Chapter 4
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Rie opens the plain metallic door of her apartment, faint, lukewarm sunlight basking her back. One of many in a run down block, the outer walls of the place are dirtied by all sorts of colors, stains and cracks, an unrenewed building.
Her mind recalling what transpired last night, and the conclusion of it: as she walked out of that hotel room, Ryo Marufuji stood by the doorframe, folded arms and his trademark stoic gaze, watching as she left. Her clothes were waiting for her in that communal dressing room, untouched. The place was completely empty, unlike the bustling sight she got first.
She also had that man's overcoat that she's been dressing up until now, her finger slithering onto it, the fine cloth is something she couldn't afford with all her part-time job salaries; taking a close inspection at it, she saw there was a cut on the lapel and a drop of blood, probably from his scuffle. Maybe she should get it fixed, but is she even able to fix something this high quality?
Dressing up her own clothes, she takes her belongings back and just like that, she was allowed to leave the room that moment. The guard yanked her back and held her shoulder as her feet stepped into the elevator, a firm grip, keeping her in place.
"You're coming here when we demand, get it? If you try to tell anyone you know or the police what we're doing here. You know what will happen: You and your family will be dead meat."
Letting her go, she stumbled into the lift, the doors closing and that guard never stopped watching her. The nostalgic sound of the metal creaking as she opens the door to her apartment brings her back to reality.
The entrance leads right into the living room, a five-tatami floor sized room encased by white walls, two of which were folding doors leading to different rooms.
As she takes out her white, plain shoes to leave at the small, grizzly brown carpet by the entrance, she can see the very low wooden table at the middle of the room, a few dark-green cushions they use as seats on each side of the table, except directly in front of it.
The TV was across from the table, but her sight was polluted by a dozen beer cans, some lined up and some dropped haphazardly; a plastic bag with empty packages of junk food was also just thrown over the ground. A gasp soars when she notices the single beer can toppled to the tatami, a leftover mark of liquid splashed there as proof of the crime and a dirty rug that seemed like an attempt to clean it.
I can't believe he did this again, I even told him to pour flour on it if it happens! We can't afford new tatamis.
She sighs deeply, mustering the courage to open folding door at the right, the kitchen: a corridor whose size could only fit one person near the counter with the gas stovetop and a mini-refrigerator to the side; right after it there's a metal sink filled with dirty pans and plates, she rolls her eyes, her impatience growing.
Argh, he's not here and he didn't even do the dishes!
Walking all the way across the living room, she stops briefly, gathering the trash and tossing it over the trash bin to the very right corner, lining the beer cans near it. Then, sliding the second folding door open, her brows angle down so much it makes her forehead crinkle.
There's a small anteroom, only three simple wooden doors, one right in front of her, another one all the way to the left on the same wall; and the last one directly to her right; there's a washing machine touching the left wall. She can see through the acrylic door that there are still wet clothes in there.
He could've taken it out of the machine at least. Is it too much to ask?
She stomps her way there, opening the door near the machine, to a bathroom, the tiniest room that only fits a toilet in front of her, a sink to the left and a small bathtub to the right, separated only by hanging curtains whose edges are covered in dry mold. There's a small clothes basket under the sink, she takes it and proceeds to unload all the washed clothes there.
Her annoyance grows by the minute. She's barely arrived and the million tasks left for her father to do were completely ignored. Marching all the way to the door to the right.
Is he slacking off in the bedroom again?
She barges it open with a huff, the room is so small she almost bumps into the futon on the ground, an sprawled magazine there, it takes but a glimpse to see the legs of a woman as sprawled as the pages, her eyes widening as she closes it and tosses it to the other end of the room in anger, it hits on the two-door closet and flops to the ground, face down, pages ruffled in the process. It reminds her of last night, all those improper gowns and lingerie, she's becoming averse to it.
I've seen enough of this for a whole lifetime, I swear. Is he fifteen or something? Shouldn't he be ashamed as a father of two kids?
If he invested as much time in studying or trying to find a job, maybe he'd have succeeded already. She steps over the futon to reach the single bed, the blankets are completely crinkled.
I told him to at least make his bed! And why did he spread the futon? Haru isn't even here!
Her head winces back as she approaches, she waves her hand in front of her nose, it stinks like sweat and alcohol. Grimacing, she yanks all the bedsheets away and quarantines them into the washing machine.
