This officer was relentless.
Or, at least, that's what Hajime could gather from his first impressions of him.
He crossed his arms over his chest, both eyes squinting from the bright sunlight—unnaturally bright for New York, anyway—assaulting his vision. It was a sunny Wednesday afternoon, though, with the way things were going so far, it was far from pleasant.
"For the last time, sir, I'm not a delinquent!" Hajime insisted pleadingly. "I'm a lawyer, I should be allowed entry!"
The officer scoffed, his nose upturned and his mouth twisted in what seemed to be an ever-present frown. Although his BMI was (probably) a little higher than what was considered healthy, this man somehow managed to give off a constant air of haughtiness and affluence. "I doubt that. The spiky-haired ones always cause the most trouble."
"Spiky-haired…?" Hajime suddenly felt very self-conscious of that god-forsaken, gravity-defying piece of hair that stood up like an antenna. He shook his head, clearing his mind of the thought. "R-Regardless, there's no logical reason you have for keeping me out!"
"Of course there is," the officer replied coolly. "You refused to let me pat you down for any weapons or dangerous items. That automatically makes you suspicious in my eyes."
Oh, right.
Hajime contemplated it for a moment.
While Hajime was opposed to the idea of someone patting him down—it was pretty embarrassing and quite unnecessary, especially when he had made it abundantly clear that he was, indeed, a lawyer and not a delinquent—in the end, all that mattered was his goal.
The evidence…?
I think it's evidence… but it's good to consider all possibilities without ruling anything out right away… that'd be too hasty.
Hajime opened his mouth, ready to give in until a bold-looking woman rushed in and interjected.
"Come on, 'Kuya! Don't be like that!" the woman said, her arm wrapped around the officer's shoulder. Her neat, navy-blue uniform was a stark contrast to her brightly colored hair and piercings. The label right below her badge read 'Mioda.'
The officer—'Kuya?'—grumbled something under his breath, though his expression softened ever so slightly. "It's my job to 'be like that.' Unless this man has any proof that he isn't armed and he has the proper clearance to enter, I'm not budging."
Mioda dismissed this statement with a wave of her free hand and turned to Hajime. "So, what're you here for?"
"I'm a defense lawyer with Hope's Peak," Hajime answered, his body relaxing a little. Mioda seemed to be a lot more laid-back than the other officer, so he deduced it would be easier to get in through her. And, yes, that detail about Hope's Peak may or may not have been necessary, but it was all for the purpose of building trust.
Mioda grinned, her eyes lighting up. "Wow! Super-duper cool!" she exclaimed loudly. So loud, in fact, that Hajime noticed the other officer wincing from the volume of her voice ramming itself directly into his eardrums.
"Regardless of who you're associated with, I am still obligated to ensure the safety of those inside," the officer stated firmly.
"Aw, don't be so stiff! This guy's just a lawyer!" Mioda countered.
"Well, if what you're saying is true," the officer said as he adjusted his glasses, "Do you mind telling us what case you've come here for?"
Hajime bit the inside of his mouth, his shoulders tensing up. Was he obligated to answer that question? Technically, it was the evidence room he needed access to, and the officers had to have some way of knowing he actually had a valid reason to be there, so…
Whatever.
"The Maizono murder case."
The moment these four words left his mouth, the atmosphere shifted considerably.
The grin faded from Mioda's face. While she wasn't downright scowling at him, she didn't look nearly as peppy as she did earlier.
The male officer's eyebrows were drawn together, as an (accusatory?) finger was jabbed at Hajime's chest. "You're the one defending—"
"Haha, hey, we probably shouldn't waste his time," Mioda interrupted. The smile had returned, however this time, it was obviously fake with undertones of anxiety creeping beneath it. She grabbed the other officer by his arm, and—much to his protest—pulled him to the side. "You can go ahead, sir!" she said, gesturing at the now-unblocked door.
Sir?
Hajime muttered a quick 'thank you' and entered, theories that could possibly explain the officers' reaction to the specification that he was on the Maizono case continuing to pop up with every passing second.
They may have basic knowledge of the case, they are officers here. Maybe they're just as overwhelmed with the difficulty of the whole plot as I am.
I know Naegi had a similar opinion, and I'm pretty sure he didn't look too deep into the case before giving it to me.
However, there was one more thing that didn't quite fit.
'You're the one defending Komaeda?' That's probably what the officer was going to say before Mioda interrupted him.
The answer is yes, obviously, but what's so surprising about it? I mean, Naegi said he's pretty influential and I've confirmed that when I visited his place the other night, but it's nothing to warrant shock or intimidation.
