Spring, 2016

Yusuke's barstool held firm beneath him as he took another sip of his drink. Every day, his routine consisted of one hour of drinking in between reporting to the 953 for work from Ryuji. It was vital to his success and maintaining his edge over the rest of Tokyo.

He spent that hour brainstorming ideas for his artistic hobbies or watching whatever baseball game was on TV. The bar's crowd hooted and hollered at the game, but Yusuke always watched in perfect silence. He conversed with no one, looked at no one, and considered the bartender the only other person in the room.

Another sip of his drink, another glance at the television. It didn't matter to Yusuke which team won, though he did have an obligatory interest in the game based on the Aka Ikka taking bets. Nothing major, just a friendly competition between members of the syndicate while the family itself kept most of the earnings. Occasionally, someone got a payout and bragging rights that came with it, but everyone forgot about that within a day.

Yusuke thought about his next few hours. Ryuji would have something for him to do, most likely another extortion mission. Kamoshida's expansion put pressure on the Aka Ikka to do the same, leaving them in their kind of arms race. Yusuke held no opinions on how to deal with the Second Kaneshiro because he wanted out. Japan was boring and foreign hotel rooms and suites sounded far more appealing, even if he had to leave his monetary family behind.

Returning to the 953 was a dreadful idea. Ryuji would berate him for shooting a man—who was perfectly shootable in Yusuke's opinion—then assign him extra work as a punishment, forcing him to get home too late to admire how the sunset pierced his windows and illuminated his favorite paintings.

Yusuke's walls were lined with portraits of the most eye-catching people he came across. A homeless man with his cat, an elderly woman helping a young boy cross the street, and a painting of Ren's wife were his favorites. Yukari preferred the self-portraits Yusuke did every few months to measure his progress as an artist, but he saw those as vain and objectively lacking. Despite his different tastes from his wife, Yusuke wished for nothing else than to go home and discuss art with a beautiful woman.

So… Ryuji could fuck off until Yusuke's Happy Dragon session, soon-to-be-had vacation, and inevitable legal troubles were sorted through.

"Look who we have here…" a female voice said from behind Yusuke. Most voices in the bar didn't make it into his world, yet his attention was grabbed from the game for reasons he did not understand. "...Yusuke Kitagawa."

The surprise didn't get to Yusuke in the slightest. Not turning around, he took another sip of his drink. "You have the wrong man."

"Nope, you're the one. Couldn't mistake that blue hair for anyone else."

Finally, Yusuke turned to see who was disturbing him. Amid the ever-shifting crowd of the bar, two obvious cops stood out. Even with street clothes, their high-hanging heads, disgust, and above-everyone-else posture gave it away. One had long black hair past the shoulders while the other kept her chestnut hair short.

"Ladies… May I finish my drink before I assist you?"

"Nope. Get your ass up, you—"

The black-haired one extended a hand to the other cop's shoulder, silencing her. "Why would we let you do that, Kitagawa-san?"

"Because you will tell me what I've done that requires you to interrupt my ritual of unindictably enjoying this fine establishment."

The brown-haired one sneered. "Ritual? What're you, a starving artist?"

"Physically starving? No. Creatively famished? Absolutely." Yusuke took another sip from his drink and then set it back on the counter. "Is this an arrest?"

The officers shared a glance, quickly returning to Yusuke with a determination that their introduction lacked. "Kitagawa-san, you are under arrest—"

"One moment. Another taste of my beverage…" Yusuke picked up his drink yet again, taking an even longer sip just to annoy the officers. The black-haired one remained unphased while the one with brown hair furrowed her eyebrows, trying to break Yusuke's glass with how many daggers she stared at him. "...Now, I'm ready for you to describe just what I've done that inspires your virtuous organization to send such level-headed, intelligent, and amicable officers after me."

Black hair rolled her eyes. "As I was saying, you are under arrest on the charge of the murder of Toru Nakatani. From this moment on, you will be detained to await trial, during which you'll have the right to an attorney. Furthermore…"

Yusuke stopped listening at that point. He turned away from the cops as the black-haired one continued telling him his rights so he could check the score of the game—eight to three in the top of the ninth. Someone at the 953 would be losing a lot of money.

"Hey, idiot! We're arresting you!"

"And you may proceed. I'm not stopping you."

"Uh… What?" Yusuke felt the officers shifting around behind him, but neither dared to escalate. "Yukiko, this guy is nuts… What do we do?"

Yusuke turned around again. "Could you repeat my rights for me? I forgot to listen."

