That weird-looking guy walks in again. The young man with the shaggy, black mullet and the pointy nose.
She knows he's bad news. He glances at the security cameras too often for comfort. He wouldn't do that if he weren't up to something fishy.
As usual, he buys cigarettes, beer and a bag of chips. After he leaves, she notices that he pocketed a pack of gum. Maybe. Probably. She's not one hundred per cent sure, but she can check.
Yup, there it is. He made sure to turn his back to one of the security cameras, but he completely missed the one at the end of the corridor. It's all caught on tape.
It was just a pack of gum. It's not worth calling the police for something like that. She can let it slide, but... That idiot. He probably thinks he was real slick and smooth about it, but he's not as clever as he thinks he is. One of these days, he's gonna get himself into some serious trouble.
.
Endō knows the trick. He's done it a million times before, and it always works. The arranged phonecall, the pretend urgency, the fake failure... All those desperate guys are so easy to manipulate. This kid is no different.
.
They bring in another loser: a skinny kid with a mullet. He walks in without much fuss, keeping his blindfold on like a chump. He still hasn't realized that he's in deep shit. He's too slow for a place like this; he was never gonna make it.
The kid hears the hiss of the fire and that's when he finally realizes something is wrong. The others pin him down before he can even grasp what's happening. He blurts out something like 'what' and 'let me go' and 'what' again. Yes, definitely too slow.
The branding iron is ready and sizzling the air around it. Number 21. Hm. Who knows; maybe it'll be the kid's lucky number.
Alright. The quicker it's over the better.
He crouches next to Loser No. 21 and presses the red-hot end of the branding iron right on his skinny bicep. There's so little meat on him he has to be careful not to burn him all the way to the bone.
There's screaming. Of course. It's tiresome, really. The smell is as foul as ever, and there's this short, nauseating moment when the skin clings on to the iron before he rips it away.
More crying, whimpering, yeah, yeah. We're done here.
They drag this useless excuse of a person to the other room, and he hasn't even fully grasped what's happened before they throw him in the darkness and close the door behind him.
Yeah, very sad, poor him. He never stood a chance, anyway.
.
Ah yes, Itō Kaiji. The guy who borrowed the ten million. For a while there, it looked like he knew what he was doing, but he's just a kid in over his head. Heh, whatever. Okabayashi can have a few good laughs.
He calls that Kaiji guy over. The burn is an ugly, oozing shape on his arm—probably a sickening shade of red, although it's impossible to tell in the dark. He sits next to him and talks to that No. 6 guy, Ishida.
Okabayashi grins. What a bunch of idiots.
.
There's a commotion, and yelling, and all of a sudden the guy with the number 21 is rolling on the floor and beating the shit out of guy No. 5; he even punches one of the black suits, and there's blood spattering the floor, and—
Can't he tell that it's useless? They are all desperate, but this is just—
.
There's blood dripping from Kaiji's nose. Into his mouth. Down his chin. Hitting the floor. Pooling under him.
He ignores it. He ignores it and looks at the other side of the glass. He looks like he's about to laugh.
.
Ishida can barely see through his tears.
If only he had kept his eyes open. If only he hadn't given up. If only—
And now his son and his wife are gonna—
He touches the glass wall and tries to breathe past his sobs. A coward, that's all he ever was. A good for nothing. And now his family is going to suffer in his stead.
He had the chance to turn it all around. It was right in front of his eyes, but—
It's over now. It's all over.
He looks up, just to see the light one more time, to catch a glimpse of the real world, with all its chances and possibilities behind this glass. Through his tears, he sees the scraggly kid with the mullet – Kaiji, bruised and still bleeding – pointing towards him.
.
That weird young man with the mullet is back. The cashier watches him from the register, as discreetly as she can. She watches him go through the usual movements: he picks a can of beer, a pack of cigarettes, a bag of chips.
He looks different than usual, somehow. More tired. His shoulders are hunched.
He looks hunted. Something about his eyes, and the way his head whips towards the entrance every time the bell sounds. He grits his teeth way more than he used to.
Hunted, yes. It's nothing she hasn't seen before. He's probably running from a rival gang. Or a loan shark. Or simply the police.
She watches him more closely now, just in case he's here to pocket stuff again. This time she'll catch him in the act, if needed.
