"…But there'd be no point: Why would he give his life over to this, if it were not for the notion that he could do something great?" -Richard Ben Cramer

…

'Gosh, that's a nasty cut.'

'They just threw him out like that?'

'Police these days…like gangsters.'

A stream of water gurgled into my nose and ripped me from my stupor. I sucked in air and started to explode with coughs, rearing forward and smacking a hand to my mouth to keep from spitting up onto my lap. The group of people surrounding me took a few steps back but still hovered over me like mothering birds with worried beaks.

"Are you alright, young man?", an older woman wearing bright neon flannel asked. "Goodness, you've been out for…gosh. I couldn't say."

My head was throbbing and the sharply colored clothing wasn't helping. For a moment the Sun obscured their faces from view, but putting my hand up I could see they were a trio of elderly ladies, in some kind of jogging get-up. Sneakers with matching fuzzy all sweaty wristbands (ew), plastic bottles clung to the fanny pack. The one who asked the question was holding a white rag in one hand and an open water bottle in the other, her two friends hiding right behind her with pensive looks.

I looked back and beyond the wall could see the tall sun-beaten bricks of the police station. "I, uh…"

A shorter lady than the first, this one with a dorky little headband to boot, stepped around and wagged her finger at me inches from my nose. "What are they feeding you kids these days! I mean, my goodness! You weigh mooore than an ox! You know how hard it is for women our age to have to drag a corpse across the sidewalk like this–"

The first lady with the water bottle clicked her tongue and glanced back to admonish her. "Oh, gosh, Kosur-iii," she crowed. "Leave the poor boy alone. He's probably dealing with enough already, just look at him." She clicks her tongue with pity.

I put a hand to my left eye and felt chunks of dried blood beading up on my brow. The third unspoken lady just sighed and threw her hands up slightly before beginning to hobble away, putting her wired headphones snug back into her ears. 'Well, I'm leaving," she said. "That's enough charity work for one day. I'm getting my steps in." She turned on her heel and continued her jog down the sidewalk, the second bitchy lady not even giving me a second glance before following suit.

The nice lady with the water looked at her two friends departing and then back at me with true sorrow in her eyes. She folded the wet rag into a square and handed me the water bottle with the rag pressed to it. "S-sorry about them, ahah. They're not known for their charity work." She dug into her pocket and handed me a couple of crinkled bills with some coins, taking my free hand and closing the money down on my fingers. "God bless you, young man. May the Lord help you in all your struggle and strife."

I stared dumbfounded at the bottle and the money. "I'm not homel–"

But before I could protest more, she shuffled away to catch up with her two friends, making some sort of sign with her hands. The trees that lined the sidewalk shook gently as the wind blew hard for a moment, tussling my already screwed up hair some more. Cars buzzed by on the street in front of me indifferent to it all. I watched thick green leaves spur up in the warm wind for a moment, dazed.

I looked down at the money in my dirty hand. What year is this?

With a triple whammy the memories recalled themselves. Natsuki in jail. Marriage proposal. Hamada. And the year is 2018.

For a few minutes I could only sit there at a slump against the brick wall of the police station, with the grassy lawn behind it, in part because of my confusion but also because of just how badly my body was aching. The bruises from last week's fight were still healing and the scuffle with the police did it no favors. I took some meager sips of the water bottle to rinse my mouth and dumped the rest onto the white rag, wiping my face and hands clean. As the Sun started to slowly shift and beat down on me more directly, I realized I stunk like barbecue beef.

Looking down, there were dried flecks of sticky rice smushed into the suit and thick globs of dark brown sauce painting my blazer, shirt and pants. Blech.

"Hey, buddy. This isn't a shelter."

I looked up to see, to my great pleasure, a cop.

He pointed down the sidewalk with his gleaming metal baton. "Get a move on, sir."

At my side, scraping the concrete, I could feel my fist clenching up but somehow cooler heads prevailed…mostly because I had no energy to fight. The tank was running on fumes. I took a deep breath, blew through my nose and just…said…

"Okay."

The pig smirked as he took a step back, one hand to his belt as he reclipped the baton. Shoving the rag into my pocket I stumbled to my feet, grabbing the wall for balance and dusted myself off before slowly shuffling down the sidewalk, no real destination in mind other than to get away from that fucking freak. The Sun was shifting yet again, my skin cooking with no oil. Was no telling how long I'd been passed out, but the three ladies made it seem like it was quite some time.

