(Chapter warning at the end of this note)
Welp, this chapter is the real gamechanger. This will also probably be the darkest chapter in terms of plot events. The timeline and character list will be updated on Saturday June 1st, 2019. You can ask them from the AO3 version of this fic or on my tumblr (stylinbreeze60).
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Previously on the Kenma Project:
Shirabu: "Kenji Futakuchi: You were a counterfeiter and money launderer before the war, engaged especially in the smuggling of Tokyo migrants into Datekou. You arranged items such as identification documents, passports, cash, customs forms, and transportation services…."
Yahaba: "Shirabu made Futakuchi sound like a small-timer, but I looked him up. He's actually connected to a few high-profile heists."
Futakuchi: "Yahaba found another lead in the stuff Shirabu sent over, so I'm going to investigate that."
Futakuchi: "Yahaba! I've got something!"
Shigeru's lips quivered as he caught the penetrating gaze of Kyoutani….
Yahaba: "This is a bad time."
Futakuchi: "It's urgent!"
Yahaba: "…Gimme a minute."
Daishou to Seguro: "Take Hiroo, Sakishima, and Takachiho to Nekoma and interrogate the guy from that apartment. I'll deal with that pompous Air Force ace."
Keiji ran his fingers over the rough surface of the photograph as he beseeched each person as his fingertips passed their visage.
Akaashi: "Fukunaga…Tora…Kenma…please forgive me."
-
(Chapter warning: character death)
Monday November 9, approx. 5:00 p.m. Tokyo time – Nekoma
Perusing Shirabu's information on the Kenma Project, Yahaba found references to a certain location in the country of Nekoma; and triangulating several pieces of data, he identified an apartment that was in some way connected to the project. While Terushima would infiltrate Lab 3 in Fukurodani, Kenji Futakuchi's job was to snoop inside the Nekoman residence.
After being dropped off on Fukurodani's coast, Kenji made his way south into Nekoma via a migrant tunnel run by an old acquaintance. Then he commissioned another old associate to manufacture a key to the apartment while illegally acquiring a pistol. While his network once ran far and wide, his three years' absence and effects of the war meant some of his former connections had dried up or moved on. Futakuchi irksomely realized that reintegrating himself to the underworld in peacetime would not be as easy as he assumed.
Fortunately, he had just enough favors saved up that, after a week of preparations, he was ready to break in to the apartment. The lessee, an accountant named Shouhei Fukunaga, was out of town until Wednesday. And so, on Monday afternoon—at the same time Terushima was sneaking into the innermost depths of Lab 3—Futakuchi entered the apartment.
Kenji quietly locked the door behind him. It was a modest, two-bedroom accommodation, not grotesquely large. He examined the space, from the gaudy line art on the walls to high school volleyball participation trophies proudly displayed on a shelf. Sifting through one of the kitchen drawers he found a gross stack of unopened mail addressed to a "Kenma Kozume." Mostly junk, several bills were among the batch, stretching back months.
He checked out the bedrooms that adjoined the main living space. The master bedroom was left neatly in order before Fukunaga's business trip. Then Futakuchi took an interest in the smaller bedroom, the door to which was closed. Though also neatly done up, the second bedroom didn't feel as lived in as the first, eerily exuding the vibe of a show home—or even of the room of someone who had died.
On a dresser, Kenji noticed a framed photograph, depicting five college students.
If this was Kenma Kozume's bedroom, Futakuchi wondered, and if he hadn't been here in months, then where was he?
His pondering was shattered when the front door unlocked.
"Fleek," Kenji whispered and plastered himself against the wall beside the dresser, resting one hand on the pistol in his belt. The new entrant innocently locked the door, dropped a suitcase in the entryway, and strolled into the kitchen. Kenji peeked around the threshold to behold the apartment's unduly early owner in a business suit, stretching with a light groan.
Shouhei Fukunaga spotted the open drawer containing the mail and bumped it closed with his hip, only then wondering why it was open to begin with. He began to look around the apartment to make sure he was alone. Futakuchi withdrew into the room, in his panic knocking the dresser. The picture frame atop wobbled and, against Kenji's desperate pleas, clapped face down on the wood.
Fukunaga jumped, looking at Kenma's inexplicably open door. He stiffly tiptoed away and retrieved a frying pan from a drawer to attack the suspected intruder. Kenji's shirt soaked through with sweat as he withdrew the handgun. He couldn't hear the quiet compressions of the rug under Shouhei's socks so cautiously peeked around the threshold.
The moment Shouhei saw a head tilting around the doorway, he raised the pan high and galloped with a scream imitating samurai movies.
Kenji ducked and dived through the doorway in front of his attacker. Before Shouhei could react, he stretched his leg and tripped the assailant who artlessly skidded across the carpet. Kenji then planted himself atop his foe, pressing both his wrists to the floor.
