A2, Ch. 1: The New Normal, Pt. II

"So, she have you fill out charters or something?" Ryuji said, breaking midway into a smirk.

Akira shoved him out of his seat on the train, spacious given the time they left. "Shut up, you idiot."

Ann sat across from them, glancing periodically at a fashion magazine. "You really shouldn't be rubbing things in, Ryuji."

"Relax. Trying to lighten things up, that's all."

"And failing," Ann muttered. "Spare him a little. He didn't sign up for it. Though...I have to admit, I'm curious, too. You get any impressions working with her?"

"Serious, demure, gets scary and bossy when she wants to." He cracked an insouciant grin. "Sounds like heaven."

She glared sternly at him. "Don't joke around."

"Seriously. Just...relax. She may be a bit...enthusiastic about her responsibilities, but she's not going to wring me out to dry."

She stayed silent. ...And yet, you still got slapped on the wrist with this whole Council business.

Akira continued. "It's just..."

"What is it?" Ryuji said. "You overthinkin' something again?"

Akira chuckled. "You can say that." It was an understatement though. A sudden dismissal like that...this will keep me huddled over the bench all night.

If only...

His bag rustled.

If only this cat didn't twiddle his fingers. Paws. Whatever. "Morgana, when are you going to show us this Mementos place? You keep hyping me up about it."

Morgana poked its snout out of the bag. "Soon."

"Soon!?" Ryuji fired. "What do you mean, soon!? You can't keep us waiting!"

Morgana pushed himself further out of the bag. "Well, Ryuji, you're excited. You have a target?"

"Well...no." His head sunk down. "To tell the truth, I haven't come up with anything."

"Figures. I'll say this: it'll be easier to demonstrate this place if we have a reason to go there. Until then...a normal student's life it is. Studying at the diner, and all."

"Normal? Please." Ryuji then turned to Akira. "You know, it's funny. I've been trying to search for targets. You know that page on the Phansite I showed a while back? I've been using that, actually."

Akira leaned forward, all ears. "People actually post requests on there? What do they post?"

A harsh frown popped up on Ryuji's face. "Bottom of the barrel stuff. Let me see...'I want to make my friend apologize for not returning the stuff I lent him.' Pfft. 'I want to get the teachers to give me a good midterm grade...' Seriously, deal with that yourself!"

"It almost sounds like word of the Phantom Thieves has spread only as far as Shujin," Akira observed.

"Makes sense," Ann added. "The news reports only show interviews of the students and allegations about Kamoshida and the Principal. No mentions of Phantom Thieves or anything like that."

Ryuji slunk his head down. "A mention would be nice."

Ann groaned. "Ryuji, Akira and you already have the rumors. You don't need a shoutout."

At that moment, Akira noticed a pair of girls behind her in Shujin uniforms:

"Hey, is that the transfer student behind us?"

"I think so. Are the rumors about him threatening Kamoshida true?"

"I...dunno. I mean...I can believe he set up the Principal, along with that weird newspaper chick. That seems feasible. But threatening him? That rumor was silly, anyway."

"He WAS charged for assault and hangs out with Sakamoto. Not far-fetched."

"More likely that Kamoshida just caved in once when that one girl tried to kill herself. Besides, this Phantom Thieves stuff and this Phansite...is a bit silly. Just sounds like someone had too much fun with a practical joke."

Akira couldn't help but make cynical sniggers. Indeed, HE seemed to have too much fun with this.

"Yeah...I'm more worried about college at this rate. That, and the fact that transfer student is now apparently in Student Council with Prissyma...as if the Student Council couldn't sink lower after Kamoshida. And on top of that, the rumors of him getting sweet with that bitc-"

"Gee, I wonder whose life story YOU could be talking about," Akira yelled intently.

The gossiping students turned around, only to recoil in embarrassment and slink deeper into their seats.

He slid back into his seat as well. "I'm going to take a quick nap," Akira grumbled. "Wake me when we're at Shibuya."

He took a book out of his bag and propped his head against it. He shuttered his eyes, quickly glancing at the look on Ann's face through the crack the cover made with his view. Another indignant look, for my sake. Ann, you're sweet, but I think what I did will suffice for now.

He closed his eyes...

...And with that...the chains. The reverberating bars. The drips in the background.

He opened his eyes. "I'm brimming with joy," he deadpanned.

