Chapter 15: "Ramen Arbitration"
A woman had come into the office just a short while ago. Clutched in her hands a manilla envelope, a sight that was becoming increasingly common throughout the building. She had long hair that was tied into a ponytail, whooshing to either side with her turning head as she surveyed the room like a lighthouse. I didn't recognize her. Maybe she was an intern or one of the scribes from Records or Signals? She was looking for someone obviously.
Well, I better not get in her way.
My mental sentence was barely completed before she walked up to my desk.
"Excuse me, is Detective Hikigaya here?"
As she spoke, her eyes flickered to the black plastic holder with a brass plaque that held Shiba's name on it. My own desk was currently being repaired after a leg had broken off, so I was borrowing Shiba's until then.
"Yeah?" I put my pen down. "What can I do for you?"
The woman's line of sight met mine for a moment, before she looked away way with rosy cheeks.
"I was told to deliver this report to Detective Hikigaya. It's from Detective Hiura."
"Oh, 'that so? I'll take it then."
As I reached out a hand to take the envelope from her grasp she quickly stepped backwards. "I apologize, but I was told to specifically give it to Detective Hikigaya. Not his partner."
What the hell?
"Yeah, I get it. So give me the envelope," I said exasperatedly.
"I understand that you wish to help, Shiba-san. But Detective Hiura was very explicit that I should give this to only Detective Hikigaya."
Did she just call me Shiba? Wait a second….
"Did he tell you what Detective Hikigaya looked like?" I asked, my eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Umm." She started nervously, her eyes moving around the empty office space. "He said that I should look for a creepy looking man without a tie. Eyes that look like a dead fish. He's also apparently super creepy."
She said creepy twice!? It's official, Hiura's name is going in my Death Note now. Enjoy your last moments in this world, Detective.
"Look." I sighed in frustration. "I AM Detective Hikigaya." I fished out my detective badge and ID card, showing it to the confused messenger. She at least had the good grace to apologize with a flushed and flustered face. She handed me the the report and gave a quick bow before quickly scampering away like a squirrel.
This was the fifth time today. Even Shiba had a double-take when he saw me this morning. I swear, what was up with people today? Was there something different about me?
I mean, I wore a tie today and it was rare for me, but that wasn't anything special. Yukinoshita had taught me the double Windsor knot and it was rather easy to do. Oh yeah, I was wearing those glasses she forced me to get as well.
Really though, what gives?
I shook my head to clear it of those irrelevant thoughts. I tore apart the manilla and worked my way into the report, and was pleased to see that Hiura had come through once more. He was religiously pouring over the images and intel we were getting from our stakeout. He had been making careful counts of the color of the bottles that were seen in customer's hands on certain days as well as identifying some frequent customers by comparing them to the criminal database.
As I had suspected, blue bottles were sold on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Exactly one day after Fujiwara Eiichiro had said that shipments came to the docks. Alright, maybe I won't end Hiura's life then. He's useful, unlike half the people in this department. Still, correlation does not mean causation, we needed more evidence. And more evidence meant that the stake out had to continue.
I had another lead to look into right now anyway.
Δ▼Δ
The sound of the train as it rolled along the tracks was soothing. You probably heard stories from mothers who said how their babies would fall asleep while riding the train. Or fathers who would nostalgically tell how their toddlers would only slumber when in the backseat of a car while driving down the highway.
Apparently sleep deprivation and accumulation of stress would cause our body to be tense. As a survival mechanism, we only let our guard down in certain situations. A running train hits that on the head, offering a state of constant motion and an unchanging immediate environment. Once our guard is down, brain activity would slow and we would begin to doze off before falling into a deep sleep.
Which would probably explain why I was having an extremely difficult time keeping myself awake as Shiba and I rode the train that was going to the coast. My eyelids were getting heavy, but they suddenly snapped open at the words spoken by two young adult passengers who were standing to my right.
"You hear? About Thailand?"
"Yeah I did, scary stuff. My dad said that America's pushing its luck out there. That they're acting like the old British Empire, new age imperialism."
"Don't you think that's a bit much?"
"My dad's the tinfoil hat type, remember? And I think he's partially right on somethings. I mean, Thailand closed its borders to refugees because the UN and US wouldn't give naval support, right? I can sort of see why they would. Even in Japan it takes a lot of work to deal with them, and that's with help from other countries."
"But that's kind of childish, you know? It said online that they wouldn't even come to diplomatic talks."
"What? Really?"
"Yeah, and there are some rumors that Thailand is talking to China."
"Oh boy… that can't be good for our exchange trip to Thailand. Aren't we US allies?"
"Yeah, we are."
"This sucks..."
