Ken was glad for Yohji, he really was. The older man was happy. He was also less obnoxious and harder working. Asuka saw to that. Ken wasn't sure he wanted that sort of marriage for himself, but obviously Yohji did.
Still, it had its drawbacks. The main ones wore uniforms. Though Yohji's hardcore fans had withdrawn in sulks at his marriage, some had simply transferred their affections. Omi was too different, and it looked as if he also would shortly be unavailable, so Ken was the lucky guy. It did his temper no good at all. He found himself wanting to shout at the fangirls to get out.
Immediately after one crowded shift, he went running. He'd have preferred to take out his temper on some luckless punch bag at the gym, but he was on suspension for the last time. He ran a long time, and wasn't pleased to find himself beginning to sweat. The assassin's life kept you fit, but it was more of short bursts of extreme effort than the sustained hours of pro soccer. It didn't improve Ken's temper to think how hard he'd find the end of a pro game.
He was soothed as always by physical effort, and the streets he'd chosen to run were pleasantly empty of human life, or even schoolgirls. He'd just realised he was near Ouka's when he turned a corner and saw her, and another schoolgirl. And a man who seemed to be throttling the other schoolgirl.
Even as he accelerated, he noticed a few things. Such as Ouka not fighting or running. Such as, though the man's hands were holding her throat, the other schoolgirl was talking without difficulty. But it was too good a chance to relieve some of his anger.
He hit the redheaded guy hard enough to knock him off his feet and knelt on his chest with his fist drawn back to settle it.
With most it would have, but the other guy had enough speed to deflect his fist. It landed on the ground; he then punched up into Ken's groin. Ken managed to squirm aside so it wasn't as damaging as it could have been, but it still hurt. He tried to punch the guy's throat. It landed on the jaw, hard enough so it should have knocked him out.
The redhead was still fighting, though. Ken vaguely heard female voices telling someone to stop something, but he was more interested in bracing himself against the hard midriff blows the redhead was managing. The two men ricocheted off a lamp post into someone's koi pond. At the douse of sobering cold water, they tried to drown each other.
"Don't!" shrieked Ouka, and Ken flinched enough so the piece of pipe aimed for his head hit his shoulder. He sprang away from the redhead and turned to meet the new threat.
Ouka's arms were around his neck. In fact she half strangled him. She was saying nonsensical things such as they were all friends. Ken didn't even know the guy's name.
He pulled himself out of Siberian's simple kill-or-be-killed world. He cast one regetful look at the redhead. The guy'd been lucky so far. Well, he admitted, lucky and good. But Ken would have settled him with one good punch, and he was pretty sure that punch was the next one. Still, Ouka didn't deserve to be frightened.
He turned to her and said, "Sorry, Ouka-chan." Looking at the redhead still sitting among koi, with a dazed expression on his face, Ken decided he'd won on points and sloshed forward to help him up. "Sorry, mate, I - "
No hard feelings. He'd seen it before, someone too dazed to realise the fight was over. Nonetheless, he was rather glad he'd had an excuse to get that K-O in.
Both girls helped him pull the redhead out of the water and put all the fish back in. Ouka said, "Ken-san, this is Aya Fujimiya. And her brother, Ran. He was worried about her."
Ken thought the other way round would be more appropriate, but the redhead shook himself awake soon enough. He brushed aside Ken's next start of an apology. "You were trying to help Aya. That excuses anything in my book." He turned to his sister. "Can we talk privately?"
Ouka said firmly, "I think we better go home and get you into dry clothes first." Ran glanced down at his clothes in surprise, as if he thought being wet didn't really rate that much. Ouka also suggested Ken come and dry off. Ken accepted more graciously than Ran.
On the squelching walk back to her home, Ouka told him enough about the Fujimiyas to make him decide to cut the guy some slack.
It being the middle of the afternoon, Ouka wanted to treat her friends to tea in the almost empty dining room, but Mrs Sakaki was firm. If they wanted to use the dining room in open hours they would dress right. And behave right, she added, with a look at the boys. It was fairly sunny, and they could sit on the patio in the back, which was not yet opened for the summer.
"But don't speak loudly enough to disturb the guests," she said. Ouka agreed in a tone showing she'd heard all this a dozen times before, and brought out some obscure European dish for her friends.
Ken was apprehensive about what was in it, but that didn't stop him from eating. All four of them concentrated on food for a few moments. Ken was just coming down from the first feeding frenzy when he realised he could hear the conversation of the people on the inside of the restaurant wall. He was warm and relaxed, and he was glad it was nothing more private than some obscure business. He was about to thank Ouka for the meal, when he heard another voice through the wall.
"Are you all right, Ken?" asked Ouka.
Ken made his voice hoarse. "Yes, I'm fine. I swallowed a - " the trouble with putting on a sore throat is it does hurt your throat. Ken's cough was genuine. "A fish bone."
"There aren't any fish in there. They're hardboiled eggs."
Thank God for that.
A very small mercy. He heard someone fumbling at the window and pointed to Ran, mouthing "Call him Ken!" The real Ken hid himself by huddling directly under the window sill.
By the time the window was open, Ouka was slapping Ran enthusiastically on the back, telling him to hold his breath and should she get a drink of water. "That's it, Ken! No one ever died of hiccups."
Aya-chan gave a small noise that sounded rather like a hiccup itself.
