…
02-27-1996
…
Shinichi felt time flow from his hands at the advancements in the case that had made his head buzz on hours' end. It had been a night since the tides had turned to their favour at last, however, he was not an ounce further tactic-wise. He was not certain about the reason his mind created to run over the main lines when in fact, the plan appeared to succeed – that, that was the reason. He started to consider all advancement suspicious, no matter in what direction that pointed at.
He lolled his head to the sash door between the two rooms. He had readied a suite with two rooms in advance to accommodate the information and evidence reveal due between the one who backed the defendant on the sidelines and the one who could advocate him in the court. He slid the door an inch aside and threw a blink into the room in which a table was situated in the middle, with a stern-faced woman in a formal attire at the side. He averted his attention not to alert her. He looked at his watch under his sleeve – the time to meet was set to dawn to savour the little time at hand. His silent observance should start soon.
He had said that the unknown man could be trusted at first, but his more cautious side demanded confirmation. His intuition honed on such encounters in the future looked for the catch, be that in the courthouse or the inevitable introduction to a new face. He did not intend to reveal his observation to the observed, that would show distrust and undermine their collaboration. It was not like all outsiders wanted to stab them in the back, but too much cautiousness did not do harm.
Too little, on the other hand…
"Uehara-san!"
"Wada-sensei! Come and take a seat."
Hooh. He moved a little behind the sash door to take a better look at the newcomer. He looked somewhat dull on the outside – no remarkable details, no remarkable behaviour to note. He wore a formal attire to honour the situation and had a suitcase in hand in a down-to-earth and business-oriented attitude. He walked to the table and sat down across the woman who had awaited him in a calm manner. His face mirrored reined-in excitement mixed with some nervousness – fine.
"I know the outlines from the news and own sources." Wada started on a confident note. "Yamato Kansuke, a local inspector was accused to have killed the director to Michitaka News, Michitaka Yuuma with bombs planted into his car. He had been seen on the scene, assumed to observe the outcome and make sure that no unforeseen factor interfered with the crime. He was arrested on the spot and further investigation revealed that a sum of money had been transferred to his bank account recently."
He heard the official motive the first time. Yamato was set up as a hired assassin, then. It was an old trick, a convenient excuse for the true murderers to concern themselves about the lack of motive because money could always be a reason. It was hard to convince the public otherwise either.
Yui bit her lip. "You know that is all a lie too, then."
"It raises concerns. I noticed that there are flaws in how the events were described in that version." Wada took out a document stack from his suitcase at that and laid them across the table. "I have documents on the fact that the forensics confirmed that the bombs used in the murder did not have a timer, which means that the detonator must have been set to automatic. It is known that the bombs went off when the victim exited his car. I believe that the detonator was tied to the door. It was installed with the bombs earlier, and was set to detonate the second time the door was opened. However, details like that are unconfirmable since the car is a total wreck."
Smart. He had arrived to that conclusion too. He rewarded the accurate deduction and the skill to collect the relevant documents in a short timeframe with malevolent intentions all around with a mental approval. At least about his skills, which was needed as much as trust in the case.
Yui frowned. "Why the second time?"
"If we assume that the bombs were set the night before, then the victim would open the door the first time when he left his home to work and the second time when he arrived. It makes sense if the explosion had been intended to happen near his own company. However – as said, there is no evidence. From the word around, the most common theory is that the bombs were detonated via remote control, which is a valid explanation and makes our defendant's presence at the scene incriminating."
Yui let loose a sigh. "You mentioned that there were inconsistencies in the official report."
"I said that indeed. Let me assume that the most common idea is correct, in which case the defendant went to the scene to observe the events and choose the best time to detonate the bombs. It that scenario, the most reasonable choice would be to seek cover. He was, however, so close to the scene that came out unscathed on sheer luck. It would not make sense to be that careless have the bombs in the near been known to him, but would make sense have those not been known. It is also the arrest in itself that smells odd. It would take the forensics hours to extract evidence from a scene like that and still, his arrest was made literal minutes in the aftermath."
Yui realised the direction that went. "Whoever called the arrest could not have had evidence on him, since the scene was still under examination. His bank account could have been checked, however, that would have been unreasonable without initial evidence to warrant that."
He listened with his full attention. He was impressed. Wada raised points that could attack the prosecution's version on the events. He had realised that there would be flaws in the official version that could be used, and that smarter individuals near the law could realise them too. However, the scarce evidence and the overenthusiasm from the media scared off most. He had meant that next to no one would take the case, and that was not because no one would notice the odd details.
"I conclude that the defendant is not the murderer and was framed for the crime." Wada sounded dead serious. "And that is not all. In order to use the mentioned tactics, the true murderer must be in connection with the police force, or is a member of it. Is that deduction accurate?"
"… Yes, unfortunately." Yui answered with a moment of hesitation.
He noticed the recoil at the confirmation. He watched the man cross his arms on the table and look downwards to hide his face, his face that mirrored his own fears and insecurities that threatened to overcome him. However, that reaction was normal. He would have been more alarmed in case the man had not been concerned in the smallest bit. It was natural to feel fear and evaluate the situation in mind under such circumstances. He saw that reaction reined in on a moment's notice.
"You have told me that there was a chance to win this case, which means that there is decisive evidence." Wada continued with a levelled voice. "And the pre-trial procedures are tomorrow. It would be crucial to examine the evidence. I want to know all the details that could be relevant."
