A/N: During a celebratory dinner, their indignant chauffeur ditches them. After this chapter is the epilogue(s) that wrap everyone and everything up!


May 31st, 2018

Sakusa watched Kindaichi go after his group with promise to catch up a little later, content. As they became a speck in the distance, Sakusa turned back around and padded back inside the court, searching for Atsumu. He didn't want to keep hanging around here if he could help it—he wanted to be back in the sterile safety of his car and on the way home.

But there was no sign of him anywhere.

Irritation prickling down his spine, Sakusa dialed the blond's number.

No answer.

He tried again.

Still no answer.

I swear, if he got himself kidnapped or something... In hopes of staving off his impatience, he dialed a different number this time. To his surprise, his mother did not pick up either. Sakusa wasn't too concerned, though—his mother had a rather active social life nowadays, which was the least she deserved. At least Sakusa could trust the local housewives not to be backstabbers of the high society caliber. She's probably off playing mahjong again. I'll call her later. For now, he needed to find Atsumu and kick his ass all the way to the car. Additionally, Sakusa wasn't stingy by any stretch, but he would rather not have to pay the upgraded parking fee so they needed to leave now.

"Miya!" Sakusa called. He paused, then tried again. "Atsumu!" The name rolled off his tongue nicely. Smoothly. Briefly, he wondered why he hadn't used it in the first place, even though Atsumu had insisted on it. "Atsumu...!" He caught a glimpse of blond hair. Dodging reporters with practiced skill, Sakusa jogged up to Atsumu. "You..." He trailed off, realizing that Atsumu was with someone.

A woman with brown hair that was just starting to gray at the roots.

Miya Akari.

They were standing perhaps a foot or two apart from each other, the woman's grip on her handbag so tight her knuckles were starting to balk and protrude. Sakusa came up behind Atsumu, keeping a respectable distance away from them.

This was not his place to intervene.

He would only observe.

Atsumu swallowed. "Ma."

If possible, Akari's cheeks went even paler than they already were. It made the rouge on her skin stand out even more—like blood stains on snow.

"It's been a while," Atsumu said, awkward and bumbling. He couldn't quite meet her gaze but he was certainly trying his best to maintain eye contact. "Um... How have ya bee—?"

Akari raised a hand, wobbling on her heels. "Don't."

Atsumu blinked, hurt evident in his eyes. "But, ma, I—"

"Don't!" she snapped. "I said—I said don't. Don't... come a step closer."

A look of horror dawned over Atsumu's face. "Ma, ya can't be—but I—I—I'm not dad." He chewed on his lip, trying his luck by scooting a little closer to her. "'Samu... 'Samu's gone now... But... But I'm still here, ma. Ma?"

Akari's expression was blank.

"Ma, yer scarin' me. Ma, please—"

"He's not gone," Akari interrupted. "My Osamu-baby... He's not gone! That funeral... It was all a farce! It has to be! I didn't... It wasn't supposed to be him! It... It was supposed to be you!"

Sakusa felt his blood run cold. She's delusional. Her grief was eating her up from the inside—she was imploding, and Atsumu—Atsumu

"You're dead to me!" Akari screamed. "How dare you show your face here when your brother is dead?! Why did you have to live?!"

Atsumu was now as white as her. "Ma—"

"Don't call me that. My son is dead and you are not him."

"I don't understand—"

"You're not my son."

For what seemed like an age, Sakusa could only hear ringing in his tears. He was vaguely aware of the people passing by, of the rage boiling in his veins. But then Atsumu straightened like a rod had been inserted into his back, and the world cleared up.

Atsumu—

Atsumu understood.

There really... isn't any hope, is there?

"I think," Atsumu said, slowly, cold fury lacing each word. "I've been waiting my whole life to hear those words." With that, he whipped around and marched off. He did not acknowledge Sakusa, but the prosecutor kept pace with him anyway.

Atsumu didn't look back, but Sakusa did.

Akari was staring at nothing.

He turned back around, chasing after Atsumu when he realized that the blond was now several strides ahead of him.

"Are you okay?" asked Sakusa.

