Toranosuke Yoshida stands poised on the small rectangle of a box just outside one of Shibuya Station's many entrances. His charcoal suit, which - while well-pressed - manages to still seem rumbled, is adorned with a bright green sash littered with red kanji. His dark hair is immaculately combed, but even from where he stands, Akira can see it starting to thin.
His face is bulbous and not very handsome. His figure is stocky, if not paunchy, and he slumps forward, just a bit. He is not, Akira thinks, someone who should be giving political speeches.
"What's the story with this guy, again?" Morgana asks. The cat had napped through Akira's late afternoon meeting with Ohya.
"He was some up and coming politician about twenty years ago, but he took some bribes. It went public, and that was that."
"Right, but why does Ohya care about him?"
"Apparently he's making something of a comeback. Not a big one. He just shows up and gives a few speeches and that's it. But, according to Ohya, politicians don't 'un-crook' themselves, and she's hoping to get in on the ground floor of a political scandal. He's got some third degree ties to other political groups too."
"What's that last part mean?"
"Um, I'm not really sure. Ohya mentioned it."
"Oh. So she's hoping this guy is involved with criminals or something?"
"I think she's hoping people don't change."
After he left the studio, Akira spent his time trying to piece together what he would say to Ohya once he reached her. The woman had sent him a text with instructions to meet at a cafe just off Central Street, but when he arrived, she'd bombarded him with instructions and sent him on his way.
He'd barely had time to say hello, and even less to say goodbye.
The rift between them hadn't healed with a night's rest. I wonder what would happen if I told her I was involved in the mental shutdown on the train last night.. She'd probably be eager for the scoop then.
Morgana settles on his shoulder. "This guy looks kind of washed up to me."
"No doubt. But this is what Ohya wants, so here we are."
"I don't know much about politics," Morgana replies. "I hope this isn't boring."
"Yeah," Akira says, as he shifts his weight near the back of the crowd. "Me too."
The man begins to speak.
"Friends," he calls. "We stand at a precipice. Not the one the naysayers and cynics cite, but a far greater, more hopeful one, but one also rife with the potential pitfalls of failure." A few pedestrians stop, turn, and stare. Akira stiffens. He hadn't expected the man's voice to resound so much.
"I speak, of course, of the future, and the multitudes of possibilities it promises. Yet, even as each of us yearns for and envisions a brighter tomorrow, we have turned our backs on the very ones who will lead us to it." He raises a white-gloved hand into the air, and gestures with the other. "The youth! The next generation! Japan's children. Its teenagers. Its young adults. The neophyte men and women we must place our hopes in. And yet, we have abandoned them."
A few people, some older men, shift away from the crowd and stomp off, heads shaking. Akira watches them go for the brief pause between Toranosuke's words. That was fast.
"The next generation will lead us into the future, and yet they have no plan for how to arrive there. They are told this is their own fault. That they do not want to work, or learn. We do not encourage, but demand of them. Our strongest desire? For them to make the same mistakes we have. Look at our society today! Our economy is sinking by the hour. Our birthrates are declining, which puts even more pressure upon those few youths willing to take up the call we've forced on them.
"It is the next generation that will fix these crises. But rather than looking ahead, and doing what we can now to ready them for their great challenges, we turn our backs.
"They extend their hands to us, crying out for guidance and moral leadership. What do we give them in return? Standardized tests and prescription medication. Then we have the gall to say they are not reaching their potential.
"I wish to change this! I want to empower our young people to fight for their dreams, and for the dreams of a revitalized Japan!"
He continues for a time, and Akira finds himself in a black ocean of his words. Like many his age, he has paid little attention to the world of politics. When he has turned his eyes and ears towards that alien world, he finds it comprised of doddering old men complaining about the uncompromising greatness of 'back in the day,' and how its decline is somehow his fault, or the opposition party's fault, or the fault of foreigners, or - really - anyone's fault but theirs'. It's not that Akira finds it nauseating. He just finds it boring.
But this.
Akira listens, drinks it in, and lets it wash over him like so much water.
Yoshida begins to discuss his education reform ideas, and a voice calls out, "Do you honestly think anyone's listening to you, No Good Tora?"
The words, with the harsh bite behind them, snaps Akira out of his trance. He blinks and watches a similar thing happen to a few more people in the crowd.
