Chapter 2

Tears for Fears

"Uh huh… yeah, sure, send her up… Yeah, thank you." Akira hung up the phone and sipped more of his wine. Sojiro was still God knows where doing God knows what, so he had the apartment to himself for likely most of the night. He thought on the fight he had gotten into an hour earlier, and the strange but charming young man that was Akechi. "Strange" was the most appropriate word he could pin him with. He was strangely upbeat, polite, and well-mannered, especially with women, for a yakuza. Akira even questioned once if he truly was a yakuza. Perhaps he was pulling some elaborate scam? A thought for another day, he concluded.

A maid was on her way up to the apartment.

Nothing was about to sway Akira from what was likely the only bit of stress relief he was going to get that night. The drinking had become a more common part of his routine, and the smoking was a very recent addition, but only once before had he requested a maid to tend to him.

The first time had been three days after the Kamoshida incident. At the suggestion of Sojiro, who made mention of a special massage service offered to some of their more elite clientele, Akira had stuttered his way through making such a request. A late-20's maid by the moniker of "Becky" would be his company that night. And so would she be again this night. She may have been considerably older than Akira, but he could not deny the soft strength and deftness of her technique.

A few minutes later, Akira was gazing out over the Kamurocho skyline, wine glass in hand though nearly emptied by that time. The city was alight still with a sea of neon from the signs and white from the streetlamps, seeming to him like an ocean of stars. Sojiro's ludicrously expensive record player droned out Any Colour You Like by Pink Floyd with a warm and vibrant tone only a fine record player can produce. Akira had half a mind to procure some marijuana and give "The Devil's Grass" a try along with the flowing psychedelic tones, were he not expecting someone.

It was then that the elevator door opened, and in walked the tired looking but beautiful "Becky". Her long dark pigtails seemed disheveled, stains were scattered about her frilly skirt and shirt, and there were dark bags under her eyes. Akira felt a twinge of guilt for requesting her until she smiled brightly at him. "Thank you for requesting me, Master!" she cooed in a girlish voice betraying her age. "I do hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"No, you're fine," Akira shook his head. "You know you don't have to talk that way with me, right?"

"Most boys your age and even older love it though," she beamed forcefully. "All the maids do it!"

"Well can I make a special request then?"

"What is it, Master?"

"Don't talk like that. And don't call me 'Master'."

Becky turned her cheesy smile to an indignant pout. "You're nothing like the others, you know that?"

"Isn't it easier on you when you don't have to talk like you're from a maid café?"

"You have no idea," Becky dropped her act entirely and removed her shoes with a sigh. She rotated her back as she stood up straight, making a couple pops as she loosened the muscles. "Anyway," she continued in a much more normal voice, "what did you need tonight, Kurusu-san? It doesn't seem like you need much cleaned up."

"No, that's not it." Akira walked past her and walked to the sink, downing the rest of the burning, dry drink before washing it out. "Same thing as last time, Becky. Though I can tell you're not exactly in the mood for it."

Becky let her shoulders droop, exhaling slowly. "It's extra pay, at least. Sorry, I'm just really tired. It's been a long day, kid."

Akira nodded, pausing before he responded. "Then why don't you go home?"

Becky's eyes widened slightly, evident of her confusion. "What? What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said," replied Akira plainly. "Go home, get some rest. Hell, crash here if you need to. Sojiro couldn't give less of a damn, I promise."

Akira watched Becky's reaction closely. He could tell immediately that she truly wanted to say yes, but she seemed to refocus after a moment. However, her dejection was not lost on him. "I need the money, and you need some help, Kurusu-san. I'll stay as long as you need."

The kinder part of Akira wanted to insist that she go home and sleep, but the more selfish part of him convinced the kinder part that to do so would be denying her much needed pay. It was a weak excuse, but he remained convinced. "Alright," he shrugged. "If you insist, sweetheart." Becky appeared put off by that last remark. "What, you don't like being called that?"

