Chapter 3
Ripples of the Past
The next night…
From her balcony, cigarette dangling lazily between her fingers, Sae looked down on a late-twenties couple stumbling about the alley below her apartment. They were drunk, uncoordinated and uncouth, slurring what little words they spoke as the man felt up her rear with no shame on his part nor objection on that of the woman's. While Shibuya had never been emblematic of grace and piety, Sae noted everyday how the rampant saturation of debauchery was in an entirely different league from that of her hometown.
Often, Sae wondered what her father, Shintaro Nijima, would have done in her stead. How would a man as upright and just and successful as him look upon her being taken off her own case, reduced to a prop in a city of desire and sin, and failing to look after her last living family member.
Giving in to a habit she cursed herself for being unable to break, Sae looked behind her to a photograph beside her bed, taking another puff of her cigarette. Displayed in the photograph was a man, her father, with two girls at either side of him. One was Sae Nijima in the gown she wore at her college graduation, holding her diploma of outstanding academic excellence in criminal science and law studies. The other girl was considerably younger, in a middle-schoolers uniform. Her hair was dark, unlike Sae's smoky gray, though they shared much of the same facial features, including their red-tinted brown eyes. Both girls beamed with excitement as their father radiated pride. Shortly after that photo was taken, their father would treat them to a fancy dinner, where Sae would hold back tears over their mother not being present for her greatest accomplishment.
Makoto, her younger sister, would try everything she possibly could to comfort her, reassure her that their mother was looking down on them from Heaven above, overwhelmed with pride and happiness. While her youthful idealism did not stop the pain she felt in her heart that day, it did help her hold back her tears better.
A few months later, the responsibility of caring for her sister would fall on Sae's shoulders alone, as their father was run over by an errant truck, and killed on contact. Many in the police force suspected it to be an assassination, revenge on part of one of the many criminals he had put away in his career. The funeral came and went, the mourning stayed far longer, even while Sae poured herself into her work while trying to care for her younger sister. Their relationship was strained at times, as Sae was far from the maternal type, but she still put forth every effort she could to make sure Makoto lived a good life and pushed her to achieve everything she possibly could.
Where Makoto was now, what she was doing and how she was living, Sae could only guess.
The only thing I know for real is the power of the law. If the law believes this course of action to be right, then I have to abide by it.
She thought as such, true, and did believe it in her logical mind. The more emotional side of herself wondered for a moment whether she was just being fucked over by a man's world, but she perished the thought immediately.
Sae leaned against the railing of her balcony, letting out a cloud of smoke from her mouth. Across the street, there was an office building, its mirrors reflecting the streetlights and people on the sidewalk hazily, almost with a liquid texture. Looking up and down the floors of the building, she focused on what seemed like a worker standing still in the window. Sae could make out a bandana on his head and a raggedy jacket on his torso. She could swear he was staring at her. The woman stared back, an unblinking and steely scowl on her face. The man turned around and walked down the hall.
This was not the first time she had spotted someone watching her. She was made aware of the prevalent yakuza presence in Kamurocho back in law school, and considered it an invigorating challenge were she to take it on someday. But when she arrived in the kingdom of decadence, there was no such grand conflict for her to jump into, no heart-racing battle or perplexing conspiracy like she had heard greatly embellished rumors of. Instead, she was greeted with a quiet, passive-aggressive dread from her coworkers, like a plague all were aware of but had simply gotten so used to that they barely paid any outward mind to it. Rarely did people talk about the yakuza, but when they did, it was in hushed tones, thoughtful whispers, and a callous sense of understanding. The cold reality of their lack of care for the situation put her off at first, but she felt herself recently falling into a similar mindset.
Information on yakuza activity was thin in the last twenty years, arousing additional suspicion from Sae. Little was known of their practices, their reach, at least that was how it seemed. Nothing much was ever said about them openly, both at the precinct and out in the city. Whenever she asked Murakata or her coworkers about how to best address active yakuza activity, she would always receive flat, non-comital answers such "Use your discretion, but don't go out of your way." When she would call bullshit on such things to her fellow police, she would receive the same kinds of replies. "That's just how it is," they would say. Sae would normally leave the conversation after that.
Then there was Goro Akechi. Young, learned, well spoken, and seemed to possess a stalwart conviction on justice for all, especially those who think themselves above the law. At times, she found it idealistic and annoying, but it was still refreshing to see someone with their head not shoved completely up their ass. Though, he could be described as having his head up his ass in other ways.
