A Young Girl's Guerilla War

by RagnartheSemiGreen

Tanya dies in an artillery barrage on the Rhine Front, contrary to both her and Being X's plans. Unwilling to let his chew toy escape so easily, Being X reincarnates Tanya back into Japan... Six years before Britannia conquers Area 11. (First posted on Space Battles)

14. Chapter 13: A Communal Dinner

Chapter 13: A Communal Dinner

(A big thank you to Siatru, and to Daemon, BlueBezerk, and Grig9700 on the Tanya Writers Discord for beta reading this chapter.

The first Friday of December started pleasantly enough; though it was wet and cold outside, in the small studio I shared with Ohgi and Naoto it was warm and dry. Yesterday's rice, combined with a can of condensed milk purchased during an excursion to the grocery stores of the Tokyo Settlement, sat cooling on the now deactivated hotplate as I dug into my bowl of rice pudding. I'd dimly remembered it from the childhood of my long-ago first life, when my grandmother had made it as a special treat whenever her only grandson came to visit her. Thanks to Kallen's access to the Britannian equivalent of the internet, it hadn't been too hard to find a one-pot recipe for rice pudding, and now that I had the money to buy some good ingredients and the time to enjoy my food, I saw no reason to not indulge myself just a bit. It wasn't the same, of course, as some old family recipe lovingly perfected over the generations, but still tasted like a return to childhood.

After eagerly spooning another bite into my mouth, I grabbed the orange sitting by my bowl and started peeling it. After watching me burn through the oranges I'd brought back from my first trip with Kallen to a Britannian grocery store, Naoto had ensured that there were always oranges waiting for me in the apartment. At first, I'd been a bit hesitant to take advantage of my sudden access to citrus fruit – after years of hard living and watery miso, it seemed like an unimaginable luxury to have fresh fruit on demand. Coupled with the coffee I'd purchased during that same trip to the grocery store, it felt like an almost decadent level of comfort, a degree of indulgence that would isolate us from our neighbors. Fortunately, nobody had tried to rob us, and the other denizens of the apartment building were just as alternatively friendly or standoffish as ever, depending on the neighbor in question. I suspected Ohgi's generally well-liked persona as a kindly teacher had done a great deal to soften any resentment.

After all, that persona's not entirely fabricated. Maybe they're hoping he'll share with them?

The teacher in question sat across the table from me, a summer sausage on a cutting board in front of him, slicing thin medallions from the sausage and popping them into his mouth sandwiched between crackers. I'd given him both items after returning from my most recent trip outside Shinjuku as a small token of thanks, as well as to give him something to eat during our shared meals that wasn't soup. Whatever other virtues the man had, I couldn't abide the way he loudly slurped soup, and if we were going to share meals I was determined that as few of those meals as possible would involve soups, stews, or other broth-based foods.

It was quickly becoming clear that I'd been at least somewhat off base in my initial estimation of Ohgi's character, particularly in light of the heart-to-heart conversation we'd had about my dietary habits. To my shame, he had seen far more clearly than I had that my previous work-life balance was wildly unbalanced, and that I had been letting myself go. It had been a shock when he'd bluntly informed me that he'd be enforcing a more balanced daily routine, and for a brief moment I'd been resentful of the encroachment onto my personal autonomy, but that had only been the immediate knee-jerk reaction. Before I could even fully sort out the logic behind his sudden intervention, he'd uncharacteristically just... opened up.

The emotional deluge that followed had been stunning in the extreme, but also deeply affirmational. My work had been noticed, and my worth had been seen and appreciated; even better, Ohgi didn't see me as a charity case or as the abnormality and near-basket case I knew myself to be, as I had feared when he'd told me I needed help – he saw me as a comrade who needed assistance. How could I deny that I needed help, when I'd let myself waste away as I'd stressed endlessly over the operations of the Kozuki Organization and the Rising Sun Association? How could I deny his help, when I'd made it a point in the past to help out my comrades when and where I could?

If I wasn't willing to accept help, could I really call myself part of the organization? I'd told Naoto that Kallen would only be fully accepted as one of us if she shared the risks – and in the sharing of those risks, in running onto that dark subway platform with us, gun in hand, I'd been proven correct. Sitting at the table with Ohgi, listening to his impassioned plea to let him help me, I'd realized that this was a risk too that I had to share with the people I depended on to get me into a cushy job after the war. Letting Ohgi tell me when I was wrong, when I was hurting myself without helping our people, and accepting help from my fellow terrorists... That was part of being a member of a tightly-knit organization. It wasn't a weakness to accept help when one needed it – after all, the Japanese weren't weak when they accepted my help, they were hungry. And I was hungry too.

And so, as I peeled my orange and watched Ohgi carve slices off the preserved meat, I continued to work on reconstructing my mental model of the man. He was intelligent, but not shockingly so. He was charismatic, but not in the same captivating way Naoto was. He was essentially a leader of the everyman, more approachable and personable than Naoto, and usually entirely able to deal with any minor problem or concern. He was a capable killer who had no qualms nor concerns when I'd laid out my plan for depopulating a train station, but he'd also been entirely willing, eager, even, to help out the other members of the organization deal with their own concerns after the battle. Overall, while he was many things, it seemed increasingly unlikely that a sadist was one of them.

I recognized that this could be some sort of elaborate deception that Ohgi was playing on me, that he was indeed just as monstrous as I'd suspected, simply with a far better mask than I'd ever anticipated. I also recognized that train of thought led to insanity, and that being overly paranoid was at least as dangerous to my continued survival and membership in the organization as being overly secure in my current sense of success.

Ohgi's insistence that I actually sit down with him and eat a minimum of two meals per day had proven to be an unexpected masterstroke. Being mandated to carve out time in my schedule for said meals had been a bit of an inconvenience, until I realized that I could take as long as I wanted to sit and eat and unwind and not be accused of shirking. After all, since the breaks were the product of my direct superior and roommate, nobody was going to chide me for simply relaxing for a few precious minutes instead of working through my lunch hour. Beyond the sudden freedom to eat in peace, spending the required time with Ohgi had forced me to get over the initial awkwardness I had felt after that conversation. Sitting in chilly silence would have been decidedly uncomfortable, after all, and probably wouldn't have reassured him that I would continue to eat regularly into the future after my period of supervision ended; plus, it would have gone against the clear spirit of the order, namely to work on actually forming mutual relationships with my comrades instead of just bossing them around all the time.

Looking back on it, between the large, regular, relaxing meals, the casual chatter that usually accompanied said meals, and the multiple trips I'd taken with Kallen into the Britannian Concession, the last week had been unexpectedly pleasant. Now that Kallen was well and truly a full-blooded member of the organization, she was proving to be an incredibly diligent worker; only a day after my uncomfortably emotional conversation with Ohgi, I'd found myself in a camping goods store, comparing the price and quality of a wide range of potentially useful gadgets. We'd gone down a wishlist of goods provided by Inoue, investigating thermal underwear and warm sleeping bags before making our way to the display of water filtration devices. Down the list we'd gone, debating the relative thicknesses of fabric and the price per replacement filter in quiet Britannian, Kallen correcting my pronunciation as we went. We'd ended up leaving the store without making any purchases, but with a wealth of information to direct future purchases by the Rising Sun, and with my Britannian ever so slightly improved.

Looking for new opportunities to practice my rusty Britannian and to shake the lingering traces of the Empire from my words, I followed Kallen into the department store, even permitting her to hold my hand as we made our way through the lobby and up the stairs so we wouldn't be parted in the throng of eager consumers, chatting about trivial things as we went. I'd found myself so engaged in our conversation about the latest Ashford Academy gossip that I hadn't even noticed our destination until we'd arrived at the "Junior Miss" section, and it was only then that I realized how the school chatter had begun to bend towards the current winter-time trends over the last few minutes. I saw the eager gleam in Kallen's eyes and resigned myself to my fate, deciding that if being dolled up for the older girl's amusement was the price of the language practice, I'd pay that price.

Fortunately, Kallen might have been a noble, but she had no more love for frills and fancy dresses than I had, and all of the outfits she proposed were at least free of skirts, thought I had to put my foot down when she'd offered me a pair of short-shorts that didn't go further than my mid-thigh. I'd known from seeing Kallen's outfits, including her school uniform, that the Britannians were decidedly more... liberal... when it came to coverage than either the Imperials of my past life or the Japanese of my current time, but I wasn't so impressed by Kallen's fashion sense to let her bully me into tiny shorts and leg warmers. Fortunately, pleading the necessity of blending in to the Shinjuku crowd had convinced her where concerns about the cold had failed, and the ridiculous shorts were returned to their rack in peace. In the end, I'd ended up richer by a pair of nice hard-wearing pants and a warm jacket in comfortingly bland colors. Remembering the hard-earned lessons of my past, I also took the opportunity to pick up new socks and underwear – dry socks were more valuable than gold on the front. I'd seen multiple men succumb to heinous cases of trenchfoot and other fungal infections after prolonged wear of filthy underwear and socks; I had no desire to feel the skin rot off my body, not when perfectly acceptable cotton replacements were available for a competitive price, all paid for by the House of Stadtfeld.