"Get off me! Get off me!" Fukunaga writhed, banging his feet against the floor.
"Shut up!" Kenji yelled.
"Where's Kenma?!" Shouhei demanded.
"Who's Kenma?" interrogated Kenji peevishly.
"What did you do with him?!" Fukunaga barked again, ignoring Kenji's confusion.
"I didn't do anything to him!"
"Let him go, you monsters!"
"Shut up and listen to me!" Futakuchi roared angrily. The ferocious bellow at last got Fukunaga to freeze and—with a mix of fear and confusion—peer up at his captor.
Now that he had his subject's attention—"Who on earth is Kenma?" Kenji impatiently asked.
In a café at the base of a skyscraper across the street from his apartment, Shouhei Fukunaga inconspicuously ordered drinks with Kenji Futakuchi. Around them, citizens carrying on like normal despite the faraway war ate, chatted, or, like the man at the adjacent table, read the newspaper. Fukunaga felt guilty for charging at Futakuchi and soon surprised Kenji with how open he was willing to be about his friend Kenma.
Shouhei Fukunaga and Kenma Kozume met at Itachiyama University in Fukurodani two decades ago. Kenma had been living in Fukurodani since middle school as his dad did contract work for the military and was studying computer engineering. Fukunaga was an exchange student majoring in accounting. In college they befriended another exchange student—an ROTC mechanical engineering major named Taketora Yamamoto—and two native Fukurodanians: Koutarou Bokuto, studying physical therapy while playing collegiate volleyball, and Keiji Akaashi, with his sights set on genetic work. By coincidence, all five played volleyball in high school and quickly bonded over their shared experiences.
More recently, Kenma had lived with Fukunaga for much of the war after the former's home was demolished to construct a military base. For almost as long, Kenma received monthly visits from Akaashi. Fukunaga would take Kozume to a local hospital and drive the latter home a few hours later. Every time, Kenma Kozume was almost comatose when Shouhei picked him up, but Kenma never complained about the effects on his body. Shouhei didn't think it his place to pry further.
That state of affairs was the repeating monthly routine…until six months ago.
Six months ago – Nekoma
In the very same café, the unassuming Shouhei loitered with a lukewarm cup of coffee when a sort of celebrity entered. The man wore full Air Force regalia, though his smooth yellow Mohawk well contradicted any look of refinement. Fukunaga was aware of glances and whispers from other customers. Fortunately Shouhei's visitor wasn't the kind of celebrity who got hounded for autographs, but his face was recognizable nonetheless thanks to their government's rabid publicity: the visitor was the Entente's top fighter ace and Nekoma's "hero" of the war, Taketora Yamamoto.
Shouhei had dropped off Kenma for his monthly procedure at the district hospital before coming to the café. He and Yamamoto—who went by "Tora" with his friends—planned to chat, but Tora's last PR engagement ran so long that as soon as he received a latte on the house, it was time to pick Kenma up.
"Kenma's hurt?" Tora asked.
"No, he's helping Akaashi with something."
"Akaashi's in town?" Yamamoto's head tilted. The last time all of them had been together was two years ago.
At Bokuto's funeral.
"How's he doin'?" Tora asked.
"OK, I guess," Fukunaga shrugged. "I don't talk to him much. He's doing something super top secret in Fukurodani, and I guess Kenma's helping him on it? He comes every month, and I take Kenma to the hospital and pick him up. I've seen him a few times, but he always says he has to head home right away. He quit his job at the university by the way. He works for the government now."
They parked outside the local hospital. Tora then got a call from the guy arranging his public appearances, so Fukunaga went in to get Kenma alone. Yamamoto finished the phone call when Shouhei stumbled back lugging their friend like a drunkard over his shoulder.
Fukunaga maneuvered the virtually unresponsive form of Kenma Kozume into the backseat. Tora gawped at his friend; Kenma's vacuous pupils beheld Tora, but the man had no energy to acknowledge the passenger.
As soon as they started driving, Kenma fell asleep, as usual according to Fukunaga.
The following day
Kenma woozily forced himself awake in his bed where Shouhei had tenderly laid him and tucked him in. His head pulsed from the worst migraine of all time. Dressing in a black T-shirt and red boxers, he wobbled into the living room where a fully dressed Fukunaga and Tora, in only boxers and a sleeveless undershirt, were eating breakfast.
"Mornin'!" Tora yelled blithely with his mouth full of cereal. Kenma, neither prepared nor expecting to have visitors, flinched and ducked behind the bedroom threshold. "You don't gotta hide your morning wood," Tora offhandedly joked. "We're all guys here."
"Shut up!" screeched Kenma who slammed the door shut. He emerged a short time later now properly dressed. Fukunaga prepared cereal with milk and set it before Kenma's chair. The man, with blond, uncut locks that grew out from an undyed black top, shuffled to the chair silently.
