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Takeshi waited among the line of students, his heart fluttering in anticipation. The professor was passing out the grades of their first assignment—an essay on the modern foundations of the Japanese legal system and its implications over the course of the next ten years.
Takeshi had put his all into it, naturally. So when the professor stood before him and duly held out the essay, his heartbeat roared to a crescendo as he dared to peek at the mark on the page.
A 96. An S. A top rank.
Of course. It was inevitable. He came from a prestigious—if not relatively recent—line of prosecutors, and an extensive line of distinguished samurai before that, so it was only natural that such talent and skill would culminate in one such as himself, the pride and joy of the Auchi family. Takeshi reached out, his glasses fogging with emotion as he grasped the edges of the paper in both his hands—
“Ah. That’s mine,” came a voice from beside him, the rough, country accent grating on his ears.
“Excuse me?!” Takeshi said shrilly, glaring as the country boy leaned into his personal space.
The boy glanced at him over his shoulder. Insolent. Arrogant.
And devastatingly handsome.
He smirked as he plucked the paper from Takeshi’s hands. “‘Kazuma Asougi’. Unless that’s your name as well?”
Takeshi stammered, red-faced and fuming. This—This uncouth, pretentious little—
“Shame,” Asougi said, without waiting for a response, and then swaggered off with his stupid smug face and what should have been Takeshi’s top grade—
“Oh, that’s right,” said the professor, callously interrupting Takeshi’s mental tirade with a rustling of papers. “Here it is. I must have missed it. Apologies, Auchi-san.”
He handed Takeshi what must have been the correct essay, because it had his name scrawled across the top this time, and with significantly deflated enthusiasm he glanced at the mark. A solid 78.
“Yours was the second-highest grade, you know,” the professor said. “Not too bad, for a first attempt.”
Under normal circumstances Takeshi might have been pleased by such an admission. But he had seen the results of the top highest score and could calculate exactly how far behind he had fallen, and instead he only felt a simmering rage.
Second-highest. By eighteen points. And to a country boy nobody.
Utterly unacceptable.
The professor moved on down the line while Takeshi stood there, hands crumpling the edges of his essay, with that smirk still playing over and over in his mind.
Kazuma Asougi. How dare he, what right did he have, to saunter into Takeshi’s law class and steal away with the highest grade—an S, no less—with no formal training, or legal lineage, or respect for Takeshi’s life’s purpose—
And it was only then, after all the essays were returned and the students began trickling out of the room, that Takeshi realized he had missed the perfect opportunity to respond with his own name, and the weight of all of his forebearers behind it, to put that upstart country boy in his place.
Asougi carried a sword with him. Takeshi had failed to notice this during their first encounter, somehow, which felt like quite the feat considering that Asougi wore it everywhere. To the library. The dining hall. The public baths. Not a single day of class went by without Asougi popping it out of its sheath, his hair wild and eyes shining.
Takeshi scoffed. They really did allow anyone into university these days, didn't they?
Except that Asougi wasn’t just anyone. He was Takeshi’s rival—a rapidly rising star at Yuumei who seemed to excel at everything he set his mind to. Law, history, English...even the arts weren't excluded from his perfectionism. Exceptionally conceited of him, Takeshi thought as he passed by the kendo dojo, slowing down just the slightest bit to frown at Asougi’s irritatingly impeccable stance, to flaunt his skills in such a way.
There wasn’t anything Asougi couldn’t do, it seemed. Takeshi had been watching him carefully, even going to the extent of joining the calligraphy club, just to see if he could catch that precocious country boy in a moment of weakness. Surely someone so brash, who carted around a sword and threatened to unleash it at any slight provocation, could not wield something as delicate as an ink brush, much less apply the softer sensibilities of wordplay to paper. But Asougi’s brushwork, much like his kendo performance, was so flawlessly executed that even Takeshi had to begrudgingly admit that it was beautiful.
There has to be something, Takeshi thought, grinding his teeth as he scowled across the library at Asougi.
He was stuffed at a corner table, hunched over a law book that he hadn’t touched since his arrival. He hadn’t managed to make it beyond the first page of the chapter, although it proved useful for appearing occupied each time Asougi’s eyes lifted in his direction.
