AN: Quick preface before the story begins. There will be a decent amount of detailed violence given the nature of the story and there's some psychological trauma going on with one of the main characters. Besides that, I'd like to thank Naijen on AO3 for beta-ing the first two chapters. Hope you enjoy the story!

Summer, 2017

"Ren Amamiya, I presume?"

Not many people added a question mark when they used Ren's name. Usually, they already knew who he was. The guards who brought him his food, the warden who welcomed him to the prison, and the judge who sent him there all cast disgust upon his name, but the shabby man with glasses who stood before Ren kept it as unassuming as possible.

Friendliness set Ren's defenses off—this man wanted something from him. Based on Ren's predicament—shackled into an uncomfortably straight wooden chair by his wrists and calves—the man would get what he wanted from him.

A lot stood to be wanted. Ren's years as boss of Tokyo's most dangerous bōryokudan family meant he had enough information to topple skyscrapers, end political campaigns, and clean trash off the streets. Undoubtedly, Tokyo would be a better place if Ren wrote a memoir for the organized crime section of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

Because of how much information was at stake, whoever sent the shabby man spared no expenses. Ren had been moved to a bookshelf-lined study, complete with a fireplace and gold leafing lining divots in the walls. If not the nicest room at Ren's prison, it was certainly the most extravagant.

All the silence got to the shabby man. He frowned. "Ah. My apologies." The man reached into a deep pocket on the side of his patchy wool coat. He fished out a key and took it to Ren's wrists, undoing one lock and then moving on to the other as quickly as he could.

Freedom didn't stop the pain in Ren's wrists. He rubbed against the definition of metal that had been forced into them.

"Can't do the same for your legs, unfortunately," the man said. He took a seat in a chair that faced Ren. "Warden's policy for murderers will keep you half-bound for the duration of our conversations."

Every word the man said was replayed for processing in Ren's head. Multiple conversations were to be had, the warden knew of the conversations, and the man had an interest in Ren's murders. The last bit was a shame—the murders pinned to Ren's name were where his information began to lack.

"I am Takuto Maruki, a psychiatrist hired to evaluate you. Remember the part of your sentence that requires you to undergo multiple sessions of mental assessment?" Ren nodded. Light from the window caught on the man's glasses and obscured his eyes. "That is what this is—mental assessment."

"You're wasting your time."

"Why is that?"

"They ruled me sane and nothing I tell you will change that."

"Really? I read the transcripts and the reports that followed your sentencing. Lots of blurred lines in those margins. I suspect that you have a few truths to unveil. So, open to talking to me?"

"No."

"That's fine. You have all the time in the world and I am paid by the hour." The thought of Maruki profiting off of them sitting in silence waiting for the other person to crack sickened Ren, but not to the point of telling the truth. It would take more than that for his mouth to open. "I'm not here to help prosecutors add the rest of eternity to your sentence or to hear about the dirty laundry of Dietmen. I'm just interested in you, Kurusu-san."

Takuto Maruki was a dangerous man who knew dangerous things. Still unadjusted to his lack of power in prison, Ren's first thought was to type Maruki's name into his phone and—

"I take the task of assessing you quite seriously. I've done my research and I have some context to your deeds, but I fail to see how the deaths of your parents lead you to murder and leading a bōryokudan family. Dropping off the face of the earth for a few years in between doesn't help your case, you know."

Takuto Maruki was smart. He knew what to say, how to catch Ren's interest, and how to lead him to open his mouth.

"You know too much for a simple psychiatrist."

Maruki feigned innocence by relaxing in his comfier padded chair that had armrests that didn't bite down on his wrists. "I'm quite thorough."

"But you still know nothing."

"Is that so?"

"Using my real name will only get you so far."

"Fine, forget your name. How about the name of Niijima-san? What about that?"

For Makoto's sake, Ren kept his lips sealed. He didn't know how much of her name was in those mentioned reports and transcripts; revealing the truth would damage whatever new life she found in her Ren-less world.

"As I said, Amamiya-san, I'm just interested in you. I'm here on behalf of interested parties, but they needn't know everything you reveal. You're the most intriguing murderer I've seen in some time and it'd be a shame for your mind to go to waste."

As much as he'd gone through under that label, Ren hated it every time he heard it simply for the fact that it was incorrect. He may have been the most wanted person in Tokyo a year prior, but he was no murderer. Just for that, Maruki got that much closer to baiting Ren into opening his mouth and saying too much.

"You look troubled," Maruki added. He sensed cracks forming in Ren's wall and decided to increase the intensity. "There's no reason to be upset. I'm only trying to understand why you'd change your name to go underground, then emerge as a detective-assisted murderer."

Maruki's misinformation infuriated Ren. He didn't know if he showed his anger or not—just that Maruki was winning.

"I'd be careful accusing someone as accomplished as Niijima-san," Ren said.

"Really? Those blurred lines leave her name out, but my research indicates that blame falls on both your shoulders. If you were to choose to be uncooperative, you'd leave me no choice but to investigate Niijima-san more thoroughly."

"Is that a threat?"

"Of course it's a threat. You're just not the boss you used to be, and questioning the validity of a statement won't make it go away." Maruki smiled through a bitter retort because he knew he succeeded. Ren had no hope to maintain his secrets to his grave as he planned on doing. "No matter what, I will find the truth. If it's your truth or Niijima's truth makes no difference to me."

"But it makes a difference to me."

"Exactly why you should take this opportunity to start our conversations off on the right note."

Ren could remember everything. Every last detail, every interaction, and every death that brought him to the gray walls of Fuchū Prison and into the psychiatrist's office that day. Every person, place, or idea he'd harmed would confront him all over again—and why?

Just so some therapist who had fuck-all reason to care could get his facts straight?

"Where should I start?"

From the table that sat in between their different chairs, Maruki pulled a folder of papers. He opened it, taking his thumb and flipping through the logs that couldn't be seen by Ren. "Your clan operated without interruption for several years. No outright war with other clans, and no major issues with the police. A few alleged incidents, but nothing solid. What was the first step in all of that coming to an end?"

"There was no definitive first step. The day the family started is the day it began moving to where we are now. I was meant to be here, there's no disputing that.

"Then where else could we start? Is there a point where you can cut your life in half?"

Ren laid his head back in the chair. His neck curled around the top of the chair's frame, grinding against his skin. Two moments in his life easily came to mind, yet only one would find his voice. "Makoto Niijima's promotion… That'd be it."

"After she killed Mitsuo Kubo?"

"Might want to check your files—you forgot the, 'Allegedly,' part."

Maruki shrugged. Clearly, he didn't think the omission would affect how much Ren planned on telling him. "We all make mistakes."