Without even realizing it, Hajime had reached the main lobby. Besides the receptionist, there was no one else in sight.
Weird.
He approached the front desk. The receptionist had her red resting on her arms, her half-lidded eyes fluttering open upon noticing Hajime's presence.
"Ngh… is there anything you need?" she asked between yawns. Something about her reminded him of Chiaki… if Chiaki was blunter and had red hair.
"Yes, actually," Hajime affirmed. "Can you tell me where the evidence room is?"
Like the officer at the front door, this receptionist wasn't very cooperative. "Why should I tell you?"
Oh boy. Here we go again.
"I'm a lawyer with Hope's Peak," Hajime responded, hoping the recycled technique would work. "There are a few concerns I have regarding evidence for a homicide case, so I'd appreciate it if you—"
"Okay, okay. I get it," the receptionist interrupted. "It's the third door, right around that corner. But… you're gonna need an ID to scan to get in. So…" She pulled open a drawer and dug around for a little while before fishing out a laminated card and sliding it towards him. "Take it, I guess."
Hajime took a look at the card and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Judging by the picture, the ID certainly didn't belong to the petite woman behind the desk. The letters right below the photo read 'T. Chabashira.' "This isn't yours, is it?"
"No. But my friend has a spare that she said I could use if I wanted to," the receptionist explained. The pinkish hue that spread across her cheeks gave Hajime the impression that Chabashira was, perhaps, a little more than just a friend. "So just make sure to give it back. But… I don't really know what she'd do if she found out that I lent it to a degenerate male."
"D-Degenerate?" Hajime sputtered, embarrassed with the amount of offense he was taking from the title.
The receptionist shrugged. "Her words, not mine."
Hajime glanced from the woman to the ID before coming to a quick decision.
I'll just go before she changes her mind.
"Alright, then!" Hajime said, his voice dripping with fake enthusiasm and a smile forged last-minute plastered across his face. "I'll be off! Thank you!"
The receptionist mumbled something along the lines of 'you're welcome' and slipped back into her midday slumber.
Hajime followed her directions and walked—no, paced—through the halls, his footsteps echoing throughout the deserted area. It was all quite eerie to him, and the fact that he was supposed to be investigating a murder made matters worse.
Right there.
The third door looked like any other: a dull wood-grain pattern and a standard metal knob. However, right next to said doorknob was a small machine that somewhat resembled a mini ATM.
Hajime tentatively brought the ID up to the card reader, the faint-but-definitely-present feeling of guilt gnawing at his heart.
Is this even ethical? The receptionist gave me permission, did she get permission from Chabashira—whoever she is—to give me the ID?
Beep.
The sound of the door unlocking interrupted his messy thoughts and roughly pulled him back to his equally-as-messy reality.
Though the noise didn't speak, Hajime still felt as though it was saying something to him. Figuratively, of course—he wasn't the type of person to spend his evenings crushing up and snorting whatever he could find.
Focus. That's what it was telling him.
That's right. Hajime thrust the door open with newly-obtained gusto. I just have to focus.
However, upon entering the evidence room, he was met with an unexpected sight.
A woman with choppy dark hair was standing in front of one of the lockers. She appeared to be crouching down slightly, probably to get a better look at whatever was in there.
It wasn't a development Hajime would have anticipated, in all honesty. He hadn't considered the fact that there'd be another person examining something; he was under the assumption that he'd have the place to himself.
Still, a curious voice in his mind urged him to make conversation with the woman.
"Hey," Hajime said.
Apparently, this was a huge mistake.
The woman jumped and cried out in shock. But, in doing so, she managed to trip and fall to the ground, both arms parallel and splayed out on the opposite sides of her head. It was an… awkward situation, to say the least.
"Agh! I'm s-s-sorry! I didn't know you were—I was just—" she continued to cut herself off with sobs, nervous tears pooling in her eyes.
"No, it's, um, alright. It was kind of my fault for scaring you. You don't have to apologize," Hajime responded. Shortly after saying this, the sensation of deja-vu struck down upon his brain like lightning.
No… that's not right. It was so much more—so much stronger—than just a vague association of events or thoughts. It was a precise recollection of the not-so-distant past.
'You don't have to apologize for literally just taking up space, Komaeda. We're equals, okay? Remember that.'
Hajime bit his tongue. Now's not the time.
He reached an arm towards the woman. She took it—gratefully and a little reluctantly—and pulled herself back up.
