Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"No, you mustn't!"

The kid across the road got off with a slap on the wrist. He knelt in the grass, face screwed up as he mumbled apology to his exasperated grandparents, both of whom had pulled him away from the asphalt. A passing taxi rolled by just as a gust of wind sent the red ball flying toward Kuroda—he caught it with one massive hand, the other rising up to keep his bowler hat flat on his bald head. Unnecessary, in the end—alas, the hat was the slightest bit too narrow for his crown, its sides clinging to the bulky outline of his skull.

Across the street, the child, still kneeling on his grandparents' lawn, gasped. "My ball!"

Looking both ways, his grandparents walked him across.

Kuroda waited, the boy's rubber ball sitting in his calloused palm.

It's good that they were there with him, Kuroda thought, absently, as they approached. I wouldn't want another child to end up under my wing. "Is this yours?" He held out the ball.

The boy nodded. "Yep! Thanks a lot, mister!"

Unlike their grandchild, his grandparents were not so eager to receive him, hanging back near the curb. Once, on a December night at the Equator Sauna, a kid who was no longer a kid had said to him: "It's empty because you're here. Tough guy with his tattoos out for everyone to see."

In return, he'd said: "That was eye-opening. Impressive as always, Odokawa."

And he certainly was, that Odokawa—impressive. He'd risen from the ashes of tragedy and made something respectable of himself.

The same can't be said for a few others, however... Kuroda gave the ball back to the boy. "Be more careful next time," he warned. "You're lucky your grandparents were here to save you." Eventually, the boy would grow into a man, and would know how to save himself. But, for now, he deserved to enjoy his youth unscathed.

Grandma's walls came crumbling down as she witnessed the act of kindness. "Thank you very much, sir," she said, sincerely. "Might I invite you in for a cup of tea?"

"Mitsuki!" hissed Grandpa, eyeing warily the way Kuroda's biceps stretched the sleeves of his dapper suit.

Kuroda bore the old man no ill will. Politely, he declined. "Thank you for the offer, but I have somewhere to be."

"And where might that be?" asked Grandma. It seemed she hadn't quite picked up that he was in a bit of a hurry.

He circumvented her inquiry with ease. "Just got a few guys to see. Guys who never learn. Have a good day." Without waiting for a response, Kuroda went on his way. When he looked back, he saw the boy and his grandparents disappear inside their house. They had money. Kuroda could tell.

"Hmm..." Kuroda glanced down at his hand. His palm was stinging. "I'm getting old." His fifty-ninth birthday would be in a few months—after that, he'd be on the road to sixty. As soon as that happened, he was applying for a senior's discount at the Equator.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Kuroda didn't bother to turn—he knew who they belonged to. "I told you to stay in the car, didn't I, Dewa?"

"But sir!"

Ah, Kuroda could feel his back start to hurt already. He didn't know why Dewa worked for him—the man was too excitable for this kind of life. "What is it?"

Dewa scooted around him to walk in front. In the old days, Kuroda might have smacked him for that. Maybe he'd grown soft, but hitting Dewa would be like hitting a dog. "Look, sir! The weather forecast has a seventy-five percent chance of rain, which is to say that rain could fall upon your head at any given moment like an impromptu shower, which would not be ideal as it would be impromptu!"

"And?" Kuroda grunted. He peered up. Fuchū was starting to come into view.

Dewa pulled put an umbrella from seemingly out of nowhere. "Luckily, I have had the foresight of bringing an umbrella with me! Therefore I have decided to accompany you to the prison with the aforementioned umbrella! This is so that your chances of getting wet exponentially decrease, by that meaning your chances of staying dry would exponentially increase! Which would be ideal because, like I said, there is a seventy-five percent chance of rain, which is to say that rain could fall upon your head at any given moment—"

"You're wearing too much gel," said Kuroda.

Self-consciously, Dewa's hand shot to his head. "My feelings are hurt, sir." And he said nothing more.

Kuroda did not feel bad. Kuroda was relieved.

It was only when they were checking as visitors that it occurred to Kuroda. "Dewa. Did you just bluff your way into accompanying me to Fuchū?"

Dewa smiled, sly. "Did I?"

"I've underestimated you, it seems. Your skill in psychological warfare is noteworthy."

Kuroda'd been wrong after all—Dewa was his underling for a reason. Not for much longer, however. Calmly, Kuroda allowed the prison guards to escort him. For once, Dewa didn't make nonsense conversation, eyeing the guards with distrust. After this was all over, he would be retiring to live a quiet life. But for Don-chan's sake, and for the sake of our friendship, there is one last thing I must do.

"Please step in here, sirs."

Dewa straightened his tie, prepared to meet the subordinates who had caused so much trouble for Kuroda. A guard was stationed inside the visitor's room with them. Dewa glared at him, but it didn't matter much to Kuroda. He had a few of the wardens in his pocket—any confidential information disclosed would never make it outside. The room was divided by a clear partition. A gap had been cut out for the visitors to speak to the prisoners; it was sectioned by thin iron bars.

At last, they arrived, entering the room one by one.

"No funny business," warned the guard stationed on the prisoners' side of the room.

He didn't need to worry.

The business Kuroda was here for was the furthest from funny. If anyone here wanted to hear a joke, he would recommend them listen to Bonnou Illumination on the radio.

Haruhito Yano.

Sekiguchi Togo.

Dobu.

Kuroda steepled his fingers, eyes narrowing as they all bowed to him. The last time he had felt the heat of anger was in his late forties. He was too old to explode in a fit now. But with age came experience—the experience of nurturing cold fury. "Oyassan," they intoned, lifting their heads.

It was a shame, really—all three of them were wasted potential. Individually, they were sufficient. Together, they could've been great. But Kuroda knew of the feud between Yano and Dobu, and Sekiguchi had always followed where Yano, his aniki, went.

"How is prison treating you?" asked Kuroda.

Yano made to answer, sitting forward abruptly. His spiky hair almost fanned Sekiguchi in the face. "We're doing alright for ourselves. A couple of guys try to pick a fight here and there like it's all they yearn," he laughed shortly, "But guys like that, they never learn."

How ironic.

"What about you, Sekiguchi?"

"We're hanging in there," Sekiguchi said, lukewarm. He squirmed a little in his seat.

Kuroda turned to the last Yakuza in the line. "Dobu."

Dobu crossed his arms before uncrossing them. "It's tedious, sir," he gruffed. "But I'm not one to complain about my circumstances. At the very least, I'm glad that I don't have to share a space with these two."

That was right—Dobu had been marked as a very dangerous prisoner. As a result, he had his own prison cell. Yano and Sekiguchi were bunking with other criminals.

"And thank you," Dobu added. "For visiting us, oyassan."

"I'm afraid I didn't come here for only pleasantries," Kuroda said, grimacing.

None of them dared say a word.

"You have caused me much trouble," Kuroda went on. "In fact, two of you have committed a grave offence toward me." He eyed Yano and Sekiguchi. The latter balked. "Normally, I would've had you both killed by now. Or, at the very least, extensively punished. Yano. Sekiguchi. You were both involved in disposing and dismembering the body of the daughter of an old friend of mine."

"We're sorry." Sekiguchi bowed his head to him, pressing his forehead to the counter. "We didn't know." He was sweating—Kuroda could see the droplets on the nape of his neck.

"An honest mistake even I could make," Yano tacked on, not bothering to lower his head, "Heck, things went down so fast; wasn't like I did it to have fun or a blast."

"Curb your arrogance, Yano," Kuroda rebuked sharply.

Yano sank back into his chair.

Dobu scoffed under his breath. "I always knew your cockiness would come back to bite you in the ass someday."

The younger man glared daggers, but wasn't fool enough to speak out again.

"As for you, Dobu," Kuroda turned on him, "You are not without sin yourself. Over the years, the amount of money you've collected has dwindled to a meager, barely feasible amount. I will not criticize you for the evils you commit to make money. However, money is ultimately a tool to achieve a good outcome. When your crimes outweigh your usefulness, then it means that you are no longer necessary for my operation.

"I am giving you all one chance to redeem yourselves." He let it sink in, watching the way Sekiguchi's eyes widened and the way Dobu stirred with interest. "Whoever killed Mitsuya Yuki was never caught. Your task is simple. Work together to find them, and bring them to me. If you are successful, your freedom and redemption are guaranteed. Obviously," Kuroda sat back in his chair, lacing his hands on top of his belly, "you won't be able to do a thing in prison. Accept the task, and you'll be free to conduct the investigation however you want. Decline, and you will all be killed within the week."

It was hardly a choice.

"We'll do it," Dobu accepted without consulting the other two. Not that he needed to—it was one of the few times that he and Yano (and by extension, Sekiguchi) were on the same page. "We will not fail you, oyassan."

"Good. I'll have you out in two days."

Kuroda stood from his chair, eyes at half-mast. Dewa scuttled forward to tuck his chair back in before signalling the guard that they were going to leave. The guard opened the door.

"If you fail, it means only one thing. That society doesn't need you." Kuroda looked back, eyes glinting under the ceiling light. "And should that happen, the only place you will find yourselves is at the bottom of the ocean."

If they failed, they would meet the same fate as Mitsuya Yuki.

Only, they would never be found.

When Kuroda and Dewa exited the prison, they found that it was raining rather heavily. "I was right!" Dewa said, pushing up his umbrella to cover the two of them. "That is to say I was not incorrect, that is to say I was not of the state of being wrong. Will you be headed to the sauna now, sir?"

It was freezing. Interesting how a little rain had the temperature dropping so low. Kuroda was not dressed for this kind of weather. "No," he replied as they crossed the car park. Kuroda had never liked parking in prison institutions. It was too close for comfort. "Didn't you know, Dewa? Sudden changes in body temperature can be really dangerous. You should be more careful."

"That is incredibly wise of you, sir! Which is to say that you are not a fool, which would be the opposite of a wise man..."

Kuroda tuned out Dewa's stream of conversation.

I wonder... He held out a palm, collecting rain droplets. The water clung to a thick, tissue-y scar that ran from the inside of his forearm to his index finger. If they'll be able to do it.

Yano. Dobu. Sekiguchi.

I hope you won't disappoint me.

Chapter Text

The last time Haruhito Yano had ever felt out of his depth was when he was eighteen and still scraping by on the streets. But his release back into society was starting to bring back the choking feeling. He raised a hand to rub at his neck. Damn, it was cold today. They must have looked quite a sight—three convicts standing right outside of their prison and twiddling their thumbs as they waited for their ride.

Yano wasn't stupid. Not stupid enough to think that their freedom really meant anything in the long run. It was a conditional release—their jail cells had simply expanded into the open world. If they turned tail now, Kuroda would hunt them for the rest of their lives.

Dobu turned to look at both of them, appraising. For a guy who had gotten shot—Hah! That'd been hilarious! Yano'd lost his shit hearing about that—he sure was looking fit. "Yano. Sekiguchi. We should put whatever differences we have aside for now. If we want to find the killer—"

"I'm gonna stop ya right there," Yano interrupted. "I'm not working with a guy who can't see he's half a chromosome away from bein' a chimpanzee."

"What was that?" Dobu's lip curled.

"You heard me, big man. Do me a favor and go ahead and scram."

Stuck in the middle, Sekiguchi glanced between the two of them.

"Yano-san," said Sekiguchi, cautiously. "Maybe it would be in our best interest to work together."

"I refuse. Working with him would kill my muse." Yano shoved his hands into the pockets of his grey slacks. In his peripheral, he could see the ride Kuroda had arranged for them approaching. Sighing and shaking his head, he relented, "Tag along if you want, Dobu, but don't forget who's in charge—I tell you to march, you march."

"You cocky brat," Dobu snapped, fist closing tightly around the strap of his backpack, which he had slung over one shoulder. "Don't forget it was me who pulled you out of hell. Test me, and I'll drag you right back. I don't care where the hell your baseless confidence comes from, but we're a team now. Whether you like it or not. I'm not taking shit from a METEOR wannabe."

Wow. Feud aside, Yano had almost forgotten how stupidly unlikable Dobu was. Butting heads with someone as elusive as him normally meant that they didn't have many face-to-face interactions. It should've been kept that way. Fuming, Yano climbed into the car, Sekiguchi and Dobu following suit. Poor Sekiguchi, the largest member of their little team, was sandwiched between them in the smallest seat in the back row. He had to hunch slightly to keep his head from touching the roof; his tracksuit was crumpling up at the chest. There was already a passenger sitting shotgun.

In any case, being a 'METEOR wannabe', as Dobu had so politely put it, was more of a compliment than anything else. METEOR was cool.

The driver peered around the headrest. "Kuroda-san has asked me to take you to your base of operations. Please get buckled up."

The other passenger did the same, blinking at them. It was a woman. Cute, but not really Yano's type. "And please," she said rather dryly, "Try not to cause any trouble."

Dobu grunted in affirmation.

Whatever. Yano slid his headphones over his head and closed his eyes. Rap plebeians like Dobu would never understand blared through his ears, and he bobbed his head along with the beat for the rest of the ride. He was aware of Dobu's irritation, able to feel his gaze boring holes into him through Sekiguchi's bulk. There was a wifi connection in the car, one Sekiguchi took advantage of by looking through the social media of Mystery Kiss.

"Yano-san."

"Mm?" Yano let his headphones fall around his neck, one eye opening to look at Sekiguchi.

"What is it?" Dobu stuck his nose where it didn't belong by staring at Sekiguchi's screen.

Instead of telling him to buzz off, Yano decided to save his breath for now. Sekiguchi took his silence as the all-clear to include Dobu in his findings. "I didn't find much on the official Mystery Kiss page, but I found the social medias of two of the members. Nikaidou Rui—"

Oh, that girl. She was definitely more Yano's type than the lady in front. Any girl who was willing to help dismember a corpse and dump it into the ocean with him set his heart on fire.

"—and Ichimura Shiho."

"There were three of them, though," Dobu pointed out. "Where's the third one?"

"Dead and made into fish bread," droned Yano, pressing his cheek against the window.

"I meant the replacement."

"I thought it might be worth looking into their backgrounds," Sekiguchi said. "Especially Nikaidou. She managed to get off punishment-free despite being involved in the body dumping."

"Only two motives stick out to me," Yano held up two fingers, "So don't be surprised when it comes to be. Number one: A Yakuza's revenge for times gone bad; number two: Seeing her front and centre made someone a lil' mad. Now, I'm no mage, but my gut tells me someone didn't want her dancin' on stage."

Dobu nodded. "I've met Donraku-san before. He didn't seem like the type to want to offend anyone. And any Yakuza worth his salt knows that messing with Donraku and his family means messing with the boss."

"An anti-fan, maybe?" mused Sekiguchi. "If it was, it'd have to be someone who was a fan pre-debut. That would be difficult to work with, but not impossible."

"The only other option would be mutiny on the ship," Yano grinned wickedly, "Slicin' her down from the bow on her head to the ribbon on her hip."

The lady in the front passenger seat giggled at that.

"Hey," Dobu said suddenly. "What branch are you two from?"

"We both work in administration," said the driver. "We're a bit different from you lowlifes."

"But lowlifes all the same," Dobu retorted, snorting.

"That's true," said the woman. "But where's the fun in making an honest living? I'm Kim Min-ji, by the way, and this is Tony Abe."

Foreigners. Not unusual to see within the ranks of Yakuza, especially with Kim Min-ji. The blatant discrimination ethnic Koreans faced from the general population tended to drive them toward the Yakuza. In a way, they were almost like Yano himself—the stigma against his burakumin ancestors was still alive and kicking in society.

Their base of operations was located in a shady district near Shinjuku Station, bordering Yoyogi and Shibuya. Terming it 'base of operations' was rather misleading, too—to Yano, it implied something big and fancy. Something like the Batcave from those western comics he used to steal as a teenager.

"This is just a shitty apartment," Yano said, staring up at the run-down, four-storey building building. Even the abandoned warehouse he and Sekiguchi had squatted in in the weeks leading up to their arrest had been more homely than whatever the fuck he was looking at.

"Good luck." Kim Min-ji smirked, the doors of the sleek black car opening with a press of a button. "Don't die, you three. I'm almost fond of you guys."

Then they were gone, leaving Yano, Dobu, and Sekiguchi to drink in the sight of their new base of operations with bitter hearts.

"Hmph." Dobu shouldered his bag and trudged into the courtyard. "No use in bitching. Come on."

Yano let Dobu walk in front. If some drug addict charged at them with a knife, he'd stab Dobu first—maybe even on top of his bullet wound—hah! No need for Yano to get his suit dirty—blood stains were a bitch to get out, and his clothes—'fake' designer—were meant to be dry-cleaned. Why buy 'real' designer when you can get a hundred of these on the flea market for the same price? He walked with his hands free. Sekiguchi was carrying his baggage for him.

Dobu checked the number on the key Kim Min-ji had given him. "We're apartment nineteen." Their room was on the very top floor, toward the end of the south end of the corridor. With a twist of the key, Dobu opened up the door.

The room was bare. At least it wasn't filthy. That was good enough for Yano. He crunched a cockroach underneath his shoe on the way in, taking it off to frown at the still-twitching insect. He brought it over to the window to flick it outside. It landed on some bum's head. "Note to self: Buy bug spray for the sake of Sekiguchi's heath."

"Yano-san?" questioned Sekiguchi. Behind his yellow-tinted glasses, his eyes were beginning to water.

"Sekiguchi, don't cry, or else Dobu will say 'sorry to pry'."

"Are you afraid of bugs?" asked Dobu, proving Yano right immediately.

"No? I'm allergic to cockroaches, though." As if on cue, Sekiguchi sneezed repeatedly. "Fuck." He sniffed. "There must be an infestation in here."

Yano rapped his knuckles against the thin wall, pressing his ear against the drywall. "There's more than likely a whole nest of these pests, though I probably shouldn't tell you that if you want your nightly rest. Hah! Talk about infest. Sekiguchi, do me a solid and go buy some tissues; I'm not putting up with your insect allergy issues."

"Yes, Yano-san," sniffled Sekiguchi, miserably. "I'll buy some after we unpack."

"I saw a convenience store across the street," Dobu said helpfully.

Sekiguchi fulfilled his promise as soon as possible. Yano was plugging his phone in the charging port as the man left. Upon entering his gallery, he found some of his latest photos—the body of Mitsuya Yuki. There wasn't much to see—it was still pretty evident that whoever had killed her had hit her across the head before strangling her with some sort of garrote. It was a very intensely personal way to kill someone—strangulation, that was. A grudge killing? Yano pondered, thumbing the corner of his lip with one gloved hand. The motivation they'd discussed in the car made sense, but the two motives were not mutually exclusive.

"What're you looking at?" Dobu's gravelly voice sounded above him, and Yano tilted his head upward to deadpan at the man he had once called aniki.

"Yo," he drawled. "Back off, you pimp of a chimp."

"Excuse me?"

"I know what you did with that Shirakawa girl. Sent her on a bit of an emotional whirl. Debt. Threats. Hits. You should know it."

Dobu groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why you're bringing that up like you actually care. Not like it's any of your business, anyway. So this is the girl, huh?"

"Mm. Dead, dusted, dismembered."

"I've been thinking—"

Out of sight, Yano rolled his eyes. Don't hurt yourself.

"—and I think the suspect pool is smaller than we think." Dobu stroked his chin. "Why would a pre-debut fan want to kill Mitsuya Yuki? She was an underground idol—fans of those things only really come when they're really fans."

Fans like that Imai fellow. Good kid. Yano didn't have much ill will against him. He respected him a smidgen, even, for not pissing his pants during the whole kidnapping process he and Sekiguchi had put him through for the billion yen.

"The location also makes no sense," Dobu continued. "Would a fan really be smart enough to navigate through the office and kill her discreetly?"

"Idol fans are pretty dumb," Yano agreed, thinking of Imai and his goofy, freckly face. "All that cheering makes their skulls thick and their brains numb."

Dobu laughed. Yano almost recoiled in surprise. How long it had been, he thought, since Dobu had laughed at him without derision or malice. He half-expected Dobu to ruffle his hair like when he'd been eighteen, but was glad when he kept his hands to himself. Too much had happened since then—and it wasn't like he missed it.

A notification for the news popped up.

Yano tapped on it.

PRIVATE TAXI LOSES CONTROL AND CRASHES INTO SUMIDA RIVER

"Odokawa?"

Yano whipped his head around, his spiky hair slapping Dobu across the face. "What, what? Who's this Odokawa chump? Did he hit a road bump and crash into the seas for all to see?"

