again.”

Kiryu bowed. He waved, half to Mrs. Suzui, half to Shiho, and exited the apartment. After a long, warm look, Mrs. Suzui closed the door.

Hands in his pockets, Kiryu lingered by the door. He had learned less than he had hoped to, and said less than he had wanted to. He already wished he had asked more questions, maybe broached his investigation better to Shiho, to avoid scaring her. His demeanor might have cut off a lead before he could grab it.

But...she needed to talk more than listen. It would've been worse to talk over her.

Knowing she's ready to move on will have to do, for now.

Kiryu craned his neck up high, and headed down the bright hallway to the elevator, passing all the apartment doors on the way. In spite of his regrets about their meeting, he felt lighter than he had walking to the Suzui's door.

Still, a few concerns weighed on him.

Unbelievable that no one investigated Shujin after Kamoshida. It's obvious Kobayakawa was covering for him. A high-school principal can't have that kind of...

Kiryu froze halfway down the hall.

...immunity...

Detached pieces in Kiryu's mind began to link together: the slow investigation of Kaneshiro and the break-ins around Kamurocho. The media silence on Madarame and his counterfeiting ring. And now...

...can he?

“Donations...” Kiryu mumbled. He began to walk again, slower now, as he reached for his phone.

It was a tenuous connection, the more he let it sit. Maybe it was a coincidence; he and Akiyama knew corruption could have more than one face at a time, not necessarily attached to the same body. He could be heading straight into another dead end.

Or...perhaps Shiho had already repaid him more than she knew.

As Kiryu waited for Akiyama to pick up, he quietly—pre-emptively—thanked her.

Chapter Text

July 17th, 2017

Inbound to Shibuya, Tokyo

The girl was smiling, made up and dressed like a model in a summer fashion catalog, the picture perfect amateur idol. She stood at an angle from the camera; the flawless lighting made her eyes twinkle. When the song began, she closed her eyes, bobbed her head in time with the music, then raised her microphone and waited for the lyrics to begin.

Makoto paused the video. Twinkling eyes watched her jot down a hasty note on the pad balanced on her knee: microphone ~6 inches from mouth. hold firmly, 45 degrees from face.

A jolt from the train sent her pen skating over the paper. Makoto frowned at the untidy black strike, then returned to the video, watched a few more seconds, paused again to make another note: control breathing between lines, take small breaths during pauses. Again, she un-paused and watched some more.

It took several more pauses to realize the girl was not singing. She was miming.

Makoto closed her phone and sank into her seat, frustrated. As usual, she was drastically over-complicating something simple. Going out for an afternoon of karaoke was supposed to be completely ordinary, low-stress, low judgment. Regular students didn't care if they sang off-key, or held the microphone wrong, or barely knew the song. They cared about having fun with their friends. A novel concept to “Miss Student President”, but one she was eager to embrace, as semi-publicly embarrassing as it sounded.

That being said...

She felt more comfortable playing it safe and knowing a little about the activity first. And learning the procedure, the expected norms, the faux pas. And checking that the parlor they were visiting had any of the bare handful of popular songs she could tolerate or had any chance of singing decently. None of that was too much research, Makoto told herself. She was only being careful.

Makoto dropped her notepad and pen into her bag. She was about to stow her phone when it buzzed in her hand. A message lit up the screen:

hey! just got ryuji's butt out the door. u on ur way?

Makoto tapped back:

Yes. I should be getting off at Shibuya soon. Most likely I'll meet you there.

She hit send, and a second later, a reply: a thumbs up and heart.

Her partners were a last-minute change. Ren had proposed the outing first, and had planned to go with her until a call this morning from one of his part-time jobs made him suddenly unavailable. In all her life, Makoto never thought she would ever curse a flower shop as a sworn enemy. Certainly, she did not object to Ryuji and Ann; they were now as much her friends as Ren's, and she liked being around them. However, she quietly lamented the loss of an opportunity to be with Ren, alone...

For purely academic reasons, of course, she quickly reminded herself. Ren took the time to show her how normal students lived and relaxed, especially valuable with how abnormal their lives currently were. He was a good teacher to Makoto in this alien field, and without him, she worried she may miss an important detail the others were not aware of. That was all.

Although...

She still hoped for a chance to hear him sing one day...

The train lurched to a stop, and snapped Makoto out of her thoughts.

"Shibuya Station, this is Shibuya Station."

Passengers began to file onto the platform. Makoto quickly gathered herself and her effects, and she joined the crowd.

-------------------------

It took Makoto longer than expected to find the parlor. This corner of the district was unfamiliar and tricky to navigate, even with directions. What was more, a ramen stand along the way had been robbed or simply attacked by some maniac. The damage looked minimal, but regardless, police blocked the alley, forcing her to take a longer route. When she finally reached the correct street, and saw her friends waiting on the sidewalk, she felt a twitch of guilt. Ann noticed Makoto first, brightly waved her over.

“I'm sorry!” Makoto said as she hurried over. “I didn't mean to leave you waiting so long. On the other street, there was a—”

“Ramen cart in the alley? It held us up, too. We just got here a little while ago.” Ann frowned. “That's awful for the owner. What kind of jerk would do that?”

“Yeah, I'll say,” Ryuji added. “I was hopin' to grab a bite after this. That place would'a been real handy...”

“Ryuji!” Ann said in a chiding tone. “Someone's business is more important than your lunch!”

“I know, jeez! I feel bad for the guy. I've been at that cart a few times. He had great pickled garlic.”

“Did you overhear anything about who did it?” Ann asked Makoto.

Makoto shook her head. “Nothing, or if he was still talking to the police, I couldn't hear.”

“Well...” Ann crossed her arms and wondered. “I don't see anything we can do now. Maybe if the owner puts in a request, we can help some more.”

“Maybe...” Makoto was not in the state of mind to deal with “work”. She had struggled to put herself in the mood to relax. A stray responsibility could yank her out and make it even harder to slip back in. “Why don't we get started? We can worry about that...later.” She put on a seemingly-easy smile.

“Sounds good to me,” said Ryuji. “Let's go!” He marched off, the girls following at a more restrained pace. Makoto walked haltingly, like a chill was freezing her joints mid-stride. Ann nudged her shoulder. “You okay?” She leaned closer. “Worried about that ramen cart?”

“No...well, yes. We should look into that. But mostly...” Red dusted Makoto's cheeks. “I'm pretty nervous about this...”

Ann smirked gently. “First time, right?”

Makoto nodded.

“Well, don't worry. No one does karaoke to be good at it. Just let loose and have fun!”

“Oh, I know that,” Makoto said. “But...I haven't sung since I was small, and I don't remember being very good.” She let out a short laugh before falling back into pensive silence. “Would it be alright if I...just watched you two for now? I'd still be learning how it, uh, works, and we'd still be...'hanging out', so I won't miss too much. Right?”

“What? You ain't singin'?” Ryuji spun on his heels to talk to them, strutting backwards down the sidewalk. “C'mon! You'll totally miss out!”

“She doesn't have to sing if she doesn't want to,” Ann cut him off. “If she has fun watching, then...sure, no problem.”

“Okay...” Ryuji spun back around. “But I gotta warn ya: if Makoto ain't singin', then I'll hafta really give it my all!”

“I brought earplugs,” Ann whispered to Makoto, as they passed the vibrant red sign outside the parlor and walked inside.

Air conditioning was a relief from the pounding summer sun. Makoto heard Ann let out a comfortable sigh after crossing the threshold. A plain, cozy lobby greeted them, enlivened by gaudy posters showcasing the machines and services available. The beat of an ongoing session thumped from down the hall. Ryuji swaggered to the vacant counter while Makoto read the ads surrounding them.

“Looks so complicated,” she muttered. “And expensive...”

“We'll start small,” Ann reassured her. “If you wanna stay or try it out, we'll get an extension.”

Makoto idly followed the posters around the walls, glanced at the entrance, nodded curtly at a baseball bat propped against the door jamb, and faced the counter.

When Ryuji rang the bell to call an employee, she paused, slowly turned back.

A dingy, dented metal baseball bat was leaning by the door, as casually as an umbrella. It instantly ripped her attention away from thoughts of singing and expenses. Makoto quietly approached it. No identifying marks, initials, writing, answered her multiplying questions; only unsettling signs of wear and time stained its surface. She felt foolish, approaching an inanimate object with this much anxiety, bordering on fear, but its presence was a disturbing anomaly.

Was it the parlor's, for protection? In this neighborhood? Had a customer forgotten it? But why would a customer bring it in the first place?

Then, her glimpse of the damaged ramen cart flashed back to her eyes. The AC took on a grim chill. What if it was the weapon used in the attack? What if the attacker had stowed it here, and planned to come back for it? What if...

What if the attacker was in the building, right now, with them?