"Of course I am." Atsumu scoffed, but it was weak. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"She doesn't know what she's talking about. Your mother—"

"Weren't ya listenin'?"

Atsumu halted, the muscles in his face tightening and his features drew into a frown.

Sakusa slowed to a stop behind him.

"She's not my mother."

It was probably best not to push the issue further. Accepting this, Sakusa and Atsumu walked back to the car in silence. It was raining outside. Atsumu had shirked into his hoodie, hunched over and brooding.

Sakusa was pulling out of the car park when he worked up his nerve to try again. "It can't be easy," he said, carefully.

Atsumu glanced out the window, eyes dull as he observed the rain drops hitting the car window. "There were only two things I ever wanted to hear from her, and I heard one of 'em today. It's a win for me."

Is it, though? "What was the other one?"

Atsumu didn't reply.

Brushing off his lack of response, Sakusa cruised down the road. A left turn needed to be made, but the light turned red. The car rolled to a stop, pedestrians crossing the road with umbrellas over their heads.

"I love you."

Sakusa flinched, eyes widening. "What?"

"It was 'I love you'," Atsumu repeated.

Sakusa said nothing, for which he knew Atsumu was grateful for. He kept his gaze fixed in front of him, pretending that it was none the wiser of the blond's tears streaming down his cheeks.

At last, he turned the car around and said, "Let's go for a drink."


"God, that felt like a nightmare."

Aran gazed sideways at his friend, Suna, as the latter stretched. "We won," he pointed out, wondering if Suna had hallucinated throughout the entire trial. "Ya do know that, right? By the way, why didn'tcha say hi ta Atsumu?"

Suna dropped his gaze. "I... I don't think I'm ready to see his face up close yet."

Oh. Aran understood. Regretted even asking in the first place. "Well, alright," he said warmly. "Where do ya wanna go next? Wanna go get dinner?"

Suna shrugged, listless. "Yeah, sure, I guess. Sorry, I'm just so... drained right now."

Aran patted his back sympathetically. "I know. Some grub would be good for ya. On me, okay?"

There was a shadow of a smile on Suna's lips. "Mm."

They were loitering in the lobby, near the entrance, when she appeared. Aran, who had been hunched over his phone looking for a restaurant, looked up when Suna prodded him in the side. "It's her."

Aran didn't need to ask. He saw her immediately after lifting his head.

Miya Akari stumbled through the polished lobby, her fingers trembling.

Intrigued, the men observed her, wondering if she would do something.

And she did.

Akari pressed her back against the wall, half-hidden by a potted plant, and started to sniffle. It escalated quickly. She was a quiet crier, but an ugly one. Her tears cut through her make-up, mascara smudging around her eyes and running down her cheeks. At one point, she let out a wretched hiccup, covering her mouth with one hand.

Aran could not bring himself to feel any sympathy for her. If that made him a bad guy, then so be it. "She shouldn't even have the right to be upset." He knew all about her—or, well, the parts that Suna had told him about anyway. But none of it had been good.

He waited for Suna to chime in, but he didn't. Not until she had wiped away all her tears and was scurrying off to the bathroom to fix her make-up.

"Maybe," he said. "But she's lost everything she ever cared for, and she only has herself to blame."

It was a sobering thought.

"Come on," said Aran. "Let's call Kita and tell him how it went."


They met up with Kindaichi, Kunimi and the Okazaki siblings for dinner and drinks. Satoshi—who was underage—and Iwaizumi had taken up temporary residence at a nearby hotel. Iwaizumi needed to be in the city to receive his compensation before heading home.

There was a teppanyaki restaurant close to the Supreme Court—one which popular food blogger Shirofuku Yukie had left an excellent review on—which they flocked to. Sakusa and Atsumu arrived last, though the former had been the one to set up the celebratory dinner.

"Yo!" Naoji greeted Sakusa far too casually as he and Atsumu strolled up to them. They were waiting at the front of the restaurant. "No need to thank me, I already made sure we're guaranteed a table."

"Trust me when I say that the thought never even crossed my mind," replied Sakusa. Beside him, Atsumu snorted in amusement. At least he seems to be getting back to normal. An outing would be good for him—not just him, but all of them. After everything they'd been through, they deserved a break—deserved an opportunity to fatten themselves with delicious food and drown away with sorrows with the finest alcohols.