He scrolled down to see a picture of the driver provided by the article.

Wait. Isn't that... "Is he suicidal or does he just have bad luck with water?" Yano remembered now—remembered that nosy taxi driver who had worked with Dobu to put a wrench in his heist plans. He'd plunged into the river last December, too. His little car had flown through the air in a graceful arc before splashing into the watery depths.

"You didn't rhyme that time."

"Shut up, Dobu, before I roll you."

Dobu didn't respond to the threat, gazing intently at the online article. "It seems they managed to rescue him. 'His last words before falling unconscious were dedicated to the safety of his passenger'."

"But no passenger was found," Yano paraphrased.

A chill settled in the air.

The door opened. "I'm back," announced Sekiguchi. There was the rustle of a plastic grocery bag. "Dobu-san? Yano-san?"

Neither of them answered him.

"Wow, thank you for all the donations!"

The computer monitor glowed in the dark. Surrounding her work desk were empty instant noodle cups and candy wrappers. Nikaidou Rui stared at the screen, dark rings circling her blue eyes. She was wearing her pajamas; had been wearing them since last night. Her mouth felt fuzzy. She was going to brush her teeth after this and call it a day.

"What do you guys think?" On the screen of her computer, Wadagaki Sakura paraded around in her pastel-colored room, blinking cutely. "What kind of instrument should I learn next? I really want to make a song that shows my gratitude for you guys! I've only been streaming for a month, but you've all showed me so much love! Oh my gosh! Thank you for the fifty-thousand yen superchat donation! You're so cool, 'mister style 2008'!"

Rui's gripped her computer mouse. "You fucking whore, Sakura," she whispered. "Does it make you feel good? Being paid by a bunch of faceless old men to look hot?"

"I'll use the money to buy a keyboard," Sakura decided after prancing around a bit more. "Oh, no! Don't get mad, you guys. I don't mean a computer one! I already got one of those, so what's the point?" Her pigtails bounced up and down as she leaned forward in her chair. She didn't have much in the chest department, but she was cute enough for her face to do all the work. "I'm talking about a piano! Obviously, I don't have room for a grand piano, so I'll get an electric keyboard!" She checked the time. "Ehh? It's super late. I should eat dinner and head to bed. I'll order my keyboard tomorrow and stream the learning process for all of you to see! Thanks everyone!" She waved. "Goodnight!"

Mystery Kiss was over.

So why? Rui grit her teeth. Why was Sakura—a nobody—making it big online while she was forced to hide away from society in a tiny apartment, her idol career smashed beyond repair? Yamamoto might have gotten the charges against her dropped, but the public would never forget.

Even if she moved her career online like Sakura had, she would receive nothing but hate.

Her phone dinged. A text from Shiho.

[Shiho]: Are you okay? I'm outside your apartment right now. Will you come down and get me?

Oh, right. Rui texted back a quick okay. I almost forgot. Tonight is girls' night.

Shiho was probably the only friend she had left in this world. She didn't know why someone like Shiho, who only cared about money, would care for someone like her. Rui looked down at her hand, imagining a doll of Shiho flopped in her palm.

She balled her fists.

There was a thump from the other side of the wall. Some new neighbors had arrived this afternoon. Occasionally, she would be able to hear muffled male voices speaking. In her computer chair, she curled up into a ball. She took a deep breath before unfurling and changing into something more presentable.

Shiho was waiting in the lobby like a loyal dog. "Hi, Rui-chan."

"Shiho-chan." Rui hesitated, wondering if it would be appropriate to hug her. After deliberating for a split second, she chose instead to take Shiho by the hand and lead her inside. "I'll order some fried chicken," she decided.

"Mitsuya-san's favorite," Shiho chuckled before changing it into a cough. "Sorry. I'm too used to it. Ah. That was insensitive. I still can't believe it, though..." Hastily, she added, "Don't worry, Rui-chan, I doubt you had anything to do with it. The police questioned me, too." The only reason why Shiho's name hadn't been printed across every newspaper in Japan was because she barely had a public persona. "Um, have you seen her videos? Wadagaki-san's, that is."

"Yes," Rui said shortly, making the order for fried chicken with an app on her phone. She didn't look up. "I'm glad she's doing well for herself." Empty, meaningless words. Shiho didn't say anything, though Rui doubted that her old idolmate hadn't picked up on the resentment in her tone. She hid the ugly parts of herself well, but it was too much effort now to pretend in front of Shiho.

Of all the people left for her to speak to in the world, she couldn't believe it was Shiho—the backup dancer who she had barely gave a second glance throughout her whole, short-lived idol career.

Not even Baba had continued to contact her after the allegations came crashing out of the closet.

Rui glowered at the floor. "What about you?" she asked Shiho. "I don't really know what you're doing these days." Fuck it, she hoped Shiho was doing awful as far as fame and popularity and acknowledgement went. She needed to hear it—needed to hear that Shiho was still, at the very least, on the same level as her.

"I found a part-time job," Shiho started as Rui let her into her apartment—number twenty. "Nothing big, just a grocery store worker. I'm still working out what I want to do."

"I thought you wanted to be rich."

"Oh, yes. That hasn't changed at all." Shiho smiled. "But I thought I should stop trying to chase the bag for a while as I figure things out. My singing and dancing has always been mediocre. I'm not sure if I have the qualities of becoming a successful idol without you and Wadagaki-san."

At that, Rui preened a little. But the moment was transient. "I'm sure you'll find something," she said, trying to sound encouraging rather than smug. "At least," she laughed sardonically, "you're not in prison."

"Mm. Poor Yamamoto-san."

"You feel bad for that scumbag?"

"He did a lot of terrible things, and I think he deserves to be in prison. But I still can't help but pity him—he always seemed like he had our best intentions in mind. At the very least, he cared a lot for Mystery Kiss—anyone could see that."

Rui let out a noncommittal hum. "Wanna watch some YouTube?"

"Sure!"

She was sure she would never be able to live peacefully ever again. But, for now, Rui let her worries and her bitterness slide off her back and opened up her laptop.

Chapter Text

All he had to do was follow the trail of blood. It was easy. Dobu took his time, keeping a distance between himself and the limping rag-doll of a kid. The sun was setting over the horizon—his favorite time of day. There weren't many people on the footbridge at this hour. Just him and the battered teen who was now attempting to lift his leg over the railing.

Dobu's brows rose. "Hey!"

The kid managed to climb over to the other side, staring into the coursing river beneath. With his injuries, if he jumped from this height, he would surely die.

"Hey!" Dobu yelled again, closing the distance between them with a light jog. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like, old man?!" the kid shouted. He was missing a tooth in the bottom row of his teeth. He'd need an implant. He spat out another tooth. Make that two. "Don't fucking come any closer!"

Dobu ignored his threat. "Or else what? You'll jump?"

His throat bobbed.

"Listen," said Dobu. "I saw what you happened back there. Three versus one. It wasn't a fair fight to begin with." He was so short and scrawny, too. He probably hadn't eaten a decent meal in weeks. "But you know what? There's no shame in losing."

"You saw me get beaten up... and you didn't intervene?"

"Why would I?" Dobu stared him down. His pupils were nearly pitch black. "It wasn't my fight. It was yours." And what a fight it had been. The kid may have lost, but the thugs who'd jumped him in the alley hadn't gotten away unscathed. "You know, you nearly got 'em." One of them would be blind in one eye for the rest of his life.

The teenager grinned, all bloody teeth. "But I didn't win. Now I'm gonna die standing up."

"Because you lost a fight? Don't be so immature." Dobu lit a cigarette. "I've lost more times than I can count. It's only made me stronger. Don't let your pride distract you from your potential."

"It's because I don't have pride that I'm doing this!" he spat. "I don't have any fucking pride, so I might as well die with whatever I have left than live a loser!"

"My words still stand. Don't let pride distract you from your potential."

"Potential for what? I was born into society as gutter trash and I'll die as gutter trash."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

Dobu took a drag from his cigarette. "Eighteen and already prepared to end your life? They get younger and younger."

"Shut up!" His hair whipped across his face as he clung to the railing. His sleeves were rolled up—Dobu started to count the number of bruises he could see. One, two, three, four—

They weren't all fresh.

"You've had it rough," Dobu remarked. "Haven't you?"

The kid looked partially offended at the insinuation, glaring at him through his lashes as if he was the only one who was allowed to look down on himself. He squinted—the breeze was getting stronger, beating against his cheeks. His clothes—too big for his thin frame—flapped in the wind.

Dobu leaned on the railing, hoping to finish this before any foot traffic came through. "It doesn't always have to be like that. If you stick with me... I can tell you now that you'd make a good fit in our organization."

"Are you..." His gaze dropped to the double piercings on Dobu's lips. "Yakuza...?"

"Hah! We got a sharp one, eh? You've heard all sorts of shit about us, I bet. But having a family sure beats being alone."

"A family?"

"Sure. That's what we are in the Yakuza—a big family."

He didn't say anything. Simply looked down at the thrashing waves below. Silence stretched between them. Then, hoarsely, he asked, "Can you help me over? Everything fucking hurts."

"What's your name, kid?" Dobu pulled him over. The kid landed on his feet before his knees buckled. He fell, Dobu barely catching him in time.

"Haru..."

"Haru?"

Frustrated, the kid shook his head. "No. Yano. Just Yano."

Dobu reached a hand toward him, stolid. Then, rethinking it, he pinched the cigarette out of his mouth and held it out. "Here."

Yano took it, tapping the ash off the end and inspecting it for a few seconds before taking a drag. He coughed.

"First time, huh? How is it?"

Tears welled up in the corner of his eyes as he held back another cough. He wiped them away. "It stings."

It was not the first time he'd revisited that memory as a dream. Dobu didn't wake up with any sort of shout or startle—he simply sat up in his futon and yawned. The clock on his beside told him it was close to eight in the morning.

"Mornin', Dobu-san," came a reluctant greeting from Sekiguchi. He was seated by the kitchenette, his iPad in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He didn't sound happy with him—for a moment, Dobu wondered what he had done to offend him.

Oh, right. Dobu climbed out of bed. "Mornin'." I socked him good at the harbor, didn't I? Probably got him into a heap of trouble with Yano, too. "What's for breakfast?"

"What am I, your maid?"

"No way. Not with that face."

"Tsk!" Sekiguchi bared his teeth. "And you call Yano-san arrogant."

Dobu ignored him, trudging over to the kitchenette counter and checking the kettle. From how it weighed, it was at least half-full with boiling water. He poured himself a glass of warm water, mixing the hot water with cold, bottled water from the mini fridge. "Find anything useful?"

"No."

It occurred to Dobu that Sekiguchi most likely didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. Thus, he probably wouldn't relay him any important information without Yano's permission. "You need to learn to think for yourself."

A vein popped on Sekiguchi's temple. "Hey, Dobu-san—"

"Why isn't Yano up yet?" Dobu spoke over him, sipping his water. He stared at the lump in the futon, only identifiable as the bane of his existence by the way his spiky hair was fanned across the pillow. Back in the day, Yano'd barely slept, always prepared to run away or fight at all times. He's gotten comfortable. Inwardly, he sighed. If he were less of a reasonable guy, he could have incapacitated Sekiguchi and killed Yano before he could even shout.

"He's not a morning person," Sekiguchi said, raising a brow. "Didn't you know? He was your junior."

"It's been years since then," Dobu replied shortly. "I bet if I fired a gun in here, he still wouldn't wake up."

At that, Sekiguchi gave him a wary look.

"Relax, Sekiguchi. I'm unarmed." In the end, he'd never gotten his gun back from that deranged skull mask fellow.

"I'm surprised Yano-san managed to put up with you for so long," snarked Sekiguchi, gaze lifting from his screen. "It's a miracle—it's not like Yano-san has the patience of a saint on his best days."

"You should be asking me how I managed to put up with that brat for seven years." There wasn't much point in including Sekiguchi into his little feud with his former junior, but Dobu had always been someone with healthy thirst for knowledge. And he wanted to know—wanted to know what Yano was like now from Sekiguchi. He opened the kitchenette drawer, retrieving a pack of smokes. "Here." He offered one to Sekiguchi. The man took it. "Wanna step outside for a bit?"

Perhaps Sekiguchi interpreted the gesture as a truce of sorts. He put down his iPad and followed Dobu outside. They lit their cigarettes, blowing clouds of smoke into the crisp morning air. "It's gonna take a lot more than this to get into my good books."

"I'm not interested in your good books."

"Then what do you want from me? Information about Yano-san?"

A shrug.

"You're not getting a peep outta me," Sekiguchi said, honestly.

"Whatever." Dobu turned to him. "Sekiguchi. Don't forget to rein him in when he gets too wild. The last thing he needs is an enabler."

"Careful." Sekiguchi smirked. "You sound like you care."

"As if."

Sekiguchi flicked his cigarette over the balcony. Dobu offered him another one, and he accepted it. "I'm Yano-san's underling. Not his friend. I don't get to tell him what to do."

"You must be naive, then," Dobu said. "Yano didn't keep you around this long because he thought you were some disposable underling." I would know. Yano used to go through juniors like candy before he met you.

His jaw dropped, cigarette falling to the ground. He didn't bother to pick it up. "What? What are you saying, Dobu-san...?!"

Dobu pat him on the arm before throwing his own cigarette away. "Sit on it, then you'll know."

Yano woke up thirsty and with a crick in his neck. Grumbling, he got out of his futon and trudged to the showers. He turned the hot water tap for a solid minute before realizing that there was, in fact, no running hot water.

Once he was out and dressed in one of his classic Don Quijote suits, Dobu and Sekiguchi emerged from the balcony stinking like cigarettes. "And what have you two been doing, hm? Gossiping like a gaggle of geese? I oughta punch in your teeth like ol' cousin Berenice."

"Who?" Dobu scoffed.

"Read the romantics, fool!" Yano stuck his tongue out, pointing at him. "But then again, you've always been kind of a tool."

"Technically," Sekiguchi said in a tone Yano had never heard him use to him before. He'd always been so respectful. "It was implied that Egaeus plucked out Berenice's teeth. There was no punching involved."

What the hell? Was Sekiguchi talking back to him?

"Hey, hey, hey, are you tryin' to fuck with me?" Yano scowled. "Whose side are you on Sekiguchi?"

"I apologize, Yano-san. But I am college educated," confessed Sekiguchi, maintaining a straight face. God, he was utterly serious. "I went to Waseda."

"The more I get to know you, the more you surprise me, Sekiguchi," said Dobu, throwing him a half-smile.

Okay. What the hell happened here? Yano glanced between them with narrowed eyes. Since when were these two all chummy-chummy? What the hell was Dobu trying to do, poaching his one and only frie—subordinate. This was crossing the line. Not to mention—Sekiguchi? College educated? Since when? And a Waseda graduate! "Sekiguchi, you're a real hoot, but please don't tell me those glasses of yours are prescription to boot." His brain wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Hm?" Sekiguchi removed his specs. "No. I just like wearing them."

"They look good on you," complimented Dobu. "They match your complexion."

And there he went again, manipulating his way into good graces. Yano crossed his arms, still scowling. Well, tough—the nice guy act may have fooled Shirakawa or whatever her name was, but Yano knew him. He pinched his cheeks into a mocking smile. "This is what you look like right now, Dobu."

Dobu gave him a flat stare.

"Find anything good?" Yano sauntered up to Sekiguchi. "Tell me now, while Dobu goes and fixes his morning wood."

"You fucking brat, I do not have morning w—"

"Nikaidou Rui moved out of her apartment," Sekiguchi reported. "But I've been unable to track her down from her social media alone. She's good at covering her tracks. However," he swiped left, showing Yano and Dobu a screenshot he had taken from the web, "Her friend here isn't as clever."

"Isn't that the girl we used in our badger games? She looks exactly the same."

Sekiguchi nodded. "This is Ichimura Shiho. From her Instagram, I was able to discern her approximate location."

Dobu scrolled on his phone. "It's private. How did you...?"

Yano noticed how shame-faced Sekiguchi seemed to be. "Did you pretend to be a female fan? Hah! Haha. Nice plan."

Sekiguchi blushed. "She lives somewhere in Yoyogi. She frequents Yoyogi Park a lot, typically on weekends. As of two weeks ago, she's only been taking pictures of the park. This suggest that she has some kind of job during the week—judging by her age, its probably part-time. I checked on every job listing website I could find that matches her qualifications, age, job type, and location. The FamilyMart nearby Harajuku Station was the only one that matched."

"That college degree is starting to become clear," muttered Dobu, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple as he regarded Sekiguchi.

"All in a day's work for Mr. Sekiguchi," Yano declared.

The blush on Sekiguchi's face deepened.

Ah, geez. Yano pretended not to see. What's up with him today? Dobu must've told him something weird. Dobu, you bastard, you broke my henchman. "This is fine and all, but I don't see anymore reason to stall." He started to backslide, jostling Dobu in the ribs on purpose. "Y'see, last night, I had a dream, and it was pretty supreme. 'Oh, Yano-sama! Say it ain't so!' But it led me straight to whodunnit." He spun around with a flourish, pointing finger guns at his two teammates. "Y'know?!"

"Who is it?" Sekiguchi wondered, awed by either Yano's deduction or his impromptu performance.

"The third girl," Dobu and Yano said in unison.

Yano spun again, this time to face his senior-turned-enemy-turned-ally. "Oi, Dobu! What do you think you're doing, stealing my thunder? Talk about a blunder!" So he figured it out, too? Argh! Dammit! Damn him to hell!

"It only makes sense," Dobu explained. "For me, four stand out the most: Ichimura Shiho, Nikaidou Rui, the manager, and the third girl. Two of them don't make much sense. The manager—Yamamoto, was it?—would take a bullet for Mystery Kiss to succeed in the industry. Killing Mitsuya would only mean unnecessary stress and work for him. I also took the liberty of stalking Ichimura's Twitter last night—it's very clear she's obsessed with money. Not fame, but money. Her goals align with Mystery Kiss succeeding, just like Yamamoto."

"So that leaves Nikaidou and the third girl," surmised Sekiguchi. "Nikaidou did help us abandon the body, and she was there at the scene of the crime. Wouldn't her being the killer make more sense?"

"In theory," Yano said. While Dobu had been monologue, he'd gotten himself an apple out of the grocery bag Sekiguchi had brought back with him yesterday. He took a bite out of it, teeth loudly crunching the fruit. "You were too busy doing a brilliant job of cutting up the body like nobody's business, you didn't see the look on her face that I got to witness. She doesn't have the constitution; if she really did do it, she would've already checked herself into an institution."

"I ruled her out by process of elimination," Dobu went on, "The third girl was the one who replaced Mitsuya. She has the clearest motive. She killed Mitsuya so she could take her place. Additionally, we don't know who she is. What her name is, what she was doing before this. Not even her real voice—she's never been interviewed. We have absolutely nothing on her except for her face. And that's suspicious in itself."

Sekiguchi scratched his head. "Does that mean my research has all been a waste of time?"

"Nope," Yano patted his arm, "You did good, Mr. Sekiguchi." He didn't flush red this time. Just a little pink. Good. At least some things were getting back to normal. He couldn't wait for Dobu's influence to wane, because Sekiguchi acting all bashful like this made him want to gag. "We can talk to Ichimura—one, two, three, only two of 'em have a place to be. Nikaidou's gone AWOL and Yamamoto's sittin' in jail—our best bet now is for her not to bail. We'll go see her at work; tell us what she knows, clear up all the murk."

"One of us can also visit Yamamoto," Dobu suggested.

"I'll do it," Sekiguchi volunteered.

"Fine. Then me and Yano will go see Ichimura."

As much as he didn't want to work with Dobu, it was the most logical decision. That way, he could keep an eye on Dobu. Yamamoto was scared shitless of Sekiguchi, anyway—he'd answer any questions Sekiguchi might throw at him.

It was decided that Sekiguchi would be driven by Tony Abe and Kim Min-ji while Yano and Dobu made their way to Lawson by foot. It was nearby from their little apartment in Shinjuku, after all.

There was no time to waste. The sooner they finished this job, the sooner they would get to move on with their lives. And though Kuroda hadn't specified a time frame, it went without saying that he wanted it done as quickly as possible. Who knew what would happen to them if his patience ran out?

The driver was prompt. Tony was a professional for sure. Yano watched as the car drove off with Sekiguchi inside.

Dobu looked to him, hands shoved in his pockets. Even after all these years, his hair was the same. Slicked back into a mullet dyed an ostentatious orange at the bottom. "Can you keep up?"

Yano smirked. "I should be askin' you that, old bat."

