Spring, 2016
"You hear about this, uh…" Yosuke paused as he reread the headline on his phone. His fingers swirled around the moist edge of the glass as Shu watched from across the table. "This woman who won the Lotto 7 last year, a whole eighty-three billion, just fled the country."
Shu feigned interest. Yosuke knew that Shu cared little for meaningless headlines that had no relevance to them, but it was a slow day at The 953. There wasn't much else to do, aside from wait their turn to play pool. "What for?" Shu asked.
"Taxes and shit. She didn't wanna pay 'em."
Shu shook his head in disappointment. "I can't imagine refusing to pay taxes after being given that much money. She'd walk away with fifty billion, maybe more." Shu liked to think he took the smart approach in every situation, but he never did. He took the thinking approach, sure, but it rarely panned out for him. Every good thing that ever happened to Shu came from Yosuke deciding for him.
Yosuke introduced Shu to the easier way of life, Yosuke convinced Shu to come to Tokyo, Yosuke got Shu to join the Aka Ikka—without Yosuke, Shu would be stuck within textbooks and under the thumb of his overbearing mother.
Yosuke wasn't as book-smart as Shu, though it mattered little in their line of work. He had just the right combination of intelligence, guts, and creativity to pull off whatever crazy scheme he came up with, so long as it provided immediate success and rewards.
"Or, you can go to Korea, hide from the government, and eighty-three."
Shu sat forward at the table, propping his upper body up with his skinny forearms. If he wanted to rise through the ranks like Yosuke, he needed to work out a bit more. "It'll cost more in the long run to keep yourself hidden," Shu retorted. Yosuke unintentionally sparked his friend's genuine interest, prompting an actual back-and-forth debate to unfold.
"You'll make more by then." Yosuke couldn't think of specific ways to make more, he just knew that he would take advantage of everything he could.
"How? You have to keep a low profile, your forms of ID needed to make money are limited, and you can't spend in large quantities. There are no reasonable ways to earn wh-"
"All I hear is blah, blah, blah," Yosuke said, using his hand to mouth out the gibberish. He crossed a leg over another and leaned back in his seat. A sip of his drink recharged his argumentative tongue. "If you go somewhere with that much money, opportunities will present themselves. You just gotta seize 'em."
"Agree to disagree."
Shu craned his head to the side, surveying what the rest of the Aka Ikka within the 953 were up to. He glanced at the crew hogging the pool table; they played for an hour straight without allowing anyone to even line up for the next spot. The 953 had other attractions, but everyone got bored of the dancers after their first week as a regular, and certain precautions kept them from being too interested in the girls.
"What would you do with the money?" Yosuke said, getting Shu's attention again.
"Get a lawyer, not tell anyone I know that I won, and then I'd pay my taxes."
"That is the most boring answer possible."
"It's the correct answer."
"Shu, I love ya, but you gotta learn to grow some balls when it comes to money. That's eighty-three billion yen—that's your fucking lawyer."
Shu cocked his head. He often pretended to be annoyed at Yosuke, but Yosuke knew that Shu looked up to him. Yosuke inspired his younger friend. Why else would Shu follow him to Tokyo? "What would you do?" Shu asked.
"Celebrate for a week straight. There wouldn't be enough hookers in Tokyo, I'll tell you that much."
"Prostitutes are more costly than you think."
"I'd worry about that after my city-wide tour of the sex industry."
"Oh, you find a new job?" Ryuji strode up to the table. Yosuke mentally cursed at himself; the table he chose was too nestled in the corner of The 953 to see when Ryuji came out of his office. He spent all damn day in that room doing jackshit, only emerging to yell at Ebi-chan or send members out on assignment. Yosuke had a feeling it was time for the latter. "You two having fun isolating?"
"We're enjoying ourselves, yes," Shu said. He always had a bit of a rebellious side—that's how Yosuke got him to leave Inaba. Being pulled into the Aka Ikka didn't help his attitude, especially toward an authoritative figure like Ryuji. Yosuke shared those views, but he never let them slip into his conversations with a saiko-komon.
