Chapter Text
Kiryu Kazama raised a finger.
“A seat for one, please.”
The waitress’ face, so friendly seconds before, morphed into horror. Kiryu thought she’d recognised him – the fourth Tojo chairman, the most feared man in Kamurocho. He tried smiling the way Haruka had taught.
The waitress looked even more terrified. Surely he wasn’t that intimidating. He was retired, after all.
On closer inspection, she was staring behind him.
“Hey, any other staff around this dump?”
Kiryu followed her gaze to a clean-shaven salaryman with slick-backed hair. He was leaning against the entryway, one hand on a hip, the other as a makeshift visor over his eyes, exaggeratedly scouting the restaurant’s dingy interior. The floors were scuffed and the curtain dividers were tattered; so what? The best restaurants around the world were like that.
“One waitress in this whole restaurant? It’s midday, you realise! What city are we in, Akita?” The man clicked his tongue.
“She was helping me to a seat,” Kiryu said. “I apologise for delaying you.”
“Ha! I’m not here for food.” The man pointed to a badge on his suit. “Tokyo Metropolitan Government. I’m a food inspector, here to investigate accusations of a rat problem.”
Upon hearing “rat problem”, a truant teenaged couple - already midway through their meals - dropped their chopsticks. Kiryu huffed. No wonder Majima recommended the eatery to him.
“If you’ll excuse me, I demand the owner be presented before me,” bellowed the health inspector. “Tell him that I, Rokuhari, the ever-vigilant officer of the Tokyo Metropolis, is here to judge him in the name of public health and safety!”
The terrified waitress bowed and fled to the back of the restaurant, leaving Kiryu alone with the ever-vigilant officer, as the truant customers scrambled out.
“What reason do you have to suspect this place is unsanitary, if I may ask?”
Rokuhari plopped his hand on Kiryu’s shoulder, his digits massaging the yakuza’s collarbone. “This morning, I was working hard at my desk for the good of Tokyo – as I always do – when a stack of paper fell across my desk. What do you think those papers were?”
The stranger’s fingers continued wriggling on his shoulder. Kiryu slipped his hands into his suit pocket, bunching the silk lining in his fists.
“I suppose… public complaints?”
“Correct! A respectably-suited businessman like you must understand the virtue of responding to client complaints, yes?” Without waiting for an answer, Rokuhari ploughed on. “Many of them, an unusually high number of them, almost all of them, complained about this restaurant named Ne, Kizumi Soba!
“Strange smells, greasy smears on tables, strange pellets in food. That only means one thing. Mice! And loath as I am to leave my computer, I had to go where I can do the most good for the city. To this restaurant, where I will confirm these tales.”
The flustered waitress returned.
“Head Chef Kizumi-sensei is ready to see you, Rokuhari-san,” she said, bowing low and deep.
“Finally! And get yourself a nametag, miss. I don’t know how to address you. Not that I care, but others might.”
The waitress’ pleading eyes met briefly with Kiryu’s.
“I may come to see this rat problem for myself, Rokuhari-san.”
“No need to trouble yourself, my good man!” The bureaucrat clapped Kiryu’s shoulder one more time before sauntering into the kitchen. Back turned to Kiryu, he scoffed, “You ought to enjoy your meal. Who knows, it might be the last one ever served here!”
“And if I am to eat, I’d like to be reassured this place is clean.” Kiryu’s eyes never left the waitress, who broke into a relieved grin.
Rokuhari snorted. “Well, who am I to contradict a fine upstanding Tokyo citizen? As you please, big man.”
“The name’s Kiryu.”
But Rokuhari was already gone from his sight.
The kitchen was twice as large as Kiryu’s apartment, and the ventilation fans were operating at max speed. But the place smelled foul. A mixture of spices combined with an overdose of air freshener couldn’t disguise the smell of rotting meat and ammonia.
Head titled back, Rokuhari sniffed his way around the kitchen.
“Yes, yes…it’s particularly strong…around here!”
He was standing at the corner of the kitchen, next to one of the industrial stoves. Rokuhari put his hand under the stove, pulling out small brown pellets with his bare hands.
“That’s unsanitary,” Kiryu muttered to himself. “Shouldn’t he wear gloves?”
