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In the early days, the Foundation had a very different atmosphere from what it would eventually become. After Keisuke and the others had been rescued from the drowned remains of the Third Kisaragi Laboratory, it had been difficult at first to find a place amidst the order and chaos they seemed to constantly be embroiled in. During those days, he, along with Maki, Yamaguchi, Tomori, and Ando, were moreso civilians being protected than actual members of the organization. With the limited resources the organization had, most of it went towards survival; there wasn’t much left for anything beyond everyone’s safety. Even if there had been enough equipment to arm and gear up more people for field missions, training and leading them all was already a challenge.
According to Kinjo, doing so without a larger chain of command, more people would only lead to a bureaucratic bottleneck, and an inability for those in higher positions to properly lead the larger teams below them. Keisuke didn’t have much of a sense for those kinds of things, but he’d seen Kinjo take enough reports from his subordinates to realize that the workload was already immense. Keisuke wasn’t alone in that realization, either, of course. The remnants of the original Kisaragi Foundation, and the three young people attempting to lead it were being stretched very thin. Kinjo called it growing pains, and Mekaru said that it would be much better once more people were properly trained in all categories, but Otori, ever the odd man out, was a bit more honest.
“It’s hard not ta worry that it’s all gonna come crashin’ down.” He’d whispered this to Keisuke during one of their more solemn meet ups. “Makes me wonder what they’d have done, ya know?”
“Yeah. I know.” Before there’d been actual memorials for them to visit, he and Otori had sometimes made a habit of sitting together near a small photo wall that had always had a place somewhere in their bases no matter how far they traveled. The first few times they’d talked about Satsuki, he hadn’t quite been able to allow himself to be sad in front of her classmate. Somehow, it felt like a betrayal. It was only after he’d found Otori crying there once, quickly trying to wipe away his tears, that Keisuke had been able to let his smile fade too. Though his instinct was to try and console Otori, and ignore his own feelings, it wasn’t like Keisuke was amazing at consoling others. There were, after all, some times when a smile and performance only took you so far. Still, he tried, and Otori tried, and they shared their grief together. Whether it was talking about Kobashikawa, Maki, or Satsuki, Keisuke found some kind of solace in Otori’s presence. If nothing else, it gave him something to do when he felt useless.
He was pretty sure Ryutaro Maki, who sometimes stood silently by as they reminisced, felt similarly. Early on, he’d watched on with that overly-serious expression of his as the field operatives geared up before they left, and got bandaged up after returning. It was obvious what he thought he should be doing. At first, it had been hard to understand why the scared teen he’d met back then would have any interest in fighting. It was only after seeing the look on Maki’s face as he watched one of the Foundation operatives cleaning a sniper rifle that Keisuke finally got the picture, even if his young friend would never say anything out loud. Unfortunately for him, there was no real path forward.
“You’re too young.” Kinjo had said flatly, arms crossed from where he stood in their makeshift meeting room, which was actually just a dusty corner-pharmacy. They’d made camp for now in an abandoned underground shopping mall adjacent to an old subway line. It was terribly insecure, which Kinjo had not let anyone forget, but also filled with resources to replenish and grow their stores, which Otori and Mekaru refused to let him forget.
“At my age, you’d already been a police officer for years,” Ryutaro protested in that needling, insistent way only a teenage boy could muster. The only response Kinjo gave was a deeper frown, and a change in expression from his usual furrowed brows (Keisuke had learned by now that what he’d assumed was irritation was probably just Kinjo’s neutral face) to something closer to actual irritation or discomfort. For the first time, Keisuke considered the weight of that statement, and was forced to hold onto it. Even during Satsuki’s school days, he’d never given it a second thought. Kinjo was a prospective talent, after all-an Ultimate; and even back then, it had sometimes been easy to forget how old he was; even younger than Keisuke had been.
“You’re woefully inexperienced, then,” Mekaru entered the conversation officially then, having abandoned her paperwork. That moment, with both Kinjo and Mekaru glaring at someone, was when most people would have cut their losses and run, but surprisingly, Maki was insistent.
“Then teach me!” He’d said, hands balled into fists. “I’m sick of doing nothing! We survived a lot of shit to get here, but for what? Just to sit back and watch you guys protect us?” In another corner of the room, Midori Yamaguchi winced, and her gaze drifted to the floor, but nobody, least of all Ryutaro, seemed to notice. Ando and Tomori exchanged uneasy glances, but Keisuke knew they must have felt the same way, at least at first. Tomori had been the first one to volunteer herself to help out, using her experience working in call centers and secretary positions to help coordinate their communications. At the time, things were still being figured out, but once more time had passed, and their radio capabilities had increased, she’d eventually become a formidable dispatcher. Ando, naturally, quickly found a place among the medical staff, and had been able to offer first aid and other emergency response training to many of the Foundation members right from the get go. Unlike the younger three, they’d seemingly had no problem fitting into things even from the start.