"It's awkward enough being called those kinds of things by men my age or older, honestly. Having a kid call me that is just…"

"Right," Akira nodded. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, no, I'm the one at fault. You're the master, after all," she flaunted that incredibly fake smile once again. "You can call me whatever you like!"

Akira raised an incredulous eyebrow. "For the sake of compromise, I think I'll go with 'Becky' for now. Unless you've got some other preference."

Becky looked away from him immediately upon him saying that. He was about to ask what was wrong now when she said, "Kawakami."

"Beg your pardon?"

"My name is Sadayo Kawakami, actually. 'Becky' is the name I use to sound more youthful and attractive as a maid. I hate being called it, honestly, but it helps get better tips. If it wouldn't be too awkward or troublesome," she struggled to get the simple words out, "would you please call me Kawakami?"

Akira was surprised by her frankness, though not unpleasantly. He nodded casually, not exhibiting much outward response. "You could've said that last time, you know? If that's what you prefer, than that's what I'll call you."

"Really?" Kawakami appeared almost shocked.

"Really," Akira smiled lightly. "I'm not into all that 'master/servant' bullshit anyway."

Kawakami chuckled to herself, and Akira realized this may have been the first time he had seen her genuinely smile. "I appreciate it. But enough about me! You've wasted enough money listening to me drawl on as is!"

"It's a drop in the bucket, really. But if you're so eager to get this done, now is as good a time as any."

"Geez, don't sound too excited about it," Kawakami snarked, walking to the young man's bedroom. Akira followed her closely as he stretched his arms and yawned. His eyes traveled down her body slowly as she walked. It is not like her outfit was trying to leave her form to the imagination or anything.

Kawakami sighed as quietly as she could as she entered Akira's bedroom. She intended for the younger man to not hear her, but he did all the same. Akira, however, did not deem it needing of any comment. He knew this was one of the last ways she wished to spend her night after a long day of work, and he still felt guilty for calling on her in the first place. But this would not take long, and he was a hero, after all. He deserved some bit of comfort by his reckoning.

"Take off your shirt, then," Kawakami said. "Won't get much done with that thick jacket on you."

Akira did as she said, casting his shirt and jacket to the ground with dismissively. He heard Kawakami gasp behind him and he rolled his eyes, expecting this reaction. "Your arms," she whispered.

Akira looked down at his scarred wrists, dark lines crisscrossing under his hands. Some scars were pale, others were darker and uglier. "Didn't you see this last time?" he asked slowly.

"It wasn't this bad," said Kawakami sternly. "Some of those are fresh."

Akira shook his head, sitting down. "You're imagining things, or seeing it wrong in the low lighting."

"I am positive, Akira," she looked down at him, seeming both angry and strangely sad. She grabbed his wrists and inspected them closer, with Akira doing nothing to stop her. "When did you do this?"

"Is that info necessary to your job?"

"Oh, cut the bullshit! What, am I not allowed to be concerned about a kid just because I'm wearing this awful outfit? You need medical and psychological help, not drinks and a massage."

Akira shot up to his feet, standing a whole head over Kawakami. Her expression remained stern, but did step back on reflex. He looked down on her now with a cold, annoyed stare. "And yet, here we are even so," he muttered in a low, raspy tone. "Now, how about we do what you're payed for." He turned around and laid down on his front, presenting his back to Kawakami, who sighed deeply. Akira did not look back at her, so he did not see her wipe a small jewel of a tear from her eye.

"Alright," she nodded, regaining her composure. "If you insist." Kawakami climbed onto the bed, sitting on top of Akira's legs. The young man closed his eyes as Kawakami began to slowly massage his shoulders. "Don't think I'm going anywhere below the belt though."

"I didn't expect you to."

"Then you'd be one of the first." She started massaging him harder, working her way down from his shoulders to his upper back. Akira sighed as her deft, firm touch began to relax him. "You're extremely tense," Kawakami said. "Rough night?"

"I got in a couple fights, actually."

"A couple?"

