Asane primly sits on one of the foldable chairs in the lobby room of a two-storey office. Winds brush against the trees outside, their shadows stretching into the room, making it seem as if her own wispy shadow sway and flicker. The building is a decent distance away from Mafia headquarters. Located in the ghettos of Yokohama, she stepped into a world far removed from her own: haggard people lining up for food handouts, gang-affiliated recruiters on the hunt for fresh blood and the prey willing to jump into the pitfalls dug for them.

Her mind drifts to the ticking wall clock. He's late… again.

No other soul in the lobby is an unusual sight. Men in rugged suits would often be present, whether as receptionists or bodyguards.

The long clock hand hits twelve pm, thirty minutes after her appointed meeting time with her 'supervisor', for lack of a better word.

The front door swings open. Kawabata marches in, pausing briefly when he makes eye contact with Asane. A man who better fits in street brawls than in an office: broad shoulders evident through his navy suit, a constant glare and unshaven facial stubble.

Asane stands up with poise. "Good afternoon, Kawabata-san."

"Oh, right." Kawabata rakes his hand over his messy, ponytailed hair. "You're in today, huh."

"Yes, I will be in your care today." Asane slightly bows.

Kawabata walks past her without another word. With a short sigh, Asane follows Kawabata up the stairs to the second floor, the man not slowing his pace even as Asane walks in controlled strides.

"Where's your bodyguard?" Kawabata asks when they reach a hallway. It's a question he asks her every now and then since her placement with him these last few months.

"He's on a mission," Asane says, "and Hirotsu isn't my bodyguard."

"And there's no one else to accompany you?" he asks, scepticism written all over his face.

"Father's picky with my escorts."

Kawabata scoffs. "Right. What about the chauffeur who dropped you off?"

"He's Father's secretary." Asane shakes her head. "It's fine, I can take care of myself."

"And let you run around on your own?" Kawabata clicks his tongue. "You'd think the Mafia would have more manpower."

Asane doesn't react; a heiress shouldn't be bothered be such remarks. "Didn't your entire family tree sell their spirits to money?" [1] Asane says. "The Mafia pays you to babysit me."

"Yukio's rubbing too much off you," Kawabata says. "Such a nerd."

How Mishima and Kawabata are friends is a mystery. Mishima wasn't straightforward with his answers whenever Asane tried asking. And forget about asking Kawabata. The first time she questioned him on what their itinerary was, the man just snorted in her face.

Arriving at one of the doors to the moneylender's office, Kawabata bangs on it twice, slams it open and barges in. The office is cramped with cubicle desks, chairs and filing cabinets. Yet, despite the sudden intrusion, the general manager inside, Yokomitsu, isn't fazed. Why does everyone Kawabata visits seems to dismiss this quirk of his?

Yokomitsu's typing on the computer with one hand and holding a landline phone to his ear with the other. He's in his usual office wear, a cashmere wool suit with a loosened tie and a few buttons undone on his dress shirt.

Kawabata waves a hand in the air. One of the filing cabinets rattle open and a colouring book flies out and smacks Asane in the face.

"Hey!" Asane says, book in hand.

"Do this."

"I'm not a child," Asane says.

"Say that when you're actually taller than my knee," Kawabata says. "Same conditions, finish a page first then we'll talk."

Asane grumbles but acquiesces, going to the low table and settling on the floor cushions. Scattered on the desks are an assortment of colour pencils and though Asane would love to finish it quickly, Kawabata hassles her over the quality, as if filling in pictures was a great accomplishment to work towards.

But it didn't mean that was all Asane was doing.

Yokomitsu stops typing to tousle his brown hair and says dryly to the phone, "The collectors have been killed, rather messily. Most likely an Ability user. Something about a phantom–"

Upon noticing Kawabata's arrival, Yokomitsu says a quick 'hold that thought', and covers the phone.

"Chief [2], there's a–"

"I know," Kawabata interrupts.

I don't, Asane thought. They haven't even been here for five minutes.

Kawabata glances around the empty office. "Where the hell's everyone else?"

Yokomitsu shrugs. "Suzuki didn't come in for work. Everyone else is out in the field."

"Everyone?"

"Yeah. We're shorthanded these days," Yokomitsu grumbles. Once he catches sight of Asane, Yokomitsu says, "You brought your daughter again?"

Kawabata's face contorts. "Don't even joke about that. You already know my girl."

Kawabata hadn't specified whose daughter she was. Wherever Kawabata took her, all he stated was that she was the child of someone important and involved in the more secretive affairs of the corporation. Father had forbidden her from mentioning his name or his relationship with her.