They all trudged in, swiping their hands over wet spots on their coats and jackets where the rain had hit and wiping their shoes at the entrance.

To their good fortune, they had scored a seat at the back. A waitress came and cleaned up the previous customers' plates and wiped down the table. As soon as she left, Sakusa squirted the entire surface with sanitizer and scrubbed it even more thoroughly with a wet wipe. No one batted an eye, though Naoji did scoff under his breath.

"So!" Okazaki said, delightfully. "That went pretty well, if I do say so myself. How about you, gentlemen?"

Collective groans were the answer.

"Painful," said Kindaichi with a grimace.

"Exhausting," added Atsumu, looking the part, too.

"Long," groused Kunimi.

"All of the above," Sakusa griped.

"Really?" Naoji asked. "Because I thought it was pretty fun. Like, totally epic, for boring law stuff."

Okazaki turned her nose up at her brother. "Of course you would say that, you insensitive caveman."

"Where even were you two?" Sakusa said before the siblings could get into one of their infamous spats. I don't remember seeing either of them in the gallery.

"Someone was out drinking until four in the morning last night and made us late," Okazaki said sourly. "The doors were already closed by the time we got there, and we had to watch it from my laptop at the bar the next street over. And I wore my court outfit just for this event, too! What a waste."

Atsumu peered at her, interested. "Ya have a court outfit?"

"I have an outfit for every occasion, darling."

"What a waste of time," remarked Naoji.

"With that attitude, it's no wonder you're still single."

Sakusa skillfully ignored the bickering that ensued, having done so many times before. The meal was wonderful, as to be expected, but the drinks were where things actually started to get more relaxed.

"Yamanote Line game?" Sakusa repeated Kunimi's suggestion for a drinking game. He'd heard of it before—it was popular among university students—but he had never actually participated in it.

Atsumu was equally clueless on the staple drinking game, having never actually experienced university life before. "How do ya play?"

"Basically," explained Kindaichi. "We go in a circle and name the stops on the Yamanote Line. If you repeat a stop or take too long, you have to drink. Normally, we clap along in beat, but since it's your first time, we'll keep it super casual."

Naoji popped open a bottle of alcohol, starting them off with some classic shōchū. He shrieked when the foam bubbled out of the top and went all over his head. He made to wipe it on his sister, but she was too quick for him. One deadly glower from Sakusa was also enough to ward him off from choosing him as a napkin—in the end, Naoji just flicked the mess all over the floor for the hapless waiter to clean up.

"Wait, before we start," Sakusa remembered something, "I need someone to drive us home."

"Oh?" Atsumu gave him a curious glance. "Yer drinkin' tonight, Omi? Didn't peg ya as the type."

"Yeah. I need a stiff drink."

"I'll do it," Naoji volunteered. "Anything to get my hands on that car of yours." Sakusa deadpanned at him. "Aw, come on! I'll be careful with it. Honest. My car's being serviced and Hana and I had to take the bus here like poor little orphan kids and—"

"Oh, fine," conceded Sakusa, begrudgingly handing him the keys, "Just spare me the sob story. But you'd better wash your filthy fingers before you even go near it."

"Yes! Score!"

Naoji sat back, happy to observe as they began the game after mixing the drinks to their taste. Sakusa took his shōchū mixed with umeshu, a plum-flavored wine, to make it stronger. The others' drinks varied. Interestingly enough, Atsumu avoided the shōchū altogether and ordered a whiskey for himself.

"Tabata," Kunimi recited as the first player.

"Gotanda," continued Kindaichi, grinning.

"Harajuku!" chirped Okazaki.

It skipped past Naoji and went to Sakusa. Three seconds passed. Then five. Sighing, Sakusa downed his first shot. "I don't take public transport," he said by way of explanation. "Before any of you ask."

Atsumu was next, but he, too, was at a loss. "I'm not a local!" he protested when they all gave him amused looks. "Cut me some slack here! Oh! Wait! Ebisu!"