After a petrifying moment, Makoto collected herself, and shook her head. How absurd was that idea? Who would flee to karaoke after committing battery, especially leaving their weapon in the open for anyone, police or civilian, to find? What kind of lunatic would even consider that?

“Wha--? For real?!”

Ryuji's outcry pulled Makoto away from the bat. She withdrew her reflexively-outstretched hand, listened to whatever the problem was.

“Whaddya mean 'booked up'?! It's the middle of the day!” Ryuji slapped his hand on the counter and angrily jutted out his chin.

The short, middle-aged employee behind the counter winced, shrank into the wall. “Very sorry, very sorry, sir.” He wiped a cascade from his drenched forehead, despite the cool air. “A sudden rush hit us, and...we have no open booths at the moment. If you would like reserve a booth for a later day...”

“What about all of those?” Makoto pointed to a screen over the man's shoulder. A layout of the parlor showed all the available booths; only one was marked in red. “The green booths are the empty ones, right?”

“Ah, well...” The employee gulped and trembled, shuffled to block the screen. “That one...” His eyes darted left and right. He leaned over the counter and gestured the three to come closer. “Fifteen minutes ago, this...man came in. He threw down a bundle of bills the size of my fist, and said he wanted the whole parlor, just for him.”

“The whole place?” Ann gasped. “Selfish jerk!”

“I know,” the man whined. “I tried to talk to him, tried to make him leave! B-but...” His eyes flicked behind the three, to the bat by the entrance. His whole body contracted at the sight of it. “He started singing right away. After each song, he jumps to another booth, no matter how much they cost.” He buried his quivering face in his hands and moaned in sorrow. “The cash he gave me isn't enough to cover all those rooms!”

“Why not call the police?” Makoto asked.

“If I called anyone, he said he'd...find me...” The employee slumped over the counter. “Oh, my poor cats! I didn't even say goodbye to all of them this morning...!” He began to heartily sob.

Ann backed away from the uncomfortable sight. “What do we do?” She whispered to Makoto, who watched the crying man with her chin rested on her fist.

Makoto shook her head, truly against a wall. Meanwhile, Ryuji, silent during the man's story, was scanning the diagram of open booths. He zeroed in on the single red room; occupied. He glared at the little box on the screen, tightened his grip on the hard laminate. His expression, cold and focused, caught Makoto and Ann's eyes.

“Ryuji...” Ann said, warningly.

He pushed off from the counter, brushed out his tank top. His jaw was set, and his mind was made up.

“Gimme a minute...”

Striding uneven but straight, Ryuji walked past the girls and down the hall to the karaoke booths. Stunned, Ann briefly gaped at Makoto. Panic lit her eyes.

“Ryuji, no!” She cried in the voice of someone chasing their pet who had stolen a forbidden steak. While Ryuji rounded the corner, she ran after him. Makoto, alone, looked back at the employee. No longer sobbing, he watched the others disappear, baffled.

“We'll sort this out, sir,” she said, and smiled with questionable confidence. “Please, don't worry.” After a quick bow, she followed the pair at a trot, shifting her bag on her shoulder. She quickly caught up; Ryuji was peering around the next corner, and Ann was futilely attempting to pull him back.

“Get back here, you dope! What are you even doing?”

“I'm scopin' things out. Just chill and wait for me.”

“Wait for what? For you to come back with a black eye, if you're lucky?”

“I'm not startin' nothin'! I just wanna spot this dude, maybe start checkin' Mementos for him. You wanna stop this too, right?”

Ann sighed. “Yes, but...”

“If we went right to changing his heart without a request,” Makoto cut in, “the owner might start drawing connections! I don't want to let this go on as much as you, but waiting to act is the safer option.”

Ryuji stood in silence. Then, he bitterly gnashed his teeth. “At least lemme see what he looks like,” he said.

They were packed into the hall, watching the man's current room. Music blared through the walls, a pounding, bouncy pop song that drowned out their thoughts. Underneath was a kind of continuous growl that jerked up into an ear-splitting screech, then fell back down before shooting up again. As they listened, the noise began to form recognizable words, verses.

It was someone singing.

“ASHITA E FLLLLLY YA DE! MENO MAENI WA...!”

Ann grimaced at the racket. “Really? I like this song...”

“KAAAAAAGAYAAAAKU SHINING GATE! YUME NO GOAL E...”

Ryuji looked at the door, bewildered. “Wow. He's...goin' to town in there. Or, goin' somewhere...”

“KINOU YORI *YOW!* TAKAI *WOAH!* BASHO E...!”

“Is this...normal for karaoke?” Makoto hazarded a foolish question. Both her friends shook their heads.

“OBORUN YA! GET TO THE TOP!!!”

Frenzied, rhythmic pounding beat out of the room, like the missing link between a manic dance performance and a panic attack. It was strong enough to rattle the students' teeth from the end of the hall. The song hit its peak, and the man inside slammed into the final note. Then, silence. Ryuji leaned into the corner, the girls peeked around his back. All waited for the door to open, and wondered what kind of person was about to appear.

The door burst open; the three started at the sound. A single shoe, snakeskin with glinting silver wingtips, jabbed into the empty hall, connected to a leg clothed in black leather. The leg sank to the floor, and a man slouched out of the room.

None of them knew what to expect their “music lover” to look like. They were more concerned with what they would do next, or what he might do if he caught them sneaking, up to the moment they saw the man themselves. If forced to guess, Ryuji would say someone bulky, tough-looking, maybe carrying a few scars. Ann pictured someone shabby, sleazy, most likely to hold up some innocent business owner for his own entertainment. Makoto, in spite of herself, imagined a hard-edged yakuza type, right out of one of her favorite movies, and not nearly as clean-cut as Mr. Kiryu.

She and Ann were closest to correct. The man was made of lean muscle, slightly bulked by his ratty snakeskin blazer. He wore leather pants that squeaked as he listlessly shifted foot to foot. He shoved a black glove into his breast pocket, dug around, and pulled out a weathered silver lighter and a battered pack of cigarettes. He tilted his head back as he lit one and took the first drag. The man held it, and held it, then let the cloud of smoke loose in a long, exhausted sigh. Cigarette drooping between his lips, he swung his body around...

...and met the six watching eyes with only one.

Ryuji yelped at the half-second of eye contact, and again when the girls pulled him out of sight. They half-dragged him down the hall and around the other corner, piling against the wall. The employee jumped.

“What happened?!” He asked.

Ann said, “Give us a minute, please,” flashing a nervous smile. She pushed the others into a huddle. “What do we do?!” She whispered.

“Get the hell out!” Ryuji answered. “Why'd we stop running?!”

“Do you think you can remember what he looks like when we need to find him in Mementos?” Makoto asked.

“You kiddin'? I couldn't forget him if I tried! Dude's a cyclops, for God's sake!”

“Shh!” Ann silenced him. “Okay, so, let's just make our excuses and get far...far away. We can tell Ren all about this later.”

“Good idea,” Makoto said. “If we get out now, hopefully we can avoid that man.”

“Yo.”

A voice, low and croaky, spoke from the hall. Ryuji pushed both girls behind him as they whipped around. The man had appeared without a sound, resting his head and shoulder on the wall; the corner drove a split into his sleek black bowl cut. His jacket hung open and showed his bare chest: defined but sickly like his face, embraced from behind by two arms of a tattoo that reached over his pecs. A silver dragon stitched on a black patch snarled at the teens. The man's right eye, his good one, was angled into the floor, unfocused. It leisurely drifted up to watch the three, but its gaze stayed distant, looking past them. His eye was dull, with a cold emptiness in its dark center. Makoto, furthest from the man, was hit with an unexplained twinge of pity, as if watching a stray dog shiver in the rain.

Quite sensibly, however, she had no urge to move any closer to him than she was. The first rule of handling stray animals was to keep your distance. You never knew when they may bite.

The man straightened out his body, cracked his neck. “'Sup?” He sounded nothing like the manic screamer at the karaoke machine; he slurred with words with a thick Kansai drawl. “Wat'cha doin'?”

Ryuji gulped. “We, uh...”

“...were just, um...” Ann added.

“...leaving...” finished Makoto.

“Oh...” The man nodded pensively. His eye ran them over. “You come here to sing?” He jerked his head to the booths.

“Oh, well, um...” Ryuji fought to sound casual. “I guess, but it's no big deal.”

“We're fine with going somewhere else, right, guys?” Ann asked.

“Yes, absolutely.” Makoto answered much too quickly.

The man rocked off the wall and stood straight; Ryuji took a half-step back. “Nah,” the man droned. “I'm done. Go ahead.” He reached into another pocket, and from it he pulled a small stack of bank notes. “Here.” He pushed the notes into Ryuji's chest, letting them fall. Ryuji was too stunned to grab them as the man shouldered past the girls. They watched him shuffle to the door, a question mark of a man drooping over the floor.

Ryuji snapped from the money, to the man, and back. “Man...” He let out his breath, attempted to relax. “Good thing he was bummed out, I guess...”