Ryuji skipped the bullshit as he cast a shadow over Yosuke and Shu's table. "I've got two jobs; you guys get to pick who does what. First is a laundromat construction project that needs overseeing. Second is—"
Yosuke's hand shot up. "I'll do the construction." Construction overseeing meant that Yosuke got to sit around at a construction site and get paid. Most of the grunt work was like that. Whether it was protecting territory or working on construction sites, it meant getting paid to stand and maybe talk to the manager a few times.
The more demanding jobs, such as delivering amphetamines to the family's connection inside the National Diet or convincing a business that protection was necessary, were left to those who were around longer. Kitagawa and Tatsumi received those jobs the most.
"That means that you," Ryuji turned to Shu and stuck a finger in his face, "will be hanging around Kokichi's Clothing for the afternoon on protection duty. Lucky you." Shu rolled his eyes, but only Yosuke caught it.
"Great."
"Both of you, get to it. I want you gone in the next five, or else you're cleaning glasses for Ebi-chan."
"Yes, sir!"
Shu's hand slid across a row of hanging shirts. Each slipped past his fingers, hesitating to fall just long enough for Shu to feel some satisfaction from something so simple. By the end of his hand swiping through the row of shirts, his boredom returned.
Kokichi's Clothing wasn't nearly interesting enough for Shu's time, but his occupation forced him to stay there. Being assigned to protect a store was the worst of the worst—pretending to have a gun and waiting to get called back to the 953 wasn't exactly Shu's idea of a good time or a good use of his talents.
Until that fateful call came, Shu would be stuck wandering through the aisles. He did browse to see if anything fit his interests. None of it did. Kokichi, if he was even the one in charge, stocked exclusively women's clothing—most of it pink and screaming with bright colors. Shu's dark navy blue and black clothes made him stand out in the sea of color like a fly on a tan wall.
When browsing clothes failed to entertain him, Shu turned his attention to the sparse customers of Kokichi's Clothing. Most were women exiting their twenties attempting to cling to their youth by buying something cute. Shu had no problem with the customers; they were kind to the staff and didn't pay him much attention as he walked through the store.
He supposed that was a plus of having to protect Kokichi's Clothing. Compared to the other fronts and businesses the Aka Ikka claimed, Kokichi's brought in an easy crowd to deal with.
Shu paid little attention to who entered the store. His job was to maintain control over Kokichi's by appearing to be threatening. In his mind, Kokichi's would be the last place a rival clan would strike. Shu knew of the brewing tension with the Second Kaneshiro, but would it affect him? Probably not. As much as he was involved in the lifestyle, he kept himself removed from the larger politics of it. Shu just wanted the money to start a better life for himself, maybe even escape from Tokyo.
It remained to be seen if the Aka Ikka would let him do that.
But, until then, Shu would do as told and keep all those thoughts of his to himself. He could make his money and keep his head down.
To ward off the next onset of boredom, Shu turned around. His hand brushed through another set of clothes as mindlessly walked down the aisle. The store's automatic doors opened with a digital bell ringing as usual, but Shu didn't look over. Just another woman looking to put together a flashy outfit, surely.
Shu reached the end of the aisle and turned left. He started to walk down the adjacent aisle of clothes, now with pants on one side of him and a new set of shirts on the other. Memories of the Junes in Inaba and its pitiful clothing department flashed before him, just enough to distract him from the clothes.
Missing Inaba was a regular thing for Shu. He preferred the crickets and even sweating through his sheets during a hot Summer night over the half-busted AC unit he, Yosuke, and their roommates had in their dingy apartment. It also happened to be right above the street and traffic never ended. With all the constant noise interrupting his life, Shu could never think straight in Tokyo, almost as if the city didn't want him to make good decisions.
Inaba was never like that.
Shu's vision of the boring countryside was ripped away from him with his stomach exploding. His head naturally fell forward as his knees buckled, giving him the perfect view of Kokichi's purple tiles being stained with blood. His hands dragged down a rack of clothes on accident, but he barely felt the impact as they crashed down on his back. Pain grew every second as his stomach poured blood. It overflowed between his rigid fingers that dug into his stomach around the wound.
Customers screamed, the door rang over and over as they ran out, and the cashier yelled incoherent words.
None of it made sense. His senses gave him few clues. His sense of touch dulled since the explosion, his hearing reduced to ringing, while taste and smell were dominated by blood. He'd been walking just a moment ago, now he…
What the hell happened?
