Work Text:
One day, she happens to forget her key.
She can picture where it must be – right there on the table by the entranceway, in front of the flower vase. How did she manage to miss it when she went out the door?
But perhaps even now, a year later, some small part of her is still stuck in the past. Her mother used to personally press the house key into her hand, after all. “Don’t lose it,” she’d say, every single schoolday morning, and Kiriko would nod obediently, closing her fingers around that key and feeling its metal teeth against her palm.
Don’t lose it.
Nobody’s there to say those words anymore.
Maybe that’s why.
“Nee-chan, are we locked out?” She glances over her shoulder to find Gou staring up at her, eyes wide and owlish, rocking back and forth on his heels.
“Sorry,” she says. Gou doesn’t mind, of course, but she hates feeling like this – like she’s failed as a sister, no matter how small that failure might be. “Auntie should be home in an hour. I guess… we’ll just have to wait.”
Sure enough, Gou simply shrugs his assent, pulling his Gameboy out of his backpack and taking a seat on the front stoop. Kiriko sighs and joins him a moment later; listens to the tinny chiptune music of his video game as she stares out at the empty street. She has homework she could start, and a book she could read, but somehow she can’t quite work up the motivation for either. She’s just about resigned herself to an hour of nothing when movement from next door catches her eye – the neighbor stepping out to check his mail.
It’s rare, for him to be home at this hour. Auntie says he’s a police officer – “very polite and quiet, and so handsome, too” – but seems to know little else about him despite her proclivity for gossip. Kiriko watches him cautiously out of the corner of her eye and thinks that it’s strange, for one person to live alone in a house of that size. It must feel very empty sometimes.
He glances over at them as he makes his way back from the mailbox, pausing mid-step, and Kiriko ducks her head politely, trying not to look like she’s been staring.
“Are you… locked out?” he asks a second later. “If you’d like, you could come inside.” He gestures in the direction of his front door. “Until someone gets home, I mean.”
It’s a tempting suggestion, but one that Kiriko can’t imagine accepting. Her mother always told her to avoid imposing on people as much as possible. Strangers in particular. Sometimes people feel obligated, she’d said. Just because they offer doesn’t mean they actually want –
But Gou is already jumping to his feet and sprinting towards the adjacent house, pausing for a moment to grin up at the man and flash a peace sign as he passes by.
“Thanks, ossan,” he calls, and opens the door like it belongs to him before disappearing inside.
“…Ossan?” the man echoes, eyes wide and startled. Kiriko isn’t always good at guessing the ages of adults, but he certainly doesn’t look old enough for that.
“I- I am so sorry,” Kiriko stammers, getting to her feet and bowing deeply. “He says rude things sometimes but he’s not a bad kid, I swear, he’s just a little hard to handle, so – ”
The man lifts a hand to cut off her anxious rambling, his smile vaguely bemused. “It’s alright,” he says. “I don’t mind, really. You two are… Horii-san’s niece and nephew, correct? Her sister’s children?”
“Ah, um, yes,” she says, blinking at him, a bit taken aback that he would know anything about them at all. “I’m… Shijima Kiriko. My brother’s name is Gou.”
The man nods thoughtfully, as if he were filing the names away for safekeeping. “I’m Ichijou Kaoru,” he says. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
The inside of Ichijou-san’s house is a bit sparse, Kiriko thinks. Spacious and uncluttered, with plain, practical furniture and a few tasteful paintings as the only things decorating the walls. A home that very much matches its owner. (And yet it hardly feels lived-in in the way Auntie’s house does, or in the way their old apartment used to. Gou has flopped down on a chair in the living room, once again pressing buttons on his Gameboy, but a person sitting there so comfortably seems somehow out of place.)
“My grandparents left me this house when they passed away,” Ichijou-san explains, as if he can sense her train of thought. “I’ve always felt a little strange living here alone. Someplace smaller would suit me better, I’m sure. But selling their last gift to me… I can’t quite bring myself to do that.” He pauses, then, and glances over at her with a faint, sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“It’s okay,” Kiriko blurts out. It’s rare, for an adult to speak to her so candidly about the details of their life, as if the two of them were on equal footing.
“Would you like some tea?” he asks, as he leads her into the kitchen.
