— Chapter 7: Tuesday, January 6th, Late —
Naomi came home from her evening patrol shift to find Jiro on the couch, playing video games—in and of itself, this was by no means a weird thing. However, Jiro had been doing a lot of thinking since ditching his buddies at the batting cages, having flaked out on sparring and instead staying home to stew. When Naomi spotted him on her PS5 playing Grand Theft Auto, looking uncharacteristically grumpy for a man holding a controller, she knew something was up.
"Awww, Ji-Ji, what's wrong?" she said almost immediately after shutting the front door behind her. She could tell from his body language, shoulders hunched and brows knit together, that he was in a foul mood. That, and his choice of game: Jiro didn't generally derive pleasure from robbing people and then running them down unless there was something amiss.
"Nothing's wrong, except that I just caught my wife sleeping with her tennis coach," he said, gesturing at the onscreen protagonist."I'm gonna go fuck up his house now. What's the lesson here?" He glanced away from the screen long enough to fix her with a pointed stare.
"Umm, don't screw around?" she answered, taking a seat next to him on the couch.
"Don't play tennis," he said. "Stupid fucking game. Gets you involved with pompous, unscrupulous dipshits who tempt you into doing stupid, unscrupulous things—leading the man in your life to come fuck up their shit. Lose-lose scenario."
Naomi put her hand on his back, rubbing him affectionately. Now, the plot of Grand Theft Auto V was by no means a perfect analogy for what was ailing Jiro, but Naomi understood him well enough to read between the lines. "Are you mad at Ren?" she asked, tracing his shoulder blades with her fingernails, beginning her work to draw the venom from him.
Jiro scrunched up his mouth and paused his game, though he didn't look away from the screen. "God dammit," he said, frustrated. "No, I'm not mad at him. I mean, yes, I'm mad at him, but no, I shouldn't be, and I'm pissed at him for doing something that pisses me off even though it shouldn't. I'm pissed off that his perfectly reasonable behavior is making me respond in unreasonable ways, and god dammit, he should know better than to set me up like that…" As the words poured out of him and Naomi worked her magic on his back, Jiro's posture had begun to soften. He finally turned to look at her.
Naomi sighed, meeting his eyes with pure, unadulterated sympathy. "You're his best friend," she said. "You know he won't forget you after he leaves."
"I'm his best friend here," he said. "He had a best friend back in Tokyo, too. He's headed back there, going back to his old life, back to his old crew and to Makoto, starting his real life, his adult life… Shit's not gonna be the same after he leaves—and now he's leaving fucking early."
Naomi processed this. It was clear to Naomi that Ren's departure had been a Sword of Damocles, hovering above Jiro. But that sword, at least, had been something Jiro could see and know was there—he could brace for its impact accordingly. This new twist, this "leaving early" part felt like a knife: a hidden dagger, coming at him unexpectedly from out of the shadows, twisting its way into Jiro's back. She knew he could logically wrap his head around the fact that Ren had a lot back in Tokyo that he would understandably want to get back to, but what tortured him was that rather than get there in due time, savoring his last couple months here in his Utsunomiya-life, Ren was racing to put that life in the rear-view mirror. To leave Jiro behind. And that was a turn of events that Jiro hadn't been mentally prepared for, and would need to work through.
"Have you told him how you feel?" she asked.
Jiro sighed, relaxing into her on the couch. "What difference would it make if I did?" he asked genuinely, all rancor having left his tone of voice. "It would only make him feel bad. I get why he's doing what he's doing, I just… don't like it."
"I think it would mean something to him to know that you care that much," she said.
"Dudes don't talk that way with each other," mumbled Jiro glumly.
"They should," cooed Naomi. "Especially if they want to stop feeling so shitty about their friend leaving."
Naomi and Jiro spent the rest of the night talking and reminiscing about their friendships with Ren and Makoto, and with Emiko. They even talked about their investigation into the Midnight Blade, and not without some fondness. Though the events surrounding the serial killings and Ren's hunt for justice had been a fraught and difficult time for all of them, it was the context that had cemented their collective friendship and, as Naomi reminded Jiro, had forged relationships that would last forever, whether they remained in the same place or were scattered to the winds.
Jiro eventually put his controller down, and the two of them made out on the couch like a couple of teenagers. From there, they moved into their shared bedroom and let things escalate, surrounded by their memories together—and an obscene amount of stuffed animals. Jiro fell asleep cocooned in that happy place.
When he awoke the following morning, he felt a sense of carpe diem that he didn't totally know what to do with, but was damned if he was going to waste. After kissing Naomi goodbye as she left for work—a morning shift after last night's evening shift making for a grueling double whammy—Jiro made arrangements to meet Chihiro, a student bo staff instructor, at the athletics complex between classes today. Besides the faculty, she was the most skilled person he knew with a bo staff, and on top of that, she was a friend willing to donate her time and energy to help him out. If he was going to succeed in kicking Ren's ass before he could be left behind, Jiro would need to train with the best.
