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Chapter Text

“Well, it’s the top of the ninth here, the Angels lead the Mariners 4-2, currently with one out, and up now is Martin Aguilar for relief.”
“We are witnessing Aguilar’s possibly-final game for the American League, before he heads across the Pacific to start for the Nagoya Wyverns.”
“He’s been put in something of a rock-and-a-hard-place situation here, having to effectively, you know, steer the team to victory here in this season’s wild card round.”
“You can say that again! The guy can’t seem to catch a break. The Angels are a hair’s breadth away from advancing to the division series.”
“Promising talent from a late bloomer, he’s got a pretty impressive ERA given how few innings he’s been given to pitch.”
“I guess that’s exactly why, ha ha ha.”
“Ha ha, right you are. Here’s the wind-up, and the pitch. Strike one.”
“Hot start, with that searing fastball of his.”
“He’s adjusting his stance. The anxiety is radiating off of him.”
“Maybe it’ll rub off on our batter, here.”
“The wind-up, and the pitch…strike two.”
“The crowd’s feeing it, too. The stadium is shaking.”
“This one’s a nail-biter. No one in this crowd is leaving until they see it through.”
“Hopefully it’ll be worth it to have to sit through that parking nightmare!”
“Here’s the wind-up, and the pitch. Strike three! Second out.”
“Hit ‘em hard, hit ‘em fast, I think is what Aguilar’s thinking.”
“Stepping up to the plate for the Angels next is Shinsuke Ozawa. Interestingly, a Japanese native who played for the Tokyo Gigants!”
“Maybe he could give Aguilar here some pointers as to what to expect over there!”
“He may be about to give him a crash course—Ozawa’s batting record is certainly nothing to sneeze at.”
“Aguilar adjusts his stance, yet again, and winds up for pitch number one. Ooh, strike one with a screwball.”
“Very interesting choice.”
“I guess Aguilar knows what to expect after all. He forgoes his usual opener for this Japanese tour-de-force.”
“That, or he’s scared.”
“That too. Here’s pitch number two, another strike!”
“The crowd is going nuts, they really want this at-bat over with.”
“Here’s the pitch, low and outside. Ball one.”
“Ozawa said, ‘I’m not falling for that one again!’”
“Aguilar tweaks his cap, rolls his shoulders.”
“He’s got a whole routine on the mound.”
“Here’s the pitch. Ball two, way outside.”
“Oh boy, the crowd is getting impatient.”
“The wind-up, and the pitch…Ozawa has to duck from that one. Ball three.”
“Aguilar steps back. He’s going through his whole routine.”
“Gotta make sure all the baseball gods are on our side for this one.”
“I doubt they can hear him over this crowd. Everyone’s going bananas!”
“You can see the tension coming off of Aguilar.”
“Here’s the wind-up, aaaaand the pitch…and, it’s a high fly ball to center field! Alex Thomas takes off after it.”
“It’s going, going…”
“Is he going to make it? He’s coming up on the wall…”
“Thomas is climbing the wall and, there he goes back down! He’s flat on his back!”
“But he’s got the ball cradled in his glove like it had been just placed there! What an incredible play!”
“Aguilar doesn’t seem too happy about it, though. Look at him skulking back to the bullpen.”
“I think he was hoping for a stone wall, but he ended up letting that one from Ozawa slip by him.”
“Well, at least the M’s only have a two-run deficit to make up for still, here in the bottom half.”
“He kept it from getting worse, and that’s what he was placed on the field to do. He ought to be proud of that showing.”
“And if this is the end of the M’s run in the playoffs, we’ll miss him terribly, and wish him all the best in Japan.”
“That’s right. And now, a word from our sponsors.”

Chapter Text

August, 2016

Sayaka’s life was ruled by concrete.

Born in the middle of Tokyo, she never found herself further than a subway train’s distance away from wherever she happened to call home. Webs of dank, concrete tunnels kept her ensnared under the shadow of skyscrapers. Only in her furthest dreams did she yearn for a simpler life—a quieter, pastoral life where the skies opened up and the rain drew earthworms from the ground, rather than the cloying must of over-trodden sidewalks. As she approached middle age, these dreams only grew further away as she gave up her life to the underbelly of society. She often wondered, staring down from her high-rise condo at the so-called “concrete jungle” of the city where she earned the money selling weapons to criminals to afford the condo in the first place, if her fate might eventually buy her a pair of concrete shoes to wear to the bottom of the bay.

She was born of concrete, and would likely die by it, or so she assumed. And if it wasn’t by grotesque yakuza witch trial, it would be by rotting away in a concrete jail cell. She’d avoided that fate so far, but her husband had not, and as a consequence she became very familiar with this particular configuration of reinforced concrete and ultra-thick glass.

However, it wasn’t her husband that she wanted to see on this visit—rather, his boss. Who, she might extrapolate, was also her boss, but she preferred to think herself an independent contractor, of sorts. As close as their “industry” got, anyway.

She donned her mask and ball cap and hailed a cab outside her building.

“Where to?” The driver asked.

“The penitentiary,” she replied. “Please.”

The taxi followed Showa Street, passing the Tenkaichi gate along the way.

“Hear it’s getting rough in Kamurocho these days,” the driver remarked.

“Yeah,” Sayaka replied gruffly. The state of Kamurocho was a favored topic with taxi drivers recently, and not a topic she enjoyed talking about.

“Yakuza, gangs…what’s this city coming to, I wonder?” The taxi driver chattered on, oblivious to Sayaka’s dismissive grunts.

The concrete block loomed large in the distance, Sayaka could see even from the back seat. In a cruel twist of fate, that place had become a respite from the goings-on in Kamurocho.

Concrete could be comforting, too, sometimes.

She paid her fare and stopped at the visitor check-in.

“Who are you here to see?” The clerk asked.

“Dojima Daigo,” she responded. “Thanks.”

The rest of the sequence ran as expected. She waited in the sterile visitor booth jiggling her knee. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see the kid, but her anxiety stemmed more from what she planned to do afterward.

The door on the opposite side opened with a metallic thunk. Daigo emerged in handcuffs, followed by a guard. He regarded her presence with faint surprise, like a circuit closing. He settled in the metal chair.

“I was wondering who might be coming to see me,” Daigo said, his voice tinny as filtered through the speaker in the glass. “I half-expected my mother.”

“Does your mother visit often?” Sayaka asked.

“Never,” he replied quickly. “Not even the first time around.”

“Why’s that?”

Daigo hesitated.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, ma’am?” He deflected.

“Ah, sorry,” Sayaka said sheepishly. “We got into the heavy stuff too soon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ve been accused of that before, in a few different ways.”

“I’m sure that made you quite popular.” She chuckled.

“You have no idea.” He gave her a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“Anyway,” she coughed, “the reason I’m here to see you, Sixth Chairman, is I’ve heard you could possibly help me with something.”

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be in here, but I’ll try.”

“I’m going to Nagoya soon,” she explained. “I’m sure you know better than I do, but things are going belly-up in Kamurocho right now. With everything that’s going on, I think it’s best if I quit my…business, for now.” She eyed the guard behind Daigo’s shoulder.

“Is that so?” Daigo said. “Seems like a prime opportunity for someone in your line of work.” He caught her apprehension and didn’t skip a beat.

“That may be, but my personal security has been significantly diminished, due to my husband’s circumstance. Not to mention, I’ve pledged myself to your cause. The proof is etched upon my back.”

“Is that why you call me ‘Sixth Chairman?’” Sharp. His voice was tinged with melancholy.

“What would you prefer, then?”

“I think ‘Daigo’ is justified,” he said. “I know I’ve caused some problems for you and…your husband in the past. I don’t believe I’ve earned that respect from you.”

Sayaka sighed through her nose, her lips drawn into a tight line.

“I’m sorry, we’ve gotten off-track again, haven’t we?” Daigo said.

“We’ve never really spoken like this before,” Sayaka said. “I guess there were some things that needed to be said.”

“I apologize,” Daigo said. “Go on.”

“So, like I mentioned, I’m leaving town for Nagoya soon.” Her gaze fell to her lap. “My son and I haven’t spoken in years. I have reason to believe he’s in Nagoya, but I can’t be certain. He doesn’t take my calls anymore.”

“Why do you think he’s in Nagoya?”

“He was born and raised there. If he’s still in the country, he’s most likely there. And I heard you might be able to help me.”

“I see.” Daigo hummed. “As it happens, I do have a friend in Nagoya. An old classmate. He’s well connected in the city, so I think he’d be able to help you get started, at least.”

“That’s fantastic,” she said with a shaky sigh. “What’s his name?”

“Shinada Tatsuo,” he said. “Regrettably, that’s all I can really tell you. I don’t know his phone number. And, the last time I heard from him he was living in Kineicho, but I believe his circumstances may have changed so it’s very possible he could have moved. In any case, he’s a known entity in the nightlife scene there, so I’m sure you’ll be able to track him down fairly quickly, if he’s there.”

That was considerably less favorable news.

“Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me,” she said. “A manhunt for a manhunt.”

“Again, I’m sorry I can’t be more help,” Daigo said, “but Shinada is a good man. I’m sure he would help. And…I hope you get to see your son again.”

“Me too.”

Daigo considered his next words carefully.

“I’ve not always had the greatest relationship with my parents,” he said. “There have certainly been times where I wished I hadn’t been born to this life. But, at the same time I’m grateful for all that they taught me, and to the people that became parents to me after my father’s death.” He took a pause. “You remind me of my mother, actually.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. She also devoted herself to the cause, despite not receiving the full privileges of doing so. And she also etched it onto her back.” He searched again for his words. “It takes a certain fortitude of character to do that, I think.”

“Getting the tattoo is the easy part,” Sayaka said. “It’s everything that comes after that that requires fortitude.”

“I worry, sometimes, that the newer generation don’t see it that way.”

“That’s the burden of ours,” Sayaka said. “Parenthood 101. If they don’t walk the path we set for them, then we messed up somehow. You’re a father of tens of thousands of boys — you deserve a little grace.”

Daigo scoffed. “Hopefully I can do right by them through serving my time, and showing them that this is the path we walk.”

The guard behind Daigo stepped up.

“Time’s almost up.”

“I guess that’s my cue,” Sayaka said. “Before I go, I do have one more request.”

“What’s that?”

“Could you let my husband know that I might not be around for a while?”

“Sure.” Daigo took another beat. “Mind if I make a request of you?”

“What’s up?”

“When you find Tatsuo,” he said, “will you tell him…” Once again, Daigo searched for the correct words to fill the blank space. The twists in his face told Sayaka some of the story.

“I’ll send him your regards,” she said as she stood.

“Could you tell him,” Daigo hurriedly added, “that I’m sorry?”

For what, Sayaka wanted to ask, but she got the impression that this person would know exactly what.

“Of course,” she said. “Good luck, Daigo.”

The din of the train station provided a welcome relief to the clamor in Sayaka’s mind. Her nerves nearly drove her away from the platform altogether.

There was no reason for this, she told herself. After twenty years, surely Nagoya had seen drastic changes. The war was over; she could come home.

And what of her son? Was she about to comb the entire city just to find out he’s gone elsewhere? Or that he’s face-down in a ditch somewhere? Or, the most likely scenario, he’s moved on with his life and simply refuses to have anything to do with her?

Every option made her sick.

The boarding announcement chimed over the speakers. She took a deep breath and boarded the train.

She stowed her luggage and took her seat, and as the train filled with passengers she pulled out her phone and earbuds. She navigated to one of the few apps she actually used, a baseball simulcast app. As her date of departure grew closer, she found comfort in the rhythm of a baseball game.

She cued up the game and settled in.

“Well folks, looks like a real barn-burner is underway here in Nagoya…”

Sayaka sighed. She really wasn’t in the mood to listen to a Wyverns game, but she considered it partial exposure therapy in preparation for her trip.

The caller prattled on, filling the airspace during a break between innings.

“Starter Martin Aguilar is on his way to pitching his first no-hitter. The question is, can he keep up the momentum through another three innings? We’re about to find out, as Aguilar takes the mound for the Wyverns.”

Sayaka gradually tuned out the game as the train lurched to life and set her on the course to Nagoya.

Chapter Text

The air smelled different in Nagoya, somehow. Fresher. It hit Sayaka as soon as she stepped off the train.

“Well,” she said, to no one in particular, “here we are.”

She took a moment to get her bearings. The late afternoon sun beat down on her, the muggy summer heat clung to her skin. The train station in Nagoya was far less crowded, particularly at this off hour, but the sticky air made her thankful she wore a loose button-up and shorts. She put on her sunglasses and took off her mask, modifying her usual public uniform. She wanted to make herself approachable, after all.

She slung her bag over her shoulder. Time to get to work.

Her first order of business: to find a person by the name of Shinada. If Daigo was correct, Kineicho was her first stop.

She shuddered, despite the heat. She really hoped to never set foot in that town again. But if she wanted to see Hanzo again, she had to do it. She hailed a cab.

“Where to, ma’am?” The driver asked.

“Uh…” Where to, indeed. “Is there still a batting center in Kineicho?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“There, then.”

“Are you from around here?” The driver asked as they got moving.

“Kinda,” she answered. “I used to live here, back in the early ‘90s. I moved in ’95 and haven’t been back since.”

“I see,” the driver said. “Well, I can’t say what it was like back then, since that’s around the time I was born, but it hasn’t really changed that much. Especially Kineicho.”

“Is that so?” Sayaka replied. “That’s good to hear.” It’ll make this somewhat easier, she thought.

Another thought dawned on her.

“You said you were born in the early ‘90s?” She asked.

“Yes, ma’am. ’93.”

“I see.” A little young, but it’s worth a shot. “Do you hang out with many people your own age?”

“Huh?” The driver seemed off-put by the question. “Yes, I suppose.”

“Are you active in the nightlife scene?”

“Oh, not really!” The taxi driver was quick to say. “I only know Kineicho because of my job!”

“It’s okay, you know,” Sayaka said. “To let loose every now and then.”

The driver said nothing. He squirmed under her questions.

“Sorry,” Sayaka said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have pried. I’m here because I’m looking to reconnect with my son. He’s about your age, is why I asked.”

“Oh, I see.” He thought for a moment. “What’s his name?”

“Hanzo,” Sayaka said. “He…” She hesitated. “You know, I haven’t actually seen him in a while, so I have no idea how to describe him.”

“Do you have a picture?” The driver asked.

“I do, but it’s quite old,” she said. She fiddled with her smart phone as the driver pulled up to a stop at the batting center. “Here.”

The picture she showed him was grainy, a transfer from the last time she had a flip phone, but showed clearly Hanzo’s face in a petulant sneaky selfie sticking his tongue out for the camera. He was just about to enter college, and his hair was freshly shorn at the sides. It was Sayaka’s favorite photo of him.

The driver studied it for a moment.

“He doesn’t look familiar, ma’am,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I see,” she sighed. “Well, thanks for humoring me anyway.”

As she grabbed her bag and paid, another lightbulb went off.

“One last question,” she said. “Do you know anyone by the name of Shinada?”

“Can’t say that I do,” the driver said. He clearly wanted her off his back, but his answer seemed genuine. She shut the door and waved him off.

She gazed up at the batting center’s sign. This place really hadn’t changed much. Same rusted-out paneling, same barely-hanging-on sign, same collection of flyers. The only thing that seemed to have gotten an upgrade was the vending machine.

She stepped inside, into what felt like a time machine. It was almost disorienting, the way the claustrophobic reception area still smelt of the body odor trapped in the netting covering the cages. She caught a glimpse of the batting area, where the old pitching machines were now hidden behind an LCD screen illusion of real baseball.

At the reception desk stood one of the prettiest girls Sayaka had seen in her entire life.

“Welcome!” She said. Boundlessly cheerful, doe-eyes, and a beauty mark. Sayaka’s heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, uh…” Sayaka cleared her throat. “Can I get, uh…a single course, please?”

“Of course!” The receptionist replied. “All of the cages are card-operated. Do you need a helmet or gloves?”

“Huh? O-Oh, no thank you,” Sayaka’s words stumbled out of her.

“Okay then. Have fun!” The receptionist smiled at her. Sayaka slinked away, a hand clasped to her neck out of embarrassment and the fear of impending heart attack. Damn, she was cute.

The advanced course cage was empty, so Sayaka popped in. She grabbed her bat from her bag and took a few practice swings before paying for the course and stepping up to the plate.

Oh, how she’d missed this. It had been ages since she’d used the batting center in Kamurocho, and her shoulder had stiffened up as a result. She whiffed the first few pitches, but soon she found her rhythm and started hitting more consistently, with even a few home runs sprinkled in. The repetition, the reverberation of the ball coming in to contact with the bat, the way the swing followed her whole body from the bat down to her toes—her anxieties melted away with every pitch.

The course eventually ended, and Sayaka had nearly queued up another round when she saw through the mesh a man looming over the reception counter, nearly pressed against the glass panel. From the sliver she could see of the receptionist girl, she didn’t seem too uncomfortable, but Sayaka’s mama-bear instinct had already kicked in.

She sidled up to the counter, sliding an arm against the glass and puffing her chest. Her other hand hooked itself on one of her belt loops. She cleared her throat, loudly, giving the man a startle, but instead of looking for the origin point he turned his attention to the cage Sayaka had just left.

“Oh, sweet! Advanced just opened up,” he said. “Catch ya later, Miki-chan!” He bounded over to the cage.

“Bye, Ta-chan!” She said, with that same sweet smile. She turned her attention to Sayaka. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, uh,” Sayaka found herself stammering again. “I just wanted to make sure that guy wasn’t bothering you.”

The receptionist shook her head. “He’s a regular. Super flirty. But he’s a good guy.” She leaned closer to the glass and gave Sayaka a conspiratorial smile. “He used to be a pro,” she whispered.

“Pro-what? Was he a host or something?”

“No, silly! Pro baseball!” She whispered again. “He doesn’t like it when I tell people that.”

“No kidding?” Sayaka craned her neck to peek in the advanced cage. She could only see his metallic bat glinting against the backdrop of his faded leather jacket. He took a swing—she couldn’t see it, but she heard the distinctive ping of the ball smacking one of the home run plates.

She stepped up for a closer look. His form was impeccable, and his strikes were so powerful and precise that he hit the home run plate every time.

His course ran out, and he stepped out of the cage.

“Nice work,” Sayaka said to him. “I always struggle with those damn tiny plates.”

The man beamed. “Heh, thanks! They’re pretty nasty.” He looked her up and down. Sayaka took note of him pausing at her chest. “Pretty sure I’ve never seen you here before, though.”

“I lived here many years ago,” Sayaka replied. “Before your time, probably.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilted his head. “Well, I’ve lived here a pretty long time so it’s hard to believe, since you don’t look a day over 35.”

Sayaka couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. Flirtatious was right.

“And you not a day over 40,” she shot back. “I bet you got a lot of older women that way, huh? Before my time?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say a lot of older women…” he mused, scratching the back of his head.

She scoffed. He was clearly confident around women. But if he was as well-connected as he claimed, Sayaka wanted to bet on his odds.

“Say,” she started with a high keen, “you wouldn’t mind helping out the new girl in town, would you?”

“Always happy to help!” He replied with that dopey smile. The heartbreaker, certainly.

“I’m looking for someone that may be here in the city,” she said. “Actually, I’m looking for two someones, but one step at a time.” She pulled out her phone and showed him the picture of Hanzo. “Have you seen anyone that looks like this around?”

He studied it closely.

“Doesn’t look familiar,” he said.

“I didn’t think so,” she said. “He’s not really a baseball guy.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Clubs are usually pretty dark, anyway. Besides, In my line of work, I’m not exactly looking at the guys, know what I mean?”

