Spring, 2016

Yongen was an entirely different place during the daytime. Children ran about, a few vendors littered the streets, and normal people minded their own business. Makoto's sober lens kept her expectations realistic, but she still couldn't believe the massive difference from her memory of the area.

She navigated through the streets, checking her phone every few seconds to make sure she took the right path. Makoto's day off would be spent catching up on the one loose end that eluded her, and Makoto planned on having none of those during her time as a detective. Of course, she'd spend the empty moments of the day brainstorming ways to progress the Aka Ikka case; not thinking of Ren or how good Leblanc's coffee would be when she caught up with him.

Somewhere in Makoto's brain, a switch flipped when she turned a familiar corner. She recognized the storefront of Leblanc. Ren spent all this time in the back of her mind building her expectations up to unsurpassable heights and he was just a moment away from her—would he be the same rescuer she found a few nights before?

Tae's insulting message for Ren only heightened Makoto's expectations more. Just what could Ren have done to earn such hatred from a doctor? And why was Leblanc rarely open? Where did Ren make his money?

Questions upon questions piled up as Makoto began to twist the doorknob open, ready for her life to ch—the doorknob clicked and her hand stopped twisting. She'd so thoroughly convinced herself to prepare for the moment that she missed the "Closed" sign hanging on a hook inside the door.

The trip to Yongen couldn't go to waste. Nearly out of options to investigate her new interest, Makoto decided on an unexpected destination. She left the alley, crossed the street, and followed the sidewalk until she arrived at the Takemi Medical Clinic.

Makoto didn't expect to be seeing Tae again so soon, if ever. Unlike Tae's request, Makoto visited her yet to regret meeting Ren. Hell, she hadn't met Ren. But, with luck, that would change by the end of the day with Tae's help, however begrudging it would be.

Remembering that it was a public clinic halted Makoto's knock before it hit the door. She entered, finding a bright, empty waiting room, aside from the fashionably goth doctor sitting behind the reception desk reading a magazine. Tae was a fish out of water in her own clinic, but maybe that was the fault of Makoto and her judgments. Still, what kind of doctor wore a studded choker to work?

Nonetheless, Makoto knew she owed some gratitude to the doctor. Clearing her throat, Makoto walked up to the reception desk. Tae couldn't afford her guest the valuable attention that her magazine drew, letting Makoto silently stand at the desk with nothing to show for her patience. It occurred to Makoto that a service bell sat atop the counter for a reason: the clinic's owner lived in her own world.

The ding broke down the invisible wall between them. Tae glanced up, grinning when she made eye contact with her guest. "That quick, huh?" She set her magazine down.

"I haven't spoken to him yet," Makoto corrected. "That's why I'm here."

"Leblanc's not open?" Tae asked, prompting Makoto to shake her head. "Then how can I help you?"

"I was hoping you could pass Ren's number on to me."

"I'm going to do you a favor and say no. Plus, the number I have for him isn't the one you want."

"It isn't?"

"Nope. You'll have to get his phone number yourself, which won't happen, because one doesn't simply find Ren Amamiya."

The mythical creature that Ren became in Makoto's head drew more and more attention away from the Aka Ikka case. Curiosity ran away with the detective for all the wrong reasons.

"Then how can I contact him?"

"Didn't I tell you the other day?" Tae picked her magazine back up to show Makoto that the conversation was finished. "You'll talk with him if he wants you to talk with him. It's that simple."

Makoto sighed. Her one lead brought her nothing new, besides the fact of Ren's elusiveness. She did find it strange how Tae thought of Ren and how Leblanc operated, but she didn't fault Ren for it. Tokyo was a cruel city, and most of its young citizens were working day and night to keep their lives on track. Perhaps Ren was an average citizen who inherited a coffee shop and couldn't be bothered to keep it open often.

"Could I give you my number?" Makoto asked. "Then maybe you could pass it on when you see him?"

"I hope that doesn't happen, but…" Tae flipped her magazine down as she craned her head to look past Makoto, who followed the doctor's eyes to a calendar on the wall. "Shit. You're in luck. Ren is due for an appointment any day now."

Makoto didn't like the inconclusive time frame, but it would have to do. She smiled at Tae. "Thanks for your help."