— — — Wednesday, January 7th, Morning — — —
Besides printing off the photos she planned to show Saki Kobayashi later today, Makoto had given herself permission not to worry any more about Mr. Kobayashi's situation until after she had talked to Emiko, so she spent her morning working diligently on tidying up her graphs and other slides. Besides, a tiny part of her said, the longer she put it off the more likely he was to come home, hat in hand. Right? And so, line graphs about the murder rates became histograms, and other line graphs about petty thefts were given overlaying trend lines. She became determined to find the R-value for the correlation between the number of officers per thousand residents and the crime rates in given districts. She had a hypothesis that as the ratio of officers to residents went up, crime rates would go down, but only up to a point—she wanted to find that sweet-spot ratio before you started seeing diminishing returns. Maybe it would even save the department some money and get her noticed.
"Hard at work, Niijima-san?" asked Sato. For once, the sound of his voice behind her didn't make Makoto jump in surprise.
"Oh, Sato-san, good morning. Yeah, I'm just killing time working on my presentation before seeing my best friend for lunch. Oh! I forgot!" she cried, just this moment realizing that she never had responded to Sato's texts from yesterday. "I'm so sorry I never got back to you yesterday—they didn't send me the surveillance footage until almost five o'clock."
"Ha, sounds like them, alright," laughed Sato. "They really made you wait for it, huh? Have you looked at it yet?"
"Yeah, and I think I found Mister Kobayashi leaving the bar," she said, flipping through the stack of photos she'd printed that morning, looking for the best closeup of Kosuke's face. Finding the photo she was looking for, she showed it to him. "What do you think?" she asked, holding the photo of Kosuke Kobayashi up next to the surveillance photo of the man she believed was him.
Sato made a whistling sound as he studied the two photos side by side. "Looks like the same guy to me," he said. "So what's your next move?"
"Well," said Makoto, sighing, "it looks like he left with another woman, willingly, albeit drunk. He's smiling, she's getting handsy with him… You can see her get her keys out of her purse…"
"Sounds like a pretty cut and dried affair to me," said Sato. "So why do you still look like you're perseverating?"
"I don't know," said Makoto. "Have I really finished investigating this thing? Isn't it not done until I'm positive I know what happened to him?"
Sato shook his head. "There is literally no end to the things you could do to continue investigating, but most of those things are impractical at this point. The most likely explanation for what happened is exactly what you've found—but which you now have video evidence to support: He's off having an affair with someone he hooked up with in a bar. Or, he's come home already, and just no one bothered to tell you. You won't know until someone touches base with Missus Kobayashi again. Are you planning to do that, or…?"
"Yeah, I'll do it," said Makoto. If she ever did decide to go the Sato-route and use a secretary as the deliverer of bad news, she wasn't going to do it for something as relatively inconsequential as an affair.
"Sounds good, you got this," said Sato. He took a moment to change his posture, leaning into Makoto's desk and stuffing his hands in his pants pockets, almost shyly. "And once you've wrapped that all up, well, I was wondering…"
Makoto was immediately nervous. She'd been upfront with him already about the fact that she had a boyfriend—was he not taking that seriously? Worried he might be about to ask her out, she readied herself for whatever he might say next.
"…What would you say to being my partner, Niijima-san?" asked Sato.
Makoto was momentarily dumbfounded, and gave a nervous laugh to hide her embarrassment at her apparent miscalculation. "Your partner…? Are… Are you serious?"
"Yeah, I'm serious," said Sato. "I've been working solo for ages, but my clearance rate has been good enough that the Chief says he'd like to start assigning me to some of the more complicated stuff. I asked if I'd be given a partner, and, well, he told me to just pick somebody."
There was another longish pause while Makoto tried to wrap her head around what he was saying. "And you want to pick me," she said finally. "Why?"
Sato took his hands out of his pockets and ran one of them through his hair. "Well, I can tell you're smart, and really dedicated to the job," he said. "I can see that you work hard, and genuinely care that you get things right, and I can also see, well, I mean… Frankly, it's obvious to me that you're not really getting noticed. You sit here in your cube, working away at your desk, waiting for them to hand you whatever cases they don't want to be bothered with, meanwhile your talents are going completely to waste. Isn't that how it feels to you too?"
It didn't take a lot of convincing for Makoto to know that he was right. She folded her hands in her lap and nodded resolutely at him. "Yes, Sato-san. It does feel like that."
"Then be my partner, okay?" he said, almost pleadingly. "You'll get access to tons more cases—more interesting cases—and we'll be there to help one another. You'll move up in the department so much faster this way, and, well, you won't have to do bullshit like this anymore," he said, waving his hand dismissively at her computer screen, in reference to her presentation on annual crime statistics. "So?" he asked again. "What do you say?"
Makoto regarded him, interested, but cautious. "What's in it for you?" she asked.
"What's in it for me?" he repeated, looking shocked by the question. "Why, I get the smartest person in the department as my partner! That's what's in it for me! Who wouldn't want that?" he asked, his sincerity apparent on his face. When, after a moment, he could still see her reluctance, he tentatively revealed a bit more. "I'll be honest… I looked up some of your work, your arrest records… You've done some stellar investigating."