The precinct brought him on four months ago thanks to some sort of "outstanding reputation" regarding his detective skills. She had heard of him back in Shibuya when he attained a reputation as a "detective prince" thanks to his exemplary academics and numerous apprenticeships in law, allowing him to collaborate with the police on certain cases. After graduating from high school, he seemed to become something of a recluse and focus entirely on his university studies, as little records exist regarding him until he graduated early with high honors.
She had only worked with him a couple cases, but Sae and Akechi often spoke when they had free time. He was kind, considerate, and professional in ways that only a young person not yet jaded by the real world could be. Within the last month, he had even taken up asking Sae out for sushi once in a while – for entirely platonic, professional reasons, of course. She found it endearing, in some sort of way. At least someone on the force had the decency to offer to pick up the check.
Sae walked back into her spacious apartment, putting her cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table. The calm was taking over her, and she let out a long sigh as she reclined in her seat. She unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it aside, leaving her torso covered by a thin undershirt.
It was difficult for Sae to get out of the headspace she defaulted to when at the precinct: cold, callous, calculating, and competitive. Rarely was she able to feel like what she was doing, the person she was on the inside, was enough. How could it be enough? She was dropped off her own case, constantly had to fight tooth and nail to secure any kind of substantial work while many of her coworkers, especially those o the male sex, were practically spoonfed opportunities right before her eyes.
Many had told Sae that she was imagining things, that everyone was treated with equal indifference by Murakata, but the thought that some sort of prejudice, be it related to her gender, her history, or otherwise, constantly clawed and scratched at the back of her mind. Ironically, the only way she was able to drown it out completely was when she was drowning herself in work on the rare chances she was granted the boon of a complex case that would then take up every bit of her time for weeks.
Most would call her life lonely, perhaps even miserable. The words of most go through one ear and out the other. Those who say she was "lonely" were not too off the mark though. At least, she would occasionally admit that when laying in a hot bath with not but a bottle of wine and an adult toy when she had the time.
As a lazy, foggy sleep began to take her, Sae was roused by a sudden phone call that dragged her back to reality. Running through a dozen possibilities of who it could be, she picked up the phone beside her quickly.
"Hello, this is Nijima."
"Yo, Sae-san!?" a deep male voice lacking a Japanese accent replied.
"Wait, Mack?" Sae held the phone close to her mouth, her eyes widening as she heard her contact and friend call to her frantically. "Mack, what's wrong?"
"Sae, shit's going down in Osaka, man! You know I don't call you unless it's the real shit, yeah? Damn, there goes my fucking vacation."
"Just spit it out, Mack! What's going on?"
"Sae, you know that Tatsu guy running for Prime Minister next term, right?"
"What about him?"
"Well…" Mack trailed off. In the silence, Sae could hear what sounded like bustling, frantic people in the background. She could make out frightened pedestrians and police trying to keep the peace. "He's been murdered, Sae. Hung up outside his office like a goddamn ritual!"
Sae paused a long time before she responded, breathing deeply and slowly, maintaining her professional composure more than her excitable contact.
"Give me the details," she said. "Give me everything you got."
…
Meanwhile…
"Look, man," Ryuji continued as they walked down the street, "I'm just sayin' that Big Bang Burger's got nothin' that American stuff? You've never had a real American burger, have you?"
"Can't say I have," Akira responded.
"Okay, so they don't like tofu much in the states, right? That means that all those burgers, those fuckin' humungous burgers they scarf down like nothing, is usually real honest to God meat."
"You saying that we don't get real meat on our burgers here?"
"Nah, man! I'm on the inside of that shit! Big Bang Burger tastes good, yeah, especially for the price, but let me tell ya, that's no real burger. It's all frozen beforehand and thawed on some disgusting fryer. You go to a real burger joint in the states, none of this fast-food crap, and oh god, that's the real shit, man."
"When did you get to go to the states, man?"
"When I was fourteen, my mom scraped together some savings and took us there. Got to go to some place called 'Burger Bar', and oh man! It was amazing! Their mushroom swiss was amazing! Oh, I can still taste it when I think about it!"
Akira chuckled at his friend's exuberance. "If I'm ever in the states, I'll remember the name."
"You better! It's gonna ruin every other burger you have back in Japan, but it's worth it, man!" Ryuji was about to engage in another diatribe on the incredible nature of American burgers when he was distracted by a poster in an old shop they were passing. "Hey, check it out, bro!" Ryuji pointed to the poster. The faded picture was that of a high school girl with light brown twin tails, smiling as she seemed to be praying. "Yo, it's Risette!" Ryuji exclaimed. "Oh man, I ain't seen one of these in ages! I was totally obsessed with her music and commercials back in high school. I'm not into idols normally, but her smile really got to me. And her body too, I guess. I mean, you had to see those swimsuit commercials she did back then, didn't ya?"
