Chapter 26: "We All, All Us"
I was never really a car guy before.
My interactions with driving began and ended with my current vehicle, and even then it wasn't out of intent. Shizuka had gotten it into her head one day that she needed to pawn off her Aston Martin to me.
"Hachiman! You're young! You must experience driving a sports car at the prime of your life! It is the very definition of 'youth'!"
"Oh, so you finally admit that you're old— OW!"
After being subjected to some… powerful persuasion, I reluctantly agreed despite my instincts finding the offer suspiciously generous. Turns out it was. Shizuka used the sports car as a tax write-off, claiming she was giving charity to a veteran.
Yeah, not too sure how I feel about that. Clever as hell, though.
It did drop me into a predicament, as I had my driver's license but absolutely no idea how to drive a manual transmission car. My former teacher donned her old persona once more and took it upon herself to teach me the basics. And along the way, she tried her damndest to pass on her love of cars. I didn't really get it at first, but the more she talked, the more I understood. I can't imagine living in Tokyo without my car now, ostentatiousness and all.
Sometimes, anyway.
It was the start of a new day. The morning sun beat down between the alleyways, spilling the inside of my bus with light and shadow in an alternating fashion. The bus rattled as it came to stop before a traffic-light at an empty intersection. The traffic of Tokyo had yet to come out in force this early in the morning. My only companions on this ride were an elderly couple that was chatting to each other quietly and a businessman passed out in his seat, looking like he had hung upside down for a few hours.
I guess he didn't make it home last night from the izakaya.[1]
The bus rumbled to life as the lights changed colors. A slight sense of vertigo struck me when the vehicle made a left handed turn, directly to face the rising sun. I squinted as the Tokyo skyline became visible against the backdrop of blue skies. I read a street sign as it passed, registered the name and quickly pressed a button. The intercom blared out the name of my stop.
"Thanks." I gave a passing word to the bus driver who only nodded back. Whether out of duty or appreciation, I didn't know.
I stepped off onto the sidewalk and filled my lungs with the cool air. Autumn arrived later than usual this year, but the change from blazing heat was refreshing. Not a soul was outside as I trudged along the concrete path. My destination became visible after several minutes. I had been here nearly 30 hours ago, before Yukinoshita had collected my less-than-sober self and taken me home. But I had left something behind. A certain something that was red like wine in color, had 4 wheels, and came in at about 1,600 kilograms.
Of all the things that aren't what they were cracked up to be, I had to say that car ownership was up there. When I was younger, I saw cars as simple means of transportation. A metallic carriage that carried us from Point A to Point B in relative comfort. With 70% of the Japanese populace owning a car, it was seen as an accessory to adulthood. Not unlike taxes or eating whole wheat, but the better side of adulthood. The whole 'freedom' aspect, along the same lines as setting your own bedtime or eating cereal for dinner.
Too bad no one tells you that cars are huge asterisks in this game of life.
I ultimately came to realize that owning a car could be summed up in a single word: inconvenient. It was less a tool and more of a mechanical toddler. You had to feed it (with oil), clean it (car wash), get its health looked at (mechanic), and pay insurance! And every once in a while, you had to bail it out of trouble…
My Aston Martin sat prettily in the parking lot. It looked untouched, which was a relief. No one had smashed in the windows or stolen the wheels. Yay.
I groaned when I noticed a neon-orange slip of paper on my car's windshield that was held down by a windscreen wiper. A bright yellow contraption wrapped itself around the front wheel. It was a car boot, a clamp that would ensure I couldn't drive away.
"Son of a…"
Shuffling over, I pulled the paper and inspected it closely. The sunlight bounced off the unholy color and into my eyes, burning my retinas. I persevered through, if only for the small chance that this wasn't what I thought it was. Alas, my hopes were dashed. I got a ticket. The traffic cop who wrote this alleged that I was illegally parked overnight and then all day. (yesterday).
The irony was not lost on me: law-enforcement getting enforced. It did little to stray my thoughts from the eye-watering fine.
"At least they didn't tow it away…" I sighed. It wasn't much of a consolation prize.
Feeling defeated, I pulled out my phone and began dialing the number. I had just put it to my ear and heard the first ring when I heard a car pulling up. It was a silver SUV, with a Toyota badge on the front. My brow furrowed as I recognized it C-HR. A very familiar C-HR at that.
Oh yeah, the Chief owned one. And… he's waving at me from inside the car right now. To my confusion, the Chief didn't get out of the car. Instead, whoever was sitting shotgun opened the door and stepped out into the morning light.
Now, I was straight as an arrow, but I could still say that this man was handsome. He walked towards me with a smooth gait. Each step was measured and his arms neither swung too violently or stiffly. It all oozed confidence, and I could definitely see why.
He was well proportioned and muscular. Sharp jawlines and facial structures along with a well trimmed beard. His head was adorned with smooth raven hair that was combed to the side. Gray streaks adorned either side of his head, speaking of age, but not overly so. It gave an air of maturity and experience. He had laugh lines around his eyes, which were a deep violet, adding contrasting levity to the intimidating visage.
A real 'man,' if I had to label it. A man's 'man.' He looked a lot like the Chief, now that I thought about it… oh.
"Well, well, well, look what I walked in on!" The older man boomed jovially.
"... Tsurumi-san?" I gaped like a fish.
"The one and only." He flashed a grin.
My old CO from my time in the JSDF and someone I hadn't seen in years. Standing before me in the flesh was Rumi's father and the Chief's older brother: Tsurumi Kenta. I tilted my head over to the side to glance over at the Chief, who had a knowing smile on his face. With another small wave, he drove away. Leaving me alone with Tsurumi-san.
"Well? You going to stare all day?" He chided.
"..."
"Oi, I wasn't serious."
I shook my head in an attempt to knock away the confusion. "What are you doing here in Tokyo?"
"Oh, you know." He hummed playfully. "Wanted to visit family. See the sights. Help out a former subordinate turned petty felon."
"Help…?"
My eyes trailed down to his hands, where I spied a silver object. It was a boot remover. I flicked my gaze back up at him.
"You didn't…"
"Oh, but I did." His grin turned predatory as he reached into his coat's pocket and took out a slip of paper. A neon-pink slip of paper. Tsurumi-san handed it to me smugly, the thin band on his ring finger sparkling at me mockingly. "Ticket paid for this morning."
Desperately scanning the piece of paper for some sort of hint that this was a joke, I found none.
"How?" I let out weakly.
"I called Kenji this morning, told him I was going to stop by today."
"The Chief just let you take that?"
"I borrowed it." He said with self-assurance. "And he just had the most interesting story to tell me on the way here. Something concerning a special someone."
I gulped. "W-who would talk about little old me?"
Tsurumi-san's eyes darkened and for a moment I swore I saw storm clouds rumbling in those pupils.
"A lot of things. We'll talk as we work." He walked past me and knelt by the car wheel.
