Well here it ! hope it has been worth the wait

"I was wondering if you'd ever come back to visit me, handsome," purred the brunette haired woman in a massive fur coat leaning against the corner of a dirty brick apartment building.

Shun kept several fair-sized paces behind Kazuki and eyed the female warily while the taller boy stuck his hand out in greeting, "Cheri, yeah it's been a while."

The woman snapped her gum loudly as she gave his would-be handshake a stare that was less than impressed. "Really? A handshake is all I get? I think I deserve more than that."

Shun glared at the sheer amount of liberty she took in bringing herself in for a hug that left his skin crawling—and it wasn't even happening to him. Kazuki uttered a mildly surprised "Oh, alright…" at the gesture, but remained mostly unfazed, as if this sort of thing happened every time he met up with this person. It was a good thing Kazuki only had eyes for his wife or this day could have a very unhappy ending with Shun caught in the middle.

Cheri wound her arms around Kazuki's bicep and hugged it to her chest as she ushered him into a casual stroll down the neighborhood sidewalk. "Who should I thank for sending you my way?"

"We're looking into the disappearance of a young girl from these parts a couple years ago," Kazuki answered in his typical investigator tone.

"You're doing stories on the projects now? You must be really hard up for some gossip. Is the job slowing down for you? You could always come work for me. I've got connections."

"Yeah, we know," Shun uttered gruffly from behind them.

Cheri gave him a dirty look while Kazuki threw him a reassuring grin over his shoulder and then told the woman, "We want you to use those connections to help us investigate. On the down-low, you know?"

"Boy, no one gives a damn about what happened to a hooker," Cheri remarked with a derisive trill in her voice that could have been a chuckle of sorts.

"I do," Kazuki contradicted her simply.

She raised her eyebrows at him in surprise, so much so that they almost disappeared under her bangs. Then slowly, she acquiesced, "Alright, if that's what you want, then who am I to argue with the paparazzi? Down-low is what I do, after all. You're gonna have to narrow your search, though. They're not exactly in short supply around here."

"She was young, probably around 16; typical looks: black hair, brown eyes; really athletic—she excelled in parkour."

"Oh…" Cheri sighed and her eyes took on an almost sad expression, which shocked the hell out of Shun. "You're talking about Hayashi, Azami."

"You knew her? Was she one of yours?" Kazuki prodded further.

"No, no," the woman replied. "I only accept girls of age of consent in my circle. They're old enough to make the decision to wreck themselves with this life. Hayashi didn't have that choice; it was necessary for her survival, so she said. Damn shame what happened to her, though. She didn't deserve what she got."

"So you did know her," Shun stated, trying not to let the twisting in his gut come through.

"Knew of," Cheri clarified. "Not personally, though we did speak a couple times. We all called her Mel-chan 'cause she was so young, looked all small and unassuming."

"Mel-chan?" Shun repeated, unfamiliar with the meaning of such a name.

"It's the name of a doll," Kazuki explained to him, trying his hardest not to let the connection form between this instance and the toy that his own newly born daughter possessed. "You mean she had an innocent baby face."

Cheri nodded. "She could really turn tricks, though—people liked her, had a lot of clients. Almost as many as me. Those were the days before I started my own show."

Before you became an amateur mistress, Shun scowled but kept his lips pressed tightly shut.

"Do you know who her handler was?" Kazuki inquired with a pat to her hand to bring her back to the present.

"Sure I do—it was Yukio."

"Where is he now?" Shun asked, hoping to end this encounter as soon as possible.

"Dead."

Kazuki stopped short and turned to look at her. "Dead?"

"Yeah, killed by a cop," Cheri confirmed with a nod, nudging him into a walk again. "He was packaging his product for distribution when the cops kicked down his door. He panicked and shot the first guy so that guy's partner shot him. It was a fluke, but lots of us think it was a setup by his competition to bump him off."

"Who was his competition?"

