It wasn't Leblanc, but Sae liked the café in Junkodo. The coffee was better than anything from a chain bookstore had a right to be, there was enough space to work, and she liked knowing that any reference material she needed was only a few floors away. And most people didn't stare. It was a cold, soggy April day, the kind that made her leg ache, but focusing on that would just prove the director right about her. She took a binder and a pen out of her bag and began.

Another mental shutdown, and with the most graphic consequences yet. Two dead and dozens injured in a crash that had left an entire section of track a ruin of twisted metal. 'Unexplained psychosis', the papers were already saying with only the most cursory of eyewitness accounts. One man might suddenly succumb to undiagnosed mental illness, but there had been dozens in the last three years. Which suggested someone with the capacity to drive them mad. The means were unknown, and therefore who had the opportunity was unknowable, but motive was something she could work with. Who benefited from the deaths of a minor diplomat and businessman and making the Minister of Transport look like a fool?

The hair on the back of her neck stood up as Sae became aware of someone's gaze on her. Most people no longer stared, but she was never entirely safe. She groaned. The occupational therapist had taught her how to handle the situation—smile, redirect, give a short answer if they insisted on asking questions—but she had never been good at kindness, even before the yakuza set fire to her apartment. She raised her head, ready to do battle.

Her opponent was about sixteen, but even taller than she was and so gaunt that his Kosei uniform seemed a size too big for him. Shaggy bangs fell a little over one eye as he stared at her. And yet, he lacked the mix of wide-eyed curiosity, pity, and horror that she had become accustomed to over the last two and a half years. His brow furrowed. Just as Ayumi used to do when she was planning a piece. Sae noticed the open sketchbook on the table before him, and the art pen he twirled between his slim, pale fingers. Exactly as Ayumi used to. He was sketching her.

Emotions and thoughts struck Sae like a tsunami, too many and varied for her to keep her head above water. Shock and grief and a deep, burning shame. It was one thing to let herself be objectified by her girlfriend, it was another for a stranger to sketch her without asking, to be displayed like some relic at a sideshow. She wanted to charge his chair and rip up the sketchbook. He probably thought the scars were an interesting technical challenge.

Her leg throbbed again, and Sae stayed where she was. The unfortunate truth was that righteous anger took energy, and she only had so much that had to be carefully portioned out like medication in a measuring cup. He was only a high schooler. Whatever he drew would go no farther than his teacher, who would hopefully give him a lesson on the evils of fetishization.

A man joined him at the table, and Sae's gut clenched. So much for that. Even she had to admit that Ichiryusai Madarame was the most talented artist of his generation, but she still had to fight the urge to throw him out a window every time she saw him, and the feeling was probably mutual. Anyone who extolled the virtues of tradition as much as he did should have been gagged. Not that devotion to tradition had prevented him from sleeping with a Diet member's wife, or throwing a truly impressive tantrum when Sae had arrested her for improperly reporting the value of her art collection. She could almost feel sorry for his student. Almost.

But Madarame's affairs were no longer her business. She returned to work. Who benefits? Who becomes Minister of Transport if this one resigns? And who benefitted from the last shutdown? If there's a cabal, I could be dealing with a paid assassin rather than a loan agitator acting out. But where there's an assassin, there should be a money trail. Sae rubbed her temples. It was chasing the yakuza all over again. Except whoever was behind this was using methods that bordered on magic.

Then why do you bother? asked a soft, too-sweet voice inside her head. Are you still under the delusion that you're still the Champion of Justice? They killed Dad and left you crippled. All that matters now is surviving.

She had been very stupid when she was younger, thinking she could change the world, drinking in the applause of a public who saw her as the hope against the organized crime choking the life from them. Stupidity had brought the fire, and the public had abandoned her just as quickly when she refused to lie down and quietly grieve her losses away from genteel eyes. There were two strikes against her now, not just the disadvantages of being a woman who wanted more from life than marriage and motherhood, but cracking this case would earn her enough power that no one could ever break her again.

"Excuse me," said a deep voice above her.