Well, there was no avoiding this one. I stepped over and sat beside him. We conversed as we toiled away, and I recounted an abridged version of what had happened over the past few months with the lawsuit and criminal case. By the time I finished, we were sitting inside the Aston Martin and ready to set off. He was busy rubbing the bridge of his nose as I started the car.
"Well… that's quite something." He muttered.
I didn't answer. Not really much to comment on. I let go of the clutch and pushed the accelerator, rolling the car out into the road.
"But… this might explain why Shizuka-san didn't pick up my phone call."
"..." I cringed.
"Or answer my texts. Or emails."
"Haha…" I let out a weak laugh and gripped the leather steering wheel tighter.
"Actually, she did answer the ones about Rumi. Everything about you? Nope."
"She's… angry."
"Obviously." The older man snorted, reminding me exactly where Rumi's sarcasm came from. "I would be mad in her position as well. I was overseas when the call for my testimony came in, I couldn't really help much. Hell, I'm not surprised she blames me for everything. "
"You heard about that?"
"No. But, I assumed. And by your reaction. I was right."
I clicked my tongue. "Things aren't as bad as they seem."
"Yeah? If you're going to lie to my face, at least tell me a believable one. This isn't the barracks back at base, get creative."
"Alright, fine! ...it's kinda bad."
"There we go. We'll make something out of you yet."
I let out a deep breath and counted to ten slowly. Where Tsurumi Kenji was reserved, polite, professional, and rather subdued with a concealed sarcastic streak, Tsurumi Kenta was upbeat, witty, and also a professional… at poking you where it really irritated. The car became quiet as we drove into the heart of Tokyo rather than towards Shibuya. I was low on fuel and needed to top up. Unfortunately, this exotic sports car took high-octane fuel to run properly and only certain gas-stations carried it. Which meant I was stuck with Tsurumi-san for a while.
"Hachiman." He called out from the blue, getting my attention. "Talk to me. How is Rumi doing?"
"She's doing alright. Seemed to have made some friends last time I checked."
"Really? That's good… really good." Tsurumi-san nodded his head thoughtfully, as if trying to convince himself.
"My turn." I spoke up, this time being the one to pull him out of a reverie. "What are you doing in the city?"
My former superior officer shrugged. "I was originally here on business. Doing some consulting work for the Diet about the JSDF. Managed to convince them not to invest in a new standard small arm. The cost of development and manufacturing in terms of money and time would sky rocket out of control."
"I, uh, heard about that."
"Politics. The usual song and dance. Some argued that cutting refugee spending would help. I let them know that it was potentially an unwise move, since it could cause security issues if we just let people breed negativity within the population. Thankful refugees one day could easily be turned into terrorists the next, or worse, a violent mob."
"It's coming back to me, now," I said haughtily. "You see, I spoke to a Diet member rather recently. He was telling all about how he had talked with Lieutenant Colonel Tsurumi Kenta."
I emphasized the rank, giving a sideways look at my former Captain.
It was Tsurumi-san's turn to laugh awkwardly and offer an embarrassed grin. "Ahhh yeah, got promoted. Slipped my mind."
"Did it now?"
"... new office and everything. I swear, I was going to tell you."
"What was it you just said about getting creative with lies?"
"Uh… you talked to Diet Member Yukinoshita?" The obvious attempt at switching a topic did not pass my notice, but I guess I made my point. I let him get away with this one.
"That's the one. How'd you know?"
"He apparently read my dossier before our meeting, surprisingly enough. Saw your name and asked about you."
"Well, you should have toned down the compliments. He had me blushing like a virgin the entire time."
"Compliments? I think I didn't praise you enough. Apparently you went to high school with his youngest daughter? If she looks anything like the older one…" He let out a whistle. "Really aiming high there, my boy."
"Shut up." I growled and removed one of my hands from the steering wheel to punch him half-heartedly.
While it landed physically, my ire didn't seem to register mentally. He laughed and continued speaking. "I'm being reassigned to another project soon. Going to have to move a lot of stuff around, which I'm not looking forward to. I didn't use any of my vacation hours, so I decided to blow it all at once before my transfer is finalized. It's been a while since Rumi and I visited her mother in Chiba."
"...Rumi will be glad to see you."
Δ▼Δ
Oh, how wrong I was.
I winced when Rumi came flying down the stairs and kicked her father in the gut before he could even greet her. I tried my hardest to look away, as I had no intention of getting in the way of Rumi dispensing justice upon the poor man.
"You bastard!" Rumi shouted, face as red as a tomato.
"H-hello, daughter of mine." Tsurumi-san let out weakly, clutching his stomach. "I see you've picked up a thing or two from your Aunt."
Rumi growled, sparing me a nod of acknowledgement that I returned quickly before she turned her attention back to her father.
"So? Explain yourself," she said with hands on her hips, striking an intimidating pose. Tsurumi-san was right, she was turning into a mini-Shizuka right before my eyes. Slight flushes of phantom pain rippled across my stomach at the thought.
"I thought it was cute."
"You sent, him!" She pointed at me repeatedly and my heart began to beat faster out of primal fear. "Baby photos?"
"He did?" I asked in bewilderment.
"I did?" Tsurumi-san echoed, before his eyes lit up in recognition. "Ah… oh yeah. A few days ago."
"Huh…" Scrolling through my phone, I quickly scanned through my emails and text messages. I had about 1,273 unread emails, and about 15 unread text messages. "Oh here it is, didn't even open it."
Rumi stormed over and grabbed the device from my hands. Muttering angrily as she tapped away, no doubt deleting whatever embarrassing pictures her father had sent.
"But Rumi!" Her father cried out in mock frenzy. "They were adorable!"
"Silence! I don't want to hear the opinion of my deadbeat father."
"S-so cruel!" He wiped away a crocodile tear. "I thought I was helping you in your conquest for lo—"
The rest of his words were muffled by a kitchen towel being thrown to his face. Rumi was approaching levels of red I never thought possible. "Ugh, you're impossible!"
From the living room, Shizuka leaned her head over the arm of the sofa, looking at me pointedly. I shook my hands and head in a frenzy.
It wasn't me!
My message seemed to get across, as she raised an eyebrow before rolling her eyes and turning back towards the television. Soon after, I heard the sound of a can being opened. It was probably beer. How enviable.
At some point Rumi had stalked up to her father and was poking him in the chest with choice words. Tsurumi-san desperately tried to plead with her, bargaining and begging in equal measure. The happy look in his eye didn't disappear however, neither did a similar gleam in Rumi's.
"... and what do you have to say for yourself?" Rumi asked, smoldering, yet now lacking any sort of anger.
"I'm sorry… I won't do it again." In a sudden reversal, the parent hung their head in shame at their child.
"Good." Rumi nodded once, before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around her father's torso in a hug and shoving her face into his chest. I heard a muffled voice, but one full of emotion. "...Welcome home, Dad."
Tsurumi-san chuckled softly, embracing his daughter back while rubbing her head lovingly. "I'm home, Rumi."