Caroline greeted him with a haughty grin. "Welcome back, inmate. Now stand attention. Our master has something to say."

"...Does he always."

He stared again in the distance; Igor was still in the same pose as always.

"A most joyous occasion. More and more have come to view in your aesthetics. The pieces are set. Rehabilitation...can finally begin."

"...I thought that already started, though."

Caroline struck at the bars. "Just shut up and listen, Inmate!"

"Your 'special potential' though must be refined. That...is the nature of your rehabilitation: to use your full potential against the coming ruin."

"And we can point the way, inmate," Justine then said. She pulled out something from her tome and presented it to the Inmate.

Akira saw it was a gold medal. "How did you..."

Caroline whacked at the bars once more. "It's a matter of aesthetics. Get that into your thick head."

The sound of a train horn echoed off the velvet bricks, getting louder with each toot.

Justine then tossed the medal. "Continue to consult your contractors. Let them lend you strength, for the coming challenges ahead. Utilize the gifts bestowed upon you. And...enjoy whatever rest you have before you arrive at your destination..."

The train kept roaring...

Akira directed his bleary eyes at the LCD screen. "Shibuya Station" About time.

Ryuji shot up from his seat. "SHIT!"

Akira snapped his neck upwards. "What!?"

"...Midterms are soon-OW! Why did you hit me with your book?"

"Because we already said that a while back! Why did you think we're heading to a diner? For the coffee!?" Akira took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, trying to make his goosebumps settle. "Besides, Ann suggested it. Said the booths are rather quiet."

"C'mon, Ryuji, pay attention!" Ann further pressed.

"Shit, I know." His belly grumbled. "Dammit. Today threw me off from my yakisoba pan habit!"

"Figures," Ann complained. "At the very least, this place serves ok food. I'm not sure about the sweets...maybe they have cake on the menu..."

"'We'll be fine with tea, thanks," Akira said. "Now guys...what subjects are you guys good at? I probably could use a bit of brush up on English..."

Ann raised her hand. "I do pretty well in English. I mean, I AM part-American..."

"Correction: A quarter. And you ONLY do well in English," Ryuji quipped.

Ann turned hot-red. "Like you have anything academic to put on a pedestal! At least I'm good at something!"

And with that, Ryuji's boisterousness faded away. "Shut up...let's just eat."

The trio then exited the train and out onto the ground above, with Ryuji dragging his feet even more than usual.

Akira, behind the other two, had a pang of pity. Ann did seem to wound Ryuji this time. I suppose she'll realize the error of her ways. But now...

Her walking ahead, acting like a normal ribbing, is making it worse.

The aforementioned diner was just across from the Big Bang Burger Ryuji dragged him to that one time.

Akira then remembered the Twin's veiled words. To be fair, I do need to get this medal off of me...and he did say he had a side hustle going on.

But for now...

He figured he'd do more tutoring than reviewing. For Ryuji's sake.

Forensics already laid the black tarps over the blood-spattered room and sprayed a light layer of luminol all around Kobayakawa's office.

Endo still had the breathing mask on his face. It's either that, or having to deal with a gag reflex. I may be used to this smell...but my lungs seem sensitive today. I guess I'm getting old. He opened his phone and dialed away. "Coroner's office. It's Endo. Is that body at the morgue yet?"

The tech on the other side yawned. "Yes. I hope you appreciate the strain your stiff put on their backs."

"I'll buy them drinks. I hope this isn't boring you."

"Not at all. Just more hours. The uppers already see the long picture here."

Endo grumbled. "Right...Thanks for reminding me. I'll buy only one round this time."

"Cheapass."

Endo hung up the phone. By this time, the luminol turned the room into a light show of splatters, with the largest around a hole in Kobayakawa's bookcase.

He closed one eye and leaned further with bottlecap glasses on his face. Damn eyes. He steadied his vision. "The hole is the size of a bullet fragment. The gun most likely would be powerful enough to penetrate the skull, but slow enough to make it tumble and fragment. Still...quite a hand-cannon, by the looks of it." He tilted around. "Anyone find a weapon at the scene?"

A free tech approached him. "Bagged and tagged. Right under his right hand. Looks like an apparent suicide, based on the gunpowder marks around the entry wound."

He grabbed the bagged gun from the tech's hand. "A reasonable assumption," he said, grimacing.