He flicked his forehead. "Shut up, kid."

The gall of him! Forehead stinging, Yano seethed as he walked with Dobu to the station. It was evident he'd started forgetting who he was. He wasn't just some kid off the street anymore—he was a better Yakuza than Dobu could ever hope to be.

And yet...

Something odd tugged at his heart.

Probably the urge to shove Dobu into oncoming traffic.

"I know, mom."

Wadagaki Sakura had her hair down today instead of in its usual pigtails. The ends curled at her shoulders, bouncing as she walked down the street of Shibuya.

"I'm serious!" her mother fretted on the other end. "What if they find out? It's too dangerous to be on the internet! And there are rumors that that Mitsuya girl had Yakuza connections!"

"They won't be able to touch me," Sakura giggled. "I've already started taking some... protective measures. Right now, nobody knows that 'Wadagaki Sakura' was in Mystery Kiss. My face and voice aren't enough to link me to them. Do you know how many girls look and sound like me? Everyone wants to be an idol girl these days. Not to mention, any evidence against me is... purely circumstantial. Don't worry, mom. Just trust me."

She hung up.

Hm. She smiled to herself. I've gotten rid of that nosy taxi driver. And that bar owner didn't see my face since I was wearing a mask. There's only one witness left for me to care of...

The website might have been taken down, but the podcast host's identity had already been leaked on the internet courtesy of some nosy classmates who couldn't keep their trap shut. Sakura knew his name, face, and where he went to school.

Nagashima Satoshi. I wonder what I should do with you? You seem like the scaredy-cat type. I might not need to hurt you...

As Sakura pondered, she received another phone call, this time from her boyfriend. "Ah! Shun-kun!"

"I'm already at the south exit!" Imai Shun's disembodied voice excitedly said. "Are you here, Sakura-chan?"

You really are an excellent boyfriend, Shun-kun. "I'm coming~! I'm nearly there, so just wait for a bit."

Wasn't she lucky, truly, that Imai Shun was the kind of guy who loved to go sightseeing for dates? Who loved to be dragged everywhere by a girl? What a silly masochist. Sakura blew a kiss into the speaker. But he has his uses.

After all, who would blink twice at the sight of a young couple parading through the city?

He'll have to show up sometime.

"Hey, Shun-kun? Can we go past Miri High again? The food stands there taste awesome!"

"Sure thing, Sakura-chan!"

Nagashima Satoshi...

I'll find you.

Chapter Text

It was quiet next door. They must've gone out for the day, whoever they were. She was running out of food in her apartment—she would need to go out for groceries. Rui pushed her baseball cap down, walking with her head low and her shoulders hunched. It was a chilly day today, her leather jacket doing little to protect her from the wind. The drunk slumped in the courtyard heckled her as she walked out, bottles clinking, but it was easy enough to ignore him. It's just across the road, she coached herself, feeling her heart pound in her chest. Calm down! Don't be so pathetic. Even a baby wouldn't have trouble going out during the day.

There wasn't much traffic in the neighborhood. Rui didn't have to wait long before crossing the street. Ultimately, however, she was met with dismay. "Are you frickin' kidding me?" She exhaled sharply at the sign plastered on the front of the convenience store doors. "Closed for renovations? Dammit... dammit!"

Rui buried her chin in the collar of her coal tracksuit as a stranger passed her by, whistling a tune. Doing a quick search, she discovered that the nearest grocery store was a fifteen minute walk away. That's too far! What if someone recognizes me? And it was a more luxurious chain store, too—they sold gourmet ingredients for expensive prices. No, this wouldn't do at all.

Wait. Didn't Shiho say that she works at the FamilyMart near Harajuku Station? Hastily, Rui checked her wallet. I don't have much left... The majority of her savings and her earnings from Mystery Kiss had been spent on rent and bills. She'd have to find a job soon or face the very real possibility of ending up homeless. I could move in with Shiho if the landlord kicks me out. But that would be too much—too utterly humiliating. Having to depend on someone—especially someone so mundanely average like Shiho—was the same as losing. Shiho said she was working today, though. It wouldn't hurt to check out her FamilyMart's—she could give me a discount.

It wasn't like asking someone for a discount was the same as relying on them for shelter.

She wished she hadn't been forced to move out from her old place. But her infamy had gotten out of control—stalkers and antis had deduced her location from her social media and would leave all sorts of fucked up 'presents' at her old apartment—the landlord had kicked her out after that.

It's only a five minute ride by train. Rui trembled. Five minutes in a packed car full of strangers who could have it out for me... No! She slapped herself on the cheeks, building up her resolve. I'm not some invalid! I can do this. I can do this.

Shinjuku Station was bustling with commuters. Rui did her best to fit in, though her posture was stiff and her gait was awkward. It felt like all eyes were on her—logically, she knew that they were probably on their phones or too busy running to catch their next train to even pay her any attention.

The commute felt like years.

But, finally, she reached her destination.

She smiled to herself. I did it. Now, it was just a short walk to FamilyMart. I should text Shiho and give her a heads up.

[Rui]: Shiho-chan! I'm coming over to see you :) I'll be there in a bit.

"Hm?" Rui frowned. She didn't read it. How strange. Shiho usually read and answered her texts right away like a little puppy dog. "Oh. Maybe it's because she's working..." No matter. This was hardly a setback.

Phone in one hand and wallet in the other, Rui made her way down to FamilyMart, making a mental list of what she needed to buy. Instant noodles (she was beginning to get sick of them, but they were cheap and somewhat fulfilling), takeaway boxes, soy sauce, some fruit—

"It's empty?" Rui blurted as she entered the store. "Shiho-chan? Shiho-chan, are you here?" After checking the whole store for any sign of Shiho, Rui stood at the counter and fidgeted. Where on earth was she? Was she taking stock in some of the back rooms? After enough time had passed for Rui to be back in her apartment by now, she shot off another text to her friend.

[Rui]: Shiho-chan, I'm here. Where are you?

No answer.

[Rui]: Shiho-chan! Are you working today?

[Rui]: Shiho-chan? Hello?

This is getting ridiculous! Rui gnashed her teeth. She hated to be kept waiting—hated even more to be blown off by someone she considered beneath her. A terrifying thought struck her: What if Shiho was in trouble? Even if she hadn't gotten much publicity from the Mitsuya scandal, she was sure to have some anti-fans jerking their hate boners over her.

At her wit's end, she decided to call Shiho.

Ringing sounded from behind the counter. That's Shiho's phone! Doing a once-over of her surroundings, Rui went around the counter. Sure enough, Shiho's bag was shoved into a small recess. Rui hung up. The ringing stopped.

So. Shiho had shown up for work. But she was gone now.

Rui checked the area for any clues, eventually settling upon investigating the monitor that displayed all the viewpoints of the store from the security cameras. Is there any way to rewind this? After a few clicks, she found that she could, in fact, rewind the security footage. Let's see where you've gone...

What she saw almost stopped her heart.

Shiho had been here less than five minutes before Rui entered. She watched with growing horror as two men entered the store and menaced Shiho at the counter for a solid minute before taking her out the back. She slumped against the shelves of cigarette cartons, sending a few tumbling down on her head. "No... Shiho-chan..."

Shaking, Rui stumbled toward the door where they'd gone, hand hovering above the doorknob. Slowly, she pushed it open, and an alleyway stretched out before her. She crept through, keeping an eye out for any sign of Shiho or the thugs.

Finally, peering around the wall at the end of the lane, she found them. She shrunk back, feeling like her heart was going to burst out of her chest at any moment. Then she took another look—

It's him.

The rapper.

She didn't know who the other guy was, but that didn't matter. He was there—him—

The beginning of her end.

He'd dragged them all into this mess. He promised he would make sure nobody would find Mitsuya. Now look what had happened. She was a shut-in spiraling into her own misery, stewing in her own self-hate and resenting the success of a girl who should have stayed a nobody forever.

Raw loathing welled up, lighting every single one of the veins in her body on fire.

"Fuck him," she muttered under her breath, hugging herself. Her fingers dug into her biceps. He'd ruined her life. And now she was trying to stop her from getting her fucking discount? "Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him—ARGH!" Her cap flew off her head as she made a mad dash for him. "DIE, ASSHOLE!"

It wasn't like it was the first time he'd ever been caught off guard.

"DIE, ASSHOLE!"

It was, however, the first time he had been caught off guard by a woman. One moment, he'd been interrogating Ichimura Shiho from FamilyMart, and the next he was being thrown onto his back by an ushiro-goshi. Judo? was all his mind could summon.

"Ah, shit!" Nikaidou Rui spat. "My back!"

He snapped back into reality.

Her hold wasn't proper, and her form had been sloppy. Lightly, he kicked, striking her in the chin. She wobbled and fell back, hissing in pain. "Hup." Yano grabbed one of her legs and looped his leg around her knee in a heel hook.

"Oh, fuck! Shit, shit, shit, that hurts, you stupid son of a bitch!"

"Yo, Nikaidou Rui, I know we've had strife." Yano tightened his hold. Twisted bones. Creaking joints. A young girl's screams. "But stop moving or you'll be disabled for the rest of your life." She'd lasted longer than he expected. Most guys would be pissing their pants by now. Then again, women's joints tended to be more flexible.

"Okay, okay! Let go, dammit!"

Something akin to sadism came to him. He grinned. "Heh. I'm older, so don't be rude."

"Fuck you!"

"For such a cute girl, you're pretty crude."

"Are you done?" Dobu ground out. "You're scaring Ichimura-san."

Ichimura Shiho, half-hiding behind Dobu, was staring bug-eyed at the lock Yano had Rui in. "R-Rui-chan?!"

Sighing, Yano released Rui. "Fine, fine. I'll let her live another day to run. You guys are no fun." Because he was a gentleman, he held out a hand for Rui. The girl didn't take it, choosing to stay on the ground to massage her leg. He let his hand fall to his side, addressing Shiho, "I take it you two are friends till the end? She came running to you like a godsend."

Shiho gulped. "You could say that..." She rushed over to Rui's side. "Rui-chan! Rui-chan, are you okay?"

"Of course not." Rui glowered at her. "That guy... He ruined my life!"

"I didn't ruin anything!" Yano shot back. "You're lookin' at the wrong guy." He got up in her face, leering. "Because you're self-centered and blind, that's why!"

Rui went a deep red, glaring at him with such terrible vengeance that it ignited his heart. My, she was better than cute. Her fluffy appearance led her to look benign, but Yano had never encountered a more contrary attitude in a woman. He couldn't help it—he was a romantic at heart. Her nose twitched. Oh. Was she going to cry? How annoying. He didn't like it when people cried. "Then who?" she demanded. "Whose spine do I need to break? Do you know how fucking hard it's been for me?" She stood, brushing away Shiho. "I've had to live like... like a burakumin!"

Dobu said something, but Yano didn't hear it. It was as if an ocean full of resentment and grief had washed over him, water rushing around his ears. "Hey. Nikaidou. Shut the fuck up."

They all stared at him.

Why?

Because he hadn't rhymed?

Yano tugged at his gloves, narrowing his eyes at the way Rui was balking. "Don't talk about things you know nothing about. You'd die the moment you have to live as less than a poor man's trout. Because that's what being a burakumin means—skin and bones, thin and lean." He forgot all about Dobu and Shiho, focusing only on the white-haired girl in front of him. "So." He poked her forehead with a finger—hard. "You'd better cheer for how good you have it right now—cheer! Y'hear?!"

She didn't answer, lips pressing into a thin line. But Yano saw it anyway—the shadow of shame flickering in her blue eyes. Whatever—it was good enough. Rui's appearance was starting to become a headache. She was probably under the impression that they had strong-armed Shiho into answering their questions, but it wasn't the case at all.

In fact—

"Should I keep going?" Shiho asked, meekly. She wasn't really sure who to look at, so she settled for peering at Dobu, the only one who had remained level-headed throughout the entire situation.

Rui looked between her and Dobu. "What? What's going on here, Shiho? I thought you were in trouble."

"Not at all. They just wanted to know some things about Wadagaki-san."

Rui seemed like she was about to faint. "That's it? Are you kidding me?"

"You know," Dobu said, thoughtfully. "If you practiced more, you would make a good judoka."

"Yeah, well." She dropped her gaze. "I haven't practiced judo in years. I didn't want to get too muscular. Especially as an idol." She stretched, wincing as her spine curved. "Ow..."

Yano whacked her across the back. "Did that help?"

She scowled at him. "No!"

Now that he thought about it, this encounter was more favorable than he first imagined. Nikaidou Rui, who had previously been unaccounted for, had now made herself known to them. Luck was certainly in their favor.

"Why do you even want to know about Wadagaki-san?" Rui asked, crossing her arms.

"Oh, yes," Shiho piped up, "I'm curious to know, too."

No point in delaying the inevitable. These girls were bound to find out eventually. "Once upon a time," Yano began, throwing his hands up behind his head to imitate horns. "A devil was born. We need to grab her by the horns or our lives won't be worth a dollar or dime. Mitsuya was a tragic princess, her death responsible for Mystery Kiss's recess. But you know who really did it? Ba-bum! The devil child who seems oh-so mild: Wadagaki-san, sober and not drunk on whiskey or rum!"

"I..." Rui stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "I didn't understand a word you just said."

"Wadagaki killed Mitsuya," Dobu translated for her.

"What?!" Rui and Shiho shouted at the same time.

"At least that's what we believe."

"Wait." Rui held up a hand, stricken. "Wadagaki-san... was the one responsible for ruining my life?"

Dobu nodded. "You could say that. You were almost charged, weren't you, Nikaidou-san? She probably wanted you to take the fall for her, but you got away thanks to insufficient evidence."

Rui sank to her knees, lost in a stupor. "No... way..."

Yano fished a tin of candy he had nicked from the FamilyMart, popping a sweet into his mouth. This was beginning to bore him. Whatever melodrama Rui had right now wasn't important. Finding Wadagaki and bringing her to Kuroda was the only thing that really mattered in the end.

"There's no way some... some extra like Wadagaki would ever be able to...!" Rui clawed at her hair. "Fuck! This seriously cannot be happening! She was right under our noses!"

"I..." Shiho squirmed. "I can believe it, to be honest. Something about her never sat right with me. I don't know how to explain it—it's... it was this gut feeling I got. I never thought it'd be something this serious, though."

"We need to find her," Dobu said, solemnly. "Do either of you have any idea where she might be?"

"Sorry," Shiho sighed, fiddling with one of her pigtails, "But like I was telling you before, I know nothing about her except that she's from Kyushu, likes fried chicken, and is a streamer."

"She has a boyfriend," Rui muttered.

"Boyfriend?" echoed Yano. That was interesting. Shiho hadn't mentioned anything about a boyfriend. "Is he tall? Short? Big? Small?"

"I don't know, I'm not psychic," Rui said dryly. "But Wadagaki-san sometimes gets notifications on her phone during streams. She gets a little nervous and turns off the phone. Assuming she's not being extorted by some loan shark, it's most likely a boyfriend. Her viewers are majority men, so if they find out she's dating, she's pretty much screwed. Those incels don't like it when their favorite girl streamer isn't single."

Yano snapped his fingers at Dobu. "Write that down."

"Oi. Don't talk crap to me."

"I forgot you're not Sekiguchi." Yano tucked that piece of information away. "Anything else?"

"You sound disappointed," Dobu deadpanned.

"I can't think of anything else. I don't know where she is, but she's probably in Tokyo. Hey." Rui squared her shoulders. "Let me in on this."

"Hm?" Dobu frowned. "Nikaidou-san, I don't think this is something you want to involve yourself in."

Rui looked to Yano. "Please."

"Um," Shiho raised a hand like she was in the classroom, "If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to be kept in the loop as well."

"Ladies, ladies, ladies." Yano put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "What we're doing is some serious stuff—don't stick your yaps in because our plates are already stacked high enough." Really, the last thing he needed were two fragile girls in for the ride. His gaze flicked to Rui for an instant. Or not-so-fragile after all... She might be useful in the future. It wouldn't hurt him to at least stay in touch with her. "But if you're that desperate, then gives us your numbers. Oi, but I'm warning you—when the going gets tough, don't pretend to play dumb and dumber."

Rui all but snatched Yano's phone from him and inserted her number. "Here."

What a rude little miss.

The other odd pair exchanged numbers as well, Dobu relenting when he saw Shiho's pleading eyes. Yano knew better, though. Always did. Dobu didn't care a tuppence for Shiho's well-being—never had, never would.

"We'll take you home," Dobu said to Rui in the end, playing the part of the gentleman. "Where do you live?"

Rui listed off her address.

And of-fucking-course they would live in the same building, and next to each other to boot.

These days, Nagashima Satoshi liked to go straight home after school. It was only the sensible thing to do, he thought, when a deranged psychopath was after him. He hadn't seen anything on the news regarding Taeko's death, so he could assume that she was okay. Satoshi gulped. The same couldn't be said about him. What if she decided that he was somehow a bigger threat?

He couldn't live in fear any longer.

He called her—an upperclassman who had graduated last year, who had always treated him with kindness.

Please pick up...

A click sounded.

"Hello?"

"Sora-senpai!" Boy, was Satoshi glad to hear her voice. "Are you at university right now?"

"Yes, but I'm about to leave."

"Sorry, but could you stay there? I'm coming to meet you. I... I need to talk to you about something."

"Oh? What is it?"

"I can't tell you over the phone! It's... sensitive."

"Hmm... Alright. I'll be waiting by the quadrangle lawn."

"Thank you!"

Satoshi didn't like relying on girls for help. It hurt his pride as man a little, but he was too far out of his depth to handle this situation on his own. And who better to help him than his friend and upperclassman, Saionji Sora?

Daughter of Commissioner Saionji of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

She was waiting where she promised. Sora saw him first, lifting a hand to wave him over. "Satoshi-kun!" She still looked the same as she had looked in high school—dull silver hair draping over her shoulders like heavy curtains and eyes that drooped downward.

"Sora-senpai!" Satoshi ran over to her. "Gosh, am I glad to see you!"

"You too. What's wrong?"

Taking a deep breath, Satoshi told her all about it. About the wiretapped pen, the podcasts he'd hosted, the attack on the bartender last December, and the disturbed individual who was now combing the city for him.

"That sounds serious," Sora said when he finished, brow creasing. "Satoshi-kun, could I make a quick call?"

"Yeah, go ahead." She's probably telling her father. Satoshi could feel relief coming to him in waves. I can't wait for this to be over...

But Sora was on the phone for a long time. She was no longer smiling, looking rather gloomy as she held the phone to her ear. Curiously, Satoshi looked to her. Upon meeting his gaze, Sora quickly turned away, as if she were ashamed.

"Ah. So there you are, Nagashima-san."

He whipped around, his square bangs moving with the sudden motion. "Who...?"

Wadagaki Sakura, holding a small bucket of fried chicken, strolled up to him. "Hello. My name is Sakura."

That voice...! "S-Sora-senpai, she's...!"

Sora still didn't meet his eye. "I'm sorry, Satoshi-kun."

They... They're on the same side...?

Sakura beamed. "Why don't we have a chat?"

Chapter Text

He was born into the world in the middle of winter, kicking and screaming. There was no heating in their shack, so his mother held him against her breast while the midwife swaddled them with blankets. They lived in a small village on the outskirts of the Kanto region, about a two hour drive from outer Tokyo. There was no electricity, but there were stoves and running water.

His mother named him Yano Haruhito, saying his name over and over again as she cried from sheer exhaustion.

The midwife listened as she apologized for sentencing him to a life of hardship and misfortune.

Yano felt like stealing something today. Maybe it was because of his predisposition toward crime, but he was feeling a little empty-handed. He'd already nicked the tin of candy from Shiho's FamilyMart, confident enough in his sleight of hand that his theft hadn't been noticed by the cameras, but it'd done little to fill the growing void in his chest.

The void that had expanded even further after encountering Nikaidou Rui and her nonsensical tantrums.

He kept half an eye out for any opportunities of petty theft, the rest of his attention going to making sure Dobu wasn't going to shank him and actually looking for the missing third girl.

Half past noon rolled about, and there was still no sign of her.

The city was big and the sun merciless during the day.

Now Yano remembered why he'd always preferred to travel under the cover of the dark. "Oi, Dobu." He kicked him in the calf, earning an annoyed look. "I'm starving and beat—come on, let's eat."

"Grab a hot dog or something. I don't want to waste daylight."

A prickle of irritation ran down back like a porcupine spine. "We're working off a hunch, so why not stop for lunch?"