We had made it in time for lunch, albeit just barely. Shizuka seemed to be in a bad mood until the Chief walked through the door at half past noon. He was huffing, looking for all the world like he ran here.
"Sorry! Forgot I had to set-up a rental car for their trip to Chiba."
No one missed how Shizuka's face lit up like a lightbulb. She walked over to her husband and eagerly helped remove his coat. She pushed him forcibly into the dining room, sitting him at the head of the table. Within moments, she was doting over the man, fussing about his sleeves, what he wanted to eat, the works. Rumi and I traded looks across the table, I rolled my eyes at the antics of the not-so-newlyweds. Rumi's shoulders shook as she tried to withhold her giggling.
The meal was boisterous, especially considering that Shizuka seemed to have let go of any grudge she had been holding towards Tsurumi-san. Which was fortunate, since they immediately got into a passionate argument about boxing. Poor Chief was stuck in the middle. He expertly nodded to his wife, agreeing with her every word. He shrugged to his older brother, who took that as a sign of support for whatever point he was making. I was witnessing diplomatic perfection.
After the meal, I found myself with Rumi's father at the sink, having been delegated to cleaning duty while Rumi was doing her final preparations for her vacation to Chiba (with help from Shizuka). The Chief handed me a freshly cleaned plate that I dried with a towel in rhymythic circles.
"Your sister called me," Tsurumi-san said quietly. "She seemed worried."
"When was this?" I wasn't fazed at all, I had expected it to a certain extent.
"About a week ago."
"Oh."
"Has anything happened recently?" His concern was genuine, but also unconditional. I could tell by the way his eyes were focused scrubbing at a particularly rebellious piece of food that was stuck to a plate. What went unsaid was what he was referring to. And it wasn't the case.
"I… called my mom last night."
"...huh." His arms stopped moving, yet his facial expression never changed. "Wow. Didn't expect that."
"Yeah." Me neither.
"What did you talk about?" He hissed in satisfaction as he was finally able to remove the stain.
"The usual." I sighed, taking the wet plate and drying it. "How I was eating. How work was. The weather. Mortally harming Komachi's alleged boytoy. Oh, and apparently my dad's stopping by Tokyo tomorrow."
"Is he now? Is that… problematic for you?" He offered a silent assurance for help, just like he always did.
I wanted to say 'yes.' But when I considered it, my thoughts became hazy. I wasn't sure. I didn't really have an opinion of my father. He was just… well he was just Dad, Hikki-dad even.
"We're going to go eat at a pub." I answered instead.
"I see…" Tsurumi-san's words trailed off, and his brows furrowed in contemplation. He turned towards me with lips curling mischievously "Is he paying?"
Despite the tar in my stomach, the weird sensation in my head, and my tired eyes, I still managed to return it with a smile of my own.
"Mom's orders."
"Hah!"
His laughter was infectious and I tried my best to hold it in. But an elbow to my rib broke whatever self-control I had and I chuckled under my breath.
Cleaning took half an hour, and another hour had passed until Rumi descended the stairs with a large black suitcase and backpack over her back.
"Toothbrush?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Extra pairs of socks?"
"Yes, Hachiman!"
"Ok, ok… how about spare underwear?"
As expected, Rumi looked at me angrily with fingers curling into a fist. Displaying remarkable amounts of self-control for a teenager, she took deep breaths. She was obviously trying her best not to explode before she left on this trip. And how I would abuse her patience. Well, maybe if this was the past…
"You're good to go." I declared with a nod.
Rumi rolled her eyes. "I do this every few months, Hachiman."
"I know…" I started, feeling a sense of deja vu as I spoke. "... I just… worry."
Rumi looked at me with a small smile. "I know. Thank you."
I blinked. Huh? Why would she thank me for my worry? She was well acquainted with this trip. Hell, she lived in Chiba for some time before moving to Tokyo. My worry was unnecessary, objectively speaking. It would just get in her way, since I would be getting in her way. So, why the thanks?
Was that allowed? Was this something that I could have told to…?
I shook my head, freeing myself of these thoughts.
"I see. Have a good trip. Tell your mother I said 'hello.'"
Rumi beamed, closing the distance and giving me a quick hug. "I will. See you later!"
"Yeah."
I walked her to the front door, where the Chief and Shizuka were.
"I'll be going, Uncle Kenji!" A quick hug to the Chief, that he returned with gusto.
"Have fun, Rumi."
"I'll be back soon, Shizuka!" What should have been a momentary embrace turned into a drawn out affair as Shizuka essentially glomped the poor girl, water coming from the corner of her eyes.
"S-stay safe, you hear me!?" Rumi's aunt all but demanded. Rumi laughed in response, tightening her hug for a moment.
Rumi walked through the doorway, with us following up close behind. We watched as she took excited strides out into the sunlight, suitcase rolling behind her as she moved towards the rental car. Her father was waiting and helped load her suitcase into the trunk.
I took a seat on the stairs. Glancing behind me, I saw the Chief standing behind Shizuka, arms wrapped around her waist and holding her close. The tears had dried up now and she looked content. She watched over the small family with warm eyes as they prepared to go back to Chiba.
Where it all started. Where all of this started.
Before they set off, Rumi gave me another wave. Her father mirrored, followed by a cheerful thumbs up. Once they backed out of the driveway, they set off down the street while we looked on.
"They'll be fine." The Chief reassured his wife, who nodded slowly.
"It'll be good for her." I added, looking up at the blue sky. "She needed a change of pace."
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Everyone does, Hachiman. Everyone does," Shizuka said softly.
Δ▼Δ
"So she and the Colonel went back to Chiba." I recounted the events the previous day to my father beside me.
"That so?" He reached out to pick out a gyoza from the tray, popping it into his mouth.
"Yeah, so you should probably let Komachi know," I said while taking a sip of the beer in my hand. Just one beer tonight. Nothing more, nothing less. I didn't feel too thirsty regardless.
"You mean, assuming Komachi doesn't already know and hasn't already made an entire plan for."
I chuckled softly. Something I found easier to do as the days went on. There was no way to really describe it, but it was like I couldn't put a lid on things anymore. Things felt so very strange, but I felt strange too. The more I thought about it, the more bizarre things became. I mean, here I was, sitting at the bar alongside my father. It had been awkward at first, but when the food and beer started coming, things were much easier.
"Hey, Hachiman?"
"...yeah?"
"Thank you… for giving me another chance."
"I—" I began and stopped as a stupid, silly thought entered my head. Life was not lived alone, we were surrounded by people. To the outsiders, this father and son pair probably looked like close friends. Passing words to one another and snacking away at anything and everything that entered our purview. No doubt, some thought that we did this often.
Would that be so bad?
"You're… welcome." Foreign words that tasted strange, served alongside foreign thoughts. "You're welcome."
I froze in place when my father raised a hand and patted me on the back. My mind blanked and something caught in the back of my throat. From the corner of my eye, I saw them.
