Maybe Hanekoma should have known, when Joshua stopped talking to him completely, that something was wrong. But Joshua had always been reclusive, rarely offering much in the way of conversation – and he thought he'd understood that, at least.
Still amazed by Shibuya's Composer, the potential there, all that he doesn't even realize he has yet to become. If the rest of the Angels don't see that, it's because they don't want to see their frustration as just a part of his ability. Joshua has never been a misunderstood genius – he pushes buttons on purpose, to challenge, because it's fun – and because the Composer takes a twisted sort of pride digging his own holes, testing himself as much as anyone.
At least, that was what he'd thought. Hadn't seen the fearlessness for what it was, Joshua's lack of interest in the stakes or the dangers or the potential costs as any kind of warning sign. It's difficult, even for Angels, to always see things for what they are.
He knows a few things for certain, now. Knows that Neku is the first thing – the very first – in Joshua's life to have consequences, and it's laughably obvious the Composer still doesn't want to admit it.
The little things, that show the difference, what's changed. A long time, since Hanekoma had seen Joshua at anything but his highest Frequency, but ever since the long Game, even in the Throne Room he's sprawled out in the form he played in, one leg hooked over the leg of his chair, laptop propped on his thigh, a pose both incredibly lazy and rather insulting to the entire idea of his position as a higher being.
"So, who'd you have to bribe to give your competitors so much trouble?" Joshua says, without looking up.
A massive coffee shop shutdown, an entire restructuring of the company worldwide, and does the store in Shibuya go? Hanekoma rolls his eyes.
"That person isn't talking to me anymore."
Violet eyes flick up to meet his briefly, and back down to the screen.
"Regret turning your nose up at those promotions?"
Hanekoma snorts. "As if they'd send anyone else here for you to pick your teeth with. You don't listen to me, I can only imagine what you'd do to the poor bastard put in my place." He shifts, Joshua is paying attention to him without paying attention. Knows why he's here, almost certainly could ask the question for him.
"You do realize-"
"Neku took his first Soul, and out of my territory." Joshua smirks slightly, without looking up. "It wasn't Game-related, and she had weeks to live, if that. He was doing her a favor. Don't tell me anyone actually complained."
Oh, it had definitely been noted. Favorably, especially among those who worried that Sakuraba was perhaps too gentle, unable to make the tough decisions even when they had to be made.
"Have you talked to him?"
He doesn't have to ask, but it's interesting to see Joshua's complete non-response.
"I haven't seen him."
Hanekoma makes a slightly disapproving sound, and Joshua lifts an arm, shaking his phone slightly. "Don't worry. I'm not about to let him off the leash."
"He's not Megumi, you know."
Violet eyes watching him over the edge of the screen, and Hanekoma only arches an eyebrow, staring back, willing to match him inch for snotty-prince-bitch inch.
"I'm aware. Megumi didn't bitch at me for an hour when I mixed up trance and trip-hop."
"He's not you, either, boss."
It was always a risk, even with Yoshiya Kiryu as a perfect fit, already able to see the UG and practically set up to take over. The kid had wanted it, badly, maybe even before Hanekoma had explained exactly what 'it' entailed. Still, a natural fit for the UG meant drawbacks for the Game. Joshua had grown up on it, had enjoyed its casual callousness. No need to care about anyone, everything in constant transition, with the only value in the end result. No need for things like worry or trust.
The UG had filled with the results of that choice, with people like Konishi, and how she would have descended, how she might have Fallen. So much further than Minamimoto, if only she'd known how. Different versions of her, in different universes, but Joshua had found himself a real diamond in this one, flawless and brilliant and utterly inhuman. Hanekoma had never even considered her, far too dangerous, to risk unleashing that on Shibuya.
"You have come here to tell me something I don't know?"
"You're not teaching him."
A smirk. "... and yet, he's learning."
"Just wondered if you were going to let Phones hit every branch in the tree on the way down. Not a very nice thing to do to your Partner."
A soft snort, Joshua not exactly shaking the pom-poms when it comes to the value of team-ups. The Game isn't always a matter of partners, has run solo in the past, but things had the nasty tendency to turn into gladiatorial competition, more or less bloodsport, and even the victors weren't likely to learn much of anything at all.