Unamusedly, Tae resumed reading her magazine. She wanted Makoto gone. "My pleasure."

Makoto left the clinic unsatisfied but with some hope. The small chance of Ren contacting her meant something that Makoto wasn't quite sure of, and Ren probably had different reasons to reach out to Makoto than what she wanted. After all, her first impression on him was a lost, drunk cop who could barely walk.

Part of her was aware that she created impossible expectations for when she inevitably did speak to him. Ren wouldn't solve the Aka Ikka case, wouldn't smooth the cracks within Makoto's team, and wouldn't think enough of Makoto to ask her on a date, but Makoto still needed to speak to him, if only to satiate the lingering wonder of how drunk she'd been.

With or without alcohol, Ren Amamiya was the most intriguing person Makoto came across in a long time.


Makoto eased her car into stopped traffic without the necessary grace. A stack of files she brought home slid right off the passenger seat and onto the floor, ruining the alphabetical order and crisp corners that Chihaya sorted them into.

She got a curse off under her breath as she reached over to salvage as much as she could. Her foot pressed down on the brake to continue the lull in the traffic as paper after paper slipped against her fingers. Makoto abandoned the task just as quickly as she started when finally acknowledged that the stack was ruined and nothing she could do would fix it until she could get out of her car.

Sitting up straight, Makoto saw the car in front of her begin its creep forward. She lifted her foot slightly and let her car accelerate. The ordeal left her frustrated, but no more frustrated than she'd been before the stack slipped. Her thoughts clashed with each other in an endless war on peace of mind, and Ren Amamiya's elusiveness enticed them to fight even harder.

Plus, Makoto's day off was not paying its due. She was yet to generate a good idea for the case, contact Ren Amamiya, or relax. If she didn't get something done, she'd have to acknowledge her failure when she walked into work the next morning.

The radio pop on her speakers cut with the familiar ring of her phone. Keeping her eyes on the road, Makoto reached a free hand over to the interface and tapped a button.

"Hello?"

The phone's static added a few years to Akihiko's already gruff voice, but Makoto recognized it in any context. "Makoto, how've you been?" No other contact of hers had the years on their vocal cords to sound like he did.

"Better…" Makoto regretted her lie quickly and gave up on it after one breath. "Erm, I don't know. I'm taking a day off the case already."

"I take it that things aren't going well?"

"It's hard to say. I know that we just started and it'd be impossible to produce a list of names and locations within a few days, but there's nothing to go on. The Aka Ikka seem more like an urban legend than an underground crime syndicate."

"That's how every case goes. Organized crime exaggerates that problem, too, so don't worry about it too much. Your job is to react when things go sideways for whoever you're looking for. Until then, stick to doing paperwork."

Paperwork; the damned word that drove Makoto and her team up the wall. They were on a high-stakes case with major ramifications on Tokyo and they were expected to do paperwork? Sako's instructions lingered with Makoto every time she thought of paperwork—a war was coming. Who the fuck had time for paperwork?

"You mean do nothing and let the streets get overrun?"

"No, that's…" Akihiko trailed off. "You want the best advice I can give, Makoto?"

"I'll take what I can get."

"Settle yourself. Make sure there's nothing in the way of you thinking clearly. Give yourself the mental advantage. The bōryokudan, the criminals; they have so much shit on their plates compared to us, who only have to worry about those same criminals. Keeping yourself in a position to outthink your opponent is critical." Akihiko paused to breathe, huffing and puffing the years out of his chest as if he'd just finished a foot chase. "I'm assuming you've got plenty of distractions?"

Makoto had one big enough to make Akihiko proud and disappointed. "That's what being in your mid-twenties is, though. I can't get past that." However, he didn't need to hear about her troubled dating life.

"Externalities destroy cases. You see it in every damn department; so-and-so is coming in hungover every morning. A detective cheats on his wife while she inches closer to the truth." Makoto kept herself out of the gossiping circles of the precinct, but she was always in earshot. Akihiko's examples were occasions she remembered from her early days. "Keep yourself as far away from living on the edge as you can. Get to bed early, eat something with eggs every morning, and don't go to the bar with your friends until you finish the case."