("If you can't even do that much," Father said, "Then don't bother going.")

"Asane's just going to observe as usual."

As miffed as she is, even observing was complicated at times with how much jargon is thrown in Kawabata's conversations. She kept a mental note of each one and searched them up later in a dictionary once she was in her study.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Asane asks.

Kawabata shakes his head. "Don't bother. Wait till we're done." He walks to where Yokomitsu is and looks at the monitor. "What's the update?"

"The house is–"

Kawabata is competent, she knows that much. From how he'll flit from between businesses under Tsushima Group, big or small: inspecting the profit margins with a meticulous eye, asking after the conditions of staff, to reviewing transportation and supply routes. How his presence demands the attention of everyone in the room. Father is also the same with how people hang onto his every word.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Kawabata's glare bores into the computer screen. "Looks like we're doing overtime."

Yokomitsu groans in response, putting the phone back to his ear. Asane secretly agrees with their sentiment. It was hard to keep an ear open when she's on the verge of dozing off. She can already tell it's going to be a long day, much like the ones when Asane would be tutored with little to no breaks. Is Father also doing overtime in that office of his at this moment? In the executive meeting room?

… or perhaps teaching that boy?

"Hey," Kawabata says to her, "Yukio called me earlier and said that there was a surprise for when you get back."

Tilting her head, Asane asks, "Mishima-sensei did?"

"Yeah."

"What is the surprise?"

"Didn't say. Yukio said a surprise wouldn't be one if he told me." Kawabata then says stonily, "But that's not till later. Until then you better be paying attention."

"Yes, Kawabata-san," Asane says dryly.

In the grandiose of her black-gold bedroom, Asane could easily fit more king-sized beds and still have space to invite a few guests to roam around. The fresh scent of lavender floats in the air, emitting from the reed diffusers on the bedside table.

Huddling in the embrace of her duvet, Asane lounges in her canopy bed, button-clicking her video game console.

Threes knock on the door—she tosses the console under her pillow, hitting the bed frame with a thud. Asane winces as she finds the console to quickly mute the device before hiding it under the pillow again.

Rarely did anyone disturb her during the evenings as few people have access to her floor. It's her favourite time of the day, when all her homework is done – mostly done – if she ignores next week's pile of assignments stuffed in her desk drawer, that is.

Asane climbs down the bed and neatens her nightgown in the process as she pads to the door. When she opens the door, the sight of Hirotsu instantly hushes her thoughts.

"Hirotsu!" Asane says with delight, "Did you finish your mission?"

"Unfortunately not," Hirotsu says, "I am only here for a short time to report to Boss."

"Oh. Well, do you have some time for tea?" She keeps a half-filled electric kettle on a cabinet table. It's plugged into a socket next to the black, porcelain tea set inlaid with golden, delicate trees surrounding Japanese ancient houses. Below, in one of the cupboard spaces, are a wide assortment of tea leaves varying from green tea such as sencha to floral ones like cherry blossom.

"I would be honoured."

Asane steps aside. "Please, come in."

Hirotsu excuses his intrusion before he goes inside.

Closing the door, Asane glances at Hirotsu's upright posture and his hands behind his back, unmoving from his spot near the door. She smiles with amusement as she goes to put the kettle on the boil. "You must be the surprise."

"Yes?"

"Mishima-sensei said so." Asane sets out two coasters on a round table.

"Ah, yes, that young man would know." Hirotsu smiles. "How have you been Asane-sama?"

Asane hums in thought as she takes a nearby handkerchief on top of the table and wipes the teacups. "I've been well. I followed Kawabata-san for the day."

Shadowing Kawabata wasn't all that bad, even if she only observed how Tsushima Group operates at different levels. The conversation took an interesting turn from debt collection to the destruction of small businesses that were under Port Mafia's protection.

"I'm glad my absence hasn't been harrowing," Hirotsu says.

"I wouldn't say that." Asane pouts. "Has it been more than a year since I last saw you?"

"Yes, it has been," Hirotsu says, "What else have you done?"

Asane hums as she starts wiping the other teacup. "Mishima-sensei has been increasing the load. But overall my studies are going pretty well."

Mishima said Asane was excelling faster than he expected, a praise that has her fluttering with pride. On the days when she's enticed to lay on her soft bed and do nothing, niggling thoughts of a potential head start in her studies has her thinking otherwise.

"That is impressive to hear," Hirotsu says, "I'd imagine Mishima-kun would also be busy teaching Dazai-kun."