"What you making that face for? Suicide is endemic in this country. Everybody seems to be having a horrible day nowadays. I mean, we have those mental shutdowns, after all."

Endo snarled. "Yeah. We have those DAMN mental shutdowns. And then we have this...have we recorded and uploaded everything, including the prints, to those stuffy bureaucrats in the National Police Agency and the ones in the Safety Commission?"

"No. Why?"

"Good. I'll take this."

"Wait...what are going to do with that?"

"...A consultation. I'll handle the paperwork."

"What's the point?"

He turned to hissing. "It's Japan. It's not enough to know it's a smoking gun; I need to know WHERE he got it." He moved the tarp out of the way and trotted to his police wagon.

Good thing, too; I was starting to get the sweats. He slipped a death stick from his pocket and lit up, coughing after the first puff.

He figured he'd give Sae a call; better her than the detective out of a J-POP. "...Sorry, Kazu, but...guess I can't promise you jack now."

The dial went on. Then, something caught his eyes. "Fucking shit." Cigarette still in his mouth, he eyeballed the gun up close. "A .44. And...engraved too. This is...custom built. There's a ton of people that can get this through back channels. But...with this amount of skill on display... the engravings. The artisanal touch..."

He gave up dialing and ignited the car, chewing harder at the bud. "The amount of skill...I swear...you better not be backsliding on me, you slithery reptile."

It was afternoon already.

Akira trotted back a few hours ago, giving up after Ryuji shoved twenty Pockys into his mouth...in one go. At least Ann is good at present participle...why didn't mom teach me more English, damnit? I wasn't going to go to France anytime soon. He figured staring at Sojiro's craft would bear more fruit.

"...These beans are always best to be left simmering in water at medium heat," Sojiro said, brewing the grinds through a cheesecloth-covered pitcher. "Tends to get all of the interesting compounds out of the bean when they're 'gently massaged' out." He passed the end product to Akira's face. "Here, try."

Akira took a zip. ...It's like a gentle massage on my taste buds. The hint of something floral is also tickling my nose..."Mhm. It's good. It has this aroma...like rose petals."

"Rose petals? Pfft, whatever you say. I was going to say licorice, but whatever."

"Maybe you're losing your sense of smell."

"...Or maybe I haven't, and you're just unrefined like all punk kids," Sojiro grunted. "Anyway...how's school? I may not look like it...but I watch TV. They keep talking about it, you know? Poor girls..."

Akira took another zip. "Tell me about it. I mean, I'm ok. Can't say about the others, though."

"So uh...all of that huffin' and puffin' a while back..."

"...Yeah."

"Damn. Well, what about your lady friend? She holdin' up ok? She probably already has a lot of eyes on her, given she has university to worry about. I don't think this would make things better."

"She has her stuff together, but..."

"But? But what?"

Akira shrugged. "People can be...judgmental. She's human; I can't say it doesn't take a toll."

Sojiro sighed. "Ain't that the truth. Did uh...did that guy ever...you know?"

"What, Kamoshida? Fuck no, thank god." Akira pulled out his phone. "That reminds me. I...want to eat something other than curry tonight."

Sojiro nodded. "Ok."

Akira stared a bit at Sojiro, wondering if he was going to say something more.

"...Ok?" Sojiro uttered again.

Another long stare.

"...What? It's curry. It's food. What, you think I get offended since it's the only thing I CAN make?"

"Alright, alright, I get it." He dialed Makoto. A minute passed. No response. That's odd. I wonder...

She dialed back. "Oh sorry. Forgive me, I usually don't expect people to call. I'm just studying in my room."

"Oh...well, I hope I didn't catch at the wrong time then. You, uh, alone?"

"Stop sounding like a creeper," Sojiro whispered. "Are you alone, jeez...just get to the point."

Akira slapped him on the arm.

"Well, yes. Sis isn't coming back tonight. Another long night at the office, unfortunately."

"You eat yet? I'm free...and I heard there's a ramen joint in Ogikubo..."

"Oh!"

Akira could hear her jump a couple of octaves.

"Well...uh...this is embarrassing. I've never actually tried ramen from a ramen shop before..."

"...I'll just pretend you didn't say that. Look, just have some ramen with me. I know you're busy and I'm not going to beg..."

"Even though you at the point of doing so," Sojiro muttered.

