The Phantom Dragon 2:
The Honest Price
The city of pleasure and dreams has silently reached a tipping point.
There are few in the city left untouched by the actions of a mysterious young hero.
Though in the dark corners of what normal, honorable people call the "underworld", such heroic actions rarely go unpunished…
Chapter 1
It Would (Not) Be a Simple Case
Kamurocho Police Station – Division Four: Organized Crime
September 10th, 1988
The beautiful woman leaned over the desk with a hot scowl, jaw clenched and arms involuntarily flexing. Her long, smoky white hair fell in front of her face, obscuring the document that lay in front of her – the subject of her most recent ire.
"Ma'am?" said the police officer behind her. "Are you alright?"
"Of course, I'm not," she spat back with venom in her voice. "You know what's in the file too, don't you? Then you also know just how insulting this is."
"Nijima-san," said the officer, a new prospect by the name of Kenjiro, "I don't think this is what it looks like."
"Then what exactly would you say it looks like?" she turned around to face him, her anger as obvious on her face as graffiti on a chapel door.
Kenjiro, a young man with strong male features contrasting a softer and mostly unthreatening voice, looked her in the eye neutrally. His hair was dark and short, completely unremarkable. His eyes had a more remarkable tinge of blue to their darkness. All together, he seemed like an unassuming everyman, though it was his softer mannerisms that made him an adept negotiator in touchy situations. "It looks like a simple reallocation of assets to me, Ma'am. I do not believe this is some sort of insult to your prestige."
"Oh, shut it, Kenjiro," Nijima waved at him dismissively. "I know we're always tied down with red tape, but it doesn't cover your mouth in private conversation."
"I'm simply answering your question, Nijima-san."
She attempted to fire something back, but her logical mind deemed it unnecessary, to put it lightly. Instead, she just shook her head, placing her hands on her hips. "I apologize, Kenjiro. This isn't your fault."
"I appreciate it, Ma'am," Kenjiro nodded. "I'll give you your peace, just call if you need anything," he bowed his head to her quickly.
"I will, thank you." Kenjiro took his leave, and now she was alone with the damn file.
Her name was Sae Nijima, and she was in some serious shit.
Having joined the police force fully at the young age of twenty, Sae had spent her whole adult life as an enforcer of justice in the low-threat streets of her hometown of Shibuya, before being moved to the hardened streets of Kamurocho to pursue a mystery involving none other than an old yakuza on the run from the law. Money laundering, violent and sexual assault, the usual works for someone of his kind. Having served both in the court room and on the streets, Sae Nijima quickly became famous among the Tokyo precincts, both for her fine feminine features and iron will to uphold the law. And it was this fame that got her this new case.
In one week, the culprit was found out, thanks to her efforts. Her reward: a promotion in the investigative branches, a cost-free transition to Kamurocho, and a look behind the curtain of red tape she was hitherto unaware of.
Sae was known both for her encyclopedic knowledge of the law systems, and an unshakable will to seek out truth and justice that drove her to go above and beyond as if it were second nature. There were many in the force who sought out positions alongside her knowing that when a case comes around, she would likely do the work for them even when the responsibility falls no where near her own. And she was entirely aware of all these interpretations of herself.
This left her all the more infuriatingly puzzled as to the nature of the file in front of her, which explained that she was denied further investigation of the Kamoshida murder two weeks earlier.
August 28th, it was, when the four young women were found by the police, wandering the streets of Kamurocho late at night, accompanied by men of the Families. With little in the way of conflict, or hardly another word, the girls were taken into protective custody and escorted to the station as Sae was wrapping up her work for the night. However, it would be another four hours of questioning and cross-examination before she was able to go home and sleep for three hours.
Following their divulgence of information, the investigation into Suguru Kamoshida was underway, helmed by Sae Nijima herself. For nearly two weeks, they investigated the crime scene, followed leads and evidence to secure more information, sought out any connections the man may have had to apprehend anyone continuing his vile service.
And now she was cut off cold turkey.
The reasons provided were slim, scant and entirely comprised of legislative, flowery prose that had could have easily been copied from a dozen other letters that passed by the commissioner's desk. "Your efforts will be reallocated elsewhere," it read. "We thank you for your exemplary work thus far on the assignment; we would not have progressed nearly this far without your skills." Sae had half a mind to toss it out the window and let the wind carry the file away. She knew in her logical mind that there was nothing she could do to change this outcome, but that did not stop her from storming out of her office and to the commissioner's office.
She passed by many of her coworkers as she strutted down the halls, head held high and gaze lowered. No one interrupted her, as they could see the fiery aura of determination she gave off. Sae almost burst through the old oak door that separated her from her boss but stopped herself just before she attempted it. Instead, she rapped her knuckles on the door sharply.
"Come in," came a rough and scratchy male voice.