Cheri scoffed. "Tch, the same ones who are trying to take over everything these days—Ichiban."

Kazuki looked at Shun over his shoulder again, this time with outright worry and fear plain on his face.

Cheri didn't seem to notice the exchange and instead voiced a closing thought that had been floating in her head. "Hayashi, though…She didn't just go missing one day. I heard someone came along and took her home—saved her this time. If only we all could be so lucky…"

As night fell on Sakuraya, the type of people on its streets transformed. Poor mothers and school dropouts gave way to a party crowd. These were not the high class party goers one might find hanging around pop stars, actors, or billionaires. It was an entirely different caliber of people with their own definition of nightlife.

Hotaru found herself unwittingly taking a step closer to Fushimi. Somehow her dislike for the person was outweighed by the trust that he'd save her life in a true emergency. In turn, he stepped away from her, personal space trumping any obligation he felt toward the fellow clansman. Still, he fingered one of the blades up his sleeve, sure to keep on high alert. Between strains, gangs, and the homeless, quick reflexes had to be backed up by attentive suspicion.

Fushimi's first target was a man in his late twenties whose life had aged him closer to his fifties. He had sat on the street all evening in frayed pants and an oversized jacket, holding a sign with his mostly-gloved hands. The homeless in the city were well fed in the shelters, if they so chose; therefore, the money they begged for was for other purposes. Recently, the Metro Police Department had decided to kick them out of the nearby park, leaving them in the middle of everyone's path. Women in tight skirts sidestepped the area while giggling amongst themselves. Men ushered their dates away with obvious displeasure.

That was the precise reason Fushimi sought him out. He nudged the man's thigh with the toe of his shoe. In the crisp, night air he had fallen briefly asleep, huddled against a wall, but considering all the time he spent in that exact spot, he likely knew everything that happened on that block.

Probably accustomed to careless bumps from passersby, the man stirred on the concrete but didn't wake until Fushimi kicked him a little harder, despite Hotaru's protest. Fushimi stood back, keeping his hands in his pockets as if avoiding direct contact with a contagious disease, while the man rolled over, grumbling in an intoxicated slur.

When he caught his first glimpse of the young man hovering over him from a distance, he presumed it was just another rich kid with a complex about proving his worth through bullying.

It came as a surprise to him, therefore, when the person kicking him offered him money. "Your eyes are everywhere, right? Name your price."

He chuckled, which seemed more like a cough. "Depends on what you want to ask."

"I'm looking to make a connection."

That raised the man's suspicions even higher than before. "What makes you think I'd know that?" He must have been thinking Fushimi might be a cop on some sort of undercover sting mission. That wouldn't be entirely incorrect.

He had to make himself seem more authentic. The image of Kory in the Scepter 4 lockup came to mind. His electronics withdrawals had been quite intense. Maybe desperation was what this man needed to see to be forthcoming.

He started to scratch his arm through his jacket and to tap a foot rapidly. "Come on man. I just came in from out of town, so I need to find a new supplier. I heard this is the area, but I don't know who to look for. You can help me out, can't you?"

Sufficiently convinced, the homeless man was mildly sympathetic to his invented plight. He held out a hand for the promised bribe. Fushimi forked over a 500¥ bill, which he accepted with disdain at the amount.

Reluctantly he asked, "What's your poison?"

Looking around with feigned paranoia, Fushimi lowered his voice to inquire, "Know anyone who sells good cola?"

"Well, in that case, stay away from the Arabs on the corner. The cops watch them constantly, and all they have is tea."

The information was valid, but highly lacking. It had revealed who not to ask rather than who to ask. To Fushimi's expectant stare, the homeless man straightforwardly indicated he required further payment for more precise answers with an outstretched hand. Scoffing, Fushimi slapped in another 500.

"They hang around back by a maintenance entrance to an old part of the subway that's been closed off for years."

Fushimi nodded once and walked away, Hotaru uttering an ashamed, "Thanks," before she followed.