The student stood before her, his hands outstretched in supplication. "You—I am not sure how to begin."

The dull ache throbbed in Sae's leg. At this rate, she was going to have to take her medication tonight. "Not stammering would be a good start. So would leaving people who are very busy alone." Her voice cut like a knife. That, and the scars usually sent both criminals and people with no sense of boundaries diving for cover.

He seemed oblivious. "But I can't leave you alone! You are the most extraordinary creature I've seen! Your hands are a part of my search for true beauty!"

As she'd thought: just another deviant looking for something to excite him. "Leave me alone before I—" Sae processed the rest of his speech. "Did you say my hands?"

They looked down at her hands together. Those she had permitted to flatter her for her looks had had so many options that her hands had never received particular attention, but they were pale and unscarred, a hint of what she had been.

"I desire only to capture true beauty. I simply couldn't stay still and silent. You must model for me."

Sae closed her eyes as phantom hands tugged at her jacket and stroked her neck. The boy couldn't have known what he was asking. She had modelled all right, in ways that would have shocked and horrified those who had seen her as a role model and savior. Even law students and prosecutors needed their outlets, and painting could be foreplay as much as it could be art. But that, like chasing after villains she couldn't hope to defeat, belonged to another life. She swallowed and forced her eyes open. "No."

"But—"

"Leave her be, Yusuke." Madarame joined them and smiled a smile that was just a little too warm and sympathetic. "The error is mine. I told him that you were a great lover of the arts and had provided inspiration to my colleagues in the past. "

Her eyes narrowed. So Madarame had put his protégé up to her latest little embarrassment. There had always been rumors about what happened to people who crossed him, and apparently even the great master wasn't above a little pettiness. "You might have told him that I only ever worked with those who earned my trust."

"Oh, Yusuke's desires are entirely innocent, aren't they, my boy?" He placed a fatherly hand on Yusuke's shoulder and laughed. "He goes where his art takes him, and sometimes I think he searches for someone who doesn't even truly exist. But then, that is the nature of our quest for beauty." He sobered and bowed his head. "I should have informed him of how your physical injuries have wounded your spirit as well."

The edges of Sae's vision blurred. Wounded. Scarred. Broken. You really should have had the courtesy to die like your father, but the least you can do is just sit at home and be a nice little symbol that will never make anyone uncomfortable. She was no longer an idol or someone either man or woman desired, but she would never let some self-promoting reactionary decide how wounded she was. She fixed her gaze on Yusuke. "What do you want me to do for you?"

He blinked at her for several long moments. If Madarame had hopes of unleashing Yusuke on the art world, he really should have taught him how better to deal with people. But then Yusuke cleared his throat. "Sensei is not wrong when he says that I'm chasing after something that cannot exist. No mortal can embody perfect beauty. But the artist can blend things together to create an ideal for man to strive for." His voice grew faster and louder as he spoke, until the people at the surrounding tables were staring at them.

Artists. Their passion could be intoxicating, but they always seemed to reduce people to canvas and paint eventually. "So like a collage, with me as the hands?"

"Exactly." He thought for a moment. "Well, not exactly. I don't want to cut your hands off."

The art press was going to eat him alive.

But Yusuke seemed just as oblivious to the spectators as he did her attempts to get him to go away. "I only wish to do some sketches. A few hours of your time at most. We can work anywhere you like. I have no money for a modeling fee, but you would be doing both me and art a tremendous service. I would be willing to do almost anything to repay you."

Hands. He only wanted her hands. But that was more than anyone had wanted from her in years, when the director didn't even want her mind. The Champion of Justice had been a foolish delusion, but surely there was something from those days that was worth saving? And it wasn't as if there was anything improper about being his model. No need to show him more of her scarring than he had already seen. She was merely taking an interest in the next generation.

Decision made, Sae fished out a business card from the case. "I'm quite busy at the moment, but I check my voicemail regularly."

He took the card and read it. "A prosecutor. How momentous. Why don't I give you my contact information as well? I'm always free." Before she or Madarame could say anything, he was scribbling at the bottom of her notes, heedless of the content. Yusuke Kitagawa, Apprentice Artist, and a phone number at the bottom.