"It's all semantics, whatever you'd like to think. The Players don't change, just because there's two of them together." Violet eyes watching him, amused – Hanekoma rarely tries to shield his thoughts from the Composer, Joshua not really as interested in secrets as he is in getting to the point of the conversation.
"Which is why we're here now."
Joshua rolls his eyes, stretching his shoulders, flexing his hands in a motion that is quite catlike. "Two out of every five thousand."
"Mm?"
"That aren't completely useless. People that are actually worth the time. Give or take."
Hanekoma takes half a moment to add it up in his head. Six billion, split and multiplied...
"Nearly two and a half million? Rather high for you."
The Composer shrugs, the slight lift of a shoulder. "It's an estimate. I'm sure the math is off somewhere."
"You should talk to him."
Joshua shakes his head dismissively, back to typing away, multitasking long before the word had ever been created.
"Neku didn't know when to let go of her, he held on too long and he panicked. If he could handle three weeks in the Game, he can handle giving one girl a half-dignified death." His eyes narrow, when Hanekoma stays silent, but stay focused on his screen. "He shone brightest when he couldn't even remember who he was. Neku can keep up. The less I tell him, the more he learns on his own, the better he is. It's not like you ever taught me much I couldn't have picked up on my own."
Oh the tact and grace at the Composer's command - that one could have drawn blood, if he'd really been trying. Hanekoma lets it go, knows that an irritable Joshua is a Joshua trying to dodge the conversation he really doesn't want to be having.
"So, after you're done moving the goalposts to Hokkaido..."
"Did you want to give him over to the Angels? Let him just pass on through? I thought you noticed him first." Joshua snaps, badly missing the mark this time for all of his precognition. It's true Hanekoma didn't want to see him ascend, there's so much Neku can do in the RG, so much he can learn as Conductor. Losing him this young to the higher Frequencies would be tragic, even if he's aware no one else agrees with him.
"Phones is better alive." Hanekoma can't remember the last time – if there's ever been one – where the Conductor didn't really care about the Game. Practically half-Angel and entirely human and just barely out of the starting gate. So much possibility – he can do anything, absolutely anything. "He's tough enough to take it."
Joshua rolls his eyes. "... and with that, we're right back to the beginning. Keep all hands and arms inside the conversation until we come to a complete stop."
"He's not the one I'm worried about, Josh." Hanekoma pauses for a moment, to let it sink in. "Will you be ready, when he's finished jumping through your hoops?"
This isn't like any other battle, isn't at all the status quo, and as much as it might be nice to know what the Composer is thinking, at this point Hanekoma doubts it will do much good. Joshua stares at him for a moment, rolls his eyes, half a bitter smile.
"You must be loving this."
Chaos. Uncertainty. The Composer suddenly reliant on more than his own resources. Suddenly wanting more, without the certainty of success, without any certainty at all. The change that saved the Composer, it saved Shibuya.
Hanekoma can see, how it can be absolutely terrifying.
"Well, I suppose he could still try to kill you."
It isn't a threat – if it ever was - what Neku was supposed to do, to prove that Joshua had been justified all along, but Neku very, very rarely does what he's supposed to do.
Hanekoma can see the beginnings of the kid's message already, the spirit of Neku's work in his sketches and paintings. Bravery, not being afraid to act even if the goal is unclear, trying more important than anything. Courage and determination and strength, and if the higher-ups thought Hanekoma's work was unsettling, Neku's will be downright revolutionary.
"Do you know who put their mark on him?"
The bracelet. Neku's wearing it, completely oblivious that it might mean anything, let alone carry a specific message, but Hanekoma noticed, and Joshua was definitely supposed to notice.
Dibs. One of the other Composers has called dibs. Polite enough, just a little mark of interest. If Neku ever wants to leave Shibuya he won't have to look long for a new home.
"It could be anyone. He's talking to a lot of them. You thought you could show-off something like that at a party and not get people looking?"
Of course he knew. The entire point, for Joshua to shove Neku away with both hands, because it's not losing if he forfeits first. He knows the Composer can hear that thought, can actually feel the Throne Room shrink slightly, nothing visible but all the power present contracting around the Composer, responding to the tension he refuses to show.
"I put him back, didn't I?" He says, very quietly. "I barely wore him. Still had the receipt."
Maybe Joshua had intended only to watch, all along. Kitaniji's move and Minamimoto's appearance on the board had forced his hand – and at the time, they had been the only threat. No way to recognize that Neku had been just as dangerous, his earnestness claiming victories no ruthless cunning could hope to match.