Yui nodded. "I intended to tell that. However, there is not one man behind all this unlike that was hinted at in the former deduction. I have to admit that not even we know who the true murderer is. What we know is that there is an association amidst the local detectives, which have committed various crimes. It is that association that has committed the murder as well, and framed Kan-chan – I mean, Yamato-keibu. About that we have evidence on these records."
Wada listened into the recorded evidence and nodded. "It should suffice. It will make the court at least consider this association's existence, which would lead to a re-examination conducted under careful watch. It would reveal the truth – on another note, this "we". You are not alone in this, are you?"
Yui smiled. "I would have never reached this far alone. Indeed, there are others to back me. I have found out about the woodpecker's – this association's existence from them and helped them in their own investigation when this incident crashed into the plans. I have one friend who is overcautious and would not like this offer, but you are trustworthy. You could meet us later in our rented room. I believe the others would want to see a new face too."
He almost snorted at that. He would be overcautious about a new face, heck. He hid behind a sash door to observe and listen to their conversation, so that was an understatement. However, that observation cleared the issue in his mind. He had not sensed the intention to deceive or to harm from the mentioned new face, his sources were reasonable and his reactions voiced honourable values as his actions did commitment and skill. He was thankful that the world was nice to him once more.
(He looked around. He needed to sneak out unnoticed somehow.)
…
…
02-28-1996
…
Wada Toshiaki did not have a mentionable law career behind himself, marked with well-known cases like the one over his head in this moment. He could have been considered a newbie in comparison to the prosecutor, who stood across the room. He did not have a name in his field yet, however, his skills in observation, deduction and communication were bound to tip the scales in his favour. His confidence in his own abilities was the advantage he could count on.
(He had not been insecure about the case in the smallest bit. He had evaluated the available information and stood to the truthful side. He had prepared and was ready, no, eager to defend an innocent man from false accusations. He had not been worried about the fact that the law enforcement itself was behind the case to the extent that rest evaded him on hours' end. His mind had not run in circles on the what-ifs: that the "association" had traced them to the motel and would ambush them, force them into submission and demand to hand over the evidence, or he would be kidnapped before the trial and – shut up shut up mind!)
He was at the awaited pre-trial discussion with the other side. He had outlined his basic concerns about the case, which summarization had been rehearsed countless times in his head to maximize the suasive attribute. He needed that a lot. Kusabe was, after all, a prosecutor known to take violent cases and was rumoured to be stubborn and strict. He had never lost a case, which had been attributed to the excellent detective work behind the cases. His cases were obvious, so had been claimed, and that the work was rather routine. He smirked. He would break this man's entire conception on his career and the detectives themselves.
Kusabe was silent. He looked at the documents, reset the recorded material and somehow tried to work the evidence into his narrative. His face remained emotionless even faced with such a turn, oh, there was some internal confliction that even the stubborn and strict man could not contain.
He considered that the time to conclude his side in the discussion.
"These are the evidence wished to submit to the court. Let's see each other at the trial tomorrow."
(He wanted to leave. His tone had not shown the extreme anxiousness that tied his stomach into knots. He had talked with confidence both on the outside and the inside to exorcize insecure ideation, which ceased once the task had been fulfilled and the desire to return to the motel and celebrate his success overcame his mind. He left the courthouse almost in a hurry – however, he should have remained around for a minute or two. He could have heard a certain melody.)
…
…
Takeda was not nervous. He could not feel nervousness. He could not remember to have ever felt nervousness. He did not feel nervous at lethal threats. He did not feel nervous at lethal actions. His hidden desire drowned nervousness and awakened other emotions: containment, excitement, fascination. He had been told that those emotions would make him find entertainment in tasks that sickened others. It had nicked it. He had handled countless missions with inhuman drive ever since. His subordinates had executed orders with the same effectiveness and cleaned the scenes from evidence that could lead in other directions than the desired one.
His most recent task was not even a thrill. Kaboom, and that was it.
Daiichi Hotel was the finest establishment in the downtown and without a doubt a location his boss favoured. His boss was unlike him. He considered delicate situations with leisure and ordered the finest wines to make the finest decisions. He did not lose control in the moment. He was a reserved elite, a coldblooded mastermind behind the scenes. He did not initiate contact with his subordinates without a reason, which made the sudden invitation an unusual treat.
He elbowed on the varnished table at an exclusive section in the hotel restaurant, with an excellent view on the town. He realised the reason behind his boss' favouritism. He could touch and breath the dominance the lookout made one feel, that those below were obscure dots in world. His idle ceased at a sudden sound. His boss arrived, seated himself across the table with the usual no-nonsense attitude and tossed a record over to him. He was unsure about his boss' intentions. He made the deduction: his boss had invited him with the sole reason to share this information with him, so the contents were substantial. He was to listen to it.
It was substantial. It was, in fact, decisive evidence at his association's existence.
He listened to the record on rerun, the damnation circled on over and over. "…Michitaka. You mean that murder we framed him for. I understand that the situation needed a drastic solution. You should have done a less obvious work nonetheless, that damned mess caused a headache…"
It was bad. It was disastrous, whoever was behind this was a threat.
"2201. It was a close call."
His boss had saved his hide. He did not need more details to realise that fact and to know that his carelessness would be noted, no matter the circumstances. His attention ventured towards the number used. His boss had a number in the courthouse, who noticed the evidence on the records and took countermeasures. He decided to be thankful to the unknown someone who saved his mission and as a direct result, himself. His name was mentioned in the record. It was a close call indeed.
