Chapter 03: "Snow White"
After the book store robber, Ouma Daichi, died in an armed confrontation at a downtown cafe, the following month was uneventful by comparison. Probably because I hadn't seen hide nor hair of Yukinoshita Haruno.
Well, I say uneventful, but it was more like the calm before the storm.
The subsequent investigation into Ouma's motives had led to a search of his residence and personal effects. What was found was not a good sign of things to come. Vacuum sealed packages of powdered opiates were all over his person as well as his room. Individually packaged, identical in weight, and ready to be sold at a moments notice. Seemingly overnight, the final legs of an investigation into robbery had evolved into a drug trafficking case. I could already feel the reassignments inbound. Joy.
In the middle of all of this, Shiba had taken the opportunity to submit vacation hours.
Tch.
I had always hated corporate culture. They made their slaves work long hours and removed the ability to see friends and family (my equivalents being the bed and phone). A cruel and unusual system, it was made to pit comrades against one another.
Vacations were the apex of such punishments. Work was forced off from the lucky few who managed to gain freedom for a week and put upon the have-nots. The proletariat toiled away while the bourgeoisie enjoyed themselves.
I demand justice!
Chief Tsurumi walked into the office one afternoon. My desk was located near the entrance, but all the way against the farthest wall, so I was always the first to notice anyone who enters. The Chief wasn't looking at me, but was instead staring at the floor as he walked closer. His grim face filled me with dread.
"Was there another murder?" I asked preemptively, apprehension in my voice.
"No... no, that's not it." He shook. his head and then looks me in the eye. "... hey, Hikigaya?"
"Yes, Chief? … you don't look so good, Chief."
"Do you remember Ouma Daichi?"
The image of a young man holding a knife to that novelist's neck came to mind.
"I don't unremember him, if that's what you're asking."
"His family is suing you."
"... "
"... "
"Excuse me?" I must have heard wrong. Or this was a messed up comedic routine. The Chief wasn't the type to make a joke, but we all have our moments.
Right?
"I wish I was kidding." He sighed as he handed me an opened envelope. "His family is really suing you. I just got the letter from their attorney this morning"
My eyes ran through the letter as fast as they could. It was a dense wall of words filled with legal jargon, but I got the gist of it. It was addressed to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department and was intended to inform them that one of their detectives (me) was being sued by the family of the deceased in a court of law. All under the charges of murder, excessive force, and manslaughter for good measure.
I'm speechless.
"You don't need to worry." Chief placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "The police force is behind you on this. The PD will pay for your legal fees."
My mouth felt drier than a desert and I struggled to find the words. I could trust the Chief, but no need to worry? I had never been sued before.
"That's all well and good… but I don't even have a lawyer."
"I thought so. I took the liberty of contacting the DA and see if they have any recommendations. Yukinoshita-san said that she's going to send one herself, we set up a meeting for tomorrow."
Yukinoshita-san? He means Haruno!?
"Hold on, wait, a lawyer from the Yukinoshitas?" I asked incredulously. "Never mind the court fees, I can't afford a lawyer like that!"
"Yukinoshita-san said that you might say that. She insisted that they won't accept payment for this. Something about paying back a favor."
The words of Haruno's father echo in the back of my mind. But of course. Right after I had hoped to never meet them again, fate pushes them back into my life. I suddenly feel drained, as if someone sucked the life out of my soul like some dementor [1]. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the sheer strangeness of it all.
"Hikigaya, clock out and get yourself home." The Chief sayid, causing me to snap my eyes at him in surprise.
"What? But Chief‒"
"Enough. Get yourself home and get some rest. I don't need you sulking around the office on top of being on overtime."
"The case‒"
"Hachiman." The Chief's voice mellowed to a gentler tone. My throat grew hoarse at the change. I had to turn my gaze away because I couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. "The case will progress, have some confidence in the rest of us. And even if it doesn't, it'll still be here for you. This habit of yours, to stay from beginning to end until everything is over, isn't okay."
"..."