"Too late," sneered Kunimi. "Drink up, Miya-san."

"Ugh, fine." He drank the entire glass of whiskey. "Hey, waiter! Get me another glass."

"That's a lot for a turn," noted Sakusa. Whiskey is even stronger than shōchū...

"I can take it."

The others were kind enough to let Sakusa and Atsumu look up the stops for thirty seconds before resuming the game. With the stops fresh in his mind, Sakusa stood a better chance. But as the game continued...

An hour and a half later, Kindaichi planted face-down into the table, still clutching his glass.

"Well, then." Kunimi poked his hand. It twitched. "This one's done for the night. And to be honest, I'm barely holding it together right now. Sakusa-san, I'm seeing two of you but rationality is telling me there's only one."

"Pah!" Okazaki slammed down a glass. "You guys are weak."

"No, you're just an alcoholic," Naoji said with a leer. "Come on, sis, I'll drive you home."

"Ughh, fine! But only because I want to tape my evening drama. Night, everyone!"

"Goodnight," Kunimi and Atsumu called after her. Kindaichi groaned something.

Sakusa was staring at the table, trying to recall something very important with his fuzzy, inebriated head. Why do I feel like I'm forgetting something... But if he couldn't remember it, didn't that mean it hadn't been very important after all? He knocked back his last shot before slumping on the table, the last shred of self-control he had stopping him from squishing his cheek on the dirty table.

Next to him, Atsumu let out a high-pitched giggle, completely shit-faced from his whiskey. "That was fun as fuck!" he crowed. "Damn, we should do this more often! Why haven't I ever done this before? Broooo... I've been missing out..."

"Shut up, you're giving me a headache," grumbled Sakusa, squinting at the grill built into the table. Wait a minute... Eyes widening, he was struck with an epiphany. He shot upright. "Shit! That little rat bastard took my car! Without us!"

"Oh." Atsumu tilted his head. "Oh. Well. Hm. That's not good, is it, Omi?"

"No. No, it is not." His brain was swimming but Sakusa could feel himself starting to gain back some coherent thought. "Kunimi-san, will you and Kindaichi be okay?"

"Yeah, man." Kunimi shrugged. "This isn't the first time I've had to drag his lightweight ass back to the dorms. We'll be fine. You and blondie better figure out which line leads back to your house, though. Oops. There's three of you now. Oh, no, two again."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Atsumu demanded, shoving his entire hand into Kunimi's face.

"Four," Kunimi answered promptly.

"Wrong! Five!"

"You're wrong. The thumb isn't a finger!"

"What the fuck? It so is!"

Sakusa foot the bill and they all hobbled outside like the bunch of drunks they were. It was no use pretending that they were any more than that at the moment. Fresh air did wonders for Sakusa, though. As he sobered up, Kunimi helping Kindaichi to the nearest bus stop, Atsumu was swaying on his feet and scowling at his phone.

"Th'fuck is all this?" Atsumu complained. "Why are train charts so complicated?!"

Sakusa rolled his eyes. "Come on, genius." He hooked his finger under Atsumu's hood and dragged him along to the train station. Although he hadn't been able to retain any information about the stops, he knew the general direction back to his house and was sober enough to decipher the train charts.

They made it on miraculously, and found an empty train car.

"Hey, Omi-Omi." Atsumu shook his arm once they were seated. "Let's do the Yamanote Line game."

The train started to move.

"We can't play that here," Sakusa told him. "We don't have any drinks, you moron."

"I don't care," Atsumu slurred, sliding down in his seat as his cheek mashed against Sakusa's shoulder. "Takadanobaba."

"You're cheating off the sign."

"Aw, Omiii, gimme a break, why don'tcha?"

He slumped even further against him, nose pressed against the curve of his neck. Sakusa's throat bobbed, not quite able to summon the willpower to push him off. Atsumu, though insufferable at times, normally had more sense than to initiate physical contact like this. Then again, Atsumu was also drunk off his face right now. Letting it slide, Sakusa closed his eyes, crossing his arms.

Atsumu was warm.

A comfort from the carriage air conditioning.