"Yeah, two. Well, it wouldn't be too accurate to call the first one a 'fight'. I was picking up a debt from some dumbass that was trying to skip town while owing money to the Kuze family. I tracked the guy down thanks to a tip from Iwai, and gave him a few good hits and kicks until he forked over the cash."

"Oh," Kawakami replied awkwardly.

"Then when I went to drop off the money, I helped the guy that was picking it up kick some rapey dumbshits to the curb. They were getting too handsy with some hostesses and thought the best course of action would be to start a fight rather than just tone it down a bit." Akira chuckled in his throat. "Fucking idiots, I swear." Kawakami stopped massaging Akira for a moment. "What is it?" he asked upon noticing.

"You just… seem to be pretty happy about it."

Akira took a pause, thinking on what he had just described, and how he had described it. He raised an eyebrow as he considered his attitude and demeanor regarding the fights earlier that night. "Yeah," he finally said. "That a problem?"

Akira then felt Kawakami get off of his back, sitting beside him on the bed with her arms crossed. He looked up to her to see her staring at his arms. Though his scars were not visible, he knew that was what she was focusing on, worrying about. "It is absolutely a problem," Kawakami said. "Last time we did this, you could barely speak you were so traumatized by what happened. And now you're happy about injuring people."

"I was protecting some innocent girls, Kawakami."

"What about the debtor?"

Akira knew that was coming, but still had to pause to come up with a response. "He was some low-life screwing with people more powerful than him. Had he not given up the money, god knows what would have happened to him. Looking at it a certain way, I was potentially saving his life."

"By beating and humiliating him." This was an argument Akira had hoped to avoid, but still felt unprepared for. He turned his arm over, looking at the scars he always hid by wearing sleeves, even on warm days. "When did you last cut yourself?" asked Kawakami pensively. "You never answered me."

Akira continued to inspect his scars for a long moment. "Three days ago," he finally replied.

"Why?"

"I had a bit too much to drink."

"That's the only reason?"

"Are you paid to interrogate me or massage me?" Akira whirled his head around, glaring at her as he grew more impatient. Kawakami, however, did not budge.

"I don't give a damn about the money if this is what you're trying to avoid, kid. That's why you called me here, isn't it? So you don't have to be alone and get to the point where you might cut yourself again? You may not remember it much, but two weeks ago, you were a complete wreck of a person, barely able to stand up or talk, and it wasn't from the drinking. Are you just afraid of having more panic attacks-?"

She was cut off by Akira sitting up on the bed, puffing out his chest as if defending his territory from a rival, appearing far more imposing. "You don't understand," he sneered. "How could you ever understand? Have you ever killed a man, Becky? Huh? Have you ever shot a man bloody and just kept fucking shooting him!?"

"Sh-shut up!"

"You asked, didn't you?!"

Kawakami shot to her feet and backed up to the doorway, holding her hands to her chest. Akira recognized pain and fear on her face, and he felt his stomach drop as he looked on her cowering from him like he were a wild animal. "Kawakami," he muttered, "I… I'm sorry…"

"You're hurting," Kawakami whispered. "I'm sorry that you're hurting. And no, I've never killed anyone. I'm sorry for asking you and not just massaging or pleasing you. It just hurts me so much to see young people like you corrupted in this business. And I'm seeing those exact same signs in you, but much faster than most."

Akira lowered his head, holding it in his hands. He did not cry, but simply felt all the relaxing the massage had blessed him with be undone. All his body seemed to tense and tighten as the weight of his problems bore down on him. "I can't say I disagree with you," he muttered.

"Then what are you going to do about it?" Kawakami seemed to plead with him. "Why are you even still here?"

Akira looked back up to her. She saw stray tears in his eyes, those his face was expressionless, empty. "It's complicated," he said simply.

"That's all you're gonna say, huh?"

"Yeah," he nodded, standing to his feet. "That's all." Akira then pulled his wallet out of his pocket, producing five thousand yen. "Here, take it."

"I barely did anything, except make you more upset. Literally the opposite of what I was called here to do."

"And it would make me more upset if you didn't take it." Akira then reached into his pocket and pulled out another three thousand yen. "Don't try to argue with me. Just take it."