Hajime glanced over her shoulder. The locker she'd been looking through was labeled with an 'M-16,' though the tag wasn't quite as yellowed or worn as some of the others. "So, uh, what brings you here? If you don't mind me asking, of course."
The woman looked to the ground, her shaking hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "I-I'm in forensics," she answered meekly.
A forensics detective.
So that explains why she's in here, but…
"What are the scrubs for?" Hajime asked.
"W-W-Well, I'm a part-time nurse a-at the Lower Manhattan Medical Center a few miles away," she stuttered in response. "Most of the time, I help out one of my pharmacist friends… but I've been super busy lately, and—and—gosh, I'm rambling again, aren't I? Ah…"
Hajime shook his head. "No, it's fine." He felt bad for this woman. The way she held herself, talked and felt the need to pepper her sentences with apologies, inclined him to believe something had mentally damaged her in the past.
Maybe even physically, too, Hajime thought, noticing the bandages wrapped around the length of her left arm.
Hey… wait a second.
She's acquainted with a pharmacist—someone who's probably in the know about all sorts of things relating to drugs.
This could be pretty useful!
Suddenly, Hajime was hyper-aware of the tablet sealed inside a small Ziploc bag, tucked away safely within his securely shut briefcase. His original intention for coming to the police department's evidence room was to search for any further clues to secure both his theories and Saihara's account. However, as it now appeared, there was more to be gained from his visit.
I've got to press further! Obviously, I shouldn't be too brash. I don't want to upset her or anything.
"A lab, you said?" Hajime mused, not wanting to reveal the way he was searching for a way to use her connections for his own benefit.
No, that's wrong. I mean, yeah, I'm hoping to get something out of this, but it's not just for me.
It's for Komaeda. And… for Maizono, too, in a more abstract way.
"Y-Yeah," the woman affirmed. "My friend—ah, if she even considers me as a friend, I don't want to assume anything—likes experimenting. S-She's really smart, she could be an amazing alchemist, but she tells me she's fine with where she is now."
Score!
Hajime was getting more and more confident of the abilities of this unknown pharmacist, and in turn, placing some of his faith in said pharmacist in helping him figure out the mystery of Ouma's enigma of a pill without even putting much more consideration into it.
"By any chance, is there a way I can get into contact with her?" Hajime posed the question, once again putting up that same nonchalant front. "It could help with evidence for a case I'm working on."
The woman bit her lip, her arms now wrapped around her torso in a self-hug. "I-I think I could give you the address… Seiko doesn't really pick up her phone, most of the time."
Hajime gave himself a silent cheer and a mental pat on the back.
How am I even supposed to begin to thank her? This is such a huge opportunity… I'll find out what drug was used to murder Maizono!
I've had my suspicions about this thing ever since Chiaki gave it to me and now's my chance to solidify them.
Hajime snapped open his briefcase for a quick second and pulled out a small notepad and a pen. The woman took both items with shaky hands, wrote a string of words and numbers onto the paper, and handed it back.
He had to squint to read the almost-microscopic handwriting.
8369 Prospect Street.
"Alright, thank you so much," Hajime said quickly. "This'll be helpful."
The woman blushed, her eyes darting around the room but never meeting his. "O-Oh, it's nothing, r-really…"
"That's wrong," Hajime interjected plainly. "It's something."
Something big. Something important…
Or, at least, I hope it is.
Hajime had been wasting away on a bench near the pharmacy of the Lower Manhattan Medical Center for what felt like an eternity. But, right when he was about to get up and leave, a woman entered.
Her appearance was distinctive, alright. Locks of white—not quite the same reddish-white as Komaeda's—hair curled upwards from the bottom, extending outwards like the tentacles of an octopus. A purple leather mask studded with rhinestones rested snugly on her face, obscuring her facial features with her eyes being the only exception.
In an instant, Hajime was up from the bench and back on his feet.
"Um, excuse me," he said in an attempt to catch her attention. "Is your name Seiko?"
The woman stopped, nodded, but didn't turn around.
"Seiko... Kimura," was all she said in response. "How do you know?"
"Well, I met a forensic detective at the police department and she's a part-time nurse here, as far as I know," Hajime answered. "She mentioned you, and I was wondering if you could help me with something. She said you're pretty skilled."
"Mikan…" Kimura exhaled and rubbed her temples, finally turning to face him. "I'm not a genius. Just… tell me what you want."
Hajime internally sighed in relief and pulled the plastic bag out of his pocket—he'd transferred it there from its original location in his briefcase for easier access upon first arriving.