"Wha—you motherfucker…"

"Aha. Just a joke." Yusuke set his drink down on the counter for what he believed would be the last time as he stood up. He left yen under his cup to pay for his tab, turning his whole body around after. "Are you sure you have the strength to cuff these remarkable wrists of mine?"

"You know what? Fuck you. Finish your drink first if you wanna be an ass about it." The brown-haired cop crossed her arms and stared great swords into Yusuke. He had her exactly where he wanted.

"Chie—" the cop with black hair muttered under her breath, but was cut off by Yusuke.

"Are you sure? I do not wish to delay your arrival to the station."

"Nope. You've delayed us enough. We're not leaving until you finish that goddamn drink."

"But— "

"Sit. Drink up."

Yusuke shrugged. "If you insist, officer." He took a seat and picked up his nearly empty glass one last time. He continued watching the baseball game as if two cops weren't about to arrest him for murder.

Maybe he could stay long enough to watch the losing team make a comeback.


"How's coffee sound for today?" Ren said into his phone, peering through the crack of his study's door to make sure Kawasaki's snooping didn't get too aggressive. Hifumi didn't snoop when Ren was in his study—she snuck out of the house instead. She rarely stayed home, going stir-crazy after just a few hours in the apartment, quickly departing in search of good company and monetary excuses to stay in her marriage.

It confused Ren—especially with how much time she spent decorating and arranging the place with his money—but if it comforted her, so be it. Hifumi's absence gave him a few hours to not worry about what she thought about him.

"I'm gonna have to rain check that, sorry," Makoto said from the other end of the line. "My team made a breakthrough, so I'm excited to be working today. Doesn't that sound weird?"

If she is investigating you and she ain't lying about the breakthrough, then you're fucked. Now, you're stuck talking to her so you can stay one step ahead. I can't decide if you're smart or not for that.

"Tell me about it over dinner?"

Ren heard Makoto hum through the static. "Okay, you win, but we're doing it my way this time. Nothing fancy, just a night to relax and celebrate however the rest of today turns out." Makoto's confidence didn't come through during the date, perhaps because she was so focused on Ren and his secrets. Hearing her lay down their evening plans and speak of success as if it already happened made Ren think… Well, he wasn't sure.

It did make him want a second date, more so than he had after the end of their previous night together. Maybe it was the lying, maybe it was each snide sneer from the restaurant regulars, maybe it was Suguru Kamoshida sitting a few tables away, taking note of Makoto, and sending the politest threat possible to interrupt. What Ren knew was that the date complicated too many things for it to have a happy ending and a continuation.

But Makoto herself was no problem, of course, and that outweighed any of the dangers that came with her.

"I love it. What're you thinking?" Ren peeled away from his study door. It closed as soon as it slipped from his grip. He settled on the edge of his desk, only half-standing as he leaned on the wooden frame for support.

"I'm betting on not having the energy to go out after work, but having you over for a lazy night has me feeling inspired." Ren could hear her smiling through her words. "Maybe I'll cook something." Her suggesting voice told him it wasn't just a 'maybe.'

"If you're tired, I don't wanna troub—"

"Nope. You paid for that fish that I can't even pronounce—let me cook something for you." Makoto laughed on the other end of the line. "I'm a good cook, I promise. My case partners always complain because I pack better lunches than them."

Not because she's an insufferable fool who can't sniff out someone as obvious as Ren Amamiya?

"Tonight, then. What time should I be—"

"I'll text you when to leave. You're in Shibuya, right?"

"Yep."

"Great, it should be an easy trip. Oh, and please don't dress up or anything. Think of it as a casual night at home, just in someone else's apartment. If you wear pajamas, I won't mind." Makoto insisted on the night not having high stakes, though Ren couldn't catch on as to why. Perhaps she wasn't lying about how tired she would be, but he couldn't help but suspect more. "I'll probably wear my own, actually," Makoto muttered.

"Nothing fancy. Got it."

"Alright…" Makoto paused, assumedly to determine if there was anything left to plan. "I have to hang up, but I'll send the address in a minute. See you tonight?"

"Looking forward to it."

Both said goodbye and hung up. Ren imagined Makoto taking a moment to decompress from the call and remember the world she lived in. He, on the other hand, tossed his personal phone aside and picked up the business one.

With just a few taps, Ren called the most recent number and resumed the same statue-like pose he held when speaking to Makoto. "Fuck me, you've got timing. I was about to call you," Ryuji said from the other end of the phone.