At ‘we survived a lot of shit to get here,’ Mekaru exchanged a somber look with Kinjo and Otori. It could have been read as her discounting things, but Keisuke just thought she looked… sad. In contrast, Otori was definitely sad, and kept looking back and forth between Mekaru and Kinjo, whose eyes had a weird haze clouding them for just a moment before clearing.
“Maki…” Otori began, trying as usual to simmer things down. He placed a hand on Ryutaro’s shoulder, but the teen just shrugged it away. Still, even he knew when he was beaten. It wasn’t often that those two were completely united on anything, but when it did happen, they were an unstoppable force. Anyone in opposition ought to give up lest they be verbally crushed for the crime of stubbornness. Determined as he was, Maki was alone in this endeavor; none of them agreed, and none of them wanted to watch a teen like him go off into the despairing, crime-ridden world with a gun in his hand. In the end, Ryutaro had just scoffed, and stormed off, leaving a sighing Otori in his wake. After he left, Keisuke debated going after him for several seconds, but Yamaguchi and Ando beat him to it in the end. Tomori just sighed, and shook her head. Naturally, Keisuke agreed with Maki staying away from the field. Even if he was considering that path for himself, Keisuke had seen enough destruction by now that he hadn’t managed to convince himself to offer his life up just yet. Back then, those three had been directly involved in almost everything, and because of that, the leaders had been in some level of danger far more often than they should have been. Not even a week later, that reality would come crashing into them head on, and the guilt of not stepping up before would force Keisuke’s hand.
It had been yet another easily-shatterable day of tenuous peace. Keisuke had been with Mekaru, Kinjo, and Otori on yet another scavenging trip when Kinjo had suddenly stopped walking. Otori and Keisuke, who’d been on the other side of the tracks, didn’t notice, as their focus was captured by a colorful and familiar looking shop near the upcoming station on their side of the track. Mekaru, however, halted immediately, and her mouth opened, eyebrows furrowed and posture shifting just as Kinjo turned to her.
“Mekaru-” The word was sharp and urgent, and she was moving before he’d finished speaking; having caught sight of the small shape with tiny led light in the distance he’d gestured toward, she’d put the pieces together almost instantly. Already, a high-frequency buzz was quietly filling the air, but the sound of something landing on the other side of the tracks, and Otori’s high-pitched scream were the only things Keisuke heard. A half-second later, a heavy weight slammed into him, and he’d been knocked back into the station behind them. They smashed through a turnstile, and Keisuke had flown back as something catastrophic rippled through the air, and launched everything outwards. For a moment, it felt like he was spinning through the air mid-trapeze, but then he landed hard on a tiled floor, and found himself in a world suddenly filled with debris and smoke. Something crashed into the ground along with him, and he felt a shoulder bang against his chest before something heavy and warm sunk over his midsection.
Somewhere nearby, he heard Otori wheezing for air, and saw a distinctly pointy shadow poking up through the haze.
“Me…Mekaru…?” He called. Keisuke let out an uneasy and choked breath of relief upon seeing and hearing him. The air had been knocked out of him, so it was hard to breathe or speak, even without the heavy weight pressing him down.
“Still alive,” she answered. “...Psycho-cop?” Everything was silent for a second too long, and Keisuke shifted upwards, trying to sit up and stand so he could get up and reach them. The weight against him slid downwards and away, and at the same time, a sharp, groaning sound came from beside him. It sounded more like the kind of noise an injured animal would make than a person. Even though it wasn’t like any sound he’d ever heard Kinjo make, Keisuke recognized it immediately. He reached out, trying to find the person lying there despite the dust still clouding near the ground.
“Ira-”
“Here!” As he managed to catch his breath, Keisuke opened his mouth to speak at the same time Otori called out for him. A few seconds later, Mekaru’s face appeared from the fog, and she knelt down to help get Kinjo off Keisuke, and up on his feet.
“Hey. You better still be alive,” Mekaru glared at him, as though her ire alone could make him less or more so. Kinjo met her gaze evenly, but when she and Keisuke set him back on his feet, one leg slipped out from under him, and he winced. It was such a quiet and subtle reaction that Keisuke at first thought it must not be serious, but when Otori came over, and ran an inquisitive hand down his leg, he hissed, and the usual cool expression on his face contorted slightly with pain.
“...It’s…” he closed his eyes and grimaced. “...broken.”
“Yeah. We can see that.” Mekaru said flatly, and Otori’s face softened with pity and concern. Before Kinjo could open his mouth, Mekaru gave up one of his arms to Otori, and took charge. Kinjo frowned at her. “You were about to say we need to move, right?” He gave a begrudging nod. “Well come on then, let’s get out of here.”
“Watch… the left passage,” Kinjo muttered. Keisuke was amazed he could keep his eyes open and continue talking. Mekaru nodded without turning around, and lifted her gun from its holster. She led the way, vigilant of their surroundings, and eventually, they escaped out into open air.