Maybe she should deny him entrance altogether, just to be safe. But if she refused to serve all the shady-looking guys that walk in there, she would lose more than half of her customers. She might as well shut down the store and get done with it.
No, she can't do that. But she'll keep a close eye on him.
He brings his purchases to the register and takes a long time counting his change, gritting his teeth even harder. He puts the bag of chips back, but pays for the beer and the cigarettes.
He checks the crowd on the sidewalk twice before walking out of the store.
.
Kaiji is really not the best co-worker. Never does any small talk, for one. He sits alone during smoke breaks. Doesn't even laugh at the manager's jokes. Who acts like that?
And then there's that other thing. He's nervous and jumpy, always looking like he's ready to run. No wonder the manager doesn't like him. It's suspicious behavior, to say the least. But the weirdest thing about him...
The burn mark on his arm. It's barely visible under the uniform's sleeve, but Sahara has caught a glimpse of it a few times. It's a number. 21.
That's a very odd-shaped burn for someone to have. It almost looks like... A brand. But who the hell brands people with numbers? Kaiji has either gotten in with the wrong crowd, or he's into some very weird fetishes. Either way, that burn mark was deliberate.
Well. That guy's definitely a mystery. And Sahara loves mysteries—especially if he can use them to his advantage.
.
Ishida looks at Kaiji's back. Watches the distance between them grow, step by tiny step.
Yes, that's it, he thinks. Keep going, Kaiji. Keep going for both of us.
The distance between them grows, and that's the important thing. Ishida looks at Kaiji's back. He doesn't leave it from his sight. He doesn't even blink.
He sees Kaiji's back. He sees Kaiji's feet. The underside of his clenched jaw. They slip away rapidly. The lights of the bridge become tiny, like stars. The wind is noisy.
He looks at Kaiji's back. He looks at Kaiji's back. He looks—
.
Kaiji went through the gilded doors a while ago. Since then, there's been silence. There's no sound in the corridor except the pained moans of the men with the broken legs and and the shattered ribs.
Behind the door, someone laughs. Then the screaming begins.
.
There's a cry coming from the bathroom, and then the sound of glass smashing. More cries. Someone shouts Kaiji's name.
And then there's a scream of pain.
It's – wrong. Has Kaiji lost it? Has he—?
When the bathroom door opens, Kaiji walks out, somehow still standing after all the terrible screaming and the—
His face is bleeding. There's a bleeding gash along his cheek, and he's holding a towel against the side of his face, and—
There's so much blood. The towel is already dripping with it, his hair is all drenched, half his shirt is soaked through, and yet Kaiji is somehow, impossibly, standing. His eyes are two pits of fire.
He's not looking at any of them. He's looking straight ahead, at the gilded doors, and no one dares say anything, no one dares breathe. Kaiji's presence is burning up the air around him.
Kaiji grits his teeth and takes a step towards the doors of the playroom.
.
That scraggly kid is grinning like he's gone mad, despite the blood that drips into his mouth, despite the pain that has him doubled over, and he's looking at Tonegawa. Taunting. Taunting him.
He dares look at Tonegawa and mock him. That pathetic nobody, that stinking piece of human trash, that unwashed dog, he dares grin, he dares laugh. The towel he's holding is dripping with blood.
How? How did he win? Did he get lucky? How could he—?
No. Luck does not exist in this room. And Kaiji knows it. He's looking at Tonegawa as if he's waiting for something. His eyes say, Haven't you realized yet?
The towel. The towel is soaked through with blood.
Tonegawa grabs Kaiji's arm, pulls it away from the side of his head, and—
Kaiji's grinning as if he he just spit at Death's face.
.
The young man is exceptionally entertaining.
Kazutaka would love to touch that gash. Or even better, touch the hole on the side of his face. Feel just how warm the blood is. He'd love to stick his finger in and dig, watch the blood ooze out and drip, drip, drip. He could put his tongue on it and lap at it, like drinking nectar from the fountain of youth.
He hasn't had this much fun in years.
.
No one dares look. No one dares look. Not even the man who is holding the handle of the blade.
The only one looking, eyes wide and unblinking as if he doesn't want to miss a second of it, is that devil, the laughing old man. And—
Kaiji. Kaiji's eyes are fixed on his hand. He moves his fingers. Once. Twice. He doesn't take his eyes off of them.