Sae breathed deeply, making herself at least appear calm, and opened the door. Before her was Commissioner Seishiro Munakata, sitting at his mahogany desk and calmly drinking steaming tea. Even sitting down, it was evident he was a tall man, though withered with his advancing age. His face bore wrinkles, thick glasses resting on his long nose covered his eyes, and his neck was reduced to a permanent slouch. However, he still commanded seemingly unending respect among any precinct in Tokyo thanks to his legendary crusades against organized crime.
And now he had near limitless power when it came to delegating such cases.
"Nijima-san," he addressed her casually without looking at her, "I expected you to come by around this time, though admittedly hoped you would simply take the hint."
"I apologize, sir, but I believe I am due greater clarity on the subject than I've been provided."
"You are 'due', you say?" Murakata asked coldly, though Sae was unmoved. They finally made eye contact as Sae stepped in front of him, and Murakata looked her up and down like a host at a beauty pageant – feigning interest, though obviously wishing he was somewhere else. "This is a bold claim, Nijima, even for you."
"Sir, this was my case from the beginning. Even if I am to be reallocated, I believe I deserve to be given the details in a more thorough manner, not just some folder thrown at me by a new kid."
"I apologize, Nijima, but it was a very quick and recent decision. I simply did not want you to show up to the next briefing and be asked why you're there."
"As much as I appreciate it," she said with far less gratitude than she let on, "I still wish you could have at least scheduled a meeting with me regarding this."
"I evidently did not have to," Murakata drawled slowly, folding his hands in front of his face as he always did when measuring the balance of power in a conversation. Sae could not help her lips from pursing at that remark. "But since you made the trip here, I suppose I can indulge your 'dues'."
Not knowing how deep of a hole she had just dug for herself, Sae replied with, "Thank you, sir."
"I want you to understand that the line in the file about your 'exemplary efforts' was a genuine one, Nijima. We are very thankful for your services in this case, and I assure you that you will not be discharged from it without appropriate compensation."
At least he has the decency to bribe me. "But why was I discharged in the first place? It seems not to be due to my performance."
"Far from it. You have met the high expectations your career has set for you, as you always do. We simply believe your expertise will be needed elsewhere. A new case has come to light, though in some relation to that of the Kamoshida murder."
"A new case?" Sae asked curtly. "What is it?"
"Haven't you heard about the new talk of the town, Nijima? Or has your… admirable dedication to your work kept you locked in your office too much?"
"I don't see your point, sir."
"It would seem to be the latter case then," Murakata nodded.
Well, fuck you too, then.
"It regards the person who seems to have eliminated Kamoshida."
"You mean the yakuza? Weren't we already aware of that?"
"It's the yakuza, yes, though the reality of the situation may not be entirely what we expected." Murakata got up from his chair, putting a hand on his back as if it pained him to stand up. He sighed as he walked in front of his desk and leaned against it, crossing his arms before addressing Sae once more. "This talk of the town I referred to seems to focus on some… boy. At least, they claim it's a boy. Our intelligence division has heard rumors of some 'hero' rising among the ranks of the Sakura clan, and one of our undercover agents has corroborated these claims."
"You can't be serious, sir."
"That's exactly what I said when I heard the news, but that seems to be what we're dealing with. Apparently, it was not the infamous 'Gecko' who put Kamoshida in the grave, but some boy who was along for the ride. At least, that's what some in the underground say. Others claim he's some kind of prodigal son, returning to the city to reclaim his birthright or some crap like that. I would normally say it's ridiculous, as the look on your face indicates you do, but there is enough recurring details among the many accounts to lend it some credibility."
Sae looked off to her side casually, measuring how the next thirty seconds would play out. Murakata waited patiently for a response while Sae ran through about twenty possible choices in her head. "You want me to look into it then," she met his gaze again.
"At the moment, I would actually like you to take it easy and let the grunts finish the flim-flammery part of your case. But while you do that," Murakata stood up straight, looking her deep in the eyes, "I want you to keep your ear to the ground," he said in a quieter, darker tone. "If any new details arise about this 'hero-boy', I want you to be the first to know about it. And when the time comes that we can look into an investigation, you will be our first candidate for the leadership role."
Sae should have felt relieved that she was not getting kicked to the curb off her own case, but what she felt instead was indignation at the very least. In contrast to this sense of indignation, she replied, "Thank you for your consideration, sir." She bowed her shallowly.
"It's only natural," said Murakata casually. "You are an extremely valued member of our force, and it is for this reason that you will most likely be taking over our operation." Murakata's eyes moved from her eyes to her bust with no attempt to hide it or be inconspicuous. "I'm sure your father would already be beaming with pride were he here to see the kind of woman you've become."
Sae could not help herself from cringing, both for her superior's leers and the remark about her father. "An operation to try and find some kid?" she attempted to refocus the subject.
"Well, if you want to put it planely," Murakata shrugged. "But for now, relax a bit. Go to a bar or an arcade or something and just act like a normal woman. Enjoy your life a bit."
"A normal woman?" Sae inquired with a glare.