“Nobody showed…?” Otori’s head was on a swivel, but he, like Keisuke, seemed relieved not to have met any resistance.
“I guess we were lucky…?” Keisuke bit his lip awkwardly as the other three paused, went silent, and exchanged a look he couldn’t parse.
“We’re not in the clear…” Kinjo warned. His gaze continued to sweep the area in front of them for any threats, still surprisingly sharp despite the pain he must have been in. It was true that in the end, on their way back to the others, they wouldn’t be ambushed or get dragged into a firefight. However, even on the surface, the damage only became more and more clear. The entire underground mall had been impacted by the explosion that had destroyed the lower subway, and it was clear there’d be no coming back from it. The more they saw, the longer the silence stretched out between them. That was how it always was while you were waiting to see who was alive, and who was dead. It was a tremendous relief, perhaps more than Keisuke could have known, when a familiar blonde-haired face appeared among the debris.
“Iranami!” Maki weaved through several broken walls to get to them. Yamaguchi was close behind, one hand pressed into his, but clearly struggling with the dust-laden air.
“You’re both okay,” Keisuke felt something release in his chest as they exchanged fearful but relieved smiles.
“K-Kinjo,” Yamaguchi’s dark eyes widened. Kinjo turned away from the pity and concern in her eyes, stiffening and squaring his shoulders in an attempt to appear more sturdy despite his current position of leaning on two other men’s shoulders for support. “What happened?”
“We were caught in the blast.” Mekaru’s lips formed a terse line. “He’ll be fine,” she said, as though she could order it to be true. “Now, where are the others?”
Soon after, things devolved into organized chaos. The evacuation went fast and smooth, and investigations started soon after. The only thing they managed to deduce afterwards in the absence of any proper evidence was that it was most certainly an attack targeted towards the organization. In the end, they never found out if it was even related to the remnants of despair and related groups and individuals left behind after the Tragedy, or if it was a random act of violence or some attempt to steal or take revenge. However, they’d gotten away with just injuries and lost resources. An outcome with no deaths was more than you could ask for these days. So, they licked their wounds, and moved on as best they could.
After the explosion, there was little left of their base but ash and seared concrete. Left with little other choice, they’d left it behind, only returning a few times to retrieve what they could from the ruins. Despite that, in two months since, Kinjo had personally returned on two occasions. At this point, Kinjo had left the crutches behind, though he’d relented to using a cane for the first time; something that he’d need to rely on more and more as time went on. Even when his leg was still healing though, he’d returned to that place. At first, Keisuke had been sure there’d been some kind of intel or important supply left behind, and he was simply searching the ruins either to recover it or confirm its destruction. But after the third time, when Mekaru and Otori had exchanged looks, and gone with him, he’d begun to wonder if that was really all it was. When they returned, Keisuke paid close attention. Kinjo came through the entrance first, pausing under the tarp to scan the room before entering. Keisuke watched his gaze sweep the tent, searching the darker corners, and examining each face. It was only after he’d seemingly confirmed there were no enemies lying in wait that the man stopped looking.
“If you’d just fess up about whatever it is you need back so badly, it’d be a lot easier,” Mekaru followed him in, and took off her soot-covered coat. “Do you trust us that little?”
“I would tell you if it was something like that,” Kinjo met her gaze evenly as she passed him. “It’s not relevant to some mission or anything else. That’s why it’s not necessary for either of you two to be involved…”
“Ya know, there’s nothing wrong with being attached to stuff,” Otori’s voice was quieter than usual as he entered their temporary hideout with his arms full. A crate of supposedly salvageable and worthwhile objects (Keisuke had his doubts at the time, but Otori would prove him wrong later down the line) jangled slightly as he set the entire thing on a foldable table near the back of their makeshift communications center. Otori’s hand hovered over a pair of goggles sitting over a blue scarf tightly tied to his neck in a neat knot beneath his coat to keep it safe from ash and cobwebs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kinjo’s voice was quieter too and sounded tired as he continued the thread of an existing conversation. His boots and palms were grey with ash, but he didn’t pause in the doorway. After reaching an arm out to stop the man from continuing, Mekaru gave him a look that said ‘Do not get that stuff all over our just barely cleaned up new base or so help me…’ Kinjo looked to one side irritatedly, but it was hard to tell if it was directed at her or something else. He sighed, leaned his cane against a nearby chair, and sat down to take off his filthy boots.
“Then why have you gone back there four times now for no reason?” Arms crossed and eyes narrowed, Mekaru made for an intimidating foe, but Kinjo seemed nonplussed. Four times? Keisuke hadn’t noticed that many. “If it’s not important…”
“It isn't. Like I said, it’s nothing like that.” He paused, eyes drifting to the floor. Otori frowned, and exchanged another look with Mekaru, but it seemed she’d had enough pressing for one day. Despite all of this, the next day when Kinjo went back again, the two of them followed along despite not being asked to. Whether it was out of concern or just curiosity, Keisuke decided to tag along too. Eventually, Mekaru and Kinjo paused among the ruins, as though both of them had reached an agreement and seen the outcome already. The other two noticed soon after, and halted their own searches. Well, Otori had been methodically going over areas, surely referencing images in his head of how things had been arranged before and every item he'd seen in their inventory. Keisuke had essentially just been wandering around without much direction, picking things up that appeared not to be completely ruined and showing them to the others for approval to keep or discard them.