Hah, so before they showed up I was literally dead to the world in front of that fire exit? And nobody cared? My thoughts staggered back to the unhoused and the unfortunate, like how those ladies thought I was. How long before somebody cares to check in on them, those without family or friend? We've all seen the news; a slumped figure in the alley, scuffle, a cry in the night. A call for a medic and…and…actually, it doesn't even make the news half the time…my God, in our history many have bared this fate? Thousands? Millions? Of being totally and completely forgotten with nary even a tombstone to guard them for eternity? To prove they were ever even here?

I approached the intersection and turned to the left, coming up on the rectangular stone plaza that makes up the grand walk-up to the pigpens. It was modest, liminal but with a touch of color. Sandstone pavers arranged in a dizzying half-moon repeating pattern made up the maybe thirty by sixty foot plaza, with green-painted metal benches on opposite sides of the plaza. Ruby red roses and yellow daffodils rested in the planters that sat around the benches, with the nicely watered lawns behind it. In the center of the plaza, lining up with the double doors that lead to the lobby where I filled out the forms, were these two enormous twin flagpoles that sat elevated in a circular fountain, quietly gurgling and recirculating itself in the drain. The flagpoles were stainless steel and shot maybe fifty feet straight into the air, almost as tall as the surrounding flat buildings across the street. The plaza was entirely empty, and save for an older businessman clambering into his parked car along the curb I was the only one here.

Stinking of beef and rice, I stood at the fountain and stared straight up.

To the left fluttering in the calm wind was clearly the flag of Japan, a simple white background with a red drop in the center. The Land of the Rising Sun, I thought. The inherent symbol of all our hopes and dreams personified by its pure simplicity. The good triumphing over evil, the right victorious over the wrong. The guarantee that the Sun will rise, as it always does, from the East…and with that guarantee, the hope to become greater than yesterday. To its right was a more unique design which took me an awkward moment to recognize; it was Edogawa's own flag, a stylized white coat of arms in the line art form of a bird against a rich purple background. My mind dully recollected its meaning from school, the goal of understanding and cooperation among all peoples. We are all one kind, the human kind. What would it be like to live in a world where the peoples of all nations would never even dream of going to war because we simply relied on each other too much?

My eyes glowered down at the police headquarters. It would be too good to be true.

As the headache flared up again I shuffled awkwardly to the bench closest, taking a seat. My billfold lumped against my butt and I dug for it, flipping through the flaps and panels. I swear I had an aspirin packet tucked away in here somewhere…I began to thumb through cards and receipts and papers. From the top of the stairs my eyes flickered up and then back away from a fairly attractive woman in a long yellow sundress (Nats would pull it off better), her coral brown hair tied up in a bun and a huge army-style backpack slung over her shoulder. She looked aghast standing on the top of the stairs on the phone, but it wasn't any of my business. Thankfully I found the little plastic aspirin packet and ripped it open with my teeth, gulping the two pills down with the rest of the water bottle. The folded up rag was beginning to leave a wet spot through my blazer but I honestly didn't give a shit anymore. In the air, a flock of birds crooned as they flapped away from the trees, disturbed by a gust of wind.

Christ, I mused. What am I supposed to do now? If I really can't go back in there, like that Hamada punk said, how can I even get in touch with her? The reality of it all began to seep in again even as I desperately tried to push it away. Phone calls, yes. However long those could last. And correspondence through letters, yes, however long that would last. Until they transferred her to somewhere else or just said fuck you and cut it all off anyway. I was reading all about how this one lawyer went so far as to actually adopt one of his long-term clients who had no living family so he would have someone to talk to, but even then it was quite some time before they would allow them to even write to each other. Is that really what it would have to take, what it would come down to? Would I have to fucking adopt Natsuki just to talk to her?

The Sun glowered as I paused at the question.

I hope not.