Dobu was about to argue again when a loud rumble sounded. Yano stared at his abdomen, smug. "Fine." Dobu sighed. "I saw a ramen shop back there."

Ramen. Huh. Yano couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten actual ramen and not the instant kind. Prior to the Mitsuya Incident, as he had now dubbed it, he'd had little disposable income of his own. Nearly every cent he earned went to the boss—to be used for various nefarious reasons, undoubtedly—leaving him and Sekiguchi just barely enough to provide for themselves. All of their tools—electronics, saws, wrenches, ropes—were provided by Yakuza funding that wasn't meant to be used for personal things. He had a secret savings stash squirreled away somewhere in the city, but he was half-sure that Kuroda had found out about it ages ago. Had probably looted—Yano didn't know. Had never checked.

Still—ramen.

Yano'd had ramen a few times. Years ago. Of that, he was almost certain.

Ramen was a cheap food, but one he would've never chosen to indulge in on his own.

They sat down in a tiny ramen bar. Dobu, inaudible as Yano had snapped his headphones over his ear, ordered something from the two of them. Seconds later, the sound of the world returned to him in a rush, METEOR's rapping fading away. Dobu held his headphones, unimpressed. "It's rude."

"I have no interest in talking to you, even less in listening to any bullshit you spew."

Dobu was looking at him, but Yano refused to give him the privilege of eye contact, instead thumbing through the menu. It was colorful. If he spaced out enough, he would think it was a children's coloring book. "You know," he said, slowly. "I don't think we ever talked about it. The reason why we became enemies. I woke up one day to betrayal. I would've thought there was more to the story."

"Betrayal?" Yano echoed. Oh, woe was Dobu. Betrayal. Ah. He supposed it was reasonable for Dobu to see it that way. But, somehow, that pissed him off. It made it appear as if Dobu were blind to his own faults, or perhaps purposefully ignorant. "Hah, betrayal." He'd done what anyone else would've. "I dumped you before you dumped me."

"You thought I was going to abandon you?"

He actually had the nerve to seem flabbergasted. Yano put down his menu with more force than necessary, finally meeting Dobu's gaze. His expression matched his tone—pure disbelief and confusion. But Yano didn't flinch. "A conman meets a kid on the streets. A kid who got beat, a kid who's got beats. A kid who wanted to die, who you kept by your side. You're a scammer, a liar, a thug, and a cheat. I'm all those things, too, so I don't blame you—that'd be like trying to blame a cow for daring to moo. It's your nature, forms the very atoms of your stature. But there's no way you would've kept that kid around forever. I would've been a goner. Never say never." Irritably, he tapped his fingers on the counter top. It was out of sync with his rapping, but he didn't care—he'd never needed to sound out a beat to make it work anyway.

"I thought of you like a brother," Dobu growled, and Yano could've mistaken genuine hurt in his words.

A brother?

But—

So what?

My father thought of me like a son.

"I might've been your brother, but sooner or later I would've been more bother than brother."

"You're a bother to me now."

"Good." He didn't bother to rap out anything else. There was nothing else that needed to be said.

Their food was placed down in front of them in the wrong order. Dobu fixed it, switching their bowls around. Yano stared sullenly into the oily broth, his frown only deepening when he noticed that the chef had added extra menma—his favorite topping.

He remembered.

Dobu remembered.

Yano didn't kick up a fuss. Merely cracked his takeaway chopsticks cleanly in two and started mixing up the noodles and toppings. The narutomaki that had sat on top of the seaweed disappeared into the bowl. It didn't emerge, completely trapped beneath the noodles and pork.

"Does this have anything to do with why you lost your cool with Nikaidou-san?"

He was in the midst of slurping up cheap noodles when Dobu posed the question. He bit off the noodles. "What about Nikaidou?"

"It reminded me of you back then," Dobu continued. "You were a hotheaded little pissbaby ready to end his own life over a street tussle. I thought you would've grown up more since then. Maybe I was wrong. If I am, then you were better off betraying me, or else I would've kicked your prideful little ass into space."

Something about Dobu's presumptuous tone had the hairs on the nape of his neck standing up. As if he were a tiny creature being threatened by a larger predator. It tore him between two—the urge to curl up tight and the urge to stand up and fight. One side won against the other, restrained only by self-control. Dobu was lucky not to have boiling hot soup thrown at his arrogant face. "You've always boasted about telling it as it is, but you're dead wrong this time—a complete miss. You and Nikaidou are looking more and more like two peas in the same rotten pod—a thickheaded sod and prissy brat of a broad."

This had absolutely nothing to do with pride and everything to do with the chilling ease of which Nikaidou and Dobu were able to peel back the layers he had swathed himself in. They were too dangerous to him, especially Dobu. His years apart from him had been some of the best of his life, even if there'd been a Dobu-sized hole in his heart the entire time.

Yano was not the kind of man to harbor regrets.

What he did to Dobu—

He didn't regret it at all.

Rather than responding with outrage, Dobu sank into thoughtful silence. Yano resumed eating, slurping soup and noodles noisily, even when Dobu didn't make any move to touch his food. The menma he had buried at the bottom of his broth along with the narutomaki came floating back up. He paused, then grabbed a bunch with his chopsticks and shoved them into his mouth.

The flavor popped on his palate. It was a little more acidic than he recalled, or maybe the chef had used too much kansui in the noodles, but it was delicious all the same. Just like the first inhale he'd had of a cigarette by the footbridge at sunset.

"First time, huh? How is it?"

"It stings."

Yano swallowed the menma.

It stings.

Dobu took him to a twenty-four hour gym for a shower, performed basic first aid on his wounds, and then took him to Don Quijote for new clothes. His flimsy t-shirt had been worn by the weather and torn during the fight. Yano had never been inside a Don Quijote before. Shop owners typically took one look at him before escorting him out as politely as possible as to not make a scene that would drive away other customers. Paying customers. Yano was well aware of how his wallet was as empty as his stomach.

No one came to kick him out this time. Not with Dobu by his side. Awed, Yano glanced up at him.

"Pick out anything you like," Dobu told him.

"I don't have money."

"I'll pay for it. Nothing here is over five-thousand yen anyway."

Yano nodded, trying to keep his excitement contained. It would be a bad look in front of an actual Yakuza member. He darted around the store, briefly distracting himself with bags and stationary before focusing his attention on the clothing section. There wasn't much variety. Unfortunate, but he couldn't complain. He was already lucky as hell to be in this position.

Night had fallen over Tokyo.

Usually, at this time of day, he would be scrounging up dinner, mugging people, or looking for a place to spend the night.

He spent ten minutes perusing hoodies and starched shirts before he stumbled across a hidden gem.

"I want this!" He held up the three-piece grey suit to Dobu.

Dobu cocked a brow. "Are you sure? That must be the worst looking thing I've ever seen in here."

Affronted, Yano took a step back. "You must be blind! This—this is the world's greatest find!" As if Dobu could talk! That maroon jacket of his was downright hideous. And that tacky gold chain? Gag.

"Did you just rhyme...?"

But Yano ignored him, whisking away the suit to the change rooms. He got a pair of matching pants, too. Forgetting about Dobu, Yano dumped his old clothes to the ground and carefully changed into the suit, not wanting to crumple it. He took upwards of five minutes when he took some time to count his ribs and tell himself that he didn't have to look like this anymore, and could practically feel Dobu's patience starting to wane.

Deciding to spare his new boss (he was his boss now, right?) any further waiting, Yano tore the curtain aside and emerged with a swagger to his step. "What do you think?" He threw his hands out, spinning around. "Pretty cool, right? Better than mink."

"I wouldn't go that far." Dobu chuckled. "But you wear it well. Is that all you want?"

"Yes."

"You can't wear one suit for the rest of your life. What will you do if it's at the cleaner's?"

That gave him pause. It was true. There was only one option, then. "Ask the salesgirl if there're any more of these."

There were, in fact, more of his suits. There were a whole box of them—in different colors, too, but the grey suit and red vest were still his favorite combination—that were going to be binned at the back, and the manager took one look at Dobu's double lip piercings and slicked back hair before offering them the whole box for free if they bought the original suit.

"We'll take it!" Yano declared, grinning from ear to ear.

Dobu bought him a few other things, too—undergarments, belts, ties, and new sneakers.  "Now," Dobu walked ahead toward the doors, turning his head back, "Why don't I treat you to some ramen?"

With Dobu by his side, Yano exited Don Quijote looking better than he'd ever felt in his life.

"'I've had to live like a burakumin'." Dobu's deep rumble sounded beside him, close to his ear. "That was what made you tick, wasn't it?"

Calmly, Yano brought the bowl to his lips, chugging the soup. It was salty.

Dobu had ordered sake during the meal. Yano hadn't touched any. He turned his nose at it, actually—the stench of alcohol reminded him of the shack.

"Did she hurt your feelings?"

"Hey." Yano prodded him hard in the arm. "Don't treat me like I'm tender or I swear to god I'll go on a bender. Bang!" He pretended to fire a gun at Dobu. "Bits of brain flying across the walls, across the halls. And I'll smile and say: 'Merry Christmas! Don't mind the mess!'"

"It's February," said Dobu.

"And I don't care." Yano punctuated his words with a jab of his chopsticks. "Feel free to shut up, sit, and stare."

"Hmph. Whatever." Dobu swirled his sake in the saucer. "It's not the feudal era anymore. It's almost impossible to differentiate between 'burakumin' and 'regular' folks. I don't know why society can't let go of such outdated sentiments." And that was that. He said no more.

Why was he telling him this now? Yano watched him drink in his peripheral. His belly cramped, queasy from the heaviness of the meal. Dobu should've known by now—should've known by now that his words didn't mean anything to him.

Dobu should've known by now.

Without warning, Yano snatched the sake bottle from Dobu's space and poured himself a saucer, which he drank in a single gulp. Utterly unused to drinking, it burned the back of his throat like liquid fire. Lighter than the curl of heavy cigarette smoke in his lungs, but fiercer in its force and its flame. He squeezed his eyes shut.

I should know by now.

His father and the shack were etched behind his eyelids.

When Imai Shun heard that the charges against Nikaidou Rui for murdering her teammate and abandoning her body in the ocean had been dropped, he was beyond elated. It was still tragic, though—Mystery Kiss had been disbanded, unable to handle the weight of controversy after controversy piling upon the idol group. The idols had gone their own separate ways—Nikaidou Rui and Ichimura Shiho were quickly fading into obscurity, but one member had risen from the ashes to take the internet by storm.

Wadagaki Sakura.

Not many people knew that she had been part of Mystery Kiss. Her face had only ever been shown in Mystery Kiss's final press conference, and she hadn't spoken a word throughout it, little more than a piece of furniture in the background.

But Imai was different.

He'd seen her streaming one day and had instantly connected her to the girl on television.

By some twist of fate, he met her in Shibuya and now they were dating.

Him! Imai Shun! His grumpy coworker Shibagaki had always told him that he would never amount to being anything more than a fanboy, but Imai was well on the way of proving him wrong.

And, gosh, Sakura was amazing. She was smart and cute and kind—everything he imagined she would be.

"Wipe that silly grin off your face!" Shibagaki scolded as he wiped down a glass. They were tonight's designated bartenders. "You think you're hot shit just because you have a girlfriend now, don't you?"

Imai didn't stop smiling. "How did you know?"

"You never stop talking about her! In fact, I'm starting to disbelieve she's real. Wait—that's kind of funny. Hmm..."

"She's very real!" Imai insisted. He would've shown Shibagaki a photo, but Sakura had made it clear that she didn't want word to spread that she was dating him. He didn't blame her in the least—female streamers were expected to be single. If not, they would have to go to great lengths to pretend.

"Show me a picture."

"I don't have any!" Lies. He had a lot stored on his phone.

"See?" Shibagaki turned, as if to address some imaginary audience. "This guy is full of shit, I tell ya."

"Well, if you're so great, what have you been up to? Besides harassing Shirakawa-san at the end-of-year party."

"I wasn't that bad."

"You told her you'd curl her eyebrows with a grapefruit press!"

"She took shots at me!"

"Liking Bonnou Illumination is not taking shots at you!"

Harrumphing, Shibagaki straightened his uniform. "If you're really so curious, Homosapiens have been invited aboard a cruise happening near the end of March. The CEO of a fried chicken company recently got into comedy and decided to host an on-the-waters event for all of his favorite comedians." He smirked. "It's a very prestigious event."

Imai scratched his head. "How prestigious can fried chicken be?"

"Alright, c'mere, you little brat—"

"Boys, please!" Kanon sashayed up to them, pursing her full red lips. "Some of the customers are starting to notice your shenanigans." She lowered her voice. "Personally, I think you have a surprising amount of chemistry together. Shibagaki-san, have you considered including Imai-san in your comedy act?"

"This isn't an act, Kanon-san," Shibagaki assured, raising a hand, "I'm really gonna beat his punk ass."

Kanon sighed, brushing blond hair behind an ear. "Honestly, you boys are so incorrigible. You really should behave yourselves tonight—we've had a reservation from Commissioner Saionji and the police are the last people you need to see you brawling."

"Commissioner Saionji?" Imai inserted himself between Kanon and Shibagaki. "I know him! Or, well, my girlfriend does. She's friends with his daughter, Sora. They make videos together."

"The daughter of an esteemed police officer making videos?" Shibagaki cackled. "Now I just know you're lying, Imai!"

"I'm not!"

"I don't care who's lying or who isn't." Kanon made a cutting motion across her throat. "Behave or me and Reina will personally make sure that Commissioner Saionji will be the least of your worries."

Once Kanon was gone, Imai glanced at Shibagaki. "I'm amazed you got your job back so soon."

Shibagaki hurled an orange at him.

Across the city, a girl ran her fingers over her piano in the dark. Then, slowly, she began to play. Music from her childhood hummed from the finely tuned instrument—memories of a house with legs marching across the mountains.

The lights switched on.

She gasped, stopping abruptly. "Sakura-san!"

Wadagaki Sakura leaned at the doorway, looking tired. She frowned. "Don't be so loud."

It's annoying, was the unspoken sentiment.

Saionji Sora bowed her head, shrinking into herself. "Oh, okay... Okay."

The lights turned off, Sakura padding down the hallway of the Saionji household, and leaving Sora to drown in the dark alone.

Then she grabbed her phone and turned off the record function.

I almost had it. Her heart had been calm and her palms hadn't sweated. Why did she have to interrupt?

Sora closed the lid of her piano.

For a moment, she really did hate Sakura.

Chapter Text

Sekiguchi had always known that Yamamoto Fuyuki was pathetic. Japanese culture emphasized respect toward one's elders, but Yamamoto would have to first make himself respectable if he wanted even the smallest elementary school brat to show him an ounce of respect. He huffed, bringing his little paper cup of hot tea to his lips. Yamamoto's arrangements were quite different to his and Yano's back at Fuchū—he was mild enough of a threat to be released from his cell and actually greet his visitors in a little tea room. There were a few other prisoners enjoying visits from friends and family around, but Sekiguchi didn't pay them any mind. "Calm down, you obsessed idol freak. I'm not here to beat you up."

Yamamoto sniffled, stirring in his prison jumpsuit. He really was such a drip, wasn't he? "You'd probably manage to get a few punches in before the guards stop you." His tone was decidedly self-deprecating.

Sekiguchi found enough humor in the statement to let out a snort. "True. But," he hunched forward, eyes hawk-like and alert behind his yellow-tinted glasses, "I have some business with you."

"What is it?"

"About that idol group of yours, Mystery Kiss..." Yamamoto perked up, though an anxious bead of sweat still trailed down his temple. He didn't know why, but it made Sekiguchi want to grab him by the russet-colored head and slam his face into the dirt. "Hey, hey. Stop giving me that shitty look. It makes me want to beat your face in." Quickly, Yamamoto bowed his head. It allowed Sekiguchi to see his black roots starting to come in. His head was going to look like flan soon. Equal parts satisfied and pissed off with Yamamoto's meekness in front of him, he flared his nostrils. Ah, geez. I already told this punk I wouldn't beat the shit out of him. Wasn't that enough for him?

Why was Yamamoto so scared of him, anyway? The most he'd done to him was kick him around a few times. Oh—he'd been present when Sekiguchi had exuberantly dismembered that body, too, so that might have been a factor. Sekiguchi always tackled whatever tasks Yano gave him with exuberance.

Still, this could be troublesome for me. If he's too scared of me, he might leave things out or forget things.

What could he say to appease Yamamoto's nerves?

A few options circled around his head, as if he were in a video game. Finally, his own genius struck him. Smirking, he put his feet up on the table, making Yamamoto scoot his chair back a little. "Hey. Yamamoto."

"Yes?"

"I—" he pointed one thick finger at Yamamoto's nose "—am a Waseda graduate."

Yamamoto stared at him, speechless.

Sekiguchi took his reaction as admiration. "I did a double major in computer science and literature."

"I—"

"So no need to be afraid. Think of me as no different from the working class schlubs who came from 'elite' universities. You see them on the streets all the time, drinking after work and complaining about their wife."

"I see..." Wow, Yamamoto was truly dumbstruck. It made Sekiguchi's chest swell with pride. "Then... how did you end up working as a lowlife gangster?"

Whatever peaceful music had been playing upstairs for Sekiguchi screeched to a halt. He swept his feet off the table, baring his teeth at Yamamoto in a bear-like manner. "What did you just say? Have you forgotten what position you're in?"

"Not at all, actually," Yamamoto reassured him, calmer than Sekiguchi had ever seen him. "Thanks to you, I've realized my advantage."

"Don't bullshit me."

For the first time during their interaction, Yamamoto rose to his full height. It wasn't impressive, considering they were both still sitting down, but the difference in disposition was noticeable all the same. "You need me more than I need you. I could walk away right now and refuse to answer anything you ask me." He grinned sharply. "Isn't that right?"

"You fucking—" Sekiguchi grit his teeth. "What do you want? An apology?"

"No." Yamamoto crossed one leg over the other. "Any apology from you wouldn't be genuine, anyway."

"Then what the hell do you want?"

Yamamoto clasped both hands together, elbows resting on his knees. "You're the first familiar face I've seen in a while... I'm not getting out of jail anytime soon. And I know you're just a lackey, so I won't be able to use you to reduce my sentence or anything. We have an hour, so at least entertain me a little."

"Like a funny dance?" Sekiguchi said, dryly. "I'm not one of your idol girls, Yamamoto."

An amusing image of Sekiguchi flailing around in an attempt to find any sort of bodily coordination entered Yamamoto's mind. He hid his laughter with a cough. "Just talk to me. That's all I need. Prison... It drives you crazy."

"Yeah. I know."

It was probably the most honest conversation Sekiguchi had ever had with Yamamoto. He might've put on a face in front of Kuroda, but prison had been wearing him down terrifyingly quickly. He never wanted to go back there.

"So, tell me. How did a graduate from an elite university end up working as a Yakuza underling?"

Sharing one's backstory wasn't exactly conventional in his lifestyle and line of work. Though he'd been working under Yano for a good three years now, he still knew almost nothing about his senior. Underneath his admittedly funny personality was someone Sekiguchi had never met. It was a two-way street—Yano probably knew little about Sekiguchi, too. But neither of them had ever brought up their lack of a deep relationship. They were just two guys who worked together.

"I'm Yano-san's underling. Not his friend. I don't get to tell him what to do."

"You must be naive, then. Yano didn't keep you around this long because he thought you were some disposable underling."

Something in his chest tightened. Was that really true? Yano had warned him to never take anything Dobu said at face value, but he found the older man surprisingly candid.

Sekiguchi shook his head. He needed to focus on the situation at hand. Who would Yamamoto tell, anyway? And if Yamamoto did choose to spill his guts, who would be bothered to listen? It wasn't as if Sekiguchi was someone particularly important or special. He sighed. "My father was a member of the National Diet."

Yamamoto perked up. "Which house?"

"The House of Representatives, under the Liberal Democratic Party."

"Ah. LDP."

"He was a conservative man," Sekiguchi continued, carefully. "Who played politics well. He made sure I grew up in the middle-upper class band. I went to a science high school, and was a shoe-in for many major universities."

"So what went wrong?"

"Me. Before he died, he made sure to tell me that I was born defected." Sekiguchi grimaced. "The culture in this country is repressive. I saw it for myself—I saw the way my college classmates got rid of their piercings and dyed hair and turned into clones of one another before job hunting season started. They spent their final semester hunched over job interview text books. I always thought our country was in need of dire cultural reform. And seeing it happen before my very eyes only proved I was right.