There's Makoto's breakthrough! Guess that confirms a thing or two. Now, you know my opinion on her, but you've already taken the plunge. Can't just ghost a cop, it'll raise suspicion. Your only option is to sabotage yourself. Be an unpleasant dick at dinner tonight, stay quiet when she talks to you, and feel sorry for yourself. Basically, quit all the bullshit you do around her and be yourself. Fuck it, pretend she's Hifumi.

"What is it?"

"It's…" The static quieted when Ryuji moved the phone away from his face. After an echo of expletives, some heavy breathing, and what must've been the sound of a chair being kicked, Ryuji brought the phone to his ear again. "This is a bad one, man. Yusuke really fuckin' topped himself."

Never shoulda let him be anything more than your bodyguard. He's too much of a wildcard at this point, too, so I'd get rid of him, though it'll make Ryuji question his job security. So many choices…

Ren couldn't dispose of Yusuke, nor could he remove him from family operations. To counter the former, he was family, one of the few people in Ren's life that he tolerated. As for the latter, Yusuke was in too deep and had done too much. The knowledge he had would put everyone in the family away for life.

For now, don't piss Yusuke off, but you've gotta keep him in check. Nothing beyond being basic muscle.

He wasn't even that effective of a bodyguard. Sure, he was capable of shooting anyone who gave Ren a glance that noticed too much, but his thin form didn't inspire fear from rival families.

With a new list of worries, Ren sighed all the excitement that came from Makoto as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "How bad is it?"

"Keisuke just left for the precinct, so we'll find out soon. They picked Yusuke up at the Happy Dragon and the bartender says it's for murder. Cops were confident, too."

Ren hit mute on his phone speaker and held the phone away from his ear just to scream, "Fuck!" as loud as he could.

A knock came from the other side of Ren's study door. Without permission, Kawasaki opened the door and leaned her head through the crack. "Stub your toe?" Her grin poked fun at his anger, yet he had no time for jokes. Ren shook his head, pointing with his finger for her to leave. As much as Kawasaki wanted to annoy him, she obeyed when he was serious enough. The door closed without a sound.

Ren unmuted his phone and brought it back to the side of his head. "Anything else?" he said in his usual, perfectly calm manner.

"Nope. But, Boss… You think we oughta take precautions?" Ryuji meandered through his next few words, stumbling through half-formed nonsense before he reached something tangible for Ren to respond to. "In case he—"

"He's not gonna talk. That precinct will burn with Yusuke holding the match before he says anyone's name, alright? We don't need to worry about him. He's solid."

Eh, I dunno about that. Yusuke's quiet, sure, but solid? Get the fuck outta here. One threat against Yukari and he becomes the crack in the Aka Ikka's foundation.

"Okay, okay… Right. While I've got you, anything you wanna do?"

"Yeah, uh…" Ren remembered that there was business other than bailing Yusuke out of any consequences that befell him. "I saw those permits from ProDetail Contractors that you sent." The Aka Ikka worked with various construction companies the same way they worked with retail businesses: they offered muscle for 'necessary protection' in return for a cut of the profits. They needed to be contractually drawn into the equation, so the documents needed to say enough without saying too much. "Have Keisuke give those a second look before we help those guys out, alright?"

"That was the plan. I don't trust 'em."

"Glad you noticed. Whoever wrote up those docs mentions 'outsourced security' an awful lot. Make sure Keisuke gets that changed."

"Gotcha. That it?"

"Yeah."

The line clicked as Ryuji hung up, leaving Ren alone in the silence of his apartment. Ren had prepared himself for a typical day of managing the Aka Ikka from afar, which mostly consisted of him checking financial reports that Ryuji dropped off on a thumb drive every week. He couldn't send them digitally for obvious reasons.

But now, Ren had something to look forward to. He could see Makoto again, feel good about himself, and forget what he spent his time doing, so long as Yusuke didn't feel the urge to ruin everyone else's day along with his.


"Alright…" Makoto looked out the passenger window of the car. Akihiko paced back and forth on the open sidewalk, his arms crossed and his brow working overtime with intensity. Apparently, he wasn't a fan of Makoto kicking him out of the car to make a social call. "I have to hang up, but I'll send the address in a minute. See you tonight?" Makoto continued watching Akihiko try not to be nosy, but she knew he hated being out of her loop. His desired level of involvement annoyed her—he wasn't her father, he didn't have to know everything about her life.

"Looking forward to it."

