Monday, 10/31
"Amamiya-san! Amamiya-san!"
Ren stopped outside 2-D to find the source of the abnormal interruption. He rarely got called out in the hallway unless Ryuji had some shit to pull and Ren doubted that Ryuji reverted to honorifics, so he suspected an unfamiliar face to be the one searching for him.
Stepping away from the door and turning around, Ren saw his pursuer. A uniformed student, just as tall as Ren, strode down the hall with a little notepad and pen in hand. He waved at Ren with his pen-wielding hand, signaling him to do him the courtesy of not going to class yet.
Aw, the Newspaper Club? Man, I don't wanna talk to him… but it's Halloween, the holiday where you can lie with a straight face and not be questioned. Fine, I'll talk to him on my terms.
"Can I help you?"
"The Newspaper Club-"
"Praise be to them."
"-Is conducting interviews throughout the student body for Halloween."
And they chose public enemy number one? Wow, the club's really turned a corner.
"Of all people, you guys picked me?"
"I picked you as a person of interest, not the club. Interviewing you would boost my standing in the club," the guy said. He had a second-year patch on his black vest, yet Ren had never seen him. "And it would make for a more interesting article than interviewing, I dunno, one of these randoms."
Ren looked over his shoulder. Students trickled into 2-D, though not at a fast enough rate to suggest class began soon. With a few minutes to spare, Ren decided to celebrate Halloween the only way he knew how.
"Alright, interview away."
"Great, great…" The reporter flipped over a page of his notepad and started jotting an unsaid quote. "So, Amamiya-san, start by telling me about your costume."
Costume?
Ren's costume went through eras, epochs, and ages over the previous twenty-four hours. What started as a planned elaborate anime reference became a cloak ripped straight from Earth Harmony, which then turned into a superhero cape until enough mistakes were made for Ren to be left with nothing resembling a costume.
Instead of a holiday of dressing up, Halloween became an excuse to wear casual clothes to Shujin. However, Ren respected Shujin's usual modesty and kept his outfit decently formal by wearing plain khakis and a polite shirt.
"I'm…" Ren Amamiya? No, that was an answer beneath Ren. He could do better than that. "I'm the Radar Maker."
"Who's the Radar Maker?"
"That one guy who makes-"
"Radars?"
"Shoes."
"Ah, I see," the reporter said. He scribbled as fast as his hands would allow, getting down every detail of the Radar Maker costume and its backstory. "Now, for the next question, what do you think of Halloween at Shujin so far? See any costumes you like?"
Ren hated Halloween at Shujin. "Yeah, it's been fun." Costumes were unoriginal and uninspired at best. It seemed each person had three choices for their costume: anime character, idol, or—for the laziest of the lazy—professional athletes. The students who represented their favorite players only wore that player's jersey without more effort than that. "I've seen a few elephantine aardvarks and some egalitarian psychiatrists, but my favorite is that one kid who's dressed as Ren Amamiya."
The answer put the interview on pause so the reporter could double-take and laugh. "Really? How close did they get to the real thing?"
"Close enough for me to love it. They need a bit more plastic surgery, especially with such a mountainous nose, but I'm honored by the effort." Originally, Ren wanted to list Ryuji's costume as his favorite, but Ryuji's insecurity over his costume kept Ren from knowing what it was. He still hadn't seen his best friend's costume.
I hope nobody actually dressed as me. I may dislike most of the students here, but accidentally insulting one who likes me enough to dress up as me would be a bummer for everyone involved. So, to anyone who dressed as me for Halloween, here's me manifesting a mental apology into the universe. "Sorry!"
Remarkably, the reporter wrote down Ren's words, hopefully without the corrections that a reasonable person would make to such an unserious answer.
"Any picks to win the costume contest?"
"The what?"
"Shujin's annual Halloween costume contest," the reporter said. "Every Halloween, those who wish to can parade their costumes around during an assembly, then the student body will vote on their favorites. Winners get prizes."
I'm getting some strong deja vu right now. Could've sworn that we just had a vote with prizes...
"Yeah… I bet my life savings on Yusuke Kitagawa winning."
"Who?"
"Yusuke Kitagawa," Ren repeated, giving the reporter a feigned look of surprise. "Leader of the Galactic Republic? Defeater of the Eternal Wyrm? Widely renowned sink splasher?" The reporter continued to note Ren's words, but he found time to shake his head. "Huh. Maybe you know his band Yusuke and the Yevonites?"
"Nope, nothing."
They played here a week ago, yet this kid can't even remember. Maybe Yusuke's music has memory-erasing powers. Why can I remember it then?
"For the last question, Amamiya-san, any opinions on the state of Shujin right now?"