"Just go and try to sleep. Shizuka and Rumi will have my head on a platter al dente if they hear you pulled another 70 hour work week. You know how they are. If you want you can stop by the house and sleep over, I don't mind."
I shook my head, declining the offer. "... I'll head home." I decided that the Chief was right. I needed to process the news and consider what I wanted to do and the consequences of things to come. The Chief nodded in understanding and bid me farewell.
The drive home was a blur. When I entered my apartment, I jumped straight to bed, eager to give my mind some rest.
My subconscious, however, had different plans.
Δ▼Δ
It was noon, and the sun was at its zenith, shining down on my person with prejudice. The sweltering heat was made worse by the icky humidity and still air. I was secretly glad for that however, it meant that the smell from the field of corpses wouldn't spread around.
I waded through tall grass, moving from one carcass of a rebel soldier to another methodically. A battle had occurred here just hours prior. Both sides engaged in a brutal shootout that was only interrupted by a completely unexpected bombing run. Multi-role fighter jets from the United States of America Air Force were sent to enforce the temporary ceasefire that the two warring factions had agreed to on paper.
It seemed that the international community had enough of the bickering between 'children', and sent a warning message.
It was probably a bluff, seeing as how the last coalition of peacekeeping forces was demolished; no country would touch this shithole with a ten-meter pole. Even our own, to our dismay. To be fair, they probably thought we were all dead. And that wasn't completely false.
What probably wasn't a bluff were the rumors of economic sanctions that had begun bubbling throughout the villages the civil war had reached. The price of food and other living necessities would skyrocket soon, and ignite more conflict. Right now was a tough time to be living in this country.
I had brought along a few men to search alongside me, hoping to replenish whatever essentials we could: food, water, ammo, medicine, etc. Like the opportunist I was, I ordered them to sit back and enjoy the show.
As we watched the shells drop and shoot up debris hundreds of meters into the air, I couldn't help but wish we had a means of communicating with the pilots. It would be wonderful if they could flatten a 70-kilometer path from where we were to the closest standing UN safe zone, if third-hand intel was to be believed. We began our search for resources after the American intervention had subsided and the scream of afterburners could no longer be heard.
I leaned down when I see a body that had the characteristic patches of a field medic. By the fact that he had an actual uniform with insignias of rank and duty, he was probably a soldier from the existing government side. I used a foot to nudge it in order to ensure its deceased-ness. Luckily for me, it was still soft and fleshy, but long dead. I kicked it over and located his medical pack before proceeding to ransack it.
The supplies inside were absolutely indispensable, especially considering that it was barely used. Fresh bandages; gauze wraps; individually packaged alcohol pads; and even a trauma kit. Precious medicine was also within: a diazepam syringe; atropine syringe; antibiotic creams; a few tablets of paracetamol and ibuprofen. There were also some more practical items, like a water repellent heat blanket that would definitely be useful at night when the temperature dropped significantly.
"Sarge! Sergeant 'Dead Eyes'!" A loud and deep voice shouted out to me from my right. I turn around and laid eyes on a large man in similar uniform and gear to my own, but he wore a bright blue helmet characteristic of UN forces.
He jogged up to me at a brisk pace, as he got closer his features were clearer. Dark brown skin that covered the rippling muscles of a man in the prime of his life. He was easily half a meter taller than me and had no hair on his head and face.
"Danny." I sighed tiredly, getting fed up with correcting him constantly. "I'm a chevy-3, not a bar…" [2]
Daniel Jackson ignored me gleefully and instead placed an object in my hand. It was a cylindrical metal tube with lenses on either end with some ratcheted knobs on its sides. "I found a scope off a dead sniper. I know yours was damaged in the last engagement."
"Huh." I inspected the scope and saw that it was in remarkably good condition. A real prize of a find in this wasteland. I looked at Danny, letting the surprise enter my voice unhindered. "You know, Danny? You might actually be a good guy after all."
"Hey!" He exclaimed, worry painted over his face. "Of course I'm a good guy!"
