…I think FFnet messed up all my line breaks. All my bloody line breaks! Damn it! Should I like, go and replace every single To Try and Russian Roulette line break? That's a lot of line breaks…

This is a super, super short chapter, because I just suddenly felt like writing, and I figured I'd put it up before… well, it's already been a month, so never mind that.

My birthday is this Monday. Be happy for me. :)

"How's your morning going?" Hiyoshi inquired, pushing past Yuushi's aggravated assistant and handing him his daily mug of coffee.

"Oshitari-kun," the assistant began, "there are three reporters waiting outside and one representative from Tokyo Daily. We can't keep them waiting like this. People want to know about the case."

Yuushi gave her an irritated look, but Hiyoshi beat him to it. "People aren't going to know about the case. So leave my office, and sic whoever's out there."

The assistant left in a huff, and Yuushi looked at Hiyoshi approvingly. "Eloquently put," he praised. "How would you feel about working for me?"

"I like my position as it is," Hiyoshi replied. "Less work. How's the Russian roulette thing going?"

"Russian roulette," Yuushi repeated, and tightened his grip on his coffee. "Three times."

Hiyoshi leaned casually against the office door. "Shishido," he murmured. "I don't think it would've been a case of Russian roulette with him, though, would it?"

Yuushi shook his head. "Shishido was sleeping. With the position he was in, it's highly unlikely he'd woken up, played the game, and then just crawled back into bed," he deadpanned. "Shishido was killed in his sleep. How merciful of the murderer."

"It's someone we know," Hiyoshi pointed out. "I guess he—or she—would have to show some sympathy, right? Shishido was one of us. You either hated him or loved him, I think."

It was still awfully cold outside, and the snow had just begun to let up. The streets were covered in an icy white, but were mostly empty—two mini-celebrities and one star had been murdered, and nobody seemed much in the mood for going outside. Children were kept closely to their parents' sides, and what shopping was done was done quickly and hastily. Security was maximized at Yuushi and Hiyoshi's orders upon Shishido's death—the third one in two months.

Two months. And no answers.

"Two bouts of Russian roulette," Hiyoshi mused, "not one loss. Oh, and one cold-blooded murder. Quaint way to start off the new year, isn't it? How was your meeting with Fuji?"

Yuushi gave a start; he'd almost forgotten about it. "How did you know?"

"You seemed in a pretty bad mood," Hiyoshi replied, amused. "Only Fuji could do that to you."

"Brilliant deductive thinking."

Hiyoshi mock-bowed. "Thank you. In all seriousness—how was it? You mentioned that Fuji knew something the other day. Did he finally cave in?"

He snorted. "Not a chance. He gave me some more cryptic information, then threatened to sue me if I didn't solve the case."

"Seriously?"

"No," he admitted. "But it was implied. And there was quite a bit of insulting in there, too. The rest of the night was spent making small talk. It was—unpleasant. The food, however, was quite pleasing. Have you ever been to the Four Seasons? It's a lovely restaurant; I might go there someday, on my own. What else . . . ah, that's right. He gave me tickets to see this show. 'An Evening in Vienna,' I believe. It's a classical music concert. I hear he's performing."

Hiyoshi arched an eyebrow. "Don't try to change the subject." He paused. "What instrument does he play?"

"The flute," he replied. "I might give the tickets to Kirihara-kun instead. I hear he's quite fond of winds instruments."

Hiyoshi smiled. "Yes, he is. That's kind of you—but how would he take it? Kirihara isn't the type to accept charity."

"I'd only have to tell him that Fuji's going. He'd love a chance to go, just to spite him. I hear their relationship hasn't gotten any better over the last few years."

"Fuji's the type to hold grudges," Hiyoshi agreed. "And don't try to distract me. Fuji said something else, didn't he? What?"

"You sound like a gossiping schoolgirl."

"Just tell me."

Yuushi stayed silent. Hiyoshi stared at him for a good ten seconds, then relaxed. his mouth rose in a smirk and he offered, "I think you should go out with Mukahi, too. I hear he's free this weekend. And I hear he loves going for walks in the park. And that he really, really likes roller coasters. Which they have at the park. Which you should go to. Which is what Fuji said, yes?"