"Yeah, I saw them," Akira nodded toward the poster thoughtfully. "She is pretty cool. Makes a mean tofu dish too."
Ryuji froze for a moment, then slowly looked back at Akira. While the dark-haired young man had his hands in his pockets as if what he had just said had been completely normal, Ryuji looked like his eyes were about to fall out of his head. "You fucking what, bro?"
"I said she makes good tofu."
"And how do you know that!?"
Akira smirked at his friend. "I thought you might react that way when you said you liked Risette. She's from my hometown, man. Worked at her grandma's tofu shop when she wasn't doing commercials or touring."
"Are you saying you know Risette?" Ryuji inquired, getting right in Akira's face.
"Yup," he nodded casually. "We group in the same hometown. Even went to high school together whenever she was on a break from showbiz. Hell, she's even dating my best friend."
"AND YOU NEVER THOUGHT TO TELL ME!?"
"I didn't know you were into her."
Ryuji looked at him completely dumbfounded, then facepalmed. "'You never asked'. That's what you're saying?"
"Basically."
"Bro, you can't do a bro like that! You can't keep something like that to yourself!"
"Sorry, man, I guess I just don't really see her as an idol or celebrity. I've known her since I was seven, Ryuji."
"That's rad, dude," Ryuji eye's widened in admiration and amazement.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Akira smirked. "She's a really cool person, and a total sweetheart. You'd never guess she was a celebrity if you didn't know beforehand."
"Sounds like you were into her too."
"Nah, not really." They continued walking down the street slowly, enjoying the warm night air and smells of foodstands they passed by. "I mean, yeah, she's gorgeous, but I always saw her as more of a good friend."
"Even after she made it big?"
"Even then. Besides, she was always into my best friend anyway. Our friends and I always joked that they'd been dating forever but were the last ones to know it. They were hopelessly into each other all of high school but didn't seal the deal until third year."
"Pfft, lucky guy," Ryuji muttered.
"Jealous much?"
"Piss off, man," Ryuji replied sarcastically, eliciting a laugh from both young men. "So, Akira," Ryuji continued, "lay it on me straight, okay?"
"What's up?"
"Ann. What did you think of her?"
Akira looked at his friend incredulously. "What are you getting at?"
"Oh, come on, don't think I didn't notice, man! You were totally out of sorts when she left. You miss her, don't cha?"
Akira shook his head, looking the other way conspicuously. "Don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm not mocking ya or anything. Just trying to get the low down, you know?"
"No, I don't really."
"Well, if she ever comes back, you can bet that I'll do my best to—" Ryuji cut off sharply.
"What's up now?" Akira asked. He looked where Ryuji was staring, and saw down the sidewalk none other than two burly yakuza standing at either side of Sojiro Sakura, one of them being Munehisa Iwai. "Did we miss a meeting?" Akira asked quietly.
"No, man, tonight's our day off."
The men approached the boys quickly. "Ryuji, Akira," Sojiro nodded to them as he approached. "I was hoping I'd find you out here."
"Can we help you, Boss?" asked Ryuji respectfully.
"I can tell you think you're in trouble, Sakamoto, and I want to start by saying that's not the case. I was actually just looking for our young hero here," he looked to Akira, who narrowed his eyes at him.
"Akira?" Ryuji asked. "What do you need with him?"
"Just a quick chat, is all."
Akira crossed his arms to the immediate ire of the bodyguards. "That sounds ominous."
"It's nothing remotely like that. Ryuji," he turned his attention to him, "I'd hate to pry you two apart, but I'm afraid I need to speak to Akira in private to go over current events. He is rather dense to these things, if you haven't noticed."
"Got me there," Ryuji shrugged with a smirk.
"Dude."
"What? It's true."
"Akira," said Sojiro, "please walk with me for a moment. Ryuji, you're free to go for the night."
"Yes, sir," Ryuji bowed his head. "Good luck, dude. See ya around!"
"You're just gonna – Oh, damn it," Akira muttered as his friend walked off quickly in the other direction. Akira turned back around to face the yakuza. As if reassuring him that everything was alright, Iwai gave him a slow nod of the head. Akira responded in kind after a moment of consideration. "Well," he shrugged, "let's get going then. I'm already kind of tired."