"I see you still keep trying to dye your hair. But it's never gonna look good if you don't keep it up, bruh!" Tora laughed, but Kenma didn't respond. Fukunaga silently chewed on a cream-cheese-layered bagel. "Dude, everythin' OK?" Tora asked of the silent meal guest.
"Hm?" Kenma shrugged. "Yeah." He took a small spoonful of cereal and sipped the milk daintily. His stomach felt like it was in knots, and he didn't think he'd be able to eat the dish in front of him.
"You looked awful yesterday. What's that guy doin' to ya?" Tora brashly asked. Fukunaga glanced between each speaker.
Kenma gave Yamamoto a nonchalant glance. "Huh? Nothin'. It's just medical stuff."
Tora eyed Kenma suspiciously when the man pushed the bowl away.
"I don't feel well," Kenma murmured.
"Get some rest. We can hang out later," Shouhei reassured. Kenma shuffled past their guest and closed the door to his bedroom after him.
"What was that about?" Yamamoto asked Fukunaga.
"He's always like that after he sees Akaashi. But he gets over it after a day or so. He'll be totally back to normal in three days at the most."
"What's Akaashi doin' to him to make him like that?"
"Kenma says he just draws blood and plasma and stuff."
"You don't act like that after drawin' blood," Tora scoffed.
"All I really know is it's for the war and Kenma won't go into details." Fukunaga never questioned it, even as deep down he harbored concerns about his friend's wellbeing. At least, he told himself, Kenma never showed any long-term effects from the procedures.
One week later
When he wasn't recovering from his monthly hospital trip, Kenma was everything Tora remembered him: shy, solitary, observant, and an avid gamer. They took a few outings, and Shouhei loved the peaceful time they could spend together. Kenma was constantly nervous that his incapacitation was causing him to lag in the MMOs he played, but as they traveled around town, he stuck to his portable consoles just like back in college.
Then, several days later, Akaashi called Kenma.
"Hey, um," Kozume shyly mumbled to Fukunaga later that evening, "so: Akaashi's coming back."
"Really? It hasn't been a month."
"Yeah, uh, he says he has to take more samples now."
Tora, on the couch watching the news and criticizing opinionated pundits who knew nothing of conditions at the frontline, stifled himself to hear the conversation behind him.
"I guess it's gonna be a weekly thing now." Kozume reflexively rubbed the back of his head.
"Oh, well, I guess I'll just have to rearrange things with work so I can drive you more," Fukunaga accepted.
"Yeah," Kenma drooped. He hated putting Fukunaga through so much trouble. "I guess I'll just have to quit playing Final Haikyuu Quest. I'll never keep up with anyone now."
Something changed in Tora, hearing Kenma morosely sacrificing his pastime. He strode upright, looking askance. "Why don't you just tell him no?"
Shocked by the objection, Kenma shrank back. "Oh, well, I—"
Tora marched towards him. "You shouldn't give up what makes you happy. I don't get it, bruh."
"Well, it's, uh, it's for the war…."
"What could be so important that you'd make yourself a zombie?!"
Shouhei quaked slightly at Tora's blunt forcefulness.
"Well—"
"Why are you letting him treat you like that?!"
"He needs my blood!" Kenma finally reacted irritably.
"He can use someone else's blood!"
"This is what I want! You got a problem with that?!"
Tora flinched at the tetchy response, Fukunaga equally surprised.
"Why would you want that?!" Yamamoto expostulated.
"He's making better soldiers!"
Both Tora and Fukunaga distinctly jolted. Kenma sheepishly receded. He'd just said more than he was supposed to.
But Yamamoto guffawed tactlessly. "A soldier?! You?! You can't be a soldier!"
"Don't laugh!" Kenma protested.
"Cloning you to be a soldier?! Hah!"
"It's not cloning," Kenma meekly complained. But suddenly breaking his cackling fit, Tora slapped both hands on Kenma's shoulders, his face forming a nearly maniacal smirk.
"Listen, bruh. If you're tryna take my job away, lemme tell ya. I don't want you to," he said with a gentle but forceful tease. "I like my job. No one can have it. So you better get that pretty little thought out of your head of tryna protect me."
Tora cackled mockingly. Kenma's face glowed bright red, redder than Fukunaga had ever seen his roommate. Yamamoto released the boy who had been stunned into silence. Tora supported himself against the couch when his demeanor became grave once more.
"So, listen. I don't like my friends suffering, so tell me: do you like it?"
Kenma, still red in the face, took a few moments. Shouhei eagerly awaited an answer.
"No," Kenma finally mumbled.
"No?" Tora repeated, half-unsure if that's what Kenma had said. Kozume shook his head in agreement. "Then tell him you don't want to do this anymore," commanded Tora frankly.