"Hey, Omi?" mumbled Atsumu. The train rocked back and forth, nearly lulling Sakusa into slumber. But Atsumu's voice stirred him back into the waking world once more.

"What it is, Atsumu?"

Sakusa felt Atsumu's eyelashes tickle his skin as the other man rapidly blinked. "What's wrong with me?"

"Wrong with you?" echoed Sakusa, cheeks flushed red and hot from the alcohol. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"Then why does my life suck so much?" Atsumu moaned, forehead bumping against Sakusa's jaw. "'Samu's dead and you heard ma—she fuckin' hates me. I'm not even her son. At least dad—" He huffed, not saying anything further on the matter. His breath was hot and reeked of whiskey—Sakusa could feel it. "I'm such a loser, Omi. What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you," Sakusa repeated, firmly.

"Why's my life like this, then? Why?"

"I don't know." It was the honest truth. "But it's not your fault. Life just dealt you a bad hand. You—ugh, fuck, you drive me fucking crazy sometimes, Atsumu, but you're—there's nothing wrong with you. You—you're fine, okay? You... You don't need to change who you are." His head was pounding, words spilling from his mouth as his filter vanished like it had never existed in the first place. "Your mom doesn't know what the hell she's missing out on. And that's on her."

Atsumu lifted his head, looking Sakusa straight in the eye. "Omi, you... Yer a real sappy little shit at heart, aren'tcha?"

"Atsumu, you son of a—"

"Can I kiss ya?"

Silence reigned.

Sakusa blinked once. Twice. Then, abruptly, he said, "No. Not like this."

"The big bad prosecutor's above sloppy drunk kisses?"

"If I'm going to let you stick your tongue in my mouth, I'd rather do it sober."

"Fair enough. I'm good, ya know. With my mouth, that is."

"Shut up. Please. We're almost home."

The last stretch of the journey felt agonizingly long. Not for the first time tonight, Sakusa cursed Okazaki Naoji for pulling a runner on them. In Sakusa's car no less! The Sleek Stallion, as Smith had so eloquently dubbed it! The first thing he would be doing tomorrow morning was calling up Naoji and threatening him with a lawsuit for stealing his car and forcing him to put up with the indecencies of public transport.

"What a rich kid," Atsumu muttered, shifting again so that his head was resting on Sakusa's shoulder.

He must have spoken the last part aloud. He made a mental note never to consume so much alcohol at once ever again.

"It's kinda cute, though," he went on, seemingly unaware that Sakusa was listening to every word, "I could listen to ya bitch about being poor... forever..." There was a string of unintelligible mumbling that followed before, finally, he dozed off.

Albeit about equal amounts of drunk as Atsumu was, Sakusa forced his eyes to stay open. There were only two stops left before theirs. Absently, he lifted a hand, lightly palming Atsumu's head. His hair was surprisingly soft for being dyed—he would have expected coarser and drier locks. You're really full of surprises, aren't you? But that wasn't what Sakusa admired most about him. You found the strength to keep going despite everything. You've lost everything, and yet you still wake up every morning to face the sun. Atsumu... You're the last person I would ever describe as a 'loser'.

The train slowed to a stop.

Grunting, Sakusa got to his feet and hauled Atsumu out of the carriage and into the night.


Getting Atsumu to the couch was a great relief on Sakusa's back. Stifling a groan, he massaged the small of his back, feeling it throb after dragging all of Atsumu's weight back into his house. He would have tossed him into his bed, but the living room was closer and all Sakusa wanted to do now was to shower and sleep.

His suit was crumpled, blazer practically hanging off one side of his torso. His tie, which he had ironed this morning, was loosened around the collar and thrown over his shoulder in wild abandon.

With aching feet, Sakusa turned on his heel, starting his march back to his room.

Something caught on his sleeve.

Looking back, he saw Atsumu with hooded eyes, fingers pinched around the fabric of his shirt.

"Let go," Sakusa instructed.

"No," Atsumu said. "C'mere, Omi."

