May 12th, 2018
She found him on the roof of the police station, smoking a cigarette and looking like a hen left out in the rain. Closing the door with the back of her shoe, Ishigami Yua sauntered up to him, leaning against the railing.
"What?" Shirabu asked, tiredly.
"I didn't know you smoked," she mused.
"I started after graduating college." He glanced at her. "But I'm not some addict. I just needed something to take the edge off."
"Yes, yes, I'm sure." Ishigami hummed, tapping her fingers on the rail. "You didn't even greet me downstairs. Is that any way to treat an old friend?"
Shirabu deadpanned at her, ash falling from the end of his cancer-stick. She could understand his reaction. After all, Ishigami rarely left anything she touched intact, and Shirabu Kenjirou was no exception. "I wish I'd never met you."
"Oh, please." Ishigami tittered. "Don't flatter me so much, or I'll end up getting a big head. Besides," her eyes glinted, "It's not like you ever loved me. I was a convenient fuck outlet."
"As if I was anything different to you!" he spat.
Ishigami feigned a wince. "Someone's touchy."
It was in her nature to be in the know about everybody's business. She was destructive, crude, and held no regard for most people. But Shirabu—he'd been one of the only people she had ever encountered whose privacy remained (mostly) respected. She had known nothing of his past, and still didn't. But Ishigami could make a good guess from his character. Right now, she had him pegged as a narcissist floundering with his own moral compass and drowning in an ocean of regret.
Shirabu let out a frustrated huff, smoke blowing from his lips before disappearing in the wind. "You arrived at the worst time."
"Thank you. It's a talent of mine."
Their story was mundane, in her opinion, and not worth telling. It had been a whirlwind of sex and toeing the line between fucking and making love. A then twenty-year-old Shirabu who hadn't known any better and a then thirty-one-year-old Ishigami who liked to play with fire. Sometimes, she felt guilty. Most of the time, though, she just found it funny, especially the way that it had ended.
"I've seen sides of you most people haven't," Ishigami continued. "But I didn't think you'd allow personal feelings to get in the way of the investigation."
"Like I said," he gritted his teeth, "You arrived at the worst time. I'm a fucking mess right now. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"I thought you were better than this."
"Fuck you, Yua."
"We did," Ishigami said. "Many times in the past. Aren't you ready to leave it all behind now? If you don't, I'll keep holding it over your head for the rest of your life."
"That's not fair. You owe me."
"And I'm trying to pay back that debt right now, but you seem to be content with sulking at the moment."
Shirabu rubbed his temple. "Ugh. Fine, fine, fine! Tell me about it. Tell me everything."
"Sure. Can I bum a smoke off ya?"
He agreed, and she lit one up with the lighter she always carried in her back pocket. A few moments later, so did he, a new cigarette between his lips and the old one beneath his shoe.
"The evidence for the Oikawa case..." Ishigami blew a ring of smoke. "Was more than likely falsified. The cover-up was good, but I'm better."
"Tch. You wouldn't have even known if I hadn't called."
"I said I'm better, not a psychic. Just count your blessings that the statute of limitations isn't up yet, or else I wouldn't have even checked for you." Ishigami clicked her tongue. "I can already imagine that old man's argument. That his confession was gotten under duress, and therefore isn't accurate or even true. But this? This is gonna fuck him in the ass. And he won't be the only one. Little miss Prosecutor-General won't be safe from the fire." She chuckled. "Oh, yeah. She'll get burned."
"Do you hate her or something?" Shirabu asked, rather out of the blue. "The Prosecutor-General."
"Of course I do. She's not even thirty yet, and she's heading the justice system. It's all nepotism. I know it is." Ishigami scowled. "If there's anything I hate in this world, it's corruption."
"You just want to be able to hurt everyone."
"Punish," she corrected. "I want to be able to punish everyone. Don't get your knickers in a twist, Shirababy."
"Do not—"
"Anyway," Ishigami said loudly before taking a drag. "There is one more person who's probably gonna get fucked over by this... And I don't think you'll be happy to hear who it is."
Shirabu balked. "Who?"
And Ishigami smiled, all points and edges. "Your dear mentor: Dr. Miyazawa Kazuhito. Sorry, Shirababy, but nobody's perfect."
"The number you called is not available right now—"
"God fucking dammit!"
"Whoa, there. Calm. Calm. Dai-chan, no throwing."