"On pimping and purse snatchers," Makoto snorted.
"Don't sell yourself short. You uncovered that that Harajuku massage parlor wasn't actually giving massages prior to sex, 'putting it in violation of Article three of the Prostitution Prevention Law'," he said, with just a hint of facetiousness, having pulled pretty much that exact verbiage right out of her report. "You've got 'good police' written all over you," he added, more seriously.
Makoto smiled, but still wasn't answering.
"Come on," he said. He'd played all his cards, and still hadn't gotten a response from her, let alone a positive one. "What's it going to take to convince you? Would I be such a bad partner to have?"
She didn't think he'd be a bad partner, and she didn't think he was off-base on any of the specific points he'd made. The only weird thing, as far as she was concerned, about his decision to choose her as his partner is that she didn't bring a lot of experience to the ticket—he was taking a lot of her usefulness on faith. If he was attracted to her, then this would make more sense, but she wanted to believe that attraction wasn't anything to do with this move. Makoto thought about it for just a few more seconds, weighing all of this, before finally acquiescing. "Okay, I'll do it. I'll be your partner, Sato-san."
"Fantastic!" grinned Sato. "I'm gonna tell the PC, and he'll make the arrangements. This is gonna be so awesome, Niijima-san, just you wait and see." He took a few steps away from her cubicle and gave her a double thumbs-up. "Super team!" he proclaimed, before heading off to see the precinct captain to share the happy news.
And just like that, Makoto had a partner. Turning back to her computer, she evaluated the presentation still sitting not-quite-done in front of her. She dared to hope her days of fretting over PowerPoint themes was nearly at its end.
— — —
To get from the TMPD headquarters to the University of Tokyo hospital was a nine-minute subway ride with a little bit of walking on either end. Less than thirty minutes after leaving the TMPD, Makoto was sitting on a bench outside the university hospital, watching and waiting for Emiko to emerge. On a spring day, the stunning brick buildings comprising the UT hospital campus would have stood out magnificently against the blue sky, and the surrounding trees, full of leaves and seasonal flowers, would bring pops of color to the urban cityscape. Today, however, was another cold January day in Tokyo, and despondent clouds obscured the sun. The gray sky and leafless trees did little to showcase the grace of the buildings, casting them instead in a kind of reddish monotone. Nobody was out and the birds were too damp to sing, and so the hum of engine noise was the only soundtrack to Makoto's time spent waiting.
It wasn't unpleasant, but it would have made for a boring few minutes had Emiko not been timely by nature. She had texted a "Be right out" mere seconds after Makoto had announced her arrival, and then exited out a side door a minute later, waving as she hurried over to meet her. "Makoto, hi!" she called enthusiastically.
"Hi Emi, thanks so much for meeting me for lunch. I'm sorry to pull you away from your internship."
"Not at all," said Emiko. "Doctor Takemi was more than happy to let me off to get some food—she didn't want a repeat of what happened yesterday."
"What happened yesterday?" asked Makoto.
"Oh, just that I went all day without taking any kind of a break or eating anything. She keeps food in her pockets, so she just kept going without stopping, and I blindly followed her around without even noticing that I was starving. Besides, I got the feeling she wants you to gossip about her," Emiko winked as Makoto laughed. Did you know she moonlights as a medical examiner?"
"She does?" said Makoto, surprised. "No, I had no idea. Huh, I wonder if she's 'Doctor Legs'..."
"'Doctor Legs'…?" said Emiko, looking mildly disgusted. "Who calls her that?"
"Probably no one," said Makoto. "I just heard at work that there's a very attractive medical examiner that they call 'Doctor Legs', that's all."
With a disappointed look, Emiko shook her head. "That's so sophomoric… Anyway, where do you want to go to eat?"
"Wherever's closest to walk to," said Makoto. "I have more flexibility in my schedule than you do, but even so, I shouldn't take too long on my lunch break. Altogether, it's already almost an hour just in transit…"
"Oh," said Emiko, starting to feel bad that Makoto had come all this way just to have lunch with her. "There's a pretty decent cafe here on campus then, just across the street and up the road a bit."
"That sounds perfect," said Makoto, turning to walk in that direction. "And don't feel bad about my time—I can hear it in your voice. You're doing me a huge favor meeting me for lunch, so I'm happy to have to travel a little, it's fine."
"A favor?" asked Emiko. "Does this have to do with your missing person case? I thought it was a weird non sequitur, you inviting me to lunch just as I asked you how your missing-husband hunt was going."
"Yeah, sort of," replied Makoto. "So I've now run through the surveillance footage from the bar on the night he was last seen, and I think I've identified him exiting the bar with a woman who more or less matches the description given by the bartender."
"And? Does it look like he was abducted, or…?"
Makoto scrunched up her mouth. "No… He looks drunk, but moves of his own accord. She's nuzzling into him, and they walk away together. I can't tell where they go from there."
"Back to her place?" offered Emiko, with clear implication.
