Chapter Two: Thugs

It quickly became apparent Juvie Hall was a world of its own, quite apart from the outside. The figures of authority looked on the boys with an almost sage-like compassion. Rather than focusing on condemning and punishing the faults society was so keen on rooting out, they were more devoted to reforming them – educating and strengthening them. On the first day alone, Akira sensed better instincts in Himonya-san than he ever did in Principal Kobayakawa. This was a vital contradiction, one of many that plagued Japan's social ways, Akira thought bitterly.

It was reassuring to know that adults like Saito Himonya and Sae Niijima were committed to improving society for all in some way. But little would be achieved as long as like-minded people prioritised healing the wounds, rather than nurturing the body as it develops. It was still too soon to judge, however. Akira knew he could not look too harshly on the future when change takes time and effort. For now, all he could do was live in the present, in the world he was now part of.

Akira knew he belonged in it. Like the rest, he had done something that went against the way society operates; like the rest, he was and would be met with taboo and prejudice outside these walls; and like the rest, regardless of whether he found a way to live in peace in this correctional institution, he yearned to get out. Unfortunately, several of the other youths found his presence to be an anomaly, one that deserved a shunning, a taboo of its own. He expected to endure his sentence without much trouble, as long as he kept himself to himself.

This worked well for three days. Or so he believed. The truth was, the eyes that stalked from the corners were merely observing in silence, searching out his weaknesses. The first lunge came on the third day. Before then, the most eventful thing in Akira's life in the correctional was hearing how intensely Yasunori's voice bounced off the walls. Then, on the fourth day, there was a snarl on his ear.

The young man with thick, poorly cut, dark brown hair had been following Akira for several minutes, convinced he could not tell of his presence. He stood behind the new inmate during lunchtime. The others were long accustomed to this rite, so they barely said a thing, knowing they would be better off without having the Rabid Dog on their tails. Akira could tell by Yasunori's expression, as he awkwardly munched on his food, that he wanted to warn him, but could not. So he kept his cool, and gave nothing away. When the Dog snarled on his ear with a manic expression, he did not find the startle he was clearly looking for.

Akira simply turned to look at him.

"Hello." He said, deadpan.

"New guy." The Dog smirked with arrogance.

"That's me."

"Do you know who I am?"

From the corner of his eye, Akira could see Yasunori going into a panicked frenzy. The pieces fit together well before knowing the full story. He had to measure his words carefully if he wanted to keep out of trouble.

"I'm afraid not."

"'I'm afraid not', Haha." The Dog mocked. "Well, Mister. Let me introduce myself." He placed a thin, long hand on his shoulder and gripped with deceptive strength. "My name is Shogo. I am the Rabid Dog. And everyone here is my bitch, even you."

Akira said nothing. His eyes did not reveal even the slightest of the irritation he started to feel.

"Isn't that right, Bitch?" Shogo spoke in Yasunori's direction.

"Y-yes, Shogo."

"I'm the butch. Who are you?"

"I'm the bitch." Yasunori said with a tone of defeat.

"I'm the sausage. What are you?"

"I'm… the muffin."

"How's that for an introduction, new guy? Tell me then, who are you?"

"I am Akira Kurusu." His voice was stripped from anger or pride, or any discernible verbal incendiary. His instinct of self-preservation knew what he was to say, but his sense of self had a louder voice.

"You don't get it…" Shogo shook his head.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a sharp pain struck Akira's side. From nowhere, a knee against his ribs. He found himself grasping for air, turning to his right but finding nothing. Yasunori stood up and ran to Akira's aid.

"… You just don't get it. But you will, soon." Shogo declared, leaving their table. Nobody looked in his direction, let alone showed Yasunori's disposition.

"I told you not to be too quiet. Shit, guy. I can't go scaremongering around here, but you gotta know, the quiet ones draw attention."

Akira coughed, adding a slope of pain at every movement.

"Now he's not gonna leave you in peace. We can only hope he gets bored of you soon."

"He… didn't kick me, did he?" Akira struggled to ask.

"No. I don't know who did, but it was one of his 'bitches'. They follow him around and follow his every word. Are you okay to stand?" He patiently waited for the new inmate's response.

"Yeah… How many friends does he have?"

"Like four. But nobody wants to touch him, even if we all outnumber him."

"Why not?"

"You really don't wanna know, guy." Few times had Akira seen someone with an expression as hopeless as Yasunori's. "Nobody can touch him."

"He's somebody's son, I take it." The memory of Haru's former fiancé rang foul in his thoughts.

"Yeah… Let's drop the subject, though. No good dwelling on stuff you can't change, huh?"

Akira nodded in silence. He knew his first and only friend in the correctional facility meant well. But he was either naïve or wilfully hopeful. Shogo would not leave him alone now that he had a taste of the newcomer's blood. As a former Phantom Thief, he knew the wild extremes of misguided desires and deliberate cruelty. It was quite possible that he one day would be released, but that day was unlikely to arrive soon. Only four days so far. There was still an uncertain length to endure ahead.

It was almost time for the welding workshop. Akira proved readily adept at this, having spent almost a full year crafting lock picks and small gadgets at his desk. Doing something he was competent at would often ease his nerves when balancing school and heart-stealing. No so this time, as he dwelled heavily on his options and unlikely solutions to his predicament. He needed to get through his sentence without further trouble.

Yasunori interrupted his train of thought as they walked back to the cell block.

"Don't freak out, guy. But someone's got you in his sights."

"Shogo?"

"No, this is… different. Don't turn around. Let's just go in. I'll tell you tomorrow when it's not so obvious."

"More unwanted attention, I see."

"Yeah… Shit, guy. I think you pulled a short straw somewhere."