I felt myself chuckling, which was amazing considering the circumstances Danny and I found ourselves in over the past four months.
"Hey Danny, help me out will ya? Strip off any NATO spec ammunition and mags you can find, and take everything from their med kits. Hey, you might even find some nine-mill for that German peashooter of yours."
"Roger that, but what about the guns?" Danny inquired looking at the rifle of the medic I just pilfered from.
"What about them?"
"I don't know… seems like a waste to just leave 'em with the John Doe's." [3] Danny shrugged and bent down to snatch a rifle. I watched him carefully pull the charging handle to check the condition of the internals and seemed satisfied with what he saw. "I was thinking that maybe we could arm some of the villagers. So that they have something to defend themselves with when we're out and about."
"That's not a bad idea." I pondered out loud. It would definitely bring a lot of peace of mind if I knew that our villagers weren't helpless when we went to fight an enemy that came too close to camp. We only had a squad of around 8 people; down one man after the death of my spotter, Hikaru. Anyone could see that we couldn't be everywhere, and it would be dangerous to not move as a unit whenever we did need to execute an operation. The more I thought about it, the more appealing it became.
My thoughts circled back to the third week of my deployment to this island, and the chaotic night where smoke and fire were all that I saw and heard as men, women, and children screamed and ran in whatever direction they could, only to be met with gunfire. If we could give the villagers weapons, a scene like that would never occur again.
"Sarge…" Danny placed a hand on my shoulder. "... that little girl... it wasn't your fault."
I turned away from Danny's sympathetic orbs, afraid by what I might see in their reflection. I gently shrugged off his hand and moved to the next body I spotted. "We've talked long enough. We have work to do… more of it now."
Like a pair of vultures, we descended upon our area of this graveyard of dead soldiers. Methodically picking away at the valuables left behind by these men. Some had dog tags that reminded us that they had names and identities we weren't privy to. These carcasses that were still warm, probably had families just a few hours ago. Maybe even had dinner with them the night before. In that time between they probably laughed or cried as well.
My stomach churned at the thought that I was okay with this. Disgusted that I could condone the desecration of the bodies of fellow humans after death, that I didn't feel any worse for wear. Partially, it may be that despite me being a proud loner, I wasn't suffering through this trial alone. I had comrades who were in the same boat and had the same insecurities as I did. And that made it tolerable… almost.
I straightened and looked back at the man I could call a friend, one of the few friends I had in life. He wasn't that bubbly and naive pink haired girl; nor was he that cool and calm raven-haired beauty; nor was he a loud Japanese literature professor with a penchant for physical violence; nor was he a silver-haired angel with gentle demeanor; nor was he a fat chuunibyou with a questionable imagination. He was just a simple man who fought alongside me and also hurt alongside me. That's all.
Yeah, definitely a friend.
"Hey, Danny!" I shoutted at him. "I'm glad you're here!"
All I could recall was the beaming smile he gave me, clear as day in that hot and sticky afternoon.
Δ▼Δ
The sound of my bedroom door opening roused me from sleep. Rumi popped her head in through the small gap.
"Hachiman?" She asked, uncertainty coloring her quiet inquiry.
"I'm awake." I mumbled as I flopped around under the covers like a fish until my hands managed to touch the beveled edge of my phone.
It's 6:55 AM.
I realized Rumi is still staring at me with a peculiar expression. And I stare back with a questioning one.
"Is something wrong?" Rumi asked hesitantly.
"No...?" I answered, unsure of what she was talking about. "Why?"
Rumi opened the door wider, letting me see her upset face more clearly. "You were talking in your sleep... about Danny again." She frowned in worry. Oh, yeah. She actually did know the story behind Danny. Well, I can see why she would be concerned then.
"I'm fine." I pushed the covers away and sat up. A yawn escaped my mouth as I stretched. "Just… reminiscing about a friend. Thanks for worrying."
"... If you say so." Rumi didn't look convinced as she turned to leave. "Breakfast is on the table, I'll leave for school after I finish washing the dishes."
