8Man's Journal

by Betrayed Dreams

His future was as expected. His nature was fathomable. But his extent was unknown. He never changed. But will he? "No." (COMPLETE)

3. All Players Appear on Stage

Chapter 3: All Players Appear On Stage

Don't own Oregairu or Watchmen.

Warning: Reliving tragic past with many a disturbing events and character deaths.

8man's Journal, October 14, 2035

Grey skies meet a hoary horizon and form a dreary skyline in this cemented city.

Overcast conditions and weather forecasts predict chances in favour of experiencing heavy rains and mild storms. Citizens of Chiba worry. Water would wash away their carefully applied makeup and cosmetic enhancements leading to others seeing their true face. Society of today is ashamed and terrified of anyone seeing their true face and they pray for clouds to clear and sun to shine, forever bright, to help them hide in broad day light.

Wrong prayers are answered these days.

Words of prayer haven't graced these lips of mine for decades. Praying and grovelling are for people who have expectations of a future where they can be happy and content. Something I will never be.

There is no one like me, condemned to waste away their existence and fade away like a withering piece of wallpaper from an abandoned apartment, waiting to be demolished by those builders of a new era where asking to live by my individual ideals is asking too much.

Never ask.

Walk away.

Walk on foot till they bleed and then start crawling. Continue crawling forward and tell yourself this is not a form of escape. When faced with loss and remorse tell a lie and tell it truthfully and one day you will wake up and believe you are not a coward.

You are only living in denial.

Story of my life.

My biography will be written someday by a famous psychiatrist and it would be a popular case study for students of psychology who wish to uncover what runs a broken mind. They will not get answers. Trying to hide their failures, they will forge documents and give false reports saying my brain was stolen from their lab by some mad scientist seeking to recreate a monster of logic. Authorities will believe their stories and would seize their efforts immediately. My brain will be in a mason jar full of chemical preservatives, beneath a loose floorboard and will be taken out only when some ambitiously foolish professor tries a dubious experiment, seeking misplaced fame and cursed fortune in hopes of unravelling my secrets and lies centuries later.

For now by brain belongs to me and is a slave of my will and choice.

/

Exiting police headquarters proved tediously easy. Made a small cameo appearance, allowed everyone to observe my state of being, made every person wary about my psychological condition and stopped everybody from spreading false rumours about my supposedly horrible demise. Was welcomed with claps and hurrahs by each and every police personnel inside head office who got a chance to see me and felt glad at their shrewd appreciation towards the devil they know in favour of the devil they didn't but had the misfortune of knowing due to my absence.

Removing my replacement and his assistant from my desk was quite enjoyable and watching them leave without having any say in this matter did wonders for my mood. Both of them are despicable and exploitive people but now they can return to their own police precinct and allow me to pick up where everything was left off.

Three days. Three ingloriously long days have passed.

My friend is dead and top management has specifically asked me to conduct a thorough investigation and cover all bases. Whole country is shocked and Chiba is in mourning. My friend was an icon, a role model for this generation and his death has sparked a flame in numerous hearts and souls of people across the globe. As for me, I have difficulty saying his name and I grieve by not grieving at all.

I do what I can and what I can do is investigate.

Officially my suspension was lifted today. Unofficially I never left my office. My stench has poisoned every corner. Each piece of furniture and every piece of equipment at my desk has my fingerprints. My territory is marked by self-loathing and self-hatred. Those are hard to replace and duplicate.

I have no other.

My superiors have their hands tied.

A monster of logic can be hard to control and put on a leash.

Conforming to standards of society, changing my nature and improving my methods are requests seldom fulfilled. But they have an understanding of my function and role. Unpredictability can be predicted by trial and error but a person of a volatile nature can only be reined in by hitting close to home.

Offering Taishi Kawasaki a chance to look into the death of my only friend was equivalent to having me wear a dog's collar around my neck. He had been keeping me informed about the going-ons in the workplace during my suspension and this relation of ours was exploited. Upon confronting, all cards was found lain on the table and I received full authority to function and conduct myself without any hindrance from politics and bureaucracy.

Felt pleased and decide to leave no stone unturned.

Old cases, cold cases, closed cases, everything within reason and having any significance to this current ongoing investigation was made available to me without asking any unnecessary questions. Felt necessary to handle everything personally and allowed nobody else to get a ticket of my train of thought. Turned Taishi Kawasaki into a glorified gofer and told him to run embarrassing errands. Made him follow social media, websites, fan-sites, blogs, every thought bubble and every soap box displayed under public domain and disregarded his whining about turning him into a stalker and cyber criminal. He was exaggerating of course. A cyber criminal should know some basic hacking skills. He didn't. Unfortunate really, leading me to try other avenues of an orthodox nature. Collected newspaper clippings, read sports magazine and listened to recording of past interviews. Made appointments with many people and was forced to keep them. People from my past, those who have drifted away towards a better life and a foreseeable prosperous future had to face me once again. Saw their eyes, took in their features and heard their thoughts over this present predicament. Questioned a butterfly effect caused by one man, his unfortunate death and the significance of everything taking place at this contemporary city of ours. Listened to their sighs, watched them look at me with pity and heard them whisper inaudibly things better left unsaid.

Exhausted all leads and gave into inevitability. Prepared to commit myself and take upon a deadening journey into a stronghold of sham and charade called Falcon Facilities.

Decided against riding a motorcycle. Long journey. Need to prepare mentally. Hence my decision to turn a gofer into a chauffeur was completely justified.

/

Stood outside main entrance of headquarters and waited for my ride. People noticed me but paid no heed. Felt better. Weapons should be concealed. Daggers have sheaths. Guns have holsters.

My dead fish eyes have shades. Simple sunglasses hide this arsenal of mine, for having them on display all the time would lessen their effect. Without my eyes I'm a blind to corruption and compromise but with them I only see debauchery and decay. Spotting a decrepit, nondescript, unmarked vehicle, commonly used for stakeout purposes was unremarkably easy and when this means of transport stopped before my presence and the driver came out with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an appraisal, my mouth opened and formed a simple sentence.

