"Why am I still here?"
For ten years, Ren never left Shibuya crossing. He'd been trapped for long enough that he couldn't remember what his dreams were before the crossing. Only a bustling plaza of frozen people could appear when he thought of how he spent his little time in deep sleep.
As always, Ren started in the center. People stood everywhere, but an invisible circle separated Ren's starting point from them, creating a giant bubble-shaped gap in the middle of the massive crowd. Not that it mattered; Ren never saw the crowd move, act, or behave like humans. They remained stopped in time since before Ren arrived in his dream state.
Remaining lucid was the biggest confusion of all. Ren possessed no influence or power within the dream, yet he could think clearly and had the awareness to know of his dream reality—it proved worthless. The only thing Ren could do was act as a tourist in his creation.
He walked through the crowd, bumping into some because of the density. Ren shrugged them off as he tried to look around for something, anything meant to grab his attention. Like always, he got nothing. More heads of black hair, less movement, and no more clarity than before.
"Ren." It echoed off the buildings with bounce, but it felt like Ren had said it himself when he knew that he hadn't. Again, "Ren."
There was no voice because there was no speaker; it simply existed with Ren in the life-blank canvas of the crossing. He stepped through, around, and between person after person, bystander after bystander. None of them led to an answer, just more—
Light flashed among the still sea of heads. Ren's eyes focused and he saw something new: brown hair cut just a few inches below the ear. More importantly, it moved. Whoever's head it belonged to dipped around in the crowd just like Ren had, searching for an invisible key to an impossible lock in the crowd.
Ren found his key. He pushed and clawed at the people around him; they didn't react. Not even their eyes turned with Ren storming through them to get to the other person in the crowd. Each step required a clearing kick to move the obstacles, yet nothing slowed Ren. The brown head of hair ducked below his view, forcing him to work harder.
The voice grew louder and higher in pitch. It became familiar to Ren through its repetition. "Ren? Reeen?" It called him forth, beckoning him to keep overpowering the crowd to reach his goal. "God, will you wake up?"
Rule to live by: never answer a woman, especially if she's your wife.
Ren stopped. "...Wife?" One last time, the head popped up for light to flash across it, then it vanished.
Spring, 2016
Fuck. Now look what you've done.
"Reeen?" Ren pushed his face into the pillow and groaned. "Helloooo? Earth to Ren?" The owner of the voice pushed his shoulder, forcing him to roll over and open his eyes to the natural light that peeked through the curtains' gaps. "Morning," Hifumi said as Ren looked to the right to see his wife standing above him. "Breakfast's ready."
Ren rolled back over and buried his head in his pillow.
"Ren." Hifumi managed to chide him with just her tone. "You have to get up. We have to start getting ready for tonight!" Ren rolled back over to face his wife. His look of confusion told her that he must have forgotten their plans for the night. "We're having the Kitamuras over for dinner tonight, remember?"
How could you forget? You hate the Kitamuras.
Remember he did, among many other things, most of them inconsequential to the thing Ren thought of most. Hifumi couldn't grab Ren's attention because she couldn't compare—she'd have to prepare for dinner on Ren's terms.
"I need to go to Leblanc."
"The Kitamuras are coming over at five!"
"I'll be back by then. Just need to do some business, okay?"
Hifumi puffed out a sigh. She knew she couldn't tell Ren off even if she wanted to think she could. "Fine." Judging by the fact that she hadn't left Ren alone yet, she needed something else from Ren.
He didn't plan on waiting for her to spit it out. Ren sat up, swinging his legs off the bed, and spryly dropped himself into standing. "I'll be down soon. You can eat without me," he said as he walked past Hifumi to the bathroom, not even giving her a glance.
Whatever she had to say to him stayed on the tip of her tongue. Ren heard her delicately walk out of the room just as he ducked into the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, Ren looked at his two similar phones on the counter—one dark gray, one shiny silver. He grabbed the silver and dialed the first number in his contacts.