After several more close calls where he nearly smacked his nose into the spine, Takeshi began to wonder if he ever would discover Asougi’s weaknesses this way. It had been a frustrating few weeks, tailing Asougi and dodging his detection, to no particular avail. It felt cowardly, almost, as if he were a scavenger slinking in Asougi’s shadow. A braver man would challenge him directly, perhaps, or at the very least make witty conversation.
There is no wrong way to study the patterns of your adversaries, Takeshi, came the wise words of his father, retaliating against his own doubts. That's right. There was no shame in watching from the shadows. He was merely biding his time, observing the way Asougi put pen to paper, how he mumbled through the outline of his arguments, how he lifted his hand to brush the hair from his eyes—
A loud clatter interrupted his thoughts, and he jumped as Asougi looked up in the direction of the perpetrator. Some student who had dropped their bag, presumably. Takeshi’s reflexes were too quick at grabbing the textbook to allow him any spare glance towards the offending noise. Probably for the best, considering the route his mind had been going down prior to the distraction.
Research, Takeshi reassured himself, heart rate calming as he peered at Asougi over the top of his textbook. This is all research on how to surpass him.
He took a deep breath, lowering the book as soon as Asougi hunched over again, and settled for furtive observation for now.
Law class continued as usual over the next few weeks. Asougi would ask some pointed question, and Takeshi would scoff at him, and the professor would commend Asougi’s insight and attention to detail. Takeshi would glare at the back of Asougi’s head, and Asougi would complete his assignments with that confident breeziness, and their ranks would remain with Takeshi hovering at a B and Asougi soaring by with his S.
It had become something of a routine of theirs, to pass the days in this manner.
Only—
There was something different about Asougi today.
Takeshi noticed it instantly, being as observant as he was. There, standing out from underneath Asougi’s mess of bangs, was a bright red hachimaki. It fluttered behind him as he fell into his usual seat, and Takeshi followed the course of its path with reluctant fascination. An interesting fashion choice, to be sure, but not altogether unflattering. Takeshi frowned at it, trying to formulate some sort of disparaging opinion, but by the end of the lecture had determined that the hachimaki did rather suit Asougi after all, if only because it helped cover up that massive forehead of his.
Asougi wore the hachimaki the next day, and the day after that, and into the following week. Takeshi was mildly curious as to the reason behind this sudden change, but figured that it couldn't be anything more than another one of Asougi's peculiarities. But when a fellow classmate asked Asougi outright after the end of their lecture one day, Takeshi lingered in his seat a while longer, slowly organizing his notes into his bag.
“It signifies my promise,” Asougi said, “to overcome my weakness and show that person what I’m truly made of.”
A...promise? His weakness? This was all news to Takeshi. He froze, straining his ears to listen, but their classmate seemed satisfied by that answer and didn’t pry any further. Asougi didn’t expand upon it either and swiftly turned on his heel, leaving Takeshi behind with his scattered thoughts.
Clearly he had been slacking on his research-gathering. That was the only explanation as to why he wouldn’t already know of Asougi’s weakness. Takeshi wracked his brain, but there was nothing he could think of that might indicate some sort of failing on Asougi’s part.
But Asougi had mentioned something else, too. That person. Was there someone out there, then, who knew of Asougi’s weakness and had leveraged it against him? Someone whom Asougi thought of as a worthy opponent, a rival, even moreso than Takeshi? Preposterous.
The thought plagued him.
He followed Asougi closely for the rest of the afternoon, hoping to catch wind of this supposed new challenger. But Asougi only stayed cooped up in the library, scribbling out another perfect essay in his perfect handwriting and his perfect posture.
It was only when Takeshi was finally leaving campus, hungry and demoralized, that he spied Asougi running off towards the university gates.
“Naruhodou!”
He waved down a student meandering along the path, who seemed startled by Asougi’s shout.
“Oh, ah, Asougi-san, was it?” the student—Naruhodou—said.
“You…” Asougi blinked, taken aback. “You haven’t forgotten me already, have you?”
“Wha—No! No, of course not,” said Naruhodou. “How could I? After your incredible performance…”
“And now you’re shamelessly gloating to my face?”
“Ah—Sorry—I didn’t mean—” Naruhodou flushed, frantically waving his hands, but Asougi just laughed.