Kawakami looked shocked, looking between Akira and the money. Slowly, she extended her hand and took the money as slowly as if she expected it to be poisoned. "Thank you," she said in a near whisper, a ghost of a smile creeping to her face.

"You're welcome."

Akira could not bring himself to smile, and began to close the bedroom door behind Kawakami until she stopped it with her hand. "Akira?" she asked slowly.

"What is it?"

"Just… please don't do that again."

"Get mad at you? Noted."

"No, you idiot." She grabbed his left arm and turned it so the scars were facing up. "Never do this again."

Akira's skin stung as her grip pulled on the scars. Two drops of blood seeped to the surface, though only he seemed to notice. "You're awfully concerned for someone who barely knows me."

"This may come as a surprise to you," Kawakami let go of his arm, "but there are some people here who are just kind for the sake of it. Doubly so for someone as young as you."

"And you count yourself among those people?"

"You can answer that yourself." Kawakami stepped back and bowed to the younger man. "Goodnight, Kurusu-san," she said.

"Goodnight, Kawakami-san," Akira bowed his head, then closed the door. He heard the clicking of her heels along the floor move toward the elevator, then a ding as the elevator was called, and then she was gone.

"Nice lady, at least," he remarked to no one. "Nosy as hell, but nice." Akira looked down at his arms again, thinking back on how they came to be that way. Three times in the last two weeks, he had cut his wrists. His reasons varied slightly each attempt, with the most significant similarity among the latter two being the amount of alcohol he would consume beforehand. He sighed as he rubbed his left wrist with his right thumb, smearing away the stray blood.

"What is wrong with me?" he muttered. "Mom and Dad would have a heart attack if they knew about this. Hell, they'd have a heart attack if they knew about anything I've done in the last two weeks." He laid down on the bed, staring up to the ceiling. The music continued to play in the foyer, as if providing a depressing soundtrack for the scene. Akira covered his eyes with his forearm, trying to close himself off from the world. His mind traveled to Kamoshida, to the events of that morning, but he tried to divert it to happier things.

He thought of his mother, with her long dark hair framing her beautiful smile as she made him his favorite dinner for his birthday that Spring. He thought of his father fixing his glasses as he helped Akira with his psychology homework, leading to a two-hour discussion on the inner workings of the human mind. It was only as he remembered his sixteenth birthday, surrounded by his friends and what little family he had in his small hometown of Shimonosuke, that he noticed the cold dampness on his cheeks.

He was crying.

All these pleasant memories made his chest tighten as he whimpered. He thought about how happy his parents were with him, and how they would likely respond were they to know the truth of what he had done. "You idiot!" he could hear his mom scream at him. "You little monster!"

"I can't believe this," said his dad's voice in his mind. "You should not have come back. Don't ever come near this house again!" Akira saw his friends back home running away from him, terrified of the thing he had become. He clenched his fists so hard he nearly broke the skin of his palms.

He saw Ann's face as she discovered him cutting himself. Her terror, her anger, her disgust. She had left Kamurocho later that day, and that face haunted him ever since. What followed her discovery of him was hazy, unfocused. But that face, looking at him as she beheld the monster he was and is, was fire branded into his memory.

Akira knew that if he were to return home, and people were to find out the person, the thing he had become, they would all react the same way. The whole town would be terrified of him, his friends and family would scorn him and cast him out. At least, with him staying in this kingdom of decadence, he would not need to face those reactions.

Akira began to cry.

"I… I just wanna go home… Mom…? Mom… I wanna go home!"

But in his heart, he knew one thing for certain…

He could not go home.

Miyato Sohei adjusted the lapel of his jacket as he sat in a comfortable chair outside the main office. The waiting area was bathed in orange and gold light, with small plants arranged about in deliberate, efficient patterns. On the wall in front of him was a mural of a samurai with his arms crossed, standing over a group of worshipful onlookers as they seemed to praise the overthrowing of some shogun, who lay in front of the samurai with his head sat beside him.