Two children wearing dresses that stood by the door. No one noticed the underage girls in this establishment that served alcohol. I twisted my head and opened my mouth to say something. But I held my tongue as they turned around and walked through the door, each offering a cute wave.
Thank you.
You're...welcome. You're welcome.
See you later.
Yeah, I'll see you two some other time.
I took another sip of my beer. By the time I had lowered my glass, they were gone.
Δ▼Δ
I awoke before my alarm today. Which meant that I woke up before even my roommate. I slipped out of bed quietly, taking care to not disturb the person who slumbered in the room across the hall from my own. The floor was cold, but I appreciated that as it helped rouse me. I grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl in the kitchen. A new addition to the apartment, but it was something I could really get used to. A plus of this unexpected living situation.
I absentmindedly peeled the fruit as I walked to the balcony window. I brushed it aside with an arm, now greeted by a gray blanket in the sky. But there were breaks in the clouds that dropped those divine rays of sunshine to the ground. Through those gaps, the azure sky was easily visible. I bit into the banana, chewing thoughtfully.
"Might as well."
I finished up my breakfast and chased it down with a glass of water. Still trying my best to be as stealthy as possible, I walked to my room and dug through my clothing until I found something light and made of a breathable material. I grabbed my phone and keys, tucking them into the elastic pockets. Running shoes procured from the closet came next. This routine was clockwork. As I left the apartment, I gently closed the door. I was on the sidewalk in no time, and after sparing a glance at the heavens, I set off.
Even though I was removed from the JSDF, I still kept up with my physical conditioning. If you asked anyone from the military what was the worst part of being in the military, they would answer 'boot-camp.' And if you asked them what the worst part of boot-camp was? It was nearly universal: the running. Getting a gold rating for pushups and pullups seemed like a joke compared to the passing time for the 3000 meter run, which was a sub 16 minutes and 20 seconds.
I was a weirdo, but I relished running. The sensation of your legs pumping up and down. The beating of your heart and expansion of your lungs as you suddenly became aware of how much air a human needed to function. I loved running for the same reason I loved swimming: I could let go and switch off my mind. The body was a miraculous thing.
Right now, as I ran down the park's asphalt path, I could feel my body internalizing the motions and slowly removing its constant need for control. The burning in my legs reminded me that I was alive, the only thought I really needed to keep in mind.
This was probably the closest thing to enlightenment.
I rounded down the slope at a decent pace, passing by some elderly joggers. If I had to say, I was on track for a 12 minute time. Not my best, but certainly not my worst. Something small and wet hit my arm, causing me to raise the limb in suspicion. Yup, that was a water droplet. It began to drizzle, and I felt my hair begin to grow heavy with rain as I continued running. But I ignored it, since the rain hitting my skin was invigorating in its own way.
There was someone else on the road in front of me, wearing simple exercise gear. What really caught my attention was his form, which was identical to mine. I grew curious and pushed my body to run just a little faster. As I caught up, the familiar running form turned into a familiar silhouette. Tall and with broad shoulders, you could see the muscles on his back flex through his shirt as he ran. He must have heard my approach as he looked over his shoulder at me. Recognition was evident and we came to a stop.
"Detective."
"Kazuya-san." The name popped into my head. Holy crap, I managed to remember his name! He was lacking that well fitting dress shirt and trousers, but his outline was unmistakable.
"It's been some time, out for a run?" It was small talk, but there was something else underneath that.
"Yeah I am. Old habits die hard." I responded simply.
"Likewise." He answered with a wry smile. "May I join you? I recently moved to Shibuya and have yet to become familiar with the neighborhood."
"Sure." My answer was quick and succinct. Kazuya-san nodded at me, which I took as a sign to set off.
We ran side by side, shoes hitting the pavement rhythmically. Kazuya-san ignored the rain, instead setting his eyes forward with laser-like focus. His running was textbook perfect, and from what my ears told me, so was his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Something everyone part of the JSDF had drilled into them.
"It's good to see a soldier not neglecting their training." He said suddenly, something we could easily handle as we ran at a noticeably slower pace than what we were keeping before.
"Not anymore. But I can appreciate the active lifestyle a bit."
"It's become a part of you?"
"You too?"
"Yes. It lets me… calm down. See myself in this world better."
"... having trouble readjusting to… here?"
He was quiet for a second, and I could tell he was having trouble finding the words. "It's been 3 years, but I still find the night to be too quiet. I tell myself that there's nothing to hear, but..."
"I can understand." I looked over at him momentarily. "But you hear that buzz in your ear and you can't tell if it's real or not. You're looking for an invisible fly that's flying by your head."
"Indeed. What about you?"
"The nights were too quiet… but I found the lights to be so much worse."
"Ah… you went from seeing nothing to seeing too much."
"It took some time." I admitted. "Even now, I'm not a fan of going out at night. Neon lights feel like flares that just hang in midair forever."
Kazuya-san hummed thoughtfully.
"Buuuuttt…" I drawled. "I'll take this over having to deal with sporks any day of the week. MRE's can suck it."
A badly stifled snort erupted from my running companion, and a small smile tugged at my own.
In silent unison, we determined the lake-front to be the end of our run. I hunched over, feeling my heart throb and the exhaustion to set in. I still controlled my breathing, just to make sure I didn't pass out. I sat down at a bench and Kazuya sat next to me. The drizzle had grown heavier, now almost rain, but it didn't register.
"I'm sorry about your laundromat." I blurted out.
"There's nothing to forgive."
"I know that… huh?" I blinked and looked over.
Kazuya-san glanced down at me and shrugged. "There's nothing to forgive. Have you made any progress in finding the culprit?"
"We haven't." No use in beating around the bush.
"It is what it is, then," he said with a simple nod.
"You… seem unconcerned with the loss of your business."
"That is the case detective. First and foremost, I'm glad that no one was killed. The laundromat was… a business I inherited. The original plan was to close the doors and sell it anyway."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. My new career is finally starting to take off, and I need to dedicate my time and resources. I wasn't able to sell the laundromat, but the insurance payout was more than satisfactory for my needs."
That was good to know. I didn't ruin someone's livelihood, even if they were potentially yakuza.
"Did your parents start the laundromat?" I asked.
"No. The laundromat was actually from my wife's side of the family. Her father owned it before passing it on to her. With her… gone, it was left to me."
"... brings back bad times?"
"In a way." He closed his eyes, face becoming serene. "It's more of a reminder that I have no family left."
What a heavy thing to say, yet I didn't feel the weight. His story was no different from what I encountered before. Many people in Sri Lanka ended up becoming the sole heirs for their families. The only thing that did change, was…
"They were killed by criminals," the former SFG soldier said under his breath. "My wife was murdered by a gang who was pushing their territory into our neighborhood. My son joined a rival gang for revenge. He died in a shootout."
"... one hell of a way to go out."