“Right.” Makoto shivered, and not from the AC. “I think we were very, very lucky.”

Ann kept her eyes on the retreating garish jacket, which had stopped to toss another wad of bills at the frazzled employee. “So...weird...” She whispered.

“Yeah, understatement of the effin' decade.”

“Not like that. He's almost...familiar.” Ann squinted at the man, trying to recollect whatever she recognized.

“I told ya, you'd have a hard time forgettin' that.”

“Maybe you saw him on the street before?” Makoto proffered.

“No, no,” Ann shook her head. “It's not how he looks. It's the feeling he gives off. He's almost like...” She huffed, aware of how absurd she was about to sound. “He reminds me a little of Mr. Kiryu...”

Ryuji balked. “What? That guy's nothin' like him! Kiryu sure as hell wouldn't take over some karaoke place for kicks!”

“Or destroy someone's ramen cart,” Makoto said absently, connecting the dots.

“I know, it's stupid,” Ann said, “but it's just a feeling, y'know?”

“I really don't,” said Ryuji.

“'Kiryu...'?”

All three looked up. The man had stopped at the door. As they watched, his good eye rolled over at them. It was suddenly brighter, sharper than before.

“Did ya just say, 'Kiryu'...?

The three looked at each other. “Ah...” Ryuji stammered. “Nope, I sure didn't. You say anything like that?” He turned to Ann.

“Uh, no. Not me. Did you?” Ann turned to Makoto, who shook her head without taking her eyes off the stranger.

“Nah, nah, nah...” The man muttered to himself. “He's here...? He's back...?” His eye snapped onto Ann with a wild gleam. The students began to back away, but he advanced too fast.

“Where is he? Where'd you see him?!” He marched up to Ann and grabbed her by the wrists. She recoiled as he shoved his face into hers. “C'mon, Blondie, spit it out!”

“Let go...!” Ann struggled, fruitlessly tugging against his grip. The man's eye only grew wider as he pressed her for an answer, until--

“That's enough!”

Makoto stepped in front, shoved her hand into the man's chest, and struck like a pile driver. The man, stunned, let go, stumbled backwards. Ann nearly toppled with him, until Ryuji caught her shoulders and steadied her. The man held onto the counter for support—the employee dived out of sight—and stood still in front of the young woman planted between him and the two blondes. He was noticeably taller than her, but her stance and expression were firm and immovable.

However, he was no longer looking at them. He bowed forward, staring at the floor. His hands began to shake, moving up to his shoulders, then writhed with the snakeskin pattern of his jacket all the way down to his shoes. Makoto sank deeper into her stance. She anticipated his first move.

The man rolled back up, one vertebrae at a time, until he stood straight again. His back arched even higher, and his sallow chest thrust out and his face pointed upwards. He stood, breathing heavily, for an achingly-long, silent moment.

Makoto slid her right foot further back. She was braced for a charge.

But instead, he...

“...heh.”

His shoulders jerked.

“Heh. Heh ha ha ha.”

His spine rolled forward again while his body shook.

“Ha ha ha! Hahahahaha!”

His hands clawed at his face. His mouth was split by a deranged, wide-open grin.

“HAHAHAHAHA!! HAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

The man threw his hands down, and raised his face to the ceiling again, flooding the parlor with waves of screeching, ear-piercing laughter. His eye was lit with demented glee, like an excited yet disturbed child ready to smash apart their building blocks or burn a colony of ants. Ryuji held Ann close. Makoto's confidence began to waver, and she took several steps back, still prepared for a grab. When the man finally moved, she flinched, but he did not run towards them. Instead, he whipped around and dashed for the exit. He stopped for a half-second to snatch the bat leaning on the wall, then he leapt through the open door. For only a moment, he stood framed by the doorway, huffing like a beast. He tossed his bat to his right hand, held it aloft and pointed it down the street, and took a long, deep breath.

“KIIIIIIIIIIRYU-CHAAAAAAAAAAAN! I'M COMIN' FOR YA!”

Cackling again, the man took off. He laughed the whole time he was in earshot of the parlor; it took even longer for the sound to stop echoing in the ears of the ones left behind.

“...what. The. Eff. Was That?!” Ryuji broke the silence first. He still held onto Ann, who was faintly shaking.

Makoto relaxed her body with a long exhale. “We should leave. Now,” she said curtly.

“Y-yeah...good idea...” Ann added weakly. Ryuji let her go, and she hustled over to Makoto. The girls made a quick exit.

“W-wait!” The employee cried, poking his head over the counter. “What about me?!”

Ryuji paused at the door, looked over his shoulder. “...just call the cops, man,” he said plainly. The boy then left both the parlor and the beleaguered man behind. He half-jogged to catch up with the other two.

“Are you ok?” Makoto asked Ann.

“I'm fine,” she replied; she rubbed at her wrists. “I'm just...fine.”

Ryuji slowed to keep pace with them. “So, we're tellin' Ren about this, right?”

“We should,” Makoto said. “Request or not, someone like that has to be distorted.”

“Sheesh...what d'ya think makes a guy that batshit?”

None of them had an answer. They walked back the way they had come, now in a tense silence. When they reached the end of the street, Ann sighed.

“I guess we really blew your afternoon, didn't we?” Ann said to Makoto, guiltily. “Sorry about that...”

Makoto smiled at her. “It wasn't your fault. And we still...”

She stopped in place. She was about to say “had a chance to hang out,” but that was far from all.

Whoever that man was, he knew Mr. Kiryu. They had mentioned Kiryu to him, tipped him off that Kiryu was in Tokyo. Now, the man was looking for him, with that laugh, and that grin...

...and that bat.

“Makoto?” Ann and Ryuji had stopped, too. They stared back at Makoto with concern. “Everything alright?”

Makoto looked up at them, confused, but also, in part, afraid.

“...what did we just do?”

Chapter Text

July 22nd, 2017

Shibuya Square, Shibuya, Tokyo

“To the Phantom Thieves causing an uproar in Japan: Do not speak of your false justice. We do not need the spread of such falsehood. We are the true executors of justice.”

The threatening words repeated for the dozenth time that day. Since Monday every news report had played them again and again, ensuring anyone listening had it committed to memory. Regardless, Kiryu paid the same attention he'd given them the first time through.

“However, we are magnanimous. We will give you an opportunity to repent your ways. If you agree to a change of heart, we will accept you as our own. If you reject our offer, the hammer of justice will find you.”

Kiryu frowned. Another threat for the Phantom Thieves. Another risk for Ren and his friends. There was a chance this was some elaborate prank; the actions of the Thieves had the authorities jumping at shadows, and it was only natural that some opportunist would seize their chance to stir the pot for a laugh, maybe get their names in the news, one of those desperate pleas for attention some of the younger generation felt driven to.

And yet, it was proving to be a prank with legs, if it was a prank at all.

“We are Medjed. We are unseen. We will eliminate evil.”

Kiryu rolled his eyes at the final line. Such a pretentious sendoff made him doubt the whole message. However, as the newscaster continued her report, he asked himself:

How will they deal with this one...?

He checked his watch. There was still plenty of time before his train. Kiryu folded his arms and sat back on his bench, watching the mid-morning flock outside the station and adjacent crossing. Their passing conversations were typical: local gossip, comments about business or each other's lives...

And...

“What's this guy's problem with the Phantom Thieves? They only take on the ones who deserve it.”

“Can't believe they take this shit seriously. It's all a gag, has to be.”

“The Detective Prince doesn't like them, so I don't either. He can't be wrong. He's so dreamy~...”

The last comment came from a clutch of teen girls. It made Kiryu smirk. He'd seen the “Detective Prince” on TV, a slickly-dressed young man, not even out of high school, more of a teen idol than a crime-fighter. To Kiryu, he had all the appeal of any bog-standard day-time TV personality: an inoffensive voice with an appealing face spitting out cliches and pithy rejoinders with no substance. Unlike most of them, however, this one held more sway over his viewers' opinions, he was devoted to the media's stance on the Thieves, and he worked with the police. While this “Medjed” might be an overblown hoax, Goro Akechi was very real, and however much he deserved his nickname, his status made him potentially more dangerous in the long run.

As if they didn't have enough against them...

Kiryu laid his hand on the bench, over the sealed envelope next to him. Although the struggles facing the Phantom Thieves were vital, more pressing, more personal matters occupied him today. He checked his watch again; still plenty of time. A warm breeze rustled through the trees surrounding the Station's entrance plaza. The sun flashed on the roof of the old train car parked in the middle of the concrete, a lively splash of green amid the plains of concrete, glass, and steel. As the passing conversations faded into a soft wall of noise, Kiryu could have felt relaxed if it weren't for the heap of concerns on his mind.

I hope I can sort this out quickly...

“Sir? Excuse me, sir?”