"Sounds good to me," said Sojiro. "This won't take long, kid."
The four walked in tandem silence for a few minutes, drawing many lingering, narrow stares from passersby. Whispers followed their every step, many made their way to the other sidewalk to avoid the dangerous looking men. Sojiro and his companions seemed unaffected entirely, as if this was simply the natural way of things to them.
They soon came upon a small café, the words "Café Alps" emblazoned over the door. "Ah, Café Alps," Akira said to break the silence. "I'd been meaning to try the coffee here, actually. I heard it was really good."
Sojiro laughed in his throat. "You heard right, kid," he nodded, opening the door for them.
Iwai and the other bodyguard remained outside as they entered the quiet little restaurant and shop. There was no more than ten people in the café at the moment, mostly couples enjoying coffee and pastries as slow, relaxing jazz played through the speakers in the ceiling. The furnishings were not what Akira normally associated with an eatery, comprising mostly of what appeared to be fancy lawn furniture, like the ones he saw in international tourist magazines discussing European destinations.
Sojiro walked up to the front counter casually, taking in the scent of coffee grounds and finger food. The man at the counter noticed him approaching and stood at complete attention before bowing. "Ah, Sakura-san," he said as he bowed, "good evening, sir. Shall I clear the restaurant for you?"
"No need for any of that, Taishi," Sojiro replied. "In fact, I'd far better appreciate drawing as little attention to us as possible."
"Oh, of course, sir," Taishi nodded in a way suggesting he was somewhat relieved. "Please, sit anywhere there's space."
"Thank you kindly." Sojiro and Akira took a table for two at the far end of the restaurant. Not knowing what else to do in the awkward moment, Akira began to peruse the menu. Various types of coffee he was not even aware existed were arranged on the menu, and he ended up ordering the Brazilian blend for not much more reason than it was surprisingly expensive, therefore it must be good.
"Do you come to this place often?" asked Akira.
"I do, honestly. It's regarded as one of the best coffee houses in Kamurocho. Which is fitting, since I taught Taishi how to really hone his craft."
"Whoa, you taught him how to make coffee?"
"Not how to make coffee, but how to extract the best possible flavor from the grounds. I do have a life outside of the yakuza, you know."
"Never would have pegged you for a barista though."
"You kidding, kid?" Sojiro smirked. "Making coffee was a large part of how I met my wife."
"Your married, Sojiro?"
The Boss paused for a moment, looking down at the menu. His eyes seemed to darken for a brief flash. "I did, yes."
"Oh," Akira looked away sheepishly. "I'm, uh, sorry."
"It's alright, really."
Their meals were brought to them a moment later, and Akira took a short sip of the hot coffee. It had bite, but was still smooth and easy to drink. He admitted to himself that the brew was truly delicious, portrayed visibly by his eyes widening with excitement as the coffee graced his tongue. Sojiro noticed Akira's enthusiasm, but simply nodded contentedly.
After a moment of slightly more comfortable silence, Akira finally asked the question which had been burning in his mind for too long. "So, Sojiro, you knew this was coming. Why are we out here?"
"What? Is the coffee not good enough to warrant the trip?"
"Isn't it impolite to answer a question with a question?"
Sojiro nodded with a light smile. "Indeed." He took another sip of his coffee and placed it back on the table. "Surely you have at least some idea as to why you're out here."
"The Kamoshida business, right?"
"In part, yes."
"Oh, of course," Akira rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in front of him. "There's always something else with you people."
"What do you expect? We're in a completely different world from that of civilians. Though you already know that."
"More or less," Akira said in a darker, less patient tone.
"But yes, the Kamoshida incident is a large part of it. I'm sorry we weren't able to have this conversation sooner though. I've been quite busy with damage control for the last couple weeks."
"Damage control? Good to know, because it's felt more like you were avoiding me."
"Not at all. I was just trying to control the very quick spreading of rumors after you whacked the guy."
"I'm already somewhat familiar with these rumors. Your guy Akechi filled me in a bit."
"Ah, Akechi," Sojiro nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Bit of a weird kid, but a valuable asset nonetheless. Kuze was very lucky when he found Akechi last year."
"What exactly does he do for you?"
"What any other heavy does for us, though with added emphasis on… spycraft."
"You're shitting me."
"Not in the slightest," Sojiro smirked. "The kid's a very good manipulator and actor. If we need someone to go undercover for any reason, Akechi is our first pick. It's also the reason you don't see him out and about too often. Don't want potential marks to see him fraternizing with their enemies."