It was Kase's voice. A hundred strong memories suddenly overwhelmed Ken. In Kase's smoothly bullyng way it said, "Could you kids go and choke somewhere else?"
"Going, going," said Ouka. Bless all three of them. None of them looked at him, as odd a sight as he must have been.
At a sharp blast of early spring westerly, several people called out to Kase to close the window, which he did. Then the other three looked at Ken. He motioned them away with a scowl strong enough so none of them lingered, though Ran gave him a scowl in return.
Now Ken listened, but if there'd been anything either interesting or enlightening he'd missed it.
After quarter of an hour or so Ken had decided Asia Construction must be the most boring business in Japan. Did they have to fawn quite so blatantly on this Koga-san? Kase didn't show up well in such company. Ken had always known Kase had a weakness for flattery, but you overlook that sort of thing in your best friend.
He automatically began flexing fingers and toes to stop them stiffening. He'd had to wait indefinitely in cold, uncomfortable places before. It was an important part of his job.
At long last the toadies trickled out, leaving Kase with Koga-san. Kase said to Koga, "So, shall I collect the protection money from the manager before I go?"
'Oh, Kase, what have they done to you?'
Koga said, "This place has connections. We leave it alone. But you better go and give old Nihira a serious talk. I don't want to put pressure on the guy, crippled hero and all. But he's forcing it on me."
"Of course, Koga-san," said Kase in exactly the same tone with which he used to accept their coach's orders.
Ken raced around to the front entrance. Even on a mission he'd never been faster.
Having left the restaurant, Kase and Koga parted amiably. Kase walked Koga to his vintage Torrino. When the car had driven off noisily, he turned back to his chrome Bugatti. He did a double take on seeing Ken which Ken should have found funny. Ken wasn't finding much funny just then.
Kase actually had to touch him before he was convinced. Well, partly convinced. "You're – not dead?"
"I thought you were, too. I would've told you if I knew you were still alive." It only now occurred to Ken to wonder if Kritiker had known. "How did you escape?"
Kase touched him again and then gave him a hug. Finally, "I can't remember really. I was all beat up and dazed. But an undercover cop got me away. The cops got me into Creepers undercover, and I've been working for them ever since."
"The cops? Not Kritiker?"
Kase looked pensive for a moment, as if he was trying to place the name. Then he shook his head. "I've never heard of Kritiker. Who's he?"
"An ignorant old cuss. He was sure you were dead." After all, why should Kritiker have known? "This is great! And you're doing important work. A lot more important than soccer." Kase seemed a bit dubious. Ken wasn't surprised. He was more than a bit dubious himself. He tried to emphasise his point, "You know, Kase, I sometimes wondered if you were cut out for the game. I mean, you're great at the strategy and politics, but I think you could have applied them just as well to something else." Seeing Kase was apparently at a loss for words, for once, he slapped his shoulder and said, "Hey, but it's all water under the bridge, right?"
"Right."
"And God, and all His little kamis know there were enough times we were glad you were out there on the field with us. Do you remember..." Slinging his arm around Kase's shoulders, Ken led him to a bar where Verdys had often celebrated their wins. From there they zigzagged a path through as many of their old haunts and old memories as could be got into half an afternoon and a long spring evening. Quite a lot of this involved stop offs at bars. Kase began bragging, as he did when he was drunk. A couple of times rival teams had learned important information that way. Taka's claim Kase had sold them the information was silly, of course.
Ken became quiet and depressed, which wasn't so usual.
Eventually they ended up at Kase's flat.
"Impressive," remarked Ken, using his concentration to place his shoes straight in a getabako that was reddish gilt and yellow-green lacquer.
Kase shrugged. "Hey, I gotta play the part, y'know." He certainly seemed less drunk than Ken at the moment. "How 'bout a nightcap?"
Ken contemplated this proposal with more intensity than a sober man might have felt it needed. "I've already drunk a lot."
"A little. A middling little. Not a lot."
While Ken tried to work out when it crossed over to a lot, Kase went and poured two cups. "Pure rice sake, this."
Ken sniffed it. In the last bar he'd managed to stick to beer, and his stomach cringed at the change. "So you think this case will get you promotion." Kase had hinted at several impressive sounding cases, but for obvious reasons Ken was concentrating on one. "This crime lord's personal death squad?"
"Genji Koga's small fry. We use him as a shtalk - as a shdock – as a decoy. I'm prime for any really big case. We're after them. We'll get them. Th'shief said to me, 'I c'n rely on you, Kase'." Kase preened. "He can. I get what I'm after."
Ken said, "I'm sorry, Kase." He was. Desperately sorry. But he had to choose between his team and an old friend, and it really looked like no choice at all.
If Kase had been a bit less drunk himself, he might have been surprised at the sudden sobriety with which Ken stood and approached. He was muttering into his untouched cup, "Just drink up an' it'll be all righ' again." Ken didn't know what he meant. He rather doubted Kase did either.
Ken hadn't his bugnuks, but he'd never had an easier kill.
Ken left Kase at ease in his armchair. It might be assumed that he'd choked on the extra strong sake.
Which Kase had never touched. Most unlike him.
Ken looked at the spill from Kase's cup, which was a most unhealthy colour. Then he picked up his own cup and sniffed it.
It was easier, somehow, now he knew Kase had been faced with the same choice, and chosen the same way.
He bowed to the corpse as one does to an honourable enemy, and left the room, not forgetting to wipe his fingerprints from the door.