“Clubs?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty heavy into the nightlife scene here,” he said. “I know a lot of the club owners. If he is here, one of them’s bound to have seen him.”

Progress! Maybe she wouldn’t need to find this “Shinada” person after all.

“That’s great,” she said with a sigh. “I know it’s a big ask, but it would be a huge help if you could introduce me to these clubs.”

He rubbed his stubbly chin, lips pursed.

“Could I buy you a drink?” She added.

He quirked an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, still,” he said. “I mean, we just met. I don’t even know your name.”

“Kinda figured that wouldn’t be a problem for a guy like you,” she said with a smirk.

“Hey, now,” he protested. “A guy like me still has the decency to learn a girl’s name.”

“Okazaki Sayaka,” she said plainly. “Just ‘Sayaka’ is fine. This,” she pointed to her phone, “is my son, Hanzo.”

“Okazaki, huh?” He rubbed his chin. “That name sounds weirdly familiar.”

“Then maybe you have encountered my son somewhere,” she said. “Anyway, what should I be calling you?”

“You can call me Ta-chan,” he said with that goofy smile.

“‘Ta-chan?’ Don’t you have a full name?”

“Sure, but…” He turned away, bashful and coy. “I like it when ladies call me that.”

Sayaka huffed. “Fine. If you help me, I’ll call you whatever you like.” She hiked her bag over her shoulder. “Now, will you be helping me, or not?”

“I might need that drink first,” he said. As if to punctuate his sentence, a loud gurgle came from his stomach.

“Maybe we can make it dinner, then?”

The duo struck out and grabbed a table at Sekai no Yamachan, which was vacant thanks to the witching hour. Sayaka nursed her oolong tea as her prospective partner devoured a plate of chicken wings.

“Aren’t you hungry?” He asked between bites.

“Not particularly,” she said. “I ate here often, when I was pregnant. I got my fill. Order as much as you like, though.”

His eyes lit up, and he promptly flagged the waiter down. His peculiar character vexed Sayaka, and trying to get a read on him proved fruitless up to that moment.

“You must have to eat a lot to maintain your physique,” Sayaka said.

“Oh, yeah, sort of,” he said bashfully. “I also haven’t eaten yet today.”

How he maintained the physique that poked out from the openings in his jacket on fumes, she had no clue. He munched happily on the charity of a stranger.

“So,” he said, “tell me more about your son.”

Sayaka pulled up the photo of Hanzo on her phone once again and plopped it in the middle of the table.

“Okazaki Hanzo,” she said. “26 years old. Er, 27 actually.”

He furrowed his brow.

“His birthday’s tomorrow,” she clarified. “And, like I said, not much of a baseball fan but it’s likely he’s been haunting the bars and clubs around here. That is, if he even is here.”

“What makes you think he’s here? Or, not here?” The man asked.

Sayaka sighed and rolled her drink between her hands. For the first time in years, she missed alcohol.

“He was born here,” she explained. “We lived here until her was about eight or nine. After his…dad died,” (the words caught in her throat,) “we moved around a lot, until settling in Kamurocho in his teens. If he’s anywhere, it’s almost certainly here. This is the only place he would consider ‘home.’”

The second wave of wings arrived, and Sayaka’s gentleman friend tucked in, paying her close attention.

“We had a…falling out,” Sayaka said, “and we haven’t spoken in four years.”

“What happened?” He asked.

Sayaka really missed alcohol.

“I lied to him, pretty badly. His…dad,” (that word again,) “the one he grew up knowing, wasn’t actually his biological father.”

“And you never told him?”

Sayaka shook her head.

“My relationship with his bio dad, at least at the time, was complicated. To be frank, I assumed I would never see him again. But, complicated as life can be, he and I reconnected later in life, and even ended up marrying.” She folded her arms as if to bury herself in them. “And still I never told Hanzo the truth.”

“Seriously?” He exclaimed, as if he were merely watching a television drama. “What happened then?”

“He figured it out, naturally,” she said. “He spotted the likenesses himself. He really is a spitting image. So, of course, he confronted me about it. And I tried to explain why I did it, but he wouldn’t listen. Couldn’t listen. We haven’t been the same since.”

“Then, why did you do it?”

“It’s a long story, one I’m hoping to tell him once I find him.” She sighed. “Sorry, I’m sure that was more than you wanted to know about a stranger’s life.”

The man sucked on the end of a drumette.

“You know,” he said, “if what you told me is true, he may not want to hear you out. Heck, he may not want to see you at all. Are you sure this is a good idea, to go through all this trouble?”

“Well, truthfully, no,” she replied. “But I have to try. He’s my only kid, and I can’t go on with the way things are between us.”

“I get that, but having to hunt him down like this? Seems like he doesn’t want to be found, not by you at least.”

Sayaka bristled.

“Look, are you still with me on this or what?” She huffed.

“At this point, I’m not so sure,” he said as he picked at another wing, this time a flat.

Sayaka rolled her eyes. She shouldn’t have expected it to go so smoothly so quickly.

“If you’re not going to help me find my son, then whatever,” she said. “Maybe you know the other person I’m looking for and he can help me.”

“Who’s that?”

“I was recommended someone by the name of Shinada Tatsuo.”

The man suddenly broke out in to a coughing fit, directly over his basket of wings and dashing any hopes of Sayaka sneaking one. He took a sip of his beer to soothe his windpipe.

“For real?” He croaked. “Who told you that name?”

“A young man named Dojima.”

“Dojima-kun sent you, huh?” He pondered his beer and took another sip. “You’re with the Tojo Clan, then.”

“Just an in-law, technically,” she responded. “That a problem?”

He leaned back and folded his arms, gnawing on his lip.

“I don’t trust the Tojo Clan,” he said, “but I trust Dojima-kun. And if he pointed you this way, then I suppose I ought to take his word.” He extended an arm to her across the table, his wrist adorned by a colorful bead bracelet. “Shinada Tatsuo, at your service.”

She smiled through a wave of relief, and took his hand.

“Does this mean I don’t have to call you Ta-chan?”

He broke out that big, goofy grin.

“In exchange, though,” Shinada said, “I want your help finding someone, too.”

Sayaka quirked an eyebrow.

“While we’re looking for your son, be on the lookout for the Wyverns’ starting pitcher.”

“The starting pitcher?” Sayaka said. “That American kid, right? Agi-something?”

“That’s him. Name’s Aguilar.”

“Didn’t the Wyverns have a game today, though?”

“Yeah, that should be wrapping up any moment now. Afterward, he’ll also be hitting the clubs.” Shinada pulled out his own phone. After a few seconds of tapping, he furrowed his brows. “Looks like we won,” he said.

“And he’ll be out partying tonight,” Sayaka said.

“It’s not gonna be a party,” Shinada corrected her as he showed her the news. The headline: “Wyverns win 3-1, Aguilar loses third consecutive chance at no-hitter.”

The picture became much more clear in Sayaka’s mind. A no-hitter was far from an easy feat, even for the best pitchers. To go three games in a row without bringing it over the finish line must take a particular mental toll. Not to mention the coach, who was likely champing at the bit to take advantage of the press a no-hitter from an American rising star would bring. She’d be drinking, too, if she were him.

“If you help me find my son,” Sayaka said, “I’ll help you find this kid. Whatever it takes.”

Shinada smiled, and the duo, now fully on the same page, embarked on their quest. When they exited the restaurant, the sun already hung low in the sky.

“We should get a move on,” Shinada said. “The clubs should be opening soon.”

“Lead the way,” Sayaka said.

Before they could, however, a group of men approached them. Garden-variety yakuza thugs, in Sayaka’s estimation.

“Can we help you?” She said.

“Yeah,” one of them said. “Homie here can cough up his wallet, if he knows what’s good for him.” Another wiggled a knife around, which may have been menacing to a civilian like Shinada but came off rather limp-dicked to her. It was also rather small, and didn’t fit his hand. Amateur hour.

Thankfully, Shinada didn’t seem fazed.

“Well, sadly for you my wallet is empty,” he said with a little whine and a pout. She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. “Try someone else, we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

The leader scoffed.

“You know,” he said, “the Okazaki Family doesn’t take kindly to flippant idiots like you.”

Sayaka’s blood ran cold. She and Shinada exchanged looks—she hoped he would see her bug-eyed with shock but he shot her a glare instead.

“What?” She snapped. “I’m not with them.”

“‘Just an in-law,’ huh?” Shinada said. “I should’ve known better than to trust the Tojo Clan. Your men have been terrorizing Kineicho for years now!”

“Are you thick?” Sayaka barked. “I just told you I’m not associated with them!”

“Yeah, right! I knew you were a shady lady.” Shinada gave her a flippant wave. “Have fun with your son, if you ever find him. You’re on your own.”

“Wait, Shinada—”

As he turned around, Shinada was grabbed on the shoulder by one of the thugs. He whipped around and clocked the thug in the jaw.

“I told you,” Shinada said, “I have no money. Now leave me alone.”

The leader of the thugs approached him.

“Now that won’t do at all.” He took out his own knife, a much larger tanto-style that dwarfed the other’s little switchblade, and held it to Shinada’s throat. Shinada held his composure, though he swallowed visibly.

All of the thugs had turned their attention to Shinada, circling him like sharks. Shinada assumed a shaky fight stance.

“I can take all of you on,” Shinada boasted. “Come at me, already!”

The little-knifed thug lunged first, far too eagerly. Shinada grabbed him and flipped him into one of the other bare-handed thugs, sending the two of them tumbling into the street and rending a hole in their formation. Another thug made a motion to grab, which was denied by Shinada’s duck to grab the little-knife-that-could. Shinada slashed at the thug and punched him with his free hand in rapid succession. While that thug reeled and stumbled back, the other two staggered back to their feet.

Then the leader made his move. He plunged his tanto toward Shinada’s exposed back. Shinada turned around just in time to catch Sayaka slamming her bat into the leader’s side and knocking him away.

“Boss!” One of the other thugs exclaimed. He made a dash for Sayaka, who caught him in the gut with the butt end of her bat. Shinada took the opportunity to attack and swiped-punched the other two until they went down in a flurry of frantic cuts and fists.

The leader scrambled to his feet and came at Sayaka with his tanto and a frustrated growl. She reared back and slammed her bat into his armed hand, sending the dagger flying off into the virtual outfield. As the leader reeled in pain, Shinada swung at him with one final punch. All men finally laid low.

Sayaka and Shinada caught their breath.

“See?” Sayaka said between pants. “Not my guys.” Although she had a few theories as to their origins, as well as their patriarch.

Shinada relaxed his shoulders and sighed.

“The Okazaki Family,” he said, “have been running Kineicho for the last few years. We don’t have the resources to keep the yakuza at bay anymore.”

“I remember the Tojo-Omi war well,” Sayaka said. “I don’t blame you for not trusting the Tojo Clan. I am curious how you’re close with the Sixth Chairman, though.”

“I knew him from high school,” Shinada said. “We’re…friends. I think?”

It’s complicated, in other words, Sayaka thought.

“Well, as far as I know, the Tojo Clan haven’t been looking to expand into Nagoya anytime soon, since the Chairman and its top officers are currently in prison.”

“Huh?! Seriously?” That caught Shinada’s attention. “Dojima-kun…” He suddenly looked quite sad.

“When I spoke to him, he seemed rather certain you would be willing to help me, if only based on the strength of your character alone.” Sayaka gazed down at the pile of bodies. “He also told me to tell you he’s sorry.”

“For what?”

“He seemed to think you would know what that means.”

“If he really were sorry,” Shinada said, “he’d be here and not in jail.” The scorn bubbled through his deep voice. There was history there, Sayaka was sure.

“Tell you what,” she said. “If you help me find my son, I’ll help you find this Aguilar kid and help clean up this Okazaki Family mess along the way.” The irony of her saying those words aloud was not lost on her. “Deal?”

Shinada hummed.

“On the one hand, you did save my hide back there, so I know you mean business,” Shinada mused. “On the other, you used a bat to do it. I cannot condone the use of one of baseball’s most sacred tools in combat. After seeing that,” he said with folded arms, "my opinion of you has completely changed.”

“Are…are you serious?” Sayaka’s brows shot up. “You won’t help me because I used my bat in a fight? The thing that’s perfect for hitting people?!”

“Now, see, that’s where you’re wrong. The baseball bat is designed for—”

“Wait,” Sayaka cut him off. “If I promise to help with Aguilar and the Okazaki Family without using my bat, would you help me then?”

Shinada folded his arms and furrowed his brow, apparently thinking quite hard about the proposal. Sayaka could hardly believe her eyes.

“If you absolutely promise not to use it,” he said, “then you’ve got yourself a deal.”

All at once, the adrenaline left Sayaka’s body in a flush of relief. She tucked her bat away and followed Shinada to their first club of the night.

Chapter Text

 “So,” Sayaka started, “what’s your deal?”

A baseball fanatic that had history with the Tojo Clan had to have a deal to him, somehow. 

 “It’s a long story,” Shinada sighed. 

 “We’ve got time.”

As they made their way across town to the first club of the day, Shinada recounted all the sordid details of his past 20 years. He told her of his achingly brief stint in the majors, ruined by a match fixing scandal that ruined his career and led him to his current occupation.

 “Four years ago, though,” he explained, “I learned the truth about that home run.”

 Sayaka listed with rapt attention to Shinada’s tale of How December of 2012 Almost Killed Me But Also Saved My Life (his memoir’s working title, she learned). She understood why he reacted the way he did when he learned of her ties to the Tojo Clan. And with this suspiciously-named Okazaki family seizing the power vacuum the Nagoya Family left behind, she sympathized with his wariness. However, she got the sense that Shinada was a rather happy-go-lucky guy, and he’d seemed to take all of it in stride.

 “I have to say, that all sounds pretty fucked up,” Sayaka said.

 “Thank you!” He replied. “It was.”

 “I guess we were all going through it, back then,” she mused.

 “What do you mean?”

 “Oh,” Sayaka said, “that was the year I thought my husband had died.”

 “Huh?!”

“He was alright, though,” she said with a nonchalant sigh. “Also, we weren’t really together at that point so he was kind of my ex-husband, but we never actually got divorced so we were, y’know, separated I guess? We got back together after that.”

 “Sheesh.”

 “We had a huge fight and then we made love on top of the Millennium Tower.” Sayaka shrugged. "And now he’s in prison.”

 “Sheesh!” Shinada shuddered. “Talk about a rollercoaster relationship. Is that what it’s like being married to the yakuza?” He reached for the notebook in his back pocket. “Can you go back to the Millennium Tower bit?”

 “Sheesh.” She rolled her eyes. “I see you still have passion for this alternate career of yours. Is that why you’re still at it?”

 “Of course!” He said. “Sweetest gig I’ve ever had. How could I give it up?”

 “So then, what happened to that 20 million yen you mentioned?”

 “Ah, well, it’s a funny story actually,” he began, “but we’re already at our first stop.”

 The club they visited first was a hole-in-the-wall joint, sandwiched between a much fancier cabaret and a run-down arcade. The flickering bulbs in its sign wasted their energy in the afternoon sun. Shinada led Sayaka inside, undeterred by the “closed” sign.

 “Oi, Kita-kun!” Shinada called. “You in here?”

A stocky man emerged from the back to greet them.

 “My favorite customer!” He said with a grin. “What brings you here so early?”

 “We wanted to know if you’ve seen a certain person come in recently.” 

 He motioned to Sayaka, who fumbled with her phone for a moment before pulling up her picture of Hanzo. The man called Kita squinted at it for a moment, with the help of some scratched reading glasses.

 “Mm, well, I can’t say he’s been here,” Kita said. “But…”

 Sayaka and Shinada perked up. 

 “Ah, well, I might be mistaken, but I may have seen him around this part of town.”

 “Wait, really?” Sayaka said.

 “Er, well, perhaps,” Kita said, mealy-mouthed. “I can’t be certain. I see young men like him all the time around here.”

 “That’s better than I was expecting,” Sayaka said. “Thanks, master.”

“Of course, of course,” he said.

 “Thanks for the tip, Kita-kun,” Shinada added. “And, you’ll give me a call if you-know-who shows up, yeah?”

 “Oh, yes!” Kita nodded. “And if I see this young man, I’ll call you as well.”

 As Sayaka and Shinada left the club, she couldn’t help but let out a little cheer.

 “I can’t believe it,” she said. “He’s here. He has to be.”

 “Kita-kun is mostly reliable,” Shinada said. “He’s been around for a long time, so he’s got a good memory for faces. But…”

 “But?”

 “He hasn’t been wearing his glasses lately,” he said with concern. “Would he really be able to recognize Aguilar if he comes in to his club?”

 “So, you’re saying he’s not reliable,” she said.

 “He is!” Shinada backpedaled. “It’s just, we may need to corroborate his testimony, that’s all!”

 “Right,” Sayaka said. “Probably shouldn’t get my hopes up too soon.”

 The two made their way to their next stop, a cabaret two blocks down.

 “You left me hanging,” Sayaka said. “About the money.”

 “Oh! Right.” The pair turned the corner, purposefully avoiding the sight lines of three loudly-blazered men. “So, I tried to pay off all my debt with it, but my creditor insisted I use it on something more important. ‘Build a new dream,’ he said.”

 “Huh? Can debt collectors do that, legally?” Sayaka asked.

 “I have no idea,” Shinada shrugged, “but he did also forgive my debt.”

 “What?! All of it?”

 “Yeah, and that was the condition: use the money Dojima-kun left me to build a new dream.” Shinada turned sheepish then. “I can’t touch it until I give him a proposal. It’s hard!”

 “Life as a full-time nightlife journalist must be stressful, if you haven’t done anything with that money in four years,” Sayaka jabbed.

 “It is!” Shinada whined. “I can’t eat if I don’t work!” 

 They came to a stop outside the cabaret.

 “Besides,” he said, “I need to make sure I use it wisely. I don’t want that money to go to waste.”

 Inside, they got another lead on Hanzo’s whereabouts—he hadn’t been to that cabaret, but the owner had seen someone of his ilk at the okama bar not a block away.

 “Does that track?” Shinada asked.

 “Yeah,” Sayaka replied. “He’s spent a lot of time in places like that. Safe spaces.”

 “Sounds like a good lead to me, then!”

 They made for the bar with more hustle. Sayaka wondered if they might run into that Aguilar kid at some point. The sun was hanging lower in the sky, and every bar they went to had more and more patrons. She knew what he looked like, vaguely. She wanted to ask about Shinada’s fixation on him, but they had less time for idle chatter as more thugs were also popping up under the cover of evening.

 Given what Shinada told her about his own experience in the majors, perhaps he suspected Aguilar was caught up in some shady business of his own.

 The okama bar proved fruitful. 

 “He’s been here,” the mama said when shown the picture of Hanzo. “He’s got a tab to pay.”

 “When was the last time you saw him?” Sayaka asked. She found it difficult to keep her composure.

 “This afternoon,” the mama said.

 Sayaka grabbed Shinada’s shoulder.

 “Did you hear that?” She gave him a shake. “He’s here!”

 “He probably isn’t far, if he’s been here,” Shinada said. “I know where to go.”

 Shinada led her out and down a side street that harbored mostly back doors and garbage.

 “This,” Shinada said, pointing to a rusted door, “is the back exit to an excellent massage parlor. It might seem like a hole-in-the-wall place, because it is. But! They use really good quality oils, and they have a fantastic selection of services. And the women are gorgeous.”

 “Good to know,” Sayaka said flatly.

 “And this,” Shinada pointed to a much more seemly metallic blue door, “is one of the best kept secrets in Kineicho.”

 Shinada opened the door for Sayaka. She stepped into a cozy izakaya that hit her with a wave of nostalgia. The dim lighting blanketed the whole room in warmth and set the shoji screens dividing the few tables aglow. The noren curtain separating the dining room from the kitchen depicted falling maple leaves.