In a small cafe in Akasaka, Momoi Satsuki rescued Aomine Daiki's phone from being hurled across the restaurant balcony. "It's been four freakin' days, Satsuki!" He ran his hand through his blue hair, gripping his locks tightly for a moment. "And he's still not answering my calls."
Momoi sighed, sensing just how deeply troubled her friend was. "I don't blame him, to be honest. You know how much he loves his wife." She tucked a strand of her pink hair behind her ear. Since high school had ended for them, she had kept it chin-length, though she was considering growing it out again. Too much work, though. "Just give him a few more days, I'm sure he'll call eventually."
Wife. Midorima had a wife. The idea was still so alien to her, even after so many years. She and the rest of Teiko's Generation of Miracles had all attended the union, but it simply did not feel real. She supposed, realistically, it was not unusual. They were heading into their thirties, after all, and it was only expected that most of them would have married by now.
"How's the team been?" Momoi asked, hoping to distract Aomine from his ire.
Aomine shrugged, grabbing his milkshake and sipping it. Momoi stirred her own milkshake. "They're okay, I guess." He played for the Solar Rockers Shibuya, a first division team in the b-league. "But Takashi's been a total dick as of late. Just 'cause he has to plan his cousin's stupid wedding..."
Even with all the small talk, neither Momoi nor Aomine felt at ease. They had virtually been left in the dark by Midorima, and they had no doubt it was the same case with the rest of the Miracles with the exception of Akashi.
We haven't spoken with Akashi in years, Momoi thought, lifting a thumb to her bottom lip. After Akashi had taken over his parents' company, it was only natural that he had drifted apart from them. All of them tried to meet up every once in a while, but it was hard.
"Say, Dai-chan..."
"Hm?"
Momoi looked to her right, at the grey clouds. It would probably rain soon. "Do you think they're happy?"
"Who?"
"Shintaro and Noriko-san," elaborated Momoi. "Do you think they're happy?"
"Who the hell would be happy in this situation?"
She reached across the table to slap his arm. "I mean in general!"
"How would I know?" Aomine complained, digging his pinkie finger in one ear. He flicked a wad of earwax to the ground, much to Momoi's exasperation. "It's his relationship, not mine."
Momoi sighed again, shaking her head. "I should've known better. You don't even have a girlfriend."
"Oi! I'm a busy guy, okay? But..." Aomine scratched the back of his head, brows furrowed in contemplation. "I saw something weird. On the day of their wedding."
"Really?" Momoi's eyes widened. "What did you see?" Truth be told, she was more surprised that Aomine could even recall that far back. All he had done on that day was stand at the snacks table and eat everything that came his way with Murasakibara.
"Noriko-san... was crying."
"That's not unusual. A lot of women cry on their wedding days."
"It wasn't happy crying. I've seen and made enough opponents cry on the court to know the difference. Anyway, I didn't think anything of it... But that might answer your question."
Momoi considered this. "I see... Isn't that sad, then? Everybody looked so happy. Her dad and her sister..."
"Sister?" Aomine echoed. "What sister? I didn't see no sister there."
"I'm surprised you didn't notice—she's exactly your type." It was hard not to roll her eyes. "'Big boobs and juicy ass'. Right?"
"No way, I would've totally seen her if she looked like that!" Aomine closed his eyes, thinking so hard that a bead of sweat formed on his temple. "I did have my eye on a few girls that night... What did her sister look like?"
"Geez, I haven't seen her since then... Gimme a moment. Hmm... She had side-swept bangs, I think? Black hair in an up-do with flowers on it."
"Wait, her?! I remember her! I slept with her that night!"
Momoi gasped, scandalized. At the less-than-friendly looks they were getting from other patrons, she covered her face in shame. "Dai-chan!"
"What? It's the truth." Aomine guffawed. "That wasn't her sister, stupid."
A vein popped on Momoi's cheek, and she held up a fist. "Watch your mouth, mister."
"It was her dad's P.A.," Aomine went on, unfazed by her threat, "I met her a couple of times in my third year of high school. She was a college senior, and worked in a grocery store in Atsushi's neighborhood. Then we met again at the wedding, hit it off, and," he smirked, "the rest is history."
Momoi crossed her arms. "Not only are you incorrigible, Dai-chan, but you're also wrong."
"What?"
"I talked with her," Momoi said. "And Hirakawa-san even introduced her as his oldest daughter."