Wasting no time ringing, it was answered. "It's me," Ryuji said from the other end of the line.
"Leblanc in half an hour." Ren hung up and set the silver phone back on the counter. He discarded his clothes and stepped into the hot shower—he didn't have time to check his face to see how dark his eyes had become or if new scars appeared on his chest. However, the shower gave him time not to inspect, but to listen and to think.
Hifumi's a real bitch, I tell you. Could've stayed single, lived it up as a bachelor, but no. The woman already in your life sucks, and you're interested in a new one? You're fucked up unless this is some scheme of yours to screw Hifumi over. Then you're a genius. Probably not, though.
Truthfully, Ren liked Hifumi—which he never should've doubted because he saw enough in her to marry her, but everything after was downhill. Ren learned the hard way that he may not have been cut out for living a normal life and that his wife's wants may have been directed toward his wallet rather than himself. Which, unfortunately, he expected from her. One doesn't tolerate a criminal husband unless the money makes them comply.
Still, some part of Ren hated her for reminding him that he never could be normal, never could enjoy the penthouse he'd obtained for himself. Was that why Makoto meant so much to him despite how little he'd spoken to her? Because she offered him normality?
'Kay, now you're feeding yourself bullshit. Normality? She's a fucking cop!
That didn't change that the thought of Makoto intrigued Ren more than the sight of Hifumi did. Maybe because she was staking out Leblanc, maybe because of how she fell to him outside Leblanc, maybe she was just too much of an abnormality for her own good. Ren needed to know more.
Ren finished autopiloting himself through the shower, quickly switching the water off so he could dry himself. He stepped out of the shower and walked across the bathroom to where the phones sat silently on the counter. Again, Ren grabbed the silver one and dialed one of his common contacts.
Three rings, then Tae Takemi picked up. "Hello?"
"It's Ren. How was she last night?"
"I don't know. She passed out on the couch and I rushed her out this morning." Tae's terse delivery told Ren enough of her disposition: she still didn't care for him. Like his loveless marriage, Tae's unsalvageable opinion of him only went downhill since they'd met all those years ago.
"Any mentions of what she was doing in Yongen?"
"None. She did ask about getting some coffee, though."
"With you?"
"Don't be an idiot." They paused in unison, neither sure how to continue. Ren's questions were answered and Tae's hatred was expressed—mostly. "Who is she?"
"Just some drunk who came by the shop."
"And you were open at midnight?"
"No, but she looked scared."
"And Ren Amamiya, noblest of all Japan's citizens, decided to help?"
Ren realized that every step he'd ever taken was wrong—he did not need to hear it from Tae. "Look, thanks for helping her, Tae. I owe you."
"I don't want you to owe me," Tae said, punctuating her words by cutting the call. Ren exhaled his frustration, but the shower's still-present steam forced it right back into his head.
Since when do you have time to stand around?
Coffee steamed as it hit the bottom of a mug. "I need a background check." Ren's elbow rose as he emptied the pot into the meg, Ryuji patiently watching from across the counter. Both of them appreciated a good cup of coffee when they had time for it. Unfortunately, Leblanc's owner rarely opened the place for business.
"Gimme a name and I'll give ya my opinion."
"Makoto Niijima, officer for Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department." Ren finished pouring the cup, then scooted it across the counter for Ryuji to enjoy. He stepped back from the counter and leaned against his wall of coffee beans. Ryuji lifted the cup, toasted it to Ren, then took his first sip. "I'm asking you because I'd like to hear the department's info on her."
Ryuji opened his savoring eyes mid-sip and lowered the mug. "And you want me to talk to my connection?" Ren nodded. "No can do, he's busy or something. I dunno. Doesn't wanna talk to me."
"Make him talk to you."
"Not a relationship I'm willing to risk for some…" Ryuji waved his hand around trying to seize Makoto Niijima's purpose from thin air. "Beat cop? The fuck is she anyway?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out."
"Why?"
"To prove a point to myself."
"Sometimes, you're pointless."