“Oh… yes please,” Kiriko says, a bit distracted. The kitchen is just like the rest of the house in its tidiness and simplicity, and so her attention can’t help but be drawn to the two brightly-coloured postcards that decorate the refrigerator. One of them reads V-E-N-E-Z-U-E-L-A in blocky lettering over a photo of a beautiful white sand beach, and Kiriko frowns. They’ve only just begun English lessons in school – she knows the letters, of course, but can’t always put them together into understandable words just yet.
The sound of footsteps running down the hall makes her lose her train of thought entirely. She swivels around to peer through the doorway, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and sure enough catches a glimpse of Gou disappearing up the staircase.
“Gou! This is someone else’s house! You have to ask!” she shouts after him, but receives only the creak of floorboards in response.
“It’s fine,” Ichijou-san says, his smile reassuring as he sets her tea down in front of her. “I don’t really mind. I doubt anything I own will be of much interest to him anyhow.”
Kiriko stares at him for a moment before nodding slowly, tension lessening a bit as she leans back in her seat.
“He’s always caused trouble,” she says, quiet and hesitant, wrapping her hands around the mug and letting the warmth sink in. “But… lately it’s been different. He just doesn’t listen to people as much anymore. Even me.”
Ichijou-san is silent for a time, leaning against the counter and staring thoughtfully into his own teacup.
“Your mother,” he says finally. “Did she used to scold him a lot?”
“Ah, yeah,” Kiriko says, blinking up at him. “She would always be telling him off. But… she wasn’t very good at being scary. Most of the time when she scolded him he would just laugh.” She can’t help but a smile a bit at the memory. Saying it out loud feels good, somehow, in contrast with the hollow sadness she often feels when she’s alone with her thoughts.
“It’s hard, losing a parent,” Ichijou-san says. “People react in odd ways, sometimes. I think, maybe… he’s acting out in hopes that he’ll hear her voice again.”
Kiriko takes a sip of tea and swallows against the sudden tightness in her throat.
“Yeah,” she says. “Maybe.”
She starts paying closer attention to Ichijou-san after that day – to the sad-looking hydrangeas in the planter beneath his windowsill (he gives them too much water), and to the way he always seems somewhat anticipatory when he checks the mail. But most of all, to the relentless work schedule he keeps. Yesterday was a holiday, and yet still, late in the afternoon, Kiriko glanced out the window to see Ichijou-san leaving the house in full suit and tie, shrugging on his detective’s coat in a hurry, mobile phone pressed against his ear.
“Is it fun?” she asks him, when she stops by for tea again. (Auntie made too many pickled vegetables, and Kiriko had wandered over dutifully to foist some on him.) “Being a police officer?”
He “hmm”s softly, brow knitting together as he stirs his tea.
“I don’t know about fun,” he says. “I guess I’d call it… rewarding? It’s nice to think that someone’s day is safer, easier, because of the work that you do. Even if it’s just one person, if you can help them somehow, better yet if you can save their life… It’s a good feeling.” A thought seems to occur to him, then. “Oh, would you like something with that? A coworker gave me some cookies, but I’m not much for sweets.”
“Ah, sure,” Kiriko says, ducking her head. “Thank you.”
As he rummages through the cupboard, she happens to glance over at the refrigerator. There’s a new postcard to go along with the other two – El Paso, Texas, it says, over a photo of a sprawling city with reddish hills rising up in the distance, and she recognizes at least part of that name. A place in America. She could point to it on a map, probably (or at least somewhere close).
She wonders who they are, the person who sends Ichijou-san postcards.
Somehow, she thinks, asking just doesn’t feel right.
Leaving Gou alone in the children’s section is irresponsible, she knows, but the public library is far enough away from their new home that they rarely get a chance to visit. This might be her only opportunity for a while yet.
“I… have to do something for a class project,” she says. She hates how easy lying to him has become. “I’ll be upstairs in the news room. Just stay here, okay? Don’t cause any trouble.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gou murmurs distractedly from his place on the floor, where he’s lying on his stomach with a picture book of puzzles open in front of him. The toes of his light-up sneakers tap the carpet in a steady rhythm. “Don’t worry so much, nee-chan.”
The middle-aged woman behind the desk in the news room gives her a faint smile as she steps through the door.
“Can I help you find something?” she asks, and Kiriko hesitates.
“I’m looking for articles,” she says cautiously. “About the Unidentified Lifeforms.”
The woman’s polite expression slips a bit, then, her smile faltering, replaced with something hard and somber.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “Those articles… Most of them aren’t exactly light reading.”