Shu looked up from the wound. His vision blurred, but he could see down the clothing aisle well enough to gaze upon his attacker. A tall man, taller than any customer Kokichi's Clothing ever saw, stood at the end. Where his face should have been was a vortex, a heap of blackness that disguised his identity from Shu. The rest of his body became muddy from failing vision, but Shu saw enough to know what happened to him: he'd been shot.
A hand raised a gun toward Shu's kneeling body. The cold metal pressed softly into his forehead, ending the ringing in his ears and replacing it with the sound of a distant man yelling and an alarm blaring. "I'd apologize on behalf of Kamoshida, but…" said a much closer voice. The shooter trailed into nothing as the ringing overpowered Shu's final moments.
If the man granted him any peace with his words, Shu must've missed it. A bang cut through the ringing, the dark figure in front of him collapsed, and Shu's vision slipped into nothingness.
Fall, 2003
"Hey, kid." Ren looked toward the couch from his position in the kitchen. Hunger forced him out of his isolated room and into the apartment's main space where Kaneshiro happened to have guests—a few men, a few women for company, and a few substances conducive to conversation. "Grab me a drink!" one of the guests demanded, slapping the back of the girl next to him. She winced but leaned into the man and laughed it off. Ren wondered how much she was paid to enjoy his presence.
The man himself was recognizable. He stopped by once or twice a week to talk business with Kaneshiro. His hulking frame of muscle and his irregular height were far more terrifying than his bōryokudan status. Ren abandoned his half-made dinner for the fridge, not questioning the order because of the unsaid threat of disobedience.
Laughing banter continued from a distance. Ren heard everything, choosing to disregard most of it, but his silent judgment of Kaneshiro's friends, coworkers, and whores made it impossible to not pay attention.
"Mutatsu, you old, saggy fuck, when are you giving up on that wig?" Kaneshiro called out to overwhelming laughter, too much for such a basic joke. Ren assumed Kaneshiro's company wanted to suck up to the boss. "And why don't you have one of our many lovely ladies at your side? You're wasting my money!" A few of the women laughed, but the men stayed oddly silent.
"He likes 'em a bit younger," the tall man joked. "Speaking of young ones… Kid, where the fuck is my drink?!" He had good timing; Ren slammed the fridge shut with a beer in his hand, leaving the kitchen to join the deplorable group at the couch.
His new view gave him better details. The tall man sat in an armchair with a woman on his lap and wrapped around his broad shoulders. Kaneshiro, prostitutes under both arms, occupied the couch. His shoes rested on the edge of the coffee table and left dirt everywhere they touched. Ren could even see some tracked across the torn-up carpets that led to the door.
Two more men—one old with an obvious wig that didn't hug his head as it should've, one with dyed orange hair and a thin face—got their own chairs. The latter man had a girl laying her back across his lap, laughing as he got a bit too handsy for how many eyes were around. The bald man sat alone, drink in his hand and the fire of inferiority in his eyes.
Ren stepped over outstretched legs, discarded bottles, and packaged powder to hand the tall man his beer. His arm finished the difficult journey by locking its elbow, extending as much as it could to—
"The fuck are you doing, Ren?!" Kaneshiro swung his fist down into Ren's elbow. The bottle dropped, hitting the carpet and bouncing instead of breaking. As for Ren, he didn't get so lucky. Dull pain exploded in his elbow and the shock sent him stumbling back, tripping over a woman's mistakenly (or purposely) placed foot. He fell flat on his ass, much to the delight of the group. His failure brought far more laughs than any remarks about the bald one's disgusting tastes.
Then, just like Ren's attempt at handing off a beer, Kaneshiro ended the moment swiftly. He pushed a prostitute to the side so he could stand and silence all laughs. The bald one and a few women watched him with the knowledge of how easily he could snap written in their cautious eyes. The tall man and the orange-haired one smiled at each other and laughed even louder.
"This kid ain't a fucking server! If I hear another order for him, I'll—"
Orange hair raised his hand. "Make that two beers!"
Ren recognized a Kaneshiro outburst. They were rare because he learned that obedience made his life easier, but Kaneshiro's diet included enough alcohol to get him upset at just about anything. However, this time seemed different. Kaneshiro lacked his drunken sway, instead replaced with red-faced, white-nosed fury.