Feels like it's getting worse. Yeah, everyone's dressed up and happy right now, but take away those lying outfits and they'd be back to the same old gossip-obsessed losers. The people here suck and I'm happy to exist outside their sub-society. Newspaper Club gets more readers than ever which can't be a good thing. As for Kobayakawa, he's doing a pretty good job because he leaves me alone. Chouno's calmed down, Ushimaru's still a job-having anomaly, and Kawakami is the best by default.
"Well…"
In short, Shujin Academy is a terrible place because it's not where Yusuke Kitagawa attends class.
"Shujin's fine. I just think everyone needs to strive to be more like GRAVY. Unhappy? Think what Ryuji Sakamoto would do, and try to be like him."
"What do you say to those with unfavorable opinions toward your club?"
"Drink my GRAVY, cactus-smothering scum."
The reporter scribbled fast, yet he didn't need much time to capture Ren's short quote. "Thanks for your time." His integrity in recreating every word of Ren's bizarre answers in writing endeared him to Ren, even if his opinion of the Newspaper Club as a whole was still negative.
"Thanks for your penmanship."
"Welcome to class, everyone. Hope your costumes are exactly what you want them to be," Kawakami said. She wore—surprise—a witch outfit straight out of a blockbuster movie. Unoriginality struck the faculty as hard as the student body, it seemed. "Sorry to do this, but we still have a lecture to get through today." The class collectively groaned, a few of them taking the opportunity to bitch through whispers that a teacher dared to teach them when they went to class. "But because it's Halloween, we'll take a little time to celebrate by going around the class and explaining our costumes. Why don't we start with Oishi-kun?"
No, please just lecture, I'm begging you. You know what? I'm this close to standing up and revealing Becky's truth to get out of sitting through a bunch of anime references. I swear to God if I don't get out of this-
Ren did none of that because he was a well-behaved, quiet student who kept his mouth shut while others spoke. One by one, each student gave at least a sentence explaining their outfits.
"I dressed as her because she's my favorite character!" said a girl whose sparkly outfit made Ren think his eyes had some undiagnosed condition.
"I've always liked villains, so he was a natural choice for a costume," another student said, his face painted green with horns sticking out of his back and atop his head. The effort was admirable even if he looked like that.
One student with glasses and patchy fuzz for facial hair gave too long of an explanation. "For someone as immersed in culture as I, choosing the correct costume was a task, quite a difficult one at that. To be Shohei Ohtani or an errand-running Jaeger is the choice that defines my generation, but I wanted to show my originality—my classiness. I chose Waluseppi." His fake handlebar mustache bounced every time he opened his mouth to remind the class of his superiority.
Finally, Kawakami's eyes landed on Ren. "What about you, Amamiya-kun? What are you dressed as?"
"Uh… I'm-"
"Stand up so everyone can see your costume, please," Kawakami said.
Ren pushed his chair back and rose. His hands slipped into his pockets, his posture stiffened, and his throat lacked the word vomit he so willingly gave the reporter before class. It didn't help that his only friend in the class distracted him by hurriedly standing up. Ann grabbed her bag and whisked it away from her desk in the time that it took for Ren to draw a crowd of eyes to his awkward lack of a costume.
She escaped the room with total silence following. Only the door opening and slamming closed punctuated her exit; a puzzling move for everyone involved, and one that so thoroughly confused Ren that he forgot to come up with a decent explanation for his outfit.
"...I'm a dad." Nobody whispered, nobody laughed, and nobody breathed. "Kawakami-sensei, may I use the bathroom?"
"No, you may-"
"Thank you!"
Ren grabbed his own bag, slipped it out of his shoulder, and got away from his desk before Kawakami could tell him to sit down and wait for Ann's return. A few whispers and remarks were shot at Ren on his way out, but he didn't care.
This has never happened before. Ann just randomly walks out of class today of all days? You know, the one where we have to stay ready because something terrible is gonna happen. She just happens to leave? I don't buy it.
Ren shut the door with more care than Ann did, but there were no teachers or students in the hall to get angry if he did slam it. Only Ann existed in the hall, leaning against a locker while her fingers motored away at her phone screen. The shutting of the door stopped her for just a moment.
"Oh." She went back to texting as soon as she registered his identity. "It's Haru—she didn't come to school today."
Then… this is it. Halloween, and whatever emergency that was meant to happen with it, has arrived. So wait, how am I involved in this? I've had a normal-ass day!
"I'm assuming she just texted you," Ren replied. He joined Ann against the lockers. It had become his favorite place to lounge when pissing off Kawakami by skipping class because it gave him the same headrush as sitting in the back of the class next to the window. In other words, it was a place worthy of a protagonist.