The girl starts to walk down the steps and I take it as a cue to depart. Not much else to do here but birdwatch and get harassed by the cops again. I lure up to my feet and start to shuffle away, back to the sidewalk. Across the road at the very end of the block was a small parking lot where I'd parked earlier, assuming I hadn't been towed by now. The entire street strip was office buildings and spaces correlating to the police or just regular amenities; a tax clerks office, a phone store, a blue-painted standalone police box, a barbershop. The only thing that makes sense right now is to just go home and regroup, call Sayori or somebody and try to push—I glance down at my watch. Damnit! I couldn't even get to them right now, they're all at Yamaku! It would be a couple more hours until school let out.

I continued down the street, approaching the crosswalk to get to the side of the parking lot. I was stupid and misread the meter, so the space was paid up until the next morning. This unusual aching began to creep up my veins into my wrists, forcing me to flex them over and over to try and soothe it. Can the aspirin kick in already? I wasn't even sure if I could make the drive home…I woozed around on my feet, leaning against the crosswalk pole for support. A man shuffled away from me as we waited for the light to change.

My head creaked and turned to look further down the road, where I could see one of the local trains going back into Edogawa proper. Back in the direction of home.

Ah, screw it.

I pushed myself off the street lamp and started to continue back down the road, ditching the car to catch the train home. It looks like shit anyway, unwashed with mud splattered across the doors and its whole front bumper ripped away, sitting in the garage waiting to have a thousand dollars dropped on it for repairs. Good thing Yamaku students and all the local schools get free ridership on the transit systems. They only just started doing that.

Moving away from the police station the neighborhood began to diversify, more local shops and apartments instead of offices and box stores. The sidewalks were sparse, but a coffee shop had a couple of what looked like office workers at brunch sitting at the small boutique patio outside. They leaned forward to each other in whispers as I approached, their hands held to their lips to hide their scornful critiques.

As I passed the huge store window I caught a glimpse of myself; my hair smashed and split up like some kind of demented cockatoo, busted face and wearing a much more torn up suit than I thought. How hard was the drop? Or did it always look like this?

Embarrassed, I stepped into a dumpster alleyway and whipped out my phone despite it being dead, using the light shining onto the screen as a makeshift mirror to inspect myself. Cuts across the lapel, a big gash down on the side of the stomach, plus the deep browns of the sauce smashed with gravel and dirt…the pants looked better but needed a bath in some detergent. The button-up shirt faced a similar outlook. I thought about it for a moment and decided, if some methed out psychopath can tear up a few hundred dollars worth of manga merchandise without even batting an eye, what value is a suit fresh off the rack at the end of the day? They can keep the deposit.

Opening up the lid of a trash can, I quickly took off the blazer and removed the folded wet rag and the money the lady gave me from the pockets and tossed it away. Quickly stuffing the money in my pants I used the last of the water seeping from the rag to 'dry-clean' the pants, scrubbing off the worst of the sauce stains and patting down the rest. Ripping off the dress shirt and throwing it in, slamming the lid back shut. When times are tough, you improvise. I licked my chops for a moment to work up a ball of clean spit and spat it into my palms, digging my hair back to comb it down back into its standard slickback, tucking the loose strands behind my ears and patting it all down to form. Before walking back into the public, a lone busted down wood dresser I hadn't spotted before with the mirror hanging by its straps caught my eye. A huge hairlike crack ran right down the middle, parting my face.

I look scary and I hate it, was my first thought.

Eyes swollen, a red scratchy bruise just under my right cheekbone from the hard fall. My slickback hair stood taller, more aggressive like a delinquent's pompadour. Along my jawline and temples was a painters wheel of greens and purples and yellows, various stages of bruising from the old and new battles fought. My arms were shredded to all hell, biceps popping, the long screaming catscratches still peeking out under the gauze wrapping after escaping Nats' house. The white tee shirt I had on underneath was thankfully clean. I looked terrifying.

I bared my teeth, and almost like it was designed to match my cheek bruise the right incisor between my canine and my buck was chipped nearly in half…no, wait. I blow air and it makes a dry whistling sound. My tongue poked into the gap for a few moments, probing the damage. Right. That wasn't from today; the result of Natsuki's father, not Hamada. Suckerpunches will do that to ya. I had a dentist appointment in like a day…or two…I think. If I could muster the strength to go, that is.