“You’re an odd one, Naruhodou,” Asougi said. “Speaking fast is your hobby, and yet you get tongue-tied over the simplest things.”
“You’re the odd one,” Naruhodou mumbled back. Takeshi waited for Asougi to pull out the sword, but he merely laughed again and hooked his arm around Naruhodou’s neck.
“Come, Naruhodou,” he said. “You can teach me more tongue twisters over sukiyaki. Your treat this time, for gloating at me.”
“My treat?” Naruhodou protested, but allowed himself to be dragged away.
This time?! thought Takeshi, outraged.
He watched, rooted in place, as the two of them slipped out of sight, and it was only thanks to the angry grumblings of his stomach that he managed to shake himself from his stupor and storm back home.
Naruhodou had officially become integrated into Asougi’s routine, much to Takeshi’s annoyance. They were nearly inseparable, with Naruhodou tagging along at lunch, the library, and occasionally for the off-campus evening stroll. It seemed as though every minute of Asougi’s time outside of classes and clubs was booked by this Naruhodou nobody.
He had somehow even managed to steal Asougi away from calligraphy and into archery, when Asougi already had an athletic club on his plate. How crude. How inelegant. How pointlessly duplicative. Perhaps Naruhodou truly was Asougi’s weakness, for him to be making such stupid decisions.
Even their law class wasn’t sacred—Asougi managed to bring up Naruhodou at any opportunity, spouting off about his new friend’s skill with the English language or repeating some witticism Naruhodou had shared over beef hotpot.
Takeshi was sick of it.
“So, this Naruhodou-san,” said Inspector Hosonaga, peering at Takeshi from across the dinner table, “he’s taken your place as Asougi-san’s rival.”
It was more of an observation than a question. Takeshi deemed it unnecessary to respond and settled for sulkily fishing out mushrooms from his soup instead.
"Asougi?" his father chimed in. "That country boy from your law classes? Is he still around?"
Of course he is, was Takeshi's kneejerk response, but swallowed it back. Misplaced ire wouldn't be helpful to this conversation, in any case.
"Yes, Father," he said instead, sighing around a mouthful of vegetables.
"Hmph. Well. Pay him no mind, Takeshi." His father waved his hand dismissively. "He’s a nobody. He’s irrelevant. You were born for the courtroom, Takeshi. Throw that Asougi into a trial and we’ll see who sinks and who swims.”
“It seems that the problem is less of Asougi-san himself, but moreso this new contender,” Inspector Hosonaga said. “Is that right, Takeshi-san?”
Takeshi glowered at the table, then nodded. Inspector Hosonaga had always been far too attentive for Takeshi’s tastes. A desirable trait for a barber, perhaps, which might have been why his father began inviting him home for dinner and the occasional evening stay, but something about that piercing gaze made Takeshi’s stomach squirm.
“Who, that Naruhodou boy?” his father said, then scoffed. “Well, all the better if Asougi is distracted by him then. Maybe we’ll start to see his grades finally tank.”
Takeshi made a strangled noise, nearly choking on another mouthful of soup. “That’s not the point—” he began, his voice coming out perhaps whinier than he intended, but Inspector Hosonaga interrupted with another incisive deduction.
“—Because you would rather surpass Asougi-san on your own merits than rely on circumstance.”
“Tch. There’s nothing dishonorable about taking the opportunities you are given,” his father countered, but petered off into quiet grumblings under Inspector Hosonaga’s pointed stare.
“Even so,” Inspector Hosonaga said, and turned his attention to Takeshi, prompting him with a slight tilt of his head.
“...That’s right.”
His father huffed in displeasure. “Well. If you’re so insistent on your own methods of dealing with Asougi, then by all means go ahead.”
If only anything worked. Takeshi hunched his shoulders and prodded at his rice.
"But before you can do that, you must address the issue with Naruhodou-san," Inspector Hosonaga continued.
"But how," Takeshi said. "By waiting for Asougi to tire of him?" That hardly seemed likely at this point, if the last few weeks were any indication.
“Not necessarily, Takeshi-san,” Inspector Hosonaga said. “Think of it like this: you want to beat Asougi-san, but Asougi-san only considers Naruhodou-san as his rival. That simply means that Naruhodou-san is your new rival now. All you have to do is redirect your attention, and figure out what it is about Naruhodou-san that makes him worthy in Asougi-san’s eyes.”