"Huh? No, that can't be right. There's no way they're related—why would some rich girl be working at a grocery store?"
"Maybe you got the wrong person."
But Aomine was adamant. "I don't get girls mixed up like that, especially ones I sleep with."
Momoi had known him long enough to believe him. Aomine's libido and appreciation for big-breasted women were stupidly reliable. So why did Hirakawa-san say that she was his daughter?
Things were getting stranger and stranger.
"Sawamura? Sawamura!"
Daichi, who had been spacing out at his computer, snapped to attention. "Oh. Watanabe, sorry about that."
Lieutenant Watanabe rubbed the back of his head, a nervous habit of his. "Are you okay, Sawamura?"
"Yeah, I... I've just been thinking."
"Oh, yeah? About what?"
A lot of things. Daichi's face fell, hangdog. Yes, a lot of things had been on his mind lately. Ever since Kageyama and Tsukishima (and Tanaka) had reappeared in his life, his brain had been a mess. In the end, after sorting out most of the mess, he realized it all boiled down to one question: Am I really cut out for this?
Daichi offered his subordinate a smile. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Watanabe. How's the drug case going?"
"Pretty good, actually! The stake-out went well, and we should be able to get a warrant from Judge Terano by later this afternoon."
No, maybe he phrased it wrong.
Is this what I really want to do?
When he had first entered the police academy back home in Sendai, going into Criminal Affairs hadn't been his intention. But then things went sideways, as they usually did, and Daichi had ended up solving a cold case with Sakusa Kiyoomi when the latter was only twenty. It had earned him early promotions, hence why he had climbed to Inspector so quickly.
But the question still stood, despite his success in the 1st Investigation Division. Is this what I really want to do?
He was slightly afraid of the answer he would find.
"Hey, Watanabe," Daichi said suddenly, smiling wryly, "Will you miss me when I'm gone?"
Watanabe stared at him. "Sawamura... You're not dying, are you?!"
"No! It's just that..." Daichi felt like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar for some reason. "I've been thinking of changing divisions."
"What?!" Watanabe gaped. "But... You're doing so well here!"
"Maybe, but... I don't think I'm meant to be here. My heart belongs somewhere else." In Sendai. Within the Community Safety Bureau. With an old friend with silver hair and a mole next to his eye.
"So..." Watanabe wilted. "You're really leaving, huh?"
"I think I made up my mind a long time ago. It just took me a while to accept it."
"Can I ask, then? Can I ask what prompted this?"
Oh god, how would he even begin? Daichi pursed his lips, unsure of how to break his new revelation to poor Lieutenant Watanabe. The man was a lot softer and wide-eyed than most in this line of work. "The higher I go," Daichi said, at last. "The dimmer the light of justice becomes."
"Huh?"
"You know what happened recently, right?"
"You mean the Prosecutor-General's scandal and the director's alleged murder confession?"
Alleged! Pah! Backtracking already, are we? Daichi schooled his mien into a mask of neutrality. "Yes, that. They got away with so many injustices for so long... And why? Because they had power and influence? What are we, then? Pawns? We're supposed to be enforcing law and order, but it looks like all we serve are those with power."
Watanabe shifted, uncomfortable. "I understand, but... Sawamura, you gotta realize... We'd be out of house and home otherwise. We can still serve justice, but... Can't we just overlook them?"
"Is it really justice, then?" Daichi challenged. "We shouldn't be having to pick and choose. Justice should be blind. We should all be tying the blindfold around her, but it's only being tied by people like the Prosecutor-General."
"We're civil servants. It's not really up for us to decide, is it?"
"No, I suppose not. Which is why I'm leaving Criminal Affairs. I have a lesser chance of being used in Community Safety. I feel like... I'll be able to help more people there."
Watanabe regarded him. "Well, if that's what you want. Good luck out there, Sawamura. But we'll all miss you."
Daichi laughed. "Glad to hear it."
May 13th, 2018
Life went on. The people were still waiting with bated breath about what would happen next, and Makoshima Naoko was no exception. But she hid it better than others. She did not purchase those silly Kindaichi hats, or partake in the current political discourse on social media. She went about her days like she normally did, doing her rounds, helping patients, and filling out forms.