His boss leaned back. "Your next task is to track this evidence. You must find out whoever was behind this and how the material was collected. Uehara Yui and that no-name lawyer is a point to start. Uehara used to be a detective, so her assets should not be underestimated, but…"
"I ordered the others not to use real names or mention the mission." It was considered bad manners to cut in. He cared little about manners, as it was made obvious. "I know them better than that. It would make sense that our communication would be drawn a bead on, and the others know that too. I mean to tell that the chances that a remarkable mistake like this would even occur, not to mention be recorded and that material would reach the defence is minuscule."
"You think this was intentional."
He did. He knew the older members better than his own hands, which cleared them in his mind. He needed to find the traitor or the entire association would be treated as unreliable. He tried to associate to individuals who somehow, somewhen roused his caution. Morofushi came to his mind, however—the voice at the record sounded different. He did have his reservations towards him, who had debouched at the most convenient time and showed curtained distaste towards their deals since. It could have been him, had the voice matched. He forced his mind from him to someone else, someone else that could not be molten into the rest—
"Aburakawa."
…
Aburakawa took seat in his favourite ramen restaurant. He welcomed the ordinariness that scented the air, which meant more to him than the cooks behind the counter would have ever believed. He remembered their delicious treats and tactful kindness. He remembered the times that aided him to move onwards. He ordered the usual with a smile and waited. He decided not to think about the case, about the situation at all. He decided not to think about the evidence. He decided not to think about the risks taken. He decided not to think about the silhouette that had followed him to the restaurant, waited in the outside darkness to catch him alone and vulnerable.
He marvelled at the neat dinner, ate with broadness. His sister had introduced him to the restaurant back in middle school. Her enthusiasm had been too much at the start. He had conceded to her wish nonetheless. He had later returned to remember, to hear her voice that demanded a second bowl in his mind. He could hear that voice this time too, in fact, clearer than ever. He could have sworn to have seen, to have felt her—hah. He did not believe in that nonsense.
His dinner vanished in the meanwhile.
He did not wait around.
He reached into this coat as soon as the restaurant bell chimed behind him. His attention followed the smallest movements in the nooks and crannies around. He knew that someone was out there and that someone was not a friend. His concentration was invented into observation, which made flinched hard at the hand on his shoulders. His turned around and confirmed that mentioned someone was indeed not a friend. It could have been his executioner.
"Takeda-san! You scared me."
"Nevermind me. I wanted to talk about the case."
He heard a voice lined with malice. He had been found out somehow. He did not have connection to the current case otherwise. He did not know how that came around and as the situation looked like, would never. He wondered whether the decision to feed the evidence had been the best one. He could have laid low and collected information. However, that would have needed a distance between the case and emotions until the information was on his hands. His mindset revolved around retribution. His intention to murder could never be considered noble, but could do the trick: end their crimes. He could not allow unrelated innocents to die in their wretched schemes.
He was led to an embankment not too far from the restaurant. He used to visit this location too. He walked to the handrail and took a look at the bottom, at the moonshine on the small water rivulet between the stones. It was abandoned and outside earshot. It did not take a brainer to realise the reason.
"I know, Aburakawa-kun. You are the traitor."
…
…
Morofushi did not have the chance to return to his home until the dark had fallen. He clicked the door close behind himself, let loose an exhale filled with weariness and exhaustion and embedded excitement about the events about to come, and strolled over to the kitchen as a mindless drone to make coffee. It was, at last, within arm's reach to leave behind the bottomless moor that this case was and row to new waters. He stirred his reflection on the rich brown surface and raised the drink to his mouth. He savoured the bitterness in the texture and observed the abandoned street from the window. It was silence before the storm—the trial.
He did not know what would happen to him afterwards. He did not know whether the organisation would cut contact with him, but even if not, he would. He would not conform to their evil no matter what. Kansuke would be beside him as well, on the run from, or rather towards them. He was not that naïve to think that the trial and the consequent takedown of the woodpecker and the puppet master behind them would be the end. No, it would be the start—
Riiiing. Riiiing.
"Tch."
Takeda's number. He was not supposed to be contacted until the trial was over, at least the woodpecker's plan went in that direction. He set aside the coffee that had been brewed too soon in celebration and accepted the call. It must have been important if the woodpecker's leader contacted him.
"Morofushi-kun, I need you to come and help me with something."
Takeda did not waste time and loaded a detailed description of a location on him, where a car with an unidentified something awaited him to be transported. He noted the information in case and made sure to sound casual in his answers, but debated inside whether to take on the invitation or not. He finished his coffee once the call ended, and decided to check out the situation at least. It was a risk, but the declination was one as well. It looked like matters had not been all settled.
…
He did not like the rain hit the windshield. He did not like the stale scent and the hollow darkness inside the car. He did not like the illumination that marked the town fade into the distance behind the window. His emotionless facial features were an immaculate cover over the restless mind, which run miles a second to understand the circumstances the best. He had realised that their destination must have been the mountains from the wilderness around. He thanked the occasional turns in the road that allowed him to listen to that one sound from the trunk – something heavy slid across there, marked each turn with a loud thud. It sounded like—
"—so, what is this something my assistance is required with?"
His question cut in the thick silence in the air. He could have sworn that there was a smallest, smallest reaction on the other's face as he steered the wheel to take the next turn. Slide. Thud. He bit back a shuddered breath and awaited an answer that could lead him further to unravel the intentions behind this all.
"A little dirty inconvenience," A hint backwards.
He clenched his teeth. He had had a hunch that a murder was involved but did not want to draw conclusions without substantial evidence. He received the evidence in that moment: the unclear answer sounded a clear confirmation to his ears. He shrunk under the intense stare from the driver's seat. His tactician mind kicked in to think about what was the best decision in the moment. He assessed the situation at his best abilities. He knew that this murder was unintended, which made the relevant information invaluable. It could be vital. He had to see the victim and find out the motive behind their murder. He would, however, have to live to tell that information.