Toranosuke himself looks as if he's been jumped by a shadow. "H-huh?" He bumbles out, and the strong impression vanishes into the neon lights of Shibuya Station. He becomes - once more - an aging, ruffled man, with diminishing hair and a blocky, unattractive face. "I'm just-" he begins.
The man in the audience, and Akira can see it's someone not much older than himself, shouts back. "No one's buying it. Why don't you crawl back under your rock before you embarrass yourself some more?"
A few people chuckle.
"What an asshole," Morgana whispers, and Akira wants to agree, but can't help listening to the exchange.
"Get out of here, No Good Tora," the man shouts. "Let a real politician, one that isn't corrupt, talk."
Toranosuke's eyes fall, but he steps down from his box. The speech is, evidently, done.
People begin to move away, and before long, all signs of the short-lived rally are gone.
"Too bad," Morgana says. "I was getting into that speech."
"Yeah," Akira replies. "The same with me. Let's go talk to him."
"What're you going to say?"
Akira shrugs. "I'm not really sure yet."
Akira has always figured politicians would be sequestered away from the common people behind walls of body guards and sycophants, but he finds No Good Tora alone, busying himself, just around the corner from where he'd given his speech. The man has the box he'd stood on at his feet, and Akira can see it is actually a case. He pulls off his sash and slides it lovingly into the box. He stares at it for all of a few seconds before, with a sigh, he snaps the lid shut.
"Excuse me," Akira says, and the man straightens and spins about on one leg, as if caught in the midst of a criminal act.
"Oh my!" He cries. When he spies Akira, he lets out a long sigh. "My word, you startled me."
Akira finds himself a bit startled as well. "Uh, sorry."
"Quite alright, quite alright," he replies. "May I help you with something?"
"I just saw your speech," Akira says, and jerks his thumb back over his shoulder.
"I see," Tora nods and folds his hands together before him.
"I really liked it," Akira tells him.
The man's eyes sparkle. "Is that so?" He beams at him, and Akira finds it hard to believe that this is the same man who was heckled away a few moments earlier. "I'm glad to hear that. It's certainly refreshing when young people take an interest in politics. After all," and he holds up a hand, index finger extended to the sky. "They are the youngest and therefore the future affects them the most."
"Yeah," Akira says, rubbing the back of his head. "I kind of got the gist of that while you were talking up there."
Tora chuckles. "I've been told I sometimes don't know when to change topics, but you try and find me someone who can easily cease when they're discussing something they truly care about."
"I wish I got to hear the rest of it," Akira says.
The man's smile grows. "Well, if you're that interested, you should stop by again. I'm here fairly regularly."
Akira feels his brows rise. "You're going to go up there and do all that again?" He asks. "Even after what just happened?"
Tora blinks in surprise. "Of course. I wouldn't be much of a politicians if I ran away every time someone shouted something crass at me."
"What did he mean?" Akira asks. "When he said, 'No Good Tora?'"
Tora suddenly looks very, very old. "Ah, that refers to something that happened a long time ago, and I'm afraid I haven't the time to go into it. But I'm sure you can find more information about it online. So many things are online these days." He grins again. "I do sincerely hope you stop by during my next speech. I've been working on it for a while, and I believe it'll be better than this one."
"Thanks," Akira answers. "I think I will."
Tora bows and turns his back, then stops. "Good Heavens, how rude of me. I forgot to ask your name."
"Akira Kurusu," he says, and bows.
Tora bows once more. "Toranosuke Yoshida. A pleasure." Then, the man turns, hefts up his case, and walks away.
#
"Hmmm," Ohya says, and sips her coffee. "It's good that you didn't overdo it." She nods, and seems surer of whatever she's thinking with each one. "You let him know you were interested, but you didn't overplay your hand."
"You make it sound," Akira says, as he plays with the straw in his drink. "Like I'm trying to date him."
He'd hoped the joke would ease the tension, but Ohya continues on, as if she hadn't heard. "After the next speech, see if you can get closer to him. Offer to work for him if you have to. I'd like to get you into his inner circle, if he has one."
"I don't think he has one."
"Perfect, then you'll be his inner circle."
When Akira had returned to the cafe from the speech, he had mentioned that No Good Tora hadn't seemed very corrupt, but Ohya had chastised him. "Of course he doesn't seem corrupt. The people who are corrupt never seem corrupt. Just look at Madarame. Look at Kamoshida. On a surface level, those two didn't seem so bad. When you peel the layers back, that's when you see the ugliness."