It takes some more time until she cleans, puts the apartment in order and can finally got to her own bedroom, the last door remaining: the space is the same as in the other room, with the difference that it's a lot cleaner, the tatamis don't have a single stain.
A well folded light-blue futon with childish drawn yellow and pink flowers with smiling faces as pattern; at the opposite corner of the entrance, a few books are stacked near the wall; beside it, there's a chest of drawers with three stacked drawers, and all the way across from it, there's a tiny working table with a padded, square pink cushion with golden trims as a seat; a white bedside lamp with a wavy hat placed atop it, the brims having a laced pattern; a yellow pencil case stands above a notebook; a rectangular, digital battery clock is placed by the side of it. She gasps looking at the time.
Is it already this late? This is bad!
Opening the chest of drawers, she grabs the nearest dress and rushes to the bathroom, a few minutes later, there she is in a white, composed long sleeved dress, falling down to her knees; a yellow backpack adorning her outfit and one of her arms serving as a hanger for some apron with the brand of a well-known convenience store. Her hand is already at the doorknob to leave, but someone opens the door before she does.
Stepping back, she watches the crooked figure of her father, a sequence of hiccups sounding while he enters, unkempt brown hair, a disheveled red shirt whose sleeves were folded inward, his jeans pants looking dirty from sauce or whatever he has been eating outside; his blue eyes half lidded as if he's groggy from all the drinking.
"Oh you're home, Rie. Can you make me some tea-" flaring her nostrils, she walks past him going all the way out of the apartment. "Where are you going?! Hey! I'm talking to you!"
"Work," she closes both hands into fists and taps her left fist over the right one to gesture in sign language.
"Hey! I worked a lot to pay for your education too, don't be ungrateful! You wouldn't be this independent if it wasn't for me paying for your education, alright?! Help your father a bit, will you?"
Tugging her apron, to show the embroidered brand of a convenience store on her uniform, she shakes off her head in disapproval, disregarding the discussion. How many times does she need to tell him she's working at this hour? As he gawks, too drunk to think of words, she slams the door onto his face and darts to the station, sighing in relief after she catches the train just in time.
As the vehicle moves, she takes a very deep breath. She couldn't even sleep last night, or to be more accurate, none of them could. Although he seemed suspicious, Mr. Edgy kept to his word, looking at his cards or whatever he was doing there. She was too tense to think properly, wondering if he would make a move.
It's hard to believe after she's seen him dislocate someone's shoulder, but despite it being just the two of them, he didn't employ those tactics against her. At least, she can take him seriously in the part he was only interested in dueling. Albeit his notions of fun are completely twisted, like when he laughed at her garments.
His attitude problem aside, he helped her. Whether she can trust him or not, she'll see next time, but so far it's safe to believe like her, he might have his reason to have wound up in the shady underground. People do say to not judge a book by the cover, and she's starting to grasp the concept on a more relatable level.
At noon,
In the city's downtown, on an alley near the main commercial streets, there's a bistro. Its outside consisted of carved, waxed wood making wavy patterns around the door, a metallic plate hung onto a rope put around the doorknob at the entrance which was made of a framed door with glass squares composing it, taped with a white pellicle glued to it from inside, making it impossible to see the inner parts.
In that establishment, Ryo sits at a rectangular wooden table of a dark-brown color with reddish shades, cleanly polished, his seat is a bench, made of some cheap padded material, both behind his and the bench across from him, there's a standing, plain dark screen separating the tables, he can't see through it, but he can smell the smoke of the hookahs in the air, one standing on the surface ahead of him.
Arms folded, he sighs impatiently, listening to the owner of the bar clinking some cups while washing it far to the side, he massages his forehead, brushing his hair aside.
I didn't get any sleep.
The luminance of the place is composed by weak, yellowish lights attached to the ceiling to make the ambience dark; there's also a round lamp sustained by a filigree-like metal frame stuck to the wall on his side.
The smell of this place and all the murkiness, it all reminds him too much of the underground, and he'd prefer not reviving the experience under broad daylight. Why did his manager choose this place again? And why is he waiting here while the man is over twenty minutes late? His brows start to crook down in moodiness.
Suddenly, the bell attached to the opening mechanism of the door chimes, his arms unfolding in anticipation, Saruyama takes but a second to find him, on the seat nearest to the door, a smirk playing on his lips, he's not alone.
His company is a tall, bulky man whose brown, medium hair was all combed back to his neck, he was in a sandy-colored suit set, a silky necktie with stripes adorning his plain white shirt. Even though he used brighter colors, the droopy eyes of the guy were even more fishy than his manager's.