"Don't take that as some sort of mockery, Nijima. Anyone, man or woman, needs time for themselves every once in a while. Hell, most of the strongest men I know would probably be dead by now if they worked like you do." Murakata placed a hand on Sae's shoulder, and she fought her instinct to jerk away from him. She knew what he really thought of her, and she also knew that this was far less than the maximum level of adversity she was willing to take for justice. "Take a load off," he said in a quieter tone. "Go home for a while."
Sae looked away again, then back at her boss with a sideways glare; a silent indication of how she felt. "I'll be taking my leave then, sir," she stepped back, releasing herself from his grasp, and bowed.
"Thank you again for your efforts, Nijima. Your compensation will be made available to you by the end of the week."
"Thanks," she said curtly before closing the door behind her.
Sae brushed her hair away from her eyes and back behind her ears. Her skin crawled whenever Murakata leered at or advanced on her like that, but she knew she was far from the only woman in the precinct who endured such things, from Murakata or others. Not that it made it any less uncomfortable.
Mulling over the day's events, Sae pinched the bridge of her nose indignantly after returning to her office. She glared at the folder that still lay on her desk and thought of running it through the paper shredder back at her apartment. It's not like they're going to need copies of it. She also considered the nature of this "hero-boy" story, and whether it truly had any merit. Surely Murakata must think something of it to consider placing her in charge of an investigation. Either that, or he really did think of her as nothing more than a glorified intern with a fancy office.
"Hero-boy, huh?" Sae asked herself aloud. "It at least sounds less complicated than that Kamoshida guy. Good, I can use a simple case every now and then."
…
Hibito fell backward onto the cold concrete in a second as the punch connected with his jaw. After regaining his senses, he tasted blood, felt his face throb. His vision was blurry as he looked up to his assailant, who stood tall over him with fists clenched and gaze steely, his full dark hair rustling lightly in the cool night breeze. His black suit jacket was wrinkled from the preceding struggle of getting Hibito into this back alley; spots of fresh blood adorned his white undershirt and black slacks.
Hibito tried to get himself up off the ground but was denied with a strong kick to the face, causing him to reel backward again. "P-p-please," he sputtered, "I have the money. Y-you know I have the money, man!"
"Only a week too late," the man sneered. "And I also know that the money you should have payed is now lining some jackass loan shark's pocket."
"I-I'm an entrepreneur! And since you fuckers have been bleeding me d-dry, I needed a damn loan, okay?!"
"That loan shark was associated with a conglomerate that directly opposes my employers. You didn't need some kind of business loan. You were trying to skip town. Now you're out two payments and a couple teeth. I hope it was worth it." The man kicked him across the face once again, causing Hibito to cry out.
"Ch-chill out, asshole! I got the money! H-here!" He scrambled to reach into this breast pocket and produced a leather wallet. He opened it and held out 400,000 yen, handing it to the man.
His assailant looked between the money and Hibito. He then put the money in his pocket along with his hands, making himself look deceptively relaxed and casual. "The Sakura Clan appreciates your business, sir," he nodded to him.
Hibito looked up to the man, then spat out a glob of blood onto his shoe. "You yakuza are the cancer of this city," he growled. "Always have been! I can tell you're young. You're, what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? Get out of that business while you can, kid! Go to school, get a real job, anything other than this shit!"
The yakuza looked down at him as if he were disappointed by his pet dog. "My business is my own. And our business is concluded. I got other shit to do tonight."
Hibito coughed out more blood and laid down on his back, trying to ignore the throbbing pain all through his head. "It'll come back to get you, kid," he said as the man walked away from him. "It'll come back hard…"
The yakuza walked out of the alley and onto the always bustling Tenkaichi Street. To his left was the main road, lined with people in stylish outfits trying their damnedest to flag down cabs. The men still wore their suits from work, while most women wore short cut dresses of all colors, many of which sparkling as they reflected the light of the ever-present neon signs around them.
The yakuza rubbed his hand through his thick hair, shaking his head in an annoyed manner. "Same shit, different night," he muttered to himself. He clutched the wad of yen in his pocket, reflecting on the manner in which he had obtained it. "The hell have you gotten yourself into, Akira?" he said to himself with a groan.
Kamurocho was alight with neon, matching the glitz and glamour of its infamous nightlife. People walked by Akira casually, decked out in fancy clothing, expensive jewelry, and smelling of bank-breaking drinks. He took out a cigarette and lit it, blowing a thin puff of smoke into the air as he walked by the various shops and restaurants on either side of him. A barker for a hostess club was accosting pedestrians in front of him with nothing to show for it. Akira bumped him with his shoulder as he walked by. The barker threw swears his way as he passed, but Akira did not retort, only blowing out another puff of smoke.
The young man was headed for the hostess club "Jewel" tonight, though it was not for the purpose of pleasurable excursion. Instead, he was to meet the contact who would be picking up Hibito's money. Even after only two weeks of living in this city, Akira was not surprised by the choice of meeting place. Kamurocho was famous for its hostess clubs, and he knew that many a yakuza partook in such establishments regularly.
As Akira grew distracted by a group of women slightly older than him walking by, he felt a hard object bump into his shoulder, followed by an exclamation of "The hell, man!?"