"Possibly. Probably," sighed Makoto. "She pulls a set of keys from her purse before going out of frame."
Emiko nodded sadly as they arrived at the cafe, "What are you gonna tell the wife?" she asked as she opened the front door.
"That's the question. But let's order our food first," said Makoto, crossing the threshold into the cafe's cozy interior.
"Their kinako toast is good," said Emiko, studying the menu on the wall. "I'm gonna get that again."
When it was their turn to order, Makoto did the talking. "Cheesecake and coffee please, and whatever she'd like. Kinako toast? Do you want something to drink, too?" she asked Emiko.
Emiko blinked. "Oh, um, yeah. Kinako toast and coffee would be great, thanks."
Their orders placed and paid for, the two women took a seat near the back. The Baisenjo Cafe was a casual establishment with a very unadorned exterior. Though it was a private business, it was located inside a university hospital campus building, so, besides the sign above the front door, there was little about the brick building that would suggest this was a place to eat. There were few other patrons around, and Makoto felt comfortable speaking freely.
"I hope it's okay that I paid for your lunch," she said with a small shrug. "I'm hoping you'll be able to offer me some professional guidance, so I thought you deserved to have your lunch taken care of, at least."
"'Professional guidance'…" parroted Emiko, looking a touch taken aback. "Uh oh, I'm not sure I'm qualified for that…"
"Friendly guidance, then." Makoto picked up a napkin and dropped it in her lap. Quite aside from protecting her work clothes, she needed something for her hands to inconspicuously play with while she talked.
"And the cheesecake?" said Emiko. "For lunch? Seriously? Tell me this isn't just stress eating."
Makoto shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "Maybe a bit? Anyway, who doesn't love a good excuse to spend an extra hour at the gym?" They both chuckled good-naturedly.
"Alright, so…" said Makoto, finally getting down to business. "I wanted to talk to you about my case before I called the wife," said Makoto.
"Why?" asked Emiko, genuinely perplexed.
"Well," said Makoto, playing with her napkin, "I guess I just wanted your take on it before I said anything."
"My take on it how?"
"Like… Would you call it quits at this point? Would you report back to her that her husband had an affair, and would come home if he felt like it, or he wouldn't? Would you stop looking for other explanations for what might have happened?"
"Oof, I don't know," said Emiko, sympathetically shaking her head. "I mean, if you were to keep going, what would you even do?"
"Well, I already plan to show the wife the pictures of the other woman and see if she recognizes her at all. The only practical thing I can come up with at this point is to see if anyone can figure out who she is."
"Besides his wife, is there anyone else you could show her picture to?"
"Well, the bartender already told me everything he knows, so that's probably a dead end, but… maybe the husband's coworkers he was there with at the time? Showing them her picture probably wouldn't be too impractical," she said, invoking Sato's remarks from this morning for a second time. "I could take it to Aspire Media and show it around, I suppose. I'm not confident that'll get me anywhere, though…"
"Well, what else is there?" asked Emiko. "Could you find the video of wherever they went after they walked out of frame of the footage you have?"
"I thought of that," said Makoto. "The trouble is, I'm not sure how I would describe what I wanted to the security company. 'There's a couple you'll see leaving the bar at eleven-oh-eight… Can you follow them and see where they go from there, and send me the footage?' I doubt whatever poor security company rep I got would be willing to do that for me."
"No, I guess not," agreed Emiko, thoughtfully. "But, could you go to the security company and sift through their footage yourself?"
"I asked, but would probably need a subpoena to have unfettered access like that—really unlikely a judge would agree to that under these circumstances."
"Huh…" said Emiko, trying to think of anything new to suggest. "Is there no one else at the police station that you could be running these questions past?" she asked. "Am I really the person you should be talking to? I left detective work for a reason…"
Makoto laughed. "You can never kill that instinct," she said, giving Emiko's hand a friendly poke. A server walked up at that moment and handed them their food and their cups of coffee. The women thanked the server and watched him walk away before looking back at one another and exchanging an affectionate glance. "I actually have a partner now, I guess, but I already got his opinion, and I still wanted to talk to you."
Emiko stopped midstream as she was pouring cream into her coffee, an excited look on her face. "A partner?" she exclaimed. "Really? That's great!"
"Yeah, he just asked me this morning."
"Is that how partners get assigned? Is this like a promotion, or… how does that work?" Emiko asked, genuinely unsure. Medical examiners don't have partners like detectives do, so she had no idea what the protocol was.
"Everywhere is different," replied Makoto. "It sounded a little like he got promoted, and they offered him a partner. He got to choose."
"He picked you? How do you know him? I've never heard you talk about anyone at work before…"
"Yeah, it's a little head-spinning," said Makoto. "I really only met the guy… four days ago? It was Sunday… so only three days ago."
"Three days?" said Emiko, incredulous. "And he asked you to be his partner… after three days," she said, repeating the information back so she could hear if it made any more sense the second time.
Makoto took a sip of coffee and responded to Emiko with only a sideways nod.
Emiko averted her eyes from Makoto, needlessly stirring a spoon in her coffee. "Um, is he…? That is, how should I put this?"