Kiriko nods, holding the woman’s gaze steadily as she does so. She’s long since made up her mind about this.
“… Alright,” the woman says, pushing her chair back and getting to her feet. “Follow me.”
The articles are recent enough that they haven’t yet been transferred on to film. Instead, she rummages through a gigantic filing cabinet, pulling out news clippings with expert precision, as if she already knew their locations by heart.
“These are the most informative articles I’ve found,” she says, handing them to Kiriko one by one. “These here are general thinkpieces about the situation a year ago, and these are news coverage of the most notable incidents and deaths.” She pauses, then, and glances over at Kiriko with a gentle kind of inquisitiveness. “I suppose it’s none of my business, but… what are you hoping to find, exactly?”
Kiriko shakes her head.
“I don’t really know,” she admits. “I just… want to understand.”
The woman’s smile is small and sad as she presses the last of the news clippings into Kiriko’s outstretched hand. “You and me both,” she says.
She was right, Kiriko thinks as she takes a seat at a nearby table and begins to pore over the articles. This is anything but light reading. Despite the vagueness of the details, each description of the victims makes her feel a little more sick to her stomach. “Is this retribution?” one letter to the editor asks, and the words burn at the back of her mind, hot and bitter and caustic. As if any of these people really deserved to die like they did.
Her eyes slide towards the photo that accompanies this particular article – a blurry shot of Yongou facing off with one of the creatures, police officers forming a barricade around them. As she looks closer, she can’t help but think that one of the policemen seems familiar. The photo is grainy, his face only in profile, and yet… Taking a sharp breath, she flips through the articles hurriedly until she finds another, similar photo. There he is again, in the background this time, with a rifle leveled straight at the monster’s heart. She’s spent enough time observing him lately that it’s unmistakable.
Somehow it’s never crossed her mind that Ichijou-san might have been there on the front lines. She was unable (or perhaps unwilling) to connect the dots between the kind, quiet neighbor who overwaters his flowers and the terror of what happened a year ago.
But now that she thinks about it, she can see it plain as day. He has that look about him too, after all. Of someone whose life was forever changed by the Unidentified Lifeforms.
Though maybe, Kiriko thinks, in a very different way than hers was.
It’s getting late when she knocks on his door.
“Kiriko-kun?” he says when he answers – a concerned kind of inquisitiveness. She must have a strange expression on her face. “Is something wrong?”
For a time she says nothing. Just folds and unfolds her hands in front of her, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. And then:
“We lied to Gou,” she says abruptly. “Me and Auntie and everyone. We told him that our mom got hit by a car, and that’s how she died. We said that because we didn’t want to scare him, you know? But really she – she was killed. By one of those things. It sliced her throat open. They told me not to look at the body but I did it anyway.”
She glances up to find Ichijou-san grim-faced, his knuckles white where he’s still gripping the doorknob.
“Ichijou-san, you… were there, weren’t you?” she continues. “You fought against them. So I thought maybe you could tell me. About those monsters, and – and why she had to die. I thought maybe you would know.”
She holds his gaze – steady and somber – for a long moment, and then he wordlessly steps aside to invite her in.
“They were called Grongi,” he says, as he sets a glass of cold barley tea in front of her. (The weather has been getting warmer lately, after all, an abnormally chilly spring finally giving way to summer.) “They were a race that lived thousands of years ago and were sealed away.” He takes the seat across from her, lapsing into silence once again, lips pressed together in a thin, hard line. “I wish I could tell you,” he says finally, “that your mother’s death meant something. But that would be a lie.
“For them, killing humans was part of a… ritual, of sorts. But I think it was more like a game. To see how many they each could kill, and in which ways. It was their sport.”
Kiriko stares down at the tabletop, at her own hand clenched into a fist, and can feel a terrible ache forming in the pit of her stomach. She’d been prepared for this, hadn’t she? It’s not as if she’d really expected there to be a reason. But somehow it still hurts so much to hear it said out loud.
“If you need someone to blame,” Ichijou-san continues, “blame us. Blame the police. Our job is to protect civilians like your mother, and we – we failed. We couldn’t do anything against those creatures. But please,” he says, and here his voice is pleading, and Kiriko looks up to see a startling kind of intensity in his eyes, so different from the placid composure she’s used to. “Please don’t blame Yongou. He’s human, just like you and me. He’s just one person, and he… He did everything he could.”