"...She went home. She's with her father. I don't know what she's doing, I don't know what she thinks she's doing, but-"
Alright, info so far: Halloween is a bad day for Haru, she blames me for what happens, and she's gone to be with her father. Kunikazu Okumura just had his campaign derailed earlier this month under some suspicious circumstances. It's also been a hectic year for their family because of all the Sugimura and Prince drama. All of that adds up to this moment.
"What do we do?" Ren asked. He understood the situation, but a solution was far harder to comprehend. Hopefully, Ann's extra twenty seconds of not being in class yielded her an answer.
Ann lowered her phone to her side, giving Ren her full attention. "I'm gonna go get her. I don't trust him, I don't trust anyone around him to protect Haru." Plain determination kept her words crisp and clear. "As for you, you're supposed to be involved somehow."
"But we don't know how."
"Hm…" Ann looked down. "Maybe keep it that way? Go home, stay inside, and don't join in the action and risk Ryuji's hallucination coming true."
Ugh, really? Yeah, she makes a lot of sense, but shit. Haru's my friend, too—I wanna help.
Ren prioritized reason over his own pride as a friend. "Um… alright. I can do that." Feeling useless wasn't anything new, but he did his best to avoid it. "Just let me know if there's something, anything that I can do to help. Please."
"I will. You sure you're fine skipping class?"
Skipping class? Me? Who gives a shit?
"Wasn't even worried about it. Haru's the priority, not my grades."
"Great. I'll send you updates when I can, but no matter what, don't leave your apartment. We can't risk it."
Ren nodded. He rode his hand up the shoulder strap of his bag, pulling it tighter around his shoulder to lessen the frustration. The key reason for getting Ryuji to return to the clinic was so they could help the club with whatever ordeal befell them next—not to sit in his apartment and wait out the storm. Still, he understood that his presence would complicate things.
Leaning off the locker, Ren pivoted and walked down the hallway. His stomach churned and his bag felt heavier than usual, maybe from the guilt of uselessness, but he kept walking to Shujin's exit.
I can't let her father hurt her, Ann thought. It was a tall task, admittedly. Kunikzau, no matter how disgraced he was, still had the money and power to do whatever he wanted. He could ship Haru away, lock her in their estate, or manipulate her any way he wanted. Haru was strong, but nobody was strong enough to face a villain alone.
Neither was Ann. Helping Haru needed more than one person, so Ann went back to her rapid texting.
Halloween Temp Chat
Ann Takamaki:
-Emergency! Meet me in the second-floor hallway right now.
Makoto Niijima:
-Understood.
Ryuji Sakamoto:
-Omw!
She had just sent a companion home, but Ren's help was a risk she couldn't afford. The club-endangering threat of a colossal fight between Ren and Haru was a distraction best eliminated before it even happened. If there was one thing the hallucination helped them avoid, it was that fight.
Aside from waiting for her companions, Ann's next order of business was to worry about her Halloween costume. To wear it or to ditch it for normal clothes, that was the important question. Of course, how she looked didn't matter more than Haru, but the Featherman costume was restrictive, hot, and overbearing. Ann did not want it to derail whatever purpose she, Ryuji, and Makoto determined.
It's just not worth it. Taking the subway home will take too long, and if I change out of my costume, what about Ryuji and Makoto? It wouldn't be fair to them if they don't get to change, which would take even more time, she thought, landing on the obvious decision. Fuck it. Featherman would save the day, why can't I?
Ryuji made his presence known. "You called?" She wished he hadn't, because glancing up from her phone was the worst decision Ann made all day. At that moment, she saw Ryuji's costume for the first time.
To say Ryuji even wore a costume was an overstatement. His struggles with fabric persisted through GRAVY's evening of arts and crafts, forcing him to think of an easy costume that didn't require any skill to make. What he came up with—tighty-whities, a cape, and his bare skin—almost prompted Ann to cry, scream, and throw up all at once.
She thought of Haru. God, there's no time for this. He's dressed as Underpants-sama and it doesn't matter, Ann reminded herself.
"What's the matter? Outfit got ya speechless?"
"Something like that, but this is about Haru."
"Oh."
"She went home, didn't tell me until she arrived after I spent all morning spamming her with texts, and she won't be clear with me."
"We can't leave her with him."
Ann nodded at the fact. She'd come to the same conclusion and already planned for it. She and Makoto would go to the Okumura estate and usher Haru out while Ryuji would keep a watchful eye on Ren. "Agreed. I'm going to get her, you should-"
"I'm coming with!"
"But-"
"I don't wanna hear it. You're not going alone, Ann."
"I wasn't-"
"Excuses, excuses. When are we booking it?"
"Right when-"
Ryuji cast off Ann's argument by looking away from her. "Oh hey, Makoto."
Oh my god, let me speak! Ann screamed through thoughts and body language. Makoto's arrival prevented her temper from flaring, but Ryuji would hear about it whenever their next bickering session began.