"That's enough for now, Yusuke." There was hardness beneath the gentleness of Madarame's voice. "I suppose I should thank you for this surprising kindness towards my student, Ms. Niijima." He marched Yusuke out of the café.

Sae tried her best to forget the strange interlude and returned to work, but the ache in her leg knifed at her as the hour wore on. Finally, she gave up and closed her binder with a grimace. The worst part about her injury was knowing that success required her to push on and being simply unable to. Damn the yakuza. Damn her father. And damn her.

She had spent more than she should have on the apartment in Yoyogi. Three bedrooms on the ground floor of an apartment building with a vigilant doorman and in a good enough neighborhood that miscreants would have to spend extra effort to threaten what was left of her family. Handrails installed and anything vaguely suggestive of a step ruthlessly eliminated. Sae hobbled to the couch and collapsed with as much grace as she could muster.

"Sis, you're home!" Makoto emerged from the kitchen, looking too frazzled and pensive for someone whose school year had only just begun. Sae's heart twisted. She looked so much like their father. She thought like him too, believing so ardently in justice and that any problem could be solved with aikido or brainpower. Sae and her father had made sure that she never knew of their sleepless nights pouring over investigation notebooks. A mistake in retrospect. Someday, Makoto would have to learn to bend before she broke.

"You're in pain." Makoto frowned. "Do you need me to get your medication?"

Probably. But I'm not looking forward to the aftermath. "Not yet. How's school. I trust you're performing adequately as student council president?"

"It's not as glamorous as I thought it would be. Mostly I'm running errands for Principal Kobyakawa. And the other students seem to dislike me. More than usual."

Ah. She had never been meant to be anyone's parent, but this she had known even before the accident. She gestured for Makoto to stand before her and took her hands gently but firmly in her own. "There are those who will want to see you fail because you're a woman in authority. Our only hope of success is to do that boring work and do it so well that those in power have no choice but to recognize us. To endure that isolation. You understand?"

Makoto nodded, but without any conviction. "But surely I'm supposed to be more than a glorified errand girl? I'm supposed to be a voice for the students? Protect them?"

A warning chill settled across Sae's skin. So much like their father. Like her, before. "Did something happen at school?"

"No, yes, I'm not sure. I'm hearing rumors, vile rumors about a teacher. That he...takes liberties he shouldn't with the female students."

No. Shujin was in one of the best neighborhoods in the city, a jewel in the education system. Such things shouldn't happen there. But of course they did. Every day, things happened in Tokyo that could make a grown woman vomit, and the powerful were the perpetrators as often as not. Her grip tightened. "Has anyone touched you?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm as safe as I can be. It's the other students I worry about. If this teacher is doing this..."

If a teacher was abusing students and Makoto was already hearing rumors about it, then it had probably been going on for some time. Which meant that he probably had the backing of the administration. Which meant a mere student would be crushed if she went against him. "Do you have any proof?"

"No. I'd have to investigate."

Investigate. Another Niijima putting herself in harm's way. Sae's nails dug into Makoto's skin hard enough for her to gasp. "It's not your job to investigate. Keep your head down and make yourself as useful as you can to the school. Make it look good."

"But—"

She could see Makoto in her mind's eye, gathering evidence with a thoroughness that would make their father proud. Confronting the teacher. Being mocked, expelled. Or worse. There was always worse for a woman. "You're just a student. You don't have the power to change the world. The only way to get power is to pass your exams and get a good job." And pray you don't end up like me. "Promise me that you'll keep yourself safe."

"I promise." She sounded like a child being ordered to eat her vegetables, but Sae chose to believe that her sister wasn't stupid.

"Good. I'm...going to take something and go to bed."

Makoto flinched almost imperceptibly. They both knew what 'taking something' would mean. "Do you want me to help you undress or stay with you?"

"I want you to study and get some sleep. Your last year in high school will be critical to your future." She wasn't a broken thing needed the help of a child.