“I doubt there's anything salvageable left in this mess that we haven't recovered already.” Mekaru glanced over at the green haired merchant coming their way with Keisuke in tow. “If Otori hasn’t been able to find whatever it is you're missing, I doubt there's anything left to find.” Kinjo nodded in agreement.
“It's time to stop wasting time and energy here,” he said slowly, adjusting his grip on the cane.
“But we didn't find that thing ya wanted.” Otori placed a hand on Kinjo's shoulder, but the man shrugged it off and started walking again.
“Like I said, it's …not important…” Why did he sound… Sad? Mekaru just sighed, and shook her head at Otori when it looked like he might protest or keep looking. The group started to pack up the last remaining scavenge into a large backpack, which Otori swung over his shoulders. While Mekaru started planning their route back with Otori, and Kinjo leaned against a nearby wall and peered out a broken window to search the horizon for any potential danger, Keisuke softly scuffed a boot against the ashen, debris-strewn floor. He hadn't yet found any real role in the organization, and that often led to moments like this where he was left not knowing what to do, or if he should even be there at all. For a moment, he watched Kinjo. The man’s back was to him, and his posture was stiff and wary as ever, but two of his fingers were fidgeting atop the grip of his cane, and it almost seemed like he was purposely trying to avoid looking back inside. Even when he noticed Keisuke's gaze on him, he only turned back to look at him for a moment. Keisuke froze for a second under that harsh gaze, feeling briefly like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't even though he knew otherwise. Kinjo's scarlet gaze soon softened slightly as he seemed to realize the eyes on his back didn't belong to an ambushing enemy or indicate an emergency to address, and he turned back to the window. Keisuke released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and turned back to the ruins again.
Oddly, he felt a bit nostalgic all of the sudden. Back when he'd still been surviving the cruel, chaotic stage that was the Iranami family, whenever one of his siblings had misplaced something, there'd been little care or time given to finding it. He remembered once, when they'd been about to pack up and move to the next town on their route, Satsuki had lost her favorite bouncy ball, and Keisuke was the only one giving her attempts to get help finding it any attention amidst the chaos of moving. He remembered it clearly even now; it had been a bright, sunshine-yellow monster of a ball that, when dribbled on the ground, made very satisfying and loud thwacks with each impact. It had also hit Keisuke's head more times than he'd like to admit, but watching Satsuki tugging uselessly at some of the others shirts with her little hands and calling out cheerful greetings and questions and requests for help, before eventually giving up, he'd forgotten all about the bruises. Nobody else had looked for it. Nobody else had even tried. It was Keisuke who'd found it tucked away and deflated under a helium tank, in a place he suspected it had been placed in on purpose by someone, though he'd kept that part to himself. Over the years, he'd made a habit of finding things. Whenever someone lost something, Keisuke went out of his way to locate it, and was often successful. A brother’s deck of playing cards here, or a sister's glasses here… Once, his mother's favorite pearl necklace had gone missing, and of course, everything had halted and everyone had searched then. Still, out of habit, Keisuke had looked the hardest, and found it in the end even though he didn't expect nor receive a thank you.
He very rarely got much thanks in return, with one exception, of course; that first time when he'd found Satsuki's ball. Her bright smile and fierce hug of thank you had made it more than worth it. He found things for everyone, but Satsuki was the one who remembered it was always him who'd found her things, and didn't let him forget it for days after. Even if sometimes, her gratitude involved a lot of pranks or failed performances, it had meant a great deal to him. Eventually, Satsuki stopped bothering to try with anyone else, and just came straight to him whenever she’d lost something. Of course, when he lost part of his costume, there was little help thrown his way. He imagined nobody wanted to help him when it being left unfound might impact his performance. They were all desperate for any leg up, and he was well aware of the resentment directed at him for being at the top. That's why, when Satsuki had shown up in the green room with a homemade replacement collar and cap messily made from paper and ribbons, he'd been so caught off guard he'd forgotten to say thank you for several long seconds. The substitutes fell apart on stage, of course, but it had still meant the world to him even then.