He held the pill up to eye level, making sure both he and Kimura could see it. "Do you know what this is?"
Kimura raised an eyebrow—it was difficult to read her expressions accurately, but Hajime guessed she was at least a little intrigued. "Is there a reason why you need to know?"
Reasonable doubt, I guess. What I'm doing right now looks sort of suspicious, even though my intentions aren't like that.
"I'm a defense attorney," Hajime said for what was probably the third time that day—though, at that point, he wasn't really keeping count. "This could be useful evidence for a case I'm on."
Useful evidence that hasn't been officially registered, Hajime added, but not out loud. Thanks a lot, Ouma.
"Okay, then," Kimura said, apparently satisfied with his explanation. She held out her palm expectantly, and the pill was quickly placed in it. She peered at the drug, curiosity dancing behind her pale purple eyes. "I think I've seen something like this before. It's... odd, because the memory feels like it's from both yesterday and an eternity ago, simultaneously."
Though Kimura's statement probably wouldn't have made much sense to anyone else, Hajime understood them completely.
All because he himself had experienced something just like that.
For something—or, perhaps, someone—to seem so familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Almost like the very specific taste of a very specific glass of wine poured at a grand ball that took place a lifetime ago.
"So… I take it that you don't remember what it was called?" Hajime asked, though part of him was still hopeful that Kimura would prove him wrong.
Unfortunately, she didn't.
Kimura offered a simple "no" in response, and carefully slid the pill back into its flimsy plastic prison. However, instead of returning it to Hajime, she closed her fingers over it and started to make her way out of the room.
"H-Hey! Where are you going!?" Hajime cried as he jogged to keep up with her.
"The lab," Kimura answered. "It'll take a day, give or take."
Hajime winced. Ideally, he'd be able to watch as Kimura did her whole fancy-scientific-investigation thing on the pill, but he didn't have all the time in the world! While Naegi was a little sympathetic to his predicament with Komaeda and the Maizono murder case, Kirigiri showed him no special treatment. That poker-faced lavender-haired devil assigned him several court documents to review before Friday night, and he knew it was in his best interest to get started on them as soon as possible.
"Are you sure there isn't a faster way?" Hajime pressed, though he (and probably Kimura, too) was well aware that he was just grasping at the straws. It was a pretty risky move, on his part—beggars can't be choosers, after all.
"Sure, there is," Kimura replied. "It's called 'inaccuracy.'"
Despite the fact that he should've seen it coming, Hajime bit his lip at the retort.
No more negotiating here.
"Okay," Hajime said, swinging the briefcase back and forth within the small space between the handle and his palm. "Should I stop by tomorrow, then?"
"Yeah… that'll work."
A red, siren-like light began to flash in Hajime's mind.
Thursday… there's something else on Thursday, right?
Oh. Right.
He was supposed to spend some more quality time with Komaeda and (probably) another bottle of non-alcoholic bubble juice.
In a city that was way too large.
At an apartment that was far too high above the ground.
All the while trying to solve a mystery that was much too complex.
Grape, last time. What's in for next time, apple cider?
Hajime was now facing the exit.
"I'll be off, then."
While he was alone, there was nothing to protect Nagito Komaeda from his own thoughts. The dark, jagged, absolutely terrifying expanse within his own brain.
There was nothing—no one—to protect Nagito Komaeda from those moments from the past that should've stayed in the past. Those moments that would continue to replay like a twisted movie in the twisted theater that was his mind.
He was sitting in the living room again, his body draped across the couch. His face was angled towards the ceiling—all the lights were off, so it really looked more like a huge void up above. The only thing that barely left the room illuminated was the moonlight that penetrated through the large windows and cast a silvery shine onto everything below.
A pin-drop silence blanketed the place. The clock was ticking faintly in the background, though he made no effort to shift his gaze to the Roman numerals printed in dramatic gothic font.
It felt odd. Every night spent alone felt odd to him, though he should've been used to it, by now. He'd spent most of his life alone, especially after that. In fact, even before that, his days were numbered by faceless doctors and spent within the confines of hospital walls in varying shades of gray.
Just thinking about it brought back another bitter wave of memories.
It was impossible to push it down.
I thought it was over. It should be over.
Ten years' worth of time is long enough, right? It should be long enough, anyway.
But it wasn't.
Not for him.
His childhood was nothing more than a hazy blur of empty rooms and names that he couldn't seem to be able to associate with faces.
But only for the most part.
That day… His eyes finally drifted away from the ceiling and, slowly, made their way over to the memento sitting on the bookshelf near the door. A wistful, somewhat pained smile formed on his face.