Shiba and I shared a glance before relaxing into our seats. Ten minutes later we arrived at our destination. As we stepped out of the station house and into town, we were met with the smell of sea salt. The noise was also noteworthy. Screeching seagulls fought for volume supremacy with the crashing of waves.
I took the familiar streets that transformed a concrete grid into roads that were lined with swaying trees and sandy beaches instead of sidewalks. I led Shiba to a strip mall that was a bit off of the normal path tourists and civilians walked down when they come here. Unlike them, my partner and I weren't here to enjoy the beaches or catch some waves.
We'd be eating some ramen.
Nestled between a convenience store and confectionary was a rather normal store front, the characters on the awning said that this was "The Ramen House." Generic as a title could ever be, but it also efficiently and perfectly communicated exactly what customers would get. It reflected the personality of the owner quite well.
I pushed open the door, my entrance signaled by the chime of a bell above. My nose was met with the exquisite smells of dashi, pork, beef, and other savory things. Bench seats flanked the walls of the restaurant, with wooden chairs and tables in the center. They weren't uniform, some being wildly different in color and design than others. As if they owner bought whatever they could find at hand from wherever.
There was not a single soul here, just what I would expect for today's meeting.
"Higashiya? That you?" A male voice speaking Mandarin shouted out from beyond the counter, the steam obfuscating my view of him. A hand with a towel waved away the rising smoke and a man with slicked black hair and gray pupils appears.
"Hey there." He raised a hand in greeting, the rolled up sleeves of his shirt revealed intricate tattoos of curling Chinese dragons. [1]
"I'm here Min-san." I responded back. I gestured to Shiba to take a seat at the nearest table with bench seating, and slide in after him.
"I see you bought Xianji as well." Noted Min-san with curiosity, giving Shiba the once over. [2] Shiba stiffened next to me in response.
"He is my partner."
"Yeah he is. Almost forgot."
"How's that knee of yours?"
"Still attached and working, thanks to you. The other guy's in the back, I'll bring him out when he's done peeling the daikon. Sit tight for a few."
"I'll wait as long as you need. Your ramen's amazing, Min-san."
"Shut your trap. Enough with buttering me up, I ain't Shizuka."
The Chinese man disappeared to the back of the store, leaving Shiba and I alone; only accompanied by the sound of a CRT TV that was hung high on a wall playing a soccer game. The voices of the commentators spoke quickly in another language, yelling 'goal' repeatedly when one of the teams scored in the brief moment I watched. I felt Shiba fidget to my side, and I passed an examining gaze over my fellow detective.
"You're still nervous about coming here?"
"Unlike you, Senpai, I can't speak Mandarin. Also unlike you, I can't forget things I see," Shiba said quietly, his voice a tad strained. "Aren't I the exact kind they hate?"
"Yeah, you are." I enjoyed the increasingly distressed look on his face. "But don't worry, I brought you."
"Senpai…" Shiba's eyes sparkled and his voice grew softer in elation.
"If you die, you can rest assured that I'll avenge you."
"You're going to let me die!?"
Our conversation was cut short by the sound of the employee door swinging open with the force and sound of a mortar shell.
"Bafun!?" A high pitched voice calls out. Standing in the doorway stood a woman wearing a crimson cheongsam with golden embroidery. She looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. Her black hair had brown highlights that matched her eyes, and those very orbs seemed to light up when they met mine. She quickly skipped over to behind my bench and wrapped her arms around my neck and placed her chin on my shoulder.
"It's been so long! Nice to see you again, Bafun! I almost couldn't tell it was you with those glasses!" She squealed in delight and squeezed me tighter. I heaved a sigh, having foreseen this encounter. It happened nearly every time I come here, afterall. "So handsome! You sly dog, you. Wearing them just to see me?"
"It's nothing permanent, just trying them out." I tried to ignore the way she nuzzled her face into my neck. "And hello to you too, Zhang Jiao…"
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't because Zhang Jiao was repulsive or anything. In fact she had a rather pleasant perfume on. It was a bit spicy and sharp, but with a mellow backdrop. What kept me on edge was that I was fully aware of this waitress's motive here.
"Bafun!" She moaned in despair. "You don't call, you don't write! How can you leave me alone like this?"
Zhang Jiao was originally born in China and grew up in a poor fishing village before coming to Japan on a worker's visa. Life was better here and she fell in love with the country and wanted permanent residence. Of course, immigration into Japan was a long and arduous journey. The chances of success we're also quite low. I'm not going to sugar coat things and admit that Japan likes to be insular. So, after much deliberation and planning, Zhang Jiao instead opted for the easiest solution: just marry a Japanese man.
And she chose me for some reason.
"Bafun!"
"... hmm? Sorry, zoned out there. Could you run that by me again?"
"You're so mean!" She squeezed harder, the soft ivory skin of her arms coming dangerously close in my field of vision. "How insensitive! How can you treat your future wife like this!?"