Makoto, clad in a witch costume that would have matched Haru's, looked nervous, uncomfortable, and out of her element. Whether the costume got to her or she already knew what was happening was unclear. "Ryuji, Ann," she said, giving both of them a nod. She joined their conversation with arms crossed, ready to deal with whatever emergency warranted a mid-class text.
The only thing Ann noticed was that Makoto asked no questions about Ryuji's costume with her eyes.
"Haru went home to her father, we don't know why. She texted me that and that alone, and we don't know what's going on. I-"
"Where's Ren?"
"You just missed him—we agreed that it was best for him to go home and not involve himself because of what we know from the hallucination." Makoto nodded along every few words, eyes darting from side to side as she processed. If she thought poorly of Ann's idea, she didn't voice it. "Ryuji and I are going to Haru. Do you-"
Yet again, Ann's leadership was cut short. "I'll go to Ren and keep him company."
Is it something about me that makes me so interruptible? The hair? The eyes? Maybe Ryuji is deeply sexist? she asked herself, settling on the only reasonable conclusion by the end of the list. It's probably the costume. No one wants to listen to a pink superhero talk.
"Okay, great. Questions?"
Ryuji and Makoto looked at each other. Their plain, half-frowning faces met for a moment and found no unsureness to speak of. When they looked back at Ann, she knew they were ready to do what was necessary for Haru.
"We'll walk to the station, then split from there."
Ryuji raised his hand. "Why don't we run?"
"Because you are naked and wearing a cape, and Makoto and I aren't dressed any better. We'll walk."
"Fine…"
The final stretch before Ren's apartment building was the worst part of the walk. It featured the most people, the least scenery, and the most intersections to cut off his pace for an aggravating set of seconds. It was also when his legs began to tire from his day at school, though things were different this time. Not spending the full day at school kept Ren's steps light and quick, and he felt none of the mental drainage that usually came with going home.
Crossing the street, he looked up to see the building he lived in. Even with October's final cloudy day, it cast a larger shadow than usual.
"Ren!" He turned around. Women didn't always cat-call him on the street, but when they did he couldn't just ignore it. "Ren! Slow down!" Continued turning, waiting, and watching brought his pursuer right to him. Makoto parted a few rude, angry-eyed pedestrians to reach toward Ren.
Her hand dug into the sleeves of his dad-shirt with far more impact than he expected, but it did warrant the question:
What's the rush?
"Makoto?"
"Good to see you, too," she said, panting away her exhaustion. Her red face and bent knees said enough about her route to him, but his question still hadn't been answered. "I talked to Ann, she told me what's happening. I'm here for you."
"Um… okay. Thanks." Makoto managed an open-lipped smile, one where tired breaths slipped through the cracks. "Did she tell you anything more about Haru?"
"She went home for unclear reasons—which is what I'm assuming she told you," Makoto said, prompting a nod from Ren. Without invitation, they began walking alongside one another. They crossed through the entrance to their building.
The second worst part of the walk home from the station is the lobby. It's big, expensive, and empty—the embodiment of waste. All these fancy chairs facing portraits of old people or artsy landscape photos make me hate living here. Spoiled as that is to think, I'm privileged to live in a nice building that is well-maintained, paid for, and run by the kindest staff in Tokyo who-
"Amamiya-kun!" the lobby attendant screamed across the room. "Your mail has sat here for an hour without any word from you! Do you understand how worrying this is?!"
Mail? Who the fuck mails things to me? Let's see… most likely, it's my parents. Not sure why they'd mail me something before calling me, but they are uncaring like that. Could also be Junpei messing around.
"Er… sorry?" Ren approached the front desk, bowing his head to ask for forgiveness that he didn't even need. Provoking the lobby attendant, a man Ren had to see every day, served no purpose. "Who's it from?"
"I do not know, nor do I care! Take your mail off my hands before the certifiable rot you received ruins my desk!" He dug his pinching fingers into the corner of a bright white envelope that bore no writing, stamp, or emblem, extending it over the desk to Ren.
Obviously, it's a bomb.
Ren took the envelope, flipping it back and forth to confirm the lack of writing on it. "Thanks," he said to the attendant before walking away from the desk.
"Who do you think it's from?" Makoto asked, walking toward the elevator with Ren. He became too busy to answer when his fingers failed to resist—he ripped the ends of the envelope and split its opening. His uncaring hands dove into the seal and grabbed a thin, firm piece of paper.
Oh, must be an index card. Thanks, God. Never know when you might need an index card.
With his other hand, Ren pulled the envelope and its contents apart so he could truly see the gift.
"Ren?" He'd stopped walking and Makoto gained ground on him, stopping just in front of the elevator to look back at him. "What's wro- shit… That's-"
"Yep…" Ren felt his hands get warm and his fingertips go numb from how much pressure he pinched with. The black card in his hand sucked the air out of the lobby—Ren wished he'd gotten a bomb instead. "A calling card."