That day was nice. It was bright and bold and unforgettable—it brought color into his colorless world.
But, now…
He was well aware that the day was unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.
What should have been a sweet moment of nostalgia had curled up, died, and started to rot. Just like a wilted rose.
How hopeless.
But it wasn't his fault! It wasn't!
I didn't have a say in anything. It was just a cruel twist of fate; just another stroke of bad luck.
What a shame. Because of the past, I'm stuck in this present.
There's no more moving forward if things don't work out in my favor.
He let out a long sigh. He really didn't need more things to worry about… there was already the looming trial on the 5th and all the stress that came with it, and the last thing he wanted to do was be even more of a burden than he already was to Hinata.
The smile was instantly replaced by a frown.
Too late for that.
But there's no point in dropping it all, now. Besides, I'm really curious as to what he'll do next.
How he's going to solve this case.
How he's going to win this case.
Hajime Hinata was one interesting individual, no doubt. Nagito had been enamored by his sheer determination and commitment to his profession from the very start. It was only reasonable to deduce that someone as unfaltering as Hinata would also possess incredible intellect, as well.
There's so much potential in him. I can see it, I can feel it—I can't help but envy it.
The frown morphed into a neural line. The neutral line morphed back into that smile from before.
And that's the best kind of hope.
"I'm really excited. Like, super-duper excited!"
"... is that normal?"
"Sure, it is, my dear sister!" A pair of oversized sunglasses were flicked up to rest on her forehead, exposing a pair of mischievous, baby-blue eyes. "Every single one's like an episode of a drama series, you don't even know!"
A pair of arms cross themselves over a torso, not sure of whether they're supposed to be defensive or defiant. "Sometimes I wonder how you even got this job."
With that being said, she felt an itch on her right hand. The itch to wrap her perfectly manicured fingers around the perfectly polished wooden handle of a gavel, pick it up, slam it against the surface of the podium so hard that a BANG echoes throughout the room, and to open her mouth and declare the final verdict to the world.
Really, it was her raison d'etre.
"Aw, you don't mean that," she insisted, her voice dripping with overly-sweet fakeness. "This is, like, my life's calling!"
A pair of eyes roll in their sockets. They're a little less of a baby-blue and more of a gray, but look similar enough to appear identical upon first glance. "Honestly, I think you enjoy it a little too much."
"Well, no shit! Of course, I do, it's just too fun!" She cackled, her hands clutched around her sides as she did so. "And, y'know… this one, especially, I'm lookin' forward to."
A second gaze focused itself onto the file on the table—both figuratively and literally. "Hold on… this guy—!?"
"Yep!" She bobbed her head in a nod, showing off both sets of teeth in a wide grin. "It's him!"
"He isn't… he's supposed to be…"
"I know, right? That's what makes it so cool, yeah?"
"...yeah."
She noticed the unease in her sister's face. It's not obvious, but her analytical abilities gave her the advantage when it comes to reading people.
She leaned back, the swivel chair drifting a little from the sudden distribution of weight. She was now facing the window.
The city was alive, as ever.
"You really oughta follow the story. Shit's gonna go down soon, and it'll be something."
No response. So, naturally, she continued to speak.
"Something big. Something important!"
A brief moment of silence, only interrupted by the clacking noise of her bright red nails drumming against the armrest and another giggle.
She laced her hands together, her skirt riding up slightly as she crossed her right left over the left.
She stared out at the seemingly endless skyline dotted with bright and twinkling lights.
"Something…" Her voice trailed off, only to continue a few seconds later. "...that nobody's gonna forget."
Even if they want to, they won't.
They can't.
A/N:
This update might have taken a little longer. Sorry!
A little Ibuki and Twogami content for you! Also, Mikan and Seiko! If I'm being honest, I didn't really like Mikan before but somehow, after writing this chapter, that's changed :D
And here's your daily dose of mystery POV because yes.
But, at the same time, it's not a mystery at all.
(How poetic!)
Anyway, everything in the last two 'sections' of this chapter was intentionally cryptic. (You probably saw that coming, though. Come on, it's in my name!) Speaking of which, I think '&' by Tally Hall sort of represents this confusion and all the contradicting ideas being presented in the story as well as the concept of several perspectives meshing together.
EX: "Oh the things we know, the things we don't. The things we think we can will & won't." (this line hit different I'm telling you)
Maybe you should give it a listen!
So, with all that being said, I hope the (like, two) people who are reading this enjoyed this chapter! See you next time!