"I know what you're thinking, but I really don't think he's hitting on me," said Makoto. "At least not in earnest."
Emiko met her friend's eyes once more. "Are you sure? Don't get me wrong—I don't even know anyone else there, but I know you've got to be one of the smartest, if not the smartest person they have, so this isn't a diss on your skills or anything—but are you sure he didn't just ask you that because he has the hots for you? I mean, any smart cop would want you as their partner, but… three days? How would he even know you're smart?"
"I know, I know, it sounds crazy. I was very surprised, and more than a little cautious, but, well, he had a really convincing pitch…"
"A 'pitch'…? Could he tell his request sounded suspicious? What did he say to make you believe this wasn't about him being attracted to you?" Emiko pressed, and Makoto couldn't tell if she was just playing devil's advocate, or if she really believed that attraction was at the heart of his request.
Makoto crossed her arms. "Listen, I'm not naïve," she said. "The attraction angle is why I was feeling cautious in the first place, but he knows I have a boyfriend, so I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. If his request was on the level, then there would be other reasons he would have for wanting me for his partner. So, I was reluctant—I made him explain—and like you just said, he told me he knew I was 'the smartest person in the department', and he'd be a fool not to want to work with the smartest person available."
"Well, since I said the same thing, I obviously agree, but that could still be flirting… It's possible that after just three days he's already figured out how smart you are, but it's also possible he… didn't."
"Yeah, well… he looked up my arrest reports, so I guess that's something. That also wasn't his whole pitch," said Makoto, taking a bite of her cheesecake and letting it swirl around in her mouth.
Emiko watched her expectantly. "Well? What else did he say?"
"He pointed out… quite correctly… that I wasn't being noticed at the department. That if I agreed to be his partner… I'd have access to better cases, more resources…" Makoto sighed heavily. "And I wouldn't get treated like a fucking slave all the time…"
Emiko looked sympathetically back at her friend, a crooked expression twisting her mouth up a bit. She nodded. "I'm so sorry that place has been so shitty to you," she said.
"Yeah, me too," said Makoto. "I can't wait for Ren to graduate. Maybe when he's here, I'll have someone at the department I can count on. Who will advocate for me without me having to worry about whether or not he's just doing it to get into my pants."
"Because he's already in your pants," said Emiko, somewhat cynically. "That wouldn't exactly be a good look either: Your boyfriend, the junior detective, fighting your fights for you…"
"God dammit," said Makoto, frustrated. "He's going to advance so much more quickly than me—he won't be 'junior' to me for long. Not that he won't earn his promotions, but still… I deserve to have made it further by now, but it's only thanks to a man's charity that anyone is giving me a chance to actually do anything…"
"Well," sighed Emiko, "hopefully this partner of yours understands that, and genuinely agrees that it's fucked up."
"I think he does," said Makoto. "And this might be just the thing I need to get my foot in the door—for the higher ups to actually see what I can do."
"Just make sure this isn't another Tetsuo thing," cautioned Emiko. "Your partner better not be latching onto you so he can steal your thunder."
Makoto was silent at this. It embarrassed her to admit it to herself, but that thought hadn't occurred to her. She hadn't even thought about Tetsuo since last year, after he was let out on parole. Makoto had said she wasn't naïve, but the fact was, there were certain blindspots she knew she had, and this was one of them. She understood her value on a conscious level, but unconsciously, she just wasn't arrogant enough to have really internalized it, and that made it hard for her to imagine that anyone might be trying to take advantage of her. She always thought she was in control until something happened to make her realize she wasn't.
"I can't believe that asshole roofied you," Emiko sneered into her coffee.
A little light flashed in Makoto's brain. "Roofied…" she thought back to the footage of a drunken, sprawling Kosuke Kobayashi. "Huh…"
— — —
Back at the office, Makoto steeled herself for her phone call to Saki Kobayashi. She knew what she needed to get across, but didn't know how to say it. Kosuke Kobayashi had had an affair, but Makoto couldn't just say that. She would need to ask to show Mrs. Kobayashi some photos and see if she recognized the woman he had left with, then let her come to the inevitable conclusion herself. Makoto held her breath before exhaling audibly. Maybe this would be different. Maybe Mrs. Kobayashi would have some new information that would help Makoto reach a better conclusion. Maybe Kosuke was already home.
She picked up the handset of her desk phone and punched in Saki Kobayashi's number. It started to ring. She readied herself for Mrs. Kobayashi to pick up. Hello, Missus Kobayashi, this is Detective Makoto Niijima at the TMPD, the detective assigned to investigate your husband's disappearance. Makoto didn't like that she used "detective" twice in one sentence. Trying again: Hello, Missus Kobayashi, this is Detective Makoto Niijima at the TMPD, calling about your husband's disappearance. Is he home yet?
Don't lead with that, Makoto scolded herself.
Hello, Missus Kobayashi, this is Detective Makoto Niijima at the TMPD, the detective assigned to investigate your husband's disappearance. Are you available to view some photographs taken on the night of his disappearance?