Keisuke sighed, soft and slow, before his focus returned to the present day. It was a warped, distant nostalgia, for sure, but the similarities between them and now were there in his mind all the same. He'd seen that hidden disappointment before; giving up on something because it seemed there was little choice. Perhaps that was why he’d kept looking even after everyone else had given up. Eventually, after several failed items, Keisuke's shoe had knocked against a dusty fake potted plant lying askew on the floor. The fake vines shifted as the large plastic pot it was in rolled away, and something white and blue appeared amidst the ash. Keisuke knelt down, and picked it up, tapping it gently to dislodge some of the dust. As he did, the papery sound of rustling pages met his ears. Keisuke leaned back on his heels and surveyed it much in the same manner he might gauge a tightrope prior to stepping on. The item in his hands was indeed a book; some kind of textbook or manual judging by the binding and how many pages it had. The dust cover had done a surprisingly good job of protecting it, as despite being left in a building that had gone up in flames, the pages were mostly unharmed. Keisuke rubbed some of the grime away, and was able to make out something about criminal psychology written in white and black text over the blue and white cover. Though he still made his way back to the others, he was fairly certain this was yet another unrelated find. After all, what use could a fully trained and capable former police officer like Kinjo have for something like that?
However, when Keisuke reached the Director and held it up, the words he’d been about to say faded away. Kinjo’s eyes were wide and fixed so doggedly on the book that Keisuke wouldn’t have been surprised if it had burst into flames right there. Immediately, Keisuke handed it to him. There was a slight crinkling sound as the leather gloves Kinjo had donned since last time pressed tightly over the dust cover. Scarlet eyes flickered back and forth between Keisuke and the returned keepsake before he stared at the spot just to the right of Keisuke’s face and murmured a soft ‘thank you’ so quiet there was very little chance anyone else but them could have heard. Then, just like that, the moment was over. The book disappeared into Kinjo’s jacket, never to be seen again. Unless, of course, you counted the times Keisuke had seen the faint outline it made in one of Kinjo’s thick coats, or heard the pages rustling when he lifted one of Kinjo’s packs as he handed it over. In the days after, Keisuke couldn’t get it out of his mind. Mostly, he wondered if he was really the only one who knew, and if that meant something. Mekaru and Otori didn’t seem to know about it, or at least, not that it was in actuality some kind of keepsake. Kinjo wasn’t the type to get sentimental, and he rarely talked about the past unless it was with those two, or it directly necessary for the Foundation's success. He wasn’t like Otori, who wore the remnants of his lost loved ones on the daily, or Yamaguchi and Maki, who regularly brought a box of donuts and flowers to their siblings' graves. Even Keisuke kept a small photo album folded up inside his old wallet. (Since there wasn’t much point in insurance or credit cards, he’d discarded most of the contents by now, and there was plenty of room.)
Once, in the midst of a few cans of vending machine sake the group had been sharing, Keisuke had been poring over it, as he often did whenever there was downtime, and suddenly realized someone was watching over his shoulder. The director’s eyes hovered over the photo; Kobashikawa’s beaming face, Satsuki and Otori on each side they both tugged the latter into frame, Keisuke’s finger blurring one corner of the shot as he held the camera, the ground covered in confetti and spring leaves… Keisuke had set the album down on the table, and moved over a little so Kinjo could get a closer look. Somewhere past his shoulders, Keisuke heard a soft grumbling sound from Mekaru as Kinjo moved away and accidentally prodded her with one elbow.
“...I’m sorry, Iranami…” The murmur had been so quiet and unexpected that for several seconds, Keisuke hadn’t believed he’d actually heard properly.
“...What?” He’d asked, his usual smile faltering.
“...couldn’t… protect…” Kinjo’s words were hard to make out, and blurring together. Ah. Keisuke realized at last. He’s drunk, isn’t he…? It was even more surprising, because until now, he’d seemed fine. Keisuke hadn’t noticed any signs of impairment the entire evening, and the two of them had mostly been the ones looking out for everyone else. However, in retrospect, Kinjo’d had a similar amount of drinks to his classmates, and they were currently sleeping next to him with Otori’s scarf messily arranged over their shoulders. Unable to formulate a response, Keisuke just sat there, one hand resting palm down next to the pocket album. It was altogether too similar to the ruminations in his mind most nights. What if I hadn’t let them send her away? What if I’d gone to Tokyo? What if I’d left the troupe to search as soon as we’d heard the news, instead of believing she died the day the Tragedy started…?Thankfully, Keisuke’s own thoughts and hesitation went unnoticed. Eventually, the moment passed, and Kinjo seemed to drift into a different kind of haze.
“I… remember that,” He’d said slowly, brushing one thumb over Satsuki’s face in the photo. His scarlet eyes were almost wistful; or maybe, it was just that slight release of tension in his features that only seemed to come with sickness or alcohol. “It… took ages cleaning up all the confetti after it blew away…” Keisuke tucked a strand of long blue hair behind his ear. The photo had been taken before things had gotten chaotic enough that Keisuke couldn’t even remember what they’d been celebrating in the first place, but it still made him smile. It was one of the only photos he had of his sister and her friends, taken during a rare visit to Tokyo. At the time, he’d clung to it as proof that Satsuki was okay here, and that her friends really were best friends to her, and not something she’d said on a whim or to make him feel better about the whole thing.