The couch was big enough for two. The cushions were also very, very soft, and Sakusa knew he wouldn't be getting up until the next morning the moment he took a seat. Taking advantage of his distraction, Atsumu yanked with a surprising amount of strength. Already weak on his feet, Sakusa stumbled, falling back into the couch and sinking into the heavenly cushions.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Sakusa growled, feeling the tensions in his body just melt away. He really had invested too much money into this luxury sofa, growing up with expensive tastes. The alcohol in his system was making him terribly sleepy, eyelids heavy.

Beside him, Atsumu wriggled against the backing of the sofa, so that Sakusa had more room. But his chest was still pressed against Sakusa's arm, firm beneath his hoodie. Atsumu's hair—it had been gelled this morning—partially fell over one eye.

It was annoying him.

Sakusa blew on it, hoping to get it to fly back, but it just made Atsumu blink irritably. Even more agitated than before, Sakusa pushed the strands back with one hand. "There," he murmured, but his hand was still hovering over Atsumu's cheek. Unsure of what to do with it and his brain working at half its usual speed, Sakusa just left it there.

His bicep began to ache.

"I meant it, y'know," Atsumu suddenly said.

"Hm?"

"I'm good with my mouth."

"Ah."

Their noses bumped, awkward.

Screw being sober.

Slowly, Sakusa lowered his hand, laying it across Atsumu's cheek. Several responses raced through his head. From 'Let's test that, shall we?' to 'I guess we'll have to find out', he had a slew of slick replies prepared. Instead, he blurted: "M'kaay."

Under the pall of the night, city lights blinking behind the balcony curtains, Sakusa leaned forward and pressed his lips against Atsumu's.


June 2nd, 2018

Japan was in uproar again. The citizens were still riding the waves of outrage that had been caused by the outcome of the trial, but another target had emerged from the throes of the corrupt—all of which Daizen had ratted out. The Minister of Justice denied all allegations, working at the speed of light to cover up proof, and many other politicians, businessmen, and wealthy denizens denied their connections with Hirakawa Daizen's illegal activities as well. They threw away their coats and swapped them for ones bearing the arms of righteous justice, boots stomping over the rugs that hid the mounds of their corruption.

Most were investigated anyway, unable to sever themselves from HNN Foundation.

But only one made it to the forefront of the press.

Justice Terano Maki.

Founder of the Women in Power Board of Japan (WPBJ), an organization which strived to elevate women into higher positions that were dominated by their male counterparts with the same qualifications and close the large gender wage gap through promotion of economic activity for women. A staggering twenty-four point five percent statistic stood between men and women in Japan as of this year, and Terano had worked herself to the bone for several years to provide women better opportunities in the workforce.

Her efforts were not for naught.

Even though—

"They were built on lies!"

Sakusa's ears pricked at the shout, raising his head from his phone. He'd been reading the news at a small cafe near his home. Atsumu was still sleeping in bed the last he had checked. He turned his head slightly, noting a balding salary-man vehemently ranting to his friend.

"She claims to want gender equality," the man continued with a strange, offsetting passion. "But she threw a man under the bus to gain a promotion! Are these the values being instilled into today's women? Do women think that they are entitled to step on men to get what they want? How awful! This society is deteriorating!"

"Calm down, Oyama-san," his friend said, exasperated. "I don't think it's such a big deal. Just drink your coffee, it's getting cold."

"How can you say it's not a big deal, Kawano-san? She threw an innocent man into prison! He spent six years in there for a crime he did not commit—that devil-woman knew perfectly well what she was doing!"

"Devil-woman?" Kawano shook his head. "Sure, but that doesn't mean all women are like that. I know my wife isn't."

"Yes, yes. Your wife is the sweetest woman I've ever met. She cooks and cleans and looks after your daughter..."

"She teaches advanced arithmetic at the tutoring centre, too," Kawano reminded him, raising a brow.

"She is everything a woman should be," grumbled Oyama, hefting his arms over his belly. "Look, I'm not against women advancing their career, but we really need to draw a line."

Kawano scratched his cheek. "We do? What for? What kind of line are we drawing?"

"Must I repeat myself? You know what that woman did. How can we, as a society, ever find that acceptable?"