He let out a laugh, before slipping on a bitter smile. "Yes. I can certainly agree to that… the hot-blooded idiot."
Δ▼Δ
The rain didn't stop. It grew heavier after noon passed and lunch was dealt with. With an umbrella in hand I walked out of the underground train station, passing by people as they fled to escape the weather. My phone's weather app indicated that the precipitation wasn't expected to subside for another few hours at best. At worst, it would go on all night.
"I should have brought a change of socks." I grumbled and stepped out onto the empty sidewalks. There were more cars on the streets than people out and about, which was quite the sight in Tokyo.
I crossed several blocks, waiting patiently at the cross-signs when they turned red. At a certain intersection I made a sharp right turn into an alleyway. A single light bulb illuminated a sign, which was my clue and I opened the door to the side of it without hesitation. There were no lights on the inside, only a dark staircase that went down 7 meters easily. I folded the umbrella and set it against the wall and descended the stairs carefully. As I went lower and lower I could hear the sound of jazz music get louder and louder. At the bottom, a doorway led me into a dimly lit venue.
"Good afternoon." A voice to my right greeted me. Probably the hostess.
"Yeah." Not sparing a glance at the person I responded to, I scanned the room. It was a large basement, filled with pool tables that sat beneath hanging lamps. It gave just enough light to show off the green-felt of the tables and the shiny resin of the pool balls on its surface. The rest of the establishment was left in the dark, with faint outlines of peoples and chairs. Certainly moody and atmospheric, but it made it impossible to recognize anyone.
Thankfully, I didn't have to. Over in a secluded corner I spied Hiura and Shiba leaning over a table, cues in hand.
"I'll be playing over there. Put it on their bill."
"C-certainly."
I quickly made my way over and shrugged off my coat, throwing it on top of a chair that sat by a potted plant. Hiura spotted me first, and poked Shiba with the end of his cue.
"It seemth our Prince hath arrived." Hiura whispered loudly and I rolled my eyes.
Shiba looked up with narrowed eyes that widened in recognition as I came closer.
"Senpai, good to see you." He greeted, before returning his attention back to the table. With barely any time he lined up a shot and smacked the cue ball into a striped one, which in turn rolled smoothly in a pocket. Hiura sighed.
"... Yeah I guess. Better sight than this game." The 8-ball was against the far right side, and a quick count had the score at 5 solids to no stripes. Shiba was at game point, and from the looks of it, was about to end it. [2]
"Hey, no bullying." Hiura grumbled. "I tried my best."
His words were bookended by a crack as Shiba impaled the cue ball against the side of the 8-ball. The black sphere rocketed forward, bouncing off the pocket nearest to it before ricocheting and sliding perfectly into the opposite corner pocket. I whistled.
"Show off…" Hiura said, handing me the stick.
"You seem upset. What was the wager?" I asked, kneeling to grab a cube of blue chalk from a small shelf built into the side of the table. I rubbed it against the end of the cue and blew the excess away.
"500 yen a ball. With another 1000 if the game ends before all balls other than the 8-ball are pocketed." Shiba informed, rolling up a sleeve that had slipped down.
I did the math in my head. "So like 6000 yen?"
"No, Senpai. 4500 yen."
"Oh." I felt my face warm. Yeah, I attempted to do the mental calculations.
Shiba brought out the triangular frame and layed the balls into it, placing the black 8-ball into the center. He positioned it at the middle of the far side. My partner nodded at me.
"I get the honors of breaking? You're too kind." Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I made my way to the end of the table and centered my cue on the cue-ball. Taking a breath and holding it, I moved the cue back and then forward. It hit the center of the cue-ball and with a satisfying crack, it hit the formation. A rattle indicated that I had managed to drop one, red-stripe #11.
"Guess I'm stripes." I declared, moving for another. "We'll keep the same rates?"
"Sounds good to me. I did need to buy some new headphones," Shiba said looking unconcerned.
I narrowed my eyes at him. Another shot, another striped ball sunk into the middle pocket. The table was tricky now, as there were lots of solid colored balls in the way. Only way to even remotely hit the purple ball that was near the far corner pocket was to bank it off the edge.
"I heard you guys had a meeting today." I started, walking over to a corner and kneeling until I was eye level with the table, getting a good look at the trajectory I had to hit. It was a tough one for sure.
"Heard? We told you." Hiura asked in confusion.
"... fine. What happened?"
"Technically, you're off the case." Shiba pointed.
"And technically, I'm on vacation. Not off of the case." I corrected it.
"More technically, we can get fired." Shiba fired back.
"That's a pretty important technicality." Hiura pipped in. "And there's no type of 'right' better than 'technically-right'."
I snorted. "And that's why you two showed up here, right?" Another crack, another ball dropped.
"... I'm still reconsidering this and many other life choices." Hiura groaned.
"Shiba. Tell me." I destroyed whatever severity my words had when I misjudged an angle and let the cue-ball sail into empty space. I bowed my head, knowing what was coming. "Scratch."
"It was a briefing about the bodies we found in Chuo." Shiba took the cue-ball in hand and placed it at the dot at the far end. He looked over the table intensely as he spoke. "Corner pocket."
He barely lined up his shot before firing away, a striped ball flying into the farthest corner pocket.
"Any more found?" I asked.
"No. Just those 2." Hiura answered, switching to a low voice. The sound of jazz would mask the rest outside of our little corner. "Forensics finished their autopsies. The 10-year old girl has signs of blunt force trauma to the back of her head. They think it's the baseball bat we found at the scene."
"She was knocked out? Then bled out?" I leaned against the wall next to Hiura, who nodded morosely. "Well shit."
"If it makes you feel any better, there was already cranial hemorrhaging. She wasn't going to make it through the hour." The detective said, subtly nudging me with his shoulder.
"The man died first." Shiba interjected, walking over to our side of the table and preparing his next shot. "But he actually died from blunt force trauma. Multiple head wounds, shapes fitting the profile of a baseball bat. Side-pocket."
With the declaration, Shiba pulled his arm back slightly and gently pushed the cue ball. The white ball moved forward, and pushed a maroon striped ball into the hole as if it was escorting it. The cue ball stopped just short of the pocket.
"So someone beat both of them over the head with a baseball bat?" Hiura and Shiba seemed to grimace at the same time. "What?"
"We don't know, Senpai." My partner sighed, realizing that he forgot to account for the other balls that would move. The only other possible shot at the moment was a blue-striped ball near the farthest corner pocket, but it was surrounded by the 8-ball and a few solids. "The girl was struck first, rendering her unconscious. A minute or two passed before the man was hit."
"Aoi is the only possible suspect, I'm guessing," I said.
"So we're thinking. The theory right now is that Aoi knew she was going to die regardless, and set up the scene that we saw. Post mortem lacerations and all." Shiba stood up, having decided on a course of action. "Farthest corner pocket."
"You know…" I started, watching him fold up his sleeves. "You don't have to call every pocket."