“You told them not to use it outside,” Keisuke recalled, and a small and cautious smile appeared on his face. Kinjo nodded, and lowered his head to rest it atop one arm and the table. “I was mentally preparing to get fined for littering…” He’d have paid it for Satsuki without complaint, of course, but still. It hadn’t been fun feeling the eyes of several park employees on them as his sister and her friends had walked by with all the confetti packets in their hands, and he remembered spotting a patrolling police officer across the way giving their group several curious looks that Kinjo was clearly trying to avoid meeting. In the present, those same scarlet eyes stared hazily out into the shadows in front of them, half in and out of the shared memory.
“I was concerned it’d all end up in the river if we weren’t careful,” he said slowly, eyes half lidded. “Kobashikawa and Otori kept arguing about whose fault it was…”
“Satsuki got them to stop fighting and actually help.” It hadn’t exactly been gentle, but it had certainly been effective. Keisuke chuckled lightly, and a faint hint of a smile appeared on Kinjo’s lips.
“They always seemed to make up so fast…” Kinjo murmured, eyes drifting back to the photo and away from Keisuke’s face.
“Even so, I was sure we’d spend the rest of my visit just picking up the park,” Keisuke chuckled again, his smile wider and more genuine now. Kinjo shook his head, but it was more of an amused than an annoyed gesture. As his hair shifted back and forth a little, Keisuke noticed that the tips of his ears were ever so slightly red.
“You almost did,” he said, in a tone that indicated he was still surprised Keisuke would have gone so far. Of course, Keisuke would easily have gone that far. He would have gone much further than that for Satsuki. He’d have picked up confetti for days, or paid any fine, if it’d meant she’d get to keep smiling. Keisuke’s gaze drifted back to Kinjo’s face. The man still had that contemplative and wistful tinge over his expression, one Keisuke had never seen there before, and had no idea how to react to.. “If Kobashikawa hadn’t given in about asking for help from the others and called T…” Instantly, the trace of warmth that had managed to surface on Kinjo’s face was swept back away by the tide. Several emotions Keisuke could not identify Grief? Hate? Loss? Guilt? Betrayal? flickered over his expression. Then, without even finishing the sentence, he closed his eyes, and turned hi face away from the photo. Keisuke stared at the back of Kinjo’s head for a while, lost in his own thoughts as he remembered that day.
Of course, Keisuke couldn't smile either. He hated Taira for Satsuki and Kobashikawa... and for Maki, Tomori, Inori, and Yamaguchi, too. Sometimes, he wished it was possible to meet those two devils again. Not because he wanted to see them alive, but because then, there’d have been some target for that grief and anger instead of an empty void. Of course, he was sure Kinjo felt the same way, if not even more so. He never spoke of them; nobody did, but still. Keisuke couldn’t imagine Kinjo’s unyielding, unforgiving justice ever being swayed by those contradicting memories like Keisuke. Though Keisuke struggled to reconcile the sweet girl who had helped them pick up all that confetti in a flash with the despair-loving terrorist who’d helped ensure his sister’s death, the feeling was fleeting. Losing Satsuki mattered far more. He didn’t need to know why someone like her would have bothered to go so far to help them that day, because the damage she’d done far outweighed it. He hadn’t even known her personally, but he knew what kind of person she’d been, and he hated her for it. Perhaps, he even hated her for the look on Kinjo’s face just then, too. But that look had just been loss and anger, surely. Kinjo must have turned his face away out of hatred, and nothing more. The Director’s shoulders were stiff now, and his fingers had curled back into protectively closed fists. Keisuke sighed, and returned the photo album back to his jacket pocket.
That night, he, Ando, and to his surprise, Tomori, had spent quite a while detaching the three of them from the table and each other and off to bed. The next morning, it was almost as though it had never happened. Keisuke remembered standing there in the faint, eerily red morning light cast through thick windows as he wondered if it was more wrong to bring it up again, or let it go. Still, the memory of Kinjo’s shoulders going slack against his own as Keisuke had helped him back to bed was hard to forget; and even if he’d never caught Kinjo that drunk again, it wouldn’t be the last time he’d offer the man his support.
It was a regular afternoon when it happened. The Foundation was peaceful; or at least, as peaceful as an organization dedicated to fighting and protecting people from the despairs could be in a world shaped by the Tragedy, anyways, and there were no active missions to account for or attacks to defend against. The entire organization was settling into an old Kisaragi facility that would soon be their primary headquarters, and moving in was going well.
