Beggar to Beggar Cried

The Young Master was absent.

Pekoyama loitered in the hotel lobby. When she had arrived for breakfast and he hadn't been present, she had assumed he was delayed and thought nothing of it. But the hour had passed, her meal was devoured and the Young Master had yet to appear. She told herself he would come; he could be helping Tsumiki or Kamukura with Owari; he could be assisting Nidai with the Imposter who also had not appeared. (She suspected eating in front of the entire class would be too much for him.) There were valid reasons for Kuzuryu's absence.

One by one, her fellow classmates passed her on their way outside, a few looking at her curiously. And still her Young Master did not appear.

She walked outside. She went straight to the Imposter's cabin and knocked.

Nidai opened the door. "Pekoyama-san? Did something happen?"

"Is Kuzuryu-kun there?" she asked.

"Huh? No, just us. Was he supposed to drop by?"

"No, I was just looking for him."

Nidai no doubt had his hands full with the Imposter. She didn't need to bother him with this, especially since Kuzuryu was fine.

She tried knocking on Kuzuryu's door next. There was no response. She almost turned away, but she noticed that his lights were on. That could simply be an accident, especially if he had been in a rush to leave. She moved back to the boardwalk and leaned so that she could peer in his side window. He'd left the curtain open and though the angle was awkward, she could see some part of the interior.

She went up on her tiptoes. Was that. . . was that his suit on the ground?

As the Yakuza's heir, Kuzuryu knew plenty about suits and their care. He was religious about treating them properly – he wouldn't have left one on the floor like this. Something was wrong and the world suddenly brightened as her senses sharpened, sniffing for danger. Two people coming up from behind – ah, not a threat. The water was too clear to conceal a body, and the edge around the cabins' platforms were too small for someone to hide.

She kicked the door in. The Master's room was messy. His clothes were on the ground, as was his pillow. If there had been a struggle, she couldn't see any blood – they had taken him alive. She walked over quickly and lifted the pillow with her foot; the weight told her the knife Kuzuryu stashed inside was missing. She forced the fear down. There was still the washroom. Still one more room to clear.

She gasped aloud when she found him inside. Chest moving – still breathing. He was on the ground though. Injured? Yes, why else would be lying down, curled up? A gleam on the ground caught her attention: it was his missing knife. There was blood on the blade and some on the floor. He'd fought back then, drove off his attacker by his lonesome because she hadn't been by his side.

"Young Master!" she cried, rushing forward and reaching –

"Don't call me that!" he roared at her.

She froze. Even her heart stopped.

"I . . . Fuck . . . Shit, I . . . I'm not your master."

Even as her gut clenched, she told herself he didn't mean it. He was troubled. She knew from personal experience how long it took his temper to cool after a struggle.

"Are you hurt?" she demanded. "Can you walk. I can retrieve help –"

She had knelt to better examine him, to turn him toward her and see the part of him that was hidden. But the moment she touched him and tugged, he swatted at her hand.

"Don't!" he snapped. "Just. . . Peko, promise you're not going to freak out first."

This. . . This . . . Calm. Be calm. The Young Master was giving an order. Stop shaking. Be calm.

"Of course," she said in a monotone. She looked away from him, just in case. There was blood in the garbage. Tissues covered in blood and a hint of black –

She knew that fabric. How hadn't she noticed he was different? Why would he have taken the eyepatch off though? He hadn't removed it since the day of the operation.

"Peko, don't freak out," he whispered.

And he turned.

She saw it immediately. How could she not, when the first thing she tried to do was make eye contact with him? His left eye – that devil's eye – it's gone. She knows with unerring certainty that there was no fight, there was no attacker. Because there is a clean slice down through Kuzuryu's eyelids, splitting them in half. The skin around the cut is covered in cracked, red blood and there's random drops of it on his cheek and chin under the missing eye.

"Kuzuryu-kun, you. . ."

He laughed bitterly with a trace of hysteria. "She's gone. I'm finally rid of this."

"You. . . You didn't have to go this far!"

"Why does it matter? It's not like I gouged out my eye," he jeered. It was a vicious, nasty thing and with the blood dotting his jaw, he looked like a predator after the kill. "It was her fucking eye. I just cut off a tumor that didn't belong."

Why did he have to do this now? One of their own was already in the hospital and now he was going to force Tsumiki to deal with this, too? No! She couldn't judge. She was sure he had a good reason for why he was adding this completely unnecessary stress to their class.

"We need to go to the hospital."

"Don't you dare . . .! I can walk myself!"

At least he isn't fighting her command. That's a relief. There's been plenty of times in the past where she's watched members of the Yakuza refuse medical treatment on account of some strange interpretation of manliness.

However, she's misjudged her Young Master's emotional state. For after she forced a shirt over his head and they staggered out of the cabin, they soy some of their classmates. That's when the real reason for Kuzuryu's easy agreement comes to life. His lips curled into a sinister smirk, and he abruptly shoved her away so he could approach their classmates without fear.

"O-oh my god!" Koizumi shrieked. Her eyes widened in horror as she covered her mouth. "What happened?"

