Spring, 2016
Makoto never expected the park's public restrooms to be so far, nor did she expect cops on patrol to lurk a few meters away.
"Hayase-san?"
Mamoru crept along one of the park's many paths, outfitted with a uniform and the proper equipment. He looked nothing like the detective Makoto worked with for the past month. The only telling clue that it was him was his startled reaction to her voice. He flinched, turned, and narrowed his eyes as Makoto approached.
"Good morning."
"What are you…" She looked up and down his uniform, remembering the days when she was in his position. "Are you patrolling?" He nodded but didn't explain as Makoto expected him to. She had forgotten the kind of person he was. "What about the team? I mean, not even the team, but being a detective—that's still your job, right?"
"It is. This is for a little extra money to send home."
"O-oh, I see… Family doing well?"
"They're afloat."
It was frustratingly little to advance the conversation. She could appreciate Mamoru for the sentiments he held and the loyalty he demonstrated, but as a conversation partner, he was last in line.
"How about the department—any less chaotic?"
"Sako's finding new punching bags daily. Won't be the same department when you're back, I think."
"What about the rest of the team? Adachi, Amagi, Sato—"
"Nobody's working at the moment. Adachi's appealing to the brass about how Sako handled your discipline. He's going to bat for you, while Akechi's first in line to take over the investigation." Somehow, Makoto didn't believe Adachi to be more loyal than Mamoru. He had his designs, surely. As for Akechi, she expected it after their last conversation. He helped her, sure, but it was to get some sympathy between them before he filled her spot. "Satonaka and Amagi keep away from me, and Chihaya's taken a vacation. Indonesia, maybe?"
At least one person got a relaxing end.
"And you—just patrols?"
"As much work as possible. It's not right to take a break right now."
"Yeah…"
"I'm not referring to you. You're not taking a break."
"It might turn into one."
"You won't be back next week?"
"Maybe not. The department hasn't treated me with respect."
"Niijima-san…"
"And if that didn't matter, I still underperformed at my task. The team's dissipated and gone while the war we were assigned to prevent kicks into gear. I thought I was ready, I thought this is my purpose, I thought—"
"You were an excellent leader and more than capable. The circumstances failed you, not the other way around."
"You don't need to suck up to me anymore."
"I've never lied to another officer, especially to gain their favor. You did your job well. It'd be a shame to give up your talent."
Just what talent did Mamoru refer to? What display of that talent had he witnessed? Like Akechi, he knew things about Makoto that she didn't know. If people were so aware of her capabilities and failings, why wasn't she?
"Thank you. I'm here with a friend I should get back to, and I don't want to interrupt your shift much longer," Makoto said, getting an agreeing nod in return. "Nice to run into you, Hayase-san."
"You as well. Goodbye."
They parted and their paths veered away. Makoto's walk to Ren was long, but it gave her plenty of time to forget her interaction with Mamoru. It was pleasant, mostly, but anything to do with that part of her life was a reminder. She couldn't let it weigh on her when she was supposed to enjoy the Spring morning.
Sun split leaves and branches of the overhead trees. The river next to Makoto's path shined with an enticing gold. Inokashira was a beautiful place that deserved more attention from Makoto in the future. Perhaps she and Ren could make regular trips.
She hoped Tokyo's Summer didn't get too hot. If those regular trips were to happen, they couldn't be spent sweating instead of relaxing. However, if they were just as beautiful as the Spring morning she experienced, maybe it would be worth it.
Makoto found herself appreciating the sunlight as if she never experienced it before. In a sense, she hadn't. Freed from the job that wanted her to fail and from the expectations of her family name, the world around her had so much more to offer.
Her long walk became short with how much she enjoyed it. After minutes of wondrously admiring her surroundings, Makoto found herself at the blanket with Ren once again. "Sorry for keeping you." She dropped down to the blanket, positioning herself right next to him.
Next, she started with the food. They had made a store run before the park because they were too lazy to make the food themselves, and because Leblanc had nothing but coffee and curry supplies.
Makoto expected Ren to match her interest and take his half of the food. No such thing happened. She felt his weight shifting on the blanket again and again, but his hands never joined her at the bag of food.
What was he doing?
She glanced at him, seeing his head in the clouds of a random direction. Lost in thought, or distraction, he wasn't thinking of his time with Makoto.
Had she done something wrong?
Suddenly, Ren's head spun and he slammed into her, shoving her off the blanket and away from the food. Her ribs stung with the force of the shove and a bruise would arrive within a day. "H-hey! What's ar—"
A gunshot cut Makoto off. The park reacted before she could. Seconds of processing passed as two more gunshots rang out and the birds sang panicked songs while people screamed. The only other person with the same reaction as Makoto was Ren—he did nothing. Face-first in the grass, he slumped over and did nothing because the bullets were for him.