Apparently, Ohgi had gotten Kallen in on his plan to make me eat whenever my stomach had the slightest available capacity, as no sooner were we back out in the cold of the mid-afternoon than I found myself being gently but firmly led to "The Crepes of Britanny", an unexpectedly Francois cafe for a Britannian colony, but apparently nonetheless popular. It was standing room only as we waited in the line, and Kallen took advantage of our wait time to "encourage" me to "consider" ordering the largest crepe on the menu, a monstrous pastry full of fruit, crème, and hazelnut spread. Realizing that the long arm of Ohgi had already forbade all resistance, I limited my token resistance to a minor sulk, which conveniently gave me an excuse to remain silent as Kallen ordered for both of us. The sulk disappeared as soon as the food arrived, and soon I found myself fearing diabetes as I crammed my mouth full, yet found myself helpless to resist the insane sweetness of the delicacy. The chocolate syrup worked into the crème filling was enough to even allow a degree of forgiveness for the Francois to enter my heart. They may have killed me the last time around, I mused, but at least they can make an excellent pastry. The fact they pulled one over Being X to boot was pretty impressive too.

Overall, it had been a thoroughly enjoyable trip, from a personal point of view, and another mark of Kallen's development as a skilled agent from a more professional perspective. The important information gathering process had been cloaked under the wider blanket of a "girls' day out", the stop at the camping store just one of many stops at many different stores and attractions, including an amusement park. If I hadn't known that Kallen had invited me to the Tokyo Settlement expressly so she could get my input on potential Rising Sun purchases, I never would have realized that had been the point of the trip, especially since it had been such a brief part of that long, lazy afternoon.

Two days after that first trip, she'd invited me out for a second trip to the Concession, later at night, and while she'd passed on word of the peculiar security measures around the Student Council Clubhouse, it had been over mocktails and gourmet sandwiches at a trendy bistro, as a violinist played Vivaldi in the background. I wasn't exactly sure why she hadn't simply passed that information on to me via text, but I appreciated her superb taste in restaurants nonetheless. Honestly, between the near-constant pace of our text conversation, when she was out of school, and these recent meetings in the Concession, I was starting to worry that I'd somehow imparted my overzealous work ethic on Kallen – it would be bitterly ironic if in my attempt to reduce my own stress I'd managed to accidentally overwork the heiress of the Stadtfeld Family, a far more important and connected player in the broader Kozuki Organization than myself. I had considered sitting down with Kallen as Ohgi had with me, but so far the younger Kozuki had shown no sign of burnout, and since I frankly found myself greatly enjoying the restaurants she'd introduced me to, I decided to hold off on the meeting until signs of overwork actually presented themselves.

Yes, overall, it had been a wonderfully relaxing week of relaxation and recuperation. That said, it was about time to bring my informal vacation to an end; pleasant as it was to worry about nothing more than filling my face and gathering information with Kallen, winter was already biting at the people of Shinjuku, and I couldn't in good conscious stay in this apartment feasting on oranges and pudding any longer.

"Ohgi," I mumbled around an orange slice, "We've got a problem."

It truly was impressive how quickly Ohgi had his sidearm drawn and pointed at the door. Within three seconds, he'd dropped the knife, hurled himself to his feet, and pulled his gun. Equally impressive was how vibrant the blush that crawled up his neck was as he realized that I hadn't moved nor shown any sign of concern. I decided not to say anything about it as he picked his chair up from the floor and sat back down – no need to rub his nose in his jumpy reaction, especially considering our line of work.

"The Ghetto's still starving, and we're only reaching a small slice of the population with our daily food boxes." I didn't have anything approaching a census of Shinjuku, but I knew that it was unlikely that more than three percent of the population at most had managed to get food aid from the Rising Sun. "We need to figure out some way to expand distribution, maybe by setting up multiple other offices around Shinjuku, but I don't know where we're going to get the funding necessary for additional sites."

Ohgi gravely nodded, the familiar furrow indicating concern wrinkling his forehead below his pompadour. "Yeah, Inoue estimated that we've got enough money from the last mission to keep the Rising Sun running for about seven months if we stick to food distribution, but only about three months at most if we want to keep providing clothes and construction materials."

"Which, I think, we very much do. Canned food only goes so far – we need to keep up with the other projects too." Of that I was certain. The food, more varied than the typical ghetto diet, was an important step, but without adequate shelter and warmth, not to mention access to common medication, diseases would still run rampant through Shinjuku. "All of that requires money, but we're still lacking reliable income streams."

Ohgi chuckled grimly. "Yeah, I guess raiding the gangs doesn't really constitute a regular income stream." The furrow in his brow deepened as he glared down at the smoked sausage on his plate. "Inoue thinks that we more or less kneecapped the economy when we blew up those arms-dealing bastards. It... concerns me that we potentially damaged far more of Shinjuku than we expected..."

"She's right." I'd talked with Inoue over the last week too, and I agreed with her conclusions. It had already been difficult doing business in Shinjuku before a hundred odd merchants and their gangster bodyguards had ended up entombed beneath half an office building. "That said, pulling the gangs out by the roots was always going to hurt, considering how deeply embedded they are here in Shinjuku. The longer we put it off, the worse it was going to get. Besides..."

I took a deep breath before I continued. I no longer feared that Ohgi would throw me out of the group for speaking my mind, but this would be a tough pill to swallow for the former teacher – it was difficult for me to even admit it to myself, but the writing was on the wall. "We're not going to be able to help everybody, Ohgi, not this winter and not in the foreseeable future. There's just not enough resources in Shinjuku to keep everybody alive, much less healthy. There's, what? Two hundred thousand? Two hundred fifty thousand people? All crammed into twelve and a half square kilometers of developed land, with incredibly limited imports. The only economic export we've got is bodies, who either get unskilled work and poor pay or are exploited by criminals and foreign aristocrats." I closed my eyes and rubbed at my brow with frustration. "As far as food or social support goes in the Ghetto, we're it. Nobody else is going to step in to help out the Japanese. And we're only able to support a hundred, a hundred fifty households, at best."

"Are you only just realizing this, Tanya?" My eyes snapped open at the unexpected response, but Ohgi's tone had been gentle, and there was no hint of mockery on his face. "Do you remember what subject I used to teach, back before the Conquest, Tanya?"

"Math." The word fell from my lips. Of course he'd run the numbers before – so why wasn't he feeling overwhelmed by the sheer scope of the task I'd set for us? "You used to be a math teacher."

Ohgi nodded and smiled slightly from across the table. "That's right, and I sat down and worked out a rough estimate of Shinjuku's food requirements years ago, and I felt the same way you did. There's no way we'll ever be able to keep everybody alive. The only reason Shinjuku's still as densely populated now as it was then is because the Britannians keep pushing more people inside the walls as the Settlement expands." He shrugged, smiling at the futility. "But since you came up with the Rising Sun idea, we've done everything we could to help. We've poured time, money, and effort into getting the people of Shinjuku what they needed. I don't see anything we could have done better, in terms of building a charitable organization from the ground up while simultaneously gearing up for a war with the gangs."

I don't know what expression I had on my face, but whatever he saw clearly amused Ohgi, whose reassuring smile stretched and grew into an amused grin. He leaned forward and stretched across the table, reaching out just far enough to tousle my hair, before I reared back in my chair out of his reach, to his amusement. "C'mon, don't beat yourself up about this, Tanya! You're not perfect, and nobody expects you to deliver perfection." Ohgi straightened back up in his chair, and regained his businesslike expression. "Besides, there's a potential source of funding available, if we're willing to reach out and grab it."

I ran my fingers through my hair, straightening it back out as I frowned at Ohgi. "I understand that selling amphetamine in the Settlement would be a significant moneymaker if we could the operation off the ground, but I still think it's far too much risk for the sort of penny-ante gains we'd make until we found a way to make and ship the product on an industrial scale."

Ohgi was already shaking his head by the time I was halfway through my sentence. "I'm not talking about dealing drugs, I'm talking about potential patronage."