"I can't," Kenma continued to mumble. Tora darted forward and caught his friend in a tight bear hug. Kozume's blush returned just as strong.
"I don't care what that guy's doing. I don't like the thought of one of my friends being hurt. And I definitely don't like the thought of one of my friends being the one doing it!" He faced Kenma squarely and jostled him. "Tell him you quit, and he has to find someone else. Do it for me if not for yourself."
Kenma's eyes seemed to be tearing up. Tora shook him again to get a response.
"Y'hear me?"
Kozume gazed deeply at his friend's perturbed, concerned face.
"Yeah," Kenma squeaked and, without warning, began to sob. His face plopped on Tora's chest and he sniffed, much to the surprise of both present. Tora became flustered with no idea what to do until he decided to just let Kenma be.
When Kozume finally withdrew, Tora resumed: "We'll go with you tomorrow, so you can tell that guy that you're done with this, all right?"
Kenma wiped his eyes with his sleeve and nodded. Both Shouhei and Tora watched him quietly resign himself to his room, where he collapsed on the bed and cried into his pillow.
The following day
The trio waited in the hospital lobby until Akaashi appeared, escorted to their surprise by a Nohebi Army officer named Suguru Daishou. Tora homed in on the Fukurodanian doctor immediately. Something about the man seemed off.
Immediately Keiji glided towards the fighter pilot he hadn't seen in two years. "Tora, it's so wonderful to see you." Akaashi ensnared him in a hug that somehow felt cold and mechanical. Tora hesitantly returned it.
"Well, Kenma, let me explain to you the things that are changing," Keiji said upon breaking the embrace. Kenma nodded and cast an unsteady glance at his cohorts. Tora nodded staunchly and Fukunaga fired a thumbs up of encouragement. Kenma inhaled deeply and followed Akaashi and Daishou out.
20 minutes later, Keiji and Kenma returned, the latter's head drooping, Keiji wearing a smile as serene as it was unnatural. Tora and Shouhei stood with nervous perplexity.
Akaashi spoke. "Kenma tells me you have some concerns about what we've been doing." Tora already dreaded where this was leading. "And to alleviate some of your worries, I'd like to invite you to see what really goes on—if you have the time, of course."
Kenma shamefully avoided eye contact with his friends, feeling as though he'd let them down. Fukunaga and Yamamoto were silent at first.
Tora snarled at the glibly smiling Akaashi.
An hour later, Yamamoto and Fukunaga stood outside a window looking into an operating room. Inside, Akaashi and a fellow researcher named Wataru Onaga had restrained Kenma's wrists and ankles to a surgical table. Kenma lay limply, staring with ennui at the ceiling. Lt. Daishou stood by with an assault rifle; and in the hall, Daishou's deputy Sgt. Akihiko Seguro, also brazenly armed, guarded the door to the side of Shouhei and Tora. Though allegedly meant to reassure them, each step observed through the glass just made the onlookers more anxious. IVs were brought out, and Kenma was hooked up to various tubes with vitals displayed on different monitors.
"Are you ready?" Keiji finally said, holding a needle for drawing blood.
Kenma's breathing and heartrate were elevated. He tried mentally telling himself to remain calm, but doing so only made him more self-aware of how irregular his breaths were.
"Yeah," he lied, not mentally ready at all. He never was; he simply wanted to get it over with.
Then Akaashi inserted the needle into the concave side of his elbow. Fukunaga and Tora quietly observed the different fluids that filled containers over numerous draws the next several minutes, both astonished by the sheer amount of liquid being removed. Tora thought it shouldn't be humanly possible.
"All right. Another one. You doing ok?" Keiji asked after the fifteenth sample.
Kenma breathed heavily but measuredly. "Yeah," he huffed. Akaashi felt uncertain with the answer, but he persevered and inserted another needle. Kenma winced. Tora's fist angrily tightened.
As more and more fluids filled the tubes and Dr. Onaga constantly hooked up more empty cylinders, Keiji again took note of his patient, gritting his teeth and groaning faintly.
"Are you sure you're ok?" It was the first real hint of concern on the scientist's face. Kenma's reaction today was not normal at all.
Kenma grimaced but told himself the pain bubbling throughout his body would subside if he soldiered through it. "Keep goin'," he forced himself to say, his lips abrasively dry. Keiji hesitated but inserted another needle at the patient's request.
This time, Kenma violently convulsed.
And then, as the fluid began to depart Kenma's body, the pain became instantly unbearable, and he let out an earthshattering scream.
"Kenma!" Keiji cried, clasping the man's jerking body.
Tora acted on instinct. Startled by the commotion, Seguro wasn't paying attention when Tora dashed past him to get into the adjacent room.
"You can't be in here!" Daishou screamed at the intruding Yamamoto and pointed his machinegun. Not frightened by the assault rifle for a second, Tora unceremoniously slugged Daishou in the face and ran to the writhing Kenma.