Ryuji's always been too smart for the good of either of you. He'll fuck you over, and you know it.
"Then I'll live with my pointlessness until I get that background check courtesy of your friend at the precinct. Coffee any good?" Ren already knew the answer and that Ryuji wouldn't give him the satisfaction of making terrific coffee.
Ryuji sighed. "Fine. I'll look into her. Anything else you got for me?"
"Mishima… What's his burial situation looking like?"
"Nothing yet. He's stashed in the car behind the Nine."
"Put him under within a day."
"Will do."
"Do you love her?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"It's just—"
"Actually, don't answer that," Ren interrupted. "I pay you to clean, and you've done none of that in the past week."
Asami Kawasaki sighed at Ren, placing her hands on her hips before she cocked them to the side. Her plain black dress contrasted her pale and frail fingers.
Asami's who you should be spending your life with. Old, wise, and un-fuck-with-able.
Ren had no problems with Kawasaki and even enjoyed conversing with her when he had to, but she asked too many questions. Not the type that challenged Ren's business—the type that challenged what he thought of himself. Her presence in his home life meant she saw him more than almost anyone, and she didn't have the financial interests that Hifumi did to keep her mouth shut.
Plus, she couldn't clean shit.
Asami defended herself as she always did. "I do some cleaning!" Her position as a housecleaner meant she made far more than her worth as a conversation partner for Ren. She was the highest-paid maid in Tokyo, though she worked more as an assistant to the estate by performing small errands for Ren and Hifumi when needed.
"Not enough," Ren scoffed. Asami's laziness left him to vacuum the floor of the dining room while the maid sat back in a chair and enjoyed the view of the man at work. He'd returned from Leblanc to an unworking housecleaner and a stressed wife; he had to solve both problems, of course. "We have guests tonight, you know."
"Wooow, Ren Amamiya has a social life? Hell's frozen over, hasn't it?"
Ren had friends. Well, only two, and the only reasons that Ren kept in touch were to make money, stay out of prison, and make sure that the second friend didn't escalate every possible situation into violence.
"Just shut up and clean."
"Oh, don't you have any sympathy for little old Asami? Any at all?" She pinched her fingers together, holding them in front of her eye. Ren refused to look at her, but he could still see it out of the corner of his eye. "Seems like the smidgeon of feeling you have in that empty skull of yours is for this dump!" Becky said, looking around the dining room as she belittled Ren's home, the very place she was supposed to make the opposite of a dump.
"If you're so confident in what's in my head, why're you asking about my wife?"
"Oh, I'm confident that I'm right about that, too," Asami teased, standing up from the chair and walking up to Ren. "I just wanted to hear you say it." She placed an unwanted hand on Ren's shoulder before he quickly moved away from her and turned the vacuum's power up by a notch.
Asami had some semblance of a point because everyone between those penthouse walls knew the state of the Amamiya marriage. Hifumi knew it, too, even if she didn't show it much. As much as Ren faulted her for her material wants, she did her best to be a good wife and that was more effort than he could claim.
"We're the Amamiyas. We have to present ourselves with at least a little grace, don't we?" Hifumi certainly had that nailed down. A tan, long-sleeved fuzzy wool shirt, complemented by a fashionably golden necklace, and completed by black pants.
Ren held no obligation to the Kitamuras, or to Hifumi's attempts to make a social life for the both of them, but Hifumi didn't seem too excited about his original plan of a collared t-shirt and shorts. Ren didn't want his outfit to explicitly tell the Kitamuras to go away, but he didn't want them to think they would be welcome often. His limited wardrobe didn't give him many ways to express that, but it didn't seem like he would need to, as Hifumi emerged from their walk-in closet with brown khakis and a crimson t-shirt.
You're gonna wear that?! You're beyond saving. I shoulda left you with that deadbeat.
Hifumi deserved a nice, normal evening where she could pretend to be in a thriving marriage. Ren couldn't find it in himself to object no matter what he thought of the Kitamuras. They didn't get together often, but when they did, Hifumi enjoyed herself.