"Ren!"
Realizing what happened, Makoto disregarded the shooter, wherever they were, and grabbed Ren. His heart throbbed in his whole body so she knew she had to take action. Her breaths got heavier as she rolled his heavy body onto the blanket. His thin frame was deceptive—no fat, all muscle. It was an impossible level of fitness for someone so committed to staying inside so much.
There was no time to worry about such a thing. Ren breathed and his heart beat, but blood seeped into the blanket. Makoto's knees were warm when she kneeled over him, soon replaced by cold as the blood met the grass.
"R-Ren, please please please don't—"
Another gunshot. Makoto's eyes left Ren and looked around the park, trying to determine the source and if it was another for Ren.
"On the ground, now!" Mamoru roared, storming across the grass with his gun drawn. He advanced on a young man with blue hair, his legs buckling after a bullet. In one hand was a gun. The other hit the grass to support his shocked body. "Drop the weapon!"
With Mamoru taking care of the shooter, Makoto could focus on Ren. The throbbing of his pumping blood slowed since she last touched him and the blanket was getting colder with lost blood. His eyes were hazy, hidden beneath half-open eyelids.
She'd never look him in the eye again.
Makoto grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly to pressure out the throbbing. The moment had to stop, Makoto wasn't enough to save anyone, Mamoru had to kill that son of a bitch for what he did, and Ren needed one more moment with Makoto to say goodbye.
There were cries to call an ambulance and sobs of people who never knew the victim, but they were blurry. Makoto sensed nothing but the life in front of her slipping away, its last warmth staining the blanket, and its last breath escaping from a dying body.
What could Makoto do to stop any of that?
"T-t-t-…" Ren's breaths interrupted his mumblings. Each touch of the paramedics brought more nonsense from him. "Sss…"
Makoto had her own mumbling to get through. She sat on the other side of the ambulance, brought with to provide Ren's information to the spare paramedic not needed to perform emergency care. While the busy ones fought with Ren to keep him alive, the spare interviewed Makoto, who could barely be bothered for more than a whispered prayer.
"C'mon, Ren," she said beneath her breath, carefully watching as a paramedic pressured a wound with their hands to slow the bleeding. The stained floor of the ambulance spoke to how well she did her job.
"Niijima-san," said the paramedic tasked with interviewing her, "I need your help."
"Y-yes, sorry…"
"I understand how difficult this is, but providing the necessary information will help your friend enter emergency surgery without delay once we reach the hospital. Can you help with that?"
"Of course."
"Let's start with the basics. Name of the victim?"
"Ren Amamiya."
"Date of birth?"
"Um…" She didn't know. Luckily, she had a source for that information. Right before the ambulance arrived, she pulled Ren's wallet from his pocket. She knew that it was her responsibility to give the paramedics the information. "One second." The wallet was heavy with blood and cold to the touch, but Makoto didn't shy from it. She unfolded it and grabbed the card with a photo of Ren; his hair was longer. "Here." The paramedic took the ID, pinching it between his pointer and thumb, and looked at it.
"Is this right?"
"W-what?"
"You handed me an ID for Yoshiro Takata, not Ren Amamiya."
She handed him the ID in what she thought to be Ren's wallet. It had his face, too.
Panicking over the implication, she opened the wallet again and pulled out everything she could. "Takata, Todo, Imai, Morita…" Each card had a different name and date of birth on it, though the only ID was Takata's. They couldn't all be Ren's—was he a pickpocket? It excused his wealth and not having a time-consuming job.
But why did the Takata card match the Takata ID?
Was that the real Ren?
She glanced over at Ren, at Yoshiro, at whoever the fuck was bleeding out while two paramedics sweat to keep him breathing until they reached the operating room. "St… Ste…" he mumbled.
"Niijima-san." She gave her attention back to the paramedic. "We'll admit him based on the ID you gave. Is that alright?"
A life was a life no matter what name it had.
"Yes."
Hours.
It was hours in the restrictively straight chair of the waiting room—hours of squirming, of turning down calls, of telling herself that the man she wanted to survive was Ren Amamiya—before she got a status update.
"The doctor says his remarkable physical condition is why he's recovered so quickly. All the bullets are removed, his vitals have stabilized, and he's asleep right now," a nurse had said.
Remarkable physical condition, indeed. Makoto knew that with firsthand experience. How a part-time consultant and barista could maintain such a form was beyond her, but Ren was a man of many secrets, most of which she hoped to uncover by the end of her time in the hospital waiting room.