 And at the bar, nestled between paper lamp lights, sat two young men. One had broad shoulders and deep skin, with muscles outlined ostentatiously by his gray t-shirt. The other, in contrast, wore a black haori-like jacket that only half-concealed wiry arms. His arms cradled a head covered in wild, overgrown hair. He’d had too much to drink, evidently.

 Shinada and Sayaka looked at each other with wide grins.

 They’d found their targets.

 Shinada was the first to strike. He stalked over to the bar and clapped the muscular man on the shoulder, who looked with a start just in time for Shinada to sock him in the jaw and send him tumbling off the bar stool. Shinada picked him up by the collar and dragged him out of the bar.

 “We’ll catch up later,” he whispered in her ear. “Good luck!”

 Sayaka rolled her neck and casually claimed the now-empty stool. The other man, in his drunken stupor, hadn’t budged.

 “What’ll it be, ma’am?” The bartender asked.

 “Soda water with lemon, please,” she said.

 The mop of bedraggled hair whipped up suddenly, and Hanzo’s face came into view.

 “And,” she added, “a nice malt whiskey for him.”

 “He’s cut off,” the bartender added flatly.

 “Wh…wha…” Hanzo tried to say. He blinked several times.

 “Shame,” Sayaka said. “I was hoping to treat you for your birthday. Maybe we’ll grab cake later.”

 “Like hell we will,” Hanzo croaked. “The fuck are you doing here?”

 “Is it a crime to see my kid on his birthday?”

 “As if you were ever concerned about committing crimes,” Hanzo slurred. “What do you want?”

 “A conversation,” Sayaka said. 

 “I ain’t got shit to talk about.”

 “Well, I do,” Sayaka said. “Your father’s in prison.”

 “Don’t fucking call him that.” Hanzo unsteadily got to his feet. “If that’s all you came to tell me, then let him know during your next conjugal visit I give him my sincerest ‘rot in hell.’”

Sayaka sighed. She really missed him.

 Hanzo stumbled to the door, and opened it just in time to find his drinking buddy in Shinada’s grapple. The two paused their fisticuffs.

 “Uh, Martin-san…you good?” Hanzo said.

 “I’ll text you later, Okazaki-san!” Martin said cheerfully as Shinada grabbed him in a headlock and dragged him to the ground. Martin tried to wriggle away but Shinada swiftly flipped him onto his stomach and pinned him. Hanzo, in an effort to spare his friend’s ego, shut the door. He shambled back to the bar and said nothing.

 “That wasn’t what I came here to tell you, by the way,” Sayaka said as she sipped her soda. 

 “How did you find me, anyway?”

 “The pull of home is strong,” Sayaka said. “I just needed a fine-toothed comb to track you down. Being your mother’s child, I thought the bars and clubs were a natural place to start.”

 Hanzo scoffed.

 “What’s your problem with Martin-san, then?” Hanzo said.

 “That’d be between him and the fight he’s losing with my comb out there.” Sayaka shrugged. “Anyway, I have a request to make.”

 Hanzo stared at her with glassy eyes.

 “I’d like to explain myself,” Sayaka said. “I’ve caused you a great deal of hurt, and I know this won’t make it right, but I want to tell you the story of how your father and I met. Ah, your real father, I mean.”

 Hanzo’s eyes widened, framed by furrowed brows. He’d woken up.

 “Well, actually, I should probably start with when I met your birth father,” Sayaka surmised. “The two events are connected, you see.”

 “Huh?” Hanzo looked bewildered. “You never told me they knew each other.”

 “Oh, they didn’t,” Sayaka clarified. “But I wouldn’t have come to Nagoya in the first place had it not been for what happened between your bio dad and I.”

 Hanzo’s surprise turned to puzzlement.

 “I’m prepared to explain everything,” Sayaka said, “if you’re willing to listen.”

 Hanzo blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes. His thoughts took more effort to push through the drunken fog.

 “Master,” Hanzo said to the bartender, “I’ll have what she’s having.”
 

Chapter Text

This story should probably start in Osaka. It’s where I met your bio-dad, after all.

I fled to Osaka to escape an abusive relationship with a Tojo Clan grunt I was far too young for. I imprinted on him like a duckling, thinking myself a rebel for smoking his cigarettes and warming his bed. He showed his true colors after it was too late for me to wriggle my way out—I told my parents to kick rocks because they were “standing in the way of true love.” You can probably imagine how well that went over.

We’ll come back to them, though.

After putting up with it for far longer than I should have, I secretly saved up just enough money for a train ticket and snuck away while he was out on collections, with only the clothes I knew he wouldn’t miss. I picked up odd jobs here and there so I could afford the four-mat apartment I’d managed to snag out of sympathy from a very Osakan landlord.

That’s when I met a girl named Yuki, who was on her way to her job at a cabaret club. I followed her, mostly out of a hope they were hiring—but she was also cute as hell.

This is where I first met your bio-dad, as a bedraggled club manager with a suspiciously dangerous air. I clocked him as yakuza right away, but I ignored my alarm bells in favor of a regular paycheck.

Things were fine, until my ex found me. I came home one night after work to him lounging on my futon, stinking it up with his cologne. He beat me the hardest he ever had that night, then felt bad about it later and “made it up to me.” I threw up in the sink while he was asleep.

He kept me out of work for a day. He tried to get me to go back to Kamurocho with him, but I played up illness so he left me alone. He was also drinking like a fish, having the time of his life in a new play space. That night he came home early, too drunk to walk straight but not drunk enough that he couldn’t punch straight. He really wanted to make sure I wouldn’t go anywhere, so he kicked me hard in the leg. I just took it—I knew it would be worse if I fought back. For a moment I resigned myself to that life, thinking I might even get another year out of the deal before he went too far and finally put me in the ground.

But my mind went to Yuki and the rest of the girls I’d met at the club, and thought, maybe, another life is possible. I crawled out of the apartment when he passed out, but the bruise on my leg was already beginning to bloom and my muscle ached, making it difficult to walk. I made it almost to the bridge before my leg gave out, and that’s where he found me. Not my ex, but your bio-dad. In my mind at the time, they may as well have been one and the same. I was convinced your bio-dad had sold me out, and when he tried to offer his help I lashed out at him. Anyone else may have given up on me, but he didn’t. He sheltered me, dressed my wounds, and with his help we got rid of my ex once and for all.

Despite his sketchy appearance and vibe, your bio-dad turned out to be a decent guy.

(He’d been a decent guy all along, but I’d been playing at a wounded animal too much to notice.)

As I came down from the long adrenaline spike of my ex’s resurgence, I developed some complicated feelings surrounding my savior, all the while still harboring a crush for my cute coworker.

This crush turned out to be reciprocal, which actually scared the shit out of me. Stupidly, my feelings got the better of me and I impulsively kissed her, which she leaned in to, and I leaned in to more. I walked her home that night and she invited me in, all adorably stammering and red-faced. She was petrified at first, but as soon as she’d gotten my shirt off and had a taste of my breast she radiated with confidence.

Meanwhile, I tried to attend to her but all I could think about was my stupid ex, and what he would do if he found the two of us in our pile of entangled limbs. I could protect her against two street thugs, but could I protect her from the man with a stranglehold on my heart and throat? Especially if he was armed.

I could hardly enjoy myself, and Yuki could tell. I knew our romance couldn’t continue, and so I broke things off with her, which she took rather well all things considered.

That’s when my feelings for your bio-dad began to escalate. However, considering how awkward things got between Yuki and me after our hookup I resisted temptation. Serendipitously, I received a job offer from a repeat customer to work as a secretary in his office. A significant step-up pay-wise, and it got me away from that tangled nest of feelings, at least for a while.

That customer-turned-coworker turned out to be a real piece of work, as I learned on an ill-advised karaoke night with Yuki and your bio-dad. He latched onto me, acted like he owned me despite the fact we weren’t actually dating. Your bio-dad and I taught him a lesson that night.

Nothing ever felt as right to me as he did in that moment. He stood up for the folks who needed protection, and used his power wisely. When we encountered street thugs trying to mug us, our fight felt like a dance. It was sensual, the way his body made space for mine, and when we came together to deliver the final blow it was magic.

The first time we made love was also magical.

Ah, but I can see you’re getting a little red in the ears so I’ll spare you the details.

We dated for a few weeks. We had to sneak around, thanks to a man named Sagawa. You see, your bio-dad also had some extenuating circumstances that held him to Osaka, under his patriarch’s iron thumb. Sagawa acted as his retainer, his warden, and Sotenbori was the panopticon.

Sagawa had no problem with our relationship, initially. However, he grew nervous that we would organize a prison escape, so one evening he stole me away to a “family” bar on the bank of the river. He knew every detail about us, about me. I got scared—I threw my drink in his face and tried to escape, but they were a step ahead of me. They grabbed me by the scalp and gave me a choice: leave Sotenbori, or die.

I dashed home, armed with some start-up capital and a promise for more on the way, and packed up my meager belongings into my backpack. I thrust some cash at my landlord, in the hope it would be enough to cover the broken lease, and made a beeline for the train station, where I grabbed a map and blindly placed my finger on my destination. Where our story actually starts—Nagoya.

I stepped off the train and plopped myself on a bench with my bag. I rubbed my still-sore scalp, left wondering how I made it out alive. My pounding heart reminded me that I very much was.

“What now?” I asked the air. I’d never been to Nagoya, didn’t even know where to begin. I was too focused on getting there in the first place. Once I’d touched the ground, I found it impossible to get back up again.

Eventually, though, I made my feet carry me to a kiosk where I bought a map of the city, and a bento for my suddenly-empty stomach.

“Hey,” I said to the person working the counter, “do you know where I could find a cheap room to rent?”

“There’s a hostel in Kineicho,” the worker told me. “They might have a bed available.”

With that, I was off. I checked in, tossed my bag aside, and plopped on to my new bed with my bento. When I opened it, the smell of the side salad’s vinaigrette assaulted my nose and made me lose my appetite. I decided to rest my aching head instead, and forge out the next day and embark on my third new life.

Luckily for me, Kineicho at that time had a burgeoning cabaret club scene, right in the heart of the district. It didn’t take long to find one that was hiring, after a couple days of word-of-mouth sleuthing. Before stumbling in there in my grubby t-shirt the way I did with Club Sunshine, I spent another chunk of change on a slinky red dress and styled my hair.

Fully kitted out, I approached the club. Nadine, it was called. It wasn’t too far from where we are now, just around the corner. It was small, dingy. I doubt it survived the bubble burst—on a good day, it was only half full. Not an ideal situation, as I would come to find out there was a reason they had staffing issues. However, I’d spent the previous several weeks sitting on my hands and I knew the money I had wouldn’t last forever, at least until the rest of my payoff came. I smoothed my dress, hiked up the bustier, and went inside.

The (presumed) manager was sweeping the floor, though it seemed like it wasn’t doing much. The low lighting protected the interior from further scrutiny, even in the off hours.

“Can I help you?” The manager asked.

Showtime. I put everything I learned at Sunshine to the test.

“Pardon my intrusion,” I said, making my voice as small and breathy as I could stand, “but I heard that your club is hiring, and I wanted to introduce myself.” I swept my freshly-feathered hair away from my collar and extended my hand like I was a European noble lady. “My name is Okazaki Sayaka, I just moved here from Sotenbori.”

The manager seemed unsure of what to do with me. He set the broom aside and gingerly took my hand.

“Pleasure, Sayaka-chan,” he said. “Sotenbori, you said?”

“Indeed. I worked previously at Club Sunshine. It’s currently one of the most—”

“Eh? Sunshine?!” The manager cut me off. “I heard they took down Club Moon!”

“Oh, yes! I was on the roster that night.” I lied. “It was a tough fight, but we pulled through in the end.”

“I’ll say! Everyone in the industry has been talking about it.” The manager looked around self-consciously. “Our operation is probably nothing compared to Sunshine’s outfit. You might even be overqualified.”

I chortled, trying to keep it lady-like. “Your club is simply adorable! It would be an honor to become part of your team.” I put a hand on my hip and squeezed my shoulders together, really trying to make the sweetheart neckline work for me. “I can even pass on what I learned from my previous manager to the other girls, if you hire me.”

The manager looked me up and down, and lingered on my chest.

“When can you start?”

I grinned. He took the bait.

“Tonight?” I suggested demurely.

“Be back here at 4,” he said. “Get the other girls up to speed, would you?”

I giggled. “Can do.”

I swished out of the club and around the corner. I let my shoulders slump, then celebrated with a few air punches. I had a job.

When I went back later that afternoon, the manager introduced me to the other girls.

“This is Kitty,” he pointed to a cute girl in soft pigtails, “Kanami,” a square-shouldered girl with blunt bangs, “and Marie.”

Marie was clearly the most experienced of the three, and was certainly the top girl. She had beachy, honey blond waves that framed sharp eyebrows and a delicate nose. She was beautiful, and she knew it.

I gave them my most elegant bow. I had to keep it up.

“This is Sayaka,” the manager said. “She’s from Sotenbori, and she’s gonna teach you lot how to be proper hostesses. I expect you all to work hard and take what she says to heart, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” they all called in unison.

We all made our way to the dressing room, where the other girls started primping.

“Sayaka-chan, can you help me with my makeup?” Kitty said.

“Me next!” Said Kanami.

Marie, however, just sat at the vanity and pretended that I wasn’t even there. When I tried talking to her, she barely acknowledged my existence. I thought nothing of it, that maybe she was just trying to focus before customers arrived, but after the night was over she pulled me aside after the other girls had left and I learned the truth.

“Who do you think you are, huh?” She got right up in my face. “What makes you so special, that you can just waltz in here and steal the show?”

I wanted to keep my cool (and my job), so I just apologized.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll find another club to spruce up with your Sotenbori charms.” She said the last bit with heavy mockery.

I straightened my back.

“You don’t scare me,” I said.

“Maybe you should rethink that,” she said, and with a whirl she grabbed her bag and strutted out the door as if nothing happened. It was no wonder that place had staffing issues if their top girl came at every new hire like a mother wolf. I’d seen far bigger fangs, though, and figured she was all bark.

I checked the time. 11:45.

“Shit!”

I dashed out of there as quickly as my new hostess dress would allow, and arrived at my hostel just in time to watch the owner lock the door for midnight curfew. I slammed on the door.

“Hey, I’m here!” I shouted. “Let me in!”

But the owner ignored me, and shuffled upstairs to their own bed. I pounded on the door a few more times, but no luck. I was employed, but homeless, at least for the night.

I wandered off, and wondered if there was a homeless camp around as big as the one in Kamurocho. Dressed the way I was, though, I figured that was a bad idea. Roaming the streets in general was a bad idea in a hostess’ dress, so I had to decide what to do for the night.

My stomach roared. I’d been fighting a bout of nausea and hadn’t eaten all night.

“Well,” I said, “that’s first on the list.”

Nagoya, particularly at that time, wasn’t exactly a sleepless city. But, the chicken wing joint was sure to have customers still, so I headed in that direction with my skirt hiked to my knees.

I sat at the bar and devoured three plates of wings. The hot, freshly fried food staved off sleep and quelled the churning in my gut. I washed it all down with an oolong tea, still feeling a little too queasy for alcohol.

I managed to kill a couple hours gorging myself on chicken wings, but I had a few more left to go. As I left the restaurant, I was beckoned north by the distinctive ping of an aluminum bat.

“That’s right,” I said, “there’s a batting cage here.”

I didn’t have to go far. And fortunately, the cages were open 24 hours. The attendant eyed me up and down, and I slid a generous stack of bills under the window.

“Advanced course, please.”

I stepped in to the cage and grabbed a bat. Swinging at the first pitch made me lose my balance in my heels, so I kicked them off. There was something that felt very wrong about swinging in the batting cages wearing a long, sparkly dress, but it was also oddly fitting for where my life had brought me. It was the first time I’d gotten to hit some homers since living in Kamurocho, so I was rusty and fouled a bunch of pitches off. But I felt so much more limber, more relaxed. More free. In Kineicho, I had a job and a little money. I needed to figure out the housing situation still, since I didn’t have a boyfriend to live with, but on the bright side I didn’t have to live with an abusive prick.

If this was going to be my life for the foreseeable future, then I figured that wouldn’t be so bad. That’s how I felt up until I ran barefoot to the bathroom and upchucked my dinner.

“Jeez, did I eat too much?” I wondered as I swished my mouth out from the tap. “Maybe I just worked too hard.”

And that was how life went, for a little while. I’d go to work, inevitably miss my curfew, eat dinner, and spend the rest of the night at the batting center until the hostel opened back up again and I’d go pass out until it was time to work again. The hostel also had a lock-out period in the mornings, but they allowed me to stay so I could get some sleep. Though, I think they just couldn’t get me up to kick me out—the faux-graveyard shift was kicking my ass.

The bad news came early on in the new year: I was running out of money. I’d been careless with my advance payment, and despite the trickling income from the club I found myself in desperate need for the rest of the money I was promised.

I berated myself for ever thinking that bastard Sagawa would make good on that.

I started looking more seriously into better housing. I would grab a newspaper and spend some of my down time at the batting cages scouring the classifieds. The problem was, whenever I’d find a good prospect I couldn’t call them, either because it was three in the morning or it was a reasonable hour and I was just asleep. By the time I would manage to get in touch the offer would have passed.

I was struggling to catch up on sleep. I would take cat naps at the batting center, at work, wherever I could. I constantly felt tired.

And then came the, well, I shouldn’t say bad news—rather, the complicated news. Because, my dear child, this is not just the story of how I met your father, but it is also the story of your birth. You’re probably way ahead of me and have already done the math and picked up the breadcrumbs, but understand I was in denial about this for a good while. I was just tired all the time from my odd sleep schedule, sure. I felt queasy almost every day because I had a poor diet, I told myself. That shiny new dress I’d bought myself only a couple months ago was suddenly too snug and almost couldn’t zip all the way. Well, that’s what I got for eating fried chicken wings every night, wasn’t it? My period was over a month and a half late because of stress, surely?

Denial, you see.

I did eventually break down and take a test. And another. And one more, just to be safe. If you learn anything from our little chat, it’s that you should always use protection. Don’t roll your eyes at me.

Once it sunk in, I had a moment of panic. Not only was my money slowly dwindling, I was about to have another mouth to feed. The hostel would surely kick me out if I came in with a newborn, if not before then. I had already overstayed my welcome there. I would have to hide it at work for as long as possible—an expecting hostess isn’t exactly a good look for the club, doubly so as an unmarried woman.

Of course, termination was also on the table, but I needed more money for that. It was a much more covert operation, back then, and required more up-front capital. I would’ve needed to wait until next payday for that, which was precious time I couldn’t afford to waste in many ways.

Before heading to work the next afternoon, I did the only other thing I could think to do: channel my inner scared little girl and call my mommy. I stopped by a payphone and, with a deep breath, dialed my childhood phone number for the first time in years. It rang twice before she picked up.

“Hello?”

Hearing her voice again after so long made me want to shrivel up and blow away with the wind.

“Hi, Mom,” I croaked.

“…Sayaka.”

There are a few things you need to understand about my mother, because you’ve never met her and you should probably know why. Okazaki Satomi is a very proper lady, on the surface. When I was growing up, she would always wear a kimono and do up her hair. She did all the things that were expected of her as a woman and a wife—cooking, cleaning, flower arranging, etiquette, all that jazz. We often hosted my dad’s coworkers and my mother was the chief entertainer. As I reached a certain age, she would doll me up and trot me out, show me off like prized cattle. She would make me serve the tea while these men would say the most vile shit about her daughter to her face, and she would laugh along. Then she’d send me away so I could take a bath and go to bed and the adults could talk about business, or whatever. On those nights, I would bar the door and dunk myself in the hottest water I could draw.