Oh boy.
"This is probably not a good idea… but what do you even see in me?"
"Oh!" Zhang Jiao sounded surprised. "Umm… well..."
"... it's just my citizenship isn't it?"
"N-no! Let's see… Ah! You have a job. You have a car. And you're okay looking, I guess. I thought you'd be pretty desperate too."
I'm the one who's desperate? Did she look in the mirror often? No, I can't get caught up in this, I need to prioritize avoiding the very real threat of a lifelong ball and chain. Keep calm, Hachiman.
"Zhang Jiao, you can do much better than me, don't settle." I decided to try a new tactic: instead of denying, let's try offering a better solution. "How about Shiba here? He just became single. Good guy with a stable job. He's responsible, has a nice car, best looking man in the force, and he has good credit to boot."
Shiba gave me a questioning glance at the mention of his name. Luckily for me, the language barrier ensured that he had no clue I was potentially bartering away his future. Besides, I was singing his praises here. Aren't I a good partner?
Zhang Jiao seemed to consider my words for a moment before responding flatly. "But Xianji is boring and plain."
Ouch. I visibly winced at her words.
"Zhang Jiao!" Barked Min san's voice from the kitchen area. "I'm paying you to work, not to go window shopping!"
Zhang Jiao sighed in defeat and removed the arms that encircled me. "I guess I'll take your orders then." Speaking in Japanese, the Chinese woman pulls out a small notepad and gets a pen that was held behind her ear. "The usual for you, Bafun?"
"Yup."
"What about you… sir?"
The hesitation seemed to hit Shiba's pride more than anything else, as he cringed over in his seat. "I-I'll take a miso ramen."
"Your orders will be ready in just a moment. Boss should be back to speak with you guys soon, see you in a bit, Bafun!" She blew me a kiss and pranced away like a rabbit.
Shiba and I turned to look at each other, a silent understanding between us.
"Women are devils," I said darkly.
"You're right, Senpai. I'm sorry for doubting you."
As Shiba finished apologizing for ignoring my golden advice, we hear the footsteps of two people walking towards us. Min-san escorted another man wearing a brown jumper and black jeans. He looked decidedly Japanese, no real distinguishing characteristics other than a dopey expression.
"Well, as promised, here are my contacts from the police force." Min-san gestures towarded us, speaking accentless Japanese in a suave voice that wouldn't be out of place as a narrator in a nature documentary about penguins. "Detective A and Detective B."
The unfamiliar man squinted at us. "I don't get their names?"
"I didn't tell them your name either." Min shrugged. "You know the rules: no info given until you sit down to talk. You paid me to set up this blind date, not to do the flirting for you."
"What the hell!? Why'd you make me peel so much damn daikon then!? It took hours and I cut my fingers a few times! It hurt like a bitch!" The other man looked affronted.
"You call yourself a man? It wasn't that bad, quit whining," Min-san said carelessly, and I struggled to keep a straight professional face.
"It was 12 fucking kilos, though!?"
Min-san gave a chilling grin. "Technically, you volunteered."
"You son of a bit—"
"It's fine, Min-san," I said, getting their attention. "I'm Detective Hikigaya. This is my partner, you don't need to know his name."
Nothing ventured nothing gained; a lesson I learned from my initial meeting with Min-san. It was risky, but he helped me get those two missing kids. He said I don't owe him after I managed to get him out of a hairy situation where he almost lost the ability to walk, but a part of me still thinks that my debt wasn't settled.
The man whose identity I did not know looked at me. There was some fear and apprehension in his eyes. It was the kind of nervousness you have when you have to tell your mom that you broke the crystalline flower vase your dad got her for their anniversary. Whatever this man needed, he was more scared of the consequences than of coming to the police. No point in playing hardball when he was already at two strikes and maximum fouls.
"Fuck. Alright, I'll bite." The man sighed and slid into the bench seat opposite us. "Name's Saito… wait a moment. You said your name was Hikigaya?"
"Yeah. What of it?" There was no way Saito was his real name, but getting him to talk was good enough for now. The rest could be extracted later.
Saito bent forward. "You the guy who's shot Ouma?"
"... yes." I admitted carefully. The information was pretty much public at this point, I would say.
My answer caused Saito's eyes to widen. "You're shitting me." He leaned backward, looking at me with an awed expression. "I was expecting Solid Snake or some shit. Maybe some meat-neck ex-JSDF bastard. Hell, an American even." [3]
My spine flinched uncomfortably at the accuracy of one of the guesses.
"Why's that?" Shiba asked for me, most likely because he was unwilling to let me do all the work.