Which was helpful advice, Takeshi supposed. If anyone knew how to navigate the intricacies of diplomacy and strategic relationships, it would be Inspector Hosonaga.
Takeshi’s chance arrived when he happened across Naruhodou in the library, studying on his own for once.
Redirect your attention, he reminded himself, taking a breath. Familiarize yourself with your adversary.
"Naruhodou-san, is it?"
Naruhodou turned to face him, and Takeshi realized too late that he may have revealed too much about his clandestine intelligence-gathering. Luckily Naruhodou didn't seem to notice. Instead, he said, "Yes?"
“I, ah…” Takeshi flailed his hands in the direction of the table. “May I sit here?”
Naruhodou looked confused. He shrugged. “If you’d like.”
“I’m studying law,” Takeshi blurted, still standing. “With Asougi-san. He’s—” It took every ounce of effort not to curl his lip. “He’s spoken very highly of you.”
“Oh! Uh. Asougi, huh?” Naruhodou scratched his cheek. “He has?”
Regrettably. Takeshi nodded.
“He certainly is a strange guy, huh? Although I can’t say I’m not flattered…” Naruhodou trailed off, then winced. “Ack, sorry. For going on about all this when I haven’t even asked your name yet.”
Quite rude of you, Naruhodou. A transgression Takeshi would graciously overlook for now.
“Takeshi Auchi,” he said, taking a tentative seat next to Naruhodou. “I’m studying to be a prosecutor. Like my father.”
“A prosecutor, huh? The opposite of Asougi, then.” Naruhodou put his pen down, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know how the two of you manage it. Law sounds like difficult stuff.”
“Yes, well,” Takeshi preened, before remembering that he was supposed to ingratiate himself to Naruhodou. “No more difficult than English, I’m sure.”
Naruhodou gave a short laugh. “Difficult in their own ways, I suppose. I can’t make heads or tails of it, some days.”
This was going well. Naruhodou was a simple man, as Takeshi had surmised. It didn’t seem to take much to appease him. They continued to make polite conversation, Takeshi offering banal platitudes at the appropriate intervals, and parted ways at the end of the afternoon as something more than acquaintances.
Takeshi sought out Naruhodou for the next few days, taking advantage of what little time they had together without Asougi in order to build rapport without drawing suspicion. At last, he joined Naruhodou for lunch one day, arriving early so as to get a first choice of seat. The seat next to Naruhodou was unoccupied, which was perfect. All he had to do now was nod along to Naruhodou’s ramblings and wait.
The plan worked—he spotted Asougi making his way through the dining hall exactly on the half-hour, his hachimaki a beacon in the crowd. Takeshi perked up a little in his seat, ignoring whatever story Naruhodou was telling about some professor of his. Asougi’s eyes lit up as soon as he spotted their table, then immediately sank into an expression that made Takeshi's lunch turn sour on his tongue.
“Naruhodou,” Asougi said, frowning slightly. “Who is this?”
“Ah,” said Naruhodou, “this is Auchi-san.”
“Hm.” Asougi narrowed his eyes. Takeshi withered under his stare.
“I’m—We’re in the same law class,” he said weakly.
“Oh, are we?” Asougi slung his bag into the neighboring chair, landing with a loud thump. “I must not have noticed.”
Clearly, Takeshi thought, watching hopelessly as Asougi flopped into the seat across from Naruhodou.
“He’s studying to become a prosecutor,” Naruhodou added helpfully.
"To mete out punishments as the law demands," said Asougi. "How lucrative."
An endless number of counterarguments fell to the tip of Takeshi’s tongue—that prosecution of the guilty was a high honor, one that his father and forefathers had borne with prudence and grace; that an assumption of innocence was hardly more honorable than an assumption of guilt; that becoming a prosecutor was no more lucrative than being a defense attorney, anyways, especially in this economy—but all that would come out was a feeble, “Hah…”
Asougi didn’t acknowledge that. He didn’t even bother looking up from his meal. The rest of lunch was spent in a stiff atmosphere, with Naruhodou attempting to make pleasant small-talk to an otherwise unresponsive table while Takeshi shrunk further and further into his seat.