The difficult part of her many hours in the waiting room was being alone, aside from the spammed calls of Akihiko which only served as reminders to keep her phone silenced—she had nothing to say to him. Her only friend was on the surgical table, leaving Makoto with her wandering thoughts of Ren's disguised truths. The blood on the wall, his wallet of falsehoods, the consulting—they didn't help Ren's case.
Why was he the target of a shooting? Who were his friends at L'Effervescence? How real was the inheritance?
With how quickly Makoto's focus moved around the waiting room, the answers must've hid behind the clock on the wall or the plant in the corner. Perhaps they were on the other side of the opening door.
Makoto watched the waiting room's newest guests as they approached the desk. She'd made great friends with her fellow waiters in their shared struggle of endurance sitting and who got which magazine. If there was more competition for who could be the least impatient, she had to be observant.
The new people were numerous—a four-man crew flanking one all-important individual marked by his dyed blonde hair. It was a flashy haircut for someone who seemed uninterested in outward appearances. His clothes were plain and casual, acceptable in any circumstances, and inoffensive to anyone of any age. The crew matched his style.
The blonde spoke to the man at the desk. Too far for Makoto to hear, but visually loud enough to demand that she watch. She was right to pay attention—the blonde leaned forward over the table and his hand crept to the edge close to the man at the desk.
He relented when the man mouthed a few words. The tension left and the man was satisfied enough to leave the desk, direct his men to the other side of the waiting room, and isolate himself on Makoto's side of the waiting room with the few other worried waiters around. Why he didn't want to be with the other men was unclear, but he wanted to set himself apart from them. He—
"You're looking at the wrong guy, lady."
Makoto had been caught.
"O-oh, sorry… I was thinking, not looking at you," she said, hoping that any tells for her lie could be passed off as the stress of the waiting room. Still, he looked her in the eye. "Sorry."
"Uh-huh…"
The acceptance of the apology was unimportant—this man did not matter and Makoto would never see him after their time in the waiting room. They had their unique places in the world and too much distance existed between them to ever encounter one another in a city like Tokyo. Whatever the man did outside of arriving in waiting rooms with a gaggle of men surely had nothing to do with Makoto.
All of that changed when he sat down across from Makoto, not breaking eye contact with her. The acceptance of the apology was everything—if he accepted, sitting across from her was a gesture of companionship. If not, it was a confrontation.
"Do you stare at people whenever you think?"
"If my eyes are on them while I'm thinking—sure, I guess it's staring."
"Seems kinda rude."
"I apologized."
"I mean, most people are conscious of that kind of thing. Staring."
The blonde had a large way of sitting in the chair, his legs extending until his knees locked and his forearms hanging over the end of the armrest. Between his shoulders and his lower back were untouched by the chair—he had the posture of a slouching teenager.
Makoto already said sorry. If he wasn't going to accept it, she had to prepare other defenses. "It's hard to be conscious of that when I'm stuck in here for hours on end without—" She cut herself off, sighing away the ensuing rant in favor of a better one. "But who are you to make a thing out of this? You noticed, I apologized, now you're starting—"
"I just want to know why you were staring at me specifically. I stand out or something?"
"Come on. Really?"
"What?"
"To start, your hair is bright, you're tall, and you're the newest person to join the waiting room. There isn't a lot going on between people entering and exiting," Makoto said. "And don't forget that you came here with a posse, not alone. I can't imagine what all of you are here for." She looked past the blonde at the posse on the other side of the room. They conversed amongst themselves, eyeing up Makoto and whispering.
"Is it too much to ask in these trying times for people to, I dunno, mind their own business?"
"It is when it's someone like you. Your whole appearance is predicated on getting attention. Having a crew with you enhances that."
The blonde rolled his eyes. "How 'bout you? Are you sure you ain't dressed for attention?"
"How dare—"
"Make-up, expensive clothes, a bit of skin—you're ready to go on a date right now, 'cept for the blood."
"Now I know why I stared at you—you're an asshole."
"I'm an asshole? Since when was it right to stare at people?"
"See, this whole conversation is why you stand out. Your kind of people think the standards of society don't apply to them. You walk around thinking that you're above rules and people, and you do as you please. I saw you intimidate the attendant. Of course I'll stare—how could I not when someone with as much self-importance as you swings the doors open loud enough for everyone to notice?!"
When her rant ended, Makoto was alarmed by the silence. The eyes on her were not only from the blonde and his crew on the other side of the room but also from the normal people. To them, she was the same as him—someone who rudely demanded attention.
But how could she be the same as him? She was a police officer and what the fuck was he? Some lowlife ruffian at the hospital for no good reason other than to make Makoto's day even worse?
