Chapter Text
“–chi.”
Her head throbbed.
“–uchi.”
She winced. Was someone saying something?
“Higuchi.”
In an instant, her eyes flew open. Where was she?
Her eyes glazed over the room, her mind feeling about a mile away from her body. The off-white walls and paper-thin curtain surrounding her bed reminded her of a hospital room, but it felt too... empty. She sat up, wincing at the fluorescent lighting that burned her eyes—it made the room feel stale, untouched, like a haunted relic. Her skin crawled.
“Higuchi.”
She jolted, whipping her head in the direction of the voice. There was… someone, at her bedside, looking at her with a glaring frustration that she wasn’t quite sure she deserved. He, she thought hysterically, looked like an adult who never quite left his emo phase. His hair was kind of cool—mostly black, with white tips on the frontmost strands that must have required at least four packets of bleach. But he was wearing a cravat for some reason, and she had to admit it lost him some points. In her opinion, it went out of style for a reason.
Well, she didn’t exactly know what she was wearing, so maybe she wasn’t in a place to judge. She looked down at her chest, and—thank god. No cravat. Shaking the thought, she looked back at the stranger.
“Um, hello?”
The man raised an eyebrow, or the faint image of one, not exactly pleased with the response.
“Hello?” he repeated incredulously.
She tried not to groan. She was tired and her head hurt, damnit. But it was fine. She was good at dealing with people like that. She was–
…Oh.
That was not good.
Who was she?
Her head ached when the man spoke again, “Report?”
“Sorry?” she blinked owlishly.
“I asked—” the man narrowed his eyes, his glare sharper than a knife, “—for a report. But as you seem incapable of answering basic questions, I highly suggest you return home. I expect a recounting of today's events by tomorrow.”
With that kind and compassionate statement, the man stood. She stared as he left the room, the door carelessly clanging shut behind him, before—
“...What?” she asked the empty room, the words no louder than a whisper.
She had no idea who she was. She had no idea where she was.
She did know, though, with complete certainty, that this was a problem.
Fine. Name first, everything else later, she reasoned, trying to calm her fraying nerves. The man was saying something when she woke up, right? He was definitely talking to her. Was it—Akuchi? Iguchi? Something like that?
She was not panicking. She would not panic. Her hands were shaking because it was cold, obviously. Someone should close that damn window.
She almost voiced her thoughts aloud, but a knock on the door froze her mid-breath.
“May I enter, miss?”
It was a different voice, lower and slightly more gruff. Definitely not the man from before. Maybe he would have answers for her?
She cleared her throat, realizing belatedly that he was waiting for a response. “Y-Yes! Thank you.”
The door opened, revealing an older man with a fancy monocle and a black jacket. He looked dignified, she thought, before she covered her mouth to avoid coughing at the cloud of cigarette smoke that followed him.
“Miss Higuchi–”
Higuchi! There it was again. Higuchi. Higuchi. That sounded right. Her name was Higuchi.
She couldn’t help the relief that settled over her, and the man raised an eyebrow. Embarrassed, she shook her head quickly.
“How are you feeling?” he continued.
Higuchi paused. Other than her head, she didn’t seem to be in pain. No broken bones or missing limbs, and she certainly didn’t feel like she had internal bleeding.
…It was a little worrying that those were the things she checked for first. What kind of life did she live?
Her question was partially answered when she noticed the gun on the desk next to her. What. She honestly wasn‘t sure how she missed it before. She stiffened involuntarily, and the man gave a cursory glance at the weapon.
“Ah, yes,” he nodded, as if it were perfectly normal to keep a weapon on a nightstand, before frowning slightly. “My apologies, we were unable to find the other.”
She registered his words a second too late, and shook her head quickly to make up for it, “N-no worries! I understand.”
She didn’t. She didn’t understand.
But she did understand that she was in a very dangerous place, and that she, in theory, knew how to shoot a gun.
Something told her she shouldn’t ask any questions here.
“Unfortunately, I cannot stay any longer. There is a car outside that will take you home. I’m sure you’re aware, but you must return tomorrow.”
She nodded, hearing the subtext of his words rather clearly. Higuchi swung her legs over the side of the bed and starting to rise. As she did, a bolt of pain shot through her thigh, piercing and hot. Still, she stifled a grunt and righted herself before the man could notice.
She would have to figure this out herself.
But maybe the universe was looking out for her, because the car had a driver, and, even better, one who already knew where she lived. At least she wouldn't have to wander around the city looking for something that felt familiar. As she waited in the car, she busied herself by going through her jacket pockets. She found her keys (great), five yen (okay), and a few random items like a cough drop (maybe she had a cold?) and a pen (was she a writer?). The keys were the real winner, she had to admit.
When the car stopped, Higuchi gave a polite thank you to her driver. He was the reason she found her house, after all. But the man only sneered in response. ...Rude.
She ignored the frustration in her gut and eyed the keys again as she stepped out of the car, noticing a faint apartment number embedded along the top. That certainly made things easier. Absently, she noticed that the key was well-used—she must have lived in this apartment for some time. 3A. It wasn't hard to find, though she had to pray none of her neighbors saw her twist the key back and forth trying to open the door until she realized she'd been using the mail key.
Higuchi let the door close behind her and took a deep breath.
It was fine.
If this was her house, there would be information. Information about herself, about her job, and whatever else she had gotten herself into. Who those two men were, and why she had a gun in her back pocket. She would just be… exploring. Like an adventure. Fun.
She curled her fists to stop them from shaking.
As far as Higuchi could tell, her house was relatively... normal. There was a genkan with a small rug where she slipped off her shoes, which led to a hallway with two coat hooks—did she live with someone? If she did, they weren’t home. She had a small kitchen, and there wasn’t much inside. She would have to go shopping, probably. Did she even have money?