Somehow a smile pulled on my lips. If she were here right now, in another world where I walked into a stop sign or something, with her hair bouncing and hands to her hips, maaaybe she'd be a little intimidated on my walk-up but as soon as I grinned at her she'd be crying from laughing so hard. I don't think she noticed it in the interrogation room, a place barren of a reason to smile but in our normal states with her bright teasing voice pointing down at me, a stuttering starstruck puddle on the floor she w-...she'd be like, "Awww, are you looost, young man? Where's your mama?"...or something. She was just…she is magic like that, even in her bullying she just knew the right way to turn me into a sopping blushy mess, sooner have me on bended knee. Screwdriver in hand, she knows the right way to press all my buttons.

Thinking of her, with that brief confidence, I stepped back out onto the sidewalk.

Tower Hall, a meekly square observation tower attached to a larger fun complex that loomed over the Funabori subway station, sat silently as I approached the square. It was only about three hundred feet tall; you didn't look down at the Edogawa skyline from it but across it. Personally I had never been up there but Mom and Dad (man do I need to call them as soon as I get a chance, assuming they went to work as usual today. I had only seen them early in the morning). They said in the 90s through their younger adult years they would have quite the parties on the plaza, locals all around would come. You'd expect it to be busier here at the crisscrossing crosswalks leading to the transit stations but it was actually deserted compared to the police station area. So quiet I could hear the bleating carnival music and beaming laser effects of the arcade store across the road. My pointed black dress shoes clacked across the asphalt as I strode to the waiting bullet train, causing a few pigeons to strut away in alarm. To be expected, I guess, with it already being the middle of the day; kids in school and adults at work. So what am I doing here?

Ah. Right. Natsuki's in jail. She's in there and I'm out here.

I frowned.

Getting on-board was seamless, scanning my ID and bee-lining for the back of the train to catch a corner seat. It was easiest to locate and gave you a sweeping view of everyone getting onto the train at the stops, friend or foe. The cars were more crowded, a healthy combination of suits and business skirts on their way across the city. This city really is built on science, how lucky we are to live in an age dominated by technology...the same tracks that carried vital supplies and materials into the ruined wards and towns following the Second World War are now the same carrying the future of Japan into business, the finely-tuned economic machine that never stops grinding. My eyes watered as the consistent whine of the bruises gave way into a slight drowsiness, trying to focus on the television monitor up top displaying a GPS map of the green-lines train route and its next stops. It really didn't feel like the aspirin was doing me any good, but that was my only packet. I squinted again at the monitor, struggling t-it looks like it says only a five minute ride back into my part of town…more or less…a nice ten minute ride…my forehead thudded against the glass and I was out almost immediately.

…

…

"Sir? Can you hear me? Are you alright?"

…

"Maybe it's best to let him sleep."

…

…

Natsuki? Will you come back, my love?

"-APPROACHING: THE SHINJUKU SKYLINE DISTRICT."

The automatic chime and announcement snapped me awake with a snort, my arms folded across my chest as my head knocked against the glass loudly. A tourist trio looked up at me with genuine concern before scooting slightly back in their seats, clutching their straw-woven shopping bags in their laps tightly. The shine of the interior lights wounded me for a moment but I rubbed my eyes to realize it was now midday, and I was completely removed from Edogawa. I coughed and cupped my hands to the window, trying to get my bearings. Massive skyscrapers, thirty to forty stories tall with their bloated bodies blotting out the sky, obstructed the landscape.

My forehead thuds the glass as I groan.

Damnit! I was in downtown Tokyo! Could anyone be that stupid as to get on the wrong traaain!?

The wrong side of the tracks, of course. Why wouldn't I? After getting my ass handed to me twice in one week, sure, why not fucking stick me an hour away from home on the opposite side of town? Thanks, God! Thanks for looking out! I felt my face burn with anger and the unyielding fire of annoyance. The sun was cresting up above.

"APPROACHING: KIZUNA GOVERNANCE PLAZA."

Whatever. Might as well get off here.

The train silently rolled to a stop and I pushed through the doors. Heavy traffic roared up and down the boulevards and lanes, wide-bodied towers stacking the blocks as far as I could see. It was a sight I was familiar with but I found myself always having to stop and stare once in a while, to be an obstacle in the faceless crowd. I pulled over on the side of an especially tall office tower, its gravel facade warm against my back. Thousands of elders and young and youth muscled and bustled all around, business casual and casual casual attire. Tokyo at its absolute best. It was easy to pick out the tourists in the buzz, their dorky tee shirts and cargo shorts and colossal cameras hanging around the neck. They all had that upbeat carefree smile to them, happily throwing up peace signs with the temples and shrines and monuments. That's their right, of course. I'm glad they're all here in appreciation of our culture.