"The guy who took out Ouma was a god damn sniper or something. Rumor is that there was an 8 centimeter gap between the two heads. That's fucking margin-of-error space." Saito tapped a single finger against the center of his forehead. "But he drilled the poor son-of-a-gun perfectly in the dome with a single round. No testing shots or anything, just one bullet."
"It was more like 14 centimeters; plenty of space for the average guy who practices. And I did take another shot before hand, so it wasn't that bad." I explained, turning my head when I hear the clatter of plates as Zhang Jiao appeared before us with three bowls of ramen on a large serving platter. She skillfully placed the food down, not a single drop of the soup falling from the lip of the bowl.
"For Deadbeat-san: shoyu ramen with boiled egg, extra nori and extra noodles." A deep colored ramen is put on the table in front of of Saito. He looks upset at the nickname, but wisely kept his tongue in place.
"Xianji had the miso." The soup Shiba got was a pale color and had a strong smell that whet the appetite.
"Annnnnd!" With an excited voice, Zhang Jiao slammed a bowl that was easily twice the size as the others before me. "Tonkotsu ramen with extra chashu, extra noodles, extra bamboo chutes, extra nori, and a boiled egg."
"..." I'm speechless, and my brain couldn't think up a response in front of the girl who looked at me expectantly with a beaming smile. "...t-thanks." I managed to sputter out.
Zhang Jiao winked and walked away with the serving platter in hand. Three pairs of eyes follow her as she goes.
Saito cleared his throat. "So, uh, that Jiao chick. What's up with—"
" "Don't ask." " Min-san and I said simultaneously. It may be naïve, but we were the type of people who believed a problem didn't exist if we didn't acknowledge it. And as fellow men, we wanted to save Saito.
"Ooookay, got it." Saito clapped his hands together with a quick prayer and ate. Shiba followed, making a surprised sound at the taste. I started sipping the broth with my own spoon after him, pleasantly enjoying the salty and savory flavors.
"So yeah, you some competition shooter or something?" Saito asked between bites.
I raised an eyebrow. "You're still on about that?"
"Gotta make conversation somehow, yeah?"
"What is this? Twenty questions?" I asked incredulously.
"Come on smartass, are you?"
"No. I'm not. But enough about me, what about you? Why did you need to talk to me."
Saito smile flipped into a frown. "Going straight into it? No foreplay? Completely dry?"
I flashed a small grin. "Gotta make conversation somehow, yeah?"
"Damn. You're just like Min, for fuck's sake." Saito exasperatedly said as he dipped his head into his bowl to grab some noodles with his chopsticks. "Alright, fine. I need government protection."
"W-what?" Shiba coughed on his soup and beats his chest a few times to clear his airways. "Witness protection?" He coughed out.
"Yeah." Saito nodded. "I got myself caught up in some stuff and it's gotten too hot, trying to bug the fuck out."
"Back up a bit." I swallowed a bamboo chute. "What'd you get yourself into?"
"You guys are on the Ouma case?"
"We know of it." The lie easily rolled off my tongue, and I made sure to hide my eyes by looking downward and bringing a spoonful of broth to my mouth.
"Well, you know how they found drugs at his place?" Shiba and I nodded in unison at the question. "Well, that was my fault. He said he wanted to keep it for faster selling, so I let him. Ouma seemed like a smart guy; didn't think he'd go and try and shoot up a fucking bookstore. The fucking cunt."
"You're his supplier?"
"Was his supplier." Saito emphasized the first word while pointing his chopsticks at me. "The drugs were supposed to be in my own warehouse."
"And why would this get you into trouble?" Shiba asked. "It's just lost stock at this point, isn't it? Who else had their hands in this?"
Saito's hands stopped moving and he looked up at us in disbelief. "... you guys don't know?" His voice was cautious and hoarse.
"... don't know what?" I asked, not at all liking the genuinely bewildered tone of his voice.
"You haven't seen card's like this?" Saito reached below the table and took out a black leather bifold wallet, opening it and pulling out a white card that he put on the table, equidistant from both sides. It was about the size of a credit card, and completely white with no markings. There was a strange swirl to its surface, the light bouncing off it in a peculiar manner.
"Can't say I have." I looked at my partner, who's eyes were boring into the object. "What about you?"
"I've never seen something like this Senpai." Shiba responded with a shake of his head. If Shiba never saw it, chances are I never did either.
"No fucking way… the fuzz don't know about them? You guys haven't brought in anyone talking about the things going on in the shadows?"
"Like what?" I split open the boiled egg with my chopsticks and mix the yolk into the remainder of the soup.
"There are rumblings going on within the criminal world." Min-san answered from the counter that he leaned on. "Some big fish are putting together bigger sticks and trying to keep everyone in line."
"Like… underground police?" Shiba was perplexed, his nori finally folds over and falls into the soup to his dismay.