"...But I think we both need a change of pace. Think of it...as a learning experience."

"I mean...it would be a fresh perspective..."

"Plus...we need to negotiate how you're going to make it up to me and my solar plexus."

Makoto could sense the smug grin bleeding through the line. "...Don't remind me. Fine. I'll try your ramen place. In an hour and a half." Her voice lightens. "You're lucky my Sis is going to do an all-nighter. She'd freak if she saw me all laidback."

"Well, it's settled. See you at Central Station then."

Sojiro started clapping. "Well, then, punk, I see you'd upgraded from study date to actual date."

"Whatever you say, old man. I think at this rate, though, you should probably worry about your receding hairline then who I hang out with."

Sojiro brushed a hand over his hairline. "...It ain't receding that bad. Asshole."

Akira sprinted upstairs. "Gotta get out of this damn apron and into something more relaxed."

"The way he jetted upstairs, you'd think he won the damn lottery," Sojiro commented. "Hey, kid, don't forget to take that cat with you. It's been complaining ever since you got back. Probably can use some fresh air, I dunno."

Morgana sat by the stairs, belly exposed. "Not true. I was just complaining about the food Sojiro keeps on trying to feed me. What does he think, I am, a cat that eats processed garbage out of a can?"

Akira pulled out a navy blue coat from his box of items shipped from home. "I'll make sure to tell Sojiro to feed you caviar next time. Now...bag time."

"Going out on a nightly stroll, are we? Sounds fine by me." Morgana then jumped inside Akira's leather bag.

"More like a bit of business, a bit of pleasure. I'll bite the bullet and see if Iwai's hustle extends to Olympic medals."

"What, no offers online?"

"Just one comment. 'fake af reported.' So yeah, I'll take my chances with him."

"He seems a bit shifty, though. Even for my taste."

"Which is why he won't make a fuss if he has me keep to that 'Three Monkeys' proverb. If he IS shifty enough, maybe he'll turn a blind eye to what I'm selling."

"...Akira, just don't rush things, ok? I know we were dead set on being the Phantom Thieves we promised ourselves. I just don't want you to unravel it before it gets off the ground."

Akira sighed. "I know...I just feel antsy, standing still and doing nothing." Funny thing, since Sis said the same thing, when she got pissed at something. "Oh, hold on. Can't forget this." He slipped his shock baton and a few bits of flashing powder into his pocket.

"Seriously!? Why are you bringing that along?"

"Oh well...I just...rather be safe than sorry, now that I have this stuff." His voice sunk low enough that his vocal cords started to vibrate. "Anything can go wrong in the middle of the night, even when you think it won't."

"You're paranoid. I blame your lack of sleep. Or your rustling in your bed when you try to get some rest. Are you sure you're up to go out?"

"I'll be fine."

Deep down, he knew that, in light of recent events, it was always better to have one less unaccounted variable. Because unaccounted variables make you restless, don't they, Renren? Why wouldn't they?

Makoto's voice then came alive. Besides, unaccounted variables get people hurt, don't they, Ren?

Then, Minako's voice. They get people killed, don't they, Renren?

He then kneeled to the floor to meet Morgana eye to eye. "Look, just...yeah, it's stupid, and I AM superstitious but just...let me take this with, ok?"

"...Fine."

A few minutes later, Akira trotted down, wearing blue jeans with his coat. "About as gussied up as I can be. Well, Sojiro, how I look?"

"Passable."

Akira's eyes dimmed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Don't wait for me."

Sojiro raised an eyebrow. "I won't. Though, you have a rubber, kid?"

"...What?"

He smugly grinned. "What? You should be safe. When you go in for the kill."

"...Pure thoughts, Sojiro. Try them once a while." God, I can't believe you said that...

Sojiro chuckled. "Have fun, kid."

Akira waved at Sojiro, and closed LeBlanc's doors behind him.

Iwai scanned another catalog his stack on the counter. "Huh? That M4 scope..." He whistled loud. "Real beauty." He then checked the time on his watch. "That high-baller customer should be coming anytime."

The door then slammed open, fast enough that the greeting bell hanging on the door handle didn't have enough time to rattle.

A wrinkly-faced, trenchcoated man came storming in. "IWAI!?"

Iwai made a sound, one similar to a kettle blowing steam. "Nice to see you again."

He then tossed his new bag of evidence on the counter. "Your handiwork, I bet."