I just wish…

I started to aimlessly walk down the sidewalk, trailing an especially large group of big-bellied salarymen with their baggy suits and saggy comb overs in an animated argument, their leather suitcases smacking the knee as they walked and talked. Hands in my pockets, biting down tenderly on my busted bottom lip, licking the blood that flowed.

How are we gonna do this. I mean really. She committed murder. She's in there. How are we gonna do this? How is it ever going to be made right? Social media is exactly that, social media. It doesn't translate into a signed petition or a vote before the National Diet for a pardon. I don't want to be bitter, but sympathy on the streets does not equal leniency in the courts. I just don't know. I just don't know and I want to know how this all ends. I and her deserve it. I don't even want to live in this moment right now. This is…it's like the script of my life has been run through a blender and I'm supposed to glue up all the bits and pieces and translate it into Latin. Incomprehensible. Incomprehensible. Insufferable. Inevitable.

My fingers press to my lips to stifle a gag reflex, sickness clawing at my throat. My chin lifts. The stomach heaves. Upset.

I'm able to close the gap in time to the trash bin before I retch into the liner, spilling down the sides of the bag. A slippery bubbly yellow foam dots my lips and touches my fingertips, taking the cuff of my sleeve and wiping myself clean. Thankfully it was minimal, none of it got on me, but looking all around at the disgusted faces of the passing tourists and locals I lower my eyes in shame. Do I always have to be such a weirdo? How strange to do such a thing. How unnatural. Freak of nature. Lost my place here in the moment, my weak self exposed even to these total strangers I will never see again. How embarrassing I am, first I can't even defend my wife now I can't keep lunch down.

But does she think that?

The crosswalk light changes and it's time to go. I sniffle, wipe my nose and look straight ahead as I follow the swirling crowds again. Just as quickly as it occurred, the Moment passes. The populace has moved on. The city keeps moving. Indifferent to my woe.

The neighborhood changes again, now onto the entertainment strip. Even more impressive arcades and pachinkos and sexually-charged enterprises (no thank you). The neon signs with their harsh bulbs and lights even in the daytime twinkle and shine. Dark clouds began to circle in the sweet air, as the people began to look up with muted concern. A summer shower inbound? Kinda early.

A slight rumble would make it so. It began to drizzle, and while the crowd didn't immediately react umbrellas of many different colors began to pop open and swing to life. Some folks walked inside the shops and towards the concourse of the malls, seeking cover. Others looked indifferent, smiling even harder some of them. Who was gonna rain on their parade?

Turning the corner, the sidewalk seemed to slope downward just a smidge as it ducked underneat a massive concrete skywalk connecting two of the shorter office towers together. My feet began to ache (what doesn't ache at this point) as I slowly walked underneath, catching my breath for a moment. I needed a water bottle or something, but it seemed this was all–

Woah.

The sidewalk led into a truly massive plaza, five or six acres across. Part amphitheater, part flat grassy staircase, part performing arts stage but even with the gentle sprinkling of the rain coming down there was still festivity in the air. Street performers and artisans and musicians with flutes and guitar, beginning to pack up to dodge the rain but speakers hung up in the trees played a gentle, sweet melody. The tingles of piano with electric keyboard to swing with.

The plaza was almost entirely surrounded by this half-moon glass domed structure, with tall brutalist concrete columns on the front unafraid to show steel and rebar. Along the top of the building, a bolted sign read "PALACE OF THE PEOPLE" and directly underneath an expressive LED jumbotron with scrolling banners flashing the words "WELCOME, WELCOME!" and "JAPAN BEGINS AT KIZUNA PLAZA!" alternating with advertisements, colorful graphics and along the very bottom noted stock prices, the weather and simple news headlines. A stainless white birdscage of a canopy extended out halfway from the roof over the open plaza, not covering it entirely but during sunny days would offer great cover to those sitting in the right spot viewing the soundstage below. The offices feature very narrow windows, shoulder-length, not intended to be spent looking down at the performers all day. It was old school but still impressive to view.