"Ex- fucking- zactly." Saito affirmed. "Like the Gestapo. There are rules they're setting up. And they're trying to get everyone in on it."
"How? And who are they?" I asked.
"They're called the Families, and no one really knows who they are, but they're all over Japan. And they have serious dough and power. They're sucking up all the trade and tasks, it's impossible to make a living without contracting with them."
"Yakuza?"
"Who knows?" Saito shrugged with a middle hanging from the corner of his mouth. "Some people think they could be triads that got a foothold in the country with money from all the stuff going on in the SEA. Fucking vulture opportunist shit."
"What does contracting mean? What happens when you make a contract?"
"Well, you get a card with your name and some account tied to it."
"An ID card then, putting a name to a face. What's the account for?"
"Money. And the dark web. That's all I'm going to say till I get something from your side." Saito lifted his ramen bowl to his mouth and chugged the remaining broth before laying it down. "I joined up because I wanted to make money. I've been a middleman peddlar for awhile, they came to me asking if I would work for them."
"... and you can't say no."
"If I wanted to wake up in pieces, I'd say 'no.' You can't refuse the Families. As soon as you try to work outside their system and you have any sort of money, they'll fuck you over. Bulldozed. Taken out like like Monday's fucking trash." Saito looked at me intensely, killing my quip about Tuesday being trash day in this area before it could be said. "Seen it happen loads of times. People just up and vanish after a fuckup of some kind. Nothing too out of the ordinary in the biz, but what's weird are the rules."
"What are the rules you have to follow?"
"Well, I say 'rules', but it's more like one rule that has a lot of after effects."
"Which is?"
"'Never implicate the Family or the group.'" Saito swallowed audibly.
"But what does that mean?" Shiba's brow furrowed.
"Kid, don't you get it? I thought you were a fucking detective!" Saito looked annoyed. "Don't you see? They're coming and making rules for all the shitty criminals who want to make any real cash. They want to know who's who! Give us damn IDs, use the dark web. Only use one channel for the wealth, which is through them. It's like, like, like they'r—"
I suddenly remembered a conversation I had with two women so many weeks ago in an outdoor eatery.
"Like they're building a society." I finished cutting off the drug dealer. "They're trying to build a society for the underground."
"Yes! Yes! Yes! That's it!" Saito exclaimed. "It's called Sanctum, a haven for criminals or whatever the fuck."
At the surface level, I don't think anyone could blame me for doubting Saito.
An underground society for criminals? With ID's, rules, and whatnot? It sounded like something out of a James Bond novel; as in something completely fictional. However, truth is often stranger than fiction.
Saito didn't lie once throughout our conversation, beyond his name. That was to be expected, as well as spoke to the man's intelligence by not prematurely playing his hand. But not lying just means he's telling the truth… or thinking he's telling the truth.
And truth wasn't always fact with humans.
"Let me guess." I stuffed the last bit of noodle into my mouth before preparing to drink the remaining broth. "You gave the drugs to Ouma because he had someone who vouched for him, someone who was trustworthy. A frequent customer perhaps? Some medical student?"
Saito's eyes opened in shock. "What the fuck… how'd you…?"
I ignored the older man and lifted the bowl to my lips and audibly drank away. I put down the bowl, marveling that I was able to finish it all. "You said that the one rule was to never implicate the Family or the society. Ouma getting killed and his house raided revealed the drug supply, which was a bee-line to you. And because it went to you..."
"They're going to have me iced," Saito said in a lifeless voice. "Sleeping with the fucking fishes."
"Just like that? Even though it wasn't your fault?" Shiba asked, his eyes swapping between Saito and I.
"Detective Xiangji, in the underworld the risks are greater for a greater payout. Those who can't minimize the error are liabilities." Min-san explained as walked forward to take our bowls. "If you're indirectly involved in something slipping up, chances are you'll do it directly at some point in the future. You're better off to the Families dead."
"... I can get the DA's ear to talk about witness protection." I started, leveling a flat stare at Saito. "But I'm going to need proof about this society."
"Proof? The shit I just said not good enough?" Saito looked disappointed.
"It's a fascinating story, and honestly I want to steal it to write some crime thriller novel. But I only believe things that I see."
"Shit." Whispered Saito as he wracks his head, trying to think of something he can offer. "Fuck. Alright, you said you wanted proof Sanctum exists? What if I get you inside it?"
"Inside? Like, as a member?"
"Kinda, I can get you a card like the one I have." Saito waved the white card in the air. "I'll show you how to use it after I get a guarantee for protection."
"If you're confident you can do that, I'll get you the guarantee after I get the card in my hands and you can show me that it works." I couldn't actually guarantee anything, but he didn't need to know that, nor did it matter. Haruno would probably do it anyway.