He whistled her words right over his head. "Awfully loud. I just wanted to know why you were staring at me, then you went and made it a thing. Must have had a tough day."
"Asshole," she muttered
"Hey, I'm tryna soften the mood a bit since we're beginning to interrupt the crying of others. Lemme start over and we'll resolve our differences."
She watched him, waiting for the punchline or for a jeer to crack through his stare. Instead, he nodded, awaiting her approval before he opened his mouth again. Unlike everything before it, it was a respectful gesture.
Plus, Makoto didn't know how long she'd have to wait until she could see Ren.
"Fine."
"Ryuji Sakamoto," he said, unlocking his knees so that his feet sat on the ground like a normal person's. He reached across the space and offered his hand. "I'm here—we're here—because a friend's been in a motorcycle accident."
She took his hand and shook. "Sorry to hear that." When their handshake ended and Ryuji's legs extended again, he waved her on.
"Your turn."
"Makoto Niijima. M-my friend was—"
Ryuji stood up, wiped his hand on his pants, and turned his back on Makoto. "Fuck."
"Excuse me?" When he kept walking away, Makoto got up to follow. "Hey, what happened to starting over, asshole?! I—" She grabbed the fabric of his shirt, a moment that prompted so much movement on the other side of the room that it made Makoto dizzy.
Ryuji spun around and his finger in her face stopped her from storming into him. "Listen. There are things bigger than you in this hospital, so sit down, shut the fuck up, and worry about what kind of cleaning product is gonna get that blood out of your nice shirt." He stunned her and used the chance to create distance, giving his men enough time to rejoin him. "Kaz, keep Niijima-san in her corner of the waiting room."
One of the men, the burliest of them, pushed past a few startled guests of the waiting room to grab Makoto by the arm and direct her into a chair. Her hand grabbed his but the iron grip couldn't be broken. Her instincts commanded a roundhouse kick to Kaz's skull—common sense reminded her that she was in a waiting room of people who could get injured.
Kaz forced her into her chair, standing over her with arms crossed. He blocked her view of most of the room except for the biggest asshole in Tokyo doing what Makoto wanted to do since arriving at the hospital.
The attendant stood up to yell at him. "Sir! Sir! You can't go back—"
Ryuji pointed at the attendant and snapped his fingers. As quick as Kaz got to Makoto, another man boxed the attendant into the front desk and loomed over. They didn't act, but the close distance was a threat.
And what caused all of it?
Makoto's introduction?
What was wrong with her name that would set Ryuji off and send him to infiltrate the hospital wing? Akechi's truths had faded when she was occupied by her relationship with Ren, but they came roaring back with newfound relevance. Her name was more important than her, and she was the only one who didn't know why.
It was hard not to slip the pillow out and try. Not go through with it, but the simple act of trying, just seeing how it felt, was enticing.
Ryuji looked down at Ren, tubes up his nose and in his chest. Bandages covered his arm and wrapped around his chest, back, and neck. He was pale and the slow beeps of the machine told Ryuji that he was barely alive, but he still looked healthier than anyone in that waiting room.
Unlike his mistress, he wasn't soaked in blood. The nurses cleaned him up surprisingly well.
"C'mon, you fucker… Wake up…"
That was the tough part of invading a hospital room just hours after surgery—Ren was not meant to wake up for a long time. The nurses that Ryuji pushed aside and kicked out said as much. He did not heed him because he did not believe, but five minutes into what was supposed to be a confrontation proved them right.
Staring at Ren didn't seem to do the trick, no matter how many daggers pierced Ren's sleeping form. Ryuji turned away from Ren, crossed his arms, and stared out the slitted window. Tokyo's setting sun cast blinding yellow through the window and it hurt like Hell to maintain his direction. Still, Ryuji stared out the window.
"Ryuji." He spun around, finding nothing different about Ren except his eyes open and the faint beeping a bit faster. "Are we finished?"
"A few guys died in a blitz by Kamoshida, but the family is alive." No thanks to the boss of the family and his reckless romantic excursion. For his first words to not be an apology was an insult to Ryuji and his intelligence. He knew what Ren spent his time on, he knew how little he truly cared for the family—it was a bullshit question.
"You know, don't you?"
Perhaps Ryuji wasn't mature enough to hide his pouting. Deep down, he believed it—he stopped growing up that fateful day when he met Ren at Shujin.
"I do."
"She's not a problem. Trust me."
"I trusted you a few days ago, now we're down a few men and you're on life support."
"If you hurt her—"
"It ain't me she's gotta worry about. You're the boss," Ryuji said. "But I strongly encourage you to misplace her."