He had hoped that something would change between them—that Asougi would offer to grab dinner together, or greet him with that melting smile he usually reserved for Naruhodou. Instead, he had to deal with Asougi’s menacing aura burning at the back of his head for the entirety of the following week.
Takeshi finally swallowed his pride and also joined archery. He didn't have much of a choice in the matter if he wanted to succeed in his mission to befriend Naruhodou. And if he could keep an eye on Asougi at the same time, then all the better.
Asougi was not pleased. At least he’s noticing me now, Takeshi thought, trying to imbue some optimism into the situation. Naruhodou remained as nonchalant as usual, welcoming Takeshi to join their section of the archery range. Archery was far more difficult than calligraphy, Takeshi soon discovered, but he refused to back down despite the embarrassment of missing the target and the painful blisters blooming on his fingertips.
“Your posture’s all wrong, Auchi-san,” said Naruhodou, after one particularly fruitless session. He reached over and gently nudged Takeshi’s elbow upwards, the angle feeling awkward and uncomfortable.
“As if yours is any better,” Asougi scoffed. “Why don’t you work on perfecting your own technique before lecturing others?”
“Come on, Asougi. I’m not that bad, am I?” Takeshi’s elbow dropped as Naruhodou’s hand slipped out from under it, nocking an arrow of his own. Naruhodou squinted in concentration and released the bow string, watching the path of the arrow as it landed in the far corner of the target. “Ah.”
Takeshi snorted out a laugh, which quickly shriveled upon Asougi’s glare.
“How about it then, Auchi?” said Asougi. “Why don’t you show us what you’ve learned?”
“O-Of course,” Takeshi said. He puffed out his chest and pulled an arrow from his quiver. It wobbled slightly as he nocked it, as did his arm as he struggled to pull the bow back. He tried shifting his elbow higher as Naruhodou had instructed—it still felt awfully unnatural—and took a deep breath before releasing his fingers.
The bowstring hissed past his face, knocking off his glasses before he could see how far the arrow had gone. He rooted around on the floor, face burning with even more embarrassment than usual, and when he finally found his traitorous glasses and put them back over his eyes he saw that the arrow had only flown about halfway across the range, sticking out from the ground.
“Well, it was closer this time, at least!” Naruhodou said. Asougi looked vaguely sympathetic.
To make matters worse, Takeshi had nearly forgotten that it was his turn on clean-up rotation for the week. The captain called him back after the end of practice, having him collect all the arrows and sweep the floor. By the time he returned to the changing room, sweaty and irritated and aching for a hot bath, nearly all of the club members were already gone. Takeshi stepped forward, muttering under his breath, but froze when he heard someone say his name. It was Naruhodou’s voice, he realized, presumably speaking to Asougi. Neither of them seemed to have noticed him yet, and some instinct screamed for him to stay hidden around the corner.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Asougi,” Naruhodou said. “Auchi-san’s a decent guy, you know. You should try talking to him sometime. Properly, I mean.”
Takeshi felt a warm rush of gratitude. Bless you, Naruhodou.
Asougi huffed. “I don’t see why I should have to.”
“Making new friends would be good for you,” Naruhodou responded. He clapped Asougi’s shoulder and gathered up his bags, leaving through the door on the opposite end of the room.
This is my time, Takeshi thought, heart thudding. He wouldn’t let the opportunity Naruhodou had made for him go to waste. He took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the corner, purposefully striding towards Asougi.
He hadn’t prepared for this. He didn’t know exactly what he would say. All he knew was that he had to say something, or else all of these months of watching and dithering and hoping would be for naught.
But before he could even open his mouth, Asougi swirled around and pressed him backwards against the wall, his palm slamming only a few inches away from Takeshi’s ear.
“So,” said Asougi.
“Y-Yes?” Takeshi replied, very extremely aware of Asougi’s forearm nearly brushing his cheek and those bangs that were finally within touching distance. His ears were ringing and his head felt dizzy and this was probably most definitely the worst situation he could ever have hoped to find himself in.
“You and Naruhodou…”
“Friends!” he squeaked. “We’re friends.”
“Friends…” Asougi repeated. “Is that so?”
“A-Absolutely!”
“And you have no ulterior motives for this friendship, presumably?”
“I—Uh—That is—Of course not!”
“Hm,” Asougi muttered. “I see.”