"Potential patronage?" The idea stopped me in my tracks. While I knew we were only a deniable asset to Lord Stadtfeld, I'd just assumed that seeking out any other financial backers would be seen as a sign of treachery by Naoto's aristocratic father. But, if Ohgi was suggesting it... "Who do you know with money, Ohgi? Have you been holding out on us, and you're secretly the bastard of some old Japanese noble clan or something?" While I was mostly joking, I was being somewhat serious. If Ohgi really had been sitting on a connection powerful enough to be called a backer, that was incredibly suspicious.

"No, no, nothing that dramatic." Ohgi smiled, but shook his head. Figures. Two noble bastards is one thing, three would be overdoing it... "And I don't actually know the moneybags in question, to tell you the truth. But, I do know of them. They're called the 'Six Houses of Kyoto', and they're either the biggest traitors in Japanese history or the backbone of the resistance to Britannia, depending on your point of view."

I'd long wondered how Britannia managed the all-important Sakuradite mines, not to mention the transportation networks, refining facilities, and other attendant infrastructure. It had been the main casus belli of the Conquest, almost six years ago, and by all accounts the bulk of Britannian military strength in Area 11 was concentrated around the mining complex at Mount Fuji. According to Ohgi, when the Britannians had effectively conquered Japan in a day, they'd captured the Sakuradite industrial apparatus completely intact. After consolidating their hold on the newly dubbed Area 11, the Britannians had opted to keep not only the old facilities, but also the families that had owned, operated, and managed those facilities as well. The industrialists had turned their coats and had cheerfully provided the Britannians as much Sakuradite as they wished, and as far as the public knew that state of affairs continued through to the present.

However, in the underground network of resistance organizations large and small, word had gotten out that the reviled collaborating plutocrats were also in the business of sponsoring rebellion against Britannia, providing arms, funds, and connections to any group that caught their eye and delivered results in the war against the occupiers. Somehow, the Britannians supervising the Six Houses had completely failed to notice the illicit activities of the allegedly loyal Honorary Britannians who controlled their strategic resource extraction industry.

This answered many questions for me, including why the few Japanese I'd heard mention Kyoto always spat. Apparently, the wealthy aristocrats and plutocrats of the Six Houses hadn't been the only ones to embrace Britannian subjugation within the first year of the Conquest; the entire Kyoto prefecture had mostly gone over to the Britannians as part of a deal to avoid any fighting in the ancient capitol, and since then many Honorary Britannians who had found favor in the eyes of the Area Administration had moved to Kyoto. It was impossible to tell how many of those new Kyoto inhabitants were like Souichiro's son "Keith", and how many were part of the same secret operation as the Six Houses.

Frankly, I was deeply suspicious of this faction of well-heeled aristocrats. It was impossible to tell what role, if any, their convictions and loyalty to their homeland played in their decision making; what was very clear was that this group was extremely good at playing both sides to guarantee their survival. It hadn't escaped my attention either that one of the many services the Kyoto group provided, according to Ohgi, was the delivery of advanced weaponry for free or for a reduced price, meaning that they likely were the ones manufacturing said weaponry. Nothing is better for an arms dealer than an endless war, and I darkly wondered how many arms contracts the Six Houses had filled for Clovis la Britannia in his efforts to put down the rebellion they themselves had fostered.

I wonder if they've got any publically traded stock available – that sounds like an incredibly safe investment.

" – Anyway, Nagata says that Asahara Hiyashi has a line of contact to one of the Six Houses, and thinks that Mister Asahara would be happy to bring us to Kyoto House's attention. For a suitable price, of course." Ohgi finished his explanation and popped another sausage and cracker mini-sandwich into his mouth. "I don't trust 'em, but money's money. Plus, if they donate to Rising Sun, that might help their public relations problem too, and it would help us pump more food into Shinjuku in no time."

I thought about it for a long minute, and then another. If we could establish a connection between a rich bloc and Rising Sun, the Kozuki Organization, or both, all kinds of possibilities would open up. We'd have enough money to invest in long-term projects, like Souichiro's idea of building chicken coops throughout Shinjuku for meat and eggs, or Inoue's idea of setting up fungus farms down in some of the deeper, wetter parts of the subway tunnels. We'd perhaps have enough funds to secure a supply of TDAP vaccines to start vaccine clinics for the children of Shinjuku, reducing childhood mortality and preserving the workforce of tomorrow. We might even have enough money to implement Ohgi's idea of a school for the Japanese, one that would actually teach something useful, unlike the Shinjuku School for Elevens. If the Six Houses could get weapons into Shinjuku, it would also make it much easier to break the gangs once and forever, and perhaps then we could turn our attention towards the Britannians... On the other hand, these men were clearly not to be trusted. Any help they gave would doubtless come with many attached strings. Not to mention the fact that, if they ever actually got found out after they publicly donated to Rising Sun, I doubted Inoue's fraudulent bookkeeping would fool the Britannians for long.

An army can't run without 'beans, bandages, and bullets'... And 'gold is the sinew of war'...

"Please ask Nagata to visit Mister Asahara at his earliest convenience to inquire about the price of arranging a meeting." Best to kick the can down the road a bit. No need to jump into a piranha pool at the drop of a hat, but no need to reject the potential benefits either. Plus, if Asahara's middleman's cut was too steep, I could always wait until the Six Houses contacted us themselves. They'll notice us sooner rather than later; if Ohgi's right about their reach, they've definitely got spies in Shinjuku.

After a quick wash-up, I made my way out of the apartment, bundled up against the December cold with my new jacket hidden under Ohgi's battered old black sweatshirt. Despite the cold and the ice coating the pavement, I smiled as I stepped outside onto the bleak Shinjuku street. Across the street from the apartment building's entrance, a bright yellow flier topped by a radiant red half-sun peaking over the black line of the horizon desultorily flapped in the breeze, pulling at the nail that anchored it firmly in place. I knew that there were at least fifty of these posters nailed up around my area of Shinjuku – after all, I'd hammered that nail into place late last night.

Regularly eating with Ohgi had reminded me of other shared meals, long ago and far away. Those meals, taken in bunkers, trenches, snowy forests, or all-too-rarely in actual mess halls, had frequently tasted awful and had completely failed to fill the stomachs of my soldiers and even left my tiny body quite peckish. All too often, the shared meat ration had to be cooked over a campfire, resulting in burnt outsides and bloody raw interiors, the potatoes had been soft and putrid, and the bread had been full of sawdust; despite all of those drawbacks, and despite my carping at the time, I wouldn't have traded those horrible dinners for the finest restaurant in Berun. The shared misery, coupled with the occasional bottle of illicit liquor shared between everybody but me, had built a strong bond between the men and women of the 203rd, myself included. And when it had been Vi... Visha's night to cook, the army rations had been edible, even something close to enjoyable... Hunger might be the best spice, but a shared meal fulfilled the fighting soldier spiritually as well as physically.

"Why not bring all of Shinjuku in on this?" I'd asked Ohgi, after making sure that a communal meal would also meet my mandated shared meal requirement as well. "Are you more likely to help a friend you've shared a meal and conversation with, or some neighbor you've only ever met once or twice a year?" And so, I'd changed up the Rising Sun's program for today – instead of providing our usual food packages to go, we'd be serving a communal meal of rice and beans, along with boiled cabbage and carrots. It wouldn't be fancy, but hopefully it would be filling, and it would give the attendees an opportunity to sit down in a warm room with food and water and get to know each other. Ideally, this sort of communal activity would inspire mutualistic relationships between both the members of the community, and the community and the Rising Sun Benevolent Association. We'd need all the help we could get before things in Shinjuku were settled, after all.

Tamaki, Nagata, and Naoto were already waiting for me outside the Rising Sun building by the time I'd managed to pick my way through Shinjuku's icy streets. All three were bundled up, but they still seemed to be in good spirits, despite the chill.

"Morning!" Naoto noticed me first and loudly greeted me, waving both arms over his head as if he was concerned I'd somehow fail to notice him among the sparse crowd of pedestrians. "Glad you're finally up and moving, sleepyhead!"

My scowl did nothing to dent his irritatingly high spirits, but it did make Tamaki laugh. Truly, I am beset by treachery on all sides! No, wait, one of my so-called comrades remains true!

Doing my best to suppress the smirk that threatened to ruin my stoic demeanor as Tamaki nearly fell on his ass after stepping on a patch of ice, proving that there was some justice in the universe after all, I turned to Nagata and handed over the folder I'd brought with me from the apartment. "Since you're the only adult I see here, Nagata, you get the paperwork. Congratulations."

Nagata accepted the folder with a wry smile, turning and waving it at Naoto. "Better watch your back, Naoto – Tanya's put me in charge for the day."

"A coup, is it?!" Naoto took a dramatic pose, setting a foot on the first step of the approach up to the Rising Sun's entrance, pointing dramatically at Nagata. "Tamaki, defend my rule!"