"You're late."

"Sorry onii-sama. Had to sign out proper official forms before taking this vehicle out of impound. Thought this would take only a few minutes but sadly those officers are really picky about releasing cars for some reason. Wonder why?"

"Young officers often try to take out one of these unmarked vehicles to impress their dates. Lead to a lot of hassle one day and police policies had to be made rigid, limiting using these cars for only police purposes and not personal ones. You want to blame someone then blame those people who found love and have a girlfriend."

"You mean like me and Komachi?"

"Don't put words in my mouth! Komachi has nothing to do with this. You take her out on a motorcycle like I took her to school on my bicycle. Only difference is you are her boyfr… her boyfrie… her friend who is a boy and I am her onii-chan."

"Onii-sama you are grossing me out! Let's not try comparing our levels of love for Komachi and just be happy with knowing we both love her very much but very differently. Ok?"

"No! Not okay. I love her more. Try remembering this Officer Kawasaki."

Ultimate weapon. Pull rank.

"Eh? Onii-sama, I made detective three years ago. Did you forget? You stopped calling me oblivious officer and started calling me defective detective when I rose up in rank."

Ultimate weapon not living upto its name for this insect turned out to be an uncategorised cockroach. No matter. This rotten person outranks you for today, tomorrow and hopefully many years into the future.

"Good for you but are you a sergeant?"

"…No. You are."

"Better remember that you defective detective."

"Of course onii… I mean Sergeant Hikigaya"

Taishi Kawasaki returned to his place in this unmarked motor vehicle issued by police authorities. He placed his dominant hand on the steering wheel and with his other one unlocked the door of the passenger seat beside the driver.

This was his invitation to let me join him at front.

Declined this generous offer of his out of personal wellbeing and opened the backdoor to plop down on a backseat all by my lonesome. Felt comfortable having this entire place for myself.

"Eh? Onii-sama, you are sitting in the back?"

Seems silence was not a part of my comfort package.

"Yes I am. Why do you ask?"

"I just thought we would be sitting together like partners working a case."

"Then you thought wrong detective."

He suffers silently but pays no heed to my lack of social and communication skills. He drives carefully, his eyes never leaving the broad streets and his hands never leave the wheel. He has accepted my refusal to sit beside him without any further protest. He never asked for a reason knowing I have none.

But regardless, felt myself digging up a random reason.

"I have a lot of things on my mind detective. You know what this case means to me right?"

"Yes I do Sergeant."

Saw a glimpse of sadness splinter this young man. His voice was morose and his eyes were heavy. He decided to participate in a silence spreading inside this automobile and felt satisfied in taking the car out of the narrow lanes and into the streets of Chiba. Only the sound of an outdated engine purred across our strained association.

Decided to elevate awkwardness from this confined space by providing padding upon previous random reason through holding up a prop. Cleared throat to gather attention and as expected my driver looked back over his shoulder.

"What's this? A book?"

"How observant of you. Mind keeping your eyes glued on the road. Your onii-sama has no interest of dying in a car crash because you got distracted by a piece of twentieth century literature."

"Ah! No worries. Wait a sec! You called yourself my onii-sama. Does this mean we no longer have to act all official and address each other all formally and such?"

"Afraid so. We can stick to doing all those fun stuffs back when we are at the office or when we are working a crime scene."

"Only onii-sama would call something like that fun. But you won't hear me complain. I will be a good partner."

Never said anything about partners. Only Taishi Kawasaki would believe such make-believe. We have different ranks, we perform separate duties, he dates my sister and I let him. He wants to be my partner but my fears make me hesitant.

He has a future with Komachi and my days of living in denial of their flourishing relationship have almost come to an end. He makes Komachi happy, treats her like a princess and listens to her bawl out in sadness and howl out in laughter with equal attention.

Most importantly Komachi loves him.

Only my reluctance to give them permission has stopped them from getting married. My efforts to thwart their relationship by testing their strengths and weaknesses by removing physical intimacy of a sexual nature have revealed their love to be genuine and pure.

I am glad.

I worry.

Taishi Kawasaki has become a part of my workforce. He functions under my supervision and he is obligated to follow my orders like toy soldiers. He does good detective work and there lies my problem.

One day he will see things. Terrible things.

One day he will be forced to do things. Terrible things.

And then he will find friendship among nightmares.

Like me.

I will not allow it. He deserves better. He has his own sisters and my sisters waiting for him at home, praying he will return safe and sound both in mind and body. On a fundamental level they hold me responsible to look after him. They have never told me directly but the look in their eyes makes everything evident.

They have lost me.

Now they fear losing him.

I will not promise anything.

My taint may affect Taishi Kawasaki but he will never become me. My existence is based on limiting my stench to only myself. He will never become jaded and turned into a monster of logic like me, for he has hope.

He hopes of winning me over and marrying my sister. He trusts in having his elder sister married into a respectable family. He wishes his youngest sister to find true love. Lastly he expects me to look after my wellbeing.

Taishi Kawasaki is a nice man.

He will not be me.

"What's this book about?"

Case in point, he should be paying attention to where we are headed. Instead he now finds his interest in my choice of literature intriguing. He has seen me countless times engrossed in a book and indulging in one of my old habits of reading in silence but he finds himself curious, making me annoyed.

"A dystopian future"

"Oh? What's the title?"

"1984."

"Eh? Onii-sama did you make a joke? You said this book was about a dystopian future but it's called 1984. Shouldn't this book be about a dystopian past?"

"No such thing. Only our future can be unpleasantly dehumanised. Our past was just pleasantly ignorant. Caveman carried clubs, highschoolers made clubs and college-goers went clubbing. Same difference, really. They thought they had worries but we know they clearly didn't. Nowadays everyone is rightly worried. In 2035, reading a book published in 1949, titled 1984, seems almost impossible because of a dreadful driver needing long explanations."