"She is not a threat to our business." Ren kept his words simple, not putting in enough effort to argue as Ryuji wished. It was frustrating—Ren always had more to say.
"Yet she's a detective who knows your identity. Try spelling it out again, maybe you'll realize what's important here.
Ryuji got his wish. The beeping sprinted forth and Ren scowled, his faint lips pursed together. "Go ahead, be angry, but don't you dare talk to me as if you're above me you fuck. You know why you're still alive? Why Tokyo didn't devour the family before today? I'm the one with the responsibility, not you."
"Yeah? Whose face is the one the soldiers are used to seeing?"
"Ryuji…" Ren wheezed. "Your life didn't lead you to our business—I did."
All the stained money Ryuji handed to his mother's caregivers, all the visits to his father in prison, all the terrified students begging for him to take their money—they were nothing compared to Ren, so he said. Ryuji needed that money and he needed it efficiently. He made the choice himself, not Ren.
"You think you're untouchable, that you're the smartest in the game because you've got something nobody understands." Ryuji leaned over the bed, digging his fingers into the blanket. "But you're nothing without luck. You think you're making the decisions for me? Someone's making them for you because the coin's favored you all along."
"There's no such thing as luck. I should be dead."
"But you're here because that coin—"
"I'm here because I plan on putting Kamoshida, Mutatsu, and everyone in that disgrace of a family in the street. War is here, there's no sit-down to fall back on, and we're arguing about theoretical bullshit." Ren's arms were bound, but Ryuji felt himself pushed away. He stood up straight and backed off from the bed. "Now, let's worry about what's important. Niijima, luck, and our dispute will wait until we're not under attack."
"Fine." Ryuji's hands rested on his elbows. "Gunman was shot by a patrol officer, condition unknown. He was one of Hanamura's guys, who's still missing. Kamoshida musta squeezed them, or…"
"They provoked him and gave him the match to start the war."
"Maybe. We'll know if he goes to the other bosses saying that we struck first. We're looking for Yosuke so we can give the soldiers some motivation and an example of what not to do, but he's disappeared."
"I'll…" Ren grimaced. His free hand clutched his stomach. "I'll look into it as soon as I get my phone." His chest slowly fell, then crept upward with pain, forcing his eyes closed. "Ryuji… There was someone outside Leblanc watching me last night."
"Think it was the gunman?"
"No, the watcher was taller. It has to be a member of the Second Kaneshiro, right?"
"Eh… Should be, but that doesn't matter. I'll station two guys there in case he comes around."
"Don't worry about it. We won't be meeting there anymore."
"Got a new place in mind?"
"Something a bit bigger and a whole lot more isolated."
Ren's eyes closed and his breaths slowed. Ryuji had no idea if there was pain, but Ren at least felt the immense weight of anesthesia wearing off and had to face the restrained wrath of his saiko-komon. As much as Ryuji wanted to drag Ren out of bed and show him how angry he was, that accomplished nothing except initiating the next phase of the Aka Ikka. One day, maybe…
Until then, Ryuji would have to make amends with his betrayer. The man he gave up a normal, hard-working life for was not willing to give up anything for Ryuji's loyalty, and that could not be said until Ryuji was ready.
"A drink would be nice right about now."
"Want me to order something delivered from the club? A nine, a five, or a three, maybe?"
Ren grimaced. "What's in the three?"
"Considering that it's for getting home at three in the morning after a long night of partying, fighting, and dancing… Morphine. Maybe some fruit juice. With or without sugar, depending on your preference."
"Dammit, Ai…"
"We'll raincheck that drink, and the, uh… More personal parts of this conversation," Ryuji said. He turned to the door. "Anything 'fore I go?"
"Yeah." Ren's eyes opened fully and he tried to sit up, harshly reminded of his position by his bindings, only getting more pain as a result. "Send Niijima in, then send some guys to that store in Suginami. You know the one."
"Got it."
Pushing out the door, Ryuji looked forward to seeing Niijima again. Since their conversation, she had time to build assumptions and guesses about Ryuji's relation to her, eroding her naivety and replacing it with the purest form of suspicion. She may have guessed his type right from the moment he entered the hospital, but the full weight of the truth would cripple her.
Ryuji wished he could watch her conversation with Ren.
Alas, he had a war to fight. Soon, he was out of the hallway and back in the waiting room. His eyes locked on her immediately, still trapped in the corner by Kazushi. "Niijima." She looked up from her phone, a few small flecks of dried blood on her face. Ryuji almost felt bad. "He wants to see you. Room Seventeen."
"Wh-who wa—"
"Don't be an idiot." Ryuji pointed down the hall. "Go."