Before Tamaki managed to take a step towards Nagata, presumably to try grappling the lanky man into submission, I decided that this was more than enough fun and games. "Fight on your own time! You've got beans and cabbage to pick up!"

The folder I'd handed to Nagata contained several manifests and order forms, all bearing the signature of Rivalz Cardemone authorizing the purchases. I hadn't felt the need to ask Kallen to bother the boy for approval, of course, since I'd long since made a rubber stamp of his signature. Nagata and Naoto would be spending the day in the Concession, renting a truck as per usual and hauling in a shipment of bulk-bought rice and beans, as well as a supply of cabbages and carrots purchased from an Honorary Britannian operated farm outside of Tokyo, plus a shipment of cooking oil, gasoline, and vitamin pills. To cap it off, they would also be hauling in several large portable electric ranges I'd ordered at the camping supply store during my trip with Kallen. Most of the food was earmarked for tonight's meal, and as such the schedule was tight. Who knew how bad traffic in Tokyo would be, after all, or if some guard decided to shake Nagata down for an extra large bribe?

After I explained my reasoning at length, at a very reasonable volume and with a minimum of chastisement, Nagata and Naoto were soon on their way, and a cowed Tamaki followed me into the Rising Sun. We had a busy day ahead of us too, getting the main hall of the Rising Sun building set up with as many tables and chairs as we could fit into the former office space. Besides, we also had to filter and boil a large amount of water, both in preparation for cooking tonight's food and so our hungry attendees had something to wash down the bland yet cheap food we'd be providing.

Thankfully, separated from his fellow miscreants, Tamaki buckled down and helped me haul the collapsible tables and folding chairs the Rising Sun had acquired back during our initial setup. As he got the table legs straightened out, with much cursing and anger as the abused furniture kept trying to close on his fingers, I began the process of filtering and boiling the water we'd need. The process was hampered by the slow spluttering pace of the tap, and I mentally added "refurbish the water mains" to my growing wishlist for Shinjuku. Honestly, it's a shock the Britannians haven't cut off the utilities entirely yet. Sure, the sewers frequently leaked and the storm water drain system was completely busted, but somehow most of the ghetto still had access to at least some clean water. No guarantee that'll last, though.

It was somewhat of a dull day, but I enjoyed the simple yet fruitful work. Naoto and Nagata returned in plenty of time, and soon the ranges were connected to the generator installed in the basement of the Rising Sun building. The sounds of peeling and chopping filled the air as several large pots of rice simmered and the beans began to boil, warming the dining hall. The other members of the Kozuki cell slowly filtered in and started helping out with the food prep, or in Souichiro's case, unpacking the boxes of disposable bowls, cups, and cutlery from the back of the truck. Nagata briefly disappeared, but returned soon with his wife Ami in tow. I'd never met her, nor their child, who had been left with a local grandmother for the night in exchange for a to-go bowl of beans and rice, but I could see that Nagata hadn't been fantasizing when he'd spoken fondly about his wife. The couple were obviously affectionate with each other, and judging by Ami's rough and calloused hands, both were working hard to provide their little family with a better future.

As the sun began it's early winter-time retreat from the sky over Shinjuku, our first guests for the night began to arrive. I recognized most of them as frequent recipients of aid from Rising Sun, men and women who had accepted our help before, and in lots of cases had turned around and contributed towards helping their community. I greeted the few I had met during the handful of times I'd helped distribute food or clothes, and pointed them towards the start of the food line. Since food preparation had more or less been accomplished, I left Tamaki to keep stirring the still-simmering pots of rice and beans while directing Naoto and Chihiro towards the food line to serve up the boiled vegetables and the entree. I tasked Souichiro, who had come with his pistol under his jacket and a baton hanging from his belt, to man the door and keep an eye out for trouble, and had Inoue and Ohgi, as the two most frequent helpers at the Rising Sun, circulate through the growing crowd. Nominally, they were supposed to bus cutlery and cups that could be reused to Nagata and Ami, who had set up a washing station behind the food line, but I wanted them to primarily start up conversation with the people who came to eat. The point of this event was, after all, to help build a community, which might require a little ice breaking. I took up a ladle and stationed myself by the large steel pot full of boiled water, ready to fill cups. We'd left it, along with the two other pots full of filtered and boiled water, in the back alley under cover for a few hours, so it was nice and icy cold.

As I scooped water into waiting cups for thirsty diners, I kept an eye on the increasingly packed room. The fliers had done the trick, and lured by the prospect of a free meal in a nice warm room, the citizens of Shinjuku had come. Children clustered around parents, but every child had their own bowl – nobody would have to share a single serving tonight. Entire family's took up the ends of tables, elderly matriarchs surrounded by family. Groups of young men and women formed their own clusters, and of course the omnipresent bottles of cheap sake and homemade rotgut soon made their appearance, passing from hand to hand. The sounds of laughter and chatter filled the hall, and through the growing crowd Ohgi and Inoue shuttled, making a joke here, dipping into a quick conversation there, introducing this person to that group and so on, coming back to the rear of the room every now and then to drop piles of plastic cutlery into the basin of soapy water or sodden paper bowls into the trash can. It was hard to tell how many people had come through the line, as some people came through to get second servings, or to ask for covered bowls to take back to bedridden relatives or to neighbors staying to look after children, but I estimated that we had fed at least three hundred and fifty people a nice filling dinner by the time five hours had passed. Nobody seemed particularly eager to leave the warmth of the Rising Sun's building, and I wasn't eager to kick them out – I had nothing planned for tonight, and after dinner conversation is great for networking.

Of course, it was just as the warm self-satisfaction at a job well-done filled me that the doors to the Rising Sun banged open once again, letting in both the cold wind of the December night and a group of seven young men and women. These new arrivals were clearly not like the rest of the Japanese filling the hall, and neither were they here for a bowl of beans and rice. All seven had bright canary yellow scarves tied around their right biceps in the typical gangster style, though I didn't know what gang had bright yellow as their specific color. Interestingly, despite all seven having identical scarves tied around their arms, that was where the uniform look ended.

The leading three gangsters of the group were clearly aping Britannian styles, with the two men sporting brightly and badly dyed blonde hair, while the woman had opted for a bright bubblegum pink. At least her roots aren't showing across the room. All three wore garish outfits that were clearly of Britannian manufacture, and clearly meant to look like the typical outfits worn by nobles. Having actually seen what real nobles wore, thanks to my trip to the Stadtfeld Manor, I was distinctly unimpressed. The Britannians as a whole were far more comfortable showing skin than the Japanese, but the "Britannian-style" dress the woman was wearing was skimpy even by foreign standards. Hell of a thing to be wearing outside at ten o'clock at night in December. The men's suits were ill-fitting and stained, and the golden epaulets glittering on their shoulders looked as if they'd been badly sewn on by hands unaccustomed to such work. Despite this, the pistols all three carried were as Britannian as they come, and looked like the same military model that Naoto had provided us with.

By contrast, the four gangsters hanging back wore similar clothing to the bulk of the people in the hall – that is to say, typical Shinjuku clothing. Threadbare shirts and thin jackets, work pants with patched knees and belts cinched tight to waistlines shrunken with hunger. The three men and one woman of the group had no pretensions to the Britannian stylings of their apparent superiors, and all four had closely-cropped hair, likely as an anti-lice measure. Their features were worn and gaunt, their frames only slightly less wasted than the typical Shinjuku dweller, and none of them looked particularly eager to fight. Still, each of them was armed with a weapon of some kind, though unlike the three leaders none of the four had a pistol. Instead, two held knives, one rested a battered baseball bat on his shoulder, and the woman carried a humble claw hammer.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Souichiro looking to me for direction, his hand already wrapped around the heft of his baton. Off to the side of the door, the gangsters hadn't noticed him yet. I shook my head and he nodded, taking his hand off the baton and stepping back into the mass of citizenry – if he tried to attack the gangsters now, he'd be unsupported, on the other end of the densely packed hall from the rest of us, except for Ohgi and Inoue, who were stuck somewhere in the middle of the crowd. As the gangsters began to approach through the middle of the room, the three leaders swaggering as people desperately made a path, pulling children out of the way, I cursed internally. Ohgi had a gun, and Souichiro had a gun, but nobody else did as far as I knew. I hadn't expected such a brazen attack in front of so many people. That said... if a gang was going to attack the Rising Sun Benevolent Association for whatever reason... why would they send so few people? It made no sense.

Unless... This isn't an attack at all! This is a shakedown! Dammit, how could I have been so stupid?!