My address isn't on the envelope, so whoever brought it must've handed it to the lobby attendant. Strange, but that gives us something to work with.
The blood-red scale at the card's center invited Ren to turn the card over and read whatever declaration the Prince came up with. He feared the purpose of the card, but shying away on a day when nothing went to plan was the worst possible decision.
Makoto closed the distance to Ren and leaned into his side, craning her head next to his shoulder so she could read it alongside him. "Sir Ku-"
"Probably shouldn't read this aloud, Makoto."
"R-right…"
Sir Kunikazu Okumura, the great profiteering sinner of greed. Your eventful year draws to as dramatic of a close as your campaign. Your never-ending resolve to exploit the helpless hands of Okumura Foods is a small crime compared to the treatment of your daughter. Every step of the way, you've failed to demonstrate the care a father should have for a child. It is for this reason that you must die by the end of Halloween at my hands. Do not claw for safety, for redemption, or for the worth of your last name—they mean nothing, and you are already dead.
Sincerely, The Prince of Japan, Ren Am-
"Fuck."
"Ren, it's not-"
"I come home so I can stay out of the chaos, and this is waiting for me?!" Ren forced the card into Makoto's hand before backing away from her. He couldn't look her in the eye—he didn't want to be judged for his reaction, his out-of-place name, and everything else. "Call Haru. I'm gonna…" He knew what he was doing, he just gave up on explaining himself as he retreated from Makoto.
Ren stormed up to the front desk with steps of thunder that echoed through the empty lobby. The attendant looked up with alarm and judgment, the kind that came when old people claimed the new generation to be lost.
"Who gave you that envelope?"
"Sir-"
"Who?"
The attendant recognized the gravity of the matter and decided to show some respect. He bowed his head, either to comply or to dodge Ren's anger. "...It was on my desk when I clocked in."
"Pull up security footage of the lobby."
"I cannot grant-"
"Look," Ren began. He didn't want to offend the attendant because his life would be much more difficult if he had to deal with rude staff every day, but he wanted to be firm. "The safety of my friend is dependent on who put that letter there. Open the security footage, please."
The attendant kept his head bowed. "Sir, I must refuse. I will lose my job. I offer my sincerest apologies and I hope that you find the letter's sender in an alternate way."
What alternate way? I need that security footage, and there's no other- oh… Ren, you fucking idiot.
He spun away from the desk, looking around the lobby to find wherever Makoto sat down to make her phone call. He spotted her just next to a window, sitting up straight in a chair designed for comfort. Makoto pressed her phone to her ear and held the calling card flat and face-down against her lap. She didn't notice Ren's approach, so he wouldn't interrupt.
I've got my own call to make.
Ren took a chair near Makoto, putting his own phone to his ear just to hear one ring, then the line opened. "Skipping school, Ren? Hope you're ready to play Rash Toes until-"
"Futaba, I need you to hack into my building and pull the lobby's security footage from the last four hours."
"...That's it?" Ren hummed approval, allowing Futaba to gloat. "Pfft, easy. Gimme one minute…" He heard her fingertips firing away at her keyboard. "That's the address, there's the network. First passcode? ….Cracked. Second? Oh, nevermind. They really oughta upgrade…" More typing, more barely audible mumblings. Ren tuned her out with his own thoughts.
The card is for Haru's father, yet it was sent to me and is made to appear to be written by me. By coming home, I've mixed myself up in something much, much worse than any of us expected. Framing me to be The Prince? …I hate that it makes sense. I had cause to take care of Kaneshiro. I'm friends with Haru, which would explain why I, The Prince, took out Hajime Sugimura and Kunikazu Okumura as favors to her. But… why me? Why the fuck does it have to me?
Can't I mind my own business?
All his thinking confused and depressed Ren. He distracted himself, turning his eyes to Makoto. Her continued phone conversation, assumedly with Haru, went on without any end in sight. His angle didn't give him the privilege to truly see her, only getting a vague silhouette of his girlfriend from all the light that came through the window. If Haru was on the other end of Makoto's call as he instructed, he wondered what she thought.
I'll have to give this card to Haru by the end of the day…
"Ren! You there?" Futaba asked through the phone.
"Y-yeah…" Ren pinched the bridge of his nose to remind himself that he still existed in reality. "Find anything?"
"No dice. Footage from the past week has been wiped, or never recorded in the first place."
"Shit."
"Tough luck." Futaba paused to type more things into her computer, but Ren didn't hang up on her—he had the feeling she kept something from him. "By the way, I'm listening to Makoto's call right now. Sorry to hear that you're getting framed."
How do I respond to that? "Oh, thanks for saying that. Helps a lot." Total bullshit.