"I know." Shiba smirked at me with confidence I rarely saw in everyday life. He sat on the rail of the table, and threaded the cue stick behind his back and guided with his left hand. In a beautiful show of dexterity, he hit the cue ball. Before my eyes, I watched the white ball curve elegantly around the other balls before hitting the blue-striped and sending it into the corner pocket.
"..." I felt my eye twitch and I looked over at Hiura, who hung his head. Shiba only had the 8-ball left while I managed to sink only 3.
"Right-side corner pocket." I didn't even bother watching as Shiba put the 8-ball into the pocket and looked over at us. Hiura and I dutifully clapped lightly. "Thank you. Now how much was that?"
Grumbling, I took out my wallet while Shiba did the math. Hiura apparently had paid him over a phone app.
"How does the timeline fit with Aoi's death in Minato?" I asked, returning us back to topic. I handed the stick back to Hiura. This time neither of us bothered wagering anything.
"They died the same day as he did." Hiura informed me, breaking the formation of balls. None of them managed to go into the pockets. His frustrated sigh was probably a sign that he knew the game was already as good as over. "It was before he expired, however."
"What about the other guy?" I asked Shiba.
"Unconfirmed, but he had a wallet on him. Brand new and plain. Nothing in it besides a 5,000 yen bill."
"So Yakuza? Or some other gang?" Yakuza made it a habit to confiscate the personal belongings and identification of its underlings before setting them off on certain tasks. To ensure that they wouldn't back out.
"Still double checking the data bases." Hiura answered. "With how… distorted his face is, we're having some trouble. Some of the boys are recreating his face as best as we can. It'll take some time."
We spent the next half hour throwing around ideas. Each seemed as likely as the other and without anymore clues or evidence to help us, it was a futile exercise. Aoi was involved with the deaths, that was a guarantee. Nothing else came to mind.
It was a waiting game. And I was terrible at those.
"Well, that's it for me. I'm taking the missus out for dinner." Hiura pulled on his jacket.
"See ya… and I uh… appreciate the help." I scratched my cheek.
"No worries. Just look after yourself."
My eyes watched as he paid his bill at the counter and walked away.
Suddenly everyone's an annoying mom.
I turned back towards Shiba. "Another round?"
"Of course."
We fall into a lull, just going through the motions of playing. My mind kept going back to the case, despite how useless it was. But I couldn't let go. There was something more here, I could feel it. Shiba's words took me out of my thoughts.
"Senpai, you don't live alone anymore?"
My eyes narrowed as I drilled the cue ball with the stick, hitting the red ball into the middle pocket with a satisfying snap. The white ball rolled back to where I had initially hit it from, once more lining me up for an easy shot at the subsequent red. I leveled a withering gaze at Shiba.
"Where'd you hear that from?" I asked.
"You kept looking at your phone. Eyes moving in lines. Seemed like a list? I'm thinking a shopping list."
"... and you made this leap? Guess being a detective ain't for show." Another hit, another pocket. At this point I had tied for lead points. Statistically, I would be leaving with at least the money I had put in. If I had put in any money. Dammit.
"I guess not... just worried that you might get hurt."
"...," I said nothing as I stood straight and grabbed a block of chalk and primed the end of the cue-stick. I hit the butt of the stick on the ground to remove the excess blue powder. "You're thinking a lot about this."
"Senpai says he's not fragile, but you like being with people on the inside." I see Shiba shrug from the corner of my eye. "But the way you work might ruin whatever relationship you have with this person."
"Speaking from experience?" I bite my tongue as the words slip through my lips. I couldn't stop the retort from leaving as soon as Shiba finished speaking. "... my bad, low blow."
Shiba laughed. "Not at all, it was my fault anyway. I didn't think about how it affected her when I started working full time. I think she tried to tough it out, but I didn't really see. Or probably didn't care. It wasn't a good place for her."
"... do you ever regret it? Putting your job first?"
"Never." Shiba answered without hesitation. "I can help people, which I think is worth more than the harm that comes to me. A little sacrifice on my end is fine. And I know Senpai is the same. So I'm worried."
"You know..." I started, pulling back and firing away at the final black ball. It pocketed in the corner. "... you deserve better Shiba."
"Don't we all?"
I didn't and wouldn't ever hate Shiba.
But I really hated heroes.
Δ▼Δ
In this world, people don't wear capes.
They talk about heroes in war. Larger than life figures who accomplish great things in the face of adversity.
I hate that. I wish we had no heroes.
Those "heroes" are just stupidly good people putting themselves in harm's way so that their useless allies could save themselves. Well-intentioned buffoons, the lot of them.
Whenever a "hero" is talked about, you can be sure that another man made a poorly planned strategy and then horribly executed it.
"No plan survives contact with the enemy."
"Life is chaotic, you can't expect everything."
No. Shut up.
Chance is just an excuse for the unprepared and the unimaginative. I have no sympathy for them, nor for myself.
A leader is supposed to make a good strategy with back-up plans. And then make more back-up plans for those back-up plans. We should never need heroes if the leader did his job right. Heroes wouldn't need to sacrifice anything. They shouldn't need to.
The world has too many sinners, but it doesn't have enough saints. We can't afford to lose those honest people.
We can't let them be "heroes."
Of all the times Murphy had decided to rear his ugly head, it had to finally be now. A trap we had created and methodically explored a week before, all in hopes of catching the enemy unaware and open a path to safety. I thought I had gone through every scenario possible; made sure to account for any problems that we could face and made contingency plans.
And at the very end, I didn't foresee my own equipment failing me.
In hindsight, it was an obvious problem to predict. It was gear we had stolen from the enemy, who were just a bunch of ragtag men loosely organized into a fighting force. Their avenues for weapon acquisition were second and third hand vendors. Old and questionable weapons sold for cheap from equally suspicious sources. A recipe for disaster. But in the elation that we had gotten explosives in our hands, we— no, I— had forgotten to check if it was intact. Or at least have planned around the failure of it to work.
"We got at least two minutes before they break down the barricade," said a member of my squad towards me. "We gotta do something quick, Sarge."
… what to do?
… what to do?
… what to do?
Come on! Think, Hikigaya Hachiman! Think! Aren't you a self-proclaimed master problem solver? Wasn't it one of your 108 Loner-Skills? Can't you get out of this pinch when so many lives were on the line?
Oh wait, there was a solution. It was obvious.
"Someone needs to stay behind, and blow it up manually."
As soon as the words left my mouth, a painful memory seared through my cognition. A time from a place so far in the past, it physically hurt to think about it.
" 'Hikigaya, saving someone isn't an excuse to hurt yourself.' "
A solution that reminded me of those days in high school.
The men around me all had blank looks. Of course, we weren't in high school: these were adults who were trained soldiers, aware of the consequences of their career choice. They knew that their lives were on the line the second they got off the plane onto foreign land.
But choosing to die and dying on the battlefield out of circumstance were two different things.
I opened my mouth. "I'll be the one to—"
Memories kept coming through to me.
