Disclaimer: Check the first page. It's there somewhere. In a nutshell: not mine.
Without Words
Chapter 6- The Price of a Lie
Seta Soujirou thought he knew Shinomori Aoshi. As he followed the black Subaru from the nondescript suburban house, he recalled how the scientist's activities in Kyoto had been fairly normal, even unsuspicious – except of course, for that little drag race they had two nights ago. Still, after five days of trailing the man, he was willing to admit that Aoshi posed no threat to the Juppongatana.
He was wrong.
As Aoshi turned from one familiar street to another, Soujirou realized that his quarry wasn't going straight to his apartment as he had anticipated.
Aoshi was headed straight for Shishio's home.
He had his mobile phone out in a second. He should have known better.
***
Aoshi wiped the blood from his lip, wondering if he should have called for an appointment before showing up unannounced. Shishio wasn't making life easy for him.
He looked at the bodies sprawled across Shishio's wide lawn. He had managed to knock three out of consciousness, but had only ended up breaking the fourth one's arm. It had been a long time since he'd gotten involved in a full-out brawl like this. Aoshi checked his watch to see how long it took him to dispose of this motley crew. Nearly two minutes. Damn, he thought. He was getting old.
Then he straightened. "Soujirou."
The younger man materialized in his path, smiling broadly under the bright afternoon sun. Aoshi could just imagine what this kid would be like on decaf. "Your kodachis, Professor," he said, holding out his right hand.
Aoshi contemplated giving up his weapons. Guileless as he seemed, Soujirou was the most formidable fighter in the Juppongatana, outside of Shishio himself. Aoshi had already left the group when Soujirou began making his mark, so he never had the privilege of battling the innocent looking youth. He sensed that he could count on Soujrou's word. "I'm not going to use it. I'm here on business," Aoshi said instead.
Soujirou's smile grew wider. "But isn't killing our business?"
Aoshi nodded thoughtfully then extracted the kodachis sheathed underneath his trenchcoat.
"Let's go then," Soujirou said as he took the short swords. "He's expecting you."
Aoshi let himself be led through Shishio's opulent home. Not much had changed since the last time he had been here. His eyes took in the landscaped gardens, the expensive paintings, the rare Oriental vases. Shishio worked hard to keep up appearances.
"I must say, Professor Shinomori," Soujirou began, "it took you quite a while to get here. After all, you've been in Kyoto for four days."
"I didn't know you were all anxious for me to return," Aoshi replied sarcastically.
"Someone who leaves the Juppongatana at the height of his infamy then returns more than a decade after isn't dropping by for a cup of green tea. You've had us betting when you'd make your move," Soujirou continued.
Aoshi gave a nonchalant shrug. "Believe me, this isn't making my move." Not in the way you think, he finished in his mind. He paused. "And I'd appreciate it if we kept things strictly professional around here."
"If you're talking about the reporter from Tokyo, you can take it up with Shishio. I just follow instructions. But you have to admit, Professor, those are the hazards of the job."
"She's not involved, Soujirou. Keep her out of this," Aoshi warned. It took him a supreme effort to keep the growl from his voice. He didn't know how protective he was of Misao. Maybe when you ran someone over, it was only logical that you would want to spare her from the rest of the world's harms.
Soujirou stopped and looked back at Aoshi with a smile. "She's with you, Professor. That means she's involved." He gestured towards a closed door. "He's waiting."
Aoshi steeled himself and walked inside.
"Shinomori."
The raspy voice was unmistakable. Aoshi stared straight into Shishio Makoto's eyes. The leader of the Juppongatana was lounging in an executive chair, a pipe held tightly in his right hand, as if he didn't have a care in the world. But Aoshi knew that underneath the casual manner was a deadly foe, a fiery killer. The bandages that wrapped Shishio's body were testament to the many battles the man had fought and won. As far as Aoshi could remember, the older man had always worn those bandages. According to Yumi, he was burned during a military ambush and that it was a miracle that he was still alive after that. It took much more than a little heat to kill someone as lethal as Shishio. But after that, he was a changed man. The accident had altered something in him physically, allowing him to utilize fire in his battles – but at great risk to his health.
"How's my research, Shinomori?" Shishio demanded. "I trust you haven't forgotten our little arrangement. It's funny how the distance can sometimes cloud the mind."
"I haven't forgotten," Aoshi replied. "I find you a way to contain your ability, you cut all ties with me."
"Simply put, you do what I want and I don't ruin your career. Let me remind you that you're more concerned with your reputation than I am, Shinomori," Shishio sneered. "So, what brings you to Kyoto? Come to give me my results?"
Aoshi shook his head. "I'll give you all the information I have, Shishio. My research on mitochondrial biogenesis is the furthest that anyone has gone in the field. But it all ends here."
"What do you mean? Our agreement was for a cure," Shishio reminded him with narrowed eyes, leaping from his chair. "Not for incomplete information."
"The results aren't ready," Aoshi replied. "Not this year, not the next one, or the one after that. It will take years before I can use my research to find a cure for your condition. And I can't spend the rest of my life being your lapdog."
"I thought I made myself clear. I let you walk out of the Juppongatana alive. Hell, I even let you take your useless sidekick Hannya with you. All you had to give me in return is a way to keep my body alive, to keep this curse from weakening me. You'd think that with all those years, you'd have come up with something by now."
Aoshi stood his ground. "Genetics isn't a game. You can't bend it to your will just as you do everything else. You'll get all the results I have. But I'm through working for you, Shishio. One way or the other, it ends today."