"How's Haru handling it?"
"She sounds confident that her dad's gonna live. They didn't get a calling card, only you did, so the spectacle of the past few incidents isn't there this time." Ren scrunched his face up at the information. What were the implications? Shit was getting serious and Ren only got more confused. "You're becoming a target, Ren. Stay safe, please?"
"Today, Haru comes first. We'll figure that out before we worry about me." Ren saw Makoto stand, dropping her phone to her side before slipping it into her pocket. Time ticked on Ren's own call. "I gotta let you go. You'll be the guy-in-the-chair for us, right?"
"I've done it for four months with no plans of stopping."
"Great. I'll talk to you later."
"G'luck, Ren." The line cut, letting Ren finally lower his phone from his ear. He rolled his neck side to side, easing out all the pain that crept up his back from sitting in a chair designed for people with sticks up their asses.
Just when he thought he could stand and feel young again, Makoto walked up to him, close enough to keep him in his seat. "I spoke with Haru. She's driving here to pick us up."
So that's how she reacts—with urgency? Hm… I'm confident in her trusting and believing me, she wouldn't turn on me so quickly, especially after we discussed that possibility ahead of time. Still, it's insane that she has to deal with this. Why Haru? Why me? One of us is a great person; the other minds his own business most of the time. Why is she a target, and why the fuck am I a scapegoat?
"Is she… alright?"
"She's holding herself together, as expected. There isn't time for her to wallow."
"True…" Talking to Makoto about anything other than current events sounded like Heaven, a full pantry of bread, or a cozy couch to watch a movie on. Ren desperately wanted to deviate and lose focus, so the effort he spent calming himself took away from the effort he gave to Makoto's conversation. Few words had become his standard for the day.
"Ren." Makoto sat down in the equally uncomfortable chair across from Ren, though her posture slouched forward to put a hand on Ren's knee. "As far as we know, we have the only calling card for this attack and it has your name on it. It's a perfect copy, and if the previous murders are anything to go by, this one will come true. We can't involve the police or anyone outside our circle. Do you understand?"
Does she expect me to kindly drop this off for the Newspaper Club, then give a polite, informative interview about my motivations for killing Tokyo's elite?
"I know… GRAVY against the world."
"Someone—likely whoever's behind The Prince—is doing a great job at framing you. You're connected to Kaneshiro, to Sugimura, to both the Takatas, and Okumura."
That's obvious enough, but who are my enemies? Maruki? Doc is brainwashing people, not murdering. I don't see him setting all this up for me because I escaped his brainwashing. Matter of fact, I don't see why anyone would arrange this shit. What purpose does putting the blame on a transfer student serve? I'm a stupid puppet left in the dark…
"You'll g—no, we'll get through this. I won't let anyone…" Makoto bowed her head and her voice quivered out of volume. Her hand dug into Ren's knee.
I hate being such a fucking dick all the time. Makoto's having a harder time with this than I am, and why? Because I'm an emotionless douche who treats everything like a joke… I just want to deal with this like a normal person.
Ren felt resolve in Makoto's strengthened grip. Her voice rose from its low mutter to a ferocious march of determination through gritted teeth. "I won't let anyone take you away."
I…
Being loved was a rarity for Ren. Most people in his life didn't want him unless they got to keep him around as the subject of their hatred. Just when it got to the point that they couldn't bear to look at him anymore, they allowed him to be shipped off to Tokyo for a crime they knew he didn't commit without any of the protests that love brought forth.
How lucky was he to land face-first on a Tokyo skyscraper right next to Makoto Niijima? Ren found a person who didn't want him gone, who didn't want him taken away at the first opportunity. She valued her time with him, the thoughts he had, and even his warmth when they cuddled up to watch a movie on his couch.
I use so many words to demean people or to be a sarcastic asshole that I'm out of practice when it comes to sharing my feelings… how the Hell do I do this? I can't voice how important she is to me, but I know how I feel. Is that enough?
When Ren put his hand on hers, he considered it weak and lacking. It didn't respond to Makoto's words, it didn't make her any braver to face whoever wanted to crush Ren under their boot, and it certainly didn't feel comfortable.
But Makoto turned her own hand over and embraced Ren's, locking their grips together without any plans of letting go.
He knew that he was enough. To Hell with properly articulating himself—as long as he could act with conviction every step of the way and know that he truly meant everything he did, then he was doing it right and doing it while loved.
Together, they sat in the lobby awaiting Haru and her van.
The text from Haru interrupted Ren's clarity and brought him right back into the chaos of Halloween. He and Makoto hurriedly walked out of the lobby, receiving a scathing glare from the attendant along the way, and saw Haru's van parked at the curb a few paces away from the door.
Looks the same as it did in Iwatodai. Haru doesn't drive much, does she?