"Stingy bastards!" The man called after them for his meager earning, and Fushimi grumbled back, "Greedy vagrant."

The female accompanying him understood that the two had not been discussing beverages. Those had merely been code words. She knew the type of 'business' Ichiban did. At every turn, it seemed more and more that her report to the captain would be an unfavorable one.

The turn was literal. After walking up the street, past the loitering Arabs, pushing roughly through a crowd of peddlers trying to force advertisement cards on them, Fushimi turned into a tree-filled area. Around a couple flower beds was a staircase that led down into a shabby alley. On one side was a cobblestoned elevation where the metro line ran behind a chain link fence. On the other was a series of delivery doors, all of which were covered in intricate graffiti.

It was even more concerning to the scientist that her superior officer appeared to know exactly what the vagabond meant by, "around back."

He glanced along the bubbly writing as if he understood the language that was entirely foreign to her. He didn't comment on any of it, however, making his way silently down the alley. At the specified entrance to the abandoned maintenance tunnel, which more closely resembled a shed sticking out from the stone wall of the tracks, three men stood. To an untrained eye they gave off the appearance of ordinary, delinquent idlers, avoiding returning to their respective, unhappy homes.

For his part, Fushimi saw past their carefree demeanor to a deeper, intimidating guard stance. He saw the unmistakable shape of a handgun under each of their shirt hems. Their job was to keep curious kids from walking in on business uninvited. It would be unwise to approach them flat out.

Knowing they wouldn't take kindly to questions about their boss and that he wouldn't beat all three without the use of his powers, Fushimi turned about on a heel. Even so, the departure did not seem to be one of retreat, as he still had, a new, precise destination in mind. Past the staircase they had descended, the alley crossed a minor street before continuing beneath an overpass.

There sat swarthy man, skin unusually taut and with a sheen of sweat inappropriate for the cold, November night, who had been deemed unimportant when they first crossed his path. Now, Fushimi joined him under the bridge, looking down at his pitiful state in contempt as he desperately tried to collect a mere film of white powder from discarded plastic sacks.

The man looked up with dazed, wild eyes, startled after a delay of quite some time. He tried to stand and run, likely thinking the disapproving youth presented some threat to him. It was possible, if not in the way he anticipated. Fushimi stretched out a lazy foot to catch the druggy's step and shoved him by the shoulder back onto the concrete.

Hotaru had hesitated, hanging behind in fear, which prevented her from hearing the exchange that took place under the bridge when a rickety train passed by.

With no formality, Fushimi demanded, "Where'd you get that?"

The man blubbered unintelligibly, afraid to answer and to refrain.

Fushimi repeated with more conviction, "Where do you get that?"

He raised a finger to the three men down the road. This was an answer he already knew. He had only asked because it led seamlessly into the next command.

"Introduce me."

The man stumbled to his feet, brain moving too slowly for decent agility. After persistent urging, he led the way down the alley.

"Well, here's a new look," one of the three drawled out mockingly. Even though they all had the identical appearance, like a set of triplets or something, the one with a gnarly scar mangling his upper lip clearly stood out as their leader. "Didn't we just tell you to buzz off? That doesn't mean come back with some ivy league kids."

The loafer from under the bridge attempted a stuttered explanation, but the second one - with a disfigured brow that made one eye sag - interrupted his ineffective words, "No freebies."

Fushimi decided that was enough chitchat. "If you don't mind, spare me your petty dispute. I'm here to see Torou."

"Sorry, this area's off limits," the first forbid with an authoritative tone.

"Are you sure you don't want to reword that? 'Off limits' to the likes of him, so why don't you give him something for his trouble and send him away. Our business is private, after all."

"Who are you to give us orders?" The lazy eyed triplet scoffed.

"An envoy from your distributor."