Akira stopped in his tracks, but did not turn around to face the man he had bumped into. "Hey, buddy!" said the man. "You gonna apologize to me for being such a retarded clutz?" Akira did not move nor speak. "Hey, I'm talking to you, asshole! You got any idea who I am!?" The man grabbed Akira by the shoulder and turned him around. Akira was face to face with a businessman who could not be much older than himself. The man appeared furious, before that fury left his face like it had just melted off him. Akira glared at him directly in the eyes until the man unhanded him, and the young yakuza continued on his way with a deadly glare.
From behind him, Akira could hear the man talking with some friends. "Why didn't you lay him out?" asked one.
"That kid was obviously a muscle, man!" said the gentleman Akira had clocked. "They don't pay me enough to deal with them."
That was the end of that conversation, as the men quickly made off for any other street in the city.
Passing by a parked car, Akira looked at his reflection in the window. He spied a spatter of blood under his right eye, checking only for a moment if it was his own. He wiped it off with his hand, confirming that it had been Hibito's. He looked into his own eyes in his reflection, taking in the dangerous glare that seemed plastered to his face.
He could not meet his own gaze for more than a moment. He started on his way once again.
Akira soon came on the club, the magenta neon sign shining brightly into the street. Without even the slightest acknowledgement, he walked past the bouncer and into the club. He was greeted by the sound of slow jazz music, girls at each booth giggling with suspicious gusto, and men excitedly singing the praises of the girls they had payed to sit with them. Akira looked around the room with one of the most condescending, judgmental expressions the poor young man at the reception desk had ever seen.
"Um, sir?" he prodded Akira. "Can I help you this evening?"
"I'm meeting someone, actually. I was told he'd have a table by the time I got here."
"Who is the person you're meeting?"
"Dunno," he shrugged, only then paying the receptionist a glance. "But I think you do."
The receptionist's concerned expression turned to a disapproving glare. "Ah, you're with him," he said curtly. "Follow me, sir."
"Thanks, I appreciate it," Akira deadpanned as he was led toward the back of the club. A jazz band played a swinging beat on the front stage, and Akira was not ignorant to the concerned glares he received from the male patrons, or the intrigued leers provided by the hostesses.
They ascended a flight of stairs and the receptionist led Akira to a large booth that could easily hold eight people, but instead there were two beautiful girls in gowns of considerable luster, and what seemed to be a well-dressed college student with long, sandy brown hair that reached down to his shoulders, with his arms around their shoulders. In hushed tones, he seemed to be making some sort of joke to the girls, indicated by their growing smiles that crescendoed in strong, surprisingly genuine laughs.
"Enjoy your stay, sir," said the receptionist as he took his leave with a bow.
"Yeah, thanks." Akira looked down at the trio as he instinctively fixed his bangs, pushing them out of the way of his dark eyes. "Excuse me," he interjected, "you the guy?"
The young man, obviously slightly older than Akira, looked up from the girl on his right and took in the sight of Akira. He nodded after looking him up and down. "You are Kurusu-san, I suppose?" he asked. His voice was surprisingly high pitched, almost boyish in tone, though he still spoke with considerable eloquence. He then held out, to Akira's surprise, his left hand. "My name is Goro Akechi. I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance."
Akira shook his left hand awkwardly. "Yeah, you too," he said before taking a seat next to the girl to Akechi's right. "Though, I'm surprised you know my name when no one ever told me yours."
Akechi smirked at that with a nod of his head. "You may be surprised, but I'm not. You see, the rumors about you have spread like wildfire ever since the… incident."
"Rumors, huh?" Akira asked. He looked at the two girls he was in company with, taking in their vibrant smiles with a grain of suspicion. "Are you sure this is the kind of thing we should talk about outside of work?"
"Absolutely. There's no reason to be worried." He reclined back in his seat, pulling the girl on his left arm in closer to him. "They are both aware of our occupation, so there is no need to mince our words. In fact, the Family I represent currently holds protection rights to this establishment, so we are allowed greater, well, freedoms in how we conduct ourselves compared to the regular clientele."
"Such as?" Akira asked incredulously.
"Well," the hostess next to Akira spoke up, "such as the 'no touching' rule doesn't quite apply to you gentlemen," she said flirtatiously before leaning closer to Akira.
He raised an eyebrow, appearing more uncomfortable than he had wished to as the girl wrapped her arms around his neck. "Whoa, whoa, I don't even, uh, know your name, honey."
"It's Aiko, but I go by about anything the customer likes," she winked up to him. "The customer is king, after all."
Akechi could not help but chuckle at Akira's discomfort. "I'm more of a conversationalist myself, but I was not aware of your personal proclivities when making this reservation. So, if you'd like to get a bit more personal with your hostess, I guarantee you won't be reprimanded by the staff."
"That's great," Akira deadpanned. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Akira wrapped an arm around Aiko, who responded by immediately nuzzling up to him and placing a light kiss on his cheek, then his jaw, and then his neck. He could not deny that the experience was enjoyable. "Hey, Akechi. The guy at the front didn't seem too happy to see me when I arrived. Is there something in my teeth?" he bared his front teeth to his associate.