Ren accepted the pants from his wife before stepping into them in front of the full-body mirror. As he took the shirt and began to slip it on, he slipped into his standard habit for any conversation with Hifumi.
"So which ones are the Kitamuras?"
"With how few friends we have, I'm surprised you don't remember them," Hifumi said, stepping up behind Ren in the mirror. She hugged him from behind as she set her chin on his shoulder. "You really don't remember Tetsuo and Manami? They were at our wedding."
"Ah." Even if Ren actually couldn't remember the Kitamuras, Hifumi's information would've sparked no recollection.
From his shoulder, Hifumi's smile faded as she spoke into his ear. "I think you're too antisocial sometimes." Ren looked her in the eye with the mirror as he adjusted the collar of his T-shirt. "You would remember our friends if you let them come over for dinner more often."
"I don't like prying eyes."
"You're overly careful, too." She interlocked her right hand in his, squeezing it. "For someone who's always at home, you act like you're always at work."
"I'm working from home."
Hifumi was aware of Ren's occupation, but he didn't involve her in it enough that she truly knew. If he asked, she'd say organized crime, which would be true. If he asked for specifics, that's where her ignorance would begin to show. For two reasons, this was intentional. First, Ren knew that any marriage based upon blood money would die slowly and painfully. Secondly, keeping Hifumi in the know meant that she could be just one more person on the list of people called to testify against him.
If the cash ever stops coming in, you're gonna have to keep Hifumi quiet. No way around it.
"It's not like they're nosy, Ren. Just relax, be friendly, and the night will go by quickly."
"I know. It'd be nice if we had Ryuji and Ann over some time. They haven't seen the penthouse."
"Well, that's on you. You keep saying you're going to invite them…"
"I'll get around to it."
Hifumi stepped back from Ren, plopping herself onto their bed. He brushed off his shirt and turned to face her, getting a smile of approval. Ren felt faint proudness for looking good, enjoying the silence of the moment until Hifumi broached a new subject.
"What do you think about taking a vacation?"
"A day off?"
"No…" Hifumi's light tone assured Ren that everything she said would be hypotheticals, but dangerous ones. He didn't want to go anywhere near a vacation unless his life was legitimately in danger, and he couldn't afford to not constantly manage his business. "I mean that we could spend a weekend in Hawaii or something like that."
"Can't. I have work."
"I thought you worked from home?"
"Different time zones are risky."
"Oh." Any optimism Hifumi had for her idea getting off the runway soured. "I'll try to think of something else, then."
"Don't worry about it. I like working."
"Because you don't like being with me?"
Ren became a seasoned actor over the past several years. He painted denial across his face. "Come on, don't say that. I just need to be productive." Ren strode up to Hifumi, who still sat on the edge of the bed, and looked down at her. He softly lifted her chin upwards to face him. "I love you, you know."
Hifumi nodded, though with a gulp. "I know."
"Good," Ren said. He took his hand away from Hifumi and checked his watch. "Kitamuras are going to be here soon. I'll go make sure that Asami is finished with the dining room."
Ren turned his back on his wife as he walked out of their bedroom.
Ren pulled the glass door of the penthouse's entrance open, welcoming the Kitamuras.
"Hi, Ren," Manami Kitamura said, waving with a wide smile on her face. Ren nodded back at her as he moved to let them enter. Each of the three Kitamuras took off their shoes quickly before walking to see the rest of the penthouse. Ren deposited each pair of shoes into the shoe closet, soon following his guests into the living area.
He heard a yell from his wife. "Manami! It's been too long!" Ren walked around the corner to see Hifumi and Manami hugging, both laughing. Tetsuo and the Kitamura son watched from a few feet away, chuckling at the embrace. When Hifumi finally relinquished her grip, she took a step back from her friend to look her over. "Dinner's almost ready, it just needs a bit more work."