"How come we've never seen ya before?" The third spoke with a dense voice that reminded Fushimi of a certain food-loving oaf that followed Misaki around. This one seemed to have had a bullet graze the side of his head, taking off the top of one ear.

"There haven't been any incidents severely impacting our supply...until now."

"We assured you we are doing everything we can to make up for the loss in a timely fashion."

"We aren't assured."

"By 'we,' you mean you and her?" Gnarly Lip gestured to Hotaru who stood quietly to the side with her arms crossed and a conceited look on her face.

Before Fushimi could contradict the assumption, Dog Ear guffawed, "Who is she anyway? The boss' daughter?"

No one laughed at his joke, and Lazy Eye elbowed him in the side, hissing, "Shut up. The distributor does have a daughter that age."

Gnarly Lip hummed incitefully. "The boss' daughter with his pet? I suppose that makes you her bitch."

Two of the triplets laughed heartily at that burn while Dog Ear complained, "Hey Bro, how come ya laughed at his joke and not mine?"

A fire sparked through Fushimi's normally dull eyes at the insult, and he grit his teeth to swallow it down.

Seeing an opportunity to seize, Hotaru spoke up, "Well are you going to show us in, or not? Daddy won't be happy to hear you kept us out in the cold so long."

"Whatever you want, Darling," Gnarly Lip conceded. "Unfortunately, Torou isn't here at the moment. I can show you to his assistant in the meantime, but your henchman will have to stay out here."

"He comes with me," she insisted without hesitation. She couldn't handle it all on her own when she hardly knew any of the details of their mission in the first place.

In an instant of vulnerability, Fushimi flashed her a look that could only be described as confusion. Hotaru didn't miss the chance to point it out.

As Dog Ear ushered them down the stairs into Torou's secret base of operations, she whispered to her 'henchman', "What? You didn't expect me to back you up? I may still not know why this green girl is so important to you, but we are clansmates, right?"

Fushimi thought she sounded rather self-righteous for her motivation to be comeraderie, and had she just made up that word? He gave a generic reply, "Oh is that why?"

"Well... Also because the captain would kill me if anything happens to you."

To that, all she received was a click of the tongue.

The guard accompanying them led them through a main room, dimly lit by a single, fluorescent bulb. The air was stagnant and chilly. In the background droned a dehumidifier. The conditions were ideal for the activity currently taking place. Several more gang members were circled around a table, measuring out and weighing sections of their mounds of white powder.

All of the members wore, in some way or another the symbol for 1, a single horizontal line, representing their allegiance to Ichiban. Some had it permanently engraved on their bodies as a tattoo; others wore it upon their clothes or as a pendant on a gold chain. Even their handles contained the simple emblem. Torou, for example, designed his graffiti with the extended katakana, "ト口ー ."

Dog Ear prevented them from lingering to observe, urging them into a side room. Four important-looking men were seated there, around a perfectly circle card table. Chips were piled on its felt surface in multiple short towers and one central heap. They were in the middle of a round of standard, American poker when the newcomers interrupted their game.

Three of the men deferred to the one farthest away as if he were the one in charge, and he inquired, "And who might you two be?"

Dog Ear gave the answer for them. "It's the distributor's daughter and fixer."

His face lit up with artificial friendliness. "Welcome Milady. Won't you join us for a round or two?"

On cue, one of the other men at the table vacated his chair and offered it to her. A tension filled the room which was only dispelled when she willingly accepted the non-negotiable offer. The chairless man stepped outside for a moment to acquire a rickety folding chair, while the one in charge called Dog Ear over for a hushed exchange.

Apparently, Fushimi wasn't invited to play. Hotaru would probably embarrass them; whereas, he would have had an actual chance to compete. That was hardly a matter of great importance, however. From where he stood against the wall, he had the perspective of an outsider, which was fine for observing purposes.

Another of the players shared some of his chips with the girl, and she at least knew to contribute an ante to the future jackpot. Then, cards were shuffled and divvied up one at a time. Right away, Fushimi knew something was wrong. They were exchanging secret glances before the cards were even finished being dealt. There was something more than cheating at poker happening.