Kaneshiro spun around, ready to shuffle forward and crush the interrupter into the ground with his boot, but he was blocked from the thin walkway between the couch and the coffee table by legs, garbage, and drugs. "Mutatsu," he grumbled.
Ren heard metal click. He glanced at the bald man, Mutatsu, and at the orange-haired man, who now had a gun pointed at his head. With that taken care of, Kaneshiro returned to the tall one. He kicked one whore's legs out of the way. She covered her mouth to keep a scream in; Kaneshiro must've been one of her regulars if she knew his tendency for anger so well.
"Who the fuck gave you permission to talk to the kid? Did I?"
"What else would you use him for?" The tall man stood. Everyone breathed deeply because they knew the room wouldn't rest until one of them stood down or forced the other to do so. "Cleaning? You live in a dump, Junya."
"Yeah, it's a little messy, but what's that got to do with the kid? Look at 'em." Kaneshiro waved behind him to where Ren continued to sit on the ground. His sore tailbone, the increasing tension, and the presence of a gun kept him on the floor. "Remember Iwatodai those years ago? We helped those poor fucking families after they lost everything. We're not evil—we help people. I'm doing this kid a favor and giving him a home, money, and, eventually, a job. If that sick fucking head of yours considers him a servant…" Kaneshiro pressed a finger to the man's chest. He looked up at the man, making the height difference even more noticeable. "Then we're gonna have to talk 'bout it, Suguru."
Suguru bit back. "Oh, forget about Iwatodai, you piece of shit. Did you really help anyone? What about that scar you've got? You helping this kid as much as you helped that girl and her brother?"
Kaneshiro's silence surprised Ren more than the new information did. He knew little about Iwatodai besides the major news events. It flooded years prior, displacing the city's lower class that weren't casualties during the flooding. He would've remembered it more gruesomely if he hadn't been so young when it happened
The only one not surprised by the silence seemed to be Suguru. Speaking his mind boosted his confidence and put him in danger he didn't understand. "And what's this about a job? That kid, that outsider, is not becoming one of us. I don't care if you're the boss, I don't care if he whacks twenty fucking people before he graduates from high school. I'm not letting you destroy this clan over—" Ren saw it coming. Kaneshiro balled his fists, his arms shook, and he shifted his weight on his feet from side to side before he punched Suguru right in the gut.
The blow evened the gap in stature, bringing Suguru's head to the perfect level for another punch. Kaneshiro laid into the man, knocking him lower and lower each time his argument-ending punches of insecurity landed. When Suguru's head got close enough, Kaneshiro slammed it into the coffee table. Bottles spilled and prostitutes screamed, climbing over the other side of the couch to grab whatever cash they could and run for the exit.
Orange hair dug his fists into the chair, but Mutatsu was patient. His gun didn't sway, didn't shake even as its owner focused on the show. Mutatsu smiled as he watched Kaneshiro grab Suguru by the back of his head and reintroduce him to the coffee table. Each time he dragged his head up, Ren saw fewer and fewer details through the blood.
His crooked nose hid under red, his half-lidded eyes were useless because of the blood pouring from above his eyebrows, and Ren couldn't tell if all his teeth remained because Suguru spat up blood every time he showed his face.
Kaneshiro released Suguru's head, letting it drop onto the ruined table. The man groaned and tried to roll his head off, but Kaneshiro didn't allow him freedom for long. He pressed his face directly into the wood. Ren heard muffled gurgles and saw blood pooling on the table, but Suguru couldn't protest when Kaneshiro straddled him from behind. With his free hand, he grabbed Suguru's pale, clenched hand and forced it next to his head.
"Not only am I helping the kid, Suguru, but I'm helping you, too. That memory of yours isn't holding up, so I'll make sure you remember this." He brought a knee to the back of Suguru's head while he freed his hand to venture into his jacket. Suguru shook under the added weight, but it was nothing compared to what Ren realized would happen. Kaneshiro's hand emerged with shining metal that brought a smile to Mutatsu's face. Kaneshiro pushed the knife right next to Suguru's ear and pressed even harder with his knee.
"If you apologize now, I'll let you keep your fingers."
Suguru spat out blood, screaming with force into the table. It used all of his strength, it made his legs and arms shake with pain, and it was utter nonsense. Ren knew the offer to be false because it emphasized the one advantage Kaneshiro created for himself: he took away Suguru's voice. All his screams, groans, and blood-tainted mutterings were unintelligible.