Do you? Takeshi’s mind screamed. Do you really?!
“Because if you did…” Asougi leaned away, hand hovering over the sword at his hip. “There might be certain consequences. Do you understand?”
“Yep! Definitely! Understood!”
Asougi frowned and fully stepped back, crossing his arms. “Good.”
Takeshi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He still felt shaken, and mostly just wanted that hot bath and maybe a one-way ticket out of the country. Asougi methodically folded his hakama and grabbed his bags, brushing past Takeshi on the way out of the room.
“Oh, and Auchi?” he said, pausing in the doorway. “Keep your eyes on the target, next time.”
The rest of the year passed by in a blur. Takeshi watched helplessly as Naruhodou and Asougi became closer and closer, shifting from no-honorific last naming to first-name-only basis. He could have wept the first time Asougi called Naruhodou “partner” over lunch one day in the dining hall, but bravely maintained his composure until he returned to the privacy of his room that evening.
Takeshi had gotten to know Naruhodou fairly well by this point, but he still didn’t understand what it was about Naruhodou that made him so special. He was quiet, with an understated sense of humor that was easy for Takeshi to replicate if he wanted to. He was modest, but so was Takeshi—always in second-place, and eager to remain so as long as Asougi didn’t forget it. He wasn’t even good-looking, what with his short, ruffled hair and that absent-minded expression he wore half the time. He was boring, to put it plainly, with no remarkable qualities that Takeshi also didn’t possess.
The only other option Takeshi could consider was that perhaps Asougi merely had poor taste. It was a comforting thought, at least until the next time he was forced to bear witness to the two of them at lunchtime, their heads bent together and shoulders shaking with restrained laughter.
Asougi didn’t even slip on his studies, which was another slap in the face. Takeshi’s father had told him of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to study in Great Britain—only one student from Yuumei would be selected for the honor of serving as an exchange student to study law in the great courts of the West.
“Think of how grand it would be, Takeshi!” his father exclaimed. “You, the first Auchi—and first Japanese prosecutor—to practice abroad! Just imagine the breadth of knowledge you would bring back with you. How you would crush novice attorneys under your heel!”
Takeshi allowed himself to imagine it—the fame would be nice, certainly, but even more enthralling was the prospect of exploring the streets of London. The excitement bubbled in his chest the more he thought about it, and when his law professor passed around a sign-up sheet for the exam he scrambled to add his name to the list.
But of course star law student Asougi had also gone through the rigorous selection process, and of course he had scored first to Takeshi’s second place. How predictable. How pitifully laughable. It might not have stung quite so much if Takeshi hadn’t been subjected to his father’s barbed disappointment.
And so life progressed in the same way it always had—Takeshi Auchi, ever second place in the pursuit of his dreams—until the day that Naruhodou was arrested for murder.
He heard all about it in the days leading up to the trial: Naruhodou had been eating at a western restaurant, and had walked up to a British professor and shot him. There were two witnesses, plus Inspector Hosonaga, to testify to that exact sequence of events. About as open-and-shut as any case could hope to be.
His father was prosecuting, of course. Asougi spent the next few days of class fuming about injustice and swearing to defend his partner. Takeshi was having a difficult time understanding why mellow, hapless Naruhodou might kill a British professor, but facts were facts, and if Naruhodou was the only person who could have feasibly committed the crime, then that could only be the truth.
The trial didn’t go the way any of them expected it would. Naruhodou had ended up defending himself, and rather successfully, too. Through some combination of dumb luck and stubborn persistence, he had revealed the true murderer to be a British woman who had killed the professor with poison, rather than the obvious assumption of a gunshot wound. But even more shocking was Inspector Hosonaga’s role in the whole ordeal—he had ordered the guests to remain silent about the woman’s presence at the restaurant, and had stolen evidence from the scene of the crime.
Takeshi's father, meanwhile, was too mortified by the destruction of his chonmage to care about such small betrayals.
“ASOUGI! ” he shrieked, storming through the house while Takeshi attempted to finish the introductory paragraph of his latest essay. “How DARE he, that good-for-nothing NO ONE, that horrible, insolent boy! Can he even FATHOM how much time had gone into that chonmage, the sheer number of YEARS it had taken to grow as long as beautiful as it was?! That chonmage had seen things his fledgling mind can barely COMPREHEND. Disgusting. Deplorable!”