"Want some help?" Manami offered. Hifumi nodded, prompting the pair to begin walking over to the kitchen, only turning back to beckon for her son to follow. Ren guessed the kid was about nine or ten as he awkwardly followed his mother into the other room.
Left alone with Tetsuo, Ren's thoughts drifted until he was brought back to earth. "I don't think I've seen this place yet…" Tetsuo's clear implication requested a tour from Ren.
A tour is small-time shit; common ground is where it gets tricky. Maybe you could invite him to your next interrogation at Leblanc and show him how to execute a rival? Wait, you can't even do that!
Ren shrugged, weakly smiling at Tetsuo. "I suppose we can look around before the food is served." He walked past Tetsuo's tall, thin frame and led him to the living room.
Two leather couches were set in an L shape next to the window, with one of them facing the TV and the other perpendicular to it. Ren glanced and saw Tetsuo's jaw drop at the aerial view of Shibuya, taking in the Tokyo skyline in all its glory. "You know you have the best view in Tokyo, right?"
Of course he knew—he couldn't hide from the city in the sky if the view wasn't perfect.
Ren forced a laugh. "That's the one thing I still can't get used to about this place." Ren rarely admired the view, but Tetsuo didn't know it. Ren pointed over to the kitchen, which was linked to the living area. Hifumi and Manami stood next to the stove, laughing at some joke while the kid sat at the kitchen counter while playing a game on his tablet. "Kitchen's over there. Help yourself to a drink now, if you want."
"I'll wait."
Ren led Tetsuo up a set of stairs to the second floor. Immediately, the balcony of the penthouse captured the guest's attention. The majority of the second floor's walls were windows, offering better views than the one window on the first floor.
"Holy shit… remind me what you do for a living again?" Tetsuo asked as he stood motionless while gazing out the window. Ren didn't think the view was worth breaking the social rule of not asking someone how much money they make, but he would oblige. To Ren, the importance of not shying away from questions could not be understated.
Tell 'em what you sell to the Dietmen!
"I'm semi-retired, but I spend my time doing work as a consultant."
"Retired? You're not even thirty!"
"I came into a decent inheritance from my parents." Ren saw Tetsuo's grin drop at the implication. He spoke quickly to remedy the downtrodden moment. "But that was a while back. Want to see the bathroom?"
"Hm? Oh, I'd love to."
Ren showed Tetsuo through the rest of the sleek second floor, briefly stopping through the bedroom, the study, and the extra bathroom, all of which wowed Kitamura. At every turn, he remarked on Ren's extravagant home, lavishing praise on every inch of the place as if he wanted Ren to offer it to him for a week. It annoyed Ren, bringing his opinion of the normal Kitamuras down.
They finished their tour by emerging to the balcony, letting the crisp breeze sting their skin. Ren looked down on Tokyo. Lights looked back up at him, blinking and spinning in their unique ways. Ren enjoyed the distance from the noise and commotion, but living in the sky was isolating—he needed more of a social life. Maybe Makoto Niijima could—
Tetsuo felt the need to ruin the moment by opening his mouth and dipping into the past. "Feels like your guys' wedding was so long ago, but it's only been a year. We're hitting that age where everything feels so fast," Tetsuo said, looking out over Tokyo. His short black hair barely moved in the wind. "We need to get together more."
Neither of you are thirty, so I don't wanna hear that shit. Toss him off the balcony to see if he can fly, or else I'm gonna be bored all night.
"Need or should?"
"Hah, both! And you also need to give me some finance tips because you've obvi-"
"I'm no expert—just an extra voice for companies to approach."
"You're pretty fucking good at it, I'm assuming," Tetsuo retorted. "Getting an apartment like this when housing's so inconsistent is mind-boggling."
Ren chuckled and shrugged. "I managed."
"What does Hifumi think? I'm sure she's all over you for giving her," Tetsuo waved his hand out over Tokyo, "a piece of the sky."