There I go again, using the same words twice in rapid succession…
The phone had rung four times. Makoto would have to leave a message.
"Uh, hello Missus Kobayashi, this is Detective Makoto Niijima at the TMPD, investigating your husband's disappearance. I've got some new information I would like to discuss with you. Please give me a call back at three-three-five-eight-one, four-three-two-one, so we can arrange a time to meet. Thank you, and have a nice day."
Makoto hung up, sighing heavily. "'Have a nice day'?" she repeated aloud, embarrassed by the ridiculousness of her closing message. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Niijima?"
Maybe this was the real reason Sato had chosen to subcontract his phone calls out to someone else.
— — — Wednesday, January 7th, Nighttime — — —
Ren had been studying almost non-stop for three days. He was annoyed that he had to go to work at his actual job, but knew that it was probably good for him to get out. According to his smartwatch, he'd racked up fewer than 1,200 steps that day before getting on his bike to ride to the Brothers in Arms for his Wednesday night shift. Morgana, who elected to stay home, had been teasing him about the risks of getting bed sores from a desk chair.
It felt good to move, though—the physical break had been much needed. Unfortunately, even though his body felt better, just because his eyes weren't on a textbook and his fingers weren't holding a pen or tapping on a keyboard didn't mean that his brain was shut off from thinking about what he needed to do to wrap up his courses. It left him feeling incredibly antsy, and desperate for the night to pass quickly.
Jiro's face appearing in the doorway was unexpected on a Wednesday, but very appreciated. "Jiro! Good to see you, man. What brings you by? Naomi working late?"
"She dropped me off here, actually. And what's with you? You seem uncharacteristically happy to see me," said Jiro, taking a seat at the bar in front of Ren.
"'Uncharacteristic'?" said Ren, his hands already working the boiler for coffee. Jiro's shoulders were hunched, and he was looking down at his hands—Ren could tell something was off. "What do you mean?" he asked. "What's 'uncharacteristic' is you—your tone of voice, the way you're slumped against the counter. What's up? Did someone beat your high score at Alpha Street Fighter Two Turbo Deluxe?"
Jiro frowned, ignoring the bait, wishing Naomi had come inside with him rather than just dump him on the sidewalk to come in alone. He wanted to be at home, running down pedestrians—finding his zen. If he was going to be here, forced to confront his feelings, he needed moral support.
Jiro finally looked up from his hands to study Ren's face, searching for the words that would express what he needed to say. The words that would convey Jiro's brotherly affection for Ren. That would help Ren realize, if he didn't already, what he meant to Jiro, and what it was doing to Jiro that Ren would be leaving so soon.
"Don't ever play fucking tennis, you hear me?" he said, pointing an accusing finger in Ren's direction. Nailed it.
Ren's hands faltered over the boiler, his eyes glancing between Jiro's face and the stiffly pointed index finger. "Uh, what? Tennis?" he asked, looking confused.
"God dammit, it's a fucking metaphor, you nitwit. Don't you know anything?"
Ren took a moment to reevaluate what was happening. "Okay—back up a second. You're obviously mad at me about something. This is one of those moments where I need you to channel what a normal person would say, and just lay it on the line for me: What did I do?"
"You're fucking leaving, that's what you did!" yelled Jiro, loudly enough that some of the other patrons turned to flash a look in their direction, and Hanzo-san, who was working the counter at the other end of the bar, cast a concerned glance their way. Jiro, feeling their eyes on him, got quieter. "You're fucking leaving, that's all."
Seeing Jiro in all his pathetic glory was enough to make Ren's defensiveness melt away. His hands returned to their work at the boiler while his mind searched for an appropriate response. "You know that was inevitable, right? Me leaving? Besides you, there's nothing else keeping me in Utsunomiya. School's almost over, this job is just a job, it's Makoto's sister's house… This was always temporary."
"I know it was," said Jiro. "I get it, I actually do. It's just… this whole thing about you leaving early…"
Ren sighed. The coffee was ready. He grabbed a couple cups and started to pour. "I'm sorry, Jiro."
Jiro shook his head solemnly. "Don't be. I know you're sorry, but you really shouldn't be. This is my dumb problem, not yours. It doesn't really make a difference whether we graduate at the exact same moment or not, but…" he gestured awkwardly, unsure how to express his thoughts.
"No, I think I get what you're saying," said Ren. "I get how you feel. I don't want to stay here, but I don't want to leave you behind either. You know it's only a ninety-minute train ride from here to Tokyo though, right?"
"Not the same, and you know it. Adults don't take trains over an hour each way to hang out with their buddies. Part of what makes us work is that we can just be together in the same room and not have to fucking say anything. No one's getting on a train to recreate that."
"You're my best friend, Jiro."
"You have other best friends. And that's not a bad thing, and I'm not mad at you for it—it just is what it is. And it's not just the knowledge that I'm not going to be your number one anymore that's got me all fucked up. This stage of our lives is coming to an end, and for some reason, I'm sad about that. I didn't realize until you told me that you were planning to fuck off back to Tokyo way ahead of schedule just how unprepared I was for that to happen, though, that's all."