One voice, suddenly quite close, broke through the others. Kiryu nearly jumped in his seat.

“Oh, I'm sorry if I startled you, sir! You were the only one staying still around here, so I thought you'd be my best chance”

The speaker seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He was a stocky man, middle-aged, in a dark-gray suit, with slightly bulging eyes and a similarly-large nose. His hair, while sleek and pushed back, dangled over his forehead in a few loose strands from his hairline. His chin and jaw were strong; they suggested an imposing countenance in his youth, but the skin sagging around them now brought to mind an elderly bulldog. In any event, nothing about the man seemed threatening to Kiryu and he allowed himself to relax.

“Can I help you?” Kiryu asked.

“I certainly hope you can.” The speaker chuckled warmly, but his eyes darted to the Crossing and back. “I'm about to give a speech, a rather important one. However, simply put...” He tugged a handkerchief out of his pocket and daubed at his high, glistening forehead. “...I'm parched. I absolutely need a cold drink if I plan on delivering my speech.”

“Alright, I understand. So what's the problem?”

“The problem? Well...” The speaker wiped at his neck with a touch of shame. “...I...forgot my wallet at home this morning. Not the first time, believe you me. Typically, my assistant would run the errand for me, but today he's running late, and I'm behind enough as it is...”

Kiryu nodded. He checked the time again.

“If you have somewhere to be,” the speaker said, “I completely understand. I'd never impose upon one of the public.”

Kiryu raised an eyebrow at the odd turn of phrase. “Don't worry. I have plenty of time,” he replied as he stood from the bench, stowing the envelope under his arm.

The speaker sighed in relief, and broke into a beaming smile. “Ah, thank you, sir! Thank you so much! I'll wait right here for you!”

Kiryu nodded, and soon he was across the plaza, scanning for the nearest convenience store. He remembered one north of the station, so he followed the road up and away from the square.

He's kind of a weird one. He talked like a teacher or something.

What kind of speech is he giving?

In a few minutes, he was at the store, and moments later, he was leaving, a bottle of water and a Tauriner+ in hand.

He didn't look tired enough for a Staminan. I shouldn't assume he's used to them, either. Could be more of a kick than he needs.

Soon, Kiryu was back at the Square. True to his word, the man sat on the bench, still scanning the crowd and glancing at his watch. The anxiety in his eyes was plain to see, though it vanished when he spotted Kiryu.

“Many thanks, my friend! I owe you dearly for this!” He took both drinks from Kiryu's hands.

“Take the Tauriner first, if you're that thirsty.”

The man was halfway through it by the time Kiryu finished the sentence. He dropped the bottle to his lap with a refreshed gasp. “Much better! You are a lifesaver, sir.” He raised it to his mouth again, but stopped at his lips. “No need to stand on my account. Please, please sit down.” He gestured at the bench with the bottle.

Kiryu obeyed, slowly. The man's behavior was hard to place, at once reserved and energetic, carefree yet tightly wound. He watched the man sit elegantly upright, his free hand folded in his lap, as he gulped down the rest of his drink. Finishing it with a relieved sigh, the man closed the empty bottle, placed it neatly on the bench, then opened the water. He paced himself more slowly with the second drink, only taking a small sip.

“Oh, but look at me!” The man suddenly said with a laugh. “In my thirst, I forgot my manners.” He held out a large, solid hand. “Toranosuke Yoshida, at your service, sir.”

Kiryu shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

Yoshida looked at him expectantly. “You...don't know who I am?”

“No...should I?”

“Ah...” Yoshida's eyes flickered off and onto Kiryu. “I suppose not...no, it really doesn't matter.” He looked away, quietly fretted in his seat. Kiryu watched him, eyebrow raised.

Should I know him? He doesn't look familiar...

“So,” Yoshida belted out quickly, “what brings you to Shibuya today?”

“Oh. Well...” Kiryu held up his envelope. “I have to go to Chiyoda. Some paperwork got misfiled, and sitting down face-to-face sounded like the fastest way to sort it out.”

Yoshida, listening closely, shook his head and chuckled. “Sifting through bureaucracy, eh? The least-liked civic duty. Which department is giving you trouble?”

“The NPO Center.”

Yoshida paused, hands folded over his bottle. He cocked his head, which did nothing to refute to comparison to an old dog. “You don't say? I've never heard of anyone finding trouble with them. They're usually very precise with documents.”

“This time, they weren't. I manage an orphanage in Okinawa, and they told us our last re-file for non-profit status didn't go through. My daughter swears she mailed it on time, though. She called them a few times, but they still tell us it isn't--”

“I'm sorry,” Yoshida cut in, “I don't mean to ignore your problems, but...you run an orphanage? With your family?”

“...yeah. For about ten years. Something wrong with that?”

“Oh, no, no. Not at all. I...” Yoshida scoffed. He looked at Kiryu with a low level of awe. “I simply wouldn't have expected that from a stranger.”

Kiryu hummed. “I guess not...”

“And you came all the way from Okinawa to address this?”

“Not exactly. I've been in Tokyo for the last few weeks. I thought I could save time by talking with them myself.”

“Well,” Yoshida crossed his arms. “It's a good thing you were already here. You saved yourself a waste of a trip.”

“Why's that?”

Yoshida leaned back. His sagging face turned pensive; it seemed to tighten, show more definition and strength. “The NPO Center helps people do great work, and I respect them a great deal, believe me. But, when it comes to the runaround, they're as guilty of it as any other public service. If you meet them in-person, they'll tell you they'll solve it right away, but you'll end up directed to six different people in different departments and probably wind up back at the first person you spoke to. All you'll achieve is the same your daughter did over the phone.” He gazed out over the bustling plaza with a cold, wry smile. “Absolutely nothing...”

Kiryu listened carefully. “So...what do I do?”

“First of all,” Yoshida said, and his face and tone relaxed instantly, “spend your morning anywhere but the NPO's office. It's too beautiful a day to waste it huddled in there. However, as soon as possible, call your daughter and tell her to reach out to them again, only this time, she needs to request form 27b/6.”

“What's 27b/6?”

“It's their official complaint form. Also, tell her to ask for the e-mail for the department head, not just the programs and services department. If there's one thing that can scare them into action, it's the threat of their supervisor receiving a complaint from a stickler for paperwork.”

“...and you're sure that'll work?”

“Sir, if I had a thousand yen on me, I'd bet it all on that strategy.”

Kiryu cupped his chin. “I guess, but...it sounds a little...shady. I don't like getting her to do it that way.”

“Rest assured, it's completely legal. Those services are accessible for public use, and there is nothing barring more...creative uses of them.” Yoshida, then, began to frown. “I can understand your concerns.” He sat forward, propping his elbows on his knees and tenting his fingers. “Strange, isn't it, how law-abiding citizens have to resort to underhanded methods just to make use of services meant for them. The system around them grows into this impenetrable thicket of restrictions and self-justified expansion, and the most the everyday citizen can hope to do is grab the proverbial machete and wade through, making what shortcuts they can.” His hands fell to his lap and clasped together.

Kiryu nodded thoughtfully.

It's not much different from how the Yakuza work...

“Makes you wonder why we bother to have a system at all.”

“Well,” Yoshida mused, sitting up, “there's still plenty we need some larger structure to take care of for us. Otherwise, we'd have no time for everything else. Your family wouldn't want to waste all their time managing the higher-end side of your orphanage, would you?”

“...I guess not.”

“A sad fact of human civilization is that we need to establish a governing body once enough of us gather together. But, we can still do what we can to address the problems with that body as they occur. With luck, it's not too late to fix them...”

Yoshida checked his watch as he trailed off. “Gracious! It's time for my speech!” He bolted up from the bench, took another hearty swig of water. His cheeks ballooned as he swished it around his mouth before swallowing. “Thank you again for the drinks. I'll be certain to pay you back for them sometime.”

Kiryu stood up. “I think you already have,” he said with a smile.

“Ah. Yes, I suppose so.” Yoshida bowed, and spun on his heels. He began to walk away, only to stop in the middle of the plaza. “Since I've freed up your morning,” he said, “why not come see my speech? It's about what we were just discussing, actually.”

Kiryu considered. He was now free, like Yoshida had said, and he could call Haruka about the new plan any time today. “...sure, why not? Where is it?”

Yoshida pointed to the old green train car by the station. “Right over here!” He cried. He turned around and hurried toward it, quite quickly for his stature. He reached the train car and slipped around the corner, out of sight. As he disappeared, there came a cheer from the far side of the car, loud enough for Kiryu to hear through the traffic of Shibuya. Curious, he followed, taking the far corner. He was surprised to find a sizable crowd, about thirty or forty people, staring ahead with rapt attention. In front of them stood Yoshida, above the crowd on a literal soapbox. He had put on a pair of white gloves, and a green sash emblazoned with a red slogan: “Friendly Society, Bright Future.”