It was a test, the realisation came. Takeda had been mistrustful with him all the time. It was a miracle that there had not been such sick tests so far. He mused within his mind: it would be hard to extract information and not confirm the reservations existed about him, at least to an extent that warranted immediate execution. He knew that the man next to him would be able to make a decision like that and act on it. He had to be extra careful in the conversation.
"May I ask about the details?"
It would be unlike himself not to ask about dubious circumstances.
"Hm. You can." Takeda sounded like to have expected the question. He had prepared an answer to the question as well, in that case. "He talked. He revealed the entire plan near a recorder, which somehow reached that woman who came to visit that half-eyed buffoon. I do not take traitors well, you see."
He did. He was not told who the person in question was.
Takeda turned towards him, curious. "If you had to find out who the traitor was, who would you suspect?"
He did not know what to think. He had believed that to lead the conversation in the murder's direction would be a risk, and the same time, the murderer himself invited him to do so. It could have been to observe his deductive abilities. He had a fame with the local detectives, which skills could shine on rare occasions. He did not know what answer would be the best in his current situation, however. He went ahead with a real deduction that did not include references to himself.
"It would be hard to tell, more so without solid evidence. I would start with assembling the list of suspects, which are the members of the association, and either interrogate them separately or think about whose actions or attitude raised concerns in the near past." He recited the common approach in any case, not only in this one. He drew in a breath, unsure how to proceed. "Based on that, the ones that stand out the most would be,"
He froze in his deduction, face clear in realisation.
"Aburakawa."
"Aburakawa is not the only one."
He cursed inwardly.
"Your skills as an actor do not come close to those as a detective. You have flinched three times in this conversation alone and have showed the same reactions numerous times in the recent weeks." He flinched and for once, noticed it. He cursed that his mind could not control the subtle reactions from neck down. "Fourth time. You would be shocked to learn how much these small details talk about someone, because even if their mouth is trained to tell lies, their bodies will tell the truth. I have never met one that had that control over themselves. It is so obvious. Aburakawa was anxious and scared, skittish around us. It turns out there was a solid reason. You—"
Takeda drove the car down the mountain roads, into the unknown. It did not take a brainer to realise what that meant. It meant that this had never been a test, that there was no doubt about him to start with. His cover had been busted from the start. He did not bother to hide his emotions when the other could read those with or without his efforts. It was not normal to do so. Takeda must have learnt to read those around him as he was unable to comprehend their emotions otherwise.
"You were almost the exact same, a little bit more discreet. I would have been inclined to believe that that record stemmed from you, had not been the voice been recognisable on the material." He was alarmed at that notion. It looked like the situation was bad. If the evidence was discovered, then— "Aburakawa has been foolish. He lost both his life and his evidence. You were supposed to be the smarter one, but then, bit the bait to obtain more information."
It turned for the worst. But that was not all.
He had learnt that the recorders that had been set at the headquarters had picked up evidence, which was potent enough to cause problems for the woodpecker in court. It would have been a bless, no matter who provided the information and for what reason, but the fact that the evidence had fallen into the woodpeckers' hand meant one thing: there was a traitor on both sides. He was the one in the woodpeckers. He did not know whether the traitor in the other side was someone known or an inevitable outside that have come in contact with them, but their existence was disastrous. It could be suicide to attend the trial as the situation stood.
He had to tell them. He knew that his chances to leave with his life intact were slim, but he refused to allow himself to be eliminated without that much done. He had to find a way to escape the car and find a location where his call could reach his allies. He had to, no matter what—
"You will never leave. I think that much is obvious."
Takeda read his mind. He watched as the man steered the wheel to the side, which collided him with the car door. He did not waste time on his head that throbbed at the sudden blow and wrestled for control over the car. He tried to move the other aside and somehow, catch the steering wheel.
"I know little about you, Morofushi Takaaki." Takeda remarked. "I do not know how you became associated with us, no, with the blacks behind us. You are too naïve and righteous to have seeked them out. You must have sticked your nose somewhere it did not belong."
He—a moment, there—! He had the steering wheel.
"I have. But if it allows me to end this forever, I have no regrets!"
"You want to be a martyr so much?"
He was shoved back at that. His back smashed into the doorhandle so hard that it knocked the air out of him. He realised that their scuffle over the car took that to an inch from the guardrail. He looked outside the window to see the unseeable dark bosoms that were a cliff next to the road. He then looked ahead to see a curve come up. He decided to take one last shot in the scuffle, filled with dark determination. He would have cursed such an idea, but in that moment—
He did not care about the hit to his face. "Knock this useless resistance off alrea—"
Takeda did not notice the curve. He could have been too confident that his control over his car matched his control over others. He could have been characterised with other words as well, but no matter what went down in his head in that moment, the fact that the car crashed into the guardrail and dove down the cliff headfirst remained the same. He could have sworn to have seen a brief shock on his face before the directions around him were mashed into a mess.
He, Morofushi Takaaki, saw all details in slow motion. He felt the knockback as the car collided with the guardrail, heard the metal on metal as nails on chalkboard, then—inconsistent mashed colours around, darkness and memories entwined in the mess. His despair turned into acceptance. He could not have run. He could not have notified his friends, could not have saved them. He could not have lived to see tomorrow. He did the minimum. He took the most dangerous woodpecker down with him, to the bottom of the cliff. He felt himself fall deeper and deeper into oblivion, into the cold emptiness. He almost heard his friend scold him for his recklessness.