The morning passed quickly and I'm soon walking through the lively offices in the Tokyo Metro PD headquarters after having parked my car in the lot. When I passed through the main doors I saw Shiba talking to Secretary-chan. She noticed me first and pointed at me with a slender finger. Shiba turned his head and gave me a smile.
"Good morning, Senpai!"
"Mark my words, I'm going to wake up early enough one day and muster the resolve to stab you in your sleep," I assured, injecting as much enmity in my voice as I could. "And stop being so damn cheery."
"Yes, yes, yes." Shiba waved away my threat with little concern as he took his place at my side, matching my stride as we walked to our departmental office. "I actually do need to talk to you about something."
"What's up?"
"Detective Hiura Hiroshi from our department has a clue on a potential drug dealer who was thought to be providing to Ouma Daichi. He was wondering if you could talk to the person and see what you could get."
I stopped in the middle of the hallway at the mention of the robber's name. Shiba stops as well and looks at me in confusion.
"Senpai…?"
"Hey Shiba, can you print me the final cumulative report on Ouma Daichi?"
"Yeah, I guess… I can get right to it. Does this mean you'll do it?"
I took a deep breath through my mouth and slowly let it out through flared nostrils. I clenched my hands repeatedly. "... I'm not sure."
"You normally do every interrogation request that comes to you." Shiba's concerned face grows more severe, like I just broke out into hives at a seafood restaurant. "Is something wrong?"
Yeah, something is definitely wrong. This imaginary restaurant doesn't have any cheddar bay biscuits. [4]
A guttural sound of annoyance came out of chest. "You are the second person today to ask me that exact same question. I'm not that damn fragile! Now go do your job."
I watched as Shiba gives me a crisp salute and runs off to Records to get that report I wanted.
Fragile.
Fragility…
When I thought of fragile things, I thought of glass.
And when I thought of glass, I thought of mirrors.
These shiny objects were as fragile as they come; too much stress at any single point can cause the entire formation to shatter into a million mutilating shards. Mirrors looked pristine right up until the moment that happened, giving us a perfect reflection of the physical world before they no longer could. And when it did break, it was broken forever. Never again to give us that honest copy of how the universe appears.
Was this how the human mind works as well? The psyche is supposed to be a reflection of how we felt, the human condition. A mirror for our emotions. When your psyche broke, did that mean that your emotions were brokenn as well? Do they heal to their original form? Or do they grow back twisted and warped? Do emotions even recover at all?
Are our deepest thoughts and foundations as fragile as mirrors?
I wanted answers to these questions, but at the same time, I'm afraid of what I might stumble upon.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall: who is the most broken one of all? [5]
Δ▼Δ
Later in the day Shiba and I loaded into a patrol car and drove to an abandoned factory on the edge of Tokyo Bay with some officers.
Ouma was known to frequent this location according to witnesses, and he was seldom alone. We were hoping to find some more information to expand how and where he obtained his drugs. Expectedly, the place was emptier than a school the minute summer break starts. I hadn't expected much, Ouma's customers must have caught wind of his passing and came back to take whatever they could before scattering.
I remained inside the patrol car, letting Shiba handle detailing reports and the other busy work he was good at. He was more thorough. Besides, I would probably slow him down if I tried to help. Instead, I took the time to read the file he had printed for me. As my eyes traveled line by line down the document, I was shocked at the similarities I had shared with our tragic criminal.
Ouma Daichi was 25 years old.
As a child, he was liked by his classmates and teachers. Described as a model student, he was quiet in class and frequently volunteered in neighborhood clean-up drives and elderly appreciation days. All apparently out of his own volition. No mental or physical issues were ever reported by doctors, family, or teachers. He was just a normal and good-natured kid, no one could find a reason to dislike him.
In high school, he received honors recognitions for his grades in Japanese Literature and Composition. He had taken Literature as his major in college and completed his masters as well. His thesis was an impressive text; a look into the evolution of kanji to express narrative throughout the major eras of Japan and various language reforms. It was well received by his peers, but didn't gain the recognition needed to attract sponsors.