Ren sighed, pushing Jiro's coffee cup at him. "You want some Baileys with that?"
"Sigh, I shouldn't drink alone. That's too sad even for me."
Ren bobbed his head back and forth, tentatively acknowledging Jiro's point. "And I don't generally drink on the job…"
Hanzo-san wasn't oblivious. He'd been eavesdropping ever since he spotted Jiro slump into his seat, and at this, he decided to butt in. He sidled up next to Ren. "Take a break, Amamiya. There's hardly anyone else here tonight—I can cover the bar on my own for a while. Go ahead, have a drink."
Ren smiled at his boss. "Thanks, Hanzo-san. Well," said Ren to his friend, "is it okay if I drink with you then?"
"You don't even like Irish coffee."
"Of course I do, I've always loved Irish coffee. I've just been lying about thinking it's gross to look cool in front of the other guys."
"Ha! Hilarious."
Ren poured the Baileys into each of their cups of coffee, a crinkle in his brow but a sneaky smile on his lips. "See? Would I do that if I was just joking around?" Ren took a sip and gagged. "Jesus, that's awful. It's so fucking sweet."
Jiro laughed again, but for real this time. "It's an acquired taste for mature palates." Jiro sipped his Irish coffee and let out an exaggerated sigh of contentment, though he snickered again after a moment. "Shit. You got me again."
Ren sniffed his own drink, but couldn't steel himself for another sip just yet. "Hmm? Got you how?"
"Got me laughing. Got me from angry at you to not, by doing that thing you do. Thinking twelve steps ahead to get people to like you, to be on your side."
"Twelve steps ahead? I think you're giving me too much credit." Ren took another sip—still bad, but the first mouthful of alcohol had helped make it bearable.
"See? Delicious, right?"
"Oh, yeah, for sure. One hundred percent," Ren gave a weak thumbs up.
"See? I knew it." Jiro shook his head. "That's exactly who you are. I think you knew I would be upset when you inevitably decided to graduate early, so you purposefully befriended people who you knew disliked Irish coffee, agreed with them to get them to like you, then pretended to like it to get me all calmed down, then powered through drinking a drink that you actually hate because you knew that I would be more disarmed by that than by you actually liking the thing that I like."
"That's incredibly convoluted. But I think I heard you say that I'm a liar who lies to look cool. Nice…"
"Shut up." Jiro wagged his finger. "I'm being facetious about this specific example, but my overall premise about you knowing how to act with them—and how to act with me—to get us all putting you on a pedestal is basically correct. You said what you needed to say to them to look cool, knowing all along that you would one day be sitting here with me, diffusing my righteous anger by tipping back such an excellent drink by my side, even though you actually hate it. It's so elegant it must have been planned, is all."
"Wow." Ren was flabbergasted. "You got me. My whole plot laid bare."
"Twelve. Motherfucking. Steps." Jiro took another sip. "I'm serious though. You're good at winning people over to your side. Too good."
"By lying about mixed drinks."
"By… I don't know… By telling them what they want to hear! By… ugh, that makes you seem like an actual liar, but that's not what I mean—you're not lying just to make people like you. That's, like, what insecure dipshits do when they're desperate for approval, but what you do is so much sneakier, because you don't actually have to lie, not really… What is that…"
"A master manipulator?" Hanzo-san offered from down the bar where he'd been eavesdropping.
"Yes! Exactly!" Jiro pointed at the bartender enthusiastically.
"Thanks for your help," Ren sneered at his boss.
"It's true, though," Jiro said. "You manipulate me! You manipulate us all!"
Ren shook his head with a frown. "Jesus, that's even worse than being insecure and desperate. How serious are you being right now? Is that really how you think of me?"
"Yes! Wait, I mean no! I mean… It's just—why can't I ever stay mad at you? It's like a superpower. Like you can read people's minds and just know what you need to say to turn them around on you. Like you got a website in your head you go to to just look up the answers…"
"I'm not sure I love this version of me you're describing…" Ren refilled both their cups with more coffee and Baileys. By the end of the first cup, Ren could almost drink it without the disgust showing on his face, so why not pour another.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Jiro laughed and took a sip from his refreshed cup before waving his hand and shaking his head dismissively. "When I said 'manipulate', I was being glib. I mean, sometimes we all say and do the things we say and do in order to make someone feel a certain way, right? You're just really fucking good at it, is what I'm saying." He took another long sip of his drink, mulling over his thoughts. Once he decided to put his cup down, he knew what else he wanted to say:
"You have this gift," Jiro said. "You can see into people, and know their hearts… You can see straight into what they're about so fucking quick and just always know the right thing to say. You're like a goddamned Mary Sue. But you… don't use your powers for evil, for lack of a better way to put it. You're so fucking smart, and so adaptable to the circumstances—you could fuck people over a million ways from Sunday if you wanted to, but you don't. You're dangerous in that way. I trust you so damn much. But you could turn on a dime and take everything…"
Ren studied Jiro from under downcast brows, sipping more of his beverage. The second cup was going down faster than the first. What Jiro was saying sounded like it was meant to be complimentary, but Ren didn't actually like what he was hearing. "You're giving me too much power," he mumbled.