Kiriko shakes her head weakly. “I don’t blame you, either,” she manages to say past the tightness in her throat. “I don’t… I just…”
She doesn’t even notice the tears until the first one rolls down her cheek. “Ah,” she whispers, and reaches up to wipe them away, to brush it all aside like she’s being doing for months and months, but the tears just keep coming all the same, hot against her fingertips. Calm down, she tells herself, and takes a deep breath, but when she exhales it comes out strangled and faltering.
As sobs start to take hold of her, she tries to say I’m sorry, tries to apologize for making such a scene, but what she says instead is:
“I want my mom back.”
The line of Ichijou-san’s jaw is tight with tension as he nods. He takes the tissue box from the counter and slides it across the table towards her, and then turns to stare pointedly out the window, sipping at his tea in silence as Kiriko cries.
(Later, as she says her goodbyes, she feels calm for the first time in a long while.)
It happens near the end of June. She’s in the middle of homework, stumped by a math problem she doesn’t quite understand, and glances up to see a man she doesn’t know standing in front of the house. He’s talking with Gou, who – as usual – is ditching his own schoolwork in favor of whatever sport he’s obsessed with this week. At the moment it’s soccer, and Kiriko watches through narrowed eyes as Gou kicks the ball to the stranger, who begins to juggle it with ease. He flips it up and bounces it off his head, and Kiriko can see Gou’s impressed grin even from here.
She’s never been one to be wary of strangers, but this man is suspicious-looking to say the least. Scruffy facial hair, fraying jeans with a patch across one knee, a backpack that looks like it holds every single one of his belongings… She gets up and moves closer to the window to get a better view, which is of course when Gou chooses to notice and point towards her, his mouth moving in the shape of the word “nee-chan.” Both he and the stranger wave to her in unison. (Taken aback, she can’t help but wave in return.)
By the time she exits the house, the man has already wandered away.
“Who was that?” she asks, and Gou shrugs, focused on trying to juggle the ball just like the stranger had. “He didn’t say anything weird to you, did he…?”
She trails off. The man is back, this time walking boldly up the path towards Ichijou-san’s house. He doesn’t even glance at the front door, though. Instead, he turns off to the side, hefting himself up on to the first floor windowsill, and begins to climb, scaling the side of the house as if it were a jungle gym.
Forgotten, Gou’s soccer ball falls to the ground with a muffled thunk. He and Kiriko stand there in stunned silence, watching as the man works his way up to the second story window and hoists it open. He turns to look down at the two of them, then, putting a finger to his lips with a grin, before ducking inside and disappearing from view.
For a time, neither of them says anything, until finally Kiriko whispers:
“Breaking and entering.”
She’s never been a direct witness to a crime before. It’s a little exciting, if she’s being honest, but the thrill of it is quickly worn away by a sense of all-consuming panic.
“We – we have to do something,” she exclaims, rounding on Gou with what she can only assume is a manic gleam in her eye. “We have to call the police!”
“Nee-chan, you can’t call the police to come to a policeman’s house,” Gou says matter-of-factly. “It doesn’t work. I read about it on the computer.”
Kiriko frowns. That doesn’t sound right at all, but he says it with such conviction.
“Well… we can’t just sit here!” She paces back and forth, wringing her hands together (just like her mother used to do, she realizes distantly, but now’s not the time for that). “We could wait until Ichijou-san gets home and warn him before he goes inside, maybe?”
Gou’s eyes light up. “Like a stakeout!”
“Uh. Yeah, I guess?”
“We should have weapons, too! In case it gets dangerous.” He looks far too eager about the prospect of it getting dangerous. “I’ll take my softball bat, and you can have my hockey stick if you want. And if he tries to run – ”
Here Gou mimics the swing of a bat, with an added sound effect that makes Kiriko wince.
“Well, let’s try not to hit anyone if we can help it,” she says weakly, putting a hand on the top of Gou’s head and pressing down, like she’s trying to smother his excess energy.
Which is how they wind up stationed at the window with the best view of Ichijou-san’s front gate, trading a pair of binoculars back and forth, mismatched sports equipment leaning against the wall. It’s still late afternoon, which means it’ll probably be at least a few hours until Ichijou-san returns home from work, but a stakeout has to account for every possibility.
They settle in to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Kiriko is jolted awake by Gou’s hand shaking her shoulder.