"Oh, it's really him! Hell Kaiser Ryo, in person."
He takes a quick glance at the space, noticing the overcoat tossed at the seat to the side of the duelist, as if he spitefully put it there so no one would sit beside him. The man scoffs, letting Saruyama sit first across from the duelist and taking the seat at the edge of the bench. Ryo follows them with yes quietly.
"I'm sorry for the late introduction, I'm Roger."
What a stupid fake name.
"Hell Kaiser Ryo."
"I'm the one who brought the… merch. I'm in the pleasure line of business and what you got yesterday was one of my freshest products."
Fancy way to say 'pimp'.
"Is that so?" he blurts out uninterested, hiding how much his blood simmered right now under his cool façade.
"I heard you're so interested you asked for an exclusive contract and to pay extra. I just wonder why. The girl could pay her debt a lot faster if you would-"
"I'm not interested in 'sharing' anything I own, it's that simple," he smirks so vilely, the other men exchange a glance, snickering at his crude declaration.
"I've told you he has quite the mindset!" Saruyama slaps the shoulder of his friend. "Like I've said, he can pay for it, so it won't be a problem."
"I guess you must've had too much fun to let go, huh?"
He inhales the smoke coming from the hookah, blowing it out Ryo's direction, on purpose. The Kaiser clears his throat, glaring back at the man who simply laughs it off.
"Did you bring the pictures like I've requested?"
"Of course," Saruyama replies. "We are keeping them as insurance."
He explains, taking out a cigarette box, prodding it towards Ryo, offering one, his duelist simply holds his hand up, swaying his head lightly, the man lighting up his own cigarette.
"Roger, was it? Do you have the pictures?" he states staunchly, looking towards the main target.
"I do, yes. I have a copy of them, you asked for it after all," he sneers, taking a long, thin rectangular envelope from his pocket, like the ones used to keep money. "Here, have a look at it."
He blows more smoke towards Ryo's way, grinning as though he found delight in teasing him like that, the feeling wasn't mutual. The teen snatches it out of his hand grumpily, carefully using his fingers to make an opening and look at the contents, his eyes narrowing conflicted at the first glance.
It's certainly Rie, but she's passed out, the picture taken from an angle under the skirt of her dress, as she was obviously thrown onto a chair with no care at all, her arms dangling from the back frame of the seat, her plain blue panties for show. He shuts up the envelope at once.
"Oh, come on, don't be shy," he says, sniggering wickedly. "You probably only saw worse in porn magazines, right? But they feel too distant, don't they? Now you can get the real stuff, good stuff. We're all grown men here, aren't we? No one will mind if you take a peek, especially considering you already saw it first hand anyways."
It sounds like a request, but the man is compelling him to do it with that conceited, diminishing tone. Ryo glares at Saruyama who doesn't contest with a single word, only smirking as if also waiting for him to do it.
Roget stands up, coming around the table and shoving Ryo's coat to the side, sitting on its previous spot, entering his personal space, stealing the package from the duelist's hand and dropping the whole content out, pictures plopping one after another.
"Here I'll help you, kiddo."
Ryo takes an overall, off-putting glance at the images, his insides set into a turmoil, filled in revolt. He shouldn't be looking at this.
Sliding the ones he looked at to the side he makes inwards conjectures. The images vary, many suggestive angles, sensual poses and close ups on her intimate parts still covered by underwear, but his hand halts upon seeing a glimpse of what seemed to be a nude underneath another of the photos in which she's dressed.
Roger laughs at his reaction as his eyes escape the sight lightning speed, he offers the pipe to Ryo who scowls at him, trying to refuse.
"Don't hesitate, kid, just take it!" he tugs the picture from under the others, pushing it near the youngster. "I'll show you my favorites."
With an obnoxious smirk, he tugs a picture of Rie placed on a bed sideways, wearing that same dress he'd seen her with in the locker room, one of her legs slid atop the other and one of her arms partially covers her chest, her eyes closed shut.
"We have a sequel to that one!"
Roger grins, skimming through the photos until he finds one of her in the very same position, but this time in her blue underwear. Ryo can only be disgusted, of how loathsome those men are, undressing an unconscious person, shaming them without boundaries.
If they leak any of this into the internet or in any media, she's done for. She won't be able to ever have a normal job and will be left only the option of working in this type of industry…
"Oh, this must be all to tame for a man like you, you've seen more than this after all," his grin enlarges, as if he'd meant that as an irony not as a praise. "We put some effort into making it marketable!"