The man gripping the handle of the blade clenches his jaw. Everyone else looks away.
.
The weird kid is back. There's—
The side of his head is bandaged, right over his left ear, and there's a cut across his cheek. It looks relatively fresh, as if it scabbed over a mere day or two ago. His jacket is wrapped around his shoulders, half-hiding the sling around his neck and his bandaged left hand.
He doesn't look around him or behind his back anymore. He doesn't even look at the cashier. Doesn't try to watch out for the security cameras. He shuffles his feet to the cigarette stand, then to the fridge. He only uses his right hand to open it and reach for a can of beer, somehow managing to fit both beer and packet of cigarettes in one hand.
He approaches the register and drops the two items. She tells him the sum but she's not sure he's heard her. Doesn't even look up. He looks at nothing. It seems like he's searching for cash, but his gaze is somewhere far away.
He stops, as if he's forgotten what he's supposed to be doing, then blinks and hands her the cash.
Poor guy looks so out of it. Like he's in shock or something. She almost feels sorry for him.
"Did you have an accident?" she asks.
It takes him a couple of seconds, but his eyes focus on her. The cut on his cheek looks worse from this close. It looks too deep; it's gonna leave a scar.
The guy does not respond. He looks like he's not sure what she's talking about, so she gestures towards his bandages. For the first time since he walked in, there's a spark of something in his eyes. His expression hardens, and he reaches for his cigarettes and beer without a word.
The can slips from his fingers and rolls away on the floor. When he tries to reach it, he drops the packet of cigarettes, too. "Dammit..." he whispers. He struggles to pick up both with one hand. "Dammit..."
She never liked him, and he's caused trouble more than once, but watching him makes something in her chest ache. She reaches for a plastic bag. "Let me help," she says. She picks the stuff off the floor and puts them in the bag. She adds a pack of chips too, because hell, he looks even skinnier than usual.
"Here," she says and gives him the bag. "Get well soon."
.
Kaiji sees Ishida falling, sometimes. That's how he knows he's dreaming.
He sees Ishida falling in many different ways. Sometimes he hits the beam, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he screams for Kaiji. Sometimes Kaiji sees Ishida's body on the street, broken, like the guys' that fell from the first bridge, but a million times worse.
He sees Ishida falling again and again, and that's how he knows he's dreaming.
"It's a dream," he tells himself. "The real me is still asleep."
.
"My real life hasn't started yet."
.
"Endō!" Kaiji grins.
What the fuck? The kid looks excited to see him. And—
Unbelievable. He asks for more money. Will he never learn?
The gash on his cheek has healed, but it has left a nasty-looking scar. He'll probably carry it for life. For the next of his miserable, short life.
Oh, well. Have fun in the underground, Mr Itō Kaiji.
.
Kaiji is one of the lonesome ones. Distant. The odd one out.
Miyoshi feels he's kinda like that, too, but in a different way. Miyoshi is... Shy. Or maybe just a coward. Kaiji is...
Kaiji is the underground's biggest mystery and craziest rumor. All the things people say about him... Half of them have got to be lies. They have to.
There's a scar on his cheek he doesn't talk about. Sometimes, when he brushes his hair back, scar tissue can be seen around his ear too, all around its base, like a circle. Looking at it makes Miyoshi's skin crawl.
People say all sorts of stuff about it. Some say Kaiji lost his ear in a gang fight. Some say loan sharks cut it off, to settle a debt. But most of them say Kaiji did it himself.
Some say they know people on the outside, people who witnessed the whole thing. And they say Kaiji cut it off himself with a shard of glass. Or a piece of broken mirror. They say he did it to win a game, or a bet, or to cheat – or maybe the other side was cheating? The details are all mixed up. But most agree Kaiji cut it off himself.
They also say he beat one of Teiai's highest ranking executives.
But it's all hearsay. 'I know someone who knows someone who says...' No one knows what's really true, and Kaiji doesn't talk about it.
Some say it's all lies. That Kaiji lost his ear in an accident, and that he tried to built a cool rumor around it, but Miyoshi does not believe that. Kaiji is not that kind of guy. If he were, he'd brag a lot more about it.