Kaneshiro smiled. "Tisk tisk, can't even advocate for yourself." He took the knife to Suguru's hand, right below the base of his pinkie and ring, and—
Spring, 2016
Ren turned the corner into the urgent care wing with fury in his step. No scrambling nurses would stop him from storming down the chaotic hall to the mess that awaited.
For the first time ever, the Aka Ikka were being attacked. Fear kept them hidden from Tokyo's other syndicates for so long that the sudden exposure to sunlight left Ren reeling. War came knocking on the door of the 953—and in the elevator to Ren's penthouse—and he answered by rushing to the hospital.
You're an idiot. All this work for anonymity, now you're just a random man running into a hospital wing full of bōryokudan. See where that gets you in life.
Ren turned the bright corner into a sea of people. Nurses darted around, pushing burly young men away from a door. One man pushed back against a nurse "The surgeons are doing the best they can. Please, be seat—"
"Kazushi!" From the other side of the arguing nurse and Aka Ikka member, Ryuji strode up. "Sit down!"
Immediately, Kazushi retracted his hands. He looked at Ryuji, shook his head, and conceded, turning tail to sit in a chair on the other side of the hall that was far too small for a man that tall.
The same loud, overbearing voice joined Ren at the side. "You came?" Thankfully, Ryuji wasn't dumb. His voice went quiet—as quiet as someone like Ryuji could go. "Doctors have been at it for an hour."
Looking over Ryuji's shoulder while listening, Ren met curious eyes. Aka Ikka faithful, nurses, and everyone else in the hallway stared. Ren's casual clothes stood out compared to everyone else, along with the fact that the "boss" just approached a random, unknown man after an attack on a shatei.
Naturally, Ren stared back, glancing from eye to eye and forcing each of them to look away. Turning, he began walking around the same corner he swung around a moment prior, now with Ryuji at his side.
"Gunshots weren't fatal, and the storekeeper took care of the triggerman before he could finish 'em off and rushed him here fast as he could, but…" Ryuji's pace slowed as his words halted. Both men stopped in the center of the less crowded hallway. "Sepsis. It's an infection or someth—"
"I know what it is." Ren looked towards the corner of the hall.
On the other side of those walls, Shu Nakajima was fighting a losing battle. None of his actions brought the bullets, scalpels, or surgeons upon him—only fate and Ren Amamiya were responsible.
You care about the kid? People die all the time in this business. Don't care because he was "just a kid" or some bullshit reason; care because Kamoshida just declared war on you. You thought you were smart? Sneaking around, murdering his wakagashira, letting Yusuke off-leash… You've been a real dumbass lately. You know that? Did I mention the detective that makes you talkative?
"Kid's not taking well to the help they're giving him. It looks—"
"Just be quiet, Ryuji. Let me think."
This is it: the end of it all. Yusuke's gonna be tapped for murder—he may or may not give you up. Hard to say with him, especially when he kills people on his own terms. Nakahara, or whatever, and his bleeding gut brings police to one of your stores, along with Kamoshida's guys knocking on the doors of the others. Your soldiers saw your face, and who knows how loyal they're feeling right now, especially if you've got no guns to arm them. You're fucked from every angle, even with those powers you got.
It seemed like Ren would have to cancel his plans for the evening.
"The shopkeeper…" Ryuji nodded as Ren trailed off into silence. He'd forgotten his question from all the yelling his head had to get through. "...How quiet is he? Cops go to the store?"
"He's solid. Dropped the kid off under a fake name and told me that he evacuated the store before he showed his heater. Should be clear on that front, but cops will be all over the place. I'll have to talk with Kokichi about our terms—we're not sending anyone there for a long time."
Good news shut the voice up. Ren hoped his next question brought the same result. "Any word on Yusuke?"
Ryuji nodded. "Keisuke got him out. He'll be laying low, and you know how he gets in times like these." When times were most hot for him, Yusuke was an untraceable nightmare. He never screwed himself as badly as his current situation, but anytime someone called for his head, Yusuke vanished into thin air. He had a gift for it. "But he's gotta go to court at some point. Cops are waiting on permission from a judge and a warrant before they make their next move with him."