"It won't get easier. I can't give him a different world, I can't change it. This is what I am."
The first time Hanekoma's ever heard the Composer sound less than pleased with that, Joshua staring at the back of his slightly glowing hand without any kind of pride.
"I don't think it's anything to worry about, that bracelet. Probably just someone letting you know they're watching. Trying to make you jealous."
Joshua lets out a little bark of a laugh, staring down into the space between them – and his eyes are dark and distant, not really there, Hanekoma can tell. Seeing something else, the past or the future or some split of the two. The connected universes and their endless possibilities.
"I don't suppose it really matters, does it?" His voice is very soft, hardly more than speaking to himself. "I won't clip his wings. I... can't make him less, than what he is."
The more generous Angels considered Joshua's actions the sign of a lack of vision, a tepid failure. The rest thought it was spite, pure selfishness, claiming Neku for his own. At the time, Hanekoma knew Joshua knew exactly why he had done it, but those simple truths don't usually tend to fall apart so completely in his hands.
Hanekoma sighs, sliding his hands for a moment into his back pockets, stretching out his spine, feeling the weight of invisible wings.
"You know, when he looks at you, he doesn't see the Comp-"
"Don't."
The irritation there doesn't quite mask the hollow undertone in his voice, and Hanekoma can see Joshua flinch, still staring into nothingness. Facing the worst, before it can find him?
"Where are you, boss? What are you seeing?"
Joshua blinks, once, eyes sharp and instantly back in the here and now.
"Nothing you need to worry about." Back to his computer, as if they've been discussing the weather all this time. "He'll be fine."
Which wasn't the point of any of this, and they both know it, but it doesn't matter, Hanekoma well used to this, the conversation over for now.
It's supposed to be a matter of honor. If he were better, more like his father or his elder brother were, it would be. Of course, if that were true Kariya might still be alive, but he is not, and this is not about honor. He's not sure he ever knew what the word meant except that he can't feel it. It is pure selfishness, to be here, to love another more than himself. The Composer has demanded nothing of him, and so all Kariya can give is his obedience.
He is the Conductor of an Underground that will not be his tomorrow.
The song is simple, but beautiful – all the Composer's songs are beautiful, even now, the melody plucked perfectly from the koto and it makes him think of falling leaves, of gray fog in the morning and ripples on the water, even with his sword laying naked across his thighs, the sounds of combat no longer so distant, Reapers dead and dying. No way to stop the intruders, or turn them back, all gates breached and the lords of heaven turning a blind eye. Abandoning them, and Kariya has never felt a hate like this, the anger so pure it might as well be awe.
"Koki."
The song has stopped. He tenses, swallows. Glances to where the Composer's armor hangs waiting on the wall. Listens to his master's robes rustle against the floor. He is not afraid.
"My lord."
He does not move, waiting for the order, his heart beating fast – anticipation, determination. He will die, facing the enemy Composer, the one who has come to take their world from them, but Kariya is determined to give him blood for blood, will take the other Conductor with him as he falls, will give his lord one final victory.
A hand against his chin, he startles out of his thoughts, glancing up and quickly away. Outside, the sound of battle is fading away to an expectant silence. Waiting, because they can.
"My lord, there is little time."
The Composer sighs, the light in him fluttering softly, the moon washing over the surface of the water.
"I was never blessed with children, with a family, even when I was not as I am now. You are my son, Koki, in every way that I could want. Will you do as I ask?"
Kariya shuts his eyes, the swell of pride, the grief of the loss to come enough to stop his breath, just for a moment. It is not so easy to speak, even if he has the words.
"I will fight for you."
"Will you do as I ask?"
"Anything."
It is with grace, with unimaginable gentleness that the Composer lifts his hand. Gestures to the door at the opposite end of the room, and damns him forever.
"No." Rising, on his feet sword in hand even though Kariya knows he has no right, not even now, to stand face-to-face with his lord, but the panic and the silence demand it and the Composer is watching him with the same contemplative smile that he loves to see, that he has served so faithfully. "No. I won't leave you to them."
"You have to."
"You could Ascend." He says desperately, searching the serenely shimmering countenance for any hope, already knowing the answer. If this has happened, if they have been allowed to be overrun, there is nothing waiting for his master above. The Composer lifts his hands, gently pressing on Kariya's shoulders – the most he has ever touched him, the feel of his Composer's music cool and deep and flawless, flowing through him in a river, a sense of clarity he knows will not last.