A politician, huh? Now this is making sense...

Kiryu stayed at the back of the crowd, leaned on a lamppost, and listened. He only meant to be polite; having too often seen the ugly side of their trade, the murderous, power hungry side, he had little interest or investment in politicians, as long as their sights weren't on him again. While he liked Yoshida from the little they had talked, Kiryu was prepared to tune him out and wait for the end.

Once Yoshida began to speak, however, he was taken aback. All the platitudes and cliches he expected never came. Instead, he spoke to the crowd the same way he had talked with Kiryu: frankly, direct, honest. He made the same points about the bloated status of the government, how it confined the people and obstructed even simple civic tasks; Kiryu was amused to hear the “proverbial machete” line again. However, he did not prop himself up as the solution, despite his position over the crowd. He instead tasked the audience with rejecting the status quo of bureaucracy and corruption, taking it upon themselves to improve the country in their own ways, however minor or major. Voting for him would only be a single step to improving Japan, and Yoshida swore that he would be not only a leader, but a partner, working hand-in-hand with them to fix anything that arose.

If any other politician said that, I don't think I'd believe them...

“To prove to you all my commitment to offering myself in even the smallest way,” Yoshida declared, “excuse me a moment...” He hopped off his box and began to politely push through the crowd. They parted as he walked, and Kiryu realized Yoshida was walking towards him.

Wait, what's he doing?

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Yoshida said, stopping in front of Kiryu, “let me assure you I have not seen this man before today. We met just a few minutes ago, in the Station Square. This man, ladies and gentlemen, is precisely the example of local improvement I encourage everyone to strive for.”

Kiryu looked up. The entire crowd had their eyes on him. He swallowed heavily.

“You see, this man...” Yoshida faltered. He leaned towards Kiryu and dropped his voice. “Excuse me, what is your name?”

Kiryu blinked. “...Suzuki. Taichi Suzuki.”

“Ah, yes.” Yoshida cleared his throat and projected his voice again. “Mr. Suzuki manages an orphanage, you see. He has dedicated his life to the well-being of the less fortunate, children in need of care and safety in their most vulnerable stage of development.” He paused to allow the weight of the words to sink in. A few of the women in the crowd, older-looking wives and younger teens, audibly went “Awww...!” He disguised his laugh with a cough.

“For such altruism, for such devotion to the common good,” Yoshida declared with complete sincerity, “allow me to be the first to say 'Bravo!'” He began to clap politely. Behind him, some of the audience joined in, building to a scattered but enthusiastic round of applause.

Is this...gratifying? Or embarrassing...?

The applause tapered off, and the speech was over. The crowd dispersed and got back to their respective days. Before long, Kiryu and Yoshida were the only ones standing by the green train.

“I hope I didn't humiliate you much,” Yoshida said in earnest. “In my position, you learn to take opportunities as they come, before thinking them through sometimes.”

“I could've used a warning first...” Kiryu muttered.

Yoshida laughed. “In that case, I apologize. Allow me to make it up to you.” He reached into his jacket, and retrieved a flat leather-bound book and a pen.

“You really don't have to--” But Yoshida had already signed the check, torn it from the book, and graciously handed it to Kiryu before the other man could finish.

“Consider it a donation, to a worthy cause.”

Kiryu was about to object again, when he saw the amount Yoshida had printed.

...Haruka will kill me if I turn this down.

“I assure you, that will clear. Although, it's not as much as I'd hope to give...”

“It's...fine. Thank you.” Kiryu tucked the check in his shirt pocket. “...you forgot your wallet, but remembered your checkbook?”

“You'd be amazed at what I forget each day,” Yoshida replied with a meek grin. “I'd forget my head some days if it weren't for my assistant.” Just then, something over Kiryu's shoulder caught his attention.

“And as if on cue! Ren, my boy! Over here!”

Ren...?

Kiryu looked around. At first the crowd was too dense for him to notice what Yoshida had seen.

Then, bobbing at a rapid pace and weaving towards them seemingly at random, he saw it: a head of artfully-messy black hair. When it drew close enough to breach the throng, gray eyes behind large, squarish lenses came into view, and met Kiryu's. The eyes widened, and he slowed, closed the last few steps at a stiff walk.

“I expected better from you today, Ren.” Yoshida chided the boy, though his voice carried a note of laughter. “Another poor showing like that, and I might have to replace you with this gentleman.” He chuckled to himself, expected Ren to join in.

He did not. “Sorry, sir,” Ren said. He sounded distracted, as he half-glanced at Kiryu while he spoke. “Won't happen again...”

“I'm only joking, my boy! No need to take it personally.” Yoshida looked from Kiryu to Ren, noticed how they stared at each other. “Oh, have you two met?”

“We have, actually,” Kiryu said. “I've run into him and his friends a few times.”

He looks nervous. Is the Medjed threat really getting to him?

“So you've shared my good fortune, then?” Yoshida asked Ren. “I was just using Mr. Suzuki here as an example in my speech. He's something of the model citizen, wouldn't you agree?”

Ren watched Kiryu curiously. His searching eyes were full of questions.

That name...he doesn't know about it.

Uh oh, I hadn't thought of this...

Ren blinked once, twice. Then...

He gave a thin smile.

“Sure. Mr...Suzuki's been a great help. He's a good man.”

Ren's words were hesitant, but he sounded honest—Kiryu sighed invisibly. Delighted, Yoshida beamed. “I'm glad to hear that, my boy. Very glad.” He doffed his gloves, pulled back his sleeve to see his watch. “I'm afraid we may have to cut our lessons short today. My, ah, financial situation is somewhat more pressing.” Yoshida patted his empty pants pocket.

“No problem, sir,” Ren said curtly; Kiryu was surprised by the deferential attitude he showed towards the old man.

“If I could, I want to speak with Mr. Suzuki for a moment.”

“By all means, please,” Yoshida complied. He shifted to Kiryu and, with a broad smile, bowed in parting, before trundling back to the green train car. Despite the people shifting and passing around them, Kiryu felt sequestered off with Ren.

“So...'Mr. Suzuki'?” Ren said. He added a smirk.

Kiryu huffed. “...it's a long story.”

“I'm sure. None of my business, anyway.” The boy shrugged, but he kept his keen, knowing look trained on Kiryu.

“...is something wrong? You didn't look too happy to see me.”

“No, nothing. Everything's good...” For a secret criminal mastermind, Ren was an awful liar, from his extreme poker face to his hands, very tensely shoved in his pockets.

I don't know if I can press him without tipping him off...

“Just...be careful out there.”

Kiryu blinked. Ren's tone had changed sharply. The faux-relaxed sound was dropped. He now sounded many degrees colder; not threatening, but dry and serious.

“About what?”

Ren looked him square in the eyes. He smiled casually, a peculiar secretive smile, like he relished holding all the cards. “Heard about some stray dogs loose around the city. I wouldn't want to run into them, if I were you.”

“'Dogs'?”

“Yeah, really wild, too. There's this scrawny one that's supposed to be the worst. If you see one with a missing eye, try to steer clear.”

What...?

Ren glanced over his shoulder. “I shouldn't keep Mr. Yoshida waiting. Good to see you again.” With a brief wave, Ren left to join Yoshida, and shortly, both of them folded into and were lost in the crowd. Kiryu was alone in the bustling plaza.

What on Earth was he talking about? I haven't heard about any “wild dogs.”

Absently, he checked the envelope under his arm. Making a mental note to call Haruka as soon as possible, and to think of a believable explanation for this generous check in his pocket, he wandered off, away from the station.

Must be some in-joke I don't get. He's still just a kid, after all...

Chapter Text

July 30th, 2017

Fuchu Prison, Fuchu, Tokyo

“Look, man, what I did's got nothin' to do with them. My...my brother sent that request thing. Go talk to him.”

“Already did,” Akiyama said. “Nice kid. He told me where to find you. Though, it's not like you could wander off, huh?” He gave a small, mocking grin.

Kazuya Makigami bared his teeth; his eyes flashed with a petulant rage. He crossed his arms, gripped the sleeves of his prison uniform. “So what do ya want?” His voice crackled through the microphone embedded in the plexiglass divider.

“It's just a little weird, isn't it?” Akiyama tapped his notepad with the end of his pen. “Small-time criminal one day, head of your own little gang, busting restaurants for cash. The next, you're in the middle of the street, calling out all your crimes. Didn't even resist when the police took you in. You gotta have some input into how that went down.”

Kazuya's face pursed in concentration. “I don't, seriously. It was like, what I was doin', how I was treatin'...Naoya, hit me all at once. I couldn't live with it no more. Don't know how they did it. I just...had to confess.”

Akiyama scrawled on the pad. “'Had to'? What does that mean?”

“I dunno, man! I just felt like it, alright?! You sound like one of these assholes!” Kazuya jerked his head at the guard at attention by the wall. The guard replied with a reproachful scowl.