Iwai took his feet off the counter and leaned over the bag. "Police evidence? What, you wanting to sell it?" He started to grin. "I didn't expect you to bend after all this time."

Endo leaned over the counter and began exhaling heavily, leaning in close enough so that Iwai felt the faint heat from his nostrils. "I ain't messin' around today. None of that wisecracking shit."

Iwai sat, still looking straight ahead in spite of the glare directed towards him. "What can I say? I run a legitimate business here. I wouldn't sell that real of a model."

"And I keep a prostitute under the dash of my car."

"Probably could use one."

"Iwai...if you've been dealing under the table..."

Iwai threw his magazine behind him and stood up. "I told you. I don't like the pigs harassing me. And I especially don't like gumshoes sniffing around. Even you. I mean, I get idiot punks coming in from time to time. But I don't sell them the 'premium' shit.'"

Endo began to trudge around the store, thinking out loud. "That still doesn't explain why someone was found with their brains blown out with this GUN at their feet."

"Huh. No shit." Iwai pulled the gun out of the bag, pushed out its cylinder, and put his nose to the barrels, especially the blackened. He smelled the gunpowder when he did.

That smell...

It usually sent a chill down his spine. The type generated from a past where he held guns whose bullets would bore. Tumble. Tear. Explode. Pass its shards through flesh and sinew in a chaotic dance.

But now, he felt a different type of chill as he anxiously brushed his grey, pin-like scruff. The goddamn seal on the firing pin should be sealed permanently.

Iwai bit harder on the toothpick in the corner of his mouth. No one should be able to fucking undo it.

I only have a few that buy high-end models. And those few sure as shit aren't civvies. Or dumb hoodies that lurk in a dark alleyway.

Endo saw the gears turning on Iwai's face. "Aren't you worried in the slightest about the possibility that your 'premium shit' is somehow getting a bit more 'premium'?"

Iwai sealed his mouth shut, his lips pressing more inwards. A few seconds passed. "Leave the gun and go," he forced through his furrowed lips.

Endo put his hands in his pockets and started to pace rigidly around the store. "I shouldn't."

"You know how I am. You can trust me. A bit."

"Yeah...I remember. You and 'The Code.' Funny, how you say you quit the game. Doesn't seem like it."

"Yeah. I quit it. But I never left it."

Endo sighed. "Yeah...I can understand that."

"Then understand this: I don't snitch. I can sniff around. Maybe point you in the right direction. But that's it. Now...stop dancing about in my store, you goddamn basket case."

"Fine. Leave the bag, though. I'll make sure nobody comes behind your back wondering where evidence went." He began walking out of the door. "By the way...nice seeing you again."

Iwai opened another magazine and propped his legs up. "Fuck off before you scare my customers away. I'm making a living here."

"Prickly as ever."

An hour passed. No other customers came by. He checked the clock again. What the hell, man? Weren't these guys supposed to be here by now? At this point, Iwai gave up and went in back with his new gift and sat over a workbench. He then took out a pair of glasses. "Fucking eyes going bad on me. I'm going to look like Kaoru in a minute." He leaned in and started prying at the cylinder, trying to get a better look at the firing pin. The sight made him boil. "Son of a bitch; whoever had this fuckin' drilled through the seal and welded in a firing pin that works."

It was already bad enough that he'd get chewed out occasionally by some blue-blooded cop who thought his guns look real enough to stick up someone with. Now...

"Now what?"

He then heard the jingle from up front. He hurriedly shoved the gun into a drawer and walked out, hands in his pockets, almost as if he didn't want the slightest sign that his hands went to work on such high-end models. He found a black-haired enthusiast. In a cap that fits this time. "Welcome back. You've learned from your mistakes, it looks like."

Akira lifted the brim of his navy blue and white cap, emblazoned with the words "Japanese Coast Guard" on the front. "I have something."

"'Something?'"

Steely-faced, he threw out the gold medal like a person tossing a pair of die in a craps game, hoping to land a lucky number. "35,000 yen."

Iwai's face began to scrunch. "...35,000 yen?" He placed his hands on the cold glass counter and stared ahead coldly. "You take me for a fucking idiot?"

"It's real. What you want me to do, beg?"