He did not risk his life to solve a case, not this time. He had renounced that to execute some twisted justice before he could have been killed in vain. His final thoughts revolved around his childhood friends be themselves in the rural mountains when there were no cases on their minds. He was with them for a moment as a little child, and wished that those times never faded. He did not want to be conscious the moment when, when—
Kansuke-kun, Yui-chan—
…
…
02-29-1996
…
Shinichi watched his childhood sweetheart prepare herself. Her feet slid into her shoes, then kicked on the floor to make themselves comfortable. Her back was clad in thick, warm fabric that was her coat. Her hands freed her fuscous locks from under the restrains and let them swindle around her thin waist. He would have attributed a carefree, cheerful face to that front had the same nervousness that ate him alive on the inside not be known to torment her as well.
He could not calm down. He would have scheduled the trial to another date had that been feasible. His stomach was in knots. His instincts screamed at him. He thanked his detailed memories more often than not, however, it was the not case this time. He wished the miscalculations in alternate timelines did not haunt him. He bended to the alarmism and tried to contact their distant allies to make sure that there were no elaborate schemes were set to make him fail, but reached the voicemail each time. He tried another one. His innate fear increased as the monotone voice informed him that the called number was unavailable. Morofushi's number did not even ring out.
"Shi-ni-chi." Ran's voice stressed the letters in his name, to catch his attention. Her hands rested on his shoulders in an innocent attempt to comfort him. "Yui-san and Wada-sensei had left to the courthouse. You cannot be seen or our enemies will learn about our involvement in the case, so we have discussed. You wanted dad to attend the trial hidden within the crowd to be able to call in case the situation turns for the worse, and dad is—I can do karate. You can trust me."
He did not want her to leave. He could not let her—
"Ran—!"
His hand held onto hers. He saw her turn towards the door and that roused fear in him. He realised the exact memories that instilled that awful intuition into him, which were ones from the dozens that could enslave him when certain circumstances arose. Her startled face mirrored the alarm the sudden outlash that did not fit into his usual, calm and collected demeanour raised in her. He could, however, care little about the inconsistencies in his character when it, it—
"It started like this."
"What?"
His mouth went too far. He fell silent for a brief moment, then found the correct words to describe the memories that haunted his mind. "In the future, I mean. It was an important operation. It could have decided ultimate success and failure and at that time, it was our last resort as well. I tried to contact the few allies that remained at that time short before the start, but no one answered. I raised concerns about that fact, but as mentioned, the operation was too important to be called off on a bad premonition. Akai-san and we went ahead to the rendezvous, tried to create excuses to calm ourselves—it was a mistake. I fell into the syndicate's hands. It is, now—"
Her hand stroked his, to calm him. "It is another world, another timeline."
It was different, could be heard underneath. He fumed inside to have his concerns dismissed, but had to remind himself that her observation was also correct. He faced a different situation in a different context, and those had been called could have had a million reasons not to answer. And there was the trial, which was too important to—oh no. His stomach clenched at the familiar assessment. It was too familiar, no, the same, wait, that could not be.
He wanted to cast aside his instincts and listen to his arid deduction based on facts. He wanted to think that his concerns were as unreasonable as her attitude made that look like. Her hand slid from his hold, which loosened in careless moment. He craved to save her from the threat that could not be confirmed to exist. He held himself back at that realisation. He went too far. He could not control her decisions, not when the assumed threat lived inside his borderline insane head. He stared down at the floor, his toes tried to claw into the lacquered wooden surface. He knew that to lose his calm would leave the mark his failure meant on the timeline.
(He was, in the end, excellent at convincing himself.)
…
…
"What should this even mean?!" Yui tousled a mazarine necktie in her hand and as a result, almost choked the man in front of her. Wada Toshiaki, however, did not answer her screamed demands and instead, turned his head aside. His reaction intensified the hatred in her. "Answer me,"
Her rant had to be swallowed as some civilians started to notice the altercation and observed them with wariness. It occurred to her not to make a scene and thus, searched for a secluded location to continue—there, the nearest staff staircase could do the trick. In the moment their forms vanished behind the door, she made sure to throw him to the wall to hurt him. He deserved it, because—it, it could not be true. His abilities counted as the most crucial link in the chain. He undertook an enormous task with this case, however, looked determined to carry the responsibility that rested on his shoulders. He had never shown a hint at insecurity, and yet—
It was not that their calculations could never be mistaken. It was a known fact that there was a non-zero chance that it would not work out. However, those odds should have not included this abominate twist. Her tears traced a clear track on her face as fists balled. Kansuke was at stake. Her oldest friend, love—was at stake. He would be convicted innocent of the crime accused with. How could he not understand? He had to have loved ones as well.
"Why, why the hell did you step back in the last minute?!"
His face still remained unreadable, which infuriated her further. He should have at least faced her with his reasons, whatever those could have been. Her hands clawed into his suit and shook him, to shake answers out of him. His reactionless façade crumbled down in a second as an envelope fell from his abused suit.
He tried to catch her hand that reached for the curious item, without success.
It was—it was a letter. And photos. A massive amount, about the same schoolgirl as she went to school, chatted with her friends in the school field, walked down the corridors to her classroom, sat in classes and bored out the window, went to karaoke in the afternoon, then home. It inclined that the smallest details about her were under close observation. Its reason was made clear in the letter, the blackmail letter that demanded the addressed to stand down from case. Her stomach sunk.