Satomi was also a drunk. I rarely saw her without a cup of sake in hand. I don’t think I have to explain to you how that feels, to have a mother that’s there but not present, at least some of the time. You know. Sorry.

Most of all, I think she just hated being a mother. She often treated me like a little adult, a live-in servant with poor motor skills. As I got older, it only got worse. The expectation to be perfect and always do her bidding, that is, not my motor skills. It’s why I started spending most of my time outside of home, like at softball practice or, even later on, in Kamurocho. She had no jurisdiction there.

Or so I thought.

You may be wondering why I called her then, in my hour of need. At the end of the day, she was still my mother, the only one I knew. I was hoping for guidance, of some kind. Perhaps a cash injection, if I was lucky.

After the sound of her voice had a proper chance to run up and down my spine, I gathered myself up again.

“It’s been a while,” I said.

“It certainly has,” she said icily. “To what do I owe this…pleasure of hearing from my dear daughter once again?”

“Well, I have some news,” I said. My heart was beating so hard I could have sworn she heard it jumping out of my throat. “I broke up with Ken.”

“I see,” she said. “That’s a shame.” A canned answer, to be certain. She hated Ken, I think she just wanted to show that she was capable of sympathy.

“I’ve left Tokyo,” I said. “And I’m trying to make things work in Nagoya.”

“Good for you, dear.” I heard her heave a sigh, followed by a familiar glug glug glug. “Doing what I never could.”

“How’s Dad?” I asked. I wasn’t about to tell her what I knew—that she and Dad had separated.

She hesitated before answering. “He’s fine.” She wasn’t about to cough it up either.

“That’s good.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. The snugness of my dress was making it difficult to breathe properly.

“Sayaka,” Mom said sternly. “Is that all you called to tell me?”

She could be shockingly perceptive, sometimes. There was often no point in hiding things from her, because she would sleuth it out regardless.

I took another shallow breath.

“I’m pregnant,” I blurted.

After an agonizing moment of silence, she scoffed.

“Are you, now.” Her tone was flat, frightening. Another silence signaled a long drink, then another glug glug glug. “This won’t reflect well on your father, as you may know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It’s especially troublesome having you so far away from home. Come back to Tokyo, and we can take care of it.”

That was most certainly not an option.

“No.”

“No?”

“I won’t be going back to Asakusa. I have a job here, responsibilities, and—”

“And soon a child out of wedlock. Your family is here, Sayaka. Your father and I can take care of you.” Her appeal was couched in sweetness. I refused to fall for it.

“‘Take care of me,’ huh? That’d be a first.”

“Excuse me?”

“So I come home, you trot me to a clinic, and we pretend the last ten years never happened, do I have that right? We become the mother and daughter you always wanted us to be? Or maybe we go for the cheesy television drama option, I keep the baby and you can tell everyone it’s yours and you get a do-over on motherhood.”

“What a crass thing to suggest!” She cried.

“I won’t be living under that roof again,” I vowed. “You can count on that.”

“Fine, then.” We’d come around her full gamut of emotional range, and back to frostiness. “We’ll see what your father thinks about all this.”

“Why don’t you put him on the phone, then?” I goaded her, which seemed to work. She stammered for a moment.

“He’s at a work function at the moment.”

“What sort of function?”

“He’s about to close a deal with a very important client.” An extravagant lie. She was also known for these.

“Well, when he comes home,” I humored her, “tell him I’m very sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.” I couldn’t help but let a little sarcasm through.

She stewed on that for a moment.

“The door is open to you,” she said. “I suggest you take advantage of that opportunity, before it’s too late. Nagoya is a problematic place for us at the moment.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Your father’s company has a major rival in the area, and it will take some time to reach you there. More time than you have.”

I wouldn’t learn the significance of what had just she told me for months.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” She asked.

“Dunno.”

“Your father would be so pleased if it were a boy.”

“And you?”

“Well, I would be happy either way, if you just came home.”

Another implicit threat laced in the tone of her voice. Come home, or else. I wasn’t afraid of her. Perhaps I should have been.

“Don’t count on it,” I said. “Bye, Mom.”

“Before you go,” she said quickly. “Ginger tea. It helps with the sickness.”

“…Thanks.”

I hung up and shoved my pitifully small amount of leftover change in my bag. I’d dumped way too many coins into that conversation. “Before it’s too late” continued to rattle in my brain, up to when I got to work.

I was somehow still early enough to be the first hostess to arrive, so I took a moment before donning my makeup to splash some water on my face. And damn it all did a cup of ginger tea sound good at that moment.

I looked up from the sink to find Marie waiting at the door to the green room, a horror movie jumpscare.

“I’m surprised to see you here so early, Sayaka-chan,” she said. “Still wearing that dress I see. Looking a little tight there,” she teased.

I’d learned to stop engaging with her, so I said nothing and continued getting ready.

“Aw, it’s okay to admit you’ve put on a little weight.” Her voiced dripped with sarcasm. “Happens to the best of us. But you probably ought to get something new, before this one pops a seam.”

I bit my tongue, for my own sake. She sat down at the station next to me, leaned on my counter space, picked through my makeup.

“But, I guess this is all part of your strategy, isn’t it?” She said. “You would know better than a hick like me.” I cursed the manager in my head for putting me in this position.

I swiped on my lipstick, and she got closer.

“I guess a lot of people like love handles, don’t they?”

She grabbed my side and pinched hard. I grabbed her wrist harder, wrenching it behind her ear. She flinched.

“This is a ‘no touching’ establishment,” I said from my chest, but quietly as to not alert the manager. “Don’t you know the rules?”

She didn’t move, she wouldn’t dare. I don’t think she expected me to retaliate.

“What is your problem with me, huh?” I said. “Why are you harassing me?”

“Because you shouldn’t be here,” she hissed. “I’m the number one around here, understand? You should just go back home.”

I torqued her wrist more, taking a bit of my frustration at my mother out on her. The universe was trying to tell me something, and I was plugging my ears. She tried wriggling out of my grasp, but she was no match for my baseball-strengthened triceps. She stared me down, each of us frozen in place, until the clatter of the front door broke my grasp and I dropped her wrist.

“Hi, everyone!” Kitty called cheerfully.

“Hey, Kitty-chan,” I said coolly.

I finished up my hair, and Marie stood before leaning in to whisper in my ear.

“You have secrets, Sayaka-chan,” she said. “I’m going to find them.” As she walked away, she said, “That lipstick looks really pretty on you.”

Her voice made me shiver. Marie usually didn’t get to me so badly, but the fact that she’d noticed my weight gain had me rattled. Did she already suspect I was pregnant? Or was she just trying to throw me off? I checked the full-body mirror once everyone else had gone out to the floor for opening. I’d filled out the dress, but it wasn’t yet obvious that something was amiss. I didn’t look like myself—Marie had noticed the softness at my sides, but only I noticed the dome forming atop my stomach. At least, I hoped I was the only one.

“Sayaka-chan! You’re up!” The manager called for me.

I quickly bunched up some of the fabric around my midsection, hoping it would help, but smoothed it back out again and stepped out onto the floor.

That night the club hosted a private party with a few gentleman from a local business firm. Only the center table was occupied, with everyone flanking who I assumed was the boss. Marie was at his right, working him hard with plenty of hair twirls and batted eyelashes. The other two girls were stationed to accompany their own salarymen. I was seated next to a very bored-looking office worker sitting at the opposite end of the action.

I gave him my standard bow and greeting.

“Hi, I’m Sayaka. Let’s have fun tonight!”

“Ah, sure.” He responded with a kind of resigned agreement. “Name’s Tetsuya.”

“It’s a pleasure, Tetsuya-san.” I gave him my best customer service smile, but he still looked miserable. He wanted to be there just as much as I did, so I took a liking to him immediately. He warmed up to me, too. One of those nights where you just click with someone. I went home that night early enough to sleep in my cozy hostel bed.

A few days after that conversation with my mother I was approached by someone claiming to be from my father’s company. How they found me, I still don’t know. Clever deduction, perhaps. I was presented with a check, on the condition that I put it toward moving to Tokyo. I refused, of course, and Dad’s goon fucked off, but it left me seething. I felt more trapped than ever.

With little else to do, I resigned myself to seeing my pregnancy through. It was becoming more and more evident as the days wore on, to the point I had to spend money I didn’t have on a new dress, one that better concealed the growing bump. I had to keep my head above the water.

When I got to the green room for my shift that night, I was greeted by Marie’s devilish grin. I ignored her, as per usual, but she stalked over to me and shut the door. She drove me into the corner, making herself seem much bigger than she was.

“Sayaka-chan,” she purred. “I know your secret.”

I stared her down, hopefully channeling my hammering heartbeat into my glare.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Marie whispered in my ear.

I just stonewalled her, like I usually did. I couldn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. She took it as a tacit admission.

“I knew it,” she hissed. “You’re not so good at hiding it. Plus, there’s no was Miss Osaka would let herself go that much.”

“Is this your idea of fun or something? Workplace harassment?” I finally said. “Or is this some kind of hazing ritual?”

Marie planted herself firmly in front of me. She looked me up and down, sizing me up as if to determine the best place to start devouring me. Her gaze darkened.

“Truthfully? I just don’t like you,” she said. “You never should’ve been hired here. You’re a fucking amateur, plain and simple. That unrefined attitude only gets you so far, then when they realize you’ve got nothing going on upstairs they yearn for some real company with someone elegant and witty. Like me.”

My fists balled themselves up, prone at my sides. I think all of my spare energy devoted to making you was temporarily diverted to holding back my desire to punch that bitch right in her perfect little nose.

“Although, it must have worked for someone, since how else did you end up in such a state?” She smirked.

“Shut the fuck up,” rumbled out of my throat.

She leaned in and slipped her leg in between mine, her knee pressed right up against me.

“You’re such a slut, I bet this turns you on, doesn’t it?” She whispered, high and breathy, as her hand slid its way over to my breast.

(It did, but sexual assault has a way of tricking your body like that.)

Just as I grabbed her shoulder to push her off, the door to the dressing room creaked open. Saved by the bell once more. Marie, confident as ever, oozed off of me.

“Ah, am I interrupting something?” Kanami giggled.

“Oh, not at all Kana-chan!” Marie returned. She flocked to Kanami’s side and led her to the mirrors, ensuring she wouldn’t catch the look of disgust on my face.

I pulled myself together enough to get ready for showtime, but having Marie sit next to me doing her makeup as if nothing had happened made my stomach churn even more than had become usual. My whole body thrummed with anxious energy.

The manager came in to the green room just before opening.

“Alright girls,” he said. “We’ve got another private party tonight from that big stationary company. Make sure we keep the champagne flowing, all right?”

“Yes!” We all said in unison.

We greeted the group as they walked in, a few familiar faces sprinkled among them. I locked eyes immediately with one.

“Tetsuya-san, was it?” I said.

“Oh, hi.” He appeared surprised that I remembered him, but he also gave me a timid smile. “New dress?”

“It is, thank you for noticing!”

“Would you mind sitting with me again tonight?” He asked.

“I’d love to.”

We situated ourselves at the end of the table, just like before. I poured him a drink.

“Cheers,” he said. “Why don’t you pour yourself one?”

“Oh, well, you see…” I started.

“Sayaka-chan! Don’t be a party pooper!” Marie’s voice cut through straight to my ear canal. She leaned over to stage whisper to one of the other gentlemen. “She’s trying to watch her figure. But today is a good day to let loose, isn’t it?”

She slid me a champagne flute, fuller than it should have been. I shot her a glare—she’d decided to take her fights in public.

I played along, and took the flute.

“Cheers,” I said, and while keeping eye contact with her took the barest of sips.

“Ah, sorry,” Tetsuya said. “Looks like I’ve caused trouble for you, haven’t I?”

“It’s quite alright,” I said, once again donning my customer service voice. “She’s right. Tonight is a night to cut loose!”

An older, portly man to Tetsuya’s side clapped him on the shoulder.

“The lady’s right, Okazaki-kun! Loosen up!”

I blinked. “Your name’s Okazaki, too? How funny!”

“Heh, yeah.” His voice had a strained twinge to it. “Small world.”

“And how’s Mrs. Okazaki been?” The portly man asked Tetsuya. I saw the color drain from his face, and his eyes darted to mine for a split second, but his superior didn’t seem to notice. It wasn’t uncommon to have married clients, as cabarets have always been a bit of an open secret, but Tetsuya’s reaction was peculiar to me. I wondered if he didn’t want me to know he was married.

“She’s fine,” he said curtly.

“I hear you’re having the boss over for dinner,” the superior said. “What’s she got cookin’?”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Tetsuya said. “She’s, uh…usually the one to take charge on that kind of thing.” He shifted in his seat. “It’s not for a couple weeks anyway.”

He downed his champagne and turned back to me.

“You want help with that?” He whispered. His husky tenor confused my hormonal body.

“Please,” I replied.

He waited until Marie was distracted laughing with other men to switch our glasses.

“She been giving you a hard time?” He continued in his whisper.

“Yeah, long story.” I waved him off. “Ah, but I’m here to…entertain you, aren’t I? We don’t need to talk about my problems.” I sat up straight and folded my hands in my lap, prim and ladylike. “How did you meet your wife?”

“Oh, uh…” He trailed off. “It’s…a long story.”

“I don’t mind listening.” I could listen to his voice all day.

“You don’t need to hear about my problems, either.”

I quirked an eyebrow at his response. Why was he being so cagey about this wife of his?

Nevertheless, the night continued on with pointless banter and ever-flowing alcohol. The departing coworker was lavishly doted upon by Marie, and I sat with Tetsuya the entire night. I learned he was also a baseball fan, and that he could hold his liquor rather well—the only two qualities I care about in a man, apparently. He had a softness to him that I found quite endearing. His wife was a lucky lady, I thought.

The night drew to a close. The manager escorted the gaggle of salarymen to the door and the rest of us girls began cleaning up. Kitty and Kanami each loaded up a tray of dirty glasses and took them to the back while I got to work resetting the tables. Marie appeared to do very little, instead deciding to keep me company.

“What a trooper you were, Sayaka-chan!” She cooed. “It’s always a buzzkill when they end up talking about marriage.”

“Uh-huh,” I grunted as I hoisted a table to the next booth over.

“That guy you were sitting with was super cute, though. I got stuck with the uglies.”

“Next time, he’s all yours,” I said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her smirk.

“Is it wise to be doing such hard labor, Sayaka-chan?”

“Don’t see why not,” I said. “You could also, y’know, help me.”

“Oh, those old tables are far too heavy for me. I could break a nail!”

I rolled my eyes and kept working.

“How far along are you?” She prodded. I nearly told her off when the manager returned from outside. I watched him scuttle off to the back with the other girls.

“Don’t you think the boss has a right to know?” Marie continued her needling. “Pretty soon, you won’t be able to fit in a booth! How do you expect to keep working as a hostess when you’ve got a beach ball between your legs? And then, what? Baby fat doesn’t magically go away, you know. You better hang on to that frumpy sack you’ve got on, since it’ll be the only thing that’ll look even remotely good on you, mama.”

I kept ignoring her, all the while working to keep my hands busy, lest I swat at the obnoxious fly in my ear. She followed me around the floor regardless, as flies are want to do.

“You know, now that I think about it…” She hummed. “Where’s Daddy? Is he in the picture?”

I figured she’d make her way there eventually. She already thought I was a slut, but the idea of her talking shit on your bio-dad had the rage already bubbling away in my core. She could say anything she wanted to about me, but dragging him into this got my pre-maternal hackles up.

“Ooh, can I guess what he’s like?” Marie cooed. “Let’s see…Miss Osaka probably goes for the local type, with that thick Kansai-ben. A local business man, I’d presume. The kind with a middle-school education,” she said with a laugh at her oh-so-clever implication.

By that point I’d stopped hauling tables, bent over one and gripping the sides to ground me. All at once a waterfall rushed down my spine because I realized she was right. My entire adult life I’d been the plaything of thugs that couldn’t help but punch down. I was an easy target, a succulent piece of meat served up with an apple in my mouth. The moment I found the unicorn, the one with a heart of gold, the universe snatched him away from me. No, no, Sayaka. You can’t have this one. How about his child, instead? Suddenly, I was furious—at him, at Marie, at my mother and father, at the bastard that threatened my life and sent me running for my life to an unfamiliar city where, unbeknownst to me, I was about to become a mother.

If I had the strength to, I would have snapped that table right in half. It probably would have cost me much less in the long run.

“You two must have been a match made in heaven,” Marie said. “Wonder why it didn’t work out?”

The next few moments were a blur. The next thing I knew, Marie was on the floor and the manager had grabbed my arm, which ended in my fist dotted in blood. Then I’d somehow made my way outside, my freshly-cleaned hand holding a pink slip. My feet took me to the hostel, where I found my bag sitting out by the trash can. In my fog, the first thing I thought was how funny my stretched-out sparkly dress looked sticking out of my duffel waiting to get thrown out. I rescued my bag and left my key on the trash can lid.

On the east side of Kineicho, in the middle of the square, I sat on a bench, and I cried.

Chapter Text

“Hey, you okay?”

I pulled my head out of my feelings long enough to find a familiar voice calling to me.

“Tetsuya-san?” I said. He took a slouchy seat next to me, his loosened tie dangling between his knees. “Or, Okazaki-san I guess? Though it feels strange to call you that.”

“It sounds strange,” he said. “Even though I’ve been here for a few years now, I can’t get used to the family name thing. So, Tetsuya is fine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I grew up in America,” he explained. “You only hear ‘Mr. Okazaki’ if you’re in deep shit, or if you have a really old-fashioned teacher.” He sat back, still slouched. He’d clearly had a few more since the club. “So, what’re you doing on a park bench all alone?”

“It’s…a long story,” I muttered.

“I’ve got time.”

“Don’t you have to get back to your wife?”

He scoffed. “No.”

I was taken aback by his flippancy. I figured he must have been really unhappy in his marriage.

He swabbed his ear with his pinky. “Wanna grab a bite?”

“It makes sense, if you’re American, that you’re so friendly.”

“I’m not friendly,” he said, “you just look like you need a friend.”

My ears burned. “I see.”

“You know that chicken wing place? By the batting cages?”

Tetsuya got to learn firsthand how well I knew that place. We sat at the bar and immediately Tetsuya ordered us both gin highballs.

“Oh wait,” he said, “you don’t drink though, right?”

“She doesn’t,” the bartender answered. “Your usual, Sayaka-chan?”

“Yes, please.”

Tetsuya got his drink and an order of wings. I got my oolong tea, and snagged a few from his basket.

“So,” he grunted after a long sip, “what’s your deal?”

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” I gave him a sideways glance.

“Sorry, Japanese isn’t my first language,” he slurred.

“You sound pretty fluent to me.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment. I get sloppy when I’m drunk.” He grinned. “I don’t talk too good neither.”

What a charming bastard he could be.

“I’m pregnant,” I said, and his eyebrows shot up. His gaze fell to my stomach, and the gears in his head materialized on his face. He shot out his hand to feel my bump and I swatted it away.

“The fuck? Don’t touch me. You need proof or something?” I snapped at him.

“No, I think that was enough,” he said. “I had no idea.”

“Well, that was the plan, at least for now, but the shit hit the fan and now I’m out of a job and homeless to boot.” I sucked on a wing and tossed the bone.

“Damn, you’re really down and out, huh?” He said, so matter-of-factly. “I’m guessing that bitchy one had something to do with it? Girls are more attuned to these sorts of things, I’d guess.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “But it was my fault in the end. I kind of…punched her in the face?”

“Whoa!”