Iwai grunted. "Just...out. I got better shit then dealing with fake-" He then stopped talking. He peered at the medal. Well...it is sparkly. Luster's good. But...damnit, I got to make this quick. The thing they do at the podiums should work. He moved the medal to his mouth, and then paused. Shit. If it's real, though, I can't sell a bent medal. He then remembered he had a small torch in the back for shaping barrels. "Hold on a minute. Or better yet, run off right now if you're bullshitting me."

After hearing a bunch of frantic rustling in the back of the store, Akira found Iwai back with a lit torch and a grin on his face. "You still want to back out?"

"Pretty sure."

He inched the flame closer. "Word of advice, kid."

And closer.

"Don't fuckin' hustle a hustler."

Then, the hot part of the flame touched the gold.

Then...the countdown.

Akira started to tap his feet. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Gimme ten seconds."

After those long, tortured ten seconds, the gold keep its sheen. "Will you look at that? It's real..."

Akira squinted his eyes. "Why the torch?"

"I learned the trick when I was younger after someone tried to trick me. Gold, if its coated instead of the real karat stuff, burns up when you heat it. Your medal hasn't." Iwai then turned off the torch. "30,000 yen."

"32,500."

"I price match the internet. Plus I need to make a profit.

Akira pursed his lips. "Fine." You're lucky I just want to be rid of this already.

Iwai sealed the deal with a clap. "Give me a minute."

Iwai went in the back and turn the tumbles of a safe, stacking a rack of paper yen into a paper bag.

He then turned his head back to his bench, in particular, the drawer holding the revolver. He didn't want to jump the gun, but the clientele this tier of product attracts left him with no one to trust. And he rather not have anyone on either side of the law come snooping around about this damn thing especially.

And...this kid is a fresh face. After what he did now...he ain't a boy scout. But at least he doesn't hock off useless junk. So, he ain't bad. Or, at the very least, a chickenshit bastard.

He decided to stow it in the bottom of the stack. He layered it, top to bottom so that not even the person carrying the bag would notice. That is, unless he felt like mentioning it. Not sure yet. I'll decide it on the spot...

Iwai returned from scheming, holding up a bag. "Take it."

Akira reached over to grab it. I'm getting hungry already, and I don't like messing about here more than I need to.

"Wait," Iwai uttered. "Look, uh...do me a favor. You take this, and you don't look in the bag. There's something special. A sample."

"'A sample?'"

Iwai narrowed his eyes at Akira. "Bring it back another time." His voice gets gravely low. "And don't you fucking dare try to do anything with it. Sell it, 'use' it. Whatever. I ain't done with it, yet. I just can't have too many people seeing it."

"Got it."

Iwai was almost taken aback by how quick the kid responded. "...Glad you understand."

The sound was faint, but he could hear from outside shuffling.

"Get going. Put the hat on, don't look at who's going to come in. They don't like baby faces around."

Akira put the hat on and passed the two hulking giants ambling in, not minding the tattoos poking up from under their shirts, which had a swirl of flashy colors that tortured their eyes, and onto their breastbone; or the gaudy dental grills they had planted in their mouths.

There was one, the younger of the two, hunched over with a hand to the side and with blond, spiky hair, that was eager enough to start speaking. "You got more flashy shit to show?"

Iwai stood, back cocked away and arms crossed in his typical salesmen's pose. "Name your model."

"The one in gangster movies."

"...These guns are all in gangster movies."

"Like...the one with the Cuban gangster. The hold he holds to the side and-"

"Ok, fine I get it. THAT one. So, uh..." He leaned in closer. "You gifting it to your kid, or are you just going to hold someone up with them? Can't do anything if the second."

"C'mon, don't bullshit us," the second brute roared. "We got the money. Our boss just wants it kept as a prop; nothing else. He talks to people that love this type of shit hanging on the back wall."

"Alright then...a REAL gun enthusiast. Fine by me." He then scanned the two men. "You know the Code?"

"...Code?"

"...Well...you guys seem too young for that anyway. Just keep what we do within your clan, and nowhere else."

"Oh...alright," the blond brute said, unamused.

Iwai turned his head towards the door. "Your boss coming? Last time I checked, he's the one that gives the final thumbs-up."

The two thugs turned silent. After a while, the older one waived his hand. What entered was a porcine man, wearing a sleek black suit made of smooth silk over a turquoise, pressed, high-thread shirt. His hair was gelled, pushed and settled back like every feature on his face, except his flattened nose. His eyes traveled all around the place; he was estimating.