The Rising Sun had been throwing around a lot of resources lately. Renting a truck to import shipments of goods from the outside world into Shinjuku had been a necessity for our operation, but the costs necessary for that truck alone – the rental fees, the fuel, the bribery – must have thrown up a huge signal that we were a cash-rich organization, or at least that we had something worth stealing. And that doesn't even touch the value of whatever they think we were importing! The gangs probably assumed that the Rising Sun was a front for some sort of drug smuggling business or the like! They were wrong on that count – it was a front and a public relations organ for an armed combat organization dedicated to political terrorism – but I could forgive that error, seeing how they were absolutely correct that we had things worth stealing. Unfortunately, all of the valuables, including our cash reserves and our pilfered drugs and weapons, were all at the hideout, not here on site where we could freely hand them over to buy "protection".

There's no way they're going to believe that we don't have any money on-site. And if they refuse to believe that, things are going to get nasty.

As I'd furiously worked out how badly I'd screwed our entire operation over, the little knot of gangsters had continued to advance. It was telling how badly beaten the people of Shinjuku were, collectively; Only seven gangsters, only three with guns, were enough to intimidate the several hundred civilians present. Nobody was meeting the smirking eyes of the three leaders, and nobody looked the least bit interested in challenging them. Thankfully, that included Ohgi and Inoue as well, who I noticed were carefully mimicking the reactions of those around them, keeping their eyes downcast even as I noticed Inoue slowly drawing a knife as the last of the ragged gangsters passed her by. I've got to take control of the situation before someone makes a stupid move and starts a bloodbath.

Dropping my ladle as I engaged my strengthening and reflex enhancing suite, I swung myself over the serving table, feet easily clearing the pot of cabbage and carrots, and dropped down on the other side of the food line, right in front of the approaching gangsters. To my surprise, my enhanced strength felt... even more enhanced than usual, somehow, approaching what I had been able to manage with a mere thought in my old life, though still nowhere close to what I'd been able to do with a computation jewel. I'll worry about it later. Similarly, my reflexes felt like they'd somehow been kicked into overdrive; I'd swung myself over the table so quickly that I'd nearly stumbled when I'd landed, and it seemed like the world was somehow moving slower than it should. In the seemingly stretched seconds, I noticed Naoto was peeling off his serving gloves and trying to hurry around the serving tables too, but the throng of people and the cramped space we'd been forced to set the food line up in to make room for all the tables made it hard for him to extricate himself. Looks like it's up to me to make the first impression.

Folding my arms, I drew myself up to my full, admittedly unimpressive, height, and cocked an eyebrow at the still advancing gang. The three leaders' only reactions were sneers from the men and a condescending laugh from the woman, clearly affected after the all-too-familiar haughty laugh so beloved by wealthy Britannian ladies, and they continued to swagger towards me, the central gangster only halting a meter away while the other two moved a step or two closer, almost flanking me. I noticed the four grunts forming a vague semicircle a few steps behind the central gangster, but they still looked generally unenthusiastic, and seemed to be paying more attention to the large pots of food on the tables behind me.

The center gangster, still with a shit-eating grin on his face, started to open his mouth, which was my cue to start my pitch. "You're welcome to join us for dinner. The line starts over there – the food's free, so is the water." They were, after all, residents of Shinjuku – the poster had clearly stated that every resident of Shinjuku was welcome to join us for dinner. "No pushing, no shoving. There's plenty to go around for everybody." I spoke clearly and loudly, making sure to account for my current enhanced state so I wouldn't speak too rapidly, doing my best to emphasize in front of the murmuring audience that if anything was going to happen, it'd be these guys who'd start it.

The gangster directly ahead of me laughed, a short, ugly thing. I'd heard that laugh before, from the mouths of other men who intended on making themselves a problem. "We didn't come here for fucking dinner! Fuck off with your rice and beans, you little Brit bitch, and point us towards the cash!" He leaned in closer, until his face was barely five inches from my own. "If you're a good little girl and tell us where the money's hidden, maybe we won't take you with us when we leave. Then again..." And then the bastard actually sniffed at me, and his lips rolled back, exposing his visibly rotten teeth. "Then again, some of those rich creeps like 'em skinny... And they might pay good for a blonde."

For a moment, the rage was so intense I felt like I was choking, trying to hold it back. Only the mental discipline that years of waiting and watching for any opportunity to break my way and get me away from the war, out of the ghetto, had instilled in me gave me the strength to not murder the son of a bitch where he stood. Gotta make them throw the first punch... C'mon... C'mon... I had to get them angrier while still being eminently reasonable. That way, when I took them apart, I'd be unquestionably in the right, and nobody would think to connect me to any sort of premeditated attack, like a certain recent bombing.

"What do you think you're doing here?" I let a thin dribble of emotion into my voice, not rage but righteous indignation. Cold and controlled wouldn't play well – they liked their prey to be upset, off-balance. "We're just here trying to make life in Shinjuku slightly less awful – why are you trying to mess with us, huh?"

The pinkette laughed that horribly fake laugh again, nearly falling out of her tiny dress as a result. "You stupid little bitch, don't you get it?" She let her hand drop to the pistol, holstered in an incongruously sturdy belt. Judging by the rest of her sartorial dresses, she must have taken it from someone else. "The weak are just meat for the strong to eat – and we're the strongest people in Shinjuku!" I ignored her laugh and watched her eyes. They were full of mingled anger, fear, and exaltation. "So you'd better get out of our way, little girl, otherwise we'll eat you all up."

I snorted. It was hard enough to control my anger with these blowhards, and impossible to keep my amusement hidden as well too. "Sorry, are you saying you're strong, then? You're not even strong enough to be proud of being Japanese – and no matter how much you dye your hair and dress like them, you're never going to be Britannians. Since you're stuck in Shinjuku like the rest of us, you couldn't even be Honorary Britannians, could you?" I realized I was smiling, grinning really, teeth bared at the trio of gangsters who loomed over me. I knew they were dangerous, knew that by questioning their strength I'd just crossed their red line, but I couldn't help but laugh at them. "Clothes might make the man, but to the Britannians you're still just dirty Elevens. If a Britannian actually saw the way you dressed, they'd laugh in your faces at your silly costumes. Now get in line for your meal or get out of my way."

The gangster directly ahead of me lost his cool first. With an animalistic bellow of "Shut the fuck up, you little hafu whore!", he began to swing for me, a clearly telegraphed right-handed haymaker. Finally, took him long enough.

To my enhanced eyes, it was almost like we were sparring, and the target was a partner giving me a nice easy opportunity to set up an arm lock. Unfortunately for him, we weren't sparring, and so instead of blocking his punch I ducked low, below the arc of his fist, and took two rapid steps forward, putting me inside his guard at the cost of letting the three gangsters surround me. As the fist swung over and past my head, I retaliated, channeling every bit of anger that had accrued at their disgusting insults and ramming the base of my palm straight into his solar plexus. The close quarters didn't let me fully extend my arm, which would have maximized the impact, but the enhanced strength made that a moot issue as I could clearly feel the crunching of breaking cartilage under my hand. Ruthlessly, I poured more hoarded magic into the blow, sinking into a lunging position as I hurled all sixty-seven pounds I had to my name against him. I exulted as I felt as much as heard the air being driven from his lungs as my palm forcibly compressed his diaphragm, driving broken shards of cartilage deep into the soft tissues inside his rib cage as I did so. To guarantee that my first target was incapacitated, I whipped my trailing right leg forwards and up, rising from my lunge as I rammed my knee into his groin before taking a step back as he began to fall forwards, contracting around both his injured genitals and the crushing wound to his torso. It probably wasn't strictly necessary, but I couldn't deny that seeing the bastard blanch with pain was viscerally satisfying.

As I took my step back, a hand slammed into my neck from the right, grasping for my throat. Fortunately, my adversary had missed his chance to grab my trachea and instead of trying to resist the impact I moved with the momentum, taking a step to my left and pivoting on my left heel, ending up on my female enemy's left flank. As I turned, I took a quick look at the other four gangsters, and, absent any orders from their superiors, they were all still hanging back, keeping well clear of the fight. Very wise. The pink-haired gangster tried to keep me in front of her, starting to turn as I came up behind her, but in the face of my enhancements she might as well have been standing still for how slowly she moved. I threw a right jab straight into her left kidney, her skimpy dress doing nothing to cushion the blow, and as she started to topple forwards, crying out in pain, I kicked her behind her left knee, forcing it to fold and sending her hurtling to the ground at speed.