“In any case,” Akiyama sighed, then began to stand, “that's about all I was looking for.” He pocketed the notepad and pen.

“Good,” Kazuya scoffed. “Six months in this place is bad enough without geezers askin' the same dumbass questions...”

Akiyama collected the last of his things. He stood still for a moment, facing the young man slouched in his chair. “So you know,” he said, “your brother's been trying to reach you.”

Kazuya flinched. He sank lower in the seat. “...tell him not to bother. He's got a life ahead of him. No use...wastin' it with me.”

“'Wasting'?” Akiyama rubbed his stubble. “Funny, he didn't put it that way. He told me he wanted to check on you. Mentioned something about not getting replies to some letters, almost sounded worried about you.”

Kazuya's head lifted. The light in his eyes, despite the dull florescents overhead, was now gentler. “...did he?” He sounded younger in those two words, almost like a child.

Akiyama nodded. “Stay safe in here, kid.” He wrapped on the counter in front of the chair. “Good luck.”

He turned and knocked on the door. The lock buzzed, and the guard on the other side opened it for him. Without looking back, Akiyama sauntered out of the visiting room. Minutes later, he was back outside. Blinking in the light, he drifted around the imposing outdoor complex, gave a perfunctory wave to the guard standing watch at the main gate, and was shortly heading back to Kita-Fuchu Station, through the lively suburban neighborhood outside. As he walked, he pulled his phone from his pocket.

Pi Pi Pi! Pi Pi Pi!

Pi Pi Pi! Pi Pi Pi!

“Good timing. I was just about to call you.”

“I'll say. Have a good afternoon?”

“If you'd call running up and down Harajuku 'good,' then sure...”

“That Mogami girl gave you the runaround, huh?”

“Not exactly. She was just overexcited about finding a new look. You know how girls her age get.”

“I think you've got more experience with that than me, man.”

“Hmm...”

“She tell you anything about the request on her?”

“Nothing we haven't heard already. It's been the same story from all of them, more or less.”

“Yeah, I know...”

“What about our other lead? Any news on it?”

“That's what I was gonna mention next. I think we should meet up to discuss our findings. There's a lot to go over.”

“Anything useful?”

“Maybe, if we can pry something out of it. Monday good for you?”

“That works out. I'm expecting to be busy tomorrow.”

“Oh? What's up?”

“Well...that apartment you lease doesn't have much in cleaning supplies. I've been making the best of it, but I'm starting to feel like one of those shut-ins staying there. I need to spend some time cleaning up.”

Akiyama stopped in his tracks. An idea crossed his mind, and a slick leer slid onto his face.

“...let me help with that.”

----------------------

“...raking in public support for what it certain to be a close election. In other news, due to the continued wave of 'shutdowns' affecting citizens and even key points of infrastructure, the Tokyo Metropolitan Police have doubled-down on their efforts to apprehend the vigilante group known as the 'Phantom Thieves of Hearts.' Director of the Metro Police's Special Investigations Unit, To--”

Kiryu was hardly listening. The TV was background noise as he leafed through the notes spreading out from the folder next to him. He already knew what it was going to say: the same partisan ranting about the danger the Thieves posed, the harm they had caused, and the importance of trusting in civic institutions to maintain order and bring them to justice.

“...must put their faith in their institutions, who will maintain order and bring these criminals to justice,” the TV declared.

Kiryu smirked grimly. If he wanted proof that someone at the top was threatened by the Thieves's work, there it was. He grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. Before it went black, his eyes lingered on the sober, silver-haired woman to the left of the SIU Director. He'd seen her, a public prosecutor, in earlier bulletins, even caught her name—Nijima—but she was more familiar than that. Something about her face, pale and heart-shaped, and her eyes, a deep, bright brown, almost red...

He took his mind off the woman, returned to his notes. Unfortunately, he needed more than a conspicuously-rehearsed speech to convince everyone at the bottom, and on that front he felt himself floundering. The “Phan-Site” had sounded like the lead they'd been looking for, but barring Nakanohara, the requests were irrelevant, telling the same story almost every time. All they did was raise more questions on how the Thieves operated, how they reached all of these people, “changed their hearts,” as their “calling cards” said.

The rational part of his brain was forcing out connections.

Change in behavior...rash decisions...like they're being controlled...

Kiryu shook his head. However “rational” it was, he refused to believe the perspective the media was pushing.

Discarding it, though, left him with even less information that might be relevant to the real mystery.

I hope Akiyama could piece something together...

As if on cue, there was a knock at his door. Kiryu sat up, began shuffling and re-stacking his notes. Whichever way their meeting went, Akiyama had been able to help him in the present: not long ago, a client of Hana's had given them the card for a maid service as thanks. While Akiyama had never used them, they were apparently well-rated and highly-regarded, a good solution to Kiryu's housekeeping problem. He hoped it was, as he saw himself reflected in the blank TV screen under a thick film of dust.

Kiryu sealed up the folder and stood from the bed. He walked down to the hall that led to the bathroom, and opened the small closet on the corner. Brushing aside his clothes, and the sealed garment bag buried under them, he leaned inside to open the safe on top of the shoe rack. He tapped in the code—1205—opened the hatch, and slid the folder inside. As the safe locked shut, there was another knock on the door.

“I'll be right there,” he called. He closed the closet, stepped out of the hall, gave the room a once-over. He hoped this maid would set it straight, long enough for him to get his own equipment for the rest of this stay.

Weird hours for a cleaning service, though. I thought they typically worked in the day...

Ignoring his misgivings, Kiryu strode to the door, clicked back the deadbolt, and opened.

In the split-second before his mind went blank, he saw only pigtails, frilly lace, and bare skin.

“Good evening, meow-ster~! I'm here to fill your tired heart with lo--!”

Kiryu shut the door.

...damnit, Akiyama.

----------------------

August 1st, 2017

Gyoen National Garden, Shinjuku, Tokyo

Rain washed down the roof of the round pavilion; thin streams began to slow and split into quick bead-like droplets. The weather had just broken, but the forecast wouldn't call for sun until the next day. Dense, sticky air hung over the manicured park. On a fairer day, it would be crowded, but only a few walkers or dedicated joggers were out on the trails around the field before the rain had stopped.

For the men inside the pavilion, the seclusion was what they needed.

“So,” Akiyama said, washing down the last of his bento with a swig of barley tea, “let's start with the basic stuff.” He stuffed the refuse of his lunch into a shopping bag, and stashed it next to his balled-up jacket on the round table they had their backs to.

Kiryu drew the folder from his rain jacket and flicked it open. He cleared his throat. “Since this Spring, Tokyo has seen around a dozen incidents the news call 'mental shutdowns.' They happened at random times, random places across the city, with no personal or professional connection between the victims, but the effect is the same: a total loss of control over their bodies.”

“Eyewitnesses say the victims still moved and functioned after they lost it,” Akiyama pitched in, “but none of ones who survived said they remembered what they were doing or why.”

“The only thing tying the victims together, is they were all somewhere where they could cause a lot of damage, like that subway driver or the tunnel fire. Random cases would only hurt a single person, maybe one or two others. The timing of where they were and what they were doing lines up too well to be random.”

“None of them were just asleep at the wheel, either. They acted out to make that stuff happen, intentionally.”

“So it's possible that whatever caused these shutdowns allowed someone else to control the victims' actions, puppeting them to do what they wanted, hurt whoever they wanted...”

“And I wouldn't have bought that, if it weren't for...”

“Skip to mid-April.” Kiryu flipped to his next page. “The first appearance of the group calling themselves the 'Phantom Thieves of Hearts.' They claim to 'steal corrupted desires' and make their targets 'confess their crimes with their own mouths,' and make themselves known by targeting high-school gym teacher and serial abuser, Suguru Kamoshida.”

“After some, uh, unsuccessful coercion.” Akiyama leaned back and winked.

Kiryu continued, unphased. “In the following months, they also targeted artist and fraud Ichiryusai Madarame, and small-time crime boss Junya Kaneshiro. All three men confessed to their crimes not long after receiving one of the Thieves' 'calling cards.' On top of that, a website called the 'Phantom Aficionados Site' appeared and let the public request targets for them. There have been seven so far.” He lowered the folder. “All of them confessed to whatever they'd done, just like the major targets. According to them, they were...compelled to do it, like they gave up control over themselves...”

“Or had it taken from them...”

A wind whipped through the damp trees around the pavilion, sending a rustling curtain to the ground. When it stopped, the pair were still silent.

“Go on,” Akiyama said. “Ask me.”

Kiryu knew the question he meant. “...do you think there's a connection between the Thieves and the shutdowns?”

Akiyama tossed his head back and forth. He uncrossed his legs, stuck his hands in his pockets. “In the how? Probably, maybe? Makes as much sense as anything in this case so far. In the why...?” He puffed out his cheeks with a long exhale. “...no.”