"All that I am will end today, will vanish from this world, except for you. I ask you, to obey this final order - to give up your honor, break all your vows, and live."
He is connected to the Composer, can feel the blow when it hits, splintering against the walls of even this inner sanctum. Enough to make the room shiver from the force of it. But the Composer never turns, is still watching him, and smiling, and Kariya doesn't want to live through this, doesn't want to have the echo of this song forever in his bones.
"Don't be afraid, to give your heart freely, completely. Whatever comes, don't be afraid."
Oh but he has, has given his heart and his loyalty and look now what it has brought him. Look what the reward is, not even to die here where he belongs. Kariya will go, he will leave but it is the last impossible order he can force himself to follow. It will never be the same again, he will never be anything again but a ronin, a stray dog, wandering.
And his Composer lets go, as another blast rocks the room around them, as it shudders and flickers, and Kariya feels the music pulling away from him, a great wire net dragging through his entire body, splintering his power, ripping him from every mooring. The Composer's song fades even as he tries to listen for it, as the door opens and he falls into a new life he does not want to meet.
"Oi, Kariya" Uzuki waves a hand in front of his face, and takes advantage of his distraction to go for his ramen. He snaps his chopsticks together but she's too fast and he's too distracted, and she wiggles the piece of fish cake, cackling before swallowing it whole. He stirs the broth, watching noodles and flat pieces of seaweed rise and fall.
Uzuki points at him with a slight, teasing frown.
"You're quiet today. Even for you."
He catches her chopsticks in midair, when she goes for the biggest piece of his egg.
"... and you're in a good mood, for the day before a Game."
Uzuki seems off, somehow, just at the edges of her words. A little keyed up, almost nervous, though with Konishi dead Kariya can't imagine she's worried about looking good, moving up. Especially with the rumors they know are facts, the identity of the new Conductor.
The kid doesn't have to meet with them, doesn't have to do much of anything, and Kariya can't remember the last time Megumi chatted with more than the top ranks of the Officers, let alone called a full-out meeting, but Sakuraba's apparently called Higashizawa and told everyone to show and has no idea that it's at all out of the ordinary.
"Little brat. I can't believe we'll be taking orders from that kid." Uzuki grumbles, poking a dumpling halfheartedly around on her side plate, until Kariya relieves her of it, payback for stealing his naruto.
He doesn't say anything, a few remarks swirling about half-formed in his head, fading when he gives them no attention. Uzuki's flipping through a magazine, making the occasional disdainful sound at whatever pair of shoes or jacket has failed at being fabulous.
It's been strange as hell, since the long Game ended, has taken Kariya this long to flip it all over in his head, decipher what he can, try to figure out what he's going to do next.
Or not so much what, but how, and how far he might have to go. He pushes down on the hot rush of anger – it's gotten easier, as the weeks have passed and the memories have dwindled for the rest of them. Uzuki's a child, only two years in the Game, she hadn't recalled anything moments after it was over, and by the time Kariya thought to ask Minamimoto, the best he got was a sneer and a shrug – he doesn't remember anything, except that maybe once, he was more than he is. Much, much more. No one remembers, not the Taboo Noise or those godforsaken Red Pins or – and this is the interesting part – who Neku Sakuraba's partner was that second week through.
Kariya had thought the boy was alive, had thought he was special – half right is certainly better than nothing. The Composer isn't his primary concern, though – certainly doesn't know who he is, what he is, or he wouldn't be here now.
The Composer hadn't been responsible for that third-week breakdown anyway, those Red Pins, that kind of shit always came from above and Kariya didn't know why or how the Conductor had managed to reach the Angels but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, matched up against the sick sense of rage and betrayal he felt, remembering those last few moments, feeling the Conductor's amplified power washing over him. Being dragged down into that, his mind and body no longer his own.
Someone is going to pay for that. Possibly quite a few people. And the new Conductor is going to show him where to start.
"Hey." Uzuki says, a piece of his coveted egg in her chopsticks, but he ignores her, no longer hungry, and stands up instead. Nearly time for the meeting. Uzuki frowns at his back, rolling her magazine in one hand, dropping the egg with a splash back into his bowl. No fun, when he doesn't care if she's stealing.