"Without me, your department, your research grant will lose their funding," Shishio said. "Is that what you want? Do you want to be rid of me and your past so much that you'll risk your future?"
"I refuse to live in your shadow anymore."
There it was. Aoshi had said it. He wanted to do this the right way, as straightforward as he could. His conscience demanded it. But if Shishio came after him this time, then he was free to fight back, because there was nothing that bound him to the Juppongatana. After twelve years, he was finally free.
"If you're lying to me, Shinomori, if I find out that you're keeping something," Shishio threatened, "there will be hell to pay."
The full impact of Shishio's words hit Aoshi. He was letting him go.
Aoshi turned around and walked away. Was it going to be this easy? He could feel Shishio's eyes blazing through his back. As he closed the door behind him, he realized that while he was through with Shishio, Shishio wasn't through with him just yet.
***
"Okay, so tell me you spent the night with a hot guy," Niitsu Omasu nearly screeched when she found Misao setting the dining table for dinner.
Misao grinned mischievously. "I spent the night with a hot guy."
"You're a fast worker, girl," her new friend said admiringly. "I've lived in Kyoto all my life and I still haven't found a good catch. You've been here, what… a day? Two? Where'd you pick him up?"
"Actually, he picked me up," Misao corrected with a laugh, launching into the events of the past twenty-four hours. Omasu was shocked to hear that Misao had been in a hospital all this time, but she marveled at how the younger girl took everything in stride.
"Are you sure you're okay? Do you want to call your grandfather?" Omasu asked.
Misao handed Omasu a bowl of katsudon. "He wasn't exactly supportive of my coming here to Kyoto. But I'm okay now, so there's really no need to worry him, right? I'm perfectly healthy."
Omasu dug into the katsudon. "So don't you think it's fate? Meeting Aoshi here, I mean?"
"Maybe. I don't know. I came here looking for something else, after all." Misao leaned into her chair, frowning slightly. "Which I would have been working on if I didn't get so sidetracked."
Omasu smiled. "Got a headstart on you then." She got up from the table and rifled through her backpack. "Makimachi Ichiro. More popularly known by his pseudonym Hideki Ichitaka. Editor of the Oni Times Kyoto edition, from 1974 until his death in 1981." She handed Misao a thick brown folder and two diskettes. "I have everything there – well, at least, everything that's not classified."
"Thanks, Omasu," Misao acknowledged as she thumbed through the folder with slightly trembling fingers. In all her life, she had never been closer to her father than she was now. The folder contained articles and editorials, even a few photos and personal information. She took out a passport-size picture of a man in his early thirties, clear blue eyes smiling at the camera. The date on the back said it was taken in 1978. What was his life like then? Was he married? Was he happy? Misao felt the faint pricking of hot tears, but she brushed them away with an impatient hand.
"I even photocopied some articles on his murder," Omasu finished quietly, sensing that this was a painful moment for Misao.
Misao flipped to the back of the folder. She skimmed the papers with the trained eye of a professional. The details were all the same: The body was found with two gunshot wounds to the head. No witnesses. No suspects. No motive for killing. Police had declared that Makimachi was likely caught in the crossfire of a gang war. The case was closed.
Misao focused on the officer in charge of the case. His name was Sadojima Hoji.
Tomorrow, she would find her answers. But that night, she would learn what questions to ask.
***
Like most floods it started in a trickle, until it swelled to the size of a sea against the unsuspecting sand. Misao worked like a woman possessed, riding the waves of emotion that surfaced as she poured over the memories her father had left behind. In her mind, she saw a young passionate journalist coming to life as she pieced him together. At twenty-three, he had been a correspondent to the Korean War, where he had earned the respect and admiration of his colleagues, among them an older photojournalist named Kashiwazaki Nenji, but whom Misao knew as her grandfather. At twenty-eight, he became the youngest editor in the history of the Oni Times. At thirty-three, he married his childhood sweetheart, a well-bred woman who died giving birth to a healthy girl.
And at thirty-five, he was found dead in a Kyoto alley.
In the quiet of the night, Misao felt herself orphaned a second time. She cried for the man she had found and lost in the space of one evening. Maybe Okina was right. It was useless to pursue her father's killer, when everything had happened so long ago. Maybe she should just go back to Tokyo now, and live her quiet life. She had found what she came here for – a key to her past, a face to the name that she carried.
But Kyoto was a maze of endless mystery, of question upon question.
Misao was a journalist; she knew the power of even the simplest word. There was a secret here that waited for her, and she wasn't about to walk away from it just yet.
***
She woke up early to the sound of the doorbell. Misao checked her watch. 7:00. She figured Omasu was still asleep. Journalists kept all kinds of late hours.
She stretched a little before hurrying out her room. She was a guest here, so she might as well do Omasu a favor by letting her sleep in. "Coming," she called out.
Misao opened the door the tiniest crack. A young man her age was standing by the gate, smiling broadly at her that she couldn't help but smile back. "Yes?" she asked tentatively.
"Ohayou," the man greeted. "I just moved in next door, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the neighborhood."
Misao opened the door wider. His smile had won her over, sweet and charming as it was after a night like the one before. "Is that all?"
"You don't mind, do you?" he asked politely. "By the way, I'm Seta Soujirou."
End of Chapter 6-The Price of a Lie
Author's Notes: I said weekly, and here it is :) I can't recall if Misao's dad was given a name in the manga, so you'll have to forgive my little fabrications here and there. This was a serious chapter, a heavy one to write. Both Aoshi's and Misao's parts were very anger-driven. Think you can stick around for next week? I've got something lighter in store for you.
This chapter was brought to you by the letter F – for finally.