It had been a day since Sakusa Kiyoomi had taken Miya Atsumu home. Absently, as she boarded the train back to her neighborhood, she wondered how they were doing. Were they at each other's throats, or were they getting along like lifelong friends? Probably somewhere in-between, she guessed.
The chaos around her was exhausting. Whether she liked it or not, she was linked to the scandals, no matter how miniscule the connection was. She had had to retrieve and forward a report about Atsumu's physiology when he arrived at the hospital as well as details of his recovery process for Prosecutor Karasuda. It had been draining, having to have to search through all of her files, and she looked forward to letting off some steam for the night.
Bullshit. I am so sick and tired of all this bullshit.
Why couldn't they just lock the guilty parties up in prison and throw away the key? Naoko realized that she would not last a day in a legal setting, but she digressed. She liked direct action more than the dilly-dallying of power and politics.
She missed Iwaizumi. He would agree with her.
I wonder if he knows what's happening out here. Probably not. I'll have to tell him everything the next time I see him. The prospect of recounting this clusterfuck of events was not at all appealing to her, but it was Iwaizumi. She could deal. Would deal, just for him.
As the train rushed down the lines, Naoko took her phone out to check her newsfeed. After refreshing the page, she found that this morning's articles had been pushed down by several more. Her brows rose.
CONGLOMORATE HEAD HIRAKAWA DAIZEN RELEASES OFFICIAL STATEMENT REGARDING RECENT EVENTS, read the first headline.
The rest were mostly the same.
Idly, she scrolled.
Then, something made her heart jump to her throat.
From a tiny, insignificant tabloid seeking attention came a headline.
MURDERED HIGH SCHOOL BOY OIKAWA TOORU WAS KNOWN FOR HIS DANGER-SEEKING PERSONALITY...
Her frame shook with rage, pure and unbridled. What is this? What the fuck is this?!
The contents were somehow worse.
It was, to put it simply, victim-blaming to the highest degree that Naoko had ever seen. It took great willpower not to hurl her phone at the window in a fit of barely contained fury.
The closing sentence almost made her want to scream.
In light of these revelations, the author of the article wrote, is it really fair for us to hand out premature judgement on a man who has nobly built his career upon the ashes of loss and tragedy?
Shō is not the victim here! Naoko thought wildly. He's the perpetrator! How dare you! How fucking DARE you try to blame Tooru! Had she been viewing this on paper, she would have ripped it apart by now. Her blood was boiling. If she didn't let loose soon, someone would probably get hurt.
Oikawa was dead. And people were dragging his name in the mud to spawn controversy for clicks and views.
It disgusted and infuriated her.
Naoko couldn't imagine how his family would feel, seeing this. His mother, his father, his sister, his nephew... God, I hope they never see this. I hope they never ever see this rubbish.
There was a twenty-four hour gym nearby her studio apartment. As soon as she got off the train, she headed straight for it, her hair billowing behind her in the evening breeze. She walked with a purpose, and it was to—
"Welcome back, Makoshima-san," the man manning the reception desk greeted her. "Just a reminder that your membership expires next week."
"I'll renew it later," Naoko said brusquely. "Have a nice evening."
In the female locker rooms, she tied her hair up and changed into her gym clothes: a simple sports bra and tights. She had finished wrapping tape around her feet and ankles and was finishing up taping her hands when three women strolled in, chattering among themselves. Ignoring them, she shoved her bag into her locker and slammed it shut. It locked automatically.
The combination code was 20794.
The twentieth of July, 1994.
Naoko found a free space with a sandbag.
After she finished her warm-up, she begun.
Her mother had signed her up for karate in the past. She had started at five years old before her style evolved into kickboxing under the guidance of another teacher. Now, at twenty-two years old, she still kept up with the sport. Her job was demanding and stressful—she needed an outlet, and found it in beating the shit out of a punching bag.
Sweat dripped down her body, muscled and streamlined from consistent exercise.
Men and women alike had approached her for her number before.
But the only one out of all of them that she had ever given the time of day was—
Naoko stopped hitting the sandbag, whipping around when she felt his gaze on the back of her head.
With the back of one hand, she wiped sweat from her upper lip. "Didn't think you'd be here tonight."
Matsukawa Issei got up from where he was sitting on the pec deck machine, toweling sweat off his face as he approached her. "It's definitely been a while, huh?" he murmured, slinging the towel over his shoulder.