"Not that I can see. I'd imagine it's because you're a Family man. Not all present are savvy to the pecking order, shall we say."
"That doesn't exactly surprise me."
"Did he behave in any manner you would deem fit for reprimanding?"
"No, nothing like that. Just seemed peeved by my being here, but that's it. You don't need to rough him up on my account."
"That's good to hear. Anyway," Akechi resumed casually, "I assume you have the money, Kurusu-san."
"Oh, yeah," Akira reached down into his pocket, brushing against Aiko's hips for a moment before producing the wad of cash. Handing it to Akechi, he said, "This guy tried to screw over Kuze, right? Does that mean you're in his Family?"
"A brilliant deduction," said Akechi with praise feigned so well it almost sounded genuine. "Yes, I am in service to the Kuze Family. I had the privilege of being inducted into his employment about fourteen months ago."
"What did you do before that?"
"Oh, I was at university after receiving a full ride thanks to my scholarships." He snapped his fingers in the air and waived his hand. "Waiter?" he called out. One of the waitstaff came over with a bow. "A bottle of Old George cordial at your earliest convenience, please."
"It will be only a moment, sir," he bowed again and left.
Unconsciously, Akira began rubbing Aiko's shoulder. "Sounds like some fancy stuff. How much I gotta chip in?"
Akechi chuckled to himself again, his hostess joining in as well. "You think I'm paying for it? My friend, this is a business expense. The tab falls on Kuze-san himself."
"Kuze's buying?" Akira asked with a smirk. "Really?"
"Anything we like, he's providing, as long as you had done your job correctly. And assuming Hibito is not deceased, then we will consider your job a success."
"He's far from dead," said Akira, lounging in the booth a little more. "Nursing a concussion, maybe, but it isn't near enough to kill him."
"Excellent. He was an idiot, but idiots like him are a dime a dozen. He didn't deserve to die for what he did. It's rather impressive that you were able to hold yourself back so much. I've heard some unsettling rumors about your incident." Akechi moved his arm from his hostess' shoulder to her hips.
"It was a hell of a lot more stressful than shaking down one cowering businessman. I guess you really don't have much faith in me."
"It's that I don't have faith in you, it's that I'm not quite sure of what kind of man you are." The waiter returned with a bucket of ice containing one of the most expensive bottles he had ever seen. The girls clapped their hands giddily as Akechi took the bottle and opened it with precision and deftness.
"Geez, how much did that thing cost?" Akira asked, flabbergasted.
"Who knows," Akechi smirked back at him. "I don't look at the prices anymore." Akechi filled an empty glass and handed it to Akira before repeating the process for the girls. They clinked their glasses together as if celebrating a promotion or birthday and began sipping on their drinks. To Akira, the taste was dry, strong, yet smooth and fruity.
He drank the whole glass in three minutes.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Akechi asked upon noticing Akira holding Aiko closer to him, his hand now firmly holding her hip.
"Are you blind?" Akira responded with a smirk. "You got good taste for drinks, man."
"I'm glad you appreciate it," Akechi smiled. "I was not sure if a young man of your age would have a pallet developed enough to enjoy it."
"What can I say?" Akira caught Aiko's gaze. "I like to try new things. I'm an adventurous guy."
Aiko covered her mouth daintily as she giggled. "Is that so, sir?"
"I'm not the lying type when it comes to this stuff." Aiko kissed him once again on the neck.
Akechi gave his hostess a smirk as he refilled her glass. "Are you enjoying yourself as well, Sukuyo?"
"Of course, I am!" she explained, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You've been wonderful tonight, Akechi-kun! It makes me so happy to host someone as courteous as you," she paced a dainty kiss on his cheek.
"Oh, it's my pleasure! I just try my best to be the best I can be," he smiled, though not in a cocky, self-satisfied way. To Akira, he appeared to be genuinely happy in the moment. This man was unlike any yakuza he had been introduced to thus far, save arguably for Ryuji. They way Akechi conducted himself was more like that of, for lack of a better description, a normal person. Had Akira not been privy to the context of his visit to Jewel, he may not have even suspected Akechi of being yakuza.
"So, Akechi," he spoke up, "how did you get into the Family? You said you were at university before that. How the hell did that lead to you being here?"
"Oh, it's quite the story," Akechi nodded, casually looking out to the jazz band as they began to play more energetically. "Though, I'm confident it's not quite as fascinating as your own. I'm not sure how it is you came to be involved with the Boss himself, but I have heard the rumors. And let me tell you, they run the gambit from you having strutted into Kamurocho and beat up a rival gang, to you getting kicked onto your ass out of a cab."
"I'm the one that asked the question, man."
Akechi chuckled to himself before taking another sip of his cordial. "Forgive me, I got carried away. I'm just very interested in your story, Kurusu-san. After all, I'm not the hero here."
"I wouldn't call myself a hero," Akira looked toward the band himself, reclining in his seat. "I just got caught in a bad situation and acted mostly on instinct."