Rokuhari brandished the pellets. “These are huge! These belong to rats! Rat deuces in yer kitchen, Head Chef Kizumi. What do ya have to say ‘bout that?” he asked, affecting an exaggerated Kansai accent.
The head chef watched his unwanted guest warily.
“Well…we do what we can to clean up after hours. It‘s inevitable in a kitchen, besides. Mice’ll always go to wherever food is, ya know? We do everything right, likesay…scrubbin’ the surfaces, settin’ up mice traps.”
“Yeah, yeah. Suppose you pay the metropolitan taxes too.”
Kiryu stepped forward. “I’ll ask you not to take a cynical attitude as an officer of Tokyo's government, Rokuhari-san.”
“I’ll ask you not to take another step forward, friend. Lest you want to set foot in that puddle.”
Kiryu looked down. Indeed, there was a dried smear on the ground. Hardly noticeable.
Rokuhari bounded over to Kiryu’s feet. Leaning down, he ran his finger along the smear before sniffing and licking the tip of his finger. He scrunched his face.
“Rat urine. Thought so.”
The head chef clenched his fist in anger.
“Rats don’t run into the middle of the open kitchen floor ta piss in a puddle. They piss while they’re runnin’, in a long stream, and usually alongside the walls.”
Kiryu felt ill. The waitress clutched at her throat and visibly swallowed.
The chef also crouched on the floor and ran his finger through the stain. “‘Sides, this puddle is a wee bit too big fer a rat.” He also licked his finger. “This ain’t rat piss, sir. This is definitely human.”
Kiryu decided to skip lunch today, and soba indefinitely.
Rokuhari stomped his feet.
“Are you contradicting my expertise, Kizumi-han?”
The head chef ignored him, staring at the linoleum floor. “Can’t be one o’ other chefs here, surely…”
Rokuhari resumed pacing, throwing open cupboards and rifling through the contents.
“So many rat traps, Kizu-han!”
He pulled a metal cage out of the cupboard, carelessly knocking pans and pots to the floor with loud clangs that echoed off the brick walls and linoleum tiles. Inside the cage was a dead rat, half-decomposed and missing both its ears.
“That ain’t right. I threw that one out two days ago. I remember, clear as the waters, ‘cause its ears were gone.”
“It definitely looks like it’s been dead for two days. And left to rot in here. With so many traps lying around your kitchen, you must’ve forgotten to toss out this one. Disgusting. Never met a chef who was so busy with customers, they forgot their duty to public health and safety.
“But Kizu-han, I’m a generous guy. I’ll come back tomorrow. If you’ve cleaned up your act, I’ll consider letting you live. If not, I’m shutting you down for good. I don’t know what kinda operation Osaka has, but in Tokyo, we ain’t gon’ be toleratin’ no rats in our soba-yu.”
With that, Rokuhari flung the cage at the waitress, who caught it with a squeak. The rat’s legs broke off due to the necrosis, falling through the metal bars. Without breaking stride, the bureaucrat marched out of the kitchen.
Kizumi rubbed his face with his palm, the one used to taste the urine.
“Ah, we’ll be closed down for this. I dunno what happened. Sorry, Koike-chan. So many of them mice, I probably got that one trap mixed up with another ‘un. The restaurants next door ain’t got a mice infestation on our level. And yet, we’re no filthier than anybody else on this strip.”
The waitress gingerly patted the head chef on the back, making sure to stand on the other side of his smeared hand. Chef Kizumi continued babbling.
“First losing Nikaido-kun, now this. Maybe he coulda spoke to ‘em rats. Convinced ‘em to keep away.”
“No, you can’t think like that, boss. That rodent-obsessed psycho probably only works in Kamurocho because of that giant rat story…”
Kiryu’s ears perked up. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, it’s true. Rumours a few months ago started about a human-sized rat wanderin’ these streets at odd hours of the morn.”
The situation had nothing to do with Kiryu, but Majima had raved about the soba to him, insisting he try it out. Even if Majima was just up to his usual pranks trying to acquaint Kiryu with rat-infused noodles, the Fourth Chairman made it his mission to know every restaurant in Kamurocho. As someone who’d dabbled in running small businesses himself, Kiryu hated to see them close down. If there was a slight chance Rokuhari was mistaken...
“Gramps, may I come back later in the day? After closing time.”