“I know, not very ladylike, but if you heard the vile shit she spewed you would have done the same thing! Maybe — if you were the kind of guy that punches women.” I paused. “You’re not, are you?”

“Nah.” The epitome of nonchalance, he was. Normally, that kind of smug sarcasm would drive me up a wall, but Tetsuya had charisma in spades. I found it hard to dislike him.

“You must think I’m horrible,” I said.

“I think you’re kind of a badass, actually.”

That caught me completely off-guard. I met his gaze for the first time—half-lidded and unfocused, sure, but also genuine, in that filterless alcohol way. That statement had no shred of sarcasm. He flipped between the two fluidly.

“I don’t think I am,” I said with a furrowed brow. “If I was, I wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. I may have won the battle, but it made her win the war.” I spoke to my tea. “There was someone else I probably should have punched instead.”

“Oh?”

“Ah, it’s not important now.” I waved the thought away, along with a rogue tear. “I think it’s your turn now.”

“I’m not pregnant,” he said flatly.

“Gonna need proof.” I threw it back at him.

“I can call my doctor. He’ll tell you it was just gas.”

That line got a laugh out of me.

“A non-native speaker has no right being that funny,” I said.

“Ouch.” He turned to his drink and downed about half of it. “I do have a secret, though.”

“What is it?”

“You think I’m gonna tell you?” He whined.

“Aw, come on. I told you mine.”

“Yeah, but yours wasn’t gonna stay secret.”

I socked him in the arm for that, and harder than I thought since he recoiled.

“Jeez, that’s your play-punch? I feel kinda sorry for that bitchy girl now.”

Rather than get indignant, I kept quiet and covered my burning ears. Tetsuya, however, grabbed my wrist gently and pulled me close to whisper in my ear: “I’m not actually married.”

“Huh?!” I jerked my arm back.

“I know, scandalous, right?” He hummed. “My father would be livid, if he were even in this country.”

“Where is he?”

“Singapore. Expanding the business or whatever.” Tetsuya guzzled the rest of his drink and flagged the bartender for another.

“So, were you ever married to begin with?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“Then, how did you end up caught in such a big lie?”

Tetsuya remained quiet, waited for his next drink. He took another big swig.

“It was my father’s idea, to have me move here,” Tetsuya explained. “I was born and raised in America, and yeah I know Japanese but I don’t really know that much about culture here. I was a typical American kid, got good grades, went to a good school for business, all that jazz. But girls were kinda…hmm, how should I put this…?” Tetsuya scratched his head. “I did get into a relationship, eventually. It…wasn’t the kind of relationship my father wanted for me, let’s just say that. No heirs to be had there.”

A rock formed in the pit of my stomach. He was telling a story I knew all too well—one from my high school days hiding underneath the bleachers sharing a cigarette, and one from that sunny little club that I ended before it could begin.

“And that’s why you’re here?” I asked.

“Yeah, kinda,” he said. “I mean, my dad always wanted me to take over the business on the Japan side anyway, and I’d just graduated so it was good timing. For one of us.” Tetsuya rolled his glass between his hands. “That relationship ending was for the best anyway. I…couldn’t give him what he needed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sex.” He said it so frankly my blush resurged.

“It wasn’t good, you mean?”

Tetsuya hemmed and hawed.

“You see,” he said finally, “at the end of the day, I just don’t think it’s for me.”

“Hm.” Never heard a man say something like that before.

“I know, I know, it’s weird,” he wildly waved the counterargument away. “But every time I get the chance, it…falls apart. I go through the motions, I choke it down, and it never feels…good.”

“I see.” It was way too much information about a stranger’s sex life, but considering he was the first truly kind soul I’d seen in Nagoya I gave him a pass. “So then, how did you end up ‘married?’”

“Oh!” He exclaimed, realizing he’d gone wildly off-track. “I lied.”

“Uh-huh.”

A beat.

“How did you end up in the lie?” I egged on.

“I told my dad I was married.”

I think all of my features probably formed parallel lines. I couldn’t believe this guy.

“But why?!” I asked.

“Oh. Because I was sick of his shit,” he got around to eventually. “Every week he’d call, ask how the business was going, ask if I’d gotten a nice girlfriend, same old same old. I just finally got fed up with him asking and told him, ‘Actually, Dad, I do have a girlfriend,’ which morphed into, ‘We got married!’”

“And he was okay with you getting ‘married’ without a wedding or anything?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, I just told him we eloped,” he said. “Neither of my parents are in Japan, so what would they know?”

“I suppose. How long ago was that?”

“About six months ago. But now I’m in deep shit, because I have this dinner thing with my direct superior coming up, and he’s going to wonder where my wifey is.”

“That does sound like a problem,” I hummed.

The two of us looked at each other for a beat before realization hit Tetsuya’s bleary eyes.

“Hold on, didn’t you say you were homeless?”

“Uh, yeah…?”

He took my hands in his, clasped like an oyster around a pearl.

“Will you marry me?!”

I blinked. Tilted my head, and blinked a few more times.

“Are you…what?! Are you crazy?!”

“I mean, agh!” He clapped his hand over his eyes, a palm to the face. “That’s not what I meant. Stupid American, remember?”

“Not that stupid! Or maybe you are, because there’s no way in hell I’d do that!”

“No, I mean, be my wife! Pretend, so I can get through this dumb dinner. You can live in my apartment in the meantime, as compensation.”

Now that was a tempting offer, and although I’d known the man for barely an evening I felt I could trust him. He had bared his soul to me over his unsuccessful sex life, how bad could he possibly be?

And so, I agreed. Maybe I was the stupid one for moving in with someone I barely knew, but it was better than living on the street. After the bar, Tetsuya took me back to his apartment, carrying my belongings the entire way, and led me down a quiet side street with a handsome apartment bloc at the end. He brought us up to the third floor, already worryingly difficult for me in my state, and we entered his six-mat apartment complete with a kitchen, TV, and rumpled futon he clearly hadn’t properly rolled up in months, or perhaps years.

“I’m not used to Japanese-style,” he bashfully admitted. “Please, take the futon. I’ll get you your own tomorrow.”

“Where will you sleep?” I asked.

“Oh, uh, the floor I guess?”

He pushed the low table out of the corner into the middle of the room, effectively bisecting it. I plopped myself on the futon, nestled in the corner, as Tetsuya tidied up some rogue beer cans. Confronted with the comfort of a warm bed, rather than a hard hostel cot, my eyelids couldn’t hold themselves up any longer and I nodded off briefly, only awoken by the primal sensation of my falling head. The lights were off, and I stood to peek at Tetsuya’s splayed-out form on the other side of the table, thoroughly passed out. I stripped down to my underwear and laid down for good, entering a dreamless slumber that was the best I’d had in months.

The hard reset to my sleep schedule did my body wonders. I woke up the next morning with the sun streaming through the mini-blinds. There was no sign of Tetsuya, only a note he left behind that did me no good because it was mostly in English. He had clearly not realized I wouldn’t be able to read it until he’d written the whole thing. At the bottom, some shaky hiragana read: “I hate writing the most. Back later.”

Waking up at a reasonable hour left me groggy and disoriented. I’d forgotten how normal people live their lives, much less normal pregnant women. For the first time I was able to have a private moment and reckon with the idea of a human growing inside me—you. I didn’t know you yet, though, and wouldn’t for several months (and arguably many years), and my anxiety and uncertainty gave way to disgust at the change in my body. As someone that always took pride in my fitness and fighting prowess, the cognitive dissonance I experienced prevented me from even acknowledging this enormous bump’s presence. Mostly, it served as a reminder that 1) I had fucked up, and 2) I was alone in that fuck-up.

I flopped back on to the futon—Mt. Sayaka, on full display in all her half-naked glory. My thoughts wandered to your bio-dad, and a pang of loneliness struck me. I wondered what he would think of me, if he found out I was pregnant. Would he think less of me? Would he be just as disgusted as I was? Or would he be happy? Would he be scared or worried, anxious about the future like I was? Would he be the one asking me to marry him, instead of this weird stranger? Would I even say yes?

Most of all, I wondered if his apartment by the river was still there, and wished dearly that I were there instead.

I got dressed after an embarrassingly long while and, after realizing I couldn’t leave without the key to this stranger’s apartment, I spent the rest of the day tidying up. The apartment wasn’t messy, per se, but one glance would tell you a single man lived there. Tetsuya returned late that afternoon.

“Welcome back,” I said, rote.

“Oh, uh, right. I’m home.” Tetsuya stammered, seemingly as if he forgot I’d be there. He had with him a big paper bag, presumably my bed, and a much smaller plastic bag. “I brought dinner from a really good noodle joint not too far from here. Hope you’re hungry.”

I was—I hadn’t eaten at all that day. I set out some bowls as Tetsuya unpacked, and as we settled in to eat at the table in the middle of the room I was smacked in the face by how domestic the whole scene was.

The meal was awkwardly silent, however.

“So…” I said after some time, “what did you do today?”

“I had some work shit to do,” he said. “On a Saturday, no less. Annoying as hell.” He slurped his noodles. “What about you?”

I blinked. “Didn’t you notice?”

“Notice what?”

“The futon?”

He scanned the room. “Huh? Where did it go?”

“The closet, where it’s supposed to go,” I said. “I also cleaned up all of your leftover beer cans and wiped down the counters in the kitchen.”

“Oh,” was all he said.

“‘Oh’? That’s all?”

“Gah, I mean, thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck. He mumbled, “Guess we’re off to a good start.”

“What was that?” I prodded, as bitchily as I could. I was annoyed at first, but couldn’t help but have fun “nagging” my “husband.”

“Nothing, nothing!”

I scooped up my bowl and slurped to hide a smile.

“If you want me to be your ‘wife’,” I said, “remember that I’m preowned. We’re skipping straight ahead to hormonal pregnancy, so you’re going to need to be on your best behavior.”

He continued to poke at his noodles.

“What’s your plan?” He asked. “With the baby, I mean?”

The bluntness caught me off-guard and I dropped my chopsticks. As I wiped them off, I told him my tale of woe, including my mother’s involvement and my dad’s goons showing up to offer me a check.

“You didn’t take it?” Tetsuya said.

“Be honest with me,” I said. “If you were in my shoes, would you have taken it?”

“If my mom was going to pay for my abortion, then yeah,” he said, blunt as ever. “But, I don’t think I could ever live with my parents again so I don’t blame you on that front. Still, what’re you gonna do now?”

“I don’t know,” I groaned. “Figure I’ll just see it through and cross that bridge when I get to it. Put it up for adoption, shove it in a coin locker, whatever.”

I cleaned up our dishes and threw away the takeout containers. “I tell you what though,” I said, “this thing can’t come soon enough. I’m still hungry.”

“There’s more leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself.”

As I rummaged around in search of food, I asked, “What’s the plan for your boss’ visit? When is it, anyway?”

“Not for a while. He’s also with my dad, but he’ll be back in a few weeks. We’ve got plenty of time to get our stories straight.”

That we did. We learned a lot about each other in those few weeks. Tetsuya was born in Seattle, a place I’d never heard of but apparently had a rotten baseball team (“They’re getting better!” Tetsuya claimed). His parents moved to America shortly before he was born and his father started an office supply company (“The most boring business on Earth,” in Tetsuya’s words) that did well enough to open a branch in his home country. He hated fish, but loved seafood (“Scallops are my very favorite”) and the food he missed the most from America was peanut butter. He loved David Bowie.

Tetsuya, in turn, got to learn everything about me: my parents, my delinquent phase (that I never grew out of), my ex, how I met your bio-dad. We didn’t linger on those topics, though, since we needed to hammer out some specific details about our “relationship."

“How did we meet?” I asked him one night shortly before the dinner.

“Hmm…ski trip?”

“I’ve never been skiing.”

“Movies?”

“What movie would you pick up a random girl at?”

“I don’t fucking know! You got any ideas?”

“What about, you know, a bar? A normal place to pick someone up?”

“Those other ones are perfectly normal!”

“You go skiing often?”

“Never been.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I feared they’d stick that way, just as my mother had warned. He could be so frustrating, sometimes.

We also had to figure out the menu. Thankfully, Tetsuya was a much better cook and took point on that. Naturally, we had to say I made it all, so Tetsuya helped walk me through it.

“It’s beef osso buco.”

“Beef what?”

“Osso buco. It’s Italian.”

“Osso buco…”

“It’s braised beef shanks, cooked for a long time in wine and broth, with vegetables. Got it?”

“What was it called again?”

Finally, the big day arrived. Tetsuya bought me the dowdiest maternity dress he could find, truly tablecloth-esque. It was perfect. He prepped the entire meal, except for the rice, which he let me get in the cooker.

“It cooks low and slow,” he explained, “so you won’t need to do anything. Maybe come over and stir it every so often if you want to look legitimate.”

I nodded along. My plan was to keep my mouth shut as much as possible—to be a wife that was to be seen and not heard. But Tetsuya, I’d learned, really did struggle with language occasionally, particularly when stressed. I had to be ready for anything.

The buzzer. Tetsuya scrambled for the panel.

“Yes?” He spoke into it.

“Okazaki-kun!” A gruff voice crackled over the speaker. “I’ve arrived.”

Tetsuya called him up. As we waited for his boss’s arrival, Tetsuya surprised me by grabbing my hand. “To look the part,” he claimed, though we stood hand-in-hand awkwardly for half a minute before he pulled me over to answer the door.

In walked a man with broad shoulders padded by a double-breasted suit. Round glasses, a combover, and a pencil mustache completed the salaryman-superior. Tetsuya squeezed my hand.

“Morita-san,” Tetsuya said, “pleasure as always. Let me introduce you to my wife, Sayaka.”

I bowed, tapped in to customer service mode yet again. Tetsuya sat his boss down and got him a drink while I made myself look busy by stirring the pot. So far, so good.

“I tell you, son, it does my heart good to see you thriving here in Japan,” Morita said. “How’re ya liking it?”

“To tell the truth,” Tetsuya said, “it’s been kind of surreal. I never thought I’d live here.”

“Had any visa issues?” Morita asked.

“None.”

“Suppose you won’t, now that you’re a naturalized citizen.”

“Huh?” Tetsuya chirped. “What do you—oh, right. Because I’m married.”

“And a little one on the way!” Morita crowed, as proud as if he were the father. “Wouldn’t your wife like to sit with us?”

“Ah, I…yes, I suppose she would, wouldn’t she?” Tetsuya stumbled over his sentence, trying to find the appropriately passive response.

I took the cue and sat demurely at the table. Smiling, but not saying anything unless spoken to. Playing my role.

“So, Sayaka, was it?” Morita said. “How did you meet Okazaki-kun?”

I smiled blankly. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember any of the details we’d come up with together.

“We met…at…” I glanced in his direction, hoping for a sign. He only shot up his brows—not helpful. “…a ski lodge.”

“Is that so?” Morita hummed. “I didn’t know you skied, Okazaki-kun!”

“O-oh, yeah. Sometimes,” he stammered.

“Where do you keep your skis, in this small apartment?” Morita said.

“Oh! Uh, well…” I caught Tetsuya scanning the room out of the corner of my eye. “Actually,” he managed, “I just rent skis usually, because I don’t have the room.”

“I see, I see,” Morita nodded. “And you’re about to have even less! It makes sense, then.”

I smiled at Tetsuya, and gave him a thumbs-up under the table.

“Morita-san, are you hungry?” Tetsuya said. “My wife made a delicious stew. She’s an amazing cook.” Patting yourself on the back? I tried to snark at him telepathically.

“I’ll get you another beer, Morita-san,” I offered.

“Trying to get me drunk, are you?” He said cheerfully. “With those looks, you’d be a natural as a cabaret girl!”

I only giggled softly as I rose to my feet, but Tetsuya got his hackles up.

“What do you mean by that?” He said.

“I only meant she’s a beautiful girl,” Morita said. “Don’t get so bent out of shape, Okazaki-kun.”

I could see him start to talk back, so I entered damage control mode and put a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s very kind of you, Morita-san,” I said as I served him his beer. “I actually did work in a cabaret for a while.”

“Aha! I have an eye for these things,” Morita said.

I busied myself serving the men their dishes. His comment also bothered me, but it was fairly innocuous compared to some of the other vile shit I heard from lecherous old men just like him in my life.

We began eating. Morita slurped his portion up greedily.

“That is delicious!” He praised. “What did you say this was, again?”

I drew a blank once again. I shoved a hunk of rice in my mouth.

“It’s…beef…” I covered my mouth with my hand. “Osu…boke…” I trailed off.

“What was that, dear?”

“She said it’s called ‘osso buco,’” Tetsuya backed me up.

“Mmm, and what is that flavor I’m tasting?” Morita said vaguely.

“It’s…” I looked at Tetsuya, who again unhelpfully shrugged his shoulders. “…tomato?”

“Hmm…” Morita pondered. “Perhaps so.” He shoveled a few more bites into his mouth and frowned. “You know, this kind of meal would have been better with a red wine, rather than beer.”

We both looked at each other, panicked.

“I apologize, sir, that was my fault,” Tetsuya said, with a humble head bow. “I told Sayaka that your favorite drink was beer so that’s what she got, without thinking of the pairing with the meal.” You mean you forgot, I admonished him in my head.

“My favorite drink,” Morita said seriously, “is sake, actually.”

Tetsuya’s Adam’s apple bobbed. The silence mounted. I took my leave from the table to start cleaning up.

Morita’s laugh filled the tiny space.

“I’m just joking, Okazaki-kun!” Morita said. “Relax.”

Tetsuya laughed nervously. The men carried on talking about work, while I tidied up the kitchen. Soon enough, Morita let out an extravagant yawn.

“Well, Okazaki-kun, I think I should get out of your hair,” he said. “Thank you for such a generous meal.”

“You’re welcome any time, Morita-san,” Tetsuya said.

“I really enjoyed talking shop with you,” Morita said. “It seems like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, just like your dad. You know, your grandpa, too, got me my first job. I was fresh out of middle school, and a bit of a troublemaker…ah, but you don’t want to hear about my glory days.” He waved off his own thought. “It just warms my heart to see you with a proper job, starting a family.”

“Thank you, sir.” Tetsuya bowed curtly.

“But, you know, this apartment is too small for all three of you,” Morita said. “I hear there’s an apartment in this building about to free up. Let me put in a good word for you and see if we can’t get you a space for a baby and a pair of skis, eh?” Morita chuckled and ribbed Tetsuya.

“Oh, thank you so much, sir!”

“And I’ll talk to your dad about a pay bump,” Morita added. “You’ve got a family to care for!”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“Thank you, Morita-san,” I said.

Morita slipped on his shoes and left the two of us to ourselves.

Mission accomplished.

Tetsuya came home one night soon after the dinner and immediately poured himself a drink, which was unusual for him. He plopped himself at the table and buried his mouth in his palm, thoughts clearly adrift at sea. All the while I watched him from my usual spot on the other side of the table. My advanced condition left me increasingly immobile, but he acted almost as if I wasn’t even there.

I pulled him back to land.

“Something the matter?” I asked. He startled at my voice, but gained his composure back quickly.

“I was just thinking,” he said.

“You don’t say.”

“About the apartment,” he clarified.

“What about it?”

“Like…what to do about it, I guess.” He hummed into his palm. “I dunno.”

“Take the referral, you mean?” I said. “Why wouldn’t you? It’s a bigger place, right?”

“Yeah, but…the thing is…” Tetsuya’s face twisted up and he averted his gaze. “Are you…”

“Oh,” escaped my throat. “I see. Well, I haven’t had much luck finding a place, and no one will hire me so…far along.”

“No, I mean…augh…” He ruffled his hair and muttered something in English. “It’s okay. I kinda thought that…you’d want to get out of here now that you don’t have to be my wife anymore.”