All in all, the boy had a bright future ahead of him.
This was only possible with the help of his older brother, who had taken over the role as the sole breadwinner for the family. He supported Daichi's career in literature, absolutely sure that his little brother could become something. And he may have, but the elder brother contracted pancreatic cancer and died unexpectedly.
The responsibility of taking care of the family fell upon Daichi's shoulders, a burden I can only imagine stressed him to no end. He had applied to jobs as editors to publications and also teaching positions. Of his total 147 applications over the course of a year and a half, none netted him work.
The autopsy report stated that Daichi was doping on opiates and marijuana on a regular basis. Blood and tissue samples hint that this may have been going daily for weeks prior to this death. The composition of the opiates in his bloodstream match the chemical composition of the opiates in the sealed pouches that he was found with. Doping on his own supply he needed to sell. A cycle of self-destruction.
I stopped reading when I heard a tapping sound on the car window. I pressed the button and quickly winded down the glass pane so I could listen to Shiba.
"Chief called. He wants to see you. Something about a meeting."
I nodded and told Shiba that I was going to be taking the patrol car back to the station. He agreed easily and went back to documenting.
When I arrived at the station, Secretary-chan sent me directly to the Chief's office. She let me know that the Chief also had another guest in there as well. I could only guess that they were the lawyer sent by the Yukinoshita family.
I opened the door to the Chief's office and heard a voice that made me question if I was awake or not.
"Hikigaya…?"
Sitting before me was Yukinoshita Yukino.
I really wish the romcom gods would give me a break.
Arc 1: "Detective Hikigaya Hachiman"
References:
[1] Dementors are creatures from the Harry Potter series. They're like hooded ghosts that instill fear by their very presence. When a Dementor "kisses" you, it sucks out your soul. Scary stuff.
[2] Hachiman is referring to rank insignias. Chevy-3 is short for "3 chevrons" (a chevron is a bar with an obtuse bend in the middle). In the Japanese Self Defense Force, the rank of Senior Private is represented by three chevrons pointed downwards. The rank of Sergeant is represented with a singular straight bar. Hachiman is saying that he's a lowly Senior Private, and not a squad-leading Sergeant.
[3] "John Doe" is the place holder name given by law enforcement to unidentified corpses.
[4] In America there is a chain of seafood restaurants called "Red Lobster." They these absolutely amazing complimentary appetizers, these cheddar-bay biscuits. Many people simply go just to have them. Let's imagine Japan has them, okay :D
[5] This is a parody from the famous line in the Brother's Grim version of the fairy-tale of "Snow White and the Seven Dwarves," where the Evil Queen asks the Magic Mirror, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?" To which the Mirror responds that it is Snow White. Which begins an assassination attempt. Yay.
Authors Note:
Chapter 3 is up, and thus I have now broken my curse where I end stories after 2 chapters. I'm crying right now. This chapter is to set things up for events to come, the most obvious being the lawsuit and Yukino to come next chapter.
Daniel Jackson is based off of a friend and classmate in real life who shares the same initials: Daniel J. He's a former member of the US Navy who did a stint in Kanagawa (Yokohama Harbor I think?). His insight into the soldier mentality and emotional state really helped me write this chapter.
BTW, Dan. If you're reading this you owe me a new set of shot glasses after that New Year's party. I'm holding your car keys hostage until then :P
I'm glad to see everything is enjoying the events so far. I wasn't sure how well I tackled the characters, and I was nervous about the OC's and whether they felt "real" enough. The positive feedback gives me some confidence.
See you all for Chapter 04.
-SouBU
(Editor: XioKenji)
(BetaReader: Lord of Admirals 412)
Revision Log:
01/14/2019: Re-uploaded with grammar fixes.
04/03/2019: Re-uploaded with arc title.
03/17/2020: Re-uploaded with overhaul of tenses and changes in word choice and sentence structure as well as major grammar fixes.