Taishi Kawasaki was better at maths. Everyone was better at this useless subject except me. But he was finding trouble making sense of those years which was just mentioned during our pointless conversation. He did the sensible thing, nodded his head at my reflection in the rear view mirror and gave me a bright smile.

"Sorry onii-sama. I didn't understand a thing you said but you can read if you want. I won't disturb you. I can drive silently, I promise."

"Thank you"

"No problem partner."

Made no comment and chose to refrain from shooting him, for he is driving and any violent action on my part might lead to an awful accident. Told myself this was a small price to pay for a long period of silence. This book has served a better purpose than anyone would think possible. This piece of literature has stopped Taishi Kawasaki from talking any further.

George Orwell I give you my thanks.

Pretended to read and remembered to occasionally turn pages.

/

Taishi Kawasaki is a man of his word. This silence we are currently sharing is comfortable and enjoyable. He is happy driving me across Chiba and then leaving me in a hostile territory. Of course, hostility can be ascertained through a form of perception most men lack. Came to grips with these underhanded undertones back in middle school and those painful lessons taught me my current way of life.

Women are great teachers.

Orimoto was a good teacher but she lost my respect in favour of others. She became normal in an abnormal world, settled down, got married and had kids. Should really stop calling her Orimoto now, her husband might have a problem. Tamanawa spews complex words and writes sonnets proclaiming his love for her wife on a daily basis. Heard from Taishi, he agreed to be my replacement only if Orimoto could be his assistant.

Ah. True love.

Wonder how he became a policeman of my rank without having any big accomplishments under his belt. He congratulates his wife and holds her responsible for helping him climb up his career ladder. Only I believe he is not exaggerating her contributions.

She made him what he is today- A family man.

Having a family, a happy married life is a good dream.

The Yukinoshita family had this dream for their daughter.

Younger Yukinoshita married her childhood friend. After finishing high school, they went abroad, like they did back in elementary school and finished college. They became accomplished individuals in their respective fields and returned back home to be engaged. Their relationship survived and thrived despite countless delays, before these two could join together, forever in holy matrimony. Their marriage joined two prosperous families into an unbreakable bond which promised a great future for Chiba. These two childhood friends, now husband and wife are commonly called the first couple of Chiba.

They say behind every successful man there is a woman. But they never say anything about what is behind a successful woman. We never think to think. Men thought women could never succeed. But they forgot one thing.

Ladies love to prove us wrong.

For some women, marriage is just another task left on their bucket list. A safety net provided by society, by this patriarchal world, where women are expected to fall from walking on a tightrope. A safe option to consider when nothing can be accomplished by limited opportunities and a clicking biological clock.

Orimoto and Yukinoshita are good wives to great husbands. These married women are my great teachers but those who remain unmarried became my life coaches. Arguing about who is better is futile. Coaches and teachers have different roles. A teacher teaches us valuable life lessons but a coach trains us to play the game of life. We choose and decide like they did with their life.

Older Yukinoshita decided to strike out on her own. She had fulfilled her duties to her family and younger sister and after having this heavy burden lifted off of her shoulders she decided to pay attention to her wants and needs. Finished her studies and became a medical professional-a therapist. She helps people find peace in this chaotic world and helps them recuperate from tragedy and trauma. She owns a boutique, part of an old childhood hobby and gives her patients a lovely flower after each therapy session. She has no plans of currently getting married.

Unlike her, Yuigahama might have had plans. But she chose friendship over marriage. Yukinoshita wanted somebody she could completely trust and put her faith in when she took over her family company and various business enterprises. She had to look no further, for her high school club mate saved her. Yuigahama, her best friend, became her head of PR and analysts would argue she was singlehandedly responsible for helping her win those elections she fought after she got married.

Fighting elections is a dirty business. A woman, a married woman could be an easy target. Her husband was a man of science and amidst various scientific breakthroughs which created a lot of controversies around worldwide media. Her husband immediately recognised his fault and decided to take appropriate steps to protect her wife from a smear campaign by bringing in a high-school friend, Miura Yumiko. She was a lawyer, a great white shark, a force of nature. She was aggressive in her approach and ruthless in her conduct. She sued everyone for defamation, slander and liable. Cut deals, won cases and made plenty in damages. She stayed and waited for the smoke to clear and another battle to commence.

She stood by Hayama and her wife.

Hayama could credit his success and prosperity to his wife and high school friends like Yuigahama and Miura. They would never acknowledge his praise out of modesty and humbleness but then there was one who stole all our credit and accomplishments simply because she was our homeroom teacher back in high school.

Hiratsuka sensei holds a position of esteem in our educational system. She put Sobu High on a global map and in many of her interviews and magazine articles, she often self proclaimed her motivation and guidance counselling led to her students becoming eminent individual in their adult life. Entrepreneurs, lawyers, sportsmen and lawmen all are her creations. Zaimokuza was not a part of her homeroom but his light novels are said to carry, at least one character based on her attitude and mannerisms. She says it's a beautiful way for a former student to pay tribute to a teacher.

Now the honour is mine.

Let a devil collect his due.

/

Momentarily stopped and took notice of pages. One third of this hard-paper back volume was complete but nothing was registered in my mind. Lost in happy thoughts and paid little attention to a fictional society in favour of my non-fictional one. Everything is irrelevant. Shared similarities, divided differences and rational relationships all add up to nothing.

Reading 1984 in 2035 makes complete sense.

Looked outside and saw landscape seize from moving backwards. Steady de-acceleration caused wheels to arrest their movement altogether and this unmarked vehicle, taken out for police business, came to a halt on a street crossing. Watched a traffic light, function properly and display proper insignia suitable to provide safe passage.

Hence, trouble lies with my driver and I had to hold him accountable for his inaction.

"Problem?"

"Nothing onii-sama. Just wanted your opinion on something. Have you finished your book?"

"No. I haven't."

"Oh! Can I ask anyway?"

"Sure. But make it quick. We are out here on official police business. Not out for a morning drive."

"You got it onii-sama!"