Yuushi scowled, and Hiyoshi gave a rare, genuine grin. "Hey, why not?"

Yuushi knew he'd be able to recognize Gakuto's blazing red hair anywhere, but he'd never imagined that Gakuto could look so . . . different, sitting on a park bench. He was easy to spot, with his first class wardrobe, among the dozens of casually dressed tourists and Japanese. Much less people than usual, of course, but… He gave a quick wave, which Gakuto's sharp eyes caught instantly.

Gakuto smiled pleasantly, dressed expertly in an expensive Versace trench coat, Armani button-down shirt, Armani dress pants, and Gucci shoes. He wore a simple Paget watch, whose light blue band matched his shirt perfectly. His hair was combed and slightly parted to one side, in an impeccable pageboy bob. He looked like he'd come straight from work, although Yuushi knew for a fact that he wasn't working at all while he was at Japan. Regardless, for the first time, Yuushi felt absurdly under-dressed. "Nice to see you," Gakuto said politely. "How's work?"

Yuushi noted that he was carefully avoiding the topic of the case. "Pointless," he answered briefly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking. Life's awfully boring without anything to do. The sooner I return to France, the better. Though I'm not sure my colleagues feel the same way," he joked. "They must be partying right now."

This is not Gakuto.

Yuushi shook his head. "Of course not. I can't imagine how they'd get by without you. You're even dressed efficiently, and you're on vacation right now."

"You flatter me. And so are you," Gakuto replied briefly. "You could toss on a hoodie lying around and still look formal." He tilted his head slightly, and his bangs fell toward his eyes. "It's a matter of charisma, I believe."

How can he talk like that and sound . . . natural? Fuji didn't talk like that, Tezuka didn't talk like that, Sanada didn't talk like that, Yukimura didn't talk like that—Atobe did talk like that, but Atobe was Atobe and there was nothing to be done about it.

"You're really quite fortunate," he continued. "Just born with it. Girls would fall over themselves to get to you, Yuushi." His smile was archaic as he added, "It must work wonderfully to your advantage."

"Perhaps," he decided. "But I try not to take advantage of it."

"You're so insecure," Gakuto laughed, and stood. "Want to walk?"

…

"I hear he loves going for walks in the park."

…

"That'd be nice," Yuushi agreed, and followed him into the park.

It was a pleasant day, especially for a winter afternoon. It really wasn't dark at all outside, and quite warm—in any case, there weren't as many people as there usually were. The park was much less crowded than usual, and for the first time in months, Yuushi found that he could go for a walk without being crowded by civilians.

"Fuji called me," Gakuto began. "Something about tickets to a classical concert. 'An Evening in Vienna,' right? By Sylvan Winds?"

So that's why he gave me those tickets.

"It does seem like a good concert," he added. "But I read the repertoire, and I'm not particularly fond of those pieces. Are you?"

"No," he replied honestly. "I'm not one for winds instruments."

Gakuto seemed genuinely confused. "Why? I love winds instruments; it's the repertoire I'm not fond of."

"They seem crude," Yuushi replied. "I know they're not—but strings instruments seem much finer." He'd always had a preference for strings instruments—he'd started off with the violin, then the viola, then the violoncello, and even took double bass lessons for a few years. Piano, of course, also counted as a percussion instrument—but he figured it was more strings than percussion, and learned that, too. Still, he'd forgotten how lovely the violin could sound with an accompaniment until—

"I play the clarinet," Gakuto offered. "It's really not crude at all."

"Play it for me."

What am I saying?

"I don't have it with me," he laughed, and checked his watch. He gave an anxious start. "Maybe next time." He seemed distinctly uncomfortable as he said that, but Yuushi took no notice.

"You've made such a turn-around," Yuushi began. "I don't know—"

Gakuto interrupted embarrassedly. "I'm really sorry," he said sincerely, "but I have to go. Now."

"It's been five minutes," Yuushi pointed out.

"I'm sorry," he repeated awkwardly. "Look, I'll get back to you about the clarinet, okay? But I really have to go—I'm meeting up with someone."

"Then why didn't you just—"

"Reschedule for another day earlier?" Gakuto guessed. "I wanted to see you."