He has to admit, she has a point. The man had already taken bribes once before. Who's to say he wouldn't again? Maybe all his 'blah blah blah, the youth, blah blah blah,' was just his latest cover or act? It didn't feel good to think about it like that, but Akira didn't see another option. "So, I guess things are on hold until his next speech?" He asks.
"Guess so," Ohya replies.
In silence, the everyday noise of the cafe seems to grow.
"Listen," he says. "I'm sorry about freaking out last night. And about the things I said."
Ohya doesn't say anything for a time. Then, "Don't apologize if you're just going to do it again."
He frowns. "I don't plan on it."
"What do you want me to say, then?" Ohya asks, and shrugs. "Yeah Akira, everything is fine, we're best pals again or whatever?"
"Look, I value our partnership and-"
"Then why did you up and vanish on me?"
He resists the urge to throw his hands into the air. "I'm a student. I can't be at your beck and call all the time."
Ohya nods. "Sure. Except when we were investigating Madarame. Then, I couldn't keep you away."
"That was..." He starts, but lets the words fizzle. He'd been about to say 'different,' but how could he explain that?
To her credit, Ohya understands exactly what he'd meant. "That was different because you were doing it for you. We just happened to have the same goal. But this No Good Tora thing? This is something I asked you to do. So now you're not as invested because you don't want to be doing it, and here we are."
Akira chokes off a sigh. A part of him just wants to nod and agree with her, to mend things and move on. But isn't that the point? "What'd you want me to say?"
"I don't want you to say anything, Akira," she replies, leaning back in her chair. "But I've got some advice for you, if you can be bothered with it."
"Fine."
"Find some way to get something out of this." She shrugs. "Make it worth your while." With that, she reaches into her bag and pulls out a small file. "Speaking of, I've got something for you."
Akira sneaks his phone from his jeans and checks the time. He's still got a bit before he needs to meet Kawakami.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Ohya replies, and goes to slide the file back into her bag. "I guess you don't want this information on your dead Principal."
Akira goes to shove his phone away, but his hand slips and the device clacks to the floor. "Sorry, sorry," he says, as he bends down to pick it up. "What'd you find?"
He opens it and finds a number of Xeroxed pages of smudgy black ink. Akira needs to squint to read them. "On the surface," Ohya says. "Kobayakawa looks pretty clean. However, some of the paperwork that surfaced for his estate seems pretty shady."
Akira realizes the documents are bank statements, and he feels his eyes glaze over. "How did you get these?"
"I got a guy."
"You've got a guy for dead peoples' bank statements?"
"I've got guy for everything. Can I continue, or do you want to ask more questions you won't like the answer to?"
"Right, go ahead." Ohya opens her mouth but Akira inserts, "Just so you know, I don't really know how to read this stuff."
"Uh-huh," she replies. "I figured. Don't worry, I'll point out the important parts. Anyway. If you do a thorough combing, everything looks pretty straightforward. He gets his paycheck, he pays his bills, all that fun, boring nine-to-five stuff. Except for one thing. During the last few months, your Principal saw an increase of refunds on his account."
"Refunds?"
Ohya nods. "It's when a company returns money to you because you-"
"I know what a refund is, Ohya."
She raises her hands defensively. "Hey, how am I supposed to know that? You just said you couldn't read bank statements."
Akira shakes his head. "What's so weird about refunds?"
"Nothing, on their own. Except, there seemed to be an awful lot of them. He'd get charged something, then get refunded a day or two later. This happened about twelve times in the last five months." She smirks. "Smells fishy to me."
"How?" Akira puzzles this over. "Couldn't it just mean he got his identity stolen and these are all fraudulent charges?"
"That's what you would think. But the places that were charging and refunding stood out. Shell corporations mostly, with nothing names like Orchid Holding Inc., or Downtown Corp." Ohya reaches out and flips through a few pages. "Now, get a load of this name." She flicks the page with her index finger. "Right here."
Akira reads it, and his eyes widen. "Natsuki Storage?" He looks up at her. "Seriously?"
She nods. "Two months ago, a bunch of money got debited from his account by Natsuki Storage. Two days later, the money was back in his account."
"Did Kobayakawa have a storage unit there?" Akira asks. Morgana hadn't said anything. Then again, Madarame's unit had been in Chisako Kitagawa's name.
"Probably not," Ohya continues. "But it's what got me thinking. We know Natsuki Storage is run by Yakuza. This is a scam. They debit money out, then credit it back. But the money goes to another account first. These guys withdraw the money before it gets sent back to the original account."
"Why?"
"To give to Kobayakawa, of course. Now he's got the money that was credited back into his account, and the cash they give him from their own account. These aren't fraudulent charges, Akira. They're concealed bribes."
"For what?"
Ohya shrugs. "I'm not sure. But if this is true, then your Principal was into some shady shit. Shit much shadier than the Phantom Thieves."
#
"Alright," Kawakami says. "Admittedly, math isn't my best subject, but it wasn't too long ago that I was in your shoes. So, let's try and-"
Akira cannot help himself. "Sounds like a cautionary tale."
Kawakami's head swivels around until her eyes shovel into Akira's own. "What was that?"
"Nothing," Akira replies. "Nothing. Sorry. You were saying?"
She turns back to the textbook between them, and Akira awards himself a few moments to appreciate the absurdity of it all.
'Becky' had been more than available for the 'services' tonight, and had arrived as promised, adorned in her maid outfit, promising to fill Akira's heart with 'love and compassion.'
Once upstairs, she'd promptly dropped onto his couch and asked if he had anything to drink. Aside from coffee, Akira replied, he did not.
Perhaps because neither wanted the session to last longer than it had to, the two began to study, but Akira found his mind drifting off, and not just due to his teacher's outfit.
Ohya's deal.
Kobayakawa's bribes.
New Dawn.
Mental Shutdowns.
Whatever fallout there would be from revealing themselves to Makoto and Haru.
Not to mention, Haru's fiancé.
And whatever conspiracy was out there, if one existed.
The more he thinks about Kobayakawa's connection to Natsuki Storage, the more unsettled he becomes. All the connections feel as if they're floating just behind his eyes, but he can't reach out and string them all together.
"Hey," he finds himself saying. "How well did you know Principal Kobayakawa?"
She looks up from the book, and frowns. "Geez. Way to bring the mood down."
"The mood was up?"
She rolls her eyes. "Why'd you bring him up?"
"Just curious. I didn't know him very well, so I thought I'd ask."
Kawakami yawns, and covers her mouth with a hand. She blinks a few times then shrugs. "He kept to himself, mostly. I mean, he was at school before anyone else, and he left later than everyone one else too, but I don't know if he actually had a relationship with anyone at school. He couldn't shut up about Kamoshida, but that was because of the prestige that jerk brought Shujin."
"So, you guys weren't friendly?"
Kawakami barks out a laugh. "Hardly. I didn't like him from the start. Sure, he worked hard, but it always seemed like he was working hard for the wrong reasons."
"Wrong reasons?" Akira asks.
Another yawn from his teacher, and she leans back in her seat and crosses her arms. The sexiness of the outfit is beginning to wear off on him. "Take you, for example. He wasn't giving you a second chance at Shujin to help you out. He did it so people would praise the school for giving someone like you another chance at an education."
Akira feels his blood rise at the phrase, 'someone like you,' but he keeps it to himself. "Yeah, I kind of figured that was the case." He vaguely recalls ranting about it at Makoto, that day in the hall.
"I don't want to speak badly about someone who's dead," Kawakami continues. "But Principal Kobayakawa always seemed like he put his ambitions first and the school second." She takes a deep breath, leans forward and taps the textbook. "Now, let's get back to this, yeah?"
Akira tries to pry a few more questions from her, but Kawakami gives him little.
At the end of the session, Kawakami slumps down in her seat and stares around his room, as if seeing it for the first time. "You know, I didn't really picture you in a place like this." She nods towards Morgana, who lays on the bed, watching them. "Or having a cat." She straightens. "That reminds me, have you been hearing a cat in the classroom for the past few weeks?"
"Uh, no," Akira replies. "Maybe you're just hearing things. You probably don't get a lot of sleep with your job."
She snorts. "Yeah, you're telling me."
"Mind if I ask," Akira starts, before he realizes it, "why you're doing this job?"
Kawakami flattens him with a look. "Because I love to bring joy into peoples' lives, that's why."
Akira has learned many things in his past two months, and one of them is when to shut up. He does it now.
Kawakami opens her mouth as if to say more, then decides against it. She pushes herself to her feet and says, "I think that's enough for tonight. You've got school tomorrow, after all."
"So do you."
"Don't remind me," she groans. She makes her way to the stairwell and stares down into the dim light. "You're sure Sakura-san isn't going to be lurking downstairs?"
Akira shakes his head. "He's hardly ever here when the shop is closed. He always seems like he's in a rush to get home once work's done."
"And he just leaves you here, huh?"
Akira shrugs by way of response.
"Right," she says, and starts to descend. "See you in homeroom, Kurusu."
#
Sugimura finishes his story, throws back the rest of his drink, sets the cup on the table, and waits for the man who sits across from him to say something.
Junya Kaneshiro grins, one arm thrown over the back of the couch. "Man, kid. I don't see what you're complaining about." He half-turns his head towards the two men who stand on either side of this little office's door. "Nanashi, what's that phrase you picked up when you were over in the States? The one about scars and women?"
"Chicks dig scars," Nanashi replies, in accented English.
Kaneshiro nods. "There you go. Chicks dig scars." He regards Sugimura and shrugs. "Then again, whoever came up with that probably meant war wounds. Not the kind of scars you get from having your ass handed to you by a cat."
Sugimura scowls, but doesn't direct it at the gangster. Behind Kaneshiro, the one named Nanashi snickers. The other nameless lump of meat doesn't even blink.
He reaches up and runs his hand over the scabbed cuts along his cheeks and neck. They aren't too deep, or so he is told, and they're unlikely to leave any kind of permanent marks.
Still.
If he ever finds that cat again, he'll feed it to his racing dogs.
He pushes the mental image of the hissing, swiping feline out of his mind. "That's not the point," he grumbles. "You know everything that goes on in Shibuya and the surrounding districts. I want to know where my fiancée is."
Kaneshiro's grin fades into a bored expression. "Have you tried calling her?"
"Yes, I've tried calling her you-"
"Careful," Kaneshiro cuts in.
Sugimura snaps his mouth shut and bows his head. He feels no contrition, but he knows better than to antagonize this man.
"Do you know where she is?"
"I might," Kaneshiro replies. "None of my people have been looking for her, but someone might've seen her." He frowns. "Does her family know she's gone?"
"Her father doesn't care," he spits out. "He's been busy with a large acquisition. I doubt he even realizes she's gone. But if I can't find her, and it becomes an issue, it could cause a scandal for my family."
"And we wouldn't want that. You said you've looked all over Shibuya?"
"Yes. That's where I saw her last."
"She got any friends?"
"Only one girl that I know of. She assaulted me outside Shujin Academy, and her older sister met with my father to bail her out."
"'Bail her out?'" Kaneshiro asks. "Who is this chick?"
"A Public Prosecutor who works for the SIU. Her name's Sae Niijima."
Nothing changes on the man's face, but Sugimura feels something like frost slide into the air. "Niijima," the gangster mutters. He turns back towards his two henchmen. They're both staring back at him, even the one who doesn't move, eyes wide in something approaching wonder. "Haven't heard that name in a while."
"You know her?" Sugimura asks.
"No," Kaneshiro replies, and stares down into his lap. "I don't. Have you thought about staking out this Niijima's place? To see if your runaway bride is hiding there?"
Sugimura frowns. "I suppose I could look."
Kaneshiro beams, whatever introspective moment he was having, gone. "There you go. You see? You didn't even need my help." He snaps his fingers. "But hell, why don't I help you out anyway?" He tilts his head back and calls out, "Manashi."
The second henchman, now named, steps out into the hall. A few moments later, he returns with his meaty hand firmly wrapped around the arms of a strung out girl.
Kaneshiro frowns at her state, then shrugs. "She's better looking when the lights are out. Why don't you take her for a spin anyway, eh? See if you can't work off some of your frustrations." He pats the air, apologetically. "Nothing permanent though, got it? This one owes me a lot of money."
Sugimura rises to his feet and makes his way over to her.
"My name is-" The girl starts, but Sugimura shakes his head.
"Not tonight." He takes her from the big man and drags her out into the hall. His car is parked in the basement's garage. "Tonight, your name is Haru."
##
A/N: Happy Friday! Hope you all enjoy this chapter.
And, if you're in the US, I hope you all enjoy Labor Day!
Thanks for reading!