But five hundred feet across the sweeping plaza, piercing that brooding sky high above its motley whos-who of brutalist stone grays and modernist glass blues stood the Twin Towers of Kizuna Governance Plaza. Eighty stories tall, two fraternal eleven hundred foot tall dinosaurs. The towers anchored the plaza by eight tree trunk-like perimeter columns arranged into an octagon, which tapered inward as they approached the top. They sat atop a twenty story base, fused together which I think featured some convention space and a hotel with their views looking down on the plaza. Its grand entrance was staggering, a voluptuous sixty foot tall glass cube that intersected and cut into each other like a steel nucleus, offering canopy from the rain as tenants of the towers entered the lobby and shook their umbrellas dry.

The lowest of the misty stormclouds bowed before them, breaking apart as it rolled across the tallest of the columns, as a current of wind slapped fresh rain down the corridor into my face. My jaw hanging, leaning up on the corner of the building, I backed up slightly to escape the gust, fold my arms across my chest and look up.

The twin skyscrapers twisted to face each other along a perfect diagonal as they shot up past their podium. They were fearsome, this deep copper brown with black shades columns, but despite their size they were somehow elegant, a squared design with chamfered corners that just shot up into the heavens. At about the…fortieth floor? There was a blue-glass skybridge connecting them together, with thick X-style trusses securing it to the frames of the towers…a breezeway connecting the people of the Twin Towers together. Being a see-through structure it was easy to spot the tenants sitting at the patio tables up there, lounged back and enjoying their personal view…but beyond that was a dead heat race to the top. At the seventieth floor the towers fell inward to a golden pyramid design, with two pentagonal black flagpoles flying our nation's flag at the very top.

It was only two weeks ago—

From across the plaza, strutting past the centerstage fountains was an incredibly attractive couple, so well dressed they had to be some kind of politician. The manner of their strut, their indifference to the intensifying rain under a shared umbrella, the woman swiping away on her phone while the man held the umbrella for them…you look at them and your first thought is now there goes a pair of professionals that know what the hell they're doing. The man's hair was nicely split down the middle, dry but combed and poofy with a little bounce as he walked. His long suit coat flapped and flared in the rains breeze but he was so unbothered by it, meanwhile the woman with her light brown hair in a long twin tail fashion furiously typed away on her phone as her heels clacked against the plaza floor, a matching long black power suit to boot. A red folder was tucked under her armpit. The man's right hand held the umbrella with his left to her hip.

Natsuki…

I backed up a little bit, sliding against the wall before plopping onto a bench. Exhaustion, despite the cool drizzling winds keeping me afloat. I leaned forward and put my face to my hands, drawing slow breaths. The trains were so quick downtown, I'll look for a store and get something to eat, I guess…then hop back on the—

"Sir?"

I looked up, my eyes rolling back sluggishly. The man and woman were standing right in front of me.

The woman leaned forward slightly, using the umbrella to block the rain. "Are you alright?"

I stuttered. "Uh…yeah?"

The man points down at my shoe. "You're bleeding."

Looking down, a thin trail of crimson blood was slipping down the side of my right shoe, with the plaza to my left. My eyeline followed back up the sidewalk to see a trail walking up and around me, then right to the bench where it was beginning to pool and dribble into the cracks of the cobblestone. My fingers flipped up my pant cuff and felt a touch of something hot by the ankle. Red.

"Oh, umm…" I just stared. "Uhh…"

"Hey, hey!", she exclaimed in a reassuring tone. "It's alright! It's alright! I actually have some first aid in my bag if you, if you'd like for us to help you, sir. And some water."

I'm a charity case now. I looked at the both of them and pressed my palms down on my knees, rubbing them and taking in a deep breath. "S-sure. I don't…it's been a long…" I made an exasperated gesture with my hands. "Sure. Thank you, ma'am."

"Of course!" She began to dig through her bag, kneeling down right beside me while the man held the umbrella stead, giving us cover. The man flickered at his watch and asked, "You get into a fight or something?"

With shaky fingers I started to untie my shoe. "You could say that."

"What's your name?"

I coughed. "Kazuma. What's y—"

The woman dropped the roll of gauze in her hands and stared in shock, the white ball of bandage rolling away from us.

She pressed, "Kazuma Osaka?"

My turn to stare. "Um…Oh-daka, actually. I've never been that far sou—er, west."