"Asuka, my niece. I take care of her since my older brother died." Wada talked for the first time. His voice sounded strained with unarticulated cries. "She attends a boarding school in Tokio. I could not risk it. You know that these people are not hesitant to follow through their threats."
Loved ones, huh.
It was relatable. It did not mean that the furiousness drained from her in an instant, but—she could not allow an innocent civilian to be killed either. Her conscious would haunt her to her death otherwise. In that scenario, there were no choices other than to meet the demands. He had been correct that the woodpecker, no, the syndicate that was behind them would not screw around with such threats. It could have been their plan from the start. In the end, she handed over the contents to him.
"What will happen now?"
"I bet someone else will be thrusted into the defence's seat for show's sake." Wada answered defeated. "It will be either someone on with this or someone a clueless about the true extent of the case and hence, can be led with their faked evidence. I would not be shocked to learn that our evidence has somehow vanished or come to their knowledge. I will be honest, this is bad. I cannot even tell what would happen, since we lost all control on the situation. I'm s—"
"Don't."
It was not his fault. It was all that wretched syndicate.
"I'll call the others."
…
The fresh water from the faucet refreshed her face in a crude, but effective way. She retreated to the women's bathroom to collect herself and make a call to alert the others about the sudden and rather misfortune turn of events. She made sure the double-check the room before she let down her guard, after all, if someone could slip that envelope to their lawyer in the courthouse, it was not a safe place anymore. Her hands gripped the sink with such force that her knuckles turned white, however, bending to her emotions would not solve the situation. She doubted that a reasonable decision could do more in the department either, but fetched her phone nonetheless.
Her index finger pressed the call button and the phone rang out, but in that moment, she suddenly felt like someone was watching her. It could not be possible, since the bathroom was empty, so she had confirmed, and no one had entered since then. It could not be that someone managed to stay hidden throughout her careful search, could it? Her eyes rose to meet their reflections in the mirror and have a view on the bathroom behind her, then widened in horror.
A smash later, the phone laid on the floor in shattered fragments under a thick boot.
…
…
It had been over half an hour. It should have been an abundant amount of time to travel to the courthouse even with the slowest taxi and still, no messages or calls arrived to his phone that could have reassured him. He tried to distract his mind, but his instincts persisted to keep him on the edge. He walked up and down the motel room, which panged with emptiness since most of its occupants had left. Akemi was with him alone and watched him pace around impatiently.
"Running the floor raw won't be any help," Akemi remarked in his direction. "You have made a decision, hand in hand with the others, who took the risks on their own, free will. It was the best choice that could have been made in this situation. So, stop this incessant pacing."
Shinichi rubbed his forehead and continued nevertheless.
"I know, but—"
His phone started ringing. However, the sound was cut off so fast that it did not even leave a chance for him to look at the caller. Yui's name popped up when he checked his call history, and her latest call was marked as unanswered. He doubted that she had misdialled his number of all things and called her back, however, the phone did not even ring out. He removed the device from his ear and stared at the small screen in horror. Then, he shoved his phone into his pocket.
Akemi noticed his sudden change in mood, and turned towards him.
"Hey, what do you even—"
…
…
Ran believed that the future would have a blissful future in store for them. In her mind, there was no other outcomes than their success and the release of their innocent friend. In her mind, the world's shades were still either more like black or more like white. In her mind, actions could be labelled with either, and while success did not come without sacrifices, it was obvious that the good would win and the bad would pay for their crimes. Shinichi's worries sounded unreasonable in that sense. He planned with carefulness and considered much more than the others combined would have. Her mind counted the scenarios and could not see a weakness in the plan.
However, his unease sowed doubt in her mind. It could have been the reason that her stomach started to clench the closer the taxi drove to their destination. It was not that their current situation could be that similar to the future. Her father was calm about it, or at least looked calm.
A dark tunnel laid ahead, which went under a road above. Her neck craned to sneak a look inside. It did not raise concerns at first, but that assessment turned into a much sinister conclusion the moment the taxi came to a halt far from the other end marked with the whiteness outside. It was that whiteness that drained out the forms and colours in the inside. It—it looked like there was a car on the roadside, contours invisible in the darkness. Her attention was so immersed in the observation that her father's loud demands towards the taxi driver flew by her ears. It was then that, someone exited the car—no. Her hands flew to her mouth in dread.
And then, latched onto her father's sleeve in a moment. "It's them!"
"Excuse me—?!"
Her ears noticed the familiar click. Her face turned white as her hand that held on her father shoved him to the taxi's door on instinct. Her father could not even breath a word as their eardrums were assaulted with a loud, telltale sound. Her horror stuck to her father as a bullet hole steamed in his headrest, an inch from his head. Both turned to the driver, who trained a gun at them, owlish that the first bullet had missed the mark. Her karate instincts kicked in and the next moment, a wrist was broken and unable to hold the firearm. Her father snatched that midair, to avoid a collision and an accidental shot that could hit them, then knocked the driver out with its backside.
Her father stared between the black item in his hand and the unconscious driver as the situation sunk in. His trembles were contained in a herculean effort to maintain a collected mind and be able to think and save them. It took his determination a moment to arise and overcome his initial, fearful reaction.
His hand reached to the door handle, but hers held him back. He took the hint and looked outside, where the two assassins from the island took cover in the obscure darkness and waited for them to walk into their fire line. Her father swallowed at the realisation. However, those men clad in black would soon take action with or without a haste mistake made on their side and corner them in the vehicle. It was better to exit the car from the other side and sneak outside the tunnel without a noise.