Makoto said goodbye and smiled as she hung up the phone with a feeling she'd never experienced before: excitement for her work day to be over. Looking forward to clocking out was damning for Makoto—it hadn't just been a successful date, she genuinely liked him. She tried to reason that thought away. Maybe she had lived through too much monotony and that was why someone like Ren, mysterious as he was, could so easily enthrall her—because she didn't know anything more interesting.

Akihiko and his anti-distraction knuckles knocked on the car's window, startling Makoto and getting her in motion. She pushed open the passenger door and emerged to the sidewalk.

"I thought I told you no distractions."

Makoto stopped in her tracks, squinting at Akihiko as her eyes adjusted to the bright sidewalk and cloudless sky. He had been a mentor, a guide to her through her late adolescence when Sae was too busy and too dismissive to care, but did that make him her life coach?

And just who the Hell was he to act like he knew what was best? He falsified a crime scene and forced Makoto into a coverup that she was yet to come to terms with even though she reaped its benefits.

Maybe she didn't deserve that promotion—maybe Akihiko's overbearing pseudo-parenting made her think that.

"I can't have friends?" she snapped.

"That's not—" Akihiko shut himself up and shrugged. "It's your life, Makoto."

"Mhm." With a nod, Makoto walked past her mentor and towards the hospital steps. Getting to be correct with someone who acted as if he knew better than her gave Makoto a strength boost to hurry up the steps.

She did not want to feel bitter, especially during a hospital visit to the surviving officer from Kubo's penthouse, but Akihiko's seniority and supposed wisdom rotted away at what was supposed to be a good, maybe even great, day.

Satonaka and Amagi were making the arrest at that very moment. Ren waited with clever remarks and the kind of conversation that made Makoto think her life wouldn't be boring forever. Akihiko was Akihiko, someone who the remaining two Niijimas owed too much to ever pay back—she should've been cherishing every minute she spent with him by picking his brain and enjoying his company.

So why did her life feel like it was getting worse? Why did she feel anger toward someone who wished the best for her? Why had she thought of Sae more times in the last twenty-four hours than she had in months?

Makoto calmed herself with a reminding mantra that circled her thoughts every step she took up the stairs: at least Akihiko cared. That was more than the other Niijima could claim.

Walking alongside Akihiko to the hospital's entrance didn't answer any questions, nor did it make her any less confused. Akihiko's polite holding of the door was noted, appreciated, and promptly forgotten as soon as Makoto entered. The building paid no mind to her entrance; venturing into public spaces while working usually drew eyes and whispers, maybe a few approving nods. This time, Makoto and Akihiko got none of that, likely because of their simple street clothes.

With Akihiko behind her, Makoto approached the desk. "We'd like to visit Satow," she said. The attendant gave her a second of attention.

"One moment, please." His mouse clicked loudly as reflections of light danced in his eyes. The next minute throbbed with silence as the man scanned through whatever data occupied his screen. Makoto wished she could flash her badge and skip the formalities. Akihiko shuffled around behind her, grumbling and scratching his patchy beard. He must've had the same wish.

Finally, after just long enough for Makoto to impulsively simmer, the man looked up at her. "Room four-oh-seven."

"Thank you."

Makoto took off down the hall. Her brisk pace didn't stop Akihiko from keeping up. Even at his older age, he could out-speed-walk her. He spent far more years on foot patrol than her, something she was very thankful for, so she didn't think to test him. Akihiko's physical condition was nothing to scoff at. His face sagged with age and he owned a limp only noticeable to those who knew he had knee problems, but adrenaline did incredible things to the man. There was no one else on the force who could keep up with Akihiko when he wanted to get shit done.

"It's going to be ugly, you know."

"I was at the penthouse, Sanada-san." The grizzly, red-stained image of Satow and his friend lying still in the hall flashed before her, but it didn't hinder her step. "I know what to expect."

"No, you—" Akihiko clicked his tongue, stopping his lecture before it started. Did he notice her previous standoffishness? "What I mean is that he's going to be pissed. No man's grateful to be shot. The whole 'I'm the man I am today because a bullet put me in a wheelchair thing' is TV bullshit."

Makoto rolled her eyes at the obvious and didn't respond to Akihiko. She continued to the elevator in silence, letting Akihiko and a few nurses join. Half a minute later, they were stepping off the elevator onto the fourth floor.

"He's going to be angry at us, Makoto. And don't try to convince him to be anything else," Akihiko said. Makoto could see 407 at the end of the hall, yet her pace slowed. Akihiko sparked enough curiosity for her to wait to enter.

She turned around, letting Akihiko catch up before she asked, "Then why are we here?"