"Kenma! Kenma!" he screeched, Akaashi stunned by the pilot's presence. He then spotted Daishou scrambling upright, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
"You'll pay for that!" Suguru growled and, to Keiji's horror, aimed his weapon.
"No!" Akaashi yelled viscerally. As if in a trance and with no regard for his own safety, Akaashi bounded between Tora and Daishou, his arms wide like a crucifix. Daishou faltered and didn't fire.
And then, all of a sudden, the patient passed out.
"Kenma?" Tora said in fear. He rattled the boy's shoulders. "Hey, Kenma, wake up!"
"He's unconscious," Onaga, analyzing his vitals, announced.
"Kenma! Listen to me! Wake up!" Tora continued to yell.
Both Fukunaga and Sgt. Seguro, now in the room, gawked. Akaashi shakily steadied himself against the end of the table, Tora eliciting the only noise in the room.
The following day
Akaashi promised he would talk to Tora and Shouhei the following day. He showed up at the latter's apartment in business attire, but immediately the casual mood was demolished by the looming presence of Daishou and Seguro, both heavily armed, flanking the doctor.
Kenma was not with them.
"I don't have much time," Akaashi said after taking a proffered seat. Tora sat backwards on a dining room chair and Fukunaga sank apprehensively into the couch.
"Where's Kenma?" Yamamoto immediately questioned.
Akaashi took a deep breath. "He and I talked about this before the procedure, but Kenma is coming back with me to Fukurodani."
"What?!" Tora exclaimed, shooting to his feet. Daishou instinctively raised his gun at the loose cannon who'd punched him yesterday.
"Kenma agreed to this beforehand," Akaashi anxiously added.
"He's OK?" Fukunaga asked.
"He will be. I'm positive," he said with slight hesitation.
"He will be?!" Tora thundered.
"I'm sorry, but just know that this is what Kenma wants."
What Kenma wants. If not for his tearful confession the other night that he didn't want it, Tora and Fukunaga might have been more persuadable.
"Shut up!" Tora impugned. "Kenma told us how he really feels, so don't give me that bull!"
"I could play a melody on a lyre like you!" Fukunaga pointedly said with an obscure pun. Tora's rage momentarily flagged in the face of the incomprehensible statement. Keiji involuntarily smirked when he figured out the wordplay.
"Want me to wipe that grin off your face?!" Tora upbraided. Daishou readied his assault rifle to shoot as necessary. Fukunaga leaped to hold back Tora, but the sudden movement prompted Seguro to aim his own firearm at the latter, frightening Shouhei back into sitting down.
"I'm afraid I have a flight, so I can't stay," Akaashi said, perfunctorily standing.
"Tell me!" Tora demanded. "Why on earth would Kenma want to subject himself to that, huh?!" He glared ferociously at the man he no longer felt he knew. Keiji had the look of a deer in the headlights, debating how to respond.
Everything was indeed with Kenma's consent. But as much as Keiji wanted to assuage their fears, he wasn't at liberty to divulge the reason why.
Only Kenma had the right to disclose his reasoning.
"Doc, we gotta go," Daishou hurried. Keiji took the chance to march to the door.
"If you walk out that door, consider our friendship over!" Yamamoto threatened viciously. Keiji fearfully gazed back.
"Doc!" Daishou demanded.
And Keiji Akaashi abruptly scuttled out of the space.
While Tora banged his fists against the wall, through the window Fukunaga spied the doctor and his guards entering a dark green sedan out front. It sped away promptly.
They had no way of knowing it, but despite his attempts to control himself, Akaashi was bent forward in the car, his face in his palms, crying irrepressibly over his dearest friends.
Present
"That was the last time I saw Akaashi or Kenma," Fukunaga concluded. A few days after Keiji's departure, the doctor phoned Fukunaga up. Fukunaga expected an apology and real explanation, but instead the Fukurodanian pretended like nothing had happened. Akaashi made one meager acknowledgment of the brokenness he'd caused, offering a tour of his lab in a renewed attempt to reassure them Kenma was fine.
Tora had returned to active duty the day after Akaashi left. As much as Shouhei wanted to do something for Kenma, the frightened Shouhei used the excuse he was too busy with work to go abroad.
The final episode in the saga occurred a few weeks ago. Yamamoto earned home leave again for more publicity appearances. When Shouhei told him Akaashi's offer, Tora instantly called the scientist up and said he'd take it.
"I'm going to save Kenma," Tora asserted immediately upon hanging up. Yamamoto left the next day…
…And never returned to Nekoma. His appearances were quietly, abruptly canceled. For two days Fukunaga feared the worst until Tora finally called him.
"I'm not coming back," he had said quietly, apprehension pervading his voice. He offered no explanation and added the most haunting words of all: "You'll have to save Kenma, bruh."