Ran understood that without a word and acted on it. Her feet touched the road as a cat's paws and she crouched behind the cover that was the trunk. However, in the moment her father would have followed her suit, another shot resounded in the tunnel and a bullet hit his shoulder. His scream whirled her around and etched his tortured face into her memories forever. He lost his balance and collided with her, his shoulder wound bled into her clothes. It was too much—
"Dad!"
Her hands shook him as red took over the scene.
"Someone! Someone, help!"
Her voice sounded distorted with unshed tears. It could not be that a tunnel near the downtown would be so isolated that there would be no one around to call an ambulance and—no. Her locks veiled the utter horror that dawned on her at the realisation that the authorities were, in an indirect, untraceable manner, on with this. Her cries were met with eerie silence from all sides. Shinichi! Shinichi could—no, he would not make it in time, not even if she called him then and there.
Her father clutched on his wounded shoulder. He crawled to the side within wheezes and held onto the gun secured from the driver. Her concern rose at his actions; he could not mean to shoot the shooters from that distance and in that darkness! He had even been hit—!
"Ran, once there is the smallest chance, run!"
"B—But—"
His stare told her all. He had determined himself to save her and since that bullet hit his shoulder and rendered him unable to stand without aid, deemed himself a burden. However, that mindset was too familiar and was one that infuriated her. Her arm reached under his unwounded one, attitude dismissive towards his demands to leave him and save herself. He soon stood on his feet and at the same time, fired a round into the darkness. Its disincentive sound let them to distance themselves from the car and walk towards the whiteness that was the entrance to the tunnel. Her father fired another round at the silhouettes that moved and schemed their demise.
A muffled scream answered.
He… somehow shot an assassin under the worst conditions. His skills around firearms led her to make a mistake and believe that that would be their salvation; because that mistake was soon made obvious as the fire was returned and this time, there was no cover to hide behind.
Red. Red. It smeared across the road beneath her knees. Her mind fixated on the stains and then, noticed the truest horror. Her father laid face down, with red red red concentrated around him. He had shoved her in the last moment; that her recollection served to her with ruthlessness. Her resolve crumbled and hit the concrete at a blink. It could not be true. It could not be real. It could not be that she had witnessed her father die! Her hands took his shoulders to turn him over and—it, it was, no, never! His head looked so horrendous on the front that made her leave him face down. He was dead. Her father was dead. Her father had left her alone in this world—
A familiar silhouette took form in the darkness, as to mock her.
"Vodka was careless, but at least we have one down."
It was not real. Her father's death was a distortion in time's fabric that should have never come to existence. His blood was on the shadows that influenced the world around her, whose narrative never ended with their loss. It was that narrative that their mission was to demolish and in that vulnerable state, a dark idea came alive and breathed even darker words into her ear; if the shadows were thrusted back to nonexistence, then the distortion would be corrected as well.
It did not matter what the assassin talked about. Her limbs broke their subconscious restrains and lashed at the mashed silver and black. Her assault was broken with three bullets, which embedded themselves into her torso and forced her back in small, weak steps that dribbled blood at her feet. Her feet braked in a moment to launch the next attack, which collided with the assassin's chest and broke some ribs. However, the ruthless smack that collided with her side the next moment and crashed her into the tunnel wall. Her form slid down and left a reddened trail behind, too weak and broken to continue. Her head lulled to the side.
Her nerves should have been fried from the wounds inflicted on her. Her consciousness should have faded into oblivion. However, neither was the case because it was not real: the assassin was not real, her father cold dead on the concrete was not real, the world itself was not real. It was a distortion that had to be corrected. It was a distortion that would be corrected. It would not be her that would correct it, that was true. Yet there was someone, someone else.
There was a face, lined with the statics of her distorted memories—
"Shi…chi… …"
…
…
Shinichi had not been unfamiliar with failure. He did not make mistakes as a common occurrence, even less on occasions those would have decided between life and death. However, the chance had been there and his fallible human nature could not be erased. He had lived an entire decade in a constant dance with the most dreadful outcomes and the inevitable failures took what there had been to take over time. His allies, friends and relatives had been killed sooner or later, which landed their individual entries on his failure list. However, there was someone, his most beloved someone that had had to remain untouched within the bloodshed and crimes.
Ran.
He had failed to save countless others, which could not be denied. He had failed in countless forms on countless occasions, but could still shelter her from the backlash his detective work had come to mean. He protected her to his last breath and was proud of that.
He found himself unable to look at the bloodied scene under the tunnel. He had taken a taxi to the courthouse due to their female detective's odd communication. Ran and the old man must have arrived to the courthouse as well and failed to inform him about that fact. His mind stuck on the notion that the others could be in trouble to an extent that banished concerns about himself, which was the reason the dark tunnel that the taxi drove into did not raise his concerns at first. His instincts kicked in the moment the car stopped, which drove him to look at the driver, realise the malevolent intentions and bolt outside and run into two, too familiar dead bodies.
His stomach churned at the scene, which was unusual as other times, he looked at abhorrent murder scenes without a notable reaction. It could have been the fact that the victims were known to him on an intimate level. He had seen the old man first, the detective that had become a second father to him as well, laid face down on the road in his dried blood. His mind rattled facts akin to that the death had to have occurred within ten minutes or there had been a direct shot to the head; facts that caused him even more nausea. He had then noticed her. Her blood coated the entire area. Her blood was smeared across the concrete roadside, the tunnel's walls and centred around the broken form that had once been his definition to beautiful. Her frozen face was veiled with her hair, matted in the bloodbath that almost made him turn aside and vomit.