Naoko held out an arm to stop the sandbag from swinging back into her body. It was fate that had led them to live in the same area in Minato City. They'd gone to the same high school at the same time, but Naoko hadn't expected to ever see him again after graduation. Outside of the gym, though, they rarely talked. It was probably for the best. She had never gotten along with his best friend, Hanamaki, during school, and Matsukawa had always expressed silent solidarity. She looked him up and down, noticing something different about him. "New haircut?" she ventured.
"Oh, hey, you noticed." Matsukawa chuckled.
He looks like Sakusa, thought Naoko. The parting of the hair was even the same.
"What's with that face, Naoko-san?"
"Nothing." She sucked in air between her teeth. "Fuck. I'm so... pissed off right now."
"Oh?" Matsukawa didn't pry. He knew she would tell him if she wanted to.
"Why are people so stupid?" Naoko wondered aloud, starting up her routine again. "It's always on the fucking internet, too. Nobody I know in real life is that stupid."
"A person is smart," Matsukawa said, serenely. "But people are dumb."
"Hmph."
"You wanna talk about it?"
"No." She threw a particularly ruthless punch against the sandbag. "What about you? What have you been doing, Issei-san?"
"This and that," Matsukawa told her, as vague as possible about the details. "The funeral business is booming." He chugged some water from his bottle. "But... It's quiet."
Naoko frowned, though she didn't turn around to face him. She was still concentrating on the punching bag. "Quiet?"
"Life," he clarified. "Life has been quiet. You know, my life used to be loud." A pause. "Our lives used to be loud."
Her heart squeezed. She stopped the bag's momentum again, turning to Matsukawa. "Please don't."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."
"They weren't bad," Naoko blurted, emotions unravelling like loose thread. "Bad memories don't hurt like this. Only good ones do."
"Are you saying that you don't consider what happened a bad memory?" Matsukawa asked, sounding genuinely curious. "Oikawa... He broke up with you for Iwaizumi."
Yes. Yes, he had, hadn't he? She remembered that it had hurt. It had hurt so much that it felt like she had been consumed by the abyss. But that was nothing. That was nothing compared to when we lost him forever. Naoko shook her head. "No. It meant that both of them could finally be happy. I might have hated the two of them for a short time after that, but... I don't hold anything against them. I've never held anything real against them. I... I loved them too much. They were like a second family to me."
Matsukawa's throat bobbed up and down. "Oh. Well... That makes me happy to hear."
Neither of them spoke a word about Hanamaki.
Naoko already knew how much Matsukawa was hurting over him.
She was almost done for the night when Matsukawa asked, abruptly, "Hey, Naoko-san?"
"Hm?"
"Do you think... Do you think you could call me Mattsun?"
Naoko took a sharp intake of breath. It must have been so long. It must have been so long since anyone had called him that. In a way, she felt like some cheap replacement. A pale imitation of the boys who they had both cherished so much. "Drop the honorific with me, then. I hear it enough at the hospital."
A shadow of a smile appeared on his lips.
Koganegawa Kanji blinked at the news article. He was not one to tune into social media or mass media, but now...
Ah.
Goshiki's high school photo beamed at him.
No wonder he never texted back.
Sadness enveloped him.
"You good?" Kyoutani Kentarou's gruff voice reached his ears, and Koganegawa peered up from his phone to meet his fierce eyes. They were in the locker rooms of their home gym—the gym of the Sendai Frogs.
Koganegawa swallowed, unsure of how to feel. "I think so."
"Come on, then." Kyoutani's hand landed on his shoulder. "One more practice for the night. I need to get my power spike down."
"One more practice," agreed Koganegawa, standing up. He was about to follow Kyoutani out of the door and rejoin some of their teammates who had stayed behind for tonight when he noticed Kyoutani had left his phone on a nearby bench. Oops. I should probably put it back in his bag for him. It was resting in his palm when a notification suddenly appeared.
1 new text from Tsuji Runa
Kyoutani-kun, please text me back as soon as y...
Wisely, Koganegawa pretended he hadn't seen his volatile teammate's private text and deposited the device into Kyoutani's unzipped gym bag.
A/N: Mostly a transition chapter. We'll be getting some of that SakuAtsu soon and Sakusa's backstory! Aomine and Momoi from KnB have also appeared. KnB character appearances are limited enough for me to not consider this a crossover fic, but they do appear here and there.
SS fun fact: Naoko is RIPPED
Thank you all for reading!