Takeshi didn’t have the heart to point out that his father’s hair appeared long enough to likely still tie up into a tidy chonmage. Instead, he said, “Well, he’ll be gone soon at least.”
“SILENCE, Takeshi! Have you no sympathy for your father?! Tch.” His father paced a few more steps, then paused. “Although...you’re right. His trip is coming up soon, isn’t it?” He glanced sidelong at Takeshi. “And you were second highest on the list?”
Takeshi rankled. He could do without a fresh reminder. “Yes, Father.”
“Interesting…” his father said, and spent the rest of the night muttering over his desk. Takeshi didn’t hear another word about the chonmage for the rest of the week, and had nearly forgotten about it until Inspector Hosonaga had him tag along to court for a witness testimony. What the inspector had neglected to mention was that Asougi was serving as both the defense and the defendant, protesting charges of assault levied against him by none other than Takeshi’s own father. Over the damned chonmage.
Even more embarrassing was when they dragged out the results of the exchange student exam. Had the difference between his and Asougi’s scores been so stark before? Takeshi didn’t know, nor did he care about anything but combusting into flames. A shame that this wasn’t physically possible, because the following debate about the legibility of his first name may have permanently desiccated his internal organs.
At last, the torture finally ended. Takeshi couldn’t escape soon enough. He scrambled out of his seat the moment the judge called the final verdict, desperate to leave before anyone else noticed him. But his bad luck was still on its streak, apparently, because he ran straight into Naruhodou in the courthouse lobby.
“Oh, Auchi-san!” he said, smiling in the face of Takeshi’s mortification. “I should have known that you’d be here too.”
“Ahaha, yep!” Takeshi replied, mentally charting the fastest path out of this conversation as possible. “Just observing trials, as I do.”
“Oh yeah. I’m sure that’s helpful for picking up prosecuting tips. And it must be nice to watch your father at work too,” Naruhodou mused, and Takeshi winced.
“Right, right,” he said. “Anyway—”
“Kazuma and I are planning to grab lunch soon, if you’d like to join us,” Naruhodou continued, ignoring every single one of Takeshi’s signs of distress. “He’ll probably want to get beef hotpot, but I’m sure he’d be open to it if you had any other suggestions—”
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Takeshi blurted.
“Wha—Huh?” Naruhodou blinked at the sudden change of topic. “Why?”
“I mean, you were there, weren’t you?” Takeshi said. “You heard everything, you saw all the evidence. So...So you know that I would have—That if my father had won, Asougi’s dreams would have been ruined. You know that, right?”
Naruhodou considered that for a moment. “But you weren’t the one who prosecuted him, were you?”
“Well, no, but—”
“And you didn’t work with your father to undermine his exchange trip, did you?”
“No, but—”
“Then I don’t see any issue,” Naruhodou said. “Your father’s actions aren’t your own, Auchi-san.”
And they weren’t, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Takeshi was still an Auchi, destined to follow in his father’s footsteps, and it was an incontrovertible fact that every move he made—and every move his father made, by proxy—was in pursuit of this dream.
“E-Even so,” Takeshi argued, desperate to convey any of this past Naruhodou’s thick skull. “You saw my test scores, didn’t you? I’m not smart, and I’m not virtuous, and I’m never in first place for anything. You and Asougi have never needed me around anyways, and I can work towards becoming a top prosecutor without any distractions, and it would all be for the best for everyone.”
Naruhodou was silent for a long moment, while Takeshi continued to stand there despite his better interests. Finally, Naruhodou said, “Is that what you really think, Auchi-san? That it’d be for the best for all of us?”
“I— Obviously it would be—”
“Because I don’t think so,” Naruhodou went on. “You’ve been an inspiration to me in your own way, did you know that?”
Whatever Takeshi had meant to say next shriveled on his tongue. “What?”
“Well…” Naruhodou scratched his cheek sheepishly. “Not all of us can be like Kazuma, with his grand ideals and everything. But you have your own resolve, don’t you? To live up to your family’s legacy?”