Ever since Terano's corruption had been revealed, Sakusa had been hearing many iterations of the same discussion. From what he had seen on both mainstream and social media, the split seemed pretty even—there were those who sympathized with Terano's cause (while denouncing her actions) and those who were ruthlessly attempting to discredit her from everything she had ever done to benefit her equality agenda. Polls showed mostly men on the side of the latter, though there were plenty of women, too. There were a few nutcases, too—those that approved of the steps Terano had taken to reach her ends.

And they would say:

"The ends don't justify the means!"

"But she has helped so many women."

"One life for the life of many."

"Do you realize how you sound?"

"She's a hero!"

"She's a monster!"

"She wouldn't have done this if sexism weren't so normalized in this country!"

"You can't fight sexism with sexism! Terano let him rot in prison because he was a man!"

And over and over again.

It's like a circle.

Sakusa was tired. The past two months had been mentally and emotionally draining, and he couldn't bring himself to formulate and express a solid opinion on the current matter. All he wanted to do was recharge in his own little corner, away from all the activism and the condemnation and the heated political discourse that his aunt had generated.

At least one thing was for certain.

Her career is as good as over, Sakusa thought in a haze of indifference. It made him feel neither pleased nor disappointed. Truly, karma had bitten her in the ass—all of her lies had come crashing down. The integrity of the WPBJ was suffering for it. Things were not that simple. Terano had not decided to incarcerate Iwaizumi Hajime overnight. It had been a lifetime of degradation and being told that her only purpose in life was to settle with a man and have plenty of children.

The corruption being exposed in the government had merely been a symptom.

The rot ran deep—deeper than they would ever see. Deeper than they would ever allow themselves to see, hidden behind layers and layers of the falsities that the illusion of normalcy provided.

But—

Sakusa was tired.

He switched off his phone, finished his tea, and walked home.


June 3rd, 2018

"Good morning, Japan. I am Inspector Yagami Light. Today, I am speaking on behalf of all of the NPA." The podium was a plain black with the logo of the NPA displayed at the front. No frills or any of the sort, as there usually were for award ceremonies. Today—today was a very different sort of broadcast. Light held a solemn air about him as he spoke to the cameras and the crowds. "We promised the citizens of Japan to fulfill our responsibilities of upholding justice. But today, the weight of injustice sits heavy upon our shoulders. There is no way around it." Here, Light paused, letting his posture droop slightly. "We have failed. The NPA... fully acknowledges the consequences of our failure and the pain we have caused the Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and Miya families."

Light's speech was broadcasted across all of Japan by every news corporation—from the sophisticated NHN to the tabloid-esque Sakura TV. From their homes, workplaces, and restaurants, people tuned in.

Sugawara Koushi graded his students' Japanese mock papers—they were to be handed back out tomorrow for review—as the speech played in his living room television. Occasionally, he would look up at the screen or check his phone to see a text from Daichi.

"It is a shameful story of corruption and abuse of power..."

Standing in front of a boarding house in Miyagino Ward with Tsuji Runa, Kyoutani Kentarou watched the broadcast on his phone. Tsuji was discussing long-term accommodation fees for three with the landlord.

"One the NPA played a part in, whether unwittingly or knowingly."

Curled up against each other in their new student dorm, Kunimi and Kindaichi shared a bowl of popcorn between them, Light's face plastered on their mini television.

"Rest assured, we are launching official investigations into those who are suspected to be involved."

In Hinata's apartment, the orange-haired man hosted three guests—Kageyama, Shino, and Sayori. Sunano would've joined, but she had returned to Akita with her parents to recover from her heart attack. Together, they listened to the apology and ate from a plate of snacks Hinata provided, jazz music pounding away downstairs.

"By failing to uphold justice, we have broken the trust of Japan."

Prosecutor Chinen glanced at the closed door of the Chief Prosecutor's office, knowing that Midorima was packing his belongings away inside.

"The least we can do is to make sure that something like this will never happen again."

In a small suburban home in outer Tokyo, Sakusa Shiko played mahjong with the neighborhood ladies, half an ear dedicated to the radio, which was playing out the NPA's apology. Hours away from her, Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu were eating a late breakfast in peace, blissfully none the wiser of the broadcast not a single electronic device in the house turned on.