Taishi Kawasaki kept his hand firmly placed on the steering wheel and kept looking back at me in the rear view mirror. He was coming up with proper words to address an issue and was thinking really hard. Without trying, I could gears and levers turning in his brain, telling him what could go wrong and what could go woefully wrong. His miserable mindset could be brought before my presence regarding only one person.

"You want to talk about Komachi?"

Heard a snap from his neck and hoped his head won't swivel off his shoulder from shock.

"How do you do it onii-sama! You are right every time!"

"Trade secret. You think I made sergeant because of my good looks?"

"Um…"

"Rhetorical question. Now back to Komachi. What do you want with her? You are already dating her and she has made no move to dump you and find someone else. You should have nothing to complain about my sister."

"I'm not complaining. Komachi is a nice, sweet and tender-"

"What's wrong with you! Don't say those things about my sister! Tender! Tender! What do you mean by tender? Are you? Are you and her? I swear-"

"Calm down onii-sama! I just wanted to know whether Komachi loves modern art."

"-no one will find your corpse…what did you say?"

Taishi Kawasaki took a deep breath.

"What does Komachi think about modern art?"

Good question. She likes to draw but modern art. No idea.

"Why do you want to know?"

He pointed at a random building across the street. Fancy place.

"I was thinking of taking her there."

"And what is there?"

"An art gallery. Heard they will be having their opening gala pretty soon and thought this would be a wonderful place to take out Komachi on a date. What do you think? Will she like it?"

This bug has gone bonkers.

Taishi Kawasaki is asking me, Hikigaya Hachiman, to be a part of a conspiracy that will help him be successful on a date with my sister, Komachi Hikigaya. He cannot be sober. Should have him take an exam and if found guilty, I will arrest him personally for drunk driving.

Good plan.

"You have a breathalyser?"

"…No"

Bad execution. Pity.

Change strategy

"What's wrong with taking her out to the movies and having dinner in some fancy restaurant?"

Simplicity is a perfection seldom undone. Of course a bug would have no grasp of this concept of perfection.

"We have been to a lot of movies, plenty of cafés and many a restaurants. This time around I want to take her somewhere special. Help me a little onii-sama! I want to make this special for Komachi."

His words bore meaning and sunk deep into my psyche. Found unnerved at what dawned into my realisation and immediately took a moment of silence. Ran everything through my mind and double-checked.

Found nothing close to having a different meaning and a different explanation for these abrupt pieces of words, blurted out together, in a pleading voice to an older brother of a girl he loves and wishes to love forever.

Taishi Kawasaki wants to make this special for Komachi.

Everyman does.

Everyman except me.

Out of old habit decided to poke fun at his blunder. Humour would help me guarantee my certainty.

"Special you say. Are you planning on making yourself the happiest of men?"

"How did you-? No! I don't want to know! Onii-sama please! Please! I beg you. Don't tell Komachi."

Saw him panicking. But for once, found no enjoyment in watching him suffer.

Might mean I am happy for him.

…For them.

Happiness can be contagious. My lips curved upwards and formed a small smile, devoid of insincere irony and shallow sarcasm

"This is your secret to tell Kawasaki Taishi."

He sighed in relief, turned back to face the road in front of him and our long drive continued.

/

Death brings us close.

Taishi Kawasaki has decided to take a step forward in his successfully stagnant relationship. Both he and my sister are happy. But they are not getting any younger. I am warming up to their relationship and hopefully before polar icecaps, I would melt into a gooey puddle when they exchange their vows.

Komachi would look great in white. I would walk her down the aisle.

…and hand her over to Taishi Kawasaki.

…My sister will no longer be a Hikigaya.

She will no longer have me.

But she will be happy.

Her happiness is brought upon by death.

My friend, the one who died, the one whose name I cannot say, made Taishi Kawasaki rethink his current position and change it for the better. He is taking a risk for which he will be justly rewarded.

Currently he is driving safely over a freeway and manoeuvring carefully through a number of vehicles. He has blurted out his deepest secret to the last person he would want to know and now he chooses to practice his right to remain silent like a common criminal in the US. He is in Chiba but all this talk about being a good partner and doing proper police work must have made him reminisce about some of his favourite American buddy-cop movies. He would be spewing one-liners of those action movies during long journeys like these and often he would try to copy chase scenes. This is the reason why I don't go driving with him during one of his cases. My fear of accidents discourages me from causing him bodily harm and on every occasion, stopping him from pulling stunts requires me to call his older sister and have her tell him off.

Proved counterproductive every single time.

After she was finished with her brother she would turn on me. Somehow I never escape judgement and yet I became a seminal sergeant in Chiba. A mystery of the ages it seems. Taking advantage of this pleasant silence made me delve deeper into this knee jerk reaction closely associated with bereavement.

A huge loss often makes one aware of how insignificant we truly are. A speck of dust in a desert, a drop of water in an ocean, a slim brushstroke in a painting means nothing. One man is faceless in a crowd. Those who want to see the bigger picture will be looking at an abstract painting drawn by someone professing to be from the future. Only an art critic can make sense of all this nonsense, running rampant in a painter who claims to be a man out of this time.

Was criticized my whole life. My methods, my action, my lack of disregard for consequences and each of my critics have a name to go with their face. Every one of them had a say in this matter of mine concerning loss and death.

Met most of them. At least those who are alive.

Met with Yukinoshita Yukino. Her memory leaves a bad taste in my mouth like tasting animal urine on soft snow. She is beyond saving. Her family participated in an age-old barter system and exchanged her happiness for wealth and prosperity. An arranged marriage was always on the cards for her. She also had a fair idea who will be chosen to be her husband. As expected she played her part. An unhappy marriage could not be saved but husband and wife stayed together to respect their families wishes. She stopped trying in vain.

I have seen ice sculptures show more feelings than her. She is a capable businesswoman, knows every tricks in the trade and she is more than capable of unsettling me. Her heart pumps liquid nitrogen in her veins and her eyes are a pair of piercing icicles. When she dies, I'm certain hell will freeze over. But for now she looks at this world with cold disdain and wishes for another ice age to cleanse her impurities.