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Akechi asked incredulously. "Because I'd wager you're short-selling yourself."
"Why do you say that?"
"I may not know all the details of what happened, but I am aware of this Kamoshida gentleman was." Akechi's friendly and kind tone turned more serious as he continued. "He was a cretin, monster, and vile beast; simply the worst kind of man. Were I or anyone else caught in such a detestable scenario, I believe the result would have been the same. I have, however, heard that you did not immediately open fire on him, or carve him into bloody chunks like some believe."
"That's true, except for the 'carving' part. I didn't kill him on sight. In fact, I talked to him."
Akechi, Aiko and Sukuya all gave him their full attention. "You did?" asked Akechi.
"I did," Akira nodded. It was then not beyond Akechi's perception when Akira's face twitched, his jaw clenched. "I talked to him for a few minutes," he continued. "I don't remember much of it clearly, but I know it was every bit as awful and degenerate as you can imagine. Then again, I don't need to remember much to remember that."
"I'm sure. As I said, I've no doubt that anyone in such a situation would have acted the same way. How do you feel about the outcome, Kurusu-san?"
"I'm still working on that," he replied curtly.
"I see," Akechi relented. "I meant no offense, I assure you."
"I know, it's alright. I don't care, really. It's just a touchy topic."
"Well, forgive me for spoiling the mood," said Akechi, bowing his head respectfully to Akira. "Is there anything I can order for you to make up for it?"
Akira stroked his chin for a moment. "Well, now that I think about it—"
Akira was interrupted by a loud metallic crashing noise, bringing the whole room to silence in the aftermath. Aiko and Sukuya clung to the gentlemen on reflex, with Akira and Akechi sitting up straight at attention.
"You don't got the right to deny my men and I service!" a man shouted from the floor below them. "You don't tell us what to fucking do, even if you're the goddamn owner!"
Akechi stood to his feet quickly. "Sounds like a scuffle is brewing," he said. "Come, Kurusu-san. Let us go."
"Don't gotta tell me twice," Akira replied, standing to his feet and following Akechi down the staircase.
"Just leave my guys and I alone!" the man continued, shouting into the face of a server. "If we wanna enjoy the girls, we're gonna enjoy the girls!"
"But, sir, we have a strict 'no touching' policy! I cannot allow—"
"You can and you will!" The tall, brutish aggressor in a fine suit pushed the server to the ground among a pile of broken drinking glasses and pitchers. Behind the brutish figure, two men dressed similarly laughed at the server while groping the curves of four young hostesses while they struggled against their grasp.
"This is bad," Akechi remarked as they came to the bottom of the staircase. "We must intervene, Kurusu-san."
"I thought that was the plan all along," Akira nodded with a confident smirk. He walked forward down the middle aisle among the booths with Akechi, dress shoes clicking along the floor. "Hey, jackass!" Akira called out. The brutish man turned around slowly to face the young adults approaching him, glaring murderously at him. "Didn't your moms tell you to be nice to people working in customer service? Their lives are sad enough as is."
"Oh yeah?" the man looked down his nose at Akira. "And didn't your mom tell you to not interrupt adults in their private business, kid?"
"She did, and she also told me to stand up for women getting taken advantage of by scumfucks like you. She's a real 'heroine of justice' type."
The brute chuckled deep in his throat. "You've got quite a mouth on you, kid. Children like you should learn your place, instead of strutting around like some damn peacock!"
"I peacocked your mom!" Akira shot back with a smirk. Akechi lowered his eyes his way. "What?"
Akechi clapped his hands together once, as if using magic to dispel the awkwardness now palpable in the air like fog. "Gentleman," he interjected, "I'm sure that this is the result of no more than some sort of misunderstanding. Now, sir, if you would be so kind as to apologize to the host here, I'm sure we will be able to continue our nights unabated."
"Not in this lifetime," said the man with a growl in his voice. "Your friend could use some education on when and how to speak to his elders!"
"Fine by me," Akechi replied quickly, to the surprise of everyone involved. "I wasn't planning on letting you morons off easy anyway." Akechi looked to the man's coat focusing on a blue pin in his lapel. "After all," his voice deepened, becoming more threatening, "you boys don't belong in this neighborhood."
"So that's how it is," the man nodded. "That'll just make it easier." He raised his fists and assumed a fighting stance. "To your feet, boys!"
"Fuck that," the fatter one remarked in an annoyed tone as he slid his hand under his hostess' neckline. "You can take a couple kids, boss! We'll just watch the show from here."
"Sounds good to me," said the tall, lanky one next to him in the booth. "Get these stupid kids, boss!"