"I refused to participate in job hunting culture. I didn't memorize answers from overpriced textbooks or suck up to employers. Instead, I presented the most honest version of myself rather than a working drone. I found myself unemployed. After constant failure to find a job, my father kicked me out and cut me out of his will. The only people who took me in—who accepted me—were the Yakuza."

Yamamoto squirmed in his seat. "I see. How... sad."

"Don't you dare fucking cry, or I really will turn your face into a giant bruise. That'll give you something to cry about."

"Trust me, I have no tears to shed over you. No matter what, you're still a scumbag who cut a teenage girl to pieces without even flinching."

Sekiguchi sneered. "Hypocrite."

"Then what about Yano-san?" Yamamoto circumvented his criticism with ease. "Where does he fit into your story?"

"Yano-san is..." Sekiguchi selected his next words carefully. "A mystery to me. Boss Kuroda assigned me to be his underling. He must've thought I wouldn't last because I came from luxury. Yano-san was known for being incredibly hard to work with. All of his underlings ended up begging for reassignment or even defected. Some are still on the run. The unluckiest ones were permanently injured in some way—the boss took it upon himself to take care of them, though. He was a curse, and I was his bearer."

"He's a bit of a wild one, then... I got that impression, at least."

"I didn't know what he stood for," said Sekiguchi. "It scared me. But I quickly realized that it was the politician in me that was preventing me from working properly. I stopped trying to figure him out and just rolled with the punches. It was refreshing, actually. A nice change from being constantly angry at the world."

"You could've had a nice life if you just conformed." Yamamoto sounded envious. "You were born into money and connections."

"I know. But a 'nice life', I've come to find, is just a checklist of things to do and expectations to fill until you die."

"Isn't that the same as working under Yano-san?"

"No. I can't explain it, but it's entirely different."

"I see..." Yamamoto said that a lot. He was used to stalling for time to formulate answers. "I was born into a middle-class family. I have two older twin sisters: Fumiyo and Fumiko. We lived in a tiny apartment with our mother. Our father left soon after I was born."

"I don't care."

Yamamoto chuckled. "I didn't think you would."

"That's probably why you have such girly interests, though," Sekiguchi said, not completely unkindly. "Growing up with so much estrogen in a cramped space. I can't imagine wanting to manage an idol group of all things."

"It was my dream," Yamamoto said, defensively. "I slaved away for years trying to get Mystery Kiss off the ground!"

"And now it's in ruins." It wasn't even a jab. It was just the truth. Sekiguchi didn't normally feel much for Yamamoto besides disgust. But today he felt pity for the man, having all of his hard work going into the bin because of somebody else's jealousy. Now he was in prison, Mystery Kiss was dead before it could even take its first breath into the main idol scene, and whoever had killed Mitsuya Yuki was still on the loose. "Enough of the small talk. I need you to tell me everything about Mystery Kiss."

"Everything?"

"Everything about Nikaidou Rui, Ichimura Shiho, and Mitsuya Yuki. And the girl you replaced her with."

"Oh. Wadagaki Sakura."

Sekiguchi noted that down on his phone. "Is that her name?"

"Yes. If Mystery Kiss had had room for one more, she would've been chosen. Naturally, she was selected to play the role of Mitsuya Yuki. I was tossing up between having three or four members, but I decided three would work better."

If you'd chosen four, maybe none of this would've ever happened. How tragically strange, that trouble could have been avoided had Yamamoto just adjusted Mystery Kiss's numbers. Still, if this Wadagaki Sakura girl was willing to kill for something as petty as a spot in an idol group, something like this would've happened sooner or later.

Yamamoto went on to describe the girls and their backgrounds, Sekiguchi taking notes as he talked.

The centre, Nikaidou Rui, was a bit of narcissist with an inflated, yet fragile ego. It made her extremely volatile in a way—it wasn't enough to succeed by her own merit; she needed to step on others in order to feel even a semblance of satisfaction with herself. Yamamoto told him that Nikaidou Rui had confessed to him—that she had planned to kill Mitsuya Yuki if she refused to stay as a measly backup dancer. But someone—Wadagaki Sakura, if Dobu and Yano's hunches were correct—had gotten to her first. Nikaidou Rui came from a rather average, if mildly dysfunctional, family—a dad who worked from dawn till dusk and a mom who was fixated on vanity, typically spending her husband's wages on plastic surgeries in order to chase her youth. Arguments about divorce were always thrown about in their household, but neither parent were actually brave enough to do something so drastic. Love didn't keep them together—tax benefits and a teenage daughter did.

Yamamoto also had suspicions that she had dated comedian Baba Atsuya. "It's pretty obvious they were a thing in hindsight," Yamamoto commented. "With how they always acted with each other. It's like they weren't even trying to hide it. But nothing official ever came from their mouths. I didn't really care as long as it didn't interfere with Mystery Kiss."

Ichimura Shiho was more forgettable than Nikaidou Rui. She didn't show as many signs of being a sociopath as Mystery Kiss's centre, but she was also the kind to follow wherever her desires led her—perhaps even more so than Nikaidou. Nikaidou had the ambition and drive for success, but Ichimura had raw, primitive hunger for money. Sekiguchi had already suspected based on her social media posts, but Yamamoto just confirmed it for him. Every concern she had ever raised and every decision she had ever made while being a part of Mystery Kiss was always related to money somehow. Ichimura had grown up poor, and Sekiguchi was willing to bet his tracksuit—the one he was wearing right now, the one Yano complimented him for every evening—that she had been considerably bullied for it considering she had gone to an elite high school full of rich kids thanks to her exceptional grades.

Her family wasn't of much interest—she had a younger sibling and a mother and father. Their family dynamic appeared relatively stable and normal.

Sekiguchi looked up from his notes app, allowing a brief moment of satisfaction with the data he had collected thus far. "What about Mitsuya Yuki?"

"Ah, her..." Yamamoto seemed to be saddened. "She had... limitless potential. She didn't need to work hard like Nikaidou to achieve greatness. She was born gifted. She didn't need to, but she still worked hard. And that made her the dark horse of Mystery Kiss. Deep down, I knew... that Mystery Kiss could've shone even brighter if I'd made Mitsuya the centre."

"Then why didn't you?"

"When I realized this, it was already too late. All the girls were comfortable in their positions, and shifting anything would've spelled disaster. And I was right—when the executive wanted Mitsuya to be the centre, Nikaidou was prepared to kill to defend her position."

Sekiguchi already knew enough about Mitsuya's background. She was the daughter of famous rakugo performer Donraku Shoufuutei, an old classmate and friend of his boss, Kuroda. "Now, about Wadagaki Sakura..."

"Ah, her." Yamamoto smiled a bit. "I scolded her a lot, but I liked her more than she probably realized."

Sekiguchi raised a brow.

"Not in that way. She just reminded me of myself. Single-parent household, just like me. But even with divorced parents, she was still on good terms with her father, who lives overseas. They spoke over the phone often, and he sent her birthday presents every year. She's also very close with her mother. It's clear her parents raised her with love."

Well, something must have gone wrong. Wadagaki was the strongest contender for being the killer right now. "Can you tell me anything else about her?"

"Hmm... She joined late and was rushed into catch-up practices, so I didn't get to know her as much as I could've. I don't know if this helps, but her favorite food was fried chicken. She was also born in Kyushu."

"What do her parents do?"

"Her mother runs a small business. A snack stand that sells fried food. Her father sells industrial tools, if I remember. His business went international recently."

Industrial tools... Sekiguchi's thumb hovered over his keypad before he wrote it down.

"Why are you so interested in Wadagaki, anyway?"

Oh, Yamamoto was not going to be happy to hear this. But Sekiguchi had never been the type to pull punches. "Yano-san thinks she killed Mitsuya Yuki."

Yamamoto's smile slid off his face.

The Saionji household was unassuming. No one would have ever suspected that a spare room in the house would've functioned as famous streamer Wadagaki Sakura's office. While she didn't live with them, she came over almost every day to stream her videos.

Sora would know—she was the camerawoman and the editor. "Maybe you should try a ponytail today," she murmured as Sakura brushed her hair in front of the mirror of her bedroom. Sakura's office was right next to her room.

"Ponytail?" Sakura hummed. "Yeah, it does give off that pure and innocent vibe, right? I also want it to be a more casual stream today, so I don't want to look like I put too much effort into my appearance."

"Right..."

Sakura eyed her in the mirror. "What was that?"

"I said 'right'. I mean, like, I agree." Sora's throat bobbed. "Um, do you want me to fix your makeup?"

"Why? Does it look bad?"

"That wasn't what I—"

"Kidding!" Sakura laughed, but it was a bit too sharp. "Gosh, you're so sensitive sometimes, Sora-chan. It's cute."

Cute? I'm not a little girl. Sora clenched her fist before relaxing. "Thanks..."

"Don't be so down." Sakura softened, reaching back to intertwine their fingers. "I'm grateful for all your help until now."

"R-really?"

"Mhm. I know you think that I might drop you at anytime, but that couldn't be further from the truth. We said we'd do this together, you and me. Back in middle school."

Yes, Sora remembered. She'd been born and raised in the same small town as Sakura, only moving to Tokyo with her family when her father got a job offer from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department—the MPD for short.

"Just don't forget me," Sora mumbled, taking the brush and combing Sakura's hair for her. "And don't choose your boyfriend over me, either. Friends are just as important as boyfriends and girlfriends." Shame filled her small heart as she recognized her own hypocrisy. After all, she had betrayed Nagashima Satoshi, her underclassman from high school, for Sakura. She shook it off. Don't think about him. He's all sorted out anyway. Satoshi would keep his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him. Her voice turned into nary a whisper. "I'm worried, though. What if people come to you for revenge for Mitsuya?"

Wadagaki Sakura was a killer. The same kind her father plucked off the streets and threw in prison.

And yet, Sora couldn't stay away.

You were my first friend, Sakura-chan. And we made a promise.

"Worst comes to worst," Sakura said, sobering up. She let go of Sora's hand. "I know you and your dad will protect me. But I've been planning, you see. I mean," she grinned in the mirror, "You can never be too careful, right?"

"So what's your plan?"

"Well..." Sakura fiddled with nail polish at the vanity as Sora put Sakura's hair into a ponytail. "I've been talking to a few YouTubers... Ah, it's a surprise! I shouldn't ruin it now. Sora-chan." Her eyelids lowered to half-mast, giving the impression of a serene soul. "You shouldn't underestimate the power of the internet."

"Alright..."

"Oh!" Sakura clapped her hands together. "That reminds me—how are your shakes coming along?"

I almost had it until you interrupted the other night. "It's a work in progress..."

"That's fine. I know trauma isn't easy to get over. I'm amazed you still want to play the piano after everything that happened. You're strong, Sora-chan, and I admire you for that."

Sora spluttered. "Me? Strong? Sakura-chan..."

"Of course." Sakura admired her ponytail in the mirror. "You gotta do whatever it takes to make your dreams come true. I've always believed that. It takes a special kind of strength to do that."

Like killing a person? Sora pushed away the intrusive thought, ducking her head so that her silvery hair curtained her face. "Thank you. I'll do my best."

"Now," Sakura stood, taking Sora by the hand and leading her to the office, "Let's kill this livestream!"

Chapter Text

That day was coming up. Dobu made a mark for it on his calendar app. He hoped Wadagaki would be caught by then, so that he would be able to go free of burden. Skipping a year would feel like yet another failure in his life.

He was almost forty now.

It'd been nearly fifteen years since the curtain had closed upon his childhood for real.

Right now, though, in the present, there were other matters to attend to. It was difficult for Dobu to do so, however, when their little apartment was one clown short of being a circus.

"Hmm..."

"Hmph."

"Ah."

Dobu sat down with his elbows resting on his knees as he watched Rui try to sneak a kick at Yano's foot. The two of them were seated precariously on Sekiguchi's broad shoulders while the poor man tried to work his iPad. "There's practically no wifi," Sekiguchi said, miserable.

How did we end up like this? Dobu wondered. "Sekiguchi, you seem to have some sort of infestation going on around you."

"The cockroaches?" Sekiguchi tensed up, as if preparing to sneeze.

"I was thinking of something a little bigger than that." Dobu held his index finger and his thumb close. "Just a little."

"Who're you calling a cockroach?" Rui deadpanned. She had empty eyes, that one. As if there was nothing left in her life than to watch her enemies climb to the top and fall down the ladder.

Sekiguchi slapped the side of the iPad. "Work, damn you, work!" The page finally loaded, and Sekiguchi lowered his hackles. "Finally."

"Mr. Sekiguchi." Yano drooped across his meaty shoulder like a limp rug. "Zoom in and zoom out, don't be like a tiger mom at a roundabout. Check every corner, every space, don't miss a spot just in case."

"Yes, Yano-san."

At some point during the morning, Rui had barged her way into their apartment. Now they were stuck with her. Dobu didn't really mind her—Yano appeared not to hate her too much, either, considering he barely put up a fight about her presence. Now the three of them were crowded around Sekiguchi's iPad; Dobu sat by the kitchenette, content to leave them to their investigation.

Thanks to Rui's help, they'd found Wadagaki's Twitter account. She posted quite frequently, under her stage name Sakurako. Unfortunately, there seemed to be nothing that gave away her location. "Hold on," Rui interrupted Sekiguchi's scrolling. "Look at that guy. He's always the first to reply to all of her tweets."

Sekiguchi tapped on his icon, taking them to his profile. "Hm? I recognize this profile. It's the freckle-faced twerp who used to be a Nikaidou fan account."

"What?" Rui blurted. "Me? Talk about yesteryear."

While they pored over details, Dobu stood and headed over to the balcony for a smoke. As he lit up his cigarette, he received a text from Shiho.

[Shiho]: She finally responded to me

Dobu took a drag. Good. He glanced over his shoulder. Yano didn't seem to be paying any attention him. He still remembered the day Yano had snatched his cigarette from him by the footbridge, hacking and coughing after a deep inhale. After that, he never touched them.

When Yano had removed his shirt in front of him for the first time, Dobu made the silent vow to smoke out of his sight.

[Shiho]: She wants me to meet up with her tomorrow

[Dobu]: Be careful.

[Dobu]: Keep your location shared at all times.

[Shiho]: Okay, got it

Well, that was easy. Dobu had doubted her at first, but it seemed Shiho had really pulled through. Once Shiho blew the whistle on where Wadagaki's house was, it would be smooth sailing. They'd kidnap her under the cover of the night and force her to kneel in front of Kuroda. He felt a sense of pride as he looked over his shoulder at the other three still trying to chase up a lead. For years, Yano had outclassed him—now, Dobu was the one making clear progress.

He finished his cigarette before going back inside. "Hey, you guys. It'll be over soon."

Yano's nose twitched slightly as the stench of smoke entered the apartment with Dobu. Sekiguchi was the one who asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"I made Ichimura my spy."

"Shiho?" Rui dropped the honorific whenever she wasn't addressing her directly. "Hey." She slid down Sekiguchi's back, marching up to Dobu with folded arms. "If she gets hurt, how are you going to take responsibility for it?"

"Who says I will?" Dobu retorted, looking down at her. "I didn't force her to do it. She agreed to when I asked her."

"You sent her to a murderer's territory."

"Unfortunate, but necessary." Dobu glanced at Sekiguchi at Yano. "With this, we'll be able to zero in on her location."

"Don't put all your eggs into one basket," Yano warned, still perched upon Sekiguchi. "Lest we all end up in a casket. If you put all your trust into an Ichimura-shaped sack, you'll only end up stabbed in the back."

"Ichimura isn't you," Dobu said, calmly.

The muscles in Yano's face visibly tightened. Always quick to anger.

Dobu turned away. "Follow your lead if you want. I'll follow mine."

Through clenched teeth, Yano ground out, "Fine. Have it your way. You've always been stuck in the olden days."

Clearly uncomfortable with the thickening tension, Rui looked between Yano and Dobu. Sekiguchi was entirely avoiding everyone's gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on his iPad. Under the pretense of work, he tapped on the screen.

Dobu woke up refreshed and ready to tackle the day ahead of him. He had a few guys who still owed him money, and for every cent they were unable to cough up, he would trade them a fist to the face.

Tonight, he would take Yano to meet the boss for the first time. Kuroda had expressed interest in the street urchin who had nearly clawed his way to victory against an unfair fight.

He sat up in his futon and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Yano sitting on the couch of his dingy apartment. "You were already awake?" Huh, and Dobu had thought he was an early riser. It was only a few minutes past dawn.

Yano shook his head.

"You... didn't sleep all night?"

"I have trouble falling asleep," Yano confessed, fidgeting with his hands. He was wearing his nightshirt and shorts, his grey suit hanging on the bathroom door.

"We all have those nights."

He shook his head again. "Those nights are every night for me."

He wasn't rapping today. Dobu's brow lowered. "I have some sleeping pills in the bathroom cabinet. You can take some before you go to bed tonight."

Yano followed him around like a lost puppy as Dobu freshened up for the day. He showered and brushed his teeth, urging Yano to do the same while he made breakfast. This wasn't the streets anymore—Yano would have to practice proper hygiene if he wanted to continue living with Dobu.

"Where are we going today?" Yano asked after coming out of the bathroom fully washed and dressed. His hair was still a bit damp, wet locks drooping over his face. He slicked them back, draping a towel over his head. At the kitchenette, Dobu was cooking up the healthiest meal he could come up with using the few ingredients in his fridge and pantry.

Breakfast was mushy rice with unseasoned meat and vegetables. Oh, and instant miso soup. Dobu never claimed to be a good cook. From the way Yano chowed down, though, made breakfast look like the best thing in the world. "Don't eat too fast," Dobu told him. "You'll get indigestion. And we're going collecting today."

"Collecting?" Yano said through a mouthful of rice.

"Debts. We're going debt collecting. I have a few guys who owe me."

"Are you gonna beat 'em up?"

Dobu laughed. "If they can't cash out, then yeah. Never hurts to incite a little fear."

Yano nodded. Kid was on his way to becoming a great Yakuza already. "What else do you do? Besides debt collecting."

"Loaning money to others and slapping on a ridiculous interest rate is my main job," Dobu explained. "Another thing I run is internet scams. As long as we don't break the boss's only rule, he doesn't care how we get the money. You'll be assigned a trimonthly quota after your initiation. For now, you'll work with me. After we finish debt collecting, we'll be putting up ads."

"Ads?"

"For all their high school education, college kids can be pretty desperate and stupid. I target areas with high traffic of college students and young adults and put up ads advertising myself as a moneylender. 'Course, they don't know I'll ruin their life."

A slice of boiled meat fell from Yano's chopsticks. It was last night at the ramen bar when Dobu found out Yano had no idea how to hold chopsticks properly. There was an improvement from since then, but he was still inexperienced.

After chewing and swallowing, Yano asked, "What's the boss's only rule?"

"You'll find out tonight. Do you still have the wallet I bought you?"

Yano held it up.

"Here." Dobu dug through his own wallet and gave Yano a fat wad of cash. "Your allowance."

"Allowance?" Yano parroted, taking it with wide eyes.

"Yeah. Didn't your parents give you one?"

Yano's mood evidently dropped. "No," he said, dully. "They didn't."

"Well, here's your first allowance then. Spend it wisely."

Right. Parents were probably a sore subject for him. Dobu wasn't really a sensitive guy, but he could respect Yano's boundaries. For now. A small photo he kept in his wallet fluttered out, nearly falling into the vegetable plate. Yano picked it up, frowning slightly. "Is this your dad?"

"Give that back."

Yano obeyed.

Breakfast continued with only the clinking of spoons breaking the silence.

"Sorry," Dobu said eventually. "Was that too harsh?"

"Not at all," Yano said, quickly.

Dobu took out the picture again, a small smile gracing his lips. "Did you see the resemblance?"

Yano shifted, uncomfortable. "You look just like him."

In reality, though, Dobu was nothing like him. He'd been a delinquent since high school, and had entered the Yakuza after failing to graduate. His father had been equally uneducated, but he'd worked from dawn till dusk every day to provide for Dobu. "I paid him back by becoming scum, even when he begged me to live an honest life." Yano didn't say anything. "I regret it. If he were still here, I would leave my criminal career behind. Listen, kid." Dobu looked up, meeting Yano's eye. "I'm sure you know by now, but things aren't gonna always go right. We're gonna be using violence and threats and dishonesty to get our way. Because that's the only way we know how to do things. You should get ready to harden your heart."

"Okay." Yano's throat bobbed. "Okay."

"I didn't scare you too much, did I?"