“Nee-chan, wake up,” he’s saying, gesturing towards the window. It’s suddenly, inexplicably dark outside, a light on over at Ichijou-san’s house, and her bleary tiredness begins to fade into sharp realization. “We fell asleep and missed him! What if he’s – ”
Fumbling around for the hockey stick without a second thought, Kiriko jumps to her feet and starts to run.
Ichijou-san blinks at them when he opens the door.
“Is… Is everything alright?” he asks.
“Ichijou-san, there’s – ” Kiriko pauses, lowering her voice to a hoarse whisper. “I think there might be someone in your house.”
He raises an eyebrow, and at that very moment someone’s head pops up behind him, peering over his shoulder.
“Oh, the neighbor kids,” they say. It’s the same man as before, Kiriko realizes, her grip on the hockey stick loosening in surprise. Clean shaven now, wearing a fresh change of clothes, he no longer looks like a criminal on the lam. (Actually, Kiriko’s not sure she’s ever seen someone with such an innately affable face.)
“Are you guys friends with him?” he asks, pointing between them and Ichijou-san, and Kiriko nods hesitantly. In reality she’s not quite sure how to categorize her relationship with Ichijou-san, but the word “friends” makes her feel somewhat pleased nonetheless.
“Seriously?” he says, eyes brightening, and seems to nudge Ichijou-san with his elbow. “That’s great.”
Ichijou-san clears his throat. “Thank you for your concern,” he says, and looks like he’s trying to stifle a laugh. “But I do know this person. He’s not a burglar or anything like that.” He hesitates. “Would you… like to come in?”
Gou once again takes him up on the offer before Kiriko can politely refuse.
“You know, not every place is like Sakurako’s,” Ichijou-san calls over his shoulder as he heads for the kitchen. He’s going for “admonishing” but there’s a smile in his voice all the same. “Coming in through the window is going to get you in trouble someday, Godai Yuusuke.”
“Yes, sir,” the man – Godai – says, saluting smartly, and then turns back to the two of them. He raises an eyebrow at Kiriko. “I already met Gou, but I don’t know your name yet.”
“… It’s… Shijima Kiriko. It’s nice to meet you,” she says, more a reflex than anything. (So far this meeting has been more bewildering than nice.)
“Hey, same here,” Godai says, grinning broadly. He pulls something out of his shirt pocket and presses it into her hand. “This is me.”
It’s a business card. The man who chases his dreams, it says. Jack of all trades. 1999 2014 skills and counting! Next to his name there’s a strange symbol that she doesn’t recognize, as well as a cartoonish depiction of a person giving a thumbs up. Kiriko looks up in confusion and finds him mimicking the gesture.
“2014 skills?” Gou reads aloud. “Seriously? Can you do magic tricks?”
“Yep.”
“Can you play guitar?”
“Working on it.”
“Can you…”
Leaving them to their question-and-answer routine, Kiriko takes this opportunity to exit the room and head for sanctity of the kitchen. Ichijou-san is watching over a pot of soup, stirring it occasionally; as Kiriko wanders over to stand next to him he gives her a sidelong glance, seeming to read her expression.
“He’s a bit of an odd person, isn’t he?” he says, with a small, fond smile. “It took me a while to get used to it, back when we first met.”
Who is he? Kiriko almost asks, but in a sense she knows the answer already. He’s the one who sends the postcards. Maybe she doesn’t need to know any more than that.
“Thank you,” he continues. “For not calling the police. That would have been an… unfortunate way to welcome him back.” After a thoughtful pause, he takes a tasting dish from the counter and scoops up a bit of broth from the soup, offering it to Kiriko, who accepts it gingerly. “What do you think?”
“It’s good,” she says, and can feel her eyes widen in surprise. Something about the combination of flavors is unlike anything she’s ever tasted.
“It’s his work, mostly. He’s a better chef than I am,” Ichijou-san says with a quiet laugh. “Sorry, but could you let him know that it’s ready? You and Gou-kun are welcome to stay as well,” and here he checks his watch, “though you’ve probably already eaten. Ten o’clock is… a bit late for dinner.”
When she wanders back into the next room, Godai is in the middle of showing Gou something – a sketchbook, filled with amateurish but intricate drawings of people and scenery. Shockingly, Gou is sitting still for this, nodding along as Godai tells him about a family he met while backpacking across Brazil.