The five players looked at their individual hands while Dog Ear stared at Fushimi with suspicion. No one was truly paying much attention to their cards, between their unspoken conversation and Hotaru's distrust of the situation. Nor did she put much effort into answering the head's general questions.

Bidding passed once around the table.

On the left side of the head, one player folded.

Fushimi already had three knives in his hand by the time that player reached under the table and pulled out a Micro Uzi. Their plan was to kill the both of them discretely, but the moment had been too telegraphed. Fushimi had already rushed forward and kicked the table over. With one hand he yanked Hotaru behind his makeshift cover while flinging a knife into the forearm of the shooter, disabling the hand that pulls the trigger. The Ichiban members immediately fell back to attack from their own sources of cover.

The girl, finding herself in her first ever, true life-threatening situation, began to ramble. She went on about caliber, aerodynamics of the piercing shape, and air velocity, as if her reaction to facing death was to confound it with calculations.

The first man to dare venture to their side of the table soon had a dagger thrown under his knee cap, and he crumpled like a moaning paper doll before he even got off a single shot.

"This table is made out of 2cm thick oak," Hotaru continued, her response to witnessing the gruesome scene. Then, she seemed to draw a final conclusion out of her factors. "Those bullets will pass right through it!"

"Do you have a better idea, Genius?" Fushimi snapped back, shouting over the sound of gunfire.

She gaped blankly at him for a moment while the upper lip of the table splintered in their faces.

"The sanctum," she suggested. "Use your aura!"

"Not here," Fushimi refused quietly.

There were still three men shooting. They hadn't even got the chance to mention the purpose of their visit. He could kill them all easily. And invoke the wrath of the largest Yakuza in Tokyo? He wasn't afraid of them, but it wasn't time.

The sound of a clip dropping from a handgun reached his ears, and Fushimi ordered, "Get out now!"

Hotaru's response was delayed, so Fushimi grabbed her wrist and dragged her along as he sprinted out the door, towards the stairs. The men quickly followed, Dog Ear shooting at their backs.

"Don't shoot here, Idiot," the leader scolded, ripping the gun from his hand. "You'll scatter the coke."

The two burst into the alley, hand-in-hand, grateful to see Lazy Eye and Gnarly Lip were down a ways, talking to someone in the back of the jewelry store. When they spotted the two runaways, they rushed down the alley after them. Fushimi and Hotaru had enough of a headstart that they were able to disappear in a crowd of people on the platform waiting for the next train.

Fushimi collapsed against a cement pillar while Hotaru leaned on her knees, both gasping for air. Such exertion was foreign to the both of them. The others at the station ignored them, thinking racing was common for young couples. After a moment of panting, the adrenaline got into Hotaru's head and she started laughing in fits between gulps of air.

Her companion raised an eyebrow at her antics, too exhausted to even speak.

She understood his confusion, nonetheless, and answered, "All of that, and we didn't learn a thing about Hayashi."

Fushimi's face transformed into a piercing glare as if offended that a stranger might speak the sacred name.

"Nevermind," she brushed off his grumpy expression. "Thanks for saving m-"

Cutting off her words before they became reality, Fushimi asserted, "It's nothing."

The train arrived, and they climbed on, not with the intention of going anywhere. They merely needed to insure Ichiban didn't have men waiting for them on the platform. They rode the train through its whole route, making sure at every stop that no one else was doing the same as them. When it returned again to the stop closest to Sakuraya, they descended to a safely empty station.

Only then did Hotaru inquire, "So what's the new plan?"

Having had all that time to reflect, Fushimi knew how to answer. "New plan? We're going to need card stock, a printer, and a can of spray paint."