"Works for me," Saito said and held out a hand. I shook it without hesitation, aware that anything remotely sour at this phase in the negotiation could cause him to backout. He was our lead on Ouma, and possibly something even bigger. I couldn't let this slip.
"Hey, Detective." Saito called out, taking out a pen from his pocket and grabbing a napkin. "I gotta put a name on the card, I'm guessing you don't want your real one on there. You got one you can give?"
The gears of my brain turned, trying to think up a pseudonym. It clicks an instant later, and a cold smirk crawled up my face. "Sayama. Sayama Sayato."
Δ▼Δ
Saito had left after we settled the bill. Min-san would be our middleman through which we would contact each other, since neither of us would agree to give our phone number to the other. Shiba looked nervous at the exchange, but stayed quiet. After all was said and done, Shiba and I prepared to leave. As I slide out of the seat, Min-san's voice calls out to me in Mandarin.
"Oi, Higashiya!"
I stopped and turned around, seeing the Chinese man putting a hand into his apron pocket.
"Does Shizuka still smoke?"
"Like a chimney." I responded instantly.
"Yeah? Give her this then." He lobbed an object at me with underhanded throw. I catch it with both hands reflexively. It was a nondescript brown paper box. Opening it, I pushed aside the foil inner lining which revealed a set of Cuban cigars.
"Why not give it to her yourself?" I knew these were expensive, too much to be a gift given so haphazardly.
"I got this knee and all... can't go too far." Min-san broke eye-contact with me and rubbed his neck. "... she still married to that bluecoat?"
"Yeah."
"Of course she is…" He let out quietly and with an exhausted breath. "... well, there's another reason I can't go. Tell her to stop by, I got a new dashi in the works I want her to try."
"Will do."
Δ▼Δ
"I'm home."
"Welcome home." Yukinoshita's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready in a moment. Hiratsuka-sensei sent over some persimmons, help yourself."
"Thanks."
I had stopped questioning her sudden entries into my apartment. She would usually cook dinner every other day or so. And it wasn't like she was the only one that came in unannounced. Lately, Rumi had been here every morning, rather than the normal Wednesdays and Thursdays I had come to expect and think of as routine. She would also glare up a storm at Yukinoshita, who either did not notice or pretended not to notice. Shizuka would also accompany us for dinner occasionally, usually on the nights when the Chief had to work late or had a meeting that dragged into the evening.
My residence had become a busy crossroads.
Not in a bad way, it felt more… homey. I've been noticing small changes around the place that made it feel like a house where people actually lived in. For example, the kitchen had more aprons in it. The first one was brought over by Rumi, but now there were three for the three chefs that used my cooking area. The bathroom had some Pan-san printed towels, a gift from Yukinoshita after she threw out my own towels ("Rags." She insisted).
There was also a diffuser in the living room with essential oils that ran throughout the evenings. A comforting scent of bergamot and eucalyptus wafted throughout the house now. Shizuka also gave me a young lemon tree, and placed in a corner of the apartment. She promised that it would grow fruit within the year, before winter.
There were countless more that probably escaped my notice, with all my guests and freeloaders leaving something new with each and every visit.
Yukinoshita called me for dinner and we begin to eat. As we finish up she gave me a strange look. "You need a haircut."
My hand instinctively went up to my bangs and pulled on a strand. Yeah, it was pretty long.
"I'll get it done tomorrow." I could just grab a knife and trim it myself. If it looked fine on Kazuya Ryunosuke, should work for me too.
"Absolutely not." Yukinoshita put a stop to my train of thought. "I know that look: it's the sign of a terrible idea. Stop that plan this instant, you cutting your own hair is a recipe for disaster."
"How did you—?"
"I think Hiratsuka-sensei left her salon supplies from last week, give me a moment to locate it."
Next thing I knew, I was seated on a kitchen stool with a blanket tied around my neck, the floor beneath my feet was covered with a tarp of newspapers.
Yukinoshita had her hair done up and took up position behind me. And so the artist began her work; the shears her brush, my unruly hair her canvas.
"Have you been wearing those glasses like I said?"
"Yeah I have. It's annoying, everyone won't stop talking to me."
Not to mention wearing glasses seemingly made everyone forget that I was indeed, Hikigaya Hachiman!
The sound of her snipping my hair overlapped with light hearted laughter. "How tragic. The Loaner King identity of Hikigaya Hachiman, which he spent years creating and refining, falls apart with the addition of glasses."
"All I did was trade in my own crown and scepter for the Pauper's clothing. With this new found power of camouflage, I can further immortalize the legend of the Loaner King by penetrating enemy ranks."
I heard her sigh in disappointment and I felt victorious.
"Do you have any plans on returning to Chiba soon?"