I was about to kick my opponent in the head now that she was down, just to make sure she wouldn't get back up while I handled my third target, when I heard the tell-tale muted crackle of an electromagnetically accelerated weapon. Despite the comparatively innocuous noise compared to the sounds of explosive propellant from my previous life, my heart immediately skipped a beat at the noise. A bullet whizzed past my ear, presumably the sound of the second shot drowned out by the blood suddenly rushing in my ears, and I realized that the last man had escalated before I could get to him. He had managed to draw his pistol before I could send him to the floor with his friends, and I was about to be shot if I didn't move now!

A moment later, I was diving forwards, hurling myself towards the last man and the Britannian pistol clutched in his shaking hand. I saw his finger twitch, and suddenly it felt like a strand of white-hot wire had been dragged across my right forearm. As if by magic, a red groove suddenly appeared, crossing the top of my right forearm in a long diagonal from the middle of the wrist to a point halfway to my elbow, and I dimly felt the heated wire brush past the side of my ribs, almost right below my armpit. The groove was only visible for a split second to my enhanced eyes before the welling blood obscured the outline, but more importantly I saw the gangster minutely shift his aim, redirecting the barrel right at my face, and I saw his finger start to tighten for a fourth time.

And then I saw a look of profound surprise and rage on the gangster's face as his gun arm was abruptly forced up just as he squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet with my name on it up into the first floor ceiling of the Rising Sun building. The gangster immediately got over his surprise and attempted to wrestle his gun and the arm holding it free, but by that time I was inside his arms, and it was too late for him. I slammed both of my fists into his belly with all the magically enhanced strength I could muster, punching once, twice, and then grabbing his head and forcing it down into my rising knee. I felt his jaw break and the teeth give way under my knee, but I grimly held onto his temples and slammed my knee up again, feeling the nose give way and smear against my patella. He was obviously unconscious before he hit the ground, and his face was a pulp of bloody flesh and splintered bone and cartilage, his mouth a ragged red hole.

I turned to the man who had just, in all probability, saved my life by grabbing my last target's gun-arm, and nearly attacked him when I saw a yellow scarf wrapped around his right arm. Seeing my sudden start towards him, the man quickly dropped the knife dangling in his left hand and put both hands over his head. I forced myself to stop, muscles quivering with adrenaline and the urge to break all too fragile limbs, and took a quick look around. The other three ragged gangsters hadn't moved from their positions in the loose semicircle around the miniature battle ground, but all of them followed their comrade's lead and dropped their weapons, hands shooting into the sky. I took a deep breath, held it for a second, and let it all out in a rush, venting the rage and blood-lust with the carbon dioxide.

The man who had saved my life looked about as wary, weary, and ragged as most Japanese in Area 11, and looked like he was about a second away from trying to run. Again, very wise. For a moment, I considered just letting him go, along with his fellow ragged footsoldiers, before I realized the folly of the thought. These were fighting aged Japanese who clearly had at least some familiarity with violence, and if what I thought I knew about gangs was anything close to accurate, they probably got next to nothing in exchange for their loyalty. Since they'd just stood back and let their probable bosses get beaten into the ground without lifting a finger to help, that minimal payment clearly hadn't been enough. The gangs had fallen into a classic human resources management trap, and had mistaken the minimum income as adequate to purchase 100% of their employee's effort, rather than just being adequate to purchase their attendance. Besides, I doubted the gang's leadership showed much respect or care for their lowest ranked followers. Also, since they left with those three idiots, I doubt whoever's running their group will be happy if they show back up without them.

Overall, the four ragged, terrified gangsters were ready for an alternative job offer.

Moving slowly, I raised my right arm and offered my hand towards the gangster who had broken ranks to save my life. To my sudden annoyance, I realized I'd offered my injured limb to him, and the blood from the groove left by the grazing bullet had already begun to dribble down my hand. Unfortunately, rapidly pulling back the extended hand would have signaled the wrong message entirely, and so I ignored the dripping redness as I met the man's eyes.

"You must be hungry – please, stay for a meal in the warmth, don't just go back out into the cold. The food's not great, but it tastes far better shared than eaten alone." Without breaking eye contact, I extended my other hand towards the other three gangsters, barely visible in my peripheral vision. "All are welcome under the light of the Rising Sun, and this meal is for all of Shinjuku. That includes you."

Hesitantly, skittishly, moving slowly and deliberately, the first gangster lowered his arms, raised his left hand to the yellow scarf on his right bicep, and untied the knot, letting the scarf fall to the ground. Then, he stepped over the scarf, and took my outstretched hand, and gave it a soft, overly gentle shake. Tch! Treating me like a child when he just saw me beat down three adults! I'm not a damned doll! And then he froze, still holding my hand and clearly not sure what to do next.

"The line starts over there." We both jumped as a masculine tenor suddenly made itself known over my shoulder. Pulling my hand free, I started to turn towards the voice, but nearly staggered; as I'd been making my recruitment pitch, I'd taken my mind off my enhancement suite, and it had begun to wind down, leaving me suddenly aware of the hot stinging pain coming from my arm and my side. I also realized I was feeling woozy, as if the world was starting to spin under my feet. Before I could fall down and make a fool of myself, strong hands braced my shoulders. The gangster, or perhaps former gangster now, nodded frantically and scuttled off towards the food line, closely followed by his three comrades.

Looking up, I saw Naoto glaring down at me. He looked extremely worried, very angry, and profoundly relieved, a combination I'd only seen once before, when Kallen had returned fully intact after the mission to the train station. I couldn't blame him in the slightest; I was angry too, that our simple attempt to build community among the people of Shinjuku had been targeted by a gang, and I was very worried about the shots that had flown past me a minute ago – I hoped nobody else had been hurt. And I was extremely, horribly relieved that I was still alive. I thought... I thought I was about to die. I almost died. I... I should be dead... Just standing suddenly felt like far too much to ask, and I sagged back into Naoto's hands, my head swimming more than ever. I heard a rising clamor, and somewhere nearby Ohgi was yelling that "It's fine, it's fine! She'll be okay!"

A few minutes later, I was seated on a folding chair at a table, minus my jacket and overshirt, a bowl of beans and rice in front of me and bandages wrapped around my arm and my chest. Ohgi stood next to me, glowering at the three men and one woman staring straight down at the food in front of them, not making eye contact as they wolfed down their helpings. Behind me, I heard Inoue chatting on a burner phone, trying to get in contact with a former paramedic who ran a small unlicensed clinic. Apparently, Inoue thought I'd need stitches, and considering how blood was already starting to ooze through my bandages, she was probably correct about that. Nagata and Naoto were busy tying up the three Britannian wannabes, and were being none-too-gentle about the process. Soon, all three vanished into the back room of the Rising Sun, presumably to be shoved into a supply closet or something until we figured out what to do with them. Some of the Shinjuku residents had left as soon as the fight had ended, displaying an admirable degree of sense, but most had remained, and were talking in a low mutter that filled the hall with a dull roar. Annoyingly, most of them kept looking at me, which wouldn't have been such an issue if I was able to stand on my own two feet and hadn't nearly gotten myself killed like an overconfident idiot.

"So," I began, desperate for distraction from the hundreds of eyes I felt. "How'd you end up in a gang?" It was admittedly not my finest conversational maneuver, but I was perfectly content with blaming my bluntness on the blood loss and the fact I'd been shot less than twenty minutes earlier. Admittedly, it was a grazing wound, but it had been the first time I'd been shot, at least in this body. "Was it for protection? For food and supplies? Did you have habits that needed to be satisfied?" I paused, and realized my barrage of questions had sounded needlessly interrogative. "Look," I tried, aiming for a gentler tone. "If we're going to be working together, I need to know you. You do want to work with me, right?"

Apparently, honey still catches more flies than vinegar. I soon learned that three of my new recruits had joined the gang for food and protection – although one had apparently briefly been a part of the Kokuryu-kai before that organization's untimely dissolution. Hojo, as the ex-gangster who still had my blood on his hand named himself, confessed to an opiate habit; he claimed that he'd sustained a badly broken arm when the floor of the poorly maintained building he'd been squatting at the time gave out. He even pulled up the leg of his much-mended and badly stained trousers, revealing a nasty twisting scar that looped around a visibly malformed shin. Apparently, he'd had to splint it himself, and had relied on mooching off his family for months as it had slowly healed. Somewhere along the way, someone had given him a bottle of Oxy, either out of an attempt to ease his pain or just to stop the moaning, but either way that help had proven misguided, and he'd been ridden by that monkey for the last three years. Being a member of a gang had given him the "membership price" when it came to feeding his habit, and it had given him the opportunity to collect enough valuables from his victims to pay that price.