Sae hauled herself to her feet and shuffled to the bedroom without a backward glance. She had made this apartment into a new home. She had abandoned naïve ideals, but she hadn't been able to shake her love of beautiful things. The nightstand was a rich cherry, and one of Matsuko's abstracts she hadn't been able to part with hung on the wall.

She caught her reflection in the mirror. Raised pink scars slashed across the left side of her face and snaked down her neck until they were swallowed by her turtleneck. Her left pants leg was slightly more subtle, a bit of bulkiness the only hint at the brace and marring underneath. A year in and out of the hospital for rehabilitation and surgeries, physical therapy and skin grafts, and it was the best they could do. She frowned. At least her hair had grown back. It wasn't that she had been vain. Her true value had always been and would always be her intellect. But she missed soft kisses and the sheer desire. Her looks had led to unwanted attention, but not all the attention had been unwanted. She had known how to be both the lover and the lawyer.

She undressed by halting, irregular degrees until there was nothing to do but grab the bottle on the nightstand. The oxycodone was the only painkiller that worked worth a damn, but the side effects were such that every pill felt like a defeat. But better defeated than in agony. There was always some part of her that hoped the next time would be different.

Sae awoke, as she always did, inside a casino. She stood at one end of a giant roulette wheel that dominated the floor. LOSE, announced the letters beneath her feet. The green felt was scratched and scarred. A neon design of lady justice flickered above her, casting red and orange lights on the floor. There was only one other person in the room, but Sae heard what sounded like hundreds. Everywhere and nowhere.

"Anything to win!"

"Losers will be punished!"

"Someone? Help me! Please, help me!"

The sound of slot machines mingled with the screens until it was impossible to tell the difference. Sae rounded and almost overbalanced. Couldn't someone else hear the screaming? The agony that occurred in this place every single day? There was something she could do. Had done. She had been able to win fair and square.

"Fair and square?" said the too-sweet voice. Heels clattered on the floor as the lone figure approached. Her almost exact mirror, except for the golden eyes and her face and body being whole. She wore a cocktail dress that puddled to the floor, with a plunging neckline and slit up the side that Sae never would have tried outside the bedroom and maybe not even then. She twirled a yellow rose between gloved fingers. "The game was always rigged in our favor. And you still managed to screw it up."

Sae glared at the whatever-she-was.

"I told you before: I'm you. The whisper in the dark that you won't acknowledge. The real you."

"I have dress sense." Her voice cracked as another scream cut through the air. It was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. "Stop that."

"What makes you think we can stop it?" Her lips twisted into a grimace that Sae had never worn in the waking world. "We tried and we were nearly destroyed. You know that justice is a lie. Why do you cling to this foolish honor? Why do you try to protect the girl? She's nothing but a parasite!"

"She's my sister!" Foolish in her idealism, but still all that the flames had left her. "I love her!"

"There's only power and glory and the thrill of victory." Laughter rang through the casino until the walls shook. "How delightful! There's still a part of you that wants to be the Champion of Justice. A knight in shining armor. I'm sure the artist would be thrilled with that. It's a lie, of course. Let me remind you what kind of knight we really are."

Flames wreathed her as more laughter filled the air and a demon took her place. A knight even taller than her, with black armor that twisted in on itself. Her helmet had been broken. Rotting flesh hung off what was left of the left side of her face, and she gave Sae a skull's grin.

I am thou. Thou art I. You will learn.

Sae woke with a start. She was in a bed. Her bed. She touched her face gingerly and felt only scars. Just another drug-induced nightmare. She was not either of the two monsters that plagued her dreams. She never would be.

You will learn.

So this is what could charitably be called a rarepair. My outline goes through the Kaneshiro arc, and on one hand I really want to do this story because it pushes a lot of buttons for me and because I want more disability rep in stories. On the other hand, I'm having health issues and I really don't want to be talking to myself on this. Consider this a sort of test chapter. I don't want to commit to the whole thing right now, but if people like this I can pick up with the rest. So if any of you do like this, please leave a comment. If there really is no interest, I'll probably just work on Saekira with disabled and scarred Sae instead.