Sohei was an outwardly unimpressive salaryman, with a black jacket, white shirt, black pants and shoes; an all together typical Japanese businessman, betraying his yakuza profession. He was aware of his inconspicuous appearance and nature and was not bothered by it. Being unremarkable on the outside set expectations easily and entertainingly subverted. Whenever he was sent in to broker a deal between clients, they would assume him to be some no-name pencil pusher. His knowledge of business and silver tongue would then cause his clients to nod their heads approvingly, and this impressive contrast would always cause them to sign the dotted line quickly.

He knew this little parlor trick would be useful once again when called into the office.

"Sohei-san," said a quiet, meek woman's voice. The door next to him opened, and in the doorway stood a short but endowed secretary. Her white shirt was drawn tight over her chest, and Sohei wagered her skirt was about two inches shorter than what was considered appropriate workplace attire. He also noticed a slight, suspicious stumble in her step as she walked in stiletto heels, though it did not seem to be from the shoes themselves.

Sohei glanced at his watch. 10:46, it read. He had been told it would be a ten minute wait before he would be admitted, and it had been precisely ten minutes since he had sat down. With an impressed nod, he got to his feet and passed the secretary, who bowed to him reverently as he walked by.

The office was spacious at the very least, providing room enough for a large desk, a bookshelf, a wine rack, a couch with a coffee table, and still room more to entertain an entire board of directors. At the large desk, there sat a man pouring over some papers. He was bald to the point of being spotless, he wore dark rimmed glasses on his face, and sported a goatee that he stroked while examining whichever paper caught his attention at the moment. His shoulders were broad and strong, and his torso was wide. Both aspects together exhibited a strong build, even while sat down.

A placard at the front of the desk read "Masayoshi Shido".

"Shido-san," the secretary spoke up from behind Sohei, "Sohei-san is here to see you."

"Ah, yes," Shido spoke up, putting the papers down, "please, have a seat, sir," he motioned to the couch.

"I appreciate it," said Sohei. He took his seat, straightening his back as he sat down. "Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Shido-san. The Omi Alliance greatly respects your cordiality."

"Well, one must be always available to seize opportunities when they strike, sir. I was very pleased when I received your call." Shido spoke with the same confident swagger he exuded physically, as if the strength he purportedly had manifested even in his voice.

"And we intend to uphold all terms proposed, sir. My employers were frankly floored when they were read your plans."

"Flattery, eh?" asked Shido with a smirk.

"Not at all. Flattery is an embellishment of truth. What I have said is a completely accurate account, and nothing more."

"I'm admittedly surprised. Was my proposal so magnanimous that even Shimano-san would take pause?"

"He did not pause, per se, but did let out a booming laugh of approval. That's quite a lot better than most get."

"So I've heard." Shido got to his feet and walked around the desk. He leaned against it and crossed his arms informally. "Am I to believe that you have some sort of paperwork for me to sign?"

"Indeed, sir." Sohei produced an envelope from inside his jacket and handed it to Shido, who opened it quickly and inspected it. "You needn't read it too closely, sir. It's mostly a transcription of our call. The important part is on page three—"

The door was flung open abruptly, cutting off Sohei mid-sentence. He wheeled around in his seat to check on what had happened, while Shido's eyes simply rose to look that was dispassionately.

"Yeesh, tough crowd," said a raspy male voice. "That line always works, I swear!" Walking through the door was a tall, lanky man with a black hooded coat. Red, jagged designs adorned the chest and arms, travelling up to the hood. He was slouched over, making him appear slightly shorter than he actually was. A thin, snake-like smile crossed his face, and his eyes were thin, pale, and beady. Sohei felt a chill run up his spine as he took in the sight.

"Do you mind, Terumi?" Shido addressed his with an annoyed tone.

"Hey, you're the one that wanted me hear in the first place! Besides, your new secretary is a real hardass. I prefer the previous one, honestly."

"I'm not surprised."