"It's the performative half of the job. I don't even…" Akihiko's words stopped along with his feet. Makoto halted as well and the two held still outside of 407. Her mentor, with all his wisdom and all their history together swarming around him, dropped his gaze from Makoto's eyes to the floor. "This guy has got some… Well, I guess it doesn't matter." He resumed eye contact. "Let's just get this over with, okay?"

Makoto cursed herself for not being able to read a man so obviously hiding important truths from her, then she cursed that man for doing so. If Akihiko still couldn't trust her with important information, why should she ever listen to him?

As Makoto pondered, Akihiko pushed open the door. It snapped Makoto back to the moment and she quickly followed. "Satow-san," Akihiko said as he strolled into the room, taking a position at the foot of the bed. "The division says hi."

Akihiko's height kept him from being imposing, but his always-straight posture along with his natural stillness created a similar effect. For Makoto, it was calming. For Satow, trapped in a bed and forced to always look up when talking to people, it forced respect from him.

Makoto found a spot for herself: a lone chair next to the door, diagonal to the bed that Satow laid on. His upper body was bare except for the mass of gauze and wrappings that kept his shoulder covered. The sheets of the bed went up to just above his beer belly. His right wrist hung in the air by contraption, all but confirming that he would have permanent damage to his shoulder. It was expected, but Makoto at least hoped that the bullet went straight through instead of lingering within.

Satow's black hair looked exactly as Makoto expected it to. Grease kept it in an ugly shape—an unfortunate consequence of being in bed all day, every day.

"I thought they forgot about me," Satow said. His voice was rolling and smooth, almost unnatural from how rigid and helpless he looked in the hospital bed. He spoke too clearly for someone without a whole shoulder. "You're the first ones here." Eyes came toward Makoto's, yet she avoided them.

"Sorry 'bout that. Whole department's running around like headless chickens right now because of what we did to Kubo. A lot is going on."

"Yeah? And whaddya they have you doing, Sanada?"

"Ah, the usual shit. Finding a girl who doesn't want to be found—'least, not yet."

Makoto felt the attention of both people shift to her sunken head. "What about her?" Satow asked, nodding through his restrictive setup.

"She's—"

Makoto raised her eyes. "I'm in charge of taking down the Aka Handan Ikka."

"Oh, you are? You got a nice little reward for knocking on the door, then stepping back and letting the men handle the real work, huh? You're getting paid more because you're not strong enough to hold a battering ram. Is that it?"

Akihiko brought everyone's attention back to him. "Satow, we don't have to be here." Satow looked up at the veteran statue but shook him off to look back to Makoto.

"Fine, then. I never asked you to be, unless you've got something to show me for all my efforts."

Akihiko leaned forward, his hands dropping to the metal bar at the foot of the bed. It lessened his height but his mood shifted. "Sitting alone in here is fucking with your head if you think you can address us like this."

"You don't even have a plastic medal to give me and pretend that you care. I'm hung out to dry, Sanada, and you expect me to be nice to you?" Satow's undamaged left arm raised itself off the bed to point at Makoto. "They gave her a fucking cake, and for what?! What'd she do that I couldn't have done?!"

Again, Makoto saw the phone drop from Kubo's hand as life vanished from his body. That sound the blood made against the walls rang out in her head over and over, and Satow wanted to do that? He could go fuck himself. Makoto didn't want a reward. Sure, she wanted the opportunity to prove herself; she just received it in the worst way possible.

At least it led her to Ren. He was the one saving grace in the dark situation, the situation in her life that Makoto felt she could control. Even the team she assembled felt like they worked without her. Then again, she hadn't even wanted the job until the overbearing file was dropped on her head.

However, there was one way Makoto could control her work life. Without speaking, she stood up from the chair and stared down Satow. She spun around and walked out of the hospital room.

"Makoto, wait. God dammit, Satow, you fucking id—"

The door shut behind Makoto as she left the two veteran cops to their argument.


"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Kitagawa," Officer Satonaka said as she placed her hands on both sides of the table and leaned over, leering down at her trapped prisoner. Yusuke blankly gazed back at her. He knew his lack of reaction to anything regarding his arrest infuriated her, so he continued his nonchalance.

Officer Amagi, on the other hand, stood in the back corner of the dark interrogation room with her arms crossed. She leaned against the wall as her reflection in the one-way mirror touched shoulders with her.

Yusuke pulled his cuffed hands closer to him on the table so that they weren't underneath Satonaka. "I choose the way of litigation."