"I don't get scared that easily," Yano said, bravely. "My heart isn't that measly."

"Did you just rhyme again?"

Yano ignored him, stuffing more food into his mouth.

Dobu huffed, fondly exasperated. Then his phone dinged. A text from an unknown number.

[???]: Is this Ditch Loans?

[Dobu]: Yes. My name is Dobu, I'm the proprietor. Do you want to take out a loan? What's your situation?

[???]: Yes, please. My name is Shirakawa. I need a way to pay for medical school.

Jackpot.

"Who is it?" Yano's voice broke him out of his internal celebration.

Dobu grinned wickedly. "A new client."

Dobu turned in early, leaving Sekiguchi and Yano to themselves. For a moment, Yano wondered if it was worth suffocating Dobu in his sleep. He stared at Dobu's still form before turning away. "Sekiguchi," Yano ordered, "Get my sleeping pills."

"Yes, Yano-san." Sekiguchi reached up to the top cabinet above the kitchenette, the only place in the whole apartment where Dobu couldn't reach. Bad design, but Sekiguchi was like a height cheat code. Yano's very own extendable arm. He handed Yano the bottle, appearing to hesitate. "Yano-san... I'm sorry if I've overstepped my boundaries lately."

"What are you talking about, Mr. Sekiguchi?" Yano unscrewed the cap. "Did I ever scold you? You know me. I don't like it round-about, turn-about." It was about time Sekiguchi started coming into his own. He... Yano's train of thought screeched to a halt. He looked inside the bottle. It was empty. Shit. "Sekiguchi. We're going out."

Sekiguchi was perplexed. "At this time of night?"

"I ran out of pills. Without them, I'll sleep like the ill, restless and unfulfilled."

Oh?

Oh.

Sekiguchi had almost forgotten about his dependence. "The nearest pharmacy is a ten minute walk from here. But... It's closed."

"Call Tony Abe," Yano could feel a headache starting to form, "I need something strong or it'll go wrong."

"Right." Fumbling with his phone, Sekiguchi punched in the number of their assigned driver. "Hello? Abe-san?"

Abe picked up. "It's almost midnight. What the hell do you want, Sekiguchi?"

He wasn't on speakerphone, but Yano could still hear his irritable tone. The guy was the grouchy kind during the night, huh? "Sorry," Sekiguchi apologized, "But is it alright if you drop off some sleep medication?"

"I'm not your maid."

"I know, but... It's... It's an emergency."

Nice one, Mr. Sekiguchi. In his ear, Yano whispered, "That tracksuit looks great on you as usual."

Sekiguchi straightened, voice becoming more powerful. "Listen, Abe-san. I'm not taking any bullshit from you tonight. The boss put you on our team so do your fucking job."

Barely suppressing a snort, Yano flashed him a thumbs-up.

"Look, Sekiguchi. I really fucking can't. I'm not on the fucking island right now."

"What?" Sekiguchi spluttered. "Then where the hell are you?"

"I'm on Hokkaido for business. So is Kim Min-ji. We'll be back tomorrow morning."

"You must be fucking kidding me." Yano snatched the phone from Sekiguchi, hissing into the speaker. "Mr. Administrator, who said you were allowed to take another job and then whine like a shot-up commentator?"

"Apologies, Yano-san. But there's nothing I can do. Goodnight."

He hung up. The son of a bitch hung up.

Yano nearly hurled Sekiguchi's phone across the room.

"What do we do?" Sekiguchi asked, awkwardly.

Yano shoved the phone at his chest. "I don't know. I'll work it out. I made it through prison without them, didn't I?" Behind bars, he'd stayed up days, only sleeping when his body was on the verge of collapsing.

They all came back to him without the pills.

His father.

Cigarettes.

Burning flesh.

The shack.

Sekiguchi didn't call him out on his lack of rhyme this time. "You were alone back there," he murmured. "But I'll stay up with you tonight. Then we can get the medication tomorrow."

"Don't," Yano refused shortly. "Keep the norm; I want you in top form, Mr. Sekiguchi."

Torn, Sekiguchi eventually retreated to bed. Yano sighed, entering the bathroom to brush his teeth before attempting to go to bed. Should I even try? Yano glared at his reflection in the mirror, tracing the dark circles around his eyes that never really went away no matter how much he slept. They were faint, but still present. When he emerged, he found Sekiguchi had pushed their futons together. Yano blinked. "What is this?"

"My mother used to hold me to sleep," Sekiguchi said, sitting on top of his futon.

Yano deadpanned. "You must be joking. Didn't I tell you go to bed already if you wanna be steady?"

Sekiguchi didn't back down. "It's cold tonight."

And? It was always cold.

"We need you in top form, too... Yano-san."

Colder than usual, though.

There was no heating in the apartment.

He hated to admit it, but Sekiguchi's offer was actually pretty tempting.

Sekiguchi had one last pitch. "I'll wake you up before Dobu-san sees."

"Fine." Yano tossed the towel around his shoulder at Sekiguchi's face. "Since you're being so insistent, Mr. Sekiguchi."

Sekiguchi peeled the towel off. "I'll see you in the morning."

Yano thought Sekiguchi was being presumptuous. He wouldn't knock it till he tried it, but there was no guarantee that sharing body warmth would allow him to sleep easy. Yano hadn't fallen asleep naturally in years.

Gingerly, he crawled beneath the blankets. Sekiguchi was like a living, breathing heater.

Closing his eyes, Yano waited for sleep to abandon him.

He slept for three hours, waking up before dawn.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Yano stilled.

Somehow, he had ended up sandwiched between Dobu and Sekiguchi. Quite an incredible feat, considering he would've had to sleep-crawl over Sekiguchi's entire mass to end up in this position.

"Assholes," he mumbled, digging his knee into the small of Sekiguchi's back.

His only response was a loud snore.

Resigned to his fate, Yano elbowed Dobu in the face.

Shiho came by the apartment tomorrow morning before her meeting with Sakura, just as she had promised. Dobu fixed the wiretap on her, Shiho holding still while he did so. By her side was Rui, putting up a show of fretting over her friend.

"Remember," Yano coached her as Shiho put on a sweater to hide the wiretap. "The second things go bananas, scream 'ananas'."

"The safe word is 'pineapples'," Rui translated, holding Shiho's hand.

"I know," Shiho said, patting Rui's arm. "I'll be fine, Rui-chan."

They sent her on their way. Though she had put on a brave face in front of Rui and the Yakuza, her heart was pounding like a hummingbird in her chest. Shiho took a deep breath as she started her journey to Yoyogi Park, which was nearby her apartment. It's just like going back home, she told herself. And Wadagaki-san is just another girl my age.

A girl that killed someone according to the Yakuza, but a girl nevertheless. Shiho could probably outrun her if need be—she was fitter than Sakura. Plus, it was the middle of the day—no way Sakura would ever try anything in broad daylight.

Sakura was waiting for her by the fountain. "Ichimura-san!" She waved to her as soon as she saw her. Weakly, Shiho returned the wave.

"Hey, Wadagaki-san." Shiho tried not to seem too stiff as she sat down beside Sakura. The water bubbled behind her; she could feel a few droplets hit the back of her neck. "It's been a while, huh?"

"Too long." Sakura was cheerful today. "How are you, Ichimura-san?"

"Oh, I'm fine. And you?"

They made small talk for a bit before Sakura asked the damning question, "I'm curious. Why did you suddenly contact me?"

Her heart started thumping erratically again. "Nostalgia," she answered, faking sheepishness. "I know things ended on a sour note with Mystery Kiss... but I really... I really did have a lot of fun." Well, besides all of the shady things I had to do. New to the team, Sakura had avoided being roped into the Yakuza's schemes, Yamamoto keeping her out of it likely because he'd been afraid she was blow the whistle. Rui, the golden girl and the face of the group, had managed to get away from doing dirty work as well. Only Shiho had been forced to participate in badger games.

"I'm glad you feel the same way." Sakura smiled. "I thought I was alone in that. I tried to contact Nikaidou-san before, but she blocked my number."

Shiho reminded herself of her objective: Find out where Sakura lived. "Where should we go today?" She would try to lead this conversation to Sakura inviting her back to her place.

"Oh! A new fried chicken place opened nearby! We should go check it out."

"Sure. I haven't eaten out in a while." She didn't really need to. Shiho was an excellent cook and ingredients were cheaper than take-out in the long run. Shiho made to stand, but Sakura stopped her by putting her hand on her lap. "Wadagaki-san...?"

All of a sudden, she was pushed into the water.

"Oh~!" Sakura climbed into the fountain. "Sorry. How clumsy of me."

You did that on purpose! "Why did you—"

Sakura pulled her sweater up, revealing the wiretap, now useless thanks to the water. Up close, Shiho could see how empty her eyes really were. "It seems we have a rat."

Shiho balked. "You—"

"I thought it was suspicious. That you'd suddenly ask to meet up. And wearing that bulky jumper on such a warm day. Don't worry." Sakura's mouth was close to her ear. "I won't kill you like Mitsuya."

Shiho couldn't believe her ears. "You... actually..."

"That's right. It doesn't matter if you know, though. No one will believe you, anyway." Sakura chuckled. "If you try, though, I'll make your life a living hell. I have powerful people on my side, you know. I can find out where your family is with a snap of my fingers. I know you don't care about your parents, but... What about that little brother of yours? I'm curious."

"Why... Why are you telling me this?"

"Work with me and I'll make all your dreams come true. I know how much you've always hated Nikaidou-san." Sakura smiled. "I was planning to kill you before you even came to me, but I realized how useful you actually are." She pulled Shiho up, helping her out of the fountain. "My office is only a stop away. Why don't we talk there, hm?"

Chapter Text

"We're too late."

Rui stared, stricken, as Yano fished Shiho's phone out of the fountain. "They couldn't have gone far," she said, balling up her fists. "Dammit! One of us should've followed her."

"It was our fault," Dobu admitted. "Our lack of foresight led to this. We're sorry, Nikaidou-san."

"Who the hell is 'we'?" Yano demanded as he shook droplets from the waterlogged phone. "'We' might've supplied the wiretap, but Dobu was the one who kept going 'me, me, me'! You proceeded to go with your shitty plan all on your own. Hold the phone." He slapped it into Rui's waiting palm. "Well, wise guy?" He glowered at Dobu, who was looking grim. "Are you just gonna stand there and sigh? Ichimura went bye-bye but it's not the time to roll the die and die."

"Fine, then." If she were an animal of some sort, Rui was sure his tail would be lashing right now. "I accept responsibility. What do you suggest we do next, Yano?"

Yano's brow rose, as if he hadn't been expecting Dobu to admit weakness so easily. "We've found where Imai Shun works—he's a cabaret boy," he made a gesture akin to pouring alcohol into a glass, "at the White Dolphin." He pointed right at Dobu's nose. "Ahoy!"

"Alright." Dobu pushed his hand away. "So he's your lead?"

"I can help with him," Rui volunteered, stony-faced. "If it means getting Shiho back sooner. He used to be my biggest fan, after all. I have pull."

"Bingo, Nikaidou." Yano held up a hand, using two fingers to walk across his palm. "Me and you, we'll pose as a couple, an engaged one, too. The White Dolphin is classier than your average hostess club—if a bunch of gangsters like us walk in, we'll get snitched on for our sins; the whole thing will explode like a Kō-hyōteki sub."

Rui, who was now beginning to understand at least half of what Yano rapped, nodded, slowly. "Alright. I can do that. Acting is practically an idol's second job." She looked down at Shiho's cracked and waterlogged phone, guilt pulling at her heartstrings. She hadn't always been the best friend to Shiho. But Rui would be damned if she let Wadagaki get away with this.

"Wait." Dobu was the voice of caution. "What if something happens and we need to get you two out, fast?"

"I've already enlisted the help of Kim Min-ji; she'll arrive by plane today, but that aside." Yano smirked. "She's got an informant on the inside. She'll hack the security cameras. She's one smart lady—" he shrugged "—It'll be like taking candy from a baby."

Dobu's lip curled. "So I wasn't the only one making plans behind someone's back."

"I learned from the best."

His tone was mocking, but there was a layer of iciness beneath it that made Rui shiver. "I'll get the phone repaired," she said, trying to break through the animosity between the Yakuza men. "Just... call me if you need me." She took out her own phone, searching for the nearest phone repair shop. "Oh, and..." Rui glanced over her shoulder. "It'd be good... if we could all work together instead of keeping secrets."

The closest one was across the road. The light turned green and Rui left without looking back.

The girl had a point.

Sometimes, Dobu let his pride get the better of him. It'd been like that with Odokawa, too—he'd started his quest in a search for the missing girl, but had ended up in a dick-measuring contest with Yano and the billion yen. He sighed, seeing no point in keeping anything else from his junior. "Yano. There's one other lead we've left out."

They were on the way back to the apartment to prepare for tonight. Kim Min-ji and Tony Abe would be landing in an hour or so, and then they would make their way to the apartment for a rendezvous.

"What is it?" Yano walked with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Odokawa, the taxi driver. I was going to investigate him on my own, but I thought I should let you know. Since... we're supposed to be a team."

"Odokawa? Yeah, I remember him. Once bitten, twice shy, you'd think. He must be dim. Careening into the river for a second time; if he wants to remove the sea smell he's gonna have to soak his clothes in lime."

"The passenger who was allegedly inside was most likely Wadagaki Sakura, the third girl. She must've swum to safety. But Odokawa isn't stupid, and that's what's suspicious." Dobu frowned. "It's impossible for him not to recognize her. He has... this uncanny ability. He could tell who I was just by my silhouette." Odokawa was a sly one, alright. After mulling over it in prison, Dobu had realized that the taxi driver had been playing him like a fiddle this whole time. Even Tanaka's untimely presence had all been a part of Odokawa's plan. When Yano didn't say anything, Dobu took it as a cue to continue, "He had plenty of time to tell the police about her. By right, she shouldn't even be wandering freely right now. I need to see Odokawa and talk to him about this."

"Then what's stopping you?" Yano said, loftily. "I saw how Shirakawa—the girl you used to beat black and blue—saved him from death's jaws. You should call her, give her a round of applause."

Dobu knew what Yano was trying to say: He would be able to reach Odokawa via Shirakawa. "I can't. She blocked my number, and doesn't have social media."

"Brave. You wouldn't have stayed in prison forever."

Though he had promised Odokawa to write off her debt (fair enough; she had paid him back more than twice the original amount she borrowed at this point), he hadn't gotten a chance to do so yet. "Then she's stopped being afraid of me."

Yano slowed to a stop, glancing up at their dingy apartment building. There was a homeless man smoking nearby, beard scruffy and hands shaking. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted over, and Dobu could see the way Yano's shoulders tensed up before relaxing. "She shouldn't have ever been afraid to begin with," he said sharply. Shirakawa had always gotten an emotional response from him. "There wasn't any need for her to be scared of you like... like you were some warring Sith."

"Have you forgotten who we are and what we do?" Dobu was baffled. "When have you ever been averse to using violence and threats to get your way?"

"You're right. And I embrace it. Violence is my way, and it's here to stay." Yano glared at him; Dobu thought he was going to try and hit him. "But Shirakawa wasn't your average sad sap in need of money. Have you already forgotten? You dated her for a year, made her your honey!"

"So what?" Dobu remained unruffled. "That doesn't change the fact that our relationship started out as a service-provider and a client." It's been years since I was on amicable terms with her. Why does this still bother you so much, Yano? It bothered you back then and it bothers you now.

A talk—a proper one—was long overdue.

Dobu just didn't predict they'd be having it outside their apartment, in the middle of a dark and dusty street. His nicotine craving kicked in, and he almost reached for the pack he kept in his pocket. He didn't, though.

"Have you ever seen me hit Sekiguchi?" Yano asked, calmly.

"No."

"Right. But you've seen me put a man in a wheelchair by twisting his leg." Yano inched forward. "That's because there's a difference, a difference between a clip and a peg. As a man who washes blood off my hands every other week, I don't discriminate between the strong and the sleek. Enemies are enemies, foes are foes, no matter how meek."

"Then what's the problem?"

And Yano burst out: "Shirakawa wasn't your enemy!"

The street was quiet. The homeless man had evacuated, leaving behind the lingering scent of ash and body odor. It was only now that Dobu realized how awful Yano looked. The dark circles around his red-rimmed eyes had gotten heavier than before. How many hours did he sleep last night? An ancient fatigue seemed to cling to Yano like a shroud.

"You're right. She wasn't," Dobu admitted.

"Then why did you hit her like—?" Yano cut himself off.

Like who, Yano? "Because it's just the way I am."

Yano sneered. "Of course it is. I almost forgot why I despise you so much. You're irredeemable scum who doesn't hesitate to cross lines and such."

"Oi, Yano. You must realize how hypocritical you sound, right?"

"I'm no saint," agreed Yano. "But you're a devil."

"Then why did you follow me around?"

"Are you seriously asking me that? I was a brat barely out of puberty back then. I needed you to survive. You were the first person to treat me like a human being. Why do you think I couldn't see you for what you really were? In the end, you were just the same as the rest of them."

'Them'? For a few seconds, Dobu simply stared at him, at the way he was barely controlling his temper. Then, he said, "You didn't rhyme."

Yano looked away, brow still furrowed. "Shut up. You should've never been born. You and me both; it's not like the world would mourn. You threw away your father to become the devil that you are!"

A chilly wind blew through the street that was thin enough to be a glorified alleyway. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. Come to think of it," Yano laughed, cold and an octave higher than what Dobu was used to hearing, "That day is coming up, isn't it? Have you put it down on your calendar yet? Wouldn't want to forget daddy dearest, would you? If you and I had never met... He would still be around, his transparency the clearest; confidentiality the nearest."

White, blinding rage enveloped him. With a roar, Dobu struck him across the face, sending him stumbling into a telephone pole. Yano spat out a wad of blood and spit. He must've bitten his tongue. "You watch your fucking mouth," Dobu whispered, lowly. "Don't drag my father into your self-pity session."

"A devil who uses his fists instead of words." Yano wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. "I would say you and Sekiguchi are the same feathers on a bird, but that would be an insult to him. You don't like the truth, do you, Dobu? The truth is that you turned your back on the only person who ever loved you. You didn't deserve him, you fucking scumbag."

Dobu swung again, but Yano nimbly dodged. The road was narrow, and his shoulder scuffed the brick wall of the adjacent building. "Tch. You won't get very far like that. You're an in-fighter, right? Whatever, won't work with me in a fight. Once I grab you, it's all over."

How had things escalated this far?

Yano had purposefully provoked him by bringing up his father, but for what? Whether Dobu was deserving of a kind father or not wasn't any of Yano's fucking business—

Oh.

Dobu's arms fell to his side.

"Giving up?" crowed Yano.

Joining the Yakuza was a chance for people to reinvent themselves. Dobu, who had always been a devil, had never had any need to do so. He was a gangster through and through. But someone like Yano, who had scraped by on scraps and pity from strangers... Dobu had never bothered to go in-depth with Yano's past. I thought he would've been more grateful to me if I didn't. "Yano. Who did you say was the leader of the teenage runaway fam again? The one that you joined before you met me?"

"What the hell?" Yano dropped his stance. "Where's this coming from?"

"Just answer the question."

"How should I know? I can't even remember his face. He was a real waste of space."

Steeling himself, Dobu took a sharp intake of breath. "I thought you would remember the man who scarred you so badly. Your body and your mind. He still possesses them. You told me it was the runaway fam head who used you as his personal ashtray. But it's not him, is it? The reason why you can't get a good night's sleep. Why you're hooked on those pills."

Dobu could see the color slowly leaving Yano's cheeks. He'd always been pale, but now he was starting to look like a ghost. "Dobu, you piece of shit. You—"

"It was your father, wasn't it?" Dobu ploughed on. "It wasn't some nameless kid on the streets."

"Hey, Dobu."

"Hm?"

Yano held up a clenched fists, eyes wide. "I'm actually gonna fucking kill you."

The whole time Dobu had been speaking, it was as if someone had grabbed him by the hair and shoved his head underwater. Muted sound roared around his ears, and he wanted nothing more than to numb his tongue with enough medication for an overdose so he could stop listening.

Being in close proximity with Dobu and Kuroda's knife digging into his back, Yano had been set to explode soon.

"Hey, Dobu."

"Hm?"

Yano's facial muscles drew tight. "I'm actually gonna fucking kill you."