Shouhei expectantly turned his attention to Futakuchi sitting opposite. "So you're going to save Kenma and Tora, right?" he beseeched.
Kenji shrank back. "Saving" anyone wasn't part of his mission.
But Futakuchi didn't care. His career helping migrants leave Tokyo for opportunities abroad was all for the sake of giving hope to people trapped in impossible circumstances by forces beyond their control. The story he had just heard—as atypical as it was—was no different. The fate that had befallen the three hapless Nekomans all because of the Tokyo Entente's project was beyond fair.
Kenji had already made up his mind. He'd save these three and accomplish his mission.
"Of course. I'll save you and your friends," he answered.
All the burdens on Shouhei's shoulders lifted instantly. "Thank you."
"Listen," Kenji said, "I need to make arrangements, and it's too dangerous for us to be seen together. Go back home, and I'll pick you up tomorrow—9 o'clock, let's say. Then I'll keep you safe."
Fukunaga nodded gratefully. The pair rose and proceeded out the door.
Before parting ways on the sidewalk though, Fukunaga turned to his savior one last time.
"Actually, I have one more request…."
Back inside the café, the man at the adjacent table flipping through various newspapers during the duo's conversation now set down the tabloid he was studying. He intently eyed the pair through the café window, after having eavesdropped on their entire exchange.
As soon as Kenji got back to the place he was renting, he immediately called Yahaba, not caring that it was midnight across the ocean.
"H-hello?" Yahaba answered with a stutter. Kenji ignored it.
"Yahaba! I've got something!" he bellowed.
Shigeru replied with hesitation in his voice. "This is a bad time."
"It's urgent!" Kenji again insisted.
There was a nerve-racking pause before Yahaba finally muttered: "Gimme a minute."
It didn't take long for Yahaba to get onboard with what Futakuchi was saying. The Kenma Project evidently depended on continually acquiring the DNA of Kenma Kozume. Why was irrelevant for their purposes; what mattered was that, if they could get Kenma Kozume away from the Entente's scientists, then the project would most likely stall. Shigeru promised to vet Fukunaga's story before the morning. Kenji accepted it as a necessary precaution. He himself then went about arranging transportation for himself and four persons.
Yes, four persons, not three, after Shouhei's surprising, last-minute request:
"I want to save Akaashi too."
Despite everything, Fukunaga still held out hope for the scientist he'd known for decades, insisting Akaashi had changed for the worse since his spouse's death and convinced his current behavior was because he'd never gotten over it. Futakuchi felt sorry for Fukunaga. And despite the difficulties it could cause, he'd do whatever was in his power to save Keiji Akaashi too.
Tuesday November 10, approx. 7:00 a.m.
- 2 hours before Yahaba's arrest, 6 hours before the sinking of the Utsui -
Unable to sleep, Shouhei found himself pacing, pondering, and panicking at various times throughout the night. The nighttime news of the Miyagi Alliance's new offensive in Datekou kept him occupied further. Everything was suddenly so surreal, and before he knew it, his constantly interrupted attempts at packing his suitcase outlasted Tokyo dawn.
Around 7 in the morning, Shouhei had refitted his travel case with clothes and sentimental possessions. It was hard to believe that, just yesterday, the same suitcase had been used for his curtailed business trip.
Checking his email yesterday morning, he'd received an anonymous correspondence telling him to come home that day, if he wanted to help his "friend." Shouhei fretted it was a trap, but he steeled himself and bit the bullet, flying back immediately.
Thus, when Shouhei encountered Kenji in his apartment, he naturally assumed Futakuchi was the one who'd sent the email. He had no way of knowing that Kenji had nothing to do with the person who was trying to reach him, nor could Futakuchi know that somebody else had been trying to contact Fukunaga. Ironically, the two simply ended up in the right place at the wrong time.
Satisfied that packing was done, Fukunaga chose to take one last look at Kenma's room for posterity. He noticed the picture frame Kenji accidentally knocked over lying face down.
It had been Shouhei's idea to commemorate their last year of college—Kenma, Tora, and Bokuto graduating, Shouhei returning to Nekoma for his Master's, and Akaashi starting grad school at Itachiyama—with a group photo. On commencement day, he touchingly gifted each of them a copy. Kenma, almost unsurprisingly, summarily lost his during his move, inspiring Fukunaga to digitize a copy that he uploaded to social media so Kenma could have one in spirit. When Kozume moved in with Shouhei after the outbreak of war, Kenma noticed the framed photo that Fukunaga still displayed twenty years later. Shouhei gave it to Kenma to put in his room.
Fukunaga set the picture frame at the top of his open suitcase and admired the glimmering faces: Bokuto's silly grin, Akaashi's temperate smile, Tora's dopey beam, his own gentle smirk, and Kenma's hard-pressed un-photogenic frown.