Tabulating.

Sizing up.

Comparing.

In the end, this man had a price for everything, plastered in his view. And in his mind, he followed the paper trail only the most clever, the most conscientious, the most scrupulous travel. And this road...

This road, for him, is an investment, a means unto itself.

He oinked once before he opened his mouth. "Let's meet back."

The group made its way back and behind a large stack of boxes. In the corner was a lockbox, which Iwai had the key to. Popping it open revealed an M4 with a grenade launcher attachment. "Metal polished, too. Don't make the grunts all twinkle-eyed flashing it in their faces."

"I don't pay them to do that," grunted the potbelly man. He rubbed his hands around every contour and every ridge, ending with a wrap-around of the trigger. "Looks good. Dumbshits! Get the money out the car.

The two then rushed back out the entrance, stumbling slightly into each other while doing so.

Iwai's client reached up to wrap his hands around him and tilt him to the ground. "Now...there's another awkward matter."

"...Uh, awkward?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "You see...one of my associates bought your premium merchandise as of late. He seems to have lost it."

"Is that so? Well...he'll have to dish out the same amount as before."

"Just...keep an eye out if you can."

"Tch. Come on, I'm not a bloodhound. Don't make me do that shit for you. Your friend should keep better track of his inventory."

The Pig gave a crooked smile. "Oh no, I'm just giving a suggestion, that's all. From one crook to another."

"Crook? Who the hell do you think-"

"Tch tch tch," the man said, waving his finger. "Don't delude yourself. You know..."

The two men, back from outside, leaned in closer around Iwai, approaching his flanks, with one breaking off to go back waddling around his backroom stuff as before.

"How's your kid? I heard you have a kid."

"...I don't mention him for a reason," Iwai snapped, keeping a rigid neck. "He doesn't need to know...who I used to be."

"But I assume he'll know if something breaks your 'honest worker' image? Like a...'unfortunate incident' involving a rather realistic-looking gun. A random plant, a hold-up Or..." he gasped. "Even worse. What if a yakuza does something bad with it, and somebody slips their tongue about where it came from? No 'civvie' is supposed to be assisting the Yakuza in any capacity. Having your signature all over that gun? That's a recipe for disaster. They'll come and they'll out your business, and you'll most likely get fucked by a trio of judges. And then what? A person like you...well...I doubt you can be honest with your limited skill set."

Iwai couldn't help but tighten the back of his jaw, trying not to tear at his client's throat. But...I'm bound. And not because of this damn gun. He's an OG. And...I have standards. "I'll keep a look out for it."

"Sounds like a plan. If you come across something..."

"You'll come to me, not the other way around. I ain't stupid. I know how this shit works."

"Spoken like a true brother. I would shake on it...but I have one thing to get across. Taro, wrap this shit up and carry it to the car. Iwai...walk with me to the car."

Iwai, held up by his suddenly stiff legs, expected the worst. He headed outside, locking the store up while doing so, and heading deeper in the alleyway and onto a side street for loading.

The older goon, Taro, popped open the trunk and loaded the gun.

His boss checked the time. "This is your cue, isn't it?" he then cried into a shadowed area of the alley.

Taro scanned around but saw no one. "Kaneshiro, who are you speaking to-ARRGH!" His neck arched back, so far back that Iwai almost believed the man was going to snap his own neck and end it there. But he stayed there, leaning back in limbo, eyes rolled back.

Then, a man in a black Oni mask came from the Shadows, quickly enough so that he wrapped the man's mouth and eyes with black masking tape before he began to drip an inky substance onto the asphalt.

Iwai was tempted to hike it, but he found himself restrained from the goon behind him. Plus, in the face of something like this, if he were made an example of, he was screwed anyway.

"Now Iwai...I also can't discount the fact you get harassed by the blue bloods quite a bit. I also can't discount that perhaps you found it somehow, and forwarded it to some beat to cover your ass. The "Code" isn't foolproof. But..it's not in any evidence locker, from what I've heard on the inside. And my associate-for-hire behind you couldn't find anything while we were talking."

Iwai grunted and tried to break the hold of his arms, failing to do so.

"I don't have all day. So, if you DO have that fucking gun...make sure to give it back when appropriate."