The club was uncharacteristically quiet for this time of night. The usual rush of customers after quitting time came and went without a hitch—the bar got a good workout, a couple rooms were rented—but once the initial flood had receded, the night felt as if it was crawling by. A few souls were scattered at tables drowning the woes of bad breakups. A mere two dancers provided entertainment for an extremely meager audience; in fact, the other girls had already left with their male customers. This type of evening boded ill for those who lived in the dark; it usually meant something bad was about to go down. Or it could have been because a party of special caliber loomed on the horizon and all the participants were saving themselves for the occasion. Maybe both.

The girl shining the worn top of the bar didn't seem to notice the tension in the air, or perhaps was ignoring it in favor of embracing a calm shift at work. She had already put all of the liquors used earlier back in their proper places and had done the dishes returned thus far so now all that was left was to wipe down the bar. It wasn't as impressive as the one at HOMRA by any means, but using the method she had watched Kusanagi utilize, she had brought a nice shine to the worn surface that gave her a bit of reassurance in this grungy environment.

Junko approached her. "That CEO is back."

Azami smirked a little. "Oh, the one from the men's clothing line who—" She made finger quotations in the air. "—'likes my hair' and leaves me nice tips?"

"No, the one from the bank who likes me and wants to give me 'tips' on 'money investments'."

The Green Girl laughed lightly at his expense and walked around the bar to retrieve a tray from him and the order book. "I'll take care of it."

Junko was a fit guy in his 40's with golden blonde hair flecked with gray—an immigrant from quite a few years back, though Azami didn't know what his place of origin was. Maybe somewhere in Europe or perhaps Hawaii since he certainly wasn't completely Asian (because of his slightly almond-shaped brown eyes, she guessed one parent was Japanese) but, at any rate, he was an exotic find around these parts and he got a lot of attention that he didn't care for. She wasn't aware of his backstory, only that he had been with the club since Eijiro had opened it and had watched her back a few times—tonight included.

Azami wasn't sure what the draw to her was; she wasn't anything special to look at. Maybe it was because, in a place like this, everything was supposed to be fair game and she had labeled herself as 'off limits', a fact she made very clear if questioned. Or maybe it was because she was serving them alcohol and was within arm's reach. Whatever the case, when a table of men wouldn't take no for an answer and started getting grabby, Junko had stepped in to take her place as waiter.

The Green Clanswoman definitely didn't need him to—they both knew fully well that she could make her point on her own. But for the sake of business, this solution was less violent. She could return the favor now.

"What can I get you?" she asked upon reaching the table.

The CEO looked up at her with disappointment at the waiter assigned to his table clear on his face as well as his tone when he ordered shortly, "Gin martini, dry, shaken, straight up."

"Comin' right up."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw three more guys file in and park at a table in between the bar and the dancers so she went to get their orders, too, before putting Junko to work.

"Hey guys, it's happy hour so all beer on tap is half off and there's a discount running on the house wine. Anything I can get you to start?"

They all gave her a once over and the guy closest to her asked with a smirk, "Are you on the menu?"

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not. I'm only here to work the bar. You'll have to talk to the girls dancing tonight about the other menu. Any drinks?"

She hated that those words could come out of her mouth with such apathy when her insides were churning so painfully. She hadn't even been back in these parts that long, but the acquired numb to the effect of a leering eye crept over her with such easy familiarity it was disturbing.

After the slap to their egos which sent them looking toward the entertainment who were more appealingly dressed, the men ordered a round of beverages without quarrel. Azami leaned against the bar with a sigh as she waited for Junko to add the drinks to her tray. If she had to keep telling off the customers, she wouldn't get any tips, and hourly wages for waitresses were crap. Without giving them something to look at, she'd be lucky if they paid the tab and didn't complain to Eijiro about his rude staff.

She didn't want to get in too deep, of course, but the facts were blaringly obvious. She didn't even own underwear that fit this category and no one ever saw those but her so what could she wear? She really wished Eijiro would have made her a bouncer. …Maybe she could fashion something out of spare pieces from old costumes that would be eye-catching, but not make her feel naked.