Some of the stories has to be true. Something must have happened.
Besides, some say they cut off his fingers, too. They say that's why Kaiji never takes his gloves off, not even when he sleeps.
.
A couple of people notice, in the showers. No one looks too closely, cause it's rude and weird, and come on, you don't want to be stamped as that kind of guy, but eventually a few do notice, and rumors spread again like wildfire.
"It's true, they cut off his fingers, I saw the scars."
"They cut them off at the base."
"You can see, when he takes off those gloves. It's impossible to miss."
"All four of them."
.
The scar on Kaiji's cheek crumples and distorts as he grins, grins, madly, feral.
Kurosaki can see it now. He can see how that kid beat Tonegawa. All of his opponents make the same mistake: they underestimate him. That stray, for all his snarling and crying, can actually counter-attack. Corner him enough, and his teeth will come out.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
.
There's a young man standing in the middle of the park, looking up at the sky and smiling like a child. His skin has a weird hue to it, as if he hasn't seen the sun in months. Probably a bum who's spent too much time indoors, squabbling away, drinking and watching mindless TV.
What a weirdo. He's wearing gloves in the middle of a heat-wave. Has he fried his brain so much that he doesn't even know what time of the year it's supposed to be?
More people are watching him and whispering. He pays them no mind. He just opens his arms, as if trying to hug the sun.
He's probably crazy. Or a junkie, high out of his mind. Either way, he's just another worthless loser.
Tsk. How sad.
.
"Hey, it's you!" the cashier says.
It's definitely him. She remembers that ridiculous mane of black hair, and that scar. It's him, but paler and skinnier and looking older, somehow. She hasn't seen him in months; she's been wondering what the hell happened to him.
He smiles back, for the first time ever. Then he goes through his regular motions. He goes to the cigarette stand, then to the fridge to take a can of beer. Grabs a bag of chips, too, a chocolate bar and a bag of peanuts. He brings them to the register and actually pays for all of it with cash.
She looks at his hand; she remembers he'd had to bandage it, once. He is wearing gloves now: a pair of white gloves that look like they've been through a lot.
.
That idiot is carrying a paper folder with tens of thousands of yen. It's like he's begging to be mugged.
Gathering the boys and hiding in the alley is quick and easy. Then the guy with the stupid mullet approaches, the paper folder peeking out of his pocket. At this point, he's asking for it.
They show themselves and say the usual stuff. If he's clever, he'll give it up without a fight.
The guy laughs. He takes off his left glove. He spreads out his fingers and— Something's terribly wrong. Scarring like that does not come from cuts and scratches.
...Chopped... Off?
He can't mean it. Who would—?
He talks with no hint of fear. It's the voice of a man who's been through hell enough times to grow bored of it. And, just like that, they know it's useless. He won't give up the money easily. Men like that... They have more to win than to lose. Trying to scare them is like bluffing a monkey.
It's not worth it. They don't want trouble. They just want the money. And is it worth it getting your fingers chopped off for some money?
No. Not at all.
.
Sakazaki can see it on his face. That guy... Even though he's just a kid – twenty-two, twenty-three years old, max – he has that air about him. The disillusionment. The restlessness. His gaze has an edge to it, like it can pierce right to the dirty core of things.
And he looks deeply, deeply unsatisfied. Like nothing is enough. Like he'd do anything to touch the heavens. Anything.
Speaking of.
"You can't have possibly lost your fingers while gambling?" Sakazaki asks.
The kid looks away. Which can only mean one thing: Sakazaki is right.
Yes, he's exactly the one he's been looking for.
.
This Kaiji lad doesn't smile much. Nor is he a great chatter. He spends a lot of time alone, looking at nothing.
Sakazaki does not ask anything about him: not where he comes from, nor where he got all those scars. A man's story is nobody else's business. If the lad wants to share, Sakazaki will happily listen, but... Kaiji does not seem the sort of guy to open up to others.
Which is alright. Probably means Sakazaki's secrets are safe, too.
Kaiji doesn't complain about much, either. He cringes away from the cockroaches and makes sure that his futon doesn't touch Sakazaki's, but he does not complain about the mess or the lack of privacy. When Sakazaki asks, Kaiji simply shrugs and says he's used to worse.
.