“You sound sure.”

“I'm not, trust me. It just doesn't line up.”

“The Thieves have made it clear they have problems with Japan. Couldn't the shutdowns be another way to show that?”

“But that's my point. Those shutdowns, they're like someone lashing out, getting angry at no one. It's just terrorism. So far, the Thieves only get the ones who did wrong. Vigilantes, sure, but...who are we to judge? Whatever side of the law they're on, I think they're doing the right thing.”

That was a relief to hear. Pulling Akiyama away from hunting the Thieves would only make this case more difficult. Kiryu wanted to agree with him. Part of him did.

“I'd believe that more if we knew what they're really doing. And...”

He remembered what he'd said to Shiho, the uncomfortable feeling after catching their conversation in Shibuya, after Kaneshiro.

“...I don't think they know what they're getting into.”

Akiyama looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

Kiryu's eye twitched invisibly.

Can't let him know what I know, either. There's no telling where that'll lead...

“...just a feeling. I'm not sure yet.”

Whether Akiyama believed him or not, he turned back to the view of the open, muggy field.

“Last point.” Kiryu turned to another page. “Kaneshiro mentioned someone above him before his 'change of heart.' Someone was giving him orders for his business, maybe even told him to expand into Kamurocho. His racket was mostly drug-running and extortion, cash-focused...”

“But you wouldn't guess from the look of his office.”

“He also mentioned 'others'...and he was ready to kill after letting that slip.”

“Now, what was Madarame's racket, again?” Akiyama asked rhetorically.

“Art fraud, and counterfeiting. Not just taking his students' work as his own, but selling copies to underground collectors. High volume...” Kiryu's eyes narrowed. “Cash-focused...”

“Easy enough to collect under the table, then shoot it up to whoever needs it in exchange for some blind eyes.”

“There's just one we haven't connected yet.” Kiryu closed his folder. “What did you find about that principal, Kobayakawa?”

Akiyama whipped out his notepad, began flipping through pages. “About the man, nothing important. Mediocre education record, no family ties to speak of, pretty bog-standard career up to now. From the looks of it, that Shujin position of his was due to luck over anything.”

“And that lead I gave you?”

“Ah, see,” Akiyama stopped at a certain page, “that's the odd one out. Now, this guy doesn't show any interest in politics over his whole career, no big trends in voting one way or the other, can't spare a yen to a single campaign or candidate for years and years. Then, starting a year ago, he finally coughs up, and guess who's the winner?” He showed Kiryu the notebook, tapped on a section he'd circled. Kiryu read the date, the amount, and the recipient.

“Those guys...?”

“Bingo. Looks like their golden boy worked his magic on Ol' Rolly-Poly.”

“That doesn't look out of the ordinary, though. Lots of people are donating to them these days.”

“Sure, but isn't it odd? Doesn't take sides his whole life, barely lifts a finger for any cause, then starts batting for this one team. He becomes a regular, too. Look.” Akiyama traced his finger down the page. More entries showed more donations, varying in amount, ranging from weeks to months in-between, all made out to the same group.

The United Future Party. As apathetic as Kiryu was towards politics, it was impossible to stay in the city without hearing about them; their rise through the polls was the top story surrounding the upcoming election. Any news report not centered on the Phantom Thieves doted on them, their progressive stances like taking charge of the reconstruction efforts after the Little Asia fire in Kamurocho and rehousing the immigrants who'd lived there, or their firebrand candidate for Prime Minister, Masayoshi Shido. Most of the outlets treated him like some great reformer, spouting lots of manipulative language about “happiness” and “security for our children” and “putting faith in him.” Nothing he said or how he said it made any impression on Kiryu; he chalked the minister's surge in popularity up to a grasp over the easily-led and a great deal of money changing hands.

Money...

Kiryu tented his fingers. He remembered...

“Shujin is a prestigious school...we need to attract families willing to pay for the finest education for their children, and...we need the finest faculty.”

“People put their children in your hands, you let some dirtbag do whatever he wants to them, and as long as his name lets you line your pockets...

“...you look the other way.”

Akiyama cocked his head at Kiryu. “You alright?”

“Why keep Kamoshida as a teacher, if he knew what he was doing to his students?”

“'cause he was a big name Olympian. Lots of parents would want to send their kids to a school with that kind of clout. You told me that.”

“Right. He quiets any rumors about the truth because he wants people to keep enrolling and bringing in money. It made enough sense he'd be doing it for himself...but...”

It wasn't long before the confusion left Akiyama's face.

“...what if he wasn't getting the payout?”

“Just like Madarame. Just like Kaneshiro.”

Though the wind was still, a chill rolled through the pavilion. Akiyama, uncommonly sober, folded his arms.

“...that's so obvious, though,” he eventually thought aloud. “He's giving them money upfront, the link's already there. He's asking for someone to notice.”

“Or it's the distraction he wants,” Kiryu said. “He's doing his part to support a cause, like any good citizen. No one needs to check the other side if he's operating in the open.”

“Is that how it goes?”

“For normal people, probably. Not like us...”

“True...” Akiyama tapped on his bicep. “Still, that's a big leap to string all these cases together. We'll need some real proof to back that up.”

Kiryu nodded. “What would it take to find the donation records for the United Future Party?”

“Nothing. By law that stuff's open to the public. You thinking laundering?”

“Yeah. Some of those donors might not be who or what they claim.”

“They have a lot of donors, though. Might take a while to sift through them.”

“I know. Tell me when you find something that looks out of line.”

“Got it.” Akiyama pocketed his notebook, but didn't stand. His arms shifted from his chest to his stomach “...you're awfully calm about this, you know.”

“We have a solid lead now. There's no other choice but to follow it.”

“But these are some heavy crimes we're talking about. Embezzling, laundering, profiteering, mass fraud, all the hard cash hits, plus whatever else we dig up on the way. If we're right, this mess is only gonna get crazier.”

“If we are right,” Kiryu replied, “we'll at least know what we're dealing with. We can work it out from there.”

“Sure, but...” Akiyama cast his eyes over the field. The sun lit through thinner patches in the clouds, but the ceiling was too dense for it to break. “Once we're there, you think these guys will play nice? Look how they're treating the Thieves. The news, the police, they're coordinated against them, and that's when they don't know who they are, or if the Thieves even know what they're up against. If we try to expose them, and they find us out, what's that gonna mean for you? For, you know...Haruka, and the kids?”

Outside, the damp leaves slithered over each other, jostled by another light breeze. Akiyama sighed, reached over his shoulder to his jacket, dug out his smokes and lighter. “Before you say it,” he said, cigarette in his lips, full aware of the “No Smoking” sign hung by the entrance, “it's not like I don't think you're strong enough to do it. But you don't have to kill yourself over this stuff anymore. You got too good a life to keep putting it on ice, or...” His face squirmed. “...or risk leaving it behind for good.” He lit up, took a drag, cocked his head to exhale away from Kiryu. The smoke wafted up and away, blending into the sky.

Akiyama, painfully, was right. Every day, every step towards uncovering this mystery was another gamble, and this new revelation was the biggest one yet. Kiryu knew that inevitably, his luck would break, and the dirt he'd dug up would come crumbling down and bury him deep, maybe forever. But like with any gamble, the prize at the end was too great to ignore: a chance to reach the truth, put an end to a series of terrible crimes...

...and keep everyone in this same hole from getting buried next to him.

“...I know the risks. I haven't forgotten. But I can't leave until I know this is settled. Just like always.”

If Akiyama had a rebuttal, he held it back. He stood and walked to the railing around the pavilion, ashed his cigarette onto the grass. Leaning on the wood, he stayed quiet for a time.

“This might change your mind, though,” he said, taking another long, long, drag and blowing smoke into the field. “Majima knows you're back.”

A bolt, like a knife, struck Kiryu in the chest, wedged into his ribs. His face imitated the overcast sky. “How did you find out?”

“One of his guys, Nishida, called me this morning. Majima disappeared on them a week or so ago, they just got him to stay in one place, but he kept saying you were back. They wanted to ask me if it was true.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him it wasn't, but no way Majima's gonna listen. He's already convinced you're in Tokyo.”

Kiryu folded his arms. “Then how did he find out? Who told him?”

“Well,” Akiyama, hands in his pockets, leaned on the railing, crossed his legs while standing, “you haven't exactly been subtle lately. Plus, he told Nishida these kids in a karaoke parlor mentioned you. Any clue who they'd be?”

Kiryu sat in silence. Slowly, he closed his eyes.

So that's what he meant...

“I think I have an idea...”

Akiyama stared at him curiously. “...whatever that means, this mess is already getting out of hand. You know how Majima works. Once he picks up your scent, it's gonna be him and whoever's at the end of this paper trail hunting you down, and you won't be much luckier if he finds you first.”

Kiryu made no disagreement. He simply looked Akiyama in the eyes. Deep in those dark wells, there was steel.