Akira nodded thoughtfully. "He does seem like the type. A bit too polite for what I'd think a yakuza would be like."
"And what do you think a yakuza should be like, Kurusu?"
The weight of his previous statement fell on Akira like an anvil as he realized what he had just said. "That's not what I meant," he backtracked.
"Perhaps, but I'm not quite sure what you meant. I was asking you to elaborate."
Quickly, Akira replied, "I don't know. All I really know about yakuza before the last couple weeks was from movies and urban legends. My mom sure as hell never told me anything, though she's such a kind person that I never would have thought of her as yakuza."
"You mean to say that yakuza can't be kind?" Sojiro pressed him.
Akira was feeling caught in a foxhole by now. "I don't know."
"Relax, kid, I'm not interrogating you. I was just curious as to how you think of our way of life now."
"You still won't tell me why I'm still here, you know," Akira said with a dark tone. "I've got no desire to remain in this 'way of life', and you know that, but you still keep me around. Why? Is this why you've been avoiding me for so long?"
"I haven't been avoiding you, as I said," Sojiro replied sternly. "I've been extremely busy trying to make the best of your messy business."
"That doesn't answer my question. You still haven't told me about the guy I punched, except that he's some kind of dangerous yakuza."
"Danger and ambition in equal amount," Sojiro began slowly. "And what's worse than equal danger and ambition? A man with the resources and knowhow to accomplish those ambitions. I'm sorry I haven't been totally open with you, Akira. I see that you don't know much about your family history, and I didn't want give you too much sensitive information."
"And leading me by the nose was the better alternative?"
"Unintentionally. I told you, we've all been busy, just like you."
"Are you ever gonna be forthcoming with me, Sojiro?" Akira glowered at him.
Sojiro raised an eyebrow at the younger man, appearing more curious than offended. "There's a reason your mother never told you about her past, you know," he began slowly, speaking in a dark, methodical tone. "She was a good person through and through, but no amount of good deeds would alleviate the pain she's gone through. It's honestly remarkable she turned out as well as she did."
"What are you getting at, old man?"
"I'm saying that some things may be better explained by her than me," Sojiro said resolutely. "I respect and care about her too much to overstep those boundaries."
"Piety?" asked Akira with a biting tone. "That's why you're leading me on all this time?"
"If that's how you want to look at it, yes."
Akira did not expect such a dry and matter of fact response, but he could not say he was too surprised upon reflection. "Is there anything at all you can tell me?"
Sojiro looked to his side, taking another sip of his coffee. "If it will ease your mind, I may be able to spare some details."
"Fucking finally," Akira muttered.
"Watch that mouth of yours, kid," Sojiro chided him before finishing his cup of coffee. "Anyway, I can at least start with this little tidbit: do you know your mother's nickname from back when she was with the Clan?"
"Didn't even know she had one."
Sojiro whistled to himself. "Hoo boy, she really didn't tell you jack shit."
"Pretty sure we covered that at some point."
"Are you saying I'm senile?"
"I'm saying I'm very, very interested," Akira snided.
Sojiro shook his head dismissively. "You certainly didn't get that from your father."
"Mom always did say I took after her."
"You have no idea." Sojiro cleared his throat before continuing. "In fact, it's that fiery disposition that was partly responsible for your mother's nickname. Way back when, we called her 'The Dragon of Sakura'."
Akira's expression softened ever so slightly. "What does that mean?"
"Ah, finally got your attention, did I?"
"Yup, you got it," said Akira quickly.
"Good. That title was given to your mother by me, actually. Though it was also to honor her father at the time, who held that title first. You wouldn't happen to anything about your grandparents, would you?"
Akira shook his head. "Mom told me they died in a car accident shortly after she and dad got married."
"Figures." Sojiro paused as if searching for the right words to continue. "You can probably guess that that isn't exactly true."
"Yeah, I'm getting that feeling. Are they actually dead though?"
Sojiro looked at the younger man with a deathly serious glare. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you."
"Of course not," Akira leaned back in his chair dejectedly, glaring off into the distance. "Just gonna keep leading me on like usual."
"Like I said, it's because I respect your parents and want their business to be told by them, when the time is right. They've sacrificed more for you than you know, Akira."
Akira's glare remained plastered to his face, but his jaw seemed to unclench a bit. "That part they have told me before. It was on my sixteenth birthday."
"I see."
"I told you when we met that I wasn't surprised that they had ties to the underworld, right?"
"I remember."