Dobu flared his nostrils. "You wouldn't—"

Yano tackled him to the ground. The jiu-jitsu he had picked up from the academy Kuroda had introduced him to went flying out of his brain—all that mattered was punishment. But then they returned, and he grabbed Dobu's collar, crossed his arms, and locked him into a gi choke. "Dobu, you bastard." Dobu gritted his teeth as Yano applied pressure on his carotid artery, the former's legs pinned to the ground by Yano's legs. "Were you looking down on me? Is that why you let me tackle you? Why didn't you dodge, you stupid motherfucker?"

Dobu's eyelids fluttered as the pressure increase. "I told... you..."

"Told me what?!"

"Think of me... as your brother... Ya...no..."

"The Yakuza values family. From now on, the boss will be like your father. And I'll be your brother."

His grip loosened, then tightened again. What was Dobu trying to say? Brother? After all these years? If he were truly that sentimental, then he could die as far as Yano was concerned. He hated everything he stood for. Die. Just die. Just fucking die!

"That's enough."

Sekiguchi picked up Yano by the scruff, but it wasn't he who had spoken. "Sekiguchi, let me go this instant."

"I'm sorry, Yano-san, but she's pulling rank."

"What?!"

Kim Min-ji squatted next to Dobu, slapping his face lightly. "Hey, wake up, Dobu-san. I didn't come all the way here for you to pass out."

Dobu groaned, stirring. "Kim...?"

"That's right." Min-ji helped him up, keeping him steady by wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Yano-san, Dobu-san... I won't ask what happened. But you two should sort out your personal issues after tonight's operation."

Min-ji treated their wounds at the apartment, Sekiguchi helping out by following her instructions. After she was done inspecting Dobu and satisfied that he wasn't terribly injured, she sat down with Yano.

Yano was silent as she disinfected the minor cut on his face—the one he'd gotten when Dobu's punch had launched him into the telephone pole. After she put a bandage on it, she handed him an ice pack for the other cheek—the spot where Dobu had hit. "To keep the swelling down," she told him.

Last night's fitful sleep was beginning to catch up to him. Fucking Dobu... Yano's gaze flicked over to where Dobu was resting in his futon. If Kim Min-ji hadn't interfered, he might have really killed him. His little finger would've been the least of his worries had Kuroda caught wind of this. "Meds," he said dully, drawing Min-ji's attention. "The ones I need for bed. Did you bring them?"

"I visited Dohi on the way here, yes," replied Min-ji, referring to their Yakuza family's underground doctor and the local drug supplier: Dohi Urumi. "She says to take—"

"I know," Yano talked over her. If Dohi found out he usually took over the recommended dose on a regular basis, she would probably skin him alive. He took the plastic bag full of pill bottles, ignoring the written instructions she had included. Blearily, he grabbed a bottle and went to the bottle to crush a few with his teeth. Shortly after, he emerged. "Wake me up before the operation, Sekiguchi."

"Yes, Yano-san."

Yano twitched when he heard Dobu snore beside him. "And... don't leave."

"Yes, Yano-san."

It took a few minutes before the medication started to kick in. It was strong—he could feel himself starting to lose grip on reality as his body forced itself into slumber.

He heard Sekiguchi huff a laugh. He wondered what was so funny. "Sleep well, Yano-san."

It was only before he fell asleep that Yano realized it'd not been a laugh, but a sigh.

His parents couldn't afford to send him to school. Yano stayed inside all day, drawing or pestering his mother by following her around. "Yano-kun," she said, patient. He couldn't see her face. "Is there anything you'd like for dinner?"

Yano lifted his arms, wanting to be picked up. "Mama."

She did, but she still couldn't see her face. "Mama's here, Yano-kun."

He touched her cheek. It was bumpy. "Why does mama feel like this? Is mama okay?"

"Don't worry. Mama's fine."

His days were mostly the same. Drawing, helping his mother cook, playing with some of the neighborhood kids. He slept like the dead, dreaming wonderful dreams and looking into tomorrow with hope.

At the age of seven, he started sleeping later.

His mother still tucked him in before seven o'clock, but Yano would only pretend to snore before cracking an eye open.

He heard a shout.

Yano perked up. Was dad home? He padded down the short hallway. His house, a little shack, only had three rooms. A kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom. Even so, he rarely saw his father, who was often at work.

"Stop moving, you insolent bitch!"

He halted in front of the paper screen door blocking the kitchen, uneasiness overcoming him. Hesitantly, he opened the door. "Dad?"

A powerful slap echoed through the shack as his father's hand descended upon his mother's face. She trembled, curled up on the dirty floor, as she hid her face from her child.

His father's rage left him. "Oh. Son. Come here."

Yano didn't budge, frowning. "Why are you hitting mom?"

"Your mom has been very disobedient lately," his dad explained, rationally. "She needs to be taught a lesson."

"Oh."

It looked like it hurt.

Yano rubbed his arm. Would dad hit him, too?

"Don't be scared." His dad beckoned him over. He smelled like alcohol and cigarettes. "You can help me."

"Help you?"

"Hold her down while I punish her." He pinned her arms to the ground. "Like this."

If he did this, then dad wouldn't hit him, right? Yano mimicked him. "Like this?"

"Good job. Don't let go."

The punishment resumed.

His dad hugged him at the end of it. "Thank you. Now go back to bed."

Yano nodded, heading back down the corridor.

He curled up into a tight ball in his futon, shaking as he thought of the way his mother's head snapped whenever his father struck her.

His hands felt dirty.

"Did you sleep well?" was the first thing Sekiguchi asked him. Night had already fallen.

They were supposed to be dreamless.

"Same as usual." Yano slipped on his blazer, unable to meet Sekiguchi's gaze. It's time. "Get Nikaidou. It's time to get out of our funk and catch a skunk."

"Right away, Yano-san."

Dobu was smoking on the balcony. He turned his head back, meeting Yano's gaze. Then he looked away.

Remember what we're here for. Yano snapped a finger at Kim Min-ji. "Did your informant say anything?"

"Nothing of importance," assuaged Min-ji. "Tony's coming by with the van; we'll park near the premises and I'll hack into the cameras. Wear this," she tossed him an earpiece. "I'll give one to Nikaidou-san, too."

Yano clipped it on. It fit like a glove. He touched his face. The swelling had already reduced significantly—enough not to be too noticeable. "Sekiguchi and Dobu will wait with you and Tony in the van as backup."

"Got it."

"So we're really doing this, huh?" Dobu was back inside. He looked at Yano, solemn. "Don't hurt yourself out there."

"It's just a club," Yano said, dismissing his concern. "Full of virgin schlubs."

"Still. That club has a bad reputation for unlucky incidents. Like, say, being shot up by an unhinged basement dweller."

Dobu was being weird. Not that he usually wasn't some brand of peculiar, but Yano had choked him out just a few hours ago. But whatever else needed to be said between them would have to be saved for later.

Someone knocked on the door. "Hello?"

Rui was here.

Chapter Text

In the back of the van, Kim Min-ji straightened the hem of Rui's sparkly black cocktail dress. "You look good, kid." She gave Rui a thumbs-up. "Strut your stuff and stay calm. And don't forget the safe word."

Rui nodded, as serious as a heart attack. "Cucumber."

"This team has a weird thing with fruits and vegetables," Dobu said as he monitored the laptop with Tony Abe. "First pineapples, and now cucumbers."

"Personally," said Tony, his eyes never leaving the screen and his deadpan expression never changing, "I'm a drupe kinda guy."

"What kind?"

"Peaches."

"How unexpectedly girly."

Yano had tucked himself in the back corner of the van, the curve of his spine uncomfortable against the metal doors. He scrolled on his phone, seemingly bored. Sekiguchi sat by him, gluing the designer logo that had fallen off Rui's purse back on.

The team were parked across the street from the White Dolphin. The security cameras had been hacked, and now all they were waiting on was for Sekiguchi to finish fixing Rui's purse and for the clock to tick seven-thirty—the time their appointment was scheduled.

"Here." Min-ji handed Rui an unopened box of tablets. "From Dr. Dohi. I heard that you have anxiety. These will help calm you down; you can keep them in your purse."

Rui blinked before taking it. "That's... nice of you. Um, thank you." The Yakuza were certainly kinder than she had first anticipated. Or maybe it wasn't kindness at all, but a concern for efficiency—if Rui couldn't function due to her anxiety, she would be no help at all.

"I won't lie, there'll probably be people who will recognize your face. But you just gotta ignore the haters and keep on keeping on, y'hear?" Min-ji beamed. "You're lucky. This is our first operation together as a team, and you're included."

Rui laughed wryly. "Yeah. Really feel like I won the lottery doing this."

"Attagirl."

Sekiguchi made a pleased noise before holding the purse up to the ceiling light. The logo was a little bit crooked, but there was no time left to spare. "Nikaidou-san, I've finished."

"Ah." Rui took the purse from him. "Thank you, Sekiguchi-san." She pecked him on the cheek, watching with growing amusement as the faintest blush appeared on his cheeks. "You're a lifesaver."

"It's... It's really nothing..."

Has she already forgotten he was the one who cut up her bandmate? Yano reached up, poking Sekiguchi on the cheek in accented jabs. He was still looking at his phone. "Focus, Mr. Sekiguchi. Eyes. On. The. Prize."

Sekiguchi straightened his shoulders. "Y-yes, Yano-san!"

The glow on Yano's face disappeared as he turned off his phone and shoved it in his pocket. "It's nearly seven-thirty. Time to get our hands dirty." He locked eyes with Rui under the dim light of the van. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Rui reached out a hand, one he took after a pause. "We should at least look like a couple. And take off your gloves—it'll look strange."

"We have five minutes left." Kim Min-ji quoted the time on her wristwatch. "Why don't we come up with a team name? And some code names?"

"You're getting too into this," Tony said. "That's rare."

"Bite me, Abe."

"I agree with Kim," Dobu piped up. "No harm in giving our little ragtag team a name."

Yano snorted. "This coming from the guy who names everything after the literal meaning of his name. Unlike me, you don't have a creative bone in your body—we're not the same."

Dobu scowled. "Mouthy brat."

"Team... Apartment Nineteen," Min-ji threw out.

Yano swirled around, seemingly offended by her suggestion. "God, you're even worse than Dobu."

"We can come up with a team name later." Rui checked her phone. "It's already twenty-nine past."

"She's right." Tony Abe leveled them all with one of his flinty stares. "It's time to go, Yano-san. Rui-san."

Sekiguchi opened the back doors of the van, and the disguised couple stepped out, both of them scanning their surroundings for a few seconds before crossing the road. They were greeted by a cabaret boy at the entrance, and led further inside once their booking had been confirmed.

"Remember," Yano muttered under his breath, his arm linked with Rui's. He was dressed in one of his fancier suits tonight—the same three-piece design, but he had swapped the trousers, tie blazer for a navy blue cut. The vest part of his outfit had been changed for a more muted color than red—a grey with faint blue lines running down the vertical. "We have to get him to come peacefully with us. Or at least find out where he lives. That's all on you." He didn't bother rapping for her sake—he knew she would only be able to understand half of it if he did.

Facing forward and smiling, Rui replied, equally discretely, "Don't worry about me. Worry about yourself surrounded by all these beautiful ladies. Oh, and don't talk in rap."

He chuckled. "Not my first rodeo, Nikaidou-san."

They were led to a lounge, chatter abuzz. Almost immediately, cabaret girls and boys flocked to their side, the women practically draping themselves over Yano while the men managed to appreciate his feminine counterpart in a less handsy manner.

"Congratulations on your engagement!" a blond-haired hostess gushed. "My name is Kanon, and this is Reina. We'll be looking after you tonight, Yano-sama. We look forward to getting to know you and Nikaidou-sama better. We're always up for listening to a love story."

"You may call me Tooru." The brown-haired host next to Rui winked at her. "And this is my good friend, Osamu. Don't be shy around us, Nikaidou-sama."

Yano and Rui both plastered on fake grins. "We'll be in your care!" they chorused, holding out glasses as the Kanon and Tooru both popped bottles of champagne to start the night on something light.

"Nikaidou-sama is certainly beautiful," Tooru praised. He was the more outgoing of the two male hosts. "Yano-sama is lucky to have her."

"Yano-sama isn't so bad-looking himself," Reina tittered. "It's no wonder he managed to meet someone as dashing as Nikaidou-san."

Yano was beginning to notice a trend with their hosts. On Rui's side, Tooru was the talkative, flirty type while Osamu was the strong and stoic. On his own side, Reina's mannerisms were sultry while Kanon's were more conservative despite the low dip in her red dress. There's no need to spend too much time here... He took a sip of his champagne, halfheartedly replying to Kanon's insistence of a retelling of his and Rui's fake love story. This was a drag. If only Imai hadn't moved to a new, unknown location. Then they wouldn't need to go through all this trouble.

"We met through mutual friends." Rui laughed, pretending to be bashful. "It was New Year's. Everyone was getting wasted, while we were the designated drivers of that night."

"Designated driver?" Osamu's brow rose. "You're impressive, Nikaidou-sama. Not many people are able to get their license at so young."

"Oh, I'm just younger than I look." Rui circumvented his suspicions with ease. "I'm twenty-three this year. And, ah, Hito-kun is twenty-eight."

"I love a good age gap romance," Reina purred, pouring Yano some more champagne. "It's full of spice and everything nice, don't you think, Kanon?"

"There's something about it that hooks me into it," admitted Kanon. She grabbed a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from the table in front of them. "Would you care for a smoke, Yano-sama?"

Yano froze.

Sensing his sudden discomfort, Rui frowned. "No, thank you," she answered in place of him, an edge to her tone. "We both quit." She made a grand show of looking around. "Are there are other male hosts tonight, or is it just you two?"

A bead of sweat trailed down Tooru's cheek. "Ah... Yes, but they're occupied."

"What about the bar boys?"

"I'm sorry," Osamu apologized suddenly. "Tooru must've come on a bit strong."

"Oh, um, yes." Rui was forced to go along with it. "But it's fine, really. Let's keep talking."

As Rui engaged herself in conversation with Tooru and Osamu, Yano drained his glass of champagne. He had a pretty high tolerance of most drugs, including alcohol, if he did say so himself, but he didn't feel like drinking anything heavier tonight. "Kanon, Reina." They perked up. "We were actually recommended this place by a mutual friend. He works here, so we were hoping to see him tonight." Rui flashed him a grateful look.

"Oh, really?" Kanon lifted a hand to her mouth, blinking. "Who is it? If he's not busy, we can call him over for you to say hello."

Yano and Rui exchanged a glance before the former replied, "His name's Imai Shun."

Recognition lit up in the girls' eyes. "He's working tonight," Kanon informed him. "But I'm afraid you won't be able to see him. He's currently hosting a VIP customer."

Rui jumped in. "May we know who it is?"

Reina shrugged. "No harm in telling. It's Commissioner Saionji of the MPD. He and a few others specifically requested Imai-san and Imai-san only to host them."

The Commissioner of the MPD? Yano's hackles rose. A new party had just entered the game and not the kind that would bode well. He steepled his fingers, brow crumpling as he glared at the pack of cigarettes on the table. If Tokyo were an ocean, Commissioner Saionji would be one of the biggest fish swimming around. Even Boss Kuroda, for all of his connections, could not directly touch him. "Interesting," he said. "I didn't think the police would visit these kinds of places."

"Well, we are one of the more modest ones," Kanon said.

Yano put down his glass. "Excuse me. Where's the bathroom?"

"Oh, let me show you." Kanon made to stand, but Yano stopped her.

"No, it's alright. Rui... Rui-chan has been wanting to talk with some girls as well." Yano threw her a grin. "Just point me the way."

"Of course, Yano-sama."

Rui's mask of altruism cracked briefly before she returned to being all smiles.

Yano's own smile slid off as soon as his back was turned to them. The club wasn't awfully big. For VIP guests... He approached the bar, where a rotund man was wiping down glasses. "Oi, tubby. C'mere."

"Excuse me? I have a name, sir. It's Shibagaki."

"Shibagaki, where do you host VIP customers?"

"The backrooms," Shibagaki answered promptly, pointing down the hall. "You can't miss 'em."

Yano didn't bother to thank him, ignoring his indignant huff as he headed straight for where Shibagaki had directed. He could hear muffled conversation from behind some of the rooms in the hall. He pressed a button on his earpiece. "Kim Min-ji. Do you have eyes in the backrooms?"

Her voice sounded in his ear. "No. They don't seem to have security cameras in there according to my informant. Those and the bathrooms are the only places without CCTV."

But there were cameras along this hallway, weren't there? "Can you rewind the footage and see what room Imai Shun and Commissioner Saionji entered?"

"Tony's on it." A minute later, Min-ji spoke again. "The third one from the entrance. On your left. At seven o'clock, Imai Shun entered with a few guests. I couldn't make out which one was the MPD Commissioner. What's that about, by the way?"

"Never mind that. We need to get outta here, stat." Police presence meant trouble for people like him. "Tell Rui to come where I am."

"Alright. What about you? What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" Yano eyed the bartender, who was oblivious to his gaze. "I'm doin' what anybody would be doing. A bar fight told for centuries to come, a bartender to break with all my might."

"What?!"

"Get Sekiguchi over here."

"Fine. I hope you know what you're doing."

Yano closed the communication line, striding up to bar and snatching a bottle of scotch some customer had left out on the counter. "This any good? Hurry up and answer, I'm in a bit of a mood."

"It's one of our finest selections," Shibagaki said flatly.

"What the hell?" Yano let out a dramatic sigh. "That's not a very good sell." In his peripheral, he could see Sekiguchi lumbering toward him. Rui had also managed to escape the clutches of the confused hosts and was now padding down the VIP hall.

"Since it's already been opened, I can give you a sample and see for yourself."

Sekiguchi sat down next to Yano, showing no signs of knowing him. When Shibagaki's back was turned to pour the drink, Yano did a hand signal. Nodding, Sekiguchi raised his voice. "Oi, bartender. C'mere and serve me. I'm a paying customer."

Flustered by his intimidating appearance, Shibagaki's hands shook as he poured, spilling a drop over the glass. "Sorry, sir, I'll be with you in a moment—"

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" Yano snarled at Sekiguchi. "Mind your manners, you over-sized brute. I was here first."

"You wanna go, tiny?"

Yano held up his fists, making a few mock jabs at Sekiguchi's torso. "Fight me, bastard! I fucking dare you!"

Shibagaki was horrified. "Guys—"

Roaring, Sekiguchi picked Yano up and threw him straight at the bartender. Glass was knocked off the counter, shattering on the floor. Somebody screamed from one of the public lounges.

Shibagaki groaned as Yano stood on top of him, wielding a green soju bottle with the bottom cracked open. "You asked for it, punk. I'm gonna shank ya."

"Bar fight!" someone yelled, and screams of excitement and horror ensued. Customers came swarming with their phones out, eager to film the fight and post it on the internet for their fifteen minutes of fame. The hosts did their best to push them back, but to no avail.

"I have my money on the big guy!" Tooru said from the sidelines, dropping all professionalism.

Reina was bouncing up and down. "I'm rooting for the underdog!"

Yano swung the bottle at Sekiguchi, making sure not to actually hit him. His face was already flushed from the alcohol—it was easy to believe he was drunk despite not being even the slightest bit tipsy.

"Police!" Kim Min-ji pulled through by screaming shrilly at the top of her lungs, unable to be seen due to the crowd. "Oh my god, they're going to kill each other! Someone call the police!"

"Commissioner Saionji is in the VIP room!" Kanon exclaimed, rushing past Rui and knocking frantically on the door. "Pardon my intrusion, sir, but we really could use some assistance!"

Yes! Yano dropped the bottle, running at Sekiguchi and climbing on him in the guise of fighting. It's all up to Nikaidou now.

The mustachioed Commissioner of the MPD came marching out, two officers and Imai right on his tail. "What on earth is going on here?!"

Rui intercepted Imai, leading him aside.

"Sekiguchi," Yano whispered in his ear, no longer pretending to pull his subordinate's hair out. "Run like the wind." He assumed piggy-back position, holding onto Sekiguchi like a baby monkey would its mother.

"Stop right there!" Commissioner Saionji blew his whistle, his two officers moving in to arrest them, but Sekiguchi was already moving. Yano had never been a religious man, but he was sure he was seeing the second coming of Moses as the crowd parted like the Red Sea, not wanting to be trampled to death by Sekiguchi's sheer mass.

While he was a tall and muscular fellow, Sekiguchi could run as fast as a horse. They avoided entering the van immediately, not wanting to blow the cover of their other teammates, and instead circled the around the building.

Luckily, another teammate came in clutch.