She leans forward and gives me a bear hug, pulling me a little off the bench so tight I think my ribs are gonna crack. The man looks confused, startled but not offended, still holding the umbrella up. He actually looked relieved as the woman begins…she starts sobbing.

"Ohhhmy—ohhh, thank the Lord JESUS! Ohhh thank you sweet God, thank you! I asked for your guidance and you PROVIDE like always!"

Okay, what the fuck? I can't help but wriggle a bit in her kung-fu grip, lifting my chin up. "Do I know you?"

She realizes the awkwardness of the abruption and lets me go, dusting herself off and effortlessly standing up from her bent knee position. The rain gusts up again and her hair lifts to the side. "Well…well, n-no. But I know Natsuki."

WHAT!?

It's my turn to be flummoxed, standing straight up from my spot despite one of my shoes sitting off to the side. The bloodsoaked sock presses into my foot, bleeding on the brick. "H-how do you know her? You talked to her?" This girl and guy seemed a little old to be Yamaku students. The woman continues, "Well, ac—it's kind of a long story, but, I was in jail with her. We were bunk buddies, ahaha! Y'know? I was released yesterday and now, well, we just left the clerk's office here," she points back at the towers, "with some of the paper—"

She pauses and just stares at me not with pity or contempt…but anguish. Her eyes scan my bruises, my cuts and swollen face. "Oh, you sweet boy…what did he do to you?"

I don't know what came over me. I really don't. But it was just the way she said it, this total complete motherly stranger who I've never met who not even a minute ago just came right up to me wanting to help. Her first words asking if I'm alright. Just as that older lady did with the rag and the bottle. Who saw me bleeding and her first reaction was to help someone she thought was in need. Here in the plaza, us three, it's not the governors and the to-be governed but people with love in their heart.

I start to sob, at first a suppressed chortle lodged in my throat that breaks out into an agonized howl. I hide my face in my arms, to shield these total strangers from this sad sack I am. Natsuki isn't here. If I was just more invested with her, asked the right questions, if I answered her call a minute earlier, got there a second faster—I could've prevented all of this. It's my fault she's in there.

Emi takes a seat next to me and tries to reassure me, rubbing her hand to my back in a circular motion. "Nonono, hey! This—Kazuma, it's not your—"

"—You don't understand, okay! I—you, fucking! Gaaahhh! She almost died because of me! Because I was so fucking stupid instead of getting her out of there I CHOSE TO FIGHT! I just HAD to fight him! And it forced her to defend me! What the fuck kind of man am I where I put her in these situations!", I start to almost shriek at them, causing heads to turn at us. The rains continue to hammer down, threatening to drown us. Or is it my own tears that will drown me?

"I don't know, idontknowidontknowidontknooow…", my head drops, pressing my hands to my hair and tugging at it. "I'm a coward. I couldn't protect her in the way that I should have. She…she's in there because of me. Of what I did."

"Hey."

The man drops to his one knee and grabs me not by the hand but forcefully by the arm. The umbrella falls to the floor and scoots away, but none of it matters. I'm so startled I just look at him, allowing this stranger to handle me.

"Look, you…I-I don't know you. But I know what Emi told me."

I stare.

"That…what you did for that girl of yours. Her calling you when her dad was going to fucking kill her. I know—have known grown ass men twice your age who wouldn't even put a guy in their place for harassing their own wife at the bar, let alone…", he seemed bewildered but continued, "literally run to the scene and beat their ass into mulch. Without weapons or backup. Just the raw tingling urge to save the one you love. "

I don't react. The words just bounce around in my head.

"But the reason we came here is because…we, we have a plan to help you. We all do."

The woman, still sitting next to me and beginning to open a bottle of water to offer me, turns to look at me better with a warm smile. "I'm Emi. Emi Ibarazaki. And this is my fiancé, Hisao." She sticks the water bottle in front of me, shaking it a little. I take it and gingerly take a sip, feeling the metallic blood mix with it. The cap rolls around in my fingers, pressing the plastic into the skin.

"Nice to meet you, Emi and Hisao."

Emi continues, "Look, after I got out of jail, Natsuki told me to get in touch with one of your schoolmates. Somebody named Monika?"

The Literature Club!