" 'I hate the way you do things.' "
" 'Don't do stuff like that again, 'kay?' "
" 'I really hate that you handle things that way.' "
" 'You should give thought to how others feel!' "
NO!
This was different from then! I had people who depended on the sake of this mission. Comrades who were risking life and limb alongside mine to protect the nearly thirty villagers who we had taken under our wing.
What was my life compared to theirs?
"I'll do it, Sarge." Called a deep manly voice, reverberating like a cello. It was Danny, the unlikely friend I had made in this hell hole.
"What?" I was in disbelief.
"All I gotta do is blow it up manually, right? Sit by and jump a spark?" Danny turned his back towards me as he confirmed the instructions with the hesitant looking squad. "Oh yeah! Lemme just unload this real quick… hold on to this for me, okay? Make sure you take good care of her, 'Dead Eyes'!"
A holster with an emptied pistol came flying at me, and I was just barely able to catch it. The gun was Danny's precious Heckler & Koch handgun: his pride and joy P30 Longslide, the weapon he had bought with his first paycheck in America. He gushed about its amazing German design every time we stripped down the guns for field maintenance.
"Danny, stop this! Let me do it!" I yelled.
Danny turns around with an expression you wouldn't expect from a man walking to his own deaths in a few moments. A content smile.
"Better me than you, Sarge. You keep them safe, ya hear?" The older man makes eye contact with the rest of our comrades. "You guys know how he is! Get him out of here!"
Two arms grab me and begin to pull me away, away from Danny. I resist. I struggle to go back and convince my friend that it wasn't his place to do this.
"Wait, WAIT!" I scream. "Danny, don't you have to go see your father!? Aren't you still trying to search for him!?"
"We all gotta die some time, Sarge. I'll meet him then."
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
NO.
NO.
NO.
NO.
Those words, those memories begin surfacing again.
" 'One day, you won't be able to save the one you most want to.' "
"We gotta go, Sarge!"
"Come on, Sarge! Don't let Danny die for no reason!"
"LET ME GO!"
"Sarge, please!"
"WE HAVE TO STOP HIM!"
"Sarge, we have to go, NOW!"
"We can't wait, Sarge! We gotta get back to camp!"
The last thing I saw was the reliable back of Danny as he stayed behind. His figure became smaller and smaller as I was dragged away. To safety.
Leaving Danny to die a solitary death. A heroic death.
No, stop.
Please stop.
Not like this.
I never wanted it to happen like this.
Δ▼Δ
Yukinoshita POV
I woke up to screaming.
I heard shouts and yells from across the hall, in the direction of Hikigaya-kun's room. I quietly removed the covers and padded down the hardwood floor of the hallway, its cold touch making the night feel even less cordial than usual. The sounds of screaming got louder as I came closer to his room. I softly opened the door to see Hikigaya-kun writhing in his bed with eyes closed, reliving some moment in his dreams. The sound of frantic breathing and the creaking of the bed frame made it all too uncomfortable.
I walked over and gently shook his shoulder. His eyes snapped open and he bolted upright, looking around the dark room fervently.
"Danny? Danny, where are you? Danny? Danny? Oh my god, Danny?" He whispered furiously.
I carefully sat at the edge of his bed and slowly wrapped my arms around him, aware that sudden movements in his state would agitate him. I could feel the heat from his body, a veritable furnace in human form. His racing heart beat could easily be felt through contact like this.
"Danny?"
"Where are you, Danny?"
"Come back, Danny."
I could feel a tear drop begin to fall down his cheek. I gently leaned his head against my shoulder and hugged him tighter. I didn't say a word.
"I'm sorry, Danny."
"We don't need to do this. Don't go, Danny."
"I can make a better plan later, Danny. Just come back. Please."
"Don't die for someone like me. I could have done better."
"I could have done better."
"I should have done so much better."
I had been living with Hikigaya-kun for several weeks now. Episodes like these happen often enough that I was beginning to get worried.
His diagnosis?
PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder.
A common condition that ravaged the minds of soldiers who had returned from combat. Everyone knows of PTSD, but no one truly knows PTSD. The very fact that it had become an acronym was enough to distance people from the harsh reality of what it was. It sounded like a sterile clinical word, just like one of the other thousands of disease names that people regarded as scientific verbiage. Something they were aware was bad, but didn't understand the extent of its malice.
I was also guilty of this.
Some nights, I would be woken by his yelling or talking in his sleep. Sometimes incomprehensible, sometimes full of military terms. It was obvious he was reliving the worst parts of that one year deployment.
I voiced my concerns to Hiratsuka-sensei and Rumi-san. Their faces had set into upset expressions, as they told me that this was par for the norm. He would usually suffer these bouts of memories, then go back to sleep. Sometimes he would be able to sleep through the night. Other times he would stay awake and try to reorient himself. Attempting to convince his fiendish imagination that his apartment in Tokyo wasn't the jungles of Sri Lanka.
He had no real trigger, his subconscious simply leaking those impulses and sensations when he couldn't push it down.
"I'm barely home." Hikigaya-kun had once said.
I could already connect the dots to see where they led. His obscene work hours were to bring his body to exhaustion, in hopes of avoiding the dreams. Not sleeping was common as well, staying overnight at work to stave off the memories that would inevitably bleed back.
Hikigaya-kun was never home because he was afraid. Perhaps not consciously, but underneath he feared what his mind would see when he closed his eyes to rest.
I felt like my heart was tearing in two.
Δ▼Δ
Hachiman POV
By the time I came to, I noticed my arms were wrapped around a warm figure, my face being placed into the crook of a neck and shoulder. It smelled of lavender and other soothing things.
"Yukinoshita?" I asked blearily, my voice croaking roughly.
"I'm here, Hikigaya-kun."
"... sorry."
"It's fine. Clean yourself up. Let's go have some tea."
An order. How relieving. I didn't have to think for this, just follow. A reflexive action for me at this point.
"... yeah."
We slowly removed ourselves from one another, and Yukinoshita helped me stand up. We walked to the main part of the apartment, with Yukinoshita making a beeline for the kitchen. I took the time to turn on the lights of the hallway, illuminating the dark corridor and sending residual light into the living room. I switched on one of the soft lamps and sat on the couch. I turned on the TV and let my brain distract itself.
"Here."
A white porcelain cup was presented before my face. I grasped it, my fingers warmed by the surface of the cup. "Thanks."
She passed by my front, taking the seat next to me. The couch undulated at her weight, and I looked over to notice she had her own cup of tea in her hands as well. There's a silence between us as we both watched the television, the program being some documentary about the American Pika. [3] Wait, was this the origin of Pikachu!?
"You were talking about a 'Danny'," Yukino said after taking a sip of her cup.
Oh.
"Was I?" I answered absentmindedly. The thing about dreams is that you usually don't remember them after you wake up. And it was true for me, I was sure I was having a nightmare again, but what it was about was already lost to me.