“Whoever's after me,” Kiryu said firmly, “I'm still not leaving. That's my answer.”

Akiyama stared back, unphased. Eventually, he sighed, with a faint laugh. “So damn stubborn...” He touched his cigarette, and realized it had burned to a cold filter. Eyeing the sign on the pavilion, he pulled out the pack, and stuffed the end inside. “I just hope Haruka's okay with it...”

“She's fine, right now. She's not running the house by herself. The others are pitching in. And...” Kiryu's expression began to sour, his mouth curling downwards. “Her...boyfriend is coming in to help.”

“Her—what?" As if a breaker had tripped and erased the last five minutes of mounting concern and resignation, Akiyama was suddenly bright and alive. He all but threw himself onto the bench.

“I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this...”

“Sure, but...'boyfriend'? When did this happen?”

“About two years ago, on a trip to Onomichi. We thought the paparazzi had finally stopped following us, but one of them was stalking Haruka when she went out on her own. Before I found out, this local boy had already noticed.”

“What did he do?”

“He broke his camera and told him to leave. After that, he and Haruka got to talking, even after we got back home.”

“Have you met him?”

“Once, before we left.”

Akiyama waited for more. Kiryu's statuesque expression gave him nothing. “So...what do you think?”

Kiryu scowled at the air. “...I don't like him.”

“Why? Is he a bad kid? Do you think he's gonna hurt her?”

“I just don't like him.” Kiryu folded his arms tight and pursed his lips; a unusually petulant display. Akiyama quickly read between the lines.

“Oh...”

“What?” Kiryu said with a dirty glance.

“Nothing. Just...oh.” Akiyama turned his face to the field, and covertly concealed his widening grin under his hand. By the time he dropped the hand, not long after, his grin was gone. “Well...as long as you need me, I got your back. I just hope you know what you're getting into.”

“I do,” Kiryu replied. He faced Akiyama; his eyes were calm and clear, and the tension and bitter resolve in his face had eased away. “And I appreciate it.”

Before Akiyama could return the affirmation, Kiryu checked his watch. It was almost 1 in the afternoon. “I guess it's about time for you to leave, then.”

“Huh? Why?”

“There's a special client coming to Sky at 1. You're gonna want to meet them.”

“Wait, how do you know?”

“I met them the other day, and I thought they sounded like a case for Sky Finance. You usually take walk-ins, don't you?”

“Well, sure, I guess. But why can't Hana handle them?”

“I said you were the best for the job. Hana should understand.”

Akiyama was undeniably puzzled; he let out an exasperated exhale. “Alright, I'm lost. What's the joke?”

Kiryu merely smiled. “You'll see.”

For a few seconds, Akiyama stared back. Then, he stood mechanically, brushed his hands on his pants, and grabbed his jacket and bag from the table. “Y'know, if anyone else said that to me, I'd be worried...”

----------------------

The rain always made the fire escape up to Sky Finance feel more greasy than wet, like a long narrow slug stretched up the railing. Akiyama avoided touching it on these days; he kept one hand in his pocket, the other holding his jacket over his shoulder, as he plodded up the damp steps. It was slightly after 1, so his mystery client was likely waiting for him. He'd wracked his brain the whole walk over, gauging any hidden meaning in Kiryu's cryptic words. It wasn't like him to be so secretive; what you saw was what you got with Kiryu—one of the reasons they got along so well. But since he'd chosen to stay in Tokyo, even while working out this mystery, he'd been acting strangely: cutting off conversations, directing them away from certain topics, picking specific details to mull over like they meant something more to him. Akiyama was the first to admit he could be too naive for a grown man, but he also wasn't a fool. He knew for sure Kiryu was keeping things from him, and while he trusted his judgment, the secrecy was starting to be a concern. Did he know more about the case than he let on? Maybe he had some heavy information about the Phantom Thieves he couldn't share, since he sounded so protective of them. Maybe this mystery client had to do with them...

When he reached the top, and the door to the office, he hesitated. Kiryu's withholding of information might mean something dangerous, but sending someone here with a connection to it meant getting others tied up in it anyway. It meant getting Hana tied up in it as well. Kiryu may have been too willing to throw himself into danger, but he'd never put a bystander at risk, least of all a friend-of-a-friend. This had to be some innocuous joke Akiyama wasn't in on yet. That was the only reasonable answer.

Despite understanding that, Akiyama was no more relaxed than he'd been as he'd left the park. There was still another shoe waiting to drop: while Hana would call him in to help with cases she couldn't manage alone, she still bit his head off over the few times he “snatched clients” away from her, when they were the ones who asked for him themselves. No doubt she read it as mistrust in her skills. Whether Kiryu suggested him to the client or not wouldn't change that. Taking a deep breath and preparing for the worst, Akiyama walked in.

“Afternoon, Mr. A~!”

Akiyama froze on the threshold. Hana was sitting at her old desk. The computer, phone, and notepads had been cleared off after her promotion, and the mounds of files and books that covered nearly every flat surface in the office had metastasized on top, but she appeared quite comfortable behind the clutter. A water bottle and a few onigiri wrappers topped off the unruly stacks.

“I was starting to think I should call. You shouldn't keep a client waiting so long!” Hana continued. Her voice was never usually this...bubbly, and her round face was positively beaming.

With no clue what else to do or say, Akiyama shut the door. “So they're here...?”

“Yes, sir. Over there.” Hana pointed to the couch next to the potted plant, on the opposite side of the gray divider. From where Akiyama stood, the person behind it was blocked from view.

“Have you started with them yet?”

“Oh, no, no! I was saving them for you! You're the best for the job, after all!”

Akiyama stared at her. Kiryu might've gotten her involved in the end.

“Alright, what did he tell you?” Akiyama sighed.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Hana replied, but with a smile that knew exactly what he meant. She collected the refuse from the desk, tossed it in the waste basket by her feet, then stood, straightening out her blouse and skirt. “Well, I'll leave you to it. I'm going on my lunch break.”

“Huh?” Akiyama prodded the waste basket with his shoe. “Then what was this?”

Hana sniffed. “'Treating the client'. It's a trick professionals use.” She left the desk, walked around her confused employer, and opened the door. Before leaving, she turned and, with that odd gleaming smile, said, “Do your best!”

Akiyama, resigned to this absurdity, gave her a mock salute. “Sure thing, boss.”

Without another look back, Hana left. Akiyama faced the couch. “Sorry about all that. I'm a bit lost on what's going on today.”

A woman's voice replied, “Oh, that's alright. I'm...not really sure what I'm doing here either.”

Shrugging his jacket back on, Akiyama walked around the divider. Sitting on the couch was a woman, who straightened out of a deep slouch as he came into view. She had dark, silky, but quite messy hair, and eyes that matched, set into a pale-white face. All-around, she was very easy on the eyes, though she might have been easier if hers weren't ringed with heavy bags. For how dark and almost ghostly she looked, she wore vibrant colors: a lengthy long-sleeved shirt with thin yellow and orange stripes, and a jean skirt that dangled below her knees. In her delicate hands she held a bottle of green tea, and a finished convenience store bento was open on the coffee table in front of her.

“Hope you weren't waiting long,” Akiyama said, as he threw himself onto the couch facing her. “I only learned you'd be here about...” His eyes flicked to his watch. “...fifteen minutes ago.”

“It wasn't that long. Your...assistant? She kept me company.” She nodded at the empty tray.

Akiyama let out a snort. “Y'know, technically she runs things around here. I'm just the owner these days. Believe me, she's not usually that happy when I swipe someone out from her...” He gave her a grin.

“Oh...but your friend, the one who sent me here...he recommended you, specifically. He said you handled a lot of...my kind of cases.”

“Yeah...I don't know how you met him, but my friend...he's a good guy, but he's got a weird sense of humor sometimes.”

“I just...” Her disposition changed, as if a huge weight descended onto her shoulders all at once. “He seemed confident in you, and...I really need a break. I don't know how much longer I can keep going, and if...you can't help, I don't...” She sighed, deeply, hiding a noticeable tremor.

Akiyama sat straight. This sounded like less of a joke with every second. “Hey, hey,” he consoled. “Never said I wouldn't help you. That'd be bad for business, and Hana'd have my ass if I screwed up on her watch. So relax a little, 'kay? My friend...my friend sent you to the right place.”

The woman sniffed, blinked rapidly for a little. Her arms, crossed tight over her chest, sank down to her stomach. “Right. Sorry...” She managed a tiny smile.

“No need, miss...?”

“Sadayo Kawakami.” She brushed a lock of hair back from her face. It stubbornly swung forward again. “Just 'Sadayo' is fine.”

“Well, Miss 'Sadayo'...” Akiyama crossed his legs and propped his chin on his tented fingers. He was no less confused, but he could at least look the part of a man who wasn't.

“...how can Sky Finance help you?”