He finally pulls a third picture, lining the three of them in a sequence, but this time, the woman is completely naked. Even though the picture intentionally didn't show everything due to her positioning, he refuses to even take a glance at it, his sight blurs.
The man is persistent. "Take a good look, right?! It's a work of art!"
Hurling the pipe of the hookah onto Ryo's hand and tugging it for him to try smoking, he drags the picture even closer, tapping it aggressively with his fingertip. The duelist inhales it as briefly as he can, his throat and nostrils burn mildly, that picture of Rie in such a deplorable state engraved into his mind, he turns his face away to cough out the smoke.
"Yes! This is how to life, kiddo!" he delivers a soundly slap onto Ryo's back, slightly bouncing the youngster back and forth as he repeats the movement.
These people…
It makes him queasy. His hand instinctively grabbing a hold on the tabletop, as he recomposes himself. He can hear both men guffaw and if coercing the young man the wrong way was the most relishing and rewarding job.
I hate them.
It's a real person in those pictures. Not someone paid for this type of work, or someone who willingly let themselves be seen. It's Rie there, that girl who'd been standing near him last night. His vision warps while thinking about that. How many other girls did he blackmail like this? Without dwelling too much on it, he gathers all of the photos with both hands and sets them aside.
"I'll be buying all of those."
"The pictures?" he raises a brow.
"I want exclusivity in this too."
"Don't you already have the girl? It's just some pictures, some don't even show her face, why are you so-"
"Listen, I'm climbing back to the pro leagues, and if by any chance she decides to blow all the dirt into the fan about what we're doing here, I'll be in trouble," he says between his teeth. "Just say the price," he ends hoarsely.
I wish him the most abject death.
"You don't tarnish your reputation, I hear you only think of victory."
"Those pictures are also my insurance and I want those to be the only copies too."
"Possessive aren't we?"
"Possessive? No, I'm just a cautious man and I like to hold what I own in my very own hands, where I can control it."
Dizzied by all the smoke reaching his brain, his body sways right and left, his back unknowingly hitting the bench, he lands a hand on the table, to keep his posture as straight as possible, trying to maintain some eloquence and fulfill his objective here. Unlike the electricity of the duels that wakes him up, this just makes him lethargic.
"I like you, boy! Fine, I'll not commercialize those if that's your wish."
The man has to laugh, slapping Saruyama's shoulders as if that was the joke of the year. Standing up, he stretches his hand to the side for a handshake, which Ryo accepts begrudgingly; his other hand shakes the shoulders of the young man brusquely. He leans on, near Ryo, smirking:
"You can have those for free since you seem to be a big fan of my product, unfortunately we'll have to raise the price by a hefty sum for the nightly adventures, since you'll be the only client and I don't intend to lose money on this," stretching his suit with a conceited puff, to finish the deal, then he leaves.
Ryo casts a deadly glare at his manager while gathering the pictures into the packing and tucking it into his coat's pocket. Saruyama raises both arms, attempting to say he wasn't expecting things to go this way.
"I'll be out now," he grabs his overcoat annoyedly and stands up, teetering, getting a hold of himself on the seat before finding balance.
"Won't you eat?"
Instead of answering, he snorts at the other man, it was an idiotic query. Who could even eat here in this insufferable place? His head throbs, all this sordid mood ruined his day. His eyes squint at the brightness outside, obfuscating his sight, but the cold breeze tingling his face feels so refreshing.
This is the first step to make sure they won't have anything tying her down to the underground once her debt is paid. And for him to learn to not do things half-way like he used to.
As he comes back to his apartment, he tosses his shoes to the side, again roaming towards the bed at unstable steps, plopping there and sinking his face onto the mattress. It smells a bit dusty, but still better than that smoky bistro.
His hand slides into his chest's pocket, plucking the envelope with the pictures out of it. He rolls over his back, getting up in a single impulse, trudging to his working table, opening the upper drawer, tossing the chubby paper there and locking it with a key, his eyes faltering briefly.
I have to climb out of this hole quickly.
Late night,
Hell Kaiser Ryo enters the underground pit, Saruyama smirks observing him stand proud against his foe, under the highlights. Soon the first duel is finished, the watchers clap loudly and whistle at him from all around him. He approaches the fence, his manager also coming close to communicate:
"Call in the next one!" he demands, like a king speaking a decree.