"That's an awfully long time to wait for just a little bit of fun."

"I promise you this, Makoto: bad habits are deadweight on your work. Toss them away before you get down to the important shit."

"I'll do that." Makoto wanted to live by Akihiko's advice. She wanted to lose herself in the case and come out of it with a few imprisoned names on her list of achievements and maybe-possibly-hopefully another raise. But she knew the truth: until she spoke to Ren Amamiya, he would be a distraction. Knowing she couldn't truly listen to Akihiko, Makoto moved on from the subject. "Enough advice for me, or else you're going to solve the whole thing on your own. What does Sako-sama have you on?"

Akihiko groaned through closed lips into the phone. "I'm following up on that missing person report. Apparently, one of the most famous people in Tokyo can disappear with no one seeing her the day of. What a stupid bunch of people she surrounded herself with."

"Who is it?"

"Some idol. The whole department was chasing after me to hear about it, and now I feel old for not knowing her. You know this…" Akihiko paused, letting a gap as wide as he was out-of-touch settle in the middle of his question. "Rise Kujikawa?"

"She was pretty popular when I was in high school. Not my thing, though."

"Well, she's got an entire floor of the building shitting themselves sideways to find wherever she got misplaced, so she's still pretty big. Probably just ran off with some boy… Listen, I gotta run. Need to follow up with the idol's manager. I'll check in with you in a few days. Remember, no habits!"

Makoto laughed. "I'll try. Thanks, Sanada-san."

"You got it."

The phone dinged when she hung up and her radio resumed its cheesy pop music. Akihiko's advice didn't reorganize the papers in her passenger seat and it didn't settle her thoughts. In fact, it gave her more to worry about.

Plus, all of Akihiko's advice stood in a no man's land of morality for Makoto. The man covered up the truth about Kubo's death—that opened up a can of worms on the various other ways he bent the rules that Makoto didn't get to see. Makoto made it so far with his advice, but maybe all his help was leading her down the wrong path, one that would turn her into someone like him who tossed rules aside for selfish and emotional reasons.

Some promotion she'd gotten. All Makoto got alongside her new pay grade was self-doubt, the struggle of an impossible case, and a fresh batch of distrusting judgments for her former mentor.


No customers turned their heads when the automatic sliding door closed behind Yusuke. The grays and whites of the convenience store were distressingly plain, but Yusuke couldn't afford to worry about aesthetics until the store was his. With a lackadaisical strut, Yusuke approached the one employee working the registers that wasn't busy.

"Is the manager present today?"

The teenager that worked the register gulped as he looked up at Yusuke, whose skinny frame didn't hold back his intimidating 6'2" height. "Um… I can go check," the teenager said, though not doing so.

"Then go check."

"Yes, sir!"

Yusuke smiled, but the teenager already scurried away from the register and out of view. Left alone, Yusuke grabbed one of the chocolate bars next to the station and set it on the counter in front of him before focusing on more important things. Yusuke craned his head from left to right, checking for cameras. With none on either side, it meant that one was guaranteed to be above or behind him.

Rapidly advancing facial identification meant that any smart person about to commit a crime would hide their face. Yusuke did no such thing because the world would be torn asunder without the beauty of his perfectly sculpted jawline, but did feel compelled enough to not look towards cameras and make things too easy for lurking prosecutors.

In a minute, the teenage worker returned with a much older, more rounded man. "Yes?" the manager asked as he reached the register.

Yusuke held up his chocolate bar. "I'd like to make a purchase."

"Sir, did you ask for me just—"

"No, I didn't bring you here free of meaning. Please allow me this chocolate bar, then we shall discuss our business."

The manager grumbled but did as Yusuke told him. He scanned the chocolate bar and accepted the necessary cash from Yusuke, pushing the chocolate bar over the counter toward the strange customer as soon as he was done. "There. You got your candy. What do you want?"

"Who do you think you are in this world when I do not know you?"

"Uh… pardon?"

"Your master is Suguru Kamoshida and the First Kaneshiro, correct?" The manager didn't answer. His expression declined into a full-on glare, warning Yusuke to get out of the store or else. "I suppose that answers my question. Now I, as a representative of the Aka Handan Ikka, would like to propose new terms: my syndication and I protect you. In return, we get a cut of your revenue."