I blinked. “Do you want me gone?”

“Oh, no no no!” He held up his hands in surrender. “I…would like it if you stayed, actually. I like that you clean stuff for me.”

I scoffed, half a sigh of relief. He really could be incredibly dense sometimes.

“Is that the only thing you like about me?!”

“Well, I don’t like it when you yell at me!” He winced. “But, I like a lot of things about you. You’re pretty cool.”

Cool. Now that felt good, to hear someone say about me. It wasn’t a descriptor used often for women, but Tetsuya didn’t know, or care. He thought I was cool.

He took the apartment, and within a month we packed up our things and moved down to the second floor. By that point I was about seven months along, so Tetsuya placed me in a supervisory role. I was fine with that—I became exhausted quickly during that time. I was just waiting for my futon to get unpacked.

Tetsuya let me take the spare room, which was far bigger than I needed it to be for myself, but imagining a bassinet made it feel cramped. The reality that I’d been ignoring for months was finally catching up to me. I don’t think it had for Tetsuya yet. His kindness was about to be duly rewarded. Poor guy.

It was right after we moved in to the new apartment that two things started to happen that escalated in intensity right up until I went into labor. One of these things nearly cost me Tetsuya’s good will, the other nearly cost him his life.

One afternoon I visited the produce market and was approached by a man wearing sunglasses.

“Excuse me,” he said, “are you Sayaka-san?”

“Uh, yeah? Can I help you?”

“Mind coming with me?”

I minded very much. He seemed sketchy as hell, not to mention pregnancy puts the body through the wringer, and I’d lost my tolerance for the day.

“No, thank you,” I feigned politeness and turned to walked away. That was when I felt his hand around my bicep. Before my body devoted all its energy to growing you, I would have had no problem causing that guy problems, but my fatigue got the better of me and I just sighed.

“Couldn’t you let me go?” I gently begged. “I’d like to get home, and I really have to pee.”

He spun me around to face him, which made my job much easier. Men, especially big tough guys, tend to think that just by sheer virtue of their existence they’ve got one over on me. They never bother to restrain me, thinking that if they just grab me by their one strong hand that I’d crumple like a chewing gum wrapper and let them toss me into the trash.

I jabbed him in the eye. Like the piece of trash he was, he crumpled into a ball. Pathetic.

“Who sent you?” I said. He just moaned. I didn’t even poke him that hard!

I kicked him for good measure. “Answer me.”

“Rrrgh…the family…” he muttered.

“What family?”

“The…Okazaki Family.”

My blood turned cold. Every syllable reverberated in my head, bouncing tenfold against the walls of my skull until there was nothing but “Okazaki Family” left. It had to be a cruel joke, meant to turn me into the fool once again.

I gave him another kick in the gut before waddling away. He certainly didn’t try that hard to pursue me, if he couldn’t catch up to a pregnant woman that couldn’t run. Still, I hurried home, my heart pounding out of my chest.

Tetsuya had beaten me there, lounging at the table with a beer and takeout from our favorite barbecue joint. My appetite had vanished at the sight of him.

“Hey, you doing okay?” He greeted me. “You’re breathing kind of heavy.”

“Yeah,” I panted. “I’m gonna go lay down for a bit.” I dropped the shopping bags on the floor and made for my room, likely to his bewilderment, and flopped (read: gently eased my heavily pregnant body) onto my futon.

How could he act so casual? How could he sit there and eat takeout while god-knows-how-many thugs ran around in the city harassing civilians in his family name? I thought it seemed too convenient that his father was out of the picture. Busy running his empire, no doubt.

I had no escape. The dark forces that had driven me to destitution and homelessness had welcomed me back in with open arms, for what? Was I just not a suitable princess for the Okazaki patriarch’s only son? Or was I still just a plaything to these men, after all this time? My true purpose in life, it seemed, was to be ogled and fondled and fucked and tossed aside by criminals.

I shielded my eyes from the blazing afternoon sun. My scalp itched. I tried not to cry.

Minutes passed, then Tetsuya slipped through the door and sat on the floor next to me. I wished he’d left me alone. I was glad he didn’t.

“I put the groceries away,” he said sheepishly. “So don’t worry about that. I put the food away too, so if you’re hungry I can heat it up.” He fiddled with what I realized from the crinkling aluminum was a beer can. I still couldn’t bear to look at him. “That’s all. I’ll go back to—”

“Stay,” I said, for reasons that I could not bear to confront in the moment.

He stayed all night. We chatted, we sat in silence, we (read: he) drank, until the room grew dark and he fell asleep sitting against the wall with folded arms.

In that moment, it didn’t matter to me who his family was or what they were trying to do to me. Tetsuya cared about me. Tetsuya cared about me. He made sure I was okay, he fed me, he housed me. Me, a complete stranger mere months ago.

I gave him a nudge. He startled.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“S’alright,” he said. “I better head to bed.” He then did a curious thing and rubbed my back before rising to his feet. “Feel better, Sayaka.”

My body burned from his touch. I wished I’d asked him to stay, even though he was only a room away.

I was head-over-heels for him.

The final month was the longest and shortest of my life. Every day I got bigger and slower, and more prone to breathlessness. It proved quite the challenge, as nearly every day I spotted Okazaki Family goons on my tail. They never outright approached me after the first time, thankfully—they just skulked in the shadows, watching me. The beach ball under my shirt already attracted enough attention, so more than anything it was just plain irritating having the whole town’s eyes on me.

Pregnancy really wreaks havoc on your entire body, and I wasn’t just feeling it physically. My mood swung from “totally fine” to “I’m going to take my bat to every schmuck that dares to look at me wrong” near instantly. The constant surveillance had me closer to the lower end of that spectrum most of the time.

I still couldn’t tell where Tetsuya stood in all this. He acted just the same as ever, if a bit scattered due to his promotion. He started coming home later most days, which aroused my suspicions, though I still gave him the benefit of the doubt. Stupid of me, perhaps, but I had nowhere else to go with your arrival rapidly approaching. You wouldn’t let me forget it, either—I swear I still have bruises in my uterine lining from how much you kicked me.

My feelings for him also loomed over my head. I told myself it was just a crush, one that could never be fulfilled, but those sorts of crushes tend to fester when you’re confronted with the object of your affection on a daily basis.

So, I avoided him. Well, as much as I could in our tiny apartment. I cloistered myself away in my room, ignoring the world. I fancied myself a monk, sequestered from all earthly vices in order to attain enlightenment. Again, hard to meditate when something is kicking you from the inside.

On a sweltering day in mid-August, a day not unlike today, Tetsuya came into my room while I was mid-meditation. I wore nothing but my underwear and a button-up shirt draped over my shoulders like a robe to wick the sweat from the back of my neck.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he said. My eyes were closed, but I could tell he faced away from me, respectful as always. “I just wanted to see if everything was okay in here.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” I said, a bit bitchier than intended.

“I just…haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all,” he said. “I was kinda wondering if you’d already had the baby!”

“Clearly not,” I sniped.

“Alright, jeez.” I heard the scratching of stubble. Weekend five o’clock shadow, or perhaps the back of his freshly-shorn neck, it was hard to say. “I’m going to order food, now…” He lingered on that “now,” it hung in the doorway. “Do you…are you…”

“Hungry? Not particularly.” I peeked at him with one eye. “Could you get out of my room now?”

He huffed out a sigh. “Don’t you want some iced tea, at least? You’ve been cooped up in here for days.”

His worry covered me in a wool blanket, and still it was August. I rose, with some difficulty, and pulled on my dowdy housewife dress.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m heading out for a walk.”

“But don’t you want to stay close, just in case…y’know…”

“What do you want from me, Tetsuya?” I barked. “Do you want me to leave my room? Or do you want me to stay?”

“I want you to leave! I mean, stay! I don’t know!” He paced back. “I want you to do what you want! I’m just worried, is all.”

“What are you so worried about?”

He held his head in his hands. “What else would I be worried about?!” He yelled. “We’re about to have a baby!”

“We’re? We’re?! I think you mean I’m about have a baby!” I pushed past him. “Maybe I’ll march myself down to the hospital and tell them to cut the thing out of me, since it worries you so much!”

“Sayaka, please wait.” He had the audacity to grab my arm. I swung out of his grasp easily.

“Don’t try and stop me,” I said. “I’ll do it regardless.”

“I know that,” he said. “I just want you to be safe!”

“Safe, huh. Why do you give a shit about something like that?”

“Because! I…argh! Fucking hell…” He shrugged. “Fine. Go then. You are so frustrating.”

“Right back at ya,” I said, punctuated by the front door.

I wished stepping out would have helped me cool off, but the heat only stuck more out in the world, to my neck and thighs. I tromped around the block, no real goal in mind. I hoped walking around would kickstart the process that was threatening to rip me apart from the inside one little cramp at a time.

I rounded the corner down the alley that led to the market when someone called out to me.

“Sayaka-san.”

I turned around to find another goon in dark glasses. A weed that kept popping up despite the pesticides.

“What do you want?” I called, not even deigning to face him.

“Please come with me,” he said, flat.

“No.”

I didn’t even wait for a response and waddled away. I’d barely reached the strip of sunlight at the end of the alley when a meaty hand clasped over my mouth and an arm snared me at the underarms. This one was much stronger than the others I’d faced. I tried prying his arms off of me but he tightened his coil.

“I know the directive was to bring you unharmed,” he said, “but sometimes a couple bruises are necessary.” His chin grazed the top of my head as he turned over his shoulder. “Bring the car around.”

I tried in vain to headbutt him, but I struck only muscle-padded chest. Scratches slid off his sharkskin suit. I kicked and dug my feet as he dragged me backward down the alley.

The sound of tires crunching broken glass echoed off the walls — then, a car door, and another. Indistinct shouts blended together in the cacophony.

What was I supposed to do? Was this the end for me? Was this the end for you?

I stilled myself, and looked inside for the answer. I closed my eyes and braced myself.

I pressed the flat of my tongue against his palm and immediately he pulled his hand away, exactly as I anticipated. Salt and tin coated my mouth, and bile crept up my throat. I dashed down to the other end of the alley, kicking trash and crates on my way. I’d never run faster in my entire pregnancy.

I made it to the market area, and as I rounded the corner the sea of people parted to let a frazzled pregnant woman by. I took my chance — I ducked behind a fruit stand that capped the corner of another alley and hid myself behind their stacks of crates. The old lady running the place cocked her head at me.

“What’re you doin’, miss?” She said. “Those are my oranges yer about to knock over with that li’l bundle of joy, there!”

“If the suits come this way, I will knock them over,” I hissed.

Sure enough, the clamor of the crowd let me know they were approaching fast. I kept still, one foot stuck out just enough to trip anyone that dared to run by down the alley.

But then, something happened.

My shoes were wet.

I thought I’d pissed myself, but then a bolt of pain seized my guts. I clutched my belly and squatted down.

“Oh, no, you ain’t doin’ this here!” The old lady squawked. Despite her gruffness, her hand was gentle in helping my back to my feet. Before I knew it, a crowd of people had gathered around me and formed a bubble of concern.

This was my ticket out.

The old lady passed me off to a younger (though still older than me) woman, who then ushered me in to the arms of a middle-aged man with a kid of his own that led me down to the taxi stand. His big hands eased me into the cab, and told the driver where to go before shutting me in.

In that moment, a few people made it feel as though the whole city of Nagoya was looking out for me.

I looked out the back window as the taxi drove off. No sign of any of those thugs. I stared at the disappearing crowd until another contraction pulled me back. Period cramps, these were not. I could grin and bear through a period cramp. These were absolutely debilitating. The people of Nagoya were angels sent to deliver me a miracle.

I bore through two more contractions before the taxi pulled into the hospital drive lane. I barely managed to climb out of the back seat and shuffle my way to the front desk, my entire core was wracked with pain.

The emergency staff shepherded me into a wheelchair and whisked me away to the delivery room, all the while asking me questions like, “Who are you?” and “Where is your husband?”

Right, where was he? If they had asked me that an hour prior I would have told them I didn’t know or care and that he could take a long walk off a short pier, but as the contractions happened faster and the arrival of my baby drew closer I just started crying, and told them the truth: that we’d had a big fight and he’s at home, and I wanted him close then more than ever.

What happened next, I couldn’t tell you with certainty. Somehow I ended up in a hospital gown, on a bed with my knees at my ears and a sheet to shield me from impending doom. Every muscle south of my tits seemed to ripple downward to push the bowling ball out of me. I held the bars of the bed for dear life. I wanted them to be hands instead.

At some point, over the sounds of doctors, my own screaming, and the blood thumping in my ears with every push, I heard the door to the delivery room fly open.

My “husband,” in the flesh.

He scrambled to my side, more out of breath than I was. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his shirt had a few tears and splotches of dirt.

“Sir, are you—” One of the nurses approached him.

“I’m the husband,” he proclaimed, and grabbed my hand. “I’m here to see the birth of my baby.”

“But, sir, you’re covered in blood.” Was he? I couldn’t focus on him fully. The nurse tried to approach him, but he took my side closely.

“I just took a fall, that’s all. I’m fine,” he said. “I’m not missing this.”

The nurse seemed to give up, softened by a false paternal instinct. He turned to me.

“Sayaka,” he said, “Listen. I’m sorry, for earlier. For all of this. You deserve a husband that can love you completely, in the way you want to be loved. I don’t think I could ever love you in that way, but all this shit made me realize I love you, regardless.”

I had to push again, and he held my hand firmly.

“I want you to stay. I want to raise this baby with you. I want to keep you both safe, as best I can.”

“Sir,” the nurse said, “the baby is crowning, so please stop distracting your wife with this weird speech.”

“It’s okay, you know,” I panted. “That…you can’t. I think I prefer it that way.”

I bore down again, with the leverage he gave me. Another few mind-numbing pushes, just at the brink of splitting me in two, and you arrived. Finally.

As soon as everything was said and done, that uppity nurse dragged Tetsuya away to get him cleaned up. It was only once they’d sponged me down and plopped you on my chest that I even began to consider how he’d ended up so banged up in the first place.

It was nightfall, and Tetsuya grabbed a chair to curl up in next to my bed. You had been placed in your plastic bassinet, sound asleep after the ordeal of being born.

“What happened?” I asked groggily.

“I got jumped by some guys,” he said. “It was weird, they were right outside the apartment building.”

“What did they look like?”

“Big, suits, like yakuza kinda.” He nursed a growing bruise on his face with a hospital ice pack. “Why?”

If it was who I was thinking about, then something was not adding up.

“No reason,” I sighed. “Sorry you had to go through that.”

“I held my own. They weren’t so tough.” He rested his head on the edge of the bed. “But now I’m exhausted.”

I hummed, feeling my own eyes droop.

Minutes, or perhaps hours later, I stirred from the sound of the hospital room door opening. I thought it was probably the nurse, but the shape of the person in front of me was much taller and wider than I remembered the nurse being, and wearing an all black suit to boot.

I snapped my eyes shut. There was no way they had infiltrated the hospital, right?

Out of the corner of my squinted eye, I watched the intruder creep toward your crib. He scooped you up with a surprising degree of gentleness — precious cargo, it would seem.

Your instincts had already kicked in, thankfully, and you began to cry. The guy panicked, looked around for his way out, and yanked the pillow from under my head.

“Sorry, miss,” he whispered. He shoved the pillow against my face.

I jolted, and snatched his wrist with both hands. This man really thought he could smother me with one hand! I threw him off, and he stumbled forward into the bed.

Suddenly, Tetsuya stood and clocked him in the temple. He staggered back, and I zeroed in on you. His grip on you had just loosened up enough that I could scoop you away. I held you close. You stopped crying.

“We need to get out of here,” I said shakily. “Get the baby out of here.”

“Can you stand?” Tetsuya asked.

“I’m fine.” I handed you off to him and eased out of bed.

“You just had a baby!”

“I’m fine!”

I wasn’t fine. My entire lower half still felt like it was on fire. I shuffled to the window, looking for more goons.

“I don’t see any suspicious headlights,” I said. “Let’s go see if there’s a nurse nearby.”

The entire ward was silent. Eerie for obstetrics. The charge nurse’s station was completely abandoned.

“What’s going on?” Tetsuya muttered.

“Collections.”

A deep voice rang down the empty hallway. From either end of the hallway the clatter of Italian wingtips preceded handfuls of men in tailored suits. The owner of the voice made himself known, and stepped forward.

“There’s a bounty, you see, on the little worm.” He pointed a crooked finger at you. “We’re to bring it back alive, and whomsoever does will receive a handsome sum.” He locked eyes with me. “The mother, on the other hand, I couldn’t care less about.”

Just as I wound up to fire back, Tetsuya stepped up.

“Who are you people? What do you want with us?” He asked earnestly.

“I just want to get paid,” the man said. “Is that so wrong?” He leveled his gaze at me once again. “Madame Okazaki just wants her precious grandchild, and I am more than happy to provide.”

My head swam. Everything suddenly made sense.

“She’s paying you. Of course.”

“What’s our plan?” Tetsuya whispered, looking over his shoulder at the cluster of guys guarding the opposite end of the hallway.

I looked around. We had plenty to work with.

“Make it out alive. All three of us.”

I dumped the rack of patient charts from the charge nurse’s desk and took off down the hall, holding Tetsuya’s free hand. Only three goons stood in our way. None of them were armed, but they were all massive.

The first came for Tetsuya and made a move to grab you. I yanked on him and the thug stumbled. Tetsuya stuck his leg out at the second, causing a cascade of bowling-pin-tumbling thugs.

The third swung at me. I let go of Tetsuya, ducked low, and socked him in the gut. We wove around him, took hands once again, and rounded the corner.

The hallway was clear — no thugs, but not a doctor or nurse in sight. I couldn’t even hear any other patients over the thrumming in my ears.

We got to the elevator bay and mashed on the call buttons.

“No lights. Shit…” Tetsuya said. “Can you manage stairs?”

Manage? Yes. Quickly, though?

“We don’t have a choice, do we?”

The clamor of thugs grew closer. We burst through the stairwell door. Third floor — not ideal but doable.

Tetsuya let go of my hand.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

The door had a crash bar on the stairwell side, and a handle on the hallway side. Tetsuya planted his feet on either side of the door frame and pulled on the push bar with his entire body weight. The door tried to open, got about two centimeters of the way there, but Tetsuya pulled it closed.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll buy you some time.”
 “You fool, how long do you think you can keep that up?”

Three centimeters, then shut.

“Long enough if you go now!”

Another three. Tetsuya’s face started to turn red.

“I can catch up,” he assured me. “Go.”

I went. The ka-chunk of the door echoed down the well as I hurried down the steps. I held you tight, your blissfully-unaware self rolling along with me.

At the second floor landing, the ka-chunks were replaced with shouting. I hurried still, trying not to think about Tetsuya getting punched in the face.

First floor, finally. I exited to the lobby, where it was still eerily silent and dark, but no goons seemed to be floating around which was a good sign. I hesitated, hoping to see Tetsuya come through the door, but he didn’t materialize.

I shoved the powerless automatic doors open. A few guys showed up, then a few more, until a sea of black coats flooded my vision.

I held you tight as the sea’s wave crested.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to you, and closed my eyes.

The wave crashed on either side of me, and when I realized I hadn’t been bowled over I peeked to find the horde of men had turned on itself — punches and kicks from black-coated men were being leveed against other black-coated men.

“The hell…?”

The sea parted to reveal a black town car pulled up to the drop-off bay. The back door opened, and a cane poked out. Two legs followed, then white hair poked out from the top of the door.

The fighting eddied around him as he approached me.

He was tall, though age had shaven a few centimeters from his imposing frame. He wore a crisp grey gabardine suit, as though to shadow the younger men that fought for him.

“Hello, dear,” he said. “Are you holding up okay?”