A year ago an effort of her saw fruition. A silver lining in a cloud, a fetal image in an ultrasound, could have saved her. Motherhood would have suited her well for she already knew what not to be courtesy of her own evil mother. But unfortunately she was robbed of this privilege. She lost her unborn child due to certain complications earlier this year.

After this painful experience she gave up on everything and everyone. She became a frigid woman who lives only to enjoy the pleasure of doing business.

A cut-throat capitalist.

After our little chat she kissed me goodbye. Never expected nor did I hesitate. This was her last attempt to agitate me before I could leave her office and meet other people who are actually living more than only breathing. I felt gangrene spreading across my cheek from where her lips made contact. Something was off with her kiss. Yukinoshita Yuri has a nice ring to it. Could she possibly be a lesbian? She has my sympathy. Being married to Hayama would make anyone change their sexual orientation. Must remember to investigate further.

After leaving her office I went and met her older sister. Yukinoshita Haruno has provided her expertise to police personnel for many years and everybody has a high opinion about her therapy sessions. She frequently lends her insight and helps create psychological profiles of crazy killers and mad murderers. She is not a part of the police force but more of a court appointed therapist. But getting her clearance is mandatory before one can return to the workforce after a prolonged period of absence, resultant of a tragic incident or a traumatic experience.

During my prolonged period of suspension, I was forced to seek treatment from her chambers. Had to come clean before her. She is good at catching me in my lies. She is not surgical in her approach and after my appointments, I often felt like my skull had been pried open by a crowbar. She writes me a prescription and provided me with my daily dose of proper medicine. Tasked with helping me look normal, appear sane and less paranoid, she has become a dark keeper of my inner most secrets. She knows what makes me vulnerable, what my weaknesses are, how I think what I think and that made me uncomfortable. But she assures me her days of taking advantage of me are far behind her.

She was disowned by her family when she refused to make the ultimate sacrifice of marrying someone younger than her. She was chosen by her future husband but her unwillingness led him to choose her younger sister. She was neither invited for the engagement nor did she attend the wedding. When I informed her about Yukinoshita Yukino and her missed chance at becoming a mother she stayed silent for a minute than snorted, saying that an unborn child was saved from another cruelty of fate.

Caught her in her act.

I have been good at seeing her true face since I was in high school. Back then if I had known she was studying psychology I would have been far more careful of her attempts at getting under my skin. But nowadays she is more of a pest than an actual nuisance. She is easy in the eyes and more of a guilty pleasure. I know what will happen to me and she shares my opinion. For that I'm welcome. Like always, after our session was over, she would present me with a token to commemorate my suffering- A black rose.

She gives a flower to all her patients, likes to let everyone know about her penchant for gardening and her appreciation for exotic plants. She talks rather fondly of her boutique. Her crowning achievement, she says. On these rare occasions I see her like any other normal woman, who likes beautiful things to compliment her femininity. And then I watch her pruning a sapling, cutting off weak twigs and remember she can thrive in any natural habitat but she will never lose her element of elegant savagery.

Her flowers are irksome.

I have declined countless times but nonetheless I find myself unable to win against her florid charm and after every gruelling appointment, I return back to my place of dwelling, carrying a long stemmed rose much to my dislike. Throwing them away never crossed my mind but giving them away to Saki Kawasaki did. She puts up with her siblings, my sister and then me. She should be given a Nobel Peace Prize but a lowly flower is all I can manage. At first she accepted this small token of mine with caution. She ran her fingers through a few petals, took a small whiff, then smiled and began looking for a vase.

We have no vase.

She never buys unnecessary things and I never bother her unnecessarily. I go into my room and return with an empty pencil holder. After a melancholic moment she silently agrees and now our dining table has a floral ornament.

Bringing her flowers from Yukinoshita Haruno has become a habit. She knows they are not bought, she knows they are given to me and I hand them down to her but she keeps them anyways. All women love flowers. Saki Kawasaki is no different. Based on a high school incident, I would think black is her favourite colour. But she is a grown woman now and her preference might have changed. I never venture a guess into this dangerous territory and preserve my wellbeing through doing my own laundry, separately. Her favourites are her own business and I respect her privacy.

Black is not my favourite colour. I wear black because white will not do. Red blood on white fabric never becomes innocently pink. Black never mixes with others but goes well with everything- mud, blood, ketchup, anything. I save myself from dry-cleaning duty and wear these dirty clothes and say they are clean. No one takes a closer look and wearing cheap cologne masks my stench.

Before I became a police officer, I smelled of old ink, fresh paper and clichéd subplots. I had tried my hand at writing and was met with mediocre success. Enough to pay the bills and keep my parents from worrying. Instead I made they worry about my sister's wellbeing. Felt like I was being a good brother. But after what happened to our parents my writing warped and became incredibly dark and stoic. Never again was my work published. Zaimokuza Yoshiteru tried to help but he had his limits. We went our separate ways, but he and I met at his place sometimes. We co-wrote a couple of projects from time to time and slowly after my inner turmoil found a better release through police business I was reintroduced to his publisher. I regained their trust by using a pseudonym and began contributing to fiction and fantasy at an irregular basis, whenever I needed a distraction from dishing out injustice to these criminals of Chiba who provide good writing material.

After my last therapy session I went to his place and met him. He's always at home. He opened the door to greet me and was surprised to see me carrying a bouquet of chrysanthemums. Like a true light novelist who sticks to what he is good at, he decided to over think and misunderstand the whole situation. I let it slide when he accused me of being a hindere and let him off the hook when he said, I was copying one of his main characters. But when he began talking about BL, I knew this BS had to stop.

Gave him a finished copy of my draft and told him my pseudo-literary career was on hold. He understood, asked whether this bouquet was for his grave, and wondered whether he had missed his funeral by sleeping all day. He sleeps a lot. No wonder he misses out on important news. Told him to relax and be there on Sunday, if he wants.