"So you wanna play that way, huh?" Satonaka stood up, turning back to Amagi. "That's fine by me. We have you for as long as we want and can sit your ass down for a judge at any time. You know how long you'd go away for, right?" Yusuke stayed silent as Satonaka spun back around, slamming her fist on the table. "Rest of your life. We got four witnesses and the security tape is clear as day. Court's gonna eat you alive if we let 'em, but you have a choice here, Kitagawa." She gave so much effort for so little effect. What must've intimidated little kids did not affect Yusuke, who continued staring at Satonaka, waiting for something interesting to happen.

Yusuke knew his choice before Satonaka even described it: information would reduce his time spent in prison. It was a lost cause, as no amount of dirt Yusuke spilled would help him avoid prison time. If he had to do time, even just a minute, Yusuke wanted the full mileage—he wanted to go big or go home.

"I would like to speak to my lawyer."

Satonaka cocked her head for a moment, considering if Yusuke would be one of the stubborn ones, but righted it as she continued with her plan for the interrogation. "The Aka Handan Ikka's time in the shadows is coming to an end. Get out now and you won't have to watch the sunset from barred windows for the rest of your life."

"I would like to watch the sunset with my lawyer."

Again, Chie cocked her head. She sighed, letting Yusuke know he was on the right track. Amagi stepped forward from the back to take a shot at cracking Yusuke. "Kitagawa-san, this is no time for jokes. Your detainment has just begun and how are you taking it?" She looked down, bringing Yusuke's eyes with hers. "You're sweating through your shirt and you're gripping the side of your chair. Waiting to talk could seriously harm your chances of getting a generous judge, and that depends on the report submitted by us."

Yusuke looked down at his shirt. Dark stains flooded just under his arms. Was it sweat? Of course not—it was proof that he was truly alive. "I would like to have my lawyer turn on the air conditioning." He thought of all the living he would do with Yukari when they went to Korea.

Satonaka wheeled around and slammed her fist on the table, coming around the side so she could lean her face directly in front of Yusuke's. "Listen here, fucker." Spit flew into his eyes, but would that make him shy away from pissing off two dumb cops? It couldn't even get him to blink. "I guarantee that you won't matter as soon as a judge takes one look at your file. Life in prison ain't a hard sell, and your behavior isn't helping. Talk now and make things easy for yourself, dammit."

Perhaps he could let one truth slip free. "My lawyer has quite the aptitude for reading files."

"Fuck!" Satonaka backed away, hiding her face in the shadows of the room so Yusuke wouldn't see her so angry. It would have been enough to make him smile if Amagi weren't still observing.

Amagi watched her partner huff and puff and storm out of the room, the hulking metallic door slamming behind her. The black-haired officer turned back to Yusuke. "Fine. We'll contact your attorney."

Yusuke brought his bound hands to his chest but stopped. "May I?" he asked the officer. Amagi nodded, permitting Yusuke to reach into his breast pocket and pull out a business card. "Keisuke Hiraga." A man far more handsome than reality's Keisuke Hiraga displayed a shining smile and gave a thumbs-up atop a sky-blue background.

Amagi plucked the card out of Yusuke's hand. "Don't get your hopes up too soon, Kitagawa-san. No matter what your lawyer does, you will be with us until your court appearance." With that, Amagi confidently strutted out of the room with far more grace than her partner. She even closed the door with a touch soft enough to keep the room silent.

Yusuke thanked her for it by closing his eyes to bide his time until he could leave the boring room. If his career with the Aka Ikka ever took a turn for the worse, he would have to enlist on the police force to redesign their interrogation rooms. Beige paint just didn't oppress like it used to.

With luck, Keisuke would make good time. He usually did, but lawyers were a slimy bunch. Ren went and found the slimiest one in the snake pit in the name of fighting fire with fire, and boy did it work. Keisuke was the most insufferable person Yusuke ever loved to have in his life.


"Alrighty, Yusuke, my bud. What've they got you here for today?" Keisuke strolled into the interrogation room in his usual get-up: a gray suit and pants, a red tie, and a brown briefcase made Keisuke out to be an average lawyer when he was actually an above-average lawyer with a penchant for annoying people into cooperation. "Wait, don't tell me! Let me guess!" To top it all off, he wore rectangular glasses.

"I would prefer if—"

"Murder? Arson? Robbery–no! Highway robbery?" Keisuke didn't wait for Yusuke to nod his head as possibilities spewed from his mouth like sewage from a freshly unclogged pipe. "Fraud! Identity theft! Tax evasion! Aggravated assault! Bribery! Embezzlement!" He wasn't even asking at that point, more just yelling crimes at Yusuke. "Or… Perhaps a crime of passion?!"