Just get rid of him and be done with it. Yusuke's a liability, a negative to this business's operations. Currently, you're in the red and you're bleeding. Squeezing him of all usefulness and tossing him in the bay will patch things up, at least until the war gets going.
"Relax. With his luck, he'll be gone for a week and come back to us without all the heat. That's how he's always done it." Ren shook his head; there was no way to shake off a murder like the one Yusuke committed. There was too much evidence and too much at stake.
Nurses rushed past Ren and Ryuji, muttering things about "impolite gyangu."
Ren sighed. "Do you think we can afford a war?"
"Honestly…" Ryuji looked down. "No. We've been too dependent on what you've got rather than building up our guys. And don't even get me started on how few guns we got... We'll get slaughtered."
Ren could terrorize Mementos all he wanted, but winning the war against the Second Kaneshiro was a completely different issue. Winning required the submission or death of Suguru Kamoshida, and even then a guaranteed victory was doubtful. After all, most thought the First Kaneshiro would collapse after Kaneshiro himself passed. Another would take over as boss, perhaps Mutatsu, and Ren would just have another Palace to get through.
Easier said than done. Mementos was nothing, Palaces were nothing, too, if Ren got into them. They required such mind-numbing precision with Meta-Nav that obtaining the necessary info became the difficult part. Ren could fly through a Palace, drop mini-nukes on all the shadows, and shoot the Palace Ruler within an hour—getting that stupid app to properly find the candidate took weeks.
Kamoshida's squeaky clean image didn't help. His name had been scrubbed from the internet; a revelation brought to Ren by Alibaba after he paid her a small fortune for information. All Alibaba got was a high-school volleyball championship, the donor list start-up company, and social media profiles for all the other Suguru Kamoshidas in Japan.
The alternative to Alibaba and research was reconnaissance in Mementos. Ren could climb the ladder of the Second Kaneshiro, picking them off one by one and gaining tidbits of info that he could piece into a complete puzzle. However, the downsides to this were its dependence on having all the time in the world and not having a family to worry about.
The Aka Ikka would be dead by the time Ren got to the top of the ladder.
War was not an option.
"Organize a sit-down. We'll make peace and let things go quiet. Wait for Yusuke to return, let the bad blood drain, and see what happens."
Ryuji absorbed every last word, then left Ren with a nod. He speed-walked around the corner, charging headfirst into whatever mess awaited him. Ren, on the other hand, looked down the rest of the empty hospital hallway.
He would have to text Mak—
Get your priorities straight.
Makoto walked into the office with confidence. Walking out of that hospital proved to herself that she didn't have to tolerate condescension or questions; she was her own boss. Now, in her domain and ready to work with the surplus of evidence her team put together, she sat down at her desk. Immediately, her phone buzzed. She slid it out of her pocket, dropped it onto the fall-breaking notepad atop her desk, and stared down at the newest messages.
Ren Amamiya: Can't make it tonight, sorry. Friend had an accident. I'll explain more next time.
Ren Amamiya: I'll take you out again to make up for it.
Anger simmered and Makoto wanted to text Ren back a furious message. She had plans for him, for herself, and for him to blow it up so suddenly? Absolutely ridiculous. Makoto looked forward to seeing him all day long, just for him to ruin it. The nerve!
The momentary reaction faded. Reasonability set in and Makoto thought normally. Ren had his reasons, and it wasn't like he wanted to cancel. He promised to explain more and he promised a "next time." That was enough for Makoto to trust him all over again and end the mood swing she experienced in just a few seconds.
That said, she still found disappointment waiting for her. She wanted to see Ren that evening. She wanted to get to know him even more and wanted him to do the same with her. The thought of sharing her newfound success with him excited her and even motivated her to get to work as quickly as she could after she left the hospital.
"U-um, Niijima-san?" a voice stuttered from her left. She looked over to find Amada with a hand on the back of his head and his eyes dodging her own.
Makoto tried not to let her feelings—annoyance at Ken and disappointment with Ren—show on her face. "Hi, Amada-san." She sat up straight and placed her hands together on her desk. "Can I help you?"
"Satonaka and Amagi wanna… Uh… The—"
Makoto grew tired of waiting. She crossed her arms and turned her swivel chair to fully face Ken. "Where are they?"
"Conference room."