"I'm already paying those Second Kane-something jackasses to 'protect me'," the manager said, his air quotes emphasized as much as his exhaustion allowed. "You want me to pay you both? Get the Hell out of here."

"Not both—just the Aka Ikka."

"And anger the other guys?"

"That is why we offer protection."

"I'm not buying it." The manager's brow furrowed and Yusuke knew the climactic moment was building. "Now, I'm going to say this one more time: get the Hell out of here, or else I'm callin' the cops."

It would be so easy. Yusuke could reach around, grab his gun, point, and shoot. The business would be over with, and the future manager would be too scared to deny the Aka Ikka. But, as Ryuji instructed, Yusuke was not to shoot anybody. Such strictness limited Yusuke's honor, but he could not complain. Ryuji's position over him in the hierarchy made sure that Yusuke couldn't disobey to such a degree without life-threatening consequences.

Thankfully, Yusuke's pocket buzzed with a get-out-of-jail-free card—a phone call from his wife. Yusuke locked eyes with the manager as he took the call.

"How are you, my sweet?" he asked.

"Hi, honey! Wanna come to my yoga class?"

Of course he did. Yoga was a wonderful way to release tension and alleviate weight from the mind. Not taking his wife up on the offer would be a waste of the hard-earned money he spent on her classes, seeing as there was a discount when two people attended.

Also, Yusuke couldn't refuse his sweet. Not once had he ever refused her and that trend would continue.

"I'd love to."

"Great! Pick me up in fifteen?"

"Yes."

Yusuke's wife kissed him through the phone. "Mwah." It sounded more like a roll of static than an affectionate gesture, one loud enough that the manager heard it. His hand went to his chin, but Yusuke saw the truth: the manager hid a secret smile of amusement at Yusuke's marriage. "Love you, bye!"

Yusuke hung up and pocketed his phone. Without interruption, he could deal with the manager. "Do you intend to demean my wife's love for me?"

"No, no, I—" His continued smile said otherwise.

"Yoga has saved you. My resolve to convince you has not been shaken; I just have an appointment."

"Okay, bud."

Yusuke relinquished his chokehold on the convenience store. Digital bells rang from shoppers entering, cheesy jingles programmed to make a consumer think about shopping quietly played from each side of the store, and Yusuke's hand eased off his bargaining chip to hang with defeat.

He waved a white flag, walking out of the store to run home to his wife—a conscious crippling defeat—but Yusuke had not given up; he merely postponed the inevitable for much more wretched, violent, cruel actions: yoga with Yukari Takeba.


"Now… Lock your elbows and extend your body into a cobra defending its territory, patiently waiting for a single slip-up to strike. One moment of weakness, and you'll take your prey—"

Yusuke began his personal yoga routine, one that was quite different from what the class's instructor expected. It entailed tuning the instructor out, relaxing his limbs and torso onto the mat, and breathing harshly against the floor.

"Aw, Yusuke… You look so cute!"

It also involved paying the utmost attention to his wife. Yukari loved yoga more than anything and Yusuke loved her far more than yoga, so he went to find enjoyment in her enjoyment—that was the kind of husband he wanted to be.

"Thank you, my sweet," Yusuke whispered back. Their voices withheld volume so as not to interrupt the class and its droning instructor. This wasn't always the case, however. Yusuke had been forced into paying extra if they wanted to continue attending sessions due to a supposed 'lack of respect for others and an impossible amount of arrogance' from Yukari.

But Yusuke paid because his wife loved yoga and wouldn't settle for anything less than her standards.

"We should go out tonight."

"After this, I must attend to an appointment. Do you mean to stay out late?"

"We can. I was thinking seafood, then maybe we stop by that club you like?"

"I mustn't go to a club. I feel an untainted canvas reaching up from the depths, choking my conscience until I paint."

"Okay, dinner it is. I'll call in a reservation right after this."

They altered their positions. Yukari stretched her legs backward and pushed up with her arms, forcing her limbs to go rigid as she grunted out the pain of holding the pose. As for Yusuke, he laid on his back before pushing up into a table pose.

"What do you think about a vacation?"