"Surely they told you the details before you walked through that door."

Keisuke grinned. His glasses wiggled around on his face when he nodded or shook his head, a symptom of him not acknowledging the true size of his head and continuing to wear glasses that didn't fit. "You're right. I just have a hard time remembering what you did last week and what you're here for now, you know?" Keisuke opened up his briefcase and pulled a manilla folder out of it. He set it on the table, opening it to a specific section and tracing the line he read with his index finger. "You convinced your neighbor to stop suing you over your nude sculpture, right?" Yusuke nodded. "Good, great, awesome. That means we can focus on how to get you out of here."

"I was under the impression that I would be staying here until my trial."

"Hm? Of course not, if they were telling the truth about how they arrested you, that is. I mean, there's no way you could get me to come here on a daily basis to work on erasing that murder charge when there are four witnesses and a video. Sheesh, you put me in a pickle this time."

Keisuke didn't realize it, but there was no greater insult. Pickles were wonderful. They were delectable, easy-to-consume items that saw use in numerous dishes across the many nations of Earth. What did pickles have to do with homicide?

Yusuke held his complaints by thinking of all the Korean sunsets he'd watch with Yukari at his side. "A pickle is one word for it."

"But that makes it more fun, doesn't it?" Keisuke closed the file and put it back into his briefcase. Yusuke observed Keisuke do the same things many times before—go over files that had no relevance to the situation just because he had to multitask at all times. "Right, enough talking for you. I'll take it from here on out. Now, nod if this is true." Keisuke leaned forward and held both palms toward Yusuke as if he was about to perform a magic trick. "Officer Satonaka said they, referring to herself and Officer Amagi, wouldn't proceed with your arrest until you finished your drink at the Happy Dragon Bar and Grill, yes?"

"Ye—"

"Good! That means that it's time for you to raise those skinny fists of yours," Keisuke said, doing the exact thing he described. His silver watch flashed from the room's lone light as his small hands closed into fists, "and yell, 'I am a free man and the criminal justice system proves itself righteous once again!'"

Yusuke did no such thing. He was a man with dignity; a man annoyed by his overly-talkative lawyer; a man who considered celebration below him.

"C'mon, get those hands up. Raise the roof off this place!"

Yusuke raised one slackened half-hearted fist in the air.

"Yusuke Kitagawa is a free man because Officer Satonaka skipped the most important class at the police academy: Arresting Criminals 101!" His glasses nearly fell from his head as Keisuke threw his neck out to look at the light on the ceiling. "One more time with feeling… Freedom!"

Yusuke waited for the display to end. Keisuke's oddness was no secret amongst the Aka Ikka; his job as their shingiin meant that he was involved enough to regularly meet with them, especially Yusuke for all the trouble he caused. That being said, nobody could figure out what made Keisuke tick. Ren claimed it was wealth, Ryuji had a long-running bet on religion that made more sense every time Keisuke forced Yusuke to celebrate, and a few of the Aka Ikka grunts believed him to be a simple weirdo. Still, each party agreed that he needed to learn the power of silence. Yusuke wondered when Ren would begin paying the lawyer a bonus for every word left unsaid.

"Now for the depressing part." Keisuke relaxed back in his seat and Yusuke's eyes rolled all at once. He thought he was free, he thought Yukari and Korea were just an airport away, but Keisuke fixed his glasses and cleared his throat. "I've got you in a spot to skip detainment and wipe this arrest off the record while giving you just this much," he held up his thumb and index with a tiny gap in between, "wiggle room. You will be arrested again, but they're gonna need a warrant and judge to sign off, which gives you a little time out of jail. You'll still go to court, and the evidence isn't in your favor, so I'll need to do a bit of game-planning, but it should be easy after five sake bottles, a few checks from our pal he-who-shall-not-be-named, and maybe a few of the girls from the Nine can come on over to my place. You get me?"

Maybe both Ren and Ryuji were right—Keisuke kept his religion secret from the family so he could openly cherish the material gifts their pay brought him.

Yusuke did not "get" Keisuke, but nodding would make the personification of a run-on sentence shut up.

"Now, you need to do exactly as I say. I'm gonna leave, then those two dolts are coming right back in here to squeeze whatever they can out of you, but you know the drill on that. You'll get released because of moi, then, and this is the important part, you will be free for a short time. No matter what, even if your third goddamn cousin who's a throat-singer on the side gets laryngitis and is saying, 'Oh, I need Yusuke Kitagawa. My throat will return once I look at his beautiful face!', you cannot leave the country. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Woah, woah, woah! Say it with me." Keisuke leaned forward, taking Yusuke's cuffed hands in his. All the best art was created in the face of oppressive, insurmountable authority. When Yusuke looked up at authority's toothy grin of litigation and justice, he understood what he needed to do.