Yuushi didn't quite know what to say to that. Gakuto took advantage of his silence and left.

Eiji frowned at Inui, who was seated across from him. They'd both taken the day off, and were currently in a small, secluded café. He began, "Did you hear anything from Fuji yet?"

Inui shook his head. "Not a word. I hear he went out for dinner with Oshitari, though. I wonder why."

Eiji grinned. "He always did like to manipulate people," he offered. "It's not that much of a shocker. But I'm worried about him. He liked Choutaro, I know. So did I," he added. "But Fuji's—he's not really good at getting close to people, you know?"

"He wasn't nearly as fond of Shishido and Niou," Inui said slowly. "And I've found something I think you should look at."

He pushed a file toward Eiji.

Eiji read it slowly, then tossed the file onto the coffee table. Inui caught it hurriedly. "That can't be true," Eiji snapped, uncharacteristically upset. "Fuji's always been perfectly—"

"Sane?" Inui finished. "Do you believe that?"

Eiji was silent.

Fuji gave a slow, long sigh. His parents were on vacation in Austria. Yuuta was out for the day (with that purple, insignificant blob), and his older sister was out for lunch with her fiancé. He was very fond of her fiance—they were a perfect match.

It would've been a decent day. He always did like having the house to himself. Of course, he had his own flat—but it was less homely, much less homely than the home he'd grown up in. Even when it was empty.

Yes, it would've been a decent day.

But something was off.

He wasn't in the best of moods to begin with. What happened with Choutaro had indeed upset him—he hadn't wanted to invite Yuushi out, particularly. Yuushi wasn't the only one who'd been fond of the boy. Niou and Shishido, Fuji could personally do without. But Choutaro—his death had been distressing.

And today . . .

"Something's going to happen today," he murmured, and glared intense blue eyes at the clear, cloudless sky.

Yagyuu sat on the glamorous leather couch, uncomfortable to him, but still familiar. It'd been Niou's favorite couch—the silver thread, dark leather, modern shape, all of it.

It was Niou's house, after all.

Yagyuu had visited this house countless times—it was a second home. But, he realized, it felt less like home when Niou wasn't present. "You moron," he said to himself, and leaned back. The flat-screen, the marble tiles, the glossy mirrors, the brilliant colors: It was Niou, all Niou. He'd gotten it all and he'd lost it all.

He'd lost what mattered, anyway.

It was all just a game to Niou, in the end. He'd found it amusing, and he'd played in dangerous territory. He loved enemies, craved them—and Yagyuu was certain that was why he'd decided to attend the reunion. He'd made more than his share of enemies in the past few years, both in past acquaintances and recent ones—and some, a mixture of both.

One game. Three deaths.

It worried Yagyuu just what the murderer was capable of doing.

Jiroh gave an incoherent mumble and shoved a pillow in his face. Misa-chan hesitantly placed a box of pocky by his chair and left. Her footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and Jiroh only peeked out from beneath his pillow when the sound disappeared altogether.

Then he gave a groan and shoved his face into the pillow again.

"Poor Choutaro," he mumbled. "Always looking after me. He was younger than me, too."

And Shishido! And Niou! Two geniuses, two people he'd admired.

There was more coming, too.

The murderer might as well have taken him along with them.

Niou Haruka peeked inside Marui's room. "Are you okay?" she murmured, and pushed open the door a tad. "Can I come in?"

Marui snorted. "I'm not the one you should be worried about," he said grimly. "I'm not the one who just lost a brother."

"Masaharu wouldn't have wanted me to focus on his death," she said, but it sounded forced. "He would've wanted us to be happy. I'm getting over it. Why can't you?"

"You're not getting over it," he said slowly. "You're trying to get over it. You're forcing yourself to get over it, and it's not working. It's all his fault!"

"Whose fault?" Haruka demanded. "Bunta, calm down."

His violet eyes were narrowed. "I'm sorry," he said, "but can you leave?"

Her face fell, but she shut the door and walked away silently.

Marui fell onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. His hands were trembling. He felt woozy. The magnitude of what he was going to do—but it'd repent for—it'd—

I have to do this, he thought. I have to.