Wait, what was she thinking? She was supposed to be laying low, not catching attention. Still, how long could she live on the measly income she was getting? How long was she even going to have to survive down here?

"Got a bit on your mind, kid?" the bartender inquired while he loaded the drinks onto her tray.

"What gave me away?" Azami laughed softly, not feeling the usual happiness behind it. "The intelligence and critical thinking in my eyes?"

"I could see the smoke coming out of your ears."

With a grin holding a little more genuine emotion, Azami lifted the order and replied, "It's nothing. Thanks, though, Junko, you really know how to make a girl feel better about herself."

She delivered the martini to the gloomy CEO first and then went to the table of men. Once she had set everything in its place she hung by a minute longer to see if they had any additional requests. It was during that time that the door to the establishment banged open and a man in a crisp, white suit accompanied by an entourage swept into the establishment. Instantly, the Green Girl knew who had made such a grand entrance and she ducked beside the table to keep out of sight.

Because of the ruckus at the door, Eijiro emerged from his office that sat behind the scenes at the front of the building and, upon seeing who had graced his club with their presence, glanced over his employees in sight and then greeted the man kindly.

"Sato-san, it's good to see ya! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I think we have something to discuss, Eijiro," the leader of Ichiban stated in a voice calm and dark like the amber liquids lining the shelves at the back of the club.

Azami pressed her back against a leg of the table and moved her head barely enough so that she could peek out. From where the yakuza men stood, they couldn't see her—Eijiro kept cloths on the tables since it made it much easier to clean up messes of all kinds and this luckily obscured her from view. If the men decided to wander the club, however, they'd spot her for sure. She was beginning to feel very trapped.

The patrons sitting around her said nothing of her behavior, probably assuming she was as afraid of this particular yakuza as the rest of them. In fact, the lead man who had hit on her minutes before then suggested to the others, "I think we should take our drinks and go enjoy the nightlife, eh, boys?"

The moping CEO followed shortly after, deciding to try to catch the bartender's eye on another night rather than risking getting in the middle of yakuza business. Junko stood his ground at his position behind the counter, appearing to go about his daily business while ignoring the meeting, even though that wasn't the case at all. The dancers continued with their moves, whether too desperate to care or knowing how well Ichiban tipped when in a good mood, it didn't matter. Azami quickly banished all mental flashes of bikini tops and short bodycon dresses hiked even higher to accommodate a seat in someone's lap; she needed to focus on a way out.

"Ah, hell, I didn't forget my payment again, did I?" Eijiro pondered aloud, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sato didn't buy into his attempted misdirection. "I've heard rumors that you have a new employee."

"Oh yeah," the owner of the club agreed. "Ai is a real bombshell. Ya need somebody for yer next deal?"

Sato waved off that notion with a flip of his hand and clarified, "One who sounds very similar to the one I need to question about the loss of my shipment."

The yakuza boss was facing away from the girl in hiding as he spoke to Eijiro and the dancers were providing a perfect distraction for the henchmen; Azami knew now would be the time to move. Apparently, Junko had the same thought because he caught her eye just briefly and then scooted two liquor bottles to one end of the bar. That was a good signal that the coast was clear for the moment and she now had a straight shot to him. With stealthy footfalls, she sprinted the short space and vaulted between two bar stools, slid silently across the countertop, and landed behind cover with only a second to spare.

"Come on, look around," Eijiro drawled with an easy smile. "Business is slow 'n' I'm short-staffed. Ya think I could hire just anybody?"

Sato cast his eyes half-heartedly around the space and then back to the owner, entirely unconvinced.

"And besides," the other male added. "Ya know I love this place too much t' risk it in yakuza conflicts."

"Yes," Sato hummed. "But I also know how you love to take in pitiful strays. Thanks for the offer. We'll have a look around."