"I'm afraid that's not how this works, gentlemen," said Akechi. "You all are to blame for this disturbance, so you all shall pay the price equally. Boys!" he called to the band. "Give us a tune fit to electrify this crowd!" While most of the band looked to each other with blank expressions, an elderly man holding an electric guitar began to play a fast and rising lick, his fingers tapping furiously on the neck of the guitar. "Ah, perfect!" Akechi exclaimed. He turned around to face the endlessly confused yet suddenly excited customers. He was illuminated in the golden light of the stage, giving off a confident aura even Akira found impressive. "Ladies and gentlemen," Akechi called out, "it's SHOWTIME!" Akechi gallantly held his hands up into the air as the entire band came in, their swinging rock anthem building in intensity as if this whole ordeal was rehearsed.
The leader looked around in abject shock and awe at what was happening. Snapping back to reality, the man tried to punch Akechi in the jaw, but the young yakuza with little visible effort. In a flash, he was behind the man, and responded with a haymaker to the back of the head, dazing the brute. "Kurusu-san! To me!" Akechi called out to Akira. Akira rushed to Akechi's side, but not before kicking their adversary to the ground, his face landing in the puddle of ice and wine.
The brute's two goons were laughing at their boss's incompetence, cheering him on to get back to his feet, until Akira and Akechi stood over them. They both smirked confidently down at the older men, with Akira even cracking his knuckles. "Did I not say you don't get to sit on the sidelines for this one?" Akechi asked. "To your feet, gentlemen!"
Akechi swiftly reached and grabbed the fat man by the collar, allowing Akira to pick up on his intentions. He did the same with the taller man, pulling him away from the hostess. The two boys then spun the men around and hurled them into each other. Once they were dazed and confused, Akira and Akechi brought back their arms with mighty cries, and punched both men in the side of the head, knocking their skulls together. They both spat out saliva before collapsing to the ground, holding their heads in their hands. The crowd cheered them extravagantly, with many men raising their glasses in toast, or hostesses standing to their feet and clapping for the yakuza.
"Excellent work, Kurusu-san!" Akechi nodded to him with a smirk.
"Hell yeah! You too, man! Now let's finish up taking out the trash!" he turned to the leader who was standing to his feet shakily.
"Is that all you got?" he wheezed out.
"No," said Akira. "This is." The leader rushed at him as best he could, which by now was no more than a fast hobble. Akira spun around him, putting him between Akechi and himself. Before the man could turn to retaliate, Akechi and Akira simultaneously let loose high kicks that struck him on either side of his head. Unlike his cohorts, the man remained on his feet, but only barely. Akira pulled his shoulder so he was now facing him and unleashed two powerful punched directly into his nose. He shouted "HIIYAH!" and headbutted him in his temple, and he fell to the ground flat on his back as his nose poured blood down his face.
Akira rubbed his forehead and shook the dizziness from his senses. The customers erupted into cheers as the band finished their accompaniment before applauding in turn. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Akechi was at this side. He slapped Akira on the back with a smile. "Fantastic performance, Kurusu-san!" he said enthusiastically. "That was perfect!"
"Thanks," Akira nodded, smirking at him. "Though I only did half the work."
"Power and modesty. How marvelous." Akechi waved to the crowd as they continued to praise them. He provided two showy bows and the intermittent point and wave at specific hostesses. Akira followed suit, basking in the excitement of the crowd. "Hey, what are we gonna do about the perps?" he asked Akechi, who continued to play to the crowd's enjoyment. "Wanna call the police? Or Iwai?"
"No such measures will be needed, my friend," said Akechi. "I have a far more agreeable solution." He walked over to the leader, who was still nursing his wounds. Akechi picked him up off the ground and presented him to the crowd. "You have done not but disturb these good people's nights," he proclaimed proudly. "For this, I believe you it would be most appropriate for you to make it up to these fine ladies and gentlemen. Do you agree!?" he called out to the crowd. They cheered in affirmation. "The it's settled. Gentlemen," he addressed the thugs, "the tabs of every man and woman present for your brutish spectacle shall fall on you three, and you alone. For everything they have purchased thus far," he then turned back to the crowd, "and everything they will indulge in for the rest of the night!"
As the thugs looked to Akechi with empty fury and emasculating shame, the crowd erupted into greater applause then ever before. Many businessmen threw money into the air, to the further excitement of their hostesses. The whole club was now raucous with men and women shouting new orders and servers trying their best not to lose their minds while keeping up with said orders.
At least the earnings increased fourfold for the night.
"Kurusu-san," Akechi put his arm around Akira's shoulder as security escorted the thugs behind the building, "may I have a word in private?"
"Am I in trouble or something?" Akira joshed him.
Akechi chuckled lightly to himself as he led Akira away from the stage. "Far from it. Please, follow me."
As a truly magnanimous party roared to life throughout the club, Akechi led Akira to the front entrance and out into the night air. People were taking notice of the loud cheering and peeking through the windows along the sidewalk. A line was beginning to form outside the entrance as gossip about some sort of "happy hour" began to circulate.
"What are we doing out here?" Akira asked. "You already partied out, Akechi?"
"It's not quite my style to engage in some uproarious parties, but that's not why we're out here." Akechi pulled out a cigarette and lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. "Everything was growing too loud for such a conversation."