Nevermind. Next room.
There was a small living room area, lined with bookshelves all packed to the brim. Next to one of the bookshelves was a television, and above that were photos in rows across the wall. She stepped closer, eyeing the first carefully.
And… that was her, wasn’t it? Standing with a girl who looked almost identical, if a few years younger. They were both smiling, the younger girl holding up a peace sign while Higuchi ruffled her hair. They were together in most of the photos, actually. They looked happy.
Natsuko.
Higuchi flinched, the voice in her mind unusual, but still hers.
Natsuko. Her sister. She had the same golden hair, same face, same smile.
…Alright. So she could remember things, sometimes.
Higuchi stepped away from the photos hesitantly, feeling like an intruder in what really was her own home. She found two more rooms, both fully decorated. In one, there was a small desk with a photo of Natsuko, standing with people her age that Higuchi didn’t recognize. This must have been her room. Was Natsuko the person who lived with her? Where was she?
The second room yielded more answers. It was hers, judging from the immediate recollection she had of some of the (admittedly, many) stuffed animals on her bed. She closed the door softly behind her, taking a deep breath before walking to the desk. Hopefully, she would find something here.
It was a bit cluttered, but a purple notebook stood out in the chaos, tugging familiarly in the back of her mind. A planner, she realized, picking it up and beginning to flip through it. While she didn’t find records of anything illegal or dangerous, she did find a note with the words “Natsuko’s trip” written in bright bubbly handwriting, and an arrow crossing through yesterday and continuing on through the next week. At the end was a smaller note saying, “Pick up Natsuko from airport!”
That’s why no one was home, then. Higuchi sighed harshly, letting her head fall back as her eyes closed.
She had one week until her sister came back.
She had to be settled in one week.
Could she do that?
She could do that.
Higuchi, after taking another moment to hiss at the pain in her head, turned to the closet. Sue her, she wasn’t exactly sure where else she would be hiding illegal documents, but it seemed like a good bet.
The first thing Higuchi noticed was that she had an almost disturbing amount of the exact same suit, which included the one she was wearing. Maybe she had a dress code? She had some dresses and casual wear too, but they barely made up a fifth of the closet.
Higuchi was leafing through the rest of her closet when she found it. Honestly, she probably would have missed it if it hadn’t been for the instinctive way her hand dragged along the side of the closet. A folder, taped to the wall and hidden by the darkness. A bit cliché, but she wasn’t in a position to judge.
Without much thought, she closed the window and then the blinds before pulling out the chair from her desk. The folder was intimidating, thick as a novel, and she was a bit surprised it had stayed on the wall at all. Nervously, she opened it, placing it on her lap and picking up the first file. It dated back to about two weeks ago. She continued flipping through the pages, her mind running itself ragged as she read. Missions she signed off on, reports and government files she'd found, orders and official documentation she'd probably stolen. She took a shaky breath. Casualty rates, trading operations, smuggling ring locations.
Yep. It was all one-hundred percent, entirely, totally, illegal.
Shit.
Why on Earth did she keep the files at her house? And what were these documents? Did she work for the damn mafia? This was insanity!
Her stomach lurched as a scene flashed through her mind.
There was a man in all black, his purple eyes upturned, satisfied, as he smiled with a fake kindness that made her want to turn around and leave. She bowed low.
“My, my,” he started, his voice sharp and clean, “Not many seek out a job here. And certainly not with a resumé.” He laughed, and the sound was grating on her ears. When she didn’t respond, he continued, flipping through the papers with a practiced ease.
“Is this everything, Miss Higuchi?”
She swallowed nervously, and then, hoping that he didn’t hear it, forced herself to nod, “Yes, sir. Everything is there.”
“Lovely! I must say, Miss Higuchi, you intrigue me. I do wonder if you know what you’re doing.” Without warning, he ripped the papers, and a singular photo drifted languidly to her feet. It was herself, torn down the middle. Her smiling face looked almost naive. “But I’m eager to see what you’ll accomplish. Welcome, to the Port Mafia.”
Her skin crawled, his gaze analyzing and oozing with something she couldn’t describe.
Higuchi left the office sure of one thing—she never wanted to be interesting to Mori Ougai ever again.
She gagged, the memory of antiseptic burning through her nose and throat. What the hell?
She had applied for the mafia? With a resumé, if her memories were to be believed. And seeing as she didn’t have much else to go off of, they were probably her best bet.
She was a member of the Port Mafia. A small-time member, probably, but a member nonetheless. She obviously had a superior, possibly more than one, and her job—according to the documents—seemed along the lines of an assistant. She did paperwork, organized missions, and approved or denied requests directed to her superiors.
Most of the papers she had access to were the ones she had written herself. It seemed easy enough, at least. Most reports had her write a brief description of the event, the number of casualties, any notable other details, and whether the mission itself was a success or not. If that was all she did, then she could keep up.
Part of her thought about quitting, but it didn’t really look like the kind of environment that condoned putting in a two-weeks' notice. She'd probably be shot if she tried to leave. Hell, she’d probably be shot if she said she didn’t have her memories. Most of the reports showed that the lives of grunt workers weren’t exactly the mafia’s main priority. And she had no idea if she was important enough to be saved or not.
She would have to hide it. Hope that her memories come back, but go on with her life until they did. If they did. If they didn’t, she… She would figure it out if it came to that. There was no point in thinking about it right then. She needed to act calm and confident. That was what a mafia member was, right? Don’t show weakness, keep your head held high. She probably showed enough weakness that day already, ending up in a hospital bed and needing to be driven home.
It was fine. She would fix it the next day by acting normal.
Hopefully, she would be correct in her assumption of what “normal” was.