"It's power you already have," replied Jiro, setting down his cup. "But you don't abuse it, that's what I'm saying. You do such an amazing job pretending to be normal, but you're… this trickster hiding behind a normal-guy mask. It's like your knife," he said, barely remembering to keep his voice down in time not to blurt it out in front of the whole bar. "It's this thing you keep with you, that you could use to do harm, but you don't. Can you imagine what someone with your talents would be like if they believed they were better than everyone else? Fucking monster…"
Ren could imagine. Maybe Jiro had managed to put the memory of Dean Yoshinora behind him, but Ren certainly hadn't. "Sorry, I can't tell anymore…" said Ren, looking a little exhausted. "Am I… okay? Or…"
Jiro studied Ren's expression, the hangdog look he was wearing. He hadn't meant to make Ren feel bad—well, he had, but he hadn't. "Sorry," he said. "I think I'm kinda drunk already… Point is, Ren, you're like a phantom. My problem is that I can't imagine ever meeting another person like you, and I'm loath to let you out of my sight. My memories will never accurately capture what you are, and I'll start to forget. Unless I can see you, the realness of your existence will start to get fuzzy, and I'll lose you. And that's a terrifying thought."
Ren was starting to feel a little drunk too. "That… does not clarify anything, Jiro."
"It doesn't matter." Jiro wiped the conversation away with his hand. "My girlfriend dropped me off here so that I would come spill my guts to you, and I guess I did, so I win at boyfriend."
"Good job," said Ren, nodding affirmatively. "You're a good boyfriend."
"Not a better boyfriend'n you, though," said Jiro, raising his cup in a toast to Ren. "I'm not sure even true love is enough to get me through my reading any faster…"
"Celibacy… helps."
Jiro smacked the bar in agreement. "You're right! If my sex life were tied to graduation the way yours is, I bet I could read through mountains!"
"Now you're making sense," said Ren. "Huh… Maybe I put too much Baileys in these," he said, studying the contents of his cup as though he could see the alcohol inside.
"No, not enough Baileys," said Jiro, swirling the contents of his half-full coffee cup around in his hand. "I wouldn't mind a good black-out drunk right now."
"Want a shot of whiskey?" suggested Ren. "We've got some Jameson back here—you could make John proud with just how Irish you can get."
"Blegh, let me think about it while I finish my coffee first," said Jiro.
"You need to memory-hole this conversation that badly? I think this was a good conversation for us to have had, in spite of… some of the things you said."
Jiro raised a placating hand. "I want you to know that everything I said about you was meant as a compliment," he said. "I think you're a really good guy, and that's why this is so tough."
"I think you're a good guy too," said Ren. "And this isn't the end. I plan to return to attend graduation, and I'll have to get the house emptied even after that. Before I leave, I'll get my school shit to where anything I still have to do before graduation I can do remotely, but it doesn't mean I won't have to come back for a bunch of other reasons—gotta come back for my cat, at least."
"You're not bringing him with?" asked Jiro, a little surprised.
"Nah, not right away… he's gonna watch the house for me."
"Your cat is housesitting for you…" said Jiro, now more perplexed than surprised.
"Yeah, he is—but I could use a catsitter though," said Ren. "Think you could go over periodically and make sure he's got food and whatnot? He's not great with the can opener."
"I know I've already proven what a great catsitter I am, but he could just stay with me and Naomi, you know."
"Then who would watch my house?" said Ren, knowing full-well that Morgana preferred having his own space where he could have some peace away from Naomi and her miniature pink tuxedos. "Besides, he likes his freedom."
"Not ready to move in with his girlfriend, huh? —I'm pretty sure our cats are fucking, you know."
"Our cats are definitely fucking," said Ren, blowing out his cheeks. "Is she fixed? 'Cause he's not…"
"I don't know, actually. The cat's privates are Naomi's concern. Speaking of…" he said, pulling out his phone.
Ren pointed at the device. "Please tell me you're not looking up pictures of your cat's vagina."
"What? Dude, no… I meant, 'Speaking of Naomi'… She wanted me to let her know when I was ready to be picked up. Shit," he said, looking at his notifications, "looks like I missed a text from her. 'How's it goin'?' she asks…" Jiro smiled at his phone. "Goin' pretty good, sweetie."
Jiro replied back with a thumbs-up emoji and some dancing cat gifs before he and Ren got back to talking. They'd finished their Irish coffees, and, in spite of not really being serious about needing to forget that this night had ever happened, Jiro accepted a shot of Jameson from his best friend. The two men sipped their whiskey, and reminisced for a bit longer—just long enough for the Jameson to kick in. Thankfully, by then, Jiro's designated driver had shown up, so he was able to extricate himself from his barstool without falling over, and got himself home safely.
Ren still had a shift to finish up, but he was able to get through it with a little help from Hanzo-san, who then graciously drove him home.