Asane stops cleaning the cup, freezing as if dumped by icy water. She doesn't face Hirotsu as she asks, "He's… teaching him too?"

"It took a long time for Boss to find you a private tutor before he was satisfied with Mishima-kun," Hirotsu says. "I don't believe he would trust anyone else with Dazai-kun's education."

"… Mishima-sensei never said anything about this," Asane mutters, another question simmering in her mind. "Wasn't… wasn't Father teaching him?"

"Is he now?" Hirotsu says.

Asane places down the teacup, mindful that she was holding onto it too tightly.

If having the boy seated on Father's lap and talking about the company's affairs wasn't teaching, then what else is it supposed to be? Though if Hirotsu doesn't know, perhaps that isn't the case. But Father isn't obligated to explain his every action to his subordinates–

"Asane-sama," Hirotsu begins, but then he stops.

What? Asane doesn't say. She waits as the older man ponders for what feels like minutes even though it would've only been seconds.

Finally, he says hesitantly, "Do you dislike Dazai-kun?"

Asane keeps her mouth shut, unable to say anything.

She breathes out slowly, and in lieu of a reply, Asane stomps towards her bed and dives under the covers. She swaddles the blanket around her, the duvet enveloping her in a white-gold puffy cloud.

"Maybe," her muffled voice says, "is it that obvious?"

Hirotsu walks towards the end of the bed. "You're never seen together."

Asane pokes her head out of her blanket-burrito. Hirotsu stands with a patient expression, completely unfazed.

"It's not like we have to be. And I don't bully him," Asane says quietly. "Well, I don't think I do."

Truly, Asane doesn't recall doing such a thing. These days, every time she catches wind of his presence, whether that's the corner of a hallway or the library, she flees in the opposite direction. If she happens to be in the same elevator with him, Asane instantly mashes the button to get off to the closest floor.

A strategic retreat, Asane would tell herself. Some other part of her says otherwise.

"It wouldn't be harmful if you paid more attention to him," Hirotsu suggests.

"He has Father's attention," she says, "I don't see why he needs mine."

Hirotsu keeps talking about the boy when Asane's right here. That persistent buzzing in her head won't leave her alone.

Hirotsu seems to have nothing else to say as if he could sense what she was thinking. Which, good, she's no longer in the mood to chat. But then he suddenly mentions, "You and Dazai-kun are more alike than you think."

Asane squints at him in suspicion. "Now you're just making things up."

No two people are truly alike. Some similarities, perhaps, but that's where they stop. Even identical twins have their differences.

Hirotsu hesitates for a moment before saying, "Dazai-kun also lost his mother."

Asane tightens the duvet around her as she harrumphs. "Does it look like I care?"

Hirotsu smiles a little knowingly. "A little more than you think."

She doesn't have many memories of Mother. It's hard to feel the pang of loss for something she never had in the first place. But from the stories she was told, Mother would sing lullabies whenever Asane cried, take her out for a bite of cake, or buy loads of colouring books.

Yet Asane doesn't remember any of it.

But she wishes she had Mother long enough to actually know her. For family, all she had was Father.

That boy had much more in comparison. Father took the time out of his schedule to teach him and stole her library spot. He also wanders around headquarters as he pleases, and, and– … huh.

She really doesn't know anything else. Maybe this is what Hirotsu is getting at when he said to pay more attention… but so what he had lost his mother? Asane lost her mother seven years ago and she's doing fine.

Asane feigns disinterest. "When did she pass?"

It doesn't work, seeing that knowing gleam in Hirotsu's eyes.

Hirotsu coughs. "About three years ago."

"… only three years?"

"The young master was four."

Oh. Asane kept asking after her mother even after she turned seven. When she inquired Father, his face was one of blankness before he turned away, telling her to never bring Mother up again. Asane had stopped asking around since then.

"Wouldn't that make him six when he came here?" Asane says.

"That's right."

"Then… where was he before he came here?"

"He was on the streets."

The what?"Ah." She does the math. "For two years?"

"Before I found him, yes."

She may be ignorant to life on the streets, but she at least knew that people in the slums literally died from starvation or dehydration—if mugging didn't get to them first. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to spend years of grime sticking to her body, scavenging for mouldy, sour leftovers, or sleeping in the cold rain battering against skin.

But so what? So what if the boy might've eaten scraps from bins and slept in the biting winds without a blanket after losing his mother at the age of four?

…

That sounded worse than she thought. Okay, perhaps, Hirotsu might have a point. That Asane might've been a teensy bit luckier than the boy, that she can hide in her blanket when he possibly didn't even own one.