The officers ran right into Dobu, who was holding the hand of a random teenage boy for some reason. "Oi!" Dobu growled. "What are you imbeciles doing?" The teenager promptly collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest and wheezing. "Kaito! Kaito, no! You fools!" He pointed at the scared officers. "Today is my nephew's birthday and you just gave him an asthma attack! He gets frequently sent to the ER at school because of it!"

The Commissioner paled as he caught up with his subordinates. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened! I'm going to sue the MPD for police brutality!"

Sekiguchi and Yano disappeared into the night.

Rui could've sworn she was seeing Imai go through the five stages of grief at rapid speed as she pulled him into a secluded corridor near an emergency exit. "Rui—Rui-tan!" he spluttered. "Y-you...! Am... Am I dreaming?!"

"Yes, it's me." She hushed him. "I'm sorry we had to meet again like this."

Imai shook his head. "Not at all! I'm so happy to see you, Rui-tan! And I'm so happy you aren't in prison!"

Tony Abe's voice buzzed in her ear. "Sekiguchi and Yano have gotten away. Dobu is stalling the officers, but he won't be able to do it forever."

"Right."

"What was that, Rui-tan?"

"Ah, sorry." Rui gave him a wobbly smile. "To be honest, I'm on a bit of a tight schedule right now, so could you come with me?" She grabbed his hand, leading him toward the emergency exit. "It's... really important." She was pushing it open when Imai let go. "Imai-kun?"

"I'm sorry." Imai looked genuinely regretful. "But I can't leave now. Things... have changed."

"Hurry up," Tony's voice sounded again.

Ugh! Rui bit her lip. "It's really urgent."

"Rui-tan... I still really like you a lot and I'll support you, but I can't really just run away with a girl right now. You see..." Imai grinned sheepishly. "I have a girlfriend now."

Girlfriend.

Imai Shun had a girlfriend.

Wait! I already knew this! Why am I shocked? I already knew he wouldn't dedicate his life to me forever. Get it together, Rui! Footsteps were nearing. She had to leave now, with or without Imai. Good thing she had prepared an emergency plan. "Here!" She shoved her number into Imai's hands. "It's my number. Keep it and call me! I promise you I won't get in between you and your girlfriend, but I really need to talk to you soon! And please don't tell anyone I was here or that I saw you tonight!"

"Eh?!"

In her heels, Rui raced through the emergency doors and trotted down the stairs. It led to an alleyway that smelled like cigarette smoke. Waiting for her was Yano, holding up a red and black scooter. "Yano-san?"

"Yo." Yano put one foot on the scooter. "I already sent Sekiguchi ahead. Hurry up, before I regret coming here instead."

Clutching her purse tightly, she hopped on behind him, just enough space for her to fit. She looped her free arm around his torso, pressing against his back. "Where did you get that from?"

"I stole it from some dude. Looks just like the one I used to have. Don't complain like a prude."

"Don't worry—I wasn't complaining. Sorry, though. I couldn't get him to come with us. But I gave him my number and told him to call me. He used to be my number one fan—I bet he'll call sometime soon."

Yano let out a noncommittal grunt.

Rui closed her eyes, the night wind caressing her cheeks as she and Yano zoomed down the street on the stolen scooter. It was peaceful. For just a small moment, it was peaceful. The hectic club grew small behind her.

I wish it could stay like this forever. It didn't have to be with Yano. It didn't have to be with anyone. She just wanted peace. But she also wanted so much more, wanted fame and fortune and material things that would never allow her the privilege of long-term tranquility.

Soon, the van came into sight.

Once they were both inside, Yano folded his scooter and closed the doors. "That went well. Not too swell, but well is well."

"I'm sure he'll call," Rui felt the need to repeat.

Sekiguchi was curious. He asked Dobu, "Where did you get that kid from?"

"I paid him four-hundred yen and asked him to do me a solid." Dobu leaned against the cushion, seat belt digging into his neck. "Good kid. He has a future as an actor."

"Not the first kid he's picked and primed off the streets," Yano murmured, so softly that Rui thought she'd imagined it. None of the others seemed to have heard him. She said nothing, simply stared at her phone as if Imai would call her right away.

They fell into silence.

Surprisingly, it was Tony Abe who broke it. "Good job, Team Apartment Nineteen."

Exhausted, none of them protested this time around.

Chapter Text

After tonight, all Shibagaki wanted to do was collapse in bed and pass out until the next day. He had several missed calls from Baba, who had apparently heard the police sirens wailing in Shinjuku, but he was too exhausted to even text back a reply. His entire body ached from when he had been used as little more than a bag of flour for the short man with the even shorter temper to break his fall.

Shibagaki sighed. "I hate my job." Maybe he would've been better off staying unemployed and devoting all of his efforts to Homosapiens. He squinted at the glow of his phone before decreasing the brightness.

He was standing in front of the White Dolphin, his shift finished for tonight, and keeping an eye out for a taxi. The area had been filled with police presence just an hour earlier, and things were still returning to normal. Shibagaki didn't really understand what the fuss was all about. As far as he knew, nothing had been stolen and no one had been hurt (well, except him, but the police hadn't so much as glanced his way after interviewing him). He'd overheard something about the Yakuza and had seen Commissioner Saionji swelling up like a great bullfrog, but Shibagaki paid it no heed. It wasn't anything that concerned him, after all.

"Aw, man!" Shibagaki turned to see Imai sidle up next to him, a space the size of Baba between them. "I hope the taxis are still running after all that. I don't wanna take the train."

Shibagaki grunted. "Rough night for everyone."

"I'll bet." Imai sounded glum. He was looking down at a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. Had some chick given him her number?

Again, it was none of Shibagaki's concern whether or not Imai would take the leap and cheat on his girlfriend. Especially when a rather familiar face jogged up to him. He wasn't in his high school uniform tonight, wearing a hoodie and shorts instead. "Shibagaki-san!"

Nagashima Satoshi was long and lanky like a weed. Like Baba, only even taller. By the time he stopped growing, he would be at least a head taller than Shibagaki's comedy partner. "Hey, Nagashima." Shibagaki barely spared him a glance, still looking for a taxi. "Your face is as purple as Etsuko's hair, and you're about as talkative as her." He waited for a response, temper flaring when he had to further explain, "It's a reference to the award-winning game—"

"Please!" Satoshi thrust his hand out, knuckles bumping against Shibagaki's chest. For a second, he thought he was going to be attacked for a second time tonight. But then Satoshi unfurled his fingers to reveal a USB drive. "You're the only one I can trust, Shibagaki-san. Can you keep this for me?"

"Eh? What the hell is this? Why are you asking me to be yer secret keeper?" He switched to Kansai dialect, as he tended to do when interacting with annoying kids like Satoshi. He appreciated Satoshi as a fan, but Shibagaki thought his personality was a bit odd.

Satoshi looked him right in the eye. "I may be killed any day."

"Stop being over-dramatic. What's in this? Panty shots? I'm not gonna be arrested for possession of child porn. Ya know what they do in prison to guys like that?" He tried to give it back, but Satoshi hid his hands behind his back. Shibagaki huffed, exasperated. "Kid."

"Ah, taxi!" Imai interrupted his scolding before it even began by flagging down a taxi. Before Shibagaki could even say anything, Imai got in, rattled off his address, and went on his way.

"Oh, come on!" Shibagaki threw his arms in the air, almost losing grip of the USB. "That'd better not be the last taxi of the night." I should try walking further down the street. First, he had to deal with the issue of Satoshi, though.

"These are all my podcast recordings," Satoshi told him, solemn. His eyes were bloodshot for some reason. "The only backup copy I have that she didn't make me erase. You should've seen the way she took down all the gossip forums about her. She's powerful."

"Who's 'she'?"

Satoshi dodged his question. "Shibagaki-san... You're my last hope. I can't just destroy this. When the opportunity for the truth to come out arrives, I need to get it back. Please help me bide my time."

Shibagaki's ribs ached. Frankly, he just wanted to go home. "Fine!" he snapped, shoving the USB into his backpack. He shouldered it back on. "But I better see you in the audience at this year's M-1."

"If I make it till then."

Yikes, what is this? Some new brand of teenage angst? Shibagaki rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

Satoshi put his hood up, his face shadowed like an assassin's. "Farewell, Shibagaki-san."

"Y'know, you'd do well as an actor!" Shibagaki called after him. Kid has a flair for the dramatic.

There was a cut on Yano's palm that he hadn't noticed until he got back and was halfway through his shower. Kim Min-ji and Tony Abe had long left by then, leaving him to tend to his wound in the bathroom by himself. Sekiguchi stood guard outside.

He disinfected it with an alcohol-soaked cotton bud, barely flinching at the sting before wrapping it up with gauze. It wasn't terribly deep. The biggest concern were probably the nerve endings that had been damaged.

Yano emerged from the bathroom decked out in his pajamas, hand bandaged, and with a towel on his head. "Your turn, Sekiguchi."

Sekiguchi didn't say anything—merely nodded and closed the door behind him. Dobu, who hadn't involved himself in the faux bar fight, would be the last to shower tonight. He was standing outside, enjoying a cigarette. Yano thought he'd been smoking a lot more often lately. Without thinking it through completely, he slid the glass door open and joined him. Dobu looked back, hand dropping so that the cigarette was hidden from view. "Yano?"

"Don't hide your sin like a chameleon changing its skin." Yano planted himself right next to him.

Amused, Dobu raised his hand once more, wrist draping over the railing. The end of his cancer-stick glowed orange in the dark. "Are you going to try murder me again?"

Right—the elephant in the room. Even among violent scumbags like the Yakuza, using violence on an ally was quite a serious thing. "What do you want—an apology? An 'I'm sorry'? The words that have existed since time and the behavior studied in Waseda anthropology? And then what? You'll say 'don't worry'?"

"Nah. As much as I'd like to see you grovel, it wouldn't be genuine."

Yano rested his elbows on the metal railing. He peered down below. The homeless man was back, sleeping on his cardboard mattress. A van drove by—for a moment, he thought Kim Min-ji and Tony Abe had returned. But then it veered left. "You know how I am. I'm like a porcupine. Try to hit me where it hurts—bam!—and you'll get face full of spines."

"Believe me, I know."

"And you still tried to get close?" It wasn't the first time Dobu had gone digging into Yano's past behind his back. Long ago, Dobu had tracked down his father for him, unaware that it was he who had been in the centre of Yano's misery. Yano clutched the railing. His injury throbbed. He looked down at his hand. It had started to bleed again. Yano would have to change the wrappings before he went to bed. "I always knew you were an idiot."

He could feel unease roll of Dobu in waves. "Hey, Yano—"

"If this is about my dad, I don't want to hear it."

Dobu puffed on his cigarette thoughtfully. "We have to talk about what happened sometime. I think I've finally begun to understand you."

Yano thought he would be pissed hearing Dobu say that. Dobu, his enemy, who he had butted heads with for years. But, instead, it was strangely cathartic. He felt vindicated. Not wanting to fill Dobu's head with assumptions, he just glared at the building opposite theirs.

"You know," Dobu went on, blowing out more smoke. He glanced at Yano. "For a long time, just seeing your face or hearing your name would fill me with rage. It wasn't really the betrayal, but more so that it seemed so out of left field. I wanted to know why you did it, but I could never pry an answer from you.

"I started slipping. Soon, everything became a competition between you and me. I started hauling in less and less money because I was too busy trying to take you down."

"And what's my fault? That you fell down the slippery slope in your race for the bank vault?"

Dobu shook his head. "No. It was my own. I lacked foresight. I didn't know how bad it was until Odokawa pulled the wool over my eyes."

"Always acting like the mastermind," taunted Yano, fixing the towel on his head. "When in reality, we picked fruit, while you picked up rinds."

"Mm."

What's wrong with him tonight? Yano lifted up both hands to dry his hair. It was still wet at the ends, soaking the back of his t-shirt. Dobu wasn't normally this pensive. He'd always been the type to try to play the long game, but his temper tended to get the better of him most of the time. Once upon a time, Dobu would have smacked him for such a remark.

For years, Yano had treated Dobu as nothing more than an enemy. Someone to defeat. Someone to get kicked out of the Yakuza so he would stop encroaching on his business. He'd slipped into comfort thinking of Dobu's villainy as a permanent fixture. But things were not so simple. Now they were face-to-face for the first time in forever and Yano was forced to confront the fact that Dobu had meant something more to him in the past. They'd not only been comrades, but brothers.

Dobu had been his aniki.

What Sekiguchi called Yano now whenever he was feeling cute.

Even now, standing in the cold evening and enjoying the view of the city they had from here, was reminding Yano of all the reasons why he had admired Dobu.

He didn't like it—losing control of his own perception of Dobu's character.

Yano slung the towel around his neck. The wet part of his shirt was cold against his scarred skin. "Dobu."

"Yeah?"

"When this is over," Yano kept his gaze forward, "We're gonna go back to the way we were, no rolling over. We're gonna fight again, like cats and dogs trying to stay afloat on a sinking log."

Dobu frowned. "It doesn't have to be that way."

"Yes it does!" barked Yano, startling even himself at the sudden desperation that filled his small body. "We've come too far to go back now. The way you live and the way I live—they're too different. You were born for this kind of life, but I wasn't. This is why you hold onto your fake honor, and why I've abandoned it. Abandoned you. You have the mental fortitude or delusion to still call yourself good at the end of the day, but I have no such thing. I do the dirtiest deeds to survive. That's it. You parade yourself as a good person when you're just as bad. And that—it pisses me off! It makes me mad!"

At first, Dobu said nothing. Then he put out his cigarette. "If you had the choice, would you leave this life?"

"It's too late."

"I said if you had the choice."

Yano stewed over his answer. "I would ask Sekiguchi first, what he wanted to do."

Dobu softened ever so slightly. "You really do care about him."

"I don't want to leave him to the dogs," Yano said, quite seriously. "I bullied him enough when he first started working for me. Mostly because he kept puffing cigarettes and causing a smog." He snorted. "And still—he stayed." Unlike me, who stabbed Dobu in the back.

Dobu turned to him. "For what it's worth—I'm sorry. About Shirakawa."

"You're sorry I had to see it," corrected Yano, crossing his arms.

"No. I'm sorry I was blinded by greed. I should've never laid a hand on her." Dobu hesitated. "What was the last straw?"

Yano met his gaze evenly. "When you asked me to hold her down while you beat her."

"Ah. But you did it."

"I did. It was like history repeating itself. I went through the motions I'd done a hundred times."

"Did... Did he also—" Dobu cut himself off when he saw Yano's scowl. "I must've scared you."

Yano didn't reply. Admitting he'd been scared to Dobu—it just wasn't done. Of course he'd been scared. Because in that moment, he'd become completely disillusioned to the man he had once called brother. The arrow of time had turned backward, and Dobu had transformed into his father, belt flying in the air as he whipped the woman he had promised to love. The monster who had terrorized him had been by his side all along, changing his skin to suit his environment.

The day after that, Yano had sold him out to another rival. Then he'd climbed the ladder and betrayed him, too, stationing himself as one of Kuroda's most successful henchmen. Making himself strong so he would never feel scared again.

The fact that he could even look Dobu in the eye nowadays was testament to that.

"I must've said some aggravating things, too," Dobu mused. "I talked a lot about my father."

"You did," Yano said flatly.

"It must've pissed you off." Dobu laughed, but there was an underlying regret in the rough sound. "You were the first little brother I had. If only things had been different."

"If only."

There was a knock on the door that was barely audible over the noise of Sekiguchi showering. Curious, Dobu and Yano left the balcony, the former squinting through the peephole. "It's Nikaidou," Dobu reported.

Yano opened the door, greeted with a delectable smell.

Rui was holding a whole stack of fried chicken boxes. "I ordered in. You guys haven't had dinner yet, right?"

They took some of the boxes from her, wordlessly welcoming her inside.

Delivery service, Yano noted, already formulating a rap in his head over the mundane thought. He didn't bother, though—his stomach was rumbling at the mouthwatering dinner.

"Leave the bones," Rui said as they chowed down at the tiny dinner table. Sekiguchi wouldn't be able to fit in the circle when he was done with his shower. "We can use the scraps to boil soup."

"You a good cook, Nikaidou?" Yano asked through a mouthful of crunchy chicken, the fingertips of his uninjured hand oily. He sucked the flavor off—one, two, three. "Or just a so-so pretending to be a master chef? Either way, this is the besht." He swallowed. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so at peace, especially when he was still in Dobu's proximity.

"Mom and dad were always too busy fighting to cook," Rui told them with a roll of her eyes. "I had to learn to survive. So yeah—I'm good."

Yano was beginning to wonder if every member of their little team had issues with their guardians. He knew of Sekiguchi's background, and Dobu's too, and now Rui had joined the shitty family train.

They ate, occasionally making conversation. They had gone through three boxes (Dobu ate like a beast) when Sekiguchi finally came out, smelling faintly of roses. "Nikaidou-san?" He was a fan of flow-y pajamas, wearing the same kind of nightgown as Sadako in the Ring. Yano snickered at the way his cheeks flushed pink under the cheap ceiling lights, embarrassed to be caught by Rui like this.

"Sekiguchi-san." Rui smiled crookedly. "Come join us—I ordered plenty."

Sekiguchi grabbed a plate for himself, standing behind Yano and Rui as he ate. He picked a breast, knowing it was Yano's least favorite piece.

Yano reevaluated the situation. Rui had brought fried chicken over, feeding them without them even having to ask. He was eating with Dobu. Sekiguchi may or may not have a puppy crush on Rui. Things truly were peculiar. But he didn't mind. Huh. I never thought that... His gaze flicked over to Dobu momentarily. We would be able to eat like this peacefully again.

What Dobu had done and the way he had lived his life still weighed heavily on Yano. Not necessarily on his conscience, but on his principles. Because even a man who wore custom suits from Don Quijote had lines he did not cross.

It was like he had been sent back in time, back to when he'd been eighteen and stupid and suicidal.

"What's the matter?" Dobu's gruff voice brought him back to reality, and it occurred to Yano that he had probably been staring at his half-eaten drumstick for quite some time.

Sekiguchi and Rui were both looking at him, too, with vaguely worried expressions.

And to their shock—

Yano threw back his head and laughed.

"Yano-san?" Rui gaped at him.

"He's lost it," concluded Dobu.

"Do... Do you need a pill?" Sekiguchi asked, anxiously.

Maybe he really had gone crazy.

"This is some damn good chicken," Yano declared, ignoring all of their concerns. He grinned, taking a huge bite out of it. It was still warm.

If this is what being crazy feels like, I never want to be sane ever again.

Wadagaki Sakura held court over the two assembled YouTubers. Fellow streamers with big followings like her, she had reached out to them last month. Everything would be finalized today. "Welcome to the first meeting."

Behind her stood her two generals of sorts—Saionji Sora and Ichimura Shiho.

She observed them.

Musica—a YouTuber who specialized in covers of popular anime and dramas. 7.9 million subscribers. She was by far the most popular Japanese streamer on the entertainment side of YouTube. Sakura loathed to admit it, but her appeal would fade with youth. Dark-skinned and raven-haired, Musica had the type of mature beauty that endured the passage of time.

Ikemoto Isamu—call-out YouTuber with 4.6 million subscribers. His content focused on digging up the dirty secrets of other content creators—even if he had to falsify them. Shaggy-haired, his lazy appearance often led others to underestimate how much work he put into each video to rake in the cash.

Right now, the two of them were sipping iced coffees in the meeting room.

"STREAMFEST is coming up," Musica said, pursing her lips. "We're going to make our debut there, right?"

"Correct," Sakura said, beaming. She pointed at something on the whiteboard behind her. "I've already spoken with the organizers. We're cleared to host an event on Saturday—the busiest day of STREAMFEST. We'll be introducing ourselves as the hottest idol group since Mystery Kiss." Sakura beckoned Shiho to come forward. "We're going to be bandmates now, so we should all get along—you, me, and Ichimura-san."

Shiho bowed. "It's nice to meet you, Musica-san. I'll be in your care."

Musica nodded, not bothering to stand up to return the greeting. "Yeah."

"What about me?" Isamu drawled, raising his hand like he was in a classroom. "Should I just focus on the project by myself?"

"Yeah." Sakura nodded. "Sorry to leave all the work to you, but I'll have Sora help out whenever she's free. We're going to expose everything." Not even Sora's father could initiate an investigation without proper evidence. So we'll deliver it right to him, and to the world while we're at it. They'll regret coming after me.

Shiho had told her everything.

And soon—

My dreams will come true.