With that, he was done with her and she was done with the corner. Kazushi allowed her to leave, but Ryuji no longer paid attention to her. His focus was on the gathering group of Aka Ikka soldiers that he brought to the waiting room.
"Kazushi, I need you and Yuji to give someone a reminder that they're in the game and they're playing for the wrong side."
"Where at, boss?" Any other time, Ryuji would've corrected it. He often had to, even since Ren's introduction at the club. Old habits died hard for the soldiers. Now, though, he let it slip.
"This spot in Sug—" Ryuji stopped. Suginami was not the decision he wanted to make. As a ward, it was inconsequential to the war, confined to a corner of Second Kaneshiro territory that meant nothing to the Aka Ikka. He didn't care whether Ren ordered it or not, it wasn't the right choice.
Just like seducing a detective.
"Know what?" Ryuji remembered every time someone mistook him for the boss. He wished he never said a word. "Pick a place in Nakano, anywhere you want that'll make a lot of noise. We're not taking any breaks."
Makoto stared at her phone and didn't dare to look up from it. She learned nothing new about her phone screen, or the missed calls from Akihiko it held, but she did learn that keeping her head down didn't provoke any of the men holding the room hostage.
Not that it was an actual hostage situation—just the threat of one. The possibility of things getting violent existed, so people obeyed. Not like there was much else to do in the waiting room, anyway…
"Niijima." To her right, Ryuji emerged from the hall and took charge of the room. "He wants to see you. Room seventeen."
"Wh-who wa—"
"Don't be an idiot." Ryuji pointed down the hall. "Go."
Makoto hoped Akihiko had one last call in him; it could be an opportunity to linger and not confront what Makoto thought waited for her in room seventeen. The truth was so close she could assume what it was, and that made leaving the waiting room the scariest thing she could do.
The thought of speaking to him was unbearable, though.
Still, she had to see for herself. Assumptions could only take her so far, even if they fit so perfectly. Makoto followed Ryuji's direction and left her comfort zone behind, entering the dim hallway devoid of nurses and hospital personnel. They must have known that they had a difficult patient on their hands.
It wasn't long to room seventeen, but Makoto wished it was. She knew opening that door and seeing him would change things. He'd go from her post-work distraction, her charming companion with a backstory begging for questions, to a shell of a person living off tubes and lies.
She pushed the door open, silencing her thoughts and the hum of the hospital until she heard the first beep of Ren's heart rate monitor.
"You waited a long time for me."
It couldn't be him. The bandaged, sewn-together man in the bed spoke too warmly with too much clarity for the victim of a shooting. His tone picked up where they left off before the shots were fired.
"Re—" She caught herself. "Tell me your name."
"Makoto, it's not—"
"Tell me or else I'll walk out the door and never see you again."
"We won't do either of those things. I have too much to answer for you to leave, and everything matters more than my name."
"Not to me, Takata-san. Or is it Shirai?"
Ren dismissed the remark, though with a grimace, and launched into his pitch for Makoto to stay. "Whatever you assume is correct. I'm bōryokudan and have been since Shujin." Not only did he ruin himself, he smashed the humor of the statue into bits and pieces—Makoto couldn't have a thing. "There's no consulting; not in the way I described it at least. I'm a high-ranking member of the Aka Ikka."
Makoto breathed deeply. She'd need tubes for her nose if the air stayed so thin. "You're… God, I don't want to think about this. Just say it all and let me think. Please?"
"The inheritance… Real, but it's not a fortune." Makoto wondered what he meant. Was it a few valueless coins, or did he inherit something other than money? "My friends from L'Effervescence are with the Second Kaneshiro—they have the guns and the war began today. Before I was shot, the gun was pointed at you. That's why I pushed you on the grass." Ren's eyes drifted to the window. "Sorry."
"But it was for you, wasn't it?"
"Yes, but… You're known." He cleared his throat. "When I gave you the key to lock yourself in last night, there was someone outside. Watching."
Makoto wished she'd only gotten the truth about Ren, not the fact that yakuza families were aware of her. What she'd done to warrant that, besides devoting her time to an investigation into a dangerous family, she did not know.
"R-Ren, I don't want part in—"
"And you don't have to worry. As long as I'm alive—"
"Sorry for interrupting, but your trust isn't something I value at the moment. I'll deal with gyangu after I'm done with you." As concerning as the thought of her name being common knowledge among criminals was, it couldn't be Makoto's priority. Nothing could. The phone buzzing in her pocket wasn't important, her sister's return was an afterthought, and the memory of being a detective was from another life. "R-Ren… What am I after you?"
"...I don't follow."
"After you've played me into being a fool, how can I willingly work in law enforcement? I can't tell if the man I'm seeing is bōryokudan, what value do I have as an officer?"