"Well, on my sixteenth, I asked my mom why she had no family that ever came by, unlike my dad's side. She tried to change the subject, but I asked again, this time including all the training we'd done to build me into a fighter. She started crying, apologizing for… something, she never got too specific." Sojiro did not reply, but listened intently to every word. "I didn't ask again after that."
"Did she ever open up to you anymore about it?"
"Around my graduation, a little bit. She apologized again for all the secrets, told me that she and dad had made 'great sacrifices', all that kind of stuff. I actually stopped her before she started crying again."
Sojiro nodded approvingly. "You care about her very deeply."
"I've been angry at her ever since all this happened, honestly," the boy admitted slowly. "But I still think she's the best mom in the world."
Sojiro chuckled quietly. "You may very well be right on that. At least close."
Akira smiled involuntarily. "You think so, old man?"
"She didn't earn the title of 'Dragon' just because she's a good fighter, you know. Dragons are protectors, guardians. Their passionate wardens for the things they hold dear, and will go to any length to protect the ones close to them. It's that strength combined with passion that runs throughout your family line."
Akira nodded, though felt like he did not fully understand what Sojiro was talking about. However, something stirred within him, telling him that there truth to the old man's words. "You saying I could be a dragon too?" Akira asked with a joking tone, though some small percentage of him was genuinely curious.
"Only time will tell," Sojiro smiled. "I already see your mother's fire in you, even with how you handled Kamoshida. You jumped headfirst into hell to protect your new friends without a second thought. That kind of passion for justice inspires people, Akira. Your grandfather was just the same way."
"Was he a dragon too?"
Sojiro smirked knowingly at Akira. "A dragon unlike any other before him. He was a watchful guardian, an ironborn fighter, and a good friend." That last description sounded to Akira almost wistful. "Do you know his name?"
"Fuma, right?"
Sojiro laughed to himself and shook his head. "Oh, your mother has plenty to tell you, Akira."
"Oh c'mon! You're just gonna leave me with that?"
"Sorry, kid, but that's your family business. When the time comes, and your business here is complete, I'm sure your mother will fill you in on everything."
"That's really shitty, old man," Akira said with less ire than his words implied.
"Well, show me in your next assignment that you have the makings of a dragon yourself, and maybe I'll tell you some more stories."
"Next assignment?" asked Akira.
"Indeed," Sojiro nodded. "I have a much more important mission for you than just beating some debtors. You see, a subsidiary of ours has come upon hard times lately, and we have reason to believe it may be sabotage. Are you familiar with the Kitagawa family, Akira?"
"May have heard it in the grapevine, but can't quite place it."
"That's not too unusual for a new prospect. They don't deal in much yakuza business, and operate mostly on the fringe of our deals. However, that old man really knows how to make money. Come to think of it, he's got a grandson right about your age. You may have a new friend in the works, kid."
"You guys really try to keep the business in the family, don't you?"
"Blood is one of the strongest bonds in the world," said Sojiro. "If cultivated correctly, much like coffee, those bonds can ensure generations of prosperity."
"Smooth," said Akira with a smirk.
"I try. Now, tomorrow night, you will be escorted to one of the Kitagawa family's clubs on the other side of town. Ryuji may go with you, if you wish. You will meet with the liason, discuss their current problems and any new developments that may have come about, and report back to me so we can act accordingly. Oh, and try to be polite, please."
"You saying I'm not polite?"
"Yes."
"Touche."
"Glad we're on the same page." Sojiro perked up a moment and reached into his breast pocket. He pulled out a small pager and looked at it before quickly typing in something and putting it back in his pocket.
"You know," Akira began, "I'm still not down with this whole business, right? I don't like being ordered around like one of your dogs."
"Shut it," Sojiro shot back out of the blue.
"Whoa, the hell, man?" Akira asked with growing irritation. "What, did the waiter piss in your coffee or something - ?"
He cut himself off when looking up to the television hanging above them from the ceiling. A reporter was discussing some sort of breaking news. "ASSASSINATION" trailed across the screen in bright letters.
"Prime Minster candidate Tatsu was found murdered, hanging from his apartment window in Sotenbori, Osaka earlier tonight," the newscaster spoke. "Upon investigation, police found what seemed to be an assault on the Representatives private security, with sixteen security agents found dead. Details on the supposed assassination are still coming to light, but early responders believe this heinous act to be perpetrated by an organized crime syndicate."
"What the hell?" Akira muttered.
"We need to leave," said Sojiro as he stood to his feet. He walked over to Taishi and handed him a wad of yen worth far more than the meals they had received and walked briskly toward the door with Akira in tow."