"Fine," Asane says.

"Asane-sama?"

"I'll do…" Asane grinds out, "something."

"Something?"

"About the boy!" Asane sinks further into her blanket-shelter.

"Even though you've been avoiding him?"

"Yes!" Asane says, "isn't that why you keep bringing him up?"

"No." Hirotsu warmly smiles. "I just thought you should know."

"Liar," Asane retorts. Pretending is not going to work, I see what you're doing. Once, she had thrown a book at him when he refused to sneak her outside. Right afterwards, the sheer exasperation etched on his face had her reeling. She timidly picked up the book and mumbled an apology. The head pat afterwards was worth it though.

Whatever. It can't hurt to check how the boy's doing. She has a brother to find, which shouldn't be too hard since she often bumps into him first.

By the time night falls, barely past seven in the evening, Asane is about to give up. Why is it this time, when she's actually looking for him, she can't find the kid? Asane doesn't have access the sixtieth floor, so he could've been there for all she knows but no way to reach him.

She couldn't ask Hirotsu, the man disappearing shortly after their talk since he had a meeting with Father. She could ask a passing guard, but most staff members make it their mission to give her a wide berth.

Having skipped dinner on her search, Asane's grumbling stomach leads her to the forty-fifth floor, where a fine dining and bar-restaurant is located. It's not far from the conference rooms on the same floor, so chefs could easily serve guests during business meetings.

The European-styled restaurant is silent, void of human presence. The dining area only saw use when hosting VIPs. All the chairs are tucked under the cool, black tables, spotless and bare without the glitter of wine glasses, folded napkins or silverware placed in an orderly fashion. Ceiling pendant lights weaving their glow throughout the room.

But when she goes behind the bar counter, Asane finds a familiar boy with unkempt black hair fiddling with the kitchen door's lock.

She walks towards him with hesitant steps. Asane has never seen him in the evenings, so perhaps that is why she feels strange seeing him now. When she is close enough to be heard, his flinch almost imperceptible.

Asane coughs to get his attention.

"Osamu?"

He swivels in her direction. Osamu cocks his head, eyes wary. "… Asane?" His surprise smooths into blankness, resembling a statue in human skin.

"What are you doing?" Asane quashes the urge to squirm.

"Nothing." Osamu fully faces her, his bandaged arms hanging at his sides.

"… did you see someone go in there just now?" She pointedly overlooks him trying to get in.

"No?" Going by how he narrows his eyes, he knows it too.

Asane nods. "There shouldn't be." She hurriedly says, "Of course that does not include you or me."

Perhaps because it has been a while since Asane last saw him, but she never realised how the white strips of cloth are rolled all the way up to his wrists. His messy hair has her tempted to straighten out the loose strands, but that would be weird, so she desists that thought.

Asane coughs again and softens her voice, "Did you want something? Father said you can ask me."

Which Asane never gave him the opportunity. Well, now she's offering. There. Hirotsu would be glad to hear she tried.

"… I was looking for food," Osamu says.

"Ah, I was too," is all her eloquent tongue comes up with. "I was hoping that one of the chefs would still be here."

"The chefs only work from four to seven," he points out.

She's not surprised Osamu knows that since he's been living in Port Mafia headquarters for a while now. The strict working schedule for the chefs is to make it more difficult to slip in poison when no one's looking.

"Yes, but sometimes one of them would be on cleaning duty."

Asane glances at the locked kitchen door. "Unfortunately for us, it appears that all the chefs already went home."

How to make things less awkward when she was the one who always avoided him for the last year or so? Asane flips through her memories like when she browsed a food magazine, one page with supersized images of all sorts of dishes and street foods, the headline in bold text, Must Try Foods in Yokohama–

An idea strikes her.

"Let's go out," Asane says.

"Now?" Osamu says with his head tilting, resembling a confused puppy.

Which isn't supposed to be cute. It's not.

Asane shakes the thought off, instead letting a smirk grow on her face. "Normally we're not allowed outside, since it's dangerous and all. But I've snuck out plenty of times.

"After we get dressed, we'll head out as soon as possible," Asane says.

Although the night markets at this time aren't as lively as they would be during the new year, the sights should still be good.

Osamu blinks before he slowly nods. "Alright."

Whatever reluctance Osamu may be harbouring, he doesn't show it. She can work with that.

"Meet me outside," Asane says. "And don't get caught."

[1] 金に魂を売る. To do some word which you are not interested in or don't want to do in return for good money.

[2] Yokomitsu calls him Kawabata-kachou meaning section manager; section chief