The man, eyes thinning, leaned in, snorting inches away from Iwai's nonplussed, stony face. "Or else, I'll find your bastard in a basket and have you watch what happens when you mess with me or my partners."

"...You finished?" Iwai piped. "I still want my money."

A pause. The man then burst laughing, even hunching over and slapping his knee. "You see, kid? That...is a man who knows what matters. What REALLY drives the world. Well, pay him."

The man restraining him then reached over Iwai's shoulder and slipped a stack of yen into one of his coat pockets.

The man then walked to his car, turning around for a final wave. "Keep in touch. From one blood brother to another."

Iwai lingered on the stiff being loaded in the trunk. "You think he could have deserved a more honorable death than...whatever you're doing?"

The Pig chuckled, hands straddling his gut. "Oh Iwai...this guy blabbed about one of my secret rackets to the wrong person. This...this is just streamlining."

"Streamlining, eh?"

"Yep. A friend loaned Mask Boy to me. You look at what he can do, and you compare what an old piece of shit does when he's drunk...It's just a matter of being frugal." He then slapped the black mask's arm amicably. "Isn't that right?"

"...Please don't touch me," the Mask gritted through his teeth.

The joy zapped from the OG's face. "You're a Janitor. Act accordingly, and shut up." He opened the back car door and seated himself. The car then drove off leisurely, with Kaneshiro's new fixer riding shotgun.

At this point, Iwai could do nothing but enter his store. He didn't bother to flip back the 'Open' sign.

He trotted back to his safe.

"...Damnit..."

He found himself not being able to stand for much longer. Keeping face after that...

He took the money out from his coat and couldn't help but throw the dough and slam the safe door closed.

A few minutes before...

'Pretty little creature...flex your wings.'

A man wearing Shinto robes and a traditional farmer's hat, found himself on the side street, watching a blue butterfly lay gently on his finger and curl its tendrils back and forth instead of straight ahead into the alleyway.

"I believe my mistress would object to you dozing off if I told her about it," said a purple-haired lady in a tight-hugging grey vest.

"I am tending to Nature. We all must understand when to shift between priorities, Kikuno."

She smiled softly. "I take pride in assisting my master and her wards seriously. Which is why I will remind you to be steadfast."

She then heard a ping from her earpiece. The sensor went off again. "It seems the signal went off. It looks like another 'event' has occurred. The correlation is getting stronger."

He smirked in vindication. "It seems my sense of the supernatural hasn't dulled."

"So it seems." She then took out her phone to see the map updated. "The app is now saying the source for all of these anomalies is in Shibuya. The radius is now narrowing to within two miles."

"Which in a city like Tokyo means..."

"A large swath of locations. More data, more precision. But...we are getting close."

He tilted his head upwards slightly. "Do we at least know what the predictive algorithm says about the most likely location?"

"It seems the event occurred in the alleyway across. Like last time."

As she mentioned the alleyway, a boy with black, curly hair came walking out, shoving a paper bag into his leather knapsack, already full from an irate-looking ball of fur of whiskers. The kid tried to push the brim of his hat down more in some bid not to draw anyone's attention, but it was no use.

"Hmm..." Ren...fancy seeing you here, of all things. This...is troubling.

"Has something caught your attention, Ryuzaki?"

He turned to meet her. "No. Nothing."

"Are you sure? I am trained to address any issue that you come across. If you believe we should move closer around the alleyway to investigate..."

"It's nothing. I'm just...thinking."

The butterfly on his hand flapped upwards, blending into the mesh of neon signs above.

He got distracted again.

'Transculent monster, beat your wings...

"Thinking about what?"

"A refrain I wrote while I studied chaotic systems."

"And what would this quote be?"

"Sorry, I forgot it. Let's just keep watch here."

His mind though completed it. ...and create a typhoon.'

Oh boy...

So, once again, apologies for a late posting. For those that read my profile update, you probably already know why I didn't post closer to the goal date. But to sum, I had a coworker unfortunately pass away last week. And well...that didn't put me in the best of moods to write, after trying to console the family, another with my other coworkers.

But now I'm back. Hopefully, unless something tragic happens again, I'm going to have the next chapter out next week. Probably slated to be shorter than this.

Other than that, though, stay tuned. Sorry if the note leaves you guys on a downer.

12/10: Fixing up some errors here and there. Still slating for the next chapter to come this Friday.