"The hell is happening, Sojiro?" Akira asked frantically. "That wasn't your guys, was it?"
"Not a chance," Sojiro replied as they made their way into the night air. Iwai and the other bodyguard walked beside them as they rushed back toward Sojiro's private limousine. "However, we have to lay low for the night before more people see the news, then begin sending out our own investigations."
"Got any idea who it might be?" Akira asked as they approached a fancy limo parked a couple minutes walk from the café.
Sojiro stopped as they came to the car. Iwai opened the door for them and the other bodyguard got in the driver's seat. Sojiro looked at Akira with the look of the devil in his eyes. "I do," he said as they took their seats. "And we need to act quickly."
"You don't mean…"
Sojiro nodded as the car started driving away. "I don't know for sure, but if it's really him, then we potentially have much larger problems on our hands."
"You mean the guy I hit," Akira said in a tense whisper. Sojiro nodded. "Tell me his name."
Sojiro looked out the window, watching the world go by, all the people coming and going, completely unaware of what was happening. "Masayoshi Shido."
…
Chapter 3 – Part 2
Dishonored
Two hours earlier…
He slipped on his reinforced gloves as he crouched on the rooftop. Below him, people walked about the business district of Sotenbori, oblivious to his presence. Though he was entirely concealed in the shadows, aided by his black attire, he would look over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one was able to spot him. He pulled out a small handgun from his duffel bag and put in its holster on his hip. Next was his shortsword. Measuring only fifteen inches from base to tip, it was perfect for stealth operations like this one. He sheathed on the other side of his waist and pulled out the last item from his bag.
A metal mask and black cloth hood.
The mask was ornate, somewhat gaudy, resembling a plague doctor's mask with a much shorter nose, extending only as far as his own nose did. The eyes were wide and vacuous, and there was a mouth like that of a skull carved into the metal. He slipped on the mask, bonding to his face perfectly, then raised the hood.
His identity was protected with the mask, and his body was safeguarded by the reinforced Kevlar lining of the suit, which resembled something of European design. There was flaps on the chest of the hardened leather jacket that extended past his waist. The getup made him look dangerous, but was understated enough to be used for stealth. Truly a remarkable piece of work, it was, allowing him free range of movement while also keeping him protected.
He was ready.
He stood to his feet, looking down on those below him once more. He then broke into a sprint, deftly jumping from one rooftop to the next. Even on the uneven surfaces, he never lost his footing. Every step, every movement of his body was fluid like water. He ran for five minutes across rooftops, ducking behind any obstructions he came across to maintain his stealth, until coming upon his mark.
There was a large office building in front of him known as the Takahara complex. Famous for its lavish banquet halls, it was a long-respected center for galas and conventions held by companies of a more prestigious bracket in Japan. At this moment, Representative Tatsu was refining plans for his upcoming Prime Ministerial campaign, likely regarding some kind of tax reformation in order to put more substantial power into law enforcement, as this was his largest talking point politically.
About twenty feet away and eight feet below the ledge the agent stood on a window five feet tall and three feet across. He ran over the plan in his head one more time, then placed a finger to his ear.
"Ready to execute," he said.
"Solid copy," replied a female voice with a distinctly Russian accent from the earpiece. "You're clear for infiltration."
He breathed out slowly, then ran forward with all his might until he hit the edge of the rooftop. Then he jumped, tucking in his legs as he barreled toward the window.
The glass shattered on contact and he landed on the floor on his hands and knees. Due to the protective gloves and clothing, he felt none of the glass shards he was now kneeling in. "The fuck!?" shouted a man to his right. "Who the hell are you!?"
The agent took note of the guard in a fancy suit beside him, recognized him reaching for a gun hidden in his coat, and then rushed the guard with his sword, driving it through the man's throat. Blood immediately fountained from the new wound. Another guard sounded off behind the agent, and he used the still embedded sword to wheel the man around in front of him, creating a human shield just as the second guard unloaded the first two shots. Blood splattered out from the first guard's body, and the agent then peaked over his shoulder with his pistol and shot the second guard directly through his left eye. He took the sword out of the first guard's throat, and both guards collapsed to the ground.
The agent's movement and reactions were automatic, reflexive. He only fully internalized what he was doing after he already done it. He sprinted down the hall with no care for sneaking, quickly stabbing or shooting anyone he saw, be it guard or servant. A waiter carrying a bottle of wine crossed his path at one point - the agent stabbed him in the gut without slowing down and kept on his way toward the main offices. The waiter was not even aware of what had happened until he was laying on the ground as his vision began to darken.