"Oh? You're dueling more?"
And so the second contestant falls, Ryo comes back at the fence again, as if he'd not thrashed the other two men enough, his hands sweating profusely, an arrogant gaze, like a blaze abided in his orbs burning in pure ambition:
"Bring the next!"
"Are you not satisfied yet? What gives?" he cachinnates before answering it himself. "Oh, don't tell me our little meeting today got you so hyped for what's else to come?"
"I don't have the whole night," Ryo growls.
He knows this isn't a way to vent his frustration, that he shouldn't be just putting his body through those excruciating duels more than necessary, but this indomitable desire strangles him from inside, he wants to destroy anything ahead of him, every obstacle and every limit too. If he's aiming for new heights, he will first need to go through new lows and overcome it through sheer willpower.
Victorious again, he walks past his manager who tags along. Saruyama blabbers on and on, but all he can hear is a distant, unclear voice, pressure accumulated inside his ears. His head hurts too, he totters a step to the side, a hand grabbing his shoulder, snapping him out of it.
"You should go up to the hotel room and rest."
"Right. The hotel," he whispers, out of energy to even speak louder.
Maybe there, he can at least have a shower, clear his head, wake himself up from this drowsy state and then resume his studies. There are some interesting pro matches he'd like to see too, it'll give him more insight on other pros.
Were the three duels in a row too much? Can't my body resist a bit more…?
He leaves the lift, not even greeting the bellboys while walking directly to the room shown in the keycard. Robotically opening the door and letting out his shoes at the entrance hall, there's already a pair of golden high heel sandals. His gaze remains foggy, lost in his thoughts until he sees a blur of pink.
Rie is standing by the window, covered in the same brown coat as last time, she whirls around to glance over at him, but he averts his gaze, bothered by her presence. She pouts, looking outside to the starry night again. What's his problem?
His feet stagger, coming close to the center table, bending over it, depositing his briefcase there with a soft bang.
When he raises his head, the world around suddenly swirls and blends in a mosaic of colors. His vision blackens out. It's not a second later when Rie hears a heavy, dull thud, her shoulders bristling up, startled as her gaze wanders in the room, scared, searching for the source of the noise.
Ryo is splattered face-down to the ground near the couch, his dark coat folding over the floor. The blood leaves her veins, she hurries nearby looking him up and down, not knowing how to react. Should she go out and call for help, or try waking him up first, what does she do?
Lost in the options, not choosing any out of panic, she crouches, her knees landing onto the carpet, her palms flat on his back as she shakes him brusquely. It elicits a small reaction, his finger twitching, her hands recoiling worriedly when he opens his hazy eyes.
Supporting his arm onto the floor, then his hand, until he lifts his upper body, sitting down with difficulty, putting a hand to shield his face from the lights. She holds him by the arms, looking at his posture, face and ascertaining if anything was wrong.
"Let go."
Is what he mumbles in an authoritarian tone, but he's in a daze, his eyes don't seem to be concentrated anywhere as his head turns left and right, confused where to even hold himself to stand up while Rie is but a smudge in front of him gesturing so hectic it made him more dizzy. Then it happens again, his vision doubles, as if two images overlapped each other, his eyelids close and everything around just fades to black.
I can't keep my eyes open.
His whole torso bending onwards stumbling onto her, her arms opening in reaction, eyes bulging out in shock, his forehead hitting the top of her shoulder, sliding down slowly before she catches his head and wraps her other arm around him to support his whole torso, her fingers getting a hold on his nape, using her own shoulder to nudge his head above its line.
Did he just collapse a second time? Is he drunk or something? But he doesn't even reek like alcohol like that time at the nightclub, instead, there's a faint scent of a bland lemony cologne, she notes after sniffing onto his hair.
Hot steam comes out of her head while trying to figure out why he's out cold, she can hear a regular, faint breathing, her fingers unwittingly enclosing around his hair.
Is he sleeping…?
Now that she holds him close, he's a bit scrawnier than he looks with that imposing coat of his and not nearly as menacing. So much about being careful, collapsing in front of a stranger, if she was as dangerous as that man at the toilet, he'd be dead, he shouldn't be scolding her for being careless either.
Should I try waking him up?
She shakes his body slightly, but there's no reaction. He doesn't seem like he's waking up any soon. Her eyes squint, conflicted, patting his back with soft, muffled strokes, but to soothe herself.
What should I do now?