"As children, we are taught and encouraged to learn from our mistakes."

Yamaguchi Tadashi joined Tsukishima Kei for an outing at the Sendai City Museum. They talked of Tsukishima quitting modelling for good and working at the museum. Tsukishima seemed particularly entranced by the dinosaur section and inquired at the front desk about open positions. As fate would have it, there were some, and Tsukishima's degree made him more than qualified. Tomorrow, he decided, he would send in his resume. As Yamaguchi and Tsukishima spoke with the receptionist, Kajihara Takeru and his mother, Oikawa Hotaru, passed by with springs in their steps.

"It is a valuable lesson instilled from us since young."

Satoshi ignored a call from his mother, yelling across the hotel room for Iwaizumi to hurry up with his shower since they needed to be at the courthouse with Naoko in an hour. A text from Mina popped up on his phone, and he smiled.

"But we know now that it is tragically easy for us to lose sight of ourselves."

Watari laughed as a young child pressed his face against the glass before being spooked by a curious shark.

"The case of Iwaizumi Hajime is a wake-up call for the NPA and the justice system."

Yachi joined up with Shimizu and Tanaka at their shared apartment for drinks and wedding planning. They laughed over cake and beer and teased Yachi about her new boyfriend, who adored her quite plainly.

"If we are to fight for justice, we must never again turn our weapons on the innocent."

In the break room at a certain police station, Smith and Shirabu shared octopus sausages while Obata entertained the antics of Numbers One, Two, and Three. Shirabu shyly revealed his ticket to a Semi Eita rock concert, glaring poisonously at Obata when she noticed and dared to tease him for his poor attempt at reconciliation.

"Let this go down in history as a stark reminder."

Tickets to Oishi Ryoka's upcoming concert sold out early from overwhelming support for the Iwaizumi family. Oishi celebrated with champagne on the balcony of her luxury apartment, Kuroo and Kenma by her side. Later today, Kenma would host a stream with other members of the gaming community, and discussion of the fallibility of justice would be rampant in the chat.

"To all who had to suffer..."

Suna left flowers at Osamu's grave, Aran kneeling with him.

"To all who are still suffering..."

Takagi Chiasa stared at her own gaunt face in the bedroom mirror, the husband she did not love ducking in to kiss her on the cheek before heading off to a lunch with coworkers, not even noticing her pallid complexion and the unhealthy amount of weight she had lost. The mother-in-law she wished she could've had sobbed under the weight of her grief in Miyagi, finally able to say goodbye to her daughter after six years without closure.

"To all who would have suffered..."

Hanae Miyo rubbed her pregnant belly, her husband holding her hand as they sat in front of the television together. She was due to give birth any day now. Hanae had not dreamed of Chen's horrible touch since the trial had ended. Her mother, Ichika, kept calling, but they ignored the rings and decided that they would block her number later. She made a silent promise to raise her unborn child with love she knew she was now able to give as the pain ebbed away.

"And to all who will still suffer because of this grave injustice..."

Komori Tateo lay sprawled across his floor, whiskey bottles rolling at his feet and the names of his dead wife and child on his lips because moving to Sendai hadn't been enough to forget it all. He could not hear the bawling of his neighbors in his drunken haze—could not hear the devastated cries of the Goshiki family, of parents who had had to bury their child before their own parents.

"No words will ever be able to express how deeply sorry we are." Light bowed to his audience before rising with steely eyes. "We promise we will strive to do better in the future. Thank you."


Birds were twittering outside. Kindaichi stretched, nearly knocking over the bowl of popcorn nestled between his and Kunimi's thighs. Light had done a good job—a job so well done, in fact, that Kindaichi had almost found himself immersed in it. But not even the toastmaster that was Yagami Light could completely disguise the emptiness of the apology.

"We'll be okay, right?" Kunimi asked, out of the blue, as the channel resumed its usual program.

Kindaichi considered this.

It really had been a rough couple of months, hadn't it?

Sometimes, he would still wake up with nightmares of that night, and Kunimi would hold him until he fell back asleep.

But...

"Yeah," Kindaichi said eventually, and he meant it. "We'll be okay."