He needed to lie to make art.

"I cannot leave the country," Yusuke said, lagging a few words per second behind the motormouth.

"Perfect! I'll see you soon for your weekly crime spree, then we'll chat about keeping you out of prison." Keisuke stood up, slid his briefcase off the table, then stepped away from Yusuke. "Ta-ta, Kitagawa!" He walked out the door to the imaginary applause of whatever bullshit TV show he thought he starred in.


Minutes after Keisuke's departure, Yusuke hadn't moved from his seat. He rubbed his bound wrists together out of boredom as he inspected the walls for mistakes in their shading. Beige may not have oppressed since 2010, but poorly painted beige that began to peel in select spots? That made Yusuke want to obey, though only after throwing up at the lack of artistic creativity.

Suddenly, the door opened and the two cops from earlier stormed back in.

"You've consulted your lawyer, now—"

Satonaka cut through her partner and picked up where she left off. "He told you the same shit we did, didn't he?!" Same as earlier, she slammed her fist on the table, thinking it would affect Yusuke in some way.

Yusuke couldn't help but pity Satonaka. Amagi got a little pity for having to put up with the hothead, but not nearly as much because must've had a choice in partner. Satonaka tried to intimidate but failed every step of the way because she had no clue who she was dealing with. She believed Yusuke to be an idiotic one-time murderer, the kind who was sent on their first hit only to fuck it up and get caught. She thought he would crack with a few threats and a little fist-pounding.

What Satonaka didn't understand was simple: Yusuke was bored by everything. The killing, the Aka Ikka, the monthly jail stints and bailouts courtesy of Keisuke; the only excitement in his life was bound to Yukari.

Slamming fists on tables was nothing for Yusuke—he heard guns go off enough times to erase any reflex to sudden noise. Getting in Yusuke's face did nothing either; the last person to do that got stabbed to death while his blood ruined his portfolio of plagiarized art. Yusuke wasn't going to tell her that. His mouth would stay shut as he watched the woman sputter over the table, embarrassing herself and the department that employed her.

"You're going away forever, you thin little shit. There's no way you're gettin' out of—"

Satonaka stopped as the door to the interrogation room swung open. Yusuke leaned over so he could look past Satonaka's form. In the doorway, a fat old man with a decaying beard and worn-out briefcase stood tall. "Kitagawa's free to go," he bellowed in a scratchy voice.

"Wha—" Satonaka nearly jumped off the table and stormed towards the old man. "We could take him to the courthouse now and he'd get life! How the fuck is he free?!"

The old man sighed as he pushed past Satonaka and walked towards Yusuke. "Because you forced him to drink alcohol while arresting him, Officer Satonaka," he said without even looking at her. The disappointment made Yusuke smile. All the shit Satonaka had given him and she couldn't even be bothered to know such a basic law. "Can't commit a crime while arresting someone. Should be common sense."

"B-but—"

"Aw, shut up. I don't want to hear it." The man walked up next to Yusuke and grabbed him by the cuffs. A silver key emerged from the man's coat pocket and sheathed itself in the lock on the cuffs. A moment later, they fell to the table. He looked up to see Satonaka staring at the unused cuffs in defeat.

Amagi defended her partner from Yusuke's judgment. "Don't get your hopes up, Kitagawa. We'll get you one way or another, just make sure you're ready to talk." Yusuke didn't even give her his attention, instead giving it to the fat man with a low bow.

"Bless your heart, sir." Yusuke stood up, nodded toward the scowling man, then walked past the table. Amagi looked away from him as she stood in one corner while Satonaka stared at Yusuke's feet. "It was nice meeting you, Satonaka-san. I hope your retraining at the police academy goes swimmingly."

"You…"

"Perhaps we could have a drink one of these days." Yusuke walked out the open door with a smile on his face. It was too easy, even if he did none of the actual arguing. Thanks to Keisuke, he was free to walk the streets of Tokyo until Amagi and Satonaka got their mountain of paperwork in order.

However, Yusuke didn't plan on doing that. Yukari wanted to go on vacation; how could he take her to a foreign country if he was not permitted to leave Japan? He accelerated his pace so he could get home, grab his wife, and get to the airport as soon as possible.