It was one of those completely benign and ordinary days that everything changed. On those kinds of days, it just didn’t seem possible for something like that to happen. Injuries and death belonged on the battlefield, not a library, after all. However, it was in just that kind of ordinary setting, between the stacks, that it had happened. That day, Mekaru with the assistance of Otori and Kinjo, had been leading a massive overhaul of their physical database; the entire room was organized chaos with old books left behind by the old Foundation being sorted into the new Foundation’s collection. Boxes and piles of folders filled with physical copies of digital information, hard drives, copies of books, CDs, DVDs, and other resources and media they’d managed to acquire over the years filled most of the tables, and they’d spent most of the morning clearing the shelves and cleaning the space in preparation. There’d been a lot of dusting, so much that Keisuke was pretty sure the white sweater he’d worn had a few cobwebs embedded in it now. It was a massive undertaking, but one that surely meant they’d reached a greater level of security than ever before if they could afford to carry it out, and something that seemed to serve almost as some sort of respite for the overworked leaders.
They’d been on break when it happened, but Kinjo had said he’d stay behind and keep going. Keisuke could still remember the look on Kinjo’s face as he’d disappeared back into the stacks with yet another box of books under his arm and the other on his cane. His eyebrows weren’t furrowed, and his shoulders weren’t quite as stiff as usual. That expression had been as close to being peaceful as Keisuke had ever seen it, and after that day, the image was seared into his memory.
Keisuke still couldn’t remember if he’d intended to check on the Director in an attempt to get him to take a break too, or if he’d just intended to join him in his work again. After it happened, everything had been a blur. All Keisuke remembered was entering a quiet library, with no sign of the Director anywhere. He’d taken a few loops about the stacks, without any particular urgency at first; after all, the shelves obscured most of the space, and Kinjo could be pretty quiet sometimes. It was only after he’d seen the first book lying on the floor, and the tip of a familiar looking cane, that an uneasy shiver had crawled up Keisuke’s spine, and his pace had quickened as he turned the corner into the next section. It was there, in that quiet and benign place, on an ordinary and peaceful day, that Keisuke had found Tsurugi Kinjo lying on the freshly vacuumed carpet with fallen books scattered about his unmoving body in place of blood.
Keisuke remembered calling to him and gently shaking his arm before realizing he needed to call for help. His shouts quickly drew pounding footsteps, and seemed to cause Kinjo’s eyelids to flutter open, revealing a pair of scarlet eyes that were startlingly unfocused. Immediately, Keisuke knelt down, and leaned over him, one hand tight around Kinjo’s wrist as though feeling for a pulse would help.
“..m…ato?” A strange sound, perhaps a word, or part of one, escaped Kinjo’s lips in more of a breath than actual speech. The man was looking up at him, towards his white sweater, and worried face, but it was clear to Keisuke that Kinjo wasn't really seeing him right now. Keisuke’s eyebrows knitted together, and he squeezed the Director’s shoulder and wrist tightly. There was still no movement, and instead of meeting his terrified gaze, Kinjo’s eyes just grew more unfocused before falling closed again.
“Hold on,” he said, trying and failing to force a smile. “It’s going to be fine, Ando will… they’ll…” Fear constricted his chest. If anything, he was trying to convince himself. It was beyond him to formulate anything else before several pairs of footsteps charged into the library. The doors swung open so hard they slammed against the walls, and in seconds, Mekaru and Otori were there. Mekaru moved first, brushing past Keisuke, and taking swift control of the situation to direct the others. Despite that, though, Keisuke saw a fear in her amber eyes that he’d never seen there before. Behind her, Otori hovered just beyond the shelves, frozen for a moment as the ghosts of old deaths danced across his memory. After a few seconds, he seemed to come out of it, and cooperated in near silence. In the end, he was the one who lifted Kinjo up from the floor and carried the still unresponsive man to the newly established infirmary after Ando deemed it safe to do so. It was only two days ago that Kinjo had ordered that the infirmary should be among their first priorities to get up and running, and now, he was its first patient.
Kinjo would wake up, eventually, but after he did, it was never quite the same. The days he could get by with just a cane became rarer and rarer, and soon, he was using a wheelchair more than not. After that, there was no more denial or secretiveness; Kinjo’s mortality was plain for everyone to see, even before Ando and the other members of the medical department had quietly delivered the news to the three leaders.
Keisuke had been there at Kinjo’s side then, too. The Director hadn’t really responded; just staring through his legs into the floor. A minute of silence later, Mekaru had stiffly asked about options. In the end, he and Otori made a valiant effort to help Kinjo during his time stuck in a hospital bed, even if he stubbornly refused most of their care, and told (but not ordered) them to go back to work where Mekaru and the rest of the organization needed them. For the most part, they’d relented on staying there together, and divided shifts between themselves, but sometimes, all three of them would visit. They’d sit at Kinjo’s bedside as he stared out the window, scarred face lit by the smog-laden daylight coming in from outside, and Keisuke would wonder if he was wanted, or needed here, and decide over and over to keep coming anyways. It was during one of those visits that Mekaru, seemingly completely out of the blue, had glared down at Kinjo through her glasses and asked him something that sounded more like a statement than a question.