"Justice," Kuzuryu sneered as he – that old, despair-ridden version of himself – infused his voice.

Saionji said, "You're kind of a creep, you know?"

Kuzuryu just laughed, not proving her wrong.

"Young Master, we need to get to the hospital," Pekoyama hissed, grabbing him by the arm.

"Why? I'm not injured. None of this shit belonged to me!"

"This is not up for discussion!" she snapped at him.

Kuzuryu blinked. His wild sneer flickered. He suddenly looked like a young boy as he shuffled his feet and glared at the ground.

She nudged him, urging him along. Koizumi followed them, hands still over her mouth. Saionji thought about it and when they were right about to turn off the boardwalk, decided to join as well.

All was quiet in the hospital. The lobby was empty, as were the corridors. There were two people in Owari's room: the patient and her nurse. Tsumiki had rolled in a bed from an empty room to sleep in. The Nurse was fast asleep, knees curled up against her chest, the blanket haphazardly strewn across her torso. Drool had created a damp spot in her pillow.

In contrast, Owari's blankets barely had a wrinkle, betraying the lack of movement during the Gymnast's long sleep. Her mouth was open, slack as if in death, and if Pekoyama hadn't trusted Tsumiki, she would have thought that's what it was. There were no tubes or IVs or wires attached to her unconscious classmate, but that made the sight worse because she knew there should be.

She shook Tsumiki gently. "Tsumiki-san, you need to wake up."

"H-huh? What. . .? Is everything okay? Did something happen to Owari-san?"

If Owari had only been asleep, Tsumiki's high-pitched shriek would have woken her. (Pekoyama glanced over, just in case.) "It's Kuzuryu-kun. He needs your help."

Tsumiki looked confused, but she struggled out of bed. Impatiently, Pekoyama just hauled her onto her feet and out of the room. The other two girls turned to look at them as they stepped into the hall. Kuzuryu was slower; he savoured the seconds between their emergence and letting Tsumiki see what was wrong.

"Kuzuryu-kun!" Tsumiki gasped. "Why did you . . .?"

"Something wrong?" he leered.

"D-did you cut it out? You didn't have to do that!" she cried. "It wasn't attached to any of your nerves or integrated with your body. You could have scooped it out with a spoon!"

"A spoon? Are you kidding?" he exclaimed. "What kind of man mutilates himself with something as lame as a spoon?"

"What kind of person mutilates themselves to begin with?" Koizumi cut in.

Kuzuryu glared at her. "You seriously going to ask that considering who your friends are?"

"Are you talking about. . .? That's completely different!"

"Pl-please stop fighting!" Tsumiki shouted. She was pulling at her hair in stress, much like the Imposter had yesterday. "Oh, you're not bleeding. That's means. . . How long did you wait to find me?"

Kuzuryu shrugged. "I dunno. A night?"

"Why?"

If this kept up, they were going to lose their only trustworthy nurse to a heart attack. Pekoyama stepped in, figuratively and literally. She stepped between Koizumi and Kuzuryu, breaking their eye contact. Yet she stared directly at Tsumiki and demanded, "What do we need to do first?"

"We need to clean the wound. I don't think there's any disinfectants around here. . ."

"I had hand sanitizer in my washroom," Pekoyama said. "Could we. . .?"

"No, that's horrible! You don't use hand sanitizer on a wound."

"Oh, sorry." Stupid. She should have known that. She was the Master's first line of defense; in times like these, it was her duty to treat him and buy time for the medical staff.

"Soap and water," Tsumiki concluded. "Follow me to the washroom."

They did. She wished Kuzuryu would walk faster, but he was too busy strutting around like a peacock. She shouldn't think this way about him, shouldn't be annoyed with him. but he was being very frustrating right now.

They gave Tsumiki and Kuzuryu their space in the washroom. Pekoyama lingered just outside the door, hovering anxiously.

"What happened?" Koizumi asked in a hushed voice. "Where did his eye go?"

"Her eye," Pekoyama corrected instantly. Remembering the bloody tissues, she said, "I believe it's in his trash."

"The trash . . ." Koizumi looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. "O-okay, but it should still be fin to. . ."

"Absolutely not!" Pekoyama said. "That thing is not going in his head again."

"But it's Enoshima-san's . . ."

"Yeah, it's hers, not mine," Kuzuryu muttered, walking out of the washroom. She examined him; the blood on his face was gone. That was good. The dried blood on his split eyelids had been cleaned, too, but now the edges glistened as if they were going to bleed anew.

"Are you okay?" Pekoyama demanded.

He waved her off. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just a couple of cuts."

"Just a cut? You ripped out her eye!" Koizumi shouted. "What were you thinking?"

"That I don't need her anymore," he growled.

Both Despairs stepped away from him. Tsumiki gasped loudly, although Pekoyama couldn't tell whether it was because of what Kuzuryu had said, or because she was afraid of everyone's reactions. Pekoyama could defeat them all in a fight; she knew that. She didn't want to fight them, however, if it could be avoided.

"What do you mean?" Koizumi said. "We haven't given up. We're still Ultimate Despair!"