Ren spoke easily—he could never understand what was so difficult for Makoto. "You should follow your career without consideration for me." The speed at which he responded was infuriating. How could he comment when he had no sense of justice?
"Not all of us have broken morals, Ren! What integrity do I have if I'm working after what we did?" He answered her question with silence, though Makoto knew every time his heartbeat—a frustrating reminder of when she felt it against her back that morning.
"Will you keep my secret?"
"That's the problem—it's not your secret. I've spent enough time with you to be complicit, or to just look like an idiot."
There was no spin Makoto could give the situation, no bright side waiting for her to find it. Everything about Ren was bad news. How could she ever return to the precinct knowing that she couldn't sniff out Ren? How could she keep that secret and pretend there was honor in being a police officer? How could she live up to her father, her sister, and Akihiko? The only people she wouldn't disappoint were the higher-ups—learning that Niijima made an impeachable mistake would have them salivating.
Makoto wouldn't give them the chance.
"I have to retire. I need to move on with my life before—"
"Makoto, please—"
"Shut up, shut up. All of this is your fault. You were the one good thing I had when everything else was dreadful, and now you ruined my life…" She hated him for making her so happy. Nobody else could do it, but she could not give that job to bōryokudan, a scumbag of Tokyo's underworld who killed, robbed, and exploited whenever he could. The image of Ren doing any of that didn't sit right, especially when he was the kindest of her recent acquaintances and the only one she could take her problems to for conversation. "I want you to vanish, Ren. I want you to leave Tokyo, leave Japan, and never think of me again."
They were harsh words for the man who cared for her most. It didn't help to remember that the people on her side—Akihiko, Sae, the top brass, Akechi—still treated her worse than Ren. Perhaps he didn't deserve her hatred, perhaps he did; either way, there was nowhere else to unload it.
"I'll give you as much distance as you want, but I can't leave the city." Ren's unrestrained hand waved toward the window. "War."
"I hope they kill you."
"Makoto…"
"Don't you have some shame for putting me through this? Guilt, maybe? Did that inheritance wither what little shred of humanity you had as a kid?"
"I inherited my career. My parents died in a—"
"Oh, fuck your parents, Ren! There isn't an excuse for this or for who knows what else you've done." She thought of the blood on Leblanc's wall—he was a killer. "Know what? My parents are dead too, but I did everything I could to stay on the right path... And I did. The most controversial thing about me is that I hate my sister, but that's a far cry from living off of blood. Now... Now, you dragged me off the path and there's no way I can find my way back."
For once, Ren's response wasn't locked and loaded. His constant eye contact, almost lethargic with how little his gaze shifted, even ended when he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry about your parents."
"I don't want your condolences."
"I know."
She didn't want anything from him except for his ears—she needed to be heard. "Do you? Do you know, Ren? Do you understand that this is the worst day of my life and there's no recovering from it?"
"You're the one holding yourself back from recovering. How many people on the force have integrity? Go back to work, blend in, you'll be—"
"Please, just stop responding…" She swayed, steadying herself with a hand on the chair she stood next to, but she didn't dare to sit and lower herself to Ren's level.
"In time, you'll get your wish but for now…" The chair tempted Makoto. Hearing his warm voice weakened her knees by reminding her how she preferred to spend her time with him rather than with one of the good guys on the police force. "I'll talk until there's nothing left to say between us. You're the one thing in my life that's normal, and I greatly appreciate you for it, but I understand your anger and why we won't be seeing each other anymore."
Makoto dreaded having to respond. He was right—it would be their last conversation once everything was spoken. Leaving that hospital room would be the last time ever seeing Ren and would shut the door on this chapter of her life.
It was too soon.
"There isn't anything that excuses what I've done and I won't clean it up for you. Everything you think I've done… It's happened. There's no pride to be had, no nights that celebrate the money I've made. The only good times I can remember are with you."
He was too much to bear. "You shouldn't talk, I don't want to hear, it isn't… We aren't…" She grew more incoherent the longer she went without hearing him—the thought of him giving her his complete attention and thinking about her was torture.
"I hope you don't remember me as evil, or remember today. Just think of the curry, or when I walked you to your car. Or that first moment at the park, how beautiful it was..." Ren's heart rate accelerated. "Know that there are worse people for you to spend your time with than Ren Amamiya."
The purest version of evil, the man who gave the orders in a yakuza family, saying that to her hurt because he was absolutely right. Ren was a liar, a cheat, and at least commanded murder—yet he only wanted happiness for Makoto.