"Who is this… 'Danny'?"
Where to begin? It wasn't a complex subject, but he was another human being I had gotten close to. The subject may not be complex, but a person certainly was.
"You don't have to, if you don't want to." Assured Yukinoshita quietly.
"No, no, no. It's fine." I responded shaking my head. "I'm just trying to figure out where to start."
"..."
"Danny was a US soldier. He joined the UN sometime later, and was part of the UN Peacekeeping Forces. He used to be a troubled kid back in America."
Danny's father walked out on his family when he was a child. His mother died when he was 15. The teenager Danny lived a life on the streets. He got arrested a lot of times because he was caught shoplifting and got involved in some gangs. He was told he could either go to jail for a few years, or he could go to the military and get his behavior straightened out.
He chose the military.
Danny was a good guy. He cared a lot about the soldiers around him. He knew a lot of them had tough pasts, and he understood their troubles. Danny knew how hard it was to turn yourself around. And even more so to do it alone.
"He was a real good guy. A bit too good even." A bit of emotion crept into my voice. "We got stuck in a situation where someone had to stay behind to blow up a trap. He volunteered himself, gave me his gun before he did the deed."
What a guy…
"Hey, Sarge. Ya think I can find a wife when I get back?"
"I'm pretty sure you can find a she-gorilla. Same thing for you, right?"
"That's cold Sarge…"
"I'm not a Sergeant"
"But you're a Sarge to me."
"Well, I guess under that logic, I have to call you Private."
"What the hell, Sarge!? At least raise my rank!"
I cracked a smile. "Seriously… what… a… guy…"
A comfortable silence came down between us, with the occasional sound of us sipping on drinks.
"Well…" I started. "This is oddly nostalgic."
"What a coincidence, I was thinking the same thing." Yukinoshita responded wistfully.
"Whatever happened to my cup from high school anyway? I didn't take it home with me."
"I believe Yuigahama-san took home the supplies."
"Damn, that's thoughtful of her."
"I think it's more of a case of you being thoughtless. Brainless-gaya-kun." I saw her with a small grin.
"Haha, very funny."
"You agree? I thought I timed the punchline well, myself."
"You can't just analytically make jokes, it defeats the purpose behind humor!"
"Hoh? Is that a challenge?"
At some point in our banter we had turned to look at one another. A smile tugged at my lips, and I could see it mirror on hers. We begin to chuckle softly as we let our poker faces break down. As the laughter dies down, I notice a strange look pass over her face, a mix between concern and apprehension.
"Hey, Hikigaya-kun? Can I ask… a rather personal question?"
"What's on your mind?"
"Are you sure you're alright… to be in the police force? Mentally, I mean. What if the things you see at work make your condition worse?"
I mulled over her words before responding.
"I think…" I took a sip of my tea. "I think I would be worse off. It keeps my mind busy. The Chief looks out for me. Secretary-chan and Shiba are nice people. And it— okay, this is going to sound stupid, so don't laugh!"
"I promise." She swore solemnly.
"... it feels like I'm in the Service Club again. With all the helping people and stuff. Kinda like, I'm actually doing something."
To my dismay, Yukinoshita began to giggle. I must have made a face, because she started laughing harder when she opened her eyes to get a look at me.
"Oi! You promised!"
"I'm sorry." She breathed out between fits of giggling. "To think you of all people would want to experience the Service Club again after school. I'm having trouble keeping your image intact."
"I can see how it would seem unbelievable." I put on a deprecating smile. "I did enjoy those times, though."
"As did I, and Yugahama for certain as well."
"Feels so far away. Haven't been to Chiba in years, much less go visit Sobu."
"Indeed, I had similar feelings when I was living in England."
The soft conversations continued between us throughout the night, with only the soft light of the lamp and the blue glow of the television to illuminate our figures.
Δ▼Δ
The sun blasted through the giant balcony window and shined on my face, making it unbearably hot and uncomfortable. My eyelids fluttered open as I looked around the room in surprise. Did I really fall asleep in the living room? And I'm still on the couch at that. I didn't remember falling asleep here. But apparently I did, since the TV was on.
I tried to move, but felt a weight on my side. I looked over and saw a sleeping Yukinoshita nuzzled into my side quietly, breathing softly as she slumbered away. I gently removed myself, taking care to have her lay down into a more comfortable position. There was a pang of guilt as I realized that it was my actions that caused her to lose sleep these past few weeks.
I needed to make it up to her.
Δ▼Δ
I'm in the kitchen, the stove sizzling with the sound of food being prepared.
It was all overcome by a loud crash that made me whip my head in the direction of the entrance. There stood Rumi, with eyes open and mouth agape. Her school bag fell to the floor dramatically as she rushed into the kitchen.
She pointed a finger at me and exclaimed. "Who are you, and what have you done with Hachiman!?"
I leaned over and poked her in the head with the end of a wooden spoon.
"I'm making breakfast, idiot."
"Don't call me an idiot, idiot." She retorted, sticking out a tongue. "What are you making?"
I smile. "A western breakfast. A friend taught me how to cook it when I was in the military."
Danny loved eggs.
Arc 1: "Detective Hikigaya Hachiman"
References List:
[1] An izakaya (居酒屋) is an informal Japanese bar and a popular place to be afterwork. They sell beer, drinks, and various snacks. The Western equivalent would probably be a tavern or an Irish pub. An izakaya I frequent makes killer gyoza, which always goes down with a good Asahi Super Dry.
[2] Pool is commonly played with 15 balls: 7 striped, 7 solid, and 1 black 8-ball. There are many variations of pool. Here, Hiura and Shiba are playing 8-ball, which is where players break the formation and then select either solids or stripes. Their goal is to pocket every ball of their chosen type and then finish by pocketing the 8 ball. Playing it "straight" is also another type, when players are allowed to pocket whatever ball they want. It's generally played when teams can't be made.
[3] The American Pika. It's like a really big hamster. It's cute af. Go check it out.
Author's Note:
Where to begin.
I want to thank all the readers for the reception to the last chapter. It was the most popular and viewed so far in the smallest amount of time. You guys don't know how much it means to me. Thank you all.
Now... this chapter. If you read this and wondered why it felt so fragmented and removed from previous events, its because it is. These are a collection of side stories I had written nearly 2 years ago but never had a chance to put into the story. They were necessary for characterization, but with every rewrite of the plot made these feel even more alien. The next few chapters should feel the same way. Apologies if you found any grammar errors.
I know you guys all tell me to take my time, but in reality it's not a matter of time. It's a matter of how much I care. The longer the story goes on, the harder it becomes to care enough to muster enough motivation to rewrite enormous sections. Guys, this story is approaching 200,000 words and simply put: I'm tired.
It's not much of an apology, and I don't intend for it to. It's just how I feel.
-SouBU
(Editors: Xynovitch, thatguy8801, yahallo)
Revision Log:
10/08/2020 - uploaded with grammar fixes