Sohei stood up and gave the man called Terumi a greeting smile fit for a businessman, if only to make sure this man did not take any sort of offense from his presence. "Good evening, Mr. Terumi," he bowed. "I am Miyato Sohei, representing the Omi Alliance."

Mr. Terumi looked at him incredulously before offering another bone-chilling smile in reply. "Please, man, Mr. Terumi is my father! I'm just Terumi." He uttered that final word with a palpable venom that nearly stung Sohei as it traveled through the air. Sohei was left without an immediate response, and Terumi did not seem to notice or care. "Shido, what's with this guy? I thought you were done with meetings for the day."

"This will be quick, I assure you," Shido flipped the pages over in his hand. "In fact, we were just finishing up."

"We were?" asked Sohei.

"Of course. You did say that the only important part was the final page, right?"

"Yes, that's right." Sohei was having a harder time maintaining his composure as he felt Terumi staring at him over his shoulder. "Does that mean you are ready to sign?"

"I believe so," said Shido. He turned around and put the papers down on the desk, then too a pen in hand and began writing. And the continued to write. Sohei knew that the only writing required was Shido's signature, but a long moment passed before Shido stood up straight again and put his pen down.

"Have you finished, sir?" Sohei asked.

"I have." Shido handed him the paper, and it was now that Sohei truly noticed how much taller Shido was than him. Easily standing nearly two meters tall, Shido looked down on him with a gaze strangely disapproving. "I did take the liberty of perusing the papers, however. And while I did see that everything we agreed upon was included, I noticed one little detail that may have been overlooked."

Shido reached out his hand to Sohei to shake it. Tepidly, he accepted. Shido's grip was firm, his hands feeling like the bones were made of rock. Terumi did not even try to repress a chuckle from beside the two men. "What was that little clause about my organization being absorbed into the Alliance, Sohei-san?"

Sohei tried to let go of Shido's hand, but he was caught in a vice grip that was getting firmer with every passing second. His heart started to race, sweat appeared on his forehead as the handshake became painful. "It—it was agreed upon, sir," Sohei replied, his voice quivering. "I swear, we did not alter the deal in any way!"

"Then what is this bullshit about absorption!?"

"Oh, you really fucked up," Terumi remarked with a smile as Sohei tried to shake himself free of Shido's grasp. The shaking turned to flailing, but Shido only tightened his grip.

"Let me get one thing clear with you and your bosses," Shido sneered. "You need me. You need me and my associates on good terms. Without me, without my plans, everything you've worked for is going to go to hell in an instant. I'm the only person in this country who can prevent that." Shido tightened his grip even harder, something Sohei prayed must have been impossible. The smaller man was now reeling, crying out in pain as he felt his hand getting crushed. He tried to pull Shido's arm away or swat at Shido, but he was completely unaffected. It was as if a gentle breeze was trying to push a boulder. Terumi's chuckle turned to high-pitched cackling laugh. "When you go back to Shimano, tell him not to bite the hand that feeds him!"

There was a sickening crack, and a cry of anguish from Sohei as the bones in his hand finally broke in Shido's grasp. Sohei fell to his knees, tears streamed down his face, but even as the pain intensified further, Shido continued to crush his now broken hand, increasing the pain tenfold. Terumi was nearly doubled over in laughter as the man cried out as if being tortured.

"P-please, STOP! For Christ's sake, STOP!"

"This is just a strong message, Sohei," said Shido with no inflection whatsoever. He gripped Sohei's hand even tighter. The man screamed bloody murder as his nerves were overwhelmed. "Go back, and make sure they know that we are on equal footing. No more, no less. Got it?"

"Y-yes, yes! You sick fuck, YES!"

"Ooh, fighting words!" Terumi exclaimed amidst his laughter. "Want me to break his other hand too for that, boss?"

"NO!"

"That will be unnecessary, Terumi," said Shido. "I think he got the hint." Shido threw Sohei's black and blue hand aside, and the man recoiled on the floor, whimpering to himself. "Take your papers and go back to HQ. Tell them exactly what I said, then they may contact me."

"You think… you're the one giving orders here!?" Sohei shouted.