"I can't really see it, the current investigation's progressing slowly as is." I admitted a bid sadly, I did miss Komachi and Kamakura. And I guess my parents. "We're understaffed, so a lot of us have been pulling double duty in regards to paper work."
"Just be careful not to overwork yourself."
"I've learned my lesson the last time. Three of you girls on my ass for the same mistake was too much to handle."
And that wasn't including the ultimate mother hen: Detective Shiba Suzaku.
Our small talk goes on for a little more, as Yukinoshita took her time with my haircut. She used her soft and slender fingers to position my head this way and that. A nudge to my cheek to turn my face to the side; a little grab to my chin to tilt my head upward. Her hands were surprisingly warm and I squirmed a little under their touch.
I shivered when I felt her fingers brushed over my ear and let out a strangled breath.
"What's wrong?" Asked Yukinoshita worriedly.
"M-my ears…"
"What about your ears?"
"T-they're sensitive."
"Is that so?" I could almost hear her eyes narrow. "Is this the Achilles heel of the Perverted Loaner King?" She followed this up by pinching my earlobe causing me to yelp.
I was caught between heaven and hell. "I give, I give! Have mercy, please!"
She took a few more seconds to tug on either of my ears before letting go with a satisfied chuckle. She tells me to keep my fetishes under wraps while she was working.
"It would be a shame after all…" she says with a dangerous glint in her eyes, "... if I happened to cut off those otic organs of yours."
Hence forth, I stayed more stoic and still than a possum caught underneath a flood light.
"I was recently contacted by Hayama-san."
"Hayama?"
"Hayama Hayato, do you not remember him?"
Ah yes, Hayama Hayato. My rival. My archenemy. My foil. My antithesis. The bane of my existence. The man who I hated, and who hated me. But of course Yukinoshita, I do remember that THING.
"Hayama-san had told me that he wishes to organize some sort of high school reunion. He had inquired about you, and if I was still in contact. He wishes to passalong greetings and invitation to such an event to you."
"Get real. I'd rather die than go. In fact, I'd rather die than accept greetings from that man." A light bulb goes off in my head. "Actually, I have a better idea. Pass along my greetings instead: I hope HE goes and dies."
"... I forgot that you two never really did reconcile after the events at the end of our second year in Soubu." She sighs.
Yukinoshita moved to my front and brushes down my bangs. She leaned over, a hand measuring the length of the hair that hung over my forehead. I couldn't help but notice the way her shirt fell down due to gravity, the neck gap becoming large. Her milky white skin and collarbones were too alluring and it led my eyes to make the startling discovery that I could fully see down her shirt.
Huh, she wears black now? That's mature and sensible… but oddly erotic? I would think she'd still wear something a bit more soft, maybe lime or light blue. That would contrast well with her skin but still keep that dainty— what the hell am I thinking? No! Bad, Hachiman! She'll cut your ears off, if she notices!
I quickly closed my eyes shut, and held them like that as she cut away at the front of my hair. I was lulled by the sound of the rhythmic snipping and Yukinoshita's soft breathing. My sense of time became distorted to the point that I didn't notice when Yukinoshita had stopped cutting away some time ago and was pulling my hair back and used a rubber band to hold it in place.
"... what are you doing?" I asked in trepidation. She didn't answer and instead handed me a mirror so I was able to gaze upon her completed work.
The haircut was good, looked almost as if it was professionally done. As surprising as it was, we were talking about Yukinoshita Yukino here; the only things she couldn't do were things she had no interest in (like being sociable, heh).
The overall length of my hair was shortened, but was still long enough for her to take the strands at the center and top and pull them back and held with a rubber band. My bangs were allowed to fall over my face, shorter than before so I could see clearly. The trademark Hikigaya ahoge was still omnipresent. My usual annoying strands were expertly snipped away as well.
It doesn't look too bad, but I don't like how it makes me look like an ikemen. [4]
And thinking of ikemen reminds me of that Damned Handsome: Hayama Hayato. Accursed normies, any sort of association with any sort of Hamaya-itis was absolutely and strictly forbidden!
My thoughts were broken when I noticed Yukinoshita taking a photo with her phone out of the corner of my eye.
"Hey!" I exclaimed indignantly. I got up to grab the phone, but she nimbly dodged away, the waist long strands of her hair escaping my fingers like wisps of black smoke.
"It's too late!" She laughed. "I've already sent it to Yui-san, Komach-chan, and Nee-san."
"'Nee-san?' You text casually with Haruno?"
"Is it that far fetched?"
"No, no!" I shook my head and backpedaled quickly. "I, uh, just wonder how it's been between you two… since then. You look closer… but…"
"Well… Nee-san still teases me and embarrasses me in public." Yukinoshita put on a soft smile that made my heart beat a tad faster. "But I enjoy the moments we share. We look eye to eye on more things now. And there's mutual respect and care." She looked at me. "It's almost like the relationship you have with Komachi-chan."