Now there was just one more matter to resolve.
What Shouhei hadn't said last night was that, during Tora's final phone call two weeks ago, he left a phone number. "If there's an emergency, call that number and ask for 'the tiger.'" Tora hung up in a rush. Fukunaga had never attempted it and even hesitated now, but seeing the happy portrait of the five friends, he dialed.
"Colonel Akama," answered a voice authoritatively. Fukunaga jumped. Colonel?! What phone number did Tora give him?
"Uh, can I speak to the tiger?" he trembled. The officer's reaction was beyond cordial.
"Are you aware we are in the midst of a military emergency?! I don't have time for—" There was silence, and then another voice, taking the phone, spoke:
"Yo."
"Tora!" Fukunaga cried.
"What are you doin' callin' me?!" Yamamoto remonstrated.
"Uh, you said if there was an emergency, I—"
"What do you want?" he curtly interrupted.
"I, uh, I met someone—who will help save Kenma. And you too!"
There was a pause, and then Yamamoto in shock stumbled over every word that popped into his mind. "Wha—Are you—How—Dude! I ju—Just be careful, OK?! That's great news, but be careful!" He hung up suddenly.
That hadn't gone how Shouhei envisioned it. But he'd done what he needed to do. Now he'd help Futakuchi in every way he could.
Unfortunately, like Fukunaga and Futakuchi last night, someone else at this moment happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.
"That was easier than I thought," announced an intruder. Shouhei twisted around to find Sgt. Akihiko Seguro wielding a handgun, blocking the room's exit. Filtering into the space around him were Kouji Hiroo, Isumi Sakishima, and Yoshiya Takachiho in Nohebi Army uniforms. "I expected we'd have to torture you, but nope. You and that pilot have been conspiring all along."
"No," Shouhei begged as Sakishima and Takachiho each grabbed an arm. Fukunaga's knees collapsed in despair.
All of his hope of rescuing Kenma or seeing his friends again vanished.
He prayed that Futakuchi would accomplish what he couldn't.
"What do we do with this one?" Takachiho asked.
"Simple," said Seguro as he prepped his pistol to fire. "Daishou said if we confirm he's a rat, liquidate him."
Tuesday November 10, 9:00 a.m.
- 4 hours before the sinking of the Utsui -
Yahaba finally got back to Futakuchi an hour and a half ago to report Fukunaga's story checked out, and now Kenji waited in the driver's seat of his rental car outside Shouhei's building.
Futakuchi waited.
9:10 passed.
9:15.
He began to get worried.
A few minutes later, he exited the car and proceeded upstairs cautiously.
His heart sank when he found Shouhei's apartment unlocked.
Closing the door behind him, he drew his handgun and tiptoed through the house. The living room and the kitchen were clear. So was the bedroom belonging to Kenma.
When he peered in the master bedroom, he grimaced.
"Ah, fleek."
A pistol in one hand, Shouhei was laid out to look like he'd taken his own life, but Kenji knew better.
This was bad. He'd been compromised.
He had to warn Yahaba.
That very moment
When the first agent from Seijoh's Chancellor Protection Unit entered, Kyoutani heaved one of the dining chairs onto his head.
Yahaba dashed into the bedroom and slammed the door.
Then, one gunshot.
Then another.
And suddenly, at the thought of the man he loved, Shigeru's desire to flee completely wilted.
His phone snapped him out of his funk almost instantly when it buzzed in his palm. The caller ID was Futakuchi's.
Dang it!, he swore internally. Why do you always have to call at the worst time?!
He dashed to the window and with a fell swoop hurled the device from the 10th-floor residence down to the street below. It exploded into a hundred pieces upon hitting the road, even the SIM card inside snapping in two.
"Come on, pick up! Pick up!" Futakuchi yelled into the receiver as it continued to ring.
Then, after the fourth ring, an automated female voice piped up: "The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service."
"What?!" Futakuchi shrieked and dialed again.
This time, there was no ring. "The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no long—" Futakuchi hung up as a terrifying realization washed over him.
He was on his own.
Quickly Kenji fled to his car. He drove around the city, bound for nowhere in particular. Illogical turns were made without rhyme or reason, all to confirm one fact in his rearview mirror:
He was being followed.
Sgt. Seguro occupied the front passenger seat of the swamp green sedan tailing the man they suspected of being Fukunaga's accomplice. After unsuccessfully trying to lose his tail, Futakuchi pulled up to an abandoned power station. Hiroo, driving the other vehicle, skidded alongside, and Sakishima unleashed his assault rifle into the cab of Kenji's car. Kenji swooped to the ground as bullets zipped overhead. He madly dashed into the building.
"Get him!" Seguro shouted.
