June 16th, 2020
Mamoru Akasaka had a lot of excuses for why he had done as he did.
She was a child.
She spoke to him as an adult. Why hadn't he listened? Why hadn't the sudden change in her mannerisms struck him as odd, as something to pay attention to?
There's no such thing as prophecy.
Yes, but why hadn't he checked? What would have been the harm of it? How would it have done the slightest harm to his investigation to check on Yuki, just one call, just a quick dial of the numbers? Even if he had missed her, the staff would have let her know he had at least tried.
She couldn't have known.
Why couldn't she have known? Hadn't she known what he was here for, who he was?
She was a member of the Three Families. They would have told her of an investigator.
Really? Would they, though? Would they really? And how had she known him by sight? How had she known the exact stop he was being dropped off at, the exact time?
It was just a coincidence.
She was waiting for him. Why else would a child native to the village be hanging around a bus stop? Why else did she attach herself to a nameless stranger? Why else would she cling to him, and warn him so desperately?
Why hadn't he listened?
Oh, Akasaka had a dozen excuses, and none of them were enough to excuse him for what he did. He knew it, he knew it and he knew that Rika Furude had known it as she choked out her last upon her own family altar, organs exposed and wet and red in the moonlight.
He had failed her.
He had failed Yuki.
And his excuses weren't enough.
11.31 AM, USA Central Time