Eijiro, you moron! Azami shouted in her head as the footsteps dispersed throughout the club, the men they belonged to looking in doorways and under tables. Though Junko stood firm beside her, it was only a matter of time before the armed men looked behind the bar. She could hide in a low cupboard if one of them was empty, but now was not the time to be checking. They might even look there, too. And what would happen when they found her? If they didn't kill her right away, they may decide to collect payment from her some other way.

The smile on her face wasn't the only thing that was fake, she thought cynically toward the eyes taking in the cleavage created by a small packet of white powder hidden in each cup of her bra.

…her position during the meeting was on the lap of the youngest up and coming yakuza boss…

Brown eyes opened to a pounding head resting on a bed in an unknown location…

Her heart was beginning to thump so hard it hurt her chest, and her normally controlled breathing was coming in short gasps. She needed to get out of sight, but there was nowhere she could hide. She was trapped and had no options. She really wished she was someone else right now…

Well…she could be someone else. Her head cleared a bit, and she assessed her environment. If there were any cameras in this part of the city, they were mostly there as a deterrent, not as functional security. Any cell phones in the area were used mainly for corrupt business and thus likely encrypted. If Hisui, Nagare was trying to track her by her powers, he'd have a hell of a time locating her here. That was why she had come to this place, after all.

Skirting the cupboards, she reached the end of the bar which left her inches away from the kitchen. With a quick glance to make sure no one was looking directly at her (Junko hadn't even noticed she had moved yet), she rolled into the next room. Not a second later, an armed man wandered through that doorway in search of a certain female—and he found one.

"Boss, there's a girl in here," he called and Eijiro met Junko's eyes nervously.

The hired gun returned from the kitchen pulling along a nervous-looking female in strappy six inch heels, a shiny leather mini skirt, and silver sequined crop top. He placed a hand firmly on the small of her back while Sato took in her deeply A-lined black hair, doe-like eyes set into a sharply angled face, and red lipstick, then shook his head. This wasn't the one he was looking for.

"Shinobi, I thought you left with your client already," Eijiro addressed the call girl, hoping his uninvited guests wouldn't see her as a witness to their dealings and a loose end as a result.

"Sorry, boss, he was too cheap. I don't play for free," the girl explained.

Her employer made a noise of acknowledgement and checked his watch. "Well, head up to yer room. Got another comin' for a meeting in a couple hours. Might need ya."

She nodded obediently, pushed away from the nonpaying henchman whose hand was starting to drift lower, and strutted herself to the front of the club where a staircase led to an upper floor, a hallway of rooms that could be rented by the hour.

The eyes of the men watched her go with solid appreciation before Sato announced his impression of the evening, "Very well, Eijiro, we'll drop this matter for the time being. But I sincerely hope you do love your club as much as you claim because if I find out you've wronged me…" He stepped close enough that the club owner could smell his brand of cigarettes and threatened in a hoarse whisper, "I'll burn it to the ground."

Shinobi walked the empty hall until she reached a door with a hanging tag that stated "詩 の 火" was working inside (while the name pronounced typically called to mind a "Sneak," or a "Ninja," the orthography read "Poetry of Fire"). A green mist surrounded her as she turned the handle and, once she was inside "her" room leaning against the door, Azami finally took a minute to breathe once more. There had been a few times when she had done like the real Shinobi who was still passed out on her bed—had swindled clients into accepting half the time while collecting full payment and used the additional break to hide out and indulge in product. She had seen this one sneak in through the kitchen when Junko was waiting tables. She thought that Azami wasn't paying attention, except that she was, and she knew exactly what had transpired after the other disappeared upstairs.

Azami looked up at herself in a mirror on the opposite wall and dusted the remaining particles off her right eye and red lipstick from the corner of her mouth, then tugged her shirt down over her hips. One thing was for sure, she would not be wearing one of those outfits ever again after all.

Next time on AGW, Fushimi and Hotaru go on a date...or something. We'll try to see you soon.