I felt like I was in a dream. Holding up okay? My cunt was about to fall out of my body.

“And this,” he said, with a gesture to your chubby cheek, “is my…great-grandchild?”

“Wh…what? Who are you?” I said.

“Okazaki Jiro,” he said. “You eloped with my grandson.”

“A…ah. Pleasure to meet you,” I rasped.

“I understand some hoodlums are causing you two trouble,” he said. “Some fools that claim to be Okazaki Family. Well, the real Okazaki Family, of Kyoto, will make sure they are eradicated.”

“Uh…okay.” I couldn’t process the words he said so I just agreed dumbly.

“Ah, there you are, Tetsuya.”

I whirled around. A little battered, but he’d arrived panting. I was so relieved.

“Hi, Granddad,” Tetsuya said. “Thanks for the help.”

“Of course, my boy. The car is yours — my boys can take care of the rest.”

Tetsuya, observing my scandalized expression, just shrugged.

“Guess we have more in common than we thought.”

He took my hand, and led me through the ravine of fighting men. And as we drove away from the scene, leaving the strife behind us, he held it the entire way back home.

Chapter Text

“So, that’s the story,” Sayaka said. “Your dad and I were driven back to our apartment, and we started our life together with you.”

“But, wait…” Hanzo piped up out of his fading drunken fog. “That’s not the whole story, though. What happened after that? Did the Okazaki Family ever come back? And how did Dad…” The question withered in his throat.

Sayaka sighed.

“Our life was peaceful, but the shadow existed in the periphery of our vision. They were both there, waiting for each other to falter. ‘My’ family would strike, ‘his’ family would protect us. Balance was maintained, at least for a while.

“Eventually, the Tojo Clan and Omi Alliance caught wind of our mini Kanto/Kansai feud, and tried to muscle their way in to Nagoya. That’s when things got really ugly. And your dad…”
Hanzo furrowed his brow in anticipation.

“It was a hit. Someone — Tojo, Omi, I don’t remember which — shot him in the chest.”

“I remember when the police came to the door,” Hanzo said. “And I remember you crying. We moved pretty soon after that, too.”

“The situation was getting worse by the day. With Tetsuya gone, the Okazaki Family went into overdrive trying to avenge him. Then my Okazaki Family tried to take advantage of the chaos. It wasn’t safe for either of us to stay anymore.”

Hanzo huffed.

“But also,” Sayaka said, “I just couldn’t stand staying in that apartment anymore, without Tetsuya.”

“Sure.” Hanzo rolled his drink between his hands, lost in thought. “You…called him my dad.”

“Of course I did,” Sayaka said. “He was your dad. Nothing about his relationship to you changed because I got back together with your bio-dad.” Sayaka bit the inside of her cheek. “I think that’s why I never told you about all of this earlier — I wanted to preserve his memory for you as best I could, while letting your bio-dad make up for lost time.”

Hanzo pinched his lips together.

“But that was a mistake, and I see that now.” Sayaka brought her glass close, as if to hold it in Hanzo’s stead. “I’m sorry, for everything.”

Hanzo turned to face her.

“You know, it was nice,” he said. “Hearing you talk about Dad like that.”

“He was very special to me. I miss him constantly.”

“I miss him, too.” Hanzo’s voice caught in his throat. “You know, if you wanted to, we could go visit his grave. That’s the first thing I thought about doing when I came here, but I never got around to it. It could probably use some sprucing up, don’t you think?”

“I…oh,” Sayaka croaked. “Yeah, I think so.”

“It’s also Obon,” Hanzo added. “Maybe we could go to the festival, too. Really honor the shit out of his memory.”

Sayaka laughed through a prickling tear.

“I missed you, too, kid,” she said.

“Okazaki Family”

The stately gravestone cast its shadow over the empty water trough in front of it. Skinny wooden markers with long Buddhist names flanked it on either side.

“This one is him,” Sayaka said, pointing to one second from the rightmost marker.

Hanzo studied the itatoba and its esoteric kanji.

“I can’t read it,” he declared.

“Me neither,” Sayaka replied. “But he’s there.”

Hanzo pressed his lips together, and dunked a rag into the bucket of water they brought from the groundskeeper.

“Hi, Dad,” he said as he wrung out the rag. “It’s been a while, but we made it. Me and…Mom.”

Sayaka followed suit and got to work, wiping down the left side.

“Sheesh, it got pretty filthy,” she said. “It’s been too long.”

Hanzo tackled the other side. “It’s been so long that I’m a boy now,” he said with a chuckle. “Do you think he would have…minded?”

“Minded? Definitely not,” Sayaka replied. “But he would have fretted about you, I think.”

Hanzo wiped down the right, dunking his blackening rag into the bucket every few swipes. Sayaka worked silently on the other side.

“Did you mind?” Hanzo asked.

Sayaka scoffed.

“The fact that you’re even asking me that question in the first place should tell you everything. Should I remind you who arranged your surgery?” She said. “And paid for your hormones to boot.”

“But why?” He answered back. “Why did you do all that stuff for me?”

Sayaka stopped scrubbing and sat back on the heels of her hands.

“Why? Hm.” She rustled around in the convenience store bag they’d brought to the cemetery and fished out the cleaning brush they picked up there. She swished it in the bucket vigorously and began to scrub her face of the stone.

Hanzo also stopped wiping, and tossed his rag in the bucket waiting for an answer.

“Because,” Sayaka said, “I wanted you to be happy. Of course. You’re my kid. But…” She paused her scrubbing. “I was also jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“I’ve often wished I was a man,” Sayaka began. “When I was younger, I’d walk around my room with my breasts taped down and my shirt hanging open, and I’d feel freer than I ever did on the other side of my door. Men could do whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted, and I couldn’t do anything about it. So, privately, I’d retreat into my fantasy.

“Eventually, I had to do what was expected of me. I stopped kissing the girls at school and ended up bending my knees for a man almost double my age that told me my tits looked cute in my uniform. I worked in a cabaret and wore fancy dresses and did my makeup nice. And I fulfilled my purpose of womanhood by becoming a mother.”

Sayaka started up her scrubbing again.

“It was too late for me, but perfect timing for you. Your father would have fretted over you because he wanted you to have as good of a life as possible. He probably would have worried about the difficulty of walking that path. But I knew that it would make no difference to you — it was inevitable. It was the only thing that would make you happy — that’s precisely why I helped you become a boy.” She dug into the grout of the kanji. “Besides, there’s no hope for womanhood anyway. Better to get out while you can.”

Hanzo threw his rag in the bucket, causing a splash.

“That’s bullshit. No hope for women? Jeez, Mom. Is that what you really think?” He stood from his crouch and shook out his legs. “There’s plenty of hope for women. You just had a shit mom that didn’t look out for you when you needed her to.”

“You had a pretty shit mom, too,” Sayaka said.

“Maybe so, in some ways,” Hanzo said. “But she let me live the way I wanted to live. And even though there were all kinds of weird guys coming around, I never felt unsafe as long as she was around.

“I didn’t want to be a boy just because I didn’t want to be a girl,” he continued. “That was part of it, sure, but completely different reasoning. It’s not that I thought being a girl was bad…it was just not right for me.”

Hanzo picked at the weeds sprouted along the base of the grave.

“You said in your story how being pregnant made you feel disgusted with your own body. That’s how I felt all the time. Once I started going on hormones and got my top surgery, I started to feel more like a real person. And…yeah, I guess I never really thought about it that way but it makes me…happy.”

Hanzo stopped talking and concentrated on the weeds. Sayaka scrubbed the rest of the grave in silence, concentrating on the grooves of each kanji stroke engraved on the front.

“I think it’s done,” she said, plopped cross-legged in front of the grave. Hanzo took his place next to her and fished out their final konbini purchase — a bottle of sake.

“We got this for you, Dad, but Mom doesn’t drink anymore and, well…I was going to drink some but now I don’t think I want to, so…”

He placed it gingerly in the trough in front of the grave and sat back down. The two watched it intently.

“Why do I feel as though he’s going to pop out and drink some?” Sayaka said.

“He’s not supposed to, right? That’s why he’s got that long-ass Buddha name now,” Hanzo replied. “He does feel really close though, doesn’t he?”

“Mm-hm.”

They waited.

“Hanzo.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s something else I have to tell you.”

“Oh, no…” he groaned.

“I’m serious,” she scolded him. “I’m getting a hysterectomy.”

Hanzo sat up.

“You’re joking,” he said. “What the hell?”

“I’m not joking. They said it’s pre-cancerous cells.”

“Mom…you have cancer?”

“It’s more of a precautionary measure, but…yeah. I will if I don’t get this done.”

Sayaka stared ahead at the grave.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “when I die, about where I’d like to be buried. Even though we never married legally, would the Okazaki family expect my remains to end up here, next to their beloved son? Or do I follow the man I’m currently married to?” She scoffed. “Even in death, I have to do what’s expected of me as a wife.”

“What? No, you don’t,” Hanzo said. “You can get your own plot.” He blinked. “I mean, you’re not going to die!”

“I’m going to die someday,” Sayaka replied. “So perhaps the answer will be clear when that time comes.”

Hanzo reached for his mother’s hand, but she stood before he could take it. He laid his hand on the warmth where hers once rested, removed by her cold gesture.

“Come on,” she said, “the festival is probably going to start soon. We should get a move on.”

Hanzo capitulated, and snagged the bottle of sake before following his mom down the hill towards the city.

“We have to make a pit stop,” Hanzo said, “and catch up with Martin.”

“How did you meet him?” Sayaka asked. “He’s a big-shot American ball player.”

“He’s just a drinking buddy. That’s all,” Hanzo sighed. “I had no idea he was American.” Hanzo rummaged in the deep pockets of his billowing pants and pulled out his phone. “『Pls save me from this guy Han-chan!! He’s a monster!!!』 He’s a bit of a drama queen sometimes.”

His phone buzzed.

“Ah, another one.” Hanzo squinted at the screen. “『I’m at the old minor league park at the edge of town. Help!!!!』 That’s not too far from here. Suppose we could do him a solid.”

“I just want to know what Shinada-san wanted from him,” Sayaka said. “He must be pretty mad at the guy to want to punch his lights out on-sight.”

The pair followed the winding road down from the graveyard toward a residential area that was dotted with traditional houses and gardens. An open, barren baseball diamond capped the end of the street, with a tall chainlink fence on the other side woven with advertisement banners. Half-burnt-out floodlights illuminated two people on the diamond — a pitcher and a batter.

As they approached the field, the figure on the pitcher’s mound came into view. His broad shape sharpened and gave way to a haggard expression. He wound up for a pitch and threw — the ball hit the fence behind home plate with a shocking clatter.

“What the hell was that?!” A familiar disembodied voice carried across the field. “Was that really the power of the Wyverns’ new starting pitcher?”

“Of course not!” Martin shouted back. “We’ve been at this forever! I’m beat!”

“Then tell me why you’re up to shady shit!” Shinada bit back.

“I told you, I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

As Sayaka and Hanzo approached the fence, Martin’s eyes lit up.

“Han-chan!” He jogged over to the fence, but Shinada barred him with his bat.

“Back on the mound, hot-shot,” Shinada said. He peeked over his shoulder at the Okazakis and gave them a wave and a smile.

“Shinada-san, why are you abusing this poor kid?” Sayaka said.

“He’s got some shit to answer for,” Shinada answered. “He’s either gotta tell me how he ended up with the killer contract he did, or show me that he’s worth it.” Shinada stalked back over to home plate and readied his bat. “Now, come on! Show me that heat!”

With a huff, Martin jogged back over to the pitcher’s mound. Sayaka and Hanzo entered through the gate and observed from home plate.

The first pitch. Martin wound up and threw the pitch. Shinada jumped out of the way, the ball hit the fence and skittered to the Okazakis’ feet.

“Ball one,” Sayaka called. Hanzo tossed the ball underhand back to Martin.

Next pitch. Martin puffed his cheeks and hurled the ball. Once again, Shinada refused to swing at the wild pitch.

“All power, no panache,” Shinada goaded. “Try again.”

Shinada lobbed the ball back to the mound. Once more, with feeling. Another wild pitch soared well above and outside the strike zone. Shinada groaned.

“You think he’s going to walk him?” Sayaka asked Hanzo.

“If this were a real baseball game, yes.” Hanzo flicked a pointed nod at Shinada. “But that batter is hopping mad. If he does, he’s gonna get his ass beat.”

Martin’s eyes flicked from the Okazakis to Shinada. He dropped his arms, closed his eyes, and breathed deep.

He readied his stance again. Focused. He stared directly into Shinada’s eyes.

Another breath. The wind-up. The pitch.

The perfect calculation. With all his concentrated might, Shinada swung. Despite his square stance, his body moved fluidly. Elegantly.

Contact. A mightly crack pierced the air, and the ball soared above Martin’s head to the other end of the field.

Sayaka whistled.

“Home run,” Hanzo said.

Rather than take his victory lap, Shinada dropped his bat and stalked over to the mound.

“When you played in America, you never had an ERA lower than .500,” Shinada said. “Even when you acted as starting pitcher, you wouldn’t last 3 innings before getting pulled. And suddenly, you’re dropping everything mid-season to join the Wyverns’ starting lineup. And, suddenly, you’re eking out near-no-hitters.” Shinada huffed like a boar through his nose. “Was that,” he said, pointing to the sky that once occupied a baseball for once nanosecond, “really your best effort? Is that the pitching that’s going to get you that no-hitter? Any batter worth his salt ought to be chewing you up and spitting you back out.” He jabbed his pointed finger into Martin’s chest to punctuate his thought. Martin blanched.

“So I’m going to ask you again,” Shinada said. “What’s your deal, Aguilar?”

Martin furrowed his brow indignantly.

“I…I don’t know what to tell you, man. I got offered a deal, said they’d help me negotiate out of my MLB contract, and got me signed to the Wyverns. Been pitching for them all season. Why the hell do you care so much?”

“Who offered you that contract?” Shinada asked.

“Uh…a Wyverns rep?”

“No way.” Shinada dismissed him. “The farm team has great pitchers this year, and the Wyverns were eyeing a trade with Osaka for one of their pitchers since Harada left in free agency. They had plenty of options — there’s no way they’re risking bad blood with the MLB to pluck some random American kid to fill a hole in the lineup.”

“Well, they did,” Martin said. “Now get off my back.”

Shinada pulled out his phone.

“If I called my guy at the Wyverns right now, would they corroborate your story?”

“Huh? You don’t have a guy at the Wyverns,” Martin balked. “Weirdo.”

Shinada scrolled through his phone with pursed lips and a hand on his hip.

“I wouldn’t doubt him, kid,” Sayaka said. “He’s an industry fixture.”

“Yeah, right,” Martin scoffed.

Ringing. A muffled, disembodied voice emanated from the receiver of Shinada’s phone.

“Yo, it’s me,” Shinada said casually. “Listen, I’m talking to Aguilar right now. Funny story, we ran into each other at the bar. Crazy, right? And, I was wondering if you would be able to settle something for us. You see, we were comparing starting contracts, right? And—”

Martin slapped Shinada’s phone out of his hand. The entire group was stunned into silence.

“It ain’t like that, alright?” Martin said. “It’s…complicated.”

Shinada picked up his phone and brushed off the dirt.

“I’ll call you later,” he said into his phone. He cupped his mouth and whispered, barely audible to the Okazakis: “Thanks, Takasugi-san.”

“What’s it like, then?” Sayaka said.

“I…look, I just wanted to make it big, you know?” Martin started. “And I did! I made it to the big leagues. But I was way out of my depth there, you know? I worked hard every day just to get there, and then I was working even harder to stay.

“So I decided to try my options in Japan. I speak Japanese, because of my mom, and I thought that would give me an edge. But nothing was moving.”

The other three watched as Martin shuffled between his feet.

“Word got out, I guess, that I was planning on making this move, and I was contacted by a recruiter. At least, I thought he was a recruiter…”

“Aguilar.” Shinada’s voice was cold and serious. “Who was it?”

“I was naive, okay?” Martin shot back, protective of his ego. “But when someone says ‘We can make your dreams real’ it’s hard to pass up.”

Shinada’s fists quivered at his sides.

“You…” Shinada was at a loss for words. He stalked away a few paces. “Don’t tell me…”

“I didn’t know he was a gangster, okay?” Martin added.

Shinada lunged at Martin, with claws and teeth. Sayaka and Hanzo jumped in to hold him back, for fear of him ripping Martin to literal shreds. Martin curled into a ball and cowered.

“Oy, Shinada!” Sayaka yelled. “Relax!”

Shinada writhed against Sayaka and Hanzo, who held him by each bicep. Hanzo, who was not as strong as his mom, struggled to keep him at bay.

“You thought you could achieve your dreams by making a deal with the devil?!” Shinada cried. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He shot a baleful look at Sayaka. “Do you know how many lives were taken by yakuza in this town? How many more were ruined?”

Martin peeked at him from his ball state.

“Whatever you think you’re going to earn by achieving your dreams this way,” Shinada concluded, “you’ll pay an even bigger price. Could you really live with yourself?”

Shinada stalked away, leaving the Okazakis and Martin still cowering at their feet. Hanzo copped a squat, and Martin peeked at him with a whale-eyed look.

“Martin,” he started, “did you really sign a contract with the yakuza?”

Martin’s shoulders slumped, and he plopped onto his butt.

“I just…I had to do something,” Martin said. “When Seattle signed me, I was already on the older side, you know? But I worked my ass off to get in front of that scout, and I thought they had seen what I thought I was worth. But then they put me in the most unreasonable positions. I barely had a chance to play, so of course my ERA was shit! I was sick of it. Do you blame me for wanting a taste of the sweet life?”


“You heard Shinada-san,” Sayaka said. “You signed a deal with the devil. It doesn’t seem like it to you now, but you’re on the hook for them for life. As long as you live, you owe them the money they think they’re entitled to.” Sayaka put her hands on her hips. “And I do mean, live. What do you think’s going to happen to you once your usefulness has ended?”

Martin’s eyes grew wide. “You don’t mean…?”

“Fish food,” Sayaka said.

Martin went green, and buried his head in his knees. He clutched fistfuls of his ample black hair.

“What do I do…?” He muttered.

Sayaka crouched to meet him at eye level.

“There is no outcome where you get out of this scot-free,” she said. “The best outcome? You pull your phone out of your pocket right now, call your contact, and tell them the deal’s off.”

Martin’s eyes grew wide.

“I…I can’t do that!” He said. “My career is over if I do that! And if what you said is right, my life is over, too!”

“That’s why you have to do this now,” she said. “Because you won’t if we have anything to say about it.” She looked up at Hanzo. “Right?”

Hanzo nodded.

“Aguilar,” he said, “I’m by your side, all the way.”

Martin exchanged looks with Sayaka, wide-eyed up at Hanzo, then to folded-arms Shinada across the way.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Dialed, then waited only one ring before the other end picked up.

“It’s me,” he quavered. “Deal’s off.”

As the voice on the other end started its posturing, Sayaka snatched the phone from Martin’s hand.

“Listen, pal, I need you to send a message to your boss,” she said. “Tell her that her daughter needs to speak to her urgently.”

The voice on the other end scoffed.

“How do you know who my boss is? She’s—I mean—He’s not…”

“Shut up,” she said. “Just tell her Sayaka’s waiting for her call.”

She hung up and clapped the phone back in Martin’s hand.

“And now we wait.”

They had no need to wait for long. Martin’s phone rang mere minutes later. He thrust it at Sayaka, who picked up the call.

“It’s been a while,” the voice on the other end said. It was frail and distant, with a frigid edge.

“Mom.” Sayaka stiffened. “Let Aguilar go.”

Satomi huffed a weak laugh.