Both Yoshiteru Zaimokuza and him called me a friend.

They called me by my first name.

Now, one is dead and I'm down to one friend. Wonder how long he will last. He is having a tough time trying to make a comeback. After he was accused of plagiarism and brought to court, everyone had given up on him. He settled his dues, faded away into a background of litany and rekindled a weak friendship.

He had many things but he had nothing.

Divorced twice. Alleges both his wives married him for money not love. Was there any doubt. A voice actress in an anime series based on his work and an idol who sang a theme song for that same anime, are his lovely ex-wives. He has joint custody over his kid but he sees him more like a cash-cow than an actual father.

I am extremely happy to have never met them.

After being a decent friend, I took my leave and left with a bouquet and a small pile of shonen manga. Zaimokuza had guessed correct when he said this was for a grave. Just not him, not my friend who died, not my friend whose name I cannot say. These flowers and these mangas are for a person who is about to die. Death is certain. She has maybe months, maybe a week. Every woman loves flowers but this woman is more particular about her choice of reading material. For a respected teacher I have never seen her read serious literature but it is not my place to judge. Her judgement has been passed, unfairly, by an absent god.

I knock on her door and wait patiently. She takes her time. I hear her cough. Painfully. She hides her blood splashed handkerchief behind her back and smiles warmly. Lets me come in. She has stopped taking chemotherapy, says she would like to have hair back before she dies. I am troubled to agree with her. Cigarettes cause cancer. She knew, everyone knew. She never blames herself, never blames anyone.

She is at peace, a fifty year old virgin, dying alone, surrounded by dry flowers and old copies of shonen manga. I have stopped trying to understand her. She says, she wants me beside her bed, holding her hand when she dies. I promise to pay my respect to my old teacher. She talks of those old times, those best times-her career, her students-and only asks for me to listen and hand me a tissue when her emotions betray her. I compile. Only thing I can do. I cannot fight a terminal illness. No one can. Not even in 2035. I never ask why I never have acquaintances that have happiness in their lives.

Happiness is a lie. It is evil.

…Youth is a lie. It is evil.

This much I have grown.

/

1984 is almost over and 2035 awaits my arrival

"Onii-sama you should put that book away. We are only a couple of blocks away from Falcon Facilities."

Seems Taishi Kawasaki has found his voice. I take a look outside at this locale and take in the modern structure of this facility which claims to be a pioneer in cutting edge research and science. A number of rumours have cropped up about this neighbourhood. Sci-fi references abounds. Most joke fables around Area 51 of America became a true in Japan. Isshiki Iroha says she saw dead aliens taken out in body bags from this building. But then again she is with multiple restraining orders issued under her name from countless key individuals. One of them happens to be a powerful businesswoman and shareholder of this facility, not to mention the unhappy wife of the public face of this organisation and the brain behind this outfit.

I don't need to say their names. Names are unessary in my mind. Good thing we have pronouns and common nouns and other official titles. Leaving an unreliable paparazzo, I decide to follow a reliable reporter with integrity. Tsurumi Rumi says, a friend of a friend told her, that this place makes clones of cows and overflows the market with artificial meat. She really should stop copying me. This friend of a friend thing never fooled anyone. Maybe Taishi Kawasaki, but he is an idiot so he doesn't count.

"Onii-sama how was the book?"

Counting. One idiot.

"Great. Detective you can drop me off here. I can walk the rest of the way."

"Eh? I'm not going with you?"

"No you are not."

"Why?"

Thanks again George Orwell. Shakespeare has nothing on you.

"I need you to return my book back to the office library"

I hold up this book, my rescuer, my champion and my bug repellent. Save me once again and let me escape with my mean narrow-mindedness. Let this piece of literature be a good excuse to send away Taishi Kawasaki.

"…you want me to take this book back to headquarters and returned to the library."

"Yes"

"…then you want me to comeback, right here and join you in your investigation"

"No"

Our car stops and my driver turns around. I look at his face and his annoyed features. He is trying to scowl at me like his older sister. I take a good look and snort. He has a long way to go if that's the best he can manage. Hope he never asks his older sister to teach him how to scowl. One scary Saki Kawasaki is enough.

"Why can't I go with you onii-sama?"

"Because I said so. Do you plan to disobey a direct order from you sergeant"

"No"

I sigh. He is disappointed. But he should have known better. My indefinite suspension was lifted because this investigation required me to employ a certain skill set he will never possess. He looks forward to walking on his career path, get promoted, have an increment. He has a bright future.

Me. I have a past, a present perhaps, but no future. My superiors have a hunch. This case will perhaps be my last. Taishi Kawasaki is naïve and new. I am cynical and worn. He will not be a part of my explorations into this underbelly of society. He will not carry my taint, my stench, my vision.

I exit this vehicle and hand him my book. He takes it and places it on the passenger seat beside him. He wanted me to sit there at the beginning of this journey but I declined. Now I'm not sure whether he will ever want me to sit beside him, when are inside a vehicle.

I should be giving myself a pat on my shoulder for this remarkable achievement but all I can do is exhale despondently.

"Have this book back to the library at the earliest. I don't want to end up paying an exorbitant late fine like everyone. You would think, saying I'm a sergeant would help but it doesn't. You understand?"

"Roger Sergeant Hikigaya."

Wow. Just wow. Better try another approach.

"Your onii-sama is only looking out for you. Have a break. Take the car out for a long drive. Live a little."

"Your wish is my command sergeant."

Now, now, let's not get cheeky. You won't like me when I'm cheeky.

"Think about your future plans. How you want to approach Komachi, take her where and do it how. Like you said this has to be special. That takes a lot of hard work and planning. Have you figured everything out?"

Taishi Kawasaki chokes and succumbs to self doubt. He shakes his head unable to form words in his mouth. I guess he thought. I won't take advantage of this. But this is not really taking advantage. I'm looking out for my sister and her…her… Kawasaki-onee san's only brother

"No! But I will. You promised to keep silent till then."