Akira sighed, mentally exhausted. The air flowed easy out of his lungs and the strike on his side had stopped hurting. However, the thought that someone else may be joining in his harassment brought back his physical discomfort. It did not help any that Yasunori looked so tense for the remainder of the evening.

The next morning, Shogo made his presence known again. This time, two of his associates apportioned abuse on both Akira and Yasunori during breakfast. Both of them endured it, but it became evident that the latter had suffered at Shogo's hands before.

"See you around, Rooster." Shogo delivered a cruel farewell, adding a few mocking syllables to the nickname.

Yasunori waited until he was out of sight to spit blood on the floor. Akira could sense a growing impotence in him. He wondered how soon it would be before he felt the same way. Things appeared to calm down somewhat as the day went by, only to take another turn at lunchtime, heralded by another inmate standing behind Akira. He could read in Yasunori's eyes that this was whoever was eyeing him the day before.

"Are you Akira Kurusu?" A young man with a shaved head asked curtly. Barring the boyish look about his face, he looked like the stereotype of a violent delinquent.

"I am." Akira answered, knowing stoic frankness was his best choice.

"Come with me." The boy beckoned, immediately walking for Akira, and Yasunori, to catch up.

It seemed, as they walked behind his swift walk that their surroundings turned darker, lonelier. The thuggish boy was leading them towards a region in the correctional Akira was strangely unfamiliar with – the library. The hallways leading to it were a labyrinth of matte-coloured walls that somewhat clashed with the rest of the building's design. The three stopped at the library's door. It was closed. The boy knocked with uncharacteristic delicacy.

"Come in." A deep voice came from the other side.

The boy took a quick breath and opened the door for Akira and Yasunori, who looked anxious and slightly fretful about coming along. Once they crossed the library threshold, the boy shut the door and went away. Akira experienced then a vague notion of feeling trapped. It was not the first time he felt something similar. At one point during his roguish career as a Phantom Thief, his friends and he were turned into mice; every step carried the tension of feeling cornered by Shadows who suffered no such disadvantage, finding refuge in air vents, squeaking their uneasy way along.

"Come." The voice called again, as deep as a cavern.

Akira knew he had little choice. His only comfort in face of the possible danger ahead was this individual's voice was less grating than Shogo's.

They met him sitting a table after turning the corner on a long bookcase. The first thing they saw were his eyes, fixed on their location, expecting their arrival. Though his attire was the same sweatshirt and gym pants as the rest of the inmates, he made it look formal merely by the way he stood up from his seat. Dark brown hair, unruly and thick. He was two inches shorter than Akira and three shorter than Yasunori, but the muscle on him topped them both.

"Akira Kurusu." He seemed to weigh the very words.

"I am him."

He nodded. The bulky young man approached him, barely seeming to notice Yasunori.

"My name is Daigo. I'll get to the point. I hear you made an enemy already – the worst one you can make in here. Fortunately for you, I hear you also made a good friend outside. He's been trying to pull some strings in the outskirts of one of the clans to see that nobody touches you while you complete your sentence."

"Huh?"

"Didn't see you there, Rooster." Daigo turned back to Akira. "I'm here to keep Shogo and his would-be friends off your back."

Akira stayed silent. Hearing Daigo, he instantly thought of Iwai, owner of the airsoft store in Shibuya, and he hoped that he did not put himself at risk asking for this favour. Next to him, Yasunori seemed to go frantic, making wild gestures and unable to utter a sound. To any outsider, the sum of two and two spelled a concerning image. The circumstances circling Akira painted him as more than just another young delinquent. Yet, was he not in fact so? In the cataract-ridden eyes of the law, he was perhaps one of the most dangerous criminals alive. A connection or two to the Yakuza should come as no surprise.

"I see. Thank you, Daigo-san." Akira bowed. His relief was legitimate.

"No need to be so courteous. As Rooster here can attest to, formality can be an invitation to trouble in here. I will provide protection to the best of my abilities, but there are skills you will need to learn to endure when I won't be able to help you."

Learning was the word. Akira had never been a particularly devoted student. Acquiring and retaining knowledge came naturally to him, but learning was a different word to him altogether. To him, it was a process that engaged and sometimes obsessed him; better yet if it involved lateral thinking and the opportunity to use his hands. Coffee brewing, curry making, lock pick crafting, massaging, lobster taming. Akira always wanted to be able to do more and more. All at once, his day and the prospect of getting through his sentence looked brighter.

"I understand."

"Good. We will start tomorrow. You can go on about your business. Nobody will disturb you for the remainder of the day." Daigo sounded secure.

"Will this extend to Yasunori as well?" Akira asked. His friend looked surprised to hear it.

"If he's in your vicinity, probably."

"Probably is not good enough." Akira spoke.

Daigo said nothing. He squinted in irritation at the two young men standing before him. Akira looked at him straight in the eye, with no defiance or compromise.

"Yes. He will be safe from Shogo as well." Daigo conceded.

"Thank you, Daigo." The sobriety in Akira's voice was both comforting as it was disturbing.

"Dude…" Yasunori was caught in disbelief.

"I think I start to see how you came into that friendship." Daigo remarked grimly. "Loyalty is valued better in some places than others."

"I will take it as a compliment." Akira responded.

Daigo said nothing.

True to his word, Akira and Yasunori went both undisturbed for the rest of the day. The clearest sign of it was seeing Shogo in the distance as they returned to the mess hall. He had the clear intent of approaching them to dole out some more pain, yet he was hindered by the pleas of his friends who held him back. Although this was a pleasing turn of events, Akira would not fool himself into thinking the Dog would hold back indefinitely. There was hate in his eyes - it eventually would break out. Akira would need to be ready by then. Something in his gut told him so. An old voice that hissed with baleful poise in the face of confrontation. And its name was Arsene.