Ren did spot a peculiar detail, however. As they got closer and closer to the van, Ren peered the glaring light into the back windows to see Ryuji and Ann occupying the back row. Makoto noticed as well, though Ren only knew because she elected to go to the passenger side rather than join Ren in the middle row.
With no choice on where to sit, Ren opened the door. The scent of clean seats welcomed him to the vehicle before he even heard Ryuji say, "Hey, Ren. Hanging in there?" On any other day, Ren would've had a million jokes for Ryuji's shirtless Halloween charade.
"Best I can." Ren settled and buckled himself in. Up front, Haru had her hands on the wheel as if she was in the act of driving rather than waiting for Makoto to finish sitting down. Once Makoto's seat belt clicked, Haru turned around her seat to look at Ren.
"I'm sorry. I wish I had answers for-"
"Don't worry about it. We'll figure today out, then we'll fret over my name on the calling card." Ren made his peace with his name on the card; it was the consequences that scared him. "So, where're we going?"
"My father's home." She faced the road, taking a few seconds to review the car's vitals before it accelerated from its stationary position. Ren watched the door of his apartment building fade behind a crowd as they joined Tokyo's morning traffic. "He's in his study and refuses to come out, even when I ask. He's apologetic, too, so something isn't right."
Regret? That doesn't sound like the Kunikazu Okumura I've heard of. I mean, if he finally grew a conscience and let his regrets catch up to him, they definitely hit him hard. It's not like he's done one bad thing—he's done the wrong thing at every opportunity. And now… he'll die for it, or so "Ren Amamiya" claims.
"Who's been to the house beside you?" Makoto asked.
"Nobody, just the housekeeping staff. They say he locked himself in his study, requested his meals be brought to his door, and that he ordered all visitors to be refused," Haru said. Ren swayed with inertia as Haru swung the car around a corner and onto a narrow street. "Except for me…"
"But he won't let you, or anyone, in his study. So…" Just like when he visited Haru at Ann's home, stating the obvious to her felt cruel. He didn't want to remind her of the situation or give her unwanted images, yet the point had to be made. "He's safe from The Prince, right?"
"Assumably," Makoto replied. Haru stayed silent. It was hard to judge the emotions of a driver, especially when their rearview mirror wasn't pointed at Ren. He could see the top of her head in the mirror, but her eyes—where all nonverbal communication happened for Ren—were invisible to him. "But The Prince has established a history of unexplainable attacks. How did he get to Kaneshiro, who was detained? How did he kill Sugimura if Sugimura's death was a suicide?"
She isn't scared of saying the truth aloud like I am. Clearly, I'm in the wrong for thinking about it that way. Feeling guilty over saying some facts to Haru is belittling to her. Damn it, Ren. For one fucking minute, could you not victimize a friend of yours instead of thinking of her like the person she is?!
"Look, uh, all these theories aren't worth much," Ryuji said. He leaned over the empty seat next to Ren, hands on the top of the headrest. "We're going to Haru's place, and we're keeping her and her dad safe. That's it."
"Right, right…" Ren's words encapsulated the general through the van. Each GRAVY member listened to Ryuji and understood his words, but they were hollow. Ren could feel the nerves of each friend deflating Ryuji's encouragement into an empty promise. Ann shifted her legs around, Makoto couldn't stop glancing back at Ren, Haru pressed the brakes late enough to bring discomfort on everyone, and even Ryuji breathed as if he stood at the peak of Everest.
All of it was wrong because when did it ever go right? When did they make a difference? When did they avoid the terrible things that happened without consequences? Hell, they'd already discovered the framing of Ren Amamiya and were yet to deal with it because of how preoccupied they were.
And yet, all of them knew that the calling card wouldn't be the worst thing to happen on Halloween.
Each time the van slowed, Ren's thoughts vanished so he could look out the window and understand his surroundings. Thankfully, he failed to see their destination, only finding traffic, crowded streets, or open roads on the other side of the glass.
I'm not excited to stop and get out of this thing… nothing good is waiting for us at the Okumura estate.
"So…" Ryuji's tone rolled right over Ren's head and went straight to the front of the car, unintentionally letting everyone know who he was addressing by how much his voice sought to appeal. "Can we see the calling card, Makoto?"
"No."
This feels like parents arguing about their kid in front of their kid. I dunno, maybe I'm self-centered, but this should be up to me, right?
"C'mon, what's the harm?" Ryuji didn't talk like a friend wanting to support another friend, he talked like a student dressed up as Underpants-sama for Halloween—he was bored and wanted something interesting, just like Ren with his window. "It's not like-"
Makoto's head snapped around her seat to deafen the car with a Niijima Death Stare. "We agreed that we wouldn't worry about it until after Haru and her father are safe. Is that clear?" Even the radio seemed to quiet down out of respect for Makoto.