Takeshi’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. It was true, but he couldn’t seem to find the words to say so. Because somehow it was Naruhodou who had noticed, even after a year of lopsided friendship, after Takeshi’s own father had prosecuted against him and tried him for murder, and the way he had managed to so clearly encapsulate everything Takeshi hoped to accomplish in life shocked him to the core.
“So I don’t hold anything against you, if that’s what you were worried about. In fact—” Naruhodou smiled wryly. “I think it’s pretty admirable of you. Besides, it’s not like I have any dreams or ambitions of my own, so you’re both better off than I am in that respect.”
Takeshi continued to gape uselessly. Did Naruhodou even hear what he was saying? Surely he knew by now that Takeshi only ever had impure motives for their friendship, motives that involved the man he now called his partner. So why was he… What did he think he was doing? Where was he going with this pointless sort of flattery, talking as if they had always been friends, as if they were still friends even now, after everything that had happened—
In a panic, Takeshi realized that several seconds had passed and he still hadn’t responded. Naruhodou didn’t seem to mind, in any case. He just stood there, looking at Takeshi with those wide, earnest eyes and that small smile on his face, and maybe, just for a fraction of a moment, he understood what Asougi might see in this otherwise unremarkable, entirely unassuming nobody of a man.
No, Takeshi thought. No no no no no no NO—
“Alright, Ryuunosuke. I’ve settled everything for my release, so let’s get—” Asougi paused upon seeing Takeshi, his face hardening. “Ah. Auchi.”
Takeshi jolted ramrod straight. He caught one of Naruhodou’s amused mouth quirks before wrenching his eyes to the floor, face burning. Asougi didn’t seem to notice, or at the very least decided not to comment. Ironic, because for once any suspicions he had might have been right.
“Apologies that the trial didn’t go the way you’d planned,” Asougi said, the lightness of his tone undercut by a cold acerbity. “Better luck next time, then?”
Takeshi floundered. “I—Ah…”
Naruhodou leaned in and elbowed Asougi in the ribs, the smooth familiarity of the gesture startling Takeshi more than Asougi’s simmering anger.
“Sorry Auchi-san,” Naruhodou said, still wearing that damned conciliatory smile. “He’s in a bad mood because it’s past lunchtime.”
“Wh—You—” Asougi sputtered, before regaining his composure. “You’re making me sound like some sort of boor. It’s you who’s hungry, more like.”
“And whose fault is that? The trial would have been half as long if you’d kept your mouth shut about that weird sword technique.”
“I won’t keep quiet about the truth, Ryuunosuke—”
“Who’s ever heard of cutting things from seven meters away, anyway?”
“What, do you want me to demonstrate again?” Asougi said. His eyes flickered towards Takeshi, who decided that now was probably as good a time as any to find out where his father and Inspector Hosonaga had gone off to.
“Come on, Kazuma,” Naruhodou laughed. “The courthouse is hardly the place to show off your skills. I’d thought you’d have learned that by now.”
Asougi dropped the hand from his sword, then laughed as well. “Right as always, partner. I knew I kept you around for something.”
Without preamble, Asougi grabbed Naruhodou’s arm and pulled him away. It was an achingly familiar scene by now—Naruhodou, following in Asougi’s lead, the two of them headed out for some escapade or another. Except Asougi would be off on his own adventure soon, and Takeshi would have no more cause to complain for his own failings.
But Takeshi wasn’t the only person he’d be leaving behind. You’re both better off than I am.
“Naruhodou!” he called out. The two of them turned around, Naruhodou expectant and Asougi annoyed. “Ah...Um...Thank you!”
Naruhodou looked surprised for a moment, then burst into a wide smile. Luckily Asougi pulled him around just in time to miss the horrid blush spreading from Takeshi’s cheeks to the roots of his hair.
It’s just a fluke, he thought, heart racing. Or maybe a fever.
Naruhodou had never been handsome before, and he certainly wasn’t now. The courthouse lighting was skewing Takeshi’s memory, creating a sparkling afterimage of Naruhodou’s face that burned against his retinas. Surely the effect will have worn off by the next time he saw Naruhodou on campus, in familiar lighting and familiar circumstances and accompanied by Asougi's depressingly familiar glare.
But he never got the chance to find out. Because Naruhodou had disappeared the day that Asougi left for Great Britain, and after three weeks of their absence Takeshi resigned himself to the abysmal fact that he would never see either of them again.