Sometimes, Kaiji dreams he's falling along with Ishida.
.
Kaiji wakes up at nights. A lot. He jolts awake every few hours or so, panting, sometimes kicking Sakazaki or knocking over a few empty cans of beer. Sakazaki doesn't mention anything, because he doesn't want to make the kid feel embarrassed about it. They've all been through stuff; he can show a little sympathy.
To spare them both the awkwardness, Sakazaki just pretends he's still sleeping, faking extra loud snores until Kaiji's gasps die down. The lad is sharp, so he must see right through this pretense, but he never says anything, either. He just gets off his futon as soundlessly as he can and pads to the window to light a cigarette.
Most of the times Sakazaki goes right back to sleep, but sometimes he stays awake, too, listening to the sizzling from Kaiji's cigarette and thinking about what lies ahead.
.
The old man has reached the plates, and everybody is running towards the Bog, right where the action is.
It's pandemonium. They haven't seen this much excitement in months. They are all shouting and cheering the old man on, and the old man is shouting too, and the silver balls keep reaching the plates.
There's a young guy in crowd; a man with a shaggy mullet and a long scar across his cheek. He's kinda getting in the way, loitering around, not cheering the old man on nor shouting. He is just... looking. His eyes are smoldering.
He is getting in the way though, and that's annoying, so he pushes him and the guy stumbles. He brushes the hair out of his face, and there's a different scar there, right around the guy's ear. It's funny, it almost looks like...
.
Ichijō knows who that kid is. Itō Kaiji. They've warned him about him.
Ichijō doesn't get why. From what he sees, there's nothing to worry about. That Kaiji guy is so stupid he walked in the casino thinking they didn't recognize him. He acts like a clueless bystander while that old guy is making a fool of himself. And he probably thinks he's being real clever about it.
Oh, please. Is this supposed to be the genius who beat Tonegawa?
Ichijō knew it. Poor old Tonegawa had started losing his touch a while ago. But Ichijō... He has nothing to fear.
.
"You're bringing me bad luck!" Sakazaki shouts, because he knew, it, he knew it. This black dog jinxed them both. He should have known. One look at his scars is enough to tell that this guy is nothing but bad luck, both for himself and for everyone around him.
Kaiji does not look at him. He looks at his feet. "I think we should stop."
.
He's like a starving puppy. He wanders around the Bog, gears turning, thinking hard and hard and harder. He believes he can beat it if he thinks hard enough. Adorable.
Too bad that cutting off an ear won't help this time.
.
The scar on his cheek... It's lovely. It fits Kaiji so well. But Ichijō is going to leave even lovelier marks; more... delicate. He's refined like that.
The contraption fits Kaiji's finger perfectly, as if it's made for him. Kaiji still hasn't realized what this is about. Some genius he is.
Ichijō explains it all, just to relish the change in Kaiji's face. The shock... The terror... When Kaiji finally gets it, his face turns the color of ash, the scar standing out strikingly white on his cheek. For a stray, he has quite the charm. Especially when he's terrified like this.
Ichijō wants to do it himself. He wants to feel the pressure before the skin gives under the needle.
In the corner, the old guy moans and whines, but Ichijō doesn't give a shit about him. Kaiji is shaking. Cold sweat shines on his forehead. He bares his teeth in terror. Yes. That's what this is about.
Ichijō pushes the plunger and drives the needle under Kaiji's nail.
My, my, he's a screamer. Ichijō is not sure what he expected. Maybe a bit more... stoicism. After all, this is supposed to be the man who had the guts to cut off his own ear. That demands a certain level of sangfroid, doesn't it?
Mr Kaiji is not living up to his reputation, no, no, not at all. One disappointment after the other. First his incredible stupidity, now this. And to think that this is who Teiai is afraid of.
Ichijō moves the contraption to the next finger, while Kaiji shakes and whimpers and cries like a baby.
He hopes the chairman is watching this. He hopes he has set his cameras to high definition.
.
The crowd gathers around, pushes against the railing. The scraggly kid takes off his gloves. He reaches for the Bog's handle and clutches it as if he's never letting go. His nails are—
It's hard to see from this distance, but there's red there. Uneven, spreading from the centre outwards. The kind of red that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.
"Yo, what's up with that kid's fingers? Can you see it?" someone says, and—
.