"Fuck that!" Kuzuryu shouted. "I don't need her telling me what to do anymore."

Saionji said, "Uh, did someone drop you on your head? Enoshima-san is the Ultimate Despair, not you. You're just a little boy who thinks swearing makes him edgy."

Kuzuryu didn't seem to be listening. "I am done with her. I am done with her being inside my head. Now, it's time to be me."

"What does that even mean?" Saionji complained. "So, you're going to shoot people for giggles instead of for despair? That's the same thing, dummy!"

"Shut up. You don't know anything about me!"

"What's there to know?" Saionji asked. "You're a crook."

"That doesn't mean anything. 'Sides, I was born into it."

Pekoyama watched him curiously. She had always suspected that he longed for the normal lives of others, but never had he admitted it out loud – not even to her. Was even this part of him changing?

"You rob people, you sell drugs, you kill people. . ." Saionji shrugged. "It's the same thing."

"Shows that you don't fucking know anything," Kuzuryu said. "The only person I killed before Despair was that bitch who killed my sister."

". . . Huh? Didn't they arrest that pedo?" Saionji said.

"That was just a shit-job of a coverup," Kuzuryu said. "I bagged that stupid classmate of hers – the real killer."

"That. . . that was you?"

They all looked at Koizumi.

"Wait, is that about that Sato chick?" Saionji asked. "That was your best friend, right? Are you saying she wasn't killed by a pedo?"

Kuzuryu was silent. Pekoyama could tell that he had already decided the conversation was over. Seeing she wasn't getting a reaction from him, Saionji turned to Koizumi.

"Did you hear that?" Saionji jeered. "It wasn't just bad luck, after all. Your best friend got murdered because she was a murdering little bitch, too!"

Saionji cackled. Her eyes were swirling madly. She stood right in front of Koizumi, slowly backing the other woman into a corner.

"How does that make you feel, huh?" Saionji demanded. "Doesn't it feel good? Huh? Doesn't it?"

"O-of course!" Koizumi was saying, but something was different. Her eyes were swirling, but they were odd. They swirled, and then stuttered, and then started up again. "It's amazing. I never ever knew it was him."

"She deserved it," Kuzuryu spat.

"And she's dead," Koizumi was saying. "You just killed her."

"She knew Kuzuryu-san belonged to the Yakuza," Pekoyama said though gritted teeth. "Those are the consequences."

"Oh, is this about the big secret you couldn't tell me?" Saionji asked. "You know, the one between you and your bestie Sato?"

"Secret?" Pekoyama said sharply. "Koizumi-san, did you -?"

"Did you help?" Kuzuryu hissed.

"No! I didn't know she was planning to . . . I only found out afterwards."

"Does that make it better or worse?" Saionji asked.

"Worse . . . No, better. It was great. I-it was wonderful! Like. . . almost as good as when my father. . ."

Time had tamed Pekoyama's rage, as had the fact that the Master's younger sister was not the Master. It was enough that she could view this through not apathetic eyes, but controlled ones. Koizumi and Saionji had their swirls and those stapled-on grins that were the hallmark of despair. She looked at them and felt disgust and pity; she understood the Young Master's ire.

"Um, what are we talking about?" Tsumiki asked shyly.

"Don't you remember that loser Reserve Course friend of hers?" Saionji asked. "The one that got her head smashed in? Turns out Kuzuryu was the one who knocked her off."

Pekoyama reached for a non-existent sword –

"She killed my sister!" Kuzuryu snarled.

"Eek! Kuzuryu-kun, you're going to reopen your wounds. I n-need to take another look at them."

Before he could protest, Tsumiki shoved Kuzuryu back into the washroom. Pekoyama blinked. How would yelling at that brat reopen his . . .? Oh. That was surprising. She hadn't thought Tsumiki had it in her to intervene like that.

"Tsumiki-san's so considerate of everyone's happiness," a swirly-eyed Saionji said, staring at the closed washroom door. "Oh, what were you saying, Koizumi?"

"She wasn't a loser just because she was in the Reverse Course," Koizumi muttered. There was a weird grimace on her face, like she hadn't wanted to say that aloud.

"Uh, yes she was. She was a nobody who used mommy and daddy's money so she could try to pretend she was important like me. That's literally the definition of loser." Saionji sneered. "And of course she was your friend. You weren't famous performer like me or Tanaka. You were just some dumb girl in charge of a Photography Club."

They were silent. Koizumi giggled.

"That's. . . That's so true!" Koizumi said, but her voice seemed to waver. "Yep. Sato was just a loser and. . . I'm so boring compared to the rest to you. That's probably why we were friends in the first place."

"Koizumi-san?" While Pekoyama wasn't over the revelation about the murder of Kuzuryu's sister, she wasn't quite comfortable with the way Koizumi was standing.

Koizumi waved her away. "No, she's right. I. . . I'm just going to go now."

She staggered off. Saionji stuck her chin up and crossed her arms over her chest. After a couple of minutes, the door to the washroom slowly open. Kuzuryu strode out first, and nodded for her to follow.

"Hey, Saionji," Kuzuryu called right before he walked off. "You feeling good about that?"