There would be nothing to live for if she let him say it all. She got off the chair and tried to look at him, blurred by restrained tears. "Never speak to me again." Turning to the door was a relief, and it gave her the clarity to have better parting words. "Get well soon." She ducked out the door.
Her pace was fast, quick with the anxiety that Ren would get out of the hospital bed, rip the tubes from his body, and chase her down the hall just to get the last word. Would it be that way forever? Would the thought of Ren always float overhead, never relinquishing her attention to more important things? Could she ever forget Ren Amamiya and his assortment of secrets?
And if somehow, someway, she mustered the courage to walk into the precinct knowing what she knew, would she be the same officer eager with ambition and a desire for justice?
Was she still the same Makoto Niijima? Was she the ambitious officer, eager to please, who knocked on those penthouse doors with Akihiko that morning? That Makoto wished to rise through the ranks and utilize her sense of justice to reform the department into something real—not just another source of jobs for people who didn't care. Was any bit of that person still there, lurking behind the anxious, paranoid trauma she'd have to live with?
She rounded the hall corner and the first sign of the waiting room—its sanitized piano music—showed itself with the beautiful accompaniment of a shouting woman.
"Ren Amamiya! It's simple."
Makoto saw the poor attendant confronted with a fancy woman with long black hair and a bag of blinding black leather. She felt for him, but did not speak up—she wanted to hear what the women had to say.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, he's not in the system."
"Of course he's in the system—he's here! I'm his wife, I should know!"
That was a detail Ren chose to exclude from his tell-all a few minutes prior. Makoto understood why, but it made her doubt how truthful the rest of Ren's words were. As for her opinions on the other Amamiya… She doubted that Ren willingly put up with her. Her appearance reminded Makoto of the people Ren ragged on at L'Effervescence.
"I don't know how I can help you. If he's not in the system, there's no room I can direct you to."
"Let's try this again. Ren Amamiya," she said, sounding out the syllables as if she was teaching a baby to speak. "R-E-N, A-M-A-M-I-Y-A. See him now?"
"Still nothing."
"Dammit, can't you do anything? Give me the computer!"
"Ma'am, that's not how this works. He isn't in the system, and I advise that you leave and file a complaint with the hospital administration."
"Oh, I'll file a complaint. What's your name?"
Makoto could end the whole situation. She could speak to the wife, direct her to room seventeen, and politely introduce herself as the woman allowed to see Ren before his wife could. Whatever consequences that entailed were not a problem because she would never see Ren again, right?
It would put the attendant out of his misery, too.
Yet she didn't stop walking, passing the front desk without a word for the wife or the attendant. She kept Ren's room to herself and let the wife drown without the knowledge that her husband was booked under Takata. Makoto didn't stop walking until she passed through the front door and saw the sun for the first time since the park—fat and orange, it watched Tokyo descend into nighttime.
It was too hot for a Spring evening.
Makoto's phone vibrated in her pocket, the first since she walked into Ren's hospital room. She hoped it was Akihiko desperately trying to reach her for an apology and a promise to fix things at the department. When she looked down at her phone, she was surprised.
The honorable Sae Niijima called.
Makoto's face twisted. She was no longer her sister, nor was she a lethal prosecutor—she was famed, and famed to be honorable. The best example of Japanese justice, law experts would say on TV to generate ratings. Makoto didn't understand which part—the fame, public justice, TV-driven decisions—was honorable, or representative of someone who truly cared about their occupation. There was no integrity in cutting ten cruel deals in the morning and taking interviews until dinner.
Then again, honor and integrity were bullshit, as Makoto had so recently learned.
A/N: This concludes Spring, aside from an epilogue for Ren which will be posted later today. Needs a bit more editing. Otherwise, I've posted just about everything I've written (besides some scraps) for this story. I have some detailed outlines for Summer, Fall, and Winter. I don't know if those will ever see the light of day, though I'd love to at least write Summer for some plot reasons. One day it'll be written, but a project like this cannot coexist with another project of similar size. So, until I finish my other story, further updates for The Skeleton Tree are off the table.
Enough of the informative stuff. Thank you to each and every one of you who read this story, even if it was just a few sentences. I spent a lot of time working on this and it's a relief for it to finally be done (to some extent) and out on the internet. There was a period where I felt that I'd never be finished with these chapters, endlessly tinkering because they could never be just right. Then, I posted the prologue and the first full chapter and committed to a posting schedule. That schedule gave me quite a bit of stress over the past half a year, but it led me to actually posting Spring in its entirety. All's well that ends well.
Anyway, thanks again for reading. Now that Spring is over, I'd greatly appreciate comments/reviews of any kind. I hope you all enjoyed the fic, that you got something unique out of reading it, and that I'll be able to return to this someday!