“You already knew, didn’t you.” Otori and Keisuke had been shocked at that; even more so after a beat of silence passed and Kinjo just nodded. Afterwards, they’d had a bitterly cold fight about it; the first of many nobody could dismiss as their usual back and forth, or one of the tension-filled but generally productive arguments they often had while making decisions for the Foundation. Eventually though, Kinjo had just… stopped, as though there was nothing left to say, no defense he could make for pushing ahead in spite of everything. Keisuke saw how futile it was by the look on the Director’s face, but he still stood between them, like he was some kind of protector, and not just another subordinate. With Otori and Keisuke there too, and the defeat clear on Kinjo’s face, Mekaru just sighed, and swore under her breath, before sitting down again in one of the visitor’s chairs, and slumping to hold her face in both hands. Otori’s eyes had widened, looking back and forth between his friends. He appeared to be at a complete loss, but at least that made Keisuke feel a little less alone in the overwhelming uncertainty filling the room. Looking over the scene, and watching Kinjo’s fingers tremble slightly over his legs, Keisuke decided something subconsciously. He didn’t know if it was right or wrong, and maybe, he didn’t care either way. Ever since he’d learned Satsuki truly was dead, he’d been lost. She’d been his reason to keep going amidst the chaos and dysfunction that made up their so-called family, and she’d been the thing that kept him focused on someone else, on helping, instead of his own fears and despair. That was how he’d kept a smile on his face during every performance and after every sabotage attempt. But after she’d died, he’d been adrift without an anchor.
Perhaps that was why after Kinjo had finally been able to return to regular duties, Keisuke had thrown himself fully into combat training, and resolved himself to follow. Basic training wasn’t too difficult for a trained acrobat like himself to handle, but some areas came with extra layers of difficulty …for a variety of reasons.
“Not like that,” Kinjo leaned upward, stretching his arm to reach. Suddenly, a warm hand rested over Keisuke's knuckles. He felt his fingers being delicately rearranged in their grip. The touch was not gentle, but it made up for that with perfect precision. “Keep your grip high and tight,” he drew his hand away again. “Try not to leave any space between your palm and the gun.” He studied Keisuke’s hold again, eyebrows lowering as he noticed another thing out of line. “Don’t rest your finger on the trigger. It shouldn't be anywhere near until you're about to shoot.”
This was one of the first times they’d trained like this. After Keisuke had made up his mind to enter the field, or perhaps, gain the strength to fight back and protect those he’d decided needed protecting, Kinjo had offered to go over his firearm training. That wasn’t something to look too deeply into, Keisuke reminded himself. The Director handled most if not all the training in that category, after all. With a nod, Keisuke forced his eyes forward again, and lifted the weapon upward. Immediately, he was met with a frown, and scarlet eyes boring into his. Some part of Keisuke flinched at that, as though he were afraid of being met with disappointment or anger, though neither ever came.
“Never point a gun at anything you aren't fine with putting a bullet through, Iranami.” The Director's voice was even, and he spared barely a glance for the gun currently pointed towards his wheelchair. Instead, his somewhat tired gaze was fixed on the man before him. The realization opened a pit in Keisuke’s stomach, and the unfazed and tiredly accepting look on his superior’s face only made it worse.
“I'm sorry-” The words tumbled out in such a flustered fashion that Keisuke immediately felt embarrassment on top of his shame.
“It's fine.” Kinjo said flatly, before continuing to guide him through. Keisuke did his best to listen in spite of his struggling focus. He couldn’t stop thinking about the almost blank expression on the Director’s face when Keisuke’s gun was pointed his way, and the warmth of that ungloved hand over his own. It was only after noticing Kinjo’s outstretched hand that Keisuke refocused once more. “That’s… probably enough for today.” The gun was quickly handed over, and lost its lethality as one by one, each bullet was removed. However, Kinjo paused, and seemed to wince, placing one hand on his temple.
“Are you alright…?” Keisuke had begun tentatively, barely daring to ask. “Should I get a doctor?” There’d been enough times that Kinjo had needed urgent care by now that Keisuke didn’t think it was an irrational thing to fear at this point.
“I’m not made of glass,” Kinjo’s reply had been irritable, but the anger faded as he continued. “...It’s just a headache.”
“I have some acetaminophen.” A bottle appeared from Keisuke’s pocket. It was the sort of thing he’d never have carried around before, but well, nobody needed to know that part.
“I appreciate it, Iranami.” To his surprise, the Director actually accepted the pills, and something softened in his expression. “Come on. Let’s go back.”
Keisuke just nodded, and stayed by his side. As Kinjo wheeled forward, he occasionally looked over at the man shadowing him. It was just a quick glance each time, almost as though he wanted to check that Keisuke was still there without sacrificing any awareness for their greater surroundings. There probably wasn’t anything more to it than that, but Keisuke held on to it, meeting Kinjo’s gaze as many times as he could muster the courage. He hoped it sent the message that he was there if needed, and that it meant he’d earned some level of trust. Still, even if it meant nothing, Keisuke wouldn’t have complained. It was something to hold on to, and something he needed. He’d found a new anchor, and that was enough.