I wasn't sure what the best course of action for dealing with that particular wrinkle would be, so I simply nodded and thanked him for his forthrightness. I owed him one, and simply recruiting him into an organization that prided itself on supporting its members wouldn't be enough to settle the score. We had at least some pain pills we'd looted from the station market, but simply enabling the addiction would just kick the can down the road – plus, those pills were valuable bartering chips, not to mention that when they ran out Hojo's loyalty would suddenly become suspect.

After a while, the introductions and anecdotes tapered off, and I decided it was time to turn the conversation towards business. "You've got two choices – three, maybe. You can enjoy your meal, and leave when you're done, and do your best to get out of Shinjuku as fast as possible – or, you can stay here, help us clean up, and help us with our... other activities." I smiled at the four, who'd finally grown comfortable enough to actually meet my eyes. Ohgi grumbled beside me as he wound a fresh bandage around my arm, but I ignored him – if he had objections, he could ask for a moment of my time or simply express them in an understandable manner. "Of course, you could try going back to your old gang, but it doesn't sound like any of you were particularly happy there, and as soon as word of tonight's events gets out, I can't guarantee you'll be welcomed back with open arms." Nobody looked surprised at that, thankfully. Dealing with idiots was always tiresome, especially when I was already a bit tired out.

"If you'll be joining us, I expect you to follow orders, and to complete our training program. Naoto – the redhead over by the food – is our leader, and Ohgi here is our second in command, so you'd better listen to them, got it?" Four nodding heads showed me that they did understand, although the woman and one of the men – not Hojo – looked startled at the announcement of Ohgi's rank. Strangely enough, they both suddenly looked quite scared, and I could only assume that they'd suffered under the hands of their previous employer's leadership. No matter – I'm sure they'll warm up to him soon enough... I winced, remembering my own flawed first impression of the man. Or not. So long as they listen, it doesn't matter. "I can't guarantee that the training will be easy, but I can promise you plenty to eat, and that we don't beat our subordinates for being less than perfect here."

Noticing the none-too-subtle gestures Ohgi and Inoue had started making, I made my goodbyes and directed the four to either be out of Shinjuku by the time the rising sun touched the sky tomorrow, or to go and talk with Naoto. All four made a beeline towards the rear of the building, to my pleasure, and I followed Ohgi into a side-room, Inoue taking up a position outside the door to guarantee us a bit of privacy.

"Okay, we've got a price negotiated to get your arm and your side stitched up. Since we're providing our own antiseptic and anesthesia, it's pretty generous." Ohgi started talking almost as soon as the door closed, ushering me into the sole chair in the room before slouching against the desk. "We'll get moving in a second, but before we go – are you sure about recruiting those guys? Nobody in the cell knows any of them, and one of them freely admitted to being a junkie."

"We can't keep recruiting friends and family alone, Ohgi." I squirmed a bit in my seat, guiltily but not nervously. I had no doubts that Ohgi and Naoto would back my decision to the hilt, but I had somewhat superseded my authority by offering the four former gangsters a place in our organization without running the idea by either of them. "If we do that, it'll make things much worse once the fight with the Britannians begins in earnest, and we start losing people. Plus, there's a finite number of people who people already in our group can personally vouch for – we're going to need more hands than that, for both the Rising Sun and for the Cell." This was all reasonable, but I certainly understood why Ohgi was questioning my logic here. "Besides, they're going to be in training for a while, so I'll have plenty of time to get to know them and to test their reliability. If one or all of them don't make it..." I shrugged. "Not like there's any shortage of alleys in Shinjuku. Maybe I'll even take them to the dumpsters myself and cheat the Haulers."

Ohgi nodded at that, a bleak smile crossing his face for a moment, before the determined frown he'd worn during our conversation a few days ago came forward instead. I'd grown familiar with the large variety of frowns Ohgi had, ranging from the thoughtful to the mildly concerned to the look of grim resolve he now bore. There was, it seemed, no arguing with that particular frown. "Fine – but you're not going to be training them." Before I could acknowledge this, he continued on, his words as implacable in their advance as the slow strangulation of the Albish Starvation Blockade. "You have just been injured, and you will rest adequately to ensure a full and complete recovery if I have to tie you to a cot myself. There is plenty of work to be done helping Inoue, Kallen, and Naoto without a bit of heavy lifting, and that is what you'll be doing at least until the stitches come out. I know you're eager to train your new recruits, but someone else can handle that. Don't fight me on this."

"I'm not going to." I took advantage of the punctuating pause to finally slip a word in edgewise. The way his firm expression cracked with fissures of surprise and suspicion was amusing, but I pressed on instead of savoring the expression. "I'm not an idiot, Ohgi – of course I'm going to take a break from physical activity while I'm recovering." That was the easy, sensible part. Time for the still-sensible yet oddly difficult to actually say part. "And... You made your point earlier. We're a group, an organization, and I can't do everything myself. So, I trust you and Naoto to know what to do. I recommend that you let Tamaki handle the day to day training for the men – he knows his guns, and he's clearly very interested in workout routines; more to the point, he's knowledgeable and loves proving it. If you put him in charge of sharing his skills, that will give him an opportunity to prove himself as he so desperately wants in a constructive way." I smirked at Ohgi. He still looked slightly gobsmacked, but he'd re-engaged his brain enough to nod along. Still got it! "While Naoto and Tamaki handle those greenhorns, I want you to help Inoue keep Rising Sun moving – I'll be borrowing Nagata for a bit, at least for long enough to meet with Mister Asahara. After all, I probably won't need to fight anybody to open negotiations with Kyoto House."

After several long hours, to Kozuki Naoto's relief, the communal dinner Tanya had dropped in everybody's laps the day before finally came to an end. Tanya herself had left over an hour ago, hustled out the door by Ohgi, Nagata, and Nagata's wife Ami, who were intent on getting her to the nearest thing approaching an urgent care facility Shinjuku could offer, leaving the clean up to the remaining members of the Rising Sun, as well as a handful of volunteers who'd helped Tamaki and Chihiro wrestle the tables and chairs back into the storage room before departing. The clean-up was almost done now, the trash put in a sealed can in the alley to avoid attracting rats, and all the pots had been thoroughly scrubbed. Which meant there was only one last bit of filth to deal with before Naoto could call it a job done.

Naoto stood with the rest of the members of the Rising Sun in attendance in a wide semicircle facing the four recruits. To his left stood Tamaki and Souichiro, while Inoue and Chihiro flanked him on the right. The recruits stood in a line facing them, the man who'd introduced himself as Hojo in the center. Time to lay down the law.

"Hajime Tanya has invited you to join us, and has asked for permission to train you up enough that you'll be mildly helpful. Due to her injuries, I had to deny her second request, but she begged for us to offer you the opportunity to serve the cause despite her injury. Be thankful to her – it's by her grace alone that you're here." Naoto remembered the speeches his father had given to crowds of retainers, vassals, and allies at parties, and tried to adopt the confident cadence. It came back to him easily, and it felt natural and right.

"Tanya's grace only goes so far, though. You will be trained, and you will work hard. You will be broken down and rebuilt into something better and stronger. You will hate it, you might hate us, but you will learn to love the cause, and you will learn to love yourselves for what you can do for the cause. Tamaki," Naoto gestured, and Tamaki stepped forward, "will be your principal trainer and your immediate superior. You will do as he tells you – he's an experienced fighter for the cause, and has done much to help us. That said, he will also be your advocate. If you think anything we do is wrong, or dangerous to you or to a civilian, let him know, and he'll tell me or Ohgi. If you think I am being unfair to you, explain your complaint to Tamaki, and he will make your case to me." Naoto gestured again, and Tamaki stepped over and stood beside the line of recruits. "He will also be taking care of your quarters and provisions tonight, so stick close to him.

"And now, before we finish our business up for the night," Naoto dropped his father's cadence, and let a genuine smile cross his face as he looked at his new prospective brothers and sister in arms, "Let me welcome you to the Rising Sun. It's great to have you here, and I hope to share a drink with all of you once your training's over. Work hard, so you can join us in building a better world for all Japanese."

Naoto let the sense of blossoming camaraderie remain for a moment longer, before moving on. "Before we go, though, there's one last thing we need to handle tonight." At a nod, Tamaki, Souichiro, and Chihiro disappeared into a back room, while Inoue stepped into her side office for a moment, returning with three folding chairs and a handful of zip ties. Soon, the three Rising Sun members returned from the storage room, each with a moaning burden. Tamaki and Souichiro each had a man dressed in a cheap imitation of a Britannian noble's suit slung over their shoulder, while Chihiro dragged a pink-haired woman out into the hall. All three were unceremoniously forced onto the chairs lined up against a wall and zip-tied to the tube frames. To Naoto's mild annoyance, the man with the shattered jaw was still unconscious, although a quick check of his pulse confirmed he was still alive. The other two were very much aware, though, and two pairs of frightened eyes over gagged mouths tracked him around the room.