"And I will"

"But if I disobey you then you will tell Komachi! Ruin this for me! For her! You are blackmailing me Hikigaya-san"

Kid gloves are off.

"You are wrong! If you disobey my order then you're off the case. I'm a sergeant, I can do that and I will do it happily. But this will have nothing to do with what you have plans with my sister. The only person who has any chance of ruining it will be you! But you shouldn't worry. Komachi will forgive you. That's how nice she is, and your sisters, both of them, will help you win back her forgiveness."

Taishi Kawasaki takes in every word and slowly begins to relax but then his eyes stumble upon a problem.

"What about you?"

How good of you to ask

"I will let you live. Komachi will never forgive me if I did anything with her boyfriend and your older sister will slice me in half if I hurt a hair in your empty little head."

Taishi Kawasaki finds amusement in my misery.

"You finally called me 'boyfriend'"

Choose your words carefully!

"No! No! Why you I call you my boyfriend! We are both heterosexual. I know I am. Hope you are too otherwise I will never forgive you for playing around with my sister's heart. Are you an idiot?!I called Komachi your boyfriend! No. No! I mean, I called you Komachi's boyfriend. Yeah, that's right. No misunderstanding. You truly are a defective detective, you you…you bug"

I am having a panic attack. After contemplating of misery and decay, loss and death throughout this long journey, I am experiencing symptoms of a panic attack because this brat doesn't know how to talk straight.

He will definitely mess up.

I can imagine him going down on one knee and forgetting my sister's name at the final minute. I had trouble remembering their family name throughout high school. Somehow I found out they have rare disease with the same name, which causes blood inflammation and heart problems. Afterwards I never forgot their family name because this bug makes my blood boil and whenever he says something stupid, I get a minor heart attack. This bug will kill me by worrying me to death about what he will do with Komachi.

Komachi would make a great nun.

Just saying.

"Onii-sama are you sure? You never liked meeting people from our high-school days. I mean you practically wanted to claw out your eyes when you saw Tamanawa and his wife occupying your desk. Will you be alright handling him?"

Honestly no. Dishonestly yes.

"I will be fine. You should listen to me on this one. I have met with every people that I can possibly think of, who have anything to do with Tot…my friend's case and I have met with them alone because they are comfortable shedding their second skin only before me. They say, 'three is a crowd' and these people will put up an act if you come with me and then we will get no leads and make no headway in this case. Do you really want that?"

"No."

"Then trust me. The sooner we close this case, the better, and then you can stop being Komachi's boyfriend."

"Stop being his boyfriend!?"

"Of course. You are wishing to change the status quo right? You can't have it both ways. I think you have to dump her first. Don't do that. I will shoot you in head. Maybe she has to dump you. That sounds right."

"…that's not how it works onii-sama."

"Then keep it simple. Stop making everything perfect. None of us had a perfect life. Tell me the truth! You only decided to take this final step because you got scared of all the uncertainties of this world. In May, a person had his birthday and in October we are about to have his funeral!"

I take a deep breath and fist my hand into my trouser pockets. I have said enough. I need to stay in control. I need my medication. For that to happen I need to make Taishi Kawasaki leave at once.

"Sorry onii-sama. But you are wrong."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Before Christmas. I had plans for asking her before Christmas. Tot-"

"Don't say his name!"

"Sorry!"

There is no need to shout. I need my pill.

I turn around, my back is facing Taishi Kawasaki and I take out a pill from my suit pocket and swallow it dry. I am not feeling better. These medicines take time. I turn around again and face Taishi Kawasaki. He must have a faint idea of what I did. He makes no comment. Good for him.

"Sorry for shouting. Look this is getting late. Go home. I will be okay."

"…alright."

Seems my shouting have made him look guilty instead of me. Social etiquette like this I will never understand. But they are helpful. Seems I have sent him away on a guilt trip. With any luck he will forget about taking this book back to the library. Good. I didn't take it from the library. I borrowed it from my superior. He won't miss it.

Taishi Kawasaki turns the car around and gives me one last look.

"Best of luck"

I nod.

/

Now I'm alone in this hostile territory. I make a quick inventory of what I have concealed on me

My sidearm is equipped with a silencer. Standard issue for undercover police work.

A gas mask. Standard issue for taking down a meth lab.

A pocket knife. My insurance.

A torch. To light my path.

Taishi Kawasaki would have gone in and knocked on the front door. He would have had a wonderful chat with a manipulative person and he would be none the wiser. He is a good detective, I have no doubt. But these people have been what they are since high-school. Maybe even earlier. They were told to put up a façade and fool everyone. Now what was their mask has become their face and what was their face has become a mask.

Men with mask should see me and my eyes. I see them clearly.

Having Taishi Kawasaki not along for this misadventure had another perk. He was under the assumption that I had made an appointment for this meeting. He would be correct. I had in fact made an appointment. But at the last moment, before I exited headquarters, I received a text message from a personal assistant, saying the brains behind Falcon Facilities had to cancel owing to a prior commitment. I choose to ignore the mad ramblings of a fujoshi. Not the first time I have.

My actions are completely justified. I wasn't requesting permission, not seeking an audience with this great man of our generation, who to me is nothing more than a fake with fake brain. With how much his family made after he was married, I wouldn't be surprised if he had his brain transplanted with a long dead Einstein. I don't know whether this is possible. But it is science. They don't have to explain anything.

I choose not to explain myself. This would be a perfect opportunity to examine these limitations of mine. My boss agreed I would have zero interference from politicians and bureaucrats but he didn't make it sound much convincing. What better way to test these troubled water by breaking into a facility which has a major part in a growing military-industrial complex, never before heard of in Japan, let alone in Chiba.

I quietly walk away from this guarded fortress. No chance of making a full frontal assault. They have guards with prototype weapons, not meant to kill but cause serious bodily malfunctions. Heard prison guards complain about bowel disorder and bladder malfunction among inmates who became unwitting targets to these prototype projectiles during an unfortunate prison riot.