"Aren't I?" Shido pressed a button on the phone next to him. "Amon? Escort out guest to his vehicle."

"Understood," a deep voice responded.

"The hell are you talking about!?"

The door opened once again, and a tall man with a long black coat, a black suit and black sunglasses entered. The fear of God and death entered Sohei in an instant as "Amon" walked up to him and picked him up from the ground with ease. "This way," he said.

"What are you doing!? You can't treat me like this! The Omi Alliance won't stand for this!"

"Oh, I'm absolutely certain they will," Shido smirked as Sohei was lead to the door, clutching his hand to his chest. "Times are changing, Sohei. And when my deal is accepted, you're all going to find yourselves at the top of the heap, and the Sakura Clan licking our boots."

With Sohei still shouting expletives and cries of pain, Amon escorted him from the office, and there was not but quiet as Shido, Terumi, and a very frightened secretary were left alone.

"Ha HA!" Terumi guffawed. "This is why I love working with you, Shido! Everything is always so exciting around here! I can't wait to see old Shimano's reaction now that you've told him where to shove his bullshit!"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited myself, Terumi. Shimano is old and tough as nails in a fight, but when it comes to business, he lacks sense. He's proud, but breakable. I'm sure of it."

"And what if his patriarchs get riled? Can't have any loose ends at a time like this."

"I understand your excitement to get to work, but I wish to bring as many allies to my side as possible. Remember, you're a last resort, Terumi. As is our Ace."

"How is he doing, anyway? I've been waiting to meet the little enigma for a while now."

Shido turned to look out his window, which comprised the entire wall behind his desk. The lights of Sotenbori, Osaka shined below them like a sea filled with jewels sparkling in the moonlight. "He is currently working surveillance in Kamurocho. He's gotten quite comfortable with the place, as it seems. I was about to pull him out and have him wait on standby here in Osaka when the Kamoshida incident occurred. After that, I knew he would need to stay to see how things play out in Sakura's territory."

"Has he got any interesting tidbits to report?"

"Not much as of yet, though that will change very soon. He is to meet with one of my most influential allies in a few days."

"You can't be serious!?" Terumi cackled like a hyena again. "That dumbass Okumura actually fell for it!?"

"Fell for what? I was entirely serious with my proposal."

"He didn't at least think for a moment that it might be too good to be true?"

"He may have, but I don't intend to cast him aside that easily. If he maintains his end of the bargain, there will be no problems."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then I already have a contingency for that." A smirk crept its way to Shido's face unconsciously.

"Well, you're the big bad boss, after all," Terumi shrugged. "What did you want me here for anyway? I could have been out on the town ruining a brothel right now."

"One of my prospects came close to letting some information slip to an undercover police officer. You're here to show him the error of his ways. He's chained up in the boiler room already."

Terumi's snake-like grin widened to an almost unnatural degree as thoughts of how he would "enlighten" the kid danced through his head. "Ooh, you're too kind, boss! I'd be happy to show you why I have a one hundred percent satisfaction guarantee!"

"Do not take too long, though. I have another errand for you to run tonight."

"Just one quick question," Terumi rung his hands together with growing anticipation. "How bad of shape should he be in by the end of tonight?"

"Let's just say if his mother wouldn't even recognize him by the end of it," Shido turned around to face his associate, "then put him out of his misery."

"Oh, fuck yes." Chuckling darkly to himself, Terumi turned toward the door. As he walked, he leered at the secretary in a way that made her recoil to the back corner of the room. He walked out the door and made his way toward the elevator. "Oh hoo, this is gonna be one hell of a party," he muttered to himself, gradually building into an excited cackle as the elevator doors closed.

Shido looked at his secretary as she cowered in the corner, then back outside, hands held behind his back. "They just had to make it complicated, didn't they?" he asked no one in particular. "No matter. Nothing can stop what I've set in motion." A thought clawed its way to his mind at that moment. A long past memory, from a bygone era, a different life. "Anri," he muttered, "if he really is your son, then having him was the worst mistake of your life."