Makoto gave Ken her thanks with a nod, then stood up from her chair. Ken's odd behavior worried her about whatever Satonaka and Amagi had, especially with the importance of what they'd been up to that day.
She swung open the door to the conference room to find Amagi and Satonaka standing on the other side of the table. With wide eyes, they flinched at the door slamming shut and at Makoto walking towards them. "What is it?"
"N-Niijima-san, we weren't expecting you so soon!" Chie stood up straight and tried to keep respectful eye contact with Makoto. Every few seconds, she broke it to glance at Yukiko, who seemed far more normal than Chie did. The only thing off about the latter coworker was her eye contact; just like Ken, it was absent. "About today's arrest…"
"Did he run?" Makoto rolled her eyes. Kitagawa dug himself into a deeper hole with every step he took. So long as they could catch him, things would be simple. "That makes it easier for—"
Yukiko jumped in with the correction. "He did not run, Niijima-san."
Makoto raised an eyebrow. "Then what happened?"
Yukiko's voice lowered itself into the corner, hiding from Makoto and her simmering rage. "ALawyerCameInAndGotHimOut," she rushed out of her mouth.
Makoto kept her demeanor calm despite everything within her telling her to unleash herself on Satonaka and Amagi. Lawyers didn't conduct prison breaks; they talked people into serving their purposes. "On what grounds?"
"He argued that we—"
"Argued or exploited?"
"He exploited the fact that we told him to finish his drink before taking him into custody."
A sigh and a stare met Chie head-on. The chestnut-haired woman stepped away from Makoto. "S-sorry, Makoto. I know it—"
"I can't get one break today, can I?" Makoto looked up at the flickering ceiling light. The department didn't give nearly as much of a shit about the Aka Ikka as Makoto's boss said they did, judging by how beat up the conference room was. "Kitagawa was the one thing guaranteed to go right, and you still ruined it."
"I—"
"Please, don't talk right now." Satonaka trying to alleviate the blame or make up a new excuse would only make Makoto angrier and more unfocused. Speaking was the worst possible thing for her. "Just get out."
As Amagi and Satonaka made their exits, Makoto stood still. She overwhelmed herself so much with overthinking, that she forgot that the blinds to the conference room were open and that her visibility was a concern.
At that moment, she questioned if her day could get any worse. She had the rest of the week, and Ren, to look forward to, but that day was gone forever, tarnished by the world reminding Makoto of her standing in Tokyo.
Being Tokyo's best example of an afterthought was hard work, yet Makoto persisted to outlive her self-appointed title. No matter how hard she worked, she couldn't change the perception of those around her. Akihiko would always treat her as the cowering, lonely little girl or the fresh-faced student eager to learn all there was to being a cop. Everyone else on the force would always treat her without the respect she deserved and earned.
Sae would always treat her as everything less than a sister.
But Ren… Ren was the only one with an excuse. Whatever his friend's accident was, Makoto knew it was valid. She trusted Ren despite his inward demeanor and strange behavior. She wanted to trust him because he showed genuine interest in her, not some obligatory relationship through work, through knowing her father, or through blood.
Makoto would have to be patient with Ren and with the investigation.
"Hey, do I know you?" Yusuke stopped walking. The momentum his heavy suitcase possessed made his pivot awkward and definitely didn't impress whoever called out for his attention. It didn't matter to Yusuke because the only opinion he cared about was that of the woman at his side, whose suitcase happened to be heavier than his. "Y-yeah, I've seen you before!"
Yusuke and Yukari faced a trio of men, all of them young and fresh out of school. Their purpose for interrupting Yusuke and Yukari's trek through the terminal to their gate was unclear, as Yusuke didn't know them from work and Yukari certainly didn't know them—the only man she knew was her husband.
Or, more worryingly, had the police put out a notice for Yusuke?
He clutched the hand of his wife and bent his knees in case they needed to make a break for it.
"You were in that toothpaste commercial a few years back!" one of the men said, pointing at Yukari. Yusuke watched her eyes flutter and her face redden, but his relief at not being pointed out kept them in the conversation. Any other result would've forced them to run.
"Oh yeah, you were that girl whose teeth fell out at the end. You still have that slimy lizard tongue?" All three of them poked their tongues out at her making disgusting noises that only someone who didn't brush their teeth could make, as shown in the only public footage of Yukari's brief acting career.