"Speaking of, how did you keep up with Komachi?"
She looked at me in disbelief. "You did inform your parents you were sued, correct?"
"I did."
"Nee-san had contacted your family, and she spoke to your sister. She passed along her number."
Apparently they had some good talks over the past few weeks. Komachi had been telling Yukinoshita about my eating habits and health. I wondered why Komachi hasn't told me about this? This was a serious security hazard, my peace of mind was at stake!
I reached up to undo my hair, but I'm quickly stopped by Yukinoshita whose fingers wrapped around my wrist and pulled downward.
"You musn't." She chided with a small pout. "I put in a fair amount of effort, you know?"
The grip she had on my wrist tightened, her eyes were full of steely determination. I sighed deeply before agreeing. "Fine. I'll try it out for a week."
She already had me wearing glasses, a little more change couldn't destroy my rock bottom reputation could it?
I ate my own words just a few moments later, when my phone buzzed in my pocket, notifying me of incoming text messages.
Surprise, surprise: it's Komachi.
She sent a string of text messages at a rate faster than a machine gun. Much of it were laughing emojis; ["LOLs"]; and ["LMFAO's"].
She followed it up by soul crushingly stating that I looked like I was going to apply for a boy-band. Specifically for the cool-nerdy-guy poser position who probably sang baritone with a face of complete apathy. [5] C-critical hit…
Yuigahama sent me a mail too, surprised at the sudden change in hairstyle. ["But it suits you!"] she followed up.
Ah, Yuigahama, the angel who heals my broken ego.
However, my phone was not done. It had achieved its final form and became the harbinger of doom, because to my complete and utter horror, Haruno also had something to say. My trembling fingers tapped the notification box, opening the message.
["OMG it looks great on you! What a stud! Total lady killer! You're stopping by the office tomorrow, right? You gotta sit down for lunch, the ladies will love it! Oh poor Morimi-chan…"]
My fate was sealed. As soon as Haruno's brain began scheming, the universe bent to ensure it occurred. I could only suck it up and (foolishly) hope for the best.
What did Secretary-chan have to do with this anyway?
Arc 1: "Detective Hikigaya Hachiman"
References:
[1] Min and Zhang Jiao call Hachiman by the Chinese pronunciation of the Kanji characters that make up his name. Hikigaya Hachiman is (比企谷 八幡), and the romanization of the Chinese pronunciation is "Higashiya Bafun."
[2] "Xianji" means "camera" in Chinese. Min's nickname for Shiba is literally calling him a "Camera."
[3] Solid Snake from the Metal Gear and Metal Gear Solid franchises. A crack shot with the pistol, he has some ridiculous moments with a gun in hand in the game "Metal Gear Solid: Twin Snakes," the remake of the original MGS for the GameCube. Some anime stuff, that game was.
[4] "Ikemen" are good-looking men who are synonymous with being "cool" and "exciting." Their stereotypical image is that of a mysterious man that is sharply dressed and has a manly build. Complete with pale skin, having a smell akin to detergent, husky voices, and slender wrists; these men are the heartthrob of Japanese women all over.
[5] Baritone singers have voices that are between bass and tenor voices. Baritone voices have a heavy and impactful sound. They are sometimes used to portray tragic heroes, but more appropriately in this setting, they are usually used by the actors of villains.
Author's Note:
Slowly but surely, we're discovering more about the strange connections Ouma has and the seemingly endless, but invisible trails that lead everywhere. Hachiman learns of a secret society as well. Interesting...
I had recently discovered that the last volume to Kamisama no Memouchou was translated, so I gave it a read. Ended up marathoning the entire anime as well for nostalgia's sake. It did influence the personalities of the characters introduced in this chapter.
Min is the suave Chinese informant who runs a ramen shop, I imagined him to be like an Asian James Bond. He's had a few run ins with Hachiman in the past, and is also familiar with Shizuka (full transparency, Min had a crush on Shizuka).
Zhang Jiao was based on Yi Ling from Volume 2. Yi Ling wasn't that stand out a character, but I just found her dialogue to be fun and memorable.
Finally, I giveth thee more fluff. Inspired by a similar scene from Full Metal Panic!
The haircut Hachiman gets is based off of the work of 00Choir. I have a copy of the artwork as well as a link to his twitter page, just go to my profile page bio and click the Unmade Mechanics and Details link.
-SouBU
(Editors: XioKenji; Lord of Admirals 412; Xynovitch)
Revision Log:
03/17/2020: Re-uploaded with overhaul of tenses and changes in word choice and sentence structure as well as major grammar fixes. Edited author's note to be more succinct.