"And…well, we were actually about to drive over to her right now. Earlier we went to where they got Natsuki at and they turned us away, said they weren't taking any visitors or something. So…well, Monika has this idea for a protest."

Emi looks out at the plaza, the skyscrapers. "Here, actually."

Huh?

"Wh, why here?"

Emi reiterates. "I-it isn't a sure thing. It could be anywhere really, but here has the right space for a crowd." She points to the open square for emphasis, then up at the towers. "And those! The symbol of government power and dominance…home of the lawmakers who are trying to silence us, who put her in there. It's just ideas right now, but what she and what we definitely want and think is best is to have this massive student protest somewhere for Natsuki, like, immediately. Bring out the youth, raise awareness…and ultimately work to get her out of there."

Hisao adds, "Hold those bastards feet to the fire."

I stare out at the plaza, the rain clouds ceasing but continuing to stir angrily in the air and threaten more. The courtyards had mostly emptied out save for a security guard and stray peoples. Only the towers remained.

"Is that…", I point at the stack of papers sticking out of her red folder. "What that is?"

She looks down and starts to thumb through it. "Yes. An application for a permit and some other junk they gave us. We haven't really filled it out yet..." She looked up at Hisao with a grin. "But they sure looked real annoyed in there at us, right hun?"

Hisao smiles despite the mood. "Oh yeah. They, uh…surly bunch." He shrugs.

"A protest…", my lips crack, and I take a second sip. I don't know anything about stuff like that. I've never…been in one. Until now it seems. What…

Like a book Hisao reads the disorientation on my face and grows serious, parting away the hair from his face. He stands up from his spot on the ground, adjusts his coat and clears his throat. "Look, Kazuma…I think…I think that you're brave, really brave. A coward would never act the way you did that night…but now you bear a responsibility that no man before you has ever faced." His face grows tense, strained. "You have your woes and your fears, which may one day become a reality…"

He grabs me by the shoulders and stares into my eyes. "…but now you have that girl, you have that shining star Natsuki, which is your reality."

I'm forced to avert his gaze, pursing my lips. "I just…I'm so scared, guys. I didn't want any of this. Not for me and especially not for her…" I shudder. "I just want her back."

"You will have her back, dear." Emi coos. You've got a lot of people in your court. We want to help you. Everyone does. Your club friends and your schoolmates and your parents and…"

Emi stands up to join Hisao and takes me by the one hand. "You're the only one who can bring her back. You know her in ways we never will. This is your fight to lead us in. Whatever you need…we will work to meet it."

Hisao takes my other hand, now the two are consoling me side-by-side with patient, loving eyes. "As long as you can trust us, we will put our full faith and trust behind you…we will get her out of there. So…do you trust us?"

I look up and stare at them. The Twin Towers. Mom and Dad.

For the first time since the day this nightmare began, I feel a rushing calm. Not this agonizing meat shredding fear and agony of the unknown every waking second, but a tangible sweet taste of our future. Sailing the seas, seeing the world arm in arm with Natsuki Abilene Tamura. Soon the entire world will know your name, my love. The dreams of ours which that monster lurking in the corridors that night tried so desperately to drown have finally broken the surface and gasped for air. Brief, but real. These two strangers, Emi and Hisao Ibarazaki…I'm sure I would've met them anyway if they knew Monika. Probably today even…but the fact all it took was one wrong train ride to be literally brought right before them, before their mercy and grace and overwhelming wisdom. It…it's fate. It has to be.

The smoke ever so gently begins to lift over my head. Maybe there's a way out after all.

So I just smile and nod.

"I do."

Because we finally had a plan.

…

Author's Notes: 7.5k words! Crazy how it was supposed to just be 3k. Haven't written that much in a while, but where one door closes another opens. Everything happens for a reason. This chapter changed a whole lot in my head, and it's still not quite how I imagined it but I'm just trying to push past this part and continue the story now that the dice has been cast…and man I just can't help with the Katawa Shoujo references; originally it was Monika and Emi meeting Kazuma at the plaza but then I remembered everyone's favorite arrhythmic MC of yesteryear and realized…he's just gotta make an appearance. Thank you all so much for reading and stay tuned for the next chapter, you guys are gonna love it.

Love each other. Life is so brittle and frail, always appreciate the fact you woke up in the morning. Always. People out there want to see you, look forward to seeing you. Believe me.

Peace.