Turning to the four new recruits, the former comrades of the bound men and woman, Naoto offered them a chance to save their lives, if the four so wished. "Do any of you know of any time that any of these three showed any concern for the average Japanese man or woman, or did any of them ever help the people around them?" None of the four spoke, shifting uneasily from one foot to another, before the lone female in their ranks quickly shook her head side to side, almost like she was trying to shake away an annoying fly. Still a condemnation, though. None of them are willing to vouch for these guys. "Did any of these three ever display implacable hatred for the Britannians, or a desire to fight the Britannians?" Hojo snorted, then coughed, before shaking his head in a firm negation.

"So be it."

In the last month, since Naoto had first given Tanya the authorization to start drawing up plans for the cell and to choose her own assignments, essentially promoting her to a de facto officer rank, he had not failed to notice how the girl's influence and authority had blossomed. Naoto thought of himself as a fairly decent leader, not great, but not a slouch either. He was the son of a minor lord, and had done his best to carve his own path in the world at the expense of the people who had done so much to hurt his mother, his sister, and his people. Naoto knew he hadn't achieved much, but he'd done what he could to make the world a better place the only way he had known how – through beating down the people who had deserved it, and protecting the people who had been beaten down by the world already. And then Tanya had come, and had essentially co-opted his merry band of rebels out from under his feet. For all that she still proclaimed him their leader, Naoto was fairly certain how the chips would fall, if push ever came to shove.

And so, in light of the undeniable triumph that had been the station mission, Naoto had briefly considered stepping down and conceding leadership of the group to Tanya. He had, in fact, gone as far as sounding out Ohgi about the idea. Ohgi had greatly surprised Naoto by telling him that was a stupid idea. Tanya, Ohgi had pointed out, was a good leader and would likely improve with the passage of time, but she was also a child. Moreover, she was a child in desperate need of support; handing her the full burden of leadership, of being the one ultimately responsible for everything that happened, every civilian caught in the crossfire, every empty bed and filled grave, would have been cowardly, a temper tantrum by a man so afraid of being surpassed by a child that he sought to punish her for her success. Naoto knew he was a flawed man, but he'd be damned if he dropped that kind of responsibility onto a child.

And so, Naoto had instead thought about how to improve himself and his group to reflect the reality of the situation. Finally, after the events of the night, Naoto finally felt like he understood how the group should be run. The triumvirate that already existed would continue to exist, but duties would be more directly parceled up. Ohgi had demonstrated the depths of his empathy and his connections to their comrades, and had proven more than capable of identifying and tackling problems – and so he would be in charge of keeping the group running harmoniously. Tanya was a propagandist's dream, an adorable child with a sad edge coming from a legitimately horrifying personal history, and she had proven her instinctual grasp of theatrics tonight by extending her bloody hand to the gangsters, and pulling them to her side – coupled with her obvious genius and her incredibly ruthless plans and stunning combat skills, she would both direct strategy and be the face of the movement, as well as continuing to be the Organization's trump card. Naoto, meanwhile, would shoulder the nasty parts of leadership – someone had to make sure problematic elements didn't trouble the leader, someone had to pull the trigger on a potential traitor where the evidence wasn't clear cut, and someone would have to ensure that the smiling face and open hand were backed with a mailed fist and a knife in the back.

After all, it might be evil but necessary to ask a child to fight a war... But asking a child to murder in cold blood is just too much. Too much. And so...

Naoto's mouth twitched in a brief, humorless smile. I suppose blood truly will out, in the end. After all, murdering helpless Numbers was a long held Britannian tradition, dating back to the Conquest of the Homeland itself. He supposed it was time he embraced both sides of his heritage, at least as it was useful to the service of the cause.

Nathan Stadtfelt pulled his pistol, turned from the four recruits, raised his weapon, aimed, and fired. He moved his hand in arc, and fired again, and then once more. Three dead Japanese slumped against a wall, holed heads slumped low, cranial matter and blood fanned out behind them over peeling white paint. He did not say anything, did not make any pithy statement or joke at the expense of the dead. This was business, and besides, dead traitors to Japan didn't deserve any epigraph.

Kozuki Naoto holstered his pistol, and exhaled the breath he'd been holding. He wanted to feel bad about this, about having taken three human lives, but if they wanted to dress like Britannians and act like Britannians, then they could die like Britannians. He turned back to his comrades, and was unsurprised by what he saw. Tamaki looked almost bored, Souichiro looked saddened but stern, Inoue looked like she was already thinking about some other task, and Chihiro practically glowed with an ugly self-righteous satisfaction and perverse delight. All present and accounted for then. The four new recruits were, as a group, fairly stoic. One of the men seemed like he was breathing a bit fast, but the other three seemed unaffected. Doubt these were the first corpses they've seen.

"Tamaki, get the blood cleaned up, then get the new guys squared away in Stash Room Three. Grab the sleeping bags Tanya bought before you go. Souichiro and Inoue, help them with the clean up, and then you're free for the night." Naoto turned to Chihiro, and nodded at her. "Chihiro, help me get the bodies out back."

Gratifyingly soon, Naoto found himself with Chihiro, three bodies, a steel can full of gasoline, and a variety of saws and knives. As the dinner had wound down, Naoto had considered how he'd guarantee that the fate of the gangsters who had messed with the Rising Sun would remain a mystery long enough for him to make the gang who had sent them a moot factor. Ultimately, he had decided to take the typical Shinjuku approach of "leave them in an alley somewhere" up to the next level, on the off-chance that someone bothered to look for them. It was a simple plan that required only the tools Naoto already had access to, and didn't require the waste of the gratuitous amounts of fuel that true cremation required. He had specifically earmarked Chihiro for this task, certain that she'd have the fewest qualms about helping him out with his body disposal idea.

Implementing the idea was grisly work, conducted under the harsh light of an electric lantern in the midnight cold of the alleyway behind the Rising Sun, and Naoto found it surprisingly exhausting. The noble bastard was by no means a stranger to manual labor, picking up work whenever he could to help support his mother and sister, before his father had returned for the pair, and had continued to work odd jobs once he'd moved into the apartment in Shinjuku with Ohgi. Yet, the task of turning the bodies of the men and the woman he had killed into anonymous, unrecognizable meat... wore at him, somehow. He didn't feel physically tired, as he continued his necessary, self-appointed task, but instead felt as if his internal self had succumbed to numb exhaustion as the hours plodded on.

Naoto looked over at Chihiro, who had displayed no sign of flagging enthusiasm, even as she'd slowed down as they continued to work late into the night. Her initial joy when he'd explained his intentions for the cadavers had been revolting, and the zeal with which she had worked had been equally appalling. As the work had dragged on and the novelty had slowly worn off, her enthusiasm had gradually waned and eventually she had looked just as tired and hollow-eyed as Naoto had felt – at least, as much as he could tell such things by the dimming lantern light, as the batteries expended the last of their charge.

An hour later, after the last of the work had been accomplished and the majority of the result had been distributed over several acres of Shinjuku, Naoto stood alone in the alley, carefully pouring gasoline over the more recognizable pieces of evidence. He felt empty, his physical exhaustion combining with spiritual weariness. Here, alone, away from the eyes of anyone else, he let himself process the memory of murdering three helpless victims, one already half dead. He vomited, remembering the look in the woman's eyes specifically as the gun had tracked her way, the last of the three to go. Compared to that, the memories of the rest of the night were merely disgusting, not soul-wrenching. After all, who cared how he disrespected the corpse, when he'd already offered the greatest disrespect imaginable by cutting short the life that had animated it, ending something irreplaceable, something that would never come back again unless the chain of Samsara was real and suffering truly was endless, this side of the Pure Land.

And yet, Naoto couldn't say that he regretted what he had done last night, as it was well into the early hours of the morning. This is my job, my task. I make problems go away. All for the cause. All for Japan. He thought about how close Tanya had come to death yesterday, and felt strong in his resolve. Those gangsters had been people, but they had also been enemies to those who he held close, and to the nation that he loved. When he had been a young man, first brought back into the Stadtfeld fold after his father's return to Japan, Naoto had spent a great deal of time in the library, reading the biographies of the great men who had changed the world. One of those men had long ago issued a proclamation, the ultimatum of which Naoto murmured to himself as he carefully closed the can of gasoline, set it aside, and struck a match.

What will happen to the enemies of the Rising Sun? "...They will suffer the same fate as a stone dropped into deep water, they will simply disappear."

Kozuki Naoto dropped the match, and watched as the last remains of those who would stand against the light of the Rising Sun disappeared into flame.