Yukari shuffled back, but her suitcase stopped her. "Um…" Her hand slipped from Yusuke's and his world flipped upside down. What had been an amusing reminder of a fond memory became a nightmare, one that necessitated the use of force. The trio of men insulted Yukari's career, the skill she deployed in that career, and her looks all with one small gesture. To not act would be dishonorable—they spoke ill of his wife!
Yusuke bent over, opened the front pocket of his suitcase, and reached in to grab—
"Flight two-thirty-one to Busan will now begin boarding our priority groups. Please report to the gate if you have not done so already."
Yusuke zipped up his bag, stood up straight, and grabbed his wife's hand. No Kitagawa was ever late to an appointment, especially one that ushered them out of the country and into uninterruptible happiness.
The metal of the elevator door lost its shine long ago, gaining a particular scraping noise every time it opened. Makoto winced whenever she stepped off the elevator and had to hear it, but she did develop a little game with herself. Each time returning home, she would see how close she could get to her door before the scraping noise stopped and the elevator departed.
Her record was six steps from the door, but she cheated on that instance by speed-walking. Self-imposed rules outlawed that practice at the start, or else it would be too easy to be considered enjoyable if it ever was. Makoto wondered about the point of it, knowing there was none, yet she continued to do it every time she stepped off the elevator.
Maybe because it made her forget about Sako-sama yelling at her for fucking up an arrest and creating a potential lawsuit against the department, courtesy of a grieving family that demanded action for the murder of their provider.
The same corner as usual got closer and closer. Just around said corner, Makoto's apartment door laid in wait at the end of the hall. Makoto made enough money to live in a well-maintained building, but not enough money to keep the rats out of the walls. Those unstained white walls hid the second noisiest fuckers Makoto ever knew.
They weren't as noisy as Sako-sama trying to raise his blood pressure by making sure the whole department knew Makoto messed up. She saw multiple notifications from Akihiko on her drive home, all of which went unanswered. His posturing wasn't needed when Makoto knew what went wrong and exactly how to fix it.
As Makoto turned the corner, she stopped. Amidst the sea of white, gray, and some black furnishings, pink popped out at the end of the hallway. On the ground just before Makoto's door was a bundle of flowers. The thin bundle was so perfectly placed, so parallel to her door that Makoto immediately knew they were no mistake. And, as with everything else that happened that day, Makoto thought of Ren.
A smirk rose on her lips. She gave him her address to come over, not to send flowers. Makoto accepted his cancellation long ago, but sending flowers to make up for it? Was it taunting? Teasing? Did Ren think himself funny?
He didn't seem the type. Despite his sarcasm and dry humor, Ren took himself quite seriously. Makoto hated that she fell for something so generally off-putting, but his behavior did fascinate her. Her enamorment with him only increased due to the ambiguity of flowers, as simple as they were.
Makoto resumed her approach and bent over, picking up the bundle by its throat of stems. She looked down at the faces of the sakura flowers. Each of the nine opened up at the center to allow the emergence of red-tipped sprouts. The faint pinkness of the petals seemed translucent, like holding the flowers up to the light on the ceiling would render them ghosts.
She shook the smile away from her face. "Just who are you, Amamiya-san?" she asked the flowers. For a moment, she amused herself with the possibility of Ren hiding a microphone in one of the flowers. She chuckled as she fished her key out of her pocket and jammed it into the apartment's lock.
What reason would Ren have for bugging some flowers? Then again, what reason did Ren have to send flowers? Makoto supposed that Ren embraced his strangeness. Her lock clicked and the door budged upon its release. One more push from Makoto and she was home, the torturous day finally over. She looked down at the flowers in her hand.
Maybe torturous wasn't the right word.
AN: In this fic's universe, Ren is stupidly overpowered when it comes to the Metaverse because he has years of experience. The idea of Palaces being a lot more work to get into is my way of nerfing him. Otherwise, most plots could be resolved with him nuking a Palace.
Next four chapters will be entirely flashbacks of 2003-2007 and give background on the main characters, as well as answer a few important questions. Because I don't want to linger on flashbacks for four straight weeks, I'll upload two chapters per week until we're back to the usual content.
Thanks for reading, have a great week!