"Now that I can't tell you," Ren said, laughing it off with the false charisma of some politician. Lying came easy to him, so he didn't have to worry if his laughs, grins, or movements seemed real. Tetsuo was too enamored with the apartment to pay attention to that. "But I can say that she's happy here. She really likes the pool on the… shit, I forgot what floor it's on."
Not knowing was an attempt to come off as casual to Tetsuo. If it worked, it would improve Tetsuo's opinion of Ren while making Ren seem just a tad self-absorbed. If the Kitamuras came over in the future, Ren could cultivate Tetsuo's opinion further and further into hatred until Kitamuras wouldn't come over anymore.
Tetsuo smirked at Ren's false ignorance. "I'd kill for a place like this."
"Anyone would. I just had a little luck on my side. Right place at the right time," Ren said. He could tell that his ego and the weak voice in the back of his head desperately wanted to let loose on Tetsuo, so he cut things short. "I'm sure the food's ready by now. Wanna head in?"
"Let's do it."
Summer, 2003
Akira's door opened and light peered into his temporary bedroom—a storage room with just enough space for a mattress on the floor. A silhouette stood in the light of the doorway, one much wider than his uncle.
"Get up if you want a future." Akira sat up, hoping his eyes would adjust so he could understand what was going on, where his uncle was, and who the wide man was. "I don't have time for this shit. C'mon, get your ass moving or else I'm collecting your uncle's debt another way…"
Oh… All the gambling caught up to Rokuro Kurusu—the fat man must've been Rokuro's loan shark, or his gambling buddy, or a casino owner, or—
"You slow or something? Car crash scramble your brains?" the man bellowed. His voice rolled through the storage closet in a way that told Akira the man knew nothing of being quiet. His was a voice of eternal loudness that no man could ever hope to silence, even if their life depended on it. "Show some fuckin' gratitude. I'm giving you a life better than living with your shithead uncle. Come on!"
The man leaned forward and squeezed his bulky hand around Akira's arm, yanking it nearly out of its socket as he pulled Akira up and off the mattress. Akira missed the sleep he was having and the warmth of his blanket; goosebumps stood on his arm except for where the man's hand wrapped around. He was half-dragged out of the closet and into the living room of his uncle's apartment where everything became clear.
The identity of the silhouette was about what Akira expected. A round man with a dark blue suit held him by the arm, his grip unmovable and relentless. His brown hair was slick with grease or gel and a little too long in the back. Wrists were adorned with watches and gold bracelets, far too many for any reasonable person. It became clear that the man didn't care about his appearance because he had the luxury not to—he was rich and could cover up any imperfections with a flash of gold.
It was starkly contrasted by the sight of poor Rokuro Kurusu kneeling in the corner with a gun against his forehead. Another man, this one tall, muscular, and less flashy with his appearance held the gun. His suit was jet black from head to toe and he had no taste for the fat man's extravagance. He also had no taste of a warm head—he was one of those men who looked like they were born bald.
"A-Akira, you have to go with him," Rokuro said when he heard Akira being dragged by the fat man. He didn't see because, well, he couldn't bring himself to look. Rokuro always felt shamed for something, especially so in the wake of his ever-cherished brother's death which led to Akira being dumped on him. "I played with luck… Bad night and I've gone under."
Akira hated Rokuro's gambling, but he never said anything or showed it because he didn't have the opportunity. It had only been a week since the crash that killed his parents and insulting his new guardian's favorite pastime seemed like a fast track to an orphanage.
It didn't seem to matter anymore.
"Uncle Rokuro's giving you up instead of paying his share," the man remarked with a laugh. He pulled Akira towards the front door, unintentionally bringing Akira closer to Rokuro for one last emotionally lacking exchange of eye contact. "Don't worry. I'm not some degenerate fuck-up, so you'll live better with me." With his free hand, the fat man motioned for the bald man to follow. "Mutatsu, we're done here."
The bald man slid the gun barrel down Rokuro's face, dropping it to his side before sliding it beneath his suit. He crossed his free arms across his chest as he walked to the door to join the fat man and Akira.