"What happened to Kaiji's nails?" Miyoshi stares at the screen with wide, round eyes.
Gasps ripple through the gathered crowd, and Hiromitsu is sick of it, but he can also see that something's wrong with Kaiji's nails, and—
His stomach flips.
He can tell what it is. The camera zooms in enough. It's not hard to guess what happened. But Kaiji is still, somehow, standing, staring the Bog down, gripping at the lever as if his fingers aren't wrecked.
If that's how they tried to stop him, it didn't work. Of course it didn't. Wasn't that what Dad always said? Nothing stops Kaiji. He's a fighter. A survivor.
Bullshit. Bullshit bullshit bullshit.
"Go, Kaiji!" someone yells. Miyoshi is crying. A couple of the others are crying.
Bullshit. It's all bullshit.
...Fuck. What's so special about him, anyway? What is...?
.
In his worst dreams, Kaiji is falling along with Ishida. His thought, right before he jolts awake, is always the same. I failed. I failed you.
That's what he thinks now. He thinks of the others, and thinks of himself, and thinks of Ishida, and he thinks, I failed you.
.
He doesn't wanna let go. He doesn't wanna. He doesn't wanna.
The world comes crashing down around him.
.
It's like rain. A silver rain.
All around him. Like droplets. Shining.
There's arms around Kaiji, holding him tight. There's arms. He is falling rapidly, and the air is too thin, but there's no crash. No ground to hit. They are holding him tight.
"We won," Sakazaki shouts in his ear, and that's when it sinks in.
We won.
.
She hears the bell and looks up.
It's him again, white gloves and everything. He smiles, but timidly. The scar on his cheek is ghastly.
He only brings a pack of cigarettes to the register and spends a lot of time counting the money in his pocket. He pauses and smiles again, awkwardly. He keeps staring at his money.
"I, umm..." He trails off.
He doesn't have enough money. That much is obvious.
He looks like he wants to disappear off the face of the earth. His cheeks and whatever's visible of his ears flush red in embarrassment. He brushes some of the hair off his face.
Wait, his ear—
Is that—?
"It's okay," she says hastily. "Just give me what you have. Just this once, though, okay?"
He bows. He's too embarrassed to look her in the eye. "Thank you very much. You're too kind."
She opens her mouth to ask about his ear. She thinks it over and decides she doesn't really have to know. She'd better leave him in peace; he looks like he needs it.
.
Damn. What a pathetic sight. Kaiji hasn't even bought new clothes: he's still wearing that same hideous green shirt and that worn band tee. And he's hiding. His friends are out there and he's curling up in as small a ball as possible and hiding. He looks like the world's saddest fucking puppy.
Well, this is just pathetic.
He'd love to call him spineless but... That's not it. Kaiji has more spine that all of Teiai combined. But, when it comes to matters like these...
"I'm too embarrassed," Kaiji mutters. "I lost it all at... pachinko..."
Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. The guy is hopeless.
Well, there's nothing else to do, right? This was beyond sad. The guy went through hell, and—
He waves a wad of cash in front of Kaiji's face. "Take it. Just take it!" he growls, while inwardly he goes damn it, damn it, damn it.
Kaiji's distrustful. Alright; he can't blame him. But this isn't Teiai's money. This is money out of his own fucking pocket—and hell, if word of this reaches the chairman, he's done for.
When Kaiji realizes that, he springs back to life. He grins so widely that, for a second, his scar almost isn't visible. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"Just go!" he shouts, and what the fuck, how the hell did this kid manage to pull at his heartstrings this much? This hopeless loser—
Well. They'd better not tell Teiai about this. And he really, really hopes that this is the last they see of him.
.
Kaiji takes his gloves off. His nails still haven't healed, and he sees the guys eyeing them nervously, but it's okay. It's okay now. All is okay.
He looks at his red fingernails. Looks at the four rings of scars. He can feel the scar around his left ear itch.
It's all okay. He's on solid ground.
"To the future!" he says and raises his glass.
.
.
.
.
.
Author's note: I might add another chapter to this, to include the Mahjong arc, the One Poker arc and the 2.4 Billion Escape arc. If you liked this, or if you'd like to see a second chapter, leave a comment and let me know. Cheers ;)