"I think a vacation is for the weak; for those without the willpower to hold true to their beliefs all day, every day, for an—"

"I think we should take a vacation."

Yusuke turned his frown upside down along with his pose. He rolled over into what the instructor referred to as a 'Bat-faced tiger sitting atop a canopy'. "Where would you like to go?" he asked his wife.

"Korea!"

Business sat on the horizon waiting for Yusuke to kick it and set things in motion, yet Yukari and Korea called as well. It didn't help that his last trip to Korea three years prior was the best two weeks of Yusuke's life. He painted, he loved, and he enjoyed an all-you-can-eat buffet. A sequel to that was too tempting to deny.

But he had work. Ryuji gave him a mission and would surely give him more. Yusuke couldn't get out of his obligation to the Aka Ikka even if he favored Yukari over his other family. Still, Korea called his name louder than a screeching child wanting a new toy.

Arrangements could be made.


Yusuke walked back into the convenience store a different man than he left it. With renewed remembrance of his marital vows, his wife's love, and the power of violence, Yusuke walked straight to the counter he'd failed at once before. He didn't want any words, any conversation, any disagreements; just acceptance of his simple terms.

The same teen from saw Yusuke. His wide, fearful eyes ran into the back of the store to hide or to find the manager. Either way, Yusuke would get his wish with time to prepare. He straightened his posture and made sure the yoga-creases in his shirt didn't stay for long.

The manager came out the door to the back. His red face and balled fists told Yusuke enough about what he'd say before he opened his mouth to voice his irate expletives. Yusuke felt the same anger, but a man of his power and grace never showed emotion or let it control him.

Before the manager could even get to the opposite side of the counter that Yusuke stood at, he began shouting. "Alright, what'd I tell you? Get the fuck out of my store!"

"Good sir, all I offer is grace. If you deny me, my comrades will not hold back. I merely wish for your safety." Yusuke set both his hands down on the counter, leaning forward to look down on the manager. "I am a precursor, and acceptance of my business means that you won't face my ravenous, fiending superiors. Surely, you now understand."

"Uh…" The flurry of words left the manager speechless. "No. The answer is still no. It will always be no to gyangu scum like you and your superiors."

"Double-check your decision. Is it in your best interest? What will your subordinates think? What will your family think?"

"You gonna bring up family? Fine, we'll play that game." The manager matched Yusuke's position. He leaned into the counter, bringing his eyes level to Yusuke's with just as much fury behind them. "Go home to that ugly bitch you call a wife and leave my store alone."

"What did you call my sweet?" Yusuke hoped his insistence on reentering the store would do the trick. The manager would see his commitment to getting a deal done, then they would passively work out an arrangement between the store and the Aka Ikka. Yusuke would take his job well done to Ryuji and trade it in for a week-long vacation with his beautiful wife.

Unfortunately, the manager ruined all of that with one word.

"An ugly bitch. Her and all her friends are as ugly as you are evil. You, the Aka Ikka, everyone! I'm fucking sick of bōryokudan telling me how to run my store and who to kick up to, so this is it. No more of my earnings are going to you, your superiors, or that hideous wo-"

The manager's unrestrained mouth ran him straight into the ground. Yusuke's time to draw flashed faster than the man's life could, and he was even faster when it came to pulling the trigger. The bang deafened the room for a second until the screams joined in on the pounding thrums of anger between Yusuke's ears, but that didn't matter.

What mattered was the manager's seizing form backing into blood-covered shelves, slipping down the wall, and taking the whole display down with him. Yusuke watched boxed products tumble down the wall and hit the manager with his gun still pointed and smoking.

"I have shot you. Goodbye."

No longer could the manager refuse Yusuke's generous offer, nor could he insult Yusuke's undoubtedly beautiful wife. Yusuke tucked his gun away and turned to leave, but remembered what his task had been before he decided to make an excuse to go to Korea. He looked over to the back door, seeing the teen worker cowering on the other side of its crack.

"We will be in touch."

With that, Yusuke left the scene as it was. A body tampered with in its most sacred moments was unforgivable; the least Yusuke could do was let a corpse retain its honor. He left the store without a single stain on his clothes and without a damper on his conscience.