"Sorry, Rokuro. At least your luck's only gonna improve from here, right?" The fat man bellowed a laugh, then waved at Rokuro to rub in the mood. "See ya 'round."
It was a silent departure from the apartment. Akira had no fanfare to give, nor any possessions to take with him—naught but his name and his memories. Mutatsu and the fat man wordlessly led him down the hall and through the stairs, skipping the elevator in favor of taking the emergency exit a few floors down. They emerged in the apartment building's shadowed alley where a black limo parked itself.
Mutatsu walked around to the driver's side, Akira and the man stayed at its back. The latter jerked his arm toward the door, roughly grabbing the handle and pulling it just as hard as he had pulled Akira's arm. "Get in." Velvet seats awaited Akira and the act of refusal exited his vocabulary a week prior.
Along with his name and his memories, Akira now had assumptions. The man had enough wealth to dress in expensive clothes and jewelry, command a driver/hitman, and provide a gun for said hitman—narrowing down Akira's list of labels to one.
That limo belonged to bōryokudan—Akira was sure of it. Getting in the limo would make him complicit and would take him far away from the claustrophobic walls of Rokuro's storage closet. Besides, what did Akira have to lose? He had not a single possession to his name.
Akira got in the limo and the man followed suit. He settled in on the side opposite Akira, comfortably taking up the center of the chair while kicking his feet up on an unoccupied seat. Awkwardly, Akira sat in silence as the limo began to move.
"Kid, what is your favorite restaurant in Tokyo?" Now that they had a chance for a well-lit conversation, Akira could look at the man's face. As expected, he was chubby. Despite the excess, all his features were pointed and accusing, giving Akira the unnerving impression that the man knew more about him than he should've. The man couldn't stop glaring if he wanted to.
His patient wait for Akira's answer also gave Akira more clues. The man held his chin high, forcing his eyes to look down as he tilted his head back. If it gave him the feeling of having more power, it made sense to Akira. If not, he just looked plain stupid.
"I don't know."
"How 'bout one you've always wanted to go to?"
"My family didn't eat out much."
Kaneshiro held off pressuring Akira for dinner choices. His face softened and unpointed itself as he kept close eyes on Akira. "Fine. We'll go to Aragawa. You look like you could use a good steak."
That did sound nice, but handouts were hard to come by in Tokyo. Akira needed to know more if he were to let the bōryokudan silver spoon feed him his dinner. "Why am I a collected debt?" Akira asked through gritted teeth.
The fat man stopped holding his head so high, lowering it so he could level with the kid. "See, you've put my generous mind in a bit of a predicament," he began to explain, sitting forward and uncrossing his legs. "You see, the other night when you…" The fat man flipped his hand over and smacked it against the wall. Akira remembered a bit more noise and a bit more flipping, but the fat man got close enough to the truth for his point to make sense. "The truck that hit your car belonged to me. The guy driving… He got a bit tipsy, decided to play spin the steering wheel a bit, and here we are."
Rokuro mentioned a drunk driver, but no affiliations were provided for Akira to create assumptions with.
"My natural generosity has left me feeling like I owe you." The fat man pointed a chubby finger straight at Akira. "I don't like owing people."
"So you're going to kill me?"
"What?! Who gave you that idea?!" He couldn't believe what Akira said, but he laughed it off with a few slaps on his knee. "Killing a recently orphaned kid… Sheesh. You watch too many movies."
Akira grew tired of the aimless conversation. The fat man talked a lot without saying much at all. Akira found little usable info in the fat man's words and that meant listening was a waste of time unless one of them gave it a purpose. "What do you want?"
"I want to make your acquaintance and give you a few gifts." The man grinned as much as his chubbiness allowed; Ren noted a chipped tooth in his top row. He was a gallery of imperfections covered up with whatever money could get. Each crooked-looking finger had a ring to it, one ear larger than the other had a gold stud earring, and a designer belt almost kept his gut in check. "I'm Junya Kaneshiro, entrepreneur and philanthropist. You're Akira Kurusu. Now you say…" Kaneshiro waved at Ren for words to fill the silence.