He had seen her death in another timeline. It had been a short timeline and that horror had lasted a mere moment as relief came to him with his own death. However, this time, no relief came. He was forced to face the facts as the cold, hard evidence was laid out at his feet.
He walked to her side and took her cold hand. Her hand should never be that cold, that lifeless. He was too shocked to think about the circumstances that have led to this outcome. He would have forced himself to do so, to make sure that the scum that dared kill them would not remain on the streets. However, not even the truth could have resurrected those who had died and that would leave him behind, with next to no one to turn to. However to however, that was not the case anymore.
He held those cold hands with a small tremble; then set them down as footfall echoed behind him. His face darkened. He waited for the murderer reveal himself. He did not have to turn back to know that the one that walked towards him wore black from head to toes.
"Kudo Shinichi. You turned up at last."
Gin. How?
"… the world's first time-traveller."
He turned around to meet a barrel to his face. His certain death was considered a lesser threat than the assassin's awareness about his time travel. He forced himself not to show his would-be killer the extent the comment disturbed him. However, the fact that his intention was to kill him was evidence that the information in his enemies' hand was inaccurate, not to mention that other time travellers were not mentioned. He still had to know how the assassin had obtained the information.
"I have been confused at the start, but the truth is out now. You came from the future, which included a decade-worth war with us. I did not believe a word at the start, however…" He shuddered at the unhidden interest the assassin stared at him with. "I reconsidered, because it made too much sense. Your information, experience and desire to hide the truth about it. Your determination to take us down, no matter the cost. Your eyes show that, even now, even when your loved ones had been killed."
He could not resist the anger the mention of the scene behind him. He would have lashed out at the murderer had the barrel that kissed his forehead not held him back. He made sure to stare the man to death at least. He would not listen to his casual comments on his murders.
"Rum wanted me to catch you, you know. You warranted that monster's attention to that extent. Your worth is in the information that could be sensitive to us, as there is no chance that someone that hates us with such vehemence would side with us. You were to be taken to the headquarters for interrogation," He swallowed at that, horrible memories flashed in his mind. His subtle reaction was not unnoticed; the assassin's smirk turned wider. "I have read about that as well. It must have taken time to torture someone this determined to death. However, with the desired information in our hands, there is no reason to draw out the inevitable."
He stared at the assassin, fear shoved aside.
"How did you know?"
"I have no reason to tell. You have no reason to know, not anymore."
He let loose a mirthless chuckle.
"I am a detective. I want to know what killed me."
"You seek the truth then, to the end…" He convinced the assassin without words that information shared with someone about to be killed was not shared at all. "You can have this case solved, detective. You know the mission that has been assigned to me. I looked for clues on your whereabouts. I looked into several records to search for related people and a name has been left on the hospital visit records. I assumed there was a connection and visited the individual. It turned out the hunch was correct and his hard drive was full with information invaluable to our enemies. You should have chosen more reliable and careful allies to work with."
He connected the dots. He had created the index as a failsafe that included detailed information on the future. It had been intended to be a database to aid the eventual individuals that would have to substitute him in certain situations. His other intention behind the index's creation was that, in case a miscalculation killed him, to make sure that the information would reach those who would take the mantle. However, the initial idea had been casted aside as time travel's laws revealed themselves. It had not been extended with the latest information either; yet his badmouthed ally would have never revealed that information on his will, outdated as it was.
"What have you done with the professor?" He asked the rhetoric question.
"You can ask him soon yourself."
He remained silent.
"I deducted from the circumstances that this would be the next destination. I consulted with other members. Brandish confirmed that and added that there were others that worked with you. You wanted to be involved in the courthouse debacle due to some reason; well, the ones that have been sent there have been neutralised. Brandish has numbers in more corners than what exist. I then had to wait for the best moment to eliminate the rest. I have taken these two out. You are the last."
He had underestimated the assassin, then. He had believed that the threat involved the local crows and those alone. He had been tracked down, watched and intended to be killed. He had been too distracted with the case on his hands to notice the one behind him. He had reverted back to his reactive attitude to the events around him and in the end, lost the momentum that had been his decisive force the whole time. He had acted the chance of loss and due to that, lost for real.
He had realised the mistake that had cost lives. He did not want to know the exact number. He did not want to turn around and face the results all over. His determination solidified at the remembrance and that set his mind. His breath calmed to an extent that would have been considered weird under the circumstances; however, his mind wandered elsewhere. He remembered the time the oldest time traveller shared a secret with him: how to control time travel. He needed a controlled mind, a mind that could maintain a strict focus in death's moment. He had been unsure whether that inhuman control was within his abilities, but this was the time to test it.
He trembled a bit. His skin was drenched in cold sweat as the fact that he would die sank in. He had faced death before, but never known that it would come beforehand. He found that the fear, the knowledge was even worse that the death itself. He was horrified. He did not want to die.
He would, however. He would to save her.
Ten days ago.
Ten days ago.
He could win from that time.
…
In a sudden, the world did not seem that real. His mind was distracted from the doom that awaited on the outside. He became one with the memories envisioned. He could almost feel the cold and see the corridor and hear the shallow sounds from the room behind him. He embraced the odd sensation that divided him into two; one that had a weak connection to the old real world and one that established a connection with the new real world. He floated in the between for a moment, then—
Bang.
…
Published: 13/05/2024
- Reappears after almost six months of hiatus.
- Double updates.
- Kills off all the characters in the end of the second new chapter.
- Proceeds to drop off the map for another month working on the next chapter.
Despite what it looks like, I'm not trying to actively antagonise the fandom. I do intend to work on this story now, though.