"Y-yeah… right." Ryuji nodded, sinking back into his seat and laying his head against the van's wall. Makoto relinquished the tension of the car by turning forward and watching the road ahead once again. Conversation was the last thing any of them desired, each of them instead choosing to sit with their thoughts.
It's been an hour since I read that calling card for the first time. If others existed, my phone would be blowing up or there'd be police tailing this car. Then again, if they were doing a decent job at tailing, I wouldn't know about it.
Still, Ren hoped that the assumption that they had the only calling card for Kunikazu was true. If it wasn't…
I can't think of that. Just stay calm, live in the moment, and be here for Haru.
The van hummed onward. Ren, and everyone besides Haru, couldn't know if they were close or not. Only their driver knew when to begin anticipating the worst.
Based on that, they were closer than Ren thought.
"Haru," Makoto said. "Your hands are shaking. I can drive the rest of the way if you'd like."
Ren heard Ann's breath hitch and he felt Ryuji lean forward into the middle row, but neither spoke. "N-no. I have to do it…"
"Are you sure? We-"
They knew they were close to their destination when an unusual edge to Haru reared its ugly head and fought back against Makoto's caring offer. "It is my car, I will drive." While they'd sat in silence most of the drive, Haru's uncharacteristic moment reaffirmed the lack of conversation. She reminded them of the tension, of how nervous they all were.
I wish I never got out of bed this morning. I hate being here, I hate going through this, I hate that everyone in this car is miserable right now. None of us want to be around each other, but we have to.
For that final stretch of the drive, they weren't friends, barely even little more than carpool companions. That lack of conversation turned awkward, the window-gazing became an escape, and that calling card tucked in Makoto's costume weighed down the van enough to bring it to a complete stop.
Oh… we're here…
The window told him enough. There weren't crowds of protesters or panicked pedestrians, but there was enough going on outside the Okumura estate to set off the alarms. Multiple police patrol cars littered the curb at the base of the mansion, each with its doors open and wide. Officers taped off the entrance—an useless act when the doors were outlined with a massive glass window that peered into the building. Ren saw nothing inside, but he didn't need to. The more details he saw on the outside, the more became clear.
Among the officers exiting the building were staff—the housekeepers, the chefs, and everyone else who entered the building that morning not expecting a fiasco to unfold. They all left the building as entirely different people, because how could they remain the same after witnessing death? A few of them stopped their departure to be taken aside by questioning officers, notepads ready like they were journalists.
Haru said something. Ren didn't hear—his focus was on the sights in front of him, but only until Haru disregarded the need for proper parking. She put the van in park right next to one of the police cars and shot out the driver's door.
...We're too late.
Ren's hearing returned. "Haru!" Makoto yelled, getting out of the car just as swiftly. She rushed to catch up with her friend, who was just beginning to be noticed by the police. Ren saw one of them point her out, then they converged on her. Makoto was too late—an officer got to Haru with the news before she could come to her own conclusion.
Ren grew sick of watching. He unbuckled himself and slid out of the van, getting spotted just like Haru did, but that didn't slow him. His furious pace carried him along the police-crowded sidewalk to Haru and Makoto, and that was where his renewed hearing became most useful.
One voice floated above the rest. "...Cause of death: self-inflicted…" It submerged into the sea of noise, but more voices gave more details as Ren's hearing got pickier. "...No one in, no one out… guy was fucking crazy…" one said. "...Delusional all day long... Multiple loud bangs..." a woman, maybe a housekeeper or chef, said.
Ren wanted his senses to work properly, but the slow-motion sidewalk oppressed the truth of the situation. He could see Haru sinking into Makoto's arms, lowering herself into a shielded kneel on the sidewalk. He felt Ryuji and Haru brush past him, running toward Haru to be with her, but he couldn't hear whatever they said to him along the way. The arriving paparazzi swarmed past Ren to approach the caution tape and toe the line best they could; their despicable journalism making them the officers' number one priority instead of the one person in Tokyo who actually mattered: Haru Okumura.
Frozen outside the van, Ren looked up at the mansion. Defying The Prince was an impossible task and it became a personal one with the calling card. Despite giving up the initial opportunity to go to Haru just so he could not get involved, Ren had been thrust further into the chaos than ever before.
Here I am again, a bystander to my own crime…
Ren stood still in the middle of it all. The same voices from earlier flew past with more information, the same sights of journalists frantic to do their jobs and friends desperate to protect their friends, and the same thoughts racing through his head over and over again.
Why me? Who wants this to be my fault?
Too confused for answers, Ren closed his eyes. Feeling returned to him when he opened them, an unchanged mansion of greeting his new state of mind. Without any more delay, he rushed over to Haru.