The disused plant still boasted piping, grungy containers, and rusted turbines, providing more than a few hiding spots. A catwalk encircled the space high above. Kenji took a few moments to breathe, acutely listening to the ruckus made by his pursuers entering the derelict building. As long as he could hide, he had a chance to escape.
And then, his phone rang obnoxiously.
Kenji silenced the ringer immediately and flipped the device to vibrate.
"Over there!" Seguro yelled in reaction to the ringtone. Kenji sprinted to a new hiding place.
As soon as he took off running, his phone buzzed in his palm with a new phone call. Kenji angrily read the display:
Restricted.
It wasn't Yahaba. He silenced the call, but his phone vibrated again. Kenji hung up once more.
The caller dialed again, and Kenji silenced it again.
The caller hit redial again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Ducking behind a crate, Kenji silenced the buzzing once more, but sure enough, the incessant dialer called once more. His patience exhausted, Kenji irritably answered.
"What do you want?!" he whisper-yelled.
The voice that replied was suave and cocky. "Kenji Futakuchi?"
Kenji froze, trying to process who the mysterious caller could be. He didn't think the speaker's accent hailed from either Tokyo or Miyagi.
"Are you the ones who killed Fukunaga?" he whispered, asking the only question he could think of.
The caller's reply just added to his confusion. "Nah, that wasn't me. I'm the one who's about to save yer life."
Futakuchi flinched, but at that moment Akihiko Seguro appeared pointing a handgun at Kenji. Futakuchi expected the end.
And then, suddenly, there was a light swoosh as something from high up quietly passed through Seguro's skull. Seguro wobbled, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he flopped to the floor.
"Sarge!" shrieked Sakishima.
There was a faint zipping noise, followed by Sakishima landing with a thud. Hiroo was next to be felled mysteriously. Takachiho dashed to the exit, but before he escaped, there was another zip sound, and he gurgled and skidded on the floor.
After several moments of silence, Kenji warily peeked around the side of the crate.
Seguro's subordinates were all splayed on the floor. A sniper had felled each of them, but Kenji was too high-strung to figure that out. He peered at the phone in his hand.
The stranger had hung up.
Now Kenji's attention was drawn to the metallic friction sounds above. Four men in all black, with ski masks and tactical gear, each carrying sniper rifles outfitted with silencers, levitated from the catwalk to the floor by zip lines. As Kenji wobbled upright, one of the armed men checked Seguro's pulse. Two others sprinted to inspect the other three soldiers. The last one, seemingly their leader, halted before Kenji.
Futakuchi had no way of knowing it, but the man in front of him, who was supposed to have met Fukunaga last night, had been sitting in the café with newspapers, listening to his and Shouhei's chat.
Nor could he know that the same man, two nights ago, had helped Tetsurou Kuroo go into hiding.
Nor could he know that the very same man three weeks ago had tried to kill Eita Semi.
"Uh, thanks," Kenji mumbled. The evidently highly trained soldier stared through the ski mask with cold, stoic eyes. The soldier checking Seguro's vitals sauntered behind Futakuchi. The operative lifted his sniper rifle in the air and rammed the butt of it into Kenji's skull. Futakuchi blacked out immediately.
Surveying the unconscious man for a second, the foursome's leader picked up Kenji's phone and then extricated his face from the ski mask with a gasp of relief, shaking his head to tousle his mask-flattened silver hair. Then on his own phone he dialed the man who called Futakuchi moments earlier.
"Yes?"
"Tsumu, we got the Shiratorizawan spy."
"Awesome, Samu. Bring 'im to Fukurodani. We're leavin' tonight."
That's a lot to digest, but please share your thoughts. If it were me and you wanted to leave a comment but aren't sure how to process the whole chapter, I'd suggest mentally reacting to the two halves (the flashback half and the second half) of the chapter separately.
I am very happy to have gotten this chapter out almost a month earlier than planned. Chapter 7 might take until the end of June or into July, as RL is threatening to become overbearing next month. My personal target deadline is the weekend of July 27/28, and hopefully it will be sooner. Chapter 8 I then hope to have out at the end of August.
In the meantime, let me know your thoughts, your theories on Kenma, and your reactions to the new interlopers.
Update 29 June: I posted a preview on tumblr of the new chapter but since links don't work on FFN, I'll transcribe the preview here:
-"Crow shrimp is sparse. It was a new moon, but swans flock to the moonlight."
-"Guess I'll go birdwatchin'."
-"Do you want a shallot?"
-"Save it for later. The owl café has a special. I'm gonna catch a rattler."
-"What if there are swans about?"
-"Then it's huntin' season…."
I'd like to have a Kenma Project-related reward for the person who comes closest to decoding the above conversation ;)
Send guesses via tumblr, discord, FFN private message, or whatever platform works for you. (You can send me things anon, but unless I know who you are, you won't be able to "claim" your prize. Sorry. :/ )