Must have been funny. But I'm not her for a good laugh.

Before undertaking this task, I had studied blueprints and layouts of this facility, those which are available in public domain and those which are concealed. Working for law enforcement and investigating a high profile case has its perks.

My studies have revealed a small maintenance shed away from the main facility and standing on the opposite side of the street, having no protection from any guards with guns or attack dogs with sharp teeth. No one would think this small shed would have anything to do with this formidable fort and that's the idea.

I walk towards this structure and stand before the locked door. There is a close circuit camera peering into me from the corner of the doorframe. I tap the lens mockingly with my index finger.

"Hello Hayama"

No answer.

"Wanna let me in? I know your security detail has a response time of three minutes. I am willing to wait four."

Four minutes later there is no response. I know he is within this facility. He is a high value target. Never leaves the city without annoying the police, never leaves the country without annoying the military. Why? Because he has a big brain. Well I have a rotten brain and I wouldn't exchange it with yours even if you pay me. His movements cannot be tracked without bordering on a gray area but before meeting him, I made it my business to know each member of his security detail, had their files brought in and studied their schedule. Most of them are in today. Guarding this facility. His assistant has made no plans to make travel arrangements.

He is here.

But where is my escort?

Never mind.

I talk to this camera positioned at an upward angle above my head. I stare into this blinking red dot, recording me live and give a creepy smile.

"Sorry. I forgot to knock"

I take my silenced gun out from my shoulder holster and fire three times.

"Knock Knock Knock"

Industrial grade locking mechanism. German made. Now ready to be sold for scrap. He has a lot of money. I'm sure these locks cost very little.

As expected, studying those blueprints was a good idea. This maintenance shed is actually an emergency exit meant for personnel of Falcon Facilities to evacuate in case of crisis situation. There is a reason this cutting edge scientific research centre is located in the outskirts of the city. Scientists dabble in many things, things that are better left alone. Without Einstein there might have been no atomic weapons, but when I say this in a room full of intellectuals, they look at me like I am the one that has gone mad. Have you seen is hair? All I have is an ahoge.

An emergency exit can be an impromptu safe entranceway. This path leads underground and comes up inside the main building. Currently I'm walking through a cavernous channel on foot. There are display panels on both sides of this corridor illuminating my passage. They are beginning to show static. A silent alarm has been tripped, motion detectors are activated and spy cameras are recording. I have nothing to hide nothing to be ashamed.

I am just a man making another man keep his appointment. I am being a true gentleman. I keep my promise of seeing him and he gets to keep his promise of seeing me. Let's call this a spontaneous high school reunion and everybody wins.

My sensitive nose picks up a scent and I immediately place my gas mask onto my face. I take out my torch and I can see gaseous substance dancing before my beam of light. I test my breathing. All seems to be well and good. This seems to be a form a knockout gas. Nothing hazardous. I continue this morning stroll inside a demon's den.

My legs are moving forward at a steady pace. My shoes are making contact with white linoleum.

My legs are moving forward at a steady pace. My shoes are leaving ink marks on white pages.

Has some foreign agent invaded my nervous system? Not sure. I had a book with me this entire time but I never felt like making an entry. That would have been perfect. Is this knockout gas? It could be poison. Nothing is certain.

Took out pocket knife. Cleaved off a hunk of rock from underground walls of cavern. Began cutting into stone pages and wrote my current entry:

"Met my demons and raised a toast to bad conscience. Clinked glasses with fallen angels and said cheers with many a fiends. Was welcomed back by impurities and hailed down by minions of misery. Said my greetings to none at all and refined myself with a better class of criminals.

An ice- woman savoured my taste. Coddled me with tragedy and corrupted me with remorse. I was led to betray my petty pretence of narrow mindedness and made to evoke sympathy for her loss. I was taken advantage. Affections are affected. Shallow. I never forgot. A heart of ice can melt but never bleed. Tears dry and broken hearts beat. Walking on broken glass is an alternative and walking on a trail of petals is choice. Nuptials nettle necessarily. Is possible to test new avenues to heal, seek comfort in other arms and find companionship among divisive sides. Changing teams halfway is not a betrayal in a contact sport. Everyone loves to play ball.

Love has step sisters. Sisterhood is fragile. One woman has a chance to become a wife, a mother, a divorcées, a stepmother, a mother-in-law, a grandmother and many more caricatures in a play of life. Sisterhood is a false bottom. One leaves one behind. One makes a business, one runs a shop. Both are estranged and never wish to meet one other again. Auto-repair parts fall of a familial bond. Good end to a bad relationship.

Ships sink in a sea of life. 8th grader syndrome leaves withdrawal and depression, a cocktail of bad choices. Cosplay costumes in basement hold memories, childhood ridicule concerning obesity makes one take up steroids, hire fitness trainers and train in martial arts. No time for a wife, no time for a kid and not time for originality. Inevitability is inevitable.

Death apologizes to no one. Cancer is a cure of Gods to rid of this world of those few who remained true to themselves. Smoking kills. Enough said. Nothing else. Big tobacco makes millions and helps this economy. No one blinks. We watch hypocrisy, join a sham and leave comments on twitter

#Cancercontaminatescadaver. Makes no sense.

Currently my mind is ceasing to make sense. I'm currently walking through smoke. I am not well. I cannot see clearly. Everything is foggy. Two people- an assistant and a supposed genius are responsible for my predicament. At the end of this path the smoke will clear and my eyes will take in every detail. I will grab the smartest man in Chiba and tell him I have turned him into a fool. I wait to wipe this fake smile of his face.

Let my misadventures continue.

/

A/N: Yeah… this chapter was very hard and very big.

Hopefully the next one will be easy. 10333 words is a lot.

Important question number 1: Should this be rated M?

Important question number 2: It says 12 reviews but I count 11. What's up with that?

Leave a review guys. Means a lot when you do.

Won't betray your dreams.

Next Chapter: An Interlude to a Tragedy.