"Nice to meet you."
Kaneshiro smiled at compliance. "I want to give you a few gifts. Now, I can't hand them to you, but they are gifts. For one, you will never live in a shithole like that again. No orphanages, no deadbeat relatives who you'd never talked to until they heard 'bout your mom and dad dying, none of that. You're done with storage closets. My second gift to you is a home. Obviously, you're a bit too young for—hey, how old are you?"
"Thirteen."
"Yeah, I can't get you your own place yet, so you're gonna live with me." Suddenly, Kaneshiro's eyes darkened and any attempt he previously made at being friendly with Akira was forgotten. "There are three rules if you want to live with me. One: clean up after yourself. Two: don't talk to anyone who isn't me. Three: don't talk to me unless I talk to ya first. Can you do that?"
"Probably not."
"Tch, smart ass. My third and final gift to you is money. Whatever you want, you got it."
"Why?"
"Why? I told you—I owe you."
"You didn't kill my parents."
"Correct, I didn't kill your parents, but someone meant to act on my behalf did kill them, so some of the responsibility falls on me, no?" Kaneshiro turned his head toward a window. Akira hadn't checked the ones near him for the entire ride, only able to focus on the terrifyingly generous man before him. "I don't want people to hear my name and think of drunk drivers—I want them to think of control; discipline; respect. Pretty much everything a drunk driver doesn't have. You get it?"
"I don't know."
"Keep saying that. It'll take you nowhere. Next time you want to say that to me, take a second to think, then throw those words out the goddam window and lie to yourself. Pretend you know. Pretend you're at least capable of something. You are capable of something, right?"
"I don't—" Kaneshiro's cold eyes stopped Akira in his tracks. "Math. I'm alright with numbers."
"Then it's decided! You'll be the company accountant when you're older!"
"What company?"
"The First Kaneshiro, of course!"
Spring, 2016
"Ren?"
The good ol' days are fine to remember, but shit… You're at the dinner table! Learn some fuckin' manners, then thank me for taking you outta that shithole your uncle owned and giving you a life. What'd you be without me? An orphan?
"Ren?" a voice asked. Ren turned to his left, noticing warmth enveloping his hand atop the wooden dinner table. Hifumi gave Ren a concerned look as she reminded him where he was. The half-eaten plate of food before him beckoned, yet an obstacle arose. "Jun was asking if you have any fast cars." Hifumi nodded over to the boy, who eagerly gave Ren a smile only a child could give.
"I…"
The Kitamuras' obsession with the material wealth of the Amamiyas—which Ren couldn't tell if it was a figment of his imagination or not—infected their youngest and that made Ren want to cancel the dinner and send them home.
But that wasn't what normal, happy penthouse owners did, was it?
Ren reset his hands on the table, placing one atop another before taking a deep breath. "I don't drive." The kid's smile shrank, practically calling Ren an asshole with no words. Ren swiftly corrected himself to alleviate the tension. "But a special someone's birthday is coming up, so who knows? Maybe a car is on the horizon." Ren eyed Hifumi as she did the same; a moment of actually being on the same page.
"Woah, can I drive it when you get it?"
Manami cut in before Ren could answer. "Now now, Jun, remember to mind your manners."
"Oh, it's no problem," Ren said, shooting a smile in Manami's direction before returning his focus to the kid. "But you'll have to ask Hifumi, 'cause it'll be her car. And you'll have to get a bit taller, so keep eating." The other's satisfied smiles indicated success. Ren resumed his slow tortoise-paced eating, now with no stray memories in the way.
Instead, he had thoughts of a future without the Kitamuras, without Hifumi, without any of the Aka Ikka bullshit he'd created. All they did was weigh his head down with thoughts and worries, whereas Makoto Niijima made the world shut up when she fell into his arms.
However, it was dark in Tokyo and Ren was yet to receive a background check on his subject of interest. Ryuji deserved a phone call.
