The Crux of the Moment
Prologue
A lone figure stood in the scorching heat, braving the sun with boldfaced cheer. She was clad in a simple tank top and cargo mini skirt, slim flip-flops and legs bare to the world. She donned classic shades as she flipped her raven tress over her slightly tanned shoulder. Chewing grape bubblegum nonchalantly with her arms akimbo, she appeared to be a common teenager girl waiting at a bus stop. Despite her diminutive stature; however, she stood with a natural grace and had an aura of adult ease. Misao held an impatient hand up to swipe the sweat off her brow, letting out a low moan: she had been waiting for thirty minutes already. He was terribly inconsiderate. She brought a rolled up newspaper to her face, fanning herself as she bristled at the thought of being stood up—anyone who decided to business with her knew not to be so foolish. The slender woman wrinkled her nose as she scowled up at the sun : he had better have a legitimate excuse for his tardiness. Brushing her hand against the bulge of her purse, Misao smiled dryly: at least she was armed for all surprises.
"Fascia?"
She spun around with a graceful turn of her head as she smiled invitingly to her new employer, "And you are the Okashira, I presume?"
"No, he sent me to fetch you. Come, he's waiting." The tall man turned without another word, leaving a fuming Misao behind as he walked over to a sleek black Mercedes. Misao pulled at her braid irritably—the nerve! Did he seriously think she would approve of his way of "meeting" with her? She wheeled around to follow the man into the car; he had better be worth her time.
A tall man stood by the window; his tie loose and his collar open as he sipped idly at his coffee. He rested his hand against the window, leaning over to peer at the pedestrians on the street below. A set expression clenched his features as he brought his eyes from the passersby to slowly trail his gaze upward: the Miyazaki building. Tearing his eyes from the skyscraper, he took his hand off the window and let out a barely audible sigh. He brought his hand to rest against the back of his neck, fixing his stare at the twin swords that hung against the white, sterile wall of his office. The art of war—nothing else gave him a bigger thrill. The solemn man allowed a small grim smile to settle on his countenance as he brought his hand into his pocket. Aoshi fingered the miniscule gun in his pocket: he was ready to start the day.
A sharp series of knocks tore into the quiet as he heard the gruff voice of his man Shiro say, "I have her, Okashira."
Bringing his hand out of his pocket as he took another swallow of coffee, Aoshi murmured, "Come in." He let the liquid wash over his tongue as he set the mug on his spotless desk, settling down on a large leather armchair. Shiro opened the door, led the girly woman in and gave him a sharp bow before he left the two alone in silence.
The girl grabbed a chair in front of him without an invitation and plopped down on it without ceremony. Looking around detachedly as she whistled some random tune, she fingered her thick glossy braid with a childish gesture, her eyes guarded by dark Chanel shades. Aoshi quirked an eyebrow—she was the expert spy Okina had recommended? Without revealing any emotions of his own, Aoshi scanned her features keenly: she had a full, pretty mouth, nicely defined chin and expressive, dark eyebrows. But it was her eyes that would show him what he really needed to know. Leaning forward suddenly, Aoshi brought his hand to her face. She, on the other hand, sat immobile, her body stiff once she had registered his incoming hand. He had to give her credit: she neither flinched nor swatted his hand away in reaction. Taking her shades off her nose carefully, Aoshi peered into her eyes with mild surprise. Ocean-sprayed eyes collided with frosty blue as the two held a voiceless mutual scrutiny. The first thing that flitted through his mind was: too young. She seemed to read his mind; however much he may have tried to hide his thoughts, because she smiled suddenly. A sun-drenched smile that seemed to warm the whole room as she pulled her purse of her arm, opened it and put her hand in it—all without breaking his gaze. To confirm his first impression of her, she took out a small strawberry yogurt cup with a plastic spoon, opened it and proceeded to eat it in front of him, her knowing eyes twinkling as she spooned out the pink substance. Aoshi suddenly felt uncomfortable and very out of place—all of the women he had the opportunity to work with never portrayed themselves in such a manner. All the others had always come in with a beguiling smile, long legs sharp in a business suit and skirt, complimented by sophisticated heels. She wore flip-flops and a cargo miniskirt.
It seemed like that tables had turned. A moment ago, when she had registered his hand reaching for her face, Misao had felt cornered and wary, but now it seemed like he was bemused as to how he would treat her. She let him squirm in confusion as she proceeded to demolish her yogurt—she was really glad she had brought it; otherwise, her stomach would have grumbled most unpleasantly through their meeting. Eying him with an easy grin, she realized that she was probably the only woman who had ever had the audacity to present herself to him in such a manner. Once she had gotten the last scoop of yogurt, she licked her spoon decisively before she tossed it neatly along with the cup in the trash bin by her side, "So, Okashira-san, I believe you have an assignment to offer me?"