The agent came upon a large set of ornate double doors of white with violet designs. He unceremoniously kicked the doors so hard they nearly fell of their hinges, greeted by the sight of seven guards surrounding a large dining table. Tatsu cowered at the far end of the table, looking near ready to piss himself at the sight of the agent. As the guards began to draw their weapons, the agent shot down two of them, then jumped onto the table in the confusion. He leaped from the raised table and came down upon another one of the guards, stabbing him through the heart before turning his head and shooting another.
Four guards were now dead, and the other three were about to attack. Two drew knives from their coats, while the other took out a pistol as he escorted Tatsu to the adjacent room. The two knife-wielders rushed the agent, who deftly parried the first strike before digging his sword into the arm of the second guard. He howled in pain before the agent removed the sword and embedded it in the man's skull. His eyes rolled back as his tear ducts and ears started to bleed.
The first guard was shocked still by the show of brutality just long enough for the agent to kick him to the ground, where he proceeded to open the guard's throat with his sword, leaving the agent the only man left alive in the room.
"You cocksucker!" shouted the last guard from the next room over. "Whoever you are, you'll pay for that!" The agent took out his gun and reloaded with one of the spare clips he carried and hid behind the doorway leading to the next room. Holding the pistol in his left hand and the sword in his right, he ran his thumb along the pistol's safety slowly, plotting his next move. His breathing was rhythmic, shallow, calm. "Come out and die, you bastard!" shouted the last guard.
The agent muscles tensed as he finally moved. From his advantaged viewing angle, he shot out the light illuminating the room, covering it in darkness. The agent rolled into the room and stopped at a prone position amidst the confusion and fired his gun without aiming, simply pointing it in the general direction of where he expected the guard to be based on the following the sound of his speech.
He hit his mark, though only in the right arm. The guard recoiled back with a pained hiss before blindfiring toward the grounded agent. This time, it was the agent who was hit, grazed on his shoulder by the bullet. The reinforced jacket blocked the full strength of the bullet, but he still felt like he had been hit by a lead pipe, eliciting a repressed groan from him. However, he recovered faster than the guard, and now with a perfect angle to see from, the agent got to a kneeling position and shot the guard in the chest three times.
Blood poured from the new holes in his body and the guard fell to the ground face down, revealing Representative Tatsu cowering behind him. The old man, face wrinkled and beard white, fell onto his back in terror at the thin framed dark assassin that was slowly walking toward him like a nightmare come to life. Tatsu began silently praying to any god he could think of as the figure loomed over him like a demon. The assassin put away his weapons and seemed to scrutinize the old man for a moment.
"W-well?" Tatsu sputtered fearfully. "Are you not here to kill me? Go on! Get it over with! I've already called the police, they'll be hear any minute!" The agent did not answer, but instead reached behind him and produced a rope from under his jacket. "W-what is that for?"
The assassin looked to the rope, and then to the old man. He spoke in a cold, slow voice, as if his very words were that of an omen of death. "To provide an example."
Tatsu's eyes widened and he tried to crawl away in fear from the assassin before he was suddenly pinned to the ground. He screamed as excruciating pain shot up his right leg as the assassin pinned him down by driving his blade through the man's flesh. Tatsu tried to fight against the pain and flee still, but the agent began to forcefully wrap the rope around the man's neck like a barn animal. He tightened the rope to the point that Tatsu's neck almost broke right there, exhibiting far greater strength than the assassin's thin frame indicated. Tatsu sputtered and tried to cry out as his throat was slowly crushed by the rope's pressure.
Then the assassin walked to the window and began securing the rope on the sill.
Once the rope was secured, the assassin removed the sword from Tatsu's leg as the politician begged and blubbered, but to no avail. The assassin dragged his writhing body to the window, and Tatsu saw the beautiful skyline of Sotenbori laid out before him.
"You... dishonor your whole clan... and yourself. We will not… be intimidated… by you…"
The agent slammed his face against the glass, cracking it and cutting the man's face in eight place. "Then why are you crying?"
Tatsu felt the assassin kick him in the back, and he fell forward to the sound of glass shattering. He was not even able to scream before the rope caught eight feet below the window. He heard something like bones snapping before his vision faded. The last thing he saw was his beloved city, lit up like a starry sky. The last thing he heard was screams from somewhere below…
The agent looked over his handiwork for a moment, then put his finger to his ear as he began walking away, the sound of sirens beginning to cut through the deathly still air. "Verona, I'm done here."
[Reviews are always encouraged.]