“Umm,” Kiriko says.
Godai looks up at her and smiles. “Oh, is it done? You guys are gonna stay, right?”
He gets to his feet and heads for the kitchen, and Kiriko trails behind him. She watches from afar as he joins Ichijou-san at the stovetop, as he taste-tests the soup and shakes his head, gesturing animatedly and launching into what is undoubtedly another story about his travels. She watches as Ichijou-san says something in return, expression soft and quietly amused, their shoulders brushing as he reaches across the counter.
Oh, Kiriko thinks.
“Actually,” she says, louder than she intended, “we – we have to go home now! We have to… help Auntie with something.”
“Huh?” Gou frowns up at her. “No we don’t – ”
She claps a hand over his mouth. “Thank you very much for inviting us! Sorry for the trouble!” She bows her way down the hallway, then, dragging Gou by the collar, and doesn’t let out the breath she’s holding until the front door is shut firmly behind them.
Gou levels her with an unimpressed look.
“Listen,” she says, “they’re clearly…” She trails off, opening her mouth and then closing it again as she searches for the right words, and finally settles on: “I think we were bothering them. Let’s just go home. Okay?”
Gou grumbles his sullen assent, grabbing his softball bat from the front stoop and following after her.
(She keeps the business card – tucks it between the pages of one of her favorite books for safekeeping. She’s not sure why. Something about it feels like a piece of a much larger puzzle, one that she will most likely never see completed.)
The news that they’re moving away comes suddenly and without warning. Uncle has been offered a new and better job at a branch in Mito, and the company has even agreed to pay for their lodgings while they find a new home and sell their old one.
Ichijou-san has been even busier than usual lately, undoubtedly working the serial assault cases that have been on the news (but also, she thinks, throwing himself into his work now that Godai-san is gone again). He gets home later and later each day, it seems, and sometimes not at all.
In the end, Kiriko doesn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.
And yet when they visit their mother’s grave, to pay their respects once more before they leave, it seems that someone has been there already, leaving behind a small glass bottle filled with somewhat-wilted hydrangeas.
Twelve years later, she goes back.
The neighborhood hasn’t changed much, still as quaint and quiet as the Tokyo suburbs can be, though Ichijou-san’s house looks better, she supposes, more colourful and lived-in. The flowers in the box beneath the window seem healthy and well-cared-for now. A woman holding a bag full of groceries approaches as Kiriko hesitates by the gate.
“Can I help you?” she – Minori – says. She’s still wearing a nametag from work, pinned to an apron that’s smudged with paint.
“Do you live here?” Kiriko asks, and receives a nod in return. “Do you… know someone named Ichijou Kaoru?”
Minori’s expression brightens. “Oh, yes. He’s my brother-in-law. So to speak. Are you looking for him? I’m afraid he moved away just last year – he’s out in Aichi now. I can get you his address, if you like…”
“No,” Kiriko says quickly, feeling a sudden, overwhelming sense of awkwardness. What is she doing here? Most likely he doesn’t even remember the sad little girl who cried at his kitchen table all those years ago. “No, that’s… Thank you, though. Um. Sorry to pry, but… Did he sell this house to you? I remember him saying that he didn’t want to.”
“It was actually a gift,” Minori says. “For me and my husband. Obviously I protested, but… he was rather insistent. In a polite way, of course. I think he was fine with parting with the place, as long as no money exchanged hands.” She gives Kiriko a small, knowing smile. “Such a principled guy, isn’t he?”
“…Yeah,” Kiriko says, shifting her weight and feeling the outline of the brand new police badge in her pocket. “He is.”
“Hey, Kiriko.”
Tomari-san pushes his chair back to bump against hers, like he often does when he’s trying to get her attention, and she lifts her pen from the paper just in time to avoid being jostled.
“Hmm?”
“I’ve been wondering… Why’d you decide to be a cop? I mean, I know why you joined the SCU, but. In general. There had to have been a hundred other things you could’ve done, right?”
Kiriko pauses in her writing, staring down at the report in front of her, reading and re-reading the words “the victim was rescued and taken into police custody unharmed” and feeling that familiar, satisfied warmth thread its way through her chest.
Even if it’s just one person, if you can help them somehow, better yet if you can save their life… It’s a good feeling.
“Same as you, I suppose,” she says, after a moment of contemplative silence. “There’s someone I wanted to be like.”