“Why don’t you come over and we’ll discuss it over tea?” Satomi said.

“Tea? That doesn’t sound like the Satomi I know.”

“Still with the smart mouth, all these years later,” Satomi rasped. She took a long pause, working up the strength to speak again. “Either come, or don’t. Aguilar matters little to me.”

Sayaka pursed her lips. “Where?”

“He should know. My villa.”

Sayaka shot Martin a look that made him wince.

“I’ll be there.”

“Sayaka.”

“Hm?”

“Bring the child.”

Her eyes darted to Hanzo.

“We’ll be there.”

The troupe followed Martin down a dark country road just on the edge of the city.

“You sure about this, buddy?” Hanzo said.

“Not totally. I’ve been here a couple of times, but I’ve never met the boss,” Martin said. “But I’m pretty sure we’re going the right way.”

At the end of the road, partially obscured by a bamboo fence and dripping willow trees, stood a stately manor house with a steep clay-tiled roof.

“That’s it,” Martin said. “Wouldn’t miss that gate.”

The gate swung open, and the stillness of the night was broken by the many sets of feet crunching on the gravel just on the other side.

“Shit,” Sayaka hissed. “It was a trap.”

A tall figure stepped over the threshold of the gate, obscured almost totally by the night.

“You ain’t layin’ a finger on the boss, got it?” He said. “She’s in a fragile state, hear?”

“She’s expecting us,” Sayaka said. “I’m her daughter.”

“Like I give a shit,” the man in the shadows said. “You think you can waltz in here and just take over? Think again.”

He brandished a knife, and his men spilled out from behind the fence. Sayaka and her troupe braced for impact.

He lunged at Sayaka first, but he caught Hanzo’s fist on the way. The other men made for Martin and Shinada. Martin ducked just out of range of the first attack, which bowled its way into Shinada. The stalwart Shinada caught him in a grapple and pushed him off. Two more made for Martin, but Shinada charged in for a tackle.

“Behind!” Shinada called. Martin whipped around to find Hanzo had beaten him to the literal punch.

Martin danced between his feet, and darted toward the last man at the gate.

“Thought you could hide?” Martin said. “Here I come!”

The man dodged Martin’s punch, and he careened into the gate, but quickly bounced back and flew into another scrappy hook that caught the man off-guard and downed him.

“Nice, Aguilar,” Hanzo praised.

Sayaka, in the meantime, fought off the leader with his knife. He went in with another swipe — a familiar move — that Sayaka was quick to dodge. He lacked the finesse that her knife-wielder had in spades, and it gave her a hit of nostalgia. It only took a simple sidestep and flick of the wrist to disarm him.

While she had his wrist in her grasp, Martin seized the opportunity and slammed his fist into the back of his head, knocking him out. The group surveyed the street, littered with the fallen bowling pins of the Okazaki Family.

Martin shook the course of adrenaline out of his arms.

“Fuckin’ right!” He beat his puffed-out chest. “Don’t mess with us!”

The street was suddenly flooded with light from two pairs of headlights rapidly approaching the villa. Sayaka readied her stance but was shielded by Shinada.

“Go on ahead,” he said. “We can take ‘em.”

“I’ll take all of them on!” Martin said.

Sayaka and Hanzo looked at each other.

“Ready to meet Grandma?” Sayaka said.

Hanzo motioned for her to go ahead, and the pair crossed the threshold of the gate to follow the gravel path up to the house proper. Despite the short distance the sounds of the clash happening behind them seemed to fall away in the genkan where they removed their shoes.

They were greeted by a courtyard garden just past the entryway with a mature laceleaf maple tree perfectly curated to frame the door to the back garden. The pair followed the hall to the left past a kitchen and dining area to the engawa. Paper lamps illuminated the corners.

“She really here?” Hanzo whispered.

“Has to be,” Sayaka replied.

Suddenly, a figure cloaked in darkness hustled toward them.

“Excuse me,” they hissed in an agitated whisper. “Lady Okazaki is in no condition to receive visitors. Who are you?”

“Next of kin,” Sayaka said. She looked the person up and down — a slender frame hid under a white coat. “Doctor, I presume?”

“That’s right,” the doctor said sternly.

“Could you take me to see my mother, please?”

The tight-lipped doctor looked at Sayaka, then Hanzo, then motioned them both to follow. They passed two dark rooms and followed the doctor along the engawa around the corner. The deck split off to the right toward a bath bath house, but the doctor halted in front of the last bedroom. The room’s shoji revealed a dull illumination inside. Sayaka took a breath and opened the door.

A cloud of perfume (or was it incense?) covered the stink of decay. A stark white double futon in the middle of the room nearly completely concealed the figure inside — an old, weathered woman with silvery tendrils of hair splayed on the pillow. The only sound in the room was her gentle wheezing.

Sayaka and Hanzo looked at each other nervously, then sat politely beside Satomi.

“Mom,” Sayaka said gently. “We’re here.”

She cracked an eye open and tilted her head. “Sayaka. How nice, to have three generations of Okazakis here, in my dying hour.”

Sayaka and Hanzo exchanged glances again. There was no reason to doubt her — her breathing was shallow and slow.

“Grandma,” Hanzo said, “please release Martin from his contract.”

Her distant gaze landed on Hanzo.

“The first time we meet,” Satomi said, “and that’s what you say? Sayaka, didn’t you teach this one any manners?”

“No. I didn’t,” Sayaka said flatly. “Why did you summon us here? Clearly, you’re in no position to do anything.”

“Because,” Satomi croaked, “I wanted to give you something.” She directed her sightline to the desk behind them. Hanzo took the hint and opened the drawer to find a sealed envelope placed with intent on top of the stacks of papers inside.

“This is addressed to me,” he said. “Er, well, my…old name,” he whispered to his mother.

“Open it,” Satomi said. Hanzo slid his finger under the flap, and she continued on. “While I could terminate his contract, the money he’s making for us goes straight to your inheritance.”

“What?” Sayaka said. How does that—”

“No way,” Hanzo said, reading the letter. “…Everything?”

Sayaka peeked at the letter over his shoulder. “You’re joking…”

Satomi only smirked, barely hidden under the futon.

“You think this is funny?” Sayaka said, a little louder. “Using Martin as some kind of leverage?”

“I just wanted my grandchild to have a chance in life, that’s all,” Satomi said weakly. “Considering how badly I failed you.”

“You bet your sweet ass you failed me,” Sayaka said.

“This…” Hanzo said, still reading the letter, “this includes the Okazaki Family. I’d become de facto patriarch.”

“There’s plenty of money to be made,” Satomi said. Her speech was slowing considerably, her voice much weaker.

“This is insane,” Sayaka said. “Do you really think that’s going to fly?”

Satomi didn’t respond, and only closed her eyes.

“Hey, don’t die on me now!” Sayaka said. The doctor rushed in at the mention of death, and got to work checking vitals. Hanzo sat stupefied, rereading Satomi’s will. Sayaka balled her fists in her lap.

“How dare you,” she said. “You think you can just die without paying for the hell you put me through? What a load of shit, saddling Hanzo with your fucking yakuza family? Really?” Sayaka searched Satomi’s face for any kind of recognition, but it was totally still. “Answer me, damn it. Answer for how you treated me.”

The doctor’s brow furrowed.

“She’s gone.”

Sayaka hung her head, holding back all of the rest of what she wanted to say. Hanzo stood, will in hand, and stalked out of the room down the engawa. Sayaka, once she realized he was gone, quickly followed.

They slipped on their shoes and rejoined the fray outside the gate, where Shinada and Martin were hanging on by a thread. Their original attacker with the knife had regained his strength, but was promptly knocked back down by Shinada. Before he could get back up, Hanzo grabbed his collar.

“Are you a captain, or something?” He asked.

“Lieutenant,” he grunted.

“Then spread the word,” Hanzo said as he thrust the will in his face. “I’m Hanzo, the new patriarch.”

“Huh?”

“And my first order of business,” he said, “is to call for the immediate disbandment of the Okazaki Family."

Chapter Text

“We go live to today’s press conference from the Nagoya Wyverns addressing the allegations of illegal gambling and match fixing. Expected to speak on the matter is the Wyverns’ starting pitcher, Martin Aguilar, who was drafted mid-season from the United States. Aguilar was a relief pitcher for the Seattle Mariners before exiting his contract with the Major League Baseball Players Association. We turn to the conference room, where Aguilar has entered.”

…

“Hello, everyone. As to not waste your valuable time today, I’d like to get straight to the point.

“When I signed on the the Wyverns earlier this season, I became a willing participant in a conspiracy to not only profit from games I participated in, but to influence the outcome of these games as well. While I didn’t know it at the time, I eventually became a stakeholder in this conspiracy in an effort to attain undue fame and notoriety.

“I deeply apologize for the trouble I’ve brought to the Nagoya Wyverns due to my actions. Effective immediately I will be resigning from the team, and will not be pursuing a career in professional baseball from this point forward.

“I want to thank the people that helped me see the error of my ways, and I wish nothing but prosperity for the Wyverns in the future. Thank you for your time.”

…

“Let’s go to the sports desk with analysis and commentary…”

Nine Months Later

“You ready, Mom?”

“Yeah, just give me a sec.”

Sayaka stood shakily from the low table. Hanzo approached from the kitchen to help her up.

After Satomi’s death, Hanzo was awarded her entire estate, as promised in her will. Not one to take a free house for granted, he moved in to the Okazaki villa and offered safe harbor to his mother while Kamurocho spiraled into turmoil. He also opened up a room for Martin, who needed a space to hide away for a while after his shocking exit from baseball.

Sayaka used the space to gently recover from her hysterectomy, with her son by her side. However, she continued to have issues, even after weeks of recovery.

“We should go back to the doctor,” Hanzo said. “You should be okay by now.”

“Eh, this is all because we got jumped by ex-Okazakis that one time,” Sayaka shrugged. “Just another week and I’ll be fine. I thought you wanted to go for a walk?”

Hanzo sighed, and led her to the genkan, where she winced stepping down to put her shoes on. He led her down the path to the gate, and out to the road where they took a daily walk around the neighborhood.

As they rounded the corner, they were approached by a large black town car.

“Oh no…” Hanzo groaned. “Mom, you’re still not in fighting shape. Could you let me take care of it, please?”

“And let you have all the fun?” She said as she squared her shoulders. “Save me a slice, won’t you?”

The near-black tinted window rolled slowly down, and a familiar squawk came out of it.

“That’s a nice homecomin’ greeting, ain’t it?”

Sayaka relaxed her stance.

“Goro.”

The door opened, and Majima burst out of it to plant a kiss on his unsuspecting wife.

“Missed ya.”

“I…I missed you, too,” Sayaka said, stunned and shaky.

“Get in,” he said. “We got some stuff to go over.”

Hanzo reluctantly dropped his stance. “Be gentle with her, alright?” Hanzo said pointedly. “I’ll be at the house.”

The car ambled down the narrow streets toward its next destination. Majima sat spread-legged in the back with his arm draped over Sayaka’s shoulders and his knee prodding her thigh. Daigo assumed the role of driver, white-knuckling the wheel despite the snail’s pace.

“We got another stop to make before we join Saejima at the safe house. Ain’t that right, Daigo?” Majima keened in a mocking sing-song.

Sayaka caught his eyes darting in the rearview mirror. He seemed not only nervous, but skittish. Not so much “deer in the headlights” as a cat interacting with humans for the first time, ready to bolt under the nearest bush.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Daigo said. “If he’s not too busy.”

“Is this guy ever busy?” Majima said. “I thought he was a bum.”

“He’s got a new gig now,” Daigo jumped in. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Did that little birdie tell you where to find me?” Sayaka said. Daigo’s eyes darted to the rearview once again — a tacit admission.

As they drove, Majima planted kisses all over Sayaka’s head and neck. He draped himself over her, clung to her. His hands roamed her body, only remaining above the belt for the sake of driver-Daigo subject to the display.

But Sayaka could not muster any kind of reciprocity. As she felt his lips leave a trail along the side of her face, she could only watch Daigo’s concentrated eyes in the mirror scan the neighborhood for his next turn.

Eventually, the car drifted to a stop in front of a familiar sight — the baseball field. The outer fences were lined with clean, new advertisements, mostly from local clubs, and the closer segments of chainlink, normally battered by wild pitches, had clearly been replaced recently. The diamond was occupied by a gaggle of middle-aged men in rumpled uniforms, and in the dugout sat their coach, scribbling away at a clipboard.

Daigo let out a jagged breath.

“Wish me luck,” he said.

“Go get ‘im, big guy,” Majima roused. Daigo slipped out of the car. In the sanctity of the car, Majima said to Sayaka, “Kid’s got a huge crush on that guy. Known each other since high school, ain’t that sweet?” The married couple watched the encounter unfold: Daigo bowed, Shinada stood. Daigo gestured, Shinada pointed. The pair disappeared from view of the car, and then they were truly alone.

Majima pulled her chin to meet his lips with a much slower, though no less hungry, kiss.

“Missed ya,” he murmured. “It’ll be nice to have ya in the safe house. Those two have been drivin’ me nuts.”

The safe house. Secluded. Whisked away. Under his arm.

She pushed him away, pulled herself away.

“You never asked,” she said matter-of-factly. Majima sputtered.

“Well, I mean, sorry for figurin’ my wife would wanna come with.”

“My surgery,” she clarified. “You never asked me how my surgery went.”

He blinked, and the indignant scowl he’d drawn had softened.

“Oh,” he croaked.

“You forgot,” she said. “Well, I guess it’s understandable. You’ve got other things to think about in prison, I suppose.”

“Now, that’s not—”

“For as long as we’ve been together, we’ve been apart longer,” Sayaka said. “You moved into my house, inserted yourself into my life and my routines, then left me for your sworn brother and faked your own death! You’ve been thrown in jail twice since we’ve been together.”

“That’s the deal, bein’ with a guy like me.” He jabbed a thumb in his sternum. “I thought you could walk the walk, babe. You knew the deal — it’s what ya signed up for.”

“I didn’t sign up for this. Not for any of this!” Sayaka said, worked into a lather. “From the moment I was born, I was funneled into this life. My whole life I was set up just to become…” She looked him up and down, in his trusty snakeskin uniform, searching for the words. “…Just some yakuza’s plaything.”

“Hey, that’s—”

“That’s what? Not fair?” Sayaka’s voice started to quaver. “What’s not fair is being passed off to some stranger when you’ve barely taken your last shichi-go-san photo. What’s not fair is serving tea to hungry thugs looking at you like dinner, when you’re too young to do anything about it. When the people that are supposed to protect you are the ones that let it happen—that’s not fair.”

That seemed to shut him up. Majima sat back in his seat.

“I didn’t know that shit,” he said.

“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me,” she said. “You never asked.”

“That’s why this is such a great opportunity!” Majima said. “We won’t have nothin’ to look at but each other’s faces, and we won’t have nothin’ to do except get to know each other. It’ll be great, you’ll see. It’ll be just like old times.”

Grasping at straws. Clinging to a life that once was.

“I have no desire to return to that,” she said. “I don’t want to return to any of my past lives. My past lives were miserable. I want to move forward, with what precious little time I have.”

“What’re ya sayin’?”

“I’m not moving into any goddamn safe house with you.”

His face twisted into a deep scowl.

“This could be it, ya know,” he said. “Could be weeks, could be months in there. Hell, could be years.”

“I’m aware.”

Majima’s face turned inscrutable. Annoyed, enraged, sad, all of it became twisted in the ridge of his brow. He gaped like a fish on land.

“So that’s it, then,” he wheezed, as if he’d just been kneed in the stomach. “It’s over.”

Sayaka reached over and grasped his hand, holding it so hard they both trembled.

“I love you,” she said, “but I can’t continue this way. I can’t follow you any more. I need,” she breathed, “to mark my own plot.”

“Plot? What’re ya…” Majima searched her face.

“I’m still in a great deal of pain,” she explained. “Hanzo’s taking care of me. But, I don’t know what’s wrong still, and I’m…I don’t…” She trailed away, couldn’t make any more words come out of her mouth.

Majima took her other hand, and opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut before a single word left his mouth.

“The kid treatin’ ya right?” He opted to say instead.

“I’m very grateful for him,” she replied.

“Good.”

Sayaka’s eyes darted to the front of the car. “Daigo’s coming.”

Their chauffeur stalked back to the car, an angry red mark blooming on his left cheekbone.

Majima ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Sayaka’s head.

“I love ya,” he said. “And I’ll love ya the rest of my days. Promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t go ‘fore I do.”

The tightness of tears clenched Sayaka’s chest.

“I’ll try not to.”

The car door opened, and Daigo plopped into the driver’s seat. A heavy sigh escaped his nostrils and he closed his eyes. Majima and Sayaka remained still, expecting him to remember any moment that he was not, in fact, alone in the car.

They were all startled out of silence by rapping on the driver’s side window. Daigo rolled down the window, where Shinada grabbed Daigo’s face and pulled him into a furious kiss.

“You better make good on your promise, Dojima-kun” Shinada said. “Because there’s more where that came from.”

Daigo blinked, then smiled softly.

“I promise, Tatsuo,” he said.

Shinada grinned and, noticing Sayaka in the back seat, poked his head into the cab.

“Sayaka-san,” he said. “You coming to our game on Saturday?”

“And miss the Old Fart’s League opening game?” Sayaka said. “Never.”

Shinada pouted.

“Bring Aguilar with, yeah?” Shinada said. “I’ll get him on-board yet.”

“I think he still wants to lay low for a little while yet,” Sayaka said. “But I’ll try. Or maybe Hanzo will drag him kicking and screaming.”

“Don’t forget!” Shinada said, and with a cheerful wave returned to his post in the dugout. Daigo heaved another sigh as he rolled the window back up.

He cleared his throat, then said, “So, where to next?”

Majima motioned to speak, but Sayaka cut him off.

“Please take me back to the house,” she said. “Hanzo’s probably worried about me.”

Daigo acknowledged her through the mirror, his eyes darting between her and Majima. Observing the space.

“Understood.”

Daigo pulled up to the gate at the Okazaki villa, where Hanzo sat on the front veranda drinking a beer with Martin. When he noticed the car pull up, he jumped down into his slides to meet them.

Sayaka eased herself out of the car, flanked by Hanzo on her right and Majima, who had jumped out of the car himself, at her left.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she cajoled. “But, thank you both.”

“You should probably rest, Mom,” Hanzo said. “You look tired.”

“I know,” she said, “I will, just give me another minute.”

He continued to hover over her with worry. “Go on,” she assured him, “I’ll meet you inside.”

Hanzo’s gaze flicked up to Majima, and the father and son locked eyes for the first time in many years. Hanzo searched his biological father’s face for meaning — in his expression, in his features, in the way the strap of his eyepatch cut a path through the landscape of his face. He noted that Majima’s lone eye was commencing its own scan, and wondered if he was doing the same.

“Hanzo.” Majima’s voice, suddenly gravely with age, called to him. “Take care of her, would ya? Don’t go runnin’ off again.”

“I won’t,” he said.

“And,” Majima continued, “take care of yourself.”

“I will.” Hanzo released Sayaka and stepped away. “See you around.” With a cheeky grin, he added, “Dad.”

As Hanzo headed back to the house with Martin in tow, she turned to face Majima.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“I can be a gentleman,” he said. “When I wanna be.”

“It’s one of the things I like the most about you,” she said.

He wrapped her in a hug, gentle but with a tight grip on her arms.

“Take care, Sayaka,” he said.

“You too, Goro.”

Majima slipped away, into the passenger’s seat next to Daigo, and the duo pulled away from the villa. Sayaka watched until the car disappeared from view down the hill, then retreated past the gate to the house, obscured by the leafed-out maples.