"You gonna stop beating around the bush anytime soon, man?" Akira pulled out his own cigarette and was about to light it when Akechi offered to light it for him. After he felt the calm begin to set in, Akechi continued.
"Pardon my coy approach. I am simply making sure we are not being eavesdropped on."
"Are we?"
"Not to my knowledge, and I am a very perceptive individual." He took another puff of his cigarette. "It is for that reason that I was able to notice your twitching when discussing Kamoshida."
Akira maintained a plain visage. "Your point being?"
"This may be presumptuous of me to ask, but would you perhaps consider yourself to be, say, scarred by the experience?"
Akira removed the cigarette from his mouth, looking back to Akechi. "Why do you ask?"
"People claim you are some sort of great hero, facing down the darkness of the underworld with stride and fury. However, you are adverse to discussing your tales of glory, and it seems to even bring about a physical response. Would I be correct in guessing that it is some sort of flashback?"
Akira looked out into the street, his gaze slightly lowered. "You got all that from a twitch?"
"Your eye twitched, your voice caught, if only slightly. In addition, you are obviously a young man, and a new yakuza at that. Your mental fortitude is likely more vulnerable than others in your family."
Akira looked as if Akechi had told him the sky was green. "Are you fucking done?"
Akechi raised his hands in surrender. "Yes, sir, I am."
"What are you, some kind of detective?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. I was something of a prodigy in my hometown of Shibuya. I even collaborated with the police while I was only a high school student," he smiled pleasantly.
Akira's glare somehow appeared even less impressed. "Are you sure that's just a cigarette, man?"
"Quite sure. I'm telling the truth, I assure you. I doubt that someone not so versed in investigative practices would be able to come to such deductions so quickly."
"I completely agree," Akira lied while taking another puff of his cigarette.
"So you admit I'm correct then?"
Akira sighed. "Yeah, you're mostly right. Truth is, the whole Kamoshida business was some serious shit. I'd only been with Boss for a few days when I got caught up in that whole mess. Everything started out fucked and only got worse. And now I guess I'm messed up in the head," he shrugged nonchalantly. "Thank god my dad is a counselor."
"He is?"
"Yeah. He's been practicing since before I was born. He taught me some ways to deal with this kind of stuff."
"And do those coping mechanisms include cigarettes?"
Akira looked down at the cigarette he held in his hand. "No," he admitted slowly, "it didn't."
"I see," Akechi nodded. He tossed his cigarette aside and took in the sight of the rapidly increasing line leading into Jewel. "Seems like the party is only getting started," he remarked. "I'd suggest taking in the festivities while you can, Kurusu-san. I need to get going to deliver the money, though. Don't stop your rabblerousing on my account," he gave Akira a smile.
"Thanks, but I think I'm gonna get going too."
"Are you sure? Have I spoiled your mood? Was Aiko not to your liking?"
"No, that's not it," Akira shook his head, casting his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk. "I've just had a long day and I'm not in a partying mood."
"Suit yourself," Akechi shrugged. "However, let me shower you in praise one more time. You fought with skill and tenacity to protect those in need. Whoever trained you must be a great fighter."
"You got that right," Akira muttered.
"I must say, you are an incredibly interesting person, Kurusu-san," Akechi gave him another friendly grin. "I do hope our paths cross again soon, though perhaps under better circumstances."
"Thanks," Akira smirked at him. "You fight well too. I was surprised how in sync we were."
Akechi nodded. "My thoughts exactly." He then turned on his heel, facing away from the younger yakuza. "Don't get into too much trouble now," he said back to Akira. "Even the Familymen would be despondent if their hero were to meet an unjust fate."
"Yeah, take care of yourself, Akechi," said Akira with a wave. "See ya around."
Akechi waved without turning to face him and walked off down the street with some swagger.
Akira was now alone on the sidewalk, looking up and down the street as people flocked to Jewel to partake in the raucous partying. As he thought on his conversation with this Akechi individual, his mind found its way back to Kamoshida. He saw that bloody smile once again, and he got migraine for a split second, causing him to curl his face. This must have been the sixteenth time that day, he guessed.
Trying to keep his mind occupied, he started on down the sidewalk toward the hotel he called home. LeBlanc was about a five minute brisk walk from Jewel, but he took his leave slowly. He smelled the many foods on offer from the various restaurants he passed, watched men flirt with their girlfriends, or hookers, or whatever they happened to be, let his eyes wander as he passed an adult magazine stand. This was his normal evening routine by now.
And he hated it. He hated that he was now growing accustomed to it.
He caught his reflection in a convenience store window shortly before reaching LeBlanc. He appeared angry, ready to fight at a moment's notice. Was this truly him? Was the man staring back at him really Akira Kurusu? A part of him hoped not. He was angry at the notion that it may truly be himself staring back at him. It only made him appear more dangerous; a notion made evident by the people passing him doing their best to avoid his gaze.
What's happened to me? Why am I still here? What is happening to me?
Mom, why did this happen to me? Why did you let this happen? Why am I